ihadabadday | Into the Night - AU - Locked to seaweed

Entry tags:

nc-17; au; rp; johnlock

Into the Night - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

Sex sold. It could be seen in marketing for businesses across all sorts of industries.

And for John Watson, his business was booming.

He worked out of a club in London that catered to certain... Tastes. Men and women who looked to dominate someone sexually. Some would look down on a man having that job, scoffing. Sex work was legal though. But those who were interested in BDSM, found sex workers to be lacking.

John was sitting at a bar at the club he usually worked out of, nursing a soda. He rarely drank when he was working, preferring to stay sober.

He looked around the room, seeing if there was anyone who caught his interest tonight.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

John watched him go and smiled. "I'm up for it." He winked at Sherlock, "I did put some numbing cream on the counter for you!"

He shifted to get up and strip off the sheets from the bed. He changed all the bedding and made the bed neatly. After that, he pulled on his robe (and just his robe) and went to go start tea.

It was more than a little awkward, spreading the numbing cream all over his arse, and it felt oddly warm and tingly, but it did help the pain a little bit, at least to the point where he could walk somewhat normally.

He also put on only his robe after washing his hands well of the cream (they were going to feel a bit odd for a while as well, now) and joined John in the kitchen.

"I hate to say that today might be a bit boring, as I doubt I am up for too much physical work today. Perhaps we should stick to our normal routine of me rogering you." He chuckled and gently sat down at the kitchen table.

John set a cup of tea down in front of Sherlock and then chuckled. "Whatever you want." He said before sitting down himself. John leaned forward and rubbed his thigh. There was still a bit of pain constantly. The severity mostly came and went, depending on the weather and what sort of strenuous activities he did.

Of course Sherlock noticed that he was rubbing at his old injury.

"Do you need a massage, John?" Sherlock asked after taking a sip of tea. Strong and sweet, just like he liked it.

Sherlock had massaged John's army injury in the past when it was bugging him. It usually ended up being an all over massage that led to John being under Sherlock and getting buggered, but this time Sherlock would be able to control himself.

He hoped.

John looked at Sherlock and shook his head. "No, I'll be okay. Thank you for offering though." He said.

He knew Sherlock had seen the new scars... From the shrapnel that nearly took his life, but he was still hesitant about them, what they represented. He pulled his hand away from his thigh and looked down at his cup of tea.

Sherlock frowned. "You don;t have to be ashamed of them." Sherlock knew they reminded John of the time they had been apart. It hadn't been so long ago, but it seemed like a lifetime now.

"Let me help you. I've massaged your bad shoulder before plenty of times. This is no different." Well, it really was a lot different, to both of them, but Sherlock wanted to normalize that injury as much as he could, remind John that it was in the past, and that they were moving past it now.

John pulled into himself a bit and looked away. The memories of the attack on the convoy flashed through his mind. If he hadn't tackled one of his platoon... He may not have been thought to be dead. And he never would... Sherlock. His heart clenched and he reached up to rub the slowly forming tears away from his face. No.

"Excuse me..." John got up and left the kitchen. He knew he wanted to get past them, but they were so fresh in his mind.

Sherlock paused for a moment, then got up and went after John, gently but firmly grabbing him on the shoulder and turning him back towards himself.

"John, wait." He said, worry evident in his voice. " You don't have to do this alone. I.. don't want you to. You came back to me. Don't leave."

John looked at him with wide eyes and tears forming. He was hurting. His heart hurt and he didn't know what to do. He grabbed onto Sherlock's hands and slowly started to break down.

"The IED was meant to kill all of us... If I... If I hadn't tackled a fellow soldier to try and save him, I would have actually died."

Sherlock was silent for a moment, giving John's hand a soft squeeze.

"You didn't die, John. You are here. You came back to me. I thought you died.. I thought I'd have to live the rest of my life without you. But you survived. You were so strong and you returned here, and now you never have to worry. I'll always be here."

John swallowed and seemed to crumple in Sherlock's arms. "I'm sorry for leaving you. I shouldn't have left..."

He had only ever dreamt of returning to Sherlock, of returning to their life here. When he had returned and Mycroft said Sherlock was gone... Gone... It nearly destroyed him. There had been a brief flash of wanting to eat his gun. A life without Sherlock in it...

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, gripping him tight. "What we did, both of us, it's in the past, John. We are here, now. Both of us. We both survived and found our way back to each other. That's what's important now. Right now."

John looked up at him and swallowed. He nodded. It was in the past. Let the past die and forget their own future.

"It's just the two of us against the world." He whispered before kissing Sherlock.

"Yes, yes it is. " he said with a smile after the kiss finally broke. He kissed John one more time, then let go, sure now that John could stand on his own once again. "Come into the bedroom with me. I am going to give you that massage. I promise that I won't take any further. I think we both just need to have some thinking time today." That and his soreness wouldn't let him do much, sadly.

John nodded. That would be nice. "Alright. You do have such talented hands."

He let Sherlock lead him back to their room.

Sherlock smiled, leading John to the bedroom, still holding his hand. When they got there, he let go and took a step away.

"Alright. strip down and lay down, on your stomach, on the bed. I'll get the massage oil from the loo." He headed into the loo and got the oil that he only used when he was working on John's two injuries. It was not cheap, so it was used sparingly, but it always seemed to do the job- along with Sherlock's hands, of course.

He walked back in the room and laid a towel down on the bed, so the oil wouldn't get on the sheets, then waited for John to lay down. He also turned the overhead lights off and only turned on one bedside lamp, giving the room a soft, yellowish glow.

John stripped off his robe and climbed onto the bed once the towel was laid down.

He shifted onto his stomach, pillowing his head in his arms.

He had to admit, he enjoyed the massages. Feeling Sherlock's hands move along his back, his body...

Sherlock decided to start off in a neutral location, so he put some of the oil on his hands and rubbed them to warm it, then started at John's lower back, kneading the muscles with his thumbs and spreading his other fingers out from them.

He slowly started to work upwards, towards his shoulder and the older injury.

"John, okay so far?" He asked, pausing briefly.

John relaxed with each pass, each touch. He enjoyed it. He closed his eyes, giving a pleased sigh.

"M'okay..." he muttered. Either he fell asleep or it ended in sex. Or both. Sometimes he woke to Sherlock rogering him like no tomorrow.

When Sherlock got to John's shoulder, he made sure to lighten his tough, gently moving his fingers over the stretched and puckered scar tissue. He dug his fingers in, working the muscles under the scarring.

"This isn't too hard, is it?" He liked to keep asking, to make sure that John was not overstimulated or it wasn't hitting a bad nerve.

He practically melted. Oh that felt so good. Feeling those fingers work along his shoulder. John shivered.

"No. It's perfect." He answered. He knew he sounded close to sleep.

But being back with Sherlock. Being here. Having this again... It was everything that he had missed.

Sherlock leaned down. "Sleep, if you need to rest, John. I promise, I won't be offended." He gave his lover the very lightest of kisses on the back of his neck.

he worked on that knot of muscle and scarred flesh for a time, then started to move back down John's back, over his shoulders, down either side of his spine, then.. finally.. he approached the one place that he hadn't touched yet, that horrible mass of new scarring on John's thigh.

For a moment, he paused, scared to continue. Sherlock took a deep breath and touched it for the first time, gently, exploratory.

John made a soft noise at those words, that kiss. He had always known Sherlock had talented hands. He smiled softly as he lay there, starting to drift off. Funny how this all happened because of his job, and their unusual attraction to one another.

He was half asleep by the time that Sherlock got to his thigh. The scarring was wide. There had been a real danger that John could have died from these wounds. But he didn't. He survived. Survived to come back to Sherlock.

Sherlock made sure that he kept his touches light, not light enough to tickle, but not hard enough to really get down to the nerves buries deep. As much as it was tempting, he was so close, he kept his hands off of John's perineum and arse.

When he had given the area a thorough work through, he continued down John's legs, massaging as he went until he got to his feet, which he also gave a good work.

Finally, when he was done, he took a step back to... admire his work, or at least give John a nice look over.

John was relaxed and half asleep on his stomach. The tension seemed to ease out of him during the massage and he looked closer to thirty five than the forty one that he really was.

(no subject)

seaweed_writes - 2018-04-11 20:02 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only