This time, instead of holding his hand out, he taps Sherlock’s cheek lightly. “Tongue,” he says sharply, and Sherlock sticks it out, tensing in eager anticipation when John holds the cigar out towards him. He holds Sherlock firmly by the hair, rolling the cigar carefully so that the ash falls directly onto Sherlock’s tongue. The heat is intense, his instincts directing him to quickly close his mouth, but he keeps his tongue out for John.
“Good boy,” John purrs, then grabs him tightly by the throat and smokes for a minute, his eyes locked on Sherlock’s they widen, his body urged to panic at the lack of oxygen. He forces himself not to jerk too hard, not to actually fight, but he whimpers with what breath he does have and his lower body twists even as the rest of him remains still. “Mm,” John grins, finally letting go. “Swallow.” Sherlock pulls air in through his nose, swallows down the ash with several tries. “I like watching you struggle,” John says in that same calm, assured tone he’s been using all evening. Doctor voice, Sherlock thinks, and how funny it is that that is actually even hotter than Captain voice, mid-scene.
When Sherlock’s done swallowing, John slaps him casually across the face a few times, leaning forward in his chair. When he leans back again, he props a boot against Sherlock’s chest, and starts to stroke his own dick. Sherlock licks his lips, whimpering. He wants to suck that cock. He wants to be responsible for John’s pleasure so badly. John kicks him instead, the entire sole of his boot slamming forward into Sherlock's pectoral muscle. He does it a few more times, calmly wanking and smoking, and watching Sherlock.
“Look me in the eye, Sherlock Holmes,” John orders, his voice quiet but demanding attention. “I own you."
It’s in that moment that Sherlock is well and truly gone.
Light, Burn, Ash, Suck (5b/6)
“Good boy,” John purrs, then grabs him tightly by the throat and smokes for a minute, his eyes locked on Sherlock’s they widen, his body urged to panic at the lack of oxygen. He forces himself not to jerk too hard, not to actually fight, but he whimpers with what breath he does have and his lower body twists even as the rest of him remains still. “Mm,” John grins, finally letting go. “Swallow.” Sherlock pulls air in through his nose, swallows down the ash with several tries. “I like watching you struggle,” John says in that same calm, assured tone he’s been using all evening. Doctor voice, Sherlock thinks, and how funny it is that that is actually even hotter than Captain voice, mid-scene.
When Sherlock’s done swallowing, John slaps him casually across the face a few times, leaning forward in his chair. When he leans back again, he props a boot against Sherlock’s chest, and starts to stroke his own dick. Sherlock licks his lips, whimpering. He wants to suck that cock. He wants to be responsible for John’s pleasure so badly. John kicks him instead, the entire sole of his boot slamming forward into Sherlock's pectoral muscle. He does it a few more times, calmly wanking and smoking, and watching Sherlock.
“Look me in the eye, Sherlock Holmes,” John orders, his voice quiet but demanding attention. “I own you."
It’s in that moment that Sherlock is well and truly gone.