Re: 5/? (Uh, just BDSM warnings now, I guess)darthhellokittyMarch 22 2011, 23:07:47 UTC
Stopping, reason for stopping, hesitation on -- on whether or not he ought to stop, on whether he still has the upper hand or if everything he's doing he's doing with permission.
HOLY SHIT HE IS MINDFUCKING THE HELL OUT OF MORIARTY! GO BAD!SUB SHERLOCK!!!
6/9 (BDSM warning)
anonymous
March 21 2011, 10:46:30 UTC
When, after several more seconds, Moriarty withdraws from Sherlock's body until they're no longer touching, Sherlock nods to himself mentally. He'd thought so. He rolls onto his side. "How much time has passed? I said forty minutes, that was --"
"Thirteen minutes ago. Seventeen left." Giving Moriarty ten minutes to sneak out of the building without getting caught, and Sherlock ten minutes to get dressed and -- well, do the same, because the last thing he wants is his brother knowing when he's had sex. Total and complete avoidance is the only way to make this possible. Sherlock likes never seeing his brother, ever. Moriarty is frowning at him.
It's a familiar expression, one Sherlock's seen on lovers in the past, usually when they're about ready to break and ask him, Are you sure you're a sub? Do you even want this? (Yes, and most of the time, but his thoughts distract him constantly and it's usually not deliberate but he does tend to end scenes out of boredom partway through
( ... )
The pool's lighted, making it child's play to retrieve Moriarty's knife. When he breaks the surface of the water, Moriarty grabs his hand, hauling him out of the pool. Sherlock passes him the knife, and as soon as it's in his hand, Moriarty shoves him back to the ground. He skids on the tiles when he lands
( ... )
It isn't a surprise, but his muscles still twitch involuntarily when he feels the light press of the knife's edge to his torso (over the ribs, blade angled slightly). "I'm going to cut you. I'm going to cut you open, right here. Shut up," he says sharply when Sherlock opens his mouth, "or you'll regret it."
It hurts -- hurts more than it should, hurts enough for the fear to spiral into his chest, bright and roaring -- when the knife breaks his skin, and he must have made a noise, some noise, because fuck, because fuck, what is he doing. Because he is blind and still and letting a madman carve him up like a Christmas turkey.
Moriarty's hand tightens on his thigh, and slides upwards. "Now you're getting it," he sing-songs, voice going high and unnerving.
Another cut -- on his chest, but he can't tell where, can only tell that it's there, that it hurts and burns and fuck. Safeword, he thinks, safeword safeword safeword, but he can't say it because then it'll stop. What -- what did normal people use, what was it
( ... )
9/9 (BDSM, and I guess rape fantasy play)
anonymous
March 21 2011, 10:58:41 UTC
"No," Sherlock whimpers, and breathes faster. He can feel his face burning, can feel the fear in his chest and in his lungs. "No, I won't. No, don't." He turns his face away and squeezes his eyes shut tightly. Several tears escape from the corners of his eyes and trail down his cheeks, a slow tickling sensation that stops abruptly when Moriarty's lips press against his cheek, capturing the droplet.
A thumb wipes away the tears on the other side of his face, then presses against Sherlock's half-open mouth. Moriarty tastes of salt and pre-ejaculate. Sherlock licks his thumb clean, and suddenly Moriarty presses his palm firmly against the side of his face, fingers curling around his jaw. There's a noise (knife landing on the ground, his thoughts say, Ignore.), and suddenly Moriarty's weight is on top of him, pushing him against the wall.
"Fuck Sherlock," Moriarty groans, sounding breathless and pained. He memorizes the sound, records it in his mind and stores it for safekeeping. "Do it again
( ... )
Re: 9/9 (BDSM, and I guess rape fantasy play)
anonymous
March 22 2011, 10:14:20 UTC
This is actually weirdly fascinating. Given the prompt I was kind of expecting the usual non-con-ish, abusive, rapey, angsty fill it sort of invites, and instead we get a surprisingly plausible, subtle and weirdly consentual fill that somehow manages to take the rather cracked-out limits of the universe it's set in and craft something that's quite believably true to character in ANY universe. I'm not often so genuinely and pleasantly surprised by a kink meme fill.
D!Moriarty/s!Sherlock
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And I bet John totally would know how to handle him.
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HOLY SHIT HE IS MINDFUCKING THE HELL OUT OF MORIARTY! GO BAD!SUB SHERLOCK!!!
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When, after several more seconds, Moriarty withdraws from Sherlock's body until they're no longer touching, Sherlock nods to himself mentally. He'd thought so. He rolls onto his side. "How much time has passed? I said forty minutes, that was --"
"Thirteen minutes ago. Seventeen left." Giving Moriarty ten minutes to sneak out of the building without getting caught, and Sherlock ten minutes to get dressed and -- well, do the same, because the last thing he wants is his brother knowing when he's had sex. Total and complete avoidance is the only way to make this possible. Sherlock likes never seeing his brother, ever. Moriarty is frowning at him.
It's a familiar expression, one Sherlock's seen on lovers in the past, usually when they're about ready to break and ask him, Are you sure you're a sub? Do you even want this? (Yes, and most of the time, but his thoughts distract him constantly and it's usually not deliberate but he does tend to end scenes out of boredom partway through ( ... )
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It isn't a surprise, but his muscles still twitch involuntarily when he feels the light press of the knife's edge to his torso (over the ribs, blade angled slightly). "I'm going to cut you. I'm going to cut you open, right here. Shut up," he says sharply when Sherlock opens his mouth, "or you'll regret it."
It hurts -- hurts more than it should, hurts enough for the fear to spiral into his chest, bright and roaring -- when the knife breaks his skin, and he must have made a noise, some noise, because fuck, because fuck, what is he doing. Because he is blind and still and letting a madman carve him up like a Christmas turkey.
Moriarty's hand tightens on his thigh, and slides upwards. "Now you're getting it," he sing-songs, voice going high and unnerving.
Another cut -- on his chest, but he can't tell where, can only tell that it's there, that it hurts and burns and fuck. Safeword, he thinks, safeword safeword safeword, but he can't say it because then it'll stop. What -- what did normal people use, what was it ( ... )
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"No," Sherlock whimpers, and breathes faster. He can feel his face burning, can feel the fear in his chest and in his lungs. "No, I won't. No, don't." He turns his face away and squeezes his eyes shut tightly. Several tears escape from the corners of his eyes and trail down his cheeks, a slow tickling sensation that stops abruptly when Moriarty's lips press against his cheek, capturing the droplet.
A thumb wipes away the tears on the other side of his face, then presses against Sherlock's half-open mouth. Moriarty tastes of salt and pre-ejaculate. Sherlock licks his thumb clean, and suddenly Moriarty presses his palm firmly against the side of his face, fingers curling around his jaw. There's a noise (knife landing on the ground, his thoughts say, Ignore.), and suddenly Moriarty's weight is on top of him, pushing him against the wall.
"Fuck Sherlock," Moriarty groans, sounding breathless and pained. He memorizes the sound, records it in his mind and stores it for safekeeping. "Do it again ( ... )
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YOU = AMAZING
FUCK, this makes me glad in ways I could never tell a normal person.
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sjgkhalskdjflahsgljashdfjhalgsdfh
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I'm not often so genuinely and pleasantly surprised by a kink meme fill.
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my, my breathing just stops..........
*collaps*
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