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Those Seven Confusing Weeks	By : IDontKnowWhatImDoing Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3832 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any associated characters, and do not profit from this work.

Chapter List
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Present

"Enough stalling."
John finally relented and gave up the location of their toy.
But only doing so with a simple nod toward the fridge, more pointedly to the large stack of books that was placed next to the fridge. Sherlock glanced over and then started laughing.
It was a rather silly place to stash the thing but it had worked. The day before he had hidden the riding crop he had made a discovery in the kitchen. Apparently Sherlock had somehow put a large hole in the wall next to the fridge and had not-so brilliantly tried to cover it up by putting a stack of books in front of it. John suspected some kind of small explosion was the reason his detective tried to cover it up, since he had banned Sherlock from ever using explosives in the flat after that whole 'animal-blood bomb' incident. Instead of going into a rage, he got that clever idea of a hiding spot, putting the riding crop in the cavity between the walls. Sherlock wouldn't have thought to look there because surely if John had found the damage he would have heard the swearing no matter where he was in London.
Still laughing, Sherlock got up and pushed the books aside. Reaching his hand in the rather large hole in the wall he pulled out the riding crop. When he turned back, the laugh quickly faded and was replaced with an impressed grin.
His partner walked over to John, sliding down to sit on his lap. Wrapping his arms around Sherlock, one supporting his back, the other caressing into his hair, John pulled him closer for a kiss. As his lover started rolling his hips, issuing small moans, their kiss became feverish.
Sherlock abruptly ended the kiss and leaned back, letting John's arms support him. Canting into John, he was breathing louder with each thrust. John moved his mouth to Sherlock's exposed neck and started giving sharp bites. He knew they would leave marks but he was driven by the sounds Sherlock was making and the force of their bodies grinding together.
Just as John started to imagine pushing his partner to the floor and taking him right there, Sherlock pulled out of John's arms and stood. Taking his hands, Sherlock urged him up. He gave John another kiss that quickly turned desperate. It was a slow progression from the kitchen to their bed, as John kept grabbing Sherlock for more of those needy kisses and Sherlock was undressing him. With the whip in one hand he was not getting the buttons undone fast enough. They both heard fabric tear as John's nightshirt was pulled open.
When they got to bedroom and Sherlock walked John backward to the bed. With a light push, John fell back into the the bed. John removed the rest of his clothes as Sherlock watched, the whip in his hand, with a wicked grin. His eyes were already looking wild.
When he was completely undressed it was Sherlock's turn. Probably because John had been able to impress his detective, he gave him a rousing performance.
He put the length of the whip in his mouth and bite down so that his hands were free. After removing his robe, he unbuttoned his shirt but didn't take it off, allowing it to hang open.
Getting up on on the bed he stood on his knees. The shirt had just barely fallen off one shoulder, his pale, smooth chest exposed. Then he reached up and removed the whip from his mouth and brought it to his cheek. Caressing the riding crop against his skin, he closed his eyes and looked lost in the sensation of leather on his skin. Slowly he slid it down his chin and to his neck. Tilting his head back, he gripped the whip with both hands and pressed it hard against his flesh. He continued to snake the crop down his chest.
With the nightshirt hanging off one shoulder, head back, spine arched and the whip slowly crawling down his chest; John was fully aroused. He slid a hand down and started stroking himself.
John could hear Sherlock breathing heavier. The riding crop was still pressed hard against his skin as it was dragged down past his stomach. It slid over his pajamas bottoms and when whip reached his crotch Sherlock pushed forward with his hips and sucked his breathe in. John whispered. "Oh God". Hearing John, he lowered his head back down to meet John's eyes. He pushed again with his hips and quietly gasped "Oh...John".
"Bloody hell..." John's mouth went dry. He was going to have to impress his detective more often.
Sherlock put the whip down and purred. "Roll over."
John so badly wanted this to continue but he calmed himself and rolled over laying flat on his stomach.
He heard Sherlock remove the rest of his clothing then felt the whip gently touch the back of his leg. He crawled up John's body as the riding crop moved higher. When Sherlock straddled his legs, sitting down on John's arse, he had a moment to wonder of if his partner would tease or start hard. Before he could finish the thought he felt the hard sting on his back.
"Oh Fuck..." His body buckled at the sudden pain and he heard Sherlock call out his name, thrusting his groin into the top of John's arse.
Sherlock didn't get off on hurting him and John didn't so much get off on the pain himself, it was something else entirely.
When John would cry out from the pain and pleasure of the leather striking his back it did something to Sherlock. Sherlock is always thinking, observing, watching, even when they make love but at that moment when John cries out, as Sherlock tried to explain, he said his mind shuts down and it's nothing but sensations, the feeling of John's body, the sounds of him, the smell of his sweat. No thought, just complete ecstasy of the senses. And this is what John got off on. It made each strike more electrifying than the last. He would feel and hear Sherlock losing himself in the moment, which would caused John to cry out louder with the next strike, which then brought Sherlock closer to that wild, carnal state. They fed off each other.
Another bite from the whip. "God...yes" John's back arched, finger's tightly gripping the bar of the headboard. Sherlock latched his free hand onto one of John's hip, gripping hard.
"Oh..John." Sherlock was grinding into him.
As the whip continued to assail his back, the intensity increased between them.
When Sherlock was crying out himself, John turned his head to the side because the sight of Sherlock in this state is the most erotic thing he has ever seen.
A thin layer of sweat covered his body, muscles taut as his back was arched, mouth fallen open around ragged breathing, shaking and thrusting his groin into John's lower back. He looked stunning, beautiful, exquisite.
Then Sherlock shifted and moved down lower, coaxing John's legs apart. John had only a quick moment wonder if they might be done with the riding crop when he felt a sharp slap on his arse. John body was infused with the twisted combination of pain and thrill. The whip had only ever been used on his back and this was something entirely new and it was overwhelming.
"OH...FUCK..Yes.." He was almost shouting.
"God...John" Sherlock voice was strained.
While John still watched him, he released the strong grip he had on John's hip and placed his hand onto his chest. Caressing his own skin, the hand moved to his neck, as he continued to cant with his pelvis. When the hand reached his mouth, fingers slid across his lips and he tilted his head down. He eyes were almost crazed, savage, intoxicated, his skin was flushed. John was so captivated by the sight of this he didn't notice the flick of the whip as it again made contact with his arse. "Oh..God...please.."
Sherlock moaned around the fingers pressed to his lips.
Two long, lithe fingers went into his mouth and he started sucking on them. John's mind was reeling, putting his face back into the pillow, his body shuddered.
The slick fingers found its way to his arse. Just as they pushed inside John there was another sharp bite from the whip. John entire body jolted as he cried out into the pillow.
Sherlock groaned so loud it sounded like he was climaxing.
John was writhing on the bed as his lover ran his fingers in and out of his arse, every now and then another strike. Sherlock worked him right to the edge and just as he was on the verge of coming the fingers withdrew and John whimpered, begging for that release.
Sherlock shifted again and was now kneeling between his legs and John was delirious as he heard Sherlock reach over to the dresser; They had never done this before, it was always the whip first, then finishing in a variety of other ways.
Slick fingers coated him, pressing in again, and another strike. Hearing his lover moan out his name brought John right to the brink again. Then the fingers were removed and John felt the press of Sherlock cock against his arse. John was pleading "oh god..god.. Sherlock..yes..yes" when he felt his partner's other hand return to his hip, finger nails digging into his flesh.
At the moment his lovers cock pushed into him, there was one last hit with the whip and John saw only white. He bit his lip and pumped hard into the bed as he came. When he cried out, Sherlock lost complete control and pushed deep into him, the whip dropped from his hand and he latched onto John other hip. Sherlock was thrusting hard as John's body convulsed, he called out Sherlock's name repeatedly as his orgasm burned through him.
Sherlock continued until he reached his own climax a minute later. "JOHN...Oh..god." His partner collapsed onto his back and he could feel Sherlock's body shuddering.
It took some time for them to catch their breathe and when Sherlock's body quieted they rolled over onto their sides.
Sherlock gently ran his fingers over the welts on John's back, soothing the tender skin. And planting soft kisses on his neck he whispered John's name between each kiss.
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Those Seven Confusing Weeks