Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fifteen year old John Watson rolled his eyes as his brother's voice filled the house. The school bus hasn't even pulled away from their driveway, and the door wasn't closed.

"Holy... Fuck! I can't Sherlock, I can't " A loud drawn out moan was heard and then a groan, completing the melody, a lovely baritone groan. 

Their parents were gone for the weekend again and Victor couldn't help himself bringing back some bloke. 

And then Victor was screaming "Oh fucking hell you've got a big prick. Come on fuck me.  I'm not delicate you bastard.  Oh god! Right there, right there, right there!" A strangled moan escaped from his Victor's throat just as the bed posts started clanging against the wall. 

John knew his adopted older brother was a slut.

 
Unfortunately John had not been prepared for class due to his book missing. And his book was in their room where it seems like the bloke with the big cock was giving it to his brother nice and hard.
 

What was also unfortunate was that Victor was a screamer regardless of how well his partners performed. And the better they were, the louder he was.

"Victor will you bloody shut the fuck up! I need to study soon you big berk. " 

"Fuck!!! Sorry Johnnnnnnny!!!" The last syllable was squeaked in an octave above from what he started. "Fuckkkk! Fuck fuck fuck fuck bloody fuck yes Sherlock! God! Let me breathe! I'm trying to talk to my brother!”

John rolls his eyes again, making his up to their shared room. ( God, they better not be using his bed again.)

The banging gets louder as he mounts the stairs. As does Victor. The whore.

John's just trying to fucking get his textbook and Victor has this Sherlock bloke hammering into him in the vicinity of where his textbook is and can his life get any harder?

John pauses at the door, psyching himself up to enter the room. 

The sounds of thrusting gets slower but no less intense, making Victor make throaty noises – nothing like the English language.

“FUCK. Sherlock! Mmmmmnnnngh! Slow down, slow down, SLOW DOWN.” The last 'slow down' was shrieked. 

A deep chuckle follows the shriek. “ Alright, alright. You can come in now, John” Sherlock calls from behind the door.

“Yeah! Come in.” Victor wheezes.

John opens the door and marches in, on a mission, immediately going to search his desk for his book.

Very slow rocking noises come from Victor's side of the room – Victor's bed – along with high pitched sounds and hard breathing.

John couldn't find his book on his desk, very concentrating on the search and not getting hard, so he pulls the desk chair and crawls partially underneath the desk.

He doesn't notice a pair of almost black eyes with startling gray eclipses burn with interest as they stare at his arse; He does notice that the thrusting of hips is endless against Victor's arse, a pace made to be kept for hours without exhaustion.

“Have you seen my bloody Bio textbook you wanker?” He addresses his brother from underneath the desk.

Victor makes the effort to speak but ends up whining, throwing his arm over his face and whimpering in frustration.

“Fuck me harder, arsehole!” Is what comes out of his mouth instead of 'I don't know' or ' Look under your bed'.

“Mmmmmmmmm..” The deep voice from this side of the door, unfiltered, sends shivers down John's back and he gulps nervously. That particular hum had sounded sinful.

“I am taking my time, Victor. There is no hurry, plus we have an audience. Be kind.”

“Thanks for the help you guys.” The blonde mutters sarcastically.
The deep voice caresses John as it emerges from the corner. " You should look under the bed, John."

John turns towards the bed in his corner of the room. 

Victor gives a loud sob. "Sherlock! Fu-" The word is cut off, resolving into a whine.

"Patience, Victor. Not that bed, John."

"You have got to be kidding." John swallows, nervously.

A dark chuckle is the only thing that John hears.

John straightens his spine and stares into the corner. There's just enough light to see Victor spread out on his back with a dark haired, pale, skinny, and gorgeous university student ever so slowly withdrawing a quite thick prick all the way out and then all the way back in.

Those piercing eyes were pinned to John, just daring him to come closer.

John gulps, slowly edging closer.

Sherlock was watching him like a predator.

Victor began to whine, withering against his boyfriend. "Please, please, please, please, please, please!"

Sherlock gives a hard thrust, bottoming out and holding his hips there - balls deep - as deep as he could go.

His brother released a wail, fingernails visibly digging into Sherlock's shoulders, and audibly scratching at the boy's back.

John barely holds back a small whimper. Sherlock had made Victor almost scream without even looking away!

Sherlock nonchalantly reverts back to his frustratingly slow pace, smirking. " Come get your book, John."

John's fight or flight response was a hair away from being triggered.

"Um.. I..think..I'll just study tomorrow you know?" He giggles nervously.

"Get your damn book so he can fuck the hell out of me with this big cock! Fuuuucccck! Even you can have a turn, just get the fucking book so he can focus on getting me off!" Victor yells.

John emits a squeak, hurrying towards the bed and getting too close of a look at the entwined forms of the two. His teenage mind noted that though Sherlock was bigger - in all ways - Victor had nothing to be ashamed of either. Sherlock chuckled as if knowing exactly what he was thinking.

John blushes and threw himself to the floor on hands and knees. He stretches a hand below the bed. 

A fruity scent reaches his nose and he sniffed to determine the flavour.

"Cherry." That deep voice rumbled from extremely close to his ear, just as he felt the familiar shape of a textbook. ( Dear fucking god, his ear felt like it was about to fall off from dying of an orgasm triggered by that voice. Yes his ear was tingling and he could have sworn he felt the soft caress of an exhale). Damn it, John was getting hard.

~~~~

John squeaks again, head snapping up to stare into dark pupils surrounded by a shock of dark curls. Sherlock had streamlined his body against Victor's to put his head close to the edge of the bed, and therefore close to John's.

Victor's legs were wrapped around Sherlock, tan lithe against pale lithe. Sherlock looked to be swiveling instead of thrusting and Victor was hyperventilating. 

John's eyes snap back to Sherlock's face and pinned themselves there. He had a feeling he was bright pink. 

"Get the fucking book and get the hell out you little brat! He's not going to fuck me the way I want him to until he has no audience, the little shit." 

Sherlock's lips twitch.

John stares into Sherlock's eyes for a few tense seconds before he snaps back to himself and wiggles underneath the bed to grab a hold of the textbook and pulls it to his person.

Sherlock's eyes are burning into the back of John's school trousers and he hums a rumbling, thunderous sound while staring.

John, who's upper half is under the bed has a good idea what he's staring at and he gulps back his anxiety and adds a little wiggle to his bum as he pulls from underneath the bed. 

"I'll... be in the living room, then..?" He turns and holds himself back from running to the door.

If he's being completely honest to himself, John would admit to adding a bit of sway in his hips as he leaves the room, his backside tingling with the knowledge that a predatory gaze is watching his every move.

~ Not even an hour later. . . ~

His mobile rings with a new text. From his brother.

Your brother is in no condition to talk, text... or walk.. but he needs something to drink lest he pass out. I'm not done with him yet. -SH 

Chapter Text

Your brother is in no condition to talk, text... or walk... but he needs something to drink lest he pass out. I'm not done with him yet. -SH

The text stared at him for a good moment before John realised what he was being asked to do. Apparently they wanted a bloody full tea service with neat little sandwich squares with the crust cut off. And on top of that, he should dress in a butler’s get up but with only the vest and a bowtie adorning his torso. He snorted at his thoughts and put the pot on.

He didn’t want his dear brother to die of dehydration.

*

Tea fixed in two mugs, a plate of small sandwich squares (crustless) and napkins sat neatly arranged on the tray. He stared at it a bit before adding a glass of water and a bottle of paracetamol to the tray.

Grinning in a sly manner, John lifted the tray and made his way upstairs almost humming. He stopped at the door and knocked a foot against it twice.

“I hope to god that you are both decent; open the bloody door!” He shouted.

The door creaked open very slowly, giving him entrance to a somehow darkened room. A quick glance to the nearest window told him it was barely evening. It should not be that dark.

“Well... this is not creepy.” John remarked cheekily, making his way into the room and setting the tray on Victor’s desk. He turned towards the lump on the mattress and sighed, settling down at Victor’s side and checking on him.

“I’m afraid that happens to most of my partners… they can’t keep up with my… needs ,” a deep, deep voice rumbles from the darker corner of room and John cannot help but swallow nervously. With a raise of an eyebrow and a skeptical glance towards Sherlock, the blond turned back to Victor and gathered the skin of his hand in a pinch and stared as it fell back to normal. Slowly.

“He’ll rehydrate when he awakens. That leaves time for us to play.” Sherlock closed the door and locked it. The sound of the tumblers clicking into place sounded  too definite and final. John whipped around to stare at the door incredulously, heart rate increasing at a steady pace. The raven male elegantly stepped out of the darker shadows and stalked towards John. Like a panther, Sherlock eyed his next meal with hunger. John’s fight or flight responses triggered and adrenaline rushed through his body as he charged towards the door.

One millisecond of flight, the next millisecond: prey captured in mid-flight, and the next second: John was squealing as his back collided against the door; there were large pale palms pressed on either side of his head, bare skin pressed directly against the thin shirt he was wearing, and gentle breaths against his ear.  He didn’t even know his eyes had squeezed shut. Sherlock let out a small breath of bemusement.

“And where do you think you’re going John Hamish Watson? You have a guest to entertain. Your brother is out of commission, my sincerest apologies for that, but I’m still wide awake and alert.” The man purred. John saw the pupils begin to enlarge until the icy silver irised eclipsed them. “Have you ever had a man take you, John? I ensure you it is an exquisite experience. Particularly if you have someone well endowed and someone with the experience to know how to use it.” Sherlock’s voice dropped to a thunderous reverberation as he spoke into John’s ear making the younger boy tremble and positively whimper in innocence.

“But… Wa-” John tried to speak, but it was clear that Sherlock had his next meal confirmed.

“I can positively smell how inexperienced you are, John. Sixteen and not even a girlfriend yet? Or boyfriend. How delectable. ” 

John found himself on his back, in his own bed, with legs spread open, dark haired Uni student  between them.

Sherlock had a lean build, skinny, sinewy and tall. He was topless, and John could see the tension in Sherlock’s abdomen and shoulders; he was clearly holding himself back from something. A light trail of curly dark hair lead down to the waistband of pajama bottoms that hung very low in the hips and did nothing to hide a formidable erection. John licked his lips uncontrollably.

Sherlock’s eyes  focused on his tongue a slow grin spreading across his lips. “You have 30 seconds to leave, John Watson.”  

Oh , no. John wanted this specimen. Having to walk into this room filled with pheromones and the smell of coupling and lust had awakened something primal within him. John took the initiative to grip Sherlock by the ass and press his lips against his partner’s. With as inexperienced as he was, he hoped he was doing something right. 

Sherlock hummed in approval, pressing more of his weight down on the shorter boy, his hips starting a slow grind.

Honestly,from the moment the sixteen year old saw the nineteen year old, he was caught. From the dark curls on the top of his head to the long fingers that were currently under his shirt and fondling him, to the startlingly muscular buttocks still had his hands on, John Watson was enchanted with Sherlock Holmes.  John’s grip was tight and unbreakable as he forced Sherlock to grind that glorious erection into his own. The frottage caused sparks in his brain and fire in his lower belly; the whimpering he was hearing didn’t register as his own until Sherlock kissed him again, taking more of his breath away.

Breathing started to get more difficult, lips started getting more and more swollen, the friction between their bodies started hurting and thoughts of getting off by burying his seed in the plush bottom of John was being overcome by getting off by any means necessary because John Watson’s voice was cracking  when he made those little noises and they did things to his mind, body, and soul.

Heat started building in John’s abdomen, muscles tightening in preparation. He could feel Sherlock’s cock through those thin pajama bottoms, swelling and hardening. Sweet release was close.

They both wanted to come, and it was a startlingly fast approaching orgasm for them.

With one sinful roll of Sherlock’s hips, John’s started bucking up into his, body shaking as he came in his pants,  muscles spasming. Sherlock’s eyes were pinned to his face, drinking in every minute facial expression that John advertised as his body was stimulated.   

With his predatory gaze, unblinking eyes, and continuously rolling hips,  John had to close his eyes to fully enjoy the heady wave of heat and pleasure that rolled within his body.

It took a moment for him to pry open his eyes, and when he did he was looking at the unapologetic expression of Sherlock... and the hawkish one on his brother’s face. The expression would be effective if he didn’t have one of those crustless sandwich squares stuffed into his mouth.

“I know I told you, you could have a turn, but I didn’t actually mean it!!!”

Sherlock took his sweet time disengaging from between John’s legs, leaving the blonde noticeably ruffled and disheveled, and blushing.

“Oh be quiet and drink your water you lightweight. You only came once before you passed out. Even as a virgin, John has better endurance than you.” Sherlock insolently brushes past Victor for the food tray, leaving both John and Victor blushing hotly and refusing to look at each other.

They didn’t think they could blush any harder, but Sherlock proves them wrong once again.

“Guess we’ll have to work on both of your endurances, then.”

Who were they to argue?