This is a really short one today guys sorry 😔
Lestrade opened the door to the men's loo on the second floor of Scotland Yard, completely unknowing and unprepared for what was to come. He hummed quietly as he relieved his bladder into the urinal, and was in the process of washing his hands afterward when he heard the sounds. The noise in question was a low groaning, interspersed with a little whine every now and again. Lestrade cocked his head as the whine grew louder, trying to pinpoint its source. It seemed to be coming from the disabled toilet at the end of the row of stalls, which was a cubicle that was nearly three times as large as all the others. He bent over a little to check how many people were in the stall, and yes, there were two sets of booted feet in there, one set behind the other.
Lestrade was jerked out of his considerations when something hit the door of the cubicle with a loud thud, rattling the door. Lestrade jumped back about a foot involuntarily, and then rolled his eyes at himself. At that exact moment, however, the door to the loo swung open, and the hand of Sherlock Holmes shot out of the gap and dragged Lestrade bodily into the cubicle, the force of his body falling back against the door slamming it with a bang. Hadn't Sherlock and John left the Yard half an hour ago?
Lestrade stared from where he was leaning. And then stared some more. Sherlock was bent over at the waist, with his precious coat pushed up above his waist and his trousers and pants around his thighs, and John Watson was behind him, fully clothed to Lestrade's eyes, but with the motions his hips were making, Lestrade expected that the man had pulled his cock out of his trousers to service Sherlock. John's face was red and sweaty, and he was puffing as he continued thrusting into Sherlock's body at a rate that could be described as manic.
"I...uh..." Lestrade stuttered, struck dumb by the sight before him.
"Shut up, Lestrade," grated Sherlock.
Lestrade just stared as Sherlock's fingers approached the buckle of his belt, undoing to clasp in no time flat. He started to open his mouth to bring this insanity to a stop, but Sherlock reached his hand into Lestrade's pants and pulled out what had somehow very quickly become a very solid erection, and the words dried up in his mouth. The blood that was not currently residing in Lestrade's groin now flushed his face. Once again he opened his mouth to object.
"Hush," grunted John, who was now making little circular motions with his hips, causing Sherlock's eyes to roll back into his head as he fondled the D.I.'s engorged cock, playing with the foreskin, pulling it back and forth over and over. Lestrade suddenly had a picture invade his mind - a beautiful image of Sherlock's lovely thick lips wrapped around his prick. Just the thought brought a bead of precome welling to the tip of his cock, and Lestrade was thrilled when Sherlock reached out with his tongue to lick the liquid up, purring to himself as he did it.
Lestrade glanced up at John, who was staring at the place where Sherlock's head met the D.I.'s cock. Lestrade saw him flick his eyes up to meet his own, and watched a grin unfold on the man's face.
"You want him, Lestrade? His mouth is yours for now. Do what you will," John said, stroking Sherlock's clothed back, causing Sherlock to hum gratefully.
Lestrade paused only for a moment to consider it, and then placed one hand on Sherlock's cheek. "Open, Sherlock," he said, and watched as those perfect lips opened wide to welcome Lestrade's throbbing prick. First he simply laid his cock on the man's tongue, just reveling in the heat and slickness that was now all around him. But then Sherlock closed his lips tight around him and sucked. Lestrade nearly stumbled back against the door again at the sensation.
Sherlock spent some time suckling and licking and stroking Lestrade's dick, but soon he just kept his lips wrapped around the DI and let the motion of John's thrusts push him on and off of the cock in his mouth. Lestrade was looking down, absolutely entranced by the wet, glistening length of him bobbing in and out of that famous caustic mouth, and he wanted even more. He reached down and gripped both sides of Sherlock's head and held it as still as he could, in deference to John's movements, and began thrusting his hips repeatedly, banging the head of his cock against the back of Sherlock's throat over and over again. Sherlock was drooling, with long strings of spit dripping from his mouth onto the floor of the loo, and every time Lestrade thrust inwards there were gross, wet, clicking and sucking noises coming from the back of Sherlock's throat. Lestrade was blown away by the look of the man, pinned between John and Lestrade, a cock filling him up at both ends, ready to fill him up even further with come.
John's thrusts were becoming erratic, and finally he climaxed with a quiet groan. Lestrade watched as John pulled out of Sherlock's arse and produced from his pocket a good-sized butt-plug and proceeded to work it in to Sherlock's wide open hole.
"There, you'll be ready for more when we get home," John stated quietly, patting Sherlock on the back.
Sherlock groaned around Lestrade's cock, and that was enough for him. Lestrade's balls pulled up close to his body and his cock pulsed. At the last moment he pulled out of Sherlock's mouth and jacked his hand over his cock twice, and several jets of semen spewed over Sherlock's face, adorning the consulting detective's cheeks, lips and even over one eyebrow. Oh fuck, thought Lestrade, I never knew it before today, but I've wanted to do that since I met the man. He didn't dare say this out loud, however, as he fully respected Sherlock now, and didn't want him to think otherwise.
Lestrade suddenly wondered if Sherlock had come during that whole episode, and was appeased to see a puddle of come on the floor under Sherlock's body, and that Sherlock himself was wilting and putting himself back into his pants as he stood up. Lestrade watched him grab a handful of toilet paper and wipe his face off with it.
The three of them put themselves to rights, and had remarkably little to say to each other. Sherlock and John simply stared at Lestrade, who cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Um...yeah. I'd better... better get back to work."
Sherlock ignored the comment, but John nodded. "Have a good day, Lestrade," he said, effectively dismissing him from the cubicle. Lestrade stepped out, paused to wash his hands, and left the loo, trying not to listen to the two remaining men speaking in low, clearly affectionate voices. Whatever it was between those two, Lestrade was clearly not a part of it, even if he had been a momentary guest star in their sex life. He felt a little let down by it, but mentally wished the two men well.
