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221b_recs2012-09-14 08:54 pm
pennypaperbrain.livejournal.com) wrote in 221b_recs2012-09-14 08:54 pm
Fic rec: Like You Hate Me and Dig It Up, Tear It Down
Title: Like You Hate Me and its sequel Dig It Up, Tear It Down
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
quamquam20
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Length: 2,411 and 5,856
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none needed by comm rules
Verse: BBC Sherlock
Author's summary: John cannot stop thinking about Sherlock making him helpless, controlling him, doing what he wants with him. Sherlock, quite aware, wants to see how long it will take before John throws himself at him.
Reccer's comments: I once swore to ONLY EVER TALK ABOUT THIS ‘VERSE IN CAPITAL LETTERS, BECAUSE IT IS JUST THAT HOT, but I’m going to break that vow for the sake of a readable rec. The premise of the fics is pretty simple: John is longing to sub to Sherlock, and he spends the first fic fantasizing about it and the second fic getting to do it. In a way this is PWP, except it really isn’t, because of the relationship development that occurs during and through the extremely hot kinky sex.
Sometimes I find dom!Sherlock a little hard to take – it’s too much an inflation of his already exaggerated canon personality – but in this ‘verse he is perfectly pitched. The stories are from John’s POV but I don’t doubt for a moment that Sherlock would act as described. Sherlock’s pleasure comes through clearly in quamquam’s description of his behaviour.
And the lot of it is hot, hot, hot.
“Walk up to the door,” Sherlock orders.
John doesn’t think about disobeying.
His cock brushes against the paneled surface.
There’s a dragging sound on the other side, moving across and through the wood, the palms of Sherlock’s hands heating the strata of old paint, lead buried deep beneath more benign layers. John steps even closer, until his chest is resting against it, cock folded up onto his stomach. The door is still cool on his side.
Sherlock says something too quietly for John to hear, but his voice sounds close and John pushes his hips up, thrusting. He feels like a pervert, depraved and misdirected but still getting off because it’s friction and he’s burning.
Sherlock’s groan is so low that John can’t tell what it is at first. It rumbles and throbs and, finally, breaks into something feral and deadly.
“I’m going to fuck a door before I fuck you,” Sherlock tells him. He sounds disgusted and bitter and John has to press his lips together to hold back his answering moan. John’s hands slide up until he can curl his fingers over the top of the trim above the door. He spreads precum over the mid rail between the panels, the wide, smooth band of wood that he’s bumping his hips against.
He can hear Sherlock’s hands moving on the other side, fingers tapping, centimeters from his cock. Unbelievably close to what he’s imagined so many times. This almost feels like another fantasy, but the frustration is real and that blend of anger and appreciation is so palpable that it can’t be in his head.
He wonders if there are more than fingers pressed to the door on the other side. Maybe John’s helpless, inaccessible writhing is doing something for him.
When Sherlock’s breath is coming in gasps, John’s sure of it. The movement he can feel against his own, the rush of clothing and skin, the occasional click of a button…
John drops to his knees, presses his lips to the spot where he thinks Sherlock is sliding.
Author:
quamquam20Pairing: Sherlock/John
Length: 2,411 and 5,856
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none needed by comm rules
Verse: BBC Sherlock
Author's summary: John cannot stop thinking about Sherlock making him helpless, controlling him, doing what he wants with him. Sherlock, quite aware, wants to see how long it will take before John throws himself at him.
Reccer's comments: I once swore to ONLY EVER TALK ABOUT THIS ‘VERSE IN CAPITAL LETTERS, BECAUSE IT IS JUST THAT HOT, but I’m going to break that vow for the sake of a readable rec. The premise of the fics is pretty simple: John is longing to sub to Sherlock, and he spends the first fic fantasizing about it and the second fic getting to do it. In a way this is PWP, except it really isn’t, because of the relationship development that occurs during and through the extremely hot kinky sex.
Sometimes I find dom!Sherlock a little hard to take – it’s too much an inflation of his already exaggerated canon personality – but in this ‘verse he is perfectly pitched. The stories are from John’s POV but I don’t doubt for a moment that Sherlock would act as described. Sherlock’s pleasure comes through clearly in quamquam’s description of his behaviour.
And the lot of it is hot, hot, hot.
“Walk up to the door,” Sherlock orders.
John doesn’t think about disobeying.
His cock brushes against the paneled surface.
There’s a dragging sound on the other side, moving across and through the wood, the palms of Sherlock’s hands heating the strata of old paint, lead buried deep beneath more benign layers. John steps even closer, until his chest is resting against it, cock folded up onto his stomach. The door is still cool on his side.
Sherlock says something too quietly for John to hear, but his voice sounds close and John pushes his hips up, thrusting. He feels like a pervert, depraved and misdirected but still getting off because it’s friction and he’s burning.
Sherlock’s groan is so low that John can’t tell what it is at first. It rumbles and throbs and, finally, breaks into something feral and deadly.
“I’m going to fuck a door before I fuck you,” Sherlock tells him. He sounds disgusted and bitter and John has to press his lips together to hold back his answering moan. John’s hands slide up until he can curl his fingers over the top of the trim above the door. He spreads precum over the mid rail between the panels, the wide, smooth band of wood that he’s bumping his hips against.
He can hear Sherlock’s hands moving on the other side, fingers tapping, centimeters from his cock. Unbelievably close to what he’s imagined so many times. This almost feels like another fantasy, but the frustration is real and that blend of anger and appreciation is so palpable that it can’t be in his head.
He wonders if there are more than fingers pressed to the door on the other side. Maybe John’s helpless, inaccessible writhing is doing something for him.
When Sherlock’s breath is coming in gasps, John’s sure of it. The movement he can feel against his own, the rush of clothing and skin, the occasional click of a button…
John drops to his knees, presses his lips to the spot where he thinks Sherlock is sliding.