"Sherlock," John moans, throwing his head back and tangling his fingers in that dark curly hair as the vampire swallows John's cock down his throat. God, he's been waiting so long. Maybe Sherlock will actually let him come this time? "Sherlock, oh..."
Sherlock pulls back with a satisfied smirk before John can come, reaching a hand up to curl around John's cock. No, not again. John tries to buck into the touch, but Sherlock holds him down with a firm hand on his hip. John tries to relax, to give Sherlock what he wants.
"Ask me for it," Sherlock commands, eyes bright as his tongue flicks out to touch the head. John cries out, letting go of Sherlock's hair before he pulls it. He wants to come so badly, but Sherlock doesn't seem to care tonight. He fists his hands in the bedsheets and clenches his eyes tightly shut, wondering what he should ask Sherlock for: a bite or an orgasm. Which would make Sherlock more inclined to give John what he wants? Sherlock presses almost chaste kisses down John's length as he gently toys with his balls. The action quickly makes up John's mind.
"Bite me," John gasps. "Please, Sherlock. Bite me."
A grin - a quick flash of sharp fangs - and Sherlock dips his head to John's inner thigh. There? He's never... Sherlock licks wetly at the pulse there, before fitting his mouth in place and slowly. biting. down.
John screams, eyes snapping open as he immediately comes all over Sherlock's hand and his own stomach. He's surprised at his own reaction. Yes, Sherlock's bites are almost always pleasurable, but never quite to that degree. But Sherlock... Sherlock never bit him there before. God, no wonder, if it will make John react like that every time.
He falls back against the bed, boneless. Sherlock is still taking small mouthfuls from his thigh, sucking softly as he reaches down to press a finger inside John's hole. John gasps weakly, still oversensitive from his orgasm and sore from Sherlock's earlier use. He doesn't protest though, just reaches down to lightly touch Sherlock's throat.
The vampire swallows once more, and John can feel the movement under his fingers. Then Sherlock pulls back to lap softly at the wound, still bleeding sluggishly from Sherlock's bite. Sherlock slips a second finger inside John, crooking them to press firmly against his prostate. John shivers at the touch, letting his hand fall from Sherlock's throat to grip at the sheets again.
"You're still wet and open from earlier," Sherlock murmurs against the sensitive skin of John's inner thigh. He slips a third finger inside John, before shifting John's legs over his shoulders for unimpeded access to his hole. "I can smell myself inside you."
Sherlock's tongue joins his fingers, and John moans at the wet touch to his sore, sensitive hole. Of course Sherlock can smell himself. Christ, he's probably tasting himself right now. Sherlock came inside him twice, denying John his own orgasm until the recent blood-letting. Oh christ, John writhes under Sherlock's tongue and fingers and just the thought of those teeth in his inner thigh. He will definitely be asking for that again.
Sherlock pulls his mouth and fingers away from John's hole, keeping John's legs over his shoulders as he slides up so they are nearly face to face. John accommodates the position easily, used to being bent in all sorts of positions. Sherlock dips his head down for a kiss, quickly taking control. John can taste Sherlock's semen and his own blood on the other's tongue: a mix of the coppery sweetness of human and the bitter tang of vampire. Sherlock pulls away to press wet kisses along John's jaw and down his neck, nuzzling at his mark as he lines their hips up and thrusts inside him.
"Sherlock!" John groans, not quite a protest (but only because he knows better than to protest). It doesn't matter than he's sore and tired and oversensitive: all that matters is not displeasing Sherlock.
"Lestrade turned his concubine last night," Sherlock tells him almost casually, slowly thrusting as he grins and flashes those wonderful, hateful fangs down at John. "She'll wake up tomorrow morning."
John tries to focus: on their conversation, and on not pulling away. It is one thing to take Sherlock when he is aroused, but John is only human. He doesn't have a vampire's stamina or refraction time: he just wants to take a bath and sleep.
"...Molly?" he asks, trying to remember the name of Lestrade's concubine.
"Yes," Sherlock agrees, sneering. He swivels his hips, brushing against John's prostate and sending sparks of painful pleasure up John's spine. "I killed Anderson, so Mycroft gave him permission to create another childe."
John wants to ask why Sherlock is trying to discuss this now, but he doesn't bother. Sometimes Sherlock likes to drive John crazy while he pretends to be unaffected. John knows Sherlock is aroused, of course: the evidence is inside him, so to speak. But as a vampire, Sherlock's skin doesn't flush with blood, he doesn't gasp for breath, and he is incapable of perspiring. Instead, John reads Sherlock's arousal in the intense look in his eyes, the roughness of his voice, and the way he clutches John so tightly.
Sherlock lapses into silence and resumes thrusting. It is far too long before he stills, and John feels the cool pulses of his orgasm inside him. He relaxes in relief as Sherlock lets John's legs fall to the bed. The vampire arranges them on their sides, pulling John's back against his chest.
"Those silly lessons human schools give to their students are almost entirely inaccurate," Sherlock murmurs into John's ear. John nods, trying to stay awake and alert. He knows better than to fall asleep when Sherlock wants to talk to him. Sherlock nuzzles into his neck, pressing another kiss against his mark. John hopes he doesn't bite down again: he is already a bit dizzy from the earlier feeding. "Ordinary vampires find it difficult to glamour other vampires."
Sherlock says 'ordinary' like most people would say 'diseased'.
"Mm..." John hums back, because he already knows that. He's seen Sherlock glamour other vampires before, but Sherlock is hardly ordinary. He and his brother Mycroft are the oldest, strongest vampires in their clan.
"But childer," Sherlock continues. "Even a fledgling vampire can still glamour his childer. It's just inherent, a childe's instinct to obey his sire. Even with a weak sire, a turned vampire will need decades before he is independent and can resist his sire's orders."
John swallows heavily at this information, his languor slipping away as he realizes Sherlock might be trying to tell him something. Because if a weak sire has control for decades... Well, Sherlock is anything but weak.
"Why..?" John trails off, unsure how to phrase his question.
"Why am I telling you this?" Sherlock phrases it for him. "Well, I only want to make sure you understand the consequences of what you're asking from me. It's kinder, isn't it?"
John's breath catches and he goes completely, utterly still. He can feel his heart pounding and his blood rushing through his veins and... Sherlock knows.
Of course Sherlock knows. He can tell a pilot from his thumb and a soldier from his hair. He probably knows each and every thought John has had for the past six months. John feels sick. If Sherlock knows... if Sherlock knows, it probably means he's been playing with John. He doesn't care for John at all, likely. He's just another experiment. Sherlock wanted to see how far the stupid, pathetic human would go: he wanted to make John complicit in his own destruction. He flushes with humiliation, remembering all the times he moaned and cried and begged for Sherlock.
John won't die like that girl hanging from her wrists, mocked and ridiculed and veins opened for any vampire who wants a bite. He won't. And if Sherlock knows... if Sherlock knows and is telling John, that means the game is up. He's not turning John: he's messing with him. John will never escape, and if Sherlock won't turn him...
John's only other option is death. His mind immediately flashes to the razor in his bathroom: the one Sherlock gave him a month ago as a reward for his "good behavior". John's a doctor (or at least he was). He knows how and where to cut to make it quick. If he's going to die, it will at least be on his terms.
"You're scared," Sherlock says suddenly. He sounds surprised.
"Yeah," John replies shakily. "Good deduction, that."
Sherlock turns John onto his back, hovering over him and looking down into his eyes.
"Oh," the vampires murmurs, his lips twitching into a grin. "Yes, I've been aware of your plan. I originally intended to mock you for it. I was aware of your charms, so I supposed you would not affect me."
John turns his head to the side, unable to look up into that smug expression any longer. He's lost, but he doesn't have to cooperate with his own defeat any longer. Sherlock places a gentle, cool hand on John's cheek, and tilts his face back so their eyes meet again.
"I underestimated you, John Watson," the vampire admits. John does not react: he knows Sherlock is a skilled actor. "Will you make me say it?"
John refuses to respond, staring up at the vampire stonily.
"So strong, despite everything," Sherlock whispers. He traces John's jaw with a soft touch. "I knew of your plans, and I was aware of your charms. But I did underestimate you. Because your charms aren't artificial: your pleasure isn't fabricated. You just let yourself feel it. I've informed Mycroft that I will soon create my first childe."
John blinks up at him.
"...What?" he asks, incredulous. He knows Sherlock has turned other vampires. Does Sherlock really get that much satisfaction from messing with John's head?
"I'm being honest," Sherlock tells him, reading his expression. "The others are minions, not childer. Childer receive more blood during turning, and more care afterwards. Childer have the potential to be a Companion."
John swallows heavily, suddenly realizing that his campaign might have been too successful. He thought Sherlock would lose interest once he was turned: a couple decades or so of service, and then John would be free. But if Sherlock is being honest (and there is still a very large chance he is not), then Sherlock might be planning to keep John forever.
"Exactly," Sherlock grins, flashing fangs and dimples in equal measure. "If you insist on being my heart, I insist on keeping you."
John wants to claim that he hasn't insisted anything, but he's still a bit shell-shocked. He lets Sherlock turn him onto his side once more and snuggle against his back.
"...so you love me, then?" John asks after a minute or two of silence.
"Don't be obvious," Sherlock sneers, belying his words with a soft kiss to John's temple, and another to the mark on his neck.
Christ, John doesn't know how he got himself into this mess. But there really isn't anything he can do about it now, so curls up in Sherlock's embrace and lets sleep claim him. He can try to figure out a new game plan late: hopefully this one Sherlock won't figure out after two minutes.