Fair warning: oh dear. I met this post on Kink Meme. We've just been entirely too filthy together. I would apologize. But that would mean I felt even the slightest hint of remorse. There is just so much come in this story. Literally. There is ejaculate everywhere. Also, Sherlock is implied to be on drugs. And... there's double penetration. Have fun!

It started with a pop-up advertisement. One of the annoying ones, which somehow got around John's ad blocker. Really, pop-ups were the worst thing about surfing the Internet for any decent bit of pornography. It didn't matter if John wasn't really into the weird stuff. They all came up. Trannies, orgies, midgets, water sports, every fetish site imaginable.

John's mouse hovered over the little red x button. Ready to click away the offending window. But then he made the mistake of looking at the video clip playing to supposedly entice him.

The site was called something ridiculous like bears in uniform. It obviously revolved around some sort of police officer fetish.

But that wasn't what caught his eye.

No. What he noticed was the lanky, bone-skinny, dark-haired young man with one cock in his mouth and another shoved up his arse. Maybe it was just the thin face. The striking cheekbones. The huge, blue eyes. John must be crazy. He had to be.

But the boy getting a-framed by two rather intimidating men in cop uniforms was Sherlock Bloody Holmes or Sherlock had a twin that John didn't know about.

A small battle raged in the doctor's brain. He shouldn't click. It wasn't his business. It could very well give him a hard-drive melting virus. And it probably wasn't Sherlock anyway. After all, how many men were there in London with curly dark hair and a magnificent bone structure? Sherlock couldn't be the only one. No. He should close the pop up window.

The next thing he knew, he was signing up for the one-week free trial to a fetish site he'd undoubtedly never visit again. He searched furiously. It didn't take him very long to find the video from the pop up. It was in the "featured" section.

John was sitting on his bed, with the door locked, in nothing but his pants, laptop on the bed next to him. Sherlock was out. He never dared do this sort of thing otherwise. Sherlock would come up, and bang on his door—"John, I know you're busy touching yourself, but there's been a murder! Hurry up and get dressed!"

And most of the time it was a complete boner kill. Except sometimes it wasn't. Sometimes John was so close by the time Sherlock interrupted, that he went ahead and finished. Definitely not thinking about Sherlock. Just a little bit. Fine. Maybe he'd imagined Sherlock's pouty lips wrapped around his prick once or twice. But it didn't matter. Because John was mostly straight, and Sherlock was (as far as anybody knew) asexual. That was the end of things.

John full-screened the video and clicked the play button. Apprehensive. Curious. Maybe a little bit aroused, even though he shouldn't be.

The young, dark haired man was naked. Sitting on the edge of a bed in a dingy motel room. His cock was flaccid, but was still rather impressive. He looked drunk, or high, or something. His wide-eyes were glassy and half-lidded. He swayed back and forth slightly, almost as if he wouldn't be able to stay sitting upright much longer.

The door banged open. In walked five, rather burly looking police officers. They were all so very big. Muscular. Covered in tattoos. Probably not real police officers, but they were in uniforms that looked real enough.

"Nice one, Frankie," one of the men slapped the other on the back. "Where'd you find a hot little slut like this?"

"In an alleyway, offering to suck cock for drugs," another one of the men, Frankie apparently, chuckled. He was the most muscular of all the men, with cropped blonde hair and large, colorful ink drawings circling his biceps.

Frankie reached out and tangled his fingers in the young boy's dark curls. The boy looked old enough. If perhaps just barely. He had to be in his early twenties. If even that.

"How you feeling, love?" Frankie asked soothingly.

"I can't complain. Life's just peachy when you're not sitting in the back of a police cruiser," the young man drawled in a rumbling baritone. That voice. John would know it anywhere.

It was Sherlock. It fucking had to be.

"We worked out a nice little deal, didn't we?" Frankie tugged at Sherlock's curls, and the young man let out an appreciative moan.

"Mmm, yes…" Sherlock looked around at the men who had begun to surround the bed. "A good fuck in exchange for avoiding another arrest. So, I'm supposed to take care of all your friends here?"

"They'd be fine just to watch, darling," Frank's hand began to migrate south. Down Sherlock's neck, to rub his back, "but I'm sure they'd love to get in on the action."

"The more the merrier, I suppose," Sherlock let out a low chuckle.

Then he leaned into Frankie's hip, lazily unbuckling the larger man's belt, and pulling down the zip of his trousers. He pulled out a monstrous cock. John didn't even want to guess how big as it was. He watched in a mixture of elation and shock as Sherlock wrapped his lips around the head of the man's prick and swallowed him down effortlessly.

That long neck. Jesus. Sherlock was made for throat fucking, wasn't he?

Another one of the men, the first one that had spoken, unzipped his trousers and stood on the other side of Sherlock. Sherlock reached up lazily and wrapped his fingers around the offered cock. Stroking it languidly, but with a focused skill.

John had an erection.

Shit. When had that happened? He hit the space bar, pausing the video, and took a few deep breaths.

He still hadn't reached the point of no return. He could stop watching. He could certainly never forget the image of a barely legal Sherlock sucking a cock—but it didn't have to go any further.

If John were a slightly better person, he would have closed the video and gone on a run. Taken a long, cold shower. Perhaps gotten drunk, in a vague effort to black out his memory of the past few hours.

But here's the thing. Objectively, John was not a bad person. But he wasn't a squeaky clean one either.

The video started up again. He watched with rapt interest as the large men crowded around the bed unzipped their trousers.

Frankie pulled away and pushed Sherlock back onto the mattress. The young man fell lazily, laughing slightly. Frankie climbed onto the bed, between his legs, taking a tube of lubricant that another one of the men offered, and pressed a slick finger between Sherlock's arse cheeks. The younger man let out a breathy, "oh" and squirmed slightly.

The tallest of the men, one that had been mostly silent, kneeled at the edge of the bed, and Sherlock gazed up at his erection with interest.

"Well, don't just stare at me," young Sherlock smirked with his usual biting candor, "you can be useful, or you can leave."

The man snorted. But he shuffled forward and wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's long, slender, mostly erect, prick. Sherlock let out a small moan, and began to give the man a hand job in reciprocation.

Frankie had about three fingers up Sherlock's arse.

Sherlock reached out for the nearest cock and wrapped his fingers around that one as well. John couldn't quite process the image. His flat mate (albeit a much younger version) getting finger fucked while he stroked a throbbing prick with each hand. The contrast between Sherlock's fully nude body, all pale skin and sharp angles, and the other men's dark blue uniforms only made the picture more enticing.

And then. God. And then Frankie slicked his cock up with lube and shoved inside Sherlock. No condom. No warning. He just started fucking him, with long, deep thrusts, and Sherlock bloody loved it.

Maybe it was just a put on. But he started panting, and was bucking back against the larger man's thrusts. And he seemed to rather lose focus on the hand jobs.

One of the other men made a comment—"Oi, Frankie, turn him over so I can get at his mouth."

Frankie withdrew long enough to flip Sherlock unceremoniously onto his stomach, and pull his hips back until he could shakily get on his hands and knees. He then resumed the fucking as if there had been no interruption, and the tallest man situated himself in front of Sherlock's face.

Sherlock parted his lips and the other man's thick cock slid between them. No gagging. No expression of displeasure. Just drool, and a few needy sounds.

John's flat mate was a bloody porn star.

He'd never seen anybody take cock so well, man or woman. Not that John had been with a man. Well… he'd certainly never fucked one.

On the screen, Frankie slammed into Sherlock. The three other men mostly stood back and watched, occasionally stroking themselves. The camera zoomed in. Breaking the illusion that this wasn't studio-made porn. But John didn't care. Because from the new angle you could see the cock sliding in and out of Sherlock's arse. The hands wrapped around his hips.

"Do you like my cock inside you, slut?" Frankie groaned and slapped Sherlock's arse cheek with his palm.

The young man couldn't respond, as his mouth was still full of dick. But he moaned audibly.

"Go on, give it to him Frankie," one of the other men said roughly.

Frankie sped up. Sherlock began to squirm. The blowjob got a whole lot noisier. But the man on the receiving end didn't seem to have any complaints. He grunted, "fucking hell."

Frankie's thrusts were becoming a bit more erratic. "Christ. I'm gonna fill you up. Skinny little tart like you needs all the cream he can get."

Sherlock responded with another moan.

Frankie pounded into him a few more times. And then he went still, making several low guttural noises. He withdrew slowly. The camera zoomed in on Sherlock's fluttering, sloppy hole. The come was already starting to dribble back out of it.

John's breath caught.

God. It was filthy. So fucking filthy. He could hardly wrap his brain around it. He didn't get the time to. Because one of the other men who'd just been watching, the shortest of the five, promptly took Frankie's place between Sherlock's legs and shoved inside with a slight squelching sound.

John couldn't help himself. He palmed his erection through the thin fabric of his pants. Just to take the edge off. Of course it didn't help. It only made things so much worse. He was not going to wank to a video of his flat mate getting gang banged. He was not.

"He's so slick," the man who'd just entered Sherlock said breathlessly. Like he hadn't been expecting it. He snapped his hips and started fucking the younger man roughly. Fast and hard.

Sherlock was trembling. John couldn't even begin to imagine how he must feel. Getting stretched and used like that… but it seemed like he was having a good time. He certainly wasn't sucking on the cock in front of him with any less enthusiasm than before.

The camera shifted. John could see Sherlock swallowing around the man's prick. The drool ran down his chin. His eyes were open, but decidedly glazed over. The man's fingers were tangled in Sherlock's hair. Gripping tightly. Using it as leverage to shove deeper.

The man's face twisted. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily. Sherlock sucked a little bit harder, and the man let out a small, almost pained noise.

One of the other men called, "Give him a nice little facial!"

The man, thrust deep into Sherlock's throat a few more times. Then he pulled back, stroking himself. Sherlock kept his mouth open, tongue out, eyes closed. And the man began to ejaculate all over him. Splattering those perfect cheekbones with thick white come. Dibbling over his nose, lips and tongue.

Sherlock licked his lips greedily, cleaning away everything he could reach. The man slumped back on the bed, utterly spent. As Sherlock's mouth was free, he began letting out all sorts of tiny keening whines.

"Yes," he purred, "harder. I want your fat cock as deep inside me as it will go."

John's jaw dropped. It was one thing to see all this. It was another to hear Sherlock say something like that. God. That was going to be in his head forever, wasn't it?

The small, dark haired man fucking Sherlock obliged, speeding up a bit, thrusting balls-deep. Sherlock closed his eyes and groaned. "Are you going to fill me with your come? Please. Make me into a sloppy little whore."

The man shuddered, biting his lip. He exhaled harshly on every forward motion.

Sherlock arched his back. Whining. "I'm so close. Touch me. Oh come on. Let me come."

The man reached forward, but then Frankie appeared, wrapping a hand around the man's wrist and stopping him. "Not yet. Billy and Max still need to have a go."

"I'll still let them fuck me—" Sherlock said frantically, "just—ugh—touch it."

"Shhh," Frankie soothed, running a hand down Sherlock's back. "It's ok, darling. You'll come soon, I promise. We just can't have you going all limp and tender yet."

Sherlock let out a small sob and continued to push back feverishly against every thrust. He looked like he was right on the edge. Hair trigger. Could go off at any second. But before he did, the man fucking him let out a long cry and slammed into him a few last times before going still.

He stayed sheathed for a few moments before drawing out. The camera zoomed in again. Sherlock's hole was even sloppier than before. Slick, and pink, slightly puffy from overuse. It clenched and gaped a few times as the mingled ejaculate began to trickle out. Running down onto inner thigh.

John bit back a small groan.

His skin felt overly warm. He was on the verge of hyperventilation. His cock ached terribly. God. This was wrong. He should stop. But he was glued to the screen.

Sherlock swayed slightly. Like he couldn't hold himself up for much longer. Like he might just slump down on the bed and pass out. But then the two remaining men kneeled on either side of them. One had shoulder length, curly blonde hair, and the other had a shaved head. They were both of average height. And their cocks weren't quite as ridiculously big as Frankie's. Still large. But not terrifying.

The one with a shaved head lay down on the bed and Frankie coaxed Sherlock to crawl over on top of him.

Sherlock let out a little whine as he carefully sank down onto the man's cock. He sat still for a minute, then began to move. Slowly pushing himself up and down, rolling his hips. The man underneath him groaned, grabbing onto Sherlock's waist. Supporting him. Helping him move.

Every time the man's cock slid in there was a thick, wet sound. Sherlock's hole was still full of come. And god. It looked like he was about to get more.

John realized he wasn't really breathing. His hand was on his mouth, worrying along his lower lip. This video might break his brain. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to look Sherlock in the eye again after watching it.

On the screen, the man with the longer hair had moved up to kneel behind Sherlock. The camera angle shifted to the side, so there was a clear view of the other man trailing a hand down Sherlock's spine. Sherlock stopped moving for a moment, going tense.

The man slowly slid a finger down to the point of penetration, and squirmed it inside, along with the cock.

Sherlock let out a choked noise. Perhaps shocked. But he didn't pull away. He breathed heavily. The man lifted him upwards slightly, and he followed the motion until it was just the bulbous head of a cock and two fingers inside him.

The young man's body quaked. The guy with the blonde hair lined up the head of his cock.

"Can you take it?" Frankie asked in a stage whisper.

Sherlock nodded breathlessly, "I want to try."

The man with long hair carefully nudged the head of his cock at Sherlock's hole, stretching him. Sherlock shut his eyes tight. It looked like maybe he was in pain. It couldn't be comfortable. But after about thirty seconds or so, he seemed to relax slightly. The head of the other man's cock popped in.

"Jesus," Sherlock gasped.

"That's ok, love, take your time," the man underneath him ran a hand over Sherlock's chest.

John watched in awe as Sherlock slowly slid down, his entrance stretching to accommodate both cocks. They must have prepared him beforehand. There was no way a normal person's body could take such abuse. Right?

But Sherlock began to rock his hips again, sliding up and down the combined lengths slowly and carefully. Both pairs of hands were on him, helping him. Because the young man's thighs were shaking. He looked utterly wrecked.

After perhaps a minute, Sherlock seemed to lose the ability to move. He barely kept himself upright, almost fully seated on the two cocks.

The blonde man behind him took over thrusting. Establishing a moderate pace. And somehow, the man on the bottom matched his motions. The sounds Sherlock let out weren't exaggerated or typically pornographic. They were quiet. Strangled. Sherlock's eyes were wide and almost panicked one moment, then shut tight the next.

"Oh fuck," Sherlock breathed.

"You're doing so well," the blonde man murmured, pressing a kiss against Sherlock's neck.

John bit down on a knuckle. It was absolutely hypnotizing. Watching Sherlock get fucked by two different cocks at the same time. And soon, Sherlock's vocalizations became a bit more frenzied.

"Please," he said, nearly incoherent, "I can't—oh god. Oh god. Oh god."

Sherlock's body snapped upright—every muscle going tense. Then his cock twitched, and he painted ribbons of ejaculate across the man underneath him. Splattering the front of his uniform with come.

The two men groaned in unison. John could only imagine the sensation. Sherlock's muscles trying to clench around them. Neither of them lasted long after Sherlock came. They lost their rhythm and the thrusting became frantic. The blonde man came first, pulling out and emptying himself all over Sherlock's back. The man with the shaved head followed shortly after, blowing his load deep inside the younger man's body.

Frankie helped Sherlock ease himself up and off, before he collapsed on the bed. He looked entirely fucked out. Covered in come, sweaty, hair frizzy and wild. The last shot was of come, dribbling out of Sherlock and onto the bed before the screen faded to black.

John shut his laptop promptly and fell back onto his mattress. His pants were off before he could even think. He didn't want to think.

He just wrapped a hand around his prick and began to stroke himself heatedly. Sherlock with a cock in his mouth. Sherlock filled with come. I want your fat cock as deep inside me as it will go.

The heat gathered in John's stomach, coiling viciously. He was too on edge to even think about drawing this out. He let go. The orgasm ripped through him. Shattering him. And then, he found himself sticky, breathless, and utterly ashamed.

He cleaned himself up as best as he could and then deleted his browser history. The last thing he ever needed was Sherlock "confiscating" his computer and seeing what he'd been up to.

But he'd probably know anyway. Or at least, he'd know John had done something wrong. Seen something he shouldn't have. The doctor shuddered slightly, still trying to catch his breath.

His flatmate happened to be the most observant man in the world.

How long would it take before this all blew up in his face?

Probably not very long at all.

Reviews, follows and favorites are sexy. I think I'll post another chapter of this at some point.

Written for the prompt:

John somehow comes across a video of Sherlock in his early 20s being (entirely consensually) roughly gang-banged by a bunch of police officers.

Bonus points: if it's completely unprotected, Sherlock is obviously a bit high and extremely enthusiastic, multiple messy facials/a lot of them coming inside him.

xoxo