Five by Five, with extra kink

[brighteyedjill]

Hey friends. It's that time again. Yes, it's the week of Five Acts, a glorious fandom meme where you can post a list of your favorite kinks, and we all have a comment-fic orgy. Or gangbang. Or whatever floats your boat. Here's the deal. You:

1. Post on your journal a list of five favorite kinks to read about, and the fandoms and pairings you enjoy.
2. Drop you info at the sign up post
3. Check out the master list and write some comment fic for other folks and their kinks!



Click the image for rules and info, or see the master list to get comment-ficcin!

My Five Faves (of this week)
1. Begging or offering. Guys on their knees, begging for mercy, or to be taken, or for sexual release, or just get on with it already for the love of God! Or a character offering himself, maybe even emphatically...
2. Non-consensual or semi-consensual sex. Sexual extortion; bribery; reluctant or ambivalent partner; bondage and struggle; trading sexual favors to guards to procure food or medicine for partner; rape fantasies; other consent issues. The good old kidnapped-by-the-enemy or run-into-hostile aliens or even the horrible-alternative-is-worse-I'm-doing-this-for-your-own-good-even-if-you'll-hate-me-forever scenarios are also great.
3. Abuse. Sexual, emotional, and/or violent childhood abuse; past abusive relationships; character A's abuse drives character B into arms of character C; the wounded child as an adult archetype. An experience brings up bad memories, a character discovers something he didn't know about his partner, a friend is suspicious/protective of a love interest's current partner.
4. Power issues. Inequities in beauty, rank, or class; power games; BDSM; power reversals; teacher/student pairings; magical powers; abuse of power; blackmail; romantic slavery; issues of respect; sexual scenarios such as a dominant character giving his partner to others to use, or a character kneeling beneath a desk and blowing someone who's on the phone. I love negotiated power exchange (like healthy D/s relationships), but I'm also a fan of fucked-up power imbalance, too.
5. Animalistic behaviors and characteristics Feral characters or behavior; domesticated pet behavior such as sitting at owner's foot and cheeking their thigh; purring; licking; characters objectified as animals, e.g., puppy play. Collars are nice, too.


My Fandoms/Pairings:

Sherlock (Usually BBC, but I've been known to drift into the Richie or canon-verse): Sherlock/John, Mycroft/John, Mycroft/Sherlock, Lestrade/Sherlock, and basically any threesome-or-more combo of those pairings. Moriarty/whoever he's fucking with today.
Star Trek XI: Kirk/McCoy, Sulu/Chekov, McCoy/Chekov, Kirk/Sulu, Kirk/Chekov, Kirk/Spock, hell, pretty much any combo of the above. Mirror!verse welcome.
Heroes: Nathan/Peter, Sylar/Peter, Sylar/Luke, Adam/Peter. Judicious use of the magnificent bastards (Arthur or Linderman) is a-ok.
Supernatural: Sam/Dean or Dean/Cas
Inception: Arthur/Eames
Crossovers: Yes, please! Other fandoms I'm familiar with include BSG (through Season Three only), True Blood, Pretender, Buffy/Angel, and Firefly.



Things What I Done Wrote
Sherlock: Mycroft/John, writing on body, sleep themes for setos_puppy
Sherlock: John/Sherlock, fever, dance, touch for ariadnes_string
Star Trek Reboot: Kirk/McCoy, drowning, nightmare hurt/comfort for tresa_cho
Sherlock: John/Sherlock, anal play, performing for a partner, sensory deprivation for emerald_embers
Knowing Your Limits (Heroes: Sylar/Luke, Special powers, power issues, references to multiple orgasms) for jaune_chat
A United Front (Sherlock: Mycroft & Sherlock, kinda Mycroft/Sherlock, references to past Sherlock/OC; pretending to be together, kinda hurt/comfort) for rei17
The Foxhunt Adventure (Sherlock: John/Sherlock, accidental stimulation, first time-ish) for slothfulzel


(Guys, I suck at titles. Halp!)

Comments

Re: Certain Events in Lambeth, Lestrade/Sherlock, non-con, (nc-17), 3/5

[ariadnes-string.livejournal.com]

Which he didn’t. There was no other room to take Sherlock into, and Lestrade very much doubted that Hawk would respond to a plea for privacy in any case. The point of this was Sherlock’s humiliation, not anyone’s pleasure. And so Lestrade probably hadn’t made anything better by volunteering for the job. In fact, he was starting to feel ill at the prospect.

“Alright, then,” said Hawk, all business. “Get his trousers down. We don’t have all day. I’d do it over the end of the sofa if I were you, but suit yourself.”

“Hey boss,” Lestrade said, grasping at straws. “Wouldn’t mind a bit of cigar rolling, if you know what I mean. Been jonesing for it all week.”

He didn’t know if it would be any better that way. But at least Sherlock could keep his clothes on—and there’d be less chance of him getting hurt. And maybe, just maybe, Lestrade could think of a way for them to fake it.

“Yeah?” Hawk looked interested. “I like the way you think, Lou my boy. He does have a very pretty mouth. Very pretty indeed.” He ran the pad of his thumb over Sherlock’s lips, played with sticking it between them, laughed nastily when Sherlock jerked his head away. “Right. On your knees, you junkie cunt.”

He kicked Sherlock’s legs out from under him with a vicious, well-placed blow, and wrenched his head around so that Sherlock was facing Lestrade. “All yours, mate,” he said, and settled into one of the room’s spindly chairs as if he were watching a game of darts at the pub.

Sherlock gathered himself from the ungainly heap Hawk had left him in. If the kick had hurt him, he didn’t show it. He looked up at Lestrade, his pale eyes gone even paler, almost translucent. Something bubbled to the surface in them, some shard of lucidity.

“I know you,” he said, very distinctly.

Re: Certain Events in Lambeth, Lestrade/Sherlock, non-con, (nc-17), 4/5

[ariadnes-string.livejournal.com]

Lestrade froze. Fuck, oh fuck. Why hadn’t he had the sense to hang back, be inconspicuous? Why take this risk that wasn’t going to do anyone any good anyway. Trying to be some kind of bloody hero. Sherlock was going to hate him anyway, even if they survived the night.

“What’s that?” Hawk said sharply. “Is he saying he knows you?”

“Probably knows every drug dealer in London, this one.” Lestrade fumbled with the zipper of his jeans, trying to keep his voice level. “Could have sold him blow sometime, I don’t know.” He jammed his fingers into Sherlock’s overlong hair and forced his head down. “Go on. There’re better uses for that mouth of yours than talking.”

Sherlock let himself be pushed, though Lestrade almost wished he would struggle.

He kept one hand in Sherlock’s hair, thick and luxuriant for all it was in need of washing, and shoved his jeans and briefs down with the other. It was truly the worst moment of his not-very-long career, caught between exposing his body to these sadistic bastards, and exposing the whole undercover operation he’d worked to set up. And the worst of it was that he really did fancy Sherlock Holmes—under better circumstances might have found some way to ask him out for a drink, shared a walk along the Thames after the bars closed, a tender, fumbling first kiss.

And thinking these horrible thoughts he felt Sherlock take him into his mouth. He wasn’t tentative, exactly, just very slow, as if he were measuring and probing every millimeter of Lestrade’s prick, working at half speed. Lestrade had thought this would be the part he’d have to fake. There wouldn't be any way he’d get hard under these circumstances. He wasn’t the type of bloke who got off on coercion, much less exhibitionism.

But his body betrayed him. Or came to his aid, depending on how you looked at it. Sherlock’s mouth was sweet, his tongue looping languid circles up Lestrade’s cock, teasing at the slit. And Lestrade still had the picture of that other reality in his mind, of kissing Sherlock on some balmy night, out in the open air, running his hands over that lean body, the tight arse. He was rock hard and aching before he knew it.

“Oi,” Hawk said. “Put some back into it, Lou. This ain’t the bloody Proms. Nobody’s paying for your refinement and gentility.”

Georgie cackled from his perch on the sofa arm, but Lestrade barely heard them. He was fucking into Sherlock’s mouth in earnest now, swept up in the rhythm of it, feeling the tip of his cock bump up against the back of Sherlock’s throat. And Sherlock took him in, took him in as far as he could go, though whether it was through expertise or a byproduct of intoxication, Lestrade didn’t know.

Perhaps the former, because at the last minute, Sherlock reached up a hand to cup Lestrade’s balls, squeezed gently, and Lestrade was gone. Sherlock swallowed him down, coaxed him through the aftershocks, and Lestrade was so grateful he would have leaned down and kissed him in truth if he hadn’t thought it would bring a beating on them both.

Re: Certain Events in Lambeth, Lestrade/Sherlock, non-con, (nc-17), 5/5

[ariadnes-string.livejournal.com]

Finally, Sherlock let him slip out and sat back on his heels, looking wrecked, mouth unnaturally red in his pale face. Lestrade felt drained. He couldn’t tell if he were more relieved or horrified that he had pulled this off—that they had pulled it off, he corrected, suddenly sure that Sherlock had been helping, there at the end. He heard his own breath ragged in his ears as if it belonged to somebody else.

“That’s the spirit, Lou,” Hawk said, coming over and slapping him on the back. He looked a little flushed and glassy-eyed himself. “It’s like you popped your cherry today, mate. Zip up and let me buy you a pint.”

Hawk raised his foot again, and pushed at Sherlock’s shoulder until he toppled over, an untidy pile of limbs, unnervingly still. “And you. Don’t think this means you don’t still owe us money. This is just a taste of what’s going to happen to you if you don’t pay up. Come on, Lou—stop gaping.”

“Yeah,” said Lestrade, “just a minute.” He crouched over Sherlock—near enough to whisper and devil take the consequences. “Are you alright? Do you need a hospital?”

“Mmmn.” Sherlock’s voice was very faint, but steady. He didn’t lift his head from the floor. “No. I’m fine. It’s only transport, after all.”

Lestrade had no idea what he meant. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling shamed and ridiculous. “Thank you.”

+++

Lestrade’s undercover work wrapped up pretty quickly after that. He was reasonably sure that the events in Lambeth were what led Joe Wren to bring him into his inner circle, to finally introduce him to the big suppliers who had been the target all along. But it made him hot and sick to think about it, so he tried not to, most of the time.

Once he was back in his own clothes, hair newly shorn and tattoo safely hidden away, he made a trip to that shabby block in Lambeth, trudged up the stairs to the third floor bed-sit, heart in his mouth. He wasn’t sure what he intended to do if he found Sherlock. Apologize? That seemed laughably inadequate. Maybe just reassure himself that he still existed.

The flat was deserted. No one had bothered to fix the door, and he could see that the whole place had been swept clean, as if no one had ever lived there at all. He banged on all the other doors on the floor, showing his badge, but no one knew anything. One day he was here, the next day he was gone. No one knew anything.

Lestrade tried Houghton next.

“Ever hear from that bright young thing of yours?” he asked, trying to sound offhand. “The consultant?”

“It’s the damnedest thing,” Houghton said, and Lestrade tensed. Sherlock’s name had never appeared in any of the depositions, he’d made sure of that, but there were other, much worse things, that might have befallen him.

“What is?”

“Seems our boy was better connected than I thought. Friends—family—very high up. One day a very quiet gentleman indeed came along and told me to forget all about him. Swept him off for a long rest in the country. Very posh. Very private.” Houghton touched a finger to the side of his nose. “Can’t say he didn’t need it, though.”

Lestrade let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. So not dead, then. Not in a gutter someplace. Well looked after. “I hope it does him good,” he said, with more feeling than he’d meant to.

“So do I, mate, so do I. London could use a mind like that.”

end

Re: Certain Events in Lambeth, Lestrade/Sherlock, non-con, (nc-17), 5/5

[brighteyed-jill.livejournal.com]

Oh my stars! Sherlock's checkered past provides so many enticing possibilities, and you've certainly made the most of them! I love the idea that Lestrade can't bear to see the other thugs take him, despite the risk. And the extra added angst of Lestrade really fancying Sherlock ratchets everything up a notch. And poor Sherlock. His “No. I’m fine. It’s only transport, after all.” broke my little heart. I appreciate that Lestrade tried to find him and fix it afterwords.

Thank you for this! I will surely be re-reading it often!

Re: Certain Events in Lambeth, Lestrade/Sherlock, non-con, (nc-17), 5/5

[ariadnes-string.livejournal.com]

Yay! I'm so glad you enjoyed it! I'm so intrigued by strung-out!youthful!Sherlock it's a little creepy ;) And yeah, it may have gotten it a little angsty there....

Thanks for giving me the opportunity to explore one of my secret fav scenarios!

Re: Certain Events in Lambeth, Lestrade/Sherlock, non-con, (nc-17), 5/5

[rubynye.livejournal.com]

One -- I had to tell you that I adore your username.
Two -- as a fan of consent-issues stories, I had to tell you that this one is utterly brilliant. *applauds, quite impressed*

Re: Certain Events in Lambeth, Lestrade/Sherlock, non-con, (nc-17), 5/5

[ariadnes-string.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much on both counts!

I have a not-so-secret-anymore thing for this particular kind of consent issue story--so I'm very glad you felt it worked!

thanks for reading and commenting!