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"Sherlock? Where'd you go?" John trotted out into the hall, looking for Sherlock all the while. He was just here complaining to John about the lack of cases when he'd turned the corner and disappeared. And it wasn't easy to get lost in this place.

It was a wide, and very open stable that had belonged to Sherlock's mum and dad. It had been years since any horse had been in it, and when Mrs. Hudson had bought the stable and the small house next to it, Sherlock had offered to rent the loft above the stables. The actual building was not on Holmes property, and was in fact, on the other side of London from the Holmes estate (a fact in which Sherlock took great pleasure). Mrs. Hudson, however, could not afford to lower the rent for Sherlock, so when he found John, a centaur living in the Four-Legged Luxury bed-sit (which was not luxury) luck was on his side indeed. Not only had he found someone who could tolerate him, but someone who could also help him with cases.

And John had found the perfect place to live. He had missed stables as sturdy as this, fields as open as the plains outside, and he had found a friend. A friend that shot the walls of the stables, left acids everywhere, and put body parts in his fridge, but a friend nonetheless.

John clopped his way to the stairs, and called up to the loft, but got no answer in return. He turned in a circle, rubbing his chin in confusion. Probably left spontaneously again, he thought to himself. He leaned a little to the side and saw that the double doors were closed and bolted tight (to keep the fall chill out), and that the door to main house was firmly shut. So, he didn't leave. Where in the bloody hell was he?

"Sherlock? I know you're in the flat, mate, you've got your microscope on." He waited a moment, then, with a sigh, made his way back to his own stall. He had chose the one next to the tack room, which was next to a small kitchen. Sherlock had made it his duty to thoroughly destroy the cleanliness John had tried at first to keep in there. Now John found it relaxing to see the clutter. It had the auras of lived in, and home. A slight blush crept it's way out of John's jumper and onto his neck. Yes, he thought very highly of this place, but even more so of it's second tenant.

The past few months had made John rethink his sexuality. He was bi-curious, and although he'd never been with another man, he felt himself turning off women. The more he dated in Sherlock's presence, the more he agreed with the mad genius, that yes, women were indeed far more complicated than they needed to be. Every one that he had brought into the stables had been analyzed by Sherlock with that indestructible stare and their faults laid before them. None of them called John back, and John thought it a huge deal that he had not called any back either. His view of attractiveness had become narrowed and narrowed, until, one day, John found himself comparing the curls of a local shop attendee with that of Sherlock's. He found them incredibly lacking. Would look nicer darker, he'd thought to himself. Perhaps a tad longer in the front. How tall is he? Wow, not nearly tall enough. He's buying milk? Sherlock would never-

He had caught himself staring at the biscuits in his hand, had put them down, and left for home. He spent the next two days studying Sherlock like he had a final at the end of the week. He had decided that he did in fact, have a gigantic crush on the man, and might possibly love him. But Sherlock would never allow that kind of sentiment. He didn' emotions very well, and avoided them at all costs. But John could not deny the burning in his chest every time Sherlock bounced with glee at a case, or the way his fingers twitched to brush a lock of hair out of his face.

He would not let the feelings get the best of him, and would hide (or deny at all costs should Sherlock discover them) these feelings for as long as he could muster. John turned into his stall, leaning down onto his front knees, and landing his rear with a thump on the ground, in his heavy blankets. He reached for a book, only to be startled out of his position with a cracking slap to his flank.

"The fuck-?" He hopped up and out of the stall, and turned to see Sherlock standing there with a serious expression, straw caught in his wild hair. "Sherlock, what the fuck? Why did you slap me?"

"I'm conducting an experiment," He said scathingly, as if John should have already known.

"What experiment," John said menacingly, stepping forward and rising his shoulders to seem bigger (as if he needed to, he was a full head taller than Sherlock), "could possibly require you to slap and startle a centaur? I could have kicked and crushed your legs!"

"Ah, but you didn't. I am in perfect health, as is obvious," He motioned toward his legs, as if he needed to prove it. John caught that he didn't answer the question.

"Sherlock, what experiment?" His eyes glinted, and he stepped closer to John until their chests were touching, until he had to tilt his head back to look John in the eyes.

"I want to test your sexual endurance, discover any kinks you may have. I want to do this because you are centaur, but also because I would like to establish a relationship with you." The air in John's lungs froze, and his mouth fell open. His hands slowly clenched at his sides, and his thoughts felt like they were going through molasses.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, and he when he spoke, it was through cotton.

"John!" He finally snapped out of it, and took a step back to look Sherlock fully in the face. He was positively livid.

"Sherlock, I will not be jerked around like this. I'm not in the mood for another of you little games."

"This isn't a game, John. I've noticed in the past month that you may have feelings for me, and confirmed it last week, when you let me ride you." It had hurt John's pride just the slightest. Very few centaurs ever allowed that. They were not horses; they were not slaves. But this was Sherlock, and he would have never been able to keep up with that car.

"I have been feeling some.....stirrings myself, and would consider you and adequate partner." Sherlock looked him up and down, sending shivers where his eye traveled. "And I have not yet had the pleasure of a male centaur."

John froze. Again. Oh, God, Sherlock would be the death of him. He could already feel his cock hardening, and it wasn't as if he could stop it. It'd been weeks since his last trist in the hay. God, could he do this to himself??

Sherlock reached up and trailed a hand down John's front. His hand trailed to John's lower shoulder, and he stared walking around him to lightly drag his fingers down the soft, tawny flank. John's eyes followed him, but he caught sight of his own erection, and side stepped away from Sherlock.

"This isn't a good idea, Sherlock."

"I don't see any problem. I fuck you until you drop unconscious, and then again when you wake. Why are you hesitating?" Goosebumps shivered onto John's arms, and his cock bounced. Sherlock noticed- no, leered.

John twisted his body to face Sherlock, and to get the man's attention. "I won't do a one-night stand. I want more than you are willing to give."

Sherlock stepped closer again, and tugged John down by his neck. Soft lips met his, and a searing hot tongue traced his bottom lip. When he gasped, Sherlock moved in for more, licking his evil way into John's mouth. John groaned, feeling it in his nether regions, and let Sherlock do his exploring.

His brain was short-circuiting. He didn't want to- Sherlock sucked on his tongue, earning another guttural sound from the centaur. He couldn't! This man didn't have any ties to anyo- Sherlock was tugging John's lobe with his teeth, dragging his fingernails through his short hair. Next thing he knew his shirt was gone and Sherlock's fingers were playing in the hair at his waist. Tingles ran up John's back, and his hands reached-

"Sherlock! I'm serious! I want to know without a doubt that you want me as much as I want you!" He held him at arms reach and watched his face. It took a moment for Sherlock to say anything, but what came out of his mouth confirmed John's doubts.

"From the moment you first complimented me, from the instant you said yes to living with me, from the second you grinned like an idiot at a crime scene, I've wanted you in my bed. But it wasn't until months later when I realized you weren't leaving that I wanted you in my heart. And it wasn't until last week, when you let me ride you, when you showed complete trust in me, that I knew you were already there, and not leaving anytime soon. I want this."

Something erupted in John's heart, and whether it was pain or hope, he could not tell.

"Oh, God," John surged forward, not allowing himself to think. He smashing their mouths together. "Do you know-" -A bite to the ear, a slither of tongue- "how long-" -a caress of hands over peaked nipples- "I've waited to hear that!" His sentence ended with a groan as Sherlock raked his nails down John's back. Sherlock's mouth and tongue disappeared. They reappeared at his back end, and he gave a shout when a solid smack was laid upon his rump.

Sherlock ran his hands all over his back end, slowly making his way to John's dock. His thumb slide underneath, using his whole hand to lift up the muscled part of his tail. He moved it to the side, and what caught his eye almost made him stop in his tracks.

John's hole was puckered tight. His balls hung low beneath, almost tennis ball-size. He took one in hand, running his thumb over it in slow, sensual movements. He delighted in the strangled sound John barked out. Sherlock could barely see what he knew would be a very large shaft, but smaller than an actual horse's.

However, no matter how much Sherlock wanted to pay it the attentions it was due, he was going in another direction. He looked back up to John's hole and swiped his thumb over it. John gave a delighted, if not surprised, gasp and turned in time to see Sherlock attack with his tongue. He delved in, but was pushed back by the thrust John gave into his face. With renewed vigor, he shoved his tongue into the orifice, and started to thoroughly tongue-fuck John's hole.

John was beside himself. He was gasping wildly, back legs stretched far apart, hips low. His front half was lower, hooves stretching out far in front of him, and he had to grasp the door to his stall until it hurt to keep far losing all control.

"S-Sherlock! Oh- oh God!" He convulsed, shuddering with each thrust of Sherlock's tongue. Then he felt fingers breech him, and the beatific agony increased ten-fold. His cock jumped once, then pulsed hot cum in between his front legs.

Sherlock removed his face from John's arse, and immediately went to work on his trousers, getting rid of them as quickly as he physically could. He grabbed for the lube he had hidden earlier, and poured a generous amount onto himself, then into his palm, to lather John, just as precaution. John moaned when his fingers entered him again, then twisted frantically when he felt the head of Sherlock's shaft.

"Sshhh, John, I've got you." He pet John's flank while pushing in to distract him somewhat. He groaned heartily as he entered, feeling the tight, hot warmth around him, soft as silk, yet clutching him like a steel trap. When he bottomed out, he stilled, allowing John to adjust.

" you can.....move." The look that John shot Sherlock froze him for a minute, staring into completely trusting eyes. "Sherlock, please! MOVE!" John shoved his hind quarter back into Sherlock but pushed to far and they stumbled backward. Sherlock's back hit the opposite stall door, and John gained his stance low again, so that Sherlock could actually fuck him. But that's not what happened.

John gained his balance faster than Sherlock, and started fucking himself back onto Sherlock. He pounded himself into Sherlock's hips, angling just so, so that Sherlock was hitting his prostate.

"John! John, I'm go-" John didn't hear a word that was spoken. He was fully out of control of his body. He was thrusting back with all his weight, pounding Sherlock into the door, making the wood rattle and slam. He was in bliss. Every smooth slide of Sherlock's cock into his body sent off another round of sparky waves that made his legs almost give out from beneath him.

His orgasm took him by surprise, thick cum spurting out far in front of him. Behind him, Sherlock gasped out his release. It was being sucked from him, almost stolen by the powerful clenching of John's walls. He undiluted around him, milking him for more.

Sherlock slipped free, collapsing into the ground in a sweaty, numb pile. John followed, landing on his knees, then sliding onto his side. The action caused some spunk to spill out and John grimaced at the slimy feel. He was breathing hard, using the full extent of both sets of lungs. That- that had to be the best fuck I'd ever had, John thought quietly to himself.

.....Who knew??

"John," He turned his eyes to Sherlock, bangs stuck to his forehead, slumped over as if he had a weight on his back, looking thoroughly fucked, and answered, "Yeah?"

"More data needed. Need to run more tests." John looked incredulous, then with no warning, burst into laughter. Sherlock soon joined, and they laughed jovially like idiots until they both closed their eyes. Sherlock slept with John in his stall that night.