Fic for kestrel337: Like Red Wine and Honey
Title: Like Red Wine and Honey
Recipient: Kestrel337
Author: xfdryad
Characters/Pairings: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Omegaverse
Summary: They were really going to do this.
The atmosphere changed as soon as they entered Sherlock's bedroom. It was as neat as the rest of the flat was untidy. There were prints on the walls, an expensive, highly designed stereo system, a pale grey duvet on the bed, various chairs and framed photographs of Mendeelev and Einstein, a Japanese man in Martial Arts clothing. For a second John was unsure of what to do. He felt like he was in Sherlock's inner sanctum - he snickered to himself. No need to be nervous, he'd already been in Sherlock's inner sanctum.
"Something funny?" Sherlock snapped, looking at John with a moue of distaste.
"No, nothing at all," John replied, suddenly mindful that for all the limited time they had spent together, they didn't actually know one another. At least, not on his side. Although he did know a few things about Sherlock at this point. He had very sensitive nipples, and he liked being cuddled though he would never say so. He was also clearly a person not only used to being made fun of, but of striking out whenever that occurred, and frequently at the merest hint that it might possibly occur. John understood that only too well, being just shy of the British average in height for men. He didn't take any bullshit from anyone either when it came to his height.
Lestrade drifted around John, checking out the stereo. "Nice place."
"I like it," answered Sherlock. He stood on the other side of his bed, as if to limit the damage if anything were to go wrong. Protecting himself from John and Lestrade.
As if John was about to do anything to make him feel bad. As if everything that had happened since meeting Moriarty and Moran were just a dream. John nodded to himself. Time to prove Sherlock wrong, and in the most pleasant way possible.
He toed off his shoes and began to go to work on his shirt cuffs. He was a little unsure on the best way to proceed. Lestrade was the unknown quality in this. "Greg?"
"Hmm?" Lestrade turned to face John. His gaze flicked down and then up. "Yeah, what?"
All right, then. How come he had never noticed Lestrade looking like that at him before? Lestrade knew that John never kept the specifics of a person's genitalia from getting what he wanted, they'd joked about it before. Had he been trying to tell John something? No matter. Now the question was where to start. It felt a little calculated on his part, but John thought it would help Sherlock if he went for Lestrade first. And...knowing he was watching, hopefully getting excited by them, was certainly a turn on for John.
"Come on then," he said, starting in on the buttons of his shirt. "Show me what you've got."
Lestrade seemed to take that as the challenge John meant it to be, because he swooped forward to resume his kiss. John was surprised to find Lestrade so aggressive, though he shouldn't have been. He'd seen Lestrade pull more than one bird on an evening out, sometimes more than one in the same night (though not in the same pub). He peeled John out of his shirt with little finesse, hips twitching against John's erratically, trying to keep his lips on John's while simultaneously trying to undo his trousers and grab his arse. John giggled and pulled away
"Come back - " protested Lestrade, grabbing at John's hips.
"Stop, stop," John ineffectually batted at Lestrade's hands. "This will go a lot faster if you start on your own clothes, y'know."
Lestrade immediately began to loosen his tie. "Good point."
"He can't actually believe you're going through with this," commented Sherlock, who John saw had now arranged himself in the middle of the bed.
Neither could he, to be honest. He'd never considered Lestrade as a potential bedmate before. They were more than acquaintances, less than friends. Colleagues? Mates? John didn't know what the word was. He trusted Lestrade with his life, with what to do in the event of his death, hell, he'd even introduced him to Harry, and if that wasn't a sign, he didn't know what was.
"We haven't decided how we're going to do this," said Lestrade, still in trousers, down on one knee to untie his shoes. "Do we need a safeword?"
"A safeword, yes..." said Sherlock, gazing at Lestrade. "You should definitely have one if you want John to fuck you."
John froze, trousers halfway down his legs. "Sorry, what?"
Lestrade flushed hard, looked down at shoes.
"Greg? Is that what you want?" asked John, not even trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. Hell, really?
"It is," drawled Sherlock, idly rubbing his own nipples.
"I...I've never - " began Greg, before John stepped right up against him, forcefully moving in and boxing him against the wall. He looked down at John, frowning slightly. "I just thought, seeing as it's you - "
"Handcuffs," interrupted John, running his hands over Lestrade's hairier-than-expected chest. "That's your safeword."
"Not a good one," said Sherlock, getting off the bed. With two long strides he crowded in close to the two of them. "He might be suggesting their use, rather than wanting you to stop."
Oh god. John licked his lips. "Right. What do you want, Greg. What's the word."
"Uh, I, uh, cupcakes," stuttered Lestrade, watching John's mouth with an intensity John found intriguing. "We don't have to. It's the Job, you see things and you wonder, y'know?"
"And you thought I might be amenable," John wove his fingers through Lestrade's hair, longer now than when they had first met. There was more silver in it, too.
"You said your nickname was Three Continent Watson the day we met, yeah? Y'can't say that to a bloke without him wondering, John."
John pressed forward, licked up Lestrade's neck until he reached sandpapery five o'clock shadow. Oh, this was going to be so good. He felt like he had won the Lottery, first with Sherlock and now with Lestrade. The possibilities might be endless!
"He wants to be taken care of, I think," stage-whispered Sherlock in John's ear. "He wants someone else to think of everything, for once."
John felt a painful jolt of recognition at Sherlock's words. Yeah, he could understand that, he'd felt the same often enough in Afghanistan. And...the idea of having Lestrade at his every whim was insanely hot. He slid his hands down Lestrade's arms to his wrists, then twisted his arms behind his back and pushed him harder against the wall. "Is that what you want? For me to make it all go away for a little while?"
Lestrade's eyebrows twitched into the slightest frown - this close up John couldn't help but see it. Yet he could also see Lestrade mulling over the idea even though John could feel Lestrade's interest against his belly. Lestrade was tall, yeah. John pulled his arms up higher, making him hiss in suprise. Yeah, just the good side of painful, if John had guessed right. Well, he was a doctor, there was no guessing involved. "You have to tell me, Greg. Use your words."
"F-fuck off," Lestrade gasped.
For a second John thought he had pulled too hard, then he felt Lestrade press his hips forward. Oh!. He had seen Lestrade half dressed before, of course, yet now that he was looking at him with different eyes, he could see how attractive the bloke actually was. He attacked Lestrade with his mouth again, sucking on his bare collarbone with no hesitation. They might never sleep together again after this, and he was determined to make it memorable. And if John could send him back to work marked and scented, well, all the better. Speaking of which, John became aware of how good Sherlock was smelling, ready to be plucked again. After biting Lestrade in addition to the red bruise he had left, he said, "Do whatever I tell you, Greg."
Keeping hold of Lestrade's wrists, John pulled him away from the wall, then stayed behind him while he marched Lestrade to the bed. He stayed close, so as not to let Lestrade take any advantage. Lestrade didn't struggle. "I didn't know you liked it this way, Greg. I thought you were a woman's man all the way."
At this, Lestrade staggered his footing, went stiff legged, pressing back like he could stop John. "I am, all the way."
"And yet, here we are."
"Can you blame me? You smell like him, like the best thing you've ever eaten in your entire life."
"And he's always wanted you," added Sherlock.
Okay. All right. John was going to have to think about that little revelation. Thing was, Lestrade was an Alpha like him, so things could be difficult...? Although Lestrade seemed perfectly content with the seating. Looking up at him, a hundred things to try went through John's mind. Lestrade looked down at him with anxious, eager eyes. Oh shit. Sherlock hadn't been wrong, it looked like Lestrade really did have a thing for him. "You have any toys? Sherlock?"
It was not his imagination, Lestrade's tiny grunt. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. This wasn't wouldn't be anything overly emotional, which suited John fine, just fine. Sometimes it was all about getting off, end of, and it would be easy with Lestrade. No attachments, no hidden meanings behind anything, just straight up desire. John could work with that. "I don't want to hear anything else out of your mouth except my name or cupcakes, got it?" He sent Lestrade on his way with a slap to his arse, just because he could. And it was funny to watch Lestrade jump a little bit. Before he could follow, however, Sherlock caught him by his shoulder.
"Yeah."
Distracted, without thinking about it too much, John said, "You have any toys? Sherlock?"
"I have a crop."
John shook his head. "Nah, not this time. That's all right, we'll improvise. For right now, though, let's see how he reacts to stimuli. You're a scientist, Sherlock, aren't you?"
Sherlock didn't bother with a reply, just looked at John with a combination of hauteur and disdain.
Right.
Yet, Sherlock abruptly swung around to face him, blocking his view of the bed and the wanting man on top of it. "John...what do you want me to do?"
"Whatever you like. All the possibilities are here. What have you dreamed of? Do you want to watch me take him? Or he could watch us. Maybe what you want is for me to watch the two of you, hmm?"
Sherlock looked scandalized, which made John grin. Good lord, how Sherlock, a man who could rattle off the details of the lives of every random stranger he met, had apparently never fantasized about sex was utterly incomprehensible to John. "What you really want is for me to watch you with him, isn't it?"
"Do I? I don't know," said Sherlock, staring at John as if he had all the answers. And maybe he did.
"Alright," he said. "Go join him on the bed."
Although John hadn't said how he wanted him, Lestrade had arranged himself on his back with his hands underneath him, all compliant like. John approved. Made him feel more confident in what Lestrade actually wanted for right now. Sherlock ditched his bathrobe on the way to the bed, lay on his side next to Lestrade.
"John says I'm allowed to do whatever I want with you, which is a funny thing for an Omega, isn't it?" Sherlock said smugly. He put his hand on Lestrade's sternum, slide it to the side of his ribs. "John is very attractive and he loves making people feel good. Don't you, John?"
"Yeah, yeah I do," John licked his lips, watched two pairs of eyes follow the movement. "Now I want you to warm him up, Sherlock. I'm going to watch you. See what else you can deduce about him, but don't let him come, not yet. And Greg, what did I tell you about talking?"
Lestrade opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it. Soon enough he didn't have to worry about speaking at all, as Sherlock set himself the task of making him lose his mind. John realized he wasn't about to stand and watch for too long. Sherlock had clearly learned many lessons from him, and was very inventive at making Lestrade moan. Curiously, Lestrade made no effort to touch Sherlock in turn. John wasn't sure if that was because he was in the room, and Lestrade didn't fancy another fist to his person - John could restrain himself now that Sherlock's heat was diminishing, yes he could - or if that was part of the man's own fantasy, being unable to do what he wanted to do.
He watched for a few minutes more, leaning against the back wall with folded arms. They were a pretty sight, two men with legs entwined, one pale, the other golden. Lestrade lay there, just taking whatever Sherlock gave him. He looked…he looked like a man living his dream. It made John wonder - "Sherlock," he called. "Are you cataloging everything?"
Sherlock sat up, leaving Lestrade plainly grateful for the lack of attention to his chest hair. "Of course I am. Every expression is going into my mind palace."
Of course it was.
"I have so much more to discover - "
"I'm not sure he'll be able to take it," answered John, pushing off the wall and crawling onto the bed. He knee-walked his way up over Lestrade until he was balanced over his chest. "My intuition says I'm on the money."
"Sentiment, surely," sneered Sherlock, rolling to the side and then off the bed.
Sure, whatever. "Nonetheless," John leaned against the headboard with one hand and pushed his dick down against Lestrade's lips with the other. "Yeah, that's it," he muttered, watching the shiny slickness of Lestrade's saliva coat the head of his penis. He inhaled sharply as Lestrade obediently opened his mouth, let John's prick rest on his tongue. Flexing his hips, he watched the glide of his cock in and out, closed his eyes to glory in the sensation of heat and wetness without suction and pressure.
When he opened his eyes again, Sherlock was standing next to the bed, watching. He was gloriously naked and fully aroused, his fingers twitching against his thighs. "John, I want, I want to - "
"Hmm, no," said John. Not yet. They hadn't tried it the other way around, with Sherlock penetrating someone or something else. He didn't know his limits yet.
John withdrew from Lestrade's mouth, shuffled back down and sat on his hips. Lestrade's erection poked his arse, which was for some reason utterly hilarious. He didn't want to break the mood - it was a weird atmosphere and he wanted to fix it, but he couldn't quite figure out how. Too much performance anxiety, maybe? Well, might as well take it to the logical conclusion. "Greg, I'm going to fuck you for a little while, then Sherlock's going to take over. You're not going to say anything about it, you're going to take it like you've always wanted."
"Yes, John," Lestrade said hoarsely. He darted a look at Sherlock, and John had to look, too. Sherlock was still standing next to the bed, and it occurred to John that maybe he needed instruction as well. "You have any slick?"
"Of course," answered Sherlock, opening the drawer of the bedside table. "I made it myself for maximum lubrication and as little odor as possible."
John took the bottle and snapped open the spout, poured a little onto his fingers. It was greasy, like graphite, with only a slight smell of...water. But it wasn't water, or any other artificial lubricant John had ever tried. As it warmed on his hand, he was reminded of a woman's natural slipperyness when she was fully aroused. Or an Omega's, for that matter. He sniffed again, tried to scent Sherlock and found only the slightest evidence he was still in heat. Well, it had been fun while it lasted. And the evening was far from over.
"Alright," he said, shifting to put one knee and then the other between Lestrade's legs. "Sherlock, look at Greg, he's desperate to be touched."
Lestrade was flushed, practically panting with excitement as John began to stroke him slowly while fondling his balls at the same time. John sincerely hoped Sherlock's slick would take its time going tacky, because using it on Lestrade was fantastic. It made his skin so silky to the touch, so very tactile. He couldn't wait to get it on his cock. "Greg, I'm getting you ready for me."
Lestrade was clearly nervous, glancing between John and Sherlock and watching closely as John slicked up his fingers. Yeah, this could be good if Lestrade just relaxed. hell, if he relaxed. He was inextricably excited by the thought of Lestrade...of all people! Never in a million years would he have thought Lestrade even remotely interested in blokes, Alpha or not. Here they were, though, and now John wanted to break him even more, show him what it was like for all those Omegas and Betas when an Alpha was in charge.
"Have you ever fucked an Omega?"
"Course I have," Lestrade said, nodding. His brows were drawn together and he was staring at John with trepidation.
"Don't worry, I'm going to make this so good for you. Sherlock, I think Greg needs some distraction," he said, giving Lestrade's cock long strokes from base to tip, with a nice little twist of his palm over the head to make him squirm. Waiting until Lestrade was thoroughly busy with Sherlock - and how hot was that? - he made sure Lestrade was well and truly lubed up, putting extra on his fingers while he handled the man's balls, making sure to circle his anus ever so often. Finally, when his companions appeared to forgotten him (judging by the moaning), he took what he could of Lestrade into his mouth and sucked, introducing one finger very very slowly at the same time.
He heard a high little squeal from the head of the bed, but didn't stop. Gently feeling around for Lestrade's prostate, at first he sent his fingers one to either side and rubbed a very little bit.
The "Oh fuck!" was quite loud, and John grinned around his mouthful of dick. A sudden flood of astringent fluid flooded his tongue and he pulled off, leaving his finger inside. He would have to be careful, though, because Lestrade was his friend and work partner, and deserved to be introduced to this kind of play in the best way possible. Especially since John was kind of hoping to do this again, if it all worked out. And he fully inteded for things to work out.
"Jesus Christ, what the fuck did you just do?" asked Lestrade, having pushed Sherlock away to stare down at John again.
"You like it?"
"Fuck yeah," Lestrade gasped, letting his head fall back against the pillow. "Jesus."
Sherlock was keeping Lestrade busy with his mouth and his hands, much to John's delight and consternation. So stupid to feel possessive about the man, and he couldn't quite believe he kept coming back to it. He could only chalk it up to his own still raging hormones. With Sherlock's heat almost fully over surely John would calm down. They could be friends, even, or flatmates, which Sherlock seemed deadly serious about. John could see the appeal and then he looked down, watched himself roll Lestrade's bollocks in one hand, pressing under them lightly with the other. If they were flatmates, would they be doing this again? He highly doubted it. But even if they weren't, would this happen even one more time?
Maybe.
He liked to think so.
Because he genuinely liked the bloke, weird as he was. Or was it that he was John's kind of weird?
"John, stop thinking!"
"What?" He looked up, found both Sherlock and Lestrade staring at him. Lestrade's cheeks were red, his mouth swollen, sweat rolled down his temple.
Sherlock said, "I can hear you thinking and I want to concentrate on Gavin's responses. I need to study them for the optimum effect, and then I need to try them on you. It's only a small sample, I know, but with time I can expand on my theories."
"Oh," John nodded, not quite getting what the hell Sherlock was on about. Experiments? Was that the jist of it? Oh-kay...and it wasn't like he hadn't invited exactly this scenario. Sherlock had told him he was a chemist, and a Consulting Detective, whatever that meant. "Okay, carry on. I'll just..."
"Yeah, keep on doing that."
He really was losing the plot. For all of his talk about 'taking care of Lestrade' and more or less treating him like a piece of meat, John found he kept forgetting to play his role correctly. Not that he was...not that he was all about power in sexual relationships and all that, it was occasional fun, like tickling and the odd bit of rough, or sex in public.
Okay. Time to get back on track.
John shuffled forward on his knees, brought Lestrade's legs over his shoulders. He positioned himself, pressed forward firmly yet gently.
"Oh shit!" croaked Lestrade, gritting his teeth and wincing.
"Hang on," warned John, continuing his push forward incrementally until he was fully seated. "Okay?"
With closed eyes Lestrade nodded, even though he held his wrist to his mouth and might or might not have been biting himself.
Now that wasn't on. Whether he was in pain or pleasure, John needed to hear it. Especially since his pulse seemed to be located in the very tip of his cock. "Greg!" he growled. "Talk to me."
Wide-eyed, Sherlock scrambled to see what was happening. He reached and circled with two fingers where John and Lestrade were joined, the slight tickle almost more than John could bear. "Goddamnit, Greg!"
"Yeah, yeah it's alright, just...feels like a fucking log up my arse," Lestrade said. He managed to open one eye, squinching at John. "It's fucking odd."
Sherlock eyed Lestrade's now flaccid dick , gave it a quick fondle. "Graeme had an erection before you penetrated him. Why doesn't he have one now?
"That's how it happens for many people,"John gritted out. He sucked in a breath, released it slowly. He could do this, he could wait until Lestrade adjusted. He idly rubbing Lestrade's frenulum, making him jerk and squirm. "Doesn't keep a person from having an orgasm, though. Now, Sherlock."
"Yes, John?"
"Suck him until he has erection again."
"Oh. Oh! I'll try and see if I can detect a flavor difference between your mouths."
John gave an encouraging nod, even though he really felt that Sherlock was barking. And it was strange, seeing his lover's dark curls bounce so enticingly from the ooooh...Sherlock was licking him too, now and god was it good. "Keep on with Greg, use both hands."
Their eyes met over Sherlock's head and John felt a flash of triumph. Yes, Greg was still in there, he wasn't some sub who was eased by cosy comfort of dark walls and whips and zip-up, one piece suits made of pleather. He moved a little bit, watching Lestrade's face closely. "Tell me what it feels like."
"Tight…getting better, though. Unh, Sherlock - "
Lestrade had put his hands behind his back again, which was a nice clue. John pulled out, added more of Sherlock's lubricant to his prick and slid back in. This time he didn't hesitate, not bothering to stop and let Lestrade accommodate him. Already the fit was better, so maybe he simply hadn't used enough slick the first time. Sitting back on his heels, he pulled Lestrade onto his lap a little more, leaving Sherlock with a mouthful of air. Which was good, because now he could see that Lestrade was indeed filling out.
John glanced at Sherlock and changed his mind from what he had said previously. "Greg, I want you to suck Sherlock off. Don't use your hands. Turn your head to the side, like that, yeah."
The position was awkward and probably uncomfortable, John didn't really care. "No," he said as Sherlock began to swing his leg over Lestrade's chest. "No, just lean over him him. Put your hands on the other side of his head, that's it."
As John suspected would happen, it didn't take long for Sherlock to peak. When he slumped back against the headboard, John took the opportunity to ease the ache in his hip and to kiss Lestrade. Just before their lips touched, he whispered, "If you could see yourself right now, hot, sweaty, having it off with two men at once, spunk spashed all across your cheek, you'd think yourself the luckiest man in England."
Then he swallowed Lestrade's moan. Moving back, he readjusted once more, because he really liked kissing Lestrade - the man was talented. Bringing Lestrade's legs higher onto his shoulders, he went forward until Lestrade was practically double over. Oh, he wasn't going to be able to hold off much longer. John thrust and Lestrade's eyes went wide. He did it again, harder, and Lestrade gasped.
"Jo-John - "
""Yeah," he breathed, punctuating his statement with another hard snap of his hips.
"Oh my god," Lestrade said, his mouth dropping open.
"Good?"
"O-oh, oh John, John - JOHN!"
After that John couldn't make out a single word. Lestrade was reduced to utter incoherence, broken vowels coming out of his mouth amidst a constant stream of increasingly higher pitched vocalizations. John was close now, but he was determined to continue until Lestrade lost his shit. He was used to women sobbing their pleasure, if he could get a man there too, it would be the biggest notch in his bedpost ever. "Come on," he muttered. "come on, Greg, give it to me."
Lestrade warbled off-key and went rigid.
John didn't stop. Milky semen hit Lestrade's chin and neck, and when John looked down to where they were joined, he saw that with each push of his hips, another jet of semen exited Lestrade's prick.
That was it for him. He slammed into Lestrade over and over again, rattling the headboard against the wall even though it carried the weight of three men. His orgasm was starting now, he could feel his toes spreading, grunting even as his breath came shorter and shorter, the tension on his legs and abdomen almost unbearable - there was a featherlight touch on his ear, what - ? This was followed by wet heat as his earlobe was enveloped by Sherlock's mouth, and he was gone, the disparity between pelvis and ear joining into into a full, enormous, body shaking orgasm that gave him tunnel vision and a cramp in his right calf.
When he came back to himself, only few seconds later, he remembered to breathe and somehow managed to get himself off of Lestrade. Trembling like a leaf in a stiff breeze, he used one of Lestrade's legs to support himself as he recovered from what might be one of the best orgasms of his life.
And he had had rather a lot of them.
"Alright?" murmured Sherlock, looking back and for between the two of them with obvious concern.
"Alright? Am I alright?" asked Lestrade, whose whole body continued to jerk every so often. "Jesus fucking Christ, that was the best fucking orgasm of my fucking life and you're asking me if I'm alright?"
"Sherlock sniffed. "John?"
John shook his head. "Yeah...that was...something."
"We're going to have to do this again, establish a baseline," Sherlock announced, getting off of the bed. At the door he turned back and said, "Don't go anywhere. I'm just getting some water."
"Yeah, mate, you do that," said Lestrade, waving one hand nonchalantly. "John, get the fuck off me."
John did as requested, taking up Sherlock's spot on the bed instead. He manoeuvered himself onto his back, clasped his hands on his stomach. "So."
"So..." said Lestrade, staring up at the ceiling with an equal amount of astonishment. "That was fucking intense, mate. And now I know why women always complain about the wet spot."
John couldn't help it; he giggled.
Lestrade shook his head. "I had no fucking idea."
"I think you're probably pretty sensitive," John said. He stretched, wondered if there was a chance they could all just sleep here as the bed was damned comfortable now that he was lying on it. "I bet you're not a fan of prostate exams."
"Mate, if they were anything like this I'd be lining up for one every fucking month."
John chuckled, then shook with laughter at the mental image of a surgery full of men waiting their turn. "You have a filthy mouth when you're happy."
"Fuck off."
"He's right," said Sherlock, walking in with a tray of glasses and a glass pitcher filled with water. He poured, handed them out, took them back when John and Lestrade were done. It was a very old fashioned type of service, and John found it utterly adorable.
Sherlock put a knee on the bed and John shuffled closer to Lestrade, who in turned inched closer to the edge on his side. Sherlock grabbed the duvet that had slid to the floor and flung it over their legs before lying down.
"Well," John said, feeling the atmosphere turn a little queer. So to speak. "Here we all are."
"Mm," Lestrade turned onto his side and slung one arm companionably around John's middle. "Time for a nap, then we can move on to round two. Christ, my fucking shoulders are killing me."
"Round two?" enquired Sherlock, mirroring Lestrade.
"Yeah," said Lestrade, peering at Sherlock over John's collarbone. "You think I'm leaving without getting my shot at you?"
"Oh. Oh!"
John rolled eyes and admitted to himself that if this was going to be his new reality for the next few hours, he was going to enjoy the hell out of it.
~*~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When you came, you were like red wine and honey
And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its
Sweetness
Decade - Amy Lowell
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Recipient: Kestrel337
Author: xfdryad
Characters/Pairings: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Omegaverse
Summary: They were really going to do this.
The atmosphere changed as soon as they entered Sherlock's bedroom. It was as neat as the rest of the flat was untidy. There were prints on the walls, an expensive, highly designed stereo system, a pale grey duvet on the bed, various chairs and framed photographs of Mendeelev and Einstein, a Japanese man in Martial Arts clothing. For a second John was unsure of what to do. He felt like he was in Sherlock's inner sanctum - he snickered to himself. No need to be nervous, he'd already been in Sherlock's inner sanctum.
"Something funny?" Sherlock snapped, looking at John with a moue of distaste.
"No, nothing at all," John replied, suddenly mindful that for all the limited time they had spent together, they didn't actually know one another. At least, not on his side. Although he did know a few things about Sherlock at this point. He had very sensitive nipples, and he liked being cuddled though he would never say so. He was also clearly a person not only used to being made fun of, but of striking out whenever that occurred, and frequently at the merest hint that it might possibly occur. John understood that only too well, being just shy of the British average in height for men. He didn't take any bullshit from anyone either when it came to his height.
Lestrade drifted around John, checking out the stereo. "Nice place."
"I like it," answered Sherlock. He stood on the other side of his bed, as if to limit the damage if anything were to go wrong. Protecting himself from John and Lestrade.
As if John was about to do anything to make him feel bad. As if everything that had happened since meeting Moriarty and Moran were just a dream. John nodded to himself. Time to prove Sherlock wrong, and in the most pleasant way possible.
He toed off his shoes and began to go to work on his shirt cuffs. He was a little unsure on the best way to proceed. Lestrade was the unknown quality in this. "Greg?"
"Hmm?" Lestrade turned to face John. His gaze flicked down and then up. "Yeah, what?"
All right, then. How come he had never noticed Lestrade looking like that at him before? Lestrade knew that John never kept the specifics of a person's genitalia from getting what he wanted, they'd joked about it before. Had he been trying to tell John something? No matter. Now the question was where to start. It felt a little calculated on his part, but John thought it would help Sherlock if he went for Lestrade first. And...knowing he was watching, hopefully getting excited by them, was certainly a turn on for John.
"Come on then," he said, starting in on the buttons of his shirt. "Show me what you've got."
Lestrade seemed to take that as the challenge John meant it to be, because he swooped forward to resume his kiss. John was surprised to find Lestrade so aggressive, though he shouldn't have been. He'd seen Lestrade pull more than one bird on an evening out, sometimes more than one in the same night (though not in the same pub). He peeled John out of his shirt with little finesse, hips twitching against John's erratically, trying to keep his lips on John's while simultaneously trying to undo his trousers and grab his arse. John giggled and pulled away
"Come back - " protested Lestrade, grabbing at John's hips.
"Stop, stop," John ineffectually batted at Lestrade's hands. "This will go a lot faster if you start on your own clothes, y'know."
Lestrade immediately began to loosen his tie. "Good point."
"He can't actually believe you're going through with this," commented Sherlock, who John saw had now arranged himself in the middle of the bed.
Neither could he, to be honest. He'd never considered Lestrade as a potential bedmate before. They were more than acquaintances, less than friends. Colleagues? Mates? John didn't know what the word was. He trusted Lestrade with his life, with what to do in the event of his death, hell, he'd even introduced him to Harry, and if that wasn't a sign, he didn't know what was.
"We haven't decided how we're going to do this," said Lestrade, still in trousers, down on one knee to untie his shoes. "Do we need a safeword?"
"A safeword, yes..." said Sherlock, gazing at Lestrade. "You should definitely have one if you want John to fuck you."
John froze, trousers halfway down his legs. "Sorry, what?"
Lestrade flushed hard, looked down at shoes.
"Greg? Is that what you want?" asked John, not even trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. Hell, really?
"It is," drawled Sherlock, idly rubbing his own nipples.
"I...I've never - " began Greg, before John stepped right up against him, forcefully moving in and boxing him against the wall. He looked down at John, frowning slightly. "I just thought, seeing as it's you - "
"Handcuffs," interrupted John, running his hands over Lestrade's hairier-than-expected chest. "That's your safeword."
"Not a good one," said Sherlock, getting off the bed. With two long strides he crowded in close to the two of them. "He might be suggesting their use, rather than wanting you to stop."
Oh god. John licked his lips. "Right. What do you want, Greg. What's the word."
"Uh, I, uh, cupcakes," stuttered Lestrade, watching John's mouth with an intensity John found intriguing. "We don't have to. It's the Job, you see things and you wonder, y'know?"
"And you thought I might be amenable," John wove his fingers through Lestrade's hair, longer now than when they had first met. There was more silver in it, too.
"You said your nickname was Three Continent Watson the day we met, yeah? Y'can't say that to a bloke without him wondering, John."
John pressed forward, licked up Lestrade's neck until he reached sandpapery five o'clock shadow. Oh, this was going to be so good. He felt like he had won the Lottery, first with Sherlock and now with Lestrade. The possibilities might be endless!
"He wants to be taken care of, I think," stage-whispered Sherlock in John's ear. "He wants someone else to think of everything, for once."
John felt a painful jolt of recognition at Sherlock's words. Yeah, he could understand that, he'd felt the same often enough in Afghanistan. And...the idea of having Lestrade at his every whim was insanely hot. He slid his hands down Lestrade's arms to his wrists, then twisted his arms behind his back and pushed him harder against the wall. "Is that what you want? For me to make it all go away for a little while?"
Lestrade's eyebrows twitched into the slightest frown - this close up John couldn't help but see it. Yet he could also see Lestrade mulling over the idea even though John could feel Lestrade's interest against his belly. Lestrade was tall, yeah. John pulled his arms up higher, making him hiss in suprise. Yeah, just the good side of painful, if John had guessed right. Well, he was a doctor, there was no guessing involved. "You have to tell me, Greg. Use your words."
"F-fuck off," Lestrade gasped.
For a second John thought he had pulled too hard, then he felt Lestrade press his hips forward. Oh!. He had seen Lestrade half dressed before, of course, yet now that he was looking at him with different eyes, he could see how attractive the bloke actually was. He attacked Lestrade with his mouth again, sucking on his bare collarbone with no hesitation. They might never sleep together again after this, and he was determined to make it memorable. And if John could send him back to work marked and scented, well, all the better. Speaking of which, John became aware of how good Sherlock was smelling, ready to be plucked again. After biting Lestrade in addition to the red bruise he had left, he said, "Do whatever I tell you, Greg."
Keeping hold of Lestrade's wrists, John pulled him away from the wall, then stayed behind him while he marched Lestrade to the bed. He stayed close, so as not to let Lestrade take any advantage. Lestrade didn't struggle. "I didn't know you liked it this way, Greg. I thought you were a woman's man all the way."
At this, Lestrade staggered his footing, went stiff legged, pressing back like he could stop John. "I am, all the way."
"And yet, here we are."
"Can you blame me? You smell like him, like the best thing you've ever eaten in your entire life."
"And he's always wanted you," added Sherlock.
Okay. All right. John was going to have to think about that little revelation. Thing was, Lestrade was an Alpha like him, so things could be difficult...? Although Lestrade seemed perfectly content with the seating. Looking up at him, a hundred things to try went through John's mind. Lestrade looked down at him with anxious, eager eyes. Oh shit. Sherlock hadn't been wrong, it looked like Lestrade really did have a thing for him. "You have any toys? Sherlock?"
It was not his imagination, Lestrade's tiny grunt. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. This wasn't wouldn't be anything overly emotional, which suited John fine, just fine. Sometimes it was all about getting off, end of, and it would be easy with Lestrade. No attachments, no hidden meanings behind anything, just straight up desire. John could work with that. "I don't want to hear anything else out of your mouth except my name or cupcakes, got it?" He sent Lestrade on his way with a slap to his arse, just because he could. And it was funny to watch Lestrade jump a little bit. Before he could follow, however, Sherlock caught him by his shoulder.
"Yeah."
Distracted, without thinking about it too much, John said, "You have any toys? Sherlock?"
"I have a crop."
John shook his head. "Nah, not this time. That's all right, we'll improvise. For right now, though, let's see how he reacts to stimuli. You're a scientist, Sherlock, aren't you?"
Sherlock didn't bother with a reply, just looked at John with a combination of hauteur and disdain.
Right.
Yet, Sherlock abruptly swung around to face him, blocking his view of the bed and the wanting man on top of it. "John...what do you want me to do?"
"Whatever you like. All the possibilities are here. What have you dreamed of? Do you want to watch me take him? Or he could watch us. Maybe what you want is for me to watch the two of you, hmm?"
Sherlock looked scandalized, which made John grin. Good lord, how Sherlock, a man who could rattle off the details of the lives of every random stranger he met, had apparently never fantasized about sex was utterly incomprehensible to John. "What you really want is for me to watch you with him, isn't it?"
"Do I? I don't know," said Sherlock, staring at John as if he had all the answers. And maybe he did.
"Alright," he said. "Go join him on the bed."
Although John hadn't said how he wanted him, Lestrade had arranged himself on his back with his hands underneath him, all compliant like. John approved. Made him feel more confident in what Lestrade actually wanted for right now. Sherlock ditched his bathrobe on the way to the bed, lay on his side next to Lestrade.
"John says I'm allowed to do whatever I want with you, which is a funny thing for an Omega, isn't it?" Sherlock said smugly. He put his hand on Lestrade's sternum, slide it to the side of his ribs. "John is very attractive and he loves making people feel good. Don't you, John?"
"Yeah, yeah I do," John licked his lips, watched two pairs of eyes follow the movement. "Now I want you to warm him up, Sherlock. I'm going to watch you. See what else you can deduce about him, but don't let him come, not yet. And Greg, what did I tell you about talking?"
Lestrade opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it. Soon enough he didn't have to worry about speaking at all, as Sherlock set himself the task of making him lose his mind. John realized he wasn't about to stand and watch for too long. Sherlock had clearly learned many lessons from him, and was very inventive at making Lestrade moan. Curiously, Lestrade made no effort to touch Sherlock in turn. John wasn't sure if that was because he was in the room, and Lestrade didn't fancy another fist to his person - John could restrain himself now that Sherlock's heat was diminishing, yes he could - or if that was part of the man's own fantasy, being unable to do what he wanted to do.
He watched for a few minutes more, leaning against the back wall with folded arms. They were a pretty sight, two men with legs entwined, one pale, the other golden. Lestrade lay there, just taking whatever Sherlock gave him. He looked…he looked like a man living his dream. It made John wonder - "Sherlock," he called. "Are you cataloging everything?"
Sherlock sat up, leaving Lestrade plainly grateful for the lack of attention to his chest hair. "Of course I am. Every expression is going into my mind palace."
Of course it was.
"I have so much more to discover - "
"I'm not sure he'll be able to take it," answered John, pushing off the wall and crawling onto the bed. He knee-walked his way up over Lestrade until he was balanced over his chest. "My intuition says I'm on the money."
"Sentiment, surely," sneered Sherlock, rolling to the side and then off the bed.
Sure, whatever. "Nonetheless," John leaned against the headboard with one hand and pushed his dick down against Lestrade's lips with the other. "Yeah, that's it," he muttered, watching the shiny slickness of Lestrade's saliva coat the head of his penis. He inhaled sharply as Lestrade obediently opened his mouth, let John's prick rest on his tongue. Flexing his hips, he watched the glide of his cock in and out, closed his eyes to glory in the sensation of heat and wetness without suction and pressure.
When he opened his eyes again, Sherlock was standing next to the bed, watching. He was gloriously naked and fully aroused, his fingers twitching against his thighs. "John, I want, I want to - "
"Hmm, no," said John. Not yet. They hadn't tried it the other way around, with Sherlock penetrating someone or something else. He didn't know his limits yet.
John withdrew from Lestrade's mouth, shuffled back down and sat on his hips. Lestrade's erection poked his arse, which was for some reason utterly hilarious. He didn't want to break the mood - it was a weird atmosphere and he wanted to fix it, but he couldn't quite figure out how. Too much performance anxiety, maybe? Well, might as well take it to the logical conclusion. "Greg, I'm going to fuck you for a little while, then Sherlock's going to take over. You're not going to say anything about it, you're going to take it like you've always wanted."
"Yes, John," Lestrade said hoarsely. He darted a look at Sherlock, and John had to look, too. Sherlock was still standing next to the bed, and it occurred to John that maybe he needed instruction as well. "You have any slick?"
"Of course," answered Sherlock, opening the drawer of the bedside table. "I made it myself for maximum lubrication and as little odor as possible."
John took the bottle and snapped open the spout, poured a little onto his fingers. It was greasy, like graphite, with only a slight smell of...water. But it wasn't water, or any other artificial lubricant John had ever tried. As it warmed on his hand, he was reminded of a woman's natural slipperyness when she was fully aroused. Or an Omega's, for that matter. He sniffed again, tried to scent Sherlock and found only the slightest evidence he was still in heat. Well, it had been fun while it lasted. And the evening was far from over.
"Alright," he said, shifting to put one knee and then the other between Lestrade's legs. "Sherlock, look at Greg, he's desperate to be touched."
Lestrade was flushed, practically panting with excitement as John began to stroke him slowly while fondling his balls at the same time. John sincerely hoped Sherlock's slick would take its time going tacky, because using it on Lestrade was fantastic. It made his skin so silky to the touch, so very tactile. He couldn't wait to get it on his cock. "Greg, I'm getting you ready for me."
Lestrade was clearly nervous, glancing between John and Sherlock and watching closely as John slicked up his fingers. Yeah, this could be good if Lestrade just relaxed. hell, if he relaxed. He was inextricably excited by the thought of Lestrade...of all people! Never in a million years would he have thought Lestrade even remotely interested in blokes, Alpha or not. Here they were, though, and now John wanted to break him even more, show him what it was like for all those Omegas and Betas when an Alpha was in charge.
"Have you ever fucked an Omega?"
"Course I have," Lestrade said, nodding. His brows were drawn together and he was staring at John with trepidation.
"Don't worry, I'm going to make this so good for you. Sherlock, I think Greg needs some distraction," he said, giving Lestrade's cock long strokes from base to tip, with a nice little twist of his palm over the head to make him squirm. Waiting until Lestrade was thoroughly busy with Sherlock - and how hot was that? - he made sure Lestrade was well and truly lubed up, putting extra on his fingers while he handled the man's balls, making sure to circle his anus ever so often. Finally, when his companions appeared to forgotten him (judging by the moaning), he took what he could of Lestrade into his mouth and sucked, introducing one finger very very slowly at the same time.
He heard a high little squeal from the head of the bed, but didn't stop. Gently feeling around for Lestrade's prostate, at first he sent his fingers one to either side and rubbed a very little bit.
The "Oh fuck!" was quite loud, and John grinned around his mouthful of dick. A sudden flood of astringent fluid flooded his tongue and he pulled off, leaving his finger inside. He would have to be careful, though, because Lestrade was his friend and work partner, and deserved to be introduced to this kind of play in the best way possible. Especially since John was kind of hoping to do this again, if it all worked out. And he fully inteded for things to work out.
"Jesus Christ, what the fuck did you just do?" asked Lestrade, having pushed Sherlock away to stare down at John again.
"You like it?"
"Fuck yeah," Lestrade gasped, letting his head fall back against the pillow. "Jesus."
Sherlock was keeping Lestrade busy with his mouth and his hands, much to John's delight and consternation. So stupid to feel possessive about the man, and he couldn't quite believe he kept coming back to it. He could only chalk it up to his own still raging hormones. With Sherlock's heat almost fully over surely John would calm down. They could be friends, even, or flatmates, which Sherlock seemed deadly serious about. John could see the appeal and then he looked down, watched himself roll Lestrade's bollocks in one hand, pressing under them lightly with the other. If they were flatmates, would they be doing this again? He highly doubted it. But even if they weren't, would this happen even one more time?
Maybe.
He liked to think so.
Because he genuinely liked the bloke, weird as he was. Or was it that he was John's kind of weird?
"John, stop thinking!"
"What?" He looked up, found both Sherlock and Lestrade staring at him. Lestrade's cheeks were red, his mouth swollen, sweat rolled down his temple.
Sherlock said, "I can hear you thinking and I want to concentrate on Gavin's responses. I need to study them for the optimum effect, and then I need to try them on you. It's only a small sample, I know, but with time I can expand on my theories."
"Oh," John nodded, not quite getting what the hell Sherlock was on about. Experiments? Was that the jist of it? Oh-kay...and it wasn't like he hadn't invited exactly this scenario. Sherlock had told him he was a chemist, and a Consulting Detective, whatever that meant. "Okay, carry on. I'll just..."
"Yeah, keep on doing that."
He really was losing the plot. For all of his talk about 'taking care of Lestrade' and more or less treating him like a piece of meat, John found he kept forgetting to play his role correctly. Not that he was...not that he was all about power in sexual relationships and all that, it was occasional fun, like tickling and the odd bit of rough, or sex in public.
Okay. Time to get back on track.
John shuffled forward on his knees, brought Lestrade's legs over his shoulders. He positioned himself, pressed forward firmly yet gently.
"Oh shit!" croaked Lestrade, gritting his teeth and wincing.
"Hang on," warned John, continuing his push forward incrementally until he was fully seated. "Okay?"
With closed eyes Lestrade nodded, even though he held his wrist to his mouth and might or might not have been biting himself.
Now that wasn't on. Whether he was in pain or pleasure, John needed to hear it. Especially since his pulse seemed to be located in the very tip of his cock. "Greg!" he growled. "Talk to me."
Wide-eyed, Sherlock scrambled to see what was happening. He reached and circled with two fingers where John and Lestrade were joined, the slight tickle almost more than John could bear. "Goddamnit, Greg!"
"Yeah, yeah it's alright, just...feels like a fucking log up my arse," Lestrade said. He managed to open one eye, squinching at John. "It's fucking odd."
Sherlock eyed Lestrade's now flaccid dick , gave it a quick fondle. "Graeme had an erection before you penetrated him. Why doesn't he have one now?
"That's how it happens for many people,"John gritted out. He sucked in a breath, released it slowly. He could do this, he could wait until Lestrade adjusted. He idly rubbing Lestrade's frenulum, making him jerk and squirm. "Doesn't keep a person from having an orgasm, though. Now, Sherlock."
"Yes, John?"
"Suck him until he has erection again."
"Oh. Oh! I'll try and see if I can detect a flavor difference between your mouths."
John gave an encouraging nod, even though he really felt that Sherlock was barking. And it was strange, seeing his lover's dark curls bounce so enticingly from the ooooh...Sherlock was licking him too, now and god was it good. "Keep on with Greg, use both hands."
Their eyes met over Sherlock's head and John felt a flash of triumph. Yes, Greg was still in there, he wasn't some sub who was eased by cosy comfort of dark walls and whips and zip-up, one piece suits made of pleather. He moved a little bit, watching Lestrade's face closely. "Tell me what it feels like."
"Tight…getting better, though. Unh, Sherlock - "
Lestrade had put his hands behind his back again, which was a nice clue. John pulled out, added more of Sherlock's lubricant to his prick and slid back in. This time he didn't hesitate, not bothering to stop and let Lestrade accommodate him. Already the fit was better, so maybe he simply hadn't used enough slick the first time. Sitting back on his heels, he pulled Lestrade onto his lap a little more, leaving Sherlock with a mouthful of air. Which was good, because now he could see that Lestrade was indeed filling out.
John glanced at Sherlock and changed his mind from what he had said previously. "Greg, I want you to suck Sherlock off. Don't use your hands. Turn your head to the side, like that, yeah."
The position was awkward and probably uncomfortable, John didn't really care. "No," he said as Sherlock began to swing his leg over Lestrade's chest. "No, just lean over him him. Put your hands on the other side of his head, that's it."
As John suspected would happen, it didn't take long for Sherlock to peak. When he slumped back against the headboard, John took the opportunity to ease the ache in his hip and to kiss Lestrade. Just before their lips touched, he whispered, "If you could see yourself right now, hot, sweaty, having it off with two men at once, spunk spashed all across your cheek, you'd think yourself the luckiest man in England."
Then he swallowed Lestrade's moan. Moving back, he readjusted once more, because he really liked kissing Lestrade - the man was talented. Bringing Lestrade's legs higher onto his shoulders, he went forward until Lestrade was practically double over. Oh, he wasn't going to be able to hold off much longer. John thrust and Lestrade's eyes went wide. He did it again, harder, and Lestrade gasped.
"Jo-John - "
""Yeah," he breathed, punctuating his statement with another hard snap of his hips.
"Oh my god," Lestrade said, his mouth dropping open.
"Good?"
"O-oh, oh John, John - JOHN!"
After that John couldn't make out a single word. Lestrade was reduced to utter incoherence, broken vowels coming out of his mouth amidst a constant stream of increasingly higher pitched vocalizations. John was close now, but he was determined to continue until Lestrade lost his shit. He was used to women sobbing their pleasure, if he could get a man there too, it would be the biggest notch in his bedpost ever. "Come on," he muttered. "come on, Greg, give it to me."
Lestrade warbled off-key and went rigid.
John didn't stop. Milky semen hit Lestrade's chin and neck, and when John looked down to where they were joined, he saw that with each push of his hips, another jet of semen exited Lestrade's prick.
That was it for him. He slammed into Lestrade over and over again, rattling the headboard against the wall even though it carried the weight of three men. His orgasm was starting now, he could feel his toes spreading, grunting even as his breath came shorter and shorter, the tension on his legs and abdomen almost unbearable - there was a featherlight touch on his ear, what - ? This was followed by wet heat as his earlobe was enveloped by Sherlock's mouth, and he was gone, the disparity between pelvis and ear joining into into a full, enormous, body shaking orgasm that gave him tunnel vision and a cramp in his right calf.
When he came back to himself, only few seconds later, he remembered to breathe and somehow managed to get himself off of Lestrade. Trembling like a leaf in a stiff breeze, he used one of Lestrade's legs to support himself as he recovered from what might be one of the best orgasms of his life.
And he had had rather a lot of them.
"Alright?" murmured Sherlock, looking back and for between the two of them with obvious concern.
"Alright? Am I alright?" asked Lestrade, whose whole body continued to jerk every so often. "Jesus fucking Christ, that was the best fucking orgasm of my fucking life and you're asking me if I'm alright?"
"Sherlock sniffed. "John?"
John shook his head. "Yeah...that was...something."
"We're going to have to do this again, establish a baseline," Sherlock announced, getting off of the bed. At the door he turned back and said, "Don't go anywhere. I'm just getting some water."
"Yeah, mate, you do that," said Lestrade, waving one hand nonchalantly. "John, get the fuck off me."
John did as requested, taking up Sherlock's spot on the bed instead. He manoeuvered himself onto his back, clasped his hands on his stomach. "So."
"So..." said Lestrade, staring up at the ceiling with an equal amount of astonishment. "That was fucking intense, mate. And now I know why women always complain about the wet spot."
John couldn't help it; he giggled.
Lestrade shook his head. "I had no fucking idea."
"I think you're probably pretty sensitive," John said. He stretched, wondered if there was a chance they could all just sleep here as the bed was damned comfortable now that he was lying on it. "I bet you're not a fan of prostate exams."
"Mate, if they were anything like this I'd be lining up for one every fucking month."
John chuckled, then shook with laughter at the mental image of a surgery full of men waiting their turn. "You have a filthy mouth when you're happy."
"Fuck off."
"He's right," said Sherlock, walking in with a tray of glasses and a glass pitcher filled with water. He poured, handed them out, took them back when John and Lestrade were done. It was a very old fashioned type of service, and John found it utterly adorable.
Sherlock put a knee on the bed and John shuffled closer to Lestrade, who in turned inched closer to the edge on his side. Sherlock grabbed the duvet that had slid to the floor and flung it over their legs before lying down.
"Well," John said, feeling the atmosphere turn a little queer. So to speak. "Here we all are."
"Mm," Lestrade turned onto his side and slung one arm companionably around John's middle. "Time for a nap, then we can move on to round two. Christ, my fucking shoulders are killing me."
"Round two?" enquired Sherlock, mirroring Lestrade.
"Yeah," said Lestrade, peering at Sherlock over John's collarbone. "You think I'm leaving without getting my shot at you?"
"Oh. Oh!"
John rolled eyes and admitted to himself that if this was going to be his new reality for the next few hours, he was going to enjoy the hell out of it.
~*~
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When you came, you were like red wine and honey
And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its
Sweetness
Decade - Amy Lowell
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