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Yes, Daddy, Your Little Whore Needs Your Fat Cock

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Sherlock had been a brat all day. Even then as they walked back into the flat he stomped, slamming the door behind John and dropping his greatcoat to the floor as if it didn't cost more than John's previous flat's rent.

"You know you're completely transparent," John said, arms crossed.

"I don't know what you mean," Sherlock replied, flopping down onto the sofa with a sigh.

"Just tell me you need it and this'll all be over," John said, not moving from the entry.

"Go away," Sherlock grumbled.

"Oh, I see, you're going to be like this tonight," John said as he walked quickly to the sofa and curled a fist into Sherlock's hair, eliciting a high whine, "safeword."

"Bramble," Sherlock whined.

"Good, very good," John's voice was soft then as he took in the needy look on Sherlock's face.

He pulled himself together, falling into the well oiled role, and stood.

"Bedroom, now!" he barked, "hands and knees!"

Sherlock complied, already growing hard in his trousers at the rough treatment and promise of more. When he made it to the bed he knelt beside it and watched as John sauntered in, hands deep in his pockets.

"You were very naughty today, Sherlock," John said disapprovingly, "on the bed, hands on the headboard."

Sherlock clambered up, gripping the metal frame and waiting for what he knew would be next. John walked to the side of the bed and took two lengths of soft rope from the bedside table. Sherlock shivered as he saw John test their strength, knowing full well Sherlock was watching.

"Eyes down," John said gruffly as he climbed onto the bed and secured Sherlock's wrists to the headboard, "tight enough?"

"Yes, Daddy," Sherlock whispered, voice already breathy and desperate.

"Good," John replied, running his hand down Sherlock's lower back to grip his trouser clad arse.

Sherlock whimpered and pressed back into his hand, already sinking into his role.

"Do you think you deserve to have me touch you?" John asked, "do you think you've been good enough today for Daddy to bury his fat cock in your tight little hole?"

"No, Daddy, I'm sorry, Daddy!" Sherlock exclaimed as John rubbed over his hole through the layers of expensive fabric.

"Right answer," John growled, "but I'm so bloody hard that I think I'll take pity and ruin you."

Sherlock's head swam at the declaration and he dropped it between his shoulders with a moan. John got onto the bed behind Sherlock and mounted him in a crude display of what he'd soon be doing.

"Feel that? Feel how hard you've made me with your delinquent behavior?" John asked, "little bloody tart, always knowing how your insolence affects me."

Sherlock grunted and pressed his hips back, still amazed that he did this to John, that he had such a visceral effect on the man.

"I didn't hear you, love," John said with a particularly violent thrust.

"Yes, Daddy!" Sherlock shouted.

John reached around and undid Sherlock's belt and then trousers, pushing the trousers down along with his pants until they trapped Sherlock's knees tightly together. Sherlock moaned at the restriction and felt himself sinking ever lower.

"Do you want lube, or would you rather I sink into you without it and make you bleed? Tear you apart?" John asked, voice low and demanding.

"No lube!" Sherlock shouted, "please, no lube!"

John slapped his arse and reached to retrieve the lube from the bedside table.

"Oh, well," he said with mock disinterest, "I guess we don't always get what we want."

Sherlock whimpered as a slick finger pressed between his cheeks. John ran it up and down, spreading an unreasonable, if Sherlock were to be asked, amount of lube. He circled Sherlock's hole several times before pressing gently.

"Bear down," he said, and when Sherlock did he pushed his finger in to the first knuckle, "good boy."

John proceeded to open Sherlock slowly, ignoring his desperate pleas for more, and finally removed his fingers when he felt Sherlock was relaxed enough to take the brutal fucking he knew the genius needed. He unbuckled his belt and pushed his jeans down his hips before slicking his cock and moving to cover Sherlock's body with his own.

"Wrists okay?" he asked, breaking character for a moment to ensure the man he'd kill for was comfortable.

"Yes," Sherlock replied.

John nodded, unseen, and drew back.

"My little boy is such a dirty whore, isn't he?" he growled.

Sherlock slumped lower and mumbled into the sheets.

"I didn't hear you, love," John replied, a loud smack ringing out as he slapped Sherlock's arse, watching the flesh jump.

"Yes, Daddy! Your little whore needs your fat cock," Sherlock whimpered, cheeks hot with shame.

John hummed his agreement and finally pressed the flared tip of his cock to Sherlock's slick hole. He slowly filled the younger man, barely able to breath at the wet heat. When he was finally fully seated he gripped Sherlock's hair and gave an experimental thrust. Sherlock moaned and rolled his hips.

"Look at you. Taking my cock so well," John said reverently, "gorgeous little slut. You were built for this, weren't you? Built for being stuffed full of cock, stuffed until you can't breathe?"

Sherlock whimpered, so far gone he was nonverbal.

John pulled out and slammed back in, reveling in the loud grunt Sherlock gave and feeling the stress of the day finally begin to leave him. He drew out and thrust back in several times, pushing the back of Sherlock's shirt up so he could kiss his lower back, before setting up a brutal pace.

"I'm gonna fuck you like the animal you want me to be," he growled, mounting Sherlock roughly again and again, "the animal you turn me into with your pathetic insolence."

Sherlock was making little 'ha' sounds in the back of his throat that he couldn't seem to control and pushing his hips back as best he could.

"Good little whore," John panted, beginning to lose his composure, "take that fucking cock."

Sherlock whimpered as John fucked into him as hard as he could, reaching up to take Sherlock's shoulders in his hands and pull him forcefully onto his prick. John's head lolled forward as he felt his orgasm approaching and his hips stuttered, body finally going rigid as he buried himself deep and started to unload into Sherlock's arse.

"I'm coming!" he growled, "oh, bloody hell, I'm coming so hard in you! Fucking fuck, feel that, love? Feel me filling you with my come? Oh, fuck!"

Sherlock whimpered and nodded, prick hanging painfully engorged between his legs. John finally pulled out and scooped up the come that tried to seep out of Sherlock and pressed it back into his hole.

"Fucking gorgeous, you like this, debouched," he growled as he thrust two fingers in and started an all out assault on Sherlock's prostate.

Sherlock whimpered and whined as precome was milked from his cock, dripping onto the bedsheets below. John sped up the strokes, pressing roughly before rubbing in circles.

"Come for me," he growled, resting his head against Sherlock's back and closing his eyes.

Sherlock's hole fluttered and he whined long and high as he started to come, semen shooting with such force that some made it to his bowed head. John stroked his prostate gently until he was a whimpering mess of over sensitivity and then withdrew his fingers.

"Good boy, good boy, Sherlock," he cooed as he quickly untied Sherlock's wrists and helped him settle on his side, "it's okay, you're safe now."

Sherlock breathed roughly and nodded.

"I'm gonna go get a flannel to clean you up," John said, kissing Sherlock on the forehead and finally pulling his jeans all the way off.

Sherlock whimpered and clutched at him.

"It's okay, love, I'll be right back," John whispered.

Sherlock nodded and sniffled as John drew away and went to the loo to get a flannel warm and wet and a full glass of water. He returned to the bed and helped Sherlock sit up a bit, frowning as he whimpered, and handed him the glass of water. As he drank John inspected his wrists for any real damage and massaged them.

When Sherlock was done with it John cleaned him carefully, taking time to soothe his sensitive skin and then undressed him. He tossed the flannel and sweaty clothes aside and moved to get new bedding from the closet, giving the bed a hospital change with the efficiency bred into him by the army and then getting under the covers and pulling Sherlock against his chest.

"Shh," he whispered, "good boy, sweet boy. You were so good for me. All's forgiven."

Sherlock nodded sleepily and pressed his face into John's neck, breath warm and humid.

"Will you go to sleep now, love?" John asked.

"Yes, Daddy," Sherlock replied softly.

"Good boy," John murmured running fingers through Sherlock's damp curls.

"Will you stay with me all night?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," John whispered, "all night."