The Wren and the Fox
Rating: PG-13 for an unhealthy relationship.
Warnings: Slash, DubCon, Possessive Relationship
Word Count: 236
Summary: Possessive!Sherlock drabble.
"Your hair looks like feathers," Sherlock told him. John wanted to say something about his eyes - slow moving rivers, mercury beading on a lover’s tongue, the geometric London skies - but he couldn't find the words. John smiled into Sherlock's face, and felt his lips crack. Sherlock licked the blood from them as though John was a broken wren grounded on the asphalt and Sherlock a wild fox desperate to keep John there for his next meal. I am happy, he told himself.
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Sherlock circled John’s wren wrists in his fox fingers and told him about the delicacy of his hollow bones. He squeezed John’s tendons together to illustrate his words and grinned into his face, baring his bleeding teeth. John would have responded with words about Sherlock's doorknocker knees and saltshaker spine, but his quicksilver sky eyes bound him to Sherlock’s crowded bed in silence.
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"Do you think you're anything without me?" Sherlock snarled with his fox lips bared over his bloody teeth. John stared into his mercury sky eyes and shook his head slowly, feathered hair stuttering a beat on his forehead. Sherlock grabbed at his hollow boned hands and pressed them against his chest, chaining him to the music of Sherlock's heart beat. "You need me," he said. John grimaced. Sherlock was right.
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His quicksilver eyes are the only skies I need, John thought. Flying always did look like such hard work anyways.