Prompt originally received 2014-08-16. I may have taken a bit of liberty with 'toy'. But I've always wanted to write about one of these so… :3

Cross-posted from AO3 on time.

Sherlock wasn't sure how no one ever heard the machine he had in their dorm room. Perhaps it was because it was too noisy in the halls and people too busy to get to their rooms. Perhaps it was because he had it running so frequently that it was familiar by now. Perhaps they were as unobservant with their hearing as they were with their sight. It didn't matter. As long as they remained uninterrupted, their ignorance was his bliss.

The steady whirring of the machine was temporarily drowned out by a high whine from his boyfriend, and Sherlock looked up from where a slim dildo was being pushed in a deliciously slow pace into John's slicked hole. The other young man's eyes were glazed and teary, his mouth slack around his gag and spilling copious amounts of drool. The pillow on either side of the blond head was soaked with spit and sweat and Sherlock bent over his boyfriend to sniff the damp mess, closing his eyes as he inhaled the musk.

John moaned weakly, twitching in the belts keeping his limbs spread to the four corners of his bed. Sherlock guessed he may have been trying to say 'Please'. A noble effort, one he understood.

Sherlock had had a few classes already today, long ones at that, and when he'd left this morning, he'd bound his still-sleeping love to his bed, and set their fucking machine to its lowest level. The to-be doctor may have believed the low setting to be a merciful decision on the functioning sociopath's part, but it was for nothing more than a truly selfish reason: a higher setting would make John dry orgasm, and Sherlock didn't want to miss seeing that happen.

Moving back to the foot of the bed, the genius turned off the machine and waited for the dildo to still at the furthest point of its rotation before he crawled up between John's spread legs. He'd been hard since he walked in just a few minutes ago, when he'd slipped in their door on his lunch break. Only now did he take out his erection, slicking it with lubricant he'd left on the sheets earlier.

John was blissfully tight, despite the several hours of being penetrated repeatedly by a dildo over the last five hours. But that's why Sherlock had used a slim toy in the first place. He loved pressing into his lover when the young man was barely stretched, when he'd been steadily worked open, but only barely. It was heaven. When his testicles finally made contact with the soft skin of John's arse, he fell still, relishing the warmth, the slick, the pressure. The glazed blue eyes of his tortured boyfriend rolled back in that pretty blond head as he began to thrust.

It was easy to locate John's prostate again; he'd fiddled with the machine and his lover's body enough to know what angle he needed in order to hit that knot of nerves. The tanned, rugby-hardened body twitched with every thrust, with every jab of the ballet dancer's cock, and Sherlock observed it all with attentive grey eyes. Every shudder was a masterpiece before his eyes, every whimper a concerto to his ears, every clench a spa massage. Sherlock did not like repeating himself, almost never did, in any aspect, but no matter how many times he put his hands his mouth his cock to John, he could never get tired of it. He could do it the exact same way every time, every day, and it still wouldn't be enough.

"I'm addicted to you, John Watson," he whispered, reaching forward and down to cup his love's cheek. John didn't answer, too lost in his own pleasure, precome a steady drip from the head of his cock.

Sherlock's hips continued their steady pace, barely any faster than the machine had been set to. The difference was that the machine couldn't experience an orgasm, but his was building in a slow burn in his groin and along his spine. He could feel his testicles tightening, and it was a bit curious to be experiencing it without John's muscles fluttering tighter and tighter, quicker and quicker, around him. But not unwelcome, not unpleasant. He couldn't help but hum at the sensation, though he was unwilling to close his eyes when he could still watch little micro-expressions of pained pleasure crossing John's face.

He didn't let his eyes close until his orgasm fizzled through his veins. He kept his pace ongoing and slow, letting John's arse pull his release from him, filling his love's arse. It was a treat in times like these, feeling that strong, muscled body working around him, hearing how 'manly' his boyfriend appeared to his teammate, and knowing that it was all for him to do with as he please.

The ballerino shuddered to a stop, his cock still pressed deep in the other man's arse as he let the thick pounding of his heart calm. John was positively trembling beneath him, his steady whimpers indicating a higher cognitive presence than the glaze in his eyes presented. Gingerly, Sherlock pulled out and climbed carefully off the bed, his legs trembling like he'd just done a full day's practise as stumbled like a dancer their first time in toe shoes back to the machine. With fingers that shook, he turned the machine back on and then grinned when John screamed into the gag, the sound devolving into sobs only a moment later.

John's writhing within his belt bonds increased as Sherlock moved about the room, trading his class kit for his ballet one. In short order, he was properly dressed with his ballet bag swung over one shoulder, checking his internal clock for time. Before he left, he took a moment to stand at John's hip, watching the slim dildo repeatedly push his come, leaking from his boyfriend's arse, back in where it belonged.

Finally, he wrenched his eyes from that beautiful, puffy hole and turned it to the face twisted in delicious pain and the way tears leaked from reddened eyes. Sherlock licked his lips, cock twitching in his tights. He found his fingers in sweaty blond hair before he quite realised it, though he had no qualms in stroking his boyfriend's scalp, a superficial calming that would do nothing.

"You're so good for me, John," he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the wrinkled cheek. "So good and so beautiful. Now, be good for me just a little while longer, oui?" John began to whimper and struggle harder in his bonds, making Sherlock smile. "None of that, mon petit. Just a few hours longer, and then I'll take care of you, I promise. I'll see you after practise."

John's renewed sobs faded to the din of the busy hallway as Sherlock slipped out and locked their door, but the ballerino's smile remained.

FIN

I only realised half way through how perfect this would be for it to be Rugby/Balletlock. One of these days, I'll make an actual Rugby/Balletlock. I also just realised I forgot the dirty talk I'm sorry. orz

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