Fic: Fantasising 101
Title: Fantasising 101
Words: 1906
Rating: NC-17
Pairings : Sherlock/John
Beta: the wonderful verityburns
Disclaimer: Sadly the characters are not mine and no money is made (that would be sooo cool!).
Summary: Fill for this Make Me A Monday prompt: John wants to see if Sherlock can bring himself off using nothing but his thoughts/imagination, so Sherlock is tied to the bed, blindfolded, gagged, and deafened with earplugs. And John watches, of course. ;) Smutty John/Sherlock.
It was one of those times.
Sherlock had three cases at once, he refused to eat, refused to sleep and most of the time refused to even acknowledge John’s presence. He was completely lost in his own mind. Verging on the edge of self-destruction. Again.
John hated seeing him like that. It made him hurt in a way he never knew he could hurt for someone else. He wanted to cradle Sherlock to his chest like a kitten, ruffle his hair and make him forget the world existed.
Since Sherlock - cat-like as he sometimes was - was no kitten, John found other ways to make him forget the world. Most of them included being naked and a lot of lube. [Shallow you say? Hey, as long as it helps.]
So that night he took Sherlock to bed and tried to release some of his tension. [Yes, with sex. Why are you rolling your eyes? That’s just how this works.]
Sherlock fought him all the way through. He pointed out that John was disturbing his thought process. John didn’t even bother pointing out that this was rather the point. He tried to shove John off. He tried to deny John access by clenching his legs together.
He trusted Sherlock to use the safeword [yes, of course they have a safeword. In a relationship between someone as self-destructing as Sherlock and someone as thrill-seeking as John, you need a safeword] if he really wanted him to stop, but at one point he sounded truly despairing. He was down to softly sobbing, “No” repeatedly and John for a moment lost heart.
John stopped moving and felt himself go soft. Sherlock responded by throwing his head back, almost breaking John’s nose in the process, and roaring “No!” John suddenly found himself on his back, a fuming Sherlock on top, staring at him with blazing eyes.
“Don’t you dare dodge out of this now.”
As we all know, John never dodges out of anything. Both men were exhausted from struggling before they even reached their climax, so that turned out rather anti-climatic in the end. But John had succeeded in slightly anchoring Sherlock in his body again.
But then things got worse.
When John came home from the surgery he found Sherlock in an almost catatonic state on the floor. He dropped the shopping bag and rushed over, kneeling down beside his partner, and carefully turned Sherlock’s head. His eyes were empty and staring right through John.
John panicked for a moment, then he remembered a similar incident and pinched Sherlock. Hard. Three times.
Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered and his gaze re-focused on John. His voice was weak.
“John. I can’t... I don’t know how to stop.”
“It’s ok. I’ve got an idea. It might seem a little strange at first. I won’t explain, you just need to help me get you to the bedroom. Do you trust me?”
“Unfailingly.”
~°~
So here we are now. Sherlock stretched out on the bed, fully clothed but bound and sensory deprived. John sitting in an armchair next to him.
~°~
Darkness. Silence. He used a blindfold, earplugs and a gag. Really John? A gag? And he bound me to the bed with... not rope. Leather. He used our belts. Resourceful.
This is like floating in a tank. Does he really think that I need my senses to think? That robbing me of them would stop the thinking? Stupid. That just proves that he has no idea at a... Wait. What is that?
John’s fingers knead into the sole of Sherlock’s right foot. It hurts for a second, then the muscles give in and yield to the touch.
Oh, that was unexpected. His fingers are so warm and firm. I wonder if the woman from the second case had someone who cared for her. She clearly lived alone. I didn’t bother asking since she was obviously killed by her tenant. Still need to prove that. WHY does Lestrade have to be so blind?
The fingers leave.
He stopped. Why did he stop? What will he do now?
There is a slight tingling of anticipation in his arms and legs. His body betraying his brain.
Ooh, John, you are clever. I see what you are doing here! This might actually work for a few minutes.
There is a sudden pain in his right arm.
Sharp pain, heat and moisture. He bit me. Wait. Biting. Of course, it was a bite mark! I need to call... Damn.
John’s hands slide under his shirt and slowly stroke upwards.
Is he going to try sex again? I thought last time we established rather obviously that it doesn’t work. Not enough distraction for my brain.
The hands move down again, then disappear. They re-appear at Sherlock’s head after exactly 43 seconds. The right earplug is removed and John whispers in his ear.
“Listen to me. Are you listening? ... Was that a huff? Are you annoyed? Am I disturbing your thoughts?”
John laughs and his breath moves the small hairs on Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock listens without even having to shut his brain up.
“I need to borrow that brilliant mind of yours for a while. You know, I was always fascinated by the fact that some people can get off just by using their imagination. I am pretty sure that you, with your exceptional brain, should be able to do this as well. So this is what I want you to do. Bring yourself off for me by thought alone. Can you do that?
“I will help you get started. Then it’s up to you. Think of whatever turns you on.”
I can practically hear you adding, ‘And I hope it’s me.’ That’s endearing. Why is that endearing? It should be pathetic. Pathetic human beings with their pathetic little brains. And what kind of plan is that? Get me thinking about sex to stop me from thinking about the cases? Do you have any idea how many trains of thought I can handle at the same time?
Now what? You are going to blow me?
...
Oh God.
Ok, you have proved your point. I am not able to hold more than one thought when your mouth is on my cock. But we both know that it would only distract me for a very short time. And you stopped. You have another plan.
I can feel you watching me. You are waiting.
I said that I trust you. I do. And you sometimes tend to have very strange and irrational but brilliant ideas. I will try this. For you.
Sherlock huffs out his breath and relaxes. John’s hands are back on his face, stroking.
“Very good. Now it’s your turn. See you on the other side.”
John presses a kiss to his forehead and puts the earplug back.
Darkness. Silence. Different now. My body on fire, yearning for your touch. I don’t know what you want me to do. Where are you? Are you still here? John?
A soft, warm sensation at his right ankle. John’s hand. His finger strokes the skin for a few seconds until Sherlock relaxes again, then John just rests his hand there, a reassurance of his presence.
You know me so well.
I love you. I should tell you more often.
I don’t know if I can do this. It’s so much easier to go back to the cases. But you want me to try this. Do this.
I don’t fantasise. I don’t masturbate. Maybe I can remember a time we had sex and use that? Like that time we were in the room where the court exhibits are kept and you suddenly jumped me and bent me over the table.
It was exciting and hot and fast. I remember the way you felt inside me and the way you moaned my name when you came.
...
This is not working. It feels nice and it will keep my erection up, but I will never get off on that.
What are you doing? Are you watching? Are you touching yourself? I wish I could touch you. I wish you would touch me. I wish you would fuck me.
No, you know what I really want? I want to fuck you. I never told you. I’m fine with you topping, I love feeling you inside me. But sometimes I wish you would want me to be inside you.
We could do it now. You could come over to the bed, free my eyes, so that I can watch you undress. I love watching you reveal your body piece by piece. The last piece being your cock. It is the most amazing part of you.
Then you would straddle me, rubbing your cock against mine while groping around in the bedside table for the lube.
You need to prepare yourself, because my hands are still bound. You are moaning and shaking and squirming in my lap. I’m not sure I can endure this much longer.
Then you grab my erection and rub it between your lubricated hands.
God. This feels so good. You need to stop. I need to be inside you. Now.
And then you sink down on me. You are so tight. So hot. Quivering around me. Moaning my name.
I am already getting close.
You start moving. Your hands pressed on my chest. Can you feel my heartbeat?
Your cock is leaking. And when I hit your prostate I imagine you make that sound between a moan and a sob that you do when I swallow around your cock.
Can you get off like this? I can’t touch you, though I desperately want to.
Oh God, I’m so close.
And then you arch up, throw your head back and you fall apart. I can feel you clench around me and warm wetness on my stomach and I’m falling too.
John. JOHN.
...
Suddenly there is silence in his brain.
He feels himself in his body for the first time in days. He feels John’s hands remove the blindfold, the bonds, the earplugs and the gag. Feels the rough towel cleaning him up. Feels dry lips press against his.
He opens his eyes and sees John smile down on him, before gently stroking his face.
“Hello, love. There you are.”
Then he is turned onto his side and the bed lowers under John’s weight. Strong arms encircle him and he feels John’s breath ghost over the skin on his neck.
“I love you. Now go to sleep.”
[What Sherlock does not know is that John lied to him. He sat in his armchair and watched Sherlock bring himself off and forced himself not to touch his own cock. He thought it wasn’t fair to wank while his lover fought for the control over his brain.
You can probably imagine his surprise when his own orgasm hit him the moment Sherlock arched off the bed.
He will tell Sherlock eventually. And Sherlock will tell John what he fantasised about. John will be happy that Sherlock actually thought about him and not about dissecting a corpse or something like that. Then Sherlock will ask him for something. John will give it to him. Of course he will. Can you guess what?]
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AN: Dear soultied, I hope you like it. It turned out more angsty than I planned and not that smutty.
.