FILL: Lessons Learned 1 (Dub-con, gangbang)
anonymous
May 5 2011, 04:26:38 UTC
Warning: This picks up a little after "The First Lesson" left off but, narratively, this doesn't quite jive with that story. Also, the tenses jump all over the place. Can we uh... ignore the logical contradictions in favor of porn?
Learning Curve
There is something happening in the ring. From his position on the floor between John Watson's legs, Lestrade can't see what that something is. But he can hear the sudden uptick in noise level, the muffled thud of a body against a mat followed by the disappointed cursing of those who haven't yet gotten their turn. It isn't hard for him to figure out that Sherlock couldn't handle whatever they'd gotten round to doing and passed out. From the corner of his eye, Lestrade watches the corner of Mycroft's mouth turn down. He watches Mycroft watch the men in the ring and knows, instinctively, what's coming next.
Lestrade releases John's softening cock from his mouth and sits obediently back onto his heels before Mycroft can use his umbrella to direct him into this position. Above him, John lets out a groan; oversensitive from his second orgasm - second blow job of the night.
Mycroft flicks a hand impatiently in the direction of the ring and Lestrade rises to obey without even thinking. As he walks away he hears John ask, "What's he doing?" But Mycroft doesn't answer that.
The men who have had Sherlock - the ones who have decided that they are, for tonight, sated, have begun to make their way out. Lestrade counts them as they leave; ten at first - then twelve - more, until only eight men remain. Eight men who cast disgusted looks at the pale, cum covered, and completely unresponsive body laying at the center of the ring.
Eight men who turn lustful, predatory glances at Lestrade. Eight men who reach for him the second he crawls over the ropes. One slap his bum, one gives him a solid grope, one kisses him, one touches his chest, one runs a hand through his hair and - and then there are too man hands on him for Lestrade to keep count. But he stays obediently pliant, opens his mouth and his legs to let to touch and taste whatever they want. They are rough with him, but their hands are warm.
"Oh I've missed you," one of the men whispers in his ear and Lestrade knows, (from staring at his tags the last time the man had fucked him into the floor,) that his name is Mitch or Michael or Mitchell. "The ones they send us to punish just aren't the same." The man, Lestrade settles for calling him Mitchell, tongues Lestrade's ear in a way that's meant to make him gasp so he does. The others chuckle.
"God but he's gagging for it." Another groans. Samuel, or maybe something Samuels. Lestrade isn't sure.
"He's missed us too. Haven't you, love?" Asks the man pressing his tongue into Lestrade's mouth and, this time, Lestrade's groan is real. This man had just been inside of Sherlock, Lestrade can feel his dick smearing cum across his stomach.
Another man reaches for him, thrusts his fingers perfunctorily into Lestrade's ass. "Fuck." The man mutters, "He's even prepped himself." The men laugh coarsely, and Lestrade knows better than to tell them that he wasn't so much prepped as fucked into the back seat of Mycroft's car by the Russian ambassador before they got here. (That the tip of Mycroft's umbrella had been keeping him open for the last three hours.)
FILL: Lessons Learned 2 (Dub-con, gangbang)
anonymous
May 5 2011, 04:27:22 UTC
"You want us?" The man in front of Lestrade asks. He pushes his friends aside, pulls Lestrade in close. "You want me?" The man is pressed flush against Lestrade, his erection smearing other men's cum all over Lestrade's stomach. If he could, Lestrade would punch the man in the mouth. As it is, he knows what will happen if he doesn't play along and placate. The man, Cameron, is taller than Lestrade which is a good thing because it allows Lestrade to cast him a coy, practiced, come-hither glance through his lashes. It's a look he's used often of late. He couples it with the same eager, hungry smile he'd used on the ambassador in the car. Cameron likes it better than a verbal answer, or at least, Lestrade thinks he does because the next thing he knows he's on his back and the man's cock is shoving into his ass.
The first thrust is brutal. All stretch and burn and christ but Lestrade had forgotten the man's sheer girth. It's only practice that keeps him from crying out, lack of breath that prevents him from groaning. When he squeezes down around Cameron, he knows Cameron feels it anyway. Lying on his back, he knows they can see him getting hard. Mitchell leans forward to watch him over Cameron's shoulder. "Oh I think he liked that."
Cameron's second thrust rocks Lestrade backwards, into the thighs of the man whose taken a position at his head. "He wants more," Cameron says to Mitchell over his shoulder, "Little slut always wants more than a plain vanilla fuck." The men chuckle and Lestrade bites his bottom lip had, drawing blood. Cameron thrusts again. Harder. He's not even looking at Lestrade, bantering instead with Mitchell as he picks up his pace. It's as if Lestrade isn't even there. As if he's just something convenient Cameron's chosen to cover his dick with.
Lestrade is spared the sight of his own insignificance by Samuel who leans forward to nibble at his chest, covering Lestrade's head with his body. Lestrade closes his eyes, takes Samuel's military tags into his mouth, and sucks on the metal as Cameron picks up his pace.
Someone runs their dick against Lestrade's check. Someone else pulls at one of his nipples. A hand grabs his own and wraps it around someone's dick. (He begins jerking it automatically, applying pressure in what he hopes is a pleasing manner.) He doesn't even noticed that he's started to meet Cameron's thrusts.
"Oh he likesthat." Someone taunts, running a single teasing finger around Lestrade's foreskin. "Can he come like this?" No one answers, but Cameron slams into him hard, twice, then grunts. Lestrade feels himself filling and then there's nothingness as the man pulls out. Cameron says something, something Lestrade doesn't hear, and suddenly everything, everyone is gone.
Lestrade blinks at the ceiling in surprise.
A foot prods his side.
"Come on then bitch," Someone says, "go ride him."
And it takes Lestrade far too long, far too many glances, to realize that they mean Sherlock. Sherlock who's unconscious but, somehow, still hard. (Hard, because they'd put a cock ring on him as soon as he'd developed an erection and hadn't let him come. When he doesn't move fast enough, Cameron picks him up by the chin and drags him over.
Re: FILL: Lessons Learned 1 (Dub-con, gangbang)
anonymous
May 5 2011, 04:27:56 UTC
"Go on then!" Mitchell fists a hand in his hair and pulls, until Lestrade is hanging from his hand like a marionette. "Come on!" Shaking slightly, Lestrade swings a leg over Sherlock and, with Samuel's hand guiding Sherlock's cock, Lestrade sank down onto him.
He groaned. He couldn't help but groan. He had wanted this, once. He rocked a little, letting Sherlock rub against him, inside, just the way he liked.
"He never looks like that when he's riding you." Someone said, an whoever it was directed to cuffed the man across the back of the head. Lestrade didn't have to wonder how he looked. Obscene most likely, fucking himself on an unconscious man who had just been raped. Whose rape he had helped arrange who -. Lestrade shut that part of his mind off.
He'd become very good at shutting his mind off.
He sunk down a little further on Sherlock, grinding down on the man's cock until pleasure jolted through his system. He opened his mouth, let his tongue hang out like a dog's until someone came forward and filled it. He tightened his mouth, sucked. It was easier not to think when he was full like this. It didn't matter what he had done when he was like this. That he never fought the men off anymore. That he - that he welcomed being invaded like he was some kind of unclaimed territory even though he'd fucked so many men lately that he'd lost count.
That, somewhere, Mycroft was watching. Always watching.
All that mattered, in moments like these when there were sparks going off behind his eyes and a bitter taste of salt and musk in mouth and wet streaks of pre-come marking his stomach from his own cock. All that mattered was that he was -. He was falling over the edge. Mind white and - and.
- and he hadn't even finished his orgasm when they were pulling him off of Sherlock and shoving him onto his knees, though he was still draped over Sherlock's body.
"Come on love," Someone whispered, "We're just getting started.
---
.... and that's all I've got. If someone else who is good at writing porn would like to take over. PLEASE FEEL FREE. I THINK LESTRADE COULD USE SOME MORE FUCKING.
Well I haven't built out the verse in my head enough to have it fully flushed out but, basically, dark!Mycroft doesn't care what he has to do to get from point a to point b as long as he gets to point b. This includes corrupting the laws and twisting New Scotland Yard around his finger.
Lestrade, being an idealistic young man, fought Mycroft's rise to power and Mycroft actually found his reluctance... invigorating. So he decided to court Lestrade for himself - but Lestrade, hating what he stood for, refused him time and again.
So Mycroft created this little scenario where his own personal military force (run by Moran) each get a go Lestrade until he gives in. If he lets Mycroft touch him he doesn't have to deal with anyone else fucking him every again. If he says no, Mycroft basically declares his ass open to all comers. To Mycroft's surprise, Lestrade would rather be raped than submit.
Many, many years down the line Lestrade is still refusing Mycroft even if that refusal has left him a little broken. (Mycroft still lets Moran's men use him every couple of months but, mostly, he just whores Lestrade out to this dignitary or that diplomat - really whoever he needs blackmail material on.) He makes it very, very clear that his offer still stands.
As for Sherlock... so I don't really know how John and Mycroft discover each other's dark sides but, basically, John is sick of Sherlock rushing off into danger without him and, with Mycroft's help arranges Sherlock's night in the ring to show him what can happen when he doesn't behave...
OMFG! Please write more in this verse! The world needs more dark!Mycroft and suffering!Lestrade and holy fuck, Mycroft doesn't get darker than this!
He makes it very, very clear that his offer still stands.
I think if you actually write Lestrade finally giving up and going to Mycroft I may collapse from the awesomeness AND fucked-up-ness of it all so pleasepleasepleaseplease more...
Re: a!anon again
anonymous
May 14 2011, 05:45:12 UTC
Thank you so much!
Like I wrote there you're AMAZING and the back story was brilliant, it gave the story even more layers on how fuck up Mycroft and Lestrade "relationship" is, and I thought it was impossible to actually feel worst for Lestrade but I underestimate your talent. ;)
Sorry for being so greedy but I hope you keep going...
Learning Curve
There is something happening in the ring. From his position on the floor between John Watson's legs, Lestrade can't see what that something is. But he can hear the sudden uptick in noise level, the muffled thud of a body against a mat followed by the disappointed cursing of those who haven't yet gotten their turn. It isn't hard for him to figure out that Sherlock couldn't handle whatever they'd gotten round to doing and passed out. From the corner of his eye, Lestrade watches the corner of Mycroft's mouth turn down. He watches Mycroft watch the men in the ring and knows, instinctively, what's coming next.
Lestrade releases John's softening cock from his mouth and sits obediently back onto his heels before Mycroft can use his umbrella to direct him into this position. Above him, John lets out a groan; oversensitive from his second orgasm - second blow job of the night.
Mycroft flicks a hand impatiently in the direction of the ring and Lestrade rises to obey without even thinking. As he walks away he hears John ask, "What's he doing?" But Mycroft doesn't answer that.
The men who have had Sherlock - the ones who have decided that they are, for tonight, sated, have begun to make their way out. Lestrade counts them as they leave; ten at first - then twelve - more, until only eight men remain. Eight men who cast disgusted looks at the pale, cum covered, and completely unresponsive body laying at the center of the ring.
Eight men who turn lustful, predatory glances at Lestrade. Eight men who reach for him the second he crawls over the ropes. One slap his bum, one gives him a solid grope, one kisses him, one touches his chest, one runs a hand through his hair and - and then there are too man hands on him for Lestrade to keep count. But he stays obediently pliant, opens his mouth and his legs to let to touch and taste whatever they want. They are rough with him, but their hands are warm.
"Oh I've missed you," one of the men whispers in his ear and Lestrade knows, (from staring at his tags the last time the man had fucked him into the floor,) that his name is Mitch or Michael or Mitchell. "The ones they send us to punish just aren't the same." The man, Lestrade settles for calling him Mitchell, tongues Lestrade's ear in a way that's meant to make him gasp so he does. The others chuckle.
"God but he's gagging for it." Another groans. Samuel, or maybe something Samuels. Lestrade isn't sure.
"He's missed us too. Haven't you, love?" Asks the man pressing his tongue into Lestrade's mouth and, this time, Lestrade's groan is real. This man had just been inside of Sherlock, Lestrade can feel his dick smearing cum across his stomach.
Another man reaches for him, thrusts his fingers perfunctorily into Lestrade's ass. "Fuck." The man mutters, "He's even prepped himself." The men laugh coarsely, and Lestrade knows better than to tell them that he wasn't so much prepped as fucked into the back seat of Mycroft's car by the Russian ambassador before they got here. (That the tip of Mycroft's umbrella had been keeping him open for the last three hours.)
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The first thrust is brutal. All stretch and burn and christ but Lestrade had forgotten the man's sheer girth. It's only practice that keeps him from crying out, lack of breath that prevents him from groaning. When he squeezes down around Cameron, he knows Cameron feels it anyway. Lying on his back, he knows they can see him getting hard. Mitchell leans forward to watch him over Cameron's shoulder. "Oh I think he liked that."
Cameron's second thrust rocks Lestrade backwards, into the thighs of the man whose taken a position at his head. "He wants more," Cameron says to Mitchell over his shoulder, "Little slut always wants more than a plain vanilla fuck." The men chuckle and Lestrade bites his bottom lip had, drawing blood. Cameron thrusts again. Harder. He's not even looking at Lestrade, bantering instead with Mitchell as he picks up his pace. It's as if Lestrade isn't even there. As if he's just something convenient Cameron's chosen to cover his dick with.
Lestrade is spared the sight of his own insignificance by Samuel who leans forward to nibble at his chest, covering Lestrade's head with his body. Lestrade closes his eyes, takes Samuel's military tags into his mouth, and sucks on the metal as Cameron picks up his pace.
Someone runs their dick against Lestrade's check. Someone else pulls at one of his nipples. A hand grabs his own and wraps it around someone's dick. (He begins jerking it automatically, applying pressure in what he hopes is a pleasing manner.) He doesn't even noticed that he's started to meet Cameron's thrusts.
"Oh he likesthat." Someone taunts, running a single teasing finger around Lestrade's foreskin. "Can he come like this?" No one answers, but Cameron slams into him hard, twice, then grunts. Lestrade feels himself filling and then there's nothingness as the man pulls out. Cameron says something, something Lestrade doesn't hear, and suddenly everything, everyone is gone.
Lestrade blinks at the ceiling in surprise.
A foot prods his side.
"Come on then bitch," Someone says, "go ride him."
And it takes Lestrade far too long, far too many glances, to realize that they mean Sherlock. Sherlock who's unconscious but, somehow, still hard. (Hard, because they'd put a cock ring on him as soon as he'd developed an erection and hadn't let him come. When he doesn't move fast enough, Cameron picks him up by the chin and drags him over.
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He groaned. He couldn't help but groan. He had wanted this, once. He rocked a little, letting Sherlock rub against him, inside, just the way he liked.
"He never looks like that when he's riding you." Someone said, an whoever it was directed to cuffed the man across the back of the head. Lestrade didn't have to wonder how he looked. Obscene most likely, fucking himself on an unconscious man who had just been raped. Whose rape he had helped arrange who -. Lestrade shut that part of his mind off.
He'd become very good at shutting his mind off.
He sunk down a little further on Sherlock, grinding down on the man's cock until pleasure jolted through his system. He opened his mouth, let his tongue hang out like a dog's until someone came forward and filled it. He tightened his mouth, sucked. It was easier not to think when he was full like this. It didn't matter what he had done when he was like this. That he never fought the men off anymore. That he - that he welcomed being invaded like he was some kind of unclaimed territory even though he'd fucked so many men lately that he'd lost count.
That, somewhere, Mycroft was watching. Always watching.
All that mattered, in moments like these when there were sparks going off behind his eyes and a bitter taste of salt and musk in mouth and wet streaks of pre-come marking his stomach from his own cock. All that mattered was that he was -. He was falling over the edge. Mind white and - and.
- and he hadn't even finished his orgasm when they were pulling him off of Sherlock and shoving him onto his knees, though he was still draped over Sherlock's body.
"Come on love," Someone whispered, "We're just getting started.
---
.... and that's all I've got. If someone else who is good at writing porn would like to take over. PLEASE FEEL FREE. I THINK LESTRADE COULD USE SOME MORE FUCKING.
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God that was so hot. Lestrade as Mycroft's personal whore - love it.
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Lestrade, being an idealistic young man, fought Mycroft's rise to power and Mycroft actually found his reluctance... invigorating. So he decided to court Lestrade for himself - but Lestrade, hating what he stood for, refused him time and again.
So Mycroft created this little scenario where his own personal military force (run by Moran) each get a go Lestrade until he gives in. If he lets Mycroft touch him he doesn't have to deal with anyone else fucking him every again. If he says no, Mycroft basically declares his ass open to all comers. To Mycroft's surprise, Lestrade would rather be raped than submit.
Many, many years down the line Lestrade is still refusing Mycroft even if that refusal has left him a little broken. (Mycroft still lets Moran's men use him every couple of months but, mostly, he just whores Lestrade out to this dignitary or that diplomat - really whoever he needs blackmail material on.) He makes it very, very clear that his offer still stands.
As for Sherlock... so I don't really know how John and Mycroft discover each other's dark sides but, basically, John is sick of Sherlock rushing off into danger without him and, with Mycroft's help arranges Sherlock's night in the ring to show him what can happen when he doesn't behave...
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He makes it very, very clear that his offer still stands.
I think if you actually write Lestrade finally giving up and going to Mycroft I may collapse from the awesomeness AND fucked-up-ness of it all so pleasepleasepleaseplease more...
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Well, no more porn - but if you'd like some back story: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/9100.html?thread=42745228#t42745228
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Like I wrote there you're AMAZING and the back story was brilliant, it gave the story even more layers on how fuck up Mycroft and Lestrade "relationship" is, and I thought it was impossible to actually feel worst for Lestrade but I underestimate your talent. ;)
Sorry for being so greedy but I hope you keep going...
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Thank you, sincerely.
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