Sherlock Fic: Relief; Mycroft/Joan (genderswapped John), NC-17
Title: Relief
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Pairing: Mycroft/Joan [genderswapped John]
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~450
Warnings: Genderswap, sexual situations
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.
Summary: Sometimes all Mycroft needs is to not be in control. That's where Joan comes into the picture.
A/N: Wow. Umm. So this would be, I think, my first genderswap story. Yay for new things? Written for the following prompt at sherlockbbc_fic: Genderswapped!John; John/Mycroft, sometimes all Mycroft needs is to not be in control.
"Eyes closed, hands on the sheets."
Mycroft nearly groaned aloud at the words whispered in his ear in that husky, sex-drenched voice. It took all of his formidable restraint to keep from releasing the tangle of white cloth in his clutching fingers in favor of the short, soft strands of her hair.
Joan's insight into his limits was, as always, startling. He never quite expected it when she read into his moods, his plans, even when he'd thought he hadn't let a single clue slip. Somehow she knew. At some point in the previous six months, she'd learned to read him.
That was both terrifying and exhilarating, because, really, when had a Holmes ever before truly met his match?
"Just let go, Mycroft." His name sounded like a promise on Joan's lips, her words an order, however seductively spoken, against his skin as she nuzzled and licked her way down his body. "No leading, no directing, no deducing my plans and intentions." She nipped a warning at one nipple, following the bright flash of pleasure-pain with an apologetic lick with her tongue before continuing her path across his skin. For all her instructions to obey and be still, she was doing everything in her power to make his willpower quaver and falter.
His mind was alight with sensation, flooding him with information that he shouldn't, couldn't, mustn't analyze, and the restraint that took was more painful than her teeth could ever be. He knew she'd sensed his rising agitation when she paused in her descent to run soothing hands up and down his sides, pressing and probing his chest to settle one hand warm over his heart, the other at his hip. Patient and comforting in her steadfastness, she waited and breathed deeply and audibly, guiding him from hitching gasps to deeper, fuller breaths.
When he finally settled, finally began to feel the beginnings of the release of tension only she could effect, she continued where she'd left off as though his momentary lapse had never happened.
"You aren't the one in control here. Not in this bed, within these walls." The dog tags Joan always wore dragged against his skin in solid, sharp contrast with the softness of her lips and Mycroft moaned softly. Joan licked one long stripe up his cock and hovered over the head, her warm breaths sending shudders through him. "I'm in charge now, Mycroft. Your only obligation right now is to lie back and endure."
His only response was to offer a small quirk of his lips that he knew she would catch, and to tighten his grip on the sheet below.
Taking this as the acquiescence it was, Joan's hands pressed onto his hips, took him into the warmth of her mouth, and began to take him apart.
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Pairing: Mycroft/Joan [genderswapped John]
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~450
Warnings: Genderswap, sexual situations
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.
Summary: Sometimes all Mycroft needs is to not be in control. That's where Joan comes into the picture.
A/N: Wow. Umm. So this would be, I think, my first genderswap story. Yay for new things? Written for the following prompt at sherlockbbc_fic: Genderswapped!John; John/Mycroft, sometimes all Mycroft needs is to not be in control.
"Eyes closed, hands on the sheets."
Mycroft nearly groaned aloud at the words whispered in his ear in that husky, sex-drenched voice. It took all of his formidable restraint to keep from releasing the tangle of white cloth in his clutching fingers in favor of the short, soft strands of her hair.
Joan's insight into his limits was, as always, startling. He never quite expected it when she read into his moods, his plans, even when he'd thought he hadn't let a single clue slip. Somehow she knew. At some point in the previous six months, she'd learned to read him.
That was both terrifying and exhilarating, because, really, when had a Holmes ever before truly met his match?
"Just let go, Mycroft." His name sounded like a promise on Joan's lips, her words an order, however seductively spoken, against his skin as she nuzzled and licked her way down his body. "No leading, no directing, no deducing my plans and intentions." She nipped a warning at one nipple, following the bright flash of pleasure-pain with an apologetic lick with her tongue before continuing her path across his skin. For all her instructions to obey and be still, she was doing everything in her power to make his willpower quaver and falter.
His mind was alight with sensation, flooding him with information that he shouldn't, couldn't, mustn't analyze, and the restraint that took was more painful than her teeth could ever be. He knew she'd sensed his rising agitation when she paused in her descent to run soothing hands up and down his sides, pressing and probing his chest to settle one hand warm over his heart, the other at his hip. Patient and comforting in her steadfastness, she waited and breathed deeply and audibly, guiding him from hitching gasps to deeper, fuller breaths.
When he finally settled, finally began to feel the beginnings of the release of tension only she could effect, she continued where she'd left off as though his momentary lapse had never happened.
"You aren't the one in control here. Not in this bed, within these walls." The dog tags Joan always wore dragged against his skin in solid, sharp contrast with the softness of her lips and Mycroft moaned softly. Joan licked one long stripe up his cock and hovered over the head, her warm breaths sending shudders through him. "I'm in charge now, Mycroft. Your only obligation right now is to lie back and endure."
His only response was to offer a small quirk of his lips that he knew she would catch, and to tighten his grip on the sheet below.
Taking this as the acquiescence it was, Joan's hands pressed onto his hips, took him into the warmth of her mouth, and began to take him apart.