Title: The Omega Sutra, Chapter Ten: At the Bridge.
Title: The Omega Sutra, Chapter Ten: At the Bridge.
author: ghislainem70
Word Counrt: 3,000
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Omegaverse, explicit sex, kink
Summary: Sherlock has a secret life. John shouldn't want to be part of it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Honey bring you
close to my --
Honey bring you
close to my lips, yeah
It's got to be big . . .
closer . . .
It's got to be a bit
closer . . .
Lyrics to Professional Widow (Listen below I mean really goddam!), Armand van Helden Mix
All rights reserved Tori Amos and its owner
At the train station, John made Sherlock wait a distance from the ticket counter, then led him to the platform marked “Caledonian Sleeper,” handed over the tickets and pulled him inside. A steward showed them to their segregated cabin and discreetly slid the door shut. There was nothing inside but two narrow bunk beds and a wash basin. Sherlock sat on the edge of the bottom bunk, prodding it experimentally. “Very comfortable,” he said. “But very narrow. How will we sleep, John?”
“Who said anything about sleeping,” John said roughly, pushing him down onto the crisp white sheets.
It was only possible for them to both fit into the narrow bunk if John lay completely on top of Sherlock’s long body. John commenced kissing Sherlock ravenously as the train lurched from the platform. It was impossible now to remember a time when he hadn’t wanted this; the idea that he had ever been with anyone else, no matter how casually, seemed like a story from another person’s life. He understood that this was different than anything he had ever had before; but not because Sherlock was a man. John had very quickly realised that Sherlock had been correct - gender was boring, and having thoughts or worse, doubts about this fact simply robbed him of his new and hard-earned peace of mind. Now that Sherlock was safely back with him he didn’t want to sacrifice any part of their happiness by dwelling on antiquated prejudices about whether it was wrong to love another man like this. He couldn’t have felt any of his ingrained fears anymore even if he had tried. Perhaps something in their journey had changed him as much as it had changed Sherlock. If so, it could only make them happier.
The jolt of the train made his hips press sharply against Sherlock’s, and they both moaned sharply. Sherlock was almost mindlessly tugging at John’s clothes.
“I’ve been needing this for days,” John said demandingly.
“Your sense of time is off,” Sherlock gasped. “You were doing just the same this morning.”
“Is that a complaint,” John breathed against Sherlock’s ear, pressing himself hard against every available inch of Sherlock, who found himself unable to speak. Laying down like this, they fit together with intoxicating precision: lips to lips, heart to heart, and most spectactularly, hip to hip so that their cocks rubbed together divinely.
The fact that Sherlock was an Omega didn’t change the (still somewhat surprising to John) fact that he was intensely aroused by the feel and look of Sherlock’s cock, something he never could have imagined wanting before Sherlock, but which he could no longer imagine not possessing utterly. But he hadn’t had much opportunity to explore Sherlock properly. Here in this minuscule cabin, with nothing whatsoever to interrupt them but the lull and lurch of the train as it progressed on its journey, John intended exploring every inch: they were bonded now and there was nothing to stand in their way.
As though he could read John’s thought, Sherlock cleverly rolled out from beneath him and knelt at the side of the bed, pulling at John’s trousers and briefs slowly, so that John was close to ripping them off himself by the time they were finally gone as Sherlock looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. His Alpha pride swelled and leaned down and he took a deep breath in the crook of Sherlock’s neck. After the miraculous gift of the green bottle from Damchok Rampoche, Sherlock’s Omega chemistry was surging back. He thought he could smell the scent growing on Sherlock, moment by moment, and it made him feel hotter. He licked Sherlock’s throat, right where he had made his very first bite, in the dark cabin of the Magnus, and Sherlock pressed him against it.
“Do it, I need it,” he whispered, and John took his cue from Sherlock’s own breath and movements, becoming slower even as his own body began an insistent throbbing that wanted satisfaction. He began sucking a new bite, gently at first but building, sucking and licking and nipping with his lips and his teeth against the tingling flesh as Sherlock whispering his name.
“You smell gorgeous, Sherlock. You’re going to come into heat for me, very soon, aren’t
you,” They kissed ravenously, suddenly wanting it to be now.
“Yes,” Sherlock breathed. “I can feel it.”
“When it happens, I won’t be able to control myself,” John warned, looking deeply into Sherlock’s eyes, trying to show all he felt. “Don’t be afraid of it. Of losing control.” He stroked Sherlock’s face, ran fingers along fine cheekbones. He was already finding this a challenge. The Omega pheromones were dancing and becoming entwined with his Alpha pheromones. He remembered El Brujo, warning him that his pheromones had become brutal and animalistic. He shuddered. His Alpha chemistry was racing to catch up with his mate.
“But I promise you, no matter what, I’ll never hurt you. Will you trust me?”
“Yes,” Sherlock said, “Always.” At this, John’s cock swelled, crying out for attention.
He moved his hand slowly down between his legs, touched himself. Sherlock watched, then slid his own hand over John’s. Beads of precum leaked from the tip and Sherlock swirled his thumb over it delicately.
“God, look at that.” At this, Sherlock groaned once, deep, and leaned down to lick the clear fluid with the tip of his tongue, the first time he had touched John there with his mouth. The sight of Sherlock’s head bent between his legs inflamed him. His Alpha brain filled with visions of pushing Sherlock’s mouth down to take him in, and he moaned. Impossible; even outside of heat, that wasn’t going to happen. But his lips were mouthing suggestively along his head, so sensitive. He gripped the side of the mattress and tried to breath deep and slow.
“I need to touch you,” John said, suddenly feeling desperate for it. But he was conscious that his inexperience must be a very great contrast to Maxim Purcell; this made him growl angrily and imagine for the thousandth time snapping his neck, consoling himself with memories of Maxim’s bloody face as he pounded it in Alpha rage at the harm inflicted on his bonded. He thrust these violent thoughts from him. There was nothing here now but him and Sherlock.
“I . . . don’t care what you’ve done before. Now it’s just us,” John said haltingly, as he pulled Sherlock up, then reached down with his own slicked palm, resting his head against Sherlock’s shoulder, urging Sherlock to thrust hard against his hand as he watched.
“I haven’t done anything like this before, John,” Sherlock whispered. “You have to know it. Oh, god,” he gasped as John wrapped his hand around his cock more firmly, not stroking, just feeling him pulse in his hand. John realised what Sherlock was trying to say: whatever had gone between Sherlock and Maxim might have been thrilling and esoteric; but it had been without feeling.
Feeling: Now John was still for a moment, just letting them both feel it, he held Sherlock literally in the palm of his hand. This was so strange and new that John was almost overcome with a carnal current that electrified him.
“Push yourself into my hand,” John said, hypnotised by the feel of Sherlock’s cock, growing rigid and hot, slipping against his hand. It was almost if it were his own cock. Somewhere inside he hazily wondered if this was yet another way that their bond affected their senses but suddenly it was too much, his cock surged without the slightest touch.
“Sherlock,” he whispered, and Sherlock said, “Let me, I want it, I want to, John,” and he bent again to take his cock between his lips, caressing the thick shaft with his hand. John knew he would come immediately.
“Don’t make me come yet,” he begged, astonished at his own demanding boldness, but somehow Sherlock understood, and pulled him away from the brink while keeping him right there, his lips becoming a light tease, his fingers stroking lightly until he was writhing for more. He had had his share of experiences with women (more than his fair share, to be truthful), but nothing had ever felt like this. It seemed impossible that he could keep quiet, and finally he stopped trying, especially with the sound of Sherlock moaning around the head of his cock, the hottest thing he had ever heard. His fingers were so tight on the edge of the bed that they cramped, but he didn’t want to move an inch to disturb Sherlock’s perfect, divine rhythm on his desperate cock. Finally he couldn’t hold back and pushed his fingers into Sherlock’s curls, which had the effect of making Sherlock decide to take him even deeper, impossibly deep, he thought.
“God, wait, Sherlock, ahhhh, I’m going to - “ an orgasm was pushing its way up from down deep, and at this stage, the whisper of the beginning of heat, his cum was building and his knot was trying to swell.
“Not yet,” Sherlock said, and withdrew his mouth altogether. “Wait.” The sight of his lips, wet from his own precum, made his lust spike higher and he dragged Sherlock up for a harder kiss, lips crushing together, the unbelievable smell and taste of himself on Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock smiled wickedly and broke free.
“I can feel it coming, my knot is there for you,” John said, and it was true. He could feel it throbbing and swelling. “God, I need to get inside you,” and that was true too, and his hand reached down to try and find Sherlock’s cleft, but he pulled back.
“Just you, now, I promise you’ll have everything you want, John,” Sherlock said passionately. They looked into each other’s eyes for a long minute, each imagining what was coming, what their heat would be. Sherlock shivered to see John’s eyes already changing, something wild underneath that was ready to break free and have its way; something inside himself rushed to the surface to meet it. He closed his eyes and tried to soothe the wildness with his mouth on John’s cock, sucking harder now, feeling it throb, imagining it finding its way inexorably inside him. John’s cock was leaking precum in a steady gush now, Alpha pheromones stoking the fire.
The feeling of John’s orgasm bursting to explode in his mouth triggered the same in his own cock, and he both wanted and couldn’t bear to prolong the edge, that glorious moment just before orgasm, that moment that he had worked to extend and prolong so artfully. He didn’t want this to be anything like his liaisons with Maxim, and yet he longed to satisfy John in ways he never had been satisfied before. John felt him hesitate, his mouth lightly brushing his rock-hard shaft.
“Oohhhhh, Sherlock, you’re killing me, this feels so amazing, you’re amazing. Don’t stop, don’t hold back, please,” he begged. “Do it.”
Sherlock understood this to be permission to play with John’s responses. “Oh, John, yes,” he moaned. He wasn’t sure he could be disciplined, he craved John’s orgasm now as much or more than John did. Their hips were thrusting involuntarily, seeking union. His hand around John’s hard shaft detected the bulge at the base just barely swelling there, and he licked it, knowing he would be spreading himself open for this, very soon. He licked and sucked just there, a unique sensation that had them both gasping.
“Oh, god, please, keep going,” John groaned. “I need to come soon. You’re going to make me come.”
He and Maxim had never come to this point, the brink of heat. The last time Sherlock had permitted it before that was more than ten years ago. It had been very unpleasant. This was completely different, as he knew it must be even without understanding how. John was his bonded; they were meant for each other in every way. He never really believed in the phenomenon before, thought himself above it, even immune from it maybe; but he felt it now down to his bones.
“More,” John begged, greedy and desperate. Sherlock imagined what they must look like, him on his knees, John sprawled back on the little bed with his cock thrusting between his lips. He set himself a hypnotic rhythm that had John moaning and crying his name in time.
“It’s coming now, Sherlock, god, you’re -“ John shouted as Sherlock deftly pressed his fingers lightly against the tender flesh of his perineum, behind his balls, probing for a particular spot with expert gentleness. John was flooded with a burning orgasm that seized every muscle and nerve in his body and obliterated every thought from his mind but the throbbing of his cock the wave rocked him hard and took his breath away. But it felt strangely light, there were no strong contractions of cum spurting from his cock. He gasped and panted as the wave started all over again until he didn’t think he could contain the feeling, so he tipped his head back and nearly roared with ecstasy, heedless of who might hear.
He was floating in another dimension where this orgasm would not, could not end, and Sherlock was to giving it to him, coaxing the waves to keep embracing and battering him. Time stopped, he could no longer hear his own ecstatic cries. His mind slipped away entirely; he was nothing more than a receptacle for hot waves of orgasm taking him higher and higher still. He couldn’t catch his breath for the sheer otherworldly intensity of it, but he dimly was aware that he still hadn’t ejaculated, and some part of him marveled at the art of it, Sherlock somehow teasing his body into a new realm of sensation. He thought he might even die here, the little death, and feel blessed to be floating off to paradise. Finally, after maybe minutes, maybe longer, his body began to fight it, rebelling.
“Please,” he finally gasped, not knowing if he meant for it never to stop, or if he wanted Sherlock to somehow bring his body back to earth. Sherlock’s hot mouth changed its rhythm, harder and faster, and his slick fingertip brushed a slow wet circle suggestively around the wrinkled ring of his hole, triggering a flood of sharp new contractions of carnal pleasure until he finally felt his balls draw up and his warm wet cum shooting hard into Sherlock’s mouth in pulsing waves as he cried Sherlock’s name. Slowly it faded, leaving him warm and shuddering with little aftershocks.
Sherlock climbed up and they both wedged into the tiny bunk, kissing everywhere they could reach. “I feel - you made me feel - there aren’t any words,” John whispered in awe. “I have to make you feel that, how did you make me feel that,” he stammered incoherently, his mind still reeling.
“You can, you will,” Sherlock said longingly. “But I want so much more, John. Feel this,” he put John’s hand between his legs, where his cleft had become hot, wet and swollen. “In the morning it will be here, John. I want you . . . to take me,” he whispered against John’s mouth, wrapping his legs around John and pulling him in, letting his semi-hard cock brush up against his slick entrance. They both gasped, it felt so electric and perfectly right.
“You’re almost ready,” John said hoarsely, inflamed. His cock was already swelling at the feel of slippery warm heat between Sherlock’s legs. “In the morning we will be somewhere safe, No one will be able to hear us. I won’t be able to wait any more. I won’t stop for a long time, not for days. You’ll be begging me not to.”
Sherlock stared at John, mesmerised by the sound of his voice, hard and thick with desire. “Yes,” he said. “I want that, so much.” He spread his legs wider. “I need it.” He was amazed and a little horrified how much he meant it. His entire body was demanding to open itself to John, Omega to Alpha.
John shuddered against him and thrust, his cock seeking its rightful place. But he pulled back.
“Not yet, not until you’re ripe for it, I don’t want to hurt you,” John said with powerful effort at control. “We’re right at the bridge, tomorrow we’ll take the crossing together.” He was very proud that he could still hold himself back. But not completely. He slid off the bed until he was the one kneeling on the floor.
“Don’t dare tease me, John,” Sherlock gasped, groaning with frustration, cool air between his legs where John had just been, where John should be. John reached out and stroked his cock, swollen and hard and craving. “I - I’ve never done this,” he said, amazed at how calm he was, how much he wanted to do this. He pictured Sherlock thrusting up into his own mouth and moaned. “Show me what you want,” he said, looking up with eyes dark as sapphires.
“God, John,” Sherlock sighed. “I want everything.” It was true. With Maxim, there had been so many carefully constructed boundaries, destined never to be crossed. With John, there were none at all. The thought made him shiver. Nothing must ever come between them, they would give each other everything.
“Yes,” John said, “Everything.”
To be continued . . .
Listen to Tori Amos- Professional Widow /Armand van Helden Mix HERE
back: Chapter Nine, In the Stars, ( Read more... ) next: Chapter Eleven: I'll Feel You Burn ( Read more... )
author: ghislainem70
Word Counrt: 3,000
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Omegaverse, explicit sex, kink
Summary: Sherlock has a secret life. John shouldn't want to be part of it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Honey bring you
close to my --
Honey bring you
close to my lips, yeah
It's got to be big . . .
closer . . .
It's got to be a bit
closer . . .
Lyrics to Professional Widow (Listen below I mean really goddam!), Armand van Helden Mix
All rights reserved Tori Amos and its owner
At the train station, John made Sherlock wait a distance from the ticket counter, then led him to the platform marked “Caledonian Sleeper,” handed over the tickets and pulled him inside. A steward showed them to their segregated cabin and discreetly slid the door shut. There was nothing inside but two narrow bunk beds and a wash basin. Sherlock sat on the edge of the bottom bunk, prodding it experimentally. “Very comfortable,” he said. “But very narrow. How will we sleep, John?”
“Who said anything about sleeping,” John said roughly, pushing him down onto the crisp white sheets.
It was only possible for them to both fit into the narrow bunk if John lay completely on top of Sherlock’s long body. John commenced kissing Sherlock ravenously as the train lurched from the platform. It was impossible now to remember a time when he hadn’t wanted this; the idea that he had ever been with anyone else, no matter how casually, seemed like a story from another person’s life. He understood that this was different than anything he had ever had before; but not because Sherlock was a man. John had very quickly realised that Sherlock had been correct - gender was boring, and having thoughts or worse, doubts about this fact simply robbed him of his new and hard-earned peace of mind. Now that Sherlock was safely back with him he didn’t want to sacrifice any part of their happiness by dwelling on antiquated prejudices about whether it was wrong to love another man like this. He couldn’t have felt any of his ingrained fears anymore even if he had tried. Perhaps something in their journey had changed him as much as it had changed Sherlock. If so, it could only make them happier.
The jolt of the train made his hips press sharply against Sherlock’s, and they both moaned sharply. Sherlock was almost mindlessly tugging at John’s clothes.
“I’ve been needing this for days,” John said demandingly.
“Your sense of time is off,” Sherlock gasped. “You were doing just the same this morning.”
“Is that a complaint,” John breathed against Sherlock’s ear, pressing himself hard against every available inch of Sherlock, who found himself unable to speak. Laying down like this, they fit together with intoxicating precision: lips to lips, heart to heart, and most spectactularly, hip to hip so that their cocks rubbed together divinely.
The fact that Sherlock was an Omega didn’t change the (still somewhat surprising to John) fact that he was intensely aroused by the feel and look of Sherlock’s cock, something he never could have imagined wanting before Sherlock, but which he could no longer imagine not possessing utterly. But he hadn’t had much opportunity to explore Sherlock properly. Here in this minuscule cabin, with nothing whatsoever to interrupt them but the lull and lurch of the train as it progressed on its journey, John intended exploring every inch: they were bonded now and there was nothing to stand in their way.
As though he could read John’s thought, Sherlock cleverly rolled out from beneath him and knelt at the side of the bed, pulling at John’s trousers and briefs slowly, so that John was close to ripping them off himself by the time they were finally gone as Sherlock looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. His Alpha pride swelled and leaned down and he took a deep breath in the crook of Sherlock’s neck. After the miraculous gift of the green bottle from Damchok Rampoche, Sherlock’s Omega chemistry was surging back. He thought he could smell the scent growing on Sherlock, moment by moment, and it made him feel hotter. He licked Sherlock’s throat, right where he had made his very first bite, in the dark cabin of the Magnus, and Sherlock pressed him against it.
“Do it, I need it,” he whispered, and John took his cue from Sherlock’s own breath and movements, becoming slower even as his own body began an insistent throbbing that wanted satisfaction. He began sucking a new bite, gently at first but building, sucking and licking and nipping with his lips and his teeth against the tingling flesh as Sherlock whispering his name.
“You smell gorgeous, Sherlock. You’re going to come into heat for me, very soon, aren’t
you,” They kissed ravenously, suddenly wanting it to be now.
“Yes,” Sherlock breathed. “I can feel it.”
“When it happens, I won’t be able to control myself,” John warned, looking deeply into Sherlock’s eyes, trying to show all he felt. “Don’t be afraid of it. Of losing control.” He stroked Sherlock’s face, ran fingers along fine cheekbones. He was already finding this a challenge. The Omega pheromones were dancing and becoming entwined with his Alpha pheromones. He remembered El Brujo, warning him that his pheromones had become brutal and animalistic. He shuddered. His Alpha chemistry was racing to catch up with his mate.
“But I promise you, no matter what, I’ll never hurt you. Will you trust me?”
“Yes,” Sherlock said, “Always.” At this, John’s cock swelled, crying out for attention.
He moved his hand slowly down between his legs, touched himself. Sherlock watched, then slid his own hand over John’s. Beads of precum leaked from the tip and Sherlock swirled his thumb over it delicately.
“God, look at that.” At this, Sherlock groaned once, deep, and leaned down to lick the clear fluid with the tip of his tongue, the first time he had touched John there with his mouth. The sight of Sherlock’s head bent between his legs inflamed him. His Alpha brain filled with visions of pushing Sherlock’s mouth down to take him in, and he moaned. Impossible; even outside of heat, that wasn’t going to happen. But his lips were mouthing suggestively along his head, so sensitive. He gripped the side of the mattress and tried to breath deep and slow.
“I need to touch you,” John said, suddenly feeling desperate for it. But he was conscious that his inexperience must be a very great contrast to Maxim Purcell; this made him growl angrily and imagine for the thousandth time snapping his neck, consoling himself with memories of Maxim’s bloody face as he pounded it in Alpha rage at the harm inflicted on his bonded. He thrust these violent thoughts from him. There was nothing here now but him and Sherlock.
“I . . . don’t care what you’ve done before. Now it’s just us,” John said haltingly, as he pulled Sherlock up, then reached down with his own slicked palm, resting his head against Sherlock’s shoulder, urging Sherlock to thrust hard against his hand as he watched.
“I haven’t done anything like this before, John,” Sherlock whispered. “You have to know it. Oh, god,” he gasped as John wrapped his hand around his cock more firmly, not stroking, just feeling him pulse in his hand. John realised what Sherlock was trying to say: whatever had gone between Sherlock and Maxim might have been thrilling and esoteric; but it had been without feeling.
Feeling: Now John was still for a moment, just letting them both feel it, he held Sherlock literally in the palm of his hand. This was so strange and new that John was almost overcome with a carnal current that electrified him.
“Push yourself into my hand,” John said, hypnotised by the feel of Sherlock’s cock, growing rigid and hot, slipping against his hand. It was almost if it were his own cock. Somewhere inside he hazily wondered if this was yet another way that their bond affected their senses but suddenly it was too much, his cock surged without the slightest touch.
“Sherlock,” he whispered, and Sherlock said, “Let me, I want it, I want to, John,” and he bent again to take his cock between his lips, caressing the thick shaft with his hand. John knew he would come immediately.
“Don’t make me come yet,” he begged, astonished at his own demanding boldness, but somehow Sherlock understood, and pulled him away from the brink while keeping him right there, his lips becoming a light tease, his fingers stroking lightly until he was writhing for more. He had had his share of experiences with women (more than his fair share, to be truthful), but nothing had ever felt like this. It seemed impossible that he could keep quiet, and finally he stopped trying, especially with the sound of Sherlock moaning around the head of his cock, the hottest thing he had ever heard. His fingers were so tight on the edge of the bed that they cramped, but he didn’t want to move an inch to disturb Sherlock’s perfect, divine rhythm on his desperate cock. Finally he couldn’t hold back and pushed his fingers into Sherlock’s curls, which had the effect of making Sherlock decide to take him even deeper, impossibly deep, he thought.
“God, wait, Sherlock, ahhhh, I’m going to - “ an orgasm was pushing its way up from down deep, and at this stage, the whisper of the beginning of heat, his cum was building and his knot was trying to swell.
“Not yet,” Sherlock said, and withdrew his mouth altogether. “Wait.” The sight of his lips, wet from his own precum, made his lust spike higher and he dragged Sherlock up for a harder kiss, lips crushing together, the unbelievable smell and taste of himself on Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock smiled wickedly and broke free.
“I can feel it coming, my knot is there for you,” John said, and it was true. He could feel it throbbing and swelling. “God, I need to get inside you,” and that was true too, and his hand reached down to try and find Sherlock’s cleft, but he pulled back.
“Just you, now, I promise you’ll have everything you want, John,” Sherlock said passionately. They looked into each other’s eyes for a long minute, each imagining what was coming, what their heat would be. Sherlock shivered to see John’s eyes already changing, something wild underneath that was ready to break free and have its way; something inside himself rushed to the surface to meet it. He closed his eyes and tried to soothe the wildness with his mouth on John’s cock, sucking harder now, feeling it throb, imagining it finding its way inexorably inside him. John’s cock was leaking precum in a steady gush now, Alpha pheromones stoking the fire.
The feeling of John’s orgasm bursting to explode in his mouth triggered the same in his own cock, and he both wanted and couldn’t bear to prolong the edge, that glorious moment just before orgasm, that moment that he had worked to extend and prolong so artfully. He didn’t want this to be anything like his liaisons with Maxim, and yet he longed to satisfy John in ways he never had been satisfied before. John felt him hesitate, his mouth lightly brushing his rock-hard shaft.
“Oohhhhh, Sherlock, you’re killing me, this feels so amazing, you’re amazing. Don’t stop, don’t hold back, please,” he begged. “Do it.”
Sherlock understood this to be permission to play with John’s responses. “Oh, John, yes,” he moaned. He wasn’t sure he could be disciplined, he craved John’s orgasm now as much or more than John did. Their hips were thrusting involuntarily, seeking union. His hand around John’s hard shaft detected the bulge at the base just barely swelling there, and he licked it, knowing he would be spreading himself open for this, very soon. He licked and sucked just there, a unique sensation that had them both gasping.
“Oh, god, please, keep going,” John groaned. “I need to come soon. You’re going to make me come.”
He and Maxim had never come to this point, the brink of heat. The last time Sherlock had permitted it before that was more than ten years ago. It had been very unpleasant. This was completely different, as he knew it must be even without understanding how. John was his bonded; they were meant for each other in every way. He never really believed in the phenomenon before, thought himself above it, even immune from it maybe; but he felt it now down to his bones.
“More,” John begged, greedy and desperate. Sherlock imagined what they must look like, him on his knees, John sprawled back on the little bed with his cock thrusting between his lips. He set himself a hypnotic rhythm that had John moaning and crying his name in time.
“It’s coming now, Sherlock, god, you’re -“ John shouted as Sherlock deftly pressed his fingers lightly against the tender flesh of his perineum, behind his balls, probing for a particular spot with expert gentleness. John was flooded with a burning orgasm that seized every muscle and nerve in his body and obliterated every thought from his mind but the throbbing of his cock the wave rocked him hard and took his breath away. But it felt strangely light, there were no strong contractions of cum spurting from his cock. He gasped and panted as the wave started all over again until he didn’t think he could contain the feeling, so he tipped his head back and nearly roared with ecstasy, heedless of who might hear.
He was floating in another dimension where this orgasm would not, could not end, and Sherlock was to giving it to him, coaxing the waves to keep embracing and battering him. Time stopped, he could no longer hear his own ecstatic cries. His mind slipped away entirely; he was nothing more than a receptacle for hot waves of orgasm taking him higher and higher still. He couldn’t catch his breath for the sheer otherworldly intensity of it, but he dimly was aware that he still hadn’t ejaculated, and some part of him marveled at the art of it, Sherlock somehow teasing his body into a new realm of sensation. He thought he might even die here, the little death, and feel blessed to be floating off to paradise. Finally, after maybe minutes, maybe longer, his body began to fight it, rebelling.
“Please,” he finally gasped, not knowing if he meant for it never to stop, or if he wanted Sherlock to somehow bring his body back to earth. Sherlock’s hot mouth changed its rhythm, harder and faster, and his slick fingertip brushed a slow wet circle suggestively around the wrinkled ring of his hole, triggering a flood of sharp new contractions of carnal pleasure until he finally felt his balls draw up and his warm wet cum shooting hard into Sherlock’s mouth in pulsing waves as he cried Sherlock’s name. Slowly it faded, leaving him warm and shuddering with little aftershocks.
Sherlock climbed up and they both wedged into the tiny bunk, kissing everywhere they could reach. “I feel - you made me feel - there aren’t any words,” John whispered in awe. “I have to make you feel that, how did you make me feel that,” he stammered incoherently, his mind still reeling.
“You can, you will,” Sherlock said longingly. “But I want so much more, John. Feel this,” he put John’s hand between his legs, where his cleft had become hot, wet and swollen. “In the morning it will be here, John. I want you . . . to take me,” he whispered against John’s mouth, wrapping his legs around John and pulling him in, letting his semi-hard cock brush up against his slick entrance. They both gasped, it felt so electric and perfectly right.
“You’re almost ready,” John said hoarsely, inflamed. His cock was already swelling at the feel of slippery warm heat between Sherlock’s legs. “In the morning we will be somewhere safe, No one will be able to hear us. I won’t be able to wait any more. I won’t stop for a long time, not for days. You’ll be begging me not to.”
Sherlock stared at John, mesmerised by the sound of his voice, hard and thick with desire. “Yes,” he said. “I want that, so much.” He spread his legs wider. “I need it.” He was amazed and a little horrified how much he meant it. His entire body was demanding to open itself to John, Omega to Alpha.
John shuddered against him and thrust, his cock seeking its rightful place. But he pulled back.
“Not yet, not until you’re ripe for it, I don’t want to hurt you,” John said with powerful effort at control. “We’re right at the bridge, tomorrow we’ll take the crossing together.” He was very proud that he could still hold himself back. But not completely. He slid off the bed until he was the one kneeling on the floor.
“Don’t dare tease me, John,” Sherlock gasped, groaning with frustration, cool air between his legs where John had just been, where John should be. John reached out and stroked his cock, swollen and hard and craving. “I - I’ve never done this,” he said, amazed at how calm he was, how much he wanted to do this. He pictured Sherlock thrusting up into his own mouth and moaned. “Show me what you want,” he said, looking up with eyes dark as sapphires.
“God, John,” Sherlock sighed. “I want everything.” It was true. With Maxim, there had been so many carefully constructed boundaries, destined never to be crossed. With John, there were none at all. The thought made him shiver. Nothing must ever come between them, they would give each other everything.
“Yes,” John said, “Everything.”
To be continued . . .
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