Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

Perihelion	By : darkangel1210 Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 13557 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock or any of the characters, nor do I make any profit from writing this. Just too inspired by the show that I had to borrow them.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Part Two
Both John and Sherlock quickly found themselves escorted to one of the private rooms that the Dom had spoken of; they were taken up a flight of stairs that were at the back of the main room and into a large corridor that branched out into several smaller ones as they followed the Dom and his sub, trying to take in as much as possible regarding their surroundings before they reached their destination.
When they reached the private room John saw that the walls were a deep red colour again, the same as the main room downstairs, and there were heavy crimson curtains covering the windows to allow for privacy. The room itself had enough space to comfortably fit a double bed in it with extra to spare, but instead it had a small platform at the back (which was actually the front, technically) and there were at least ten chairs all facing towards the improvised stage. John was vaguely surprised when they entered the room to find that it wasn’t empty; there were other people there as well, although he couldn’t tell if they were all couples or not, and in front of them was a padded bench, a bit like a sawhorse, but this one had leather cuffs attached to the four legs at the bottom. It took him all of two seconds to realise what the cuffs were for and it was only Sherlock’s hand at his back that prevented him from moving backwards so he could leave the room, leave the entire building in fact, and never look back.
Sherlock must have sensed his unease because he leant his head close to John’s ear and whispered, “Steady,” while keeping his hand firm on John’s back to stop him from leaving. To anyone looking at them, it would seem that Sherlock was just telling John to contain his excitement, hence his choice of the word ‘steady’; something that would not seem out of place to the people they were with. However, both of them were aware that they needed to be clear-headed for this, but John wasn’t sure if this was something he wanted to see happen in front of him. It had been bad enough with the woman on the wooden cross, which Sherlock had briefly informed him was called a ‘Saint Andrews Cross’, when all he’d wanted to do was go up and untie her because, as far as he was concerned, it wasn’t the way to treat a woman.
So when the sub he’d seen kneeling from before willingly took off his shirt and went over to the sawhorse at his Dom’s command to lay his body over it, face down, John felt his face flush hot and his skin become slick with a cold sweat that had nothing to do with fever. “Sherlock?” he whispered, allowing some of his worry to leak into his voice and hoping that the other man would pick up on it.
He felt Sherlock’s eyes on him, sweeping across his face and down his body, before Sherlock took them further into the room to a set of chairs that hadn’t been taken. They were further away from the apparatus at the front of the room, but the view was no less inhibited, giving John and Sherlock a clear line of sight that allowed them to see the sub’s face and, when his trousers were removed, the ring that had been put on him at the base of his genitals, his erection visible to everyone in the room. John couldn’t stop the sharp inhale of breath he took when he saw the cock-ring, eyes wide as he watched the Dom secure the blonde’s wrists and ankles to the wood via the cuffs, and when John averted his eyes from the scene he realised his legs were trembling.
Sherlock pushed John down by his shoulders into one of the chairs, taking the seat next to him and pulling them closer together so he could keep one hand on John’s shoulder in a possessive gesture. “Keep silent until I tell you otherwise,” Sherlock said in a low voice, which wasn’t low enough as far as John was concerned because the people just next to them, a woman with a man collared at her feet, were still close enough to hear Sherlock speak, but he didn’t question the order.
Once everyone who was coming to the show was in the room, John heard the sound of the door closing behind them and then the Dom who’d invited them stepped onto the stage behind his sub, the people sitting on the chairs audibly quietening down when they saw that the scene was about to begin. It was the first time John had seen the dominant male in person and everything, from the way his dark hair fell rakishly into his eyes to the way he carried himself, spoke of a man who was in charge.
Completely.
Slowly, the man took off his jacket and draped it over the back of one of the empty chairs, reaching for the cuffs of his shirt and undoing them before working on the buttons down the front of it. Each one was slipped through its holder, exposing more toned, taut flesh that the subs in the room responded to in the minute tensing of their fingers, the way they bit their lips with their Doms whispering in their ears. The man didn’t take his shirt all the way off, un-tucking it from his dress trousers and allowing the material to flow about his frame as he walked to a small side table outside of the view of the bound blonde, pausing to pursue the implements he would no doubt use.
After what seemed like an eternity to John, the Dom picked up three items; a blindfold, a leather paddle, and a pair of nipple clamps attached together by a rather heavy looking chain. John’s eyes flicked to the chest of the man bent over the sawhorse and saw that the surface area was only just big enough to stop him from falling over either side. From the angle that Sherlock had chosen for them, John could see that the nipple was exposed on one side so it was reasonable to assume that the other nipple would also be uncovered, free for the other man to torment and abuse as he saw fit.
But not before he put the blindfold over the bound man’s eyes, of course.
The blonde gasped sharply when the blindfold was tugged over his eyes, taking away one of the primary senses that he would have used to keep himself appraised of the scene he was partaking in and leaving him with the other, more basic senses. Touch… the feel of his Dom’s hands on his flesh. Sound… John vividly remembered the noise the paddle made on the buttocks of the woman on the stage in the main room. This close, how would it differ? Taste… the sweat beading on his upper lip, his body helplessly perspiring with his excitement and the exertion from maintaining a single position for a long period of time.
‘Oh my God, what am I doing here?’
After the blindfold was secured, the Dom swept a possessive thumb over the lips of the blonde, the other man unable to help his needs as his mouth tried to capture the thumb to suck on it, his Dom cruelly denying him that pleasure and giving him another instead; the sharp pinch of fingers on his nipples, the tips of nails tormenting the sensitive flesh until the blonde was whimpering and visibly shaking on the sawhorse, his cock jerking with each pinch and twist.
John shut his eyes against the scene, his own bottom lip coming beneath his teeth when he heard the first cry from the blonde as a clamp was secured into place, his own hands gripping his knees and wholly unable to stop his shaking. He couldn’t have timed it any worse, opening his eyes just as the Dom put the other clamp on the second nipple, the one John could see, before tugging on the chain which hung underneath the sawhorse and making the blonde groan thickly at the sensation.
It was only that at this point that John realised the state of his own cock, which, with his own rising alarm, had become a warm, thick weight in his boxers. Hyperaware of the pulse of blood in the organ, each beat of his heart matching an answering throb in his trousers, John felt his face flush with shame but wasn’t able to stop his body from responding to the outside stimulus. ‘God, please don’t let Sherlock see this.’
With the sub sucking in deep breaths through his mouth, his Dom leant down to his ear so his lips were almost brushing the lobe of it and spoke into the awed silence of the people around them. “You’re doing very well, Eric,” he breathed, the words clear and carrying to every individual in the room although they were meant for Eric alone. The blonde sobbed once behind his blindfold, a single tear glinting as it dripped from behind the material and trailed down his cheek. “So very well,” the other man continued, taking hold of the chain that held the clamps between his fingers and tugging on it again, his dark eyes watching as Eric’s body struggled to remain balanced on the padding of the sawhorse even as it tried to balance the pain with pleasure.
John almost startled out of his seat when he felt fingers touch his left hand, which was still clasping his own knee, and when he looked down he saw that Sherlock’s right hand had dropped down to touch John’s flesh lightly and without pressure. When he looked up from the hand to Sherlock’s face he felt his mouth drop open with the look in Sherlock’s eyes, the colour of the detective’s irises having darkened to a deep blue around the rims of his expanded pupils, and his focus so intense that John felt himself tremble again but from a completely different source.
The fingers on John’s hand slipped up the sensitive flesh until they reached the cuff of his shirt where they slipped underneath the material, the pad of Sherlock’s index finger effortlessly finding John’s pulse-point; which meant, when the first strike of the paddle resounded in the room, the detective could feel it when John’s pulse raced in response to it.
“Oh God,” John whispered, the words tumbling from his mouth when the second strike from the paddle echoed in his ears, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from Sherlock’s eyes which had pinned him into place, not even when Eric began to cry out with each strike as they increased in intensity.
“John…” Sherlock whispered his name in return, his gaze drinking in John’s responses even as John tried to fight them, tried to halt the liquid fire in his groin which only demanded more, faster, harder, make it hurt…
“Please, Master,” Eric pleaded from his position, the chains rattling as his body jerked with each hit of the paddle. “Please let me come, please…”
When John looked back at the stage, he no longer saw Eric tied down, helpless and writhing on the bench as he begged for completion; in his mind he saw himself restrained, could almost feel the burn of the leather on the cheeks of his arse as the paddle landed on his flesh; unable to find his release due to the cock-ring but wanting the pain more, wanting the heat and the tension caused by his Dom.
And when the Dom finally granted the permission Eric so desperately wanted, undoing the clasp on the cock-ring and saying, “Come for me,” in his ear, John didn’t hear the Dom’s voice… In his mind, it was Sherlock.
Just Sherlock.
oOo
Less than two days after their more than memorable visit to the BDSM club, Sherlock had solved the case surrounding the kidnapping of the submissives and the people responsible for their trafficking were safely behind bars. Sherlock had been buzzing with energy since the case ended, but John had been rather subdued by the end of it, his mind out of sorts since his experience in the private booth with Eric and his Dom and completely lacking any coherent ability to pull himself out of it.
The one godsend John could be thankful for was that if Sherlock noticed his flatmate’s behaviour, which he most likely did, he refrained from mentioning it, but it didn’t stop John’s subconscious mind from imagining the scene all over again in glorious Technicolor, albeit with two very different men.
God, the thought of Sherlock standing over him, skin flushed with the effort of hitting John with well-practised strokes and his breath panting from between his lips, eyes ablaze in his sockets as he hungrily drank in the image John presented to him. A pliant, obedient body for him to mark and claim so everyone would know who he belonged to…
John forced himself to concentrate on what he was doing, his fingers poised over the keys of his laptop as he tried to finish his latest blog entry of ‘The Forced Submissives’, but his mind was refusing to provide him with any detail of the case which he needed to complete it. It kept reminding him of other things which were no less important, like the fact that he was straight and not submissive in any way, shape or form, although another part of his brain, the sensorial side, kept butting in and saying you had a hard-on, John. You had one thinking about your flatmate hitting you. Hurting you.
It was becoming more difficult to shut that voice up but John gave himself a mental pat on the back whenever he managed it, counting it as a victory over the primal part of his brain and a triumph for the side that had previous experience and logic on its side, both hard-wearing allies and ones who were very good at counter attacks.
With a huff of frustration John pushed his laptop away from himself, standing up from the desk and stretching his back out before walking to the kitchen to get a glass of cool water. With his mind the way it was, there wasn’t a hope in hell that he would be able to finish the blog before the night was through; it was something he would just have to tackle tomorrow after a good night’s sleep.
“John?” Sherlock’s voice came from behind him and when John turned to look at the other man he saw that Sherlock was dressed in his blue dressing gown (which had been done up at the waist) and faded pyjama bottoms, leaning against the wall just outside of the entry to the kitchen. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
Trust Sherlock to jump straight to the point. “Have I?” John said, trying for ignorance and failing spectacularly at it given the scowl that Sherlock gave him.
“Yes, you have.” Sherlock pushed himself up from the wall and crossed his arms, coming towards John and daring him with his eyes to move away, to prove him right.
John did no such thing, knowing a challenge when he saw it.
“It’s because of the other night,” Sherlock said, not bothering to phrase it as a question. “When we saw Eric and his Dom. You’ve been acting strangely since then and you’re not talking to me. Is it because you’re embarrassed?”
“Jeez,” John hissed, putting his cup down on the side and wiping a hand over his eyes, inexplicably tired. “You’re not going to let this go are you?” Sherlock didn’t answer him, which was an answer in itself because of course he wasn’t going to just ‘let it go’, not when it was so much more interesting to keep prodding. “Yes, ok,” John said finally, pulling his hand away from his face to look Sherlock in the eye. “I was unbelievably embarrassed and, to top it off, I was harder than I ever have been in my entire life. Happy?”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John’s question before frowning. “Why would I be happy about it? John, your body reacted to the external stimuli it was experiencing, nothing more, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I don’t see why you’ve made such a big deal out of it.”
“Because it’s not me!” John snapped, his brows clenching on his forehead with his rise in temper. “I’m not into that, never have been and never will!”
Sherlock’s eyes hardened, his mouth thinning into a taut line before he marched towards John and took a hold of his wrist without any sense of propriety. Neither man said anything; John was too shocked at Sherlock’s blatant invasion of his personal space and Sherlock was focussed on something else entirely; the ‘something else’ being the pulse in John’s wrist, the grip the same as the night of the BDSM club and too absorbed in using the concentration required to measure the rhythmic beat, beat, beat that mirrored the thumping of John’s heart.
And, damn it all to hell, with Sherlock this close to him John was only thinking of one thing and he couldn’t tear himself away from it even if he’d wanted to. His mind’s eye saw the flush on Sherlock’s face when the other man realised how much the bondage scene was affecting him; could see the way Sherlock’s own eyes reflected that arousal and need that John was so sure hadn’t been just an echo of his own confused and frustrated sexual desires. That, and the rush of shame and anger he felt at the betrayal of his own body, yearning for something that he had never even thought of before and, now that he had witnessed it, wanting to experience it with the same intensity that they’d seen through the power-play which had been completely unplanned for.
Sherlock turned his head towards John’s own briefly, locking eyes with him and giving John the heady impression that he’d seen and heard every thought in his own head, before murmuring a single word. “Liar.” Abruptly, John felt the hand at his wrist come away from his skin, leaving behind a tingling sensation that took a while to fade, and all the while Sherlock was still talking to him.
“You can lie to yourself to your heart’s content, John, but you cannot, no, you will not lie to me.” Sherlock stepped away from him, walking towards the exit that would take him to his own room and pausing to look back at John. “When you’re ready to discuss this in the way an adult would, you know where to find me, because there is one thing I can promise you, my dear doctor. None of this is happening unless you ask me for it.”
John didn’t need Sherlock to elaborate what ‘this’ was, swallowing around the lump in his throat and nodding stiffly when he realised that his flatmate was waiting for a response. Apparently Sherlock was satisfied with that, turning and walking to his room, the sound of his bedroom door shutting loud in the space that he’d left behind.
To be continued
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Perihelion