You, Me, and The Devil Makes Three [7/7]
anonymous
January 8 2011, 07:10:20 UTC
This turned out to be quite dark, so a warning: non-consensual sex Moriarty crushed his mouth onto John’s and reached a hand under the band of the doctor’s undergarment. John gave a noise of struggle, and Jim pulled the undergarment down completely exposing John to Sherlock. Sherlock stared in awe at the thin, elegant fingers around John’s large cock and felt warmer all of a sudden. He gulped. Moriarty was stroking John in rhythmic movements and John was, to his chagrin, hard. Sherlock had to bite his hand to stifle his moan.
Moriarty parted from John and flung him toward Sherlock. John simply stared at Sherlock with a pleading look in his eyes. John didn't want this, that much was clear, but Sherlock was going to change his mind.
Sherlock pulled John toward him hungrily and sucked on his neck until it bruised. John had remained still the entire time and hadn’t moved a muscle. Sherlock was grateful for his compliance. His mouth traveled down John’s body, lapping up the sweat that’d been secreted.
Sherlock licked John’s precum from his prick skillfully and gripped a hand on his firm arse. He didn’t dare look at John’s face. He couldn’t bear to see the disappointment.
“Aww, cute!” Moriarty cooed obnoxiously. “Why don’t you ever tell me I’m beautiful?” Moriarty skipped over and pulled John onto the floor with him harshly, leaving Sherlock kneeling without a cause. “I’m so glad you’re finally playing with me, Sherlock. John, arse up!"
John didn't budge. He sat upright, staring off into the distance. Who knows where his mind was. Sherlock only knew he was growing impatient.
"John," he barked hoarsely. "Do as he says."
"You really do want this, don't you, Sherlock? You're not even trying to stop it," he said grimly. Sherlock saw him tense up. "How can you make this okay for yourself? How?" The words hadn't touched Sherlock in the slightest. All he could think about was pounding hard and fast into John.
Moriarty grabbed the gun from his heap of clothes and pointed it at John's forehead. "Enough talking! I said arse up, bitch!"
John shook his head in disappointment after catching Sherlock's evil glare. He turned around, and positioned himself on all fours.
Sherlock lubed himself and pushed inside John hastily. And just like that, he had fully transformed into someone--something monstrous. He pounded hard, flesh slapping flesh and his nails dug into John's back. John was trying his best to remain upright on his arms, seeing as he was being jostled forward due to Sherlock's harsh thrusts.
"Jim looks lonely. Suck his cock, won't you?" Sherlock heard his voice growl. Jim's cock was obediently pushed quickly into John's mouth, and John gagged with disgust. That wasn't in Sherlock's fantasy. John didn't work his tongue along the shaft, he didn't take Moriarty deeper. He was whimpering. And he hadn't said "Fuck me harder, Sherlock," in that deliciously lustful tone that Sherlock had fantasized about. Something was not quite right.
He watched the scene before him and saw something that cause time to move slowly. A droplet of water rolled down John's cheek and splattered to the ground. He was crying. Sherlock suddenly realized what he was doing, where he was, and who he was with--the drop of water waking him up from some restless slumber. He had to stop this. He looked at Moriarty, who gave him a repulsive wink. He looked at the gun laying conspicuously on the floor near them. It was at an arm's length reach.
He lunged himself toward the gun, aimed it point-blank at Moriarty and pulled the trigger. Skin and blood were torn off his right cheek and splattered onto the wall behind him. He screamed bloody murder, and Sherlock fired a second time to silence him. The bullet tore through his brain. Moriarty slumped forward, lifeless.
Moments after he fired, there were a barrage of bullets outside and a resounding bang of two bodies falling against the outer door of 221c.
Sherlock turned his neck slowly to see how John was taking it all. He could tell John didn't recognize the man before him any longer. John's mouth twitched and, after staring at Sherlock for one final, tedious moment he looked toward the door.
The door flung open, and Lestrade was silhouetted in the blinding light.
Re: You, Me, and The Devil Makes Three [7/7]
anonymous
January 19 2011, 05:40:46 UTC
Will there be a sequel? Will John forgive Sherlock because Sherlock offed Moriarty? Or will he be too totally disgusted and take off, leaving only ANGST? Or will Sherlock merely regret having lost any more opportunities for his OT3?
Re: You, Me, and The Devil Makes Three [7/7]adhyra_19January 21 2011, 20:10:26 UTC
"Sherlock suddenly realized what he was doing, where he was, and who he was with--the drop of water waking him up"
Wow, I really, really liked this. Despite all the darkness and twisted edges of the story (which speak of your talent to paint this disturbing landscape) you gave Sherlock the chance to break the spell that had been consuming him and put an end to the nightmare, and you made it happen with exquisite timing. Kudos!
Moriarty crushed his mouth onto John’s and reached a hand under the band of the doctor’s undergarment. John gave a noise of struggle, and Jim pulled the undergarment down completely exposing John to Sherlock. Sherlock stared in awe at the thin, elegant fingers around John’s large cock and felt warmer all of a sudden. He gulped. Moriarty was stroking John in rhythmic movements and John was, to his chagrin, hard. Sherlock had to bite his hand to stifle his moan.
Moriarty parted from John and flung him toward Sherlock. John simply stared at Sherlock with a pleading look in his eyes. John didn't want this, that much was clear, but Sherlock was going to change his mind.
Sherlock pulled John toward him hungrily and sucked on his neck until it bruised. John had remained still the entire time and hadn’t moved a muscle. Sherlock was grateful for his compliance. His mouth traveled down John’s body, lapping up the sweat that’d been secreted.
Sherlock licked John’s precum from his prick skillfully and gripped a hand on his firm arse. He didn’t dare look at John’s face. He couldn’t bear to see the disappointment.
“Aww, cute!” Moriarty cooed obnoxiously. “Why don’t you ever tell me I’m beautiful?” Moriarty skipped over and pulled John onto the floor with him harshly, leaving Sherlock kneeling without a cause. “I’m so glad you’re finally playing with me, Sherlock. John, arse up!"
John didn't budge. He sat upright, staring off into the distance. Who knows where his mind was. Sherlock only knew he was growing impatient.
"John," he barked hoarsely. "Do as he says."
"You really do want this, don't you, Sherlock? You're not even trying to stop it," he said grimly. Sherlock saw him tense up. "How can you make this okay for yourself? How?" The words hadn't touched Sherlock in the slightest. All he could think about was pounding hard and fast into John.
Moriarty grabbed the gun from his heap of clothes and pointed it at John's forehead. "Enough talking! I said arse up, bitch!"
John shook his head in disappointment after catching Sherlock's evil glare. He turned around, and positioned himself on all fours.
Sherlock lubed himself and pushed inside John hastily. And just like that, he had fully transformed into someone--something monstrous. He pounded hard, flesh slapping flesh and his nails dug into John's back. John was trying his best to remain upright on his arms, seeing as he was being jostled forward due to Sherlock's harsh thrusts.
"Jim looks lonely. Suck his cock, won't you?" Sherlock heard his voice growl. Jim's cock was obediently pushed quickly into John's mouth, and John gagged with disgust. That wasn't in Sherlock's fantasy. John didn't work his tongue along the shaft, he didn't take Moriarty deeper. He was whimpering. And he hadn't said "Fuck me harder, Sherlock," in that deliciously lustful tone that Sherlock had fantasized about. Something was not quite right.
He watched the scene before him and saw something that cause time to move slowly. A droplet of water rolled down John's cheek and splattered to the ground. He was crying. Sherlock suddenly realized what he was doing, where he was, and who he was with--the drop of water waking him up from some restless slumber. He had to stop this. He looked at Moriarty, who gave him a repulsive wink. He looked at the gun laying conspicuously on the floor near them. It was at an arm's length reach.
He lunged himself toward the gun, aimed it point-blank at Moriarty and pulled the trigger. Skin and blood were torn off his right cheek and splattered onto the wall behind him. He screamed bloody murder, and Sherlock fired a second time to silence him. The bullet tore through his brain. Moriarty slumped forward, lifeless.
Moments after he fired, there were a barrage of bullets outside and a resounding bang of two bodies falling against the outer door of 221c.
Sherlock turned his neck slowly to see how John was taking it all. He could tell John didn't recognize the man before him any longer. John's mouth twitched and, after staring at Sherlock for one final, tedious moment he looked toward the door.
The door flung open, and Lestrade was silhouetted in the blinding light.
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I'll have to mull over different scenarios, and get back to you on that!
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Wow, I really, really liked this. Despite all the darkness and twisted edges of the story (which speak of your talent to paint this disturbing landscape) you gave Sherlock the chance to break the spell that had been consuming him and put an end to the nightmare, and you made it happen with exquisite timing. Kudos!
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