A/N Things started to get heated. Warning for punishment, more so in the next chapter.
Let's Begin.
Make me. The words rang harshly in John's ears, the subdued state the slave had been in when they had left the sale house had been erased as soon as they had walked through the door. He should have known better, of course it was his Goddamn luck to end up with a slave who hadn't been broken in and didn't know his proper place. John faltered, what was he even thinking? He didn't agree with any of this, never had...Then why had it felt so good as his hand broke through the air and made swift contact with skin. Why did the little brat look so delicious crumpled on the floor and bleeding from his nose. In a vain attempt to calm himself before insanity took over he closed his eyes and clenched his fists, revisiting times when he been in situations where his temper threatened to out weigh his better judgement. It happened often in the armed forces, officers fighting among themselves, it wasn't the harmony everyone assumed back here. A bunch of lads having a laugh, arm in arm against their enemy, believing that the only thing they were fighting were insurgents and terrorists. Oh no, they fought plenty among themselves and sometimes it could be just a viscous.
"Get up..."
The order was quiet, still laced with a sense of danger or a threat he still wasn't entirely sure he would be willing to carry out. Sherlock did not move, of course he didn't. John sighed, scrubbing at his face with his hands. If he had expected the anger to dissolve he had been sorely mistaken, if anything it had been replaced by a sick excitement settling somewhere in his lower belly. Twisting, invading thought and conscience. Subconscious unintended movements hand his hand wrapped firmly around Sherlock's upper arm, the man tugging and pulling uselessly. He may have had a smart little mouth but he was still a slave. Had still be abused and underfed, and John may have been injured but was more than capable of putting the little prick back in his place. He bought their faces close, Sherlock's eyes betraying no sense of fear. It should have dissuaded him, the sudden though that maybe Sherlock wanted this, to be broken and played with. Though it didn't, it found him tangling a strong hand the greasy untamed curls on top of his head and wrenching them back fiercely.
"I was more than willing to let you do this the easy way, content to just get on with my life. But now, now you've fucked me off Sherlock. You really, really have..."
"Really? This is you angry.."
The slave struggled slightly, failing to gain any advantage over him. Something about the thing just reeked of fallacy.
"I honestly thought you were being soft with me."
Christ. Why wouldn't he shut up, stop this from spiraling out of control, because John was almost sure he wouldn't be able to stop himself now. The power rose from the very tips of his toes, crawling like spiders over his skin and pumping fresh and fast within his veins. Enough to make him feel dizzy, possessed by it. He gave another sharp pull and this time Sherlock gasped, cheeks becoming flush, eyes blown like bloody saucers. John stilled.
"You want this? Jesus. You sick fuck..."
There it was, the curve ball, the fucking sucker punch. How could any body want this, punishment, abuse?
"What, they weren't giving you enough of this where I picked you up from?"
"Not nearly enough. They were so dull, leather belts and floggers...Honestly..."
The slaves lips twitched up into a smirk.
"I was hoping you maybe be a little more imaginative..."
John blinked, his grip slackening briefly though the taller man made no effort to escape. This had just moved beyond weird, shocking, any of that. It was fucking insane.
"In there...You were trying to impress me because you thought I could think of a more imaginative way to abuse you?"
The anger had gone, replaced by a shameful sense of curiosity and the unnerving knowledge that he was unlikely to walk away from this experience unscathed. Free man or not, John was almost sure he was the one being manipulated here.
"Oh come on, don't act so surprised. You seriously believe that everyone in this world is as transparent as you. Those self doubt issues, sexual repression, all the nasty things you fantasize about...It's quaint actually. That you think you're the only one who just so happens to be a little wrong...Believe me, If I wanted to be free, I would be. I know some people in very high places."
Too much, this was far too much to take in. So Sherlock had made the conscious decision to become a slave, had offered himself up to an industry solely dedicated to the purchase and ownership of humans. John swallowed, desperately fighting the increasing was to shove Sherlock to the floor and give him exactly what he wanted. The slave may be insane but he wasn't wrong. Imagination was one place where John wasn't lacking in the slightest. Moments passed in silence, unreadable eyes boring into his own, probably knowing before he did the outcome of his decision making.
"Strip. Kneel in the centre of the room. This isn't going to be pleasant. This is going to hurt. I will not go easy on you and if you think I'm about to let you go back to that place because you're the most screwed up person I've ever met then you're not really that fucking smart."
John released him, watching the slave throw the tight shirt up and over his head to the floor. Their eyes focused on one another through every single movement. And if the bastard wasn't smiling the entire time...
"I hope you're not going to disappoint me, Sir."
Disappoint him? Hell, he had just walked into the twilight zone naked with his eyes closed. A new mask fell, John's eyes turning cold, a wicked little grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.
"The first thing we need to do is shut that fucking irritating mouth of yours but I'm certainly not putting my cock anywhere near it..."
He watched as Sherlock dropped down to his knees, now free of any clothing, proof of his sincerity jutting pleasingly from between his thighs. Yeah, sometimes John was full of shit because maybe, just maybe, he would have loved to feed the thick length of his shaft past those lips but he wasn't going to give in that easily. Instead of speaking John walked over to the small kitchenette, taking a bottle of water from the fridge and uncapping it. Purposefully ignoring Sherlock who just knelt there with big doe eyes like he was expecting a fucking present. Insane. Completely insane. John uncapped the soap he used to wash the dishes and squirted the smallest amount into the top of the bottle, giving it a good shake.
"Head back, mouth open. Swallow or spill any of it and it will be a lot less pleasant for you then it will be for me."
John returned to him, looking down as the length of the man's neck was stretched. Pale and perfect, made to be blemished by teeth, tongue, even the cut of a knife. No doubt the sick bastard would be amiable. He tipped the bottle slowly, the rim resting on Sherlock's bottom lip. the soapy liquid flowed smoothly and he could already see the willing slave working to stop it from dribbling down the back of his throat. Before the water over flowed John pulled the bottle back and placed it on the side.
"Now, let's begin, shall we?"