FIC - Sliver (BBC Sherlock 221B)
Title: Sliver
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: R
A/N: 221B, wherein there is sex.
A sliver of moonlight piercing through the drapes was the only guidance they had, not that they needed it. Even in pitch black, the two of them knew by now every inch of each other’s bodies, mapped out carefully over time, then meticulously catalogued in their minds.
John’s teeth sunk into the skin on the left side of Sherlock’s neck, causing Sherlock to tip his head back almost involuntarily, making more of his skin available for the shock of pain that he craved so badly. His hands were quite happy to be bound to the headboard by the silk belt of his dressing gown.
“Say it”, rumbled into his ear, John’s rank-pulling gravel tone, as he felt John’s hand tighten around the fistful of hair in his grip.
Sherlock never considered the possibility of speechlessness before this had started, before he’d tumbled into bed with John half-drunk one night months earlier, just…before. It was how he stored memories now, Before and Now.
After a moment without a reply, the grip on his hair became even more insistent, followed by a sharp backhand to the side of his face. “Say it.” Harder this time, the pitch of John’s voice even lower and more commanding.
“Yours”, Sherlock replied in a shaky voice. “I’m yours, John.” And it was true, to John he belonged.
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: R
A/N: 221B, wherein there is sex.
A sliver of moonlight piercing through the drapes was the only guidance they had, not that they needed it. Even in pitch black, the two of them knew by now every inch of each other’s bodies, mapped out carefully over time, then meticulously catalogued in their minds.
John’s teeth sunk into the skin on the left side of Sherlock’s neck, causing Sherlock to tip his head back almost involuntarily, making more of his skin available for the shock of pain that he craved so badly. His hands were quite happy to be bound to the headboard by the silk belt of his dressing gown.
“Say it”, rumbled into his ear, John’s rank-pulling gravel tone, as he felt John’s hand tighten around the fistful of hair in his grip.
Sherlock never considered the possibility of speechlessness before this had started, before he’d tumbled into bed with John half-drunk one night months earlier, just…before. It was how he stored memories now, Before and Now.
After a moment without a reply, the grip on his hair became even more insistent, followed by a sharp backhand to the side of his face. “Say it.” Harder this time, the pitch of John’s voice even lower and more commanding.
“Yours”, Sherlock replied in a shaky voice. “I’m yours, John.” And it was true, to John he belonged.