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I'm Not Actually A Pervert

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I'm not a pervert.

Those words were a steady mantra in John's mind as he settled into the dark video booth.

I'm not a pervert. I'm not like the usual clientele.

Times weren't usually so desperate, but his computer had been struck down with a virus a week and a half ago, and between sleep and double shifts at Bart's, he hadn't had time to hit the pubs to find himself another short-term girlfriend.

Well, he said short-term. He didn't like "one night stands."

He pressed a button on the monitor and watched it come to life, giving him different options. Amateur, Big Tits, Asian, Blonde, anything to suit his fancy. But he was still having trouble coming to terms that he'd set foot into the adult entertainment store, and it was even harder to wrap his head around the fact that he'd willingly set foot into one of their video booths.

One of the options on the touch screen (and he wasn't going to think about how unsanitary that touch screen had to be, thanks) was for blow jobs. As a man with a love of pink lips wrapped around his cock--and, well, as a man, in general--John knew he'd have no trouble getting off to whatever the blow job video brought him, so he tapped it and leaned back against the wall so he wasn't quite so close to the video screen.

The sound was low when the porn picked up partway through a video of a very enthusiastic blonde head bobbing up and down on a thick, veiny member, shot in a lovely point-of-view range. He could hear the slick slide of her mouth on that cock, her moans of pleasure as if she could actually come from the sole pleasure of having a cock down her throat, but he could also hear the steps outside his booth, the occasional orgasmic cries of a man down the hall.

He decided he just needed to get lost in it. He palmed himself through thick denim, watching the girl's blue eyes as she looked up, seemingly straight at him. It was definitely working, imagining that he could be the man in the video, the one who literally had this gorgeous twenty-something gagging for it.

His fingers unbuttoned his fly and he pushed his hips up off the seat to lower his jeans enough that he could fish his cock out of his pants and spread his legs a bit. He didn't wrap his fingers around himself the way he wanted to. Instead, he ran his open palm from tip to base, dipping down and fondling his balls when his on-screen lover's French manicured fingers did the same to the man she was sucking.

He hummed a bit, rubbing up and down, giving himself a slow tease before taking himself in hand at the base. The last time he'd had a nice mouth wrapped around his cock had been--what? Six, seven months ago? God, he needed to be less of a workaholic. If he could just get away from the hospital for more than an hour outside of needing to sleep, maybe he'd have better luck finding someone who would sleep with him more than once.

His hand was working a slow, steady rhythm in time with the girl on the screen as his cock hardened to full length. He let his head fall back against the wall, closing his eyes and listening to the happy moans of the woman he imagined was running her tongue along the underside of his prick before rubbing her wet lips against the head.

The sounds were enough to get him worked up. He pushed his hips toward his fist and pressed the tip of his thumb into his pubic hair when he bottomed out, imagining her small nose huffing out air as he thrust down her throat. He wished he'd thought enough to bring lube, but hindsight was 20/20. He didn't care much for the dry; he wished he had a bit less friction and a bit more glide.

John gave himself another squeeze and looked at the girl on the screen, giving himself more fodder for his wank when she took the man's cock and slapped it twice against her cheek.

It was a glorious fantasy, one he lost himself in until he was interrupted by a sharp rap on the wall to his left.

John's eyes snapped open and his hand stuttered to a halt, quickly covering himself out of modesty, like a teenager getting caught having a wank. He looked to his side, now snapped out of his reverie, and wondered if an enthusiastic wank on the other side of the wall had just made him paranoid. He took a deep breath, telling himself he just had a guilty conscience about being in a porn shop.

But then he held his breath, because the flickering glow of his porn hadn't let him see what was now glaringly obvious.

There was a hole in the wall.

A fist-sized hole that now had two long, pale, unmistakably male fingers pushing through and then curving upwards, beckoning, come hither.

He'd heard of glory holes. He'd also heard horror stories about them. And... he also really, really liked the idea of a mouth on his cock right now, so why was he being offered a choice that could double as horrifying castration?

Also, as a doctor, he knew anonymous sex was a very, very bad idea. No matter how intrigued he was, he wasn't about to put his cock into an unfamiliar, unseen mouth without a condom.

The fingers retreated and John dared to lean a bit closer to say "I don't have a condom" in a voice that he was proud to say did not shake with disappointment as he thought it might.

His hand was about to continue its work on his now-disappointed-to-not-be-in-a-mouth cock, but the fingers reappeared, holding a foil packet--strawberry flavored, John noticed--as if to say "I'm ready for your next excuse."

John had no idea two fingers could have so much attitude.

It was a bad time to have a sexual identity crisis, but John had never even given a bloke a second glance. He'd never seen a man on the street and thought "Yes, I'd like to get off with him" the way he knew he could look at a woman and just know. Could he let a man suck his cock, even in the current state he was in?

No one will ever know.

I'll know.

And it wasn't even that he'd walk around with the knowledge that he'd let another man suck his prick, it was that he knew he'd use this blow job as wanking material until the next time he got laid.

Did he really want to stuff his hand down his pajama bottoms and imagine a man's mouth around his cock? He was sure it was something he'd be able to differentiate; he wouldn't be able to pretend there was a woman on the other side, all soft curves and pink lips. Could he?

John reached for the condom, but the fingers were withdrawn slowly, still inviting him to replace them.

Swallowing hard, John stood, pushing his jeans lower until they were closer to his knees than his waist. He took his cock in hand and closed his eyes in a mixture of embarrassment, apprehension, and anticipation as he pushed himself through the hole and into the other man's video booth.

He expected fingers, a fist, expert hands to roll the condom onto his cock.

He did not, in any dimension of his mind, expect warm, wet lips to wrap around the head and slide down with the obvious texture of latex clinging to his flesh.

A moan slipped from his lips and John grabbed at the wall with open palms, sliding his hands along the uneven wood as the mouth on the other side set to work without pause.

It had been bad planning to keep his trousers low on his thighs, as John couldn't spread his legs enough to get him closer to the wall and to maintain proper balance. His balls were pressed halfway through the hole, the dull wood digging into him as he tried to press further into the warmth that was sliding up and down on him. He supposed he could have adjusted himself, offered his balls through he opening, but he didn't want to risk anything.

"Oh my God," John said, pressing his cheek against the wall and bucking forward a few times. The stranger let him, stopping movement and letting John fuck his mouth at his own pace. A tongue ran expertly along the bottom, twisting around and offering John new angles for thrusting as the head that pleasured him turned, just so.

His porn was still playing, and combined with the girl's moans and the heat around his prick and the sounds of the suction coming up from the hole in the wall, John knew he wouldn't last long.

The stranger moaned around him, a low, deep, unmistakable sound that went straight to John's balls, heat pooling there and going straight up his spine.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, John thought. One hand slid down the wall to press against where his stranger's shoulder would be. He wanted to tangle his hands in the man's hair, wanted to pull that mouth closer, wanted that face pressed into his groin, hands on his balls.

He thrust faster, the head of his cock sometimes straying just a bit to close to the back of his partner's throat and forcing the slight retreat of the other man. But then fingers--oh, such long fingers--were wrapped around the base, jerking him hastily, lubricated with hot spit, sliding effortlessly. The mouth was still wrapped around the head of him, licking to a point just below the head while the glans was massaged by the stranger's soft palate.

"Yes," John gasped, damn near panting now. "Oh God, yes."

He could feel his balls drawing up and he pumped into that tight hand-and-mouth combination, grappling with the wall for anything to keep him on his feet, something to get him through the wall and closer to the other man. He was so close, but he needed just a bit more. The stranger had gotten everything right so far, had worked him so well, he just needed to--

And then John was swallowed down once more, all the way to the root, and it couldn't possibly have been comfortable for the other man to press his face against the wall, but John was sure he'd be able to look down and see the lips pressing through the hole, stretched around him, and then he did and fuck, fuck, "Fuck!"

John came, burying his cock as far into that mouth as physical limitations would allow, and as the spasms jerked through him, lips tightened around his base and squeezed rhythmically, tongue coaxing him through his orgasm.

He pulled back a bit. His body was still in quite a state and he wasn't sure he'd be able to walk out of the place without everyone who saw him knowing exactly what he'd done, but it was beautiful. The lips slid up his cock as he drew away, and he felt that tongue wriggle along the underside, lips not letting go until they finally did with an audible, almost reluctant pop that John heard through the wall.

John's forehead was pressed against the wall and his hands were still clenching and unclenching on the smooth surface when he felt the condom being slipped off. The stranger took him in hand and John jumped a bit at the assault on his oversensitive flesh, but then he realized he was being cleaned off with a tissue.

He took a deep breath and pulled his hips from the wall, watching as his softening cock reappeared in his own booth. He wondered if is hip bones would be bruised in the morning from his vicious pounding into the wall. His body was exhausted from the unexpected exertion and he pulled up his pants and jeans in a drowsy haze, completely ready to go home and go to bed, to put it all behind him and pretend it hadn't happened and that it hadn't been the hottest blow job he'd ever had in his fucking life.

But then those fingers appeared again, holding a small, folded note.

John took it as he zipped his jeans.

Before he'd opened it, the door of the other booth opened and closed, and his stranger was disappearing down the hall without even bothering to wank himself. Or maybe he had and John hadn't been paying enough attention.

John unfolded the small scrap of paper.

Next week. Same time, same booth.

It was signed with an elegant "SH."

John rubbed his face with one hand and adjusted his clothes, ready to duck out of the shop with his head down and his hands in his pockets. No one would know what he'd just done, outside the obvious wank.

The porn had ended and the video screen was back to the beginning, offering him various choices, but none of them were as appealing as the one he'd just tucked away in his coat pocket.


John returned the following week, though he was a few minutes later than the time they'd "agreed" on, as he'd decided to take a quick shower after his shift. It had resulted in several nurses accusing him of having a date, and he hadn't denied it, wondering if maybe they'd all start to see him differently now that they thought he was seeing someone.

Maybe he'd get quickies in the supply closet like he used to when he was in his residency.

All the same, he slipped into the booth and sat down. He'd barely begun to skim through the porn selections when the long fingers slipped through the hole and invited him through.

John hadn't even unzipped his trousers yet.

He held up a single finger to the hole, figuring that the man was watching for action on the other side. He'd need at least a few minutes to work himself up, and to do that, he needed to pick his pleasure on the little touch screen.

He chose another blow job video, this time a redhead with small, perky breasts who was swallowing down an unrealistically large prick, moaning around it in high-pitched squeals. It was a little less accurate than he usually liked his porn (he'd never heard a woman squeal like that), but it would work.

The fingers returned just as John unzipped his fly and John was tempted to shove his flaccid cock through the hole just to remind the man that it was useless to him in such a state.

So he did.

He shoved his trousers and pants down, kicking them away so they were on the floor, wrapped around one ankle. After all, remembering last time, all he'd wanted to do was spread his legs for more leverage. This time, he'd have it.

He barely needed to use his hand to maneuver through the hole, since his cock was just hanging there, small and unassuming, not even interested enough to give a little twitch.

Lips wrapped around him and John's entire body shivered.

This was new. His cock was most definitely interested.

His entire cock fit on the man's tongue when he was soft, and the sensation of it was odd, but pleasant. The stranger was working him with his lips, pulling roughly and stretching out John's cock, waiting for it to harden with obvious impatience.

John didn't imagine it would take long like this, and when the man on the other slide of the wall slipped his tongue beneath the folds of his foreskin to touch at the hidden head, John's hips jerked and he could feel the pooling of arousal in the pit of his stomach.

The man was talented, there was no denying it. With every pull of those lips, John grew harder, until he was grabbing at the wall again, pretending he had broad, masculine shoulder blades in his grip, and he was fully hard, pushing into that hot mouth and not even thinking about the fact that he wasn't wearing a condom until the heat disappeared for about six seconds--may well have been six years--and then rolled one onto him with the same expert mouth as the week before.

And so began their pattern.

Every Thursday night, John showered at Bart's and then headed to the porn shop, where he'd have maybe two minutes in his regular booth before he was invited into the talented mouth of his stranger--the ever impatient SH--until he was worked to a fantastic orgasm that would leave him shivery for hours, always anticipating the following week. It wasn't quite the relationship John had been looking for, but it was a regular occurrence in his life and he was enjoying it.

Six weeks into their anonymous affair, John was pushing his hips against the hole. His balls had long ago been pulled through by SH and were being fondled lightly as his cock slid between those now-familiar lips.

His partner had a light stubble on his chin today, which was unusual, but it wasn't an unwelcome texture against John's balls whenever the other man reached the base of his cock with his lips.

And then the heat was gone and John stayed planted against the wall, wondering what was wrong on the other side. Once they started, the other man had never pulled away until John had come unless it was to tease him with long licks of his tongue.

He was about ready to pull out of the wall and sit back in shame, to wait for the other man to leave and then hurry out himself, never to return. Maybe the bloke was married and had just gotten a call from an angry wife; maybe he had a girlfriend out there banging on his door.

But no, John would have heard that.

Fingers wrapped around his cock to bring him out of his nervous state and stroked him up and down, sliding slick and warm. John realized belatedly that the fingers were coated with lube and before he could question it, he was being guided between two arse cheeks and a hot, tight ring of muscle was opening for the head of his cock.

"Oh fucking-- oh God," John cried, head falling forward against the wall. That was an arse, a man's arse bearing back against him, drawing him in inch by inch and bloody fucking hell, the other man had to have planned this in advance because it was slick and tight and open down there.

For John, who had been telling himself for over a month that it was okay to be sucked off by an anonymous bloke as long as he never reciprocated, this was another layer to his sexuality crisis. It was tighter than a woman, it was so tight and he imagined this was the sort of thing two sexual partners should talk about first, but since he didn't even know what color SH's eyes were--or, for that matter, the fellow's real name--he guessed they weren't going to talk about it.

They were just going to do it.

They were doing it.


John stayed perfectly still. He didn't want to hurt the other man, and he'd seen enough anal catastrophes in his time as a doctor to know that there was a lot going on down there that could tear and bleed if things weren't taken slow to start.

He'd never had a girlfriend who was adventurous enough to try--and he'd never asked explicitly, just left hints that were in turn explicitly ignored--and oh, oh it was incredible when his cock finally slid all the way in and--

His balls were pressed against the other man's perineum and he could feel the unfamiliar texture of another set of balls just below his own as the other man jerked himself.

It's not gay if your balls don't touch went out the window as a viable excuse.

This was gay sex, it was so gay and he was enjoying it so much and then even more when the man on the other side of the wall began to move back and forth, pulling John closer to the wall in an attempt to stay inside that hot wetness and then, oh, there he was again, pushing back until his arse was against the wall and John was buried deep.

His balls slipped back into his own booth as he pulled away so he could thrust back in, and they worked into a rhythm where John did most of the work and the other man stayed planted against the wall, arse cheeks spread wide so John didn't have to worry about slipping out and losing pace.

John's arms were above his head, sliding around the black wall, feeling every nub and odd texture in the wood, wishing he could grip hot skin and settling for the impersonal booth. He wondered what the other man looked like, if he was tall enough to bend over in the booth and brace himself against the opposite wall, if he was too short and had to stand on tiptoe to get fucked at the wall's opening.

John, with his height, was just in line with the hole when he stood, but it was hard to angle his cock in any direction other than straight into the other man's body. He couldn't thrust around in search of the prostate, he couldn't angle himself for deeper penetration. He just had to move his hips and let SH guide him to what felt best--and it all felt best to John.

He could tell when the other man started to get close. His arse began to clench around John, and it was somehow relieving to John to know that his partner was going to get off as well, since he never knew before if the other man was just sucking him off and leaving or if he ever came at the same time.

This time, they'd both leave satisfied.

John pumped his hips faster, still wishing he had something to hold on to as his balls returned to slapping against the wall. He spread his legs, just a bit, and he could finally feel the sensitive nub of the other man's prostate, just below the head of his cock. It was a strangely ambiguous feeling, knowing that a little gland he'd felt so many times in men with his fingers during exams was now being pleasured with his cock.

"Oh," came a soft cry from the other side of the wall. It was deep and surprised and followed by several quick grunts, all of which John could feel in the spasms around him as the other man stroked himself to climax, setting off a chain reaction with his arse that took John right to the peak of pleasure.

John moaned out his agreement for the situation--yes, yes--and thrust home once more, stilling his hips and letting himself be taken as deeply as possible by the clenching muscle.

As that body worked him, John gave a few feeble thrusts, reaching down and holding the condom on with two fingers until the other man pulled away.

Before he could remove the condom himself, his stranger's fingers were around him, stroking him and making his body shiver. The condom went away a moment later and then John was cleaned off by the stranger, as he always was. Before John could question a thing, the other man was gone and John could only assume he'd return the next week for whatever else their affair had to give.

John worried that it would soon be boring for the other man--that this was SH needing something new from John. That he'd soon want John to take him in his mouth. Or, the more frightening thought, to bottom for him.

And that wasn't something John was sure he could give just yet.

Or ever.

But he had a week, he always did. A week to decide if he'd return.


He was late. He cursed himself the whole way to the shop, because he'd let one of the nurses ask him for a favor and he'd checked up on a "family friend" and had realized the fellow needed emergency care.

And there was just too much paperwork in all that.

His booth was occupied when John practically skidded to a halt in front of it, and he wondered with a shocking pang of jealousy if SH was currently servicing another man on the other side of the door.

He looked at booth 17, SH's usual booth, and noted that it was also occupied.

Fuck, he thought.

He ran a hand through his hair, which was probably oily and gross after his thirteen-hour shift. No time to shower, or he would've been even later.

Not that it mattered anymore. SH had surely found another bloke to entertain him.

He was tired and had been looking forward to a good suck for hours now and he was actually going to have to go home and take care of it himself.

John looked down to the end of the hall into the dark, unassuming shadows and sighed. He should've known he'd muck it up eventually. All because of his bleeding fucking heart.

But then there were hands on his left hip and right shoulder respectively, holding him firmly in place.

"You're late," said a deep voice in his left ear.

A shiver ran through John's spine as the man stepped closer, and John was introduced to the body of SH, which felt lean and long pressed against him from behind. He was significantly taller than John, and he sported something long, hot, and impressive against the small of John's back.

Not that John had had many cocks pressed against his back, but, well.

"I thought maybe you weren't coming, doctor," the man said, and John froze in a panic, wondering how he knew what John did for a living. He couldn't possibly have known him in real life, John didn't know anyone with a voice that deep. No one else who had ever spoken to John had such a fuck me timbre.

"Don't worry, your training was obvious to me. But you've lost us our booths with your tardiness. Unfortunate."

It should have been unappealing to John. Having a tall, male body pressed against him with the obvious intention of doing dirty things to him should have made John want to put the fellow in a headlock and then run for home.

But it didn't. Instead, he tilted his head to one side but didn't turn. He didn't want to see the man, didn't want to lose this fantasy.

"I had so looked forward to having that cock in my arse tonight," the man whispered into his ear. "I enjoyed it last week. Did you?"

John nodded slowly. He tried not to think about the fact that they were in a hallway, however dimly lit, and his brain was still telling him to bend the man over and claim him.

"Would you like to fuck me, doctor? Without a wall between us?" He didn't wait for an answer before nibbling on the lobe of John's ear. "I would." His fingers slipped below John's jumper in the front and slid along the slight curve of his belly. "I'd love to get you out of these clothes and lay you out on silk sheets. Have you ever felt silk on your bare skin?" That breathy voice was doing wicked things in John's imagination, and knowing what those lips were capable of was making John's time even worse.

Or better. Whatever.

He shook his head, but barely. He found it hard to move, afraid the other man was going to disappear.

"I'd let you watch me prepare myself. Have you ever thought about it? About my long fingers when they push up into my greedy little arse while I think of your cock?"

John let out a small, breathy moan. He hadn't thought about it, but he was now.

"And then I'd mount you like a horse, doctor. I've ridden horses. Do you know how I like to ride them?"

John swallowed, shaking his head once more as the other man put both hands back on his hips and began to turn them toward a secluded corner. He was nudged a few feet further down the hall until they were mostly hidden by the shadows.

His head was hazy with arousal and he was sure he was practically leaking through his jeans at this point, but he didn't understand the point of the corner until a pair of steady hands were pulling at his zip.

"Bare," the other man said, deep and dirty, into his ear. Instantly, familiar fingers were wrapped around his cock inside his pants and John closed his eyes, hands reaching out to the wall to steady himself.


Bare. The word and its implication echoed through his mind belatedly and John's hips pressed back against the other man when he realized exactly what he meant.

"Have you ever fucked bare, doctor?" The other man's erection was pressed against John's lower back, rutting slowly, almost unnoticed. "I'd love to feel this cock in my arse without any barriers. I'm sure you're careful, aren't you? You've never come inside without."

John didn't affirm what he assumed the other man already knew. He'd never been with a woman long enough to suggest not using condoms, and he'd certainly never been with a man other than SH.

"Tell me your name," the voice in his ear commanded.

Without thinking, John gasped out his own name, ignoring the fact that he'd just told a stranger his first name entirely out of fear that he'd stop stroking his cock so expertly if he didn't. He was too tired; he was losing control of himself and giving it all over to his stranger, just wanting him to continue those perfect pulls.

"I'm very vocal during sex, John," he said. "I'll bet if I had you on your back while I rode this sweet, big cock, you'd have me screaming your name. You know how to use it, don't you, John?" The fist stopped moving on his cock and John groaned low in his throat at the tight grip that held him firm. A moment later, he was fished out of his pants and pulled out into the cool, open air of the hallway. The fist was firm.

"Fuck me, John. Fuck my fist like you'd fuck my bare arse."

John's cock seemed to have a mind of its own, moving forward into that lovely hand, pumping away and taking his hips with it. It was like being in a threesome with a fist and a man at his back. Each forward thrust squeezed his cock and it was easy to remember the sensation of the stranger's clenching arse around him, and every pull brought him closer to the other man's straining erection.

Soon, they'd worked into a rhythm, a soft panting of John's name into his ear when the other man thrust against his backside and simultaneously squeezed John's cock. It was going to be over soon, John was sure of it.

"Fuck me, John. Harder."

John obliged, imagining that he wasn't standing in a seedy porn shop fucking a stranger's palm but instead laid out on an elaborate bed of silken sheets, thrusting upwards into a gorgeous, pale, thin man whose name he knew.

God, what he'd do to learn the other man's name so he could shout it--

"Oh," John gasped, cock spilling into the other man's fingers. "Yes, yes."

His head lolled sideways and backwards, landing on the other man's shoulder as SH tightened his grip and stroked him, lubricating his previously dry cock with his own spend.

A moment later, John felt the hips behind him still and a soft groan was uttered against his ear, his own name slipping out with it a moment later. "John," the stranger said. "Oh, perfect."

A tissue was acquired from somewhere on the other man's person and John was cleaned up and tucked away without another word between them. When John tried to turn around, the man caught him by the shoulders.

"Wait two minutes and then leave."

John stared at the darkness in front of him, wondering why he wasn't allowed to see the man when he had so perfectly been able to feel him, but he waited.

And then he went home and promptly collapsed, wondering what would happen next Thursday.


Nothing would happen on Thursday.

John had he miserable realization on Tuesday morning when he saw on the news that a local porn shop had been shut down after its owners were arrested for a string of vicious murders.

While he was relieved that murderers were off the street, he wished the Yard could've at least waited three more days. He was getting so close to learning who his stranger was and if they could just bloody meet--

Actually, John wasn't sure what would've happened. He didn't necessarily fancy himself as gay, or even bisexual, but he knew he wanted to keep having sex with SH and it wasn't just because he couldn't get a steady woman to sleep with. It was because that voice in his ear had woken him up three nights out of four with a persistent erection and he had never, never been able to get off just thinking about words.

John was walking back from the cafeteria when he heard the voice.

The Voice.

"I require use of your X-ray equipment, Molly. I'll only be an hour, and I require no supervision."

Oh God, he was in the hospital.

"I can't just let you in. We've been over this. There are forms and approval has to be given--"

"It's imperative. For a case, Molly. I need to find out if there's--"

"I said no. Take it up with the department if you're so upset."

John was frozen around the corner from where the voices trailed off as SH followed the girl called Molly through a set of doors. He knew he could walk down the hall and look through the doors to see the man walking away, but he didn't. He didn't know why, but he couldn't. Not here.

He spent the rest of the day looking at every man who walked by him in the hospital, wondering if he'd be willing to fuck any of them, staring at everyone who was tall and thin, wondering if it was his SH.

No, John chided himself toward the end of the day. He's not yours. He's not anyone's, but he's most certainly not yours.

He heard the voice again while he was filling out some paperwork by the nurses' station, and again, he had to bite his lip to keep himself from shouting for the man to wait when he heard him walking away.

God, how he wanted to see him, to know what he'd come so close to having. It was like a stalkerish obsession, the way he wanted to know how those slim hips curved so he could imagine what they would've felt like if he gripped them while fucking the man from behind.

Or what his lips looked like. John had felt them around his cock, on his neck, on his ear. He knew they could form wicked words that could make John leak, but he didn't know if they were pink or dark or what they looked like after kissing for hours....

John stopped himself just then, squeezing his thighs together covertly as he signed the last form for the day. All he needed to do was check in on his patients and promise them he'd be back in the morning, and then he'd be able to go home.

After another morbid goodbye from Mrs. Henricks ("If I'm even still alive in the morning," said the woman with nothing more ailing her than a broken hip), John collected his things and started home.

He was three blocks away, enjoying the smell of spring in the air, when he was grabbed and pulled sharply into an alleyway. He was about to fucking kill the man when he realized the placement of the hands. One on his hip, one on his shoulder.

"You heard me speaking twice today, both times close enough that you would've been able to put a face to me, a name to me. But you avoided the obvious choice, instead choosing to avoid me. Why?" They were shadowed by the surrounding buildings and John could already feel the other man pressed into his back. He leaned into the warm body on instinct.

"The anonymity of our relationship turns you on," the man said. "Doesn't it?"

John didn't confirm or deny. He'd been trying to work out the same question all day.

"What if I was to spin you around right now and kiss you?"

To his own surprise, the idea didn't do anything to quell John's burgeoning arousal.

"You worry about this coming into your daily life, because you're still trying to come to terms with your bisexuality, but when faced with the direct decision, you choose me over your exclusively straight lifestyle."

Fingers trailed up John's front before pulling the zipper down on John's jacket.

"So what will it be, John?" Lips played along the side of his neck. "Would you like me to wank you in an alleyway and then you can go home, continuing to hear me when I'm so close to you at Bart's?"

John swallowed. A hand job sounded lovely right now, but he didn't want it to be the end, which was what it sounded like he was being offered. An out.

"Or would you like to come back to my flat and give me a good seeing to?"

That. Oh, that.

"Who are you?" John panted, suddenly feeling light-headed as the other man's fingers trailed over his hardening cock through his jeans. And then the hands on him were gone--too far, too gone--and the man was stepping in front of John, all long coat and devastating cheekbones and black curls--such dark, lovely, pullable curls--that John instantly wanted to fist his hands in.

"Sherlock Holmes," the man said, not offering him a hand, but instead leaning forward to press his lips to John's and oh, yes it was very different from kissing a woman, but not as unpleasant as John had imagined it would be. Soft lips with a trace of stubble at the end of the day, a tongue slipping along his bottom lip, a hard cock pressed against his belly and, oh, it was going to be so nice to live the man's promise from the hall.

But wait, he recognized that name.

John pulled away, licking his lips and swallowing, trying to catch his breath before speaking.

"You caught the murderers. The porn shop."

Sherlock smiled and pressed his lips to John's again, humming softly and moaning contentedly when John responded to his kiss. They kept on like that, with John rutting slightly against Sherlock's thigh while the other man pressed against his stomach, fingers in each other's hair, until John finally broke the kiss again and waited for an answer.

"Of course I solved the case. What else would I be doing in a porn shop, John?"

Aside from what you were doing?, John wanted to ask, but he didn't.

"It needed to be believable that I was a patron," Sherlock explained. "It worked out rather well that you were a doctor, so I didn't have to worry about any seedy diseases. And you weren't above coming back week after week while I worked. It was convenient."

John pulled away, arousal fading. It had been an act.

"Of course not. I was attracted to you toward the end. Why else would I have approached you in the hall? I'd solved the case by then." Sherlock reached out for him again and John let himself be pulled up against the other man so their bodies were aligned once more. "I wasn't lying about wanting you inside me, John," that voice whispered in his ear. "I still want to ride your cock until you're screaming my name."

John swallowed hard as the hands on his hips helped their cocks to line up with some careful maneuvering. Sherlock was wearing tight trousers and his coat was open enough that it wasn't in the way and it was fucking lovely to feel another cock pressed against his own.

What would that feel like naked?

"Offer still stands," Sherlock said.

John's mind was a bit too cloudy to remember what the offer was.

"I'll get you off right here, right now, with my hands, my mouth, and you don't have to worry about me interfering in your life ever again," Sherlock reiterated, cupping John through his jeans. "Or," he said, leaning in to nibble on John's ear the way he'd done in the hall. "Or you could come home with me and fuck me into the mattress so thoroughly that I shout your name to the whole of London, with the offer of returning whenever you like."

John's hips jerked at the promise.

"How will you have me, John?" Sherlock whispered. His breath was hot against John's ear. The man had clearly mapped out John's erogenous zones the same way he'd figured out the rest of him.

John's hands reached for Sherlock's shoulders, pressing him down.

"I think I'd like you to take care of me here so I'm not uncomfortable on the way to your flat," the doctor said, watching as Sherlock slid to his knees. "And that way I'll be able to take it slow when I'm fucking you."

"Oh, John," Sherlock said as he undid John's belt. "We're going to get along so well."

And when he slid his fingers into those beautiful curls and pulled that heart-shaped mouth down on his cock, John knew he agreed, whole-heartedly.


And later, when they were laying, spent, in Sherlock's bed at Baker Street, John wiped sweaty curls away from his new lover's forehead and kissed him once more, sweetly this time.

It had been hours since the alleyway and they were finally finished for the night, John pleased to have the invitation to stay until morning, and to return after his shift the following day. Sherlock had, in fact, asked if he wanted to move in, and while John was realizing that the consulting detective was a bit eccentric, he wasn't sure that was quite the step to be taking just yet.

But there was one thing he needed to get out of the way if he was going to embark on his first homosexual relationship. He knew that by now Sherlock knew--Sherlock seemed to know everything--but he felt it needed to be said:

"You know, I'm not actually a pervert."