sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXV

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Prompting Part XXXV

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MEME LINKS
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OTHER LINKS AND AFFILIATES

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Useful resources for Sherlock and LiveJournal.
Sherlock screencaps.

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“Tell me what you like about this,” John murmurs, fingers brushing along Sherlock’s inseam. Sherlock bites his lip, trying not to squirm.

“The… submission,” he admits. “The power differential."

“Because he’s on his knees?"

Sherlock shakes his head. “That’s only a small part of it. Because it’s symbolic… he’s on his knees, but he’s also… hot for his partner,” he half-whispers. “It’s obvious to deduce. He gets off on it, the symbolism of the cigar, the level of trust required to participate in this kind of edgeplay. He knows that he’s a receptacle, that he’s been chosen for a purpose."

“Mmm.” John squeezes gently between Sherlock’s legs, and he lets a small moan escape. “What purpose is that?"

“To take his ash,” Sherlock intones softly, hips canting up just slightly.

“What does that mean, taking his ash? Tell me more."

“It means being useful. Being willing, even if it feels too hot and even if it’s dirty. The man… believes that he will be pleasing.”

“I think he is,” John says in his ear as the man ashes on the boy’s bare collarbones, the boy arching back with his hands on his heels at the man’s command. “I think he’s very pleasing. I think you could be very pleasing that way."

Sherlock shivers. “Yes, John. Please."

“Yes Sir,” John corrects, but slips two fingers into his mouth before he can repeat it, stroking his tongue. “Do you think that’s all the boy’s good at?” he queries, and gives Sherlock a moment to consider before removing the impromptu gag.

“No, Sir,” Sherlock whispers, and then finds his voice again. “I think he’s good at sucking cock, too. But I think… if he’s good at much else, besides that, it’s irrelevant."

“Because that man only wants him for a very particular purpose?"

“Yes,” Sherlock agrees. “I… think the boy likes it."

“Mm,” John replies, hand gripping Sherlock’s cock with a casual possessiveness. “I think he does, too."

This is so hot! Please update ASAP! =)

okay i think i've just discovered a new kink. more please?

It doesn’t surprise Sherlock that John insists on a bit of ritual, a bit of time to get into headspace. It fits John, as a top, and John reminds him that he’s the one in charge, and so Sherlock will indulge John in some little things he wants to be a part of this scene beyond Sherlock’s own particular kinks. Sherlock doesn’t need the reminder. It’s easy enough to comply, to sink into obedience. He strips and kneels at John’s order, facing John, with John in his usual chair in the sitting room. John strokes his face and murmurs in a low voice that Sherlock is his tonight, that Sherlock is going to be a good boy for John. This intimacy, perhaps, is difficult for Sherlock, but John’s words quickly get him over that cliff, almost whispered in his ear. Sherlock is a good toy, a useful accessory. “You have a fairly simple role tonight,” John coos, deceptively gentle. “Don’t screw it up.”

Sherlock inhales sharply, nuzzles John’s hand. “Impress me tonight,” John demands, and Sherlock immediately wants to. It’s a harder edge than usual for John, and Sherlock wants to know more about it. He winces as John holds his jaw to the point of pain, but lust flares low in his belly when John spits directly onto his tongue, twice. He rolls the end of a cigar on Sherlock’s tongue to wet it, and then shoves Sherlock down, roughly, to the floor, his forehead touching the carpet just under John’s chair and his arse up in the air. It’s meant to be a vulnerable position, Sherlock assumes, though having his bare bum displayed doesn’t really get to him. What does is the way his head is positioned underneath John, shoved aside, John’s boots pressing on his back.

Sherlock's brain is not important tonight. He is tangential, useful only insofar as he serves John’s pleasures. He moans softly, not loud enough to cover the snip of the cutter above his head or the snick of the match. He wishes he could watch John light the cigar, but being in this position instead reinforces his submission, his objectification. The heavy heels of John’s boots dig into his back, abrading his skin with a surprising degree of pain, and Sherlock starts to sink as the sweet scent of smoke invades his perception.

Perfection...

“Get up,” John demands after perhaps a minute of waiting. “On your feet.” Sherlock slides back, pushing up to stand, and gets his first glimpse of John sitting there, entirely in control, with a lit cigar between his fingers. “Hands behind your head."

Sherlock complies, and the first thing John does, after an inhalation from the cigar, is blow smoke directly over his dick, mouth forming an “o” just centimeters from the head. Sherlock doesn’t stand a chance of being dignified about this. He whimpers aloud, and John smacks his hip.

“Turn around.” The next sensation of hot smoke against his skin is even more shocking. John spreads his cheeks a bit with two fingers in a V and then blows directly over his arsehole. It takes all of his concentration not to jump, nor to beg. He’s adamant about his role as a vessel, as a tool in this kind of a scene, but sometimes the sensations make him want to be more active and beg for more. He steels himself and John does it again.

“Slut,” John teases, lips brushing his hole. Sherlock just bites his lip. John nudges his hip, gets him to turn again, and when he sees John again he’s grinning. “Do you think I could fuck you with this?” John asks, turning the cigar to inspect the cherry, tone all casual. Sherlock hitches in a breath but says nothing.

“Kneel, boy,” John orders, leaning back in the chair. “I need my ashtray."

Sherlock’s dick twitches a little with anticipation. He kneels between John’s thighs and John strokes his cheek with a thumb. “Build up some saliva in your mouth,” John says, then ashes into his own hand, rolling the cigar so that the cooler ash at the end falls, but not the burning cherry. He shakes his hand a bit, testing the temperature, and then suddenly yanks Sherlock forward roughly by the hair. John’s cupped hand is shoved against his face before Sherlock can even get his tongue out, but he eagerly licks the ash into his mouth as soon as he does, rocking his hips a bit out of instinct when he first encounters the salty taste and the familiar gritty texture.

“Good little ash slut,” John coos, his voice lower than usual, more affectionate than Sherlock’s used to in a scene. But the hand in his hair is perfect, and John is perfect, this mix of caretaker and strict dominant. Sherlock swallows as best he can, licking more up, fighting his body’s tendency to reject the too-dry substance. He gathers more saliva and wets John’s palm, licking it clean. “Such a useful tongue,” John praises, then smears the last bit of wet gray substance over Sherlock’s face, briefly smothering him with his open hand. Sherlock sticks his tongue out again when John’s hand comes away, panting, eager to show how fucking useful he can be.

What a great kink! =) John is a perfect dom. I love the way he keeps his sub safe.

“Ah-ah,” John teases, laughing a bit. “Water first,” he says, nodding to the bottle next to his chair as he takes another draw from the cigar, hollowing his cheeks. Sherlock sucks down a third of the bottle. It’s thirsty work, and he knows how important taking care of his physical needs is for John. He can indulge that, though he wants more, needs more.

“I’m going to let you suck cock in a minute,” John declares casually once Sherlock has recapped the bottle, and he nearly drops it. He puts it back on the table, a plea almost on his lips, but John grips the back of his neck and he goes silent. “But first,” John continues, releasing his neck and offering his hand, “you can have my trigger finger.” Sherlock groans, loves how John knows just how to get to him. He takes John’s index finger and sucks it with gusto, pressure exaggerated, drawing the pad of the finger over his bottom teeth. He lets his tongue caress the callouses, moaning encouragement when John holds the hot cigar over his back, close enough to feel like it’s burning. John puts the cigar in Sherlock’s hand, then, and unzips his trousers one-handed. As soon as he takes his finger away from Sherlock’s mouth, he’s pushing Sherlock down on his cock, groaning when Sherlock suckles greedily at the head.

“Atta boy,” John moans. “Keep your mouth busy while I build up some more ash for you. I know—“ his breath hitches, voice going shaky, “—how important it is for you to use your mouth, Sherlock. That oral fixation of yours…"

Sherlock doesn’t deny it. He works John’s shaft languidly, tongue leading, peeking past his lower lip. He knows it’s sluttish and he likes it that way. John used to be so thrilled when a woman would surprise him with being just a little more into sex than he expected, taking it up the arse or doing it in a semi-public place, and Sherlock wants to show John that he can be so much more than those vapid dates. He can put his intelligence into giving head, god dammit. John’s hand in his hair jerks him out of his thoughts, though, yanking him up again.

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.

Oooooohhhh!!! Possessive John is exactly what I needed! =)

more please!

The rest of the cigar proceeds much the same way, though John lets Sherlock suck him in between rounds of ash, holding him steady by the back of the neck. Soothing words tell him to zone out, to accept his role. He spends the remainder of the scene with his mouth full of cock, ash, or water from the bottle, and he couldn’t be happier. When John finishes the cigar, though, he actually puts it in a real ashtray, rather than using the last of the ash in some perverted finale, and Sherlock stares up at him in disbelief.

John laughs. “You don’t need it,” he pronounces, stroking Sherlock’s face. “Tell me why, smart boy. What’s your job?"

Sherlock frowns, because the obvious answer to that is that his job is to take John’s ash, all of it. But he clamps down on the petulant response and realizes what John is looking for. “To please you,” he says, voice hoarse from ash and disuse. John beams at him, and Sherlock feels a very warm, foreign feeling of pride in his chest as John guides Sherlock to his fingers, letting him suck them and taste the smoke that lingers on John’s skin.

“I cannot believe,” John murmurs when Sherlock is done, and he’s feeding Sherlock his cock again, “that you wrote a treatise on tobacco ash.” Sherlock refrains from rolling his eyes, and swallows around John’s shaft instead.

Awww.. What a hot story. :))

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