The Doctor in the Boot - 3/4

[mugenmine]

Title: The Doctor in the Boot 
Author: mugenmine

Betas: duh_i_read, lady_t_220 & thisprettywren

Fandom: Sherlock BBC

Pairing: John/Sherlock

Rating: NC-17/Explicit

Word Count: 5K (10.5K total)

Contains: Dub-con, Bondage, Edging & Angst (for good measure) 

Summary: “Breathe, John.” Sherlock said.

John exhaled and closed his eyes and tried to resign himself for the tenth time to the fact that he had to endure it now, that this was out of his authority, and that this would only be over when Sherlock determined it so. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth slowly, until he gained control of his breath and his heart, and managed to settle again.

LJ: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 

Read on AO3

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John knelt on the cold tiled floor, stripped down to his pants. He was thankful that he had been allowed that bit of modesty. Starting out naked before Sherlock would have been too much all at once. His wrists were bound behind his back in leather cuffs and chained to the metal rung in the floor. Sherlock had used his own belt to bind John’s upper arms together and the tight loop forced John’s chest out and kept him exposed. 

He hated being locked like this, unable to recoil or to pull inward and away. Being bound like this brought old wounds back to life; he felt the tightness in the scar on his shoulder and the burn of the stretch, but he could bear it, like he would bear everything else. John spent the long minutes under the weight of Sherlock’s stare, testing his restraints and pulling on the chain, trying to feel his range of movement. There was about a foot and a half of chain between the cuffs and the floor and that length would keep him trapped on his knees.  

John couldn’t conjure up the focus that had come so easily to him before. There was an innate focus and calmness that came with the weight of a gun in his hand, or shifting into the middle of a fight, or diving headfirst into the unknown with Sherlock, his mind fixed on the task of keeping Sherlock alive. But this, he had no idea how to navigate this landscape and it scared the hell out of him. He needed someone to move beside him in this space, to lead him through it, while stopping every so often to push him onto a land mine.

He shivered and sat back on his heels, trying to ease the pull on his shoulders and the pain in his knees. They would be bruised by the end of this night. He would have mementos of the flesh to remind him of his first time with Sherlock. Because this was their first time. John was floored that it was actually happening. The morning, weeks ago, that John spent tied up in his bedroom had been an awkward start, but this, this was consummation. John’s stomach began to twist into knots and it became harder to breathe. He pulled against the chain, as the inevitability of it all began to sink in.

“Breathe, John.” Sherlock said.

John exhaled and closed his eyes and tried to resign himself for the tenth time to the fact that he had to endure it now, that this was out of his authority, and that this would only be over when Sherlock determined it so. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth slowly, until he gained control of his breath and his heart, and managed to settle again. 

“Why are you doing this?” He asked Sherlock. He frowned at his question, worried that his words sounded like a plea to stop, and he didn’t want that. He had no idea what Sherlock’s answer would be, and he didn’t know if something like that should be left unasked. He looked at Sherlock and waited, trying not to focus on the black leather satchel that lay at Sherlock’s side. He didn’t want to know what was inside of it. So he asked him the question instead.

Sherlock sat cross-legged on the tile before John, his wool coat folded beneath him. He pulled the satchel onto his lap and played with the buckle as he spoke. “I’ve been a bit careless with you. I always believe I know how you will react to the things I do to you. Yet there’s always something I seem to miss.” Sherlock stopped and studied John for awhile. “I don’t want to be wrong in this. I find it- I know this is important to you.” 

John nodded, not sure what to make of the answer given. He was surprised that Sherlock had given it that much thought and that much weight. It was not what he had expected the answer to be. 

“Are you ready?” Sherlock asked. 

John shook his head. He was in no way ready. 

He held his breath as Sherlock laid the contents of the satchel in the space between them. First came the things that would restrain him, a thick silicone bit and a roll of gaffer tape. God, he thought, not again. Then came the things that would torture him, a thin rubber cock ring, a pair of nipple clamps linked onto a long chain, and his heart dropped when Sherlock removed the cursed plug that he been had been tortured with once before. Bloody hell. He hated that thing. 

John had hated every fucking minute the first time Sherlock had kept the plug inside of him, but then he had spent the rest of the week fantasising about little else. He felt the colour rising in his face as he scanned the objects and wondered what each would feel like, what all of it would feel like when it was on him, and around him, and inside of him, and despite his apprehension and growing dread of having to bear it all, he couldn’t help but start to become aroused. 

“It seems my choice of equipment is already having the desired effect.” Sherlock said. “I’d best get this on you before you get too excited.”  Sherlock picked up the cock ring. He reached forward and grabbed John’s thigh. “Hold still now.” 

Sherlock worked in silence. He shifted John forward and tugged his pants down around his thighs. John tried not to squirm under Sherlock’s assault, too mortified to protest. Sherlock rubbed his lubed hand over John’s cock and balls and John licked his lips and looked away. 

“Have you worn one of these before?”

John shook his head quickly. 

“Then it should be quite an experience. It just slips around at the base of your cock right here, behind your tes-” 

“I know where it goes!” John yelled as Sherlock fitted him with the ring, trying to ignore the fact that his cock was responding so quickly to Sherlock’s touch. It was bad enough without the commentary, and Sherlock seemed like he was enjoying himself too much. John looked down at his erection, embarrassed and helplessly aroused. 

“You said you’d never worn one before.” Sherlock pulled John’s pants back up over his hips, covering him again. John held his tongue, refusing to be goaded into a response.

“You know what’s next, don’t you?”   

John shook his head and refused to answer the question. His erection strained against his underwear, and he shuddered, his face growing even hotter. He cursed himself, hating that even now, all he could do was blush like a damn school boy. 

Sherlock held up the bit and the gaffer tape. 

“Why do you make me do this?” John’s voice cracked on the question.

“Because it makes you horribly uncomfortable.”  Sherlock placed the bit and the tape before John. “And because I want to see if I’m right. Now choose.” 

John eyes widened. “If you’re right? You seriously think I have a preference?” 

“Oh, I know you do.” Sherlock pointed to the bit. “Here, I’ll make it easy for you.”  

John blushed and nodded, reluctantly. 

“Of course.” Sherlock grinned. “I was right.”

“It’s not a bloody choice, when gaffer tape is always option two!”

John clenched his teeth as Sherlock picked up the bit. He locked his jaw and shifted back, but there was nowhere to go. His fingers searched the length of the chain until he reached the padlock and the rung.

“Isn’t that supposed to be- smaller?” John said through his clenched teeth. The bit looked hard and was thick enough that it would keep his mouth wedged open wide. Steel O-rings linked the bit to the leather straps that would keep it locked inside his mouth, and he knew it would hurt.

“I had this one made especially for you.” Sherlock answered. “I know you like to be gagged properly.”

John blushed, stunned into silence by Sherlock’s bluntness. Who the hell says that? What the fuck does that even mean? He wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or horrified, or if Sherlock was taking the mick out of him. He shook his head. “I- I don’t. Sherlock no-”

 John struggled as his head was pulled back. He glared up at Sherlock, inhaling fast and hard through his teeth. His eyes flashed bright in silent challenge and he shook his head again. This time Sherlock would have to work harder for it. This time round, he wasn’t just going to relent and let Sherlock gag him. 

Finally, Sherlock sighed and lowered the bit. He stared at John and waited.   

“Alright, John. Since you’re not going to let me put this in your mouth right now, there’s something else that was suggested that I might try with you.” Sherlock said. “Will you do this for me?”

It took a few moments for John to realise that there was a question attached to the end of Sherlock’s sentence. He wasn’t sure why, after all of this, Sherlock felt that he needed to ask his permission for anything. It was strange that Sherlock had chosen the word suggested, but the quietness of the question seemed even stranger. What was he agreeing to? Allowing himself to be burned alive? Letting Sherlock leave him in this cold place? He had no idea, but he nodded anyway, and then Sherlock leaned in and kissed him. 

It was brief and oddly chaste, tasted faintly of cigarettes, and over much too quickly. John stared, wide-eyed at Sherlock and wondered what the hell had just happened. Sherlock sat back on his heels, pressed the back of his hand against his mouth, and slipped into thought. And as John’s mind spun a little out of control, Sherlock pulled himself back up from his own reverie and kissed him again.

John had never been kissed by a man before, and he never really expected that he would be. Sherlock kissed like maybe a boy would, tentative and soft, pulling back to regard him and then leaning in to kiss him again. John was used to taking the lead and he wanted to press forward, to show Sherlock how it would be good to kiss maybe harder, to bite even, to take him by the tongue, but he feared that if he moved at all, Sherlock would come to his senses and stop. So he yielded to the kiss, to the taste of Sherlock, to the tongue that sought out his own, and John decided then that if this was all there was to be tonight, then it would be enough. John opened his eyes as Sherlock pulled back. 

“Thank you.” Sherlock whispered, breathless. He placed a quick kiss on John’s forehead and then forced the bit between John’s teeth.

John groaned as the bit filled his mouth, still overwhelmed and confused by the kiss, and the taste of Sherlock still lingered on his tongue. He fought to get his teeth around the bit as Sherlock pulled the straps tight and buckled it firmly in place.

John shook his head and tried to work the bit forward, to stop the ache that already started at the corners of his mouth. He glared at Sherlock and tried to voice his discomfort, but his words were lost. He hated the muffled sounds that he made now. John shut his eyes tight. You fucking had this made for me?

“You can manage it, John.”  Sherlock told him.

John shook his head, moaning in protest. Sherlock took him in for a moment, and then acquiesced.

“Alright, open your mouth wide.” Sherlock said. “Wider.”

John did as he was told and Sherlock gripped the O-rings and tugged the bit forward.

“Bite down, now.”

John obeyed again, he dug his teeth into the bit and held it in place. It still filled him, and if he screamed or opened his mouth too wide it would slip back, but for now, as long as he kept his teeth clenched around it, he could control how much pain he would endure.  

“You’re doing rather well with all of this.”  

John sighed. He was surprised and softened by the words, suddenly aware that he needed them. He leaned forward, until his forehead came to rest against Sherlock’s chest and he wondered if Sherlock was being gentler now, trying to make up for everything that had happened at the start of this bizarre night. He exhaled slowly, already so tired, and he hoped that perhaps they could just stay like this for awhile longer so he could catch up. Why the hell did you kiss me? His eyes slipped closed as Sherlock’s fingers tangled through his hair and they remained in that moment until he calmed again. 

He protested softly when Sherlock eased him back, not ready to disconnect and start again. John sat back on his heels, feeling more vulnerable now that the bit was in place. His jaw ached from grinding his teeth into the silicone and it was almost impossible to swallow. He could feel the thin trails of saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth and onto his chest and he was mortified at how he must look, unable to control his own body.

“Has anyone ever used something like this on you before?” Sherlock picked up the nipple clamps. John shook his head and his breath quickened again. He quite liked it when his girlfriends had kissed and bit at his nipples, but he’d never thought about doing something like this. This will hurt like hell. John shuddered at the thought of metal closing onto him.

“This particular clamp is quite cruel.”  Sherlock grinned and held the steel clamp close to John’s face for better viewing. “I was told that it’s not recommended for beginners. But I thought, how bad could it really be?”

John narrowed his eyes as he took in the device. They looked like tiny pliers to him, hooked onto a chain. The jaws of the clamp were lined with rubber, but it seemed like it would do little to ease the sting of the bite. How am I not a beginner?

“It’s called a clover clamp, or a butterfly clamp. I suppose it looks a bit like a clover, not sure where they came up with butterfly though, doesn’t really look like a butterfly, does it.” Sherlock continued his rapid pace. “This part here, grips onto your nipple.” Sherlock closed the clamp onto his forefinger and let go, and the metal jaws clung tight around his fingertip, the chain swayed back and forth like a pendulum.  

“The wonderful thing about this, is that if you pull on the chain, the grip gets increasingly tighter.” Sherlock tugged on the chain, smiling as his fingertip turned red, squeezed between the jaws. “So each time you move or gasp or shudder, the pressure will get a little bit more unbearable. It’s quite remarkable, isn’t it? Let’s give them a try.”    

Sherlock closed his fingers onto John’s nipple and John strained back, struggling away from the sudden assault. With his bound arms forcing his chest forward, his nipples were at the mercy of Sherlock’s fingers and teeth and tongue, and Sherlock teased him with all three, biting and tugging until John’s nipples grew painfully erect and sore under the assault. The heady mix of pain and pleasure brought him dangerously close to release.  

John groaned against the bit when Sherlock abruptly pulled back, his nipples red and tender and at attention. Sherlock closed the first clamp slowly onto the base of John’s nipple and John bit back the scream that was building inside of him. The pressure started out delicious at first, and then became sharp and stinging as the clamp closed tight around his tender skin. John fought to hold himself still as Sherlock closed the second clamp into place.

This new sensation was almost too much to bear. The clamps pinched tight, and each twitch and gasp felt as if Sherlock’s teeth were still biting down onto him.  The chain between the clamps hung in a low arc across John’s chest and tugged painfully at the slightest movement. John held his breath and fought to keep himself from shuddering, the confusion of pain and arousal driving him mad. Sherlock ran his fingers through John’s hair, but it did little to help calm him this time.

“Breathe, John.” Sherlock said and John’s sudden gasp turned into a stifled cry as his breath sent the horrid chain pulling once more. 

“Try to relax now. We’ve done this once before.”  Sherlock unlocked the chain that secured John’s cuffs to the floor and shifted John forward, away from the rung. He closed his hand onto the back of John’s neck and guided John’s head slowly forward and down to the tile. 

If the bit hadn’t been in his mouth, John might have argued Sherlock’s use of the word ‘we’, but instead he kept his eyes closed and tried to quiet himself. The weight of Sherlock’s hand on his neck helped him; it was steady and constant and Sherlock waited out the minutes until John’s breathing slowed, before he pulled his hand away. John’s focus shifted between the distracting sting of the clamps biting into his sore nipples and trying to prepare himself for Sherlock’s next inevitable assault. He knew what was coming. First the fingers and then the plug. It had been traumatic the first time Sherlock had forced him to endure it, but it was a known entity now, and John hoped that this time it would be easier. 

He still cried out when Sherlock’s slick fingers entered him, though more from the built up panic and the fact that Sherlock had started without warning, than from any pain. Sherlock worked him gently, first one finger, then two, applying more lube before stretching him even wider. When the hard, smooth tip of the plug pushed inside of him, his whole body trembled. John relaxed the best he could, despite the growing ache in his nipples and his cock, thankful for the first time that he had something to bite down on. 

It had been easier this time, maybe, a little. John knew what was expected of his body and what the plug entering him would feel like. He knew that he could bear it. He managed to relax enough that parts of the process actually felt kind of good. He kept his forehead against the floor, afraid to move. Despite the indignity of being head down with his arse in the air, John had settled enough so that he was almost still again, but he knew that if he shifted even a bit, all of the pain and maddening pleasure would come rushing back at once.

“You know you can’t stay like that.” Sherlock stood and latched his fingers around the O-ring at the side of John’s bit and pulled him up onto his knees.

The firm grip on his bit kept John’s head tilted back and his body held against Sherlock’s side. John squirmed in Sherlock’s hold, forced to stare up at him, unable to pull away. The plug edged against his prostate and each twitch and sudden breath sent waves of building pleasure through him. Each shudder pinched the clamps tighter, torturing his nipples, and the mix of sensations washed through his body and down to his aching cock. Then it all started again. John breathed hard through his nose, lost in this perpetual loop. He struggled to stay focused, each wave driving him more and more desperate. John reached back, his fingers searching for the rung in the floor, for something solid to hold onto. 

If Sherlock turned the plug on, it would end him. John was sure of it. There was no way he could handle all of this at once, not with the clamps and not with the cock ring that made him harder than he had ever been. He was already reeling and Sherlock hadn’t even started yet. You are going to kill me. There’s no fucking way I can do this. John groaned against the gag, shook his head, begged for Sherlock to stop. He strained against his restraints, pleading for a few more moments, pleading for Sherlock to slow down. 

He flinched as Sherlock reached down and wiped the drool from his chin, so lost and overwhelmed that he didn’t register Sherlock’s hand until it was against his face. Just wait, Please…

“Tonight, I’m going to teach you about patience.” Sherlock said. “I know you don’t want to learn it, but we’re going to go through the lessons, because I think you’re looking to be taken apart.”

 The plug buzzed to life inside of him, quickly at first and John flinched hard and dug his teeth into the bit.  Sherlock lowered the intensity until it just barely brushed against John’s prostate. It was more like a nagging, impossible itch that could never be scratched and John moved his hips shamelessly, desperate to shift the plug inside of him. He didn’t care if it moved deeper or further away, he just needed to be anywhere but the infuriating edge of pleasure that he was balanced on.

 Sherlock released his grip on John’s bit and moved behind him. John could do nothing but struggle and protest as Sherlock pulled him down onto his lap and held him tight. He groaned as Sherlock’s hand reached around and closed around his cock, the fingers stroked him far too slowly as the pleasure began to build. John writhed under Sherlock’s assault, he pleaded for Sherlock to stroke him harder, faster. Please. Oh God, please. He pumped his hips, no longer caring if he seemed wanton or shameless, he just needed so badly to come. He arched his back, straining against Sherlock, his orgasm starting to peak. He was so close now, so deliciously close and then Sherlock switched off the plug and pulled his hand away from John’s cock, denying all sensation. John screamed as Sherlock tugged hard on the chain stretched between between his nipples, the sharp pain ripping him back from the precipice.

John gasped for breath, red-faced and dizzy, his erection painfully hard. The bit slipped back against the corners of his mouth and he grunted against the silicone, unable to dig his teeth into it and work it forward again. Tears of frustration slipped down his face as his jaw began to ache once more.

“This is about patience, John. I’m not going to let you come for quite some time. This is your first lesson. How does it feel?”

I fucking hate you.

John lost it then. He thrashed, trapped in Sherlock’s embrace. Despite the bit in his mouth, he rained down every curse he could think of until he was out of breath. He tried to pull away, so frustrated and so furious, but Sherlock would not let him go and John was reduced to nothing more than a petulant, squirming child held on Sherlock’s lap. He raged until he wore himself out, and then collapsed back against Sherlock’s chest, gasping in defeat. And when his breathing finally calmed, and his heart slowed once more, and his head began to clear, Sherlock pressed the remote and the plug started up inside of John again. 

“Alright, let’s do this again.” 

Please, I cant…

John cried out in despair, fighting to pull away, hopelessly trapped. He shifted his hips, trying to move the plug deeper inside of him, the slow vibration tormenting him mercilessly. It was not enough, not nearly enough. It would never fucking be enough. He whined against the bit as Sherlock applied even more lube to his hands and went at him again. Sherlock closed his hand around John’s erection and pulled at him slowly, stroking his cock from base to tip, always upwards, the pleasure building and stopping each time his fingers reached the tip of John’s erection. Please let me… John moaned with each teasing pull, rocking his hips with the infuriating strokes, struggling to go faster. He could feel his orgasm peaking again, and this time he just had to… Please, let me this time. John closed his eyes, dizzy with the building pressure and then Sherlock’s hand slowed and stopped, still wrapped around John’s cock. John thrust himself against Sherlock’s fingers, shamelessly fucking Sherlock’s hand, desperate for release. He screamed in frustration as the plug went dead inside of him and Sherlock pulled his hand away. 

“Patience, John.” Sherlock steadied John’s hips and held him still. “Just breathe.” 

John thrashed, so violently that he almost tumbled from Sherlock’s hold. I don’t want to fucking breathe! He sobbed as Sherlock’s arms wrapped around him and reeled him back in again. John dropped his head back against Sherlock’s shoulder, gasping for breath.  

“Once you’ve calmed yourself. We’ll do this again. One more time. Certainly you can manage that.”

John shook his head. There was no way he could manage it. He ached for Sherlock to move his hands lower, to touch him just one more time. Just one more time. 

“I’m going to remove this now,” Sherlock closed his hand onto John’s bit, “but if you say one word I’ll silence you again. Do you understand?”

John nodded, desperate to get the bit out of his mouth. He held still as Sherlock unbuckled the clasp and eased the bit from between his teeth. John moved his jaw slowly, wincing at the ache as he closed his teeth together. He closed his eyes, inhaling slowly, filling his lungs and trying in vain to calm once more.  

“You have to really try this time.” Sherlock said. He spoke the command against the back of John’s neck and John felt the words push through his skin. “I will let you come when I think you’ve worked hard enough for it.”  

John bit his lip to keep from speaking. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be trying to do. Wasn’t enduring enough? He was so hard and aching that the moment Sherlock’s hands were on him, and the plug was switched on again, he would lose his mind.  

“Sherlock, please-”  

Sherlock’s hand slammed over John’s mouth, cutting off his plea, and the force of it wrenched John’s head back. John shook his head, trying in vain to escape the smothering hand. He groaned, inhaling quickly through his nose, making himself dizzy. 

“What did I say about speaking?” Sherlock said. “Were you even listening to me?”

John tried to nod, struggling to move his head. 

“If you’re ready to disobey me, then I suppose you’re ready enough to begin again.” Sherlock switched on the plug once more. 

No, I didn’t mean- John’s words were lost against Sherlock’s fingers. With his head wrenched back, John stared up at the cracks across the ceiling. The lines began to blur and bleed together as he blinked back his tears. 

John arched his back, the plug driving deep inside of him again as Sherlock stroked him with one hand and silenced him with the other.  John reached his fingers wide, pulled against the cuffs, trying to keep still, trying not to come. How many times did he have to have Sherlock’s hand down the front of his pants, and how many times did Sherlock have to make him come before they were more than just what they were? John tried to distract himself with the calculations for that one, but with Sherlock’s fingers around his cock John could barely remember how he’d ended up here. He moaned against Sherlock, his mouth half open now. His tongue flicked against Sherlock’s hand, tasting his fingertips, trying hard not to bite. He fought to keep still, to just stay on Sherlock’s lap. John reached back and grabbed Sherlock’s leg. He dug his fingers into Sherlock’s thigh, trying to anchor himself. 

Sherlock flinched under John’s hand. He stopped his assault and gripped John’s wrist.

“If you grab me again, I’ll bind your fingers together.” Sherlock hissed. “Do you want that?”

John shook his head. He closed his hands into fists and shook his head once more. He tried not to imagine Sherlock forcing his hands together, lacing the rough leather cord around his fingers until they were wrapped so tight that he couldn’t pull them apart. The image sent a shudder through him and into his painfully hard cock, and when Sherlock began to stroke him again, it took barely a second for John to tumble over the edge of his orgasm, driven there by the threat of further bondage alone. Sherlock stopped the plug and his tormenting hands, squeezing down tight on the base of John’s cock to try to stifle his release but it was too late. 

Sherlock pulled the clamps, snapping them from John’s chest as he climaxed, and the searing pain of the blood rushing back into John’s nipples ripped a scream from his throat. John sobbed against Sherlock’s hand as he came on a blinding wave of pain, and when he had emptied his semen onto his stomach and onto Sherlock’s fingers, he was neither sated nor satisfied. John twitched through his ruined orgasm, held tight in Sherlock’s arms, stomach aching, still painfully aroused. 

Sherlock frowned at the turn of events. “Did I say we were finished?”

John shook his head, gasping and incoherent.

“You’re going to have to pay for that, you know.” Sherlock said.

John nodded, too exhausted to do anything else.

                                                                                                              LJ: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 

                                                                                                              Read on AO3