Prompt: Mimamia
AN: I don't know why I always start smutshots off with a not-strictly-necessary backstory but uh- yeah. So, yeah. Hope you like it! (…tiny proclamation of self-doubt….I'm not super comfortable writing top!John. I mean I like top!John when other people write him but he seems OOC to me when I do it so…sorry (and I haven't written anything in a super long time...and I didn't get a beta...))
Dub!con
I'll Never Want You
This was cutting it far too close.
Yes, alright, the case was the life-or-death kidnapping of a teen by a homicidal maniac, but John's situation was about to become life-or-death too.
"Can you stop thinking about food for a single second of the day, John?!" Sherlock yelled at the whiteboard, "Your incessant tapping is distracting."
John stopped pounding the table with his finger and glared at the back of Sherlock's head, specifically his very fragile and breakable neck. "Then let me go eat."
"Don't be ridiculous. Donovan brought you food an hour ago. That's more than enough."
John turned his glare to the 'food' lying on the table next to him. One small, dried out piece of sugary vending machine cake covered in a questionable coating of greenish colored frosting. He bared his teeth at it and shoved it towards Sherlock's end of the table.
"I need real food, Sherlock." Sherlock continued to glare at the board. "You don't need me here staring at a map. Why am I even-" John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Frustration rolled off every syllable as he said, "You just assume I'll follow you around like- like your pet. I mean- would it kill you to say the word please? I swear I have never once heard you say it sincerely." His argument fell on deaf ears. "Never mind. I'm going down to the Thai place by the- "
"By the donut shop. Oh. Oh! OH!" Sherlock jumped and clapped as the pieces fell into place, spinning to grab his coat off the chair. "Come along, John!"
John froze, awestruck at his stroke of bad luck.
"John?" Sherlock paused to eye him and said, rather carefully, "Need I remind you of your sentiment towards this teen? As you said, repeatedly, he's just some child who hasn't seen the terrors of the world and is probably crying for his mum or something similar. Really, when I was nineteen I had already-"
"You weren't kidnapped by a homicidal psychopath!"
Sherlock smirked at the response and John shook his head. Right. Hell, there was a kid to think about. Life-or-death, missing for three days, nineteen year old kid. John had been hungry for five. So only nearly life-or-death.
"Shouldn't you call Lestrade?" John asked, jogging after him. No cops were visible in the department. Most were out canvasing.
"You can text him on the way!"
John probably would have been more than willing to do just that if he knew where the bloody hell they were going. That and the hunger was starting to budge into his mind, making everything just the slightest bit hazy when it came to mental processes. As his reasoning clouded over, everything outside himself crystallized.
The sky was dark and the moon was dim but it could have been high noon for all it mattered. He was directly on the coattails of his long-legged flatmate, darting past every type of restaurant, through alleyways, over trashcans and around the homeless –so many meal opportunities passed.
Then, suddenly smacked by the overpowering need to acquire his target, he darted past Sherlock and bolted around the corner. He could smell the kid a mile away. Literally, a mile away.
He sped and dove for the back of the donut shop –Really? A donut shop?- and lunged for the door to the basement without waiting for his royal highness. The kid was there, still breathing and mostly intact –held up only by ropes. John ripped those down easy enough and caught the falling human. When the kid was in his arms he realized how stupid that had been.
Blood. It was everywhere. Chewy dry pieces peeling and fresh beads swirling.
It was one thing to go nearly a week without feeding and go out into society as a doctor, fixing wounds and handing out band-aids. It was entirely another to have a bloody, helpless mess handed to him on a silver platter.
The burning in the back of his throat was relentless. His fangs ripped through his gums and his tongue skidded over his lips. He leaned closer to the kid, watching a small drop of inky red pool at his temple and slip its way over the corner of his eye and down his cheek. It was so close. All he had to do was lean in and-
"John!" Sherlock bounded down the stairs and whipped the lights on.
John flinched with sudden pain. He growled low and grunted as he lifted the kid higher and forced his face to recede back to normalcy. "Here!"
"John, the killer is-" Sherlock's words fell with him as he collapsed to the ground, a hulking figure barreling over him.
"Sherlock!"
"Get him out of here!" Sherlock grunted the words between punches and kicks. "I'll hold him off!"
John grunted again but lifted the kid onto his shoulder and carried him to the main building. No one was in the donut shop at 2am so he dropped the mess in a heap on the middle of the floor. The doctor's voice in his head was getting weaker by the moment but it still told him that the kid would not die anytime soon at this rate of bleeding and he was still conscious enough to move if he needed to. Dehydrated and weak but proper medical aid by someone who wasn't ready to rip his throat out would do just the trick.
The demon reminded him that the kid was half dead already and no one would notice a few extra puncture wounds if he was labeled as a bleed out case anyway.
John shook his head, reached for his phone and tossed it to him, calling out, "Call 999," before darting back underground.
It was far too quiet for his liking. His eyes landed on Sherlock's limp body and he froze, fangs slipping free. The soldier and the demon were torn between getting the blood he needed to survive and just bloody turning around before-
There was a flash of pain against the side of his head and everything went black.
"Zirconium, Niobium, Molybdenum, Technetium- Oh good, John, you're awake. Recite the periodic table of elements with me so I know you're not severely concussed. You are looking rather pale. Ruthenium-"
John groaned and cracked his eyes open only to slam them shut again, a hand over his temple. "Son of a- ah- What the hell happened?"
"Cricket bat to the head."
It sure as hell felt like that. He brought his fingers away to see his own precious blood smeared against his palm. The crack in his scull still hadn't healed? Even going without proper food for five days he still should have had enough bloody energy to heal a papercut like this. "How long was I out for?"
"Twenty two hours and forty six minutes."
Shit. Six days was another issue. "Mobile?"
"Taken. Yours?"
"Gave it to that kid."
"Ah."
Sight near perfect, it wasn't hard to see the situation they were in. He could hear Sherlock but he could barely view him from within the confines of his very small box. There were breathing holes along the sides and bars along the front but the rest was solid gray. There wasn't even enough room to sit up correctly. He punched the ceiling and growled. John Watson did not enjoy being locked up. John Watson's demon loathed it.
John clenched his jaw and asked, "And where are we?"
"Ah. I don't-"
"You don't know?!" John's red eyes flashed as the demon roared.
"That is the thing about being unconscious," Sherlock snapped, his fingers trying to wheedle their way through the bars and towards the lock. "It makes observing very difficult. Now, Rhodium, Palladium, Silv-"
"Oh would you shut up? What is this thing?" John slapped the metal box again.
"Approximately 120cm by 80cm by 88cm of powder coated aluminum with military grade locks and solid steel bars to prevent chewing –not exactly built for comfort."
"Chewing? Are you… are you telling me we are in fucking dog cages right now?"
"Good boy."
Another punch to the ceiling, "You've got to be joking!" He huffed out a breath. He was still in control dammit. "What's the plan?"
"In construction. There are… unforeseen difficulties."
Unforeseen difficulties? Sherlock didn't know the half of it. He didn't know just how much his anxiety and adrenaline was winding John up. Not to mention Sherlock hadn't showered since the beginning of the case, his natural scent spinning with the blood in his veins –no food in his stomach to cloud his musk.
John's fangs dropped slow and his eyes pinpointed on the spot Sherlock's neck no doubt resided. He closed his eyes and could hear the thump-thump screaming in the silence.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
In the next moment, he heard Sherlock gasp a low curse. A red heat of warning flashed through John's system and he collided with the side of his cage. The smell of Sherlock's tiny cut was making his bones boil. He hissed at the barrier between him and a decent meal.
It wasn't fair.
He threw his head back and struck into the ceiling with both his feet.
One kick directly behind another pounded in time with the chant in his head, drowning out most everything else.
Hungry- Must feed- Hungry- Must feed-
"John that won't work," Sherlock drawled. "I said aluminum not tin foil. There is no way to generate the force needed to-" His voice broke at the shattering echo of John's feet breaking through the aluminum above, cracking the top and raining pieces to the floor. "Oh... Oh my god."
"The police are on their way, if you don't leave me alone so I can eat, I swear to god Sherlock you will become the food!"
"That was impossible." Sherlock continued to trail after him as John stomped around another corner- Sherlock's sharp eyes too close to the face that was starting to lose its human charade.
"Aren't you the one that always says improbable until proven guilty or something?" John pushed him out of the way, nearly making the graceful git trip over his own two feet.
Naturally, Sherlock brushed it off and jogged to catch up alongside him. "Are you not the one that always insists on waiting to speak to the DI?"
"Piss off."
"Not until you tell me how." Sherlock blocked his path.
"There is nothing to tell. Now, if you know what's best for you, you will do as I say and leave me alone." John pushed past.
"I can make you tell me."
"You can't 'make me' to do anything, Sherlock."
Sherlock's vicious smile was hungry for the sudden new challenge. "Oh, but I can."
"Go home!" John darted down the closest alleyway only to find one of the many dead-ends. He spun on his heels to find an eager flatmate still blocking his path. He pinched the bridge of his nose at this final straw, hoping his eyes would retain their natural blue for only a minute more. "Why are you still here?"
"John. Your running is pointless. We both know you will tell me-"
"You know what?" His fists curled. "I'll tell you why."
John gave Sherlock the opportunity to flee but he did not move. This young thing might be brilliant but he could be oh so amazingly stupid. John's demon was scratching at the chance to teach him a lesson.
"You're still here because everyone has it backwards, don't they Sherlock?" He prowled forward, scorn lacing his bitter tone. "Oh poor, old John Watson following around that lunatic madman. Why does he do it?" John paused but Sherlock wisely did not answer his rhetorical question. He mocked on, "Bet their both freaks. Bet they shag each other up the wall while staring at crime scene photos. Bet tiny, inferior John is some rentboy. Bet he gets paid triple to be a live-in. Why else would he take the freaks cock?" Sherlock's stoic face slipped at John's rough phrasing of the usual rumors and John smirked. "But no. We know that's not true. We both know it's not me." His smirk fell. "It's you who wants to be the rentboy, isn't it Sherlock?"
"I don't know what has…" Sherlock shook his head and leaned away from John's crowding. "John, I don't know why you are saying these things but it must be a direct link to your lack of nourishment. Please allow me to point out the closest-"
"You know exactly why I'm saying these things." John took another step closer- only the start to circling his prey. "I have to hear this shit all god damn day, Sherlock. Constantly defend myself. God- But you- you just brush it all aside. I once wondered why that was- why it didn't bother you. Figured you just didn't care. Wasn't worth your precious time or whatever rubbish. But then I got to know you. And it's not me who's following you around, begging for your cock. Oh no." One final step and it was John blocking the exit to the alley. "It's you wanting me."
Sherlock's eyes flickered over John's shoulder –a touch of confusion now spiking the smell of his anxiety. "Wherever you get these fantasies, I can-"
"Fantasies?" John stepped forward and Sherlock stepped back, right on cue. "Is that what you tell yourself when you touch yourself at the thought of me? You play them out then? Tell yourself it's all innocent. Hm?"
"I do not-"
"Do you not?" John took another driving step and cocked his head, his half smile crooking into a full grin. He shrugged and threw out his arms. "I may have been around guns for most my life but I still retained very good hearing."
Sherlock's brow twitched.
"You never say my name-" John stepped even closer and Sherlock had no choice but to back into the brick wall, "- but you beg and you plead every time. And it's for me. Isn't that right?"
Sherlock tried to shimmy out, tiptoeing his shoe around the edge of the closest puddle of filth. John easily tilted into his space, a motion so quick it even caused the detective to blink.
"Admit it." The wind whipped the curly locks off the trapped man's damp brow and spots of rain started to trickle from the clouds. "It's not poor John pining after Sherlock, begging for a good fuck between cases." John twirled his finger in the air, invading Sherlock's space with just a half step more. "It's the other way around. Poor, lonely, desperate Sherlock Holmes."
"I-" Sherlock's eyes were wild now, his heart thumping quicker than when trapped in that dog cage. "I am n-"
"Admit it." John placed a finger on that frantic heart and held it there, his eyes fixated on the spot. His lips curled back and he bared his teeth. "You want me."
"John, I really think-"
"About me." His smirked under his lashes and tapped that chest with every word. "You. Want. Me. To fuck you. Hard."
John waited for the automatic rebuttal but it seemed his Sherlock was momentarily at a loss for words.
"But I'm not gay, Sherlock." John flattened the hand over Sherlock's chest and let his palm feel the way a breaking heart stuttered. "I'll never want you."
Sherlock's jaw tightened and he pushed into John's hand, his head dipping down to challenge. John sucked in a large breath, rolling his eyes back at the smell. The rain had picked up but it wasn't enough to drown out the taste of his prey's fear and sorrow slithering into the air.
"I am aware, John. I do not want to shag you against the wall to crime scene photos. I do not know where you pick this stuff up. Now clearly you need to eat. Let me go and-"
John cut him off with a manic laugh, leaning so close he could taste that stubble chin just by licking his lips. "Who said anything about me being the one fucked? You would love nothing more than me stripping you down and taking you right here. Wouldn't you?" John sniffed once and knew where all the blood in Sherlock's body had instantly pooled. The move was sharp and sudden as he darted out his hand and shoved it over Sherlock's sudden erection. "Oh! Yes, I see that's true."
Sherlock pushed at the sudden grasp and hissed, "Get off me."
John allowed his hand to move away -though it was a pitiful push on Sherlock's humanly part. He swung with the motion and pushed Sherlock's chest instead, shoving him back into the bricks.
"Poor weak and defenseless Holmes. Chasing your best friend around while knowing he'll never want to stick his cock in you. Seeing and hearing him fuck girl after girl while you watch from the sidelines. Deducing every scratch, moan, and bruise. Wanting him to fuck you just as-"
"Stop it!" Sherlock exploded and shoved his way towards the exit, abruptly stopped by a hand snagging the back of his coat, sending him staggering back.
John pulled even harder, just barely showing effort as he shoved Sherlock to the ground, uncaring of how much the rain had collected, now near soaking his shoes.
Sherlock pushed to his knees but John had a hand on his shoulder, keeping him down. Sherlock tried to fight him off but the kitten scratches soon ended when he realized just how strong John Watson truly was. The dirty water dripping from his cheeks revealed a tinge of bright pink and it made John purr.
"Look at me," John ground out. Sherlock looked up and it took everything not to flash his red eyes at him –to see and feel that fear overtake the human's very soul. For Sherlock to understand that this wasn't John angry. This was John fully consumed by the need to capture, dominate, and engulf.
Instead, he locked gazes with solid blue and slid his hands down his body and played with the zip of his jeans.
"Do you really not know how desperate you are? You want me, Sherlock." Sherlock's eyes darted to John's hands as they popped the button loose. "You have waited. You have fantasized about this exact moment. About swallowing my cock between those pretty pink lips of yours."
"You are delusional, John." Sherlock replied, to his abdomen. "No doubt from- from lack of sleep and- and-"
John pushed his pants down and pulled his dick out, letting the rain sprinkle against the sensitive skin. "See? Already hard. Just waiting for you." Sherlock was already shaking his head. "We both know you want me."
"I-"
"I have eyes too, Sherlock. You've licked your lips twice, leaned into that puddle forming right there, and are already tilting your head back. Eyes dilating, pheromones spinning out of control. It's hard science. Are you going to try to deny that?"
Sherlock's eyes flashed defiantly as he looked up and growled, "You are wrong."
It would have been so believable too if his hands weren't flexing on his thighs or his arousal didn't burn the inside of John's nostrils. There was also the not-so-mysterious bulge growing in his damp trousers. That had to be uncomfortable. The thought brought a smile to John's face.
"It must be tiring to have to be right all the time," he said. "You push me this way and that, lead me along on days that last for weeks and starve me to the point of losing control." John let his hand slide over his now wet cock, rolling his head back and just barely allowing his fangs to slip free, keeping them just out of the young man's sight. "You poke and prod like that. Sounds like you do it in the hopes of me doing it back. Well, here is your chance. All you have to do it bow your head and admit it. You want me, pet."
"This entire situation is preposterous."
"Fighting to the last breath are you? Fine. We'll gag that problem out of you soon enough. Just open your mouth like the cockslut you are and-"
"No."
"That was an order!" The Captain's sudden shout made Sherlock flinch, the supposed man of stone breaking quicker than that aluminum cage. John hummed and grabbed a fistful of hair, the damp curls clinging to his skin as he pulled. Sherlock's mouth cracked wide and John shoved himself inside, resting his head between those bared teeth. "There. Now isn't that better. You on your knees, bulging out of your trousers. Such a pretty sight you make."
The hair in John's fist slicked down as he pulled harder, foreseeing the attempt Sherlock made to bite. Really. Of the two of them, only one could play with teeth.
John slunk his other hand around that jaw and fishhooked the side of Sherlock's mouth. His cock wavered, the pulses beating against the back of K9s.
"Are you stubborn enough to deny it with my cock resting on your tongue? You really think anyone would believe you aren't the type of tart who will drop to his knees for the chance to suck me off? Anyone could walk past us and see. What are they going to assume? Think it through, pet. Go on."
John slid his fingers from that mouth and ran the slippery digits over his erection, trailing his hand back to base and holding himself in place. Defiance radiated from every muscle of the lithe body beneath him but the teeth didn't chomp down. There was no long-awaited punch to John's crotch or thighs. Instead, there was a strong look of confusion as that calculated gaze darted between the raindrops and landed on John with a question.
"I am not gay," John confirmed the answer. "But I don't need my little whore to be anything but what you are now, now do I? A beautiful mouth stretched around my cock." John thrust his hips forward, savoring the feel of rough against smooth, teeth against flesh. "Now move that mouth. That's an order."
Fingers flexed against dress pants as Sherlock stared up, lips trembling around an unprecedented girth. John's fist slipped down to a lean neck where he felt the rapid beat of a timid heart. He darted his tongue out only to bite it back to keep his desperate desire locked down. Blood welled from the pinprick against his lip and he sucked merrily, a small taste of what scraps were left before the delicious buffet in front of him.
With wonderful timing, the man beneath him also started to suck, a tentative lick with eyes that darted back up to John's –the challenge clear. The poor little human thought this is some sort of test. John took pity on him and slid his hand back into the weighted curls, pushing them away from that blushing face so he could see just how determined Sherlock really was.
Sherlock's head rolled with the touch and the movement forced the cock in his mouth farther back. He startled. His eyes flashed back up as his tongue curled and his lips rolled.
John bit harder into his mouth as Sherlock dipped his head forward again, uncertain, eyes never leaving the man hovering over him. Blood swelled and so did the urge to push, to take what was his already.
Hungry- Must feed-
Hips rolled in time with the chant and before either could stand to think another second they were both caught up in the whirl of blood, sweat, and pheromones coiling through the air of the storm.
John groaned when Sherlock's cheeks curved in, touched by every inch of heat from this creature, sucked down to the back of his throat. His hand curled back into the thing's hair as he threw his head up, ignoring the rain beating on his face so he could flash demon eyes at the sky.
The noise encouraged his meal to work his hardest, hands coming up to curl the inside of John's thighs, pulling him close as his head bobbed in earnest. It was almost too much to handle. The adrenaline was soaring through his senses, his mind overtaken by the need to leap and bite and take the trembling thing before him.
Want- Must feed-
Sherlock's hand slipping over his own thigh was enough to bring John out of his obsessive stupor.
John yanked his hips away, a small hiss erupting at the flash of cold air against him. "No. Up you get."
Sherlock could barely make it to his feet on his own. The mumbling mess was completely distracted when John slammed him against the brick wall. It took him more than the usual moment to flick his eyes from the street to John to the wall and back again. His raw voice cracked as he plead, "We can't-"
"Still talking are you? Well, we can fix that problem." John grabbed him by the coat and hurled him around, smashing that face against the brick and chipping skin made like porcelain. The blood that floated through the air shook through John as he pressed against Sherlock's back, his fingers sliding over the open wounds and trailing down that pale neck. "Do us a favor pet and open yourself up while I mark your neck. I'm going to let the world know who the whore really is."
Sherlock fought to look at John behind him but John slapped against his already bruised temple. The angle gave him access to the fingers smeared in Sherlock's blood. It was only a drop but it was enough for John's fangs to fall and his lips to curl. It was the absolute best thing he had ever tasted. Ginger and chocolate and smoke and curry. His hips heaved into Sherlock's back. His mouth hovered an inch away from that delicate pulse point.
Sherlock moaned in time with the cock sliding against his arse. "I don't have any- um- I-"
John ripped Sherlock's hand away from the wall and slapped it near his mouth, scratching up those savory knuckles. "Use that talented mouth, pet."
Sherlock seemed mystified at his own fingers but made the right conclusion when he opened his lips and swallowed himself this time. John ground his hips against that back again, growling when the damn coat prevented him from feeling the bones and meat of his creature.
Sherlock nearly took a chunk of his own finger when John ripped the coat from him, shoving his arms away and thrusting them back again.
When that obstacle was removed the aromatic stench truly filled their corner of the littered alleyway. John was steamrolled by the sensation of lust from so much fear and anticipation and heat in one breath. He slammed his body against Sherlock's once more, unable to prevent himself from ripping that damn collar aside and piercing that perfect dip of unmarred skin.
The blood flooded his mouth with warmth as he greedily sucked, indulging himself for a few seconds before stemming off, licking the wound closed, and moving to the other side. There he took his time cutting a steady slice open and sipping this marvelous cocktail, swallowing slow and feeling the blood creep through his system and warm his undead veins.
It was marvelous but it did not prevent him from peeling his clamped hands away from Sherlock's bony hips and move them to the front of his waist, hands teasing their way up and down his panting chest before opening up his belt and wrenching the zip and clasp open. John yanked the trousers and pants around Sherlock's knees and grabbed that plump arse on the way back up to his hips.
"No wearing scarves for a week." John could hear the guttural growl of his voice, unable to keep his demon form from prying its way out. "I want the world to see it. You are mine."
Sherlock moaned and John continued to abuse the slit on the curve of neck beneath him. He knew he couldn't stay for too long, lest he do something monumentally dangerous. He pulled away with a sloppy lick to watch Sherlock's fingers pop from his mouth and slip between his legs, his other hand clutching the brick wall -perfect pink nails chipping against the grime.
Thunder echoed in time with Sherlock's gasp as his first finger plunged inside. John hummed encouragement and watched the jittery hand slipping in and out, jostling his entire back. The purple shirt Sherlock had worn that day hid the lean beauty. Soaked, it clung to all the curves, shoulder blades moving in time with the twist of his wrist. Such a waste to see so little.
John gripped tight along the collar. The rip of cloth had John groaning and Sherlock moaning, a second finger hastily entering his shaking form. Then the blank canvas of back was there, pure and untouched by anything but pure glassy rain.
The beast inside wanted nothing more than to leave deep dark gashes that read MINE between every rib, ruining the delicate paleness for anyone else but him. He would even add initials for Sherlock's sake.
MINE –JW
Sentiment.
John dove forward and lapped at the water riveting between scars and bones. Like two delicate knives, his fangs danced and scratched –trailed by a tongue that could heal as fast as it tasted.
"John- oh my god. I- ughn- Joh- fu- oh god – shit – oh shit- oh god shit-"
"What a mouth on my little rentboy," John chuckled. Sherlock was now up to three fingers –a tad bit of resistance but the rainwater would solve that. "Let's see then." He shoved Sherlock's fingers out of the way and forced his own inside the throbbing ring of muscle. "Good job, pet."
Sherlock moaned and pushed against the wall as John shoved deeper.
"Oh yes I'll fit nicely." John hummed and ripped his fingers free, sliding his mouth near Sherlock's ear to murmur. "All you have to do is admit it Sherlock. Tell me what a slut you are for me. I need to hear you say it. Or I'll stop." John took this moment to push his engorged cock against the stretched entrance, soaking in the sound of a heart fluttering in tune with needy expectation and whines. "Is that what you want?"
"I-"
John pushed harder, just barley popping inside before sliding back out, his cock continuously playing between the curve of his arse.
"Oh god."
"No god," John growled. He slid his hand around Sherlock's throat, pulling his head back. An adam's apple bobbed against his fingers as Sherlock's audibly swallowed. John clenched, keeping the pressure constant but light. "Only me."
Another rigid swallow.
"Tell me. Admit it."
"John- Please just-"
"Pet."
"Plea-"
"Now!" John commanded, purely demonic.
"Yes!" Sherlock nodded, his hands at a loss as he tried not to pull John's claws away from his throat. "Alright yes! I want you to fuck me. You were right. Please. Please, John, please. Just fuck me against the-"
A gasp ended the request as John impaled Sherlock without hesitation. It was a flash of ecstasy that sped through his system and left his legs briefly numb.
The moment passed and John thrust in earnest, his hand keeping Sherlock at the perfect level and he shoved him into the wall every time, tiny droplets of blood smearing the already red surface. It drove John's crazed need into frenzy.
"You know what else I know, my little whore? You really are only a slut for me. You've never let anyone in you like this before, have you?"
"J-John," Sherlock hesitated through his gasp. "Oh god- Joh-"
"You never would have let this happen unless I put you in your place. Directly under my cock." He punctuates his point with extra hard thrusts that push the air directly from Sherlock's lungs. "Isn't that right?"
"Fuck."
"Pet?" John warns. "I asked you a question."
"Yes."
"Let me hear you."
"Yes!" Sherlock screamed as John slammed him at the perfect angle.
"That makes you mine, doesn't it, slut?" John continued to abuse the angle.
"Yes-" Sherlock's voice was loud enough to be heard from the street –each breathless confession beaten out of him. "Oh god, yes."
John's face split into a manic grin. "I'll continue to fuck you like the good whore you are if you can pick the periodic table back where you left off. In order now."
Between the sound of slapping flesh Sherlock tried to breathe the answer, his eyes pinching closed in concentration. He sounded lost and wretched as he babbled, "I…I can't…remember….I…"
"Good."
John pulled out and slammed into him again, pushing flush against Sherlock's back and shoving him into the wall. Sherlock's cock must have been rubbed raw against the bricks but there was no complaint as John repeatedly pummeled into him.
Sherlock's fingers scratched, his screams grew louder, and John was losing any remaining strands of control. His teeth led the way to the back of the exposed neck in front of him. In a moment of madness he had the instinct to mark this human as his true territory –to leave the bite mark that would never heal.
It was only as he reached the skin, wet with sweat and alley water, that he retracted his fangs and forcibly bit down with only blunt human teeth. John's body tensed as the surge of possession flowed through him and he thrust once more, cum spilling into Sherlock, completing the pseudo marking.
John collapsed onto the wet bellstaff and pulled Sherlock down as well –though the young man really fell all on his own. John guided him to sit up and swallowed the man's cock in one go. His mouth and tongue moved in tandem to suck up the blood and heal the worst of the wounds. It only took a few moments for Sherlock to arch into him and spill down his throat.
The taste of cum and blood mixed in his mouth and John swallowed with a sigh. He evened out his breathing as he gazed toward the light of the street and gulped air through his mouth. When his demon was back under control he glanced at Sherlock's beaten figure. Ripped clothes, littered in bruises, cuts, puddles of blood and rain everywhere, lying with the garbage.
Delectable.
Sherlock flopped against the wall and hissed when his bruises met coarse bricks. His eyes found John and he held them there, leaving John waiting for the reaction bound to come.
Sherlock gasped and growled, "Again."
"I-" John stuttered, "Wha- what did you just say?"
"After dinner."
"You… are you serious?"
Another weak flop and Sherlock pressed his scratchy chin against John's, his lips smashing into the monster's, pleading for a response. John shoved his tongue forward and led their pace, his hands keeping Sherlock from passing out.
When Sherlock pulled back for a breath, he teased John's lip with his teeth and surprised the vampire with a small, "Please."