Someone wrote in [personal profile] sherlockbbc_fic 2015-02-17 03:51 am (UTC)

FILL 23a/24 138 (John in slave auction) '

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Rating:
Explicit
Archive Warning:
Rape/Non-Con
Category:
M/M
Fandom:
Sherlock (TV)
Relationship:
Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Characters:
Sherlock HolmesJohn WatsonMary MorstanMycroft Holmes
Additional Tags:
SlaverySexual SlaveryPost-ReichenbachFuck Or Diebut not quite a fuck or dieclose enoughHiatusJohn WhumpSherlock Whumpeverybody gets the whump!Oral Sexobsessive compulsive-type behaviorSelf-Harmattempts at sapiosexuality
Language: English Stats:Published:2014-11-09Updated:2015-02-17Words:21978Chapters:21/22Comments:209Kudos:291Bookmarks:65Hits:6950
(Restricted) 138
Iwantthatcoat

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Chapter 21

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Sherlock tried to raise his head, but felt lightheaded, almost dizzy, and let it fall back down to the pillow. He was staring at the ceiling, and becoming increasingly aware of the sounds of the shower. Of John in the shower. Sherlock pictured John's hands lathering up the hair on his chest, the darker hair across his stomach...bracing himself against the shower wall, leaning on one arm, soaping himself up with the remaining lather while water beaded across his tanned body. Spent as he was, Sherlock was surprised to find the imagery still somewhat effective.

No. John wanted privacy. Wanted to leave... for just a moment. John didn't deserve a deductive voyeur, in reality or even within the confines of Sherlock's own fantasy. Not that he would actually mind, though, Sherlock reasoned. He frowned. There probably wasn't anything John actually would mind. But, in any case, Sherlock had quite a lot to think about, and he knew the best opportunity for analysis would correspond with solitude.

He glanced down at his own body, and felt... almost, cold. Almost... empty. Relaxed, reasonably content, loved and cared for, but... something in him just wanted, longed, to... to what?

God, he loved John. More than he'd ever been capable of loving anyone in his life. It certainly wasn't doubt about that, this unknown element. And as hesitant as he had been, it was good to have taken this step. It was a high unlike any other. He smirked. And he knew highs. Only he didn't seek them out anymore, preferring mental epiphanies to physical ones.

And here was its companion. Its corresponding low. It wasn't a bad crash, really. It wasn't even truly a crash at all. More of a contrast. A stark contrast. Disorienting.

And he had been right, of course. It was too much, too soon. But, John... John wouldn't have understood that. It would have hurt him. Next time... Next time. He smiled at that. Next time, John won't need to prove himself, and it won't need to be quite as intense. He'd have to figure out what constituted a reasonable wait between carnal acts. John shouldn't have to wait too long.

John would be back soon, and they would rest together. He pictured it-- his limbs wrapped up in John. It would be perfect. For all his lack of urgent sexuality, he still enjoyed tactile sensation. Fine fabrics, the warmth of a fireplace, even the soft velvet of that godawful overly-ornate fleurs-de-lis wallpaper.

The shower stopped, the door creaked, and there he was-- towel wrapped around his waist, and, yes, beads of water still glistening in the hollows of his neck, with skin rosy from the combination of a recent orgasm and a hot shower.

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