lostwithoutmyblogger | au meets hotel

"That doesn't make you a genius," James retorts, lifting his hips a little, rolling his shoulders back and pressing his head back into the pillow. "It just makes you a bit of a scarlet woman. It's so boring, appealing to a weakness like that."

Jim decides that those collar bones pretty much need to be licked and nipped at, and he does so, shuffling a little closer, pressing his face into Sherlock's neck.

"No, but since I am a genius, and so are you, any advantage I have could one day be material." He points out, gentle hands reaching up to find the peculiar little erogenous zone he knows probably exists on his earlobe. "When we're pitched this close against one another, each advantage counts. I could probably kill you right now, if I wanted. Or I could drug you, smear something along my skin for you to bite. Don't underestimate the creative potential."

While his chest is being attended to, Sherlock steps out of his shoes and pulls off his belt as well, snapping the end of it thoughtfully at Jim's thigh, just enough to sting him for the impertinence. Not that he's asking him to stop.

James gasps and arches back, fingers tightening in Sherlock's skin. "Darling, I invented creative potential," he tells him, breathless, and reaching a hand up to wrap around his cock, flicking idly at the ring still on it. "Don't act like you're the only one who's somewhat passable at this game."

The sting elicits a short sound, almost reminiscent of the gasp from his older self, and Jim pulls back a little, a pout tugging at his lips.

"You've got a bit of an unfair advantage, here."

"Then prove it." He challenges him, voice wrenching at the attention to his cock. "Because all you've done so far is whine about love, like a terrified braggart. I'm not impressed."

Sherlock's eyebrows go up at his younger counterpart's words, since that's rather asking for it. But Jim steals his attention back, and he lets out a soft sigh at the complaint, bending down to give him a placating kiss, before asking;

"Moriarty, do you want to borrow this one? It sounds as though he might be useful." Because he's enjoying steering this far too much, including possibly at his younger self's expense.

James glances over to where his double was on his knees on the bed, hands behind his back. And he makes a show of thinking about it, like he doesn't really want him, but he'll humor it for now. Finally, he nods, looking back toward the detective currently on top of him.

"Alright. Jim, darling, why don't you show me what pretty Sherlock likes?"

And, as pleased to play this game as Jim is, he's not quite sure where his position rests. He likes sex with Sherlock, enjoys taking him to pieces, but he doesn't want to put himself on their side, doesn't want to make Sherlock lose on his account. This is supposed to be about the two of them teaching their older selves a lesson (which seems to have completely backfired), not about them being used against one another to deflate their own pride and ego.

He casts an uneasy glance back toward the older Sherlock before pulling away from him and moving closer, wanting to kiss and feel his lover against him. It's difficult without his hands, but he manages to get himself closer, hitching up on his knees to lean in, tracing his lips along the younger Sherlock's ear.

"If you want this to stop, I'll stop it for you."

"Same."

He answers, reaching up and trailing fingers along the back of his neck, communicating quiet trust and enjoyment. He's all right with the turn this is taking. He doesn't mind at all, in fact. But, he doesn't want to have to think too much about it, so he follows his impulses. It's a little difficult, to twist sideways and down, but he has his hands free to brace himself and he can get his mouth on Jim's cock, just so, even if he has to nudge him backwards a bit to do it properly.

The older Sherlock helps, manhandling Jim by his bound arms so he's still up on his knees, in a comfortable enough position for his younger self to suck him off.

"The boy can multitask." He quips, cheerfully, leaning in so Jim has someone to lean on.

"Can't he just," James observes, watching as Jim gasped and pressed forward, using Sherlock behind him as a support. It was nice and- strangely erotic, having their younger selves between them like this, watching Sherlock try to pleasure his lover while rocking down on him.

James' eyes lifted for a moment, toward the older detective, sending him an amused little look.

"You should fuck him. Yours, I mean. While little-you sucks him off."

"All right. But get him up on his hands and knees, it'll be more sustainable."

He has to step back from Jim for a moment, but keeps a hand on the back of his neck to steady him as he fishes about for lubricant.

His younger self lets out the filthiest little whimper at the suggestion, looking up at Jim through his hair. They may have bitten off more than they can chew.

Jim shares that look, biting his lower lip and nodding once at him. It wasn't a 'stop', it was an 'I'm nervous'. He's not quite sure what they've gotten into this time, but Sherlock was right- it might be a little more than they could handle.

Still, James ignores the two of them exchanging their meaningful looks, and sits up a little, tugging at the younger detective's shoulder to get him off of Jim's cock.

"You heard him. Up, and on your hands and knees."

He pulls off him, and off Jim as well, crawling off James and onto his knees in front of Jim to kiss him messily, reassuringly, hands on his hips. It means his fingers brush up against his own double's for a moment, as the older man returns to stand behind Jim, pants down just far enough, slicking himself slowly.

Very tentatively, Sherlock leans forward, pressing his body up against Jim's and over his shoulder, stealing a quick kiss from himself. It feels strange, odd, right, wrong- but good to have Jim in the middle of it, trapped between the two of them.

Jim surges up against him, and it's like coming home again- he loves the way Sherlock fits up against him, so easily, so snugly. He smiles, resting his chin on Sherlock's shoulder as the other man kisses his double.

Not one to be outdone, James sits up fully, reaching out to grab at Jim's chin, tilting it up to kiss, pressing his chest against Sherlock's back. And- yes, that's weird, all of them together like that, kissing himself with the younger detective in the middle, and just briefly, his fingers brush up against the older Sherlock's arm before he pulls back, waiting for all of them to get situated.

He pulls back, sort of reluctantly, lips grazing along Jim's jaw as he sinks down onto his hands and knees, waiting for James to move back inside of him, head lowered to rest on the blankets because it's spinning. After a moment, he does glance up at Jim again, asking to be grounded;

"Tell me." Talk to him, that always means, about numbers, implications, biology or chemistry, whatever strikes him.

Only this time, Sherlock the older is there to make sure it isn't easy for him, fingers trailing over his skin.

Jim shivers, glancing behind him toward the older man for a moment, lashes fluttering and slowly returning to Sherlock, trying to ground himself first. It's hard for a moment, because all he can think of is two and two is four, and that would hardly serve to take anyone's mind off of anything. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath.

"He's touching me with less than two pascals of pressure, eight fingers, roughly four and a half square inches of contact, sliding down the- the y-axis of my spine, third, fourth, fifth lumbar vertebrae, he's done this before but he's not quite so used to the control of it, and he likes it, but he's lost, a little, like you were, like I was, and it's good, Sherlock, and you've got seven bruises, an eighth forming over the one I gave you yesterday, and- oh-"

James pushes in, fingers wrapped around Sherlock's hips, pressing over a few of the aforementioned bruises.

Sherlock cries out, loud and fluttering, but silences himself by wrapping his mouth around Jim's cock again, because it doesn't do to be unduly loud. It just doesn't.

He whimpers, though, as James settles inside of him, teasing at places that make him see spark behind his eyelids.

Curious to see if he can get the same reaction, Sherlock presses up against Jim, starting to ease himself in- much more slowly.

Jim has to finally stifle a scream, leaning forward a little, barely maintaining his balance. Both sensations are incredible on their own, and together it's enough to shut him up and make him whimper. He shivers and makes soft, needy noises, trying to press back and forward at the same time.

Pleased with the outcome of his little idea so far, James presses flush against Sherlock, nails digging into his skin as he slowly pulls out, before slamming back in with a satisfied sound.

Sherlock has never heard Jim lose it like this, so he twists, trying to look up at him, trying to see, more interested in that than in- oh, no, that's a lie, because James forces forwards suddenly and Sherlock has to push back hard to keep from hitting Jim and upending them all off the bed, and that feels so good his eyes roll back in his head.

Yes.

Fortunately, his duplicate is staying still inside Jim, waiting for them to settle into a rhythm before trying anything. No intentions of making anyone gag suddenly.

Jim continues to make soft little sounds, unable to even try to hold it in. His composure has shattered, leaving him this noisy, pleasurable thing. He tries to lean back against the older Sherlock for at least some sort of grounding back into reality, but before he can, James' hand tangles in his hair and he's pulled forward for another biting kiss, over Sherlock's back.

And he tries to keep his hips still, he really does, but each little thrust from James sends Sherlock forward just a tiny bit, and there's a rhythm to it that's just maddening, and Jim can't help but to push against it, just a little, just enough to count.

Sherlock is choking, stuck between them, feeling the cockring and trembling with need, now, for more, more of any of it. He already wants so badly to come.

It's a good thing Jim already has once, because Sherlock isn't going to make this easy on him. Once James has a pace he likes, he meets it, rocking the sweet little thing forwards in time, still holding him to give him support. He hasn't untied him and he certainly doesn't intend to, not until this is over. His role is mostly uncomplicated, so he continues to supervise while he fucks him, making sure no one upends or steps on anyone else or pulls hair.

James pulls away from his double after a moment, sucking the taste of him off of his lower lip. The pace continues for a few more moments before he decides to be nice for once, reaching down between the younger Sherlock's legs and stroking him once, twice, twisting off the ring suddenly, leaning over him to lick a long stripe up his spine.

Jim struggles a little against the ropes, they're already rubbing his skin raw but he doesn't care at this point, too beyond caring, leaning back into the Sherlock fucking him for a little support as his knees shook and trembled against the bed.

As the ring comes off he starts to scream, muffled around Jim, but he has to pull his head back off him and grit his teeth as he comes, hard, to the feel of James Moriarty the Evil licking his back.

Sherlock takes this opportunity to begin to fuck Jim hard, twisting him sideways so he can fall shoulder first into the bed, so Sherlock can take his hips and work at finishing him off quickly.

Jim gives a strangled sound as Sherlock shoves him down, unable to catch himself with his hands. He winds up falling back right where Sherlock wants him, disoriented from the sudden motion, his eyes hazy, spreading his legs as far as he can so that Sherlock can fuck him more, harder. He screams then, mirroring his own Sherlock's sound and comes so hard that he's dizzy with it, hips jerking up with the force of it.

Now that the younger Sherlock is done and off of Jim, James takes the moment to flip him over on his beck next to the younger criminal, hitching his knees up with his hands and fucking him deep into the mattress.

The older detective takes pity on poor Jim, who has already been brought off twice now, after all, and probably needs a bit of a rest. Not that watching his poor boyfriend be fucked raw is necessarily restful, but it may be less physically taxing.

"Don't move." Sherlock orders him, rolling him onto his side. "Watch us."

Because he's going to go join them, now, sliding over easily to help pick up his younger, puddled self for James to use.

Jim makes a little bereft sound as Sherlock leaves him, instead glancing over toward his boyfriend, trying to squirm a little closer to kiss his shoulder, a little reassurance against the storm of sensation.

Curious to see what the older Sherlock was doing, James stilled himself with some effort, glancing over toward him, and then his double, pursing his lips.

"They really go so quickly, don't they?"

"They're young. How loose is he?"

Reaching down, to slip his fingers inside his young double, along side James' cock- pads of his fingers awfully careful to drag along Moriarty, meeting his eyes, challenging. It's obvious who he's really trying to stimulate.

Still, Sherlock is the one that ends up screaming again, twitching between them, head rolling back.

"A little."

James looks back toward him, just as challenging- Jim watches them both carefully, before inching closer to Sherlock, kissing along his shoulder, making soft, reassuring sounds. James ignores them, staring toward Sherlock.

"Don't know if he can take both of us, if that's what you're asking."

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