Fair Warning: Phone sex/video chat sex. Involves elements of BDSM, such as breath play

XxXxX

Does your laptop have a webcam? - JM

On the surface level, it was an innocuous question. But very specific. Designed to imply a lot of things. Designed to fill Sherlock's head with strange fantasies so he could barely focus on the slide of decayed poppy seeds he'd been studying through a microscope.

No. But John's does - SH

He didn't have to wait long for a reply. Sometimes he pictured what Jim might be doing. Was he in a business meeting? Driving about London? Threatening somebody with a gun? Or did he just sit about his flat like a normal person and watch telly?

Sherlock preferred to picture Jim with the gun. He liked to think about wrestling it out of Jim's hand, shoving him down onto his knees, and forcing him to suck it.

How naughty. Tomorrow, then. At around 18:00 - JM

Sherlock paused to think. To parse the idea that Jim had memorized John's schedule, and knew that the doctor usually worked late on Thursdays. If they started at 18:00 they'd have at least two hours before John got home.

There was that phrase—about keeping one's enemies close. But Sherlock doubted the wisdom of such a statement extended to this level of intimacy. To having phone sex with your enemies at least once a week.

And if they added video to the mix, if he could see all of Jim's pale, tender flesh spread out before him…

He shouldn't.

If Mycroft knew, god, he'd go red enough to blow a few blood vessels. He'd shout and carry on about Sherlock's horrible fascination with self-destruction.

If John knew—well—he probably wouldn't know what to think. He'd be disappointed. Scared. Worried, in that over-protective mother hen way of his.

Somehow, the sheer wrongness of it just made Sherlock's cock twitch in his trousers. It was like drugs. Like buying cocaine. The anticipation before consumption. Who did it really hurt if he bought it but never used it? What if he could draw out the anticipation of Jim Moriarty indefinitely?

Wear a tie and nothing else- SH

XxXxX

Sherlock sat at his desk, with the door closed. He had on his blue dressing gown and a black pair of briefs. He had John's laptop open. The little green light at the top of it shone next to the built-in camera.

Usually he didn't get nervous about this sort of thing.

In sexual situations, he rarely lost control. Rarely felt vulnerable. He took what he wanted in the way most enjoyable to the other involved party. That was it. Cold, clinical, mutually beneficial.

But with Jim—things became unpredictable. Thrilling. Terrifying.

It made his heart race in a strange way. His stomach twisted. He kept glancing towards the clock.

18:03 became 18:04.

Then the Skype window popped up. Sherlock hit the green button to answer it before he could second-guess himself.

The screen filled up with a video feed.

It looked like Jim was in a hotel room, sitting at a desk as well. Sherlock could see the bed behind him—not slept in. He had the curtains closed, the table lamp on. It looked like a moderately expensive establishment—walls painted a warm burgundy, no chintzy wallpaper. Probably in London, but perhaps somewhere a bit further into the country.

Jim had a black tie around his neck, and no other clothes that Sherlock could see. The other man's hair was slicked back as usual. He had the same tired shadows under his eyes as the last time Sherlock had seen him, at the pool.

"Good evening," a smile slanted across Jim's features.

"You're late," Sherlock drawled.

"Sorry, Sir," Jim rolled his eyes. "Had a bit of trouble with the internet connection. Had to do some rerouting for safety's sake. You understand."

Sherlock grunted. He shifted in his chair slightly. Hyper-aware of Jim's gaze. It occurred to him, perhaps a bit belatedly, that they hadn't really had a lot of time to study each other's physicality. Especially not in such a state of undress.

He wasn't exactly disappointed. Jim's small stature didn't translate to video, but Sherlock remembered. The man was rather waifish all around. Thin arms. Accentuated collarbones. Light dusting of hair on the chest. Delicate wasn't exactly the right word.

But in that moment, Jim did look oddly breakable.

"Well, do I get the full show?" Jim raised his eyebrows.

Sherlock let the dressing gown slide off his shoulders. He knew how his own body looked. How his muscles moved underneath his skin. Most people found him to be decently attractive—even if he did have a rather odd face.

Striking was the nice word for it.

Jim flicked out his tongue and ran it along his lower lip. He stared at Sherlock unabashedly. Almost as if he were trying to consume him through the screen.

Sherlock paused for a moment, before he stood up and slid out of his pants. His erection bobbed slightly, freed from the confines of clothing. He almost felt self-conscious.

Then Jim still let out a low whistle.

"Mmm. Long and thick. Just the way daddy likes," Jim chuckled.

Sherlock sat again. The awkwardness quickly gave way to an accelerated heart rate, and skin that felt just a bit too warm.

Jim smiled and dipped down out of the screen's view. He came back up holding a dildo. Black, silicone by the looks of it.

"Not quite as big as yours," Jim bit his lip, "but I suppose it's the thought that counts. What shall I do with it?"

"Suck it."

Jim raised the dildo to his lips and parted them. He turned his head to the side as he slid the toy into his mouth, so Sherlock could get a better view.

The detective watched, arousal sparking through him in quick bursts as Jim took the toy in further and further. No gag reflex.

Jim let the drool run down his chin as he pushed the dildo in and out of his mouth, fucking his own throat with it.

Sherlock found it far too easy to imagine his own cock sliding into Jim's mouth. Imagine the wonderful, slick heat. Sherlock wrapped a hand around his cock without thinking about it. Jim groaned around the dildo, then withdrew it with a wet pop.

"Did I say you could stop?" Sherlock barked.

Jim startled slightly. Perhaps acting. Perhaps not. His eyes got a bit wider and he slid the toy back into his mouth.

"There's a good slut," Sherlock's voice dropped low. Into a register he rarely used unless he was trying to frighten someone. "Now I think that tie needs to be a bit tighter. Pull it until you can't breathe. Let go when I say you can."

Jim obeyed without protest. Seemingly without thought. He tugged down on his tie until it bit into his neck. He stopped breathing. Sherlock watched carefully. His chest didn't move. He sat there, perfectly still, except for the motion of his hand—still sliding the fake cock in and out of his mouth.

Sherlock counted to thirty. Watched Jim's cheeks flush. Watched him twitch just a little bit before he said, "let go."

Jim released the tie and took a big breath in through his nose. He swayed slightly just for a second.

"All right, get that thing out of your mouth so you can breathe," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Jim withdrew the toy and took a proper gasp of air. He met Sherlock's eyes and grinned easily.

"Could you angle the camera down a bit, Sir? I'd like to have a better view of your lovely cock… that is, if you don't mind."

The politeness of it was false. Simpering. If Sherlock were really there, in the room with him, he would have slapped him. As it was, he pushed John's laptop back a bit and angled it downwards, so that he could still see Moriarty, but the camera got a fuller view of his naked body.

Jim hummed in appreciation. "Oh yes… that's the stuff…"

"You sound like a desperate little tart," Sherlock raised his eyebrows as he stroked his cock slowly. "I know you've got lube. Finger yourself."

Jim reached down again for a tube of lubricant. He pushed his camera back as well, and slumped in his chair as he smeared lube over two fingers. He caught his lower lip on his teeth and snaked a hand down. He folded one leg and rested it on the edge of the chair, tilting his pelvis forward. Sherlock watched as Jim slipped a finger down.

Sherlock couldn't see the point of penetration very well. He just saw Jim's hand, down beneath his cock—which was not overly impressive, but pleasing in its proportionality.

He knew when Jim slipped a finger inside himself, because the smaller man closed his eyes and let out a sigh. It suddenly felt as if the air in Sherlock's bedroom had run out of oxygen.

"It feels so nice, Sir," Jim said in a breathy voice. Probably fake. But Sherlock didn't mind. It would be real soon enough. "I've been bad."

"Is that so?" Sherlock commented dryly.

"Yes… I touched myself earlier today, before I called. Just thinking about you… I came without permission."

"Then we'd best choke you again," Sherlock smiled. It only added to the heat inside him. Jim tugged at the tie again and held it. Not breathing. Still working a finger in and out of himself. Sherlock stroked himself slowly. Savoring the way he could see the panicked elation building just behind Jim's eyes.

This time when Sherlock said, let go, he instructed Jim to add another finger. Then, because he'd been a filthy little slut, and touched himself without calling, Sherlock decided that Jim didn't need any more preparation.

Jim shifted positions. He turned around in the chair and got on his knees. He grasped the dildo with one hand, and spread his arse cheeks apart with the other. Jim apparently kept himself shaved. Sherlock drank in the sight of his little pink arsehole, slick, clenching around the sudden absence of Jim's fingers.

Jim slid the dildo in slowly. Sherlock's cock throbbed in sympathy. He imagined what it would be like. Sinking into the heat of Jim's body…

The other man let out a small moan. And this one wasn't staged. No. Real. Soft. Slightly broken. Beautiful. Sherlock stored it, for later use.

Jim stopped with the toy was about halfway in. He panted slightly. He grasped the back of the chair with one hand and swiveled slightly, looking over his shoulder at Sherlock.

"Please, Sir," he whispered, "I need it."

Sherlock nodded. Jim began to slide the toy in and out, gasping and moaning, to articulate his pleasure. Some of the sounds were obviously for show. But Sherlock listened hard. For the accidental whines.

He marked the exact moment when Jim stopped trying to be pretty and let the pleasure take over. He started moving the dildo with a bit more purpose, grinding down against it, to get the angle just right.

"Turn around, I want to see your face," Sherlock ordered

Jim obeyed, flipping in the chair, still on his knees, working the dildo into himself. His face had flushed. His eyes closed. His mouth fell open.

It seemed, for perhaps a few seconds, that Jim's mask slipped away. He wasn't the cunning, psychotic super villain that threatened Sherlock with a team of snipers. No. He became something decidedly more animalistic.

And Sherlock tumbled after him.

He timed the motions of his own hand with each thrust of the toy. Moriarty shoved the silicone cock into himself with a bit more vigor.

"Yes, uh… Sherlock," Moriarty whined.

It tugged at something deep in Sherlock's chest. An intense lurch of desire shot through him. He felt his own orgasm building. The tension welling up. He felt almost dizzy.

"Please, please…" Jim begged almost incoherently. "May I touch myself?"

"Yes," Sherlock responded, without even thinking about the game. Because more than anything, he wanted to see Jim come.

The smaller man wrapped a hand around his own cock and began thrusting into it feverishly. His skin shone with sweat. Each breath came out as a little sob. It sparked strange electric currents in Sherlock's bloodstream.

"Can I come, Sir? Oh fuck… please."

"Yes. Right now."

Jim let out a final moan, and he shuddered. The first shot of his ejaculate flew through the air—probably landing somewhere on the desk. The rest dribbled, down over his hand. Jim continued to stroke himself slowly, his face slack, completely checked out.

Sherlock applied just a little bit more pressure. Stared at Jim's naked body, spread out before him. Listened to Jim's heavy breathing.

Then he got there too.

The orgasm crashed over him. He let out an accidental groan, as the tension released. He felt it all the way to his toes and fingertips. Each throb of pleasure felt like almost too much to handle. But then it dulled, slowed, tapered off.

The room felt suddenly cold. The distance asserted itself. Left them sitting there, on opposite sides of a computer screen.

Jim pulled the dildo out with a slick sound, wincing slightly. He settled back down into a normal sitting position. He reached for something on the desk, and came back with a cigarette.

"Care to join me?" He grinned as he flicked a Zippo and inhaled deeply. He exhaled a small cloud on a sigh.

Sherlock opened a drawer in his desk, the one with a false bottom, and pulled out his boredom cigarettes. He lit one. Inhaled. It felt like dropping a weight he hadn't even been aware of holding.

The silence wasn't exactly companionable, but it wasn't awkward either. A mutual indulgence of vices. That's all any of it was.

It would be stupid to think otherwise.