“Yeah, absolutely. Can I touch your pet, John?” Anna wondered aloud, voice quivering with chemical bliss. “He’s fabulous.”
At this, against reason, John felt a swelling of pride. He noticed he was petting Sherlock’s thigh absently. He stopped.
“Can they touch you, Sherlock?”
“My ears are off limits. But, yes.”
The girls began petting both of them. It was nice, soft hands all over.
"What are you into, other than the bootblacking?" Rose asked.
John balked, "That's an awfully personal question, isn't it?"
Sherlock whispered into his ear, "Remember where we are. Here, 'What do you do for a living?' is a personal question."
“Come on, Rose,” Anna gave John’s arm a final squeeze and pleaded now with her, reaching around Sherlock, hugging him on John’s lap, to hold Rose’s hand. “Tell Powder to invite John and Sherlock. They’re so pretty, and we need more male couples. We never get cute queer boys in the inner circle. Too many hetero vibes at Top Floor, they’re killing my buzz.”
“Please, Anna,” Rose rolled her eyes. “Nothing on God’s green Earth could kill your buzz.”
“My kind of girl,” remarked Sherlock dryly, snuggling into John. His insincerity was lost on the two buzzed girls, who only giggled.
“You don’t have a type of girl, Sherlock,” John said despite, perhaps because of, the dizzy heat that sprang through him at the friction of Sherlock’s body against his. It’s the girls he corrected himself. The girls and the booze..
“You should roll with us,” the girl in the pink latex decided abruptly.
“MDMA.” Sherlock sniffed primly. “Why would I want to do a drug that makes you love everyone?”
“Is coke more your speed?”
John glanced at Sherlock. He looked exceedingly uncomfortable, like someone was forcing him into a bath of cold water. The girls found Sherlock’s antipathy hilarious, for some reason. John didn’t think it was funny, not in the least. But, he was glad Sherlock wasn’t quick to pick up such a direct offer to use.
John answered for him, “Sherlock doesn’t smoke and he doesn’t do drugs.”
“Then be my friend on kinkspace,” said the girl in pink. “My handle’s RubberDolly, but you can just call me Dolly. You do have KinkSpace, don’t you? It’s a social networking site for deviants.”
“No,” Sherlock responded, getting out his mobile. His fingers flew over the screen. “But, I will in a moment.”
“Bad boy,” scolded Rose. “You’re not supposed to do that here.”
The other girls didn’t seem to care. Dolly said, “Oh, goody. I’d love to dress you two up sometime. You’d make such delightful little dolls.”
“I think John would look good in something military. Don’t you agree?” Sherlock asked, with a devilishly mischievous smile.
“Yes!” almost all of the girls responded.
“Tell me more about kinkspace,” John said.
Anna blathered, “Kinkspace. It’s the beating heart of Tribe. It’s where everyone goes. It’s the string that keeps us connected when we’re away from each other, living our other lives.”
Sherlock leaned in and whispered in John’s ear, “I have what I need.”
He climbed out of John’s lap and stood. The girls withdrew their hands. The sudden lack of contact was disappointing. The girls looked disappointed too, each and every one of them.
“My account is BloodHound, if you’d like to friend me.” It was strange to hear Sherlock talk about social media like it was something he went in for. He made a curt bow. “It was nice to meet all of you. But, John prefers when I get a full night’s sleep. So, I’m afraid we’re done for the night.”
Sherlock collected their bag. John followed him out. In the cab John laughed, punch drunk from endorphins and adrenaline, "There's something I never thought I'd do."
"What?” Sherlock shot him an unbelieving look. “You'd never been to a BDSM club?"
John mirrored Sherlock’s disbelief, "Had you?"
Sherlock didn’t answer. He steepled his fingers under his chin. It was obvious he wasn’t going to speak for a while. Finally, when they were approaching Baker Street and John was half asleep propped up against the door, he suddenly announced:
"Love-bomb."
"Excuse me?" John responded, stifling a yawn.
"Love-bomb.” Sherlock repeated with more intensity. “We were love-bombed."
Fill: The Worst Man in London [5c/?]
At this, against reason, John felt a swelling of pride. He noticed he was petting Sherlock’s thigh absently. He stopped.
“Can they touch you, Sherlock?”
“My ears are off limits. But, yes.”
The girls began petting both of them. It was nice, soft hands all over.
"What are you into, other than the bootblacking?" Rose asked.
John balked, "That's an awfully personal question, isn't it?"
Sherlock whispered into his ear, "Remember where we are. Here, 'What do you do for a living?' is a personal question."
“Come on, Rose,” Anna gave John’s arm a final squeeze and pleaded now with her, reaching around Sherlock, hugging him on John’s lap, to hold Rose’s hand. “Tell Powder to invite John and Sherlock. They’re so pretty, and we need more male couples. We never get cute queer boys in the inner circle. Too many hetero vibes at Top Floor, they’re killing my buzz.”
“Please, Anna,” Rose rolled her eyes. “Nothing on God’s green Earth could kill your buzz.”
“My kind of girl,” remarked Sherlock dryly, snuggling into John. His insincerity was lost on the two buzzed girls, who only giggled.
“You don’t have a type of girl, Sherlock,” John said despite, perhaps because of, the dizzy heat that sprang through him at the friction of Sherlock’s body against his. It’s the girls he corrected himself. The girls and the booze..
“You should roll with us,” the girl in the pink latex decided abruptly.
“MDMA.” Sherlock sniffed primly. “Why would I want to do a drug that makes you love everyone?”
“Is coke more your speed?”
John glanced at Sherlock. He looked exceedingly uncomfortable, like someone was forcing him into a bath of cold water. The girls found Sherlock’s antipathy hilarious, for some reason. John didn’t think it was funny, not in the least. But, he was glad Sherlock wasn’t quick to pick up such a direct offer to use.
John answered for him, “Sherlock doesn’t smoke and he doesn’t do drugs.”
“Then be my friend on kinkspace,” said the girl in pink. “My handle’s RubberDolly, but you can just call me Dolly. You do have KinkSpace, don’t you? It’s a social networking site for deviants.”
“No,” Sherlock responded, getting out his mobile. His fingers flew over the screen. “But, I will in a moment.”
“Bad boy,” scolded Rose. “You’re not supposed to do that here.”
The other girls didn’t seem to care. Dolly said, “Oh, goody. I’d love to dress you two up sometime. You’d make such delightful little dolls.”
“I think John would look good in something military. Don’t you agree?” Sherlock asked, with a devilishly mischievous smile.
“Yes!” almost all of the girls responded.
“Tell me more about kinkspace,” John said.
Anna blathered, “Kinkspace. It’s the beating heart of Tribe. It’s where everyone goes. It’s the string that keeps us connected when we’re away from each other, living our other lives.”
Sherlock leaned in and whispered in John’s ear, “I have what I need.”
He climbed out of John’s lap and stood. The girls withdrew their hands. The sudden lack of contact was disappointing. The girls looked disappointed too, each and every one of them.
“My account is BloodHound, if you’d like to friend me.” It was strange to hear Sherlock talk about social media like it was something he went in for. He made a curt bow. “It was nice to meet all of you. But, John prefers when I get a full night’s sleep. So, I’m afraid we’re done for the night.”
Sherlock collected their bag. John followed him out. In the cab John laughed, punch drunk from endorphins and adrenaline, "There's something I never thought I'd do."
"What?” Sherlock shot him an unbelieving look. “You'd never been to a BDSM club?"
John mirrored Sherlock’s disbelief, "Had you?"
Sherlock didn’t answer. He steepled his fingers under his chin. It was obvious he wasn’t going to speak for a while. Finally, when they were approaching Baker Street and John was half asleep propped up against the door, he suddenly announced:
"Love-bomb."
"Excuse me?" John responded, stifling a yawn.
"Love-bomb.” Sherlock repeated with more intensity. “We were love-bombed."