Title: Opus

Beta: parfait_cell (at Livejournal)

Rating: Adult – Explicit!

PLEASE READ:

The story you are about to read depicts graphic sexual content, violence, blatant homophobia and references to drug use. If any of the above mentioned content bothers you, please do not read any further.

Furthermore, while I can't stop you from reading if you are underage (though I much rather you didn't), please, for the love of God, don't tell me about it.

(Real) Summary: Twenty-something Sherlock Holmes gets off on sucking cock anonymously in public toilets. Recently divorced, forty-something Greg Lestrade gets off on… well, he gets off.

AU, age!kink. Like many of my stories, it is a response to a prompt at the kinkmeme. Please see my Livejournal (username "am_hatescaptcha") for more details.

ENJOY!

Chapter One:

Sherlock stepped into the public lavatory and made his way toward the far end cubicle. On his way, he glanced under the partitions. He saw no sign of feet or heard any noise to indicate that he wasn't alone. It wouldn't stay this way for long, not at this time of the night. He drew out a light blue handkerchief from his pocket and swiftly tied it to the door handle, signalling to anyone who might approach: oral sex, giving.

Stepping inside, he had nothing to do but wait.

Impatiently, he studied the graffiti that littered the stall door. No one had come to this particular lavatory for its intended use in years. And if anyone didaccidentally walk in, Sherlock was sure that either the the hole at crotch level, the occasional moaning, or the extremely homoerotic messages on the walls would clue them to the lavatory's real purpose.

He grinned to himself, studying the lewd messages, and made a game of deducing their artists: a left-handed medical student here, high at the time, and here was a right-handed waiter just off from his shift. This one had scribbled his message during the act itself, how interesting…

The sound of the lavatory door opening drew his attention away from the scribbling and back to reality. He cocked his head to the side, listening to the approaching footsteps. Recognition snapped into place and he smiled in satisfaction. It would be the policeman tonight, then. He was right on schedule.

Sherlock dropped down to his knees before the glory-hole, waiting impatiently for the action to start. There wasn't much room for courtesy in that place, but neither of them were there to make acquaintances anyway.

He listened for the rustle of clothing, the tell-tale sound of a zip being pulled down and the contented sigh of the policeman as he took himself in hand. Sherlock watched through the glory-hole in fascination as the man stroked himself to hardness in a few practised moves, then quickly tore open a condom wrapper and slid it down over his erection. He slipped his cock through the hole and into Sherlock's waiting mouth.

Sherlock loved this, he truly did. Maybe it wasn't the healthiest of habits, but, unfortunately, he wasn't one to get off easy on his own. He didn't know how other people managed it. Sherlock loved the feeling of a hard cock in his mouth, making another man desperate for release with just his lips and his tongue. He even loved how slightly depraved it all was: here he was, a boy from a good home, on his knees in a filthy public rest-room, sucking off a stranger he couldn't even see. It was so easy like this, losing himself to the moment, to the sensations, to the risk.

It was better than the alternative. Relationships, even those of the purely physical kind always got too complicated in the end. No, he preferred to remain anonymous. He elected to never reveal himself to any of the men he engaged with, or even to speak out loud, lest they recognise his voice somehow.

Although, to be frank, his mouth was usually too occupied to speak.

"Oh, it's you," the man on the other side of the cubicle wall said when Sherlock wrapped his mouth around his swollen glans. "I knew it."

Sherlock liked his voice. It was pleasant and smooth, even when it was brought down an octave with arousal. Sherlock himself never spoke out loud, but he liked it when the other men did. Especially this one. Sherlock was pleased to discover that the man had recognised him simply by the feeling of Sherlock's mouth on his prick, and so fast too.

Sherlock felt the stretch around his mouth, even just to accommodate the head. Another reason why he was so fond of the policeman: he was hung like a feature in a filthy magazine, afterit had been Photoshopped.

Sherlock sucked hard once more, and then pulled back. He continued to jerk the man off, his hand sliding easily on the slight lubrication of the condom. Cherry-flavoured this time, he noted. Why, he really did care.

He began to suck along the shaft, his tongue darting out to press hard on a prominent vein, teasing the man on the other side until he groaned and flattened his body fully against the partition, bringing his magnificent cock entirely into Sherlock's grasp.

Sherlock smirked, and gave a final hard suck to the shaft before wrapping his lips around his teeth and opening wide, taking the stranger as far as he could. His palm worked the areas he couldn't reach, and he built a rhythm with his hand and mouth, bobbing his head back and forth. He squeezed at the base, drawing gasps from the stranger.

Sherlock untucked himself from his own trousers with a sigh, taking himself in hand. He didn't have to. If he wanted, he could have come just from sucking the stranger off. That feeling for him was nigh-orgasmic, especially when the man gasped out the way he did, or when Sherlock feltthe cock pulse in his mouth.

Sucking in earnest, he listened greedily to the little sounds the stranger made. The cock was wet with his saliva, making it easier to take further into his mouth.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," the man blasphemed deliciously, and Sherlock smiled around him. He began to hum a familiar tune, delighted by the man's amused snort. It was something of a game between the two of them; could he last until Sherlock finished the melody?

He always failed, of course; Sherlock was just that good. The man always did try his best, though.

The vibrations sent the stranger straight over the edge. He came hard, thrusting his hips in time with Sherlock's movements. Sherlock gave one final, hard suck on the spent cock before pulling back. He licked his lips as he stood, disappointed that he couldn't taste the man's come.

He stopped wanking just to slip on a condom, and watched as the man withdrew his cock from the glory-hole. Sherlock slipped his own dick through it, bracing his hands on the wall when he was almost immediately engulfed in a tight heat. His mouth opened in a silent cry. He was already so close, and it didn't take long for him to finish.

"Thanks," the man said afterwards, without any unnecessary pleasantries. Sherlock heard the door to the cubicle open and close, and listened to the man's retreating footsteps. He waited several minutes before stepping out of his own cubicle.

His body hummed in satisfaction. He winced at the remaining taste of cherry-flavoured latex, and popped a stick of gum into his mouth before striding out of the vacant lavatory.

Greg looked around to make sure he was alone before pushing open the lavatory door.

It was irresponsible, perhaps, for a man in his position. God knows what he'd do if word got out about his habit of finding anonymous gay sex in public toilets, not to mention what internal affairs would have to say.

But, damn it, he thought, his business was his business, and he shouldn't have to answer to anyone about what he did in his own spare time.

It was easier this way. After the divorce, he'd tried dating a few times, both men and women, but a man his age had to be seen as a little desperate for companionship. He didn't like that thought at all. He went on a few second dates, but decided eventually not to pursue anything further. It felt too forced for his tastes. He did not have the energy for another failed relationship.

Greg stepped into the lavatory. No one was there, except… He smiled when he saw the familiar pale blue handkerchief, and in the middle cubicle this time, no less. Obviously someonewas feeling adventurous.

He settled on the cubicle to the right, quickly preparing himself for what would no doubt be another mind-blowing encounter. This, this was the real reason he kept returning to this place. No one could suck cock like Mr. John Doe. He stuffed his fist in his mouth to hold off a gasp when he was pulled into the eager cavity, the immediate, hard suction almost causing his knees to buckle. Adventurous and impatient.

"You're awfully spirited tonight," he teased. "Waiting for anybody else?" The owner of the frankly fantastic mouth didn't stop to reply, but then again, Greg didn't expect him to, he never did.

God, he was an artist. Greg had been coming regularly for weeks now, as often as he could, in fact. He made sure to come at the same time, and on most nights, the mouth and fist on the other side of the wall would belong to the mysterious regular. They were almost going steady, he thought.

The man obviously didn't want anything other than a quick blow-job, though. He never answered any of Greg's questions, and he never came out of his own stall while Greg was still in the lavatory. Greg never stuck around to wait for the man to come out, either. He respected the man's need to remain anonymous, and the boundaries he had set for their encounters.

But Greg was curious. All he'd ever seen of the stranger was his lovely cock and his feet under the stall door. Big feet, elegant shoes, but that told him practically nothing. What did he even look like?

Greg had a variety of fantasies in place for his man of mystery, in the absence of anything else to go on, although the shoes always took precedent in his imagination. He realised of course that the likelihood of the man resembling anything like the sex god he imagined was close to zero. The man could be homely enough to stop a clock, as far as Greg knew. Someone who sucked cock like that must have had lots of practice, but he preferred to stay behind a closed door.

Of course, he could have simply been married, or paranoid about being discovered performing oral sex in a public toilet. Or he could be a celebrity, worried about getting caught with his pants down—literally. Oooh, thatcould be interesting, Greg thought, and added a new fantasy face to his list. He did have a thing for Richard Armitage at the moment.

He rested his forearm on the stall wall for balance while the man on the other side moaned around his cock. Whoever he was, he obviously enjoyed the act as much as Greg did, if not more. Maybe more. He always seemed to prefer to start on his knees.

Then he began to hum a little, and Greg grinned. He recognised the tune, but for the life of him, he couldn't fit a name to the melody. He knew it was classical music, but other than that, he came back blank.

If you'd have asked him to place any Stones tune, he wouldn't have needed a second to guess. He was crap with the classicals, though. He'd recognise Beethoven's 5th or Für Elise, but other than that…Who thought about classical music during a blow job, anyway? He found that he liked the man behind the partition even more for it.

"Think I'm going to win this time, you'll see," he said through his gasps.

The stranger sucked harder in response, never stopping his humming, as if to say, no, you're really not.

And damn it, but he was right.

"Next time…I swear," Greg gasped out as he came into the eager mouth. He felt the answering chuckle rather than heard it.

What was the name of the bloody song, though? It was going to drive Greg mad, he just knew it.