A/N: Very NC-17. Basically this is a hot hate-fuck between two men who are two sides of the same coin. Evenly matched and simply devastating together.
Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows and stared hard at Jim. He was trying to look unaffected, but Jim knew better. The detective was completely out of his element and he knew it. Jim had to resist the urge to lick his lips because Sherlock looked so delectable laid out on the bed: all long limbs and firm muscle and that gorgeous alabaster skin. His nipples were hard and his trousers were half hitched down his hips; the outline of his erection clearly visible through his pants. He was clearly confused by the desire he was feeling. Jim just loved it when Sherlock was off-balance, it was so —
Damn.
Sherlock's roving eyes had fixed back on the computer screen again and his attention was focused back on his imperilled pet. Ugh. Boner-killer.
"You're wondering how much he can hear, aren't you?"
"Yes," Sherlock replied quietly, watching John's still form on the screen.
Jim sighed and took a couple steps to his left and shoved the laptop aside so the screen wasn't visible. Its only purpose was to prove to Sherlock that John was contained and alive. The cameras and bugs installed in the room ensured that they could be seen and heard on the other end.
"He can hear enough. He knows what's happening. I want him to know. That I had you first."
"Why would that matter to him?"
Jim giggled, stepping back to the bed and picking up one of Sherlock's feet, making a soft "uh-uh-uh" sound of disapproval when Sherlock's leg stiffened and for a moment Jim wondered if the other man would dare kick him in the face and break his nose and/or teeth. Oh, John and Sherlock would both pay dearly for such an attack. But Sherlock remembered the rules in time and relented, allowing Jim to untie his shoe and slip it off, followed by the sock. Nothing sadder-looking than a naked man wearing black dress socks. Aesthetics were important and Jim didn't mind taking the time to make sure that things were done right.
"Oh, Sherlock. For someone so smart, you can be spectacularly stupid. Or I suppose 'ignorant' was the slightly sugar-coated word that John used in the blog, wasn't it?"
"Piss off."
"He's besotted with you. You could have had him six ways to Sunday by now. Convinced him to take what's right in front of him. Instead you allow him to continue to fool himself in dating all those boring girls. Isn't that right, Johnny boy?" Jim called out loudly.
"Don't be ridiculous."
"You're boring me," Jim growled, tugging off the second shoe a little more roughly.
"Jealous?"
Jim smirked. "Games, Sherlock," he droned, rolling his eyes, then tugging Sherlock's trousers the rest of the way off. "I make the rules, not you. You're just the participant. You dance when I tell you to, and now it's time to dance."
He slipped his fingers under the waistband of Sherlock's boxer-briefs and watched the other man's face. Sherlock's mouth was set in a grim line and his hands twitched, so desperate to reach out and push Jim away, prevent himself from being exposed and laid bare to the one man who wished him the most harm. Jim supposed that the "normal" people would feel rather monstrous about putting another person in this position, but Jim was not normal. He was the very embodiment of the monster everyone had living inside them. In fact, he relished Sherlock's discomfort. It made the act of possessing him all the more exciting.
"Don't be bashful," he teased, stretching the elastic and letting it snap back against Sherlock's waist before stretching it again and lifting it over Sherlock's cock and sliding his underwear off. "I've already held your dick in my hand, felt you get hard — we're past being shy at this point."
Sherlock let out a shaky breath through his nose and laid back on the bed, closing his eyes. Jim took the opportunity to get a good look at his prize. He whistled appreciatively. "Oh, Sherlock. You are a fine piece of work, indeed. I'm so glad I decided to do this. God, what a waste if I'd just had you shot all those months ago."
Sherlock didn't respond. Oh, he was being stubborn now. Thinking he could turn himself off. Jim chuckled aloud at the absurdity of that idea. He slipped out of his trousers and pants, carefully folding them and laying them on the chair. He opened the bedside table drawer and Sherlock's eyes flickered open, curious at the new sound. Jim took out a bottle of lubricant and climbed up on the bed, straddling Sherlock's slender thighs. The detective blinked and looked up at him.
"Oh, you're back. That's good," said Jim, opening the bottle. "Didn't want you to miss this part."
Sherlock remained silent, but was unable to stifle a gasp when Jim wrapped a warm, slick hand around his flagging erection and began to stroke him. Jim tsked softly. "All that talk of your and the doctor's unrequited situation was quite the turn-off, wasn't it?" He twisted his hand, then rubbed his thumb expertly over the tip of Sherlock's cock as it extended from the foreskin. Sherlock groaned, his hands fisting into the sheets.
"Yes," Jim murmured, his voice low and hypnotic. "I want you nice and hard, sexy." He switched hands and used the slicked-up one to touch himself, working his fingers around and into his arse, moaning softly as he did so.
Sherlock stared up at him questioningly.
Jim grinned. "Oh, sure, you thought I was going to throw you down and ream you, right? Quick and dirty like a nasty prison fuck. Really, Sherlock, I'm disappointed. You know that's not my style. For shame. I've been planning this for too long to have it go down quite like that. And I've been playing with myself for aaaages. Even had a good session this morning to make sure I'd be ready for you."
He pulled out his fingers and positioned himself quickly, sinking slowly down onto Sherlock's cock before the other man had even realized what was happening.
Sherlock let out a cry that was a mix of surprise, confusion, and, of course, unadulterated pleasure, as he sank deep into Jim's tight arse.
Jim groaned, his eyelids fluttering. "Fuck. Oh, Sherlock, I've been dreaming of this for soooo long, but fantasy never quite gives the full picture, does it? This, my pet, is glorious." He began to move, rocking slowly, working Sherlock in and out, squeezing him gently.
Careful, now. Give him a good taste, but don't let him blow his load. Keep him sweet. Keep him hard. Keep him confused.
Oh, but it's so bloody difficult. I just want to eat him.
Patience. You know how disappointed you'll be if you don't carry out the plan as we agreed.
Yes. Yes. Patience.
Sherlock's back arched and he let out a shuddery groan as Jim rode him in long, deep strokes, his own body arching as he took Sherlock inside, angling his hips so the other man's cock hit him in all the places he liked.
"We fit so beautifully," Jim moaned. Indeed, they did. Sherlock's cock was the perfect length and girth for Jim's body. He felt full, but not uncomfortable, and when he angled his hips just so, the head brushed against his prostate, setting off fireworks behind his eyelids. "You were made for me, Sherlock. And I was made for you. Don't fight it …"
Sherlock moaned helplessly, his head tossing back and forth on the mattress and Jim felt him beginning to move, rocking his hips up, pushing in deeper, seeking more sensation and pleasure.
"Oh, John," Jim called out, rocking harder and faster. "You are missing out, let me tell you! He is just delicious. But I'm breaking him in for you real nicely. You're welcome!"
Suddenly he felt strong fingers clutch at his hips and he looked down and met Sherlock's gaze, which was alarming in its intensity. Clouded with lust, but determined at the same time.
"Don't," he warned, his breath coming fast.
"Don't what, darling?"
"Don't talk to him. This is about you and me. Focus on me." Sherlock paused for moment and then, with great difficulty, added, "Please."
"It's touching, it really is," grunted Jim. "Since you asked so very nicely, I will grant your wish. You're the one who interests me, after all."
He leaned down, still working his hips, feeling Sherlock's fingers digging into his flesh. He hoped for bruises — a souvenir of this triumph. Sherlock gazed up at him, the haze in his eyes lifting temporarily, curious. And then he groaned sharply when Jim heaved himself over to the side, grabbing Sherlock to bring him along. Exhibiting his secret strength in manoeuvring the detective's lanky frame so Jim was now on the bottom, his legs splayed, Sherlock still buried deep inside. Sherlock stilled, looking at Jim with confusion, his mind too foggy with arousal to understand this change of position.
"What are you gonna do, Sherlock?" Jim whispered, staring up into the sleuth's unearthly eyes. "You're in the driver's seat now." He rolled his hips slowly and clenched his muscles around Sherlock's cock, causing the other man to shudder and groan. "Well, kind of." Jim chuckled. "You can feel it, can't you? The urge. You wanna fuck. But you can stop right now if you want to. I'm not done with you yet, but this part can be over if you choose. Is that what you want?"
Sherlock gritted his teeth, his body trembling with need. A single drop of perspiration rolled down his jaw and dripped off his chin. Jim caught it with his tongue and grinned. "Fuck me, Sherlock," he sang softly, teasingly. "Fuck my tight arse. You wanna come, don't you? You need it soooo bad. C'mon … give it to me …"
He saw the conflict flicker behind eyes that were dark with lust and finally Sherlock let out a despairing growl and began to move. Jim let out a cry of triumph. "Yes, baby, oh yes … you glorious beast …"
Sherlock's thrusts were awkward and graceless at first, but he soon picked up the rhythm and was driving hard and deep. "Shut up," he growled. "Shut up …"
Jim rocked up hard to meet him. They snarled and grunted and rutted wildly, pushing and pulling at each other in a kind of primal madness. Jim raked his nails down Sherlock's back and Sherlock bit Jim on the neck, causing him to cry out in ecstasy. Even so, Jim — ever watchful — recognized when Sherlock was on the brink. Oh, he was so beautiful: sweaty and wild-eyed and desperate. Everything Jim hoped Sherlock would be once he let himself go. He drank in the sight, taking hold of the tie in one hand to drag Sherlock's head down, leaning up to kiss the other man's quivering lips tenderly before grabbing him hard by the throat with his other hand, his fingers digging expertly into the soft tissue on either side of his windpipe. Sherlock made a strangled sound of shock, his hips stuttering.
"Now stop." Jim's voice — the other voice — was dark, deadly, and perfectly measured.
Sherlock struggled, his mind momentarily short-circuiting and disconnected from his body. His hungry body, which just wanted to finish. But the moment Jim felt Sherlock's cock slide in deep again, he tightened his grip and shook Sherlock, eliciting a strangled moan of pain from the other man. "Stop."
Sherlock obeyed. With great difficulty.
"Get your cock out of me." Jim barked the order, then released his grip and Sherlock pulled out, tumbling onto his back, gasping for air. His cock was still swollen hard, wet with lube, his expression simultaneously disoriented, angry, and relieved.
Jim sat up calmly, his breath still coming fast, but his thoughts were ordered. "Sorry," he droned, "I thought about letting you come. I really did, but you know what orgasms are like — or maybe you don't, so let me tell you: it's like a fucking tranquilizer dart and you'd be all slow and flaccid and boring and not nearly as compliant as you'll be when I keep you on the brink." He reaches out and closes his fist around Sherlock's penis, feeling the other man shudder as he stroked him achingly slowly. "And you are on the brink, aren't you? I like you like this."
"Fuck you."
Jim grinned. "Sex brings out the naughty words with you, doesn't it? Don't worry, gorgeous. You'll get your moment. But only when I say so. Now be a good boy for Daddy. Roll over and spread your legs for me …"