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Priceless Treasure	By : deklava Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3646 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock or profit financially from this story.

Chapter List
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John couldn't help it- his trembling fingers undid his jeans and he palmed himself eagerly through his underwear. Seeing Sherlock lying on that richly brocaded duvet, all long and slender and pale, his white arse being forced open by a pair of brawny hands- it was more exhilarating than he'd imagined it would be.

In the room, unaware of how much the man he considered his best friend was getting off on his distress, Sherlock whimpered and tried to squirm away. Extra hands latched onto his shoulders and wrists and secured him in place.

"Shhhh. Easy," Corelli whispered. "I'm going to make you feel so good."

Sherlock flinched as he felt cold gel being smeared along his arse crack. A lubricated finger trailed teasingly along his crevice before gently pushing inside him. It didn't hurt, but the intimate touch did feel alien and uncomfortable. The detective tried –and failed- to renew his struggles. The finger probed until it settled against his prostate and began massaging. Sherlock let out a sharp cry and arched his back as hot, vicious pleasure assaulted his senses.

"Stop!" he begged.

"You don't really want me to stop. So I won't. After you leave here tonight, you'll want to do this all the time. And I'll always know that I was the one who made you so passionate."

Corelli's hand slid greedily along his slender waist while a second slick finger joined the first. Both digits plunged deeply inside his tight virgin channel and began scissoring, stirring up a pleasure-pain that made the detective's senses reel.

It was at that moment that John experienced his first real sense of regret. Sherlock's distress didn't trouble him; he really believed that a good pounding would change the other man for the better. But despite the obscene amount of money he'd been paid, he found himself wishing that it was his hand –and later his cock- that undid the great Sherlock Holmes. The frigid intellectual who shared the Baker Street flat with him was now squirming and moaning- but not for him.

Sherlock experienced a moment's respite from the horrible pleasure when the fingers withdrew from his now-stretched hole. Before he could relax, the soft rasp of a zipper coming down reached his ears, followed by the click of a tube cap opening and the squelch of lube being applied. He raised his head and groggily attempted to rise off the bed, but strong hands pushed him back down, forced his thighs open and raised his hips so that a thick pillow could be shoved underneath them.

"God, please-" he started to beg. The bedsprings creaked as a heavy weight arranged itself between his legs and something warm and slick and large pressed against his greased opening. He felt the fabric of tailored trousers brush against his thighs as Corelli maneuvered into position. Then a powerful chest covered by a silk shirt pressed down against his back, pushing him into the mattress and cutting off his last hope of escape.

Fingers ran through his dark curls. "Take a deep breath, Sherlock. This might be a bit uncomfortable at first."

The detective cried out as he was stretched wider than the fingering had prepared him for. His arse burned as a swollen cockhead shoved against his sphincter until it popped inside. It hurt- how could people do this and enjoy it? He felt like he was being torn open, but his assailant showed no signs of stopping. Grunts of "Oh, yes, perfect" and "So goddamn tight- worth every penny" continued as Sherlock's arse spasmed in agony. When he began to sob, a warm hand caressed his cheek.

"Relax, pet. I'm all the way in- the worst is over. Breathe. Then I'm going to show you what you've been missing."

Upstairs, John was coming undone in a different way. He was fisting his hard cock, unable to tear his eyes away from the drama playing out on the screen. Sherlock looked so undone, so dominated- pinned to that luxurious bed with a thick, red cock buried to the hilt between those smooth cheeks. For a few minutes he closed his eyes, tightened the grip on his erection, and imagined that he was the one turning his flatmate into a moaning, shaking mess.

Then he reached back, and the fingers of his unoccupied hand closed around something else that was warm and hard: the handle of his Army-issue automatic. He'd tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, snug against his lower back, before setting out tonight.

Time to launch the final phase of his plan.
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Priceless Treasure