prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: R
Tags & Warnings: bloodplay, rough sex, possessive Sherlock, violent fantasies, weird romance

It’s the transitive property. John is Sherlock’s; therefore, what belongs to John belongs to Sherlock. It’s the closest Sherlock can get. John’s laptop, John’s bed, John’s tea mug, John’s toothbrush. And it’s utterly unfair that while the skin cells and hair strands and traces of DNA can transfer, the significance John imbues these items with does not. Sherlock does not become more a part of John’s morning routine for taking his tea mug.

Well. That’s not entirely true. )
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: PG-13
Tags & Warnings: nape admiration, neck biting
Notes: Written for professorfangirl when she was having a bad day

The back of John’s neck is warm, and soft, with a subtle nap that’s a delight for Sherlock to have under his lips. Living with it is ceaseless temptation; at times, like this one when the afternoon light pours through the windows to gleam in the fine golden fuzz at John’s hairline, Sherlock breaks. He pulls John back into his arms and nuzzles until, with a sigh, John tips his head forward and allows Sherlock to help himself to that delectable nape.

Sherlock laps at him like a grooming cat, tongue spread broad and clinging to feel every grain, to taste John to the full in this expanse of him that’s so naked yet forbidden. It helps him think, knowing that John is stowed safe and snug in his arms, all his intimacies accessible should Sherlock want them. He can safely let the world beyond them fall away, shrunk down to the space encompassed by John’s warm body and that which immediately partakes of it.

Sometimes the gentleness of lips and tongue aren’t enough, and nothing will do for that sweet, soft nape but to be possessed by a corresponding hardness. John gasps, then, as the sharp edges of Sherlock’s teeth sink into his flesh and grip. Sometimes that’s enough, a reminder of roughness, a celebration of the vulnerability of that beautiful span. But at other times, Sherlock feels himself creased with the need for John to feel him to his utmost, through every filament of him. And then, oh then he bites down, seeks and finds the tendons of John’s trapezius and captures them, squeezes them between ridges of enamel till the pressure pulls John’s neck into an arch and his body surrenders itself, enervated, into the clasp of Sherlock’s arms.

Caught in that grip, Sherlock knows, John can feel him in his fingers and toes, the backs of his knees and the small of his back, over the curve of his arse and his belly and nipples and in the roots of his teeth. It drives John slowly, beautifully mad, to be held this way. Sherlock keeps him, caught and feeling, till John’s hips are rolling gently against his groin and he can taste John’s rising pulse against his tongue.

Sometimes John wants to be fucked like this, caught between Sherlock’s teeth and cock, but today, this is enough for them. At length, John pulls Sherlock’s arms tighter around him. Sherlock finally releases him to nibble gentle apologies up and down his neck, and they stand together, feeling the tingle of each other in their bodies.
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: PG-13
Tags & Warnings: hand kink, handfeeding
Notes: Co-authored with persian-slipper! Wrote this one a while back, and just realized I never posted it here.

In which Sherlock and John share a meal, conversation, and a mutual appreciation of hands.

“You gather up the rice like this,” John instructed, teasing the rice into a bite-sized ball and then pressing it into a flattened pad, “and then use it to scoop up the meat and drippings.” He snagged a bit of lamb and its juices with the rice ball and held it up for display, then popped the whole thing tidily into his mouth.

Sherlock took in every detail. )
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: PG
Tags & Warnings: Romance, Discussion of death, Death imagery

When they're curled on the sofa, heads sharing a cushion and their sweat and breath swirling invisibly together in the air, Sherlock says, "I would like to rot with you when we die."

"You need to brush up on your pillow talk," John tells him.

Sherlock hums in agreement and strokes the contours of John's bicep with a finger. "Dirt together, though; you can't say it hasn't got its charm. In a few decades, no one would be able to tell your flesh from mine. Maybe even a plant...hmm, a hawthorn tree. It'd grow from the nutrients in our mingled blood. Almost like a child." His smile flashes sharp and amused. "Beautiful and vicious. Seems fitting, doesn't it?"

John rolls his head toward Sherlock. "Who would you get to plant a hawthorn tree?"

Sherlock shrugs and reaches up to trace the curve of John's brow ridge. “Our bones would fall together once the connective tissue had decayed. Think of it, John: your ulna, tucked cozy between my ulna and radius. My fibula snugged up to your tibia.” He curls over, crowding John as if to demonstrate, his lower register a hot thrum of black velvet against John’s ear. "We’d lie locked together, our skeletons interlaced. I’d weave my ribs in with yours, and come to rest in your abdominal cavity.”

John lies quietly for a long moment, Sherlock’s spread hand hot and broad across his belly. Finally he begins to wriggle free to his feet. When Sherlock looks up at him, indignant and nonplussed, John smiles an invitation and holds out a hand. “Come to bed.”
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock, John
Rating: Teen
Tags and Warnings: Non-explicit m/m sex, explicit bloodplay

Blood is the hot interior of the body, a smear of passion, a proof of living, breathing, fighting survival in the face of the odds.

Blood is beautiful. Everything about it. )
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Illustration for chapter 3 of [ profile] bendingsignpost's Sherlock fanfic, Bel Canto (chapter 1, if you want to start reading).

Bel Canto fanart for Bendingsignpost
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)

For belovedmuerto, who wanted kissing, Sherlock in his PJs, and John clothed or not, as it suited me (what did you THINK I was going to choose? ^_^) Reference photo:
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)

Because I saw some beautiful waistcoats that begged me to use them in a drawing, and because tango is sexier than sex. I've wanted to draw a picture of two men dancing for AGES.
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: NC-17 (explicit m/m sex)
Tags and Warnings: Omegaverse, explicit m/m sex, fluff, mild relationship angst, 100% consensual!, there's even explicit sex/relationship negotiation!
Notes: Sequel to Serviceman
Next in the series: Line of Duty
You can find the originating prompt here.

Sherlock's a bit of a dick about the omega thing, but then he's a bit of a dick about everything. Even so, John doesn't venture where he knows he's not wanted.

“Army omega,” Sherlock sneers, tone conveying his real meaning of ‘slut.’

John grins into it, all teeth and challenge. “My parents always told me to hold out for a job I loved.” As though he hasn’t heard everything people have to say about army omegas. They can go fuck themselves. He’s proud of his service.

Not that Sherlock actually buys into any of that rubbish. )
prettyarbitrary: (Default)
Characters: John Watson, Mycroft Holmes
Rating: R (non-explicit M/M sex)
Tags and Warnings: slash, sex, food!porn, this fic may make you crave sweets
Notes: For a kink meme prompt, naturally.

Mycroft loves the taste of sugar in John's mouth.

The sweet familiar flavour morphs when it comes into contact with him, some mysterious natural alchemy in John's body turning it richer, deeper, more nuanced. Mycroft discovered the phenomenon the day he 'kidnapped' John to La Cercle, kissing him over a caramel amaretto latte after one too many nervous flicks of John's tongue over his lips finally shattered his self-discipline.

Since then, it's become something of an obsession. His fetish, if you will. There exist a thousand different sugars in the world, from agave nectar to sugar cane, and a million desserts to be made with them, and Mycroft wants to know how every single one tastes when he licks it off John's tongue and smooth, smooth skin.

Sprawled on his stomach, John hums, all but purrs as Mycroft draws a wet line of saliva up the beckoning curve of John's spine. John tastes of chocolate there, for no reason at all that Mycroft can determine. "You haven't been painting yourself with candies before you come over?" he asks against the plane of a shoulder blade.

John laughs, high and soft. "I leave the painting up to you." The muscles of his back flex delightfully as he lifts himself to roll onto his back, eyes glinting up at Mycroft like amused, murky sapphires. "Mycroft Holmes, are you calling me sweet?"

"Mmm, no. I'm calling you delicious." He reaches over to the dish of Chambord sorbet on the bedside table. When Mycroft offers him the spoon, John obligingly allows him to slip it between his lips and out again. If the slow sensuous slide of it is reminiscent of other penetrative acts, well, it's a calorie-free indulgence on Mycroft's part.

John seals his lips around the spoon as it pulls out and smiles instead of swallowing. Mycroft can all but see the sorbet melting into thick syrupy streams; frosted raspberries and liqueur coating John's rich, warm interior. Who could possibly resist? Why should he try?

When Mycroft laps into him, John sighs luxuriously and opens up to be devoured.
prettyarbitrary: (Default)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: PG for a bit of rough language
Tags and Warnings: slash, no sex!, James Bond hate, snark, a bit of adventure, really what is with the acid baths?
Notes: Surprising no one, this is written for a prompt on the kink_meme

"Death by Hollywood, John. I cannot think of a more degrading way to go."

They are tied together and hanging on a hook over, of all the asinine things, an acid bath.

A fucking acid bath. )
prettyarbitrary: (Default)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: NC-17 (explicit m/m sex)
Warnings: slash, shameless smut, possible cruelty to expensive clothing, suit!porn, clothes kink, fingering, sex in front of mirrors, semi-public sex.
Notes: MY GOD, IT'S NOT A PROMPT. Written as a gift for Random_Nexus.

If you want inspiration for the visuals in this fic, check out the 'Martin Freeman in a classy bastard of a suit' pic that kicked this story off for me: The suit Sherlock puts John in, however, is a different specimen from Mark Powell's gallery (as well as the Soho location, where his actual shop is). Go to the 'spring/summer' ready-to-wear gallery; the specific suit featured in the fic is the fifth one from the left, gray with a waistcoast, though John wears it in a paler grey with a dark shirt.

Sherlock only wants the same thing everyone wants: to dress John up in a £1000 suit and then strip it right back off him.

"When you said you wanted to dress me, Sherlock, I thought you meant in the morning. Not…" John gestured hopelessly around the expensive tailor's shop he'd been led to like a sheep to slaughter. "You deliberately misled me!"

'You predictably misconstrued!' )


prettyarbitrary: (Default)

October 2015

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