Title: One Night Only
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: Explicit/NC-17
Length: 2045
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Content Notes: Cock cage/chastity device; biting; reference to drug use; hurt/comfort; angst; jealous & possessive Sherlock; enabling John; POV Sherlock; handjob; oral sex; rough sex
Summary: Sherlock’s jealousy leads to demonstrations and revelations for him and John.
Author’s Note: John’s device inspired by mh-design’s Lancelot
“Would you like me to leave so that you can shoot up?”
Sherlock blinked.
“I’m an idiot, but I’m not stupid, Sherlock. You’ve looked twice at that floorboard where you hide your kit. And you were off tonight.”
“I solved the case!”
John stood. “If being more than flatmates is interfering with the Work—“
Sherlock’s throat tightened around unspoken words.
Don’t go. Please don’t go.
“Anderson.”
John stopped at the door and turned, one eyebrow raised.
“You like his beard.”
“I made a joke about his beard. To his face.”
“But you like it.”
John shrugged. “Yeah, it flatters him.”
Sherlock inhaled and exhaled.
“Wait, you’re jealous of Anderson?!”
John laughed. Sherlock winced.
“Christ, you are! If you think that I am interested in Anderson, you are the stupid one, Sherlock!”
“I KNOW!” The window panes rattled. “IT’S ILLOGICAL, IT’S IRRATIONAL, IT’S RIDICULOUS, AND IT’S BLOODY DISTRACTING!”
He buried his face in his hands. “I couldn’t stop thinking of you—“
“What? Heading off to gent’s for a quick handjob?”
Sherlock looked up. “Blowjob, but, yes.”
John knelt and took Sherlock’s hands in his. “I am with you. I want to be with you and no one else.”
“It isn’t anything that you’ve done. And it isn’t just Anderson. I imagine you with Lestrade, Donovan, every Yarder at the scene. Even the corpse!”
John snorted, then his face fell. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“I can’t think! Who am I, John, if I can’t think?!”
John frowned.
Sherlock stood abruptly. He stumbled around John and fled down the hall and slammed the bedroom door.
Knock, knock.
“Go away, John.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Sherlock opened the door.
“You should. Leave tonight. I’ll forward your things…”
“Sherlock, talk to me!”
Silence.
“Desdemona?” asked John.
Sherlock shuddered.
John’s voice turned hard. “Never forget that I was a soldier, Sherlock. I’m not going to let you smother me in a jealous rage without a fight.”
“I don’t want to kill you.”
“No? Then what?”
Why not tell him? He’ll leave anyway, sooner or later.
“Brand you. Mark you. Cage you. Leash you. There! Are you happy? You know how depraved I am. How utter illogical my mind is!” Sherlock turned away. His voice faltered. “Go. Just go, John.”
Silence.
“Sherlock.”
Sherlock turned.
WHAM!
He fell back, holding his face. Pain quickly displaced shock.
“You think I am just going to let you be my commanding officer?” John’s eyes darkened, and he advanced on Sherlock with a twitch of a smile on his lips. “Come on, you want to be the boss of me? You had better show me that you can do more than just pine and bite that pretty lip of yours. Am I yours, Sherlock? Make me yours.”
Sherlock had stared dumbly and staggered backwards as John punctuated each statement with a hard shove.
Until the last word. Yours.
“MINE!”
They clashed. Sherlock was bigger, smarter, but John was stronger, with better instincts.
John got Sherlock in a choke-hold. Then Sherlock threw him to the floor and pounced.
John rolled away just in time and leapt to his feet. “Am I yours?” he taunted.
Sherlock growled. Then he sprang, launching his entire body at John, sending them both sprawling on the bed. Then Sherlock straddled John’s waist and pinned his arms.
“Mine!” cried Sherlock.
Both were panting.
“Make me!” countered John, still struggling to throw Sherlock off.
Then Sherlock’s mouth was on John’s. It was brutal. Hard, wet, sloppy. Too much teeth. More bite and breath than kiss.
Sherlock released one of John’s hands and cupped John’s cock through his jeans. “Mine.” He began to rub, feeling John harden at the touch.
John’s fingers threaded in Sherlock’s hair and yanked. “Not yours yet.” The pleasure-pain blinded Sherlock for a moment, the very moment John needed to escape.
WHAM!
Sherlock slammed John into the wall.
John grunted.
Sherlock pressed his full length against John. He licked a stripe down John’s neck and then bit.
John gave a high-pitched cry.
“Mine?” It was a hoarse whisper.
John grunted again. Sherlock pulled back so that he could snake his hands between John and the wall and undo John’s belt. When John’s cock was free, Sherlock spit in his own hand.
“No time,” he said by way of apology. Sherlock’s saliva and John’s pre-come were barely enough. It was a rough fist-fuck, but soon John was decorating the wall with streaks of come.
Sherlock stared at the smears and listened to John’s loud breathing. He licked along the slope of John’s neck.
And bit again.
“MINE!”
John howled.
When John’s breathing had quieted, he tilted his head back and said softly, “Yours.” Then he turned.
Sherlock studied the dishevelled clothing and hair; the visible marks and the bruises yet to form. He began to tremble.
Monster.
He looked about them, taking in the room, normally pin-neat, now in complete disarray.
MONSTER!
The trembling grew to full-body heaving.
“I should be chemically castrated…”
“No, Sherlock.”
“…lobotomised…”
“No.”
John put a hand on either side of Sherlock’s head as if to still the angry swarming thoughts inside and kissed his lips.
Sherlock closed his eyes, and when he opened them, his vision was blurry.
“You’ve marked me, Sherlock. I’m yours.”
Sherlock looked down and instantly fell to his knees, hugging John’s legs, nuzzling the come-streaked mess of limp cock, belt, jeans and pants that
was bunched at John’s crotch.
“And if that’s not enough,” continued John, stroking Sherlock’s hair. “We’ll figure something else out.”
BANG! BANG!
“Come on, John! Case!”
The door opened.
Extraordinary. John was extraordinary.
Very little surprised Sherlock, but a steel mesh sock with padlock covering John’s cock? He wasn’t expecting that.
John pressed a small piece of metal into his hand.
“One night only.”
A key.
Sherlock had the key to John’s cock.
Extraordinary.
Sherlock leapt from the taxi before it had come to a complete stop in front of 221 Baker Street. He watched John throw some bills at the driver and hurry after him.
The front door had barely closed before John was giggling. “It worked, didn’t it?”
They were still standing in the entranceway, both grinning madly. Sherlock stepped forward and John stepped back until John’s back was against the door.
“I was on fire, John!”
“Yeah, I know you hate repeating, but I am going to say it again anyway: you were magnificent.”
Sherlock cupped John’s jaw with two hands and leaned in for a long, languid kiss, meant to tell John over and over, with every brush of lips and tongue, how indispensable he was to Sherlock, how much Sherlock cherished him, how grateful Sherlock was to have him in his life.
How there was no Sherlock Holmes without John Watson.
Sherlock broke the kiss, but kept his mouth a whisper’s distance from John’s.
“God,” John groaned, letting his head thud against the door. His chest rose and fell as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist.
Sherlock felt the hard protuberance through John’s trousers and was suddenly shy.
“May I unlock it?” he said quietly.
John smiled. “Not may, must. You’ve got the key.”
John sat in his armchair, clad in only a dressing gown. Sherlock was on the floor between his legs.
“Medieval-looking thing, no?” said John.
“Indeed. Striking visual.”
“You got half-hard twice tonight.“
“Four times," said Sherlock. "To the untrained eye, there was nothing different about you, but there is nothing untrained about my eye, John, especially when it comes to you. I saw it in the way you held yourself, how you stood and walked and turned, how the fabric of your trousers lay. But mostly, it was the key. Every time jealous thoughts intruded, I rubbed it and remembered.”
“I’m yours.”
“Yes. The thoughts retreated, and I could concentrate. It was…”
“Amazing.”
“So are you, John. It bears repeating: so are you.”
Sherlock exhaled loudly when the key clicked in the lock. John carefully removed the device and set it on the floor.
Sherlock did not take his eyes from John’s cock. “John…”
“Yeah,” said John, rubbing his fingers around the base. “It could use a little love, my poor jail bird.”
Love.
Sherlock realised that he loved John’s cock, just as he loved the rest of John. And amazingly, John loved him, and John had demonstrated his love in an extraordinary, though highly unorthodox, way.
One demonstration deserved another.
“Let me.”
Sherlock’s fingers took over for John’s, gently massaging the base of John’s cock, where rings had held the device in place. Then he bent his head and licked, recognising the new, metallic note to John’s scent and the flavour of his skin and recalling the familiar texture of his coarse pubic hair.
“Sherlock.” John’s hands were buried in Sherlock’s hair. He sank further into the armchair and lifted his hips in invitation.
Sherlock licked slowly up John’s shaft, noting the swelling and increased heat as his mouth moved from base to head. He committed to memory the tight smoothness of John’s skin and a map of the ridges and vessels just beneath that skin and the hoarse whisper that escaped John’s lips when Sherlock took the head in his mouth and sucked.
“Christ, Sherlock!”
Sherlock’s mouth never left John, though he fondled John’s sacs in his hand and teased John’s frenulum with his fingers. He licked up and down. He sucked greedily, caressing John with his tongue, taking more and more of him.
“Oh, God, Sherlock, love!”
Sherlock hummed. There it was again: John loved Sherlock.
John groaned. His body tensed, and he made to pull out of Sherlock’s mouth.
“Sherlock, I’m…”
Sherlock grunted in protest and gripped John’s thighs tighter; muscles quivered beneath Sherlock’s fingers as John fought to hold himself in check.
Sherlock made an impatient noise. Then he pulled off John’s cock entirely and kissed the shaft, murmuring, “John, let me, let me, please.” He nuzzled the crease of John’s thigh and licked. “Please.”
John put his cock in a cage and gave Sherlock the key. This cock. This gorgeous, gorgeous…
“Christ, the way you look at me sometimes, Sherlock.”
“Let me, John.”
John answered by spreading his knees.
Sherlock sighed and swallowed John’s cock as far as his oral cavity would allow, and later, Sherlock would not be able to recall any substance, not one in all that he had smoked, swallowed, or injected in his lifetime—that could produce anything remotely resembling the bliss he felt at the sound of John chanting “Yours, yours, yours,” as he shot streams of come down Sherlock’s throat.
John stood.
Sherlock cringed silently at the panic that gripped him.
“I just really need to go to the, ah…”
Sherlock nodded and dropped his gaze, studying the cage, which was half hidden beneath the armchair. He listened as John walked down the hall, opened the door, urinated, flushed, and washed his hands. Then John stopped.
He was looking in the mirror. No, he was thinking. Re-thinking. Regretting.
A second panic hit Sherlock. He slipped his hand in his trouser pocket and touched the tiny sliver of metal.
Mine.
The panic had just begun to loosen its grip when Sherlock felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Sherlock.” John sat down again. “Uh, about…”
“I know, John. One night only. But I want to keep the key. It helps. Even without…” He gestured to the steel device.
“Uh, sure, I mean, great. But that’s not what I wanted to say. Um, this.” He pulled the collar of the dressing gown aside to reveal a mottled bruise on the ridge of his shoulder. “I like this. Probably more than I should. Probably more than is right. Maybe, I know it’s just transport, but if you wanted to, uh…” He looked toward the hall as his voice died.
Oh, John.
Sherlock was the stupid one! He’d been so blind. Blind and selfish. That’s what jealousy did, didn’t it? Othello. Desdemona.
“I want to make you mine,” said Sherlock in a gravelly voice, his own cock finally stirring. “Again.”
John’s eyes darkened. He licked his lips and smiled. Then they both got to their feet, and he nodded to the cage.
“And, for my part, if that’s the reaction when it comes off, I might be up for putting it on again.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: Explicit/NC-17
Length: 2045
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Content Notes: Cock cage/chastity device; biting; reference to drug use; hurt/comfort; angst; jealous & possessive Sherlock; enabling John; POV Sherlock; handjob; oral sex; rough sex
Summary: Sherlock’s jealousy leads to demonstrations and revelations for him and John.
Author’s Note: John’s device inspired by mh-design’s Lancelot
“Would you like me to leave so that you can shoot up?”
Sherlock blinked.
“I’m an idiot, but I’m not stupid, Sherlock. You’ve looked twice at that floorboard where you hide your kit. And you were off tonight.”
“I solved the case!”
John stood. “If being more than flatmates is interfering with the Work—“
Sherlock’s throat tightened around unspoken words.
Don’t go. Please don’t go.
“Anderson.”
John stopped at the door and turned, one eyebrow raised.
“You like his beard.”
“I made a joke about his beard. To his face.”
“But you like it.”
John shrugged. “Yeah, it flatters him.”
Sherlock inhaled and exhaled.
“Wait, you’re jealous of Anderson?!”
John laughed. Sherlock winced.
“Christ, you are! If you think that I am interested in Anderson, you are the stupid one, Sherlock!”
“I KNOW!” The window panes rattled. “IT’S ILLOGICAL, IT’S IRRATIONAL, IT’S RIDICULOUS, AND IT’S BLOODY DISTRACTING!”
He buried his face in his hands. “I couldn’t stop thinking of you—“
“What? Heading off to gent’s for a quick handjob?”
Sherlock looked up. “Blowjob, but, yes.”
John knelt and took Sherlock’s hands in his. “I am with you. I want to be with you and no one else.”
“It isn’t anything that you’ve done. And it isn’t just Anderson. I imagine you with Lestrade, Donovan, every Yarder at the scene. Even the corpse!”
John snorted, then his face fell. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“I can’t think! Who am I, John, if I can’t think?!”
John frowned.
Sherlock stood abruptly. He stumbled around John and fled down the hall and slammed the bedroom door.
Knock, knock.
“Go away, John.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Sherlock opened the door.
“You should. Leave tonight. I’ll forward your things…”
“Sherlock, talk to me!”
Silence.
“Desdemona?” asked John.
Sherlock shuddered.
John’s voice turned hard. “Never forget that I was a soldier, Sherlock. I’m not going to let you smother me in a jealous rage without a fight.”
“I don’t want to kill you.”
“No? Then what?”
Why not tell him? He’ll leave anyway, sooner or later.
“Brand you. Mark you. Cage you. Leash you. There! Are you happy? You know how depraved I am. How utter illogical my mind is!” Sherlock turned away. His voice faltered. “Go. Just go, John.”
Silence.
“Sherlock.”
Sherlock turned.
WHAM!
He fell back, holding his face. Pain quickly displaced shock.
“You think I am just going to let you be my commanding officer?” John’s eyes darkened, and he advanced on Sherlock with a twitch of a smile on his lips. “Come on, you want to be the boss of me? You had better show me that you can do more than just pine and bite that pretty lip of yours. Am I yours, Sherlock? Make me yours.”
Sherlock had stared dumbly and staggered backwards as John punctuated each statement with a hard shove.
Until the last word. Yours.
“MINE!”
They clashed. Sherlock was bigger, smarter, but John was stronger, with better instincts.
John got Sherlock in a choke-hold. Then Sherlock threw him to the floor and pounced.
John rolled away just in time and leapt to his feet. “Am I yours?” he taunted.
Sherlock growled. Then he sprang, launching his entire body at John, sending them both sprawling on the bed. Then Sherlock straddled John’s waist and pinned his arms.
“Mine!” cried Sherlock.
Both were panting.
“Make me!” countered John, still struggling to throw Sherlock off.
Then Sherlock’s mouth was on John’s. It was brutal. Hard, wet, sloppy. Too much teeth. More bite and breath than kiss.
Sherlock released one of John’s hands and cupped John’s cock through his jeans. “Mine.” He began to rub, feeling John harden at the touch.
John’s fingers threaded in Sherlock’s hair and yanked. “Not yours yet.” The pleasure-pain blinded Sherlock for a moment, the very moment John needed to escape.
WHAM!
Sherlock slammed John into the wall.
John grunted.
Sherlock pressed his full length against John. He licked a stripe down John’s neck and then bit.
John gave a high-pitched cry.
“Mine?” It was a hoarse whisper.
John grunted again. Sherlock pulled back so that he could snake his hands between John and the wall and undo John’s belt. When John’s cock was free, Sherlock spit in his own hand.
“No time,” he said by way of apology. Sherlock’s saliva and John’s pre-come were barely enough. It was a rough fist-fuck, but soon John was decorating the wall with streaks of come.
Sherlock stared at the smears and listened to John’s loud breathing. He licked along the slope of John’s neck.
And bit again.
“MINE!”
John howled.
When John’s breathing had quieted, he tilted his head back and said softly, “Yours.” Then he turned.
Sherlock studied the dishevelled clothing and hair; the visible marks and the bruises yet to form. He began to tremble.
Monster.
He looked about them, taking in the room, normally pin-neat, now in complete disarray.
MONSTER!
The trembling grew to full-body heaving.
“I should be chemically castrated…”
“No, Sherlock.”
“…lobotomised…”
“No.”
John put a hand on either side of Sherlock’s head as if to still the angry swarming thoughts inside and kissed his lips.
Sherlock closed his eyes, and when he opened them, his vision was blurry.
“You’ve marked me, Sherlock. I’m yours.”
Sherlock looked down and instantly fell to his knees, hugging John’s legs, nuzzling the come-streaked mess of limp cock, belt, jeans and pants that
was bunched at John’s crotch.
“And if that’s not enough,” continued John, stroking Sherlock’s hair. “We’ll figure something else out.”
BANG! BANG!
“Come on, John! Case!”
The door opened.
Extraordinary. John was extraordinary.
Very little surprised Sherlock, but a steel mesh sock with padlock covering John’s cock? He wasn’t expecting that.
John pressed a small piece of metal into his hand.
“One night only.”
A key.
Sherlock had the key to John’s cock.
Extraordinary.
Sherlock leapt from the taxi before it had come to a complete stop in front of 221 Baker Street. He watched John throw some bills at the driver and hurry after him.
The front door had barely closed before John was giggling. “It worked, didn’t it?”
They were still standing in the entranceway, both grinning madly. Sherlock stepped forward and John stepped back until John’s back was against the door.
“I was on fire, John!”
“Yeah, I know you hate repeating, but I am going to say it again anyway: you were magnificent.”
Sherlock cupped John’s jaw with two hands and leaned in for a long, languid kiss, meant to tell John over and over, with every brush of lips and tongue, how indispensable he was to Sherlock, how much Sherlock cherished him, how grateful Sherlock was to have him in his life.
How there was no Sherlock Holmes without John Watson.
Sherlock broke the kiss, but kept his mouth a whisper’s distance from John’s.
“God,” John groaned, letting his head thud against the door. His chest rose and fell as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist.
Sherlock felt the hard protuberance through John’s trousers and was suddenly shy.
“May I unlock it?” he said quietly.
John smiled. “Not may, must. You’ve got the key.”
“Medieval-looking thing, no?” said John.
“Indeed. Striking visual.”
“You got half-hard twice tonight.“
“Four times," said Sherlock. "To the untrained eye, there was nothing different about you, but there is nothing untrained about my eye, John, especially when it comes to you. I saw it in the way you held yourself, how you stood and walked and turned, how the fabric of your trousers lay. But mostly, it was the key. Every time jealous thoughts intruded, I rubbed it and remembered.”
“I’m yours.”
“Yes. The thoughts retreated, and I could concentrate. It was…”
“Amazing.”
“So are you, John. It bears repeating: so are you.”
Sherlock exhaled loudly when the key clicked in the lock. John carefully removed the device and set it on the floor.
Sherlock did not take his eyes from John’s cock. “John…”
“Yeah,” said John, rubbing his fingers around the base. “It could use a little love, my poor jail bird.”
Love.
Sherlock realised that he loved John’s cock, just as he loved the rest of John. And amazingly, John loved him, and John had demonstrated his love in an extraordinary, though highly unorthodox, way.
One demonstration deserved another.
“Let me.”
Sherlock’s fingers took over for John’s, gently massaging the base of John’s cock, where rings had held the device in place. Then he bent his head and licked, recognising the new, metallic note to John’s scent and the flavour of his skin and recalling the familiar texture of his coarse pubic hair.
“Sherlock.” John’s hands were buried in Sherlock’s hair. He sank further into the armchair and lifted his hips in invitation.
Sherlock licked slowly up John’s shaft, noting the swelling and increased heat as his mouth moved from base to head. He committed to memory the tight smoothness of John’s skin and a map of the ridges and vessels just beneath that skin and the hoarse whisper that escaped John’s lips when Sherlock took the head in his mouth and sucked.
“Christ, Sherlock!”
Sherlock’s mouth never left John, though he fondled John’s sacs in his hand and teased John’s frenulum with his fingers. He licked up and down. He sucked greedily, caressing John with his tongue, taking more and more of him.
“Oh, God, Sherlock, love!”
Sherlock hummed. There it was again: John loved Sherlock.
John groaned. His body tensed, and he made to pull out of Sherlock’s mouth.
“Sherlock, I’m…”
Sherlock grunted in protest and gripped John’s thighs tighter; muscles quivered beneath Sherlock’s fingers as John fought to hold himself in check.
Sherlock made an impatient noise. Then he pulled off John’s cock entirely and kissed the shaft, murmuring, “John, let me, let me, please.” He nuzzled the crease of John’s thigh and licked. “Please.”
John put his cock in a cage and gave Sherlock the key. This cock. This gorgeous, gorgeous…
“Christ, the way you look at me sometimes, Sherlock.”
“Let me, John.”
John answered by spreading his knees.
Sherlock sighed and swallowed John’s cock as far as his oral cavity would allow, and later, Sherlock would not be able to recall any substance, not one in all that he had smoked, swallowed, or injected in his lifetime—that could produce anything remotely resembling the bliss he felt at the sound of John chanting “Yours, yours, yours,” as he shot streams of come down Sherlock’s throat.
John stood.
Sherlock cringed silently at the panic that gripped him.
“I just really need to go to the, ah…”
Sherlock nodded and dropped his gaze, studying the cage, which was half hidden beneath the armchair. He listened as John walked down the hall, opened the door, urinated, flushed, and washed his hands. Then John stopped.
He was looking in the mirror. No, he was thinking. Re-thinking. Regretting.
A second panic hit Sherlock. He slipped his hand in his trouser pocket and touched the tiny sliver of metal.
Mine.
The panic had just begun to loosen its grip when Sherlock felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Sherlock.” John sat down again. “Uh, about…”
“I know, John. One night only. But I want to keep the key. It helps. Even without…” He gestured to the steel device.
“Uh, sure, I mean, great. But that’s not what I wanted to say. Um, this.” He pulled the collar of the dressing gown aside to reveal a mottled bruise on the ridge of his shoulder. “I like this. Probably more than I should. Probably more than is right. Maybe, I know it’s just transport, but if you wanted to, uh…” He looked toward the hall as his voice died.
Oh, John.
Sherlock was the stupid one! He’d been so blind. Blind and selfish. That’s what jealousy did, didn’t it? Othello. Desdemona.
“I want to make you mine,” said Sherlock in a gravelly voice, his own cock finally stirring. “Again.”
John’s eyes darkened. He licked his lips and smiled. Then they both got to their feet, and he nodded to the cage.
“And, for my part, if that’s the reaction when it comes off, I might be up for putting it on again.”
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chasethestars
chasethestars
Comments
And I'm happy that my discarded prompt got a very worthy use after all!
Glad you like the fic. A new kink for me, but I had fun with it and the jealousy bit.