Chapter Text
Positioned on all fours in the middle of the 221B sitting room, Greg kept glancing at the door. They’d been at it for a while, so it was time even for Lestrade to start wondering what happened to the lovely, albeit nosy, landlady.
“Mrs Hudson is out,” Sherlock said to ease Greg’s mind. “John got her tickets for a ‘Fast and Furious’ marathon at the Odeon.”
“How did you deduce that?!” John exclaimed with disbelief. “I used cash to pay for those!”
“Mrs Hudson told me,” Sherlock’s smug grin was infectious enough for all of them to chuckle.
Greg’s laughter died down when Sherlock's finger traced his body from his crease, along his back and to his hair where he took a chunk into his grip. Older than both him and John, Greg’s body was in surprisingly good shape. The prominent calf muscles, lean back and abdomen suggested he’d taken up playing sports. Football most likely, knowing his obsession with watching 11 men kicking a piece of inflated leather. His classically handsome face, now flushed with desire, added to the beauty of their first guest for the new bedroom experiment. Or sexperiment, as John coined it.
It had taken Sherlock months to open up to John and give over control to him. He was not ready to do that with Lestrade, but the fact that they’d known each other for a while helped him relax. The initial feeling of unease that he’d experienced upon realising what the evening had brought was easing as time progressed.
He pulled Greg’s hair enough to make him look up. The flutter of the DI’s eyelashes signalled that he enjoyed the rougher treatment, especially when peppered with praise. Sherlock was very familiar with that particular set of proclivities.
“Do you want John to fuck you?”
“Yes…” Lestrade moaned, already arching.
Sherlock let go of his hair to deliver a smack on the DI’s buttock, hard enough to leave a handprint.
“Yes, Sir!”
Sherlock let himself revel in the sound of absolute compliance in the tone of Greg’s voice. The honorific helped Sherlock ignore his instinct to treat Greg as an equal in decision-making. This night was not about the life out there, it was about all of them getting what they needed. An adventure for John, an experiment for Sherlock, and a much needed, thorough fucking for Greg. Here, in this house, in this situation, it was Sherlock’s prerogative to set the rules.
“John?” Sherlock prompted and his fiancé positioned himself behind Lestrade, the bottle of high-grade lubricant in hand.
“I want John’s thick cock to fill you until you scream. But we can’t alarm the neighbours. Fortunately, I have a solution for you.” Cock in hand, Sherlock stood in front of the DI. “Can you deduce what it is?”
“You want me to suck your cock?” Lestrade asked, his pretty, deep-brown eyes pleading.
Sherlock looked to the ceiling, sighing dramatically.
“Would you like me to suck your cock, Sir?”
“Yes. You may moan around it, but no teeth, understood?”
“Yes, Sir!”
“John, you may proceed.”
John was generous with the lube when he slid two, then three fingers in, twisting his wrist, stretching the DI properly.
Greg released a tiny sound before his chest rumbled with a growl of pleasure. His eyes fluttered closed and he nuzzled his face into Sherlock’s shin.
“Talk to me, John,” Sherlock said.
“He’s tight, but I’m sure he can take it,” John replied, focused on his task. “Breathe, Greg, relax. Oh, that’s it.”
His chest gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat and Sherlock had the sudden urge to lick it. Instead, he knelt in front of the DI, his knees reminding him why they should have moved to the bedroom.
Sherlock’s cock was at half-mast, nearly recovered from his previous orgasm, when he slid its head along Letsrade’s lips. Greg opened immediately, licking along the slit, and under the crown, teasing the frenulum.
Oh fuck, he was good.
Sherlock’s moan must have goaded Lestrade enough to wrap his lips around the head and hollow his cheeks. Sherlock sucked in a breath.
“Slowly,” he moaned, brushing the strands of shiny, silver hair from Greg’ forehead. “Go on, John.”
From his vantage point, Sherlock saw John pour lube with complete disregard of the oriental rug underneath them. Lestrade’s sucking ceased and the needy groan that came out of him signalled that the head of John’s cock was in.
John pushed in halfway, poured more lubricant, then slid all the way in with a wet slap.
A wail came out of Lestrade even as his mouth was full of Sherlock's cock.
“I know,” Sherlock said, petting Lestrade’s hair. “He feels divine. At first, I wasn’t even sure if I could take him. It took practice. But look at you… so adept. Beautiful.”
Lestrade moaned again and resumed his sucking, looking up at Sherlock with eyes clouded with carnal hunger.
“I think he can take more,” John said, moving his hips, making wet sounds as their bodies slapped together.
“Can you take more, Gavin?”
“Mmmhmm,” Lestrade signalled, never releasing Sherlock’s cock.
“Do it,” Sherlock commanded, nodding at John.
John gave him a wicked smile before he stilled and slid a finger next to his cock.
“Oh fuck, Greg,” John gasped, his lips parted as he took a deep breath, then another.
“I think we can deduce that our friend here had been experimenting more than he’d led on,” Sherlock surmised, sliding in and out of the DI’s mouth.
Lestrade nodded, his watery eyes lifting to Sherlock.
“Random men?”
Lestrade nodded.
“Then toys?”
Another nod.
“You wanted to feel that fullness and the stretch, didn’t you?”
A blink for a yes this time.
“And you feel it now... Another finger, John.”
“Oh fuck,” John groaned, as his second digit disappeared into their friend. “I’m coming, Sherlock, oh God…”
“Very good,” Sherlock praised. “Go on.”
Lestrade moaned, closing his eyes.
“Not you!” Sherlock snapped. “You are not to come until I tell you.”
Lestrade whimpered, slobbering around Sherlock’s cock, breathing through his nose.
John tossed his head back and barked out a curse, then Sherlock’s name, then a series of incoherent words as he shot into the DI. He thrust hard once, twice, stilling after the third.
John rested his cheek in the middle of Lestrade’s back for a moment, then placed a small kiss there as he pulled out. He sat on his heels, his head tilted to the side as he looked at Lestrade’s hole, now dripping. Tracing a finger around the rim, he looked up at Sherlock.
Oh, John, you’re brilliant.
“John, make sure he doesn't touch himself. I’ll be right back.”
After a quick jog upstairs to their bedroom, Sherlock presented John with two options.
In his right hand, he had a bottle of water-based, Titan Men cream and a pair of black, latex gloves. In the other -- a bottle of slicker, oil-based Gun Oil lube.
Seeing it, John grinned like a child in a sweet shop. They’d been prepared for a possibility where either, or both, of them, would be ready to try it, but now they’d have an opportunity to practice. John indicated his choice with a finger.
“Do you think you can take John’s fist, Griffin?” Sherlock asked, moving closer.
“Oh…” Lestrade seemed to consider it as he looked up at what Sherlock was holding. His eyes lit just like John’s had a moment before. “Yes, I can.” He nodded for emphasis. “Sir.”
“Don’t play brave. Are you sure you want to try it?”
“Yes Sir, I’m sure.”
“What’s your safeword?”
“Bourbon.”
“Excellent,” Sherlock said, tossing the black, plastic jar to John who caught it as if they’d rehearsed. Placing the other lubricant on the floor, Sherlock handed the gloves to John.
“Look at me, Gustav. I want to see your face,” Sherlock said, sitting cross-legged in front of Lestrade. He knew how using the wrong name irked the DI. Now, it helped to ensure Greg knew his place in this scenario.
Greg looked eager, yet the sweat on his forehead spoke of the enormity of the restraint he had endured so far. Above the silver hair, Sherlock saw the focused expression on John’s face as he prepared his station on a tea tray he’d grabbed from the coffee table.
Their gazes met when John snapped the black, latex gloves on one hand, then the other. A shiver ran through Sherlock as he saw that John had left the building. Now, it was Doctor Watson kneeling there to deliver a thorough examination.
John’s paste-slick fingers went in and Sherlock knew the moment he massaged Lestrade’s prostate as the man keened, swaying. Sherlock took Greg’s face in his hands and levelled his eyes on the man.
“Just tell me when it’s too much. We can stop at any moment.”
“No,” Greg breathed, licking his parched lips. “Good… so good…”
Sherlock got up to get a glass of cold water from the kitchen, the cold floor briefly soothing the heat in his body.
“Drink,” he said, placing the rim of the glass at Greg’s lips as he returned. The man took two sips, then turned his head away and Sherlock resumed his cross-legged position.
“John, I want to hear it.”
“Now three fingers. Easy,” John said, his hand moving, his eyes glued to his task. “Now four. Greg, I wish you could see how beautifully you’re taking my fingers.”
“Breathe slowly, relax your muscles,” Sherlock murmured above Lestrade’s lips.
Lestrade flicked his tongue out but was unable to reach Sherlock as he pulled away. Sherlock wasn’t ready to share the intimacy a kiss brought. Not yet.
“Ahhh tease,” Lestrade moaned, then corrected himself. “You’re a tease, Sir.”
“I think he’s ready for the rest,” Sherlock smiled, his fingers brushing Greg’s hair back.
John nodded once.
“Here comes the tricky part,” John said, then slathered more white paste over his entire palm before he moved in. “Fuck, oh goddamnit, Sherlock…”
“Mooore!” Lestrade cried out. “Oh God, John, please!”
John looked up to Sherlock, who nodded, supporting Greg’s upper body by letting Greg rest his head on his shoulder.
A shuddering breath left John the moment Greg’s groan turned into a lascivious whimper.
“I’m in,” John said, awe in his voice.
“How does it feel?” Sherlock asked close to Greg’s ear.
“Good. I want to come. I want to come so badly… Please, Sir.”
“Not yet. Let John play for a moment first,” he soothed, caressing Greg’s shoulder.
John’s approving grin said it all as he got to work. He moved his free hand to take Greg’s cock and tugged it gently.
The DI hissed then moaned as John pumped, moving his other hand to the same rhythm. The lewd, wet noise, John’s flushed face, and the obscene words mixed with the incoherent noises coming from Greg made Sherlock squirm as heat bloomed anew in his abdomen.
“He’s tightening up. I don’t think he can last any longer,” John announced.
“Is that true?”
“Yes, Sir…” Lestrade whispered into the crook of Sherlock's neck.
“Then take my cock.”
Lestrade nodded and opened wide; his hands and legs already trembling with the withheld orgasm. Sherlock repositioned himself and slid his cock into the awaiting mouth.
He gave John a nod. Understanding, John upped the pace with both hands.
The high, wailing sound from Lestrade was the epitome of a man on the brink of shattering.
Perfect.
The glorious view of John’s hand disappearing into Greg and the DI’s mouth sucking Sherlock’s cock were more than enough for Sherlock's second orgasm to come forth.
“Shake your head if you don’t want to swallow because… ahhhhh…You may come now, Greg .”
Tears rolled down Lestrade’s cheeks as he looked up with gratitude before he shut them tightly and keened around Sherlock’s cock. His body straining, every muscle quivering.
Sherlock’s ecstasy took over him and he shot into Greg’s mouth before their uncoordinated movements, disconnected them. Spurts of his come landed on Greg’s face and shoulder as the man kept coming, completely undone.
He was a picture of a man in the throes of the orgasm of his life.
John removed his hand from inside the DI but stroked for a moment longer until Lesrade’s limbs gave out and he slumped onto the oriental rug, head in Sherlock's lap.
“Gorgeous,” Sherlock rasped, caressing Greg’s back in small circles.
“Thank you, John,” Sherlock said, kissing John’s cheek as the man joined him on the rug, close to Greg’s face.
“What for?” John said with mock-innocence, taking the gloves off and tossing them back on the tray.
“For organising this evening.”
“When did you figure it out?”
“The moment Greg started blushing looking at you.”
“Of course -- at the very beginning!” John chuckled. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Sherlock.”
Sherlock petted Greg’s hair, then continued caressing his back, looking for signs of a drop. The DI, however, seemed to be taking the events of the evening with commendable grace.
“I’ll text the cleaning service to come in an hour. We don’t need to look at the mess we’ve made at morning tea,” Sherlock surmised, taking in the stained rug and sofa. “You can take my old room for your stay here, Lestrade. The clothes in the wardrobe should fit you and you’ll find fresh linen in the dresser. The bathroom downstairs is for your use exclusively. I’d suggest taking a bath.”
“Thanks. That’s… very kind of you,” Greg sounded surprised and Sherlock couldn’t blame him considering his past experience with Sherlock’s hospitality or lack thereof.
“Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge. Just don’t touch anything on the bottom drawer,” John added, glaring at Sherlock with soft fondness. “If you need anything else, just let me know, okay?”
“Yeah, sure. How about you two?”
Greg flipped his head to the side to look at John.
“We have a bathroom upstairs now too, adjacent to my old bedroom,” John explained, tracing a finger through the remnants of Sherlock come on Greg’s face then licking it off; the gesture kindling a tiny spark in Sherlock.
“Right, I’ve never seen it after the renovation.”
“Maybe you’ll have a chance tomorrow,” Sherlock said, intentions clear in his voice as he glanced at John looking smug. “If you’d like of course.”
“Mmmm I’ll let you know in the morning. Right now, I need a few more minutes just like this.” He repositioned himself to lay on his side, able to see both John and Sherlock. “You always deliver on your promises, you cocky bastard,” Greg rasped, grinning wide.
The chorus of low chuckles filled the sitting room, rendering the evening an indisputable success.