Let's Take Off To Peru (5/5)
Author's Note: Final chapter! Yay!
A massive thank you to everyone who helped me with this chapter, including: snakeling, lorientad, donquichotte, midori_marmotte, and ariana_paris. I'm truly overwhelmed by everyone's willingness to chip in and give me language advice -- hopefully this means that the French in this chapter is PARFAIT (haha) - or at least, better than it would have been without each of these wonderful people helping me!
Without further ado:
Let's Take Off To Peru (5/5)
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"Tu es avec moi?" Sherlock whispered - unnecessary platitudes having obviously been drummed into him by prolonged exposure to John, as his gaze cutting into every part of Alec's body and soul would be providing the detective with far more information than anything Alec could possibly hope to muddle together in his current state.
The next few strokes were painfully slow, and Sherlock tormented Alec further by stopping altogether when Alec's rate of breathing increased, or became even the tiniest bit heavier.
"S'il te plait..."
Alec begged, then in case Sherlock wasn't paying close enough attention to have caught what he'd said, Alec tried again, in English, but just at that moment, Sherlock decided to increase both pace and pressure, causing Alec to cry out mid-word.
"Ple-ay-ah-oui-yes!" He arched into Sherlock's touch, completely to no avail, as the man cleverly, infuriatingly, relaxed his hand to follow Alec's movement without providing the friction he obviously sought.
"Ah, mon Dieu!" he cried, not for the first time, and through the tears pricking at his eyes, caught a glimpse of Sherlock's expression. A cold smile glimmered at him, while analytical eyes searched for something that Sherlock apparently suspected Alec was hiding inside.
"Not an experiment," John interrupted all of a sudden, his voice soft and low, but carrying clearly across the room.
Sherlock blinked, looked chastened for a split second, then collected himself.
"Of course not," he said, but Alec had no idea who was being reassured by this statement. One thing he was sure of, however, was that Sherlock finally gave up his torturous approach.
Alec would have let out a sigh of relief, but Sherlock, being the sort of person he was, had naturally gone from one extreme to the other, and was again preventing Alec from catching his breath or gathering his senses. He had been strung out for too long, and so, lasted a ridiculously short time under Sherlock's renewed attack.
His head spun afterwards, his hands found to be clutching tightly around Sherlock's biceps. The other man was smiling again, but it had warmed up into a triumphant look, the barest shade away from "pleased", or any other expression typically witnessed on other people after they've successfully brought their lover to climax.
Sherlock had very little regard for "typical".
"Je..." Alec began, unsure of what he was going to say, but feeling like he should say something.
"Tu." Sherlock confirmed nonsensically, adjusting Alec's position just so, pushing the younger man backwards, and looping Alec's legs over his shoulders.
An inelegant "ugh," was forced out of Alec as his body was manipulated in this way, and an instance of doubt flashed up in his mind. Was he going to be able to handle this? Sherlock stopped moving as soon as the thought occurred to Alec, and stroked his hands firmly and soothingly up and down Alec's legs, calming the quivers that shot through Alec as a result of the position and the intimate contact.
Alec took a deep breath, his chest shuddering on the exhale.
"Regarde-moi," Sherlock commanded, and he obeyed before even a second's thought.
Sherlock's eyes were blown with lust, reminding Alec of their time back on the Holmes estate in Bordeaux, reminding him that both Sherlock and John welcomed him into their lives, into their bed.
"Ca va te faire plaisir." Sherlock vowed, and his voice was so earnest, so deeply impassioned, that Alec found himself nodding in agreement.
"Le meilleur plaisir." he concurred.
"Nous ne l'oublierons jamais." Sherlock promised, pressing into Alec with a slow determination.
Alec sighed to overcome the hot penetration - Sherlock had used lube, had introduced that at some stage, but had foregone any more preparatory steps, allowing only the relaxation of Alec's muscles post-orgasm to decrease the pain. Fortunately, Alec was not new to the role, and simply needed to breathe and concentrate in order to - but Sherlock was not interested in *adjustments*, *coping*, and was already moving.
"Ralentis," Alec requested, panting as spikes of sensation were created with every thrust. He wriggled to try and improve his position.
"Plus vite." Sherlock disagreed, holding Alec still in his contortions.
"Putain, putain, putain..." Alec chanted, not having been given a chance to keep up, and just trying to deal with how much he was enjoying this, how much he loved Sherlock's demanding forcefulness, how good it was to be pressed into the mattress by such a beautiful, lean body, how wonderful to feel John's eyes on them the whole time, to know that he was watching them so closely, taking everything in, that he knew exactly what the two of them were feeling, having experienced these very things himself.
There were no secrets, Alec realised. This truly was as physically intimate as three people could get. The thought jarred him, distracting him momentarily with the shock.
"Tu le veux." Sherlock whispered into his ear, a rumbly growl that made Alec shiver.
"Vas-y." he requested; a leap of faith that he would be saved at the other end.
"Fuuuuck." Sherlock ground out through gritted teeth, characteristically emphasising the "k" sound at the end of the word. His neck and arms were stiffened with the exertion, while his hips pounded away. Alec took him, welcomed him and was soon rewarded. The transformation that came over Sherlock's face with his orgasm was astounding, miraculous. Like a solar eclipse; something you cannot begin to fathom occurring until it actually takes place in front of you.
Sherlock surrendered to biology, and his features softened into an incongruous semblance of innocence.
"Tu es si beau, extraordinaire," Alec murmured, peppering Sherlock with gentle kisses as the other man struggled to even out his breath.
He was so caught up in their embrace, in the sensation of Sherlock's heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, that the side of the bed sinking down under the weight of someone joining them startled him.
John. Of course, John, he calmed himself, releasing his hold on Sherlock to let him turn and greet the new addition to the bed.
Lazily, they kissed, occasionally holding their faces far enough apart from one another in order to let Alec see the interplay of their mouths, tongues, lips, teeth more clearly, and Alec found himself biting his own lip whenever Sherlock took John's between his teeth.
Suddenly, Sherlock grinned with a terrible glee, and both John and Alec's attentions were brought to the movement of Sherlock's hand from the outside of John's cotton pants to the inside, where there was an unmistakable shape distorting the fabric. Alec licked his lips briefly, remembering the texture, the heat, the weight of the very thing Sherlock was now toying with.
John gasped, succumbing to Sherlock's ministrations.
"Oh, god..." he uttered in a quiet voice, just loud enough to reach the ears of his bedfellows.
"Do you want me, or him?" Sherlock questioned, in that level of baritone that inevitably made Alec sit up and take notice.
"You, always you." John begged and promised, shifting so that his body would press closer to Sherlock's.
Sherlock, however, was impossibly fast when the mood struck him, and before either John or Alec could blink, Sherlock was standing, out of the bed, and directing John towards Alec, who still lay in repose, despite the tangled mess of sheets about him.
"Show me how much you want me - with him." Sherlock commanded, the demonic smile upon his face rendering him completely unopposable.
“Jesus.” John breathed, gradually comprehending that Sherlock was going to just watch. He kissed Alec soundly, half demanding, half requesting his permission.
Alec relaxed, melted under his attentions.
"Allez, viens." Alec spurred him, tilting his hips upwards to allow easier access.
John reached down automatically, one hand sliding under to up Alec’s backside, his fingers slipping easily into Alec’s loosened hole. The sensation of hot wetness caught up with him, reminding him that Alec had just been thoroughly used by Sherlock.
“Are you sure it’s not too much?” he checked, not wanting to cause discomfort - never wanting to cause discomfort.
“Yes.” Alec sighed, trying to convey his want and need for more; more pressure, more friction, more heat…and now.
Something of his intents got through to John, and the man ducked down swiftly, all-too-briefly caressing Alec’s balls with his tongue, enveloping Alec’s cock with his mouth and sucking only enough to ensure he was ‘involved’, so to speak. The beautiful, lethal appendage then ventured lower, teasing gently at Alec’s perineum; an act which had the horrible, desirable effect of making Alec yearn for more, despite there not being any contact in the places he really lusted for.
After a deep inhalation (which made Alec realise just precisely what scents would be filling John’s nose at this point in time), John delved further, his tongue penetrating Alec’s hole, and investigating the contents. It was so wet, so…squirmy, that Alec couldn’t help but react; his leg kicking upwards and narrowly missing - though he didn’t realise this - Sherlock, who had situated himself rather too closely to be considered a safe observing distance.
“Hngh.” John responded, inarticulate for a second as he separated his tongue from the crevice. A shock ran through Alec at the diminished contact, but he permitted his leg to be moved back to a less-precarious situation.
“Please…” he began, racking his brain for the English words, and tears pricking his eyes that he couldn’t think of them.
"Ta langue," he attempted anyway, hoping John would somehow understand.
“My tongue?” John quizzed. “Don’t need to ask me twice. No kicking this time.”
Alec opened his eyes, searching to explain John’s sudden mastery of the French language. He caught sight of Sherlock, hovering to the side of the bed, an enraptured smile on his face.
"Attention aux pieds." Sherlock said, and Alec nodded, closing his eyes once again as the sensation of John’s intrusion overcame him. He’d forgotten, he needn’t worry - Sherlock would operate as translator for the both of them.
"Ah, mon Dieu - ah, putain !" he cursed, arching into the point of connection between him and John. He reached for his cock, hand slipping momentarily on the precome coating the sides.
"Plus !" he exclaimed, and quickly found the rhythm John was following, matching it with his hand.
“Agh…no.” John countered, withdrawing from Alec once again. Alec’s eyes shot open, and he followed John’s movement instinctively.
"Quoi… ?” he questioned, hand faltering, but everything stopped mattering in the next moment, as John’s mouth enveloped his. An array of tastes bombarded him, and he tried to isolate the elements that were himself, Sherlock, and John…but it was near impossible.
“If you’re going to come again,” John whispered, “You’re going to do it while I’m fucking you - with my cock, not my tongue.”
Alec could feel the relevant organ making itself known where John pressed it against his thigh.
“Yes - ah, mon Dieu - please - yes!” Alec begged, unable to think of sentences.
“So needy.” John smiled, wrapping Alec’s extraneous limbs around him and sliding into place as if he always belonged there.
“Fortunately for you, we have a lot to give,” he murmured, applying a small nibble to Alec’s collarbone. It was perhaps no coincidence that he found the same spot that Sherlock had attended to previously.
Alec, not wanting to wait any longer, jerked his body, forcing John to make contact with his prostate.
“Mon Dieu !” “Jesus!” they cried simultaneously, John almost overwhelmed by the alerts his nerve endings were sending him, each one shouting variants of “hot!” “tight!” “wet!” and each one demanding more.
John wasn’t much for leaving requests unfulfilled. On shaking arms, he repositioned their bodies, ensured leverage - and to Sherlock’s ever-watching eye, looked for all the world like a famished lion about to feast - and began.
Somehow, his pounding was different to Sherlock’s, Alec noted in some distant part of his brain. Somehow, there was a greater sense of connection. Ultimately, he couldn’t think of the whys and wherefores to too great an extent, however, and once his head rapped sharply against the headboard, a more pressing concern overtook his mind. Alec stretched his arms up to protect himself from being fucked through the wall, inevitably altering certain angles.
“Yes,” John hissed, as Alec’s body twisted beneath him; the minor changes in position giving him a greater drive.
He grasped Alec’s upper thigh firmly, and pushed it higher, allowing a plunge of greater depths. Alec’s panting transformed into small, moaning gasps, and then increased even further in intensity seconds later.
He was at a loss to comprehend why or how John had managed to achieve additional force apparently from nowhere, until he pried his eyes open and saw not one, but two faces looming over him. Sherlock had clambered onto the bed and draped himself over John’s back, lending his own weight and power to each of the thrusts Alec was receiving.
"Incroyable." Alec remarked, in bursts as the air was pushed out of him, but then the combined efforts of Sherlock and John overwhelmed, and he gave himself up to the ever-increasing wonderful tension within, and shook himself through a small explosion.
John was not too far behind, although it remained unclear that he was anywhere near completion until he actually was complete - he maintained his power and rhythm until the very end, and finally allowed himself to collapse on top of Alec.
But Alec didn’t have to fight for breath for too long, as John’s weakened body was soon rolled to the side, and replaced by the certain pressure of one distinctly longer, and more slender…and more intrusive. Alec wriggled in response to the persistent, inquisitive touch at his abused rear, and rocked indecisively between blocking Sherlock’s access and pursuing a third - most likely impossible - orgasm of the night.
As he contemplated, his hands ran of their own accord, up Sherlock’s arm, away from where he was instigating himself between Alec’s legs, up over his chest, with a quick detour to tease Sherlock’s nipples to attention, and down the other arm, which he discovered, was engaged in identical activities with John’s backside. Those fingers, those beautiful fingers which Alec admired both ardently and from afar, were dancing into and out of John’s considerably tighter hole, causing it to flinch and grasp in response.
Alec’s own fingers hesitated when he made this discovery, thinking for a moment that he was interrupting. But then John’s hand enclosed Alec’s, and guided it towards his entrance. A clear invitation if ever there was one. Alec pressed a fingertip where he was indicated, and marveled when it was rapidly ensconced.
It was a strange situation, feeling Sherlock’s elegant fingers pressed so closely against his, in such an intimate space provided by another - not one he could remember having experienced before, and he worked to go nowhere that Sherlock’s fingers were not already prying.
Curiosity and inattention, however, led his finger to crook away from Sherlock, and the rapturous response from John edged him on. He pursued this avenue, wringing all the enticing gasps and moans from John that he could, until he was reminding of both Sherlock’s ability to multitask, and the location of the man’s other hand.
"Je ne peux pas - " he protested, darting his fingers out of John’s arse.
"Oh, mais je suis tout à fait sûr que tu peux,"
"Ton pouls et ta respiration sont d'un niveau acceptable étant donné ton effort actuel, et tu es en suffisamment bonne santé pour continuer. De plus, ta reaction à mon toucher et le comportement que tu viens de démontrer envers John prouvent de manière incontournable que tu es intéresse et que tu es tout à fait capable."
are interested, and you are capable.>
“Oui, oui.” Alec agreed, not wanting the gentle poetry of Sherlock’s voice to stop.
“Oui,” Sherlock smiled, the most honest one Alec had ever seen, and the most fixated.
"Retourne-toi." Sherlock instructed, guiding Alec’s movement.
Sherlock had known for a long time that he could recover quickly, and be ready again much more rapidly than John - a simple case of good fortune, more than anything else. He wasn’t about to let this opportunity to exercise that knack go to waste. This time, he wouldn’t be willing his erection away, or disposing of it through the simple, uninspired execution of a handjob. Here there was a willing and able body, just waiting for Sherlock to take advantage.
“Ah - ” Alec grunted, realising where he was being positioned. He now lay face-to-face with John, their groins resting comfortably, stickily together, and Alec’s arse on display to Sherlock’s investigation.
“Hello.” John greeted him, interrupting his own welcoming smile by eagerly kissing Alec, cupping his face in his hands. His tongue was active, alive, darting - Alec could barely keep up.
Preoccupied, he was then startled by Sherlock’s weight settling behind him, a dull pressure once again threatening to split him in halves.
"Je peux - oui," he repeated, reminding himself, and giving Sherlock permission at the same time.
This position took the strain off his legs, finally letting them rest, but his arse ached, and a firey heat pulsed through it in throbbing waves. Sherlock’s cock twitched inside Alec, but otherwise the detective held still, waiting. For what, Alec was unsure. He contemplated Sherlock’s recovery time with a sense of awe, and wasn’t sure whether he prayed for John to share this impressive ability, or not.
John breathed out a shallow huff of air, causing Sherlock and Alec to sink down slightly. John reached around Alec, up to Sherlock’s face, and brushed away the curls that relentlessly caught at the corner of his mouth.
“Kiss me,” he demanded, but his affectionate tones made the demand sound remarkably like a favour being granted. Either way, Sherlock was not about to ignore the love of his life, the one man who had looked at the prickly exterior, and not shied away; looked beneath the prickly exterior, and not turned to run; looked into each of their cases together, and been clever enough to understand Sherlock’s drive.
Sherlock pressed forward, leaning himself to move further into Alec, eliciting a quiet gasp of blissfully anguished surprise from Alec, as the younger man’s body spread apart to allow the motion.
Sherlock stretched to reach John’s mouth, one hand propping himself up from the bed, one hand spanning around and grasping both Alec and John’s hips together. His fingers were not so impossibly lengthy as to enclose their hips, but the warm clasp and assured grip were comforting to them all; a source of anchorage, of grounding.
Alec let out a satisfied, shaky breath, and his muscles shifted, allowed Sherlock to settle more optimally.
Sherlock broke the kiss with John abruptly, and gathered himself. Alec was unlikely to come again, he knew, so he focused on his own enjoyment, allowing his mind to supply the vivid images of his cock slopping through Alec’s red, swollen, come-filled interior. The thought of such a willing and accommodating participant, an attitude of cooperativeness so foreign to Sherlock intrigued him greatly, fascinated him - he wanted it all the more.
Alec’s hole offered no resistance any more, and the lack of friction should have been off-putting, but Sherlock was tickled by the slick, and took on the challenge to be stimulated by Alec’s absolute lack of force. He experimented with the freedom of movement being offered him, tested the limits, as was his way.
“Sherlock.” John’s voice brought his attention back, drew his eye to John’s soft lips, moist and full.
Without seeking permission, Sherlock’s mind equated the sight with the sensation of Alec’s rear, so open, so enduring, and Sherlock found his release. He shouted as he spent himself, arching impossibly backwards, and clenching his hand so hard that John and Alec were undoubtedly going to be bruised - but he had no idea of the words his ecstasy elicited. They weren’t important.
As his strength failed him, and he toppled from his place, he heard John’s chuckle. Exhausted, yet still capable of this simple joy.
“A good start to a holiday, don’t you think, Alec?” John was asking.
The young groundsman would probably not understand the rhetorical question in his current state, but Sherlock could not bring himself to translate, instead allowing gravity to control him, and leaving his arm to rest where it lay across both John and Alec’s bodies; sticky, sweaty, and smelly, but happily intertwined.
End.