Re: I'll attempt this! Fill 5/?
anonymous
May 8 2011, 05:24:36 UTC
Sex had started off gentle, as Seb tried to figure out how far John had gone before, what turned him on, what he disliked. Seb was very perceptive, obviously not up to Sherlock’s standard, but in bed he read John’s wants and needs with admirable ease.
More recently, sex with Seb had become either a reward or a punishment, depending on John's behaviour.
John had hesitated in binning Sherlock’s violin. A Stradivarius, it was worth a fortune.
John liked the violin. Sherlock used to play him things on it and he had fond memories of Sherlock, in one of his more romantic moods, composing a sonata just for John and playing it to him when they’d survived one particularly difficult case in which John's input was integral.
That refusal seemed to break something in Seb, who had berated him furiously. He snatched the violin from John and disappeared with it. John never saw it again.
(He later discovered that Seb had sold it on the black market for a small fortune.)
John’s hands were restrained above his head in Sherlock’s bed, mouth full with knotted gag, kneeling on his front. Sebastian was in him, still mostly clothed while John was bare, hips snapping back and forth into him. His strong hands clutched at John, one gripping his side, the other at the nape of his neck, pressing him down into the mattress.
John couldn’t breathe properly. He spluttered and wheezed around the gag, listening to the man reel off hateful insults (-so fucking stupid, aren’t you, little shit. How the hell did he put up with you on a daily basis? I’m a fucking saint for having so much patience, but you pushed me, John. You can’t do anything right, can you? Fucking hell, hold still, can’t you even take it -) and trying to do what the man wanted.
The sliding pressure, in, out, was excruciatingly pleasurable and painful. John uselessly tugged against his cuffs, the pain in his wrists stopped him. Sebastian’s large hand at the base of his neck was warm and hard and masterful.
Do this like I say. Move like I say.
Sebastian grunted, “Push back, you slut,” in John’s ear, and John moved to match his thrusts, which went harder and harder, then faster, and John’s knees nearly went under the onslaught but Seb had both his hands on John’s hips now, pulling him upright.
It wasn’t meant to be enjoyable, this was his punishment.
John let himself be punished by Sebastian. It was penance for all the wrong he’d done in his life.
Sebastian slapped his arse, then gripped the reddened skin, then slapped again, slowing his pace, getting deep into John. Pushing so deep, spreading him so much wider, and John moaned around the gag.
Fast again, leaning over John’s body and fucking him in a way that hurt and John’s self-control broke. His moans morphed to muffled screams that only spurred the man on faster. He bit the gag to stop screaming. His face was wet.
Seb finished, cock sliding out. John slid down until he was prostrate against the blankets, utterly broken.
More recently, sex with Seb had become either a reward or a punishment, depending on John's behaviour.
John had hesitated in binning Sherlock’s violin. A Stradivarius, it was worth a fortune.
John liked the violin. Sherlock used to play him things on it and he had fond memories of Sherlock, in one of his more romantic moods, composing a sonata just for John and playing it to him when they’d survived one particularly difficult case in which John's input was integral.
That refusal seemed to break something in Seb, who had berated him furiously. He snatched the violin from John and disappeared with it. John never saw it again.
(He later discovered that Seb had sold it on the black market for a small fortune.)
John’s hands were restrained above his head in Sherlock’s bed, mouth full with knotted gag, kneeling on his front. Sebastian was in him, still mostly clothed while John was bare, hips snapping back and forth into him. His strong hands clutched at John, one gripping his side, the other at the nape of his neck, pressing him down into the mattress.
John couldn’t breathe properly. He spluttered and wheezed around the gag, listening to the man reel off hateful insults (-so fucking stupid, aren’t you, little shit. How the hell did he put up with you on a daily basis? I’m a fucking saint for having so much patience, but you pushed me, John. You can’t do anything right, can you? Fucking hell, hold still, can’t you even take it -) and trying to do what the man wanted.
The sliding pressure, in, out, was excruciatingly pleasurable and painful. John uselessly tugged against his cuffs, the pain in his wrists stopped him. Sebastian’s large hand at the base of his neck was warm and hard and masterful.
Do this like I say. Move like I say.
Sebastian grunted, “Push back, you slut,” in John’s ear, and John moved to match his thrusts, which went harder and harder, then faster, and John’s knees nearly went under the onslaught but Seb had both his hands on John’s hips now, pulling him upright.
It wasn’t meant to be enjoyable, this was his punishment.
John let himself be punished by Sebastian. It was penance for all the wrong he’d done in his life.
Sebastian slapped his arse, then gripped the reddened skin, then slapped again, slowing his pace, getting deep into John. Pushing so deep, spreading him so much wider, and John moaned around the gag.
Fast again, leaning over John’s body and fucking him in a way that hurt and John’s self-control broke. His moans morphed to muffled screams that only spurred the man on faster. He bit the gag to stop screaming. His face was wet.
Seb finished, cock sliding out. John slid down until he was prostrate against the blankets, utterly broken.
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