Title: Claim of Darkness
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Wordcount: ~2,300
Warnings: vampires, touch deprivation, isolation, dubcon situations, mentions of orgasm denial
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, and I do not make any money from this fanwork.
Summary: Vampire AU. Sherlock thinks John's blood tastes sweetest when he's crying.

****
John curls up in the corner, back to the wall and head on his knees. God, it's so dark. So very, very dark. He hasn't seen anything in... far too long. There's no way to keep track. No night and day - just endless darkness. He's received 17 meals since they put him in here - this small, dark room void of anything except a small hole for him to empty his wastes. But John doesn't think he's receiving even a meal a day. Either the coven doesn't know how much a human needs to eat, or they don't care. Either way, John is always hungry. Always thirsty. And so alone. Alone in the darkness.

He shivers, a full body shudder that runs from his head down to his naked toes. It's so cold, too, here in the darkness. Dark and cold and... they took his clothes, of course. His clothes and his shoes and even his socks. It's just John in here. Just John, naked and cold and hungry and thirsty and seeing absolutely nothing. He feels like his mind is wasting away along with his body. No food for his body, no... anything for his mind. He's atrophying. He just... God, he just wants this to be over.

Suddenly, the lights flicker on. John slams his eyes shut, feeling as if he's been blinded. Oh, they're here for him. Maybe they will finally kill him and put him out of his misery.

"Shh..." a deep voice purrs. "Look at you. Come here."

Strong arms gather him against a solid chest. John clings back. God, it's been so long since he's had human contact. Or nonhuman contact, as it may be. He doesn't care anymore. He doesn't. There are arms around him, holding him close, and he doesn't mind that they aren't warm. John wraps his arms around his captor's neck, burying his face in the strong chest and keeping his eyes tightly shut. He wants to see, but the light hurts. Burns. He wonders if this is how the vampires feel about sunlight - wanting it but knowing it hurts.

"Are you going to be good, now?" the voice rumbles.

John just nods and clings tighter. God, it feels so good to be held. Contact. He wants to touch and touch and touch and be touched everywhere. And maybe if he's good they'll give him food, and clothes. John's... John's so tired of fighting. At least if they tortured him there would be something - someone - to fight against. John's just been left alone with his mind and the dark.

"He's crying," a second voice, male, says from behind him. "I can smell it. How sweet."

John jumps, trying to burrow deeper into the embrace. He didn't... he didn't realize there were others. He wonders how many. John's seen humans before, covered with five, ten vampires. It only takes a minute or two before they're too far gone, their blood sacrificed to keep the vampires... well, not alive. Animated.

The vampire holding him growls.

"Back off, Anderson," he says, voice deep and threatening.

"You're not going to share?" a third voice asks, incredulous. Female, this time.

"No," is the firm response. A gentle hand cards through his hair. "No. He's mine. I'm keeping him."

"Sherlock..." yet another voice cuts in. It sounds like a warning.

"He's mine, Mycroft," the vampire holding him - Sherlock - states again. "I caught him. I broke him. Mine."

That last voice - Mycroft - takes an exaggerated breath.

"Very well, little brother," he agrees. "Anderson. Donovan - leave Sherlock to his pet."

The other vampires grumble, but leave. John just keeps clinging, hiding his face in that strong chest and wondering when the end will come.

"Shh..." the vampire whispers. "I've got you. Look, all those nasty vampires left. Let me see your face, now."

John loosens his grip on the vampire's neck, and pulls back just a bit. He blinks his eyes open, squinting in the still-bright light. The vampire in front of him is... attractive, in an unusual way. High cheekbones, dark curly hair. And his eyes...

It's like they can dissect John's every thought. He can't help but shiver under the intense gaze.

The vampire smirks down at him, letting him drop so John is supporting his own weight.

"Anderson was right. You're crying," he says. He sounds fascinated, bringing a hand up to catch the tears falling from John's eyes. He brings the hand to his mouth, touching the tears to his tongue and closing his eyes in pleasure. "Marvelous."

John... a part of John wants to run away. He knows better than to try, though. He's weak and shaky, and no physical match for a vampire even before they locked him in this hell of a room. So he just stands there, waiting for the vampire's next move.

"My name is Sherlock," the vampire whispers, bringing a hand around to splay against John's lower back. It is a possessive touch, all the more so because the vampire - Sherlock - is fully clothed, and John is still naked. Sherlock uses the hand to press them closer together, chest to chest. "Say it for me, John. Say my name."

"S-Sherlock..." John manages through dry lips and a parched throat.

"Again," the vampire commands.

"Sherlock," John repeats, closing his eyes once more and resting his head on the vampire's shoulder. Almost the end, now...

"So sweet," Sherlock murmurs, bringing his head down to nuzzle John's neck. John shivers in his grasp, but tries to relax - he knows it will hurt more if he tenses. "Don't forget to say my name as I take you, John. And don't be afraid to cry - it just makes your blood taste sweeter."

Full lips against his neck, pressing a chaste kiss against John's pulse. John wants to be strong, to be brave - but he can't help the few more tears that escape. Then a sharp pain as Sherlock bites down, and his blood is being pulled from his veins. The pain soon fades, transforming into a sort of dizzy pleasure. Sherlock holds him closer, the hand on his back falling to cup his arse. John can feel... can feel the vampire's hardness against his naked stomach.

"Sherlock..." John whispers softly, and then lets the darkness claim him.

****

John wakes up. It is a surprise. He wasn't expecting to wake up. He's... he's still human. He can feel his heart pumping, his blood rushing. The lights flicker on.

"Drink this," Sherlock tells him, appearing suddenly before him.

John jumps. God, the vampire moves so fast it is almost like he is teleporting. He takes the glass Sherlock offers. It... looks like water. John tries to sniff it discreetly. Smells... like nothing, so likely water.

"Water," Sherlock confirms. "Drink. I didn't drug it. I don't need to."

He says it with all the confidence of a strong vampire with a weak (still naked) human in his lair. There's nowhere for John to run - nowhere for him to hide. John has no choice - he drinks. Slowly, despite his urge to gulp it. He is a doctor - or was, in any case. He knows that he needs to do everything slowly, right now. His body cannot handle anything else.

"The thralls brought food," the vampire tells him. "Eat."

Soup. Tomato soup, and a bit of bread. John fights down the urge to giggle hysterically. God, how is this his life?

"Why... why aren't I a thrall? Why didn't you just glamour me?" John asks.

Sherlock smirks down at him, before settling in the giant bed at John's side. He's lounges in the space as if he owns it - which he does, of course. This is Sherlock's space, Sherlock's territory. John supposes - John supposes he's Sherlock's now, as well.

"I don't want a mindless thrall," Sherlock replies. "I want you. You have a surprisingly strong mind, for a human. Not enough to resist my glamour, of course - but enough to be interesting."

Sherlock says 'interesting' as if it is the most important quality to have. John supposes eternity must get boring, so perhaps it is, for a vampire.

"You intend to keep me here?" John asks, though he's already sure of the answer.

"Don't be an idiot, John," is the only response Sherlock give him. He's lying on his side facing John, piercing grey eyes analyzing his every move. Not that John is moving very much. "Eat your soup. Those mindless idiots starved you. I couldn't even take a liter without you passing out."

John eats his soup. There's no point refusing just to be spiteful, and he is hungry. The bowl is empty soon enough, and John mops up the bowl with the bread. He's still so hungry, but he doesn't dare ask for more.

Sherlock sighs, sitting up to press a button by the side of the bed.

"Bring more food," he commands clearly. It must be an intercom of some sort.

Sherlock goes to lie back down, before seemingly changing his mind and reaching for the intercom once again.

"Food for John," he stresses. "I do not one of you stupid thralls coming up empty-handed."

Then he throws himself back down on the bed beside John, before wriggling so they are pressed side-to-side.

"You smell so good," Sherlock whispers lowly, burying his head in the crook of John's neck. His tongue sneaks out to press against John's skin. John tries not to cringe as Sherlock licks where he bit earlier - it's still sore, and the pressure must break the scab and let a few drops of blood loose. Sherlock sucks languidly, though John knows he must not be getting much. He didn't bite down again, and after a minute or two it doesn't even hurt anymore.

Sherlock pulls back with a growl, eyes flashing and going to the door. He moves so he is between the exit and John. A woman comes in, holding a tray. John can smell the food from where he is lying, and his stomach growls.

"Put it down," Sherlock growls. The woman, expression blank and eyes vacant, does as he commands and sets the tray down on the desk closest to the door. She stands there placidly until Sherlock barks at her to leave. She pulls the door behind her when she goes.

"Mindless idiots, the lot of them," Sherlock says, disgusted. He's at the desk in a flash, but walks back to the bed at a normal - that is, human - pace. He places the tray on John's lap, and then watches him intensely as John proceeds to eat more of the soup. He can only eat half the bowl before his stomach rebels.

John looks down at it, wondering if Sherlock will punish him if he doesn't finish. He dips the spoon down into the bowl, deciding not to chance it - when Sherlock pulls the tray off his lap and places it on the nightstand out of his reach.

"You're full. Don't make yourself sick," he orders. "The smell would be unpleasant."

John nods, letting his hands drop back to his sides.

"Sleep," Sherlock tells him, moving to turn the lights out before returning to the bed. He pushes John to his side, and then curls around him, back to chest. John can't help but tense as a strong arm wraps around his waist and a hand splays possessively against his bare belly. How is he supposed to sleep like this? Part of John wants to cringe from the touch - but a bigger part, the part that hasn't felt another's touch in who knows how long, wants to push into it.

"Sleep, John," Sherlock rumbles lowly, his voice like warm chocolate. John can feel the voice, the order, pouring into him, heavy and sweet - his lids grow heavy, and then slip shut...

****

John wakes up to a sharp pain where his neck meets his shoulders. He writhes against it - or tries. Unmovable arms hold him tight and still, as their owner removes his fangs and starts to slowly suck the blood from John's veins. John relaxes in the hold as the pain slowly transforms to pleasure, again. He... he wonders if the vampires have some sort of chemical in their saliva. He can feel himself go boneless, light - as the blood not being consumed at his neck rushes to his penis. John can feel himself hardening, and the arms around him relax a fraction. Sherlock... Sherlock splays his hand on John's chest, and gently caresses down until he is cupping John's balls. John is too relaxed to even jump at the intimate touch.

He stops sucking at John's neck, just licking softly until the blood stops flowing.

"Your tears make your blood sing. So sweet," Sherlock rumbles. "I want you to cry for me again. I wonder how long I would have to keep you on the edge, pulling you back from your orgasm again and again, until you are weeping in pleasure and pain. Perhaps I will make you spend your days with a vibrator pulsing away in your delicious arse, rubbing ceaselessly against your prostate - with these gorgeous balls and cock bound tight, to keep you from your release. Would you be ready to cry for me, each night? 'Sherlock' and 'please' the only words to fall from those pretty lips?"

Sherlock slides his fangs back inside as he moves his hand from cupping John's balls to stroking his prick. Once, twice - and then John is coming violently, shaking in that possessive embrace. The vampire only takes another mouthful or two. Enough to make John dizzy again, but not enough to make him pass out.

"We're going to have a wonderful time together," Sherlock rumbles darkly in his ear, pressing his hardness firmly against the small of John's back.

John has never heard anything more threatening in his life.