FILLED: What I need you to do, Sherlock/John, Lestrade/John
anonymous
September 11 2010, 21:27:46 UTC
Oh, his therapist would have a lot to say about this. Or very little. John imagines the silence, tick tock, tick tock, as she tries to find a way to not be judgemental but at the same time express her concern over what is no doubt a symptom of his PTSD. Self harming, in a way. A physical demonstration of his lack of self worth.
He wonders why he needs to go see her at all when he’s clearly become adept at self diagnosing his mental condition.
All the same, he’s lying face down on the bed, hands fisted in the sheets, face turned to one side so all he can see is the wall. Regardless, he knows that Lestrade touches him first. Not because Lestrade ever has before, but he knows Sherlock’s touch. Light, but confident. Intense but not in a way that hurts.
Lestrade’s hands are trembling, and John wonders if he’ll see it through. Sherlock did the convincing. Sherlock did the blood tests because John insisted - not that he thinks there’s anything wrong with Lestrade but he knows the risks of unprotected sex and he’d rather not catch anything and he’d rather not give it to Sherlock.
Lestrade didn’t seem to mind. But talk is one thing and reality - hard physical reality - quite another.
And then Lestrade is fingering him, stretching him out gradually, but John knows that it will hurt all the same. But this is what he wanted, so he mans up and bites his lip as Lestrade sinks slowly into him. He expects the officer to ask if he’s ok, to let him know if it’s too much, but no one says anything. John’s absurdly grateful for that, for the only sound to be his own breathing. It seems loud and harsh, and he wonders if the other two men can hear it like that as well, or if it just seems that way to him.
Lestrade comes, and John doesn’t. It doesn’t take any major effort on his part; he doesn’t have to hold himself back. That’s not what this is about. He hopes Lestrade understands, doesn’t take offence, doesn’t feel like he’s just a tool here. In a way, he is. The third man, extra hand, however you want to put it.
Lestrade slips out of him, and he doesn’t touch John again, but John can feel when he’s about to. He can feel the heat of Lestrade’s hand hovering over his back, and knows the moment when the older man thinks twice about it, because the warmth moves away and the bed moves as Lestrade climbs off.
Sherlock shows no hesitation. John expected none. After all, he asked for this, and Sherlock stared at him a long time, and asked one or two questions, and then seemed satisfied. Just like that, Sherlock made the arrangements, and now John is face down and his arse feels raw, and the only thing to ease the slip and slide of Sherlock’s cock is Lestrade’s come, still leaking sluggishly out of John’s hole.
He doesn’t come for Sherlock either and knows Sherlock won’t take it personally. That wasn’t going to happen this time around; that wasn’t why they were doing this. He knows Sherlock hasn’t come either, but he seems to know when the time is right and pulls out, and John gives a gasp that’s relief for more reasons than one. He buries his face in the blanket, trying to block out the pain.
It’s always the double edged sword. When he needs it, it’s cleansing, thorough, like someone popping the plastic over his head that’s been smothering him. But then it keeps going and he needs something to distract him from it and around and around and around he goes.
“Sssh,” is all Sherlock says, and John stiffens as cold plastic slides into his anus, and the first of the medicated gel feels glorious as it numbs and cleans his abraded channel.
He remains pliant, almost boneless, as Sherlock finishes his ministrations, and then lies down beside him. He pulls John into his arms, wraps the blanket around him, and holds him almost too tight until finally John falls asleep.
Re: FILLED: What I need you to do, Sherlock/John, Lestrade/John
anonymous
September 12 2010, 16:05:24 UTC
It didn't find its way into the fic, but I had it in my head that Lestrade would only have done it because he didn't trust anyone else too. Maybe someone else can do a sequel with the three of them getting together - I think they would sort of fit in a way.
But yep - now Lestrade's going to need some fixing! Thank you for reading!
Re What I need you to do [OP]
anonymous
September 12 2010, 03:52:27 UTC
Wow, anon. Thank you--you made this prompt into something more than hot sex (which is always great of course!) and into something John really needed. It really works, and I loved this.
He wonders why he needs to go see her at all when he’s clearly become adept at self diagnosing his mental condition.
All the same, he’s lying face down on the bed, hands fisted in the sheets, face turned to one side so all he can see is the wall. Regardless, he knows that Lestrade touches him first. Not because Lestrade ever has before, but he knows Sherlock’s touch. Light, but confident. Intense but not in a way that hurts.
Lestrade’s hands are trembling, and John wonders if he’ll see it through. Sherlock did the convincing. Sherlock did the blood tests because John insisted - not that he thinks there’s anything wrong with Lestrade but he knows the risks of unprotected sex and he’d rather not catch anything and he’d rather not give it to Sherlock.
Lestrade didn’t seem to mind. But talk is one thing and reality - hard physical reality - quite another.
And then Lestrade is fingering him, stretching him out gradually, but John knows that it will hurt all the same. But this is what he wanted, so he mans up and bites his lip as Lestrade sinks slowly into him. He expects the officer to ask if he’s ok, to let him know if it’s too much, but no one says anything. John’s absurdly grateful for that, for the only sound to be his own breathing. It seems loud and harsh, and he wonders if the other two men can hear it like that as well, or if it just seems that way to him.
Lestrade comes, and John doesn’t. It doesn’t take any major effort on his part; he doesn’t have to hold himself back. That’s not what this is about. He hopes Lestrade understands, doesn’t take offence, doesn’t feel like he’s just a tool here. In a way, he is. The third man, extra hand, however you want to put it.
Lestrade slips out of him, and he doesn’t touch John again, but John can feel when he’s about to. He can feel the heat of Lestrade’s hand hovering over his back, and knows the moment when the older man thinks twice about it, because the warmth moves away and the bed moves as Lestrade climbs off.
Sherlock shows no hesitation. John expected none. After all, he asked for this, and Sherlock stared at him a long time, and asked one or two questions, and then seemed satisfied. Just like that, Sherlock made the arrangements, and now John is face down and his arse feels raw, and the only thing to ease the slip and slide of Sherlock’s cock is Lestrade’s come, still leaking sluggishly out of John’s hole.
He doesn’t come for Sherlock either and knows Sherlock won’t take it personally. That wasn’t going to happen this time around; that wasn’t why they were doing this. He knows Sherlock hasn’t come either, but he seems to know when the time is right and pulls out, and John gives a gasp that’s relief for more reasons than one. He buries his face in the blanket, trying to block out the pain.
It’s always the double edged sword. When he needs it, it’s cleansing, thorough, like someone popping the plastic over his head that’s been smothering him. But then it keeps going and he needs something to distract him from it and around and around and around he goes.
“Sssh,” is all Sherlock says, and John stiffens as cold plastic slides into his anus, and the first of the medicated gel feels glorious as it numbs and cleans his abraded channel.
He remains pliant, almost boneless, as Sherlock finishes his ministrations, and then lies down beside him. He pulls John into his arms, wraps the blanket around him, and holds him almost too tight until finally John falls asleep.
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But yep - now Lestrade's going to need some fixing! Thank you for reading!
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Thank you again. <3
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