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Author's Chapter Notes:
Based on my original outline I thought this fic would have 3 parts, but once I started writing this one I realized fairly quickly I had underestimated. So note that the chapter count has gone up to around 7.  Also, though I'm intending there to be some redeeming character-driven plot in here somewhere, there's an awful lot of porn. ;-)

*****

"I was 12. Her name was Sonya. She was a year or two older than me. We were at a party at someone's house; I can't remember what the occasion was. I was sitting with some mates, all of us sharing one bottle of beer someone had nicked from their parents' fridge, and she just came right over to me. She told me to come with her and all my mates went oooooh or something, but I had no idea what was going on." John paused to take a swig from the beer bottle in his hand. "She led me to another room and closed the door. It was dark and I could barely see her. She pushed me back against the door -- she was a lot taller than me, but all the girls were at that age -- and she asked me if I'd ever kissed anyone. I don't even know if I managed to answer her; I was so surprised. And then she kissed me." He turned to where Sherlock was sprawled on the sofa. "That's it, really."

"What did you think at the time?"

John shrugged. "I remember being a bit grossed out at first, to be honest. I didn't realize until that moment that people used their tongues when they kissed."

"What did it make you feel?"

"Turned on after I got over the tongue thing. I got hard and I was terrified she would notice, and I kept pulling away from her. I think she thought I didn't like it. Eventually she stopped kissing me and left me there in the dark with a serious hard-on."

"Did you want to have sex with her?"

"Yes. Well, no, not really. I mean, I knew how sex worked -- theoretically, anyway -- but I was terrified of girls. I was perfectly happy to fantasize about them from afar for a while after that." He drained the beer and pushed to his feet, heading to the kitchen for another.

"Why were you afraid of girls?" Sherlock asked, his voice still timbred for someone sitting three feet from him.

John rolled his eyes as he rummaged for another beer in the fridge. Ah, the last bottle; he'd have to go get more. Of course, it was early yet, and as far as he knew, they were going out tonight. Which was why he was already drinking at this hour. He wasn't sure he could take the suspense sober.

He uncapped the bottle and crossed back to the chair, thinking about how to answer that question. "I don't know what I was afraid of. It seems bizarre now."

"It doesn't. Women are frightening enough as adults; as teenagers I imagine they'd be utterly terrifying."

John had no idea if Sherlock was joking or not. "I was 16 before I kissed another girl. It took me four entire years to work up the nerve."

"This is incredibly disappointing, I have to say."

John turned to stare at him. "Disappointing?"

"I'd imagined you had quite a sordid youth. It pains me to know I was so very wrong."

"You imagined I was shagging every girl in school by the age of 15 or something? Definitely not." John paused. "Wait, why would you think that?"

Sherlock didn't respond, instead staring at the ceiling.

"Did you talk to my school friends?"

"No. Should I?"

"They probably wouldn't remember me."

"I find it hard to believe anyone could forget you, John."

"I happen to be extremely forgettable. Just ask my string of ex-girlfriends." John paused to take a drink. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"When was your first kiss?" He let the assuming you've had one remain implied.

"This isn't about me. It's about you."

"I'm not asking to collect data. I'm asking because I'm interested."

"Why are you interested?"

"No idea. In fact, I'm becoming less interested by the second. Never mind." John picked at the label on the beer bottle, peeling the corners back slightly. Silence stretched between them for several minutes, and it was oddly pleasant. As infuriating a roommate as Sherlock could be, it was nice that they could sit in silence like this and just hang out.

Eventually Sherlock sat up and opened his laptop. John finished his beer to the light tapping of keys, trying to resist the urge to ask Sherlock what he was doing. He had a strong suspicion it had something to do with the experiment.

"Want to order take-away?" he asked at last. "I've a craving for Thai."

"Not hungry."

"Of course you aren't. But I'll get that curry you like, just in case you change your mind."

He stood and crossed to the door, plucking his coat from the chair he'd draped it over earlier. He glanced back once, but Sherlock was completely focused on the glow of the screen before him.

*****

"You need to get ready," Sherlock said as he emerged from his bedroom. John looked up from the telly to see him buttoning the cuffs of a dark blue shirt.

The fluttering that had finally eased in John's belly flared up again. "Are we leaving soon?"

"Now, in fact." Sherlock's eyes raked over him. "White shirt, tie, jeans, trainers, and a jacket. Nothing too fancy; casual is fine."

John swallowed. "All right. I'll just… okay." He fumbled for the remote and hit the power button, casting the room into near-darkness. He found his way to the stairs and up, through the door, and dug out clothes he thought would suffice. He changed quickly and finally turned to stare at himself in the mirror on the back of the door.

"What are you so nervous about?" he whispered as he knotted the tie. He was basically guaranteed to get laid, after all. Why be nervous about that?

*****

Neither of them spoke during the excruciatingly long taxi ride. John wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried. They needed to talk about what was going to happen -- he'd made that much clear last night -- but Sherlock had shown no indication that they would discuss this at all. It wasn't until they were standing before the door of the club that John finally took Sherlock by the arm and pulled him aside.

"We need to talk."

Sherlock looked instantly annoyed. "I thought we discussed this last night."

"Honesty, remember? I need to know what…" John had to force himself to look Sherlock in the eye. "What you expect of me."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "I don't understand."

"Right. So." John ran one hand through his hair and took a deep breath before continuing. "This is your experiment, so you're calling the shots. I'm fine with that, but if you have any… rules you want me to follow, now would be a good time to tell me."

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, as if considering, and then nodded. "I'll need you to follow my precise instructions at all times, without question. If you're uncomfortable with what you're being asked to do or with anything that's happening, use the safeword. Otherwise I'll assume you consent. Our cover is that we're a couple; you should behave accordingly, but don't overdo it. You don't get to pick your partners; that's my job. You also don't get to choose what they do to you and when. It's important for the purposes of data collection that you aren't aware what's coming next, so I won't explain anything, even if you ask."

"Okay." John swallowed; that was a bit more than he'd expected, certainly.

"And no touching," Sherlock continued. "They can touch you, but you will not touch them."

"Why not?"

Sherlock didn't answer, though. He opened the door of the club and indicated with a nod of his head for John to walk through it.

"I feel loads better now," John muttered. He forced a tight smile and walked through the door.

They made their way towards the bar again. John ordered a pint and drank a third of it in one go.

"I thought alcohol interfered with consent," Sherlock said softly, his mouth so close to John's right ear that he could feel warm breath against his skin.

"Are you kidding? I need a drink after all of that." He exhaled and scanned the room, though it was essentially pointless. Sherlock may as well have said no looking for all the good it did.

"Finish your drink and head downstairs, room five. I'll meet you there shortly." Sherlock headed out into the crowd, leaving John standing at the bar alone.

He downed his beer and decided to find a toilet on the way. He'd half-expected people to be having sex in the stalls, but all was quiet. He supposed there wasn't much need when there were private rooms for that purpose below.

He lost track of time in room number five. He couldn't get a signal on his phone and there was little else to do but sit and wait. This room was similar to the last one, though slightly smaller. The sofa was smaller and there was a chair by the door, almost as if it had been placed there precisely for someone to watch.

And Sherlock, apparently, liked to watch. That much seemed clear.

The door opened without so much as a knock, startling him to his feet. Sherlock closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, staring at John.

"Well?" John asked after several excruciating seconds of silence.

The corners of Sherlock's lips turned up very slightly, and just at that moment there was a knock on the door. He pushed off it and turned to open it.

The first thought that flashed through John's mind was of that one Britney Spears video he used to guiltily wank to while at university. The woman who now leaned against the door frame seemed to be going for exactly that naughty schoolgirl look, complete with blonde braids, a very short plaid skirt, long white socks up to her knees, and a shirt that was missing far too many buttons to be regulation. She gave him a smoldering look, handed Sherlock her purse -- the resulting expression of annoyance on his face was almost a distraction -- and walked straight across the room to drape her arms around John's shoulders.

Oh my God. This was just. God.

"I was playing Truth or Dare just now, and do you know what your boyfriend dared me to do?"

"Didge ah--" John began and then shook his head to clear it. "Ah, no. No idea."

She grinned and gave him a shove and he landed hard on the sofa. She straddled his knees and climbed into his lap, her short skirt riding up to reveal white cotton knickers underneath. She nestled into his lap, the warmth of her pussy pressing right into his cock, which strained up against several layers of fabric to say hello. She wriggled a bit, earning a whimper from John, and then grasped his tie in one hand and tugged him up towards her.

"He dared me to make you come from kissing alone. Do you think I can do it?"

He wanted to ask, Did he actually say it just like that? Because that was not a combination of words he could imagine coming out of Sherlock's mouth.

What he actually said was, "I think you probably can, yeah." A bit more breathlessly than he'd intended, but what the hell.

She leaned forward and brushed her lips across his, just the slightest touch, then leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "I'll cheat a bit, if it's all right with you." She shifted her hips ever so slightly, grinding against him, and he moaned.

Yes, this was definitely going to work.

Her lips brushed his again, open-mouthed, her breath laced with some sort of strawberry liqueur that made this entire thing seem even more naughty. They remained like that for a surprisingly long time, not really kissing, just breathing into each other while she rocked against him in a way he hoped Sherlock wouldn't notice. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides; it was all he could do not to take control and pull her hard against him. He closed his eyes and let himself sink into the sofa cushions, clearing his mind completely. No thinking. Just feeling. Only feeling.

The tip of her tongue brushed against his own and he sighed at that brief contact. Her tongue circled his before disappearing again and she began to kiss his mouth softly, tugging at his lips and running her tongue along the sensitive skin just inside. He tried to deepen the kiss, but she pulled away with a small laugh.

"You don't want it to be over that quickly, do you John?"

"No." It was more a whimper than a word.

After another minute of teasing she finally kissed him properly and his appreciation for her tongue increased ten-fold. He'd kissed girls who seemed more interested in inspecting his tonsils than anything else, but this woman was expertly fucking his mouth with nothing more than her tongue. She was pressing her cunt against his cock in tiny circles now, hitting a rhythm that was clearly more for her than for him. Not that he minded; any kind of friction was going to do the trick at this point.

She captured his tongue between her lips and sucked it lightly while swirling her tongue around the tip, and he moaned. God, what he wouldn't give to have that tongue somewhere else. He managed to catch her tongue then and flicked his own against hers while sucking; she whimpered and ground against him. Her expert kisses turned into open-mouthed groans and he was momentarily stunned by the intensity of it. He was dimly aware that she was coming, but all he could do was hang on for the ride.

Ride, he would later tell Sherlock, was quite the appropriate term.

She stopped moving just as he was on the verge of coming himself and he thrust up against her. She took the hint and started moving again, and pressed her forehead against his whispering encouragement. He didn't need it.

"Oh fuck oh god, that's… right there… fucking hell." Words left him for incoherent moans after that. She was still riding him after he was done, and then she came again -- something he frankly hadn't been sure was physically possible until that moment. She collapsed against him, both of them flushed and John sweating in that damn jacket.

He was fully clothed, for fuck's sake. How did that even happen?

He looked over her shoulder to grin at Sherlock, but instead saw that annoyance was emanating from him in waves that were practically visible to the naked eye. John sighed.

"That wasn't what was supposed to happen," Sherlock spat after their guest had collected her purse and left. He dropped onto the sofa beside John with very nearly a pout on his face. "I told her she could only kiss you. That entire experiment was a waste of time."

John ran a hand over his face. He still felt a bit fuzzy. "Oh, I wouldn't say that."

"Yes, well. You clearly enjoyed it."

"Jesus, Sherlock, I'm not even sure what you wanted to happen is possible, but seriously? I just had an orgasm fully clothed. I'm fairly certain she had two. That's damn amazing and definitely good enough for your spreadsheet."

"That's not the point."

John shook his head. "Of course not. Enlighten me here: what exactly is the point, if not to observe me having sex with various women and analyze… whatever it is you're analyzing?"

"It may just be sex for you, but it's science for me. This kind of data collection requires careful controls or the information is essentially worthless."

John smirked. "Ah, of course. I see the real problem now."

"Then enlighten me, won't you?"

"You can control me, but you can't control anyone else who walks through that door. It's just not possible. So you're going to have to find a way to deal with a certain amount of unpredictability in this experiment. And damn if I'm not going to enjoy watching that."

Sherlock shook his head. "That's completely perverse."

"Pot, kettle." John raised an eyebrow at him and was rewarded with a rude gesture. He laughed.

*****

Sherlock had hailed a cab while John was cleaning himself up in the toilet, and they rode in silence for the first half of the journey to Baker Street.

"Fifteen," Sherlock said at last, nearly startling John out of his own tangled thoughts.

"Sorry?"

"My first kiss."

"Oh." This was an interesting turn of events. "What happened?"

"It was at school. I'm fairly certain she did it on a dare. She never spoke to me again, at any rate."

"That bad at it, were you?" John quipped and immediately regretted it. "I mean, no, I didn't mean--"

"It was completely horrible all around. It put me off the entire idea for years."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

John's eyes narrowed. "But that implies something put you back on, doesn't it?"

Sherlock stared out the window and didn't reply. John watched the rhythmic flash of streetlamps across his face for nearly a minute before getting lost in his own thoughts again.

*****

John spent the afternoon out of the flat, only returning to Baker Street when it was too dark to ignore the fact that the day was over. Sherlock was on the sofa as always, staring at the screen of his laptop in minimal light.

"Are we going out?" John asked as he stripped off his jacket.

"Yes. At ten." He didn't look up, not that John expected him to do.

"Should I… I mean, is there anything you want me to… wear or…?" John closed his eyes for a full second. This was still fantastically awkward.

"Whatever you like is fine tonight. You'll be taking it all off as soon as we arrive, so it won't matter."

John gaped at him for a moment, but he still didn't look up. "All right then."

A drink was definitely in order. He rummaged through the small collection of liquor they'd amassed and ended up with something that was half vodka and half citrus soda. It was terrible, though; he gave up halfway through and drank a beer instead.

He watched telly for a couple of hours, losing himself in a Big Brother marathon. Ironic, that: for the first time he felt something like sympathy for the contestants and their predicament. He glanced over at Sherlock occasionally, but the man hadn't moved from the spot. John wondered when he'd eaten last.

He didn't ask when they were leaving -- there was no point. Sherlock would tell him when it was time, and John would blindly follow him into whatever sexual scenario he'd managed to set up. John had no idea how he was doing it, whether he had a plan and arranged everything in advance, or if there was just a loose set of parameters and Sherlock found someone suitable once they arrived. But really, it didn't matter: he trusted Sherlock in this. God help him.

*****

"So this club we've been going to -- it's a private club, isn't it?"

"It is," Sherlock replied, staring out the window of the cab.

"Pricey, I imagine?"

"Absolutely."

John frowned. "You didn't actually buy a membership to this club, did you?"

"Of course not. I borrowed one."

"Who did you--" John began and then grimaced. "Oh, don't tell me."

Sherlock's lips twisted into a smirk. "My brother's interests are rather diverse."

"God, I wish I hadn't asked," John said, turning to look out the window again for a moment. A thought occurred to him and he whipped his head back around. "When you say borrow, you mean you nicked it, right? Just like that all-access pass?"

"No. He hasn't forgiven me for that just yet. This time it was honestly borrowed."

"And you told him… what, exactly?"

Sherlock's phone buzzed and he pulled it from the pocket of his coat to glance at the screen. A smile traced his lips and he tapped out a text before putting the phone away again. "The truth, naturally."

John swallowed. "Which is?"

Sherlock's sigh was long-suffering. "That I am conducting a series of experiments about human sexuality, with your assistance."

John felt the blood drain from his face. "Fantastic."

"I'd expected him to refuse but he seemed rather pleased about it, actually. No idea why."

John only barely resisted the urge to bang his head against the taxi's window. Now Mycroft probably thought he and Sherlock were having kinky group sex, together, in a club Mycroft himself belonged to and -- oh God.

"Do you think he's spying on us?"

"Of course he is," Sherlock replied. He paused and turned to look at John. "Does that bother you?"

John snorted. "Oh no, not a bit. The idea of your brother knowing exactly how much sex I'm having and with whom is a bit of a turn-on, actually. Should we cut out the middle-man and invite him to join us?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but then looked thoughtful, to John's horror. "There is a more public space on a different level of the club. We could--"

"No," John said, a bit more sharply than he'd intended. Sherlock's eyes narrowed and John sighed. So that's where this was going. "Not yet, anyway."

Sherlock's expression smoothed out again and he nodded. For the fortieth time in the last few days, John wondered what the hell he was doing here.

*****

"Room seven," Sherlock said as soon as they entered the club. "Unless you need another drink first?"

"No, I'm good. Room seven."

It wasn't until he was standing inside the room and examining the furnishings -- two chairs facing each other, one armless -- that he realized it hadn't even occurred to him to ask Sherlock what he should expect tonight. Not that Sherlock would have told him, but still John had just blindly obeyed. That ought to worry him, but really, how was it any different than any other part of his life? John took charge when it seemed necessary, but quite a lot of the time he simply did what he was told, even when what he was being told made no sense.

And really, none of this made sense. Assuming things continued tonight as they had done, he would have had more sex in the last two days than he'd had in the last few years, and every bit of it had not only been arranged by Sherlock, but witnessed -- no thoroughly examined -- by him as well. That ought to have put John off, but somehow it didn't. He had fully expected it to get weird, perhaps even weirder than he could imagine, but for now he'd apparently made up his mind to enjoy the ride.

The door opened and a couple entered, laughing with arms twined around each other. It was a moment before John recognized one of them as Sherlock.

"And then he said, 'You want me to put it where?' and I--" The woman who was currently wrapped around Sherlock stopped abruptly and stared at John. "Well, now. Hello." Her eyes blazed.

He'd never before heard hello come out quite so clearly as please fuck me. She untangled herself from Sherlock and crossed to stand in front of John. Her hair was short and dark, her face heart-shaped, and her eyes a startling and unlikely shade of green. Shiny black boots with spiky heels covered her legs up to her thighs. She was dressed, or rather, squeezed into a red latex mini-dress that not only threatened to ride up over her arse but also barely contained her breasts. She was one abrupt move away from a massive wardrobe malfunction, and John was already half-hard.

He glanced at Sherlock, who had already dropped the drunk act and was settling into observation mode now that her attention was no longer focused on him.

She reached out and stroked one finger down John's cheek, then grasped his chin with her hand. "He's explained everything. Too bad about the no touching rule. I'd have loved to know what your tongue can do." She pressed her thumb between his lips and he did his best to show her just what she was missing. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment before opening again, now dark. Her lips were the same shade of red as the dress.

"Let's get started, shall we?" She took a few steps backward and without taking her eyes off John said, "Unzip me, will you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked momentarily stunned to John's delight, but then stepped forward and fumbled with a zipper at the nape of her neck. He drew it down slowly; whether this was because it was difficult or to draw out the suspense was unclear. She peeled the latex dress off slowly, revealing skimpy underthings made of red satin and black lace, and made a sound not unlike a purr as she stepped out of the dress. The combination of boots, lace, satin, and pale creamy skin was like something John had previously only paid to see online.

She walked back toward John and pressed one finger against his chest, pushing him backward into one of the chairs. She then sprawled into the other, hooking her knees over the chair's arms and spreading her thighs wide.

"Are you allowed to speak?" she asked, fingers sliding under the satin knickers to touch herself.

John flicked his eyes at Sherlock, who shook his head. John turned back to her and she laughed.

"He keeps a tight leash on you, doesn't he? I can't say I blame him." She sighed and let her eyes fall closed as her fingers circled under the knickers. John squirmed in his seat and clenched his hands into fists. She grinned and opened her eyes, leveling a heated look at him. "You show me yours and I'll show you mine." He frowned, uncertain for a moment, and she licked her lips. "Strip, John. Right now."

He sat up and pulled his jumper over his head, then unbuttoned the shirt underneath. He stood and unfastened his trousers and let them fall, realizing too late he should have toed his shoes off first. An awkward minute later he was standing before her clad in nothing but a pair of tented boxers.

"Those too," she said.

John exhaled shakily. He'd been naked in front of Sherlock before and Sherlock had seen him with an erection, but the number of times he'd stood in front of anyone both naked and aroused was very small. There was something about this moment that felt like crossing yet another line, and John found he couldn't take it lightly.

"From what I can see you've nothing to be embarrassed about," she said with a smile. "I'll even give you a sneak peek, if you like." She pulled the crotch of her knickers aside and pressed two fingers into her vagina, slowly.

John shucked the boxers as if they were on fire.

"Good boy. Sit now. And no touching yourself either."

He settled into the chair again and grasped the sides of the seat, digging his fingers into the worn leather. She slid her knickers down her thighs and let them dangle from one booted foot, then hooked her knees over the arms of the chair once again.

"Oh, if only you were allowed to speak," she said, sliding her fingers between her labia slowly. "You could tell me exactly what you want to see me do."

John shot a pleading glance at Sherlock, who rolled his eyes in response, damn him.

"No matter," she said, circling one fingertip around her clitoris. "I think we'll have fun anyway."

She stood then and crossed to the small table between their chairs. She rummaged inside the drawer for a condom, which she immediately ripped open. She dropped to her knees between John's thighs and reached for his cock. His eyes rolled back in his head when her fingers wrapped around the shaft and gave it a firm stroke. "Mmm, so eager. Is he always this sensitive, Sherlock?" Happily, there was no answer. She rolled the condom onto him and rose to straddle his thighs.

"Have you ever fucked a woman before, John?" He nodded emphatically and she laughed. "Of course. I see. He's gay and you're bi, so he brings you here to let you fuck women, but only the women he chooses for you. And then he dictates exactly what they can do to you, and you're not allowed to touch them back. In that way, it's really like he's the one fucking you, isn't it?"

John swallowed hard. He wanted to look at Sherlock, to see his reaction to that statement, but at that moment she grasped his chin with one hand and shook her head as if to say eyes on me from here on out. Her other hand was between her thighs, doing something he couldn't see, and the occasional brush of her wrist against his cock made him impossibly harder. God, he hoped she was planning to fuck him.

"Do you think I'm wet enough?" She pressed two slick fingers against his lips and he opened his mouth, groaning at the taste of her spreading across his tongue. He nodded, sucking her fingers, and God that was hot.

She shifted her hips forward and grasped the head of his cock and sank onto him, engulfing him in the heat of her body. He gasped and closed his eyes. It really had been a while, Jesus fuck.

She started moving then, angling her hips just so, and his hands went to her hips without thinking.

"John," he heard Sherlock say, and dropped them to his sides again. He gritted his teeth. This was going to be more difficult than he'd thought.

She grinned and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "Oh, you're a good little boy, aren't you? Is he like that at home, always wanting to be in control?"

He risked a glance at Sherlock to see his face was impassive, observing. He hadn't heard. John looked back to her and nodded.

"Do it again," she whispered. "Grab my arse."

He suppressed the urge to laugh: oh, she was a fun one. He grasped her hips again and pulled her down hard onto his prick, and they both gasped.

Once more, with feeling this time: "John." John dropped his hands again, but he was smiling.

"I don't know if he'll be able to resist," she said to Sherlock. "You might have to tie his hands to the chair."

John gasped and she laughed. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He had to admit the idea didn't sound unappealing.

She kept a smooth rhythm going with her hips and it was a gorgeous slow burn. He could feel her fingers stroking herself while she fucked him and he wished he could do it for her. He wondered what Sherlock would do if he tried it.

"You feel so fucking good," she whispered and he shuddered at the feeling of her lips against his ear. "You don't get to do this much, do you? I'll bet he doesn't even bottom for you. You love the feeling of his cock inside you, so you don't complain because he does this for you, finds you a girl who'll fuck you blind."

John wondered if she was just inferring this or if it was what Sherlock had told her. God, what if he had?

"I'll bet he gives fantastic head, though. He sucks you until you're right on the edge and then he fucks you on the sofa, maybe even the kitchen table. He's good at it, isn't he? He's got a lot of self-control, that one. He can probably fuck you for an hour, until you beg him to let you come."

He was glad he wasn't allowed to speak because he had no idea what he would have said to that. He tried to focus on the delicious things she was doing with internal muscles he hadn't been aware women even had -- he wasn't a gynecologist, after all -- but his mind was beginning to tinker with images of another sort altogether.

"This is getting you off, isn't it? Your cock is buried in me but you're thinking about him, about what it would be like to fuck him like this."

I'm not I'm not I'm not, John thought, but it was like the old saying about not thinking of an elephant: he couldn't not think it now, couldn't not see that image of Sherlock spread out beneath him while John pounded into him.

"He's good with his tongue, I'll bet. Does he lick your arsehole and fuck you with his tongue until you're gagging for it, until you'd do anything for more?"

John was vaguely aware that he was making truly embarrassing noises, but he didn't care. God, what she was doing to him. He'd had no idea words could do that.

"He likes to dominate you, doesn't he?" She punctuated her words with snaps of her hips and it was all threatening to send him over the edge. "Does he tie you up? Does he like to hurt you? Maybe you like to be hurt. Maybe you love feeling the burn the next day, the bruises under your clothes where no one can see."

Oh my God. His eyes flew open. He'd never even considered anything like that, but she made it sound sexy.

"Come on, John, fuck me. Come for me." She threw her head back and grasped the chair over his head with one hand while she rubbed at her clit with the other. She slammed her hips against him over and over and he could feel the moment she started to come, could feel her pulsing all around his cock.

She kept moving through it and her cries were loud enough to bring him back out of his head. He felt his own orgasm building just as she was starting to lose her rhythm and he thrust up into her, grabbing her hips to hold her in place.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck," and he was seeing stars behind eyelids squeezed shut. God it felt good to come into another body like this, to feel like he was connected and buried and grounded in another person. She collapsed against him when he stilled, both of them panting.

He felt her plant a gentle kiss on his lips just before she pulled off. He felt dizzy, but managed to open his eyes and grin lazily at her. She winked at him and plucked her knickers from the floor.

"Thanks for the party, boys. It was lovely." She dressed quickly and had Sherlock zip her into the red dress again. He looked a bit perplexed and struggled with the fastenings while she grinned at John and rolled her eyes. She planted a kiss on Sherlock's cheek before leaving and waved once more at John as she closed the door behind her.

John sank even further into the chair, still feeling tingly. "I need a few minutes. God, I can't feel my arms."

"Really?" The look on Sherlock's face was priceless.

John didn't know whether to laugh or feel sorry for him. "Do you have a column on that spreadsheet for dirty talk?"

"No."

"Add one." He closed his eyes. He could sleep right here.

"What did she say?" Sherlock asked after a full minute of silence.

"Ah… well." John bit his lip. He'd walked right into that one. "Just… things."

"What things?"

"Dirty things."

"You'll need to be a bit more specific."

John groaned. "Oh, for fuck's sake, can't something in all of this be private?"

Sherlock made a sound of frustration, but didn't reply. John could hear the pout all the way across the room.

"It was just, you know, fuck me just like that and your cock feels so good. That kind of thing. I barely remember the exact words." He didn't dare look at Sherlock; he always knew immediately when John was lying.

"I'll make a note of it," Sherlock said, though he didn't sound particularly convinced.

"Great. Thanks." He really wished he'd said nothing.

"Are you ready yet?" The tone was bordering on whinging.

John sighed and opened his eyes. He glanced over at Sherlock, who quickly looked away. John flushed: he was stark naked, sprawled in a chair, and still wearing a used condom. If that didn't meet the definition of awkward, he wasn't sure what did.

He dressed quickly and pulled his jacket on, already thinking about making a sandwich when they got home. Sherlock would probably bury himself in analyzing tonight's data and with luck John would be able to put those disturbing images out of his mind. It was harmless fantasy, and honestly, it wasn't as if he'd never thought about it before, back in the early days of their friendship. His mind just worked that way and he'd had to rely on masturbation fantasies for far too long. But the fact that he'd just had his dick in a beautiful woman and had spent a significant amount of of that encounter imaging it was in Sherlock instead -- well, that was not something he wanted to analyze anytime soon.

"Ready," he said, and followed Sherlock through the door.

At the top of the stairs Sherlock turned toward the bar, to John's surprise. He settled against it and spoke with the bartender, who returned a minute later with a pint of beer.

"What's this?" John asked as Sherlock gestured him closer.

Sherlock gave him an odd look. "A pint of Stella. I recall it's one of your favorites." He held out the glass.

"Oh. Thanks." John took the glass; he wasn't about to turn down a free drink. "We do have beer at home, you know."

"We're not going home just yet. Ah, I forgot to ask: would you say your refractory period is about half an hour?"

John nearly choked on the beer. "My what?"

"That's what I've assumed from observation of your masturbation habits, but I thought I should probably ask."

John was still gaping at him; it was another few seconds before he could manage to speak. "We're not done tonight?"

"No. I realized the pace of data collection could be increased significantly and I've made arrangements for another encounter in--" He paused to dig his phone from his trouser pocket. "--twenty-five minutes. Will that be enough time?"

"Oh my God," John replied, leaning back against the bar. He sucked down a fourth of the beer.

"If not, I can ask them to wait a bit. At least, I think I can."

At the moment the idea wasn't terribly appealing, he had to admit. He was satiated, sleepy, hungry, and honestly ready to be horizontal between his own sheets. On the other hand, it wasn't as if he had to do much but lie there while someone else did all the work. And Sherlock had apparently made an arrangement, so. So yeah.

"Okay," he said and raised his glass to his lips.

"Good," Sherlock replied as he slid an arm around John's waist and leaned into him.

Even though it was part of the cover, John couldn't help feeling a bit of alarm at the tingle that ran down his spine at that contact. This experiment was fucking with his sanity in ways he hadn't anticipated.

It was a good thing he could rely on Sherlock to be completely disinterested.

*****

Sherlock stopped before the door marked with a brass 4. "The rules about talking and touching will be suspended for this session, by the way."

John blinked in surprise. "Okay. Should I bother to ask why?"

"No."

"I don't suppose you've ever seen 'Behind the Green Door', have you?"

Sherlock frowned. "No. Why?"

"No reason. Forget I mentioned it. Ready when you are."

Sherlock opened the door and gestured John inside. John started forward, but froze in the doorway: there was a naked couple entwined on the sofa.

"So sorry, we must have the wrong--"

Sherlock gave him a perfunctory shove from behind just as the man and woman on the sofa looked up and laughed.

"You're in the right place, darling," the woman said. The man whose lips had just a moment ago been locked on her neck popped his head up to grin at him.

John heard Sherlock close the door behind him. His mind was spinning now, working out all the possible scenarios that could possibly play out. He felt his face flush and he focused his gaze on the wall behind the sofa, on an abstract painting in shades of red and black.

"Should we do introductions?" the man asked.

John looked to Sherlock without thinking; Sherlock nodded.

"I'm Ryan," the man said, settling in a relaxed pose on the sofa with his thighs spread. John had to force himself to make eye contact. Ryan was approximately 30 with sandy brown hair that was styled in that way that seemed to be fashionable for young men. He was good-looking in a rugged, boyish way, and he was completely naked. He smiled and nodded his head at the woman curled up next to him, who put her feet in his lap and giggled. "This is my wife, Annie."

John's eyes moved to her face and he nodded in greeting. Her wavy brown hair was shoulder-length and she had a pretty face with large bright eyes. She looked like the sort of woman who'd be in an advert for loo paper, a typical wife and mother.

Wife. Hell, he'd had no idea people who were married did this sort of thing. Whatever this thing was. Oh God.

"I'm Sherlock," he heard from behind him, "and this is John."

"Hi," he said after a moment, remembering that he was allowed to talk this time. "Nice to meet you." God, that sounded pathetic. He tried not to wince.

Ryan and Annie grinned as if he were an adorable child. "Thanks for meeting us on such short notice," Ryan said. "We've been trying to set this up for a while."

"Of course," Sherlock said, winding one arm around John's waist. "This is going to be right up John's street, I think."

John forced himself to smile and leaned back into Sherlock. Giving up control this way was like walking a line between aggravation and excitement. It annoyed him to no end that Sherlock enjoyed keeping him in the dark, actually liked to spring these surprises on him. It was almost as if he were testing John, that if John was just a bit more clever he should be able to figure out what was coming. But he couldn't deny that it was exciting to stand there and not know what was coming -- just that it was going to end in an orgasm.

"Relax," Sherlock whispered. His hand stroked up John's chest and John shivered. He felt lips press lightly against the side of his neck and he struggled not to respond. It was all part of the act, but his body didn't know that. And hell, Sherlock couldn't know he was kissing exactly the spot on John's neck that made his knees weak. John closed his eyes briefly and opened them again to see Annie and Ryan watching them in fascination.

Sherlock released him and gave him a little push toward the sofa. John took three steps forward and stopped, not sure what he was supposed to do. Annie stood up and closed the distance between them. He did his best to keep his eyes on her face, though honestly he wasn't sure what the etiquette was in this situation.

"You're completely adorable," she said, cupping his cheek with one hand. He smiled in response and she leaned forward and kissed him. It was a sweet kiss at first, but it quickly morphed into something more. He remembered he could touch and so he pulled her against him and deepened the kiss, taking actual control of something for the first time in days. When she pulled back she looked dazed, and he grinned at her.

"You're a bloody good kisser," she said, looking at him with something akin to wonder on her face.

John's eyes darted to Ryan, who was grinning at them from the sofa.

Okay, this was just fucking weird.

Annie tugged at the hem of his jumper with an almost girlish smile. "Time to get undressed."

John pulled off his jumper and she took it from him, folding it carefully and setting it on the room's small table. She rummaged through the drawer while he unbuttoned his shirt, and then she took that from him as well.

"Thanks," he said as he tugged his shoes off and tossed them aside. Annie dropped to her knees and unfastened his trousers and he couldn't help but gasp.

"Let me help with this," she said as she stroked his dick through the thin fabric of his boxers. He went from interested to erect in a matter of seconds.

He glanced at Ryan again, who was still sitting on the sofa and watching his wife slowly pull John's trousers off. Ryan gave him a sly smile and stood, and John felt a flicker of apprehension.

He has absolutely no idea where this was going. Oh, God.

He didn't stop himself from looking at Ryan's body, all long lean lines and defined muscles. He was a few inches taller than John, enough that John had to look up at him. Ryan stopped beside him and turned John's head toward him with one hand. "You are adorable, you know," he said, and then he kissed John.

John had kissed a man before, though to be honest he'd been quite drunk and desperate at the time, and, well, what happened in the army stayed in the army, to a certain extent. He hadn't thought about it for a long time, but now it flashed through his mind: the feeling of lips that weren't quite as soft as a woman's, the roughness of stubble pressed against his cheek, the undeniably masculine jaw pressed against his own.

Ryan kissed exactly like his wife, which was not something John really wanted to think about right now. He was emboldened by Annie's compliment, though, and he took control of the kiss. He tried to remember everything the woman in the schoolgirl outfit had done with her tongue -- Sherlock wasn't the only one cataloguing information -- and repeated it all as best he could, one thing after another. Ryan whimpered into his mouth and John felt an erection press against his bare thigh. He grinned: it was definitely easier to tell when one was successful with a man.

"Fucking hell, you're an amazing kisser," Ryan breathed against his cheek. His mouth found that spot on John's neck and then it was John's turn to groan. There was a mouth on his cock then, swallowing it down, and for a moment he thought he was going to come on the spot. The mouth disappeared and he looked down to see he was now wearing a condom.

"You have to show me how to do that," he blurted. Hell, he might have a need for that trick at some point. Only Sherlock knew where this was headed.

"I'll show you right now," she said and ripped open a second packet. She squeezed the condom between her fingers and popped it into her mouth with the tip pointing inwards. She wrapped her fingers around Ryan's dick and tugged him forward, then swallowed the head and worked her mouth down the shaft slowly. Ryan's eyes fluttered and he clenched a handful of her hair, and John was surprised at how erotic it was to watch them like this. Annie pulled off and the condom was on, rolled all the way down to the base. She winked at John.

John suddenly realized that the fact they were both wearing condoms limited the number of possible sex acts considerably. He liked these two and he really didn't want to safeword out of this, but there were some things he needed to think about for a while before he could agree to try them.

Having anything in his arse was definitely on that list.

Ryan leaned in to kiss him again, which helpfully distracted him from these thoughts, and Annie pressed both their dicks together and stroked, and Jesus fuck that had no right to feel as good as it did. If being bisexual meant doing things like this, he might just jump onboard that train with more enthusiasm than he'd ever thought possible.

"Ready," he heard Annie say, and he untangled himself from Ryan to see that she'd spread a blanket on the floor. "John, you'll lie here."

He felt a flutter in his stomach again, but he ignored it. He settled back on the blanket, noting that it did little to temper the hardness of the floor. Annie had a small foil packet of lube in her hand now, which caused him a bit more trepidation, but she straddled his thighs and then stroked his cock with a slick hand. She then handed the packet to Ryan, who had settled on his knees behind her, and shifted forward on her knees. She grasped John's cock in one hand and guided it into her vagina, then sank all the way down on him.

John exhaled and grinned at her. She felt different from the woman in red earlier that night -- he hadn’t been with two women in quick enough succession to ever notice that before. Ryan's hands touched John's thighs then and pushed them apart and John felt him settle between them.

Annie leaned forward and rested her weight on her hands on either side of John's head, smiling down at him. "I've never done this before, but I've always wanted to. God, I'm a bit nervous."

John smiled at her and pushed up on his elbows to kiss her. Ryan's hands occasionally brushed against sensitive skin on John's thighs, but his attention was definitely on Annie. With a sigh of relief, John finally realized what was going to happen.

"Ready?" Ryan asked. His tone was casual, but he chose that moment to stroke slick fingers over John's balls, earning a whimper in response.

"Ready," Annie said. Her eyes were wide as Ryan crouched behind her, and she stared down at John. He watched her face as Ryan pushed into her, watched her jaw slacken and her eyes close, but he didn't see any indication of pain. It seemed to take a long time for Ryan to press all the way in, and when he was done John was amazed that he could feel the pressure of Ryan's cock against his, separated by a wall of muscle inside her body.

They remained still like that for another minute, Ryan stroking her back and John staring up at her face, amazed to be included in this. This wasn't just casual sex, this was something more, something she wanted to experience, something her husband had wanted to give her, and for some reason they both trusted John enough to bring him into it. It was beautiful.

"All right," she said at last, and opened her eyes. She shifted her hips, sliding up on both their cocks, and then sank down again. There was some adjusting behind her and it seemed to take a while to work out the rhythm, but once they found it, it was amazing. He felt her clenching around him and he felt Ryan pressing into her and against John's cock indirectly, unerringly hitting the sensitive spot under the glans with every stroke. It was only the fact that he'd come in the last hour that allowed him to keep himself from losing control. Ryan was somehow fucking both of them at the same time, and John had never felt anything like it.

"Can I touch you?" he whispered and Annie nodded, guiding his fingers to her clit. He couldn't see what he was doing and was afraid to shift his position at all for fear of disrupting the whole operation, but he managed to circle his fingers on her. She was amazingly wet, and fuck, this whole thing was just -- he didn't know how to begin to process it.

"Oh god oh god," she cried, and then she was coming, nearly collapsing against his chest. Ryan bent over her, still fucking her, his balls brushing John's on every stroke.

"Oh shit," Ryan said, eyes closed tight. "Oh fuck, that's good, that's--" and then he groaned and shuddered and John would later swear he'd felt both of them come.

They all lay in a sweaty heap for a moment, panting. Ryan pulled out and then helped Annie to her feet. John was perfectly happy to lie on the blanket while Ryan cleaned her up and wrapped a dressing gown around her. She settled on one side of the sofa, looking dazed and happy.

John pushed to sitting and looked over at Sherlock, whose face was a mask of concentration. John was desperate to know what he'd gleaned from watching this. He'd have to sneak a peek at that spreadsheet later, at the very least. Ryan's hand appeared in front of him, and he took it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

"I'm so sorry we neglected you," Ryan said, looking down at John's erection.

"It's fine, actually. This wasn't about me."

"We're not going to leave you wanting," Ryan said with a grin. He turned him and pushed him toward the sofa until the backs of John's knees hit it and he toppled onto the center cushion next to Annie. She grinned at him as Ryan sat on the other side. Ryan's hand wrapped around John's dick and he stroked, and John let his head fall back against the sofa cushions. The condom was still slick from a mix of lube and Annie, and his hand moved easily over it. "Tell me what you like," Ryan said, his mouth at John's ear.

"That's perfect, actually," John replied. "Maybe a bit more pressure. Oh god, there."

Ryan's mouth moved on his neck, up to his ear, and then captured John's lips again. Ryan was a quick study, it seemed; he'd already picked up some of the kissing tricks John had used earlier. John found himself moaning incoherently in short order. Even through the condom Ryan's fingers were doing amazing things to his cock, squeezing in just the right places and stroking with a perfect amount of pressure.

"Close," John gasped into his mouth and Ryan stroked the head of his cock with short, quick jerks of his fist. It pushed John over the edge and he thrust up into that hand as he cried out. Ryan kept stroking through it, finally pulling away when John began to wince from sensitivity. It had been a while since he'd come twice in an hour. A long while. God.

Ryan kissed him again, more of a sweet, slow slide of tongues this time, and John felt like he was melting. He didn't want it to end; he was fairly certain no one would ever kiss him that way again, like they just wanted to hang on a bit more, not to let go of him just yet, even though the sex really was over.

The fact that this person was male was something he was going to have to think about later. Much later.

"So fucking gorgeous," Annie said with a sigh. "If I weren't utterly spent I could sit here and wank just watching you two."

And wow, there was a whole new level of threesome that John hadn't even considered. He laughed and looked over at Sherlock to make sure that note was received, and froze. Sherlock was chewing on one finger and wearing an utterly dazed expression. John stared at him for a moment, uncertain exactly what he was seeing. Sherlock's eyes met his then and John saw the closest thing to embarrassment on Sherlock's face as he'd ever seen before. Sherlock looked away quickly, his cheeks tinted, and began inspecting a spot on his trousers with the same sort of fervor as when he'd just discovered an important clue at a crime scene. John's eyes narrowed.

"Shit, it's nearly midnight," Annie said.

"I totally lost track of time," Ryan said, his eyes wide. "Can you text her?"

Annie fumbled with her mobile. "I can't get a signal down here. I'll get dressed and run upstairs." She winced when she stood, but put her clothes back on surprisingly quickly.

Ryan scrambled to dress as well, smiling apologetically. "Sorry we have to dash. The babysitter has an important exam in the morning, so we can't make her wait. Thanks again for this. It was fantastic, just what Annie wanted."

"It was, thank you!" Annie said as she headed out the door.

"Of course," John replied, now trying to wrap his brain around the idea that they had children; his entire world view was in threat of being turned on its head.

He stood and pulled the condom off and dropped it in a bin by the table. He started to gather his own clothes and paused to glance over at the chair by the door where Sherlock was sitting. He was lost in thought now and seemed to have regained his composure.

John had just pulled his pants and trousers back on when Ryan touched his shoulder. "I mean it," he said, and kissed John softly. "Thank you. It was amazing." He smiled and then headed out the door after his wife.

John stared at the door for several seconds, his shirt hanging in his hands. He looked at Sherlock, whose face was utterly unreadable. "Are you all right?"

Sherlock's mouth opened but no sound came out. He blinked and closed it again, then nodded. "Yes, of course."

"Because you seem a bit--"

"I'm fine," Sherlock spat, not quite meeting John's eyes. "We're done for the night, so whenever you're dressed, we'll go."

"All right." John pulled his shirt on and buttoned it, then pulled his jumper over his head, keeping his eyes fixed on Sherlock. Sherlock stood and began pacing before the door, hands shoved into his pockets.

John sat on the sofa to put his shoes back on and watched Sherlock for a moment. There was no point in asking him about it, John knew. He could only guess at what had Sherlock so wound up. And besides, it was very likely he'd find out soon enough.

He stood. "I'm ready."

Sherlock whirled to face him, his eyes hard. And yet, there was something else there, something that reminded John quite a lot of that first evening on the sofa when they'd wanked and he hadn't been sure if Sherlock had come because of the porn or because of him. Sherlock's eyes narrowed and John felt that familiar stab of suspicion that the man was actually telepathic. John cleared his mind, just to be on the safe side.

Sherlock nodded and opened the door. "Let's go home."

John followed, watching that dark silhouette dash up the stairs before him with more than a bit of unease.


[End of Part 2]