Filled - Part 2/5
anonymous
October 13 2010, 17:10:50 UTC
John had raised himself on one elbow and grinned breathlessly at him and now, a few minutes later, Sherlock’s legs were over John’s shoulders as John pushed gently but firmly into him. Sherlock let his eyes drift shut as he felt his body opening, accommodating John’s insistent press. He had always loved this, almost since the first time he had tried it, and from time to time had wondered if it was entirely normal to get such pleasure out of it. Correction, he told himself, as John gasped for breath and held Sherlock perfectly still with a warning hand on his hip, Sebastian wondered if it was entirely normal. Sherlock had never been overly worried about what was considered normal or what people thought but Sebastian, who was still uncomfortable with his bisexuality and what people might mutter about him behind his back, had fretted endlessly about their activities in bed and their respective roles.
You’d think he would have been happy about it, he mused. That way he got to avoid any threatening self-analysis over his masculinity.
When John finally tried a gentle, tentative thrust into him, he groaned, ‘God, Sherlock… that’s amazing… are you all right?’
Of course, Sherlock wanted to say, but as John thrust into him again the head of his cock rubbed against Sherlock’s prostate and his answer was lost in a gasp.
It took a few false starts, not helped by Sherlock pulling at John’s hips and interrupting his movements, but eventually a slow rhythm built up between them. John was moving in him with slow, self-assured movements (definitely a man who’s done this before) and hitching his hips up at the end of each thrust to nudge the place inside Sherlock that made it suddenly difficult to breathe or focus.
Very difficult to focus, and Sherlock didn’t realise that this was the first moment during their (one-and-a-half, so far) sexual encounters that John had been free to use his mouth for actual speaking until John grated out, ‘Christ, Sherlock, you’re so tight.’
In reply, Sherlock slid his hands down John’s damp spine, cupping his buttocks and feeling the muscles bunch and flex under the skin as John groaned, ‘God, you’re so… so…’
Easy, Sherlock supplied in the privacy of his own head. Or so Sebastian had always liked to call him. ’You’re so bloody easy, Sherlock… you’re such a slut, Christ, look at how much you love this… you’ll take anything with a cock, won’t you?’ By the time Sherlock had had enough of this to point out that clearly Sebastian loved it too, since Sherlock hadn’t been able to comfortably sit down for two weeks now, Sebastian was already tiring of him. Aspiring City bankers had no use in their lives for eccentric chemists who were as gay as a maypole and reluctant to conceal the fact due to society’s ridiculous expectations.
Immediately after Sebastian had been Victor, who seemed completely unable to orgasm without referring to Sherlock as ‘whore’ or ‘bitch’. Human sexuality was a strange and complex thing, Sherlock knew, but all the same it wasn’t a particular turn-on for him to hear ‘Yeah… that’s it… God, you’re such a fucking whore… take it, you little bitch…’ grunted in his ear, no matter how talented Victor was in other areas.
And now it seemed that, to Sherlock’s chagrin, John was also a talker. His face was flushed and he was gasping, ‘Oh my God, Sherlock, this is amazing. You’re such a…’
Don’t listen to the words, Sherlock told himself as he closed his eyes, swallowing the disappointment he felt. He had so hoped that, as he had done in many other areas so far, John would show him that he was different to the teeming masses. Don’t listen to what he’s saying; just focus on the tone of his voice.
You’d think he would have been happy about it, he mused. That way he got to avoid any threatening self-analysis over his masculinity.
When John finally tried a gentle, tentative thrust into him, he groaned, ‘God, Sherlock… that’s amazing… are you all right?’
Of course, Sherlock wanted to say, but as John thrust into him again the head of his cock rubbed against Sherlock’s prostate and his answer was lost in a gasp.
It took a few false starts, not helped by Sherlock pulling at John’s hips and interrupting his movements, but eventually a slow rhythm built up between them. John was moving in him with slow, self-assured movements (definitely a man who’s done this before) and hitching his hips up at the end of each thrust to nudge the place inside Sherlock that made it suddenly difficult to breathe or focus.
Very difficult to focus, and Sherlock didn’t realise that this was the first moment during their (one-and-a-half, so far) sexual encounters that John had been free to use his mouth for actual speaking until John grated out, ‘Christ, Sherlock, you’re so tight.’
In reply, Sherlock slid his hands down John’s damp spine, cupping his buttocks and feeling the muscles bunch and flex under the skin as John groaned, ‘God, you’re so… so…’
Easy, Sherlock supplied in the privacy of his own head. Or so Sebastian had always liked to call him. ’You’re so bloody easy, Sherlock… you’re such a slut, Christ, look at how much you love this… you’ll take anything with a cock, won’t you?’ By the time Sherlock had had enough of this to point out that clearly Sebastian loved it too, since Sherlock hadn’t been able to comfortably sit down for two weeks now, Sebastian was already tiring of him. Aspiring City bankers had no use in their lives for eccentric chemists who were as gay as a maypole and reluctant to conceal the fact due to society’s ridiculous expectations.
Immediately after Sebastian had been Victor, who seemed completely unable to orgasm without referring to Sherlock as ‘whore’ or ‘bitch’. Human sexuality was a strange and complex thing, Sherlock knew, but all the same it wasn’t a particular turn-on for him to hear ‘Yeah… that’s it… God, you’re such a fucking whore… take it, you little bitch…’ grunted in his ear, no matter how talented Victor was in other areas.
And now it seemed that, to Sherlock’s chagrin, John was also a talker. His face was flushed and he was gasping, ‘Oh my God, Sherlock, this is amazing. You’re such a…’
Don’t listen to the words, Sherlock told himself as he closed his eyes, swallowing the disappointment he felt. He had so hoped that, as he had done in many other areas so far, John would show him that he was different to the teeming masses. Don’t listen to what he’s saying; just focus on the tone of his voice.
‘Everything all right?’
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