John raises the belt again and Sherlock quickly tries to backpedal over his choice of words.
“I didn’t mean that, sir.” He says quickly. “I’m not stupid, I know how serious it is.” Again, a bad choice of words. The next three blows land one on top of the other, the burn building in that one spot.
“I did not ask if you were stupid. I know you’re not that. I asked if you understood how serious this is.”
“I do, sir!”
“Go on, tell me why.”
“…It’s illegal.”
“Yes, that’s a good start. Why else?”
“Dangerous?”
“That shouldn’t be a question, Sherlock. Yes it’s dangerous. That’s more serious to me than the legality of it right now. Imagine if you had overdosed, or taken a bad hit. Imagine if you had died, if I’d lost you again. How do you think that would make me feel?”
Sherlock wished more than ever that he was over John’s lap. He wanted to bury his face into the sofa cushions. He wanted to be able to place a hand back on John’s leg and feel John’s fingers in his hair. He knew why this wasn’t feeling even a little bit good. When John spanked him for pleasure, he’d rub his skin between blows and whisper what a naughty little slut he was and what he was going to do to him when he was finished. Even when John had punished him before there had still been some soothing touch, some contact to let Sherlock know that John still loved him.
“So, that’s the law, and danger taken into account. Why else?” John asks. Sherlock tries to fight through his brain. He thought that was it. What else was there?
“I…I don’t know, sir.” He admitted. He expected another hit with the belt but instead John’s hand just rubbed soothing circles on his lower back.
“You didn’t talk to me, Sherlock. You can always, always talk to me. If you need to, or if you just want to, you can talk to me about anything. I thought you knew that. We could have talked this through, and I could have helped you.”
He realises John is maybe still telling Sherlock he still loves him, just not in a way Sherlock is used to. “Oh.”
Fill: Coming Down 5/?
“I didn’t mean that, sir.” He says quickly. “I’m not stupid, I know how serious it is.” Again, a bad choice of words. The next three blows land one on top of the other, the burn building in that one spot.
“I did not ask if you were stupid. I know you’re not that. I asked if you understood how serious this is.”
“I do, sir!”
“Go on, tell me why.”
“…It’s illegal.”
“Yes, that’s a good start. Why else?”
“Dangerous?”
“That shouldn’t be a question, Sherlock. Yes it’s dangerous. That’s more serious to me than the legality of it right now. Imagine if you had overdosed, or taken a bad hit. Imagine if you had died, if I’d lost you again. How do you think that would make me feel?”
Sherlock wished more than ever that he was over John’s lap. He wanted to bury his face into the sofa cushions. He wanted to be able to place a hand back on John’s leg and feel John’s fingers in his hair. He knew why this wasn’t feeling even a little bit good. When John spanked him for pleasure, he’d rub his skin between blows and whisper what a naughty little slut he was and what he was going to do to him when he was finished. Even when John had punished him before there had still been some soothing touch, some contact to let Sherlock know that John still loved him.
“So, that’s the law, and danger taken into account. Why else?” John asks. Sherlock tries to fight through his brain. He thought that was it. What else was there?
“I…I don’t know, sir.” He admitted. He expected another hit with the belt but instead John’s hand just rubbed soothing circles on his lower back.
“You didn’t talk to me, Sherlock. You can always, always talk to me. If you need to, or if you just want to, you can talk to me about anything. I thought you knew that. We could have talked this through, and I could have helped you.”
He realises John is maybe still telling Sherlock he still loves him, just not in a way Sherlock is used to.
“Oh.”