Sexy and I Know It
“I’ll be waiting a long time, Sherlock,” Jim countered, swallowing back the choked moans that threatened to escape him at the rough, controlling movements. He rocked against the detective, burning with need- his fingers shook when he finally got them between their chests, going quickly down the line of buttons down the man’s front before practically clawing it off Sherlock’s shoulders, at least far enough to expose the man’s torso.
Jim hissed at the hot feel of him, his hips surging upwards. “Couldn’t hate you more if I tried.”
"Mm, doubtful." Smirking, he dragged his lips back up Jim’s neck, biting down on his lower lip hard. Hard enough to draw blood. Sucking that off, his hands moved down to grip at the other man’s hips forcefully, nails biting into him and also drawing blood. Grinding his hips up into the criminal again, he took back to claiming Jim’s mouth forcefully.
“You could call it that.”
Jim growled, surging up against the sharp, demanding touches. He started to fight back (for what else could it be called, the way they seemed set on tearing each other apart as much as they were trying to get closer), digging his heels into the base of Sherlock’s spine, biting and licking at the detective’s slick mouth.
“I hate you,” he hissed, his fingers moving restlessly over every inch of skin he could reach- scratching, groping, squeezing, pinching, marking. “I will destroy you.” And himself, for to destroy one would destroy the other.
No, that only worked one way, didn’t he? But he’d always intended to end it soon, what did that matter.
Grunting, he pulled back a fraction of an inch from the criminal’s lips to suck in a breath and let out a curse. “I’d like to see you try and live without me.” Fisting his hands into the man’s short hair, he attacked the smaller man’s mouth again.
"You think you hate me now." His voice was a low, silky purr. It, however, had a dark growl sound to it. How could one purr and growl all at once? Didn’t matter. "Just wait." At that, he yanked his hands tighter into the man’s hair and trailed kisses down his neck. Kisses, licks, bites. Love bites, one could call them, but that would be false. For what he and Jim had was nothing like love. In fact, it was quite the opposite.
“I hadn’t,” Jim growled back, gripping Sherlock’s tangled curls between his fingers. He seemed unerringly willing to take the lazy way out, to slouch into his seat and let Sherlock keep control.
The detective’s mouth was hot again him, hot and wet and left him wanton. He groaned, shifting to press his hips up into Sherlock’s buttocks.
Grunting at the connection of the jutting hipbones of the man beneath him, he hovered slightly over him. What if Mycroft found out? He would never let him live it down. Then again, why should he really care what his brother thought of him. He hadn’t up to now, and he would continue not caring for the rest of this life.
Trailing hot, wet kisses down Jim’s chest, the consulting detective finally ripped away his evil counterpart’s shirt. Grinding his hips into the smaller man’s, he dragged his mouth back to the consulting criminal’s lips and attacked them again.
thedetectivewholived started following you
"Happened to be passing by and felt the need for social interaction with someone who despises me." Rolling his eyes, Sherlock sighed, annoyed. "Don’t ask stupid questions." Pulling his gun from his coat, he pointed it at the sniper. "Where is he?"
“Wha’ th’ bloo’y ‘ell are ya doin’ ‘ere, Sherlock?”
“I’ve come back, Emery.”
“Who says Ah’ll ta’e ya back?”
All Hearts Are Broken || Emlock
"Who’s to say I’ve come back for that specific reason?"
Sherlock closed his eyes, exhaling deeply through his nose. It had been three years since his fall. Everyone he had ever….cared…about thought he was dead. John had someone new, and he wasn’t going to take the man away from his bride-to-be. He had learned a few things in the past three years. How to be human. How to think like a normal person. They were all dreadful.
He hated it. He hated this life.
He had cut off all of his hair, and it was now a bright gingery red. There was more meat on his bones, on account of the fact that he had made a point to eat more. He had actually fitting clothes, and he had stopped wearing the coat — for now at least. Now, however, he stood in front of the door of this particular flat, calculating whether or not he should knock in his mind quickly. It had been so long…would they even remember him? Many greater things had come after “Sherlock Holmes.” Raising a hand, though, he knocked on the door and waited.
((I would…but no one listens to me. xD))
(no we should plot
((…seriously no one ever actually wants to plot with me. Well, do you have a skype? Do I already have your skype? Forgive me, I can’t remember which Mun you are. D: ))
thedetectivewholived started following you
“Why are you here?”
"I need your help." It pained Sherlock to admit it, but it had been three years of being on his own with no true place to go. He needed structure. He needed somewhere to stay near human (though idiotic) life. "Please."
I’m sorry, Sherlock!
Don’t apologize for things that don’t warrant an apology. It’s a dreadfully annoying habit of yours.
“Will he?” Jim answered hoarsely, staring up at Sherlock through thick lashes. He licked his own lips. He hardly seemed to mind being manhandled, sprawled in the chair in a manner far too inviting to properly resist. “Are you letting big brother handle your battles for you? What a shame.”
"Only this one." He leaned forward, straddling Jim’s hips in the chair and pressing another kiss to his lips. "If you haven’t noticed, I’m just a bit busy at the current moment." He wrapped his arms around the man, kissing him yet again then trailing kisses down the criminal’s check. After each kiss, he would undo another button on the other man’s shirt.
Jim’s response was more an attack than anything. He dug his claws back into the man’s neck, pulling the taller man down further to him. “Don’t get me wrong,” he muttered in-between licks and bites, “I still find your life choices horrifically boring and I’m still going to burn every bridge you have to these supposed friends of yours.”
Because he never did anything halfway, and if Sherlock was going to belong to him he wouldn’t have any pesky government workers (political, policing or otherwise) flitting about.
Digging his nails into Jim’s back in return, he tipped his head back slightly. His breath quickening, his blue eyes snapped onto his. He hesitated for a moment, then wet his quickly swelling lips to speak. “Know that Mycroft will kill Moran.” He attacked his lover’s(?) lips again, trailing kisses and bites down his neck and pushing him back into his chair. “Right?”