A/N: So this was a present I wrote for Revella whilst drunk one night. Written drunk; edited sober. It was too much fun not to share, though! Also, since I got a few PMs requesting a touch more Sheriarty, I consider this a response to the requests. However, some may hate me for how it ends up….let me know! ;)
The detective was reclined lengthwise along the couch again as Jim reentered the room with a new sense of purpose. The taller man's body was a picture of relaxation, with shoulders against the couch's arm and long legs almost reaching the other end but for about two feet. His posture bespoke little in the way of his usual wariness, as if the men's earlier confrontational deductions had actually been cathartic for him. Jim's eyes narrowed down. Yes. Tonight, he would push a bit harder. See how far he had progressed… His steps carried him all the way to the couch, the silver eyes following his path. Jim knelt fluidly as he came to a stop, with one knee down between the detective's legs, the other extended behind him, toe touching the floor for balance. One hand he placed beside the detective's head on the sofa arm while the other stretched downward to retrieve the discarded knife from before and tuck it back into his belt. After, with one hand hanging free, Moriarty evaluated his prey and the effect the detective's proximity had on himself.
Jim's face hovered within inches of the detective's. Something deep within the criminal mastermind had been breached. And it appeared even Sherlock could feel it within himself. An acceptance of something of great magnitude. There was a sort of resonance present that he had noticed shared between them, even as enemies. And Jim's sudden change from violent anger to this calm, yet intense, being before him held the taller man in thrall. Moriarty's eyes flicked to focus on the detective's lips as he spoke softly.
"It's a small crime, Sherlock….to link yourself to me." He slowly raised a hand and touched a spot just behind Sherlock's ear. "To become mine," he said as he gently ran his fingers back through the soft curls with his free hand, "mind, body…soul."
The criminal breathed deeply, closing his eyes momentarily as he did, then dragged their view up from cupid's bow to quicksilver intelligence. Jim could feel the other man's true and honest attention was on him and him alone. No Mind Palace. No games. He's listening, he thought, and finished with a hopeful question, Changing?
"It wouldn't hurt you…I promise," he said as he reached to hold both sides of Sherlock's face between his palms. "I would never hold you back. You could do as you pleased," the criminal tilted his head to the side, eyes closing with a slight shiver, indicating that it was a promise he took great pleasure in contemplating. "As long as it was by my side. Together." Deep brown brightened to hazel as those eyes met Sherlock's again, and both could feel the electrical current coursing along their points of contact. Jim's hand left Sherlock's curls and slid along the pale neck to the V of the detective's shirt, fingers held lightly over the heart beating underneath them.
"Such a small crime, my detective. My..…enemy," Jim breathed.
Moriarty pushed himself up and away from the other man, relocating to the other side of the couch, one arm draped across his abdomen, the other hanging downwards to the floor as he continued.
"But, one well worth committing…." He held up a well-manicured finger in entreaty, "Come here….."
A moment of pause stretched forth into eternity as they stared. Waiting. Waiting…. The air between them sparked to life, an almost palpable thing. Jim waited, hand beckoning… And Sherlock followed, climbing over to Jim on hands and knees, stopping only when they had resumed the vast distance of inches between their faces once more. Jim smiled, and Sherlock saw something flicker within its depths. Not even there for a second before the initial smile was replaced with the semi-smirk now in its place. Sorrow? Jim reached up with one hand, grasping the detective's collar and tugging him just millimeters closer. Jim's words could be felt on Sherlock's lips as he spoke one last time before closing his eyes.
"Let me show you how it could be, if you just…gave in….," a deep, tremulous breath finished with words even Sherlock, close as he was, couldn't make out, "…just…loved me."
Sherlock's eyes closed, and he felt a light kiss pressed to his lips, chaste and questioning. Testing… He did not return the kiss…but he allowed it, and that was a small victory in itself. Jim opened his eyes at the same time as Sherlock, the criminal smiling in a deceptively innocent manner, and the detective looking mildly confused at his own actions…or rather, inactions. The criminal seized the moment to stand, pulling the other man up with him.
"Come," was all he said, turning and walking away. And once again, Sherlock stood torn for moments, wondering when in his life he had ever thought to be following this man without murderous intent….and then he trailed after James Moriarty, out of the study and down the hall.
It took several minutes to reach Sherlock's room. Really have to move him closer, Jim thought once again. And he glared at the guard on this wing, causing a most hasty retreat from view as he led Sherlock to the door of his guest quarters. He smiled, gesturing for the taller man to go in first, ever the gentleman. And the detective went warily, obviously put on edge by Jim's lastingly friendly and considerate manner.
A few paces into the room, Sherlock turned to track the other man's position, only to find himself almost face to face with him once again. The shorter man's hands came up to lightly grasp the detective's upper arms, eyes full of indecipherable things. Things of wisdom. Things of life. Things with teeth… And then Sherlock found himself shoved backwards, bumping into the bed. He looked on in confusion as his legs came to rest with the mattress firmly against their backs, and the criminal came on. Silver blue eyes watched warily as the other man approached, loosening tie and shirt cuffs as he did. Not a word was said as Jim came right up before the detective, faces within breaths of each other, bringing his tie out in one hand and snapping it around the taller man's shoulders, into his other waiting hand. Jim yanked, and Sherlock was pulled flush against him, the surprise contact pushing air from his lungs. The criminal smiled up at him…almost eerily, truth be told.
Then Moriarty let fall the tie and reached up to lightly run fingers along the detective's jawline. Sherlock's eyes slid closed, and he…what was that? Shivered. Got him, Jim mused as he felt the thrum of the other man's pulse underneath fingers that had found their way to the detective's neck. Sherlock's head tilted back, lips parted slightly and eyes still closed as Jim's fingers rested there on his throat. The criminal leaned forward just a bit, and tasted the skin above the detective's clavicle. Mm, almost sweet, with a hint of salt, he mused. And his scent…oh… He breathed in deeply as his lips moved over that delicate area of flesh. A light aftershave, pine…and cinnamon swirled chocolate….
A low purr came from the detective's throat unbidden, and Jim felt the subtle vibration with his tongue. Streaks of soft light shot through to his core as he absorbed his victory. He had him. Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective. His consulting detective… He smiled against the skin of Sherlock's neck, and then gripped his shoulders harshly, pushing him backwards once more, landing the other man on his back looking up from the mattress.
There was no alarm or confusion in the taller man's eyes now, though, only want. Need. Jim had finally broken him. Had him. Yes. He would have him. Moriarty felt a light tremor run over his frame at the thought. And then he crawled over the detective, being sure to slide his legs against the other man's as he did, heat from the contact going straight to his groin. And from the state of the other's trousers, he was experiencing similar stirrings below.
Jim reached over and pressed a hand to the detective's throat, almost in threat, and almost in caress. As if he was torn. He let it slide slowly off of the bounding pulse and to the duvet beside the man's head. Then he dropped his mouth abruptly to the other man's shoulder and bit, almost hard enough to break skin. Sherlock's surprised cry nearly undid Jim, so animal-like and full of desire it reached down to his toes. His tongue ran circles around the pale flesh of the detective beneath him, and Sherlock ran his hands down Jim's sides, teasing with trails of fire, grasping as if seeking purchase, seeking a way back from the maelstrom he was trapped within.
Another bite, and Sherlock's hands ceased their roaming, gripping tightly into Jim's shirt and tugging, seeking entrance to the skin beneath its unwanted protection. And Jim sat back on his knees above the detective, pulling his shirt violently from himself. The man beneath him attempted the same, but was so flatlined from want that his fingers wouldn't work properly for him. So Jim reached out and stilled his hands, the detective giving him a questioning look as he did so. And then Jim reached into his back pocket, pulling his knife to lay it against the top of the Sherlock's sternum. Then he began sliding it slowly from the chest..…Mmm….lower…..down the abdomen…oh…lower…..yes…..delicious….
Sherlock's hands had lost some of their strength when the knife made its appearance for the second time that night, but he kept his grip and didn't flinch as Jim ran it down his front and then snuck the point beneath the finely tailored cloth and cut it straight off of the taller man, buttons arcing into the air. A beautiful expanse of pale, almost ethereal flesh greeted the criminal's eyes as the fabric fell away defeated. And Sherlock tugged on Jim's hips almost playfully, causing a rare true smile to flit across the Jim's features, there and gone. But it had stayed for longer this time.
Jim stabbed the knife into the mattress beside them and leaned back over, a hand on either side of the detective's head, staring deeply into his once-sworn enemy's eyes. And he nearly gasped at the emotions that threatened to pull him under with their force. He wanted this man before him as no other. He wanted the closeness that nothing but sex could bring. He wanted to be one with Sherlock, to be inside him, part of him. To feel and think like him, with him. And his brown eyes showed everything to the man below him, who reached up and placed a hand to the back of Jim's neck and pulled him back down to where their noses touched. Mine…he's mine, Jim thought, hardening even more fully at the thought of ownership.
They stared at each other for many seconds across the tips of their noses, as if weighing the resolve of their current situation. One time enemies, of the deadliest kind. Rivals for superior intellect. Yet here and now, all they could feel was a pull that was old as time itself. Animal and violent, it broke loose between them, filling the meager space between their bodies, and each man saw it heating and expanding within the other's eyes, in the other's soul….
The Event Horizon was crested, each facing his own decision, knowing there was no turning back after. There was no telling what this act would do to either one. No way to know until after. It was as if the very bodies in which they dwelt had come to represent the ultimate incarnations of good and evil. And the forces at play within their minds and wills was tempestuous and full of a fierce longing. It was a vicious thing, and they each reveled in it, unbeknownst to the other. Neither knew who submitted in the first millimeter of motion, but it happened nonetheless. Sherlock and Jim's mouths clashed together in a ferocious display of a battle for dominance. Jim's hands sought to entrap Sherlock's as he reached above the man's head to attempt holding the detective's arms to the bed.
Sherlock managed to keep one hand free, however, and put it to good use. Reaching down between them, he grasped the length of James Moriarty….and stroked. Firm, and sure. He knew he had the upper hand immediately as the other man almost buckled under the onslaught. It was clear by Sherlock's expression that he distantly wondered if anyone had ever had this same effect on the criminal, or ever even been allowed to touch him in this manner. Doubtful.
He continued his below the belt assault right up until Jim's mouth relinquished his own and dove for his chest, pulling the throbbing member away from the detective's seeking hands. James' mouth caught Sherlock's nipple and began to tease and suck, with just a hint of teeth. And the taller man gasped, feeling the pleasure racing throughout his body. He ran a shaking hand through Jim's hair, and threw his own head back into the sheets as Jim moved to the other side of his chest. The detective writhed on the mattress below Moriarty, seeming almost defeated. Until….the room spun, and then James was staring up at the ceiling, with a very flushed and confident looking Holmes above him. He reached up as if to grab the detective back down, but the other man swatted his hands away, moving lower. And Jim gasped as he realized what Sherlock's objective was.
The taller man slid down the bed, running his hands along the inner thighs of the man beneath him. Jim groaned, never having had this kind of experience before. He had only ever been taken, in his youth, by those his mother deemed able to pay for his "services." He had never let another touch him this way since then. He had maintained his body as he had his mind. Pure. Though the identity he donned purposefully led others to believe differently. Now, it was as if a window into his soul had been broken, and the detective was leaping through it. He heard the fly unzip, and felt the cool air upon his skin. His eyes closed, and he took a deep breath.
His body jerked downward as the detective pulled his trousers and pants from him and tossed them to the floor with his shoes. When had those come off anyway? But then the other man was back, ripped shirt having been discarded also, and he settled between the criminal's thighs. Jim's eyes flew open, his mouth an "O" of surprise, as the detective took him in his mouth. He gasped and felt he was falling through the bed and into a realm of nothing but the five senses. Was this what he had been missing? And then his brain went into a tunnel of white noise as the other man began to take long pulls at his throbbing cock, each one more devious than the last. Some with tongue, and others with just pressure, and an occasional grazing of teeth.
He thought for a moment, an embarrassing one, that he was going to be the first to come. So he grabbed the detective's hair and changed his pace, modifying it, just..so. And there…that was it…oh, my…. He sank into blissful pleasures heretofore unknown to him. And he felt himself beginning to climb again towards that peak and subsequent fall, and so he planned his return assault…
He calmed his mind, trying to find just the right time to make his move…and there! He sat up and reached down with both arms to pull the detective up along his body, sliding him over his slick cock as he did. He brought the man up to his face level and kissed him again, hard, tasting himself in the kiss. And, oh….the things it did inside of him…. He shoved up and sideways, surprising the detective and toppling him onto the space beside himself. Jim pounced over him, once again on top as he tore at the belt strap around the detective's waist. It came free with a slick sound of leather across fabric. And then he practically tore the pants off of the taller man, actually reaching over for the stuck-in knife and running its edge up underneath the zipper to tear it open when he couldn't get his hands to coordinate.
Sherlock was lost within the moment, it was obvious. How could this be happening? He looked through heavy lids at the vision of his lust filled 'arch enemy' rising over him, hardened member throbbing in time with his heartbeat and looking on at him with nothing but the fiery blast of desire. He looked as if he were about to think, but was shot dead by the pressured feel of Moriarty's smooth hand on his cock.
Jim stroked in a rhythm that was almost uncoordinated, so close was he still to his own fulfillment. And the man twisting beneath his palms wasn't helping matters any. He managed to get the rest of Sherlock's clothing off and then snuck a quick dip of his head to the man's groin, placing just the head in his mouth. Sherlock's moan lit up every sensory organ within his body, and he deep throated the entire length of the man beneath him. The detective stopped breathing..1..2..3..such was the rush of pleasure that overwhelmed him. Almost sensory overload. He would be over, and quick, with any more of this. And the criminal sensed this, too, as he slowly slid his tongue along the shaft, changing tact once again. Jim wasn't having this end without his initial wish coming true….
Quickly, while the detective was still heavily sedated by his own arousal and lust, Jim rolled to the side of the bed and reached under the mattress, removing something that would help his next experiment along. He applied the lubricant liberally to his own length, and then crawled back over Sherlock. He grabbed the man forcibly and flipped him over onto his belly, causing a confused grunt to erupt. Then he leaned over and pulled the man to stand on his knees, so that they were both kneeled, with the detective's back against his front. He set his mouth near the man's ear and whispered.
"Now, Sherlock…you will come for me." And he reached down, positioning himself just so, and thrust firmly, but slowly, into the detective.
Sherlock's body seized, and he began to fall forward at the onslaught of what Jim's cock was doing to him, but the criminal held him firm against himself, one arm snaked up across the detective's chest and the other steadying at his hip. He thrust rhythmically, slowly at first, letting the other man get used to it a bit. It was so hot now between them, sliding their bodies against one another in a heated friction of emotional instability and desire. Neither wanted the other to feel superior in this game of theirs, but both also wanted the other…brutally. And then Sherlock reached up, grabbing at the hand over his chest, and brought Jim's fingers to his mouth…and sucked….Jim lost his shit.
He froze. Only for a second, but the detective knew he had gotten one over. And then, violently, Jim pulled his hand away from Sherlock's mouth, grabbed his hips, and began thrusting as hard as he could possibly force their bodies together. Sherlock gave up. It was too much to fight, and he gave in fully to this thing they did. Together. The detective reached around behind him with both hands, holding the other man's hips to him, and Jim simultaneously slid a hand around to Sherlock's cock and began pumping him in time to his thrusts. The criminal touched his mouth to the fever hot skin of Sherlock's neck, sucking hard enough that tomorrow would show much evidence of this night's passing. Neither cared.
The thrusts became erratic and jerky soon after, and the detective placed his hand over Jim's, helping to guide his fingers along his dick as his brain fizzled with the body's actions. Sweat poured off both of them, slick, and scorching. The breath on Sherlock's neck was frantic, almost as if the other man was crying. And so was the detective's, as he did a self-examination. He felt it coming on, and he did nothing to stop it. Jim finally came first, flying through a field of stars it seemed, hot bursts flowing forth into the man he held so tightly against himself. And he hoarsely called Sherlock's name, his mouth once again finding purchase against the back of the other man's neck. The detective himself was undone at that, and he felt his own hot seed begin to spill out over their entwined hands, shooting him further into the fields of ecstasy as he cried out his love's name, near incoherency and almost unconscious with the action….
"JOHN!"
James woke thrashing in his bed, covers tossed wildly in the air as he finally managed to open his eyes. They were wild seas of lust-filled hazel for a moment before darkening once again. His hands splayed out beside him, gripping the sheets tightly. His harsh panting the only sound in his palatial master bedroom. A dream. That was all. It was just a dream. He repeated this several times before finally deciding to believe it. His body was drenched in a hot sweat that was turning cool and uncomfortable. He peeled off his white sleep tank as he sat up on the side of his bed, placed his face in his hands, and whispered into the resumed silent loneliness of his room, "The shit you do to me…"
A/N: Didn't see that one coming, did ya?