One more night
So I cross my heart, and I hope to die, that I'll only stay with you one more night.
Trying to tell you stop, but your lipstick got me so out of breath.
John had only returned to get his last things from the apartment he had shared with Jim. The plan was simple; get in, grab the box, get out. But nothing ever goes as planned with Jim Moriarty.
It had started at a pub. Very simple, they had fallen into bed and somehow they had kept falling together. That had led to the horrible plan of moving in together. Both of them had ignored the fact that they were enemies; that Jim earned his money by planning crimes and that John was colleague and best friend of Sherlock Holmes. Everything was so right when they were together. Somehow they had managed a very domestic life. Until one day, almost five months into their new life together.
Jim had entered the apartment in a vicious mood. His plans had failed because of bloody Sherlock Holmes. Jim wasn't really that upset about the failure, even if it stung. No, he was upset with John. John, his loving and perfect boyfriend. Jim hated that word, boyfriend, so juvenile. John had been there, with Sherlock stopping his plans. Johnny, little sweet Johnny-boy had tumbled in and made a mess of everything. He couldn't do his work with John running after Sherlock like a lapdog. John was his and so was Sherlock. In very different ways though. He would never fuck Sherlock like he did John. Tonight Jim would tell John exactly what was on his mind.
John was in no better mood to be honest. One of Jim's stupid crimes had almost gotten both him and Sherlock killed. John was utterly pissed about this whole mess. It wasn't the first time John had been in danger because of Jim (or Sherlock for that matter) but this was the first time he almost got killed. He didn't even count the pool-incident. He and Jim hadn't known each other back then. Somewhere in all of the domestic bliss he'd forgotten how dangerous Jim Moriarty really was, and it scared him. Jim was sweet and caring, in his own way, while Moriarty was a psychopath. The question was; who was the real one?
John had barely closed the door behind him when Jim started to tell him off.
"What do you think you were doing today?" he hissed at John.
"Excuse me?" John sounded slightly offended.
"No. You ruined my work today. That is not acceptable."
"Your work is more important than my life? Because as I remember today; your goons tried to kill me," John fumed.
"I can't help if they think you are Sherlock's pet. They have orders to get rid of Sherlock anyway they can and, darling, you are his biggest weakness," Jim snapped at him
"I thought I meant more to you than that!"
"If you just quit running after Sherlock Holmes like a lost puppy we wouldn't be having this problem!" Jim raised his voice slightly which made John bubble with anger.
"Oh! So that's it? You don't like me spending time with my best friend? Hell, he's not only my friend, he's my colleague! Working with Sherlock is what I do for a living."
"Well, quit doing that then," Jim said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"What do you want me to do? Act like a perfect little housewife and stay home all the time?"
"Stop putting words in my mouth. You are so stupid!" Jim ended with a roar.
"That's rich, coming from you. I don't try to kill you or your friends!" John shouted back and suddenly the shouting match was on.
"Are you serious? Do you even know what you and Sherlock do for a living?"
"Of course I-"
"Doesn't seem that way! You are trying to catch me for fuck's sake! I am the master mind behind every interesting case you ever go on. That's what I do!" Jim bellowed.
"Great. you go back to planning how to murder me and my best friend. I'm going to the pub. Don't follow me and don't you dare send Moran after me!" John slammed the door as he left. Jim decided that now was a great time to blow up some important places.
The London eye was the first casualty. After that the restaurant where they'd their first real date. The Queen Mary's Rose Gardens was the last victim that night.
John spent most of the night hiding at the pub until he saw the news reports about the three bombings, which made him go home and face Jim. Neither one of them addressed the fact that they had fought for the first time or that drinking or blowing things up were not the solution. Instead they spent the remainder of the night and most of the following day having great make-up-sex.
This pattern continued for a few weeks. They came home, yelled and then had sex. They both ignored the fact that their solutions were almost worse than their problems. Somewhere in the back of John's mind he knew that rough sex wasn't the answer but in those heated moments he couldn't care less. That he had bruises everywhere on his body, bite marks on his neck and scratches all over his back didn't really matter when Jim pushed him hard against the wall. That Sherlock seemed concerned was insignificant as Jim pushed inside him, stretching him and making it almost painful. That Lestrade had once asked him if he needed some help because of the bruising to his face was meaningless as Jim fucked him hard and fast. That Mycroft had kidnapped him again to ask him to end his relationship with Jim was unimportant when he almost blacked out from the best worst orgasm of his life. The fact that Jim had bitten him so hard that blood ran down his collarbones didn't matter since Jim looked gorgeous with blood stained lips and he tasted heavenly of Jim, apples and a hint of blood.
Then it got even worse. It started with a case gone wrong and Sherlock getting shot in the arm. Nothing too bad, it only grazed him thanks to Johns reflexes. John had noticed the gun before Sherlock and pulled him to the side. John spent the night at the hospital with Sherlock, making sure he didn't annoy anyone to much. Early in the morning Sherlock was released, mostly because of his constant harassing of the nurses and Mycroft picked him up.
"Where have you been all night?" Jim hissed as soon as John had entered the flat.
"Really?" John sneered and pushed past Jim to walk into the kitchen. "You know where I've been."
"With Sherlock," Jim mumbled angrily.
"Because your stupid 'employees' shot him."
"It barely touched him," Jim huffed.
"Doesn't matter," John growled and hit the table with a fist. "You almost got my best friend killed."
"Almost, being the keyword," Jim said coldly.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" John shouted.
"Psychopath, remember?" Jim yelled back.
"That answers everything then. You are not capable of empathy."
"That's old news, Johnny-boy."
"Fine, I get it now. You can't love me like I love you." John was so angry, not with Jim but with himself. He should have known.
"So?" Jim glared at him. "It's not important."
"Piss off!" John barked.
"Or what?" Jim asked mockingly. That sent John back into rage and made him throw the nearest thing at Jim. Jim barely had time to duck and the mug John threw passed right over his head. With a loud crash it hit the wall, breaking in pieces. Jim stared, slightly shocked, at John. John stared back, rage burning in his eyes.
Neither said anything. The clock on the wall ticked away and they didn't move. Suddenly Jim rushed forwards and pushed John against the sink, kissing him roughly. It was easier to deal with it by falling into old patterns. Jim was busy biting his way down John's neck when he suddenly was tugged backwards.
"Jim…" John croaked, breathing harshly. "This is the last time. I'll be leaving tomorrow. We can't keep on doing this."
"Of course we can, Johnny." Jim tried to continue his mauling of Johns neck only to be kept back by John's grip in his hair.
"No. Last time, Jim. I'll be gone tomorrow."
"Fine. Like I actually care," Jim sneered, ignoring the flash of hurt that flittered across Johns face. Jim decided to take out all his anger on John. He roughly grabbed John's shoulder and pressed his fingers in. There would be no pleasure tonight. It was all about hurting John for leaving. Jim ignored Johns shout and practically dragged the blonde to the bedroom.
Jim smirked. If John thought he could leave without anything to remember Jim from he was dead wrong. Jim pulled of his shirt and watched John do the same. Then Jim latched onto John's neck and bit him again. John let out a small whimper and grabbed Jim's hair, pulling slightly. Jim kissed him with more teeth than necessary, making Johns lips bleed slightly. The coppery taste of blood made Jim groan loudly. Jim dragged his nails down Johns back and reopened every scratch mark he could. Then he did it again, harder, making new marks, new wounds that would sting. Jim wanted John on his knees this time.
John knew he was bleeding. Not only did he taste it on his lips but he felt it on his back. He looked at Jim's lips and moaned. Jim looked exquisite with blood coloured lips. John wasn't sure he really could leave Jim. He had to try though, he knew this wasn't good for his health. John kissed Jim roughly again, loving the taste of blood and Jim. John pulled at Jim's trousers, forcing them off the evil genius. Jim let out a groan as John cupped him through his pants, the green pair.
"Always loved these on you," John growled in Jim's ear, nipping lightly on it.
"I prefer you in red," Jim answered and unbuckled John's belt. He quickly removed John's trousers and pants, letting out the excited cock. Jim smirked at John and pushed him down on the floor. He would make sure to rub John's knees and elbows raw. John quickly understood what Jim wanted so he turned his back to Jim and leaned on his elbows. Jim raked his nails down John's back once more. He dragged his fingers through the blood and covered his fingers with it.
"Spread your legs," he demanded roughly and John followed the demand. Jim dragged his finger over John's arsehole a few times before plunging in. John let out a whimper at the feeling. Jim quickly added a second finger, every now and then adding more blood to keep his fingers slick enough for it to be painfully pleasurable. John's moans got louder as Jim continued to claw at his skin.
"Please." John's voice broke. Jim could only smirk and he kissed Johns shoulder blade lightly before biting harshly enough to break the skin. Jim spit the blood in his hand and smeared it all over his cock. With one harsh thrust he buried himself inside of John and both of them moaned loudly at the feeling. John was so tight and Jim couldn't help himself as he licked the blood and sweat of Johns back.
Jim thrust hard and fast, keeping his promise to rub John raw. Jim only slowed down when he was close to coming. He ignored John's pleas and took a few deep breath before pounding away again. He didn't stop until John came, hard and with a loud scream. John's orgasm pulled at Jim and all he could do was grip Johns hips even harder and ride it out with a loud moan. Jim continued to pound into John. It only took a few more thrusts before he shouted out his own orgasm and filled John with his cum.
John practically fell down on floor, not able to stay up. Jim pulled out of John with a smile. Jim kissed John's new bite marks. John turned around and gave Jim a small smile. Jim kissed John slowly and then got up on his feet.
"Let's go to bed." His voice was rough and raspy. John nodded and managed to get up and over to the bed.
"I'm still leaving," John mumbled.
John had left the following day. He had managed to get almost everything but still had one box left. John was happy to have Sherlock Holmes as his best friend; there was no need of explaining and Sherlock simply accepted John back in his apartment as if he'd never moved out. There was no 'I told you so' and no 'Want to talk about it?'. Just peace, well, as peacefully as it ever got when you lived with the world's only consulting detective.
Two days after John had left Jim he had to go back and get the last box. The plan was simple; get in , grab the box, get out. If not for Jim Moriarty, everything would have worked out as planed.
Jim had greeted him at the door, wearing a blood red lipstick. If that wasn't suspicious, the fact that the place smelled like food was. Jim only cooked at anniversaries and birthdays. He was great at cooking but found it boring. Then Jim said the thing that really floored John. 'I made some food, I thought we could enjoy one last meal together.'
How that had resulted in John leaning against the kitchen-counter with Jim's blood red lips around his prick he didn't know. To be honest he didn't care, Jim was amazing with his tongue. Jim's mouth was hot and wet. He sucked cock like his life depended on it. It didn't take long before John came. Jim tried to swallow it all but couldn't.. John looked at Jim, his lipstick smeared and cum dripping out of his mouth. All John could think was 'Gorgeous'.
"Only one more night."