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Author's Chapter Notes:

Special thanks to [info]chaeche and [info]pennswoods for talking with me about this fic and Sherlock's sexuality and a million other things on Skype last night. ♥ 

The doorman didn't even bother to check their membership credentials anymore; he just gave them a quick nod as they walked through the front door and past him to the main area of the club. John exhaled as a wave of sound and warmth washed over him. He could feel himself relaxing already, could feel his mental state shifting. Now that he understood what was happening, he looked forward to it, to letting himself sink into the role. He wondered if Sherlock experienced something similar.

He had no idea what Sherlock had in mind for tonight. They hadn't even discussed what that texted Yes had meant. A week ago it would have driven John mad, but tonight it was just a small detail. Terms had been renegotiated that morning and that was that. He trusted Sherlock completely, especially after the events of last night.

The touch on his shoulder made him smile and he melted into it, letting Sherlock direct him toward the door at the back. They paused just outside it.

"No drinks tonight?" he asked.

"We're going to the other bar. I'll explain when we get there."

He hadn't known there was another bar; the idea that there was something here he hadn't yet seen was quite exciting indeed. They walked through the door and down the stairs, stopping this time before a door one flight down. It looked more like an emergency exit than anything else; he'd passed it a dozen times without giving it a second glance. Sherlock pushed the door open and motioned him through into a narrow corridor. There was a door at the other end attended by another familiar security guard, and he also let them pass with a cursory nod. John didn't know whether he should be amused or embarrassed that they were now such regulars at a sex club.

Through that door was a huge room full of people. It was dimly lit, so dark he couldn't make out much at first. The ceiling was low here and hung with all sorts of eclectic decorations, which gave the space a cellar-like feel. There was a large open space in the middle of the room where people seemed to be sitting in groups on low furniture. Alcoves lined the walls and small groups of people filled those as well, sitting on sofas and on the floor. The music was distinctly different from what was playing upstairs; it was quieter and the beat was slower.

There was a long bar to the left and Sherlock steered John toward it. "Wait here," he said as he headed to talk to the bartender.

John's eyes finally began adjusting to the light and he looked out across the room. The people weren't just sitting, he realized, some were moving, almost as if--

Oh.

The people in this room weren't just sitting around and talking. Well, some of them were, to be certain, but the vast majority of them were having sex. And not merely having sex, but having it in nearly every configuration John could think of, and a few more that hadn't occurred to him at all.

Sherlock had mentioned a more public space, hadn't he? John had forgotten.

Was it impolite to stare? He had no idea, but he was fairly certain his eyes were as wide as saucers at the moment. His eyes settled on a group of six or seven men and women all performing oral sex on each other in one large circle. And he'd thought being in a couple of threesomes made him fairly experienced. Bloody hell. There went his worldview, turned on its ear yet again.

"What do you think?" he heard at his ear. He turned to see Sherlock scanning the room impassively, as if this was something he'd seen a hundred times before. He held out a glass and John took it.

"About the fact that there are dozens of people having group sex right over there, or about the fact that you're about to ask me to join them?"

Sherlock laughed quietly and took a sip from his own glass. "I have something a bit simpler in mind for you."

Fingers curled around the back of John's neck and pressed lightly, and John closed his eyes. Sherlock stepped closer, his chest pressing against John's back, his mouth brushing John's ear. John felt anticipation curl inside him.

"I'm going to pick three men -- one at a time, obviously -- and you're going to approach them and convince them to let you suck their cocks. They aren't allowed to touch you and you cannot touch yourself."

Oh, God, that was… fuck. John leaned back against him and exhaled.

"I'm going to enjoy watching you give a blow job for the first time. In fact, I spent a good part of the afternoon thinking about it." Sherlock's lips brushed the shell of his ear in something very near a kiss, and John bit back a whimper.

He knew, he fucking knew how badly John wanted him. It was the only explanation.

"Do you understand?"

John nodded and one of Sherlock's arms wound around him, one hand smoothing over the too-tight black shirt stretched across his stomach.

"Good. When you've finished your drink, we'll begin." Sherlock stepped away.

John chugged it, handed the glass back to Sherlock, and nodded.

"Right." Sherlock said, surprise evident in his tone. He dropped John's empty the glass on the bar and held out a hand.

John took it and let Sherlock lead him around the perimeter of the room. Sherlock stopped at a partition between two alcoves and pulled John back against him. John leaned into him, relishing the feeling of Sherlock's arms wound around his chest. Even though it was all part of the act, he was going to enjoy it. How he'd gone so long without being touched like this was a mystery; he couldn't get enough of it now.

"There," Sherlock whispered, turning John's head to left with one hand on his jaw. "There are three men over there by that sofa." John found them after a moment and nodded. "The one in green. Condoms are in your front left pocket." Sherlock's fingers slipped into the front pocket of John's jeans.

"Right." Shit. John took a deep breath and stepped forward. He had no idea how he was supposed to do this; he'd only rarely had success picking up women in bars in the last few years. Of course, these men were in a sex club and were, well, men, so it was likely that none of his previous experience would apply anyway. He turned back to look at Sherlock for support, but he only smirked and shook his head. Wanker.

His mind raced. What could he possibly say or do that wouldn't result in him being ignored, or worse, punched? Oh God, what if they were all straight? He supposed he could refuse, go back and safeword, tell Sherlock no, he didn't want to do this. Except that he actually sort of did. Oh, God.

He mustered his confidence and crossed the short distance to them. As he stopped in front of them, all three men turned to look at him. The one in green was in the middle, leaning back against the wall. He looked to be in his early thirties and had shoulder-length dark hair and dark eyes. His gaze flicked down John's body before settling on his face again. He smiled.

Gay, then. That was going to make things a bit easier. John smiled back and said nothing, keeping his attention focused completely on his target. The men on either side were now exchanging looks, but no one said anything.

"Hi," John said at last.

"Hi," Green Shirt said, his lips twisting into a smile.

There was nothing else for it. John took three steps forward, grabbed a handful of shirt, and pulled the man into a kiss. For a single long second, he wasn't sure what was going to happen next, but then Green Shirt's hands were on either side of John's head and he was deepening the kiss and pulling John against him. The men on either side were whispering furiously, but no one seemed about to jump in and pull John off their friend.

The kiss was brutal and John quickly gave up trying to control it. His hands fumbled at the fly of Green Shirt's trousers instead. He slid a hand inside and wrapped his fingers around a half-hard cock and stroked.

"Fuck," the man said, gasping into John's mouth. "Oh, God."

John decided not to waste time explaining. He broke the kiss and flashed a cheeky grin before falling to his knees. The look on Green Shirt's face was priceless, something between shock and excitement, with a touch of wonder at his luck. John worked his trousers and pants down, freeing his cock, and then stared at it while fishing a condom packet from his pocket. Best not to think very much about what he was going to do. Just do it and see what happens.

He opened the condom packet with his teeth and popped the condom in his mouth, arranged it the right way, and rolled it down Green Shirt's dick in one swift movement. His hand around the base finished the job and he pulled off again, pleased that had gone so well on a first try.

"Oh, shit," Green Shirt said with a hiss, and John grinned.

Time to get to work. He started with his tongue, flicking it around the head while stroking lightly with his hand. It wasn't as weird as he expected, though the condom certainly helped. He wrapped his lips around the head and sucked, letting his tongue work the underside, and looked up to see Green Shirt's reaction. His mouth was open and he was staring back down at John, pleasure clear on his face.

"Oh, that's good," Green Shirt whispered when John took more of his cock in. One hand fell to John's head and grasped his hair, pushing John down further.

It seemed like what Green Shirt really wanted was to fuck his mouth, and John soon gave up trying to use his tongue. He focused instead on hanging on and breathing at regular intervals, all the while cursing himself for any time he'd been this inconsiderate during a blow job. Fortunately Green Shirt was getting close. John pushed his hips back against the wall and held them there with one firm hand, then used the other to stroke Green Shirt's dick. He focused all of his attention on the head, sucking hard and working his tongue, keeping his hand moving fast, and then Green Shirt's fingers in his hair tightened to the point of pain. John winced but didn't stop, and Green Shirt came, grunting loudly.

John sat back on his heels when it was over and wiped a hand across his mouth. He looked up just as Green Shirt slid to the floor, his trousers still around his thighs.

"That was fucking amazing. Give me a minute and I'll--"

"No thanks. That's all I wanted." John winked at him, then stood and walked away. Green Shirt's friends stared at him as he passed and he saw them exchange a glance. He didn't respond; he kept walking all the way back to where Sherlock was standing.

"Well?" Sherlock looked as if he was trying very hard not to laugh.

John rolled his eyes. "Do I get some sort of reward after I've done three? Because I will fucking deserve one."

"I thought this was what you wanted." He took a sip of his drink and looked exceedingly smug.

John clenched his jaw. "When exactly did I say that I wanted that?"

"You charged in and jumped the man. How did you expect him to react?"

John glared at him. A biting retort was on the tip of his tongue, but just as he opened his mouth Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"Careful, John."

The tone alone made John shiver. He looked away, closed his eyes, swallowed his frustration. It hadn't been what he'd expected, certainly. He'd had something different in mind altogether, and of course Sherlock would turn it into a game of domination: You want to touch other people? Fine, but only the ones I choose and only when I say you can.

All he wanted was for something in all of this to feel normal. Whatever this was that he had with Sherlock was fun, even exciting, but he was beginning to realize he wanted something more. If Sherlock wasn't going to give it to him, couldn't he at least he let John get it somewhere else? Was that really too much to ask?

For now, the only way he was going to get what he wanted was to play Sherlock's game. He knew his role here: he was the submissive one; he had to follow the letter of the law -- but perhaps not the spirit.

And yes, he could have done that differently, could have approached Green Shirt with a bit more finesse. As much as he hated to admit it, Sherlock had a point. Sherlock had carefully negotiated the terms of every sexual encounter he'd had here, and when John finally had his turn, he'd simply stormed in and taken. Did he really have anyone to blame but himself?

Shit. He opened his eyes and looked up at Sherlock. "Okay, so… that was out of line. I'm sorry."

Sherlock regarded him silently for several moments before finally nodding his head. "Come with me."

He led them back to the bar and ordered another round of drinks. John took the offered beer and sighed, his enthusiasm for the evening dissipating rapidly.

They drank in silence, watching the crowd around them. It had grown busier in the last half-hour and noisier as well, an odd mix of chatter, laughter, and moans. John finally turned to look at Sherlock, who was watching him intently.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. Reverting back to silence was easy. He had a bizarre urge to just sit at Sherlock's feet and wait.

"Ready for round two?"

John looked at his nearly-full beer, uncertain what to do with it.

"Take it with you," Sherlock said, sliding an arm around his shoulders.

They circled around to the other side of the room slowly. Sherlock was casually looking, for what exactly John couldn't be certain. He let himself be led, let his mind drift. They finally stopped before an alcove where a man sat on a sofa, watching two women entwined on the floor in front of him. Sherlock stared at the man for several seconds before smiling and pulling John back against his chest.

"That one. Ex-military, comes here with his wife. She's one of the two on the floor, not sure which. She's bisexual, he claims to be straight."

"But?" He didn't even bother asking how? anymore.

"Look at the way he's watching them. He's interested, but not obviously aroused. They come here a lot; it's her idea. He's not freaked out by any of it, probably was in the beginning, but now he's starting to consider that he's actually bi-curious. He's just afraid to admit it."

"You can't possibly know he's afraid to admit he might be interested in men. Maybe he's just not interested tonight."

"Oh, please. Look at the way he's dressed -- it screams trying too hard to look straight. Even the way he's sitting, thighs splayed, leaning back, arms crossed over his chest -- very overtly masculine. All he needs is a cowboy hat."

John snorted at the visual.

"No, this is how he usually dresses when they come here. It's the I'm-not-queer uniform. And yet he's stared at the arses of the last two men who've walked by. "

John shook his head. "And you want me to go over there and break through all of that?"

"Yes, though not literally. The last one was actually gay, so the aggressive approach sufficed, but you're going to have to work harder for it this time."

John took a deep breath. "Can't we just--"

"John."

God, that tone. John melted into a puddle of want. Fuck it all, he was -- what was the expression? Whipped.

Sherlock's mouth moved closer to his ear, his words whispered now. "I don't care how you approach him; that's down to you. As long as it ends with his cock in your mouth, I'll be satisfied. Now go."

John whimpered. "Okay."

Sherlock give him a little shove from behind and he stumbled forward. He steeled himself and walked around the naked women snogging on the floor, was momentarily distracted by the fact that they were both fingering each other, and then sat on the sofa next to the man, who was now staring at him with a look somewhere between surprise and suspicion.

He opted for the direct approach. "Hi. I'm John."

The man stared back at him for a moment. He was a bit younger than John and was ruggedly good-looking. His reddish-brown hair was quite short, though not regulation, a look John often saw on guys who'd been out of service less than a year. Old habits and identities were hard to lose. The hand clenching a pint glass had a wedding band on one finger. John smiled: Sherlock was amazing, as always.

"Jack." His expression was carefully blank, but his attention was fully on John now.

John slid closer and turned his body sideways on the sofa so he could lean in under the guise of not having to speak so loudly. "Army?"

Jack's guarded expression changed to one of surprise. "No, RAF. How did you--"

"We tend to recognize our own, don't we?" He smiled, his confidence growing already.

Jack shook his head as if not sure what to make of him. "I suppose so. Afghanistan?"

"Yes, RAMC. I was a medic with the infantry, actually. Invalided out a year and a half ago. You?"

Jack's eyes scanned him quickly, as if looking for a sign of obvious injury. "My tour ended eight months ago. I flew choppers, mostly pulling out madmen like you." He smiled tentatively and John grinned back, and yes, there was definitely a spark of interest there. Sherlock was right again.

"Cheers," John said and took a drink of his own beer.

"So you're here with…" Jack's eyes flicked down to John's hand.

"My boyfriend," John said, pointing at Sherlock casually leaning against the wall just at the edge of the alcove, drink in hand. Jack's eyes widened fractionally. "He's like you. He likes to watch." John raised his eyebrows and smiled in a way he hoped was suggestive.

"What exactly does he like to watch?" Jack's eyes moved briefly to the women on the floor and then back to John again.

"Me, mostly. With women or men, it doesn't matter." He took another sip from his glass and kept his eyes fixed on Jack's. "Of course, I'm hoping you're interested in more than just watching."

Jack's mouth fell open and John wondered if anyone had approached him like this before. "I don't…" he began, and then stopped. John moved a few inches closer, slid an arm around the back of the sofa. "I mean, my wife... I… She..."

"She looks busy at the moment."

Jack blinked at him in response; he almost seemed lost.

John leaned in closer. "Would she mind if I kissed you?"

Jack's eyes got even wider and he made a sound like a strangled laugh, but he didn't turn away.

"I suppose a better question would be would you mind?" He reached across Jack to set his glass on the table next to the sofa and heard Jack suck in a breath as John's arm brushed against his chest. John moved back slowly, stopping when their faces were just inches apart. It had been a long time since he'd successfully seduced anyone. The thrill of this moment, the will-we-or-won't-we, the sheer power of it -- it was heady. God, he almost felt high. This was what he'd wanted. He smiled. "Just a kiss. That's all."

Jack seemed unable to breathe, but he nodded his head very slightly. John leaned in to press his lips against Jack's before the man changed his mind. There was a slight tremble there, as if Jack had never done this before and was terrified at what it might make him feel. John could relate.

He kissed Jack softly at first, just a slow slide of lips, mouths open but no tongues, very restrained. After several seconds he felt Jack relax against him and John stroked the inside of Jack's lip with the tip of his tongue. Jack whimpered and a moment later was kissing him back with definite interest. John slid a hand around the back of his head to pull him closer and Jack fumbled to set his beer down on the table before pulling John nearly into his lap, where there was even more distinct evidence of Jack's interest.

Straight, my arse.

John let himself be snogged senseless for a bit, not really worrying about what might or might not come next. He was enjoying this and Jack was enjoying it, and that was the point, wasn't it? His own trousers were tight, but since he wasn't allowed to do anything about that anyway, he didn't pay it much attention.

Jack was a fairly enthusiastic kisser and was clearly used to being in charge in such situations, and so it took John several minutes to get the kiss back under his own control. But once he did, Jack melted beneath him, and there it was again, that incredible high of knowing he'd done that.

The answer to the bisexual question was looking more and more like a yes.

He shifted in Jack's lap so that he was straddling him, pressing their cocks together and rocking slightly. Jack's head fell back against the sofa cushion and John took advantage of the opportunity to kiss his neck and work his way over to one ear.

"I really want to suck your cock," he whispered, accentuating the last word with a bit of a grind of his hips. Jack gasped and John nearly grinned. "You don't have to do anything, just let me do that for you, please." He traced the shell of Jack's ear with the tip of his tongue, which apparently was the right thing to do because Jack's hands grasped his hips and pulled John roughly against him. "I want to hear you say yes," John whispered, his own breathing ragged now, God.

"Yes." It almost seemed torn from his lips.

"Yes, what?" Okay, now he was just being mean, but he couldn't help himself.

"Yes, suck me. Oh, fuck." Jack caught his mouth again in a bruising kiss.

"With pleasure." John grinned as he slid to the floor, his hands pressing Jack's knees apart and sliding up his thighs.

Jack exhaled shakily and his eyes focused on something over John's head. John realized it had become very quiet behind him. "Is she watching?"

Jack nodded and smiled. There was clearly some non-verbal communication going on there.

John felt a stab of something he couldn't quite identify. "Is she okay with this?"

"She is," he heard in his ear, and turned his head to see Jack's wife -- he presumed, anyway -- kneeling next to him. "I've been trying to make this happen for months, in fact." She grinned at John. She was completely naked, of course.

This would have utterly freaked him out a week ago. So many things about this situation would have been unthinkable -- here he was, in a sex club, on his knees, about to suck the cock of a total stranger just because Sherlock had fucking told him to do it, with the man's wife watching enthusiastically. Fucking hell. Who did this?

"John, is that you?"

He turned the other direction to see a familiar face framed by a mass of blonde curls: one of the girls from the first night, but oh God, which one was she? "Clara?" he ventured.

"How lovely to see you!" She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on both cheeks. "Is Sherlock here as well?"

John pointed to where Sherlock was standing, now with an odd expression on his face. "He's over there, watching as always."

Clara giggled and gestured him over. God, she was also naked. This was just not the sort of thing that happened in John's life. Except that lately, it did.

She stood and greeted Sherlock in a similar fashion. He looked surprised, but not at all unnerved that a curvy naked blonde was wrapping herself around him.

"I'm so thrilled to see you both here! I didn't know if you played in public."

"Is Abby here?" John asked, having just remembered the other one's name.

Clara made a pouty face. "No, she had to work tonight. Saturdays are the busiest for her. She waits tables at a posh restaurant." She looped her arm through Sherlock's and smiled at the woman who was now whispering something into Jack's ear. "Ellen keeps me busy when she's not here, though."

"And we've so rudely interrupted," Ellen added, ruffling her husband's hair. "Clara, why don't you introduce me to your friend while Jack and -- John, was it? -- get to know each other better."

Clara tugged Sherlock behind the sofa farther into the alcove and Ellen followed. All three of them were behind Jack now, but still in John's line of sight. Giggling like schoolgirls, damn them.

"Are you all right?" John asked, finally looking back up at Jack.

"Yeah," Jack said after a moment. "I should probably tell you that I've never even kissed a man until just now. I mean, I suppose I've thought about it, but that was the first time."

John smiled. "Want a second time?"

Jack smiled and nodded. "I think I do, yeah."

John rose onto his knees and Jack leaned forward, pulling him close, and kissed him again. It wasn't quite the tense and fiery kiss from before; it was languid now, more certain. Jack had made up his mind. After another few minutes, there was serious heat between them again. Jack's hands slid down John's back to grip his arse and pull him tightly against him. Jack's erection pressed into John's stomach and John grinned.

"So that thing you offered to do," Jack breathed against his lips. "Still interested?"

"Absolutely," John replied, his fingers already working at the button of Jack's jeans. He freed his cock and sat back on his heels, digging in his pocket for a condom. There was a burst of whispers behind the sofa and he looked up to see three faces watching him expectantly.

He rolled his eyes, though he honestly didn't mind. Sherlock was supposed to watch; that was the entire point of this. The other two -- well, it was what this space was for. He ripped open the packet and swallowed at that realization. Sherlock watching was the point, wasn't it? John wanted to do this, but it was also for Sherlock, on some level. On many levels.

His eyes flicked up to Sherlock's and for just a moment, he saw the gay boyfriend act drop, saw an honest expression on his face. It was a mix of heat and something else, something he hadn't really seen before. He stared back, but Clara whispered something and the real Sherlock was gone again just as quickly.

"He likes to watch?" Jack asked softly.

John turned his attention to Jack again, pushing everything else out of his mind. "He gets off on it."

"I've a feeling my wife is going to like watching as well."

"So everyone's happy." More or less.

He popped the condom into his mouth and gave Jack's prick a few swift strokes before rolling the condom on with his mouth. The round of giggles he heard from behind the sofa indicated the move made an impression. He set to work.

He liked this, he realized after a few minutes. He actually liked the way a dick felt in his mouth, that perfect fit of the glans against his soft palate, right where his tongue could work the sensitive underside. He'd never been remotely religious, but that perfect match was almost as if by design. He enjoyed this position as well, being between Jack's knees and able to see his face, to see his reaction. It allowed him to experiment with pressure and suction, to see the impact of flicks of his tongue versus long slow slides of lips.

Jack was on the quiet side, but his face showed everything he was feeling. John was going to get a crick in his neck from trying to watch, but it would be worth it. One hand moved into John's hair, but there wasn't any pushing; it was more a caress. John wouldn't have minded a bit of pushing now -- from Jack it would have been weirdly hot.

His jaw was starting to ache, something he'd never considered before. He'd have to work on building up his stamina in this area. Just as he was considering backing off to give himself a break, Jack's breathing became heavy, and John felt a thrill of anticipation.

Jack was going to come, all because of him, God. He kept working his tongue, kept the suction the same, using his own experience on the receiving end of head to guide him through this part. He tugged lightly at Jack's balls with his free hand and increased the pressure of his mouth on the head, and then Jack's fingers tightened in his hair and his mouth fell open and he swore as he came. John was astonished that he could feel the moment of orgasm, could feel Jack's dick get slightly harder at the last moment. He kept working the glans gently with his mouth as the tip of the condom filled.

What would it be like without a barrier? He knew what his own semen tasted like -- every man did that at some point -- and he'd been lucky enough to be with a few women he didn't mind him coming in their mouths. But now he couldn't help but wonder what that would be like. Would he ever have a chance to find out?

He released Jack's dick and pressed his forehead into a denim-clad thigh. He closed his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed. Was this what he wanted? Casual sex with random strangers, always a thin sheet of latex between them -- while Sherlock watched?

Jack's hand petted his head and he looked up at last. Jack hauled him up for a kiss and John found himself leaning into it.

"That was bloody fantastic," Jack whispered. "I know I should reciprocate, but--"

"I'm not allowed," John said with a shrug. "Not tonight, anyway."

"So that's how it works, then? He shares you, but not the other way round?"

"More or less. He makes the rules."

"And that works for you?"

John hesitated a moment too long and Jack's face clouded. "You should tell him."

"Oh no, it's not -- I mean…" John looked away. "It's complicated."

Jack kissed him again, quickly. "Sorry. It's none of my concern, is it?"

John smiled and looked over to where Sherlock was engaged in some sort of serious-looking negotiation with Clara. God, what was wrong with him tonight? His emotions were all over the place. He'd done fairly well keeping emotion out of this whole insane affair, but something about tonight was breaking down barriers he hadn't even realized he'd erected in his mind.

Clara pulled Sherlock by the hand and led him back to the front side of the sofa. He sat on the end opposite Jack and nodded at him in greeting. Jack smiled back and then seemed to realize his penis was still hanging out; he scrambled to refasten his trousers, not even bothering to take the condom off first. Ellen sat on the edge of the sofa by Jack and leaned down to whisper something into his ear, giggling. John sat back on his heels and watched as Jack pulled her into his lap and kissed her, grinning.

That was what he'd always thought he wanted, a relationship like that. Well, he'd honestly never thought about it being quite so sexually open, but that was fine. He didn't mind that part, he was starting to realize; he even liked it. But this thing with Sherlock was nothing like that. It was definitely sexual, but it didn't seem Sherlock was interested in actually having sex with another person at all. John wasn't sure that was something he could live with in the long run.

He sighed and turned to look at Sherlock, who was watching him with a strange sort of amusement. At least John's emotions weren't written on his face as they usually were. Either that or Sherlock didn't care. John closed his eyes.

"Having fun?" He looked up to see Clara extend a hand down to him. He took it and let her pull him to standing. She'd acquired a man's button-down shirt from somewhere; it was halfway buttoned up, exposing a tantalizing amount of cleavage, and hung just to the tops of her thighs in a manner that was incredibly sexy. She was exactly the type of woman he never bothered to chat up in a bar -- completely out of his league.

She took his arm and pulled him toward Sherlock. "You've one more to do, right?" Her tone was conspiratorial. She turned him 180 degrees and pushed him backward into Sherlock's lap, and then leaned over them both, grinning. "He says that if I find another dick for you to suck, I can have you."

"Did he, now?" John grinned, trying to imagine those words coming out of Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock shifted under him a bit and spread his thighs to allow John's bottom to slide down between them.

"Don't move," Clara said, tapping John's nose with one sparkly-nailed finger. "I'll be right back."

John let his head fall back against Sherlock's shoulder and watched her disappear into the crowd. The idea of Sherlock offering John's body up to random people should probably bother him, but somehow it didn't. It didn't right now, at any rate, now that Sherlock's arms were winding around his chest to pull John back against him. John almost hummed with pleasure. Sherlock made a surprisingly warm and comfortable chair.

"We're heading home," Jack said, drawing their attention as he stood.

Ellen was redressing now; she looked up and smiled at them. "I suppose we'll see you around?"

"I hope so," John replied with a wink at Jack.

Jack grinned and blushed. The two of them walked away hand in hand, leaving John and Sherlock alone in the alcove.

John sighed. "I'm not getting up, so don't even bother to ask." Considering how much of the evening he'd spent on his knees, he deserved a little comfort.

"I wouldn't think of it. Having fun?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"I like watching you. And this evening is about you."

John smiled. "Is it?"

"Of course." He could almost hear the smile in Sherlock's voice. "Is this what you wanted?"

John paused. It wasn't, not really, but he couldn't think of a reason he could comfortably explain to Sherlock. "I want to try something different with the next one, assuming Clara is successful."

"She will be. She can be incredibly persuasive. Or hadn't you noticed?"

John grinned at that. "With the next one, I want you to tell me what to do."

"I've been doing that all night. All weekend, in fact."

"No, I mean I want you to… direct." He paused and stroked Sherlock's forearm with one hand. "Tell me what to do, the same way you tell the others when they're having sex with me."

"Ah." Sherlock sounded surprised and the arm around John tightened a bit. "I see."

"Is that all right?"

"Very much so." Pleasure was evident in his tone and John felt a small thrill at that. "So I have to ask: when did you learn how to put on a condom with your mouth?"

"Annie showed me, remember?"

"She showed you once, a week ago."

"I practiced a bit."

Sherlock's tone went from curious to incredulous. "Practiced? How?"

"On a banana." Sherlock snickered and John felt his cheeks heat. "It worked, didn't it?" The snicker was threatening to become an actual laugh now, and John rolled his eyes. "Oh, for -- not a word, Sherlock."

"I didn't say anything," Sherlock protested, and it sounded like it took effort to keep his voice even. "It's just that the visual image--"

"Shut up, you. I'm fucking serious."

Sherlock's chest was heaving with silent laughter. Fortunately for them both, the conversation was cut short by the sight of Clara heading back toward them, leading a young man.

"Oh, God," John said as they drew closer. The man was breathtaking, perhaps one of the best-looking people John had ever seen in person in his entire life. He was in his late twenties, tall with dark hair that was artfully arranged around a chiseled face. He was not only shirtless, but utterly ripped. If he didn't model for a living, it was a waste of all that beauty. "Thank you, Clara," John whispered.

Sherlock chuckled behind him.

"Even you have to appreciate that."

Sherlock's lips brushed John's ear. "I'm going to appreciate it even more when he comes in your mouth."

That voice and those words went straight to his cock, and John whimpered. Fucking hell. "Assuming he doesn't take one look at me and change his mind."

"Why would he do that?" Sherlock asked. It was clear that he was being completely sincere. John squeezed his fingers affectionately.

"Well, here we are," Clara said with a mischievous smile. "That's John and Sherlock. This is Christopher."

Christopher smiled, and God, he even had perfect teeth. "Hi. Clara explained everything."

"Good," Sherlock said. "Then there's no point wasting time on conversation."

Christopher's smile widened and Clara giggled. She winked at John and settled on the other side of the sofa to watch. Christopher's eyes fixed on John's as he reached down to unfasten the fly of his trousers. John stared, utterly mesmerized. How, again, was this his life? Fuck.

Christopher pushed his trousers down to his knees -- no pants, of course, and John gaped. His penis was not only on the good side of huge, but it was also perfect. He even heard a slight gasp from Sherlock at the sight, which was saying a lot, for him.

John forced his eyes back up to Christopher's face, which now wore a smirk. John couldn't help but grin: he was sandwiched between his not-quite-platonic boyfriend and the most gorgeous man he'd ever laid eyes on -- this evening was turning out very nicely indeed.

He fished the third condom from his pocket and leaned forward. His fingers wrapped around that unbelievably thick cock and tugged its owner towards him. He was half-hard already -- or at least John hoped he was; otherwise he was going to feel inadequate for the rest of his life -- and the glans was just peeking out from the foreskin. He was seized with an urge to slide the tip of his tongue just inside, just to see what it felt like.

But alas, not his destiny. He gave Christopher's cock several long strokes, watching it grow even bigger, and had a moment of panic. Would the condom even fit? Could he actually get this thing in his mouth without gagging? And hell, this was only the third blow job he'd given ever. This dick would have intimidated anyone, let alone someone who didn't even consider himself bisexual until a few days ago.

He felt Sherlock lean forward, his hands sliding down to John's thighs. "Condom," he whispered, as if he thought John might be considering skipping it.

John nodded and ripped open the package. Fortunately these things were fairly stretchy and he didn't have a problem rolling it on. He didn't dare use his mouth this time.

"Lick," Sherlock said. His fingers were stroking John's thighs lightly, almost as if he didn't realize he was doing it. "Go slowly for now. See how he responds."

It occurred to John that in a weird way, Sherlock actually had more experience with this than he did. He leaned forward and swept his tongue around the head, lingering at the underside with light flicks for a moment before moving down to the base. He licked one long stripe up again and Christopher hissed above him.

"Again," Sherlock said. "Use your hand at the base to steady it."

That helped tremendously, it turned out. John licked up the shaft again, letting his tongue flutter as he did.

"Ah, fuck," Christopher said as he shifted closer. He was standing between John's knees now, and between Sherlock's by default.

"Take the glans in your mouth, slowly. Not a lot of suction just yet. Keep using your tongue."

John nearly moaned at the combination of sensations: glorious hard cock in his mouth, Sherlock's mouth against his ear, his hands stroking John's thighs, his body pressed against him from behind. He slid a hand around Christopher's thigh and dug his fingers into an incredibly muscular arse. Jesus.

"How much can you take in?" Sherlock asked. His lips brushed the shell of John's ear in a way that could only be deliberate.

John worked his mouth down as far as he could, only pulling back when the sensation actually became unpleasant.

"Impressive." He was rewarded with a kiss just behind his ear. "But unnecessary, it seems. Focus your attention on the head and use your hand to make up the difference. Stroke up when your mouth moves down on the shaft, and twist your hand just a bit."

It seemed like a lot to coordinate at first, but it seemed to work instantly: Christopher made a hissing sound and rocked his hips slightly with John's movements. John settled into a rhythm after that, gradually building pressure. Christopher clenched and released his fists at his sides several times and his breathing was becoming ragged.

"He wants his hands on your head. Let him."

John released his grip on Christopher's arse and guided one of his hands to his head. "Oh, yeah," Christopher said, stroking his head as if he were an affectionate pet for a moment before sliding it down to the back of his skull. This interfered with Sherlock's direction, unfortunately; he had to move to the other ear. That hand exerted pressure, holding John's head in place while Christopher pressed his hips forward slowly, as if testing to see if this would be allowed. John tried to relax, but it was nearly impossible, and a moment later he was on the verge of gagging.

Christopher's hand jerked away from his head, taking a few of John's hairs with it. "None of that," Sherlock said, his tone sharp, and it was a moment before John realized it was directed at Christopher, that it was Sherlock who had pulled his hand away.

"Sorry, sorry," Christopher grunted, and John went back to work with a renewed appreciation for breathing. "He's just so fucking good at this, God."

John would have grinned if he could. His confidence bolstered, he ramped up the pressure, using his tongue to massage the glans as he worked his lips down the shaft as far as he could. He was mastering that counter-stroke now, his hands sliding easily on the condom through his own saliva.

"You are good at this," Sherlock whispered. "You hardly need me." John reached down to catch his hand at that and squeezed it. God, he needed Sherlock. It was just as well his mouth was occupied, because he had no idea what he would have said otherwise.

Christopher moaned and John managed to look up enough to see his mouth open, his face contorted with pleasure. He was getting close. John wondered what Sherlock wanted him to do.

"Oh, fuck, I…" Christopher said though gritted teeth.

"Finish him," John heard.

It took less than a minute. John steadily increased the pace and pressure, and then Christopher's hands were on John's shoulders as he cried out, shuddering into John's mouth. It seemed like an impressive orgasm and John was rock hard from listening to it, from feeling that cock pulse under his tongue.

He leaned back against Sherlock and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. God, he must look a sight after that. He was stunned by how much he'd enjoyed it, though. It was incredibly ironic: if anyone had ever told him he'd one day love sucking cock, he would have decked them.

"Beautiful," Sherlock said, his arms sliding around John's chest again, his voice practically a purr.

John's dick got impossibly harder. Now that he thought about it, it was unclear whether it was the cocksucking he liked, or rather Sherlock's mouth against his ear, telling him to do such dirty things.

Ah, who cared? The end result was the same either way.

He grinned up at Christopher, who was already refastening his trousers. "Thanks for that, gents. Clara, I owe you one."

"I'll keep it in mind," she said. John turned to look at her; he'd forgotten she was there. Her hand was between her thighs and her eyes were blown wide and dark. She'd clearly enjoyed that as much as anyone.

She stood and crossed to Christopher, indicating with a jerk of her head that he should go. He grinned and left, and she turned to face John and Sherlock.

"My turn. Up now, trousers off." She was smiling, but her tone made it clear she meant business.

John extricated himself from Sherlock's arms and pushed to his feet. He kicked his shoes aside and unfastened his trousers. Though they were in this darkened alcove, there were people everywhere. Anyone passing by could look in and watch his trousers and pants fall to his knees, watch him kick them off. And yet he stripped anyway, until he was standing there half-naked with an erection. Even after years in the army, he'd never felt this amount of comfort with nudity. It was bizarre and a bit liberating -- as long as he didn't think too hard about it.

"Sherlock, budge over a bit," she said, her eyes firmly fixed on John. He heard movement behind him and couldn't help but smile at the quickness with which Sherlock had responded to that order. Best to put that thought aside for now. "Unbutton me."

"With pleasure," he whispered. When all the buttons were unfastened he pushed the shirt off her shoulders, his eyes sliding over the curves of her body.

She wrapped her fingers around his prick and tugged him toward her, and he gasped. "It seems a shame to exclude your boyfriend. So we won't. Not exactly, anyway."

John didn't have time to respond with anything other than a look of shock before she turned him and pushed him backward onto Sherlock's lap once again.

"Knees together, Sherlock. John, stay just like that. Oh damn, who has a condom?"

Sherlock dug into his pocket right under John's arse and produced one. She ripped it open and rolled it on, and climbed onto the sofa, straddling them both.

"I almost came watching that, you know," she said, her eyes gleaming. "And though what I really want is to be between you getting fucked on both ends, this will have to do." She raised her hips and lowered herself onto John's cock.

He closed his eyes and exhaled. Oh this part: this was one of the best parts of sex, this moment of entry, this breach of another person's body. Her felt her mouth brush against his, then her hair brush his cheek. He heard her kiss Sherlock and felt him turn his head away from her, and she laughed.

"I know, you don't participate. No one else gets to fuck you, do they, Sherlock? Lucky for John."

John bit his lip at that. If only he were so lucky.

She wriggled against him, trying to find the best leverage on the slippery sofa. The position was awkward, and he wasn't sure what exactly she was trying to do until she began moving. She'd slid down his cock only three times before there was a soft "Damn" and a hand moving behind him as Sherlock adjusted the position of his dick in his trousers.

John's mouth fell open at the realization: Sherlock was hard and now John's bare arse was pressed right against his erection. With every movement of her hips, Clara was rocking John's arse right against Sherlock's cock, or rather, was ensuring that Sherlock's cock was pressing right into the cleft of John's arse, Jesus fucking hell.

He could feel Sherlock's breath against his neck, hot and even, as if he was doing his best to control it. What John would give to see him lose that control, just once.

Clara shifted her hips slightly and then change in angle made John see stars. God, how was she doing that? He was going to be ruined for sex for the rest of his life when this thing was over.

Best not to think about that.

"Can I touch you?" he asked and she nodded, apparently somewhat beyond speech now herself. His fingers circled her clitoris without really making contact, for fear he'd do it incorrectly.

"More, faster," she said, and he did. She changed the angle of her movements a bit more, now clearly focusing on herself; his arse wasn't being ground into Sherlock quite as directly anymore.

Sherlock's hands settled at John's waist and pushed him forward enough to put some space between them. John swallowed his disappointment, focusing instead on Clara's breasts bouncing right in front of his face. He cupped one with his free hand, but she was moving too much for him to do anything else.

He'd been so distracted that he hadn't realized how close she was to coming until she pushed his fingers away and worked her clitoris hard, bucking against him. He leaned back against Sherlock, already feeling her body start to clench his dick. He was close now; the combination of her cries and the friction and Sherlock's erection pressing against his arse and all the pent-up sexual tension from the evening pushed him incredibly close to the edge. He didn't have enough leverage on the ground to push up against her, instead he dug fingers into her hips and tried to control her movements, to direct her body to where he so desperately wanted pressure.

They fell off of Sherlock's lap and wound up on the floor, her on her back with her legs wrapped around his waist and him pounding into her roughly. He was close, so close, and he hoped she'd forgive him this, but God he just needed to come. Her arms were around him now and she was howling, so loudly that he'd later wonder why they hadn't attracted a crowd.

It was only then that he realized she was coming again, and then he was there with her, his thrusts becoming erratic and finally disintegrating into pressure, pushing as deep inside her as he could get. They lay there in a heap for nearly a minute, both of them hot and a bit sweaty.

"Sorry if I got a bit too enthusiastic there," he whispered, pushing himself up.

"Oh honey, there's no such thing," she replied with a laugh. "It's what I love about you boys who go both ways. You're not afraid to fuck hard."

He laughed and looked away. Shit.

She wriggled underneath him and he took the hint to pull out, wincing slightly as he did. He sat back on his heels and pulled the condom off, then turned to look at Sherlock. Sherlock smiled, though his expression was incredibly controlled, intentionally impassive. He looked cool, completely collected, but John knew better.

Clara sat up and leaned against the sofa, grinning at Sherlock. "Well? Did I take good care of him?"

"I believe you did," Sherlock replied. He was still reclining into the sofa with his thighs spread, one hand curled into a fist over his groin.

"Have I earned the right to watch?" She raised one eyebrow suggestively.

"Watch what?"

Her eyes flicked over to John and back. "Whatever happens next."

"What happens next is that John and I are going home." He smiled coolly at her.

"So the voyeur doesn't like to be watched either? Pity. Can't blame me for asking, can you?" She plucked her shirt from the floor and pulled it around her before standing. "Thanks for the party, boys. See you next time." She winked at John and walked away, her hips swaying under the fabric of the shirt.

John sighed. Two weeks ago that would have been the highlight of his sex life to date. He would have thought he could die happy having been so thoroughly shagged. But now -- now he had no idea what to think.

He fumbled for his trousers and pulled them on, feeling Sherlock's eyes on him. He waited until he was fully dressed before looking down at him. "Going to do something about that?" His eyes slid down to the bulge at Sherlock's groin.

"Don't worry about it. Let's go."

The cab ride was quiet; they both seemed lost in thought. The evening had been a strange and enlightening experience for John, though it left him even more confused about what was happening between him and Sherlock. He knew he should just ask, should get it out in the open. Do you want to fuck me? Because I'd like that, I really would.

But he wasn't sure he could handle it if Sherlock said no. And at this point, John rather suspected that would be the answer. After two weeks and multiple opportunities, Sherlock had done little more than brush a few kisses on John's neck. He seemed satisfied with watching John have sex and jerking off in private. In fact, tonight he'd seemed more collected and certain of what he wanted than he had the entire weekend.

John was more certain of what he wanted as well, but it was looking more and more like he wasn't going to get it.

*****

"Sherlock."

Sherlock stopped and turned to face him. Light from the street lamp outside the flat streamed through the window and lit his face starkly, making him appear even more angular than usual.

John took a deep breath. "Thanks for tonight. I hope you enjoyed it as well."

Sherlock's smile was oddly unreadable. "It was interesting."

"Interesting," John repeated. "You watched me suck off three strangers, and it was just interesting?"

Sherlock half-laughed and looked away. "If you're asking if I enjoyed it as much as what we've done before, the answer is no. But this wasn't about me tonight. It was about you. And as you made very clear this morning, this isn't just about what I get out of it."

John smiled at that. "But it's not supposed to be entirely one-sided either. You did get something out of it, didn't you?"

"I suppose I did get a bit chafed there at the end."

"I'm serious, Sherlock."

"So am I. The zipper on these trousers probably left a permanent imprint."

John winced. "Ah. Sorry." I could kiss it better.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Of course. I told you before."

"You didn't answer when I asked before."

John's lips quirked into something like a smile. "It was definitely interesting."

"Glad to hear it," Sherlock said, turning away.

John gritted his teeth. Sherlock knew John was lying and he was letting him do it, walking away rather than pressing for more. "Don't."

Sherlock stopped, looked slightly over his shoulder. "Don't what?"

"If you're planning to close that door and jerk off by yourself, then don't."

"Can't something in all of this be private?"

John rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever. If that's what you want, then good night." He turned and headed toward the stairs.

"John." Sherlock sounded annoyed, and John was glad. "I already did."

John turned back to him. "Already did what?"

"While you and Clara were on the floor. I was close from the friction alone, and when you had her on the floor, I just… " He ran a hand through his hair and laughed. "I didn't think I could do it that quickly. I barely got my trousers fastened back up in time."

"Why didn't you want us to see?"

"I didn't want her to see. I don't mind you watching. In fact, I like you watching." He smiled, and John felt a flutter in his belly.

"I like you watching as well, but I think you know that."

"I do." There was a pause, and John's breath caught in his throat. At last Sherlock's expression melted into the familiar calculating one. "We'll go back to the usual way tomorrow night, if you don't mind."

"The usual way being you find someone to fuck me in a private room while you watch?" He smirked.

"Precisely."

So that was how it was going to be. John sighed. "It's a date, then. Good night, Sherlock."

It wasn't until he was stretched out in his own bed that it occurred to him that Sherlock may have been lying about wanking in the club, that he might be in his own bed right now with a hand curled around his dick.

It was at least clear that Sherlock was keeping John at arm's length in a way he hadn't before. Even when he'd touched John tonight, it had been deliberate, almost manipulative. And John was… he had no idea what he was feeling. Neither of them was being honest with each other at the moment, though, and that wasn't a good sign.

John closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. They had tomorrow night and then he had a few days to think. He was going to need it.

[End of part 5]
Chapter End Notes:
There's a little shout-out in this fic to [info]foxestacado, who taught me how to cheek condoms at [info]lubricus last summer. Yes, using a banana. Shut up, it works. ;-)