Prompting Part XXXII
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GUIDELINES
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Sherlock does something completely awful. Really awful. He tries paying John back with sex but catches him at a bad time when he is drunk and offers himself willing ...John is a bit more than just normal furious and takes his anger out on Sherlock through sex.
In the morning he realizes he really hurt Sherlock , made him bleed, and is distraught over it because that is just not okay.
+bonuses+
He goes into shock because he feels like a rapist and asks Sherlock to leave and than realizes what he just said but by than Sherlock has run off somewhere and John never really meant /leave the flat/ but Sherlock did anyway.
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I think I'd like to try and fill this.
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Sherlock says nothing. He stands by the window, hands clasped behind his back. The jacket he’s wearing is different, heavy and shapeless, and it makes him look like a different person, standing inside 221B for the first time in three years, outlined by the streetlights that have only just come on.
“I am - ”
“No,” John says, head swimming. “You’re not even allowed that. This isn’t forgiveness, Sherlock, do you understand? Don’t tell me you’re sorry; it doesn’t do me any good.”
“I have nowhere to go,” Sherlock says, and John’s never been a maudlin drunk, not before Sherlock killed himself (faked it faked it faked it) but he can feel the tears, the sudden hot rush of pressure. When he looks up, Sherlock is drifting towards him ( ... )
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"I have nowhere to go" god, my heart
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“I used to watch you,” John says, and the way Sherlock’s pupils immediately dilate, the way he trembles while trying not to, the way his pulse skips and skips and skips, makes John feel warm and uncoiled and good, “I used to watch you all the time and wonder what it’d be like to take apart someone so tightly wound.”
“John - ”
“No,” John says, gut twisting, “no - you aren’t - don’t you dare say my name,” and slots his hand against the nape of his neck, tilts his head, and sucks hard at the smooth, dampening patch of skin tucked under Sherlock’s jaw.
Sherlock makes a terrible startled noise and goes completely rigid, clutching at John’s elbows, and John thinks I am going to black out I am going to scream I am going to puke and then, slicing down the center of it all, the need to inflict pain on Sherlock. He has never ( ... )
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I'm in love with the way you write.
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Sherlock darts his tongue out and awkwardly takes him into his mouth. John splays his hand across Sherlock’s skull as he slides his lips and his teeth over the head of John’s cock, and his fingertips tighten on Sherlock’s scalp when he hollows his cheeks and sucks. The sweet curl of Sherlock’s tongue invites a slow roll of his hips, and Sherlock chokes.
“That’ll have to do,” John says coolly, gripping the headboard for balance as he slips out of Sherlock’s mouth, a clinging string of spittle hanging between them. Sherlock’s submission disgusts him; he wants him to fight back. He wants him to struggle, and fail, and when John pulls his lower half into his lap and presses all the way into him, Sherlock makes a stunning, tortured noise. John clings to him as he tries to squirm away, gripping his ankles and forcing his legs into a deep fold against his chest.
“You’re - god - you’re so fucking tight,” John says, and he isn’t going to last, knowing that he’s the first one to have Sherlock like this, held open ( ... )
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