Excitement.

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Things are going pretty well for me. I've discovered I really, really enjoy writing Sherlock Fanfic (And I'm pretty good at it), I didn't spend Valentines Day curled in a corner sobbing and I've made some new LJ Flisties (*Waves to you*).

I've also been really nice to my mother lately, which is wierd. Her and I are not the ideal mother/daughter

Comments

*Sigh*

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The first hit is completely out of the blue, and John lets himself cry out. More in shock then anything else. It’s not nearly as intense as John assumed it would be but still leaves an odd tingling sensation echoing on his hip. He shifts a little (as much as he can in the leather), and moans.

That deep, amused chuckle Sherlock makes sometimes seems to vibrate through the room, and the next blow is lower, on the side of his ass, and a lot harder. He hisses into the deerstalker, which is getting stuffy.

“Sherlock…Can we take this off?”

Apparently talking was wrong, because the crop falls a third time (inner thigh) and while it hurts like fuck, it feels a little bit delicious at the same time. He’s painfully hard at this point.

The deerstalker tumbles off his face, and the crop is tilting his chin in Sherlock’s direction. Of course he’s fully dressed and smirking at John, but it’s the curious tilt of the detective’s head that really irks him. “Better?”

John doesn’t answer, and Sherlock appears pleased.

It’s going to be a long night.

I'm doing this *my* way, got it?

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John really is much more creative then Sherlock gives him credit for, and that leaves him with an unfamiliar feeling of surprise. Where Sherlock had used the crop for it’s original purpose, John is being much more diabolical with it.

He grazes the soft leather over select areas. The inside of his thighs, the soles of his feet, the line of his neck. Every once and awhile his dastardly blogger will rap the crop against his skin, hard, and then continue on like nothing has happened.

Sherlock does not beg. He never begs. But the crop lightly tickling his chest and then dipping down to graze the length of his rather prominent erection makes him want to.

“John,” he snarls. John isn’t paying attention. “Can we please skip past this? It’s tedious.”

His head is flung to the left as John puts his not-inconsiderable strength into the blow, and Sherlock has to bite his bottom lip to keep his gasp a silent one. The crop stings his cheek. He shudders.

“Sherlock, it’s in your best interests to be quiet.” And damnit, if that tone doesn’t make him shiver a second time. It’s the same one he used in Baskerville when pulling rank and it is an unbelievable turn on. Which John knows, and is now using to his advantage.

Why did Sherlock think John was nice, again?

Damn right.

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John lets his eyes flutter shut when Sherlock starts licking his neck, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of the detective tracing sensitive veins and biting down gently. He enjoys it just as much when the biting gets harder and wishes more then anything he could tangle a fist in Sherlock’s soft, curly hair and hold him there, but all he manages to do is tighten the knots further and start some nice bruises on his wrists.

Sherlock swings a leg over and straddles him, his warm weight exciting John further. He growls and thrust his hips up ever so slightly.

The detective pulls back and tips him that stupid grin of his. The crop is skating along John’s leg.

“Over eager. Interesting.” The free hand pulls John’s head back by the hair and their lips brush lightly. John groans. He is such a fucking tease.

The kiss is hard, nearly punishing. Sherlock allows for no mercy when they do…this. His tongue slides between John’s teeth and prods, investigating. Though why he needs to is a mystery…But who’s complaining.

It ends as quickly as it started, and the taste of leather fills his mouth as Sherlock replaces his tongue with that bloody crop. John bites down and watches silently as Sherlock strips of his shirt quickly and revels the wiry but strangely toned frame.

John can’t wait for his turn.

Re: *snuggles*

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New comment, plz? XD