Teacher, Teacher
anonymous
May 17 2011, 09:04:11 UTC
Mr. Holmes moves his finger again, stretching John at the same time as deliberately searching for something.
And he’s good at that searching, because he most definitively hits something. Oh. God. John can’t help the way his hips rise into that hand, trying to press the finger farther, harder against whatever that is.
Mr. Holmes laughs. He rubs the spot again, wanting the bucking of John’s hips against his hand and imagining how it will feel around his cock in just a few moments.
John can feel the finger inside him, twisting and circling around his sweet spot. He starts trembling.
And then the finger is withdrawn, only to re-enter seconds later, with a companion. The fingertips immediately seek out his prostate, and the fingers slide to either side of the gland deep inside, and squeeze ever-so-slightly together.
“Mr. H-holmes.” John cries, almost embarrassed by how needy his voice sounds. He goes stock still, his body so caught up in the feeling that it can’t even rock back for more.
“I take it that’s a vote to repeat that particular stimuli, John?” Mr. Holmes’s voice is getting lower and rougher. John notes somewhere in the very, very back of his mind that he’s not the only one whose breathing is so utterly undone.
John’s head nods fervently without his permission, and the fingers start up their motion, slowly, firmly, with great deliberation, scissoring inside him, hitting his prostate with almost every motion. “More,” John finds himself asking. He’s never felt so hard in his life, but the touches deep inside him aren’t enough. He needs Mr. Holmes to touch him, to wrap his long fingers around his shaft like he has so many times in his fantasies, and give him a long hard pull. “Touch me,” he whispers, desperate.
Mr. Holmes leans over to press a kiss to the divot at the end of John’s back, to the small indentation of flesh where his spine meets the curve of his buttocks. “God, you’re a pretty, wanton thing.” Mr. Holmes’s soft kiss turns into a sharp nip. John jumps at the sensation, his knees knocking at the wood.
“And soon you’ll be wrapped around me-and only me.”
Mr. Holmes’ proclamation is marked by a third finger roughly shoving inside John. He crooks his fingers, slightly, bending them just the right amount so that his fingertips are resting above John’s prostate, before making one bold circular swipe across it.
John almost crashes face-first on the desk. His arms are so weak, his body just one long conduit of pleasure. But Mr. Holmes wraps his free hand around John’s waist, and forcefully straightens John’s body, pulling John’s arse closer to his until John can feel the almost-supernova heat of Mr. Holmes’s arousal against his left cheek.
Mr. Holmes removes his fingers, all three of them, and John can’t help the keening cry of loss that steals from his throat. “I was going to wait, John. Wait until you could come to me. Wait until I could take you soft and slow and aching. Wait until I could have you in a real bed. But you took up with that girl, John.” John’s legs are trembling, they’ve been forced so far apart, his arse in the air. He feels something, blunter than fingers, at his entrance. “But I can’t let her touch what’s mine, can I, John?” And Mr. Holmes slides forward until the weight of his body is crushing John against the desk, one forceful glide deep inside John, and John realizes that something is Mr. Holmes’s cock and that it’s inside him. John’s eyes flick open, and for a moment he’s drowning in pure unadulterated sensation, the thick full pressure inside him, against his prostate, is too much. Too, too, too much.
Teacher, Teacher
anonymous
May 17 2011, 09:07:46 UTC
But Mr. Holmes stills, and his hands gentle across John’s sides, and he asks, softly: “All right John?”
John can’t reply, all he can do is breathe, breath, sucking in air like any second now the entirety of the atmosphere will disappear on him and leave him in a vacuum of space.
Mr. Holmes’s voice firms, and his hands tighten on John’s hips, and even that little change in pressure makes Mr. Holmes shift and John’s eyes see stars. “I require an answer, John.”
“Yes. Yes.” John feels broken. Like speech is something he learned a long, long time ago, something barely worth remembering. His hips cant, involuntarily, up, impaling himself just the tiniest bit further.
Mr. Holmes takes a huge breath in through his nose. “Good.” His hands brace on John’s hips, and he withdraws slowly. John feels the thick heavy slide out and he’s never felt anything so wonderfully good in his life-until Mr. Holmes reverses directions and slams back into him. For a second, his prostate’s being hit dead on, and John’s arms completely loose all their strength, elbows folding, as he falls from his hands to his forearms.
Before he can recover, Mr. Holmes is doing it again, canting forward and backwards and John’s whimpering and the angle is even better now, with his arse higher in the air, and John would swear on anything he held dear that he could hear the smirk in Mr. Holmes’s voice as he queries: “Pleasurable, John?”
John takes in a breath to reply, and Mr. Holmes’s rams back in just as his lips part, forcing John’s one syllable answer to come out as a long, keening “Yeeeeeeeeesssss”.
Mr. Holmes thrusts once, twice, three times, and something inside John is building, building, a miasma of pure burning pleasure in his lower abdomen and cock. If he could just touch-he tries to shift his weight onto his right forearm, and draw his left hand back to his aching erection.
But Mr. Holmes’s hand unclenches from around John’s hip so fast, and shoves John’s weight back onto his left side.
“No, John.” His next thrust is even harder, faster, more punishing. “Did I say you could touch? Did I say you could touch what’s mine?”
John’s back shivers, and he tries to re-center his balance over his forearms, to take the thrusts pounding into him from behind.
“No-o-oooh!” John forces himself to answer.
“Then. What. Made. You. Think. You. Could.” Each word is punctuated by a short, hard, thrust.
John’s mind blanks for a minute, the entirety of his consciousness filled with the smell of sex, pre-come and sweat. All he can do is feel the delicious pressure in him, behind him.
Mr. Holmes bends forward, and opens his mouth over John’s left shoulder, before baring down, hard, with his teeth. Around John’s flesh, he hums an inquisitive “Hmm?” sound.
John’s back arches, almost spasms, and his arms shake. “I wanted.” He takes a deep, bracing breath-or as deep as his almost hyperventilating diaphragm will let him-and says: “I wanted. To come.”
“Then I’m afraid you have to ask, John.”
“Let me c-c¬-ome?” John’s voice goes up an octave on the last vowel, questioning.
For a moment, the only sound in the room is the slide of Mr. Holmes’s slick cock sliding in and out of his hole. John’s gut wrenches, and he feels like the entirety of his life is hanging in the balance of those few seconds.
Teacher, Teacher
anonymous
May 17 2011, 09:09:56 UTC
“Beg.” The word is a harsh rumbling growl.
John’s eyes close, and he shudders. “Please. Please.”
“Prettier.”
“Please, please, Mr. Holmes. Let me come.” John’s eyes are almost wet; he’s been on the brink so long. His body is taut and shaking, his elbows weak where they’re braced on the desk before him.
“Again. John. Again.”
“Please,” he whispers, pushing the sound between cracked lips, the small sound all he has left to give. And Mr. Holmes reaches around, and his hand lands on his cock, so hard and red and begging for the slightest touch. It only takes one pull of those long fabulous fingers before all that tension’s released, and his crying out and coming onto the desk.
“Next time, I’ll see your face, John,” Mr. Holmes says, a deep dark edict hanging above their heads. John’s body contracts uncontrollably at the pronouncement.
John’s shuddering, over-sensitized, each thrust of Mr. Holmes inside of him making his insides curl with pleasure-pain when Mr. Holmes finally comes inside of him. His body shudders, and drapes itself completely over John. John realizes again, how much smaller he is than his teacher. For a moment, they lay there, and John can feel Mr. Holmes’s breath ghosting across the sweaty hairs on the back of his neck. Then, Mr. Holmes nuzzles into John’s neck, and opens his jaw to deliver another marking nip to his sensitive nape.
John can hear Mr. Holmes’s voice rumble in his chest and grumble across his skin as his left hand tightens possessively on John’s hip. He shivers, his animal brain responding viscerally, primitively thrilling as the voice claims him.
Re: Teacher, Teacher
anonymous
May 17 2011, 16:52:24 UTC
OH
WOW THAT WAS SO HOT! So intense and so so very well-written, really well traced characters and the sex scene is amazingly inetnse... I've read this like three times today, and i just can say that YOU ARE AWESOME and I WOULD TOTALLY READ MORE OF THIS... i am not the OP but well... how about Mr. Holmes making his "pronouncement" true? Seriously, i (and the world) need more of this hotness!!!
Thank you, however, you are the amazing one for leaving such a lovely and enthusiastic review.
I'm contemplating continuing this with something more Mr. Holmes centric, since this was so John-based, but I'm not sure. I'll keep in mind that the fulfillment of a certain pronouncement would make you happy anon.
Thank you. I like possessive Sherlock quite alot, and I'm glad he appealed to you. I thought it would be the one thing guarenteed to make Sherlock violate the Teacher/student barrier.
Re: Teacher, Teacher
anonymous
May 18 2011, 00:17:09 UTC
“I was going to wait, John. Wait until you could come to me. Wait until I could take you soft and slow and aching. Wait until I could have you in a real bed.
“Next time, I’ll see your face, John,” Mr. Holmes says
If that doesn't mean that this smokin' hot fic needs a smokin' hot sequel then I don't know what does.
And he’s good at that searching, because he most definitively hits something. Oh. God. John can’t help the way his hips rise into that hand, trying to press the finger farther, harder against whatever that is.
Mr. Holmes laughs. He rubs the spot again, wanting the bucking of John’s hips against his hand and imagining how it will feel around his cock in just a few moments.
John can feel the finger inside him, twisting and circling around his sweet spot. He starts trembling.
And then the finger is withdrawn, only to re-enter seconds later, with a companion. The fingertips immediately seek out his prostate, and the fingers slide to either side of the gland deep inside, and squeeze ever-so-slightly together.
“Mr. H-holmes.” John cries, almost embarrassed by how needy his voice sounds. He goes stock still, his body so caught up in the feeling that it can’t even rock back for more.
“I take it that’s a vote to repeat that particular stimuli, John?” Mr. Holmes’s voice is getting lower and rougher. John notes somewhere in the very, very back of his mind that he’s not the only one whose breathing is so utterly undone.
John’s head nods fervently without his permission, and the fingers start up their motion, slowly, firmly, with great deliberation, scissoring inside him, hitting his prostate with almost every motion. “More,” John finds himself asking. He’s never felt so hard in his life, but the touches deep inside him aren’t enough. He needs Mr. Holmes to touch him, to wrap his long fingers around his shaft like he has so many times in his fantasies, and give him a long hard pull. “Touch me,” he whispers, desperate.
Mr. Holmes leans over to press a kiss to the divot at the end of John’s back, to the small indentation of flesh where his spine meets the curve of his buttocks. “God, you’re a pretty, wanton thing.” Mr. Holmes’s soft kiss turns into a sharp nip. John jumps at the sensation, his knees knocking at the wood.
“And soon you’ll be wrapped around me-and only me.”
Mr. Holmes’ proclamation is marked by a third finger roughly shoving inside John. He crooks his fingers, slightly, bending them just the right amount so that his fingertips are resting above John’s prostate, before making one bold circular swipe across it.
John almost crashes face-first on the desk. His arms are so weak, his body just one long conduit of pleasure. But Mr. Holmes wraps his free hand around John’s waist, and forcefully straightens John’s body, pulling John’s arse closer to his until John can feel the almost-supernova heat of Mr. Holmes’s arousal against his left cheek.
Mr. Holmes removes his fingers, all three of them, and John can’t help the keening cry of loss that steals from his throat. “I was going to wait, John. Wait until you could come to me. Wait until I could take you soft and slow and aching. Wait until I could have you in a real bed. But you took up with that girl, John.” John’s legs are trembling, they’ve been forced so far apart, his arse in the air. He feels something, blunter than fingers, at his entrance. “But I can’t let her touch what’s mine, can I, John?” And Mr. Holmes slides forward until the weight of his body is crushing John against the desk, one forceful glide deep inside John, and John realizes that something is Mr. Holmes’s cock and that it’s inside him. John’s eyes flick open, and for a moment he’s drowning in pure unadulterated sensation, the thick full pressure inside him, against his prostate, is too much. Too, too, too much.
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John can’t reply, all he can do is breathe, breath, sucking in air like any second now the entirety of the atmosphere will disappear on him and leave him in a vacuum of space.
Mr. Holmes’s voice firms, and his hands tighten on John’s hips, and even that little change in pressure makes Mr. Holmes shift and John’s eyes see stars. “I require an answer, John.”
“Yes. Yes.” John feels broken. Like speech is something he learned a long, long time ago, something barely worth remembering. His hips cant, involuntarily, up, impaling himself just the tiniest bit further.
Mr. Holmes takes a huge breath in through his nose. “Good.” His hands brace on John’s hips, and he withdraws slowly. John feels the thick heavy slide out and he’s never felt anything so wonderfully good in his life-until Mr. Holmes reverses directions and slams back into him. For a second, his prostate’s being hit dead on, and John’s arms completely loose all their strength, elbows folding, as he falls from his hands to his forearms.
Before he can recover, Mr. Holmes is doing it again, canting forward and backwards and John’s whimpering and the angle is even better now, with his arse higher in the air, and John would swear on anything he held dear that he could hear the smirk in Mr. Holmes’s voice as he queries: “Pleasurable, John?”
John takes in a breath to reply, and Mr. Holmes’s rams back in just as his lips part, forcing John’s one syllable answer to come out as a long, keening “Yeeeeeeeeesssss”.
Mr. Holmes thrusts once, twice, three times, and something inside John is building, building, a miasma of pure burning pleasure in his lower abdomen and cock. If he could just touch-he tries to shift his weight onto his right forearm, and draw his left hand back to his aching erection.
But Mr. Holmes’s hand unclenches from around John’s hip so fast, and shoves John’s weight back onto his left side.
“No, John.” His next thrust is even harder, faster, more punishing. “Did I say you could touch? Did I say you could touch what’s mine?”
John’s back shivers, and he tries to re-center his balance over his forearms, to take the thrusts pounding into him from behind.
“No-o-oooh!” John forces himself to answer.
“Then. What. Made. You. Think. You. Could.” Each word is punctuated by a short, hard, thrust.
John’s mind blanks for a minute, the entirety of his consciousness filled with the smell of sex, pre-come and sweat. All he can do is feel the delicious pressure in him, behind him.
Mr. Holmes bends forward, and opens his mouth over John’s left shoulder, before baring down, hard, with his teeth. Around John’s flesh, he hums an inquisitive “Hmm?” sound.
John’s back arches, almost spasms, and his arms shake. “I wanted.” He takes a deep, bracing breath-or as deep as his almost hyperventilating diaphragm will let him-and says: “I wanted. To come.”
“Then I’m afraid you have to ask, John.”
“Let me c-c¬-ome?” John’s voice goes up an octave on the last vowel, questioning.
For a moment, the only sound in the room is the slide of Mr. Holmes’s slick cock sliding in and out of his hole. John’s gut wrenches, and he feels like the entirety of his life is hanging in the balance of those few seconds.
Reply
John’s eyes close, and he shudders. “Please. Please.”
“Prettier.”
“Please, please, Mr. Holmes. Let me come.” John’s eyes are almost wet; he’s been on the brink so long. His body is taut and shaking, his elbows weak where they’re braced on the desk before him.
“Again. John. Again.”
“Please,” he whispers, pushing the sound between cracked lips, the small sound all he has left to give. And Mr. Holmes reaches around, and his hand lands on his cock, so hard and red and begging for the slightest touch. It only takes one pull of those long fabulous fingers before all that tension’s released, and his crying out and coming onto the desk.
“Next time, I’ll see your face, John,” Mr. Holmes says, a deep dark edict hanging above their heads. John’s body contracts uncontrollably at the pronouncement.
John’s shuddering, over-sensitized, each thrust of Mr. Holmes inside of him making his insides curl with pleasure-pain when Mr. Holmes finally comes inside of him. His body shudders, and drapes itself completely over John. John realizes again, how much smaller he is than his teacher. For a moment, they lay there, and John can feel Mr. Holmes’s breath ghosting across the sweaty hairs on the back of his neck. Then, Mr. Holmes nuzzles into John’s neck, and opens his jaw to deliver another marking nip to his sensitive nape.
John can hear Mr. Holmes’s voice rumble in his chest and grumble across his skin as his left hand tightens possessively on John’s hip.
He shivers, his animal brain responding viscerally, primitively thrilling as the voice claims him.
“You’re mine, John Watson. You’re mine.”
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Thank you so very much!
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WOW THAT WAS SO HOT! So intense and so so very well-written, really well traced characters and the sex scene is amazingly inetnse... I've read this like three times today, and i just can say that YOU ARE AWESOME and I WOULD TOTALLY READ MORE OF THIS... i am not the OP but well... how about Mr. Holmes making his "pronouncement" true?
Seriously, i (and the world) need more of this hotness!!!
Reply
I'm contemplating continuing this with something more Mr. Holmes centric, since this was so John-based, but I'm not sure. I'll keep in mind that the fulfillment of a certain pronouncement would make you happy anon.
Thanks again.
Reply
Almost abusively possessive teacher!Sherlock is way, way more attractive than it has any right to be. Hngggg
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Brb, gotta visit my bunk.
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“Next time, I’ll see your face, John,” Mr. Holmes says
If that doesn't mean that this smokin' hot fic needs a smokin' hot sequel then I don't know what does.
Reply
I don't know quite yet about a sequel. I'm thinking about doing something with more focus on Mr. Holmes's POV, but no real news on that front yet.
Thank you very much for your lovely feedback.
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Well hell that would be pretty damn hot too.
Follow your muse, good anon, follow your muse.
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