I am not dead, are you? (SherlockXMoriarty PostRBF)

The conversation was making Sherlock see reason, or maybe it was the feeling of betrayal that spread in his chest when he realized Jim was not going to promise him anything.
The fact Moriarty wouldn't give up any name was making him inexplicably mad.

"No," he said, and this time he was himself, no drugs, no lust. "Not irresistable enough, clearly," he said as he pulled away from under him, away from those tempting hands.

"I am /not/ going to have sex with you," he said dryly, as he crawled to the back of the bed, clumsy as he pulled up his pants, he didn't care how much his body wanted this, how hard he still was and how he wanted to /enjoy/ this.

"Raahh you're impossible" James snapped out of his mood, within seconds his other self came back. His eyes filled with pure evil and a sort of insane shadow came hanging over him.
He followed Sherlock, pinning him between his own body and the end of the bed.
A twitch in his lower lip gave away the anger that was building up inside of him.
He felt rejected and the timing Sherlock decided to do so was the worst.

"You.." He hissed at Sherlock, while pressing him further into the wall. "You really thing I'd let you toss me away like that?"

Sherlock was surprised, he had to admit, he didn't think Moriarty would react like this, he didn't think he could be scared of the dark that sparkled in his eyes as he pinned him to the end of the bed.
It hurt.

But it hurt more to know that he had been completely mislead. He had thought there was something human in this man, he thought they had something in common, that he could relate, now he realized it had been just an act.
Like usual.

"No, I imagine you won't," he said, blue eyes were clear and emotionless as they moved on the other's face. When it became too much, Sherlock would just retreat in the depth of his mind, on the surface there was only his coldness.

"It's probably even better for you if I am not willing, isn't it? It's more exciting, right? To be the one in control," his voice was flat, detached, almost a violent difference to the soft moans of a few minutes before.

James had this thing, he could be a complete different person within seconds. If he felt control slipping out of his hands, if something didn't went to way he planned... no matter his attempts to keep this side hidden while being with Sherlock.

He felt the need to hurt, the need to get control back by overpowering people. He let his hand glide to Sherlock's throat and squeezed it. A devilish grin parted his lips. "It's only what you prefer." He said, his voice sounding almost insane deep. He released his grip from the detectives neck. He was shacking, hos whole body was shivering. "NO ONE... rejects me like this without being punished." He hissed again. "Not even you, Sherlock." The Irishman narrowed his eyes, his face only inches away from Sherlock's.

Sherlock frowned when he felt the other's hands on his neck, the touch was painful, he felt the air running thin in his lungs and his hands balled into fists.
He did not react though, he did not move.

Eventually Jim let go and he pursed his lips as he kept looking at him. The skin of his neck burned and hurt, but he did not complain.

Moriarty was scary, but Sherlock didn't feel anything any more.
He felt numb.
"What are you going to do? Kill me?" he asked dryly. "Or better, rape me and kill me, it sounds lovely, Jim. Maybe just a bit predictable, isn't it?"

He backed away from Sherlock. He needed to get a grip on the situation without ending up killing Sherlock eventually. "No, bonehead , I'm not going to rape and kill you." He snapped while getting off the bed.

He could feel his still hard erecting press against the fabric of his clothes, but he tried to ignore it. "I"m not going to do anything at all, nothing, nada." He somewhat shouted, looking straight in to the detective's deep blue eyes.

"You're always playing so hard to get, Sherlock. But I'm seeing right through it." It came out sounding in between a threat and a simple conclusion. He abruptly turned away from Sherlock and stood staring out if the window, overlooking the whole south city skyline.

Sherlock blinked in surprise when Jim pulled away suddenly. He really thought he was going to get seriously hurt for this.

He run his fingers on the skin of his neck, as if checking it was all still there.

Moriarty was really not going to do anything?

He looked at himself, disheveled, almost naked, his skin red from touching, scratching, biting and sucking. What a mess. The proof of the maddening attraction he felt for his enemy.

"You are seeing right through what, exactly?" he asked with an arched eyebrow. This was precious coming from the one who had manipulated him into bed.

"Why would I do anything, Sherlock? Raping you right now would only please you. I would only give you what your body is longing for. It would give you what your body silently is screaming for, though your own messed up mind decided to reject all those needs." He said cold toned.

James still felt rejected, a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time. He has always been misunderstood, people always assumed he didn't need love. They saw him cold hearted, which he was to people he didn't care about, but when it came down to people he considered close, it brought him down.

"I"m seeing through your twisted chimeras, Sherlock. Your body betrays you." He added silently, lurking out of the window.

(okay, I AM SORRY ONCE MORE!!! I'm back now.. I hadn't had much time to be on my laptop.. so sososososossoooo sorry!)

"Please me?" he repeated with a scoff, then he shook his head briefly. "As much as it would be extremely interesting in matters of emotional research and understanding of motives, I do not enjoy pain, Jim. I do not enjoy emotional pain in particular," he said quickly, he was clearly more focused now, a bit like his old self, which was short of a miracle considering the mess he had been in these last months.

Jim Moriarty had no idea he was actually doing him good.

"You also seem to believe I would have let you rape me without struggling. I am a bit of a fighter myself, there are no snipers keeping me back today," he pointed out.

"I have never really felt the need for sexual intercourse before, I am quite sure I can go on without it," he added dryly, looking at his crotch, it didn't seem to agree, but he was going to mention that.

He started doing his shirt back up, trying to ignore the feeling he had done something bad. Why should he be sorry for hurting Moriarty's feelings? It was plain preposterous.
"Not to mention. I was willing. You are the one who didn't give me what I wanted. You choose to end this."


((No worries~~~ welcome back *hugs*))

"If you're not enjoying emotional pain then why are you causing so much?" James snapped at him. Sherlock had no idea how much he made his own heart ache. Though, he would not just give up like that. There was a way to this man's heart, and he was determined on finding it.

James just kinda stood leaning against the wall, letting Sherlock's words pass him by. He was in hiw own fuck up mind looking for a way to get a grip on the situation. Nevertheless he failed. Now feelings of disappointment and rejection were washing him over completely.

Though, at the last words Sherlock spoke, something inside his mind popped, drawing him back to earth. "Me?" He repeated sassy. "I did gave you 'whatever you want' as an answer. What more did you needed to hear?" His body swung to face the detective again. His eyes had ran red and his lip still twitched every now and then.

"There is no James Moriarty anymore? There no longer is a spider at the center of the oh so well spun web? Is that what you expected to hear? gah. Silly detective" James laughed away what he took as an insult from Sherlock's side.

"You always feel the need to complicate things. You never settle for simple." In his devotion James took a few steps closer to the bed his previous accession was sitting on.

"Well here's something, Sherlock Holmes; Not everything is as it seems. Not everything needs a complicated twist." His voice lowered as well as his gaze. He fixes his eyes on Sherlock's arousal for a few seconds before staring back into his ocean blue eyes.

Sherlock lost his voice for a long moment.
John had always warned him about situations like these, when he hurt someone without realizing it. He used to call him an arse, he used to tell him to apologize. Sherlock has always complied because he knew it was true.
He always spoke before really thinking about it.

This time John was not there, but he realized what he had done, so he looked away and he mumbled an apology.
"Sorry," he said, again without thinking. "I did not mean to."

He had been vaguely aware Moriarty was somehow invested in him, he had felt slightly guilty about the possibility of hurting his feelings, but hearing him accuse him of that was what brought Sherlock out of his comfort zone.

It didn't help that Jim looked hurt.
Was that what rejection looked like?

Jim Moriarty was tangibly human in front of him and Sherlock hardly knew what to do.
He wished Jim could stay like this though, so intimately simple.

"I know there is no spider, but the web is still there, working without a head... I need to dismantle that. And you might not understand that, but it is the only thing I have left to do... I will die if I don't finish this job," he said seriously, trying to convey just how fragile his equilibrium was at the moment.

"You do not seem to realize what you made me into... my mental sanity at the moment... is hanging by a thread..." he explained, his fingers drawing a line in the air, his eyes intent as they returned Moriarty's darker gaze.
"You might think it's just me trying to complicate things, but I assure you I cannot take anything more complicated than this... you have mistaken me for a much stronger person when you planned this."

For a brief seconds he thought he misunderstood Sherlock's words. Did the detective really just swallowed his pride and apologized? His throat was dry and a rusty sound came out, followed by a smile. Words wouldn't really matter now anyway.

The fact he was letting his words pour our like that in front of Sherlock made him feel naked. He was undoing all his secrets and feelings, without getting anything in return. Though for the simple reason of getting closer to the man he'd been longing for.

"You'll die anyway." He coldly added. " /I/ will die do. You can destroy everything, everyone who's part of this. I wouldn't weep for a single second." His voice had never sounded so fragile before. "But in the end it'll be me who needs to be destroyed." While he spoke the words he walked back to the bed, sitting on the edge. It wasn't until now he noticed the sun had already gone down.

Gracefully he removed his own shirt, dropping it onto the floor. "So why not just go on with it straight away?" Before turning around he nodded at Sherlock. Sadness had filled his dark eyes.

"I'm tired." Were the last words he said before turning his back to the detective and resting on his side, slightly curling up. Fed up as he was, he decided to renounce his fight for today. The throbbing headache he blamed on the jet-lag instead of the fact he'd been dragging his brains and emotion through ocean deep dark paths.


// BTW i was listening to a song and it wasn't until I woke up this morning I realized how much the lyrics made me think of your RP... Listen to it if you like [Only admins are allowed to see this link]

"I explored my self-destructive tendencies sufficiently a few years ago, I do not wish to hurt more than I am doing already," he said, he had no death wish at the moment, as stranded as he felt.

"So as to die anyway, I would prefer to keep that until I am grey and old," he said, watching him move, his eyes never leaving the other's body as he took off his shirt.
He felt himself swallow hard.

"As for your death... I do not have particular hopes. I wish for the death of your organization, what happens to you then, is solely up to you," he confessed, and already it was a change to what he had sworn to do a few hours before.

He was getting soft, he realized, but why?

Maybe he was tired to, the room had become dark and no one had bothered to turn on the lights.

He stared at the other's back, the white pale muscular skin against the darkness of the room.

Sherlock moved slowly, his hand hesitant as he touched along Jim's spine. He just wanted to feel the warmth there.
He took it in quickly and then he pulled away, annoyed at himself for giving in to such a weakness.

He stood up with the intention of preparing for bed, and threw the duvet over Jim's body, to give something to do to his restless hands.
He told himself it was not because he worried about him being cold.
Silly, silly Sherlock.


((oh, brilliant! Thank you! I will listen to it now~~))

He'd made it half through Sherlock's words, before he'd fallen in a restless sleep. Tossing and turning unconsciously. As he woke up he noticed the room was still dark. 4.17AM lighted up on his phone screen. He sighed, though as he moved his body sensed Sherlock.

James slowly turned his head finding his own legs entwined with the detective's. The scene made a smile appear on his face and for a while he decided to just enjoy this precious moment.

Half an hour passed and James found he had managed to sleep off his emotions of the previous evening. Gently he removed his own legs from Sherlock's grip and got out of bed.

From across the room he sat staring at the tall, dark haired man. In the moonlight his skin showed even paler. Pale, but oh so smooth and beautiful. His eyes traveled all over Sherlock's body, resting them on spots where moonlight took its toll.

For some reason staring at the sleeping man, while listening to his heavy breathing, calmed him down. He rested his eyes, awaiting Sherlock to wake up.

Sherlock had gone to bed shortly after Jim, he had used his phone until he was too tired to keep his eyes open, but had eventually fallen asleep, not minding how close he was to his enemy at all.

He was used to survive on a few hours of sleep, so he was quickly awake when the other man moved.

He did not stir at first, he wasn't sure he wanted to.
It was peaceful like this.
Some part of him didn't want to lose the comfortable warmth at all.

He rolled on his stomach, the duvet sliding off his shoulders and a shiver ran down his spine for the exposed skin of his back.

"Damn," he whimpered, he had been enjoying this, why did he have to wake up at all?



((do participate in the character party, Sherlock and James can flirt a bit >> it doesn't matter if it's not all coherent, it's completely random ^^))

James eyes immediately widened again as he heard the familiar deep voice. Not sure whether he was supposed to say something or not he cleared his throat. "Morning" He said more to himself and unaware if the sober word would even reach the detectives ears.

He straightens his back, making it click a few times before stretching out completely. His body still wasn't recovered from all of this, but his mind felt fresh thinking.

As sherlock shivered he noticed the small hairs on his upper arms pop up, this was enough to get him off his feet and draw him back toward the bed. In one smooth motion he slipped in, covering Sherlock up with his own arm instead of the duvet. Nuzzling against the man's strong body.

"Not morning yet," he protested, keeping his eyes closed, his voice raspy and low. "Not until there's light out," he added, just to clear up his point.

His eyes did open when he felt the other's arm on his shoulders though, warmth spread along his body so quickly he felt breathless.
God, he had never thought something like this could be so incredibly sexy.

He wished he could find something to say, something witty, something mean, anything. His mind was blank though, so he just buried his face in the pillow and tensed.
He was enjoying this, being so close to someone else, even if it was Moriarty of all people.
And he hated himself for it.

James felt the muscles in Sherlock's back tense as he laid his hands down. In return he let his fingers dance over the while surface of his back, brushing, stroking over it.

"Morning." He repeated while whispering, teasing Sherlock slightly. His hands still moving smooth but very gently.

The warm feeling radiating from touching his enemy ran through his whole upper body. He inhaled deep, loving the scent that filled his nose.

Sherlock had thought his most sensitive spot to be his neck, but he realized he had been completely wrong when Jim started touching his back.
Every single touch was starting its own little fire.

He didn't want to reply to the greeting, but something came out of his throat that sounded a lot like a moan.
He blushed and turned to glare at Moriarty.

"Did you have to wake me up?" he asked, even though he'd been awake already.
What he really wanted to say was... don't stop.

"Oohh someone has the morning blues" James said softly but playfully. Seeing Sherlock like this just sort of made him melt. He was utterly cute with his messed up , curly hair.

He didn't even need to say a word, his body was already letting the Irishman know how much he enjoyed his touch. An urge to let his lips travel over that beautifully shaped back was undeniable. Oh well, what could it hurt?

Gently he let his lips follow the trail of his fingertips.

"You should know I am a-always g-grumpy..." he pointed out, but his voice failed him half-way out of his mouth when he felt the other's lips on his back.
Bloody hell, this was going to undo him completely.

His mind and body overflowed with urges and thoughts he had never had before, no doubts sparkling from the experiences of the night before, and he felt he could not move.

"God, Jim..." he whimpered, again burying his head in the pillow.

"Hmmm?" He brought out as an reaction to hearing is name, still letting his lips travel over the lenient skin.

Hearing his name, coming from those lips, in that deep, rusty voice. God, was Sherlock even aware of how much this sparks the flame inside of James? He needed to swallow, loud en clearly along with inhaling deep because his breathing had increased.

Sherlock had to ball his hands into fists to keep himself from reaching down to his already hard arousal. He felt so stupid, so utterly helpless.

"You are driving me mad... you are making me stupid..." he stammered with a groan, he closed his eyes, those lips, God, how could they be so soft?

"Jim..." he moaned again, urging him to do something, anything that would stop this sweet torture.

With a few final nips he released his lips from the grip on Sherlock's skin.
Unsure whether he could go any further than kissing parts of his body, he hesitated. After yesterday's events he'd have never expect Sherlock to give in so easily again. After all, he was drugged as well.

Hearing his name once more quickly erased those thoughts. His hand brushed over Sherlock's sharp hips, disappearing in his pants. With no sign or warning he wrapped his fingers around the erection, moving the hard skin up and down. If sex wasn't an option yet, jerking him off would be, he decided. As his own hand was occupied doing business, his own arousal started to friction against the fabric of his pants.

With a few final nips he released his lips from the grip on Sherlock's skin.
Unsure whether he could go any further than kissing parts of his body, he hesitated. After yesterday's events he'd have never expect Sherlock to give in so easily again. After all, he was drugged as well.

Hearing his name once more quickly erased those thoughts. His hand brushed over Sherlock's sharp hips, disappearing in his pants. With no sign or warning he wrapped his fingers around the erection, moving the hard skin up and down. If sex wasn't an option yet, jerking him off would be, he decided. As his own hand was occupied doing business, his own arousal started to friction against the fabric of his pants.