FIC: And You I Crave
Title: And You I Crave
Author: softandwoollen
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4300
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Warnings: none
Summary: For a prompt on the kink meme. Roughly paraphrased, "John is an omega male (self lubricating ass and the ability to get pregnant) while Sherlock is an alpha. John goes into heat unexpectedly and Sherlock breeds him for the entire heat. Impregnation kink, dirty talk, animal traits (knotting)."
John sat down next to him and Sherlock was suddenly, instantly hard. He was confused for a moment, unaccustomed to his body's sudden betrayal, until John turned to look at him and Sherlock took a breath and knew.
"John," he breathed, "You're an omega male."
John hadn't told him that. Sherlock hadn't even suspected. He'd assumed John was typical, a standard beta male. It'd never occurred to him that John would be an omega, one of the rare subset of the male population with the ability to bear children. Among other things. He certainly didn't act like an omega.
It explained why Sherlock had been feeling more restless lately, why even being in the same room as John these past few days had been enough to make his skin itch.
John's eyes widened. He tensed almost imperceptibly. "If you can tell, that means you're an alpha."
Yes. It did. Sherlock took another breath, and his body burned with desire. "You're in estrus."
Even being near him, close enough to touch, was starting to drive Sherlock mad. His body could tell - that John was an omega, that he was fertile, that Sherlock could spread him open and sink into his hot, slick arse and -
John was speaking. It took effort to understand his words. "-and anyway, I've always had a bad reaction to the suppression meds and they're not exactly easy on the pocketbook, so I figured I'd just. Deal with it." He shrugged, casting a glance at Sherlock almost warily.
Objectively speaking, it was none of Sherlock's business what John chose to do about going into heat. None of his business, no matter that he was hard now, that he felt touch-starved, that he wanted to press his face into John's hair and bask in his scent and claim him, with his teeth and his cock and -
Sherlock dragged his thoughts back under control and willed his voice to hold steady. "I see," he said.
John winced. "Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't realize you were an alpha. You don't exactly act like one. If I'd known, I would have -"
"It's fine," Sherlock interrupted, because while it was inconvenient for John to be in estrus and so close, it still felt good. Exciting, in a way few things were, because this wasn't just some stupid omega strutting about and pushing his buttons. This was John, and knowing the heat on his skin and the warmth in the pit of his gut was caused by John didn't bother Sherlock too much at all.
"Will you be okay with it? It's not... " John flushed slightly. Sherlock had a vivid mental image of John naked on a bed, cheeks flushed as Sherlock thrust into him. "Too much of a distraction?"
"Of course not. I'm perfectly capable of self-control."
Sherlock only hoped he was telling the truth.
~*~*~
Other alphas were not so accommodating.
Sherlock had never been friends with an omega before (well, he hadn't had many friends in general, to be honest), and he'd never been so close to one in estrus - in heat, as the slang term went. Which is why he didn't realize something was amiss until he heard a thud to his right and turned to see John glaring at a man on his back on the pavement. The man was cradling his wrist.
"Right," John said calmly, but Sherlock could read the tension in his muscles, more pronounced than it had been several minutes before. "If you touch me again, I'll break your wrist."
It happened more than just the one time. Sherlock had never paid much attention to other alphas before, but it was easy to spot them now. As soon as they got a breath of John's scent, they pivoted, drawn towards him.
Most of them backed off after a warning glare from John, but several didn't. John was surprisingly violent once an alpha put his hands on him, tripping them or flipping them or even jabbing an elbow into their gut.
And each time, John would smile pleasantly and say, through gritted teeth, even as his pheromones screamed fuck me, I'm ready, I want it and his erection formed a bulge in the front of his trousers, "Don't do that. I'm not a toy."
After the third time, Sherlock leaned closer to John (bad idea, because now it took a supreme effort of will not to bridge the gap between them and press his mouth to John's skin), and asked, "Is it always like that? When you're..."
John ducked away from him. Sherlock felt a momentary pang of loss. "Sometimes," he said. "It's been years. They put me on suppressants when I was in the army."
~*~*~
Even Lestrade was not immune to John.
Sherlock watched with narrowed eyes as the other alpha leaned closer to John than he normally did while speaking. His hands curled into fists inside his coat pockets when Lestrade stroked his hand down John's back, forcing himself not to intervene.
It was none of his business if John wanted to spread his legs for Lestrade, wanted to let Lestrade press him against the ground (or the wall or over a table) and fuck into his slick, greedy hole. He was practically panting for it, body turned towards Lestrade and lips slightly parted. His eyes were on Lestrade's mouth, and Sherlock was briefly overcome with the urge to punch Lestrade in the face.
Except.
Except that John had already pushed Lestrade bodily away (not violently, but not gently either), and was quietly saying something that made Lestrade duck his head in embarrassment and step away, hands in his pockets.
"Sorry," Lestrade said as Sherlock pretended he wasn't hanging on every word of their conversation. "I didn't mean to -"
"You did," John interrupted. "But it's fine. Just don't do it again. I'm not interested in that right now."
~*~*~
Sherlock had managed, with some trial and error, to block John's presence from his awareness when they were in the flat together. Which is why it was especially irritating when Sherlock's attention was abruptly ripped from his book by the sudden presence of John at his side.
hot, sweaty flesh under his hands, John's hole wet and slick and tight around his cock, John begging him, begging for Sherlock to fill him, fuck him, flood his arse with -
"What?" Sherlock snapped irritably.
John winced. "Sorry. Are you busy?"
"Sorry," Sherlock apologized as well. "I... It's hard for me to think when you're -" He waved vaguely at the air surrounding John. "What is it?"
John held up a syringe. "I need a blood sample. Is that all right? I need to run some tests."
"Fine," Sherlock said, and held out his arm.
He smothered a groan when John touched him. John had been scrupulously careful about not touching Sherlock these past several days, avoiding even accidental brushes of skin to skin contact. Now, the feel of John's hand on his arm felt like a live wire.
John felt it too; his eyes widened and his tongue darted out to lick his lips, and Sherlock knew, without needing further evidence, that he was hard and thinking of the same thing as Sherlock.
Sherlock barely noticed the prick of the needle against the inside of his elbow, but the phantom sensation of John's fingertips against his skin stayed with him for hours.
~*~*~
Estrus usually lasted no more than several days, the time it took the omega to find a suitable alpha to knot with them - or the time it took for suppression drugs, taken at the start of an omega's cycle, to finally take effect.
By day eight, Sherlock was wondering what, exactly, John was planning to do about his cycle and the fact that his pheromones were just as strong as they'd been on the second day.
"How do you even work?" he groaned.
John was lying on the sofa (which was Sherlock's spot, and normally he wouldn't care but now he could only imagine pinning John against the cushions and ripping his clothes off with his teeth), laptop propped against his upraised knees. He looked up when Sherlock spoke.
"We have access to the patient's medical records. I traded all my alphas to a coworker. It's standard procedure. Nearly thirty percent of omegas don't suppress their cycles. It's not so bad."
"Isn't it?" Sherlock asked, because he could barely think. It felt like it took ages to put John out of his mind, to push down the vivid mental images about what he wanted to do to him. At least if he left, and Sherlock had taken up hours-long solitary walks around London recently, the nigh-irresistible desire burning through his veins would fade, letting him think clearly once more. He didn't know how John could handle it at all; he could hardly escape himself, after all. "I can barely stand it."
"It's worse when you're around," John said, and Sherlock couldn't decipher his meaning at all.
~*~*~
The entire flat smelled like John, not like sex but like a precursor to it, even when Sherlock retreated to his bedroom to, ostensibly, go to sleep.
John had retired to his room several minutes ago, and Sherlock had no doubt in his mind that John was touching himself. Sherlock hadn't done it deliberately, but at some point he'd memorized John's masturbatory habits.
John left for bed earlier and slept better depending on how long he took, on whether he stroked himself to completion or fucked himself with one of the long, thick toys Sherlock had found in his bedroom while looking for spare bullets.
He was an omega, the omega to Sherlock's alpha, and he was in heat. His body was telling him it needed a prick in its arse, needed to be stretched and filled and flooded with an alpha's seed. John had gone to bed nearly an hour earlier than he normally did, which meant he'd be touching himself now, working his fingers into his arse in preparation for something larger.
Sherlock wondered if John liked it rough, if he'd work the dildo in slowly or shove it inside himself greedily, eager to be filled. Would John touch his cock at all, or would he be able to come just by fucking himself?
Sherlock's own cock sprang eagerly into his hand when he pushed down his pants and trousers, wrapping his fingers around himself.
John would be embarrassed at first, when Sherlock approached him, ashamed at how eager, how desperate he was for Sherlock's cock. But Sherlock would press and John would yield, would blush and stammer and admit, "I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop thinking about you. I fuck myself with my fingers and pretend it's your prick."
Sherlock would take John on his hands and knees, mounting him like an animal, pounding into his tight, slick hole over and over. He'd press his face against John's shoulder, tasting the sweat-slick skin, and John would moan, would writhe under him and say, "Sherlock, Sherlock please. I want your knot, I want you to come inside me."
And he would - his knot would form, the base of his penis swelling in size until John was incoherent, too overcome by the sensation to form words, and he'd come inside John's arse, flooding his passage with semen.
Sherlock's orgasm broke him out of his fantasy; semen pooled on his belly. He cleaned it up with a handful of tissues from his nightstand.
He still felt faintly on edge, anxious and eager, but it wasn't as distracting now. He wondered what John, upstairs, was doing - if he'd finished as well, if he'd worked himself up until he was panting and had only now started to calm down.
If he, like Sherlock, was thinking about his flatmate.
~*~*~
Sherlock's self-control finally broke on day fifteen, more than two weeks after he'd first realized John was an omega.
John had been getting gradually more used to being in heat near Sherlock, and Sherlock couldn't say the same was applying to him. Whenever John came near, every part of Sherlock's body stood to attention, demanded he act on his desires.
So when John tipped back the top of Sherlock's book (the one he'd been staring at for ten minutes without making any sense of the letters in front of him) and asked him what he was reading, Sherlock's resistance, already strained, snapped like a twig.
Sherlock grabbed John's wrist and yanked. It unbalanced him and he tumbled forward, landing clumsily on the seat next to Sherlock. Sherlock leaned over him, one knee on either side of him, arms bracketing John's head.
Do you have any idea what you do to me? Do you have any idea what I want to do to you? he thought, and nearly opened his mouth to ask it aloud, before his brain finally, finally caught up with him and stopped him in his tracks, because John had already said, quite clearly, I'm not interested in that.
It didn't matter that John's cheeks were flushed and his lips parted, that Sherlock had been hard for ages, that John was teasing him simply by being in the same flat as him, aroused and available and always in his way, where Sherlock couldn't help but notice him.
John had turned down every single alpha that'd approached him, firmly and flatly and even violently when necessary. He'd made it clear that no matter what his body said, no matter how deliciously it pressed against Sherlock, no matter how eager he obviously was, he'd decided he didn't want an alpha mounting him.
Bearing that in mind, Sherlock was actually rather grateful John hadn't broken his nose yet for perpetrating such an egregious breach of his personal space.
He was still formulating his apology - groveling, he could grovel - when John fisted his hands in Sherlock's shirt.
"Christ, finally," John groaned, and dragged Sherlock into a kiss.
John was more teeth than lips, kissing Sherlock like - like he was desperate for it, like he couldn't get enough, and Sherlock kissed him back just as fiercely, sliding his tongue against John's. John grunted when Sherlock dropped his weight on top of him, pressing their groins together, and Sherlock swallowed the sound with his mouth, feeling as if his entire body were on fire.
John was already pulling at Sherlock's clothes - at his trousers, fumbling with the belt - when Sherlock broke their kiss to take a breath.
"Come on," John moaned, his fingers sliding against Sherlock's cock, light, incidental brushes as he shoved Sherlock's trousers to his thighs and then did the same to his pants. "I want you to fuck me. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this."
They were at a terrible angle. John's legs were pinned closed by Sherlock's knees, and the sofa was really not made for two fully grown men rutting on top of each other like teenagers. It was impossible to get John's trousers down like this so Sherlock pulled him to the floor. John didn't seem to mind the rough treatment. He seemed, in fact, to enjoy it greatly, if the noise he made, low and appreciative, was any indicator.
John braced himself on his knees and one forearm, hindquarters in the air. It put his round, pert arse on display. He fumbled his zip open and pushed his pants and trousers down to his knees in one urgent, clumsy action, only kicking them off when he tried to spread his legs and got tangled in the fabric.
He was still wearing his jumper. Sherlock was still wearing his shirt. His legs were still caught in his trousers, getting in his way whenever he tried to move. The idea that John wanted him so urgently that he didn't bother with the rest of his clothes, only shoved them aside far enough to give Sherlock access, made Sherlock's mouth go dry with wanting.
"John," Sherlock said, the word sounding as if it'd been ripped out from him. It felt like it'd been ripped out of him, pulled straight from his id to his mouth with no pause to check with his brain.
"Yeah," John breathed. He spread his legs wide, offering himself wantonly.
He pushed back against Sherlock's hands when Sherlock spread his round cheeks, revealing his tight, wet hole. It glistened with fluid. Sherlock rubbed his index finger against it, and the tip slid in easily, meeting no resistance.
"You're so wet. You're practically dripping, I can smell it from here. I could smell it even when you were dressed, that you wanted it. You want my prick don't you? You want my knot." Sherlock's hips jerked forward of their own accord. The head of his cock slid against John's arse, over the round flesh. It felt fucking magnificent, so he did it again, rubbing his erection against John.
John pressed against Sherlock's finger, forcing him in deeper. "Yeah," John said again, moving his hips rhythmically. "Fuck me. Stop talking and do it. I'm ready, I'm ready."
He was ready. He was wet and slick and eager in a way Sherlock had never seen from John before. He didn't need to be stretched, didn't need any preparation. Not now, not when he'd been in heat for fifteen days, fifteen days of his body screaming for an alpha's knot - for Sherlock's knot.
"Condom. Where do you keep your condoms?"
John shook his head. "It's fine. I want you like this. I want your come inside me."
Sherlock hesitated, even as he positioned the tip of his cock against John's hole, nothing stopping him from thrusting inside but his own self-control. "Are you sure?" he asked, even as part of his brain screamed at him to stop asking questions and take what John was offering, to experience John's pert arse with no barrier, no matter how thin, separating them. "It's not safe. I haven't been tested. You shouldn't -"
"I tested you a week ago. You're clean," John interrupted. "Please, please, Sherlock. I can't - I can't think, I need you to knot me, do it."
Dimly, Sherlock remembered that - John's hand on his arm, John asking for a blood sample. If he'd known then what it was for (for this, for John spread out beneath him, cheeks spread and arse begging for Sherlock to fill him), this would have happened much sooner.
He pressed into John roughly, clumsy in his haste, too fast and too hard. John cried out, a raw, needy sound Sherlock had never heard before, backing onto Sherlock's cock, taking him in until Sherlock's groin fit snugly against John's arse.
John's hole felt hot and tight around him. He was wet enough that his body yielded when Sherlock pulled out several inches and thrust into him again, slicking Sherlock's cock with his fluids. John made another noise, a grunt that might be pain if not for his words, a low, steady stream of, "yeah, that feels so good, you're so thick inside me, stretching me out, harder, harder."
Their rhythm was clumsy, uncoordinated, but Sherlock didn't care. He couldn't think, couldn't focus on slowing his pace, could only thrust into John's eager, willing arse as deeply and quickly as he can, desperate for more. He leaned forward, balancing himself with an arm next to John's shoulder, and pressed his mouth against John's jaw, tasting his sweat.
"You feel so good. You feel so tight but you took me in so easily, sucking me in. You're so needy, begging for more like a bitch in heat - because that's what you are, isn't it? A bitch in heat, and the only thing that'll satisfy you is my knot."
"Yeah. Yeah I want you to knot me. Wanna feel your come inside me, want you to plug me up with your knot and breed me. I wanna feel your skin," John said, and started struggling with his jumper.
Sherlock shoved the fabric up John's torso, then helped him wriggle his head and arms free. When he was finally free, Sherlock ran his hand down John's bare back and mouthed his shoulder. John smelled so good, tasted so good. Sherlock couldn't get enough of it. He wanted to hold John down like this forever, wanted to mark him and claim him and make sure everyone knew that John was an omega - that John was his omega.
He dropped his hand to wrap around John's prick. It was velvety smooth and fully erect, head wet with precome that smeared fluidly on his fingers. John shuddered at the touch, then thrust into the loose ring of Sherlock's fingers.
"I'm close," he gasped. "Harder, tighter, I need to -"
Sherlock tightened his grip and moved his hand several times, rubbing against the length of John's hot, hard flesh, and John came messily over Sherlock's fingers, muscles clenching around Sherlock's cock. Sherlock pounded into him several more times before coming as well, cock twitching as he flooded John's greedy, pliant arse with his seed.
John had gone limp beneath him, panting to catch his breath. A fine sheen of sweat coated his back, soaking damply into Sherlock's shirt when he lay his weight tentatively on top of John. "You are so amazing," he whispered against the back of John's neck, still buried inside him.
He started to pull out, thoughts on finding a wet cloth, or perhaps a towel, before realizing he couldn't. He was stuck and couldn't get free. He started to try again until John's hand - quick and surprisingly strong, shot back and grabbed his wrist in a firm grip.
"Hey," John murmured, voice soft and comforting, as if Sherlock were a panicking animal. "Hey, it's all right. It's just the knot. Calm down."
Oh. Right. Right, of course. Obvious, and Sherlock relaxed, feeling silly. He settled them in a more comfortable position, the two of them on lying their sides with Sherlock's arm loosely tossed over John's side, holding him close.
They were still tied together, would be for - Sherlock wasn't sure how long, exactly, but anywhere from fifteen minutes to a full hour. Now that Sherlock realized what was going on, he could enjoy it, the tight, pleasurable sensation of plugging John's arse with his cock, the way his cock twitched every few seconds, depositing more semen inside him.
Breeding him, because John was fertile now, because this was the only time he'd be fertile, until his next cycle.
John toyed with Sherlock's fingers, running his own through the mess he'd made on them. "Okay, then?" he asked, sounding relaxed and contented. The urgency was gone from his voice. "Is this your first time? During a heat, I mean."
Sherlock buried his face in the junction between John's throat and shoulder. "I never had the opportunity before," he said, and slid his hand down John's torso, stopping just above his groin. He pressed his palm flat against the skin there. "I'm in you," he marveled. "I'm inside you, right here."
"Yeah," John agreed breathlessly. He wriggled against Sherlock and clamped down on his prick with his inner muscles.
Sherlock shivered. "You can feel it, can't you? My knot in your tight, wet hole? But I've stretched it out; that's why I have to knot you, to keep all my come in your arse."
"Fuck," John swore. He tilted his head back and Sherlock bit down on his throat, making his hand tighten on Sherlock's. Their fingers slid stickily against each other.
"You're fertile now," Sherlock said between sucks and nibbles of the sensitive skin on John's throat. "That's why you're in heat. Your body wants to be bred. It wants an alpha cock knotting it. It wants to carry a child. You've been begging for it for weeks now, to anyone who can hear you."
"Saved myself for you though, didn't I?" John said through several appreciative noises.
"You did," Sherlock agreed. "You did and I'm here now, filling you with my seed. I'm going to breed you like an animal. I'm going to fuck you through your entire heat," he promised, as John squirmed against him. With each motion he squeezed Sherlock's cock, milking him in short, hot spurts, taking more and more of Sherlock's come into his body. "You're going to grow round and swollen with my child and everyone will know what happened."
"Yeah, yeah," John said again, low and encouraging. "Say it."
Sherlock licked the skin beneath John's ear. "They'll know you're an omega, that you went into heat and begged me to fuck you. They'll know you begged like a whore for my cock, that I mounted you and flooded your arse with my seed."
And everyone who knows you will know you turned down all the others, and I was the only one good enough for you.
Sherlock buried his face against John's skin, breathing deeply, enjoying the feel of John in his arms and plastered against his body. John was warm and compliant, post-coitally content. He was already showing signs of sleepiness, his response to Sherlock's words winding down into vague murmurs.
Sherlock, too, felt the tension leave his body with each twitch of his cock inside John, with each moment that passed with them tied together, until sleep overcame him.
~*~*~
Sherlock woke when John started to untangle their limbs. He moved to let John rise somewhat unsteadily to his feet, watching through half-lidded eyes. John moved gingerly, and Sherlock knew it was because he was still sore. His hair stuck out every which way and there was a patch of dried semen on his lower belly. The room reeked of sex.
John grimaced slightly when he was fully upright. "The worst part about sleeping with alphas when I'm in heat is the mess it makes," he said lightly. "I need a shower."
Sherlock couldn't help but agree. A shower sounded brilliant right now. "Want company?"
John licked his lips. "Of course. You up for another go?" He offered Sherlock his hand.
Sherlock took it and let John pull him up. He grinned. "Always."
Author: softandwoollen
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4300
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Warnings: none
Summary: For a prompt on the kink meme. Roughly paraphrased, "John is an omega male (self lubricating ass and the ability to get pregnant) while Sherlock is an alpha. John goes into heat unexpectedly and Sherlock breeds him for the entire heat. Impregnation kink, dirty talk, animal traits (knotting)."
John sat down next to him and Sherlock was suddenly, instantly hard. He was confused for a moment, unaccustomed to his body's sudden betrayal, until John turned to look at him and Sherlock took a breath and knew.
"John," he breathed, "You're an omega male."
John hadn't told him that. Sherlock hadn't even suspected. He'd assumed John was typical, a standard beta male. It'd never occurred to him that John would be an omega, one of the rare subset of the male population with the ability to bear children. Among other things. He certainly didn't act like an omega.
It explained why Sherlock had been feeling more restless lately, why even being in the same room as John these past few days had been enough to make his skin itch.
John's eyes widened. He tensed almost imperceptibly. "If you can tell, that means you're an alpha."
Yes. It did. Sherlock took another breath, and his body burned with desire. "You're in estrus."
Even being near him, close enough to touch, was starting to drive Sherlock mad. His body could tell - that John was an omega, that he was fertile, that Sherlock could spread him open and sink into his hot, slick arse and -
John was speaking. It took effort to understand his words. "-and anyway, I've always had a bad reaction to the suppression meds and they're not exactly easy on the pocketbook, so I figured I'd just. Deal with it." He shrugged, casting a glance at Sherlock almost warily.
Objectively speaking, it was none of Sherlock's business what John chose to do about going into heat. None of his business, no matter that he was hard now, that he felt touch-starved, that he wanted to press his face into John's hair and bask in his scent and claim him, with his teeth and his cock and -
Sherlock dragged his thoughts back under control and willed his voice to hold steady. "I see," he said.
John winced. "Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't realize you were an alpha. You don't exactly act like one. If I'd known, I would have -"
"It's fine," Sherlock interrupted, because while it was inconvenient for John to be in estrus and so close, it still felt good. Exciting, in a way few things were, because this wasn't just some stupid omega strutting about and pushing his buttons. This was John, and knowing the heat on his skin and the warmth in the pit of his gut was caused by John didn't bother Sherlock too much at all.
"Will you be okay with it? It's not... " John flushed slightly. Sherlock had a vivid mental image of John naked on a bed, cheeks flushed as Sherlock thrust into him. "Too much of a distraction?"
"Of course not. I'm perfectly capable of self-control."
Sherlock only hoped he was telling the truth.
~*~*~
Other alphas were not so accommodating.
Sherlock had never been friends with an omega before (well, he hadn't had many friends in general, to be honest), and he'd never been so close to one in estrus - in heat, as the slang term went. Which is why he didn't realize something was amiss until he heard a thud to his right and turned to see John glaring at a man on his back on the pavement. The man was cradling his wrist.
"Right," John said calmly, but Sherlock could read the tension in his muscles, more pronounced than it had been several minutes before. "If you touch me again, I'll break your wrist."
It happened more than just the one time. Sherlock had never paid much attention to other alphas before, but it was easy to spot them now. As soon as they got a breath of John's scent, they pivoted, drawn towards him.
Most of them backed off after a warning glare from John, but several didn't. John was surprisingly violent once an alpha put his hands on him, tripping them or flipping them or even jabbing an elbow into their gut.
And each time, John would smile pleasantly and say, through gritted teeth, even as his pheromones screamed fuck me, I'm ready, I want it and his erection formed a bulge in the front of his trousers, "Don't do that. I'm not a toy."
After the third time, Sherlock leaned closer to John (bad idea, because now it took a supreme effort of will not to bridge the gap between them and press his mouth to John's skin), and asked, "Is it always like that? When you're..."
John ducked away from him. Sherlock felt a momentary pang of loss. "Sometimes," he said. "It's been years. They put me on suppressants when I was in the army."
~*~*~
Even Lestrade was not immune to John.
Sherlock watched with narrowed eyes as the other alpha leaned closer to John than he normally did while speaking. His hands curled into fists inside his coat pockets when Lestrade stroked his hand down John's back, forcing himself not to intervene.
It was none of his business if John wanted to spread his legs for Lestrade, wanted to let Lestrade press him against the ground (or the wall or over a table) and fuck into his slick, greedy hole. He was practically panting for it, body turned towards Lestrade and lips slightly parted. His eyes were on Lestrade's mouth, and Sherlock was briefly overcome with the urge to punch Lestrade in the face.
Except.
Except that John had already pushed Lestrade bodily away (not violently, but not gently either), and was quietly saying something that made Lestrade duck his head in embarrassment and step away, hands in his pockets.
"Sorry," Lestrade said as Sherlock pretended he wasn't hanging on every word of their conversation. "I didn't mean to -"
"You did," John interrupted. "But it's fine. Just don't do it again. I'm not interested in that right now."
~*~*~
Sherlock had managed, with some trial and error, to block John's presence from his awareness when they were in the flat together. Which is why it was especially irritating when Sherlock's attention was abruptly ripped from his book by the sudden presence of John at his side.
hot, sweaty flesh under his hands, John's hole wet and slick and tight around his cock, John begging him, begging for Sherlock to fill him, fuck him, flood his arse with -
"What?" Sherlock snapped irritably.
John winced. "Sorry. Are you busy?"
"Sorry," Sherlock apologized as well. "I... It's hard for me to think when you're -" He waved vaguely at the air surrounding John. "What is it?"
John held up a syringe. "I need a blood sample. Is that all right? I need to run some tests."
"Fine," Sherlock said, and held out his arm.
He smothered a groan when John touched him. John had been scrupulously careful about not touching Sherlock these past several days, avoiding even accidental brushes of skin to skin contact. Now, the feel of John's hand on his arm felt like a live wire.
John felt it too; his eyes widened and his tongue darted out to lick his lips, and Sherlock knew, without needing further evidence, that he was hard and thinking of the same thing as Sherlock.
Sherlock barely noticed the prick of the needle against the inside of his elbow, but the phantom sensation of John's fingertips against his skin stayed with him for hours.
~*~*~
Estrus usually lasted no more than several days, the time it took the omega to find a suitable alpha to knot with them - or the time it took for suppression drugs, taken at the start of an omega's cycle, to finally take effect.
By day eight, Sherlock was wondering what, exactly, John was planning to do about his cycle and the fact that his pheromones were just as strong as they'd been on the second day.
"How do you even work?" he groaned.
John was lying on the sofa (which was Sherlock's spot, and normally he wouldn't care but now he could only imagine pinning John against the cushions and ripping his clothes off with his teeth), laptop propped against his upraised knees. He looked up when Sherlock spoke.
"We have access to the patient's medical records. I traded all my alphas to a coworker. It's standard procedure. Nearly thirty percent of omegas don't suppress their cycles. It's not so bad."
"Isn't it?" Sherlock asked, because he could barely think. It felt like it took ages to put John out of his mind, to push down the vivid mental images about what he wanted to do to him. At least if he left, and Sherlock had taken up hours-long solitary walks around London recently, the nigh-irresistible desire burning through his veins would fade, letting him think clearly once more. He didn't know how John could handle it at all; he could hardly escape himself, after all. "I can barely stand it."
"It's worse when you're around," John said, and Sherlock couldn't decipher his meaning at all.
~*~*~
The entire flat smelled like John, not like sex but like a precursor to it, even when Sherlock retreated to his bedroom to, ostensibly, go to sleep.
John had retired to his room several minutes ago, and Sherlock had no doubt in his mind that John was touching himself. Sherlock hadn't done it deliberately, but at some point he'd memorized John's masturbatory habits.
John left for bed earlier and slept better depending on how long he took, on whether he stroked himself to completion or fucked himself with one of the long, thick toys Sherlock had found in his bedroom while looking for spare bullets.
He was an omega, the omega to Sherlock's alpha, and he was in heat. His body was telling him it needed a prick in its arse, needed to be stretched and filled and flooded with an alpha's seed. John had gone to bed nearly an hour earlier than he normally did, which meant he'd be touching himself now, working his fingers into his arse in preparation for something larger.
Sherlock wondered if John liked it rough, if he'd work the dildo in slowly or shove it inside himself greedily, eager to be filled. Would John touch his cock at all, or would he be able to come just by fucking himself?
Sherlock's own cock sprang eagerly into his hand when he pushed down his pants and trousers, wrapping his fingers around himself.
John would be embarrassed at first, when Sherlock approached him, ashamed at how eager, how desperate he was for Sherlock's cock. But Sherlock would press and John would yield, would blush and stammer and admit, "I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop thinking about you. I fuck myself with my fingers and pretend it's your prick."
Sherlock would take John on his hands and knees, mounting him like an animal, pounding into his tight, slick hole over and over. He'd press his face against John's shoulder, tasting the sweat-slick skin, and John would moan, would writhe under him and say, "Sherlock, Sherlock please. I want your knot, I want you to come inside me."
And he would - his knot would form, the base of his penis swelling in size until John was incoherent, too overcome by the sensation to form words, and he'd come inside John's arse, flooding his passage with semen.
Sherlock's orgasm broke him out of his fantasy; semen pooled on his belly. He cleaned it up with a handful of tissues from his nightstand.
He still felt faintly on edge, anxious and eager, but it wasn't as distracting now. He wondered what John, upstairs, was doing - if he'd finished as well, if he'd worked himself up until he was panting and had only now started to calm down.
If he, like Sherlock, was thinking about his flatmate.
~*~*~
Sherlock's self-control finally broke on day fifteen, more than two weeks after he'd first realized John was an omega.
John had been getting gradually more used to being in heat near Sherlock, and Sherlock couldn't say the same was applying to him. Whenever John came near, every part of Sherlock's body stood to attention, demanded he act on his desires.
So when John tipped back the top of Sherlock's book (the one he'd been staring at for ten minutes without making any sense of the letters in front of him) and asked him what he was reading, Sherlock's resistance, already strained, snapped like a twig.
Sherlock grabbed John's wrist and yanked. It unbalanced him and he tumbled forward, landing clumsily on the seat next to Sherlock. Sherlock leaned over him, one knee on either side of him, arms bracketing John's head.
Do you have any idea what you do to me? Do you have any idea what I want to do to you? he thought, and nearly opened his mouth to ask it aloud, before his brain finally, finally caught up with him and stopped him in his tracks, because John had already said, quite clearly, I'm not interested in that.
It didn't matter that John's cheeks were flushed and his lips parted, that Sherlock had been hard for ages, that John was teasing him simply by being in the same flat as him, aroused and available and always in his way, where Sherlock couldn't help but notice him.
John had turned down every single alpha that'd approached him, firmly and flatly and even violently when necessary. He'd made it clear that no matter what his body said, no matter how deliciously it pressed against Sherlock, no matter how eager he obviously was, he'd decided he didn't want an alpha mounting him.
Bearing that in mind, Sherlock was actually rather grateful John hadn't broken his nose yet for perpetrating such an egregious breach of his personal space.
He was still formulating his apology - groveling, he could grovel - when John fisted his hands in Sherlock's shirt.
"Christ, finally," John groaned, and dragged Sherlock into a kiss.
John was more teeth than lips, kissing Sherlock like - like he was desperate for it, like he couldn't get enough, and Sherlock kissed him back just as fiercely, sliding his tongue against John's. John grunted when Sherlock dropped his weight on top of him, pressing their groins together, and Sherlock swallowed the sound with his mouth, feeling as if his entire body were on fire.
John was already pulling at Sherlock's clothes - at his trousers, fumbling with the belt - when Sherlock broke their kiss to take a breath.
"Come on," John moaned, his fingers sliding against Sherlock's cock, light, incidental brushes as he shoved Sherlock's trousers to his thighs and then did the same to his pants. "I want you to fuck me. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this."
They were at a terrible angle. John's legs were pinned closed by Sherlock's knees, and the sofa was really not made for two fully grown men rutting on top of each other like teenagers. It was impossible to get John's trousers down like this so Sherlock pulled him to the floor. John didn't seem to mind the rough treatment. He seemed, in fact, to enjoy it greatly, if the noise he made, low and appreciative, was any indicator.
John braced himself on his knees and one forearm, hindquarters in the air. It put his round, pert arse on display. He fumbled his zip open and pushed his pants and trousers down to his knees in one urgent, clumsy action, only kicking them off when he tried to spread his legs and got tangled in the fabric.
He was still wearing his jumper. Sherlock was still wearing his shirt. His legs were still caught in his trousers, getting in his way whenever he tried to move. The idea that John wanted him so urgently that he didn't bother with the rest of his clothes, only shoved them aside far enough to give Sherlock access, made Sherlock's mouth go dry with wanting.
"John," Sherlock said, the word sounding as if it'd been ripped out from him. It felt like it'd been ripped out of him, pulled straight from his id to his mouth with no pause to check with his brain.
"Yeah," John breathed. He spread his legs wide, offering himself wantonly.
He pushed back against Sherlock's hands when Sherlock spread his round cheeks, revealing his tight, wet hole. It glistened with fluid. Sherlock rubbed his index finger against it, and the tip slid in easily, meeting no resistance.
"You're so wet. You're practically dripping, I can smell it from here. I could smell it even when you were dressed, that you wanted it. You want my prick don't you? You want my knot." Sherlock's hips jerked forward of their own accord. The head of his cock slid against John's arse, over the round flesh. It felt fucking magnificent, so he did it again, rubbing his erection against John.
John pressed against Sherlock's finger, forcing him in deeper. "Yeah," John said again, moving his hips rhythmically. "Fuck me. Stop talking and do it. I'm ready, I'm ready."
He was ready. He was wet and slick and eager in a way Sherlock had never seen from John before. He didn't need to be stretched, didn't need any preparation. Not now, not when he'd been in heat for fifteen days, fifteen days of his body screaming for an alpha's knot - for Sherlock's knot.
"Condom. Where do you keep your condoms?"
John shook his head. "It's fine. I want you like this. I want your come inside me."
Sherlock hesitated, even as he positioned the tip of his cock against John's hole, nothing stopping him from thrusting inside but his own self-control. "Are you sure?" he asked, even as part of his brain screamed at him to stop asking questions and take what John was offering, to experience John's pert arse with no barrier, no matter how thin, separating them. "It's not safe. I haven't been tested. You shouldn't -"
"I tested you a week ago. You're clean," John interrupted. "Please, please, Sherlock. I can't - I can't think, I need you to knot me, do it."
Dimly, Sherlock remembered that - John's hand on his arm, John asking for a blood sample. If he'd known then what it was for (for this, for John spread out beneath him, cheeks spread and arse begging for Sherlock to fill him), this would have happened much sooner.
He pressed into John roughly, clumsy in his haste, too fast and too hard. John cried out, a raw, needy sound Sherlock had never heard before, backing onto Sherlock's cock, taking him in until Sherlock's groin fit snugly against John's arse.
John's hole felt hot and tight around him. He was wet enough that his body yielded when Sherlock pulled out several inches and thrust into him again, slicking Sherlock's cock with his fluids. John made another noise, a grunt that might be pain if not for his words, a low, steady stream of, "yeah, that feels so good, you're so thick inside me, stretching me out, harder, harder."
Their rhythm was clumsy, uncoordinated, but Sherlock didn't care. He couldn't think, couldn't focus on slowing his pace, could only thrust into John's eager, willing arse as deeply and quickly as he can, desperate for more. He leaned forward, balancing himself with an arm next to John's shoulder, and pressed his mouth against John's jaw, tasting his sweat.
"You feel so good. You feel so tight but you took me in so easily, sucking me in. You're so needy, begging for more like a bitch in heat - because that's what you are, isn't it? A bitch in heat, and the only thing that'll satisfy you is my knot."
"Yeah. Yeah I want you to knot me. Wanna feel your come inside me, want you to plug me up with your knot and breed me. I wanna feel your skin," John said, and started struggling with his jumper.
Sherlock shoved the fabric up John's torso, then helped him wriggle his head and arms free. When he was finally free, Sherlock ran his hand down John's bare back and mouthed his shoulder. John smelled so good, tasted so good. Sherlock couldn't get enough of it. He wanted to hold John down like this forever, wanted to mark him and claim him and make sure everyone knew that John was an omega - that John was his omega.
He dropped his hand to wrap around John's prick. It was velvety smooth and fully erect, head wet with precome that smeared fluidly on his fingers. John shuddered at the touch, then thrust into the loose ring of Sherlock's fingers.
"I'm close," he gasped. "Harder, tighter, I need to -"
Sherlock tightened his grip and moved his hand several times, rubbing against the length of John's hot, hard flesh, and John came messily over Sherlock's fingers, muscles clenching around Sherlock's cock. Sherlock pounded into him several more times before coming as well, cock twitching as he flooded John's greedy, pliant arse with his seed.
John had gone limp beneath him, panting to catch his breath. A fine sheen of sweat coated his back, soaking damply into Sherlock's shirt when he lay his weight tentatively on top of John. "You are so amazing," he whispered against the back of John's neck, still buried inside him.
He started to pull out, thoughts on finding a wet cloth, or perhaps a towel, before realizing he couldn't. He was stuck and couldn't get free. He started to try again until John's hand - quick and surprisingly strong, shot back and grabbed his wrist in a firm grip.
"Hey," John murmured, voice soft and comforting, as if Sherlock were a panicking animal. "Hey, it's all right. It's just the knot. Calm down."
Oh. Right. Right, of course. Obvious, and Sherlock relaxed, feeling silly. He settled them in a more comfortable position, the two of them on lying their sides with Sherlock's arm loosely tossed over John's side, holding him close.
They were still tied together, would be for - Sherlock wasn't sure how long, exactly, but anywhere from fifteen minutes to a full hour. Now that Sherlock realized what was going on, he could enjoy it, the tight, pleasurable sensation of plugging John's arse with his cock, the way his cock twitched every few seconds, depositing more semen inside him.
Breeding him, because John was fertile now, because this was the only time he'd be fertile, until his next cycle.
John toyed with Sherlock's fingers, running his own through the mess he'd made on them. "Okay, then?" he asked, sounding relaxed and contented. The urgency was gone from his voice. "Is this your first time? During a heat, I mean."
Sherlock buried his face in the junction between John's throat and shoulder. "I never had the opportunity before," he said, and slid his hand down John's torso, stopping just above his groin. He pressed his palm flat against the skin there. "I'm in you," he marveled. "I'm inside you, right here."
"Yeah," John agreed breathlessly. He wriggled against Sherlock and clamped down on his prick with his inner muscles.
Sherlock shivered. "You can feel it, can't you? My knot in your tight, wet hole? But I've stretched it out; that's why I have to knot you, to keep all my come in your arse."
"Fuck," John swore. He tilted his head back and Sherlock bit down on his throat, making his hand tighten on Sherlock's. Their fingers slid stickily against each other.
"You're fertile now," Sherlock said between sucks and nibbles of the sensitive skin on John's throat. "That's why you're in heat. Your body wants to be bred. It wants an alpha cock knotting it. It wants to carry a child. You've been begging for it for weeks now, to anyone who can hear you."
"Saved myself for you though, didn't I?" John said through several appreciative noises.
"You did," Sherlock agreed. "You did and I'm here now, filling you with my seed. I'm going to breed you like an animal. I'm going to fuck you through your entire heat," he promised, as John squirmed against him. With each motion he squeezed Sherlock's cock, milking him in short, hot spurts, taking more and more of Sherlock's come into his body. "You're going to grow round and swollen with my child and everyone will know what happened."
"Yeah, yeah," John said again, low and encouraging. "Say it."
Sherlock licked the skin beneath John's ear. "They'll know you're an omega, that you went into heat and begged me to fuck you. They'll know you begged like a whore for my cock, that I mounted you and flooded your arse with my seed."
And everyone who knows you will know you turned down all the others, and I was the only one good enough for you.
Sherlock buried his face against John's skin, breathing deeply, enjoying the feel of John in his arms and plastered against his body. John was warm and compliant, post-coitally content. He was already showing signs of sleepiness, his response to Sherlock's words winding down into vague murmurs.
Sherlock, too, felt the tension leave his body with each twitch of his cock inside John, with each moment that passed with them tied together, until sleep overcame him.
~*~*~
Sherlock woke when John started to untangle their limbs. He moved to let John rise somewhat unsteadily to his feet, watching through half-lidded eyes. John moved gingerly, and Sherlock knew it was because he was still sore. His hair stuck out every which way and there was a patch of dried semen on his lower belly. The room reeked of sex.
John grimaced slightly when he was fully upright. "The worst part about sleeping with alphas when I'm in heat is the mess it makes," he said lightly. "I need a shower."
Sherlock couldn't help but agree. A shower sounded brilliant right now. "Want company?"
John licked his lips. "Of course. You up for another go?" He offered Sherlock his hand.
Sherlock took it and let John pull him up. He grinned. "Always."