Somatic Theory
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“Sherlock, I think you may be on to something.” John tightened his fingers in Sherlock’s hair. “I won’t hit you,” John said, radiating calm control as he pulled hard on the sensitive strands, making him gasp in pain and surprise. “But I’m thinking hitting isn’t the only way to give you what you want. You want sensory input? I can get--” he pulled Sherlock’s head up and leaned closer-- ”Very--” he pulled his hair even harder-- “creative,” he whispered, licking the delicate curve at the top of his ear.
Sherlock moaned, a throaty, desperate sound that sent a jolt of fire straight through John’s body. “Oh yes, John,” he breathed. "Yes, please.”
Series
- Part 1 of Somatic Theory
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Summary
John’s fingers leave Sherlock’s hair and he settles back into his well-worn chair. Arousal is flooding Sherlock’s amygdala, lighting his nerves on fire, making his skin tingle and burn with need. He squirms a bit against the bite of the restraints.
John’s face darkens, grows stern. “Settle, you,” he rumbles warningly. He takes a sip of his tea. “Eyes on the floor.” He sets the tea down and picks up his paper.
Sherlock gazes at the floorboards, breathes out, stills his mind and waits. As the minutes tick by he finds himself slipping into the dreamy-yet-alert aura of subspace, his entire being subsumed, calmed by the simplicity of this, responsibility lifted from his shoulders, the only thing asked of him is to do exactly what John tells him to do.
Series
- Part 2 of Somatic Theory
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“Hello there, gorgeous,” John murmurs, warm and fond. “I’ve missed you.”
Sherlock reaches into the pocket of his dressing gown and pulls out his collar. The metal hardware jingles as he drops it in John’s lap and waits.
John’s fingers in his hair grow still. John picks up the collar and inhales. Exhales.
“Sweetheart. After what you’ve just been through...I don’t know if this the kind of thing we should--”
Something spikes in Sherlock’s chest. It’s hard to breathe past it.
“John,” he says, fighting hard to keep his voice even, “surely you’re not so stupid that you can’t parse the profound psychological difference between what we do and actually being forcibly imprisoned.”
Series
- Part 3 of Somatic Theory
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Summary
The bedroom door opens and closes. The bedside lamp clicks on. A warm rough hand cards gently through his hair.
“My good boy,” John murmurs from behind him, and reaches for the side table drawer. He finds his collar and fastens it quickly with one practiced hand, stroking and petting his hair with the other. He sinks down carefully to his knees behind Sherlock, presses his clothed body into his back. The friction of fabric against his naked skin is delightful, makes a shiver run down his spine.
“I was afraid, and I shouldn’t have been,” John breathes into his ear. ”If you trust me, I will trust you.” He kisses the juncture of Sherlock’s neck and shoulder, bites him there gently. “You were right. I was keeping myself from you, and I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I owe you a thousand apologies for that. And I will offer every one to you, I will. Later. But for now…”
Series
- Part 4 of Somatic Theory
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Summary
Now, willingly stripped and bound and pushed to his knees, he is the closest he’s ever been to the absolute and essential essence of who and what he is. Somehow, within the structures and rules of this strange, elaborate sexual game, Sherlock has discovered new and a completely unknown side of himself, here at the juncture where the most base of biological impulses meets a desperate need for intimate emotional connection.
These moments are where the entire bewildering tangle of his damaged and fragile psyche is laid bare, every nerve and fiber twitching, raw and exposed.
It’s terrifying and freeing. It’s the highest he’s ever soared, the closest he’s ever flown to the sun.
Series
- Part 5 of Somatic Theory
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“Open your eyes, love,” John whispers. “Open your eyes and look.”
Series
- Part 6 of Somatic Theory
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“Poor pet,” John says with dark-tinged affection. “Were the nice pants I bought you uncomfortable? Rubbing and chafing against you?” He dips his head, kisses the sharp edge of Sherlock's jaw. “Were you hard all day long?” he murmurs into his ear.
Sherlock nods.
“And It’s been a while since we played, hasn’t it?”
Sherlock nods again, dark curls bobbing.
They’ve had vanilla sex in the interim, of course, of the kisses and cuddles and late-night-handjob variety, and while the orgasms were nice, it doesn’t even begin to compare to this.
It’’s like holding a 40 watt bulb next to a supernova. It’s not the same and it’s not enough anymore and they both know it, absolutely.
“It’s only been a week, you greedy whore,” John reprimands with a bare touch of amusement. “God, you’re such a slut, so desperate to spread your legs after just a few days without.”
***
Or: Sherlock's not the only one who's maybe, possibly, probably in way too deep, here.Series
- Part 7 of Somatic Theory
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The Subtler Pleasures of a Thoughtful Correction by CaitlinFairchild
Fandoms: Sherlock (TV)
24 Jun 2020
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The door of their flat thumps shut behind them. John slides the deadbolt home, and for some reason the rasp and click of it is loud in Sherlock’s ears.
“Turn to face me,” John says in the hallway, his words brooking no dissent.
Sherlock does.
John reaches up, tugging Sherlock’s coat free from his shoulders, sliding it down off his arms and tossing it carelessly aside. He places his hand on the centre of Sherlock’s chest, very deliberately, and pushes him slowly but insistently against the wall.
“Do you know what I have to do?” John asks. His hand anchors Sherlock against the wall, not with force but with undeniable authority, and it makes Sherlock feel like a captured specimen of some sort, pinned and mounted for John’s inspection.
Series
- Part 8 of Somatic Theory