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Chapter 8: Catching (2)

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"Why would you be feeling guilt?"

His voice was tinged with panic, as if he thought John had done something he was unaware of and which would justify the guilt. John just shook his head, wordless. Sherlock furrowed his brow and leant in until his lips were brushing against John's ear.

"Why..."

He bit the lobe and John gasped.

"Would..."

Another bite right under the ear sent shivers throughout his body.

"You..."

The third bite, on his throat, sent a jolt straight to his groin.

"Be..."

The fourth, at the juncture between the neck and the collarbone, was enhanced with nibbling and sucking, and John whimpered as he thought of the love-bite it'd leave.

"Feeling..."

Bite number five fell on the right side of his throat near the jugular vein and the thrill and feeling of vulnerability sent sparks down his spine – John couldn't hold back a moan as the heat in his crotch became more distracting by the second.

"Guilt?"

John felt a sudden surge of panic upon seeing Sherlock's face loom over his.

His cry was lost under bite number six, which swooped down on his parted lips.

It shouldn't have been so arousing; feeling positively swallowed shouldn't be arousing. Yet it was. Sherlock's kiss was quite literally penetrating. He'd taken John off guard and after the original bite, his tongue hadn't sneaked in between his lips, but thrust in forcefully, invading him before he could utter a single word of protest.

John was feeling himself melt – except in that very obvious part which was getting harder and harder – and he tried to get away from the electrifying embrace. This really wasn't the time. They had to talk.

"Sherl... hmpff!"

Another cry of surprise was stifled in his throat with a kiss as he was suddenly pushed backwards, pinned onto the kitchen's table, his legs spread on either side of Sherlock's waist, for he'd been straddling him. Sherlock bent slightly, towering him, resting his arms on either side of John's head and making it all the more difficult to escape. He finally broke the kiss.

"Sherlock, what the hell do you think you're–"

"You haven't answered my question."

"And I'm not answering it in this position!" John shouted, his cheeks burning and his heart hammering.

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. What was wrong with that position? It was just so John wouldn't walk away and stop touching him. He was the one who'd come and straddled him, so surely a bit of physical contact wouldn't hurt him...

"Oh."

"What? Oh Jesus I really don't like that wolfish grin of yours..."

"Yes you do," Sherlock almost purred as he bent over him intimidatingly.

John squirmed and tried to push him back, but 1) He didn't want Sherlock to feel as if he were rejecting him 2) His erection was throbbing already and he wondered since when he'd become such a beast (it hadn't even been twenty-four hours, for God's sake! Oh, but they hadn't touched since the previous morning, so... No, God!) 3) He wasn't so sure he wanted to push him back.

No. Bad timing.

"Sherlock, we have to talk."

"Aren't we talking?"

"I meant seriously."

"But I am serious."

John's eyes widened when he saw that Sherlock wasn't kidding. He was serious. Seriously tempting, too.

"No, listen... ah!"

He bit his lip to suppress a moan as Sherlock's leg not-so-innocently brushed against his erection. Now John was seriously considering fighting back. Fighting back? The mental image made him groan. God, this is crazy...

"Agonophilia."

Once again, he was brought back to reality by Sherlock's peculiar sense of conversation during sex.

"What?"

"One of your kinks, John."

"How could you possibly know my kinks?"

Sherlock scoffed.

"I deduce them."

John rolled his eyes.

"Right, well that's great, now if you could just let me go so we can..."

"Agonos, Greek for 'fighting' or 'struggle'; philein, to like."

The meaning of Sherlock's pedantic rambling started to dawn on John, who wriggled all the more frantically, trying to worm his way out of his partner's grasp without actually hurting him – whether his feelings or his body.

"Come on Sherlock, let.. hmmpf!"

He was pressed yet again onto the wooden table none too gently as the devious pair of lips fastened back on his. This wasn't good. The more threatened he felt, the more excited he became, and this really, really wasn't a good time.

"Please Sher–"

"The question is," the detective cut in, sliding a knee between John's legs, eliciting a moan from him, "which way do you like it?" He loomed over him with a smirk, pressing further. John gasped.

"Certainly not like this!"

Sheer panic flashed across Sherlock's eyes, and his knee moved back, the pressure slackening.

"The other way round, then?"

John sighed in exasperation.

"Look, this just isn't the right time!"

"It's the perfect time."

"No it isn–"

He was silenced with another kiss, but so gentle and hesitant he couldn't believe Sherlock could switch moods so easily. This kiss was almost a peck, but it lingered, brushing his lips, pressing lightly, leaving again and coming back, as if Sherlock was tasting. Testing, too, John thought, but the kiss was so soft, and it felt so much like a tamed animal trying to test the ground and see whether it was safe or not to play with its master that he just gave up and allowed himself to become limp in the embrace.

"Will you let me show you something?" Sherlock whispered against his lips.

John gulped and fidgeted a bit as he felt the detective's heart hammering against his. Both were frantic and beating hectically, as if singing in a round. He caught Sherlock's gaze and knew he was doomed. Taking a deep breath, he nodded determinedly. Ever the soldier. Sherlock's face lit up and was graced with a boyish grin as he exclaimed:

"All right! You'll have to struggle, then."

"Wait, wha... ah!"

John was confounded to find himself picked up like a child and manhandled down the corridor before being dropped onto the bed like a very heavy piece of luggage.

"What the hell?" he shouted as Sherlock rummaged through one of his drawers. Finally he turned, brandishing two leather belts as if they were prizes he'd won by the sweat of his brow. John froze.

"Sherlock–"

A moment later the detective was on him, grabbing his wrists and bringing them above his head. John counter-attacked by sliding his knee up to Sherlock's chest and pushing violently, no longer holding back.

"God, you're so childish, can't we just talk?"

"Can't we do both?"

"This isn't a game, Sherlock!"

He jumped and dodged his partner's arm that was trying to catch him, and soon they were grappling with each other heatedly. Not good, John thought. Sherlock was taller than him and he'd been the one pinning him to the bed, so the ex-soldier was clearly at a disadvantage. He had to find a way to get up. An opportunity arose when he accidentally brushed against Sherlock's groin, noticing for the first time that he wasn't the only one excited by the fight. Smirking, he pressed in further, teasing, until Sherlock moaned and slackened his grip just enough for John to roll to the side and jump to his feet.

He didn't have much time to gloat, though, as he found that Sherlock actually knew how to fight.

"You never told me you learned hand-to-hand combat!" he said, panting, as he lunged and kicked in a vain attempt to trip his friend to the ground. Sherlock snorted.

"It's called baritsu, John. And how do you think I survived before you came along?"

John giggled and dodged again.

"I don't know, by talking to them? That'd be enough to chase most people away..."

Sherlock pouted and John smirked.

"Come on, show me what you've got."

"Oh, don't tempt me, Captain."

"Isn't it already too late for that?"

Sherlock's eyes widened at the alluring comment and he shivered. He'd started the wrestling because he knew exactly the way Mycroft thought and brainwashed people. He had used John's domineering tendencies to convince the doctor he was a monster. There was no way Sherlock could argue against that, because he didn't even comprehend how John could be considered anything else than a hero – and a monster? That was ludicrous. He knew better. This was what they liked, this was what they craved. The danger. The thrill of the confrontation. This, this... was 'dancing'.

"So, tell me, sir... Shall I have you?"

He tripped him and John fell back onto the bed with a gasp, but rolled just in time to avoid getting pinned against the mattress again. He yelped as Sherlock threw himself on him, ground their bodies together, and kissed his throat softly. Moaning into the touch, John could feel his partner's lips curve against the sensitive skin of his neck. Sherlock was relishing the vibration he felt against his mouth as his friend groaned resoundingly. Taking the chance, he grabbed his wrists, swiftly tying them up with one of the belts.

"Hey! That's cheating!"

"I thought this wasn't a game, John?"

"You... ah!"

"Umm... not the other way round, then."

"Shut up."

"With pleasure," Sherlock retorted, putting his mouth to better use on John's collarbone. John growled.

"Your jumper's in the way."

"What? Seriously, Sherlock, you're in the way!"

Sherlock frowned as John struggled against him, trying to free his hands from the belt. He blushed. He'd begun this struggling game to prove a point, but with the ex-soldier now writhing under him, face flushed and pupils dilated, he was quite distracted and losing track of the original plan.

"You're beautiful," he blurted before he knew what he was saying.

John stopped wriggling and lay still. Soon his expression of surprise was replaced with one of indignation.

"I am not!" For God's sake, he wasn't a woman. Beautiful? Him?

But he remembered having found Sherlock beautiful as he'd danced in the basement. Stripped. Been raped. He shivered and his face fell.

Sherlock noticed and furrowed his brow. No, John, don't go there. He sneaked a hand under his jumper and pinched a nipple teasingly, making him gasp. Come on. Stay with me. Running his fingers over his chest, he revelled in the warmth he thought he'd never feel again.

"Sherlock–"

John was cut off as his jumper was pulled over his head abruptly. He mumbled a protest, squirming under the invading touch. Sherlock groaned.

"Why did you have to wear a shirt? Oh well."

"Sherlock, don't rip it off!"

"Too late."

"Fuck you!"

"Later, if you want."

John blushed furiously.

"I wasn't–"

"You still can, though."

"Do you have any idea what you're talking abou.. ah!"

John arched his back and thought he'd come then and there as Sherlock passed the second belt around his neck and squeezed.

"Sherlock!"

"John, John..." the detective said reprovingly as he kissed his way down his partner's throat to his firm chest. "I thought you knew what calling my name did to me..."

He pressed his erection against John's thigh, and the doctor moaned in despair, well aware that him struggling with his wrists tied up and a belt around his neck couldn't be very intimidating.

"No, it isn't. It is incredibly stimulating, though."

"Stop reading my thoughts!"

"Stop being so obvious."

He leant in and kissed him with passion. That kiss was neither gentle nor hungry, only ardent. It subjugated John, who'd thought his friend's lips were new and exciting only because he was always experimenting, and never doing things the ordinary way. A passionate kiss should've been ordinary. John had been kissed passionately countless times.

Or so he thought. Nothing compared to the heat and desperation those lips conveyed, to the liquid fire it ignited in him.

Wait, liquid fire? His eyes snapped opened as he became aware of the wetness on the face that was pressed to his. He pulled back and broke the kiss, trying to put some distance between them, but Sherlock buried his face in the crook of his neck.

"Sherlock, are you...nngh!"

He was cut off as his partner squeezed the belt tighter around his neck with one hand, the other one sliding between John's legs and fondling him.

"Sh... Sherlock..." Stop. Please look at me.

As if he'd actually heard him, Sherlock sat up and locked his burning eyes with his. John gulped at the feral expression. The belt was starting to choke him, and tears were pouring down his contorted face.

"Sh.. Sh.."

Sherlock released him suddenly and he drew a sharp breath, wheezing erratically. The panic had exhilarated him and his trembling body was now so sensitive he could feel every inch of his skin crawl, throbbing in anticipation, craving the touch. His head was spinning and he had no strength left to fight back.

"Time to surrender, John..."

"Nngh..."

John felt a wet mouth engulf his ear, then trace its way down his throat and chest, licking, nibbling and sucking. One of Sherlock's hand was holding the belt around his wrists securely, while the other palmed him through his trousers, exploring and titillating.

"Sher... Sherlock..."

A chuckle.

"You won't believe how erotic your hoarse voice sounds, John."

He moaned shamelessly, but it came out more as a hiss or a whimper. I'm going to burst, he thought dazedly.

"John? Stand up."

What? He's got to be kidding me.

"John. I said stand up."

"... the hell..."

Sherlock sighed.

"Fine. Come here."

"Ah!"

John's head fell back as he was brought up to his legs forcefully, crying out in pain and pleasure as Sherlock pulled him by the neck and the groin. He was pressed to the detective's chest like a ragged doll, Sherlock's hand still between his legs, groping, his fingers brushing the nape of his neck, his mouth on his, his tongue penetrating him. John came in a matter of seconds, screaming his pleasure.

He hadn't come in his pants since his teenage years, and the stickiness surrounding his pounding member only enhanced his orgasm. Sherlock's lips never left his, swallowing his scream and his shame and his guilt, sucking his soul out and transforming it into something beautiful.

Exhausted, John fell to his knees, but Sherlock caught him and lowered his limp body onto the mattress, lying down by his side. They lay there in silence, catching their breath, until Sherlock brushed his fingers against the doctor's neck gingerly, and murmured:

"You were feeling guilty, so I thought I'd take the chance to subdue you. I've taken advantage of you when you were at your most vulnerable. It made me happy to be the one who could fix you because I had been the one used to break you. I enjoyed being in charge. Even in the basement, I..."

He swallowed with difficulty, his hand shaking a bit. John's eyes widened and he grabbed the trembling hand.

"Sherlock, that's–"

"Even in the basement I got aroused because you were watching," he spouted in one breath. "I... I came because... because I..."

"Oh Sherlock..."

John pulled him closer and hugged him tightly, caressing his back soothingly, snuggling into the abounding black curls. Had Sherlock done all that just to prove a point? Was he really so much like his brother? No, of course not, John chided himself. He was so emotionally unstable that he couldn't even get the words out properly. Perhaps he does love me, unwittingly... Right. Wishful thinking.

He kissed the top of the beloved head, stroking and massaging the scalp gently. There was nothing to be said, nothing his lips and eyes and hands couldn't convey more effectively. It wasn't okay, and John doubted it would be before a while. He was here for Sherlock, but Sherlock knew that, and didn't need to hear it. Or did he?

"Sherlock... I'm not leaving you. Not now, not ever. I love you."

Sherlock pressed his forehead against John's shoulder and sighed in relief. A promise of eternity, now. He'd been right to aim for the sex before doing the talking. Orgasms seemed to do tremendous things to John's brain. Sherlock could find John's kinks even before the doctor was aware of them. He needed to make sure through his body that John would stay, hence the research and experiments. If he could get his body addicted to his touch, then maybe, maybe he wouldn't leave so soon. He had to find the perfect balance between teasing, and satisfying.

Yes, he thought as he relished the feel and smell of the skin he'd thought he'd never touch again, perhaps this could work. If John was going to profess his undying love every time he reached his climax or in the afterglow, Sherlock would gladly push him over the edge a million times.

Before John came to his senses, and it'd be time to say goodbye.

xXx

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tbc