John Watson (
ihadabadday) wrote2018-02-01 12:21 pm
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In Plain Sight - AU - Locked to
seaweed_writes
No one knew how long Gods had walked among the mortals. They just knew they had. Some remained in their country of origin, some branched out and traveled. Others started business or charities. Some just went through existence simply being. Belief didn't have much to do with how the Gods chose to lead their lives.
This tale though, it focuses on the Greek Gods of old and Mount Olympus (which is a real place and traditionally is where Zeus is said to live with Hera).
John Watson didn't care for the politics of the Gods that surrounded them every day. He had other things to focus on, to pay attention to. Like medical school, and then the military. It wasn't until he was shot and laying in the desert, bleeding, did he whisper things to the God of Death, to Hades. To a god he didn't believe in. Blood whispers they were often called. And gods hardly paid attention to them, most believed they were the whispers of dying men.
But John Watson survived when others with the same injury had died. What was different about him?
He returned to London on an army pension and a cane. He shuffled through his life, a constant ache in his chest, like there was something missing. Though he had little to no idea of what was missing. He helped others where he could, donating his time and what little money. A homeless veteran (it boiled him so to see those who helped their country be left behind) once called him a beacon of light.
A beacon of light huh?
Most days he didn't feel like one. Most days his mood was dark and everything was shit.
One night when he was limping slowly back to his dismal bedsit, something caught his attention. He glanced down an alley and saw a tall man dressed in black, being mugged by some ratty youth. The man was far too posh for this neighborhood. So why was he here? But that didn't matter. John, on two strong legs, charged into the alley and used his cane to knock the criminal away. He didn't notice, but there seemed to be a light around him, an otherworldy aura to him.
He held the cane like a sword and pointed it at the would be thief. "You need to leave here." John commanded. It had been easy for some to forget that he had been Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers in Her Majesty's Army.
This tale though, it focuses on the Greek Gods of old and Mount Olympus (which is a real place and traditionally is where Zeus is said to live with Hera).
John Watson didn't care for the politics of the Gods that surrounded them every day. He had other things to focus on, to pay attention to. Like medical school, and then the military. It wasn't until he was shot and laying in the desert, bleeding, did he whisper things to the God of Death, to Hades. To a god he didn't believe in. Blood whispers they were often called. And gods hardly paid attention to them, most believed they were the whispers of dying men.
But John Watson survived when others with the same injury had died. What was different about him?
He returned to London on an army pension and a cane. He shuffled through his life, a constant ache in his chest, like there was something missing. Though he had little to no idea of what was missing. He helped others where he could, donating his time and what little money. A homeless veteran (it boiled him so to see those who helped their country be left behind) once called him a beacon of light.
A beacon of light huh?
Most days he didn't feel like one. Most days his mood was dark and everything was shit.
One night when he was limping slowly back to his dismal bedsit, something caught his attention. He glanced down an alley and saw a tall man dressed in black, being mugged by some ratty youth. The man was far too posh for this neighborhood. So why was he here? But that didn't matter. John, on two strong legs, charged into the alley and used his cane to knock the criminal away. He didn't notice, but there seemed to be a light around him, an otherworldy aura to him.
He held the cane like a sword and pointed it at the would be thief. "You need to leave here." John commanded. It had been easy for some to forget that he had been Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers in Her Majesty's Army.
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Even as he asked the question, though, he did rearrange John in his arms and stand up, holding him easily. He started walking towards John's room, worried that he would trigger old memories, but desperate to make new ones.
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"I am. I want you to make me forget it." John had done what was necessary to return Hades to Hell. And he would do it again and again. He would die for Sherlock.
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Sherlock walked into John's room and laid him down gently on the bed. He knew they had talked about.. kinky things and that they would discuss it after he ruled Hell again, but this didn't seem like the best time. He just wanted to be close to, and inside John now. They had the rest of eternity to to discover other things.
One movement of the fingers, and they were both nude. Sherlock laid carefully on top of John, worshiping him in every way, with his mouth and tongue and teeth finding every little nook and cranny of his skin- licking, biting, kissing, making it known that he was adored.
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Oh god.
He wanted to stay like this forever, just the two of them. But they both had duties to attend to.
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He would worship John's body all day, if it reminded the man of how much he was loved, but he knew that there was something more that they both wanted.. needed right now.
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Sherlock created lubrication for his fingers... he's rather have just pushed right in, but he had no idea what that bastard usurper had done to John, so he knew he had to be gentle.
His mouth and lips moved over John's skin while his finger pressed gently inside. He couldn't feel anything odd, like permanent damage from Thanatos, which was good. He pushed in until his arse hit against his knuckle, then started to thrust, slow at first.
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Thanatos had been brutal, without mercy... But John was stronger. He had survived.
When Sherlock started to move his finger, he gasped and pushed to meet it.
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"Please... Push inside me." he begged.
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But of course he wanted to be inside of his lover as well.
Perhaps there was a compromise...
It was something that Sherlock had never done.. he very carefully pressed a 4th finger inside of John, moving slow and making sure that it was really well slicked. 4 fingers was actually thicker than Sherlock was, so it would leave him nice and stretched for the fun to come afterwards.
He hooked his fingers up so that he would hit John's prostate every time.. He leaned into his lover and whispered in his ear "come, my love. I want to see you come undone..."
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He felt like his body was right on edge. Right there. He squirmed and whimpered. "Sherlock, please..." He just needed... Just a little bit more.
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But he still didn't want to touch John's cock, see if he could come at least mostly untouched..
So instead he rubbed his other hand around John's bollocks, rubbing in slow circles and pinching just enough to feel it but not to hurt.
"Let me see you come, my love.. my Persephone.." he whispered in the man's ear.
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His face flushed red at the though. Oh god. He didn't want to bring that up. Yet...
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Instead of pushing right in, which would almost definitely overstimulate him, Sherlock held him and kissed him, running his hand over his body until he had calmed down a bit. He knew that John didn't have the refractory period (or lack of) that he had, as a god, but he was patient, and he would wait until his lover was ready.
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"You can have me. I can handle it." John assured him.
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"I don't want to do anything if you are oversensitive.. it might be more pain than pleasure, then. "' That was the last thing that he wanted for John, was to ever cause him any more pain.
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He was serious. He would utilize his abilities as Ares' heir to hold Sherlock down.
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But no, there would be time for that later as well.
Sherlock stroked himself a couple of times, then aligned himself up with John.
He pushed in, slow but steady. Between the lube that was already there, and the fact that he had been stretched, he slid right in with little resistance, something he had never felt with John before. It was a wonderful new sensation, one to try out another time.
"Ahhhh..."
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He stroked John slowly, wanting to make him feel good but not wanting to overstimulate him.
His rhythm started slow and steady, getting John used to him being inside of him again. he was fairly certain that Moriarty had done this, so he wanted to make sure that this was nothing like whatever that had been. He would never ask, that was in the past, and didn't need to be mentioned any more, as far as Sherlock cared.
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He kept his thrusts steady, slowly building up a bit of speed, but nothing like he had in the past. His hand stroked John in time with his thrusts, slowly but surely trying to build to the ultimate ending.
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Now he didn't want a life without Sherlock. He couldn't imagine a life without him.
He moaned and squirmed. He felt like... Like he was close.
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"Come, my Persephone.." he whispered into his lover's ear.. Sherlock loved telling John to finish, like it was a command, but a gentle one. He would never get tired of seeing and hearing and smelling and touching John as he finished.
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