Quick Note about these oneshots in general: If you have an AU in mind for your request, suggest it when requesting and I'll try my best to include it (I'm not keen on animal AUs, other than fawnlock - sorry)

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+20: You're So Dark - Arctic Monkeys

Request from @L3MONADE

Warning: Smut was requested and I have delivered smut - and not just in the first part. There will be smut throughout the whole one-shot. Oh, another warning: There are some BDSM elements in this (mainly Sub/Dom).

Sherlock is NOT self-harming, so when you read the first paragraph please remember that.

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The first time Sherlock says more than five words to James Moriarty, he gets sent to A&E  by the project manger, Mark, for a second degree burn on the inside of his wrist. The doctors had sent him home with a scornful look on their faces, a self-harm booklet (which he immediately ripped up) and some antiseptic cream.

Mark and the idiots at the hospital didn't believe him by the oh so innocent James had burned him.

Really, Sherlock should have realised it was a trick when the man had strolled up to him during their break and asked for a peace offering. Stupidly, Sherlock had accepted, thinking that if Jim was the one that wanted peace then it would be far easier for Sherlock to take advantage of him and keep his place in the spotlight.

You see, Sherlock and  James are both theatre actors and according to their project manger, Mark, they're both as job as each other. Naturally, that meant their was an instant rivalry between the pair as they would now be competition for various leads in the shows they did.

So, stupiudly, Sherlock handed over a cigarette to Jim and lit it before shaking his hand. Unfortantely for Sherlock, Jim's appearance did nothing to reflect the strength he had and when the grip on his hand tightened he didn't have a chance of escaping as Jim slowly smirked, removing the cigarette from his mouth and pressed the red hot tip of the cigarette into Sherlock's bared wrist, twisting to ensure he really caused the other pain.

Sherlock lost the lead due to thatm, as the burn meant he couldn't wear the costumes for the lead role - the sleeves were long and tight which, according to the stupid doctors Mark got in, would irritate Sherlock's injury and slow down his recovery. Sherlock argued which ended with the doctors asking, in an overly sweet tone, why Sherlock wanted to hurt himself.

He could have murdered Jim.

*

Sherlock groans as he's shoved up against the wall, his shirt half hanging off him where Jim had only bothered to slide the other sleeve off Sherlock's shoulder. His neck is bared and his wrists are pinned above him, Jim's teeth scraping across Sherlock's jugular. He didn't pirece skin, though, he only did that when he was really angry.

"Where...where were you yes - Christ, Jim - yesterday?"

"Busy" Jim murmurs the word against Sherlock's neck, offering no other explanation. Sherlock wasn't expecting much more than that anyway.

"I-"

"Shut up now, darling"

Jim's fingers settle on Sherlock's hip and squeeze hard enough that it would have hurt like hell if Sherlock didn't have all his blood flowing south and all the endorphins making his mind buzz.

Sherlock doesn't speak, used to the way this worked.

Theirs wasn't a relationship of love, romance and nurturing. It wasn't about feelings or not wanting to die alone. It was purely physical. Not on both sides, anyway. When Jim wanted him, he'd come over and have him. If Sherlock said no, he'd leave but he wouldn't be happy and would probably blank Sherlock for a week, except on stage.

Sherlock knew it was stupid too but he often hoped that somewhere down the line, Jim would see him as more than a hole to fill and use as he pleases. He always stopped himself, remembering that this was just the way they took their anger out on one another now that Mark had played fairy godmother (pun intended) and changed the production so they both had equally important and demanding roles.

When Sherlock roughly turned around so his hands are against the wall, he doesn't fight it. His arse is sticking out, completely open to Jim's touch once the other boy unbuckles Sherlock's trousers and pushes them, along with his boxers, down. And Jim uses the vulnerable position to his advantage, always turned on to have Sherlock - a strong, indepent and usually untouchable man - helpless beneath or in front of him.

No more words are exchanged. The room is filled with the flithy sounds Jim pulls from Sherlock and the sound of skin slapping together. It's quick, Jim's in a rush to finish today. He must have had a bad day.

Sherlock loved bad days. On bad days, Jim would come round and fuck him roughly and then he'd get Sherlock to ride him later in the evening, his dark eyes fixed on the dancer.

Yes, bad days are the best. Sherlock smiles to himself and drops his head, losing himself to the feeling of Jim sliding in and out of him. Well, sliding would imply Jim was going slow. Maybe pounding in and out of him was a better way to describe it...

*

Sherlock and Jim work together. They travel the UK and Ireland with their theatre company, dancing and acting and sometimes singing. They love it and they're an excellent pair when it comes to work.

That's all they are - work colleagues. Work colleagues that fuck and leave bruises on each other. The good kind of bruises though. Sherlock loved the bruises. He loved everything about Jim, really. He loves Jim...

Growing up, Sherlock thought love was a good, amazing and wonderful feeling that would put him on cloud nine. He had never been more wrong. Love destroys people. It hurts.

Maybe, Sherlock thinks, he just has bad luck and his love hurts. Maybe some people have it good and it is all butterflies and blushes. Maybe it's because he knows that his love is unrequited. Jim doesn't feel the same, he knows - he asked.

"Love is stupid. I refuse to fall in love. Especially with you" had been Jim's reply when Sherlock asked if Jim loved him. Sherlock made the decision not to analyse it, not wanting to look deeper into the words and be hurt more.

He doesn't let it affect the work or the sex, though. He's a grown man. He can handle being occasionally depressed.

Jim was particular. He wore a necklace he didn't lt anyone touch. He didn't smile, or laugh - unless someone was hurting or he was on stage. He never spoke about his life. Yet, he seemed to enjoy himself and gave off the vibe he was content. And for some mad reason, he'd choose Sherlock.

So Sherlock would be happy, if only for that reason.

*

Jim likes ownership. Sherlock learnt this very early on in this thing they'd become involved in. Jim made it clear that he didn't want a relationship - just sex - but he also didn't want Sherlock to have anyone else while they were laying together.

Sherlock had agreed, knowing that he wouldn't go with another person even if Jim was okay with that. Jim is the one he wants and he doesn't mind one bit that Jim wants to own him.

A month into their routine of work, sex, sleep, more sex, work, Jim brought a spiked collar to Sherlock's flat and presented it without a word. A tag was attached to the leather, the engraving clear as day. 'Property of James Moriarty'. Sherlock had accepted it without a word and slid the item around his neck, buckling it in place before he let Jim push him back on the bed and mould their mouths together.

After the first time, Jim had never got the collar out or asked for it. It took Sherlock a while to realise that Jim wanted him to decide when he thought Jim wanted the collar, to do his best to try and please Jim because if nothing else that's the purpose of them doing this.

Tonight, Sherlock knows for a fact that he had chosen a good night to wear the collar.

During rehearsal today, it was the first time that Sherlock and Irene had to practise their big kiss scene. It was almost as if Mark was determined to annoy Jim as much as humanly possible because he got Sherlock and Irene to repeat the scene again and again and again.

Smiling to himself, Sherlock shifts on the bed. He tucks his legs underneath himself and just sits there, bare except the spiked collar. He was waiting for Jim.

When the door opens, it's clear that Jim is in a horrid mood and Sherlock suspects he's going to end up with bitten, raw shoulders tonight. The door clatters against the wall as Jim pushes it forcefully open, stepping inside the room and putting his hand on the door so it doesn't swing back and hit him. His eyes are immediately on Sherlock, taking in the sight before him.

He doesn't say a word and simply walks over to the bed, expressionless. He removes his top, shoes, socks and trousers by the side of the bed, eyes on Sherlock's but still not saying a word. Sherlock remains quiet too, knowing Jim wants that. If he wanted words, he'd talk.

When he's in just his boxers, Jim kneels on the bed and pushes Sherlock back. Sherlock lands on his back ungracefully with a small 'oomph'. Jim smirks, his hand taking hold of Sherlock's calves and pulling him towards himself so he was settled between Sherlock's legs.

Jim's hand comes up to Sherlock's neck and he strokes the collar with a single finger, looking pleased when Sherlock swallows as if nervous.

Jim leans forward, pressing his clothed crotch against Sherlock's bare one. Sherlock's already half hard from waiting for Jim and thinking about tonight and Jim is getting there. He rocks himself into Sherlock, grinding them together.

Sherlock let's out a small whimper as Jim grazed the right spot. Their eyes meet and Jim is just staring, but Sherlock is used to the intense, focused gaze by now. Jim begins to rock faster, pulling another whine from Sherlock as their cocks rub together perfectly through the material of Jim's underwear.

Once they're both much harder, Jim slows down. He's still quiet but his cheeks are flushed and he's pating slightly from the speed at which he'd got to when grinding himself against Sherlock. He looks beautiful like that. He takes hold of Sherlock's leg and rolls them over so by the time he's stopped rolling, Sherlock is on top of him and he's laying on his back.

"Did you prep yourself?" Jim asks, his hand sliding between Sherlock's arsecheeks to find out for himself. Greedily, Sherlock pushes bak on to the hand.

Jim indulges him for just a moment, sliding two fingers into Sherlock's stretched hole and curling them before he pulls them out. Wiping his fingers on the bedsheets, he looks up at Sherlock and raises an eyebrow.

Ah. So that's how Jim wanted it tonight. Sherlock had assumed that Jim would bend him over and fuck him but he supposed that getting Sherlock to do all the work and prove he only wanted Jim was just as effective.

Sherlock shifts off Jim enough to slide Jim's boxers down his legs. Sitting up, Jim chucks them across the room before he lays down again and waits. Sherlock swings his leg over Jim's waist and settles, rubbing his arse against Jim's erection.

Jim arches, head on the pillow, letting out a soft groan. Pleased that he'd pleased Jim, Sherlock repeats the action with a little smile on his face. He then lifts himself, knowing Jim wasn't the patient type. Sherlock reaches behind his thighs, wrapping a hand around Jim and stroking once as he lines them up.

He doesn't wait. Just presses down and swallows Jim roughly. Both pant as Jim breaches Sherlock and Sherlock feels nails dig into his hips. Raw, clawed hips, he corrects himself from his earlier thoughts.

"Move, damn it!" Jim growls.

Sherlock nods, breathing in sharply as he raises himself. He presses back down after just a moment, slowly as he rolls his hips and tries to find a good angle for them both.

After half a minute of slow movements at various angle, Sherlock finds the perfect angle to line Jim and his prostate up. Sherlock begins to move himself faster, letting out rapid little breathes as he begins bouncing up and down on Jim.

 The man below him lets out a satisfied grunt and Sherlock smiles to himself. Even if Jim would never love him, they'd always have this.

Ceasing his sentimental thoughts, Sherlock focuses on his movements. Gradually, he picks up even more speed, driving himself down on to Jim over and over and over. He doesn't keep quiet now and lets out moans of Jim's name and other sounds that made him sound part animal at times. He can tell by the way Jim's nails dig into his hips that he's also ejoying himself.

Just as Sherlock has perfected his pace, angle and duration of each thrust, he feels himself being sent falling backwards.

He blinks and doesn't realise what has happened until Jim uses one hand to pull Sherlock's wrists above him. Jim doesn't tie him up or even instruct him to keep his hands there, he knows that Sherlock will obey the unspoken order. Then, he hitches one of Sherlock's long legs over his shoulder to spread him further and make it easy for Jim to pound into him.

And that's exactly what Jim does. He pushes himself into Sherlock and begins to snap his hips, amazingly not out of breath even though their pause was very brief. Sherlock mewled, absolutely dizzy with arousal.

Jim slows just enough to lean down and lick a stripe up Sherlock's neck, tasting the saltiness there. Sherlock feels Jim's necklace slide across his own chest and it's so cold compared to his skin. He's completely flushed.

 Then Jim returns his focus to repeatedly burying himself deep within Sherlock, setting himself a fast paced rhythm that's no surprise to Sherlock.

It doesn't take long for Sherlock to come. The moment Jim's hand closed around Sherlock, he began to jerk and let out a near sob as he just dissolves into the pleasure, allowing the shockwaves of his electrifying orgasm to run through him and just do as they pleased to his body.

Jim follows suit not long after, losing his rhythm slightly as he approaches orgasm and letting out a muffled moan as he slams into Sherlock one last time. Sherlock can feel him pulsing and spilling inside of him and if it were possible, he's sure he'd have just come again.

Jim slumps and takes a few moments to regain his breath before he slides out of Sherlock and lays on his back, eyes closed and his hand resting on his own stomach. He's not smiling but he's flushed and panting - it's the happiest Sherlock's ever seen him. His necklace lays on his chest and as always, Sherlock wants to touch it.

"I love you, Jim"

"Shut the fuck up, Sherlock. You'll spoil the moment"

Sherlock smiles to himself and lays beside Jin, not touching but close enough to feel his body heat.