Work Text:
"Dr. John Watson, Closet Dom," John thinks to himself and huffs out a self-effacing laugh as he pays his cover. He's dressed in the absolute minimum he can get away with at a place like this and that means Doc Martens, a pair of ridiculously tight black jeans, a collarless black silk shirt and a body-hugging leather jacket. He's come alone which he absolutely hates to do, but really in his current situation who would he ask? Briefly, he imagines the conversation with Sherlock. "So, Sherlock, since it's not your area and you either run off all my prospective girlfriends with your endlessly charming commentary on their intelligence, or lack thereof; or, even better, bring them into situations where there is very real danger of grave harm or death, will you come with me to a kinky sex club so I don't feel so much like a complete loser while I get my rocks off by watching other people do things that I very much enjoy but no longer have even the slightest possibility of achieving by virtue solely of being your flatmate and blogger?" He mentally goes through the rest of their friends/acquaintances and each is worse than the next. He blanches at the thought of Mrs. Hudson in a latex minidress, considers how lovely it might be to have Mycroft spread out and naked, chained to a cross with a gag in his annoying, I-know-what's-best-for-you-and-Sherlock-better-than-you-do mouth, and ends with an image of Molly Hooper in thigh high boots with 6 inch heels and little else taking Sherlock's crop to Irene Adler. Actually, that last one isn't bad, and he files it away for later use. Speaking of the Woman, it's too bad what happened to her, this place had been one of her suggestions when she figured out his problem and he would have liked to see her here, if only for a familiar face.
He goes inside, actively thinking about not limping, gets a drink (cola, no alcohol for him in a place like this; even if he's not playing, he still doesn't think it's a good idea) and settles onto a couch along the semi-lit sidelines, doing his best to look like anything other than a creepy, stalkerish dom here on his own. He finds a pair to focus on and starts to enjoy watching in earnest. It's a couple of girls (well, women really, but the way they're giggling and generally being intensely silly makes him think girls) playing with one of the suspension rings and several lengths of shibari rope with more enthusiasm than skill. The one doing the tying catches his eye and nods when she notices he's watching. She tweaks one of her partner's nipples and winks at him conspiratorially when the giggles turn into a breathy yelp. She does it again and the yelp turns into a moan. Suddenly the two of them are miles away and he's no longer connected at all, not even by the hairstrand thin link he'd almost just established. They disappear to one of the more private alcoves. John sighs.
He shifts and focuses on another couple, this time a middle-aged woman in a red leather dress and a man. This woman has even less skill with the rope than the girls. By the fifth time he watches her try to get him secured and the fifth time he escapes from the messy tangle with a shrug, he can't help himself. He pushes off the sofa and heads in their direction. She's coiling the rope again, snapping it in her frustration while the man looks on in bemusement. He's not bad looking either, greying but fit and solid, with a bit of a military air about him. He turns to John when John clears his throat and Christ, John does know someone here after all. His mind hadn't got remotely this far in his imaginings, and he thinks he's glad because really, Greg Lestrade in skin-tight leather pants that leave his arse cheeks exposed and nothing else is better in person than anything he could have thought up. Except maybe Greg Lestrade in skin-tight leather pants that leave his arse cheeks exposed and about ten meters of rope, neatly packaged up and at the disposal and discretion of one John Watson, Closet Dom. In reality, he starts in surprise and tries to say something.
"Le- Gr – what are you doing here?" he finishes lamely, realizing that last names are not appropriate in this sort of club and that even first names might not be when the person in question is DI Lestrade of Scotland Yard and possibly under cover as well.
Lestrade stares at him, with a tense look. "John. Fancy running into you here. Is Sherlock with you?"
"No, here by myself tonight. Not that I'd be here with Sherlock on another night. Unless there was a case. This isn't a case, is it?" Great, now he's babbling, has probably blown Greg's possible cover, and even if he didn't has definitely strayed into things-one-doesn't-talk-about-at-the-local-BDSM-club territory.
"No. Just here to – blow off some steam. This is Donna," Greg introduces the woman in red, who transfers the rope to her left hand and shakes John's with her right.
"Nice to meet you, John." She glances deprecatingly at the rope. "This is my first time trying shibari, we were in the class together earlier and I'm afraid I'm not the fastest learner."
"Nonsense, you were doing just fine," Greg says, almost convincingly.
"It just takes a bit of practice," John says at the same time. All three laugh.
"But, if I may, I could give you a few pointers?" John looks first at Donna and then at Lestrade.
"Go on then, if it's all right with Greg."
Lestrade nods, a wicked grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Can't promise I'll stay tied for you either, though."
John smiles back. "We'll see," he says as he takes the rope from her and lets it slowly run through his hands. It's good rope, hemp, and it's been well taken care of, smooth and supple.
"Nice rope," he says as he runs the whole length out and coils it back up again, free of any knots or kinks. Well, probably not free of kink, he thinks to himself and smiles.
He's not surprised when it's Greg who says thanks; Donna's too much of a newbie to have anything this well conditioned and broken in in her toybox. Well, he's a little surprised in the same way he's surprised to see Lestrade here at all. But then again, most of his acquaintances would be equally nonplussed to find him here. He wonders if Lestrade is any good with the rope himself before shaking himself out of reverie and getting to work.
"All right Donna, I'm going to start with a chest harness and we'll see where it goes from there. You already know to find the centre…" He matches actions to words. "We'll start with his arms since he does seem a bit of a wriggler and we don't want him getting out of this before we want him to." He gently pulls Greg's arms behind him and quickly wraps a basic column tie around Greg's parallel forearms. "Always keep everything neat, no crossed strands, so it's nice and smooth and comfy for Greg. Everything OK, Greg?" Greg nods and wiggles his fingers. "Good," John twitches the rope just a bit, enough to make Greg step a tiny step back into him. John uses the slack and the closeness to quickly wrap the rope leading from Greg's arms around his chest, letting the rope lead the connection between their two bodies. God, he's missed this. He forgets to speak as he gets lost in the beauty and the symmetry of the rope, wrapping and cinching and building the tie until it's complete, smooth lines across Greg's chest and biceps and abdomen and a star shaped knot just between his shoulder blades finishing the whole thing off. He's breathing a bit hard and tries to convince himself it's from the exertion. He hands the tail to Donna. "Now you can do whatever you want with him and he's safely at your mercy."
"Until he decides he's had enough and slips it," Donna says with a laugh. "And besides, he's really just here as my practice dummy, I'm not exactly his type these days."
John decides to ignore the implications of the second part of that for the time being and focuses on the first. He looks at Greg. "Can you really escape that one?"
He watches Greg test the ropes, muscles going taut as his fingers explore the strands within reach. "Yeah, might take me five minutes or so, but I could, pretty easily."
"I'd rather like to see you try." John's not goading him or anything, he really does want to see Greg squirming to get out of the harness John's got him tied into. His mouth goes a little dry when Greg starts undulating. It's a marvelous show and John's not too upset that Greg can get out of this. This is the kind of tie meant to be comfortable and to keep willing captives bound, it was never meant for the sort of inescapable restraint that you might use on a prisoner of war or something. Tying this one tight enough for that would ensure that he could only keep Greg that way for a few minutes before it became too dangerous. But as he watches, he gets an idea in his head.
When he's done shucking the last loop of rope down his body, Greg neatly coils it back and hands it to John. He's looking quite pleased with himself and John feels a bit goaded into showing off.
"If you want, I'll try again," he says mildly. Greg nods in agreement, looking a bit eager. Interesting. John goes to Greg's rope bag and looks through it for a minute before pulling out a short length of thin cord. Idly, he makes a small loop at one end and ties it in place.
"You're sure?" he asks politely.
"Absolutely. Give it your best shot." Greg grins at him and this time John grins back. Even Greg, even Sherlock forget what he once was, the baggy jumpers and ability to calmly put up with the both of them an ever-present disguise for the soldier, the fighter, and the top that always lurks beneath the surface.
"Ready, then?" he asks and lets his grin widen wolfishly.
"Yes, how do you want me?" Greg's relaxed, waiting to see what happens next.
"Just like that is fine," John answers as he springs smoothly into action. He grabs a wrist hard, bringing it up high between Greg's shoulder blades as he spins and moves his foot just behind Greg's ankle. One small gliding step and Greg's down with John on top, the short length of rope going from the captured wrist to neck to the other wrist and then down to Greg's ankles and back to the wrists. The entire procedure takes no more than twenty seconds, the knots are nowhere near Greg's nimble fingers and the tension from throat to arms to legs prevents any struggling on Greg's part. It's beautiful in its simplicity and its inherent violence. John knows that he can't keep him that way for very long, but it's incredibly satisfying that it's going to be John that decides how long. He's definitely getting off on the power of it. He rests a hand on Greg's arse and gives it a possessive squeeze. Greg responds with a breath that's partway between a moan and a sigh. His fingers are still and relaxed, no longer questing for escape. It is at that moment that John realizes he might have just gone too far. Donna looks at him, then at Greg, then back to him. She gives him a brief nod and walks away, giving them some space while making it clear that she will have her eye on him. John approves of friends like that.
"Greg, hold on a second and I'm going to untie you now, then we're all going to go have a drink at the bar." He suits words to action, tries not to hear the disappointed sigh when Greg's limbs flow unencumbered back to the floor. He reaches a hand down and when Greg grabs it, pulls him up to his feet. He keeps hold of Greg's hand as he guides him to a stool at the bar. He desperately wants a cup of tea, but orders a Coke instead and asks Greg what he wants. He lets go of Greg when the frosty bottles arrive and takes a long pull.
"I'm…uh…sorry about that there. Didn't mean to get you that …um…," John actually has no idea how to apologize for inadvertently almost sending a sort of friend and sometimes colleague down when they were playing with rope at a kinky sex club recommended to him by a possibly dead mutual enemy. "I'm generally a good deal more responsible than this when I play…"
This time it's Greg who takes John's hand. "It's all right, mate. I was enjoying myself. Quite a bit, actually. I should know better than to have let you do that without warning you what might happen. Let's start this over. " Greg pauses, takes a drink from his bottle and speaks again. "Hi John, I'm Greg. Competence and being restrained are two of my bulletproof kinks and I'd very much like to do a scene with you tonight if you're interested." He waits expectantly for John's response.
"I…yes. I'd like that very much. Are we negotiating now? Christ, it's been too long since I've done this."
"We are if you're willing. It doesn't have to be sexual if you don't want to, I'd be happy to have you wrestle me to the ground and tie me up again. Or suspension, really anything where you get to do something that you enjoy and I get to go under a bit with someone I trust not to be an incompetent fuck-up. I think I may be spending too much time around Sherlock these days."
"I know the feeling. OK if I tell you what I'd like?" John's in for a penny at this point, might as well go all the way. So to speak.
"Please do."
"I want to tie you again, I want to see the ropes against your bare skin, I want you to know that they're there because they please me and it pleases me to see you wrapped in them. I want your legs free so you can get on your knees and crawl after me when I walk across that floor. I want you to feel everyone's eyes on you when I pull you up and bend you over the table over there. I want to hear you moan when I take my hand to your bare arse and I don't intend to stop until it's as red as your face is right now. I want to hear you beg to please me and I don't care if that means your mouth on my cock or your tongue on my boots or you fast in your own ropes, suspended and helpless no matter how hard you struggle against them because I put you there." John takes a breath and stops. He stares at Greg. Greg's breathing a bit hard and his eyes are going slightly glassy. "You're good with that, then? Safeword?"
"Safeword is 'safeword', condoms and err…lube…are in my rope bag, in the side compartment, and all of that. All of that sounds good to me. Please." Apparently John Watson, Closet Dom still has his touch. John smiles.
"Did you come here in your work clothes, Greg?"
"What? Yes. What has that got to do with anyth…?"
John interrupts him, "Go get your handcuffs. Bring them and the key to me."
Greg makes a strangled sound. "I… yes. OK. Yes."
John sits back and waits for him to return. He wonders if Sherlock will deduce what he's been doing and with whom when he gets back to the flat. He doesn't care. He can't wait to hear what Greg sounds like when John takes him apart piece by piece until the only thing keeping him from flying apart are the ropes John's got him wrapped in and John's hands, certain and greedy on his skin.