I huff softly, panting breathlessly against the shell of John’s ear as my fingers dig into the soft flesh of his wrists. He moans, writhing against my grip even though I know he isn’t struggling. He wants this - wants to feel more than the harsh scrape of my nails against his skin. He wants me to own him, to drag him to bed and devour him, mind, body, and soul as he falls apart beneath me.
I should have known. I should have put the pieces together long before now, but doubt had overshadowed my better judgment. I should have been able to deduce the desperation behind John’s eyes as he had paraded Sarah Sawyer around in front of me, batting those deep navy blues at her and catering to her like she was some sort of goddess. I should have… but I didn’t. Not until I’d seen him on the sofa with her the night before.
The way he’d moaned her name was what had caught my attention. There was something different in it, something teasing. He’d been loud - a lot louder than he’d ever been before; he usually tried to hide his conquests from me, especially when they were taking place under our shared roof. But, the way he’d gasped and growled out seemed to press my curiosity far more than it should have and it didn’t take me long to understand why. His fingers had been twisted in her hair when I first saw him, pinning her to the sofa with his free hand while her head draped back against the arm. He’d kept a firm grip on her hair but only so that he could keep her neck exposed as he'd lapped lazily at her pulse, an exhibition if I’d ever seen one.
At first, I didn't understand it, not really. Why would he want me to see this? Was it a joke? A prank of some sort? It seemed rather beneath him honestly to throw his sexual exploits back in my face, knowing full well that I had no interest in what he did with the women he pursued, except… except that , as I discovered quite quickly that night, had been the biggest lie I'd ever allowed myself to believe. I cared very much about his relationships with the women he brought home, both in the physical sense physical as well as the romantic. I’d made a mistake when we’d first met, panicking before it was necessary as John had dropped subtle hints that he might have taken an interest in me.
It was stupid of me, looking back on it. ‘I’m married to my work,’ I’d said, like some sort of sexually incompetent imbecile, before even allowing John the tiniest glimpse into my emotionally stifled world. Yet, still, he’d stayed. He’d come to live with me without question and we’d formed a life together - one that I honestly would never have imagined possible just a few months ago. It was exciting and dull, unconventional yet domestic; I was fairly convinced there wasn’t another relationship like ours in the entirety of the world.
Until he met Sarah.
Everything lately always came back to Sarah, which was how we’d ended up here in the first place. He’d wanted to be seen last night; he’d wanted me to hear him as he pleasured her - as he took his own pleasure from her. As he’d laid her down and stripped her bare, divesting himself of his own clothes in the process, he’d teased her and coaxed her body into complete submission. It was fascinating in some aspects, the fluid way that his body seemed to know exactly which move to make in order to draw the most pleasure from his partner. The way his muscles flexed, his thighs quivering slightly as he’d set up a steady rhythm of thrusts - I was absolutely captivated.
Every move he made was the most exceptional thing I'd ever seen… That is until he looked at me.
A shiver runs down my spine as I replay the memory back in my head and I nip at his pulse in a silent attempt at a bit of personal revenge. He would pay for the intense wave of emotional torment that he had forced me to endure but that would come soon enough. Right now, I would enjoy this moment. I'd enjoy his shaky breaths against the curve of my neck, the broken little whine that seemed to get lodged in his throat with every pass of my teeth over his pulse. He'd started this and I intended to finish it.
I shift slightly, slotting my thigh between his legs and pressing it up against his naked groin. His cock leaks over the expensive fabric of my trousers and I smirk softly. "You're going to clean that up for me, I hope you know…"
He nods, but that’s not good enough. Not in my mind, not this time.
“Pardon?” The prompt is clear; I expect - no, I command respect… He knows the words I want to hear; I know he does.
"Y-yes, sir… anything you say, sir," John whimpers, the whole Captain Watson persona that he flaunts so freely crumbling with each desperate second that passes.
I enjoy seeing him like this, so broken and helpless beneath my fingers, and I can't wait to taste him. I can't wait to tease him and mark him, just as I'd watched him do to Sarah… John Watson is mine… and he is going to remember it from now on.
My teeth scrape over his pulse again and he keens, arching his back - my name a constant prayer on his lips. “That’s it…” I croon, before stroking his hip. “Just like that.” The muscle of his thigh jumps slightly as my fingers trail down to brush against his balls. He gasps and my grin widens; every tendon in his body feels tight, pulled back like the string of a bow just as an archer nocks an arrow. I wonder vaguely just how long it will be before that metaphorical arrow is loosed or the bow breaks… either way, I’m sure it’s going to be well worth the wait.
“Sh-Sherlock,” he whines, the tip of his cock twitching as my focus is drawn back to his body. It’s flushed and dripping with precome, practically begging for my attention but I won’t touch him. He can work himself off on my thigh without any help from me as a form of punishment for all that he’s put me through, for all that I’ve had to witness as he flaunted his relationship with Sarah. That should settle the score and provide a clean enough slate for me to start with. If I’m going to have him, I don’t want there to be any misconceptions about how a relationship with me is going to work.
If he thinks he can pull another little stunt like he did last night - fucking Sarah and making eye contact with me as he comes - and get away with it, he is very sadly mistaken. It may have worked to push me this far, but now that I know he’s done it on purpose, well… that changes everything. I have wanted John Watson for longer than I care to admit, but I won’t play the fool. If he wants something from me, more than what we’ve previously shared, I want to know that it’s more than a conquest.
I press my thigh a bit higher into his groin and his breath hitches as a strangled moan dies in his throat. I can feel his body struggling, but it won’t be long before he relents. “If you want relief, I’m afraid you'll have to take it yourself,” I tease. Grazing my fingertips over his hip once again, I dig my nails in once more, relishing the subtle growl that reverberates in his chest. “Rut against my thigh… I want to watch you come. I want to watch you fall apart, knowing it’s the most open and vulnerable you’ll ever be around another person, and I want you to remember what it’s like with that person being me.”
A shudder runs through his body. He bites his lip, his tired eyes falling closed as his head drops back against the wall, but he doesn’t argue. I relish the huff of acceptance on his lips as his hips begin to move and I can tell it won’t take him long. His thighs shake and quiver with each motion and his leaking cock doesn’t stand a chance.
Before I can fully appreciate the situation, John’s hips are moving at a rapid pace and he’s moaning and writhing against me. My fingers flex around his wrists where I still have him pinned to the wall, but I don’t relinquish my grip on him just yet. He’s helpless like this, the deep furrow of his brow painting a brilliant picture of the tension that’s been building between us all this time, and it’s almost more than I can take. I want to press my body against his; I want to claim him and taste every last inch of his skin, but I know that I have to wait.
His pace falters drastically after a moment and he thrusts once, twice, and again before he comes, painting thick stripes of semen over the dark fabric of my trousers. A broken sound caught halfway between a whine and a growl shakes me to my core as I watch him, my eyes blown wide with arousal, my lips parted in awe as I commit every explicit detail of his face to memory. The throaty groan the comes just as the last spurts of his release drip from his cock to the floor, the way the sweat glistens off of his brow in the dim lamplight, the heavy pounding of his heart hammering so loudly in his chest I’m not sure if I can actually hear it or if it’s just the racing of his pulse against the tight grip of my fingers. Either way, it doesn’t matter. I want to remember it all, every last moment immortalized in my mind for my own self-indulgence.
What feels like an eternity passes and I finally release my grip of his wrists, rubbing over the skin to encourage the flow of blood to John’s veins. He comes down with a - whimper, panting heavily as he slumps against the wall. I wrap my arms around him and dip my face to nuzzle into his greying blonde hair, the strands of which are soaked with sweat, but I don’t mind. His punishment is over and we can start anew.
“It’s all right,” I whisper, brushing gentle kisses over his scalp. “It’s over now… You did well.” He roots into my throat and I can’t help but smile. How strange it is to see the great Captain Watson with his guard down - so vulnerable, so fragile. One usually reserves this particular version of themself for the one they trust the most and, if that doesn’t sum up the bond between the two of us, I’m not sure what else does.
A soft, muffled sob of relief escapes his lips and I tug him closer - away from the wall, curling my body around him protectively before nudging him back down the hall. “Come on, we’ll get you into bed. We can talk about this in the morning,” I say, hoping that the deep timbre of my voice is enough to soothe the weariness from his body. It’s been tough on the both of us over the last few months it seems, but getting him to bed is my first priority.
Tomorrow, we can hash out all of the useless details. Tomorrow, there will be time for soppy love confessions and all of the close calls, all of the moments we wish that we could get back, but tonight is for resting. Tonight is for healing, repairing the miscommunication and all of the ridiculous misconceptions between us. Regardless of what we may have thought through all of it, we have been these last few months as we always will be for the rest of our years to come: together. Physically, emotionally, and mentally, together.