Chapter Text
Of all the ways John had envisioned he might meet his end in Afghanistan, being fucked to death by a succubus wasn’t high on the list. One minute his unit was being ambushed, the next he was waking up in only his pants, shackled to an uncomfortable bed in some mad scientist’s laboratory with a bloody tall man with wings and a massive stiffie looming over him.
“Incubus,” the man said.
John closed his eyes and opened them again. Nope, still there. Still stark naked.
“Succubi are female.” The man paced, three tight steps and back again in the tiny space the room allowed. “Incubi are the corresponding male sexual demons. The erection goes with the territory. Gender of the human isn’t relevant to the title, although I’m not surprised the distinction isn’t as well-known as it used to be. Unfortunately--” he grimaced at the wall next to the bed, which John belatedly realized was covered in painted runes of some sort “--someone must have been doing their research. You may call me Sherlock, by the way. No, I know, you’re Captain John H. Watson. It’s all over your thoughts. What’s the ‘H’ stand for, by the way?”
“Sherlock. Right.” John blinked again. “So you’re a… demon?”
“Incubus, yes. Please do try to keep up.” Sherlock hopped up to crouch at the foot of the bed in one lithe movement, his tail swishing like a cat’s. “I can only read your mind insofar as you’re using language to define your thoughts, though, so I ask again: what does the ‘H’ stand for? You think of yourself using only your middle initial. Fascinating.”
“Oh. Hamish. Um.” Kidnapped by a bloody sex demon and he wants to know my middle name? Somehow, a “come here often?” didn’t seem like quite the right tack to take. I can’t help but notice you’re naked; nice weather we’re having?
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I may not be handcuffed, but it should be obvious I’m a captive here too. A particularly annoying and persistent scientist has spent the last few decades trying to observe and--she hopes--replicate the mechanisms by which incubi feed. Apparently she’s now teamed up with someone who has deeper pockets. No, I’m not planning to assault you, so you can stop panicking now. It’s off-putting.”
“Sorry.” John shuffled himself around until he could sit sideways on the narrow bed and lean against the wall. The manacle around his left wrist left him a few feet of movement--not nearly enough to actually do anything, but at least it was enough to sit up. He tugged at it without much success. His muscle control still felt a bit shaky, but his head was gradually clearing. “So I’m… bait? Lunch?”
“Please,” Sherlock grumbled. “Her runes can keep me here and corporeal, but she can’t force us to fornicate. You were delivered here nearly forty-five minutes ago and I managed to restrain myself from molesting your unconscious form for that long. Captivity is making things more tedious, I’ll grant you, but I can go for several months without feeding. Maintaining a secret and secure facility is expensive. If nothing else, I can simply outlast her… if I don’t die of boredom first.”
That sounded all well and good, but John was going to need a change of venue sometime considerably sooner than several months away. Their room--cell?--didn’t even have a bucket in the corner. If Sherlock and this scientist were determined to get into a standoff, John would certainly starve first. “You can die from boredom?” he asked. “I assumed… I don’t know what I assumed, but I guess it’s been more along the lines of ‘what the actual fucking fuck’ ever since I woke up. So.”
Sherlock’s lips quirked up at one corner. “Quite.” He glanced over at the door, over which a single red light was blinking slowly. “On the plus side, her runes are corrupting the new recording equipment as effectively as they’re preventing me from summoning myself elsewhere. There have been workmen in the hallway periodically for the last twelve hours trying to fix it but they haven’t found the problem yet. You, though--any thoughts as to how you’d expect we could escape? As much as I hate to admit it, it’s possible you have some insights into human behavior I lack.”
“Thanks,” John said dryly. “Glad to know I’m useful. What would you do if I weren’t here?”
“Spend the next few weeks defacing the runes until they don’t work properly.” Sherlock rubbed at one with his finger, wincing as he did so. John couldn’t see any difference. “I was only eighteen hours into that when she brought me you, though. Just as well--most of the binding symbols on here are drawn so poorly as to be unusable, and I’d really rather she not realize which ones she got right. They hurt to touch. The big round one there on the far wall, in particular, is giving me a massive headache and I haven’t had any luck rubbing it out.”
John couldn’t help his instinctive glance at Sherlock’s erection. Surely rubbing one out might do this prat some good--
“Oh, lord,” Sherlock groaned. “Into that again, are we? Fine, I’ll sum it up, but only because I know her microphones are only picking up static. In short: sexual release lets energy loose, increasing entropy, etcetera. Demons exist to promote chaos. It’s a logical extension. If I stimulate myself manually I’m only changing the values in a closed loop and the total energy involved stays the same. No entropy, no chaos, no dice.”
“And if you… achieve release… with someone else?”
“Euphemisms? Really, John? Fine.” Sherlock sighed. “If I achieve release with a human, it’s… well, I’ve been told it feels similar to what humans experience from pharmaceuticals like cocaine. A significant rush of neurotransmitters, followed by a surge in my abilities. It’s unquestionably addictive, which is why I try not to indulge too often.” He paused, frowning. “You were asking specifically about what would happen to you, though. It’s been a while since I did any rigorous experimentation--again, I’ve cut back--but what I discovered when I was younger was less than encouraging. The wasted energy was almost entirely at the expense of the human, I found.”
Well fuck. John had rather suspected that was the case, given Sherlock’s odd insistence on talking instead of just jumping John’s conveniently-human bones, but the man--demon--was freaking gorgeous. John usually considered himself straight, more or less, but surely he could be forgiven a little fantasizing. And crap, I forgot already that he can read my mind.
Sherlock tilted his head and his lips twisted into a smirk. “I’m flattered,” he said aloud. “And I’m not trying to read your mind; you’re being rather loud and the runes are causing a mental echo in here. For what it’s worth, I find you objectively good-looking as well.”
“Ah… thanks?”
“I’m not known for giving compliments. Take it at face value.” Sherlock hopped backward off the bed and started pacing again, his tail lashing to and fro as he walked. “You’re right, though,” he mused. “I can go indefinitely without food or water, but your body is flimsier than mine. You’d have trouble after only a few days, right?”
“Without water? Yeah,” John answered. “It’ll get uncomfortable lot sooner than that if I don’t want to piss in a corner somewhere, though. And if I stay chained to this bloody bed. At least she let me keep my pants on.”
Sherlock waved that objection away as he paced more, muttering to himself. “Hasn’t provided any of… assuming the human’s needs won’t need to be met, then… if only I could… argh!” He stopped suddenly and grabbed a double handful of his curly hair, tugging hard. “Have I mentioned I hate these godforsaken runes?”
John huffed. “Suppose I could always try pissing on the wall, then--see if I can wash that big round one off? Getting dehydrated won’t help with that, I’m sure, but since your scientist friend didn’t even leave me a bucket…”
“The Woman isn’t my friend,” Sherlock growled. “I don’t have friends.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“Stop feeling sorry for me. Or if you must, feel sorry because of my splitting headache instead.”
Berk. John rolled so he was kneeling where the pillow had been, then put the pillow back into his lap and gestured Sherlock closer. “Shut up and get over here, then. I’ll see what I can do.”
Sherlock arched an eyebrow and fixed John with a long, haughty stare, but he came back to the bed and eventually flopped face-down with his head in John’s lap. His tail stopped lashing and went limp the moment John threaded his fingers through those dark curls and pressed. “Johnnnmmmm,” he breathed. “Oh, that’s nice.”
“My girlfriend in uni used to get terrible migraines,” John explained quietly. “Scalp massages always helped her feel better. Been a while, and I’ve never tried it on a demon while being chained to a bedpost, but I think I haven’t forgotten how.”
“Don’t underestimate the value of bondage,” Sherlock mumbled into the pillow. “You enjoy a little bondage during sex--and no, I wasn’t reading your mind, you were practically broadcasting it. Ooooh. There, right there.”
John did enjoy incorporating a bit of kink in bed, which of course the bloody berk plucked out of his brain like it was a casual talking point. If it hadn’t been for the pillow and the dubious barrier of John’s grey Y-fronts in the way, Sherlock’s forehead would have been mashed up against a rather pertinent part of John’s anatomy. The git probably knew that, too.
Sherlock laughed, a chuckle which transformed into a groan.
“What if we did, though?” John asked several minutes later. Sherlock was practically boneless in his lap, wings and tail long since having gone limp in near-comatose pleasure. “I mean, I’ve been listening, but I haven’t heard even the sounds of a guard outside our door. Do you think she assumes you’ll just… give in, eventually?”
“Prob’ly.” Sherlock managed a near-motionless shrug. “D’you want to fuck me? Or for me to fuck you?”
That was the question now, wasn’t it? John finished the scalp massage with one last, long caress through Sherlock’s soft hair, then twisted as best he could with an incubus lying on his lap and leaned back against the wall again. “I do,” he admitted, “but that’s probably my idiotic risk-taking streak talking. That and--like I said before--you’re bloody gorgeous. You’ve probably already picked up that I’ve never done this with a man. If I’m going to die anyway, though? I’d rather get one last good shag, especially if it might help you get out of here. I assume that recharging your magic demon powers would help?”
“Mmm.” Sherlock roused himself slowly, blinking up at John for a full minute before sitting up and facing him. “Might make it more difficult for you, though,” he pointed out. “Humans tend to be lethargic afterward.”
“For how long?”
“I’ve never stayed until my partner awakened, but possibly for several hours.” He grimaced. “Then again I usually don’t see humans outside of their dreams, so…”
“So you don’t know, is what you’re saying.”
“It’s never been relevant.”
“I guess we should wait a bit and see what this scientist woman wants, then,” John decided. “Then we can sort out what to do next.”