A/N: Thanks for all the lovely reviews! I was nervous about posting this because it's pretty squicky and not a popular paring at all, but your reviews are so encouraging. And it was kind of a dick move to leave you on that cliffhanger ;-) So I'm updating quickly. Not sure this wee chapter is much better, but I thought we should check in with poor John and see how Sherlock's holding up.
John
This was a nightmare. He needed it to be a nightmare so he could wake up in a cold sweat and realize this wasn't real. He wasn't tied up and helpless while listening to his best friend being sexually assaulted by a psychopathic killer. He'd already rubbed his wrists raw and bloody in his futile struggles against the handcuffs.
He didn't want to hear it. Any of it. But at the same time, the part of him that strove to protect Sherlock needed to hear it. Even if he couldn't do anything, he monitored Sherlock's sounds, listening for pain and discomfort. So he would know what he'd be dealing with when this was all over. One could never be certain with Moriarty, but John was cautiously optimistic that both he and Sherlock would make it out alive. The consulting criminal clearly had a larger plan for them that had yet to be revealed.
It was humiliating. All of it. The fact that Moriarty had kidnapped John again. Oh, John had fought against it. Viciously and he had a shiner to prove it, but it hadn't been enough to prevent Moriarty's goons from taking him. Bringing him to this room and depriving him of sight and speech and forcing him to listen to Moriarty's plan. To Sherlock's acquiescence. He was allowing Moriarty to have his way because he wanted to protect John. This was equal parts mortifying and deeply moving for the doctor. He was consumed with regret for what Sherlock was enduring on his behalf, but truly amazed that he meant that much to the detective.
It was humiliating when Moriarty spoke to him. While he and Sherlock were fucking. How Moriarty knew of John's desire for Sherlock when John had barely been able to admit it to himself. And Sherlock had even protected him from that. John was mortified to find himself aroused by some of the sounds Sherlock was making. The pleasured moans and gasps. Picturing what Sherlock looked like at that moment, only John wished it was him instead of Moriarty. He wanted to be the one to guide Sherlock through his first sexual experience and now that would never be.
One thing he was grateful for was that Moriarty seemed to have no intention of hurting Sherlock. And he was a little taken aback when he realized that Moriarty had given Sherlock control and Sherlock had chosen to continue. John could hear the squeak of the mattress and the pleasured moans, grunts, and animal snarls from the two men as they fucked hard and fast. John felt himself starting to get hard and his face flushed red with humiliation. He should NOT be getting off on this, but it was the only sensory stimulation he was receiving at the moment and the mental picture of Sherlock naked and undone in the throes of passion was incredibly compelling.
How would it change him? There was no possible way that Sherlock who John would see later would be the same Sherlock he'd seen this morning. He was learning things that could not be unlearned. He was being violated, though by the sounds of things, the lines were blurry on that one. John had long been aware of the strange connection between Moriarty and Sherlock. The grudging admiration and sexual undercurrent that both worried and intrigued John. That Moriarty would take it to this level was alarming, to say the least.
Suddenly, Sherlock made a choked sound, as if his airway was being compromised and Moriarty's voice turned low and dangerous. John stiffened and unconsciously fought against his bonds, not noticing as his wrists bled. I knew it. He's going to hurt or kill him and there's not a damn thing I can do about it … he'll die because I was too thick to avoid this trap again …
The choking sound stopped, but was replaced by something nearly as sinister. Sherlock's voice, soft and pleading. "No. Don't … please … stop …"
Oh, Sherlock …
Sherlock
He regretted the plea as soon as it came out of his mouth. He hadn't even realized he was saying the words, but when Moriarty spread him open and licked him there … the sensation so unbearably intimate, he heard himself begging his captor to stop.
Even though there was no chance of it stopping. Moriarty's response was to penetrate Sherlock with his tongue, which sent a spike of pleasure through Sherlock's traitorous body and he felt it in his cock, which hadn't been this hard ever in his life and he'd never maintained an erection for this long. Had never received this much physical stimulus. His mind and body were at war and that's just how Moriarty wanted it. A whimper escaped him as the other man fucked him slowly with his clever tongue, a slick finger beginning to probe him as well. He knew what was coming and he simply needed to endure it and then Moriarty would set John free. He also knew that part of the endurance would be acknowledging the pleasure he was feeling and the long-ignored need that Moriarty was satiating. He'd hated himself for not being able to resist Moriarty's dare. His body was thrumming with need — he could feel it pounding in his ears and when he'd seen stars when he thrust deeply into Moriarty's tight heat and then he couldn't stop moving, pushing hard into Moriarty again and again.
But of course that wouldn't be how the criminal wanted this to end. Of course not. Sherlock's submission had to be complete before the dance was over. And that's why he was splayed out on his stomach, legs spread wide, groaning as he was licked and stroked and fucked with expert fingers and tongue. His cock throbbed and leaked onto the bedspread. He needed release. He needed for this to be over. He needed …
When Moriarty finally knelt between his legs and pushed his slick, hard cock into Sherlock's virgin arse, Sherlock cried out sharply for several reasons: 1. Pain 2. Pleasure. 3. The realization that this was exactly what he needed.
Well, maybe not exactly. He found himself thinking of John. John's fingers curling around his hips. John burying himself up to the hilt inside Sherlock. John could have anything he wanted. Sherlock would give it to him. But Moriarty would always have to take. He would always have to fight for what he wanted. Sherlock mentally curled around that nugget of truth, knowing it's what would save him in the end. He held on to that and gave in to the needs of his much-neglected body.
"Tell me." Moriarty's voice was soft and sweet. He'd felt Sherlock's surrender. "Say it out loud."
"Fuck me."
"Say it right."
"Fuck me … Jim."
"Good boy. Don't worry. I'll give you exactly what you need."