Making of Monsters
Title: Making of Monsters
Author: Nakimochiku
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Character/Pairings: Jim Moriarty/ John Watson
Warnings: violence and implied torture
Rating: T
Summary: John is going to have to become just like Jim, if he wants any information from him.
Note: I really just wanted to switch up the tables. i don't think it worked out though.
The dark room was chilly and ominous, the kind of room where the sound of flesh colliding with flesh resounded nearly sickeningly. There was dried blood on John’s knuckles, flaking away as his skin shifted over his bones. Before him, strapped to a metal chair, cheeks bruising and split lip stretched in a smirk was Jim Moriarty. He looked far too lewd and cheerful for a man in captivity. His regulation white shirt was spotted with blood, and if John didn’t hate him so thoroughly, he might have felt sorry for him.
“I’m sorry I don’t bruise well.” Jim chirped, winking suggestively as he ran his tongue over the cut at his mouth, eyelids lowered to half mast, tilting his chin to the side in a gesture that might have been surrender in anyone else. John saw only challenge and his blood boiled with fury in response. “I don’t make nearly as good a canvas as you do. But you’re certainly trying your best to make me colourful. I can respect that.” He laughed, the sound stopped short as John wrapped his hands tight around his throat, restricting his breathing until it became a dry wheeze.
“Shut up, you monster.” John ordered. “I don’t want to hear anything out of you except the location of those children.” His thumbs dug into the soft pale skin, satisfied with the dull choking noises Jim made, feeling the ridges of his windpipe.
Jim’s muscles tensed and strained, He let out a lascivious moan, pushing his hips up as best he could despite the restraints. “Oh Johnny, if you’re not careful, I think I might fall in love.” He sang hoarsely, licking his lips again, his mouth open and panting. John felt like his skin was burning. He pulled away from Jim slowly, hands falling to his sides, guilt gnawing at him. He was playing right into Jim’s hands, reacting exactly as he wanted him to. He cursed his stupidity. “Don’t stop.” Jim moaned. “Squeeze harder, get angry, tear me apart for causing you so much pain.”
“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” John growled, fingers flexing, still able to feel Jim’s soft vulnerable neck beneath his hands. He needed to be purified. He never wanted to think of how soft Jim had felt again. Jim smiled sharply.
“I would.” he nodded. “I want you to snap. I want to be the one to push you over the edge. I want to turn you into something beautiful.” He settled himself into his chair, thighs spread as far as they would go, tipping his head back to expose his throat, the indents of John’s fingers starting to darken. John glanced away, brow furrowed. He couldn’t get angry. He couldn’t let Jim play him.
“Keep dreaming. I’m not a monster like you.” John murmured, fists clenched, flashes of the battle field behind his eyes, old familiar adrenaline thrumming beneath his skin. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted to hurt him so bad he would never speak, never walk, never even think again.
“But you are, Johnny.” Jim purred, voice dark and expression devious, gazing at him like he could see his every thought. Under different circumstance, Jim might have had him pressed to a wall, too close to be comfortable, too close to be sane, whispering the words directly in John’s ear and making him shudder. “I just have to drag it out of you. I just have to make you a monster.”
Author: Nakimochiku
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Character/Pairings: Jim Moriarty/ John Watson
Warnings: violence and implied torture
Rating: T
Summary: John is going to have to become just like Jim, if he wants any information from him.
Note: I really just wanted to switch up the tables. i don't think it worked out though.
The dark room was chilly and ominous, the kind of room where the sound of flesh colliding with flesh resounded nearly sickeningly. There was dried blood on John’s knuckles, flaking away as his skin shifted over his bones. Before him, strapped to a metal chair, cheeks bruising and split lip stretched in a smirk was Jim Moriarty. He looked far too lewd and cheerful for a man in captivity. His regulation white shirt was spotted with blood, and if John didn’t hate him so thoroughly, he might have felt sorry for him.
“I’m sorry I don’t bruise well.” Jim chirped, winking suggestively as he ran his tongue over the cut at his mouth, eyelids lowered to half mast, tilting his chin to the side in a gesture that might have been surrender in anyone else. John saw only challenge and his blood boiled with fury in response. “I don’t make nearly as good a canvas as you do. But you’re certainly trying your best to make me colourful. I can respect that.” He laughed, the sound stopped short as John wrapped his hands tight around his throat, restricting his breathing until it became a dry wheeze.
“Shut up, you monster.” John ordered. “I don’t want to hear anything out of you except the location of those children.” His thumbs dug into the soft pale skin, satisfied with the dull choking noises Jim made, feeling the ridges of his windpipe.
Jim’s muscles tensed and strained, He let out a lascivious moan, pushing his hips up as best he could despite the restraints. “Oh Johnny, if you’re not careful, I think I might fall in love.” He sang hoarsely, licking his lips again, his mouth open and panting. John felt like his skin was burning. He pulled away from Jim slowly, hands falling to his sides, guilt gnawing at him. He was playing right into Jim’s hands, reacting exactly as he wanted him to. He cursed his stupidity. “Don’t stop.” Jim moaned. “Squeeze harder, get angry, tear me apart for causing you so much pain.”
“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” John growled, fingers flexing, still able to feel Jim’s soft vulnerable neck beneath his hands. He needed to be purified. He never wanted to think of how soft Jim had felt again. Jim smiled sharply.
“I would.” he nodded. “I want you to snap. I want to be the one to push you over the edge. I want to turn you into something beautiful.” He settled himself into his chair, thighs spread as far as they would go, tipping his head back to expose his throat, the indents of John’s fingers starting to darken. John glanced away, brow furrowed. He couldn’t get angry. He couldn’t let Jim play him.
“Keep dreaming. I’m not a monster like you.” John murmured, fists clenched, flashes of the battle field behind his eyes, old familiar adrenaline thrumming beneath his skin. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted to hurt him so bad he would never speak, never walk, never even think again.
“But you are, Johnny.” Jim purred, voice dark and expression devious, gazing at him like he could see his every thought. Under different circumstance, Jim might have had him pressed to a wall, too close to be comfortable, too close to be sane, whispering the words directly in John’s ear and making him shudder. “I just have to drag it out of you. I just have to make you a monster.”