ihadabadday | In Plain Sight - AU - Locked to seaweed

Sherlock gasped. How had he done that? Those chains had been unbreakable! Well, this wasn't going to do.

He stalked out of the scrying room and found John coming out of the room that he had been held in. He wasn't about to let John get close close to him. Perhaps he was underestimating his half god.

Sherlock shot his electricity back out, across the room, and over to John, taking him down yet again. This man was dangerous, which both made him nervous and more than a little bit aroused.

He was going to have to find a better way to hold this man until he could get more information from Mycroft. He walked over to the man, who was once again unconscious. The remnants of the wrist and ankle collars were hanging off, the cock ring was there, though the chain was gone, but the collar around his neck still had some of the chain attached to it.

He tugged the collar chain, jerking the unconscious man to his feet. "Oh, you are going to regret that."

John could barely get his arm up in time to shield himself. He crumpled to the ground when the electricity hit.

He looked peaceful...

He groaned as he started to come around. Oh. He remembered breaking the chains and getting up. Then...

Nothing.

He shifted, trying to see if he was tied down again, and how.

Sherlock hadn't taken any chances this time. John was indeed chained back up. This time his arms were crossed behind him and his legs crossed at the ankles, so there was no way for him to get leverage to break the chains, which he enchanted. Even a half god like he appeared to be was not breaking out of those. And he had the 'cock ring' back on. All of the collars were much tighter this time, almost cutting off blood circulation to his neck, wrists, ankles and cock, but not quite.

And for good measure, His faithful Cerberus, Redbeard, was guarding him, in case he tried to escape. A giant, 20 foot, 3 headed, black dog with six glowing red eyes, 4 paws tipped with razor sharp claws, and three heads worth of sharp teeth would keep him in line. If he tried to escape again, he WOULD die, his brother be damned.

"Waking up again? What a shame. I was going to fuck you while you slept." He actually had indeed shed his coat and blue scarf and was only wearing the black trousers that hugged every curve, and the shirt that was so deep red that it was almost black itself. He was actually barefoot, leaving red hot footprints as he walked.

"I suppose I could knock you out again. But nah. I wanna hear you scream."

John jerked and squirmed against the chains that held him. The rage that had ripped through him was gone, hidden away once more. But here. He knew it would only be a matter of time before it came bursting out once more.

He stared at the god, eyes narrowed. He then spat at the man's feet. "Go fuck yourself. I don't want you near me."

But he wasn't sure how long that one was going to last. No. The god didn't seem to listen.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Oh, what happened to the man who was getting aroused when I told you that I was going to fuck you? Did you change your mind?" He chuckled.

"I think I'd rather fuck you than fuck myself." He walked up to John and held his index finger to the middle of John's forehead, the pad of his finger pressing hard against John's skin. It turned red, then started to blister before he pulled away.

John was kneeling again, right at the right height when Sherlock rubbed his trousers briefly against the side of his face. It was evident that he was already half hard, looking at John, naked and kneeling before him.

"I am going to have so much fun." He stepped out of Johns range and unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, one button at a time, before throwing it haphazardly to the side.

John thrashed in his bonds. He needed to get away, but these ones were stronger than the last ones. But he would find a way to break these ones too.

The bulge in Sherlock's trousers seemed huge, inhuman in size. It excited him. Causing his cock to start to harden. To be fucked by a god. Supposedly it was some great pleasure. Or privilege.

He gasped when the collar tightened just s bit, the air nearly stopping entirely.

Sherlock smiled, a sadistic, evil smile. "Oh, you little slut. You *DO* like this.. look at you, getting all hard just for little... old.. me.." As he said the last three words, he touched John's cock once for each word, just a little brush of a touch, but enough to feel the blazing heat that radiated from his fingers.

He could change his size and shape at will, that was what he did when he was in the Overworld. He could make his cock, or hell, he could have cocks if he wanted to, as big or as small as he wanted. This... whatever he was, had so far only seen him in his human looking form.

What he really looked like, well, that was for another time.

And he wanted something nice and substantial this time.

Sherlock undid his trousers, of course he wasn't wearing any pants, and kicked them off to the side. He stood, naked and jutting out straight in front of him, long and thick and flushed a deep red.

"Oh, this is going to be fun." He said, advancing on John.

The man was hot. Everything about him radiated heat. It was almost too much. But he couldn't go far. Not being chained the way he was. John tugged at the chains holding him, panic and arousal had set in, replacing the rage. He couldn't shatter these ones right now.

He swallowed when he saw Sherlock's cock. It was huge. He whimpered. There was no way it was going to fit, it would rip him in two. But the mere thought... It made him so hard and aching for it. He shifted, rocking his hips against air. Relief. Something. Anything.

But he knew it wasn't coming. No. He was the plaything of a god and that... That sparked the rage in him once more. He didn't want to be a plaything, he didn't want to be this. He wanted to return to his life, his home. It was dismal. But it was his.

"It's no use." Sherlock said as he walked around John. "I won't make the same mistake twice. And besides, Cerberus will make sure you don't go anywhere."

The giant hellhound had been laying down, but its great head lifted up at its name being called. When it figured out that it wasn't needed, it relaxed again.

Sherlock's fingers brushed against John's back, laying a hot trail down, down, down until he got to that fine, round arse. Firely fingers spread his cheeks apart while Sherlock's slightly forked tongue licked around the hole, tasting him.

"Oh, you've never had anyone before. Look at you, a virgin to the ways of hedonism." A finger teased at his entrance. "And yet, you are such a.. what do you mortals call it.. a size queen? You are hard for me. You want me to fuck you, to tear you apart and put you back together again, over and over and over."

One finger, with a sharp, almost claw like nail pushed at John's hole, just enough to barely open him.

He grunted when he was touched and moved. Every single touch was fire and hot. He whimpered and shook his head.

It was true, he'd never been with a man in this way. Had never been taken. But he knew he liked large cocks, liked the idea of being stretched open and made to take anything into his body. But he had never experimented. He was too nervous to do so alone.

He cried out when he felt that tongue on him. Oh god. He shook his head, but unconsciously pushed his hips back towards that wicked appendage. And then that finger was pushing in and he cried out, he wanted more of it, but it was hot. So very hot.

Sherlock only teased him for a moment before pulling his finger away, smiling at the redness that he head of his finger and tongue had left.

But that was only the beginning.

Sherlock took himself in hand, lazily stroking himself a few times while he enjoyed watching John squirm. The man couldn't see what was going on, so Sherlock made him wait.. watching the anxiousness build as minutes went by.

He was a god. He was in no hurry.

And just when John seemed to almost relax a tiny bit, that was when Sherlock put his great clawed hands on the man's shoulders and thrust, hard. He hug his fingers into John's skin to keep him from moving forward as his powerful muscles pushed his cock inside.

A quick waggle of Sherlock's fingers had made sure that John wasn't going to rip apart when he fucked him, but it wasn't going to be a pleasant ride.

He roared, a guttural, inhuman sound, in triumph when he bottomed out, what should have been impossibly deep into John, feeling his passage stretch to its absolute limits and almost beyond.

John screamed as he was taken. It hurt. Sherlock was big, huge even. The man shouldn't have fit inside him. He was a god though... His mind supplied. There was magic at work. Magic and want....

It was hot and he wanted to get away, wanted to pull away. But he couldn't. Oh no he couldn't. He was trapped, being held down by the chains and those large hands. Had the man grown? John knew he was shorter than average. But the man seemed so impossibly large now.

He raised his head a bit as he felt those hips press against his arse. A former female partner said his arse was perfectly round and plump. He had been embarrassed by it.The god's cock was so deep in him, he thought it might come out through his mouth.

That image was supplied by the odd Japanese animated porn a fellow soldier had him watch once.

Oh, how Sherlock had missed this, the screams of a mortal, being taken, defiled, utterly buggered by him. That Irene lady had lasted longer than most mortals had. But she was, after all, just a mortal, and eventually she was added to the Pool of Souls, like everyone else.

But John, this John, he was more, wasn't he? Sherlock had lucked out, finding a hidden demigod. Mycroft wanted to know HOW he had remained hidden, and he would get to talk to this... soldier fellow later.

Not until Sherlock was done playing with him, though.

And his appetite was RAVENOUS.

There was no tenderness, no mercy, nothing but wanton need and desire. Sherlock's claws dug into John's back, digging red, bloody lined that dribbled down towards his ass..

He took the man, hard and fast, pounding with every bit of his size and weight. The harder and faster he went, the more his body heated up.

John couldn't help but sob. He wasn't sure if it was from relief or pain or pleasure. Everything was bubbling over at once and he just... This was... He just. Ached. His cock ached, his knees and shoulder ached. His arse ached.

The heat was increasing, an ever pressing need to achieve his release. But the heat wasn't consuming him, devouring him, as it did to some mortals. John seemed to relax under it. If Ares, the god of War, was part of his parentage... It would explain it. Some societies associated Ares with Mars and fire. So the power inside John was taking that heat and consuming it, growing with it.

And he didn't know what he was, he didn't know why it was a big deal....

Sherlock had no intention of letting John get any release or relief from this. He tightened the metal 'cock ring' around his member, heating it up as well.

His claws made short work of John's back leaving long, bloody, dripping trails from shoulder to right above his arse as he continued to fuck this man who was more than just a man. He could feel the power and heat radiating from himself, radiating back from John's red, inflamed skin.

Sherlock chased his release, he could fill himself building to a crescendo, he needed to mark this man, to break him, to make him his own.

He didn't pass out, no, he seemed to thrive under the pain and the assault of power.

In the moment, he vowed silently, to himself (and not to any god) that he would get away. That he would thrive on his own and be his own person. Not a plaything for a god that would discard him when he was tired of him.

He whimpered, but he wasn't sure why. He wanted more, but he wanted no more. He was torn between the precipice of pain and pleasure. And he hoped that this god would get someone to tend to his back, because of the searing pain from it, there was no way that it was anything but a shredded mess.

The whimper only managed to stir Sherlock on further. His pace was relentless, slamming as hard as he could into this little plaything below.

And finally.. finally.. he could feel his release coming.

When he did, he leaned down and bit down hard on the John's injured shoulder, his sharp teeth easily piercing the flesh.

There was a deep, gutteral, demonic roar that filled the room. Sherlock pushed forward with every muscle, every bit of weight that he could. The giant cock flared, stretching him beyong his limits and the man underneath the god was filled with a lava-hot torrent of his seed.

A scream ripped from John at the sensation of being filled, being stretched and the teeth digging into his shoulder. He was trembling as he came down from the high of everything. He was painfully aware that his own cock was still hard, that he was chained in a way so he couldn't crumple to the floor.

John hated this god more than anything in the moment. For doing this to him, for forcing him, for taking him from his life. He kept that anger and hatred inside him, using that the fuel his rage. The rage in him burned white hot. Hot as the sun and just as powerful. He knew he would find a way to shatter these chains, to stop the damn three headed beast and get out of here. He was not going to spend the rest of his life as this god's plaything.

No.

The scream.

Oh, the scream.

*THAT* was what he had wanted to hear the whole time. It fed him, sustained him.

Even when he was done, he stayed inside of John, somehow he was still hard, still leaking just a few tiny dribbled of his firey hot essence.

With a few wiggles of his fingers, he conjured up what looked like a butt plug from the stones around them, forming the stone into the right shape- except that since it was made of stone it was jagged and uneven instead of smooth.

Sherlock pulled out of the man, at the same time jamming the plug inside. He had no intention of letting any bit of himself be wasted.

Finally satisfied, he walked back around to the front, not bothering to reclothe himself, to look at his handwork, at the wrecked and ravaged man in front of him.

John raised his head and stared at Sherlock. There was a hardness to him that hadn't been there before. Even now, the edges of his eyes bled form blue to gold. The power of his paternal line was coming through. It almost seemed that it was taking over, merging. Bringing the mortal and immortal sides together.

He didn't say anything, no. He just chose to defy the God in other ways. He would not give him any further satisfaction of hearing noises from him. The god seemed to thrive off those.

Sherlock made a mockingly cute face. "Ahh, isn't that cute. The little mortal is playing tough, are we?"

He leaned down, touching John on the forehead where he had burnt him before. He held the finger there longer this time, letting the skin burn and bubble, letting a terrible stench into the air before he finally drew his finger away. That was as scar that no matter what, he would carry for the rest of his days, Sherlock knew. His mark.

"I have been merciful to you so far, only because my meddling brother thinks you may be of interest to him as well. But he never mentioned what state you needed to be in. I feel like my mercy is coming to a swift conclusion." The mock smile faded from his face, pure evil radiated from his being.

He turned around without a further word and left the room, still naked, still hard. Where his cock dripped it sizzled onto the stone floor below.

The man that used to be known as Detective Gregory Lestrade seemingly appeared at Sherlock's side as he stormed out of the room.

"You do realize you have done something incredibly stupid." He noted to the man. He was the Fates. He could see all, Past, Present and Future. It was a bit, muddling at times, but at others, it was useful.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He didn't give a shit whether he was unclothed in front of the Fates. It wasn't like he hadn't seen naked bodies before.

He turned away from the man and made a shooing motion.

"You do realize you aren't supposed to interfere, right?" He asked, slumping down on his throne, iddly watching dead souls waft past him towards the Pool of Souls.

"So why do you care what I do? What is wrong with playing with a mortal? This isn't the first time. Shouldn't you have stopped me about 4 eons ago?"

"Not only is he the son of Ares, the only son of Ares..." Greg said firmly, "He's the son of a witch. What he's done, has been nothing to do with Ares."

Which begged the question, just how strong was John Watson?

Sherlock had been looking at his claws, iddly picking at them before, but that made him sit up and look at the Fate.

"So. I was right, that warmongering hothead went and had a little rendezvous with a mortal." He smirked, reveling for a moment in the fact that he was right, until Greg said what he did next.

"That power.. it was from a mortal? That is impossible. You must be wrong. There is no way a mortal son of a moral woman would be able to break my chains. That would take a god, or a demi-god at least. Witches are mostly a farce, hunted and burned at the stake by those stupid humans."

He looked hard at Greg. "And why are you telling me this, anyways?"

In Plain Sight - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

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