sobota
in
team_savvy
another night and i'll be you
another night and i'll be you
bbc sherlock, sherlock/jim
nc17
very graphic and violent consensual sex, come shots, spoilers for the great game.
701 words
this is a derivative fan-work, no profit is being made
title from "i never told you what i do for a living" by my chemical romance. for this prompt at sherlockbbc_fic. dedicated to as_i_am, with much thanks.
as another note, jim's phone number is not real, so don't try calling it. unless you want to bother some poor soul in london.
Sherlock holds the note in his hand, watching as Molly rushes off in a huff. John pins him with his patented 'disappointed in you' look, but Sherlock ignores him, staring at the note.
Jim
020 3452 2309
meet me in the bathroom
He thinks he was tactful not to mention that part of the note to Molly, but he also thinks it's probably not going to win him any points with her or John. He slides the note into his trouser pocket and continues looking over the evidence in front of him.
Sherlock is listening as John uses his frankly surprising deductive skills on the trainers, and he's waffling between being sorely disappointed that John can't see anymore and flattered that John actually tries. He touches his fingers to his lips, and suddenly, the name is in his head again.
"Carl Powers," he says, and it's almost reverent.
As they rush out of the examination room, Sherlock pauses. "Wait downstairs for me?" John gives him a confused look, but nods.
"Don't be long, we've only got six hours," is all John says as he makes his way downstairs.
Sherlock takes a deep breath outside of the toilets and pushes the door open. As expected, Jim from IT is leaning against the sinks.
"You know," Sherlock begins, and then narrows his eyes. "You aren't gay."
Jim smirks and pushes off the counter. "Oh but Sherlock, you can change a man's mind." The smile that crosses Jim's face doesn't reach his eyes. Sherlock steps forward until they're almost toe-to-toe, breathing in each other's space.
"You're wearing cologne. Gaultier," Sherlock says. "Quite expensive for a man in IT." He reaches up and traces his fingers along the deep V of Jim's shirt. "No self-respecting gay man would have that sort of poochy stomach. Why are you pretending?"
"Who says I'm pretending?" Jim replies, his voice just as low as Sherlock's. Sherlock twists his fingers into the necklace around Jim's neck and tugs him into a stall.
"You said fan," Sherlock huffs as he pushes Jim to his knees in front of the toilet. "I suspect it's more like a...oh, what is that word?"
Jim doesn't wait for Sherlock, undoing Sherlock's fly. "Groupie?" he suggests, looking at Sherlock from under his lashes. Jim's hands are soft, his nails manicured. His jeans are new but made to look distressed.
Sherlock's fingers brush over the artfully thin cotton of Jim's shirt. "Well, get on with it then. It's what you wanted, my cock in your mouth, isn't it?"
"You haven't the slightest," Jim says, working Sherlock to hardness. It doesn't take long; Jim's hand is soft and skilled, and Sherlock can respond to this sort of intense stimulus. His mind is still on the case, but his face is a mask of arousal.
Jim's mouth follows his hand, and Sherlock's fingers flex on Jim's shoulder. He presses his own shoulders against the door of the stall, pushing easily into Jim's mouth. He lets Jim bob his head a few times, tasting Sherlock, testing various pressures, before Sherlock gets impatient. He grabs the back of Jim's head, mussing his already 'mussed' hair, and pushes into his mouth, setting his own rhythm.
"I get bored easily," Sherlock says, and Jim moans something muffled in return. Sherlock closes his eyes. His jaw goes slack--the tight heat of Jim's mouth does feel good.
He opens his eyes once more, and sees Jim watching him. He quirks an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, pushing into Jim's mouth and holding the back of his neck until Jim is struggling against his dick. The struggle sends another thick jolt of arousal through Sherlock's spine. He backs off, and hears the strange sucking breath of Jim regaining air through his nose.
The suction doesn't stop though. Jim holds Sherlock's gaze.
After a while, Sherlock pulls Jim's head back. "Best if I finished off myself," Sherlock murmurs, wrapping his long fingers around his cock, stroking himself slowly. Jim gazes up at him, mouth slightly agape. His hair is damp with sweat, there's some along his upper lip. His mouth is red, wet, but his eyes...
His eyes are narrow, calculating, and Sherlock comes over his face.
bbc sherlock, sherlock/jim
nc17
very graphic and violent consensual sex, come shots, spoilers for the great game.
701 words
this is a derivative fan-work, no profit is being made
title from "i never told you what i do for a living" by my chemical romance. for this prompt at sherlockbbc_fic. dedicated to as_i_am, with much thanks.
as another note, jim's phone number is not real, so don't try calling it. unless you want to bother some poor soul in london.
Sherlock holds the note in his hand, watching as Molly rushes off in a huff. John pins him with his patented 'disappointed in you' look, but Sherlock ignores him, staring at the note.
Jim
020 3452 2309
meet me in the bathroom
He thinks he was tactful not to mention that part of the note to Molly, but he also thinks it's probably not going to win him any points with her or John. He slides the note into his trouser pocket and continues looking over the evidence in front of him.
Sherlock is listening as John uses his frankly surprising deductive skills on the trainers, and he's waffling between being sorely disappointed that John can't see anymore and flattered that John actually tries. He touches his fingers to his lips, and suddenly, the name is in his head again.
"Carl Powers," he says, and it's almost reverent.
As they rush out of the examination room, Sherlock pauses. "Wait downstairs for me?" John gives him a confused look, but nods.
"Don't be long, we've only got six hours," is all John says as he makes his way downstairs.
Sherlock takes a deep breath outside of the toilets and pushes the door open. As expected, Jim from IT is leaning against the sinks.
"You know," Sherlock begins, and then narrows his eyes. "You aren't gay."
Jim smirks and pushes off the counter. "Oh but Sherlock, you can change a man's mind." The smile that crosses Jim's face doesn't reach his eyes. Sherlock steps forward until they're almost toe-to-toe, breathing in each other's space.
"You're wearing cologne. Gaultier," Sherlock says. "Quite expensive for a man in IT." He reaches up and traces his fingers along the deep V of Jim's shirt. "No self-respecting gay man would have that sort of poochy stomach. Why are you pretending?"
"Who says I'm pretending?" Jim replies, his voice just as low as Sherlock's. Sherlock twists his fingers into the necklace around Jim's neck and tugs him into a stall.
"You said fan," Sherlock huffs as he pushes Jim to his knees in front of the toilet. "I suspect it's more like a...oh, what is that word?"
Jim doesn't wait for Sherlock, undoing Sherlock's fly. "Groupie?" he suggests, looking at Sherlock from under his lashes. Jim's hands are soft, his nails manicured. His jeans are new but made to look distressed.
Sherlock's fingers brush over the artfully thin cotton of Jim's shirt. "Well, get on with it then. It's what you wanted, my cock in your mouth, isn't it?"
"You haven't the slightest," Jim says, working Sherlock to hardness. It doesn't take long; Jim's hand is soft and skilled, and Sherlock can respond to this sort of intense stimulus. His mind is still on the case, but his face is a mask of arousal.
Jim's mouth follows his hand, and Sherlock's fingers flex on Jim's shoulder. He presses his own shoulders against the door of the stall, pushing easily into Jim's mouth. He lets Jim bob his head a few times, tasting Sherlock, testing various pressures, before Sherlock gets impatient. He grabs the back of Jim's head, mussing his already 'mussed' hair, and pushes into his mouth, setting his own rhythm.
"I get bored easily," Sherlock says, and Jim moans something muffled in return. Sherlock closes his eyes. His jaw goes slack--the tight heat of Jim's mouth does feel good.
He opens his eyes once more, and sees Jim watching him. He quirks an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, pushing into Jim's mouth and holding the back of his neck until Jim is struggling against his dick. The struggle sends another thick jolt of arousal through Sherlock's spine. He backs off, and hears the strange sucking breath of Jim regaining air through his nose.
The suction doesn't stop though. Jim holds Sherlock's gaze.
After a while, Sherlock pulls Jim's head back. "Best if I finished off myself," Sherlock murmurs, wrapping his long fingers around his cock, stroking himself slowly. Jim gazes up at him, mouth slightly agape. His hair is damp with sweat, there's some along his upper lip. His mouth is red, wet, but his eyes...
His eyes are narrow, calculating, and Sherlock comes over his face.