Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

Mind Heat	By : deklava Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 7787 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Mind Heat
- 1
John estimated that within five minutes, he was going to have to make a difficult decision.
Namely whether to shoot or strangle Sherlock Holmes.
His flatmate was stomping around the sitting room, cursing and huffing and in general ruining John's Sunday morning. He hadn't been offered an interesting case in over a week and his behaviour had deteriorated to the point that John was losing patience.
"BORED!" he shouted. "John, give me your gun."
"I don't think so."
"The wall is annoying me."
"If you take a nap you won't notice it."
And I'll be able to finish the fucking paper.
Sherlock scowled and stalked over to the window overlooking Baker Street. He stood there for a few minutes, watching the activity below. Then he leaned out and yelled, "You with the Burberry coat- dump that man you're with and save yourself some heartache later. He only wants to become a veterinarian because he's into bestiality!"
John dropped the paper.
"Oh, you have a problem with that, do you?" Sherlock sounded gleeful. "Come up to 221b and let's talk it out. My flatmate's a soldier; he'll wipe up the halls with you!"
"What the bloody hell are you doing?" John demanded.
"This could be fun. Don't be a spoilsport."
"Don't play at being my fight manager." He got hurriedly out of his chair and locked the flat's door, just in case. Then he strode over to Sherlock and shoved him away from the window. "Any more of this and I swear I'll call Mycroft."
The curly-haired detective rolled his eyes and sneered. "As if that's supposed to make me do anything but laugh."
He crossed the room and threw himself onto the sofa, unbelted robe billowing around his wiry frame like a parachute. "Bored, Bored, BORED!"
It was a temporary reprieve: John knew that he would soon be up and resuming his destructive hunt for diversion. Grabbing his mobile, the doctor left the room on the pretext of going to the toilet, and texted Mycroft Holmes.
Your brother's making me insane. Any advice besides euthanasia? JW
He received a reply five seconds later.
I take it he hasn't had a stimulating case in days? MH
Correct. JW
He's in mind-heat then. MH
He's in what? JW
I'll explain when I get there in 10. Try not to punch him before then. You will need your strength.
*****
When Mycroft strolled into the flat, Sherlock merely glared and greeted him caustically. But when two hulky bodyguard types followed, one of them carrying a shiny square case that resembled a theatrical makeup box, his grey eyes widened and he bolted for his room.
"He never likes it when we do this, not at first," Mycroft sighed at a bewildered John. "But it's for his own good, not to mention our sanity. Come, let's deal with him."
Sherlock had locked his bedroom door, so Mycroft ordered his men to kick it down. When it crashed onto the floor, he added, "John, please tell Mrs. Hudson that I'll have it repaired once this is over."
"What exactly is this? What are you doing?"
"Bringing him out of his mind-heat."
Before John could ask what the hell that was, the elder Holmes gestured for his men to follow, and entered the room.
Sherlock was standing on the other side of his bed, a letter opener clenched in one fist. He jabbed it at his brother, who dodged the blow effortlessly, grabbed his thin wrist, and twisted his arm behind his back.
"Let me go, you fat idiot!" Sherlock yelled as he was pushed face-down onto the mattress. "What's your problem? Did they lose the recipe for Jammie Dodgers?"
"Amusing, little brother. Your assistance, please gentlemen?"
John stood in the doorway, mouth agape as he watched Mycroft and his burly assistants pull Sherlock's robe and pajamas off, position him on his front, and secure his wrists to the headboard with padded leather cuffs pulled quickly from the box. Sherlock thrashed and yelled, but with a fraction of his usual force. When his legs were spread and cuffed to the bedposts, he growled verbal abuse but otherwise went compliant.
John had a hard time swallowing. His eyes were riveted to Sherlock's lean, naked form, now cuffed and helpless on the bed. He knew he should berate Mycroft, free Sherlock, and self-flagellate for bringing this on his best friend. But all he wanted to do was fuck that pale body into the mattress while leaving one bite mark after another on that long neck and smooth shoulders.
He was sexually an aggressor, relishing the dominant role in bed. Some of his past girlfriends had been BDSM enthusiasts and Christ, those had been fun times. Leather collars, spanked arses, breathy pleas of "Harder, John, yes, please!" Seeing Sherlock bound like that made his cock stiffen and rub insistently against his zip, although he'd never been attracted to a man before.
His mind was brought to the present when Mycroft, who'd been rummaging through the case, tossed him a latex glove and tube of KY. "John, if you would be so kind?"
He caught both objects and stared at them. "What's all this?"
"Please get him ready. I'd do it, but Sherlock is really your responsibility now."
When John didn't move right away, Mycroft said, "I know you want to. Your dilating pupils and tumescent-"
"All right, all right."
John still didn't understand what this was, but the sheer hotness of the situation melted his reservations. He clicked the tube open, donned the glove, and slicked up the index and middle fingers on his right hand. The bodyguards left the room then but Mycroft lingered. John knew that if he did leave, it wouldn't be until the older brother was satisfied that his sibling was literally in good hands.
Sherlock closed his eyes and sucked on his lower lip as John spread his lush arse cheeks open and rubbed gently against his entrance. The younger man was closed so tight that he couldn't even get a fingertip inside.
"He's in quite the state. You should have texted me earlier," Mycroft commented.
It was difficult for John to hold a conversation while trying to penetrate his beautiful flatmate's arsehole, but he managed. "I'm still waiting for an explanation."
"Have you ever had a cat, John? A female one?"
"Lots of pussy, but no cats."
Sherlock choked a laugh into the pillow.
Mycroft's nose wrinkled. "Charming, John. When Sherlock and I were children, we had one. A lovely Persian. She was never spayed, so whenever she went into heat and wasn't bred, she'd drive us all mad. She needed something, and when she didn't get it, she howled day and night. My little brother here's the same. When his mind isn't stimulated enough, you get… well, what you've been dealing with all morning."
He bent down and ruffled Sherlock's curls. Like this was all normal somehow. Sherlock grumbled but did not pull away.
"His mind's in heat. And since we can't offer him a case, John, the boredom and tension must be relieved some other way. This is the only thing that works."
John's jeans were uncomfortably tight as his forefinger finally penetrated Sherlock's body up to the second knuckle. Smooth, silky heat clenched around his digit, making him wonder what it would feel like around his cock. Part of him couldn't believe that the haughty, elusive detective was allowing him access like this. John had never felt anything for Sherlock before except admiration or annoyance, and now all he wanted was to explore, mark, claim him.
Mycroft bent toward the open box and rummaged for something while John withdrew his finger, added more lube, and pushed back in, this time with two fingers. Sherlock whimpered and arched his back. When John dragged gently across his prostate, he yelped and started grinding his cock against the mattress. Those squirming buttocks were the sexiest thing John had seen in a long time, and his cock seemed to agree: it jumped and pushed more enthusiastically for release.
"That's enough," Mycroft said suddenly. "Step back."
John obeyed reluctantly, watching as his fingers slid out of Sherlock's now-slick, shiny hole. The younger Holmes whined in protest and opened his mouth to complain, but John, inspired, seized a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back.
"That's quite enough out of you," he said, voice thick with his own arousal. "Been listening to you whinge all morning. No more sounds unless it's screaming or begging."
Sherlock stared at him, lips parted and eyes wide. "Y-yes, John. I'm sorry, John."
"Fucking better be."
Mycroft beamed as he turned back toward the bed. "Well done. You're a quick learner, John."
"I've had practice. Never with him, though." He glanced over at Mycroft, and stared.
The elder Holmes was holding a device that looked like a black box with a ridiculously short dildo poking through a hole in one side. He positioned it between Sherlock's legs and applied lube to the dildo's tip, which nudged his brother's hole. His manner and touch were efficient and impersonal. John, on the other hand, was getting harder by the minute. He wondered if this mini-drama would involve him getting off at some point.
"Of course it shall," Mycroft said as he wiped the lube off his fingers. "You deserve some compensation for this morning's unpleasantness."
John flushed as he binned the glove. He'd forgotten about the man's ability to read minds. "What is that thing?"
The elder Holmes smiled wickedly. "Watch."
He showed John a small remote control before pressing a yellow button with his thumb. The device on the bed shuddered as its internal gears sprang to life. Then the lubricated dildo shot forward, extending from the box like a turtle poking its head from its shell, and pushed several inches of hard silicone into Sherlock's body. A split-second later it withdrew, only to repeat the fucking action.
Sherlock's head moved back and forth so frantically that his features blurred. "Oh God," he cried. He tugged at his bonds and humped the mattress with quick, frenzied movements, muscles glistening under a light sheen of perspiration.
John nearly stopped breathing. "Holy fucking hell."
"More like fucking heaven," Mycroft said mildly. He pushed another button and the dildo actually squirmed after it breached Sherlock's body again. That must have felt incredible against his prostate. "It's one of a kind. I paid to have it designed and built after Sherlock became too impossible even for me. Money well spent, I assure you."
Breathless with excitement, John grabbed Sherlock's chin. "Look at me," he ordered.
Eye contact was difficult when a machine was tirelessly fucking him, but Sherlock managed it. His lids were heavy, his face slack with pleasure.
"So this is what settles you down, eh? Your tight white arse being fucked nonstop?"
"Yes, John, yes."
"Wish I'd known. We could both have gotten something out of it."
"There's still time for that, John." Mycroft tossed him the remote. "I'll take my leave now. Text me when you're done, and I'll send someone to pick the machine up."
John was so excited that he didn't even say goodbye. Keeping one eye on his bound flatmate, he touched an orange button to see what would happen, and grinned when it simultaneously shifted the dildo's angle and increased its fucking power.
Sherlock flopped on the bed like a snared fish, unable to articulate more than garbled moans. Wondering how close he was to orgasm, John slid a hand under his belly and cupped his balls, noting that they were drawn up tight. The massaging touch was all Sherlock needed to start shooting like a fire hose.
When he screamed, John grabbed a fistful of the bed sheet and shoved it into his mouth.
"Shut it, unless you want Mrs. Hudson as a spectator."
Sherlock wasn't really listening. He continued to shudder and convulse as his cock spurted hot sperm across his belly and the blankets. When he collapsed bonelessly onto the bed, fully spent, John stroked his damp curls away from his forehead and said, "Don't get comfortable. We're not done yet."
The detective worked the sheet out of his mouth and tried to shift his sensitive arse off of the still-hammering dildo, but his bonds were too tight. "John, please," he begged. "It's so much."
"What is?" John smirked. "This?" He hit the orange button again, intensifying the assault on Sherlock's prostate.
"Oh GOD, oh SHIT... FUCK!" The younger Holmes bucked wildly, hips corkscrewing in a desperate search for relief. He managed to roll partway onto his side when a second orgasm overtook him. His entire body stiffened before thick wads of semen exploded from his cock, hitting the bedside table and dripping thickly off the wall.
"Shit," John whistled, temporarily surprised out of commander mode. The volume and thickness of Sherlock's release was astounding. "When the bloody hell did you last get off!"
"F-five months, three days and forty-five minutes ago... oh, please, John, please, I can't take it anymore!"
"That long? Two orgasms aren't nearly enough to sort you then." He dropped to his knees beside the bed and cupped Sherlock's jaw with one hand while unzipping his jeans with the other. "Two more. Then I'll reassess."
Tears glimmered in those wide grey eyes, but his pupils were also huge: Sherlock was still aroused despite his fatigue. "John, please..."
"Come on, Sherlock, you can do it. You need it, and I want to see you. You're so fucking hot like this."
Sherlock thrust his face forward and tackled John's lips with his own. John returned the kiss eagerly. He used one hand to stroke himself and caressed Sherlock with the other. His flatmate's penis was swelling again, so John helped it along, stroking the sensitive flesh and making Sherlock moan into his mouth.
"Come on, come for me. You're so good, you can do it."
Sherlock trembled and fucked John's slick fist while the machine hammered his tight passage. Although over-stimulated and painfully sensitive after two climaxes within five minutes, he managed to squeeze out a third orgasm, this one less explosive than its predecessors but still enough to make his pulse throb madly and eyes roll back in his head.
"That's amazing, Sherlock. Good boy. Well done."
John released Sherlock's softening cock, reached between his legs, and carefully pulled the fucking machine out. It continued to twist and plunge on the tangled sheets until he found the remote and switched it off.
The detective panted and shook. When John brought a glass of water from the bedside table to his lips, he drank it greedily.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."
John kissed that wet, swollen mouth and smoothed his hair away from his face. "Imagine- I've been living with you for ten months and never appreciated how fuckable you are."
"But you're not attracted to men, John."
"I'm attracted to you, though. Especially tied up like this. And performing for my pleasure."
Sherlock's eyes widened.
"Now," John murmured, "I believe it's my turn to get off."
He stood up, letting Sherlock get a good look at the bobbing, dripping erection that protruded from his unzipped jeans. As he pulled his jumper and T-shirt over his head and tossed them to the floor, he could feel that steel-eyed gaze greedily examining his cock. Sherlock was apparently too overwhelmed for another go with the machine, but the real thing had him interested fast.
So transparent.
Pulling his jeans and pants down, John said, "I've been recently tested for STDs and am clean. I'm going to presume that you are too."
Sherlock could only nod.
John found the discarded KY tube and added a generous amount to his erection. Then he climbed onto the bed, knelt between Sherlock's legs, and lined himself up.
"Ready?"
"Yes, John," came the docile reply.
John pushed into that silky, tight heat in one smooth glide. Sherlock shivered and whimpered into the pillow as his still-sensitive prostate was stroked. John brought his chest flush against his flatmate's warm, sweaty back and reached out to join the fingers of his right hand with Sherlock's. When he received a quick squeeze in response, he rotated his hips.
"You feel so good," he muttered.
"So do you. Fuck me, please."
John could hold back no longer. He inhaled deeply and began pounding hard and deep. Sherlock moaned into the pillow and arched his back to meet each thrust, his tight muscle gripping John's cock as he was stretched open. He spread his thighs in a silent plea for rougher fucking.
"You're insatiable," John hissed, snapping his hips forward and licking the back of his neck. Sherlock's skin tasted so raw, so good, that he bit down, scruffing him like he'd once seen a tomcat do to a feisty female while fucking her.
Sherlock grunted and rubbed his rejuvenated cock against the semen-damp bedsheets. "Happens when I'm bored."
"Yeah?" John raised his mouth long enough to reply. "Maybe I'll never let you take another case again. I'll keep you tied up in here, ready for me whenever I want you. Mycroft would approve, I'm sure."
He pulled out and slid his wet cockhead teasingly over Sherlock's hardening balls. When he could stand it no longer and the younger man was pleading incoherently, he plunged back in with such force that the slap of his pelvis against Sherlock's arse was deafening.
"Such a fucking slut, aren't you? Desperate to be stuffed with cock like this."
"Nggh!" Sherlock choked, his grip on John's hand tightening. "Harder, faster... oh, FUCK, I'm coming again!"
His fourth climax sent him spiralling into a flurry of thrashing limbs and garbled cries. John relished the sight, the sound, the taste of Sherlock in a mindless orgasmic frenzy. Then John's cock pulsated and he too was coming hard, the ecstasy amplified by the way his balls tingled each time they slapped against Sherlock's arse and the salty, hot taste of the younger man's neck between his teeth.
Finally all was quiet except for the harsh sound of their combined breathing. John rested his sweaty cheek against Sherlock's sweat-slick back and listened to the galloping heartbeat below.
"You okay?" he whispered.
"Better than okay. Thank you, John."
The doctor summoned enough energy to be mischievous. "You should thank Mycroft too."
A drowsy snort. "That will happen when pigs are cleared for takeoff."
A few more minutes passed. Then John pulled his now-soft penis out of Sherlock's body and started to rise, intending to untie him. Sherlock stopped him.
"No, John. Please. I'd like to stay like this awhile. You on me, me tied to the bed. It's... it's not boring."
John smiled and laid back down on that willing body, basking in the greatest compliment Sherlock was capable of giving.
- 1
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

Mind Heat