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If you go down in the woods today you're sure of a big surprise
If you go down in the woods today you'd better go in disguise
Beneath the trees where nobody sees they'll hide and seek as long as they please
If you go down in the woods today you better not go alone
It's lovely down in the woods today but safer to stay at home
In Chinese
Visiting his sister had been the plan.
Harriet Watson, who decided that she wanted to live in the middle of fucking nowhere so she could practice her wiccan art, as well as get drunk as possible and not get in trouble for it. His family had always been a bit nuts, but when Harry realised she had the potential to be a powerful witch or... whatever, she'd run off to become some hag's apprentice in the woods.
He hoped she was banned from all things alcohol.
John sighed and wrapped the hood tighter around himself. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph but this was awkard. He was wearing a red hood because the "guardian of the forest", a man wearing a suit and carrying a gleaming smile had told him he needed it to be safe.
"No harm will come to you," he had said in a honeyed voice.
So far, either it was working, or there were no dangerous beings around. John had never had to deal with the supernatural before, but that didn't mean he wasn't just as wary as anyone else. John pulled the red hood tighter over him head and surged forward, using his anger at Harry to push away his anxiety. There would be time for that later.
Behind him, a twig snapped.
The plan was fucked.
The man in the suit had told him the fucking red hood would protect him from the demons of the forest.
Fuck. I’m so fucked.
John scrambled back from where he had been knocked onto the ground by the 200 pound wolf - at least, a man who looked like a wolf. Demon, his mind supplied hysterically. Demon wolf.
He should have known that the man had been lying; his smirk had been friendly, yet somehow smug. He had assured John that he would come to no trouble at all as long as he wore the hood.
No trouble, right. The angry wolf-man was no trouble at all.
His back hit something solid and John started, as if suspecting another wolf man, but it was just a tree.
Said wolf man was quickly advancing, his claws as sharp as his cheekbones. He looks a bit pale for a wolf, was John’s wild thought before the wolf pounced. John braced himself, closing his eyes and biting his lip, praying to God he was eaten quickly.
Something wet touched his throat.
No, not wet. Cold.
John’s eyes snapped open. The wolf man was right on top of him, his knee inserted between John’s spread thighs, one hand braced on the tree as he sniffed John.
"What the hell is going on," John whispered, shivering as warm lips passed over the main artery. He tilted his neck, baring his throat as the wolf encouraged, hoping he wasn’t just smelling his lunch.
The man didn’t respond, his ears (very much wolf ears) twitching, his tail behind him swiveling pleasantly. Sharp teeth grazed his throat and John gasped, causing a golden eye to shift his way.
"Name," rasped a rough, velvet voice. Oh God that shouldn’t- that shouldn’t have made John shiver. What a voice.
The man smirked. “Name," he repeated. John blinked stupidly and the man rolled his eyes.
"Give," he brought his face uncomfortable close. “Me," he scraped his teeth along John’s chin. “Your," his breath ghosted over John’s lips. “Name."
"J-John," he stammered, frozen. “Watson," he couldn’t help but add, not entirely sure why. The wolf’s grin was positively salacious.
"John Watson…" he purred. “It’s unfortunate you didn’t make it to your grandmother’s house."
This is not the time to be funny! he wanted to scream.
"You are mine now."
The wolf nosed the crook of his neck, breath coming out in soft huffs, and then he pressed his full lips into John’s shoulder and sank his teeth into the skin, please when John cried out and bucked.
"Wh-what the fuck!" he shouted, trying to push the wolf away, only that the hybrid was about as moveable as a rock. He pressed forward inexorably, until John was all but squished against the tree. The wolf then pressed one clawed hand against his chest and spread his fingers carefully. The human’s - John’s - heart was beating rapidly in its cage.
Pulling back, a spot of blood coating his lips, he could see that John’s eyes were dilated hugely, his blonde hair peeking out from under the hood.
Who knew such a treasure would simply wander into his path, wearing one of the few things that could tempt the wolf? Mycroft must have known this would happen, that cheeky bastard.
The wolf slipped a hand under the fabric and pulled it back, exposing tousled hair with a few grey hairs mixed in.
"Perfect," he murmured.
"What?" John asked, swallowing thickly.
"You." His grin was wild. “My name is Sherlock. Holmes. Remember it."
"I- what? Wait!" But the wolf— Sherlock Holmes— did not wait. He lapped up the stray flecks of blood in the new wound, purring when John hissed and surged against him, pain mingling with pleasure. All Sherlock needed to complete the bond and send him into a pseudo-heat was to transfer some saliva; the analgesics, anxiolytics and oxytocin in his saliva would help induce sexual response, and in turn trick his body into a heat.
Sherlock forced the human’s head his way, smirking when he felt something firm pressing against his leg. John looked afraid. Perfect.
"Don’t worry; it won’t even hurt," Sherlock assured. He licked his lips, pleased John’s heart-rate increased at the flash of fang, and then captured his pretty pink lips in a kiss.
Devoured was more like it. Sherlock slotted their mouths together and forced John’s lips to part with his teeth, nipping until John gasped at the flash of pain. His tongue passed through and his fingers found their way into John’s hair.
His claws scraped against his scalp gently and he felt John shudder, moaning softly, like he’d been trying to repress it.
At length he felt tentative fingers grip his shoulders, and the more Sherlock kissed John, transferring saliva and his natural chemicals, the more he relaxed.
He kissed John brutally, cradling his head, devouring his lips until he was all but limp in his arms. The wolf part of him purred at the speed with which his new mate had succumbed.
John was kissing him back almost as forcefully, moans slipping from him freely now. He ground up into Sherlock’s thigh, his fingers burying in messy curls so he wouldn’t—couldn’t slip away.
Although he was loathe to, when Sherlock pulled away, John’s hair was an utter and complete mess, his lips swollen and red, one spot bleeding. Sherlock lapped at the skin, sucking the lip clean, and John shivered.
"Oh God," he breathed, voice pitched in a high whine. He was squirming, his legs constantly shifting as his body readied itself for sex. He would be aroused to the point of discomfort, confused by his own biology betraying him. It would be Sherlock’s job to comfort him, care for him.
The wolf howled possessively inside of Sherlock. He heeded to its call and brushed his thumb along John’s hanging lower lip, his other free hand grasping him by the throat.
John was squirming, breathing hard, looking frightened. “What’s happening to me?" he asked fearfully. Sherlock gave into instinct and wrapped his arms around the ex-soldier, hushing him by pressing his head against Sherlock’s throat.
His scent would calm him, show him that his mate was nearby.
"You’re going into heat," Sherlock said simply. John pulled back and looked at him wildly.
"What? That- that’s impossible. I’m not-"
"You are not like me, this is true. But your body is responding to me, to the bond. You need me." He forcefully bared John’s throat and scraped his teeth along the tan expanse, rewarded with a violent shudder.
"Without me, you will be in pain. A pain more severe than riding my cock." At John’s sudden tension, he smirked. “Don’t look so frightened. Your body will love it—you will love it. You won’t be able to get enough. I’ll stretch wide open; it might hurt, but only for a moment. Then it will only be pleasure."
Sherlock velvety purr had John relaxing, but he stilled looked frightened. Like if Sherlock let him, he might run.
Sherlock stood up and pulled John with him, catching him when his legs gave out, as thick as gelatin now.
"What— stop!" he cried as Sherlock all but threw him over his shoulder. John, weak as a kitten, could only protest. Sherlock didn’t even seem winded by carrying him!
The strength in his muscles had John shaking for reasons that were entirely wrong.
John was shocked to find that Sherlock lived in a house. When Sherlock placed him on his bed, covered in furs of past prizes won, he raised an eyebrow. “Did you think I would live in a cave?" He hovered over John, tail flicking back and forth almost playfully. “Would you rather I fuck you in a cave? Take you on the cold hard ground?"
John had the decency to blush.
Sherlock pressed his face into John’s throat, who was well into the heat, arching against him and releasing soft, hitching gasps that he couldn’t help. He was prime, so ripe. Such a pretty mate. So fascinating. Mycroft had chosen well, he had to admit.
Sherlock laid over top of John. There was nothing more comforting than one’s mate gently smothering them into submission.
While John’s shivers did not stop, he did relax slightly. Sherlock suckled on his throat, allowing his hips to move as they were wont, gently grinding into John. He responded with enthusiasm, writhing under him, gasping, anything to relieve the pressure.
"Why do I feel this way? How did you send me into a…a heat?"
Sherlock didn’t answer: those would come later. He snaked his hands under John’s thick jumper, fingers running smoothly along the soft skin of his belly, the muscles there contracting frantically. Sherlock mouthed at his shoulder and at any exposed skin he could find, dragging one claw gently across John’s left nipple.
He responded with a sharp gasp, his cock throbbing insistently against his thigh. Sherlock could probably feel it, the way he chuckled.
John didn’t really know what was going on, or why. He had no idea why this was happening, but by God it apparently was. He was in some sort of heat, his body on fire. Every time Sherlock touched him it felt like pleasure, his mouth like sex, but it wasn’t…enough. Somehow it just wasn’t enough.
Sherlock, the wolf, was all whipcord muscles and body strength and it shouldn’t be turning him on, but when he laid on top of John his dick throbbed so hard that he almost came then and there.
Sherlock teased his nipples, the stimulation from his sharp claw sending him wild. He had never been sensitive, never really cared for nipple play, but when his hot mouth latched on, John moaned and writhed. He couldn’t get enough. It wasn’t enough.
"Sherlock," he whined, not certain what he was asking for.
Sherlock ignored him and lavished attention on the other nipple, teasing the hard bud with his tongue and teeth. John was just so responsive; it was truly lovely. John was lovely.
Sherlock pulled the hideous jumper over John’s head but left it around his wrists; too limp was his mate to protest. He watched as Sherlock pulled of his own shirt (another day he would wonder why he bothered wearing clothes), revealing a body that fit a statue more than a human.
Sherlock didn’t allow him long to appreciate the view. He rested his hands along John’s thigh and peppered kisses down John’s chest, bypassing his navel (which looked like it was begging to be lavished by his tongue) and went straight for his fabric-covered prick.
He placed his hands along John’s hips and held them there firmly before he mouthed along the line of his cock.
The reaction was instantaneous.
John all but screamed, arching wildly. He bit down gently and John choked; Sherlock felt his cock twitch sharply, and then warm wetness pooled under his tongue. His first orgasm already. No matter. John would be ready to go again soon enough.
After planting a soft kiss along the organ, Sherlock retracted his nails and unbuttoned John’s trousers. Nestled inside of his pants was John’s perfect little cock.
Well, little in comparison to Sherlock. His own trousers were quickly shucked, his pants gone in moments. After a moment’s hesitation he sat up and gave John a lovely view of his cock, slowly stroking the large organ with one hand whilst humming contentedly.
John looked a little frightened by the size, but his eyes were all but black and his heart-rate doubled.
Sherlock toyed with the foreskin, pulling it down to expose the glossy head, and John squirmed. Sherlock brushed his thumb along the glans and hissed, precome pearling at the tip, dripping down the side.
"Jesus that’s big," John said breathlessly. He gazed up at Sherlock uncertainly, and the look was so pretty Sherlock couldn’t help but kiss him.
Kissing him was an experience Sherlock would definitely repeat. John was relaxed and pliant, but the muscles under his hands still jumped to his touch. “I’ll prepare you, don’t worry," Sherlock said, voice rough, deep. Christ, so deep. John’s toes curled every time he spoke. "I’m not a cruel beast."
John could have laughed. He almost did, but Sherlock distracted him when he moved off of the bed and towards his dresser. He pulled out a large bottle of lubricant.
"Mycroft is a bastard," he said softly to himself,
"Who?"
"Nobody important," Sherlock replied hastily, opening the cap. Returning to his mate, Sherlock smiled wickedly at John.
"Pants. Off." John pulled his hands free of the jumper around his wrists and rested his fingertips uncertainly over the waistband. He bit his lip.
While the display of shyness was adorably stupid, Sherlock didn’t have time for that. He used his claws and ripped through the seams along John’s hips, pleased by the sharp gasp with which he was rewarded.
"Oh my- you’re not going to…have your claws out when…the whole time, will you?"
"Mutilation is not a big turn-on, no," Sherlock reassured. He pulled away the piece, revealing John’s wet prick, and curled his palms under John’s knees.
"Up." At his blank look: “hold them up. Your knees, thighs, I don’t care!"
Obeying instantly (my perfect mate, mine), John held his trembling thighs aloft, breath coming out in frightened gasps.
He’d never had something like that done before. No one had ever— and he had never— But he wanted. Jesus, how he wanted it.
With his hands Sherlock spread John’s cheeks fully and the pink pucker of John’s arse was revealed, twitching softly like it just couldn’t wait to have something inside of it. Sherlock was almost tempted to turn him around and eat him out until he screamed, but there were more pressing matters.
First, submission. John was too frightened. He needed him aroused.
He spread John’s legs forcefully and slid his cock along John’s ignoring the fact that it was soft. He started to thrust against the soft organ gently. John moaned weakly, like it was too much, but he responded faster than Sherlock expected. His prick began to harden, twitching up into Sherlock’s warm cock. Precome and John’s own ejaculate made the slide more slippery, until Sherlock had to grip both of them in order to thrust more roughly.
John whimpered and writhed, biting his lip and then his arm, doing as much as he could to stifle the noise.
"Don’t!" Sherlock ordered sharply, and John’s mouth unhinged with a hitching gasp.
"I want to hear you," Sherlock growled.
"Oh Christ, that’s-" he wanted to ask how he had hardened so quickly, but he could only moan and roll his hips into Sherlock’s hot palm. It was like rocking into heat, warm and tight. When Sherlock pulled away, he whined in disappointment.
"Fantastic, John. Hold yourself open again."
John obeyed, and while he was tight with a new tension, the fear had all but run out of him.
Sherlock slicked his fingers, and without preamble shoved the first one into John.
He yelped at the cold feeling and his hole clenched around the digit, hardly in. Sherlock breathed through his nose and kissed John’s calve. “Relax," he ordered, sucking delicately on the skin of his ankle.
At length John was able to. His body sagged, and soon Sherlock was pumping two fingers into his slick hole.
"Oh my god," John was moaning, a beautiful flush spreading down to his collar, and his hands trembled from where he held himself. “That shouldn’t feel so- oh my. God. Why does that feel so good." He arched and threw his head uselessly from side to side.
Sherlock smirked and added a third finger, feeling John’s pain through the bond as well as the tight clenching of his hole. His fingers, while previously working him open, actively searched for his prostate. It was fairly easy to find, and as soon as he found it John gasped silently for a few precious moments, his cock twitching sharply, spurting preemptively over its side. Sherlock thought for a moment he had come, but he was still just as hard.
"Oh my fucking god, Sherlock. That’s so good- Christ, please-" Sherlock rubbed over the swollen bump with every pump of his fingers, enjoying John’s reactions as he completely broke down.
When John was loosened by four of Sherlock’s fingers, he pulled out and purred when John’s body twitched and his whined. Now for the final act.
Sherlock slicked his cock with a generous amount of lubrication.
Sherlock raised John’s knees over his bent shoulders and peered down at his meal before taking the final bite. John was flushed, his hair a mess, and his body was covered in a soft sheen of sweat. His cock looked good enough to taste—it was unfortunate that he had not the time.
Sherlock lined his prick up against John’s hole and watched it part around the head, fluttering around the intrusion. John gasped, which melted into a moan as Sherlock moved inexorable, insistently inside. He thrust his hips gently. encouraging John to open up.
"Ohh, fuck," his mate breathed, breath hitching with each inch that entered him. “Oh god you’re huge," he breathed, arching weakly. “It- it’s too big." But even so, his cock was dribbling onto his stomach, hard to the point of discomfort.
"Shh," Sherlock encouraged, ears tuned to the wants of his mate. His tail was still with pleasure, his ears twitching low. John felt spectacular inside; it was tight, wet heat, swallowing him beautifully. “Relax. You can take it."
And eventually he did. John took every inch of him up until the knot, which had already inflated some. Sherlock stopped before it could enter him, letting him feel the extra girth. John’s eyes were glassy and wide.
Sherlock flashed his fangs.
He experimented with thrusting, barely hitching his hips, and was rewarded with a few muted curses. He repositioned his hold on John and began to thrust more forcefully, rewarded again with his mate’s sharp, relieved cries. John couldn’t help it, he knew. After the agony of what was like a heat for him, the inexplicable need, the relief was too great to contain.
Harder Sherlock began to thrust, rough growls of pleasure bursting from deep within his chest. He barely noticed: he was focused on John breaking into pieces under him, his fingers scrabbling at the sheets, fisting them before roaming for a new handhold.
"Holy fuck, god, Sherlock. Oh my-" he gasped and bent forward, one hand now tugging at his hair painfully, the other gripping Sherlock’s shoulder as bone-shattering pleasure rolled through him and his cock spurted. “That feels so good, so good, Sherlock. I- please." He didn’t even know what he was asking for.
Sherlock knew. He needed relief—relief that would come from his knot. The orgasm had cause John to contract, his muscles milking Sherlock’s cock, who growled possessively and pounded into John more forcefully. The knot was nearly swollen completely, catching John’s rim with every thrust. Although he had had one orgasm, Sherlock knew another would come. John needed true relief.
He was surprised to find John’s fingers in his hair, leaning up with an open mouth for a kiss. Sherlock covered John’s body with his own and continued to fuck him, kissing him like he wanted to devour him whole. John moaned sweetly and brushed his thumbs along Sherlock’s furry ears.
He froze, growling threateningly. No one touched his ears.
Except John didn’t look afraid, only rolled his hips and ran his warm fingers along the soft fur. Pleasure coiled in Sherlock’s belly. Perhaps he would allow it this once.
He redoubled his efforts, nails digging into the flesh of John’s thighs.
"Come on," he growled, his knot catching almost fully. John winced, but his cock twitched like it wanted to rise. Sherlock pushed and pushed until he was almost fully seated, ignoring John when he said “It’s too big! I can’t take it."
"You will. You can." With a snarl Sherlock forced himself past and came with a roar, shuddering as he emptied inside of his mate.
"Oh my god, yes," John gasped, as if everything boiled down to Sherlock coming inside of him, knotting him. Oh God that felt amazing. And he was half hard again, all too sensitive. He probably wouldn’t be able to get off with his hand.
"Don’t worry, I have you, John. I’ll take care of you." He would catch him when he fell.
Sherlock pressed down on his perineum and earned a yelp when it rubbed his prostate against the knot. Sherlock rocked up and continued to stimulate him, aiming on his final orgasm.
"It’s too much," John whined. “I can’t go anymore."
But he could. Sherlock knew he could.
He shivered as he continued to empty into John, rolling his knot over the little pleasure spot until John was leaking all over himself, gasping wildly. His heels dug into Sherlock’s shoulders, and one slipped down to his thigh, changing the way it felt; slight enough that it wouldn’t hurt them, but enough that John’s cry sounded it was wrenched out of him as he came, one fist shoved against his teeth.
They lied there for a long time. Mostly because the knot tied them together, but also because John was utter /knackered/. He couldn’t move a muscle. He groaned and pressed his sweaty forehead into the furs under him.
"That’s the wildest sex I’ve ever had," he informed Sherlock. “I can’t believe you knotted me. I can’t believe I came three times." He couldn’t believe any of it.
Sherlock chuckled. “Your reaction is even better than I anticipated. You’re not even a little afraid. You’ll make a worthy mate."
"For the record, I’m not gay," John intoned. Sherlock shrugged.
"Does it matter? You’re mine now."
And John wanted to be able to curse and scream, to want to strangle the wolf, but deep inside he knew Sherlock was right.