And You I Crave 1/? NC-17 softandwoollenAugust 4 2011, 06:13:39 UTC
John sat down next to him and Sherlock was suddenly, instantly hard. He was confused for a moment, unaccustomed to his body's sudden betrayal, until John turned to look at him and Sherlock took a breath and knew.
"John," he breathed, "You're an omega male."
John hadn't told him that. Sherlock hadn't even suspected. He'd assumed John was typical, a standard beta male. It'd never occurred to him that John would be an omega, one of the rare subset of the male population with the ability to bear children. Among other things. He certainly didn't act like an omega.
It explained why Sherlock had been feeling more restless lately, why even being in the same room as John these past few days had been enough to make his skin itch.
John's eyes widened. He tensed almost imperceptibly. "If you can tell, that means you're an alpha."
Yes. It did. Sherlock took another breath, and his body burned with desire. "You're in estrus."
Even being near him, close enough to touch, was starting to drive Sherlock mad. His body could tell - that John was an omega, that he was fertile, that Sherlock could spread him open and sink into his hot, slick arse and -
John was speaking. It took effort to understand his words. "-and anyway, I've always had a bad reaction to the suppression meds and they're not exactly easy on the pocketbook, so I figured I'd just. Deal with it." He shrugged, casting a glance at Sherlock almost warily.
Objectively speaking, it was none of Sherlock's business what John chose to do about going into heat. None of his business, no matter that he was hard now, that he felt touch-starved, that he wanted to press his face into John's hair and bask in his scent and claim him, with his teeth and his cock and -
Sherlock dragged his thoughts back under control and willed his voice to hold steady. "I see," he said.
John winced. "Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't realize you were an alpha. You don't exactly act like one. If I'd known, I would have -"
"It's fine," Sherlock interrupted, because while it was inconvenient for John to be in estrus and so close, it still felt good. Exciting, in a way few things were, because this wasn't just some stupid omega strutting about and pushing his buttons. This was John, and knowing the heat on his skin and the warmth in the pit of his gut was caused by John didn't bother Sherlock too much at all.
"Will you be okay with it? It's not... " John flushed slightly. Sherlock had a vivid mental image of John naked on a bed, cheeks flushed as Sherlock thrust into him. "Too much of a distraction?"
"Of course not. I'm perfectly capable of self-control."
And You I Crave 2/? NC-17 softandwoollenAugust 4 2011, 06:14:20 UTC
Other alphas were not so accommodating.
Sherlock had never been friends with an omega before (well, he hadn't had many friends in general, to be honest), and he'd never been so close to one in estrus - in heat, as the slang term went. Which is why he didn't realize something was amiss until he heard a thud to his right and turned to see John glaring at a man on his back on the pavement. The man was cradling his wrist.
"Right," John said calmly, but Sherlock could read the tension in his muscles, more pronounced than it had been several minutes before. "If you touch me again, I'll break your wrist."
It happened more than just the one time. Sherlock had never paid much attention to other alphas before, but it was easy to spot them now. As soon as they got a breath of John's scent, they pivoted, drawn towards him.
Most of them backed off after a warning glare from John, but several didn't. John was surprisingly violent once an alpha put his hands on him, tripping them or flipping them or even jabbing an elbow into their gut.
And each time, John would smile pleasantly and say, through gritted teeth, even as his pheromones screamed fuck me, I'm ready, I want it and his erection formed a bulge in the front of his trousers, "Don't do that. I'm not a toy."
After the third time, Sherlock leaned closer to John (bad idea, because now it took a supreme effort of will not to bridge the gap between them and press his mouth to John's skin), and asked, "Is it always like that? When you're..."
John ducked away from him. Sherlock felt a momentary pang of loss. "Sometimes," he said. "It's been years. They put me on suppressants when I was in the army."
~*~*~
Even Lestrade was not immune to John.
Sherlock watched with narrowed eyes as the other alpha leaned closer to John than he normally did while speaking. His hands curled into fists inside his coat pockets when Lestrade stroked his hand down John's back, forcing himself not to intervene.
It was none of his business if John wanted to spread his legs for Lestrade, wanted to let Lestrade press him against the ground (or the wall or over a table) and fuck into his slick, greedy hole. He was practically panting for it, body turned towards Lestrade and lips slightly parted. His eyes were on Lestrade's mouth, and Sherlock was briefly overcome with the urge to punch Lestrade in the face.
Except.
Except that John had already pushed Lestrade bodily away (not violently, but not gently either), and was quietly saying something that made Lestrade duck his head in embarrassment and step away, hands in his pockets.
"Sorry," Lestrade said as Sherlock pretended he wasn't hanging on every word of their conversation. "I didn't mean to -"
"You did," John interrupted. "But it's fine. Just don't do it again. I'm not interested in that right now."
Re: And You I Crave 2/? NC-17 softandwoollenAugust 4 2011, 12:27:21 UTC
Ahahaha, I love that John can efficiently get people to back off and then smile at them. I think this is pretty much everything I like in a fic, so I'm eager to see more!
Also, I'm glad to see you filling this! I really enjoyed the other two fills you wrote.
And You I Crave 3/? NC-17 softandwoollenAugust 6 2011, 01:16:36 UTC
Sherlock had managed, with some trial and error, to block John's presence from his awareness when they were in the flat together. Which is why it was especially irritating when Sherlock's attention was abruptly ripped from his book by the sudden presence of John at his side.
hot, sweaty flesh under his hands, John's hole wet and slick and tight around his cock, John begging him, begging for Sherlock to fill him, fuck him, flood his arse with -
"What?" Sherlock snapped irritably.
John winced. "Sorry. Are you busy?"
"Sorry," Sherlock apologized as well. "I... It's hard for me to think when you're -" He waved vaguely at the air surrounding John. "What is it?"
John held up a syringe. "I need a blood sample. Is that all right? I need to run some tests."
"Fine," Sherlock said, and held out his arm.
He smothered a groan when John touched him. John had been scrupulously careful about not touching Sherlock these past several days, avoiding even accidental brushes of skin to skin contact. Now, the feel of John's hand on his arm felt like a live wire.
John felt it too; his eyes widened and his tongue darted out to lick his lips, and Sherlock knew, without needing further evidence, that he was hard and thinking of the same thing as Sherlock.
Sherlock barely noticed the prick of the needle against the inside of his elbow, but the phantom sensation of John's fingertips against his skin stayed with him for hours.
~*~*~
Estrus usually lasted no more than several days, the time it took the omega to find a suitable alpha to knot with them - or the time it took for suppression drugs, taken at the start of an omega's cycle, to finally take effect.
By day eight, Sherlock was wondering what, exactly, John was planning to do about his cycle and the fact that his pheromones were just as strong as they'd been on the second day.
"How do you even work?" he groaned.
John was lying on the sofa (which was Sherlock's spot, and normally he wouldn't care but now he could only imagine pinning John against the cushions and ripping his clothes off with his teeth), laptop propped against his upraised knees. He looked up when Sherlock spoke.
"We have access to the patient's medical records. I traded all my alphas to a coworker. It's standard procedure. Nearly thirty percent of omegas don't suppress their cycles. It's not so bad."
"Isn't it?" Sherlock asked, because he could barely think. It felt like it took ages to put John out of his mind, to push down the vivid mental images about what he wanted to do to him. At least if he left, and Sherlock had taken up hours-long solitary walks around London recently, the nigh-irresistible desire burning through his veins would fade, letting him think clearly once more. He didn't know how John could handle it at all; he could hardly escape himself, after all. "I can barely stand it."
"It's worse when you're around," John said, and Sherlock couldn't decipher his meaning at all.
Re: And You I Crave 3/? NC-17 softandwoollenAugust 6 2011, 01:36:23 UTC
It's all your fault, I'll have you know. My dogs are mad at me for scaring them, but how could I help squeeing at this fill?! Especially when you write things like, "It's worse when you're around," John said, and Sherlock couldn't decipher his meaning at all? Yep! All your fault.
Please keep doing it? I'm loving this fill! ^_^ <3
Hmm...It seems Mycroft has also been reduced to keyboard banging...
And You I Crave 4/? NC-17 softandwoollenAugust 7 2011, 02:40:05 UTC
The entire flat smelled like John, not like sex but like a precursor to it, even when Sherlock retreated to his bedroom to, ostensibly, go to sleep.
John had retired to his room several minutes ago, and Sherlock had no doubt in his mind that John was touching himself. Sherlock hadn't done it deliberately, but at some point he'd memorized John's masturbatory habits.
John left for bed earlier and slept better depending on how long he took, on whether he stroked himself to completion or fucked himself with one of the long, thick toys Sherlock had found in his bedroom while looking for spare bullets.
He was an omega, the omega to Sherlock's alpha, and he was in heat. His body was telling him it needed a prick in its arse, needed to be stretched and filled and flooded with an alpha's seed. John had gone to bed nearly an hour earlier than he normally did, which meant he'd be touching himself now, working his fingers into his arse in preparation for something larger.
Sherlock wondered if John liked it rough, if he'd work the dildo in slowly or shove it inside himself greedily, eager to be filled. Would John touch his cock at all, or would he be able to come just by fucking himself?
Sherlock's own cock sprang eagerly into his hand when he pushed down his pants and trousers, wrapping his fingers around himself.
John would be embarrassed at first, when Sherlock approached him, ashamed at how eager, how desperate he was for Sherlock's cock. But Sherlock would press and John would yield, would blush and stammer and admit, "I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop thinking about you. I fuck myself with my fingers and pretend it's your prick."
Sherlock would take John on his hands and knees, mounting him like an animal, pounding into his tight, slick hole over and over. He'd press his face against John's shoulder, tasting the sweat-slick skin, and John would moan, would writhe under him and say, "Sherlock, Sherlock please. I want your knot, I want you to come inside me."
And he would - his knot would form, the base of his penis swelling in size until John was incoherent, too overcome by the sensation to form words, and he'd come inside John's arse, flooding his passage with semen.
Sherlock's orgasm broke him out of his fantasy; semen pooled on his belly. He cleaned it up with a handful of tissues from his nightstand.
He still felt faintly on edge, anxious and eager, but it wasn't as distracting now. He wondered what John, upstairs, was doing - if he'd finished as well, if he'd worked himself up until he was panting and had only now started to calm down.
If he, like Sherlock, was thinking about his flatmate.
"John," he breathed, "You're an omega male."
John hadn't told him that. Sherlock hadn't even suspected. He'd assumed John was typical, a standard beta male. It'd never occurred to him that John would be an omega, one of the rare subset of the male population with the ability to bear children. Among other things. He certainly didn't act like an omega.
It explained why Sherlock had been feeling more restless lately, why even being in the same room as John these past few days had been enough to make his skin itch.
John's eyes widened. He tensed almost imperceptibly. "If you can tell, that means you're an alpha."
Yes. It did. Sherlock took another breath, and his body burned with desire. "You're in estrus."
Even being near him, close enough to touch, was starting to drive Sherlock mad. His body could tell - that John was an omega, that he was fertile, that Sherlock could spread him open and sink into his hot, slick arse and -
John was speaking. It took effort to understand his words. "-and anyway, I've always had a bad reaction to the suppression meds and they're not exactly easy on the pocketbook, so I figured I'd just. Deal with it." He shrugged, casting a glance at Sherlock almost warily.
Objectively speaking, it was none of Sherlock's business what John chose to do about going into heat. None of his business, no matter that he was hard now, that he felt touch-starved, that he wanted to press his face into John's hair and bask in his scent and claim him, with his teeth and his cock and -
Sherlock dragged his thoughts back under control and willed his voice to hold steady. "I see," he said.
John winced. "Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't realize you were an alpha. You don't exactly act like one. If I'd known, I would have -"
"It's fine," Sherlock interrupted, because while it was inconvenient for John to be in estrus and so close, it still felt good. Exciting, in a way few things were, because this wasn't just some stupid omega strutting about and pushing his buttons. This was John, and knowing the heat on his skin and the warmth in the pit of his gut was caused by John didn't bother Sherlock too much at all.
"Will you be okay with it? It's not... " John flushed slightly. Sherlock had a vivid mental image of John naked on a bed, cheeks flushed as Sherlock thrust into him. "Too much of a distraction?"
"Of course not. I'm perfectly capable of self-control."
Sherlock only hoped he was telling the truth.
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Other alphas were not so accommodating.
Sherlock had never been friends with an omega before (well, he hadn't had many friends in general, to be honest), and he'd never been so close to one in estrus - in heat, as the slang term went. Which is why he didn't realize something was amiss until he heard a thud to his right and turned to see John glaring at a man on his back on the pavement. The man was cradling his wrist.
"Right," John said calmly, but Sherlock could read the tension in his muscles, more pronounced than it had been several minutes before. "If you touch me again, I'll break your wrist."
It happened more than just the one time. Sherlock had never paid much attention to other alphas before, but it was easy to spot them now. As soon as they got a breath of John's scent, they pivoted, drawn towards him.
Most of them backed off after a warning glare from John, but several didn't. John was surprisingly violent once an alpha put his hands on him, tripping them or flipping them or even jabbing an elbow into their gut.
And each time, John would smile pleasantly and say, through gritted teeth, even as his pheromones screamed fuck me, I'm ready, I want it and his erection formed a bulge in the front of his trousers, "Don't do that. I'm not a toy."
After the third time, Sherlock leaned closer to John (bad idea, because now it took a supreme effort of will not to bridge the gap between them and press his mouth to John's skin), and asked, "Is it always like that? When you're..."
John ducked away from him. Sherlock felt a momentary pang of loss. "Sometimes," he said. "It's been years. They put me on suppressants when I was in the army."
~*~*~
Even Lestrade was not immune to John.
Sherlock watched with narrowed eyes as the other alpha leaned closer to John than he normally did while speaking. His hands curled into fists inside his coat pockets when Lestrade stroked his hand down John's back, forcing himself not to intervene.
It was none of his business if John wanted to spread his legs for Lestrade, wanted to let Lestrade press him against the ground (or the wall or over a table) and fuck into his slick, greedy hole. He was practically panting for it, body turned towards Lestrade and lips slightly parted. His eyes were on Lestrade's mouth, and Sherlock was briefly overcome with the urge to punch Lestrade in the face.
Except.
Except that John had already pushed Lestrade bodily away (not violently, but not gently either), and was quietly saying something that made Lestrade duck his head in embarrassment and step away, hands in his pockets.
"Sorry," Lestrade said as Sherlock pretended he wasn't hanging on every word of their conversation. "I didn't mean to -"
"You did," John interrupted. "But it's fine. Just don't do it again. I'm not interested in that right now."
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Also, I'm glad to see you filling this! I really enjoyed the other two fills you wrote.
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hot, sweaty flesh under his hands, John's hole wet and slick and tight around his cock, John begging him, begging for Sherlock to fill him, fuck him, flood his arse with -
"What?" Sherlock snapped irritably.
John winced. "Sorry. Are you busy?"
"Sorry," Sherlock apologized as well. "I... It's hard for me to think when you're -" He waved vaguely at the air surrounding John. "What is it?"
John held up a syringe. "I need a blood sample. Is that all right? I need to run some tests."
"Fine," Sherlock said, and held out his arm.
He smothered a groan when John touched him. John had been scrupulously careful about not touching Sherlock these past several days, avoiding even accidental brushes of skin to skin contact. Now, the feel of John's hand on his arm felt like a live wire.
John felt it too; his eyes widened and his tongue darted out to lick his lips, and Sherlock knew, without needing further evidence, that he was hard and thinking of the same thing as Sherlock.
Sherlock barely noticed the prick of the needle against the inside of his elbow, but the phantom sensation of John's fingertips against his skin stayed with him for hours.
~*~*~
Estrus usually lasted no more than several days, the time it took the omega to find a suitable alpha to knot with them - or the time it took for suppression drugs, taken at the start of an omega's cycle, to finally take effect.
By day eight, Sherlock was wondering what, exactly, John was planning to do about his cycle and the fact that his pheromones were just as strong as they'd been on the second day.
"How do you even work?" he groaned.
John was lying on the sofa (which was Sherlock's spot, and normally he wouldn't care but now he could only imagine pinning John against the cushions and ripping his clothes off with his teeth), laptop propped against his upraised knees. He looked up when Sherlock spoke.
"We have access to the patient's medical records. I traded all my alphas to a coworker. It's standard procedure. Nearly thirty percent of omegas don't suppress their cycles. It's not so bad."
"Isn't it?" Sherlock asked, because he could barely think. It felt like it took ages to put John out of his mind, to push down the vivid mental images about what he wanted to do to him. At least if he left, and Sherlock had taken up hours-long solitary walks around London recently, the nigh-irresistible desire burning through his veins would fade, letting him think clearly once more. He didn't know how John could handle it at all; he could hardly escape himself, after all. "I can barely stand it."
"It's worse when you're around," John said, and Sherlock couldn't decipher his meaning at all.
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Please keep doing it? I'm loving this fill! ^_^ <3
Hmm...It seems Mycroft has also been reduced to keyboard banging...
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I am loving this so much!
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The entire flat smelled like John, not like sex but like a precursor to it, even when Sherlock retreated to his bedroom to, ostensibly, go to sleep.
John had retired to his room several minutes ago, and Sherlock had no doubt in his mind that John was touching himself. Sherlock hadn't done it deliberately, but at some point he'd memorized John's masturbatory habits.
John left for bed earlier and slept better depending on how long he took, on whether he stroked himself to completion or fucked himself with one of the long, thick toys Sherlock had found in his bedroom while looking for spare bullets.
He was an omega, the omega to Sherlock's alpha, and he was in heat. His body was telling him it needed a prick in its arse, needed to be stretched and filled and flooded with an alpha's seed. John had gone to bed nearly an hour earlier than he normally did, which meant he'd be touching himself now, working his fingers into his arse in preparation for something larger.
Sherlock wondered if John liked it rough, if he'd work the dildo in slowly or shove it inside himself greedily, eager to be filled. Would John touch his cock at all, or would he be able to come just by fucking himself?
Sherlock's own cock sprang eagerly into his hand when he pushed down his pants and trousers, wrapping his fingers around himself.
John would be embarrassed at first, when Sherlock approached him, ashamed at how eager, how desperate he was for Sherlock's cock. But Sherlock would press and John would yield, would blush and stammer and admit, "I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop thinking about you. I fuck myself with my fingers and pretend it's your prick."
Sherlock would take John on his hands and knees, mounting him like an animal, pounding into his tight, slick hole over and over. He'd press his face against John's shoulder, tasting the sweat-slick skin, and John would moan, would writhe under him and say, "Sherlock, Sherlock please. I want your knot, I want you to come inside me."
And he would - his knot would form, the base of his penis swelling in size until John was incoherent, too overcome by the sensation to form words, and he'd come inside John's arse, flooding his passage with semen.
Sherlock's orgasm broke him out of his fantasy; semen pooled on his belly. He cleaned it up with a handful of tissues from his nightstand.
He still felt faintly on edge, anxious and eager, but it wasn't as distracting now. He wondered what John, upstairs, was doing - if he'd finished as well, if he'd worked himself up until he was panting and had only now started to calm down.
If he, like Sherlock, was thinking about his flatmate.
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