Sherlock - fic - Chained, Sherlock/John, NC-17
Title - Chained
Author - laurab1
Pairing - Sherlock/John
Rating - NC-17 aka 18
Warnings - BDSM, slightly dubious consent, description of torture
Length - 1020 words
Spoilers - S1 of Sherlock
Summary - His lips moved, he said, “Rosebud.”
Disclaimer - Alas, none of these people are entirely mine. This version of Sherlock Holmes belongs to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, the BBC et al. However, Sherlock Holmes as created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is in the public domain.
Feedback is loved and appreciated :) Enjoy!
A/N - written for this prompt on sherlockbbc-fic.
Chained
by Laura
John had been very kind, very patient and very gentle with him, when they had started this, started exploring each other’s bodies. And when it appeared that, unsurprisingly, for a couple of adrenaline junkies, there could be a point in their relationship where they might be a little less gentle with each other, John had explained to Sherlock about safewords.
There had been something, something other than the promise of pleasure in John’s eyes when he’d been talking, but it was too little data to be useful.
Their most recent scene (the new meaning had come with the safewords), two weeks ago, had included their existing silk ropes and a newly purchased blindfold; Sherlock was now eager to turn the tables, to let John experience what he had. But not with ropes. A few days ago, while John was at work, he’d been to Soho, and had bought the tamest, softest, best for beginners handcuffs he could find. They were fur-lined brown leather, and as Sherlock had spent a hour that day with one of them strapped around his wrist, he knew just how good they felt against skin, how minimal risk they were.
They were on the bed, on their sides, as they had kissed and caressed each other, passion and arousal increasing. Now, Sherlock carefully manoeuvred John onto his back, up against the pillows, and kissed his way from John’s lips to his neck, down his chest, over his heart. Listening to John sigh, he slipped off the bed and went to the bedside cabinet. Pulling open the drawer, he grabbed the leather cuffs and their linking chain.
“Something for our game, John,” he said, offering the soft pieces of leather for John’s consideration, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He watched John’s eyes go so very dark, and his cock twitched. Running his eyes down John’s body, Sherlock saw his cock twitch, too. How very wonderful.
“Yeah,” John muttered, thickly, and nodded.
Sherlock grinned widely, and picked up each of his wrists in turn, securing the cuffs around them. He then took both of John’s hands, moved his arms above his head. Linking chain clipped to one D-ring, passed round and through the ironwork beadhead, clipped to the other D-ring. John’s carotid pulse hammered away, his cock filled. Briefly admiring his handiwork, he reached out and re-opened the drawer, retrieving the blindfold, lube and condoms. Placing the whole lot on the bed, making sure John could see the little collection of things, Sherlock swung his leg over him, moving to straddle his body.
“I do believe it’s your turn to try this as well,” he said, snatching up the blindfold. He leaned in and covered John’s eyes, making sure to tie it securely. Sherlock was going to kiss him, because it had been particularly arousing when John had done so for him, like this.
But before he got there, John shook his head. His lips moved, he said, “Rosebud,” and his cock completely wilted.
Rosebud. Safeword. End of the game.
Sherlock quickly, silently removed the blindfold and the chain. Lowering John’s arms to the bed, he unfastened the cuffs, then threw them, the chain, the blindfold, the lube and the condoms to the bedroom floor. Leaving their legs where they were, tangled together, he gathered John close to him, and turned them back onto their sides. He rubbed his back, and waited for John’s heart to slow, for the panic to go.
For, he hoped, the something to be revealed to him. But if it didn’t come, then he wouldn’t press John for it.
Well, not immediately, anyway.
And then John took a very deep breath. Sherlock moved back, let him see he had his full attention, and wondered just what he was about to hear.
“In July 2009, we got a video at Camp Bastion,” John quietly said. “Couple of lads from the Marines. Bruised, burnt, bloody --”
Sherlock suddenly remembered something from years ago: other people trying to help, other wars. “-- And handcuffed to radiators, or something similar.”
“Yes, yes. God, Sherlock,” he sighed, and let his head fall against Sherlock’s shoulder. “They were kids, privates, just nineteen.”
“They’d been blindfolded, at one point, hadn’t they?”
“Oh, yes.” And yet…
They were his something. Sherlock gave John a moment, then kissed his hair, and asked, “I assume their friends successfully rescued them, yes?”
“Of course.”
“And you and your friends successfully treated their wounds.”
“They were both back on patrol three days after their mates found them.”
Sherlock felt John’s smile, no, smirk against his shoulder, and easily let the same expression form on his own face. John had been aroused, but he needed to know what the rules of the game now were. “No handcuffs in bed, then?” he carefully asked.
“No, no. I’d really rather not, Sherlock.”
“Very well. I’m sure I can find a different use for them. What about the blindfold, though? You used that on me. That, and ropes.”
John shifted, looked at him again.
“Ropes had just held you still. I was trying to shut up that massive brain of yours for you, too, Sherlock. Just for a bit.”
“But you weren’t trying to torture me.”
“Oh, I’d say I tortured you quite effectively, Mr Holmes,” John said, grinning.
Sherlock found himself grinning back. It appeared that John had been experimenting with sending him into subspace. “No distractions, other than your touch, the scent of your skin, and the sound of your voice. And no means of escape?”
“Yes, yes, all of that.”
“I was rather hoping I could let you experience that, but it appears to be off the cards, right now. So, why don’t we just close our eyes, and kiss each other again, then, John?” Sherlock suggested. It was probably all John could manage. “Just for a bit.”
“And maybe a little more, a little later,” John replied, before closing his eyes, and pressing his lips to Sherlock’s.
Maybe, he thought, shutting his own eyes as John then slipped his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth, and, once more, set his whole body on fire.
-end-
Author - laurab1
Pairing - Sherlock/John
Rating - NC-17 aka 18
Warnings - BDSM, slightly dubious consent, description of torture
Length - 1020 words
Spoilers - S1 of Sherlock
Summary - His lips moved, he said, “Rosebud.”
Disclaimer - Alas, none of these people are entirely mine. This version of Sherlock Holmes belongs to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, the BBC et al. However, Sherlock Holmes as created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is in the public domain.
Feedback is loved and appreciated :) Enjoy!
A/N - written for this prompt on sherlockbbc-fic.
Chained
by Laura
John had been very kind, very patient and very gentle with him, when they had started this, started exploring each other’s bodies. And when it appeared that, unsurprisingly, for a couple of adrenaline junkies, there could be a point in their relationship where they might be a little less gentle with each other, John had explained to Sherlock about safewords.
There had been something, something other than the promise of pleasure in John’s eyes when he’d been talking, but it was too little data to be useful.
Their most recent scene (the new meaning had come with the safewords), two weeks ago, had included their existing silk ropes and a newly purchased blindfold; Sherlock was now eager to turn the tables, to let John experience what he had. But not with ropes. A few days ago, while John was at work, he’d been to Soho, and had bought the tamest, softest, best for beginners handcuffs he could find. They were fur-lined brown leather, and as Sherlock had spent a hour that day with one of them strapped around his wrist, he knew just how good they felt against skin, how minimal risk they were.
They were on the bed, on their sides, as they had kissed and caressed each other, passion and arousal increasing. Now, Sherlock carefully manoeuvred John onto his back, up against the pillows, and kissed his way from John’s lips to his neck, down his chest, over his heart. Listening to John sigh, he slipped off the bed and went to the bedside cabinet. Pulling open the drawer, he grabbed the leather cuffs and their linking chain.
“Something for our game, John,” he said, offering the soft pieces of leather for John’s consideration, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He watched John’s eyes go so very dark, and his cock twitched. Running his eyes down John’s body, Sherlock saw his cock twitch, too. How very wonderful.
“Yeah,” John muttered, thickly, and nodded.
Sherlock grinned widely, and picked up each of his wrists in turn, securing the cuffs around them. He then took both of John’s hands, moved his arms above his head. Linking chain clipped to one D-ring, passed round and through the ironwork beadhead, clipped to the other D-ring. John’s carotid pulse hammered away, his cock filled. Briefly admiring his handiwork, he reached out and re-opened the drawer, retrieving the blindfold, lube and condoms. Placing the whole lot on the bed, making sure John could see the little collection of things, Sherlock swung his leg over him, moving to straddle his body.
“I do believe it’s your turn to try this as well,” he said, snatching up the blindfold. He leaned in and covered John’s eyes, making sure to tie it securely. Sherlock was going to kiss him, because it had been particularly arousing when John had done so for him, like this.
But before he got there, John shook his head. His lips moved, he said, “Rosebud,” and his cock completely wilted.
Rosebud. Safeword. End of the game.
Sherlock quickly, silently removed the blindfold and the chain. Lowering John’s arms to the bed, he unfastened the cuffs, then threw them, the chain, the blindfold, the lube and the condoms to the bedroom floor. Leaving their legs where they were, tangled together, he gathered John close to him, and turned them back onto their sides. He rubbed his back, and waited for John’s heart to slow, for the panic to go.
For, he hoped, the something to be revealed to him. But if it didn’t come, then he wouldn’t press John for it.
Well, not immediately, anyway.
And then John took a very deep breath. Sherlock moved back, let him see he had his full attention, and wondered just what he was about to hear.
“In July 2009, we got a video at Camp Bastion,” John quietly said. “Couple of lads from the Marines. Bruised, burnt, bloody --”
Sherlock suddenly remembered something from years ago: other people trying to help, other wars. “-- And handcuffed to radiators, or something similar.”
“Yes, yes. God, Sherlock,” he sighed, and let his head fall against Sherlock’s shoulder. “They were kids, privates, just nineteen.”
“They’d been blindfolded, at one point, hadn’t they?”
“Oh, yes.” And yet…
They were his something. Sherlock gave John a moment, then kissed his hair, and asked, “I assume their friends successfully rescued them, yes?”
“Of course.”
“And you and your friends successfully treated their wounds.”
“They were both back on patrol three days after their mates found them.”
Sherlock felt John’s smile, no, smirk against his shoulder, and easily let the same expression form on his own face. John had been aroused, but he needed to know what the rules of the game now were. “No handcuffs in bed, then?” he carefully asked.
“No, no. I’d really rather not, Sherlock.”
“Very well. I’m sure I can find a different use for them. What about the blindfold, though? You used that on me. That, and ropes.”
John shifted, looked at him again.
“Ropes had just held you still. I was trying to shut up that massive brain of yours for you, too, Sherlock. Just for a bit.”
“But you weren’t trying to torture me.”
“Oh, I’d say I tortured you quite effectively, Mr Holmes,” John said, grinning.
Sherlock found himself grinning back. It appeared that John had been experimenting with sending him into subspace. “No distractions, other than your touch, the scent of your skin, and the sound of your voice. And no means of escape?”
“Yes, yes, all of that.”
“I was rather hoping I could let you experience that, but it appears to be off the cards, right now. So, why don’t we just close our eyes, and kiss each other again, then, John?” Sherlock suggested. It was probably all John could manage. “Just for a bit.”
“And maybe a little more, a little later,” John replied, before closing his eyes, and pressing his lips to Sherlock’s.
Maybe, he thought, shutting his own eyes as John then slipped his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth, and, once more, set his whole body on fire.
-end-