In Plain Sight - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

[ihadabadday]

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.

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[ihadabadday]

Another scream ripped from John. The pain, the pleasure. He was teetering on the edge, even with the pressure against his cock.

He could feel his magic racing to heal, to repair. But it was overridden by the sheer pleasure. By Sherlock ravaging him.

His mind played imagines as he was ruthlessly fucked. Sherlock keeping him chained and stuffed full, Sherlock using shadows to stuff his holes full, making him wither and trash. He wanted it all. Every depraved thought. His mind played to some of the odd porn old platoon mates had showed him for a lark.

[seaweed_writes]

It took less time the second time for Sherlock to come again. adding to the heat that was already inside of John. It was just as intense, he growled and roared enough that stones loosened themselves from the ceiling and fell on top of them.

Even after the second time, Sherlock still was still hard inside of John, his cock surrounded by his still hot essence.

Sherlock could do this all day, fucking him until the end of the world. He would never tire, he would never run out of semen to fill John, he would never grow tired of the screams that he wrenched from the man's lips.

[ihadabadday]

John couldn't help it as his body went lax, the need to heal and restore overwhelming.

He was now a perfect doll for Sherlock to do with as he pleased.

[seaweed_writes]

"Ah.. FINALLY." Sherlock growled. He had been trying to break John, to finally get him to the point where he couldn't take any more.

And now, he finally had what he wanted, and he was going to as much advantage of the man as he could.

Sherlock was relentless. He used his claws to hold the limp John up while he fucked the man three more times, coming deep and hard each time, adding to what was inside, there was enough that even around Sherlock's thick cock that was pretty much a plug, there was still some that was leaking out of the hole, there was just no more space inside.

When Sherlock finally decided that he had had enough with the ragdoll that was under him, he once again created a larger, spiked plug out of stone. He had stretched the man wider than before, and the plug was actually thicker than Sherlock was, to make sure not a single drop was lost.

He shoved it in hard, then imbued it with magic, if John touched it with his hand, it would electrocute him. It would be impossible for him to remove it until Sherlock was ready for it to be removed.

When Sherlock was done, he let go of John, and let the stone stop holding him up by the cock, letting him crumple to the ground. He gave the pile of John a little kick, not too hard, but enough to move him a bit.

"Remember. You asked for it." He said, and walked away, back to the throne, still naked, hard, and dripping.

[ihadabadday]

When John finally woke, he was surprised to find himself on his bed. He sat up, surprisingly not in pain. It seemed that he had been out long enough for his injuries to heal.

He looked down at himself and started. His stomach was distended, giving his body the look of being pregnant. How much had Sherlock come inside him?

John got off the bed and went to go shower, wanting to ease the aches in his body.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock had done nothing to help John heal over the almost week that he was out, healing. But he had kept an eye on him once in a while to make sure that he was going to survive.

When it had been clear that he was healing after the first couple of days, he mostly avoided the sleeping John.

He would never admit to the slight sigh of relief when he heard the man get up and get into the shower.

Sherlock pretended not to be arsed about it, and stayed busy ferrying souls, waggling his finger in a lazt, bored way while slumped down in his throne.

[ihadabadday]

He rested his head against the cool stone, letting out a breath. He would have to have a few ground rules laid down. None of this close to when he had to leave for the Overworld. And the plug couldn't be left in. Not while he was in the Overworld, because there he had to pretend to be human, in fact his body nearly reverted to human.

He stepped out of the shower and dried himself off. He dressed and padded out into the throne room. "Bored?" He asked of Sherlock.

He moved over to where the man sat and looked at him for a moment. He didn't say anything before nodding and then stepping back. Of course. He was only good for sex once in a while.

[seaweed_writes]

Everything about Sherlock said 'bored'. The way he was slumped in the chair, one leg hapharadrly thrown over the arm rest, the way the was idly twiddling his fingers but not really paying attention, his half lidded eyes

But he say up and looked at John when he came in. He licked his lips, loving the way he looked all distended, and he knew exactly why.

"The job can be... tedious when there isn't something exciting like a plane crash or an earthquake or something else that brings in mass casualties." He offhandedly remarked.

[ihadabadday]

John let out a breath and swallowed. He moved, stepping over to Sherlock again. He reached out and touched the man, god's, cheek. He trailed his fingers down, feeling the cool skin.

"When I return to the Overworld for the next winter, I ask that you remove the plug for that." He told the other, "It would look a bit odd if I returned looking like this."

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock hadn't exactly planned on how long he was going to make John wear the plug. He hadn't really intended for it to be until next winter, almost 9 months away. If he did that, then he wouldn't get to fuck him between now and then. And while he had waited years between the first and second, now that he knew he could get it more, he didn't intend to wait that long again.

But perhaps he would have to.

Sherlock found himself leaning into the touch- it was gentle, almost lover like. But they weren't lovers. They weren't friends. He wasn't sure what they were. 'Fuck buddies' was a term the mortals in the Overworld used. That might have been the closest term he could think of.

He didn't really respond, only giving him a half-hearted nod. His brain was alight with thoughts. Who was this former John Watson to him, anyways? What did John want them to be? Despite everything, here he is, being almost tender to him.

He had never gotten that before, he had no idea how to react.

[ihadabadday]

John settled for a brief kiss to Sherlock's lips before he slipped away and retreated back to his room.

He had meant that if they had sex between now and when he returned to the Overworld, the plug would not be present when he left for it. But who knew what would happen between now and then.

He settled into a large, plush chair to start a book he had brought back with him.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock's brain, if he had had one in the human sense, would have turned off when John kissed him.

In all his eons, he had never truly loved anyone, and of course he had never kissed any of his victims. Bit, sure. But kiss? Never.

He put a hand up to his lips and felt the warmth where John's lips had been before.

Did he love John? He didn't think so. Of course he really wasn't sure what love even was. A stupid mortal concept. Though not really. There were gods who he believed truly did love each other, so it was possible.

But how would he even know how if what he felt for John was love? They hardly knew each other, they didn't talk much at all. Surely if you loved someone you would know all about them, right?

Sherlock sat ramrod straight in his chair, trying to ponder what in the world was going on. Did... John love him? why would he have kissed him?

He had to know.

Sherlock got up from his throne and went to John's room.

"Why did you do that?" He demanded.

[ihadabadday]

John looked up from his book, a mildly blank expression on his face. He blinked at Sherlock and then marked his spot in his book. Over the years, he had brought back many books from the Overworld, on a variety of subjects. Stuffed bookshelves lined one wall in his room.

"Why did I do what Sherlock?" he asked.

Oh John knew. He knew why Sherlock was here. And he wanted to hear it plain from the man's lips.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock frowned. He was not playing this game.

He crossed his arms, looking almost petulant.

"You know bloody well what. Why did you do that to me?"

[ihadabadday]

John stared at him for a moment and then went back to his book. It seemed they were going to be playing this game now. He was patient. He could be patient. He had eons now, like Sherlock did. And in the mean time, he would continue to grow his power and learn more about his station, and the part of him that was descended from Ares.

He turned the page in his book, a soft smile on his face. The story was about a brilliant homicide detective who could nearly solve any case that came across his desk. His partner was a former doctor who chronicled the odder cases they worked on.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock stood there for a moment, waiting to see if John was going to say anything else.

When it was obvious that he was not, he shrugged and walked back to his throne, slumping down once more.

John knew damn well what he meant, and if he was going to be an arse about it, then Sherlock would wait. That plug wasn't going anywhere until John gave him an explanation, he decided. Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall. He didn't care how long it took.

He could wait.

[ihadabadday]

John emerged from his room days later and looked at Sherlock. He didn't say anything as he crossed over to where Sherlock sat.

He stepped up and watched him for a moment, noting how his hair danced with the flames. He smiled and then put his fingers on the man's chin, tilting his head up.

"You want to know why I kissed you?"

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock looked up as his chin was tipped up. He looked uninterested, but of course he really did want to know.

"You didn't want to tell me then, so why should I think that you are going to tell me now?" He snapped. His hair flared just a bit, he really wasn't in the mood to play games right now. He needs to come right out and say it or bugger off.

[ihadabadday]

"Because I wanted to Sherlock." He answered, "Because I like kissing and... I like you."

They bickered, they argued, they often got angry at one another. But they were all the other had for these past several years. And it was either deal with it or continue to argue for the next however many eons.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock looked at him like he had a second head. He cocked his head to the side. John... liked him? It made no sense. They fought and Sherlock tended to use him as a fuck toy. He had to smile at that. John still looked distended, that plug was still inside of him. He kinda wanted to remove it just to watch how much came out.. but not yet.

"Why?" He asked. It was an honest question. He really had no concept about the concept of being liked, or loved.

[ihadabadday]

"Because no matter how much we argue, or fight... We still have each other. We are the other has." John said, "It was either be miserable and hate you, or not."

John wasn't sure how Sherlock would take to that. Admitting that. He let out a breath, wondering if the man was going to send him away. Or just scoff.

[seaweed_writes]

He didn't send him away, or scoff, he still sat there, staring at John, trying to figure out what to say or so next.

"The fact that that we have each other means that you have to tolerate me. But that still doesn't explain why you would actually like me. There is a different between tolerating and liking another being.

[ihadabadday]

"I don't know. I just do." He answered, "Something has changed in the past several years and... I don't think I want to go back to what it was before."

John let out a breath and then stepped back. "That's why I kissed you." With a nod, he turned to go back to his room.

[seaweed_writes]

"John." He said, while John was walking away.

"What.. has changed in the last years?" He isn't asking to be an ass, he is truly, honestly trying to understand John, and how he feels.

[ihadabadday]

He stopped and turned to look at Sherlock. He was quiet for a moment. "I don't know Sherlock. Just something has. And I don't think it's so much of a bad thing."

John smiled at him before slipping into his room.