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For your consideration: Read/hear Sherlock's dialogue in his own, deep voice for added hotness! (YMMV but I find the juxtaposition of manly voice and boyish words wicked hot.)
On my last Daddy/Locky story, one reader took issue with the euphemism "willy," and thought it was (too?) humorous. I chose it because it was the least un-sexy word I could think of for "boy" to use for his penis during an age-play scene.
Characters are ADULTS engaged in a sexual roleplay.
Sherlock is lying on his bed, trying to will himself out of a dismal fog of a mood. He can hear John in the lounge, tapping away erratically at his laptop. Fits and starts, working on a blog post, maybe, or answering email. There are long stretches between bouts of typing, so whatever he’s working at, he’s not terribly engaged. He probably won’t mind an interruption. And if he does, well. He’s always free to say, Not now.
Could use some looking after. –SH
If you have time. –SH
Sherlock almost puts his phone on the bedside table, draws it back to him and makes himself clear.
He turns onto his side, back to the doorway, and draws his bare feet up as he curls around himself. He can hear John crossing from the lounge to the hall tree on the landing, where he’s left his phone in the pocket of his coat. Sherlock’s phone buzzes in the loose curl of his palm.
I always have time for my good boy.
Sherlock leans back to put his phone on the table, curls up again, drawing his dressing gown around him. He closes his eyes, sucks on the tip of his thumb.
John comes in, sits on the edge of the bed and rests his hand on the crest of Sherlock’s hip.
“All right, Sweetheart?” he asks—so kindly—soft-voiced and perfect.
Sherlock shakes his head.
“Oh, poor thing,” Daddy soothes, and even though he’s not sure why, Locky’s eyes prickle with tears and he feels just awful. Daddy’s hand strokes his back, from the top to the middle to the bottom, then back up to the top, firm and smooth, over and over. “Can you tell Daddy what’s wrong?” Daddy is nearly whispering, so nice.
Locky speaks around his thumb. “Sad.” His thumb and feeling so cloudy and tired make him lisp a bit: Sthad.
Daddy’s hand on his back keeps stroking and stroking. It’s lovely.
“Just sad? Not sick?” Daddy sounds a little worried, and with the hand that’s not rubbing Locky’s back, he checks his forehead for fever.
Locky shakes his head.
“Just need Daddy to take care of you for a bit?”
Locky nods. He already feels a little less sad just for having his thumb and his Daddy close by, with his kind, whispery voice and his warm, strong hand stroking Locky’s back.
“Hmm, all right then,” Daddy says, like he is thinking things over. “How about a nice warm bath with bubbles? And Daddy will wash your hair for you? I know you like that.”
“Sounds nice,” Locky allows, still not letting go of his thumb. Sthoundth nithe.
“Good then,” Daddy says, and leans to put a little kiss on Locky’s cheek, in front of his ear. It’s too wet and Locky wipes it with his fingers; Daddy laughs a little. He gets up off the bed and Locky hears him opening the wardrobe, moving things around a bit. “Here’s Sporty Ned—“ he tucks the lovely old teddy bear beneath Locky’s chin.
“Daddy,” Locky scolds mildly, and finally takes out his thumb, opens his eyes, lowers his eyebrows because we have been over and over this, Daddy! “His name is SportING Ned.”
“Right, right.” Daddy puts up his hands; he gives up. “I don’t know why I always forget. Sorry, Ned.”
Locky pulls a face. “Silly.” Sthilly, even without his thumb.
“Anyway, you and Sportsman Ned have a cuddle—“
“Dad-dy!” Locky knows Daddy is teasing, trying to make Locky smile.
“—while I run the bath. Then I’ll come get you when it’s ready. Sounds all right?”
“Boats,” Locky says.
Daddy’s eyebrows go up a little, not angry, just reminding.
“Please,” Locky adds.
Daddy pats Locky’s hip and goes into the loo. Locky closes his eyes and listens to the water running into the bathtub; it’s a nice, sleepy sound. Sporting Ned’s head smells lovely. Locky sucks the tip of his thumb, strokes Ned’s ear between his palm and fingertips. Daddy will help him feel better.
The taps turn off and Daddy comes back into the bedroom. “Ready, Sweetheart?”
He offers his hands for Locky to take and helps him up out of bed; Locky’s shoulders feel droopy and his body is tired all over. Daddy stands in front of him and starts to work the shoulders of his dressing gown off him. Locky leans heavily onto Daddy and wraps his arms around his back.
“Oh, my poor sad boy,” Daddy croons near Locky’s ear, holding him close and tight with strong arms around the back of his waist and shoulders. “Poor darling. Shh.” Daddy strokes the back of Locky’s neck, up into his hair. “Daddy will hold you, sweetheart. Long as you like.” And he does; they stay there for a long minute, and Daddy holds Locky tight and safe, and Locky lets his head fall forward so his eyes are pressed against his daddy’s shoulder, rocks his face side to side there; he sees stars in the dark behind his closed eyes. “You know,” Daddy whispers, so gently, right next to Locky’s ear. “It’s all right if you want to have a little cry. I know you’re a big brave boy. But you can have a good old cry if you need to.”
Locky’s throat feels thick when Daddy says this and he hums, “Mn-n,” but his eyes are hot and he can feel the sides of his chin pulling down, down, into a very sad, frowning face. He balls up the back of Daddy’s cardigan in both fists.
“Shh, Sweetheart,” Daddy says, and rubs Locky’s back again. “Even brave boys cry sometimes. Even Daddy cries, when he’s sad. Crying lets the sad right out of you—did you know?”
Locky nods. He does not like to cry because it makes him feel messy and spread out and too loud, and he worries sometimes that if he starts crying he will never, ever be able to stop. But he thinks that right now with Daddy holding him and whispering so kindly, that he might not be able to keep himself from crying because even though he doesn’t like to, Locky really does feel like he needs to. He shudders a sob against Daddy’s shoulder, holding tight to Daddy’s back, and Daddy holds him with solid arms, and hushes into this ear. Locky cries and cries, and his whole body shakes, but Daddy keeps holding him close.
“Oh, there, there. . .I know. . .I know. . .Daddy’s here, Good Boy. Daddy’s got you.”
Locky sobs one last time, sniffles, raises his head from Daddy’s shoulder. Daddy takes a handkerchief out of his trousers’ pocket and wipes Locky’s eyes, and his snotty lip, and strokes his hand down the side of Locky’s face.
“We’re all right, Sweetheart,” Daddy reassures him, speaking softly, kind-eyed. “There, there. I’m sorry. Feel a bit better, though?”
Locky shrugs. He doesn’t want to be a crybaby but it took him by surprise. He thinks he might feel just a little better, but he isn’t sure.
“Let’s get you into the bath, then, shall we? Play with your boats?” Daddy’s face is so kind. Locky smiles a little, and nods, and sucks his thumb a bit while Daddy undresses him. Off goes the dressing gown, then his t-shirt up over his head, and Daddy sniffs it and makes a little face Locky doesn’t understand.
“Look how handsome,” Daddy says quietly, and drags the palms of his hands up Locky’s bare sides, which tickles a little—not enough to make Locky laugh—then up over his shoulders and down Locky’s arms. He takes Locky by the hand and leads him through the door into the bath. Locky digs his bare toes into the fluffy rug beside the bath tub and Daddy loosens the drawstring on Locky’s pyjama bottoms, slides them down over his hips, lets them fall. Daddy puts his hand on Locky’s shoulder, strokes down his back and down over his bottom.
“In you get. It’s nice and warm,” Daddy smiles, and holds Locky’s elbow as he steps into the bath and folds himself down to sit. There are lots of bubbles—lots and lots, he can’t even see himself beneath them—and his three plastic boats are tucked in among them. The blue and red boats are floating in the water, but the little yellow one is so light it is sitting right on top of a puff of suds.
Daddy folds a towel for a cushion and kneels down on it, takes a flannel from the edge of the bath and dips it into the water, squeezes it over Locky’s back and shoulders, again and again, and Locky steers his boats, cutting paths through the bubbles.
“Feels good?” Daddy asks, and squeezes the flannel over the back of Locky’s head, wetting his hair.
“Yes,” Locky says, and arranges the boats in battle formation. The red one keeps wanting to tip over.
“Sweet boy,” Daddy says.
“Am I?” Locky says, before he has time to tell himself not to. Daddy strokes water through Locky’s hair.
“What’s that, darling?”
“Am I sweet, Daddy?” Locky’s voice is so quiet it is almost only breath. “Am I a sweet boy?”
“Very, very sweet,” Daddy tells him, and tips Locky’s head back with gentle fingers on his forehead. The water pours down the crown of his head. “You’re always sweet to your daddy.”
“I think I’m a bit rotten,” Locky whispers, and he growls out the last word. He hates that he is rotten.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Daddy says, and rests his open hand against Locky’s chest, feeling for the thump-thump of Locky’s heart. “The sour bits of us make the sweet bits even sweeter, though. At least, I think that’s so.” Daddy lays his other hand on Locky’s back, and it feels reassuring and safe. Locky pats down a towering cloud of bubbles with one hand, flattening it into the water. The red boat his tipped completely upside-down.
Daddy leans close and whispers into Locky’s ear. “You are the most precious thing there is. I’m so lucky to be your daddy. I just can’t believe my luck, with a sweet boy like you for my very own.” This makes Locky smile a little, and Daddy slides his hands over the skin of Locky’s chest and back, in circles that start small and get bigger and bigger, and then Daddy moves away to fetch the shampoo that smells a bit like Christmas trees, and gets to work on Locky’s hair.
Locky closes his eyes as Daddy works the tips of his fingers all over his scalp, making spirals and then raking in parallel rows from his forehead, over and back, all the way down to Locky’s neck. Locky can hear the squirch-squirch of the suds in his hair as Daddy works the shampoo all around.
“Nice?” Daddy asks quietly.
“M-hm.”
“Good.”
Daddy scrubs a little bit longer, then rinses the shampoo away with many squeezes of bathwater from the flannel. He combs his fingers through Locky’s hair, pieces apart the waves, arranges it nicely. Wadding up the flannel in his hand, Daddy rubs it against the bar of soap until it’s sudsy, and gently drags and swirls it down Locky’s throat and the back of his neck; across his shoulders; over his chest. The shampoo and soap make the bubble bath go flat faster than ever, and the fluffy bubbles are vanishing rapidly all around Locky. He imagines the blue boat is a pirate ship looting the overturned red luxury sailing ship. The survivors are making their getaway in the little yellow boat. Daddy’s hands work all over him, gently, soothing and smoothing. Locky hums a little, so quiet he can only hear it in his teeth.
“Sorry all your nice bubbles popped, Sweetheart,” Daddy murmurs.
Locky shrugs. “Soap is anionic; bubbles are cationic.”
“So they’re not friends, then?”
Locky glances sideways at Daddy’s smiling face. “They cancel each other out,” Locky says. The boats crash and sink. Disaster at sea. “It makes the bubbles collapse.”
“You are the smartest boy,” Daddy says, sounding very impressed. Lockys feels a flush of pleasure in his chest. Daddy’s hand is slick with soap and slowly slides down Locky’s belly. “Feeling a little better?” Daddy asks, and the tips of his fingers trace the crease between Locky’s thigh and hip.
“A little,” Locky says.
“Don’t want you to stay so long in the bath you get cold.” Daddy walks his fingers along Locky’s thigh. “Daddy wants to take such good care of you, darling. You know I like to make you feel good. Let’s get you up and out of here.”
Locky pulls the drain plug and watches as a skinny whirlpool forms while Daddy pats his hair with a towel, then drapes it over Locky’s shoulders. Daddy groans a little, stretching his knees as he stands, and Locky feels worried, looks at Daddy’s face to be sure he’s not too badly hurt.
“I’m all right, my darling,” Daddy reassures him, as if he can hear Locky thinking. “Up you come.” He helps Locky to his feet beside the bathtub—Daddy didn’t even remind him to put away his boats, this time—and with a fresh, dry towel, gently wipes Locky dry, starting with is back and belly (tickles a bit!), his bottom and his private parts (Daddy is gentle and careful and Locky feels prickly tingles all through him like a shiver), then down each leg to his feet. Locky steps onto the towel, that’s the last bit, and Daddy drags his hands up along the outside of Locky’s legs as he straightens up.
“Here, Sweetheart,” Daddy says kindly, and takes Locky by the hand, leading him back to his bedroom. “Sleepy?” Daddy asks.
Locky shakes his head, goes for his thumb. It is wrinkly and dry from the bath and all the salt is gone from it.
Daddy gives Locky a soft smile. “Look how precious you are. So big and handsome; I could just look and look at you all the time and never get tired of looking.” Locky’s face feels hot. “Come here, my good boy, let me hold you a bit.”
Locky shakes the towel off his shoulders and steps forward into Daddy’s arms, tucking in his own arms so he is the one being held, and Daddy is solid and strong and holds him just right.
“I really am the very luckiest daddy, to have you for my own. How did I get so lucky?”
Locky knows this is not a question that really wants an answer, so he just wriggles a bit more into Daddy’s embrace, and he can hear the soft, wet rhythm of his own sucking. He is grateful that Daddy has not reminded him that it’s a habit they’re trying to break, because he really needs his thumb today; Daddy knows what he needs, so he isn’t saying no.
“Shall we have a cuddle?” Daddy asks quietly, against Locky’s bent neck. “In your bed? I can rock you a bit.”
Locky nods. Maybe he is sleepy. He’s not sure.
Daddy lets him go and his face is smiling big like he is very pleased indeed that Locky wants to cuddle with him and be rocked. Daddy sits on the bed, arranges pillows behind his back and under his elbows a bit, and pats the spot beside his hip. Locky slides down to sit, folding his legs up so his knees point to the ceiling and his feet are close to his bum; Daddy puts his arm through the tent of his legs, under Locky’s knees, and holds him firmly with a hand on Locky’s thigh. Locky leans back and twists a bit, and Daddy catches him across his upper back, cradling him, and Locky rests his head on Daddy’s chest near his shoulder.
“Oh, this is lovely,” Daddy sighs, and he does begin to rock a bit, holding Locky to him, caging him in with his strong arms. Locky lets his thumb rest in his mouth but doesn’t suck. His lips want to part, and he feels a bit of wet running out the corner but he’s too. . .not sleepy, but something like sleepy. . .to wipe it away. He takes in a big breath and when he sighs it out, it is like the sadness is blowing away out of him. A bit.
Daddy begins talking softly to him, and Locky listens more to his voice than his words, though the words still register in the back of his mind, like remembering a dream.
“I am so sorry you are sad today, my darling,” Daddy murmurs into Locky’s hair. “I know it’s very hard for you sometimes. Poor thing. And I’m very proud of you for letting me know you needed some looking after. Do you know that’s so important? Because I love you so much and I want to do everything and anything I can to always help you feel good and happy. Sweet boy. You’re so good and so clever.”
Locky has dribbled a bit on Daddy’s cardigan so he moves his face to avoid the wet spot. Daddy smells so good. Locky likes being rocked. He feels warm all over even though he hasn’t any clothes on. He rubs the toes of one foot across the top of the other.
“Taking care of you and making you feel nice are my absolute, most favourite things in the world. Did you know?” Daddy pulls his head back when he asks, and he is smiling his kindest daddy-smile. Locky smiles back, around his thumb. Daddy leans in and kisses him on the forehead--:msk:--and Locky lets his eyes close again. Daddy starts fluttering dry little kisses all over Locky’s forehead and cheeks as he talks. “You are the most wonderful--:msk:--precious--:msk:--cleverest boy there is. :msk:. . .:msk:. . .:msk: I would hold you like this :msk: forever :msk: if I could.”
Daddy’s hand has slipped out from under Locky’s knees so he can stroke Locky’s damp hair, and his shoulder, and his curled up arm, and then down along the side of his back, along his hip, down his thigh, then back up to his shoulder and down again.
“Mmm . . . Daddy. . .” Sherlock whines, and he feels a bit crackly all over his skin, and he wants to keep rocking but he wants. . .
“What is it, my Good Boy? Tell Daddy what you need. I want you to feel so, so good.”
“Kisses?” Locky murmurs around his thumb. Kithhethh?
Daddy laughs oh-so-softly. “That thumb!” he says quietly, like he is angry at the thumb, but not angry at all. “Do you suppose I can give you a proper kiss with that thumb there?” :smk: on Locky’s cheek.
Locky smiles around his thumb and feels more dribble running out the corner, just a bit. “Try,” he says, feeling naughty and a bit silly.
“Oh, shall I?” Daddy says, and he licks his lips, and tips Locky’s chin up with his fingers, and leans in close. He catches part of Locky’s bottom lip between his lips, and sucks. Locky feels it all through him. Daddy leans back, grinning. “You’re so spoiled,” he says, like it’s funny to him. “Another go?”
Locky nods his head. He likes having his thumb and Daddy’s kisses, both at once. Maybe he is a little spoiled. . .
Daddy’s open mouth presses against Locky’s, and his tongue licks in, tickling the side of Locky’s tongue and then dragging along the edge of Locky’s thumb, which is lovely and gives Locky a shiver. Locky shifts his thumb as Daddy moves away, pressing it into Daddy’s mouth, and Daddy sucks it tight between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, then rolls his tongue around, then sucks again. Locky pulls in a hard breath; sucking his thumb makes him feel sleepy and happy, but Daddy sucking his thumb is something else altogether! His willy feels hot and tingly now, and there is that aching, needy feeling low in Locky’s belly.
Daddy releases his thumb and Locky puts it back in his own mouth, and they try the kiss again, tongues and lips and Locky’s thumb at the edge of it all. Locky makes a sound in his throat.
“All right, Sweetheart?” Daddy asks, and his forehead lines get quite deep as he looks Locky’s face all over. Locky nods and glances down. Daddy grins. “Getting a bit excited, are you?”
“Yes, but I like the rocking,” Locky says shyly. “I like this, Daddy.”
Daddy guides with his hand so that Locky moves his legs apart, still with his knees in the air. Just this makes his willy get even harder and hotter, because now he is thinking about Daddy touching him there.
“Quiet-excited,” Locky offers.
Daddy nods, as if he understands this exactly. “Ah,” he says softly, and he dances his fingertips down the inside of Locky’s thigh, making Locky hum and shift his hips up toward Daddy’s touch. Daddy’s hand moves away, and the pillows move; Locky knows Daddy keeps some of the minty-smelling, slippy stuff under his pillow just in case. There is a little shuffling around, Daddy needs his two hands for this, then they settle back into their cuddle and Daddy kisses Locky again; Locky moves his thumb out of the way this time.
Daddy cradles him with his arm, and with his other hand, he begins, slowly and gently, to stroke. He kisses Locky’s hair and begins to rock again, in time with the steady, slow movement of his hand. Locky sighs against Daddy’s shoulder.
“Oh, my lovely good boy,” Daddy whispers. “Does it feel good, Sweetheart? I want you to feel so nice.”
Locky nods, and his breath is coming faster now and his hips are rolling up, up, up into Daddy’s strong hand, and the slippy stuff makes everything go easier and it feels so warm and so good. . .
“You’re the most beautiful boy,” Daddy says, “Oh, how I love you. I love taking care of you. I love making you feel good. You are so good and so sweet.” Daddy’s hand goes slow, slow, in time with the nice rocking of their bodies, and every now and then comes another gentle kiss on Locky’s forehead or cheek or hair. . . .:msk:. . .:msk:. . . Locky feels heat pooling behind his tummy-button, and he is sucking his whole thumb now, very hard, every now and then opening his mouth to let his heavy breath out.
:msk:
“You feel so nice in my arms,” Daddy tells him. “I love holding you. I am so lucky to have you to take care of.”
Locky has to let go his thumb so he can breathe hard, and he is making sounds on every breath—he can’t help it. Daddy kisses and kisses, and his hand keeps the steady, slow rhythm, and Locky feels warmth rolling under his skin, from his chest down his arms, down his legs, to his fingers and toes.
“Are you going to come for me, my Good Boy? It feels so good, doesn’t it? I want you to feel so nice, and I want to see your precious face when you come in Daddy’s hand. . .”
More sweet kisses, and Locky’s hips rock out of time, he feels a bit wild, but still floaty and safe, and Daddy’s voice is so nice. And it all builds up until he feels the white heat shimmer through him, a slow-motion ripple of warm electricity, and Daddy holds him tight and presses his lips to Locky’s forehead and whispers, “Yes. . .yes. . .oh, my Good Boy, yes. . .so lovely, my darling. Doesn’t that feel good?”
Locky settles slumpily against Daddy’s chest, smiles and nods and looks at Daddy, who is gazing at him with the kindest face, and that is the best bit of all. Daddy takes such good care of him.
More little kisses, then a deeper one before Locky starts to suck his thumb again. Daddy pats Locky’s arm gently and says, “Here, let’s lie you down and get you comfortable; you look a bit starry-eyed, Sweetheart.” Locky feels soft and tingling all over and he is happy to lie down, so Daddy helps him down onto his side, fetches a flannel from the bath to clean up the mess on Locky’s thigh and belly. Daddy takes off his trousers and shirt, and just in his boxer shorts and vest he lies down behind Locky and curves his strong arm around Locky’s middle, holding him close close close. Locky can feel Daddy’s breath against the back of his neck. Daddy drapes a quilt over them.
“Feeling a bit better, now, I hope?” Daddy says quietly against the back of Locky’s ear.
“Mm,” Locky hums. “S’nice, Daddy.”
“You are the best, most lovely boy. You’re so clever. I’m sorry you’re having a sad day, my darling. You know Daddy loves you.”
“M-hm.”
“I’m so glad.” Daddy’s hand around Locky’s middle moves, and he strokes his hand down Locky’s belly, over his hip, down his thigh, then back up. “You’re so precious to me.” His hand sweeps slowly down again, this time over Locky’s bottom, and makes a circle on the cheek of his bum, lightly, tickling. The next time his hand slides up Locky’s side, Daddy slides fingers into his mouth—Locky can hear it next to his ear and it makes him shiver. Then Daddy’s hand is on his bottom again, and his fingers move down, and down, and Locky moves his leg a bit because he wants Daddy to touch, and Daddy does, just sliding back and forth and pressing lightly in little circles around Locky’s most private place. “All right, Sweetheart?” Daddy whispers, and Locky hums and nods. “I only want to make you feel good; don’t worry about your daddy, I’m just fine. Still all right?”
“Yes.” Yeth. “I like it.” Locky’s voice wants to be whiney even though he doesn’t mean to sound that way. Daddy is still tracing tiny circles, stops to lick his fingers again, presses a bit, circles some more. Locky wriggles a little, tries to push against Daddy’s finger. “Mm, Daddy,” he whispers urgently, “Inside.”
Daddy moans at this, and his mouth comes open against the back of Locky’s neck, tongue and lips and teeth. “Good Boy,” Daddy murmurs, “Telling Daddy what you want.” Daddy takes a few seconds to find the slippy stuff and puts some on his two fingers, rubs it around to warm it, then just one fingertip is there again, drawing swirls, and then he does push it inside and they both gasp. Locky rocks back, he likes it so much and he wants more, right now. Daddy knows him so well so he says, “Slowly, Sweetheart. You know Daddy will give you what you want, but we must go slowly. Does it feel nice?” Daddy begins to twist his fingertip, and pushes more inside him, and Locky moans around his thumb. “Oh, it does feel nice, I can tell because you make such lovely sounds. You’re so eager. I’m glad it makes you feel nice, my sweet boy. You know I love you so much.”
“More, Daddy, please,” Locky murmurs, and his voice is sounding broken and whiney but it does feel good, so good, and he does want more. He wants Daddy so close to him, as close as they can be, so he can feel right down to his heart, down in his belly, that he belongs to Daddy, and Daddy loves him.
Daddy slides his one finger back and when he moves into Locky’s body again, there are two, and Locky thinks Open. . .Open and tries to let his whole self go soft and relaxed. Daddy’s voice huffs out of him on gusty breaths, and Locky can sometimes feel the damp spot on Daddy’s boxers against his low back, the hardness beneath the fabric.
“Gorgeous boy,” Daddy says, and his fingers are moving busily inside Locky, getting him ready, and Locky can’t wait, wants more more more!, and fast. “You feel so nice inside. So tight around my fingers. So nice and warm.”
Locky just breathes in hard and sighs it out again. Daddy’s fingers are moving easier and easier in and out of him, he’s done well at being Open for his daddy. Locky hums loud, like a question, and Daddy says, “Tell Daddy what you want, Sweetheart. Are you ready? Can I make you feel good? I want to be so close to you, my Brave Boy.”
“Yes, Daddy, please; I want you inside me,” Locky moans.
“Oh, darling,” Daddy breathes, and his fingers go away while he moves his boxers down, and then Daddy’s hands on his hip and shoulder direct Locky to roll onto his back, and he does. Daddy settles between Locky’s thighs and pulls Locky’s bottom right up onto his lap. “You’re getting excited again, I see,” Daddy says with a smile, and Locky mm-hmms. “All right, Sweetheart?”
Locky nods, and closes his eyes and thinks Open when he feels the thick head of Daddy’s cock pressing up against him. A tight, burning slide, and Locky sucks the tip of his thumb, and then the burning subsides and Daddy pushes, pushes, pushes into him and just waits, breathing very loud and hard. Locky wraps his legs around his Daddy’s strong back, and Daddy tilts forward and up, and starts to rock, pushing in and pulling back, and Locky hums in time with it, and his willy is hard and hot against his belly until Daddy’s slick-sticky hand circles it loosely and starts to slide in time with the rocking of his hips.
“Feels good, Daddy?” Locky lisps around his thumb.
“So good, my Brave Boy. It feels so nice to be this close to you, right inside you.” Daddy’s voice is grumbling and full of wind, and he asks, “Is it all right if Daddy goes a bit harder? Only if you say it’s all right.”
“Yes. Harder.” He lets go his thumb and puts his hands on the sides of Daddy’s thighs, near his knees, digging in his fingertips where he can, stroking the hairs there. “I love it. I love you.” He rocks his head a bit, squints his eyes shut and then opens them, grabs hard at the muscular thighs. “I love you. John.”
John’s eyes come open then, and he quiets, chest heaving with breath, hips not-quite-still, but trying. “All right, Sherlock?”
Sherlock’s mouth curls up in a lascivious grin that is his alone. “Oh, yes,” he smiles.
“God,” John growls, and grabs Sherlock’s sides, just under his waist, feels the jutting cradle of bone there beneath his warm skin. “You’re fucking gorgeous.” And it is primal, lewd, and his hips begin to snap forward and back harshly, and Sherlock’s eyes roll back and his long neck stretches to bare his throat, surrendered, take me, have me, I’m yours.
John fucks Sherlock hard, deep, barely backing out because he does want to be close to him, he does want to show him he is wanted and needed and loved. The residue of caring for Sherlock at his most vulnerable is on his heart and in his brain, even as his body is awash in an animalistic hunger to take his pleasure, to give Sherlock pleasure. It is a dizzyingly sexy cocktail—John is sure there isn’t a hormone his body pumps out, male, female, or animal, that isn’t running from a fully-open tap. He loves him. He wants him. He wants to be his Daddy. He wants to be his lover, and partner, and the one who fucks him hard until he unravels.
“Touch yourself,” John demands, “Come with me, Sherlock. Can you?”
Sherlock groans deeply and it rattles John’s bones. The sight of Sherlock prone and open-mouthed, belly and throat bare and unguarded, is enough to bring John straight to the edge, and he teeters there, gasping, fucking, until Sherlock’s wide, wet tongue flattens against his palm and long fingers and he wraps that pale hand around himself and starts to pull, and John rocks back, pushes hard into him, deep into him. John comes with a great shock, quick and fearsome, that makes him shout, not Sherlock’s name, though that is what is behind it: Sherlock, my Sherlock, mine—in every way I can have you, every way you are—mine.
John rests, gasping, cock slightly and slowly softening inside Sherlock, and Sherlock strokes himself lightly, quickly, his cock almost certainly stil sensitive from his earlier orgasm, and John murmurs, “I love you. Sherlock. Sweetheart. I love you.” Sherlock’s legs fall away from John’s waist, feet planted flat on the bed, and John strokes one palm up the side of Sherlock’s belly, brushes just the flats of his fingers ever-so-lightly across one of Sherlock’s tight, pink nipples, and Sherlock is done for. He comes, grunting, less fluid this time, but his body ripples and stiffens and then softens, and his face is smooth and blissful.
John backs his cock out, groans at the ache of his knees as he stretches out next to Sherlock on the bed, pressing up against him skin-to-skin everywhere he can, running fingers through his hair, down the side of his face, tilting it so John can get a good look at him.
“All right?” John asks meaningfully.
“Mm,” Sherlock affirms. “Much better.” He pouts out his lips and John takes the hint, kisses him, lingering gentle suction of his thick, bitten-pink lower lip.
John puts his head down on the pillow, nose near Sherlock’s ear, lower leg draped over Sherlock’s shin, hand stroking absently over his chest and shoulder, holding him. “Do we need to see to your meds?” John asks gently.
“Just a bad day,” Sherlock assures him. Then corrects himself. “A few bad days.” He nuzzles toward John, who kisses his cheek, his jaw, his temple. “Better now.”
John smiles against Sherlock’s face. “I’m glad.”
***