MMoM Day 4: When You Call Out My Name (BBC Sherlock) R
Title: When You Call Out My Name
Rating: R
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Summary: John dreams of something he can't have.
Word Count: 366
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em
Spoilers: For Reichenbach
Thanks: Thanks to Daasgrrl for the beta!
John fell back onto the bed and closed his eyes. What a week! He looked at his alarm clock, blinking several times to focus. Five pm. He was actually home before midnight for the first time in three days. He had Lestrade to thank for being home early, but he also had Lestrade to blame for all the other nights he had been dismissed only when he was too tired to form a full sentence. Despite it being way too early to sleep, John’s eyes drifted closed.
A hand cupped him through his trousers, while another pushed him against the wall. Teeth and tongue at his throat, nipping and kissing, electrifying and dangerous and John wanted more. The hand move away, but before John could whimper at its loss, a body pressed in close, hardness pushing against his. John couldn’t breathe. He gasped, trying to fill his lungs, but then lips pressed against his, drowning him.
John woke with a start. He moved his arm from over his nose and mouth and breathed deeply. He could still feel the ghost of a body against him, teeth pressing hard enough against his neck to break skin.
The pressure of his own hand through the layers of clothes just wasn’t enough. Sparing a quick glance at the open door, John shed his clothing and closed his eyes, trying to pretend that he wasn’t alone.
When he touched himself again, his hand felt wrong. Not like the long and slender fingers that had touched him in his dream. The disappointment, while expected, still hurt. He shoved that disappointment away and tightened his grip, stroking himself with slow methodical precision until pleasure took over.
He didn’t care that he screamed Sherlock’s name as he came.
John had screamed Sherlock’s name every other way possible, and it still hadn’t brought Sherlock back. Maybe this time…
***
Sherlock stood under John’s window, blending into the shadows, invisible to the people on the pavement. He heard John cry out for him and a little bit more of him died inside. How much longer would he have to stay away? Would there be anything left by the time it was safe to return home?
Rating: R
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Summary: John dreams of something he can't have.
Word Count: 366
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em
Spoilers: For Reichenbach
Thanks: Thanks to Daasgrrl for the beta!
John fell back onto the bed and closed his eyes. What a week! He looked at his alarm clock, blinking several times to focus. Five pm. He was actually home before midnight for the first time in three days. He had Lestrade to thank for being home early, but he also had Lestrade to blame for all the other nights he had been dismissed only when he was too tired to form a full sentence. Despite it being way too early to sleep, John’s eyes drifted closed.
A hand cupped him through his trousers, while another pushed him against the wall. Teeth and tongue at his throat, nipping and kissing, electrifying and dangerous and John wanted more. The hand move away, but before John could whimper at its loss, a body pressed in close, hardness pushing against his. John couldn’t breathe. He gasped, trying to fill his lungs, but then lips pressed against his, drowning him.
John woke with a start. He moved his arm from over his nose and mouth and breathed deeply. He could still feel the ghost of a body against him, teeth pressing hard enough against his neck to break skin.
The pressure of his own hand through the layers of clothes just wasn’t enough. Sparing a quick glance at the open door, John shed his clothing and closed his eyes, trying to pretend that he wasn’t alone.
When he touched himself again, his hand felt wrong. Not like the long and slender fingers that had touched him in his dream. The disappointment, while expected, still hurt. He shoved that disappointment away and tightened his grip, stroking himself with slow methodical precision until pleasure took over.
He didn’t care that he screamed Sherlock’s name as he came.
John had screamed Sherlock’s name every other way possible, and it still hadn’t brought Sherlock back. Maybe this time…
***
Sherlock stood under John’s window, blending into the shadows, invisible to the people on the pavement. He heard John cry out for him and a little bit more of him died inside. How much longer would he have to stay away? Would there be anything left by the time it was safe to return home?