![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Title: Set the Battlements on Fire
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dante_s_hell
Verse: BBC Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1057
Warnings: None.
Spoilers: Non-canon compliant for season 3.
Summary: Reichenbach Fall return fic. Sherlock has returned, but John is not sure he wants to accept Sherlock back in all aspects of their previous life. He should have realized he'd never had a chance in hell of winning against a determined Sherlock.
A/N: Very rough, but I hope it works. This is only my second story in the fandom so please be gentle. Title taken from Sting's Fortress Around Your Heart.
For the prompt "[my] trousers seem to love your floor." (from here) fromariadnes_string. I actually used the song's ideas in this fic.
When Sherlock re-enters his life, the effect is tantamount to an IED. John's life explodes into a kaleidoscope of confusion, anger, and pure happiness. The warring feelings leave him scattered in pieces, strewn about the floor of 221B Baker Street where Sherlock can collect them and hold them captive.
But John can't allow that. Not again. Not now. It's too much, and it's too fast, and John isn't sure he's ready to lose himself to Sherlock. To once again become part of a bigger whole.
But of course Sherlock doesn't listen. He keeps parts of John that John is helpless to get back. And he's greedy. Sherlock wants it all. Wants all of John.
John fights to keep a distance, to rebuild his broken heart, his broken, life, but Sherlock batters at his defenses, undoing John with his intoxicating intellect and his tantalizing physical presence. He stands so close to John, displacing the air and replacing the oxygen with his own breath so John has no other choice than to inhale every molecule of him.
Sherlock is again making himself right at home in John's skin, filling every blood vessel and feeding every organ.
And after weeks of laying siege to John's heart, he's made camp in John's bed.
"I don't think this is such a good idea," John says slowly even as his gaze travels over Sherlock's lounging form. Sherlock isn't wearing anything, a sheet placed strategically across his lap.
John can't help the small groan that escapes his mouth.
"Come here," Sherlock commands, patting the empty spot next to him on the bed.
John feels the pull of that demand, his body jerking forward of its own volition. It takes a great amount of willpower to stop in his tracks. He swallows thickly, shoring up his reserves like a good soldier. "I should…." he trails off then says more firmly. "I'm going. Yeah, I should go."
Sherlock raises an eyebrow as he slowly sits up. "And where will you go?" He stares intently at John. "This is your room. Your bed."
Your home, John hears.
"I--" John starts rather helplessly. He's supposed to be arguing with Sherlock, but he can't find the words. Maybe because he doesn't want to. Hasn't wanted to for a long time. "I--this--I don't--"
"Come to bed, John," Sherlock says firmly. "Quit overthinking it."
John crawls onto the bed, unable to deny Sherlock anything. But even as he is giving in he says," it's not that easy."
Sherlock grabs a hold of his shirt, pulling John down onto his chest even as he himself collapses back against the mattress. "It is that easy."
Surprised, John finds himself sprawled across Sherlock, feeling Sherlock's chest rise and fall beneath his own. Sherlock's sinewy arms are locked around him, holding him in a warm embrace. And as he stares longingly at Sherlock's bow lips, so close, he feels Sherlock's thighs bracket his hips.
There's a click. It's completely imaginary, but John feels it all the same. He is whole again. The tension he's been carrying around for so long eases and he gives into temptation and presses his lips to Sherlock's.
And god help him he's missed Sherlock. Missed the push and pull of their relationship. Like a rubber band, they would sometimes stretch things to the limit and when the tension became too much, they'd snap together. Hard and satisfying.
It's something he wants again, John thinks. Maybe it is that easy.
Sherlock cups the back of John's head even as he prods at John's lips with his tongue.
John moans as Sherlock licks into the cavern of John's mouth, mapping out all that he has conquered. John's never felt so owned.
Sherlock grunts as John melts into him. He gathers John impossibly closer and the kiss deepens.
The air warms and sweat beads at the nape of John's neck and along his temple.
He slides his hand along the column of Sherlock's throat, tangling his fingers into Sherlock's curls.
Sherlock mouths along John's jaw, nuzzling under his chin, and sucking a bruise into the soft skin of his throat.
John's grip on Sherlock's hair tightens.
Sherlock growls, teeth scraping along the base of John's throat.
"Sorry," John murmurs as he loosens his hold on Sherlock's hair. He's really not sorry. Sherlock doesn't mind a little pain.
Sherlock growls again, this time a bit impatiently as if to say, don't be an idiot.
John loves that he can get Sherlock to revert to grunts and growls in bed.
Sherlock twists and suddenly John is on his back and he's staring up into Sherlock's face, the lightning blue of his eyes just sparking from under slightly lowered eyelids.
John squirms beneath him, his body on fire from that smoldering gaze. The last of his resistance goes up in smoke.
Sherlock looms over him, clasping John's hands as he rolls his hips into the cradle made by John's thighs.
"Please, Sherlock," John begs in a gasping voice as his fingers skate up Sherlock's chest and brush against a nipple.
Sherlock shudders against him, but only continues to roll his hips slowly, torturously.
John pants. His whole body is suffused with pleasure. Urgency builds inside John and his heart thrums hard in his chest. He wonders if things would have been different if they had done this on the night of Sherlock's return. He thinks if he had let Sherlock fuck the pain and anger out of him, then John would have been much happier for it. "Sherlock," he pleads.
"Yes, John. Whatever you want. It's yours," Sherlock says, voice gravely on the way to being wrecked.
"I have too many clothes on," John says.
"Agreed." Sherlock is already tugging at John's shirt and soon it's flying through the air to land in a heap on the floor.
John leans up to kiss him as he cups Sherlock's arse and gives it a squeeze.
Sherlock grinds against him, harder. He strokes a hand along John's inner thigh, teasing closer to where John really wants him to touch. "Now off with your trousers, John. Mine are awfully lonely all by themselves on the floor."
"We don't want that," John murmurs as Sherlock's nimble fingers pluck at the button of his trousers.
"No," Sherlock agrees, easing the zipper down. "No, we don't."
The End.
On AO3
Author:
dante_s_hellVerse: BBC Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1057
Warnings: None.
Spoilers: Non-canon compliant for season 3.
Summary: Reichenbach Fall return fic. Sherlock has returned, but John is not sure he wants to accept Sherlock back in all aspects of their previous life. He should have realized he'd never had a chance in hell of winning against a determined Sherlock.
A/N: Very rough, but I hope it works. This is only my second story in the fandom so please be gentle. Title taken from Sting's Fortress Around Your Heart.
For the prompt "[my] trousers seem to love your floor." (from here) from
ariadnes_string. I actually used the song's ideas in this fic.When Sherlock re-enters his life, the effect is tantamount to an IED. John's life explodes into a kaleidoscope of confusion, anger, and pure happiness. The warring feelings leave him scattered in pieces, strewn about the floor of 221B Baker Street where Sherlock can collect them and hold them captive.
But John can't allow that. Not again. Not now. It's too much, and it's too fast, and John isn't sure he's ready to lose himself to Sherlock. To once again become part of a bigger whole.
But of course Sherlock doesn't listen. He keeps parts of John that John is helpless to get back. And he's greedy. Sherlock wants it all. Wants all of John.
John fights to keep a distance, to rebuild his broken heart, his broken, life, but Sherlock batters at his defenses, undoing John with his intoxicating intellect and his tantalizing physical presence. He stands so close to John, displacing the air and replacing the oxygen with his own breath so John has no other choice than to inhale every molecule of him.
Sherlock is again making himself right at home in John's skin, filling every blood vessel and feeding every organ.
And after weeks of laying siege to John's heart, he's made camp in John's bed.
"I don't think this is such a good idea," John says slowly even as his gaze travels over Sherlock's lounging form. Sherlock isn't wearing anything, a sheet placed strategically across his lap.
John can't help the small groan that escapes his mouth.
"Come here," Sherlock commands, patting the empty spot next to him on the bed.
John feels the pull of that demand, his body jerking forward of its own volition. It takes a great amount of willpower to stop in his tracks. He swallows thickly, shoring up his reserves like a good soldier. "I should…." he trails off then says more firmly. "I'm going. Yeah, I should go."
Sherlock raises an eyebrow as he slowly sits up. "And where will you go?" He stares intently at John. "This is your room. Your bed."
Your home, John hears.
"I--" John starts rather helplessly. He's supposed to be arguing with Sherlock, but he can't find the words. Maybe because he doesn't want to. Hasn't wanted to for a long time. "I--this--I don't--"
"Come to bed, John," Sherlock says firmly. "Quit overthinking it."
John crawls onto the bed, unable to deny Sherlock anything. But even as he is giving in he says," it's not that easy."
Sherlock grabs a hold of his shirt, pulling John down onto his chest even as he himself collapses back against the mattress. "It is that easy."
Surprised, John finds himself sprawled across Sherlock, feeling Sherlock's chest rise and fall beneath his own. Sherlock's sinewy arms are locked around him, holding him in a warm embrace. And as he stares longingly at Sherlock's bow lips, so close, he feels Sherlock's thighs bracket his hips.
There's a click. It's completely imaginary, but John feels it all the same. He is whole again. The tension he's been carrying around for so long eases and he gives into temptation and presses his lips to Sherlock's.
And god help him he's missed Sherlock. Missed the push and pull of their relationship. Like a rubber band, they would sometimes stretch things to the limit and when the tension became too much, they'd snap together. Hard and satisfying.
It's something he wants again, John thinks. Maybe it is that easy.
Sherlock cups the back of John's head even as he prods at John's lips with his tongue.
John moans as Sherlock licks into the cavern of John's mouth, mapping out all that he has conquered. John's never felt so owned.
Sherlock grunts as John melts into him. He gathers John impossibly closer and the kiss deepens.
The air warms and sweat beads at the nape of John's neck and along his temple.
He slides his hand along the column of Sherlock's throat, tangling his fingers into Sherlock's curls.
Sherlock mouths along John's jaw, nuzzling under his chin, and sucking a bruise into the soft skin of his throat.
John's grip on Sherlock's hair tightens.
Sherlock growls, teeth scraping along the base of John's throat.
"Sorry," John murmurs as he loosens his hold on Sherlock's hair. He's really not sorry. Sherlock doesn't mind a little pain.
Sherlock growls again, this time a bit impatiently as if to say, don't be an idiot.
John loves that he can get Sherlock to revert to grunts and growls in bed.
Sherlock twists and suddenly John is on his back and he's staring up into Sherlock's face, the lightning blue of his eyes just sparking from under slightly lowered eyelids.
John squirms beneath him, his body on fire from that smoldering gaze. The last of his resistance goes up in smoke.
Sherlock looms over him, clasping John's hands as he rolls his hips into the cradle made by John's thighs.
"Please, Sherlock," John begs in a gasping voice as his fingers skate up Sherlock's chest and brush against a nipple.
Sherlock shudders against him, but only continues to roll his hips slowly, torturously.
John pants. His whole body is suffused with pleasure. Urgency builds inside John and his heart thrums hard in his chest. He wonders if things would have been different if they had done this on the night of Sherlock's return. He thinks if he had let Sherlock fuck the pain and anger out of him, then John would have been much happier for it. "Sherlock," he pleads.
"Yes, John. Whatever you want. It's yours," Sherlock says, voice gravely on the way to being wrecked.
"I have too many clothes on," John says.
"Agreed." Sherlock is already tugging at John's shirt and soon it's flying through the air to land in a heap on the floor.
John leans up to kiss him as he cups Sherlock's arse and gives it a squeeze.
Sherlock grinds against him, harder. He strokes a hand along John's inner thigh, teasing closer to where John really wants him to touch. "Now off with your trousers, John. Mine are awfully lonely all by themselves on the floor."
"We don't want that," John murmurs as Sherlock's nimble fingers pluck at the button of his trousers.
"No," Sherlock agrees, easing the zipper down. "No, we don't."
The End.
On AO3
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2014-03-05 01:11 am (UTC)I haven't heard of that anime series, but I'll certainly be on the lookout for it. Thanks.
Again, thank you!!!!!