(no subject)
Title: The First Times Free
Author: nota-faerietale
Characters: Holmes and Moriarty
Word Count: 686
Series: Training the Pet
Rating: Adult for drug use and force
Warnings: Drug use, slash references
Summary: Moriarty has a new game for Holmes and this time he's not keeping his distance.
The needle slid easily under his skin, cleanly piercing through the layers of flesh until Jim felt the resistance of the vein. He paused then, just barely wriggling the needle. In his mind he could see the sharp metal as it scraped over delicate tissue, threatening to cause a split and spill blood. He couldn't have that.
"I admit, I've thought about this ever since you went through so much trouble to give it up. I thought about what it must have been like for you in those first days. The terror. The tremors. The pain that had to wrack your body until you were likely considering death over going on another moment. How must you be worrying now, knowing how close you are to returning to that lifestyle. Addict needing another fix, living with the muddleness that comes with a hit, and the pain that blinds your perfect clarity if you don't have that next hit."
Leaning down, he brushed his lips against Holmes' temple, tender and nearly affection. A nearly musical counterpoint to his words. "Perhaps you should try begging me not to," he whispered. "Maybe if you beg prettily enough, I'll spare you this needle and find another new game to play with you."
"Is that what this little game is about? You think if you continue toying with that needle I'll beg you to what? Inject me with air rather than whatever is in the needle? Heroin? Something more insidious? Should I get on my knees to make it more appealing to you?"
Rocking against the tape that bound him, the chair wobbling but not falling with Moriarty pressed close to it. The needle rolled under the skin forcing Jim to jerk it free before it snapped off. He laughed, stroking Sherlock's cheek.
"That will come soon enough, my precious pet. I don't think you're there yet,' he said, knee pressing to Holmes' groin to ensure he didn't start the chair moving again.
Lightly he brushed his thumb against the small red mark where he'd pulled the needle free, enjoying the sight of crimson against such pale, delicate skin. Skin that would soon bear the pockmarks of addiction. They would be the physical scars of all the damage he would do that would not be visible to the naked eye and yet do so much more damage to the brilliance that was London's only consulting detective than any mere addiction of Sherlock's own doing.
"Now, shall we begin?"
Once more the sharp steel slipped beneath skin. This time he didn't stop at that rubbery resistance, pushing the needle into the open space of the vein. In his own mind he could feel the rush of blood over metal, warming the surgical steel even as he pushed the plunger. The drug mingled with blood, and Jim slowly retracted the needle, looking into pale, steady eyes. "Ready?"
"Given until recently you had me masked, sensory deprived and without a way of knowing what was in a needle that was already full when you presented it to me, for all I know you've just given me a fatal dose of suicide to end it all. Perhaps saline solution while seeing if I might struggle and beg, affording you a chance to grind me under your heel?" A slow smile curved his lips. "Your own blood in some twisted little game of blood brothers, as you do seem to locked into the past and childish games?"
Taking up a pair of pliers, Jim carefully bent the tip of the needle before dropping it into a glass jar. He corked the bottle for disposal. Humming softly, he took the bottle and headed for the door. Pausing, he glanced back when he heard a small, strangled sound. The drug was taking effect, dulling Holmes' senses, and there was no need to hide the truth any longer.
"Actually, it was heroin. I really didn't think you were in need of coddling when it came to addictive substances. Ta, Sherlock. I'll see you in a few hours. Or days."
And with that he closed the door, locking it behind him.
Author: nota-faerietale
Characters: Holmes and Moriarty
Word Count: 686
Series: Training the Pet
Rating: Adult for drug use and force
Warnings: Drug use, slash references
Summary: Moriarty has a new game for Holmes and this time he's not keeping his distance.
The needle slid easily under his skin, cleanly piercing through the layers of flesh until Jim felt the resistance of the vein. He paused then, just barely wriggling the needle. In his mind he could see the sharp metal as it scraped over delicate tissue, threatening to cause a split and spill blood. He couldn't have that.
"I admit, I've thought about this ever since you went through so much trouble to give it up. I thought about what it must have been like for you in those first days. The terror. The tremors. The pain that had to wrack your body until you were likely considering death over going on another moment. How must you be worrying now, knowing how close you are to returning to that lifestyle. Addict needing another fix, living with the muddleness that comes with a hit, and the pain that blinds your perfect clarity if you don't have that next hit."
Leaning down, he brushed his lips against Holmes' temple, tender and nearly affection. A nearly musical counterpoint to his words. "Perhaps you should try begging me not to," he whispered. "Maybe if you beg prettily enough, I'll spare you this needle and find another new game to play with you."
"Is that what this little game is about? You think if you continue toying with that needle I'll beg you to what? Inject me with air rather than whatever is in the needle? Heroin? Something more insidious? Should I get on my knees to make it more appealing to you?"
Rocking against the tape that bound him, the chair wobbling but not falling with Moriarty pressed close to it. The needle rolled under the skin forcing Jim to jerk it free before it snapped off. He laughed, stroking Sherlock's cheek.
"That will come soon enough, my precious pet. I don't think you're there yet,' he said, knee pressing to Holmes' groin to ensure he didn't start the chair moving again.
Lightly he brushed his thumb against the small red mark where he'd pulled the needle free, enjoying the sight of crimson against such pale, delicate skin. Skin that would soon bear the pockmarks of addiction. They would be the physical scars of all the damage he would do that would not be visible to the naked eye and yet do so much more damage to the brilliance that was London's only consulting detective than any mere addiction of Sherlock's own doing.
"Now, shall we begin?"
Once more the sharp steel slipped beneath skin. This time he didn't stop at that rubbery resistance, pushing the needle into the open space of the vein. In his own mind he could feel the rush of blood over metal, warming the surgical steel even as he pushed the plunger. The drug mingled with blood, and Jim slowly retracted the needle, looking into pale, steady eyes. "Ready?"
"Given until recently you had me masked, sensory deprived and without a way of knowing what was in a needle that was already full when you presented it to me, for all I know you've just given me a fatal dose of suicide to end it all. Perhaps saline solution while seeing if I might struggle and beg, affording you a chance to grind me under your heel?" A slow smile curved his lips. "Your own blood in some twisted little game of blood brothers, as you do seem to locked into the past and childish games?"
Taking up a pair of pliers, Jim carefully bent the tip of the needle before dropping it into a glass jar. He corked the bottle for disposal. Humming softly, he took the bottle and headed for the door. Pausing, he glanced back when he heard a small, strangled sound. The drug was taking effect, dulling Holmes' senses, and there was no need to hide the truth any longer.
"Actually, it was heroin. I really didn't think you were in need of coddling when it came to addictive substances. Ta, Sherlock. I'll see you in a few hours. Or days."
And with that he closed the door, locking it behind him.