[hotel verse]

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

It works a lot like last time. He wakes up, still in his suit and tie, with his arm slipped around Jim's waist. The way the used to when they were in school.

The thought occurs to him, the crash of old ideas and new, schoolboy adoration and rooftop loathing.

He draws in a quick breath and stays purposefully, staring down at Moriarty in confusion, taking slow stock of how close they're entwined.

Comments

[napoleonofcrime]

"I'd draw blood, sometimes."

Leaning in for a rough kiss.

"Do you want me to do that again?"

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Mmhm."

He agrees, long arms draping over his shoulders, leaning up into him, all pliant and reasonable.

[napoleonofcrime]

"Good boy."

Mouthing against his neck, moving to press Sherlock into a wall and biting down, hard.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

He groans, softly, winding their legs together.

"This place wants us to need each other."

[napoleonofcrime]

"I don't need anyone."

Breathing warmly against Sherlock's neck, sucking a mark into his skin.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"No. But I feel I could savour you, like a cup of tea."

Mild, arching his neck.

[napoleonofcrime]

"Only if there was a little spice to it."

He giggles, hands exploring Sherlock's skin underneath his shirt.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Piping hot."

He promises, head dropping back against the wall.

"Carl Powers-"

[napoleonofcrime]

"Not a very sexy thing to be thinking about."

Chiding quietly.

"What about him?"

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Him throwing you up against things. Pinning you."

Which may be a request, if you squint sideways at it.

[napoleonofcrime]

"You want a go?"

Shoving him up a little harder.

"See what it's like being on the receiving end?"

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"You say as though I've never been hurt before. I was less popular than you, remember?"

Still. His pupils give him away.

[napoleonofcrime]

"I don't mind being the bully."

He takes a step back, hands fisted in Sherlock's lapels, and uses his grip to force him down to the floor.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

He grabs at his wrists as he stumbles to the floor, legs betraying him.

"You-"

[napoleonofcrime]

Jim straddles him easily, smiling down at him, sickeningly sweet.

"Me."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

He stretches out underneath him.

"Jim, thank you-"

[napoleonofcrime]

"Don't thank me just yet, darling."

Leaning down to kiss him again- bruising, hard.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"The pressure-"

He tries to tell him.

"-the pain, I've learned, sutures me to reality. Staples me to my body."

[napoleonofcrime]

"Irene Adler, no doubt."

He snorts.

"I can work with that. But my sort of pain isn't like hers."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Lucifer."

He corrects.

He has a type.

[napoleonofcrime]

He rolls his eyes.

"Of course."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"I walked out half way through. He was predictable."

Arching up to meet Jim.

[napoleonofcrime]

"Good boy."

Nails raking down his chest.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

He hums in pleasure, arching up into it.

"He talked like you."

[napoleonofcrime]

"Is that why you rolled on your back for him?"

He laughs.