Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2111394.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV), Sherlock_Holmes_&_Related_Fandoms
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/Jim_Moriarty
  Character:
      Sherlock_Holmes, Jim_Moriarty, Mrs._Hudson
  Additional Tags:
      Greaserlock, Greaser_Jim_Moriarty, Nerd_Sherlock, PWP, Semi-Public_Sex,
      Anal_Sex, Anal_Fingering, Blow_Jobs, Public_Blow_Jobs
  Collections:
      Let's_Write_Sherlock:_Challenge_15
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-08-10 Words: 2018
****** Friday Night Fever ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     “Of course,” Jim repeated, blowing out a puff of smoke, “everyone
     looks at you like that.” He leaned forward, getting as much into
     Sherlock’s space as he could. “Because you’re fucking hot, and
     everyone who’s anyone would cut off their right arm to fuck you hard
     on a table.”
Notes
     This is my first Sheriarty fic, so please be kind to me.
     I did use Americanisms in this fic, but I felt that it was
     appropriate given the genre and the fact that the greaser is an
     American thing.
     I had to tag as underage because Sherlock's younger than Jim and...
     well, yeah.
See the end of the work for more notes
The red and white leather seat creaked under Sherlock’s light, shifty weight.
He blinked, pushed his hair back from his face only to have it fall in front of
his eyes again, and stared down at the table and the large stack of books he
had set on it. He took a breath, shook himself, and pulled out the first one.
Algebra. It was easy – it was all easy – but he still didn’t favor it.
He was maybe two short problems in when Mrs. Hudson brought his usual over – a
strawberry shake with two cherries and a small plate of fries. “Thank you, Mrs.
Hudson,” he said offhandedly, because it was second nature by now.
“Honestly, dear, please call me Martha,” the older woman tried to insist, as
she did every Friday when Sherlock came in to study, but Sherlock had already
turned a deaf ear, entirely too focused on his studies.
Sherlock grabbed a couple fries as she walked away, munching on them slowly as
he moved to the next problem, getting lost in the increasingly “challenging”
problems.
“You really look like you’re pushing yourself.”
Sherlock jumped, startled, and looked up at the boy suddenly sitting across
from him. Sherlock recognized him, of course. The slicked-back black hair,
those dark brown eyes, that leather jacket, the smell of motorcycle exhaust,
and the bruises on his knuckles made him appear just like every other greaser
that went to school with Sherlock, but it was his voice that made him
different.
“Jim,” he said shortly, turning back to his chemistry homework, having finished
the math a while ago. “What does my lack of effort have to do with you sitting
across from me?”
Jim leaned back against the shiny seat, reaching out and taking some fries from
the plate, dipping them in the milkshake before eating them. “I saw that Watson
kid looking at you today. He looks at you a lot, you know. It’s a bit sad how
enthralled he is by you.”
Sherlock made a noise, not wanting to give Jim the thought that he was hanging
on his every word. He was glad, though, that Jim was keeping a check on the
stupid lingo that the greasers insisted on using. Sherlock thought it was dumb,
and that it made them sound as intelligent as a shoe.
“Of course,” Jim was still going, grabbing a couple more fries and reaching for
his lighter and an unfiltered cigarette. Marlboro black special blend. Sherlock
preferred the red shorts, but a cigarette was a cigarette, really. “Of course,”
he repeated, blowing out a puff of smoke, “everyone looks at you like that.” He
leaned forward, getting as much into Sherlock’s space as he could. “Because
you’re fucking hot, and everyone who’s anyone would cut off their right arm to
fuck you hard on a table.”
Sherlock blushed scarlet, a creping motion that rose pink and then red up his
neck to slowly spread over his cheeks. He bit his lip, his pencil stilling for
a moment where he was scribbling down the answer to something obvious. He
cleared his throat, reaching out and taking his milkshake in hand, forcing
himself to nonchalantly take a sip and set it back down.
Jim took another drag of his cigarette, and Sherlock had to try hard not to
stare at the way his lips wrapped around the end of it, forming an ‘o’ as he
released the smoke slowly.
He cleared his throat, shaking his head as he went back to his homework. “Is
there a reason that you’re here, or are you just trying to distract me?” he
asked, glancing up at Jim and then back down.
“I got the bike back,” Jim replied, tapping his fingers on the table and
grinning at Sherlock. “She’s fucking gorgeous now. I brought her so that you
could see. In the alley,” he said, dragging on his cig again before he stood
and left, his boots falling heavily on the red and white tiled floor.
The bell on the door tinkled, and the air pressure changed as it fell shut once
more.
There was far too much silence in Jim’s absence. Jim gave rooms life, energy,
something vaguely dangerous. Sherlock missed it every time Jim left, and he
couldn’t help impatiently bouncing his foot as he waited, waited to finish
another few problems.
It took him nearly five minutes, but eventually he slammed his books shut,
packed them away into his backpack, and put money on the table for his food and
a tip.
“See you next week, Mrs. H,” he called, shouldering his pack and walking from
the diner. He took a breath of the smog-filled evening air of the city as he
breached the outside, closing his eyes for a moment to steal himself. Brazened
at the thought of possibly riding the motorcycle with Jim tonight, he took off
to the left, jogging a bit until he reached the nearest alley.
Jim was leaning against the dirty brick wall, smoking another cigarette. He
blew out his latest puff, grinning cattily at Sherlock and dropping the
remainder of the cig on the ground, stubbing it out with the toe of those
scuffed black boots.
Sherlock shivered, his fight or flight instinct rearing up inside of him,
screaming danger, danger. But Sherlock knew. He knew everything that Jim was,
every dangerous part of him, and he honestly didn’t give even less than a fuck.
“Like her?”
Jim’s words forced Sherlock to redirect his focus, swiveling his head to take
in the bike and her new, glorious, paint job. “She looks sweet,” he said,
running his fingers lightly over the shiny black paint, the mix of dark and
bright red trim and stenciling that read ‘London bound.’
Sherlock looked up at Jim, his eyes wider, his heart thrumming. “You’re
serious?”
Jim’s grin widened again, pacing forward into Sherlock’s space, crowding him up
against the wall until Sherlock was as small as he could be against it. “I
promised you, didn’t I?” he asked, leaning in to nip at Sherlock’s wonderfully
pale neck. “Promised that I would take you over there, show you everything.”
Jim made it sound dirty, like it was a filthy secret that only they could ever
know.
Sherlock could only nod, his hands coming up, finding their places on Jim’s
hips. He pulled him closer, looking down at Jim through his thick eyelashes.
“You promised,” he agreed, the words turning into a hiss as Jim pressed up
against him, rocking their hips slowly.
“Jim,” Sherlock protested weakly, trying to push Jim away. “We can’t. Not here.
People might see.” He didn’t care if they saw him with Jim, but… people seeing
them together might cause issues. Serious issues. Like, beating on the street
and probably calling the cops.
“Fuck people,” Jim growled, lifting Sherlock up by his hips and wrapping his
long legs around him. “I can have you wherever I want, and no one can say a
damned thing.”
Sherlock gasped, hating himself a little more as he rocked into Jim’s deft
fingers that were efficiently undoing Sherlock’s jeans, pulling them and his
underwear down just enough to expose his ass. “Jim,” Sherlock moaned, tossing
his head back like the cock slut he was.
“You’re mine,” Jim said, marking Sherlock’s neck with his lips and teeth,
claiming him as he pulled his cock out, leaving Sherlock’s trapped in his
jeans. “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby,” he whispered, reaching into
his pocket and pulling out some Vaseline.
Sherlock jumped at the first touch of Jim’s fingers against him, spreading the
slick over his hole, pressing inside every so often to fool his muscles into
relaxing. “Oh, shit,” he swore, rocking into Jim as one finger slowly slid
inside, all the way, pressing, searching. He tensed, swearing, as that sweet
sensation went through him when Jim rubbed lightly at his prostate.
“Hush, baby. It’s okay, Sherlock. I’ve got you,” Jim murmured, working his
finger in and out of Sherlock, gently adding a second finger. “You have to stay
quiet, or people will definitely find us.”
Sherlock whimpered, his core trembling as his muscles worked around Jim’s
fingers, trying, it seemed, to draw him in further. He pinched his eyes closed,
panting through his nose.
“That’s a good boy. You’re so good for me, Sherlock,” Jim panted, resting his
forehead against Sherlock’s shoulder.
Jim’s fingers left him, giving him a moment to bask in the praise. And then
there was tension again, pressing, pressing, and Sherlock stiffened a bit as
the head of Jim’s cock pushed inside of him, parting him and spreading him.
Sherlock cried out, and Jim clamped a hand over his mouth, muffling the noise.
“You just want us to get caught, don’t you?” he asked, his voice low and
deadly, matching the rough thrusts that he was pushing into Sherlock.
Sherlock shook his head, though he couldn’t help his next moan as Jim angled
better, fucking him ruthlessly against the bricks, which were scraping his back
through his shirt and light jacket.
His legs tightened around Jim’s hips. His breaths fell faster.
He couldn’t get any friction on himself, not when he was so tightly trapped in
his jeans and so intensely focused on keeping his hold on Jim.
Jim smirked, watching Sherlock’s face as he fucked him hard, pushed against his
prostate to make him squirm and scream against the palm of his hand.
“Fuck, Sherlock. I’m so close,” he panted. He knew that Sherlock had to be just
about dying by now, trapped the way he was. “Want me to fill you up, baby?” he
asked, kissing and then sucking hard on his neck.
Sherlock nodded furiously, bucking his hips forward and pressing against Jim.
Jim growled, biting down hard on Sherlock’s shoulder as he got in two more
thrusts and came. Sherlock moaned against Jim’s hand, rocking gently as Jim’s
thrusts slowed and eventually stopped. He pulled out, and Sherlock felt filthy
as Jim’s cum leaked out of him, dripping down his ass and thighs before falling
to the ground.
Jim pulled away, slowly lowering Sherlock to the ground, supporting him when he
swayed. “Oh, you’re still hard,” Jim tutted, shaking his head and smirking up
at Sherlock as he lowered himself to his knees. “Would you like some help with
that, Sherly?” he asked, reaching up to tug Sherlock free of his jeans.
“Fff- god, Jim,” Sherlock swore, his nails scraping at the wall behind him.
“You know I do.”
Jim nodded, leaning forward and getting straight to work. He swallowed Sherlock
about halfway down, sucking hard as his hand worked the lower half. He cupped
Sherlock’s balls, rolling them around, feeling them tighten up as he got
closer, so much closer.
Sherlock tried to stifle the noises falling from him, but each moan and whimper
seemed to be pulled from him against his will. “Close,” he gasped, his hips
bucking up sharply as he tightened, tensed. Jim sucked harder and rolled his
tongue, and Sherlock lost it, crying out Jim’s name as he came in his mouth.
Jim pulled slowly off once Sherlock was spent. He parted his lips and held out
his tongue, showing Sherlock all of his cum before he tipped his head back and
swallowed noisily. “You taste fucking amazing, baby,” he said, standing up and
helping Sherlock back into his underwear and jeans. “My dirty boy.”
Sherlock shivered, buttoning Jim’s jeans for him and then sagging against him.
“You know it,” he murmured, smiling softly and closing his eyes, breathing in
the smell of Jim. “Could you give me a ride home? It’s late, and I don’t know
if my legs would make it, anyway.”
Jim chuckled. “Your brother might see us together,” he whispered, his lips
ghosting his ear.
“I don’t care. I’m sure he knows anyway,” Sherlock replied, his arms tightening
around Jim. “Please?” he asked again, his voice softer.
Jim pulled away and kissed Sherlock tenderly, lovingly, a side that only
Sherlock got to see. “Of course, baby. You know I can’t deny you anything.”
End Notes
     StartingWithTheRidingCrop, I hope you don't mind that I doubled this
     fic up to be in the new LWS challenge. I'm a lazy writer, and I only
     have so many good ideas before my brain needs a break.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!