“Tonight, I’m going to teach you a very special lesson about friendship,” he sounds like a character on children’s programming until he adds, “and the dangers thereof.”
“Let John go,” Sherlock’s voice is tight, “and I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”
John wants to protest. Sherlock, for all his intelligence, regularly has spectacularly stupid ideas, but trying to get himself left alone like this with Moriarty may be the stupidest one yet. He can’t find his voice.
“I appreciate your willingness to prostitute yourself, but that’s not about to happen.”
Sherlock inhales, chest expanding enough that John can feel it pushing him back. “If you take this from me, I’ll never give it to you. Wouldn’t you prefer that?” His tone changes with the addition of a thread of interest that almost makes John’s wince at its obvious falseness. “You’ve been so interesting. Don’t disappoint me now.” Sherlock must catch the insincerity, because it’s gone when he adds, “please.”
“Who’s being simple now? I’m not taking anything you can give me.”
The pressure on his back returns and the hands slip between their bodies again, palms facing his own chest rather than Sherlock’s.
“I know you have him running after you like a slave, but he still has the free will to consent, doesn’t he?” Moriarty turns his face close, breath warm against John’s ear. “Or not?”
John can only blink and look down at Sherlock’s parted lips and wide eyes. Sherlock looks almost as shocked as John feels. John had been trying to prepare himself for what could – what probably would – happen, but he hadn’t expected to be Moriarty’s focus.
He tries to tell himself that this is better. That this means Moriarty will at least not... do anything to Sherlock. That he knows he’s able to deal with trauma, to push on, and it’s best like this because he’s not sure Sherlock is as skilled at coping as he is.
It’s not fair. John’s not the one who’s been taunting Moriarty. And for all he knows, Sherlock doesn’t even care about sex, maybe wouldn’t even be affected by it while he will be –
No. It’s fine. It’s better like this. He can convince himself of that; he needs to. Besides, Moriarty’s words implied that Sherlock wouldn’t need to consent to anything, wouldn’t be touched. John can embrace that. It means, at least, that they won’t be forced to touch, to hurt, each other. He can deal with anything else, he can.
“No!” Sherlock snarls from beneath him, trying to rise up, “This is between you and me. Leave him out of it.”
“Ooh,” Moriarty coos, lips brushing John’s ear, “You poor thing. He doesn’t think you’re a part of this.” Moriarty leans back. “He doesn’t appreciate you.” His tone is lyrical as he runs two fingers up John’s spine, “Don’t worry. I think you matter.”
John grits his teeth, slows his breathing, stares down at Sherlock and gives a short, light squeeze to their clasped hands. He can’t panic; that would do no one any good.
Re: Bound (Warning: non-con) 4/12
“Let John go,” Sherlock’s voice is tight, “and I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”
John wants to protest. Sherlock, for all his intelligence, regularly has spectacularly stupid ideas, but trying to get himself left alone like this with Moriarty may be the stupidest one yet. He can’t find his voice.
“I appreciate your willingness to prostitute yourself, but that’s not about to happen.”
Sherlock inhales, chest expanding enough that John can feel it pushing him back. “If you take this from me, I’ll never give it to you. Wouldn’t you prefer that?” His tone changes with the addition of a thread of interest that almost makes John’s wince at its obvious falseness. “You’ve been so interesting. Don’t disappoint me now.” Sherlock must catch the insincerity, because it’s gone when he adds, “please.”
“Who’s being simple now? I’m not taking anything you can give me.”
The pressure on his back returns and the hands slip between their bodies again, palms facing his own chest rather than Sherlock’s.
“I know you have him running after you like a slave, but he still has the free will to consent, doesn’t he?” Moriarty turns his face close, breath warm against John’s ear. “Or not?”
John can only blink and look down at Sherlock’s parted lips and wide eyes. Sherlock looks almost as shocked as John feels. John had been trying to prepare himself for what could – what probably would – happen, but he hadn’t expected to be Moriarty’s focus.
He tries to tell himself that this is better. That this means Moriarty will at least not... do anything to Sherlock. That he knows he’s able to deal with trauma, to push on, and it’s best like this because he’s not sure Sherlock is as skilled at coping as he is.
It’s not fair. John’s not the one who’s been taunting Moriarty. And for all he knows, Sherlock doesn’t even care about sex, maybe wouldn’t even be affected by it while he will be –
No. It’s fine. It’s better like this. He can convince himself of that; he needs to. Besides, Moriarty’s words implied that Sherlock wouldn’t need to consent to anything, wouldn’t be touched. John can embrace that. It means, at least, that they won’t be forced to touch, to hurt, each other. He can deal with anything else, he can.
“No!” Sherlock snarls from beneath him, trying to rise up, “This is between you and me. Leave him out of it.”
“Ooh,” Moriarty coos, lips brushing John’s ear, “You poor thing. He doesn’t think you’re a part of this.” Moriarty leans back. “He doesn’t appreciate you.” His tone is lyrical as he runs two fingers up John’s spine, “Don’t worry. I think you matter.”
John grits his teeth, slows his breathing, stares down at Sherlock and gives a short, light squeeze to their clasped hands. He can’t panic; that would do no one any good.