Sherlock fic: Author, Author
Title: Author, Author
Author: Ariane DeVere
Word count: 1300-ish
Characters: John/Sherlock
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: men shagging
Summary: Sexytimes for John and Sherlock suddenly don’t feel quite appropriate. John discovers the startling reason why.
This is a re-write of a crackfic which I originally did about a couple of characters in the TV show Primeval but I suddenly realised that it could be adapted for the Sherlock-verse. So if you were visiting primeval_denial a couple of years ago and this fic starts to sound familiar, that’s why!
Author, Author
Sherlock thrust harder into John as his pace began to increase. John’s hips rose to meet the downthrusts and he gasped and dug his fingernails into Sherlock’s shoulders who groaned appreciatively and buried his face in John’s neck, the sweat on his forehead feeling delicious against John’s already damp skin. As Sherlock drove into him again John wrapped his legs tighter around Sherlock’s back and tilted his hips further upwards. The sensation of their sweat-covered bodies sliding together began the familiar buzz starting low in John’s stomach and he knew that his orgasm was approaching. He began to lose coherent thought as all his senses dived down his body and he concentrated on nothing but the rising feeling of this is ... this is ... oh, dear God, this is ... ...
... This Is Not Right.
He forced himself to ignore the rising tingle in his stomach and looked up towards the dark ceiling.
“Um, author?”
A high-pitched gasp came from the direction of the ceiling. Instantly Sherlock froze above him - on a down thrust, which was partly really rather nice and partly more than a little uncomfortable. John tried to push him off but Sherlock was now motionless and not reacting to anything at all. John put his hands onto Sherlock’s waist and tried to shove him off to one side but - considering how skinny he was - he was heavier than John had anticipated and he couldn’t shift him. He looked up to the ceiling again.
“Author?”
A strangled voice came from the ceiling. “Uh, hello?”
“So I’m right,” he said. “This is some sort of weird fiction, isn’t it?”
“Um, how could you know that?” the voice asked, full of panic.
“Well, let’s see,” he said a little sarcastically. “I have no memory of how I got here, and I know I haven’t been drinking; and he’s not the sort to have drugged me and brought me up here against my will.”
He wriggled a little, which provoked another pleasurable tingle from his groin which he tried to ignore. The movement, however, made him realise something else.
“There are satin sheets on my bed. I’ve never had satin sheets in my life!”
He turned his head and looked at the bed more closely.
“I’ve normally got a bog-standard double bed, not this monstrous king sized affair!”
He tilted his chin up and noticed something else.
“And the headboard with the railings and the handcuffs attached is ridiculous!”
He wriggled again, trying to ease his aching legs which were starting to feel strained after being spread so wide for so long, and continued.
“Not to mention that I’ve never had the slightest gay urge in my life before. So unless I’ve died and this is a really weird afterlife, or this is some sort of bizarre alternate universe where ... I dunno, Anderson is nice or something, I can’t think of any other valid reason why I’m in this situation!”
“Anderson is nice in some people’s LJ fic,” the voice said promptly. Then it gasped and mumbled, “Forget I said that.”
“Why?”
“You’re not supposed to know about LiveJournal.”
“Why not?”
“Look, just forget about it, OK?”
He frowned, trying to concentrate. “All right,” he said, and returned to the original subject. “Why am I even with Sherlock? Why am I suddenly supposed to be having gay inclinations when I’ve never even looked at a man in that way before? There are plenty of women who I might be interested in, like Sarah and ... um, never mind who else ... but why Sherlock all of a sudden?!”
He paused, feeling increasingly uncomfortable at Sherlock’s weight on top of him, and raised his voice angrily. “I would never go with him even if he was the last person on Earth!”
“There’s no such thing as an impossible pairing,” the voice retorted. “I mean, have you visited the kink memes lately?”
“The what?” he asked.
“Oh,” the voice said nervously. “Never mind.”
He sighed. “Another thing I’m not supposed to know about?”
“Mmm,” the voice replied vaguely, then continued hurriedly. “Look, do you really not want to be with him?”
“Of course I don’t!” he said indignantly. “I’m not interested in him; I’ve never looked at him twice; and oh, by the way, I’M NOT GAY!! Can’t you just get him out of here?”
“Well, I suppose I could,” said the voice thoughtfully. Then it turned a little tetchy. “I spent a lot of time on this, you know! It’s my first attempt at a pr0n story and now you’ve ruined it!”
“Oh, excuse me!” John said sarcastically. “You decide that I’ve got to go gay and shag my flatmate and I’m supposed to be sympathetic to you?!”
The voice grumbled incoherently for a moment. “All right,” it eventually conceded. “Give me a minute.”
John heard the unmistakable sound of a cigarette lighter, and a second later the author drew in a sharp breath and then blew it out again. The faint smell of cigarette smoke drifted down from the ceiling. Moments later he heard fingers typing on a keyboard, and then suddenly the weight above him was gone and he was alone on the bed. Instantly he rolled onto his side, groaning as he pressed his legs together to try to relieve the ache in his muscles. As they began to ease, he looked around and found that the bed was back to its normal size, the sheets were plain white cotton again, the normal solid headboard was back in place and the handcuffs had gone. He sighed with relief, then a thought struck him.
“Hey!” he called out. “He won’t remember any of this, will he?”
The voice didn’t reply, and the smell of cigarettes was gone.
John lay there for over an hour, mulling over the weird experience. It was more than a little worrying that apparently someone was influencing his life in this way; but even more disturbing was the fact that he couldn’t forget the memory of having had sex with Sherlock. Despite his assertions that he would never have even considered sleeping with him, or any man for that matter, he couldn’t shake off the thought of how Sherlock had felt on top of him and - more importantly - inside him. He’d felt so ... right. John had always felt rather uncomfortable at even the thought of having gay sex, but right now all he could feel was a sense of loss that they hadn’t finished what they’d started, and an increasingly undeniable need to know whether Sherlock really did feel that good.
Hardly believing that he was doing this, he got out of bed, put on his dressing gown and walked quietly downstairs. There was no sign of his flatmate in the living room or the kitchen but his coat was still hanging up behind the door, so he probably hadn’t gone out. Pulling in a nervous breath, John padded silently towards Sherlock’s bedroom and found that the door was closed, a sure indication that Sherlock was inside. John stood and stared wide-eyed at the door for a long time, trying to convince himself to turn around and forget the whole thing. I’m not gay! he kept telling himself silently. This is a stupid idea! Just GO BACK TO BED!
You’re right, he answered himself. I’m not gay, I never will be gay, I’m not interested, I’m going back to bed, this is stupid I really shouldn’t even be here I should turn around right now it’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever had oh bloody hell.
And he lifted his hand and knocked on the bedroom door.
* * * *
Somewhere out in the real world, the author took another drag on her cigarette and put her fingers back onto the keyboard, her eyes glazed and uncomprehending. Sitting comfortably at her feet, the plotbunny grinned evilly and let out a self-satisfied snigger.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author’s Note:
Yeah, so I originally wrote this story just over two years ago when it was about two of the characters in the TV show Primeval (the original version is here) but I suddenly realised that it could be amended to fit the Sherlock-verse. Plagiarising my own stuff! Can I sue me?
I don’t actually smoke at present and haven’t for the last two years (purely coincidentally, I stopped shortly after I wrote the Primeval version of this), but when I considered changing that paragraph to “...the author sucked on another Fox’s Glacier Fruit ...” it somehow didn’t have the same ring to it. ;-)
Now translated into Russian by dzenka!
Author: Ariane DeVere
Word count: 1300-ish
Characters: John/Sherlock
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: men shagging
Summary: Sexytimes for John and Sherlock suddenly don’t feel quite appropriate. John discovers the startling reason why.
This is a re-write of a crackfic which I originally did about a couple of characters in the TV show Primeval but I suddenly realised that it could be adapted for the Sherlock-verse. So if you were visiting primeval_denial a couple of years ago and this fic starts to sound familiar, that’s why!
Author, Author
Sherlock thrust harder into John as his pace began to increase. John’s hips rose to meet the downthrusts and he gasped and dug his fingernails into Sherlock’s shoulders who groaned appreciatively and buried his face in John’s neck, the sweat on his forehead feeling delicious against John’s already damp skin. As Sherlock drove into him again John wrapped his legs tighter around Sherlock’s back and tilted his hips further upwards. The sensation of their sweat-covered bodies sliding together began the familiar buzz starting low in John’s stomach and he knew that his orgasm was approaching. He began to lose coherent thought as all his senses dived down his body and he concentrated on nothing but the rising feeling of this is ... this is ... oh, dear God, this is ... ...
... This Is Not Right.
He forced himself to ignore the rising tingle in his stomach and looked up towards the dark ceiling.
“Um, author?”
A high-pitched gasp came from the direction of the ceiling. Instantly Sherlock froze above him - on a down thrust, which was partly really rather nice and partly more than a little uncomfortable. John tried to push him off but Sherlock was now motionless and not reacting to anything at all. John put his hands onto Sherlock’s waist and tried to shove him off to one side but - considering how skinny he was - he was heavier than John had anticipated and he couldn’t shift him. He looked up to the ceiling again.
“Author?”
A strangled voice came from the ceiling. “Uh, hello?”
“So I’m right,” he said. “This is some sort of weird fiction, isn’t it?”
“Um, how could you know that?” the voice asked, full of panic.
“Well, let’s see,” he said a little sarcastically. “I have no memory of how I got here, and I know I haven’t been drinking; and he’s not the sort to have drugged me and brought me up here against my will.”
He wriggled a little, which provoked another pleasurable tingle from his groin which he tried to ignore. The movement, however, made him realise something else.
“There are satin sheets on my bed. I’ve never had satin sheets in my life!”
He turned his head and looked at the bed more closely.
“I’ve normally got a bog-standard double bed, not this monstrous king sized affair!”
He tilted his chin up and noticed something else.
“And the headboard with the railings and the handcuffs attached is ridiculous!”
He wriggled again, trying to ease his aching legs which were starting to feel strained after being spread so wide for so long, and continued.
“Not to mention that I’ve never had the slightest gay urge in my life before. So unless I’ve died and this is a really weird afterlife, or this is some sort of bizarre alternate universe where ... I dunno, Anderson is nice or something, I can’t think of any other valid reason why I’m in this situation!”
“Anderson is nice in some people’s LJ fic,” the voice said promptly. Then it gasped and mumbled, “Forget I said that.”
“Why?”
“You’re not supposed to know about LiveJournal.”
“Why not?”
“Look, just forget about it, OK?”
He frowned, trying to concentrate. “All right,” he said, and returned to the original subject. “Why am I even with Sherlock? Why am I suddenly supposed to be having gay inclinations when I’ve never even looked at a man in that way before? There are plenty of women who I might be interested in, like Sarah and ... um, never mind who else ... but why Sherlock all of a sudden?!”
He paused, feeling increasingly uncomfortable at Sherlock’s weight on top of him, and raised his voice angrily. “I would never go with him even if he was the last person on Earth!”
“There’s no such thing as an impossible pairing,” the voice retorted. “I mean, have you visited the kink memes lately?”
“The what?” he asked.
“Oh,” the voice said nervously. “Never mind.”
He sighed. “Another thing I’m not supposed to know about?”
“Mmm,” the voice replied vaguely, then continued hurriedly. “Look, do you really not want to be with him?”
“Of course I don’t!” he said indignantly. “I’m not interested in him; I’ve never looked at him twice; and oh, by the way, I’M NOT GAY!! Can’t you just get him out of here?”
“Well, I suppose I could,” said the voice thoughtfully. Then it turned a little tetchy. “I spent a lot of time on this, you know! It’s my first attempt at a pr0n story and now you’ve ruined it!”
“Oh, excuse me!” John said sarcastically. “You decide that I’ve got to go gay and shag my flatmate and I’m supposed to be sympathetic to you?!”
The voice grumbled incoherently for a moment. “All right,” it eventually conceded. “Give me a minute.”
John heard the unmistakable sound of a cigarette lighter, and a second later the author drew in a sharp breath and then blew it out again. The faint smell of cigarette smoke drifted down from the ceiling. Moments later he heard fingers typing on a keyboard, and then suddenly the weight above him was gone and he was alone on the bed. Instantly he rolled onto his side, groaning as he pressed his legs together to try to relieve the ache in his muscles. As they began to ease, he looked around and found that the bed was back to its normal size, the sheets were plain white cotton again, the normal solid headboard was back in place and the handcuffs had gone. He sighed with relief, then a thought struck him.
“Hey!” he called out. “He won’t remember any of this, will he?”
The voice didn’t reply, and the smell of cigarettes was gone.
John lay there for over an hour, mulling over the weird experience. It was more than a little worrying that apparently someone was influencing his life in this way; but even more disturbing was the fact that he couldn’t forget the memory of having had sex with Sherlock. Despite his assertions that he would never have even considered sleeping with him, or any man for that matter, he couldn’t shake off the thought of how Sherlock had felt on top of him and - more importantly - inside him. He’d felt so ... right. John had always felt rather uncomfortable at even the thought of having gay sex, but right now all he could feel was a sense of loss that they hadn’t finished what they’d started, and an increasingly undeniable need to know whether Sherlock really did feel that good.
Hardly believing that he was doing this, he got out of bed, put on his dressing gown and walked quietly downstairs. There was no sign of his flatmate in the living room or the kitchen but his coat was still hanging up behind the door, so he probably hadn’t gone out. Pulling in a nervous breath, John padded silently towards Sherlock’s bedroom and found that the door was closed, a sure indication that Sherlock was inside. John stood and stared wide-eyed at the door for a long time, trying to convince himself to turn around and forget the whole thing. I’m not gay! he kept telling himself silently. This is a stupid idea! Just GO BACK TO BED!
You’re right, he answered himself. I’m not gay, I never will be gay, I’m not interested, I’m going back to bed, this is stupid I really shouldn’t even be here I should turn around right now it’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever had oh bloody hell.
And he lifted his hand and knocked on the bedroom door.
* * * *
Somewhere out in the real world, the author took another drag on her cigarette and put her fingers back onto the keyboard, her eyes glazed and uncomprehending. Sitting comfortably at her feet, the plotbunny grinned evilly and let out a self-satisfied snigger.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author’s Note:
Yeah, so I originally wrote this story just over two years ago when it was about two of the characters in the TV show Primeval (the original version is here) but I suddenly realised that it could be amended to fit the Sherlock-verse. Plagiarising my own stuff! Can I sue me?
I don’t actually smoke at present and haven’t for the last two years (purely coincidentally, I stopped shortly after I wrote the Primeval version of this), but when I considered changing that paragraph to “...the author sucked on another Fox’s Glacier Fruit ...” it somehow didn’t have the same ring to it. ;-)
Now translated into Russian by dzenka!