Tag: Aenonnymoose

Aenonnymoose

aenonnymoose:

For: Lady-Karasu

IMPORTANT NOTE: First go look at This Post and see the GIF, then notice the comment; and then read the following:

Sebastian Moran entered the refitted hunting lodge with duffel-bag and rifle-case over one shoulder, handgun in his free hand. The perimeter had been secure, as was the gate at the bottom of the little hill upon which the lodge had been built. Instead of coming in the front door, however, Seb entered from the back, coming around from the garage.

The reason Seb was stealthily sneaking into what was, to all appearances, a secured location, was that Jim hadn’t answered his phone in the last thirty-two minutes, which was highly unlike him. James Moriarty was borderline obsessive about staying in touch with the goings on of his organisation, as well as his right-hand man, favourite assassin, and lover.

Once inside, finding nothing obviously out of place, Seb checked the few rooms on the ground floor—no one and nothing unusual to be found—then crept upstairs, expecting trouble, cat-footed and nearly silent.

In the outer room of the upstairs bedroom suite, Seb found Jim’s mobile next to the universal remote on the plush sofa, text and missed call notification icons showing on its screen; it had been set for vibrate. Even as he stood there, frowning down at it, the mobile buzzed softly, screen lighting up to show a received-text reminder. The reminder was for a text from Seb, himself, as a matter of fact.

Hearing a soft sound of movement in the bedroom beyond an only slightly-ajar door, Seb moved toward it, half expecting to find Jim taking a perfectly innocent nap and half expecting to find him in danger; the one would lead to some grumbling from Seb about ‘security and practicing what you bloody preach, Jim’ and the other would lead to someone being dead.

What Seb didn’t expect to find was Jim sitting on his heels at the edge of their huge bed, just then pulling a ribbed cotton undershirt off while still wearing a too-large pair of camouflage fatigue trousers. In fact, Sebastian’s own fatigues, as was the undershirt, the camouflage fatigue jacket discarded on the far edge of the bed, and the ball-chain with dog-tags still dangling at the end that swung against Jim’s sternum as he turned with raised brows and wide brown eyes.

It was exceedingly rare that Jim allowed himself to be surprised; he was usually the one who did the surprising, and rarely in a way that was very fun for the surprisee. But this time, Jim’s lips fell open slightly, teeth then coming together to almost form what Seb was certain might have been the beginning sibilant of his own name. With Jim’s upper body turned toward him, Seb could see the way the trousers rode low on his slim hips, making it fairly certain that Jim wore nothing underneath.

Seb let the duffel and case slide to the floor, then flicked the safety catch on his gun to ‘on’ and tossed it onto the bed beyond Jim as he approached, saying nothing, looking him over thoroughly; whatever showed on Seb’s face, it brought the merest hint of colour to Jim’s face, made the pulse flutter at his neck, and caused his smooth chest to rise and fall with a sudden inhalation.

Where words, meanings, double entendrés, clever witticisms, and subtle threats were Jim’s usual province, Seb wasn’t really the talkative sort—it wasn’t that he was stupid, on the contrary, he just wasn’t one for idle chit-chat—and to have startled Jim into silence was, indeed, a very rare thing. Seb didn’t ruin it, he let his face show his intention, and let his actions show his opinion on this unexpected discovery. Whether Jim was embarrassed at being caught or had planned this whole ‘scene’ was immaterial to Seb at that moment; he’d find out the truth later, or not.

As Seb stepped right up to the side of the bed, his hands fell to Jim’s hips, gripping handfuls of the loose trousers and using that to lift Jim up onto his knees, pulling him forward to the very edge of the mattress. Simultaneously, Jim’s hands came up to meet Seb, one on his left bicep, the other on his chest, not stopping him or pushing him away, just touching as he tilted his head back slightly to keep Seb’s gaze as the taller man moved in close. Jim’s lips quirked just a little, pulling to the side in something close to amusement and closer to arousal, but he still remained silent as Seb’s own lips took on a cockily-aroused tilt just before he brought them down on Jim’s.

Seb didn’t dick around with soft buildup kisses or nibbles this time, he urged Jim’s lips open straight away, wanting in now; he met with absolutely no resistance, the response was eager as Jim made the tiniest hungry sound deep in his throat. Answering with a lower, just as hungry, sound of his own, Seb’s hands slid further around Jim, grabbing his arse and pulling him closer, still. It was obvious Jim was excited as their bodies pressed together from chest to thigh, and in moments it was just as obvious Seb felt the same.

The lack of discussion continued for a good long while, though there wasn’t any lack of communication, even if it was in the form of sighs, moans, growls, and maybe a couple of enthusiastic shouts at one point.

Much later, Jim put on his own, usual clothing, but kept the dog-tags. Sebastian had no complaints, and his smug expression lingered for quite a while.

END

~Moose

(This wouldn’t work in an askbox due to there being a link involved, hence it being posted here instead of slipped into Lady-Karasu’s askbox directly.)

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay~! o/  Thank you so much, I adore it.  ❤  I am far too tired to properly articulate my Joy at the moment, but let me flail at you over this lovely, lovely piece of work.  *FLAILS*

Aenonnymoose

10- Sherlock remains nestled in John’s lap, who thinks it’s just fine, sharing the rest of his toast bite for bite with John – whose own is forgotten. In between bites, they share long, luscious, honey-flavoured kisses, and the moans seem to grow longer and deeper. Being a genius, Sherlock suggests further experiments with the honey. John, again, has no complaints. Thereafter, every other shopping list contains the item ‘2 jars cinnamon honey’ – only one of the jars is ever for toast. END ~Moose

Oh my dear, sweet nonnie, thank you so much; this was sweet, and delicious, and I may be a little caught up in the subject matter… um.  Hot.  Hot is good.  In short, I adored this, thank you~!  ^_^

[Back to the beginning…]

9- The difference is remarkable. What was delicious is now sumptuously amazing. John’s aware of the soft moan rising up out of him, but it’s irrelevant. Sherlock’s deeper moan joins along and he frees John’s mouth to delicately lick his upper lip before saying, “Oh, John, this is even BETTER.” Again ‘saying’ should be ‘purring’ or some adjective that means ‘tone that sidles up to the libido and gives it a very friendly fondle’. “No complaints here,” John says a little breathily. (tbc)

Next (last) bit…

8- Sherlock frowns as if John’s doing something strange, and John only then realises that Sherlock’s pupils are dilated, cheeks flushed. He usually looks like this after they’ve kissed and fondled for a few minutes; this just from spiced honey on toast? As this observation enters John’s brain, Sherlock’s clearly having a thought – knowing him, several dozen – and he licks some of the brownish-gold flavoured honey off of the toast and leans down, kissing John with a honey-coated tongue. (tbc)

Next bit…

7- Not averse to trying just about anything Sherlock asks when he uses THAT voice, John obediently opens his mouth and, when Sherlock slips the edge of the toast between his lips, he takes the bite. There’s the usual crunch of toasted bread, the warm taste of butter, the smooth, rich taste of honey, and the spicy bite of cinnamon; however, the flavours blend and shift into something more as John chews, and it’s really quite delicious. He hums and nods in agreement and enjoyment. (tbc)

Next bit…

6- Smiling, maybe with a bit of a leer, John nods and starts to reply, but halts when Sherlock lifts one long leg and summarily straddles John’s lap, squeezing his lean body between the table and John. “Have you tasted it?” he asks – no, he rumbles, nearly purrs – and John nods. “Licked my finger when making your toast,” he replies distractedly. Sherlock’s already shaking his head, holding the cinnamon-honey and butter covered toast to John’s lips, purring, “Not the same, take a bite.” (tbc)

Next bit…

5- John’s brows go up in query; Sherlock’s tone is arresting, as is his expression as he swallows and immediately takes another small bite. Another soft, throaty moan works its way up that long neck and John’s comfy old denims seem to shrink a little. Licking his lips, Sherlock turns to John and snatches the newspaper out of his unresisting hands. “You listened,” he says as if John’s arranged for a quadruple locked-room murder with a note written in some convoluted cipher from the killer. (tbc)

Next bit…

4- John’s caught in the act of picking up his own first piece of toast, looking up at Sherlock with his lips slightly parted, smilingly surprised. The sound Sherlock makes is more than John expected, more like the sounds his lover makes in the bedroom – or on the sofa, or the occasional secluded alley, or… nevermind – and Sherlock chews with an expression of deep pleasure while John watches, rapt. “John,” Sherlock says after swallowing, voice lower and richer than his usual morning voice. (tbc)

Next bit…

3- This means John’s not read anything annoying yet and is pleased with himself for having the tea and toast ready just in time. Snorting softly, Sherlock stops by the table, taking up his tea and sipping cautiously as he reaches out for a slice of toast. The smell hits him first, even as he’s opening his mouth, and he bites into the toast with a sound that’s half surprise, half moan when the first burst of taste swells into being in his mouth. Warm butter and spicy-sweet cinnamon-honey. (tbc)

Next bit…

2- John’s smiling as he sits and returns to reading the newspaper. Sherlock shuffles out to the smell of toast and tea, having no plans to go anywhere, wearing lounge pants and a t-shirt as a concession to John’s insistence that he at least _pretend_ to have a little modesty; well, that and Mrs. Hudson still has a bad habit of opening the door too soon after a nearly token knock or halloo. John’s reading his paper, smiling a serene ‘all is right with the world’ little smile. (tbc)

Next Bit…