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“Fuck, John!” Arthur yanks against the ties, smooth rope barely cutting into his wrist. The attempt is futile since the knot cannot be undone without assistance and his arm remains immobilized, bound to the headboard on their bed. In response a chuckle rumbles through his skull, fingers continuing their slow, light trail along the inside of Arthur's thigh. As a shiver shakes up his spine he tilts his hips to try and guide the touch closer...so close....
“Ah, we talked about that, Arthur.” John's voice is annoyingly cheerful as his hand moves away, leaving Arthur to hiss in frustration.
“You talked about it, you mean, I didn't actually agree to- “
“Does that really matter now?” John interrupts with a pinch to the skin at their hip and Arthur cuts off, gasping. “Besides, Arthur,” the purr of his voice makes Arthur shudder involuntarily, “you said we could do anything I wanted.”
Arthur is still attempting to appear in control of himself despite the situation, his naked form warm and exposed on the bed sheets. “I believe my exact words were “we could do whatever you want as long as it dealt with your distractions”.”
“Mhm. And that's what I'm doing. Dealing with them.”
What John is doing is being a goddamn tease. The afternoon started with them researching for a current case and John had been unfocused, growing more distracted as time went on. When he kept trailing off while reading the relevant book Arthur confronted him and they had a bit of a back-and-forth. John eventually admitted feeling bored and restless and it didn't help that he felt their current line of investigation was leading towards a dead end. Arthur had said something like “well if you have any suggestions for a better use of our time, I'll gladly hear it!” and the sudden shift of John's attention turning entirely onto Arthur was almost a measurable sensation.
He could have said no. He could always say no. But, well, Arthur couldn't deny that the type of break John suggested had sounded very appealing.
That was an indeterminate amount of time ago and John still hasn't properly touched Arthur's cock.
He has instead taken the time to touch everywhere else within reach. Fingertips soft and gentle tracing across their body, dipping into the grooves and furrows they encounter. Several patches of skin never fail to make Arthur twitch and John lingers on each one with every pass of his hand. The hard knob of his hipbone, the creases of each leg where thigh meets groin, the velvety skin that lies below the breast. Everywhere is touched, everywhere except where Arthur wants it the most and with each passing minute he grows more impatient.
Impatience turns to desperation when the touches become less careful, fingers digging in at the thighs and sides, palm dragging roughly over chest and ribs. The first hint of nails appears as John combs through the hair at Arthur's navel, the nip of sharpness leading Arthur to softly whine, hips jerking, blind to everything but especially to John's intentions. So when the hand moves sudden, fast, sinking nails into Arthur's upper thigh and scrapes up up up, leaving a trail of fire over hip and ribs, he can not hold back his cry of surprise. The sound is lewd to his ears and Arthur can imagine the darkening of his skin as a hot flush rolls across his body like a wave. John's approving hum only confirms and exacerbates Arthur's reaction and he can feel himself blush even harder when his cock pulses against his hip and he realizes how hard he has become under John's attention.
Now John dedicates himself to pulling sound from Arthur through any means necessary. The touches alternate from light and slow to rough and aggressive, from fingers gripping tight and bruising to feathery sweeps with the back of the hand. Arthur loses track of time, waiting endlessly for John to finally move those fingers where he needs them, where he is silently begging for escalation towards some form of gratification.
During a period of gentle touch Arthur realizes with growing dread that begging may be the entire point. Taking initiative during more...intimate situations is not a skill Arthur ever honed and it has been a subject of discussion on more than one occasion. Since reading body language or facial features is not an option due to their unique physical arrangement then vocal communication is necessary. However, it's one thing to agree towards voicing one's needs and another entirely when those needs are embarrassing to say aloud.
Nonetheless, it seems an afternoon of mild affectionate torture is enough to break Arthur. John is tracing circles on a smooth patch of skin on the underside of their thigh, the touch well out of reach from the heavy, hot weight of the cock resting against their opposite hip when Arthur is emboldened with the realization that he may need to speak up if he ever wanted relief.
“John-” His voice is mostly a wheeze, lips dry, and Arthur clears his throat to try again. He notices now that John has been muttering softly in undertones and the flow of words doesn't pause.
“-you're so soft right here, delicate, wish I could see closer-”
Oh. It's probably for the best that Arthur had missed most of what was already said. Wetting his lips he manages to speak properly. “John. Uh-”
“Arthur.” John says his name with such reverence that Arthur momentarily forgets why he spoke up. The hot rush of arousal that follows reminds him of the task at hand and he clings to his resolve.
“John, John, I think I...” The words are harder to speak than he expected and when his sentence trails off John begins to scratch his nails into that soft thigh.
“Ah, John, please!”
“Please? You've grown very polite, Arthur. Now we know what it takes to get you to remember your manners.”
Arthur is correct, then, that this entire afternoon has been a game. He laughs weakly, grateful to have figured it out. “Hahh point taken.”
“Point? What point?” The feigned innocence in John's voice confirms it and Arthur thinks he can play this game as well now that he is aware of the rules.
“Don't be coy, it doesn't suit you.” In response the sharp bite of nails moves towards more delicate anatomy and Arthur fights against squirming, quickly gasping out the words before he loses his nerve. “Ahh please, John. I-please.”
“Am I supposed to find this convincing? I don't know what you're trying to tell me, Arthur.”
Arthur fights against his dismay, reminding himself that this is John's way of expressing what he wants from Arthur and all he needs to do is comply. Still, his face burns with embarrassment as he tries to speak, the words stuck in his throat, tangled in his teeth, an effort to voice each one.
“John please I need-”
“Yes?”
“Please...” Arthur twists his wrist against the rope again, frustrated at this moment being drawn out. John damn well does know what Arthur is asking and he may burst into flames if John expects more from him.
And yet, John is patient, the hint of mockery only barely audible in his tone. “If you don't tell me what you want then I can't give it to you, Arthur.”
Indignation flares hot. “Bastard, you know what!”
John only laughs at Arthur's outburst, openly amused. “Oh, I'm not so sure. Communication isn't your strongest quality.”
“Oh, fuck you!” Arthur's patience is not as boundless and he pulls against his restraints, shifting his body away from John's touch. A futile struggle, entwined as they are, and John's voice is gentle and patient again as he wraps his forearm across Arthur's waist, pressing firmly in an embrace. The touch is soothing, despite Arthur's annoyance.
“Come on, pet, use your words. Tell me what you want.”
“I- you-, you know-”
“I don't know, sweetheart. I need you to tell me.” Patient, calm, the words should be comforting but Arthur can't shake the suspicion that he is playing into John's hands somehow.
“I need you to...I need you to touch me.”
“I am touching you.” The arm crossing his abdomen has been moving, the broad hand sliding warm and slow over Arthur's chest.
“Not like that, I need, I need more.”
“More?” A thick thumb pad scrapes over Arthur's nipple, its skin sensitive and raw from previous attention. “Like this?”
“Ahh hahh n-no, no!” Arthur squirms, shame and arousal coiling tight, clouding his mind. “Not, not like that!”
“Breathe, Arthur. Take a breath and speak clearly.”
Arthur does so. He takes several deep breaths, focusing on the sensation of cool air filling his lungs and pieces together his thoughts. He can do this. He knows what John wants and John will take care of him. John always takes care of him and trusting John is the right decision.
“Please, touch my cock.” The words are out before Arthur allows himself to think any further. His voice may have wavered but he did it, it's done, and despite his blazing face Arthur feels accomplished.
“Goood!” The word is drawn out, tone pleased, and relief floods through Arthur. He did it, this is what John wanted. “Thank you for asking so clearly.”
The hand, however, remains in place pressing warmth into Arthur's chest, thumb still absently tracing a nipple.
“...John?”
“Hm?”
“Are you...going to-?” Arthur's stomach is dropping again as realization sets in. The game isn't over.
“Oh, that.” The casual lilt to John's tone barely hides the smug undercurrent. Arthur could practically hear the smirk. “No.”
“What? No, what?”
“No, I don't think I will yet.”
“But I, you said-”
“And you did so well asking for what you want! I'm sure next time won't be so difficult.” John traps a nipple between two knuckles and gently twists, the action enough to startle a choked cry from Arthur. “Right now we're still doing what I want.”
What little concept of time Arthur had is soon lost as John continues to toy with him. Parts of his skin feel oversensitive, tingling, and now even the barest touch can pull an assortment of desperate sounds from Arthur. He feels lost in the sensation, all he knows is the darkness and the constant warmth of John's hand, inescapable, touching everywhere but where Arthur desperately craves.
John is also more vocal, his softly spoken rambles now louder with the expectation that Arthur hear and understand. The words are mostly crass, descriptions of Arthur's body and the way it feels under John's hand that leave him breathless with tense abashed arousal.
After a few minutes or hours or days, John hums thoughtfully before addressing Arthur directly. “Ask me again.”
Arthur struggles to string together a coherent response. How can he be expected to try again? He laughs, mildly hysterical. “Hahahh, would it make a difference this time?”
“It might.” John's words are light, light as the brush of his fingers across their navel.
Does Arthur dare hope? “Would you please touch me, my cock?” The words are easier to say even if the rush of mortification is just as strong as before.
“No.”
“For fuck's sake!”
“Tsk.” John's hand is moving away again, back up to Arthur's chest, to his neck, and whatever anger he has evaporates into nervous anticipation. “Your requests seem very insincere, perhaps the practice will serve you well.”
Arthur swallows, feeling the press of John's fingers follow the movement of his throat. His pulse feels thunderous under his thumb. “I-I'm, I don't know what-”
“Should I tell you how obscene you look right now?” The sudden shift back to blunt vulgarity further throws Arthur off balance. John does not wait for him to respond before continuing, voice a low rumble. “You're dripping wet and I haven't even touched it yet. What a mess you are, somehow you still manage to get yourself filthy despite being tied down.”
Arthur groans, thoughts turning to fog. He can't keep this up forever, the constant sensations, the unending words that he cannot shut out, cannot ignore. He can feel his limbs going loose, defeated, unable to do anything but take what he is given.
And still John is speaking. “There's lines of red marks from our nails cutting across your stomach and thighs, noticeable even with how flushed your chest has become. I like how this color looks on you.” Arthur's eyes flutter shut at the praise and John makes a scolding noise. “Ah, keep your eyes open, don't hide when I'm looking at you. Sweet thing, dirty little thing. You're twitching, can you feel that?”
Arthur struggles to obey and keep his eyes open, blindly peering down at John's work. The hand drops down from his throat to press against the spasming muscle at Arthur's navel and he is suddenly very aware of the pool of slick fluid that has gathered there from his cockhead. By now he has no idea where mortification ends and desire begins. Maybe they are one and the same now. Maybe John has finally broken him.
His attention has narrowed down to the proximity of John's hand, how close he is, and Arthur spreads his legs wider. He knows enough now not to try and force John's movements but if words aren't enough then Arthur will plead with his body.
When John only hisses in response to the motion, to whatever lewd display Arthur has achieved, Arthur allows himself to feel hope. The onslaught of words has paused and when John speaks again it's with a simple, “Ask me again.”
Arthur can feel his heart breaking. “Please, John.” The plea sounds pitiful even to him. John, however, makes some unidentifiable sound and his fingers twitch against their skin.
“Ask me.”
“I can't, not if you-,” Arthur finds himself blinking away tears and his first worry is obscuring John's vision. "Please-"
“Arthur. Ask me.” A growl. A command. John still has not moved his hand.
“I- touch me. My cock. Please touch my cock. Please, please no more, John. I need it, please, I can't, I can't-”
“Yes, Arthur. You have it.” Finally, finally John wraps his hand around Arthur's cock and Arthur actually sobs at the contact against hot, sensitive skin. “Come on, sweet thing, it's yours now. Take it.”
And John pumps once, twice, grip already damp with sweat and slick and it's a little too rough and absolutely perfect. His movements slow and stop and when Arthur is unable to resist fucking up into John's fist the resulting “Yess..” is encouragement enough to continue the motion, to thrust himself into that delicious friction and finally finally feel the arousal in him build.
To Arthur's credit, he only loses his rhythm briefly when John continues his chorus of praise and filth. “Beautiful, you're beautiful like this, falling apart and here with me, only me. You're mine and I will always give you what you need. Don't look away, such a pretty thing, and you're doing so well. Keep going, don't stop, take what you need from me. Your cock is dark and wet, shining at the tip as it moves through our fingers. You're throbbing in my hand, is it good? You deserve to feel good, you deserve to have me take care of you. Darling, I want to see you break, want to see you come-”
Arthur is so overwhelmed and so close that he fears he will shatter into pieces if he is denied now. He is surrounded by John, no no filled with him, every part of this body is claimed and overflowing with John, John, John... Arthur does not realize he is speaking his name aloud, repeating it softly, desperately, like a chant, like a prayer, until John shushes him.
“Shh, Arthur, I have you. You're doing so well, letting me take care of you. Don't stop, take what you need, don't hold back. Oh, Arthur, there aren't words. Will you come for me, pet? I want to see you come for me.”
And Arthur is there, at the edge, teetering at the precipice as everything inside him twists tight tight tighter and John's grip adjusts and suddenly Arthur is choking out a moan, everything suddenly impossibly more, face wet with tears, he feels his eyelashes sticking together but he can't look away, John wants to see, John wants-
John-
“Arthur.”
And Arthur falls.
- - -
Arthur doesn't remember floating away but he slowly regains awareness as John's arm brushes against his face. He is reaching to pluck the knot free from Arthur's wrist before gently guiding that arm, Arthur's arm, down to lay on their chest. He's already wiped clean (and when did John have the chance to do that? He decides not to waste the energy wondering). Warm fingers carefully massage Arthur's hand to encourage blood flow.
“How is your hand? Any numbness? Pain?” How John manages to sound normal and composed is a mystery Arthur has no intention of solving. Arthur hums softly, words beyond his reach. At his non-answer John's voice takes on a sharper edge. “I need you to tell me, Arthur.”
Flexing his hand, Arthur fights through the fog to respond “No, it feels fine. I feel fine, feel...”
“Rest, Arthur, you don't need to do anything else for now.”
“Did you-,” Arthur is happy to succumb to the heavy weight of exhaustion but he needs to know that John is also satisfied, that this was what he wanted as well.
John laughs, affectionate and pleased and Arthur is relaxing before he even starts speaking. “Yes, Arthur. You did very well and I'm feeling much better now. Now, rest. We can talk more after.”
Too happy to comply, Arthur settles back into bed, justifying that a nap will be beneficial towards getting back to work with vigor once they awake. He keeps the thought to himself, knowing John will scoff at his single mindedness. Besides, this is the most relaxed Arthur has felt in ages and he suspects this entire ordeal was retaliation for too many days with not enough sleep. No harm, though, and for once Arthur's mind is blessedly blank. He could be convinced to revisit this course of action in the future.
The last sensation he registers before fading into sleep is the soft press of a hand brushing back the hair at his temple before the arm settles, fingers curling snugly into the longer strands behind his ear.