The Spice of Strife
The Spice of Strife
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock / Lestrade
Warnings: Initial dubcon, D/s elements
Summary: Sherlock needs constant reminders that bratty, entitled behaviour is not acceptable. Especially in Dark!Lestrade's office.
Status: Completed. Written for chasingriver1
Lestrade was on his way back to the Met building when a text from Sally lit up his mobile’s screen.
Sir, the Freak is in your office. Better get back quickly, or he’ll contaminate the Benchley evidence.
He swore under his breath and stepped on the gas. If Sherlock saw the bag of carpet fibre samples and other evidence related to a kidnapping that the Yard was investigating, he wouldn’t be able to resist going through it. Lestrade’s blood pressure rose and his fingers dug into the steering wheel.
If Sherlock touches ANYTHING, I’ll… I’ll
He knew he’d have to think of something fast, because the building was just around the corner now and Sherlock would definitely have touched everything by now.
When the grocery bags in the back seat slid about as he pulled into his parking space, he suddenly had an idea.
******
Lestrade knew that the worst had come to pass when Sally raised her eyes from her computer screen and shook her head. “I’ll take care of it,” he said abruptly before barging into the office and closing the door.
Lestrade’s workspace was chaotic at the best of times: evidence, files, and Styrofoam coffee cups flooded in and out hourly. But Sherlock had raised the bar on messiness. The carpet fibre samples were all over the floor, contaminated by now, and the consulting detective was sitting in the DI’s chair, reading the case file with minimal interest.
“Lestrade,” he said without looking up, “don’t even think about handing this case to me. Boring. An obvious domestic.”
“I guess I won’t be able to prove that any time soon, will I?” The DI clenched his teeth so tightly that his molars ached. “Considering that the evidence is all over the goddamned floor.”
“Ugh. I did that fifteen minutes ago. You should be over it by now.” Sherlock tossed the file onto the desk and put his feet up. “I came by to see if you had anything remotely interesting for me. John’s gone to see his sister and I’m bored.”
“Are you, now?” Lestrade laid down the grocery bag containing the item that would chase away Sherlock’s boredom fast- and not in a comfortable way. After locking the door, he crossed the large office in two strides, grabbed Sherlock’s scarf at both ends, and used it to haul the younger man out of the chair and onto his knees on the evidence-littered floor.
“How many times have I told you to keep out of my office when I’m not here?”
“You should be here more often then. I need a- OW!!!”
Sherlock scowled at the sudden slap to his face. He was opening his mouth to fire off a caustic protest when he spotted two things indicating that he was in serious trouble: Lestrade’s wide grin and the erection that pushed against the older man’s zipper. Both of those things, when preceded by a scolding and/or a blow, guaranteed that he was fucked. Literally.
Which was better than being bored.
“You,” Lestrade said slowly, drawing out each word slowly as he tightened the scarf around that long neck, “need to learn patience and boundaries.”
Sherlock couldn’t have replied even if he wanted to- he was too busy gasping for air. He reached for Lestrade’s wrists, but the policeman merely dropped the scarf ends, grabbed his arms, and threw him facedown over the cluttered desk. He was still trying to catch his breath and clear the spots from his vision when Lestrade cuffed his wrists behind his back and tied his scarf across his mouth.
Lestrade’s breath warmed his ear. “Don’t even think about moving.” He reached between Sherlock’s legs and massaged his genitals. “I’ve got a knife and I don’t want to use it on these instead.”
Sherlock shuddered and went still.
Lestrade took a thick length of fresh ginger out of the grocery bag, carried it over to the desk, and sat down. Like Sherlock had earlier, he put up his feet- and rested his heels on the bound detective’s back.
“I know you’re not much of one for eating, so you probably don’t know that ginger has uses outside the kitchen,” he said conversationally as he took out his Swiss Army knife and began whittling at the root, which was at least five inches long. “Ever hear of figging?”
Sherlock shook his head, wrinkling his nostrils as the ginger’s sparkly aroma tingled in them.
“Brilliant. I love teaching you new things.” Lestrade grinned evilly as he pared the root clean and tossed the thick brown peelings into the bin. “I read about it online. Figging is a natural cure for boredom. Once this ginger is inserted, all you’ll be able to think about is how to make the burning stop.”
He continued to cut until the clean yellow root looked like a semi-crooked anal plug, complete with flared base. When he saw Sherlock staring at him with apprehension, Lestrade swung his feet back to the floor and stood.
“You’re allowed to scream all you like. I’m sure Sally is living for the day she sees you like this.”
He put the fragrant root on the desk, inches from Sherlock’s nose, and made short work of the detective’s trousers and pants. Then he picked it up again and ordered, “Arch your back more and spread your legs. Like you’ve been dying to do ever since you walked in this office. Only you’re not getting my cock. Not yet.”
He grabbed one of Sherlock’s lush arse cheeks and pulled it aside, baring the younger man’s pink, dry hole and smirking at how those long white fingers tightened into nervous fists. He rubbed the ginger’s rounded, moist tip over the small pucker in a circular motion until the muscle relaxed enough to let him push it all the way in. Sherlock grunted when his sphincter closed around the narrow groove, leaving the base outside his body.
Lestrade knew that it wouldn’t take long for the ginger’s spicy oil to do its work. His trousers were now painfully tight, so he lowered them, along with his boxers, to just below the curve of his arse and rubbed the tip of his wet cock up and down Sherlock’s cleft. Although already filled with the ginger, Sherlock thrust his hips backward at the stimulation.
“Greedy,” Lestrade chided. “You’re such a bloody-”
He stopped when Sherlock suddenly started grunting and shifting about. The detective’s face turned red and he tried to rise off the desk, cuffed hands grasping for the plug, but Lestrade forced him back down so abruptly that his breath shot out in a pained hiss.
“What do you think you’re doing, slut? The treatment is far from over,” the DI grunted as he seized those squirming arse cheeks and pressed them together. Clenching, he had read, was supposed to make the burning much worse, and the kink sites clearly hadn’t lied: Sherlock’s eyes bugged and he kicked out, wailing into the scarf across his mouth. “Spicy enough for you? Didn’t think that mild was your area.”
The frantic struggles made Lestrade even harder. He released Sherlock’s buttocks, pressed his chest against the younger man’s back, and covered his neck with kisses and bites. The taste of sweat and fear excited him and he bit hard enough to mark Sherlock as his. Like they’d done last time. Then, like now, the detective had fought him, but afterward, at crime scenes, he’d seen Sherlock caress the spot on his coat that covered the tooth-shaped bruises.
He grabbed Sherlock by the back of the neck. “Don’t be so fragile,” he scolded as he dragged the other man over to a low leather sofa used for receiving visitors. “Pain’s about to get much worse. It’s what you need, and you’re not leaving here until your bruises have bruises.”
Lestrade sat down heavily on the sofa, relishing the feel of the leather cushion against his naked arse, and pulled Sherlock across his knees, noticing that the younger man was fully erect and dripping copiously. The ginger had worked itself partway out during the struggle, so Lestrade shoved it back in -hard- and brought one broad hand down, marking Sherlock’s white arse cheek with a vivid pink palm print.
“You might want to try relaxing,” he advised. “The burn is worse when you clench and struggle.”
Sherlock, huffing through his nose, forced himself to go limp across Lestrade’s thighs. The stinging in his passage must have receded accordingly, for he hung his head and gave a soft moan of relief. Lestrade waited until he was completely relaxed before dealing his other arse cheek a blow so severe that the skin went from white to red in seconds. Pain caused him to tighten his buttocks and restore the burning in his hole.
“Sorry. Forgot to tell you that a nice long spanking is on the agenda.”
He laughed out loud at Sherlock’s dilemma. If the detective relaxed his arse muscles, the pain from the spanking would intensify. If he clenched, his rectal passage felt like it was lined with fire. When Lestrade hit him again, Sherlock turned into a bucking colt on his lap, uttering mangled screams. Tears poured down his cheeks and his cock rubbed repeatedly against the policeman’s thigh, adding pleasure to the senses that were unhinging his brain.
Lestrade held him in place with one hand and kept spanking him with the other, using driving blows that pushed the ginger plug deeper into his body. Trapped between two equally devastating types of pain, Sherlock’s mind went blank and endorphins flooded his body. Although his face was contorted and his teeth gripped the gag desperately, his staring eyes looked blissed-out, almost euphoric. Lestrade, who was no stranger to pain play, knew that he was past the point where his restless mind could torment him with demands for diversion, and stopped the blows. Instead, he rubbed his aching hand across those hot red buttocks, and let Sherlock enjoy the natural high.
When Sherlock finally went limp, dripping tears and pre-ejaculate onto the carpet, Lestrade undid the makeshift gag and laid it aside.
“What do you say, Sherlock?”
“Thank you,” the detective whispered, voice softer than usual.
“Would you like me to fuck you now? And let you come?”
“Yes, Lestrade. Please.”
Moving slowly and carefully, the DI removed Sherlock’s handcuffs and positioned him with his upper body on the sofa cushion and knees on the floor. He took a lubricated condom out of his shirt pocket, rolled it over his now-throbbing erection, and pulled the ginger out. After tossing it into the bin under his desk, he grasped Sherlock’s hips and pressed into that swollen, sore passage until he was fully seated and their balls tapped against each other.
After giving Sherlock a moment to adjust, Lestrade began thrusting. While the detective groaned obscenely into the cushion, the DI fucked his sweaty, flushed body with slow and deep strokes.
“You were made to be used like this, Sherlock. To be tied up in my office, and spanked, and fucked. It’s why you act the way you do. Maybe I’ll go by Baker Street every morning, after John leaves for the surgery. I’ll warm up your arse with a hard spanking and then make you bounce on my cock until you’re too goddamn sore to go out and look for trouble.”
He lowered his head and licked a wide stripe up the side of Sherlock’s neck before biting his ear.
“You’re mine.”
“Yes, Lestrade! Yes!” Sherlock breathed, spreading his knees further to allow deeper penetration. “Yours.”
“Come on! Ride me faster!” Lestrade reached up and seized Sherlock’s hair, pulling his head back. He could feel his orgasm building: first the sinking warmth in his belly, followed by the escalating, almost painful pressure in his groin. “Squeeze around me like you did the ginger!” he ordered, backing up the demand with a hard slap to those already-sore buttocks.
Sherlock’s arse gripped him so tightly that light exploded behind Lestrade’s eyes, clouding his vision. He pressed his lips together to suppress a thunderous moan as he came so hard that pain underscored his ecstasy. His hips jerked as he flooded the condom with hot come that coated his cock in a slick backwash. Letting go of Sherlock’s hair, he reached down and wrapped one hand around the detective’s leaking erection, tugging at it firmly and deliberately until the other man was coming while sobbing his name into the cushion.
When Sherlock’s body stopped shuddering, Lestrade let his semen coated hand drop and collapsed against the detective’s back. When he nose pressed against damp curls, he inhaled deeply, absorbing the vital aroma of Sherlock in post-coital contentment. “You,” he murmured as his tongue bathed the sweaty white skin of his partner’s neck, “are a bloody nightmare.”
Sherlock shifted beneath him. “Do you plan on waking up from me any time soon?” he murmured sleepily.
Lestrade bit hard enough to bruise, and then kissed the mark.
“Not a chance.”
END
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock / Lestrade
Warnings: Initial dubcon, D/s elements
Summary: Sherlock needs constant reminders that bratty, entitled behaviour is not acceptable. Especially in Dark!Lestrade's office.
Status: Completed. Written for chasingriver1
Lestrade was on his way back to the Met building when a text from Sally lit up his mobile’s screen.
Sir, the Freak is in your office. Better get back quickly, or he’ll contaminate the Benchley evidence.
He swore under his breath and stepped on the gas. If Sherlock saw the bag of carpet fibre samples and other evidence related to a kidnapping that the Yard was investigating, he wouldn’t be able to resist going through it. Lestrade’s blood pressure rose and his fingers dug into the steering wheel.
If Sherlock touches ANYTHING, I’ll… I’ll
He knew he’d have to think of something fast, because the building was just around the corner now and Sherlock would definitely have touched everything by now.
When the grocery bags in the back seat slid about as he pulled into his parking space, he suddenly had an idea.
******
Lestrade knew that the worst had come to pass when Sally raised her eyes from her computer screen and shook her head. “I’ll take care of it,” he said abruptly before barging into the office and closing the door.
Lestrade’s workspace was chaotic at the best of times: evidence, files, and Styrofoam coffee cups flooded in and out hourly. But Sherlock had raised the bar on messiness. The carpet fibre samples were all over the floor, contaminated by now, and the consulting detective was sitting in the DI’s chair, reading the case file with minimal interest.
“Lestrade,” he said without looking up, “don’t even think about handing this case to me. Boring. An obvious domestic.”
“I guess I won’t be able to prove that any time soon, will I?” The DI clenched his teeth so tightly that his molars ached. “Considering that the evidence is all over the goddamned floor.”
“Ugh. I did that fifteen minutes ago. You should be over it by now.” Sherlock tossed the file onto the desk and put his feet up. “I came by to see if you had anything remotely interesting for me. John’s gone to see his sister and I’m bored.”
“Are you, now?” Lestrade laid down the grocery bag containing the item that would chase away Sherlock’s boredom fast- and not in a comfortable way. After locking the door, he crossed the large office in two strides, grabbed Sherlock’s scarf at both ends, and used it to haul the younger man out of the chair and onto his knees on the evidence-littered floor.
“How many times have I told you to keep out of my office when I’m not here?”
“You should be here more often then. I need a- OW!!!”
Sherlock scowled at the sudden slap to his face. He was opening his mouth to fire off a caustic protest when he spotted two things indicating that he was in serious trouble: Lestrade’s wide grin and the erection that pushed against the older man’s zipper. Both of those things, when preceded by a scolding and/or a blow, guaranteed that he was fucked. Literally.
Which was better than being bored.
“You,” Lestrade said slowly, drawing out each word slowly as he tightened the scarf around that long neck, “need to learn patience and boundaries.”
Sherlock couldn’t have replied even if he wanted to- he was too busy gasping for air. He reached for Lestrade’s wrists, but the policeman merely dropped the scarf ends, grabbed his arms, and threw him facedown over the cluttered desk. He was still trying to catch his breath and clear the spots from his vision when Lestrade cuffed his wrists behind his back and tied his scarf across his mouth.
Lestrade’s breath warmed his ear. “Don’t even think about moving.” He reached between Sherlock’s legs and massaged his genitals. “I’ve got a knife and I don’t want to use it on these instead.”
Sherlock shuddered and went still.
Lestrade took a thick length of fresh ginger out of the grocery bag, carried it over to the desk, and sat down. Like Sherlock had earlier, he put up his feet- and rested his heels on the bound detective’s back.
“I know you’re not much of one for eating, so you probably don’t know that ginger has uses outside the kitchen,” he said conversationally as he took out his Swiss Army knife and began whittling at the root, which was at least five inches long. “Ever hear of figging?”
Sherlock shook his head, wrinkling his nostrils as the ginger’s sparkly aroma tingled in them.
“Brilliant. I love teaching you new things.” Lestrade grinned evilly as he pared the root clean and tossed the thick brown peelings into the bin. “I read about it online. Figging is a natural cure for boredom. Once this ginger is inserted, all you’ll be able to think about is how to make the burning stop.”
He continued to cut until the clean yellow root looked like a semi-crooked anal plug, complete with flared base. When he saw Sherlock staring at him with apprehension, Lestrade swung his feet back to the floor and stood.
“You’re allowed to scream all you like. I’m sure Sally is living for the day she sees you like this.”
He put the fragrant root on the desk, inches from Sherlock’s nose, and made short work of the detective’s trousers and pants. Then he picked it up again and ordered, “Arch your back more and spread your legs. Like you’ve been dying to do ever since you walked in this office. Only you’re not getting my cock. Not yet.”
He grabbed one of Sherlock’s lush arse cheeks and pulled it aside, baring the younger man’s pink, dry hole and smirking at how those long white fingers tightened into nervous fists. He rubbed the ginger’s rounded, moist tip over the small pucker in a circular motion until the muscle relaxed enough to let him push it all the way in. Sherlock grunted when his sphincter closed around the narrow groove, leaving the base outside his body.
Lestrade knew that it wouldn’t take long for the ginger’s spicy oil to do its work. His trousers were now painfully tight, so he lowered them, along with his boxers, to just below the curve of his arse and rubbed the tip of his wet cock up and down Sherlock’s cleft. Although already filled with the ginger, Sherlock thrust his hips backward at the stimulation.
“Greedy,” Lestrade chided. “You’re such a bloody-”
He stopped when Sherlock suddenly started grunting and shifting about. The detective’s face turned red and he tried to rise off the desk, cuffed hands grasping for the plug, but Lestrade forced him back down so abruptly that his breath shot out in a pained hiss.
“What do you think you’re doing, slut? The treatment is far from over,” the DI grunted as he seized those squirming arse cheeks and pressed them together. Clenching, he had read, was supposed to make the burning much worse, and the kink sites clearly hadn’t lied: Sherlock’s eyes bugged and he kicked out, wailing into the scarf across his mouth. “Spicy enough for you? Didn’t think that mild was your area.”
The frantic struggles made Lestrade even harder. He released Sherlock’s buttocks, pressed his chest against the younger man’s back, and covered his neck with kisses and bites. The taste of sweat and fear excited him and he bit hard enough to mark Sherlock as his. Like they’d done last time. Then, like now, the detective had fought him, but afterward, at crime scenes, he’d seen Sherlock caress the spot on his coat that covered the tooth-shaped bruises.
He grabbed Sherlock by the back of the neck. “Don’t be so fragile,” he scolded as he dragged the other man over to a low leather sofa used for receiving visitors. “Pain’s about to get much worse. It’s what you need, and you’re not leaving here until your bruises have bruises.”
Lestrade sat down heavily on the sofa, relishing the feel of the leather cushion against his naked arse, and pulled Sherlock across his knees, noticing that the younger man was fully erect and dripping copiously. The ginger had worked itself partway out during the struggle, so Lestrade shoved it back in -hard- and brought one broad hand down, marking Sherlock’s white arse cheek with a vivid pink palm print.
“You might want to try relaxing,” he advised. “The burn is worse when you clench and struggle.”
Sherlock, huffing through his nose, forced himself to go limp across Lestrade’s thighs. The stinging in his passage must have receded accordingly, for he hung his head and gave a soft moan of relief. Lestrade waited until he was completely relaxed before dealing his other arse cheek a blow so severe that the skin went from white to red in seconds. Pain caused him to tighten his buttocks and restore the burning in his hole.
“Sorry. Forgot to tell you that a nice long spanking is on the agenda.”
He laughed out loud at Sherlock’s dilemma. If the detective relaxed his arse muscles, the pain from the spanking would intensify. If he clenched, his rectal passage felt like it was lined with fire. When Lestrade hit him again, Sherlock turned into a bucking colt on his lap, uttering mangled screams. Tears poured down his cheeks and his cock rubbed repeatedly against the policeman’s thigh, adding pleasure to the senses that were unhinging his brain.
Lestrade held him in place with one hand and kept spanking him with the other, using driving blows that pushed the ginger plug deeper into his body. Trapped between two equally devastating types of pain, Sherlock’s mind went blank and endorphins flooded his body. Although his face was contorted and his teeth gripped the gag desperately, his staring eyes looked blissed-out, almost euphoric. Lestrade, who was no stranger to pain play, knew that he was past the point where his restless mind could torment him with demands for diversion, and stopped the blows. Instead, he rubbed his aching hand across those hot red buttocks, and let Sherlock enjoy the natural high.
When Sherlock finally went limp, dripping tears and pre-ejaculate onto the carpet, Lestrade undid the makeshift gag and laid it aside.
“What do you say, Sherlock?”
“Thank you,” the detective whispered, voice softer than usual.
“Would you like me to fuck you now? And let you come?”
“Yes, Lestrade. Please.”
Moving slowly and carefully, the DI removed Sherlock’s handcuffs and positioned him with his upper body on the sofa cushion and knees on the floor. He took a lubricated condom out of his shirt pocket, rolled it over his now-throbbing erection, and pulled the ginger out. After tossing it into the bin under his desk, he grasped Sherlock’s hips and pressed into that swollen, sore passage until he was fully seated and their balls tapped against each other.
After giving Sherlock a moment to adjust, Lestrade began thrusting. While the detective groaned obscenely into the cushion, the DI fucked his sweaty, flushed body with slow and deep strokes.
“You were made to be used like this, Sherlock. To be tied up in my office, and spanked, and fucked. It’s why you act the way you do. Maybe I’ll go by Baker Street every morning, after John leaves for the surgery. I’ll warm up your arse with a hard spanking and then make you bounce on my cock until you’re too goddamn sore to go out and look for trouble.”
He lowered his head and licked a wide stripe up the side of Sherlock’s neck before biting his ear.
“You’re mine.”
“Yes, Lestrade! Yes!” Sherlock breathed, spreading his knees further to allow deeper penetration. “Yours.”
“Come on! Ride me faster!” Lestrade reached up and seized Sherlock’s hair, pulling his head back. He could feel his orgasm building: first the sinking warmth in his belly, followed by the escalating, almost painful pressure in his groin. “Squeeze around me like you did the ginger!” he ordered, backing up the demand with a hard slap to those already-sore buttocks.
Sherlock’s arse gripped him so tightly that light exploded behind Lestrade’s eyes, clouding his vision. He pressed his lips together to suppress a thunderous moan as he came so hard that pain underscored his ecstasy. His hips jerked as he flooded the condom with hot come that coated his cock in a slick backwash. Letting go of Sherlock’s hair, he reached down and wrapped one hand around the detective’s leaking erection, tugging at it firmly and deliberately until the other man was coming while sobbing his name into the cushion.
When Sherlock’s body stopped shuddering, Lestrade let his semen coated hand drop and collapsed against the detective’s back. When he nose pressed against damp curls, he inhaled deeply, absorbing the vital aroma of Sherlock in post-coital contentment. “You,” he murmured as his tongue bathed the sweaty white skin of his partner’s neck, “are a bloody nightmare.”
Sherlock shifted beneath him. “Do you plan on waking up from me any time soon?” he murmured sleepily.
Lestrade bit hard enough to bruise, and then kissed the mark.
“Not a chance.”
END