(no subject)
Title: Public Indecencies
Word Count: 1650
Series: Taming the Pet
Warnings: Warnings for drug use, coercion, dubious consent.
Thanks: I want to thank each and every one of you that read these. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for your comments. I write these for those that take the time to read them and I'm glad there are those that enjoy them.
The truth of it was, it hadn't been very good. Despite Jim's rather kind attempts at opening Sherlock, the lube he'd brought with him knowing just how the night would end, it was certainly not meant to be anything more than what it was. Not love making. Not even sex. Some species marked their territory through scent, others by claw and tooth. Jim had methodically and steadily left his mark with each and every deep, hard thrust that had made the consulting detective grunt beneath him.
Finishing only when he was ready, leaving Holmes across the bed, panting, flushed and without his own release even as Jim gave him just as he had promised. Barely even pulling out as he pushed the needle into the crook of his arm, thumb slamming the plunger down and sending that next dose, diluted and smaller than before, into Sherlock's veins. Leaving him open and violated, Jim set the phone down on the nightstand, made no move to shackle his guest, and left the room. Closing the door, he didn't lock it. He knew now that he didn't have to. Not for the time being, and while Holmes might never know the door was unlocked, it would give Moriarty glee to know that Holmes was no longer a prisoner but a guest.
The first text came four hours later. No preamble, no games played this time. Just words sent.
Whenever you have a moment.
And so it began.
Each time Jim changed the rules, never making it the same thing from one time to the next. A blowjob given for hours one day. Begging to be taken the next. Some involved sex, other just giving the right questions, asking the right way, and Jim would relent and given the needle over to Sherlock, watching him as he made the once brilliant consulting detective administer his own poison.
It was one week later that Jim first brought Sherlock out of the room. Guiding him to the office, he went about his work while letting Sherlock lounge on the fainting couch, almost acting as if he wasn't there. A pet lounging about in the sunlight while Jim mostly ignored him. Mostly.
Already the dynamic was changing, just as Moriarty had planned.
The first time he came closer, perching on the corner of the desk before thinking better of it. Jim didn't even lift his gaze, not until Sherlock slid boneless from the desk and sank to his knees on the floor. Smiling absently, he petted Sherlock's head, stroking his fingers through the wild curls without even looking up from his paperwork. Not even when he spoke. Not offering anything but that casual touch though he didn't resist any from Sherlock. Not when long, nimble fingers brushed over Jim's thigh, nor when he pushed the chair back slightly so he could wriggle into the cubby beneath the desk.
Spreading his legs, Jim allowed Holmes the initiative, not saying a word or touching him again as Sherlock began to suck and lick. He was good, much better at servicing another man than Jim might have believed. This time Moriarty didn't hold himself back, coming off sooner than he had in the past, both appreciative and yet not worth trying to hold himself back. Even as Sherlock moved out from under the desk, Jim picked up the syringe and held it out for Holmes, only one comment made.
"Be good and close my trousers."
Escorting Sherlock back to his room, Jim said not a word. Not as the other man leaned in to him, or when he paused, eyes on the smaller man's lips before turning into his cell. Fighting to keep that perfectly stoic exterior, Jim couldn't help but glee. It was moving along so much faster than he could have hoped.
Unable to hold back his giddiness, Jim's hand caught Sherlock's in a nearly vice like grip, pulling him back.
"I was thinking that tomorrow, if you can promise to be good, perhaps you could accompany me out to the bank."
Carefully he watched Sherlock for his reaction, those minute facial movements that would reveal what his drug addled mind was truly thinking and not what he wished to share with the world. It was a gamble, men of his mental state without drugs were notoriously hard to read, even for one of the same state such as Moriarty. It wasn't him missing anything, there was just nothing to be seen.
"If you want." For a moment his voice sounded like himself, a bit rough from misuse but still the same lilt of sardonic disdain that apparently was purely his nature rather than merely an affectation. "Should the trip go well, would it mean..."
Stroking his thumb along the inside of Holmes' wrist, offering that bit of touch he'd been withholding, Jim grinned wolfishly, giving a single nod. "You behave and do what I say and you'll have your fix then and there," he said, warning the detective, though he truly didn't expect Holmes to catch the admission, though he was fairly certain he wouldn't back out, even if he did.
"May I bathe before we leave?"
Jim chuckled, pushing Sherlock into his cell. "I'll send the nurse down to help."
*******
It was a bit of a walk to the bank, but there was a method to that as well. Every step, every block, took them from one closed caption camera to the next. Jim dressed nattily in a dark suit, the shirt crisp and startlingly white against the crimson power tie. Carrying himself with an easy air with Sherlock in his wake. Black slacks, a matching tee, that unmistakable coat that fluttered with every step. Despite the night before with the nurse Holmes still looked exceedingly pale, gaunt from the lack of food and eyes blown wide with the dose he'd received just before they'd left.
Together they made quite the odd couple, definitely noticeable by that legion that Mycroft Holmes apparently had monitoring everything that went on in the city, making use of the mushroom like cameras that had sprung up everywhere. Through it all Jim barely slowed, unwilling to give Mycroft, or that pitbull John Watson, the chance to find them. Not until what they saw exactly what he wanted them to see. Sherlock walking on his own beside Jim wasn't enough. He didn't just want them to see Sherlock willing but to share with those nearest and dearest to him just how far the man had fallen.
Down one alley, up another street, walking them in circles that showed just how well heeled Sherlock was. It had been nearly an hour since they left the house, and just going on five since Sherlock had self injected his last miniscule dose. It wouldn't be long, and the signs were easy enough to read. The slowing of the long legged man's gait; a gait that Jim made sure to match as if he hadn't even noticed. Another couple of blocks and those long, bony fingers found Jim's, tucking him into an alley. With a smile Moriarty following, not willing to resist now.
Slipping into the shadows, he thought about how this would look when the others saw it. Sherlock pressed in close, fairly looming over Jim. Fingers touching his jacket, tucking at the button before Jim slipped his hand inside his jacket. The height of the other man would block anyone watching from seeing the revelation of the syringe. All they would see is Sherlock dropping to his knees in that grimy alley, the stones water logged and trash strewn about. It was the perfect tableau for the cameras mounted high above the alley, intended to catch just this sort of perversion.
The camera might not catch the way Jim's cock slid between Sherlock's lips but the motions of the act itself would be clear to any watching. The eagerness of the taller man as his head bobbed back and forth, the way Jim's fingers rested on Holmes' head and yet never once even tangled into the wild mop, never once controlling but merely accepting what he was given. It was fast and sloppy, over nearly when it started. Sherlock learning, giving more and more as he worked hard for Jim's pleasure so that he might please his keeper and receive that fix while Jim was caught up in the moment of public indecency and knowing just what was being seen, what he was bringing about for the once proud man once more reduced to nothing but a needy mass of addiction and drugs.
Pushing Sherlock back with his knee, Jim gestured for him to stay where he was, murmuring for the other man to take off his jacket. Taking his time tucking himself away, Moriarty dipped his hand into his jacket, pulling out the syringe. Certainly the camera would catch him providing the other man with the needle, but it would also capture the shake of a hand, the swift snatch and jerky injection, shoving the plunger hard enough the plastic of the needle seemed to bend. There was barely anything in the needle, merely enough to take the edge off so that they could make it home.
Walking to the mouth of the alley, Jim looked up at the camera and smiled even as he snapped his fingers, mouthing a single word.
Now.
Barely able to make it to his feet, Sherlock rose, his coat falling to the ground. Jim left it where it lay, accepting the touch as Holmes leaned into him, needing the support, to know he wasn't in trouble and risking losing his next fix. Stepping just out of sight of the camera, Jim called for a ride, even being so kind as to slid an arm around Sherlock's waist for support.
Laughing as the man very well snuggled in against him, asking when he could have the next.
Word Count: 1650
Series: Taming the Pet
Warnings: Warnings for drug use, coercion, dubious consent.
Thanks: I want to thank each and every one of you that read these. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for your comments. I write these for those that take the time to read them and I'm glad there are those that enjoy them.
The truth of it was, it hadn't been very good. Despite Jim's rather kind attempts at opening Sherlock, the lube he'd brought with him knowing just how the night would end, it was certainly not meant to be anything more than what it was. Not love making. Not even sex. Some species marked their territory through scent, others by claw and tooth. Jim had methodically and steadily left his mark with each and every deep, hard thrust that had made the consulting detective grunt beneath him.
Finishing only when he was ready, leaving Holmes across the bed, panting, flushed and without his own release even as Jim gave him just as he had promised. Barely even pulling out as he pushed the needle into the crook of his arm, thumb slamming the plunger down and sending that next dose, diluted and smaller than before, into Sherlock's veins. Leaving him open and violated, Jim set the phone down on the nightstand, made no move to shackle his guest, and left the room. Closing the door, he didn't lock it. He knew now that he didn't have to. Not for the time being, and while Holmes might never know the door was unlocked, it would give Moriarty glee to know that Holmes was no longer a prisoner but a guest.
The first text came four hours later. No preamble, no games played this time. Just words sent.
Whenever you have a moment.
And so it began.
Each time Jim changed the rules, never making it the same thing from one time to the next. A blowjob given for hours one day. Begging to be taken the next. Some involved sex, other just giving the right questions, asking the right way, and Jim would relent and given the needle over to Sherlock, watching him as he made the once brilliant consulting detective administer his own poison.
It was one week later that Jim first brought Sherlock out of the room. Guiding him to the office, he went about his work while letting Sherlock lounge on the fainting couch, almost acting as if he wasn't there. A pet lounging about in the sunlight while Jim mostly ignored him. Mostly.
Already the dynamic was changing, just as Moriarty had planned.
The first time he came closer, perching on the corner of the desk before thinking better of it. Jim didn't even lift his gaze, not until Sherlock slid boneless from the desk and sank to his knees on the floor. Smiling absently, he petted Sherlock's head, stroking his fingers through the wild curls without even looking up from his paperwork. Not even when he spoke. Not offering anything but that casual touch though he didn't resist any from Sherlock. Not when long, nimble fingers brushed over Jim's thigh, nor when he pushed the chair back slightly so he could wriggle into the cubby beneath the desk.
Spreading his legs, Jim allowed Holmes the initiative, not saying a word or touching him again as Sherlock began to suck and lick. He was good, much better at servicing another man than Jim might have believed. This time Moriarty didn't hold himself back, coming off sooner than he had in the past, both appreciative and yet not worth trying to hold himself back. Even as Sherlock moved out from under the desk, Jim picked up the syringe and held it out for Holmes, only one comment made.
"Be good and close my trousers."
Escorting Sherlock back to his room, Jim said not a word. Not as the other man leaned in to him, or when he paused, eyes on the smaller man's lips before turning into his cell. Fighting to keep that perfectly stoic exterior, Jim couldn't help but glee. It was moving along so much faster than he could have hoped.
Unable to hold back his giddiness, Jim's hand caught Sherlock's in a nearly vice like grip, pulling him back.
"I was thinking that tomorrow, if you can promise to be good, perhaps you could accompany me out to the bank."
Carefully he watched Sherlock for his reaction, those minute facial movements that would reveal what his drug addled mind was truly thinking and not what he wished to share with the world. It was a gamble, men of his mental state without drugs were notoriously hard to read, even for one of the same state such as Moriarty. It wasn't him missing anything, there was just nothing to be seen.
"If you want." For a moment his voice sounded like himself, a bit rough from misuse but still the same lilt of sardonic disdain that apparently was purely his nature rather than merely an affectation. "Should the trip go well, would it mean..."
Stroking his thumb along the inside of Holmes' wrist, offering that bit of touch he'd been withholding, Jim grinned wolfishly, giving a single nod. "You behave and do what I say and you'll have your fix then and there," he said, warning the detective, though he truly didn't expect Holmes to catch the admission, though he was fairly certain he wouldn't back out, even if he did.
"May I bathe before we leave?"
Jim chuckled, pushing Sherlock into his cell. "I'll send the nurse down to help."
*******
It was a bit of a walk to the bank, but there was a method to that as well. Every step, every block, took them from one closed caption camera to the next. Jim dressed nattily in a dark suit, the shirt crisp and startlingly white against the crimson power tie. Carrying himself with an easy air with Sherlock in his wake. Black slacks, a matching tee, that unmistakable coat that fluttered with every step. Despite the night before with the nurse Holmes still looked exceedingly pale, gaunt from the lack of food and eyes blown wide with the dose he'd received just before they'd left.
Together they made quite the odd couple, definitely noticeable by that legion that Mycroft Holmes apparently had monitoring everything that went on in the city, making use of the mushroom like cameras that had sprung up everywhere. Through it all Jim barely slowed, unwilling to give Mycroft, or that pitbull John Watson, the chance to find them. Not until what they saw exactly what he wanted them to see. Sherlock walking on his own beside Jim wasn't enough. He didn't just want them to see Sherlock willing but to share with those nearest and dearest to him just how far the man had fallen.
Down one alley, up another street, walking them in circles that showed just how well heeled Sherlock was. It had been nearly an hour since they left the house, and just going on five since Sherlock had self injected his last miniscule dose. It wouldn't be long, and the signs were easy enough to read. The slowing of the long legged man's gait; a gait that Jim made sure to match as if he hadn't even noticed. Another couple of blocks and those long, bony fingers found Jim's, tucking him into an alley. With a smile Moriarty following, not willing to resist now.
Slipping into the shadows, he thought about how this would look when the others saw it. Sherlock pressed in close, fairly looming over Jim. Fingers touching his jacket, tucking at the button before Jim slipped his hand inside his jacket. The height of the other man would block anyone watching from seeing the revelation of the syringe. All they would see is Sherlock dropping to his knees in that grimy alley, the stones water logged and trash strewn about. It was the perfect tableau for the cameras mounted high above the alley, intended to catch just this sort of perversion.
The camera might not catch the way Jim's cock slid between Sherlock's lips but the motions of the act itself would be clear to any watching. The eagerness of the taller man as his head bobbed back and forth, the way Jim's fingers rested on Holmes' head and yet never once even tangled into the wild mop, never once controlling but merely accepting what he was given. It was fast and sloppy, over nearly when it started. Sherlock learning, giving more and more as he worked hard for Jim's pleasure so that he might please his keeper and receive that fix while Jim was caught up in the moment of public indecency and knowing just what was being seen, what he was bringing about for the once proud man once more reduced to nothing but a needy mass of addiction and drugs.
Pushing Sherlock back with his knee, Jim gestured for him to stay where he was, murmuring for the other man to take off his jacket. Taking his time tucking himself away, Moriarty dipped his hand into his jacket, pulling out the syringe. Certainly the camera would catch him providing the other man with the needle, but it would also capture the shake of a hand, the swift snatch and jerky injection, shoving the plunger hard enough the plastic of the needle seemed to bend. There was barely anything in the needle, merely enough to take the edge off so that they could make it home.
Walking to the mouth of the alley, Jim looked up at the camera and smiled even as he snapped his fingers, mouthing a single word.
Now.
Barely able to make it to his feet, Sherlock rose, his coat falling to the ground. Jim left it where it lay, accepting the touch as Holmes leaned into him, needing the support, to know he wasn't in trouble and risking losing his next fix. Stepping just out of sight of the camera, Jim called for a ride, even being so kind as to slid an arm around Sherlock's waist for support.
Laughing as the man very well snuggled in against him, asking when he could have the next.