Toy (Sherlock Phoenix x John Hamish Watson)

It was intoxicating.
They were completely attached, they were one, tasting each other and exploring everything that was at hand.
Sherlock loved every second of it.

At some point he was cupping the other man's cheeks, keeping him near, he was letting his thumbs caress the skin, feel the stubble, it felt perfect somehow even though rationally he knew it was far from it.

He was then pushing his hips down on John's, rolling them slightly to create a bit of a friction, just wanting to feel him, wanting to know if he was as hard as him.

John was lost in the moment, his head and his body completely taken over by Sherlock, logic and reason gone out the window. He never wanted it to stop.

The pressure of Sherlock's hips rolling and pushing into his finally flipped John's mind out completely and he had to struggle away from the other man's grasp, breaking breathlessly away from the kiss to toss his head backwards with a large groan.

His hips responded by pushing back into Sherlock's, his erection now painfully tight "Fuck....Sherlock I..." John was initially at a loss for words before finally stammering. "I've uhh...I've...never kissed another man before."

When John pulled away, Sherlock groaned disappointed, he felt it hurt physically to let their lips part. His thoughts were increasingly making sense though, as the movement put some distance in between their mouths, his initial purpose coming to mind and shaking him out of his silly infatuation with the other's taste.

"Mm... the new experience clearly doesn't scare you," he muttered with a smirk, noticing just how aroused John was, his own erection twitching in his tight trousers. His body wanted John, just as much as the other's seemed to do.

He slowly moved off John's lap, his legs shaking just slightly as he stood up and stretched lazily.
"Well, then, I think we are done for today, you can go back to your room," he said with a dismissive wave.
He wanted John to remember this, he wanted John to obsess over their arousing first kiss, and what was better than cutting things short?

John kept his hands on Sherlock, not willing to let go. "It scares me a little," he admitted quietly. "But I still want it." He could hardly believe it was him saying those words, actually admitting that he wanted another man, and actually wanting it too, more than anything else in the world at that moment.

Suddenly Sherlock pulled away completely, stood up, and a strangulated moan escaped John's lips. His brow furrowed in confusion. "But...what..." He couldn't believe what was happening. Sherlock dismissing him just like that, when they were both hard and clearly wanting more.

John stood up slowly, becoming rather embarrassed about the tenting in his pants, still unable to take his eyes away from Sherlock. "Are you serious?"

Sherlock reveled in the way John was looking at him, the other's eyes felt like fire on his body and he loved it. No one had ever looked at him that way, not with that passion, and it felt like strings were pulling him closer to the other man.

"I am very serious, John," he muttered, stepping closer, their faces almost brushing as he spoke. "What's the point in getting everything right away? That would make it end too quickly, wouldn't it?" he added with a soft smirk, his eyes were filled with feelings though, and mixing in there there was also some sort of insecurity.

"I don't want to get tired of you too early, my dear John, you are quite precious as of now," he added with a small shrug.

John stood there feeling incredibly frustrated and unsatisfied, but knowing there was nothing he could do. If Sherlock wanted to end it there, he couldn't protest.

Instead he gave a small smile and a nod. "Right then. Good," he mumbled. "I suppose it is rather late, I should uhhh...get some sleep." Even as he said the words, John knew he'd never be able to sleep in the state he was in, far too aroused.

He headed towards the door, finding it difficult to walk due to the tightness in his pants, really hoping they could continue this tomorrow and thinking how Sherlock was probably quite right. To have him again tomorrow after this teasing taster would feel utterly amazing. John hesitated by the doorway and asked casually, "So, we'll be um...seeing each other tomorrow?"

As surprising as always, John seemed to be suddenly compliant, Sherlock looked at him with a curled surprised eyebrow, wondering how he could have so much control over this man.
"Yes, you probably need it, it was a long day... lots of adrenaline," he muttered, smirking as he looked at him walk. Oh how much he wanted to just squeeze that tight bulge.
Damn it.

"You are such an obedient dog, John, it's impressive," he mumbled, walking towards the window and picking up his violin, weighting in in his hands for a moment. He was going to need a distraction.

"Of course, same time as always, I'll make sure we'll have something else to investigate by the morning," he commented with a wave of his bow, the excitement of the possibilities opening up in front of him was still tingling under his skin, making him restless.

"Right." John coughed and cleared his throat, still hesitating by the door. He'd hoped Sherlock would change his mind, but clearly the man was set upon this course of action, and he was pretty sure he was doing it just to tease him, to make John want him more. By God, it was working. A few hours ago he never would have dreamt of wanting another man. Now he could think of nothing else.

"I'm not a dog," he protested, a little more pathetically than he would have hoped. He didn't exactly sound like he was ready for an argument. Instead he simply glanced Sherlock up and down hungrily and gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "Whatever. I'll see you tomorrow."

John hobbled out of Sherlock's office and pulled the door to behind him, wandering off down the corridor of the compound, turning one corner then another, till he found his own tiny little room on a corridor next to lots of other tiny little rooms - where the lower down members of the gang got to sleep.

He lay down on his bed, still completley hard, and wondered how he'd ever manage to get to sleep. Finally, he undid his pants and slipped out his erection, allowing his fingers to fall loosely around the length of it, slowly rubbing it up and down, his mind flitting back and forth with images of Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't let John off the hook, he would work with him, he would mistreat him and he would always tease him until he could send him back to his room at night half hard and frustrated.
It was his game, but it was a delicious torture for him as well.
He always got close enough to kiss, but he never did, and the taste of that first day was just a throbbing memory for his nights alone.

That morning there was a new case, there was a chase in order and he couldn't keep his enthusiasm at bay.
He slid into John's room, he found him sleeping half naked in his small bed and he looked at him smirking.
The adrenaline abating and becoming naked desire as his eyes slid over him.
It was peculiar.
He would have expected lust to fade at some point, but it was only increasing.

He walked closer, slowly, and he sat by John on the bed, his hand reaching out for his pale fingers to slid down his cheek and throat, just feeling his skin, imagining what it would taste like.
Would John start?
Would he push him away?
Everything could be expected considering the man was a trained soldier.
Sherlock didn't care.

John thought that after that first night things would be different between him and Sherlock. It had taken him totally by surprise that the criminal seemed to have backed off further - teasing, flirting, touching relentlessly, but the kissing they had shared on that evening soon became a distant memory, so much so he began to wonder whether he'd just imagined the whole thing.

John worked closely with Sherlock every day. Sometimes they did criminal things, illegal things, sometimes they actually helped people, although he was sure Sherlock wouldn't want to see it that way.

And every day they ended the evening together in Sherlock's office, every day John hoping that maybe Sherlock would kiss him again, maybe he'd stop the teasing and take him all the way.

And every night he was sent to bed feeling turned on and frustrated. Every night he lay alone in his tiny room, touching himself and imagining Sherlock's hands all over him. What had started off as a fascination, an interest and perhaps a small crush on the criminal, had developed, into a fully fledged obsession. Sherlock dominated every single one of John's thoughts, his dreams. He was desperate for him, so much so he'd started "forgetting" to report back to his boss at Scotland Yard. He'd grown protective over Sherlock. To see him go to prison now was...not an option.

John always slept with his gun under the pillow. He had to. His current profession, his previous life in the army, had all taught him to be permanently on edge, suspicious, alert. That little revolver had saved his life on many an occasion.

He was fast asleep, dreaming of Sherlock yet again, when he felt a nudge on his side. John's hand instantly slid under the pillow and he jolted awake with a start, spinning round and pointing the gun at whoever had woke him, ready to kill if neccessary, his heart racing.

"Sherlock..." John gasped, lowering the gun when he realised who it was. "I...I could have shot you." He put the gun back under the pillow and rubbed his eyes, waking up properly. "What's going on?" This was unusual. Sherlock never came into his room. At least, not as far as he knew.

Sherlock didn't move as the man turned suddenly and pointed his gun at him, his eyes widening for a small fraction of a second and then he was back to his smirking usual self.

His hand sliding down the other's neck and now over his chest, so flat and enticing. He could't help but wonder what it would feel like to really own this body, to have John over and over again, or maybe simply let his head rest against this man, this warm passion that would surely welcome him at least for now.

"You probably should have," he replied, sometimes he forgot that John was here to destroy his family from the inside out, he forgot that he couldn't trust him with his life even though it felt almost natural. John had been able to make Sherlock feel certain things, want certain things, it was curious but also a bit annoying.

"I am the enemy John, you would make the world a better place if you got rid of me," he said, leaning closer, taking in the other's scent.

John's muscles stiffened up slightly when Sherlock touched him. The criminal always had such a powerful effect on his body, something he found incredibly distracting, especially when he was asked to answer a question or to think about something.

By now he knew that Sherlock only did it because he enjoyed to tease him, because he knew he could get a reaction from John every time, but John couldn't help himself, and there was literally nothing he could do about it. A couple of times he'd even gone so far as to ask Sherlock whether there'd be a repeat of the kissing he had enjoyed so much, only to be met with an icy stare or some glib remark.

"You're not the enemy," John replied quietly, looking down at the floor. Sometimes he was sure the criminal had already figured out the real reason he'd started working for him. He knew Sherlock was smart enough, but then, if he knew John was an imposter, why hadn't he had him killed, or at least questioned him about it?

"And I don't think the world would be better without you," he added, looking up into the criminal's sparkling eyes now and allowing himself a little flirting. "Not at all. Much worse, in fact."

Sherlock wasn't sure how John had managed to hide himself for so long working for his brother, his feelings were so plain and clear on his face, Sherlock could read him like an open book and it was overwhelming at times to see just how much John seemed to care about everything. It seemed impossible to think such a man could hide such a big secret, but Sherlock knew he did and it put everything on a different perceptive, it put doubt in Sherlock's mind, doubt that this could be just a very good act aimed precisely to do what it was doing, making him soft, making him care.

Driven by his thoughts, by the need to see whether he could detect any sign of deceit on the other's face, Sherlock leaned over him, closer, as close as possible as his fingers stopped on his neck, feeling his pulse.
"Heart rate increased, how do you account for that, John?" he whispered, his eyes moving on John's face, searching, there had to be, he couldn't possibly say something so cheesy and actually mean it.

"How would it be worse? You know very well the world would be a safer place without my brother's organization..."

John tried not to jump back at Sherlock's fingers on his pulse, but every time the man touched him it was like a jolt of electricity all through his body. He had an incredible effect on him, and he almost felt as though it was getting worse, more noticable, with every day that passed.

He couldn't believe Sherlock was asking him to explain his elevated heart rate. Surely that would be obvious. "Because I fancy the pants off you, Sherlock," he stated, honestly. "It's like that whenever we're in the same room, never mind when you're touching me. Surprised I haven't had a bloody heart attack actually."

John sat up on his elbows, allowing the bed clothes to drop down and expose his bare chest. "Of course, the world would be a safer place," he had to agree with a careful nod. "But that's your brother, not you. I don't care about him, I care about you. I wouldn't want you to go to prison. I won't let it happen. Ever." John spoke passionately, meaning every word. He truly believed he loved Sherlock now, like he had never loved anyone, and he would do anything to protect him.

Sherlock didn't take him seriously at first, it was just ridiculous that anyone would fancy him, especially someone who was supposed to belong to the good guys, especially someone he's been playing with for quite a long time now.
"No one gets a heart attack for a passing fancy," he exclaimed, mocking, his features freezing when he met John's gaze. It was filled with a passion that he could not understand, a feeling he had never seen in anyone else, and surely not as strong.
John was... amazing.
Sherlock felt the need to be undone by the other's passion, he felt he wanted John to take him, to knead that amount of feelings into his cold body with his warm hands, but his defences were too high, and he had never let them down before.

They shook though, damn they shook when John professed words filled with care and stubborn courage. Sherlock had never heard anything of the sort, not directed at him, not unless they were filled with hatred. "No one will get me to prison, John, I don't need you to protect me," he mumbled, his eyes burning on the other's skin as the sheets slid down his chest. He wanted that skin, he wanted to lick every centimetre of it, and for a moment his throat was too dry to talk.
"You are incredible, John Watson, you don't seem to be the kind of person who could lie in such a way, but what else can it be, I cannot possibly have managed to make you my personal toy without even trying that hard..." He couldn't possibly believe John would give up his mission for him, for what exactly? He had hardly been nice to him!



((Omg, what is Sherlock's ex, aka Moriarty, is a corrupted policeman? Like, someone powerful, maybe even a corrupted politician!))

John gave a wry smile at Sherlock's teasing, he was quite used to it by now.

He knew that the criminal didn't exactly treat him very well, but he was, by now, far too obsessed with him to care, despite how pathetic it sometimes made him feel.

"I'm not lying," John protested with a shrug of his shoulders. "It's the truth, that's how I feel." His expression darkened as he heard the next part of the sentence.

"I am not your toy," he grumbled, muttering under his breath. "I'm nobody's toy." The expression annoyed him, mainly because he would have to admit it was true if he really thought about it. Sherlock played with him when he wanted to, then dropped him when he got bored, and John tolerated it every time.


((Sounds like a good idea!))

Sherlock's eyes twinkled softly as he looked at John, the words making something shift in his chest. He wanted to prove it, to prove it to him that he was his. His toy.
"Really, John?" he whispered, his hand moving closer, reaching out and threading in his hair, pulling his head closer.

"I know exactly what you would sacrifice if you really did what you said, if you really protected me," he whispered, and their lips were a few inches away from each other.
"If you truly feel that way, we both know I have you in the palm of my hand," he whispered, taking in his scent.

He wanted to pull away, it was meant to be just teasing, like usual, but for the time being his muscles were completely frozen, the other's warmth was calling him closer and it was impossible to even think of moving away from him.

John wanted to move away from Sherlock's touch, to brush him off, prove that he wasn't the criminal's toy, that he wasn't there just for his amusement, but his hands stayed by his sides, unmoving.

His eyes stung slightly as Sherlock grabbed a tuft of his hair to pull him closer, but he tried not to show it hurt and kept a straight face.

"You don't...have me in the...palm of your hand," John denied, his words stilted by the distraction of staring at Sherlock's lips, now close enough to kiss.

He thought about making the move himself, of pushing his lips onto Sherlock's, forcing the kiss he so badly desired, but he'd heard terrible stories of what happened when people disobeyed the criminal, and he didn't want to push his luck.

John could smell the warm scent from Sherlock's body, practically taste his breath, feel the heat radiating through him, and he wanted the other man so much it was like a constant ache racking his chest. He cautiously reached up a hand and touched Sherlock's elbow, wanting any kind of physical contact with him.