Voyeur (NC-17)
Title: Voyeur
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 500
Prompt: I can haz Mary/Irene, with Mary’s sole purpose being to make Watson jealous? So, I guess that would put him at the scene too. Do what you will, anon!
A/N: once again, written for the sherlockkink meme. I threw in my best shot at [highlight: orgasm denial] while I was at it, after I wrote 2100 words for this prompt & scrapped it. do I need a name for this prompt!fest that's clearly taking over my brain? any suggestions?
Watson watches the scene before him with wide eyes. This is the last thing he expected to see when he opened the not quite shut door to his wife’s room.
Mary turns her head to look at him, pupils blown wide and dark. She grins viciously, the action more a baring of white teeth than anything else. His wife moves her body farther up the bed, almost covering the nakedness of a bound Irene Adler with her own. Her left hand continues pinching and tugging at the stiff nipple of the thief, right hand buried between their bodies. Watson can only imagine what it's doing as Irene tosses her blindfolded head back, moaning throatily as Mary switches to the other breast. The metal handcuffs gleam in the weak sunlight that filters through the windowpane as the dark-haired woman strains fruitlessly at the restraints. Her back arches the best it can with another's weight pinning her down and he can tell that Mary's unseen arm slows by the movement of the quilt they lay on.
The doctor watches his wife lower her head, laving her lover's prominent collarbone before sinking her teeth into the skin. Mary pulls away after an insurmountable time, crescent marks left behind and Irene cries out. The blonde rises to her knees above the bound woman, eyes moving to the side of the room to meet John's horrified hazel before returning to stare at the woman below her.
This new position places John Watson in perfect view of what's taking place on the bed. He shifts in the doorway, frozen to the spot as his trousers grow uncomfortable and a surge of jealousy moves through him. He’s helpless but to watch as his wife hovers above the criminal, her slim fingers slowly pumping in and out to become more coated in Irene’s slick juices. The woman murmurs softly as her hand moves faster, other hand splayed on the creamy thigh to keep legs spread.
Both red-tinged and blonde hair is matted with sweat, perspiration dripping from both women's bodies. Mary’s hand slows to a still as the redhead groans at the loss; John comes to realize that this has been going on for some time and his trousers quickly become more snug when the thought crosses his mind. The next thought, occurring when Mary leans over to form a wandering trail of bite mark from breast to hip, is that his wife is entirely too used to this. He wonders how long these liaisons have been going on.
Mary turns to him a third time, blue eyes raking his body in a most unladylike manner he’d never suspected her capable of. They gleam when they notice his body’s natural reaction and Watson attempts to cover. His wife laughs at the action.
“Oh, my dearest Watson,” her voice is like knives as her hand slips down to stroke roughly. Irene thrashes, voice keening yet halting suddenly when Mary's nails score her protruding hipbone. She comes silently. “Are you jealous?”
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 500
Prompt: I can haz Mary/Irene, with Mary’s sole purpose being to make Watson jealous? So, I guess that would put him at the scene too. Do what you will, anon!
A/N: once again, written for the sherlockkink meme. I threw in my best shot at [highlight: orgasm denial] while I was at it, after I wrote 2100 words for this prompt & scrapped it. do I need a name for this prompt!fest that's clearly taking over my brain? any suggestions?
Watson watches the scene before him with wide eyes. This is the last thing he expected to see when he opened the not quite shut door to his wife’s room.
Mary turns her head to look at him, pupils blown wide and dark. She grins viciously, the action more a baring of white teeth than anything else. His wife moves her body farther up the bed, almost covering the nakedness of a bound Irene Adler with her own. Her left hand continues pinching and tugging at the stiff nipple of the thief, right hand buried between their bodies. Watson can only imagine what it's doing as Irene tosses her blindfolded head back, moaning throatily as Mary switches to the other breast. The metal handcuffs gleam in the weak sunlight that filters through the windowpane as the dark-haired woman strains fruitlessly at the restraints. Her back arches the best it can with another's weight pinning her down and he can tell that Mary's unseen arm slows by the movement of the quilt they lay on.
The doctor watches his wife lower her head, laving her lover's prominent collarbone before sinking her teeth into the skin. Mary pulls away after an insurmountable time, crescent marks left behind and Irene cries out. The blonde rises to her knees above the bound woman, eyes moving to the side of the room to meet John's horrified hazel before returning to stare at the woman below her.
This new position places John Watson in perfect view of what's taking place on the bed. He shifts in the doorway, frozen to the spot as his trousers grow uncomfortable and a surge of jealousy moves through him. He’s helpless but to watch as his wife hovers above the criminal, her slim fingers slowly pumping in and out to become more coated in Irene’s slick juices. The woman murmurs softly as her hand moves faster, other hand splayed on the creamy thigh to keep legs spread.
Both red-tinged and blonde hair is matted with sweat, perspiration dripping from both women's bodies. Mary’s hand slows to a still as the redhead groans at the loss; John comes to realize that this has been going on for some time and his trousers quickly become more snug when the thought crosses his mind. The next thought, occurring when Mary leans over to form a wandering trail of bite mark from breast to hip, is that his wife is entirely too used to this. He wonders how long these liaisons have been going on.
Mary turns to him a third time, blue eyes raking his body in a most unladylike manner he’d never suspected her capable of. They gleam when they notice his body’s natural reaction and Watson attempts to cover. His wife laughs at the action.
“Oh, my dearest Watson,” her voice is like knives as her hand slips down to stroke roughly. Irene thrashes, voice keening yet halting suddenly when Mary's nails score her protruding hipbone. She comes silently. “Are you jealous?”