Bespoke 2/4

[mugenmine]

Title: Bespoke
Author: mugenmine

Betas: duh_i_read, lady_t_220 & pennypaperbrain

Fandom: Sherlock BBC

Pairing: John/Sherlock

Rating: NC-17/Explicit

Word Count: 3.4K (14K total)

Contains: Dub-con, Bondage, Voyuerism, Gender Swap, Power Dynamics, Male!Adler, Male!Kate

Summary: "Ares Adler. British ex-pat. Got in my brother's sights after it came to light that he had an extensive image collection of numerous influential people in compromising situations."

LJ: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Read on AO3

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The elevator doors opened and John moved back to let more people squeeze into the tiny space. Three young men with cheap suits and hair that defied gravity got in on the third floor. Two of them texted like lightening while the third threw a glance at Sherlock before turning his attention to his reflection in the metal doors. The elevator had stopped on every floor, and at this rate it would take ten minutes to reach their destination at the top. But John really wasn’t in a hurry.

When they had arrived in Kabuki-cho, under a night sky made up of a thousand illuminated signs, Sherlock had asked John once more. Will you do this for me? John had buried his hands deep into his jacket pockets and looked away, taking in the tide of the crowds instead. Businessmen out to get lost and drunk, groups of young women dressed up for a night out, packs of orange-haired hosts chatting up ladies and luring them into their clubs. John stared at the storefronts with the frosted glass windows and pictures of girls with blacked-out eyes. He imagined that they would do all sorts of things to him if he stopped in for awhile. 

There on the street, he had agreed to Sherlock’s proposition. No matter how mad this was, and no matter how nervous he felt, he couldn’t deny that he longed for the feel of his heart racing just before things spun out of control. He resigned himself to the fact that this would be hard, and he would almost certainly be out of his depth. But there was a chance that this might be exciting, and if Sherlock was kind to him, maybe it would be pleasurable as well. 

“How do you know this place?” John asked. The way they had navigated the vast maze of side streets made him wonder if Sherlock had taken this journey before. In the time that they had known each other, John knew he had only scratched the surface of Sherlock’s past. Maybe all of this played a larger role than he had imagined.

“I know the patron of this art studio.”

“Art studio? I thought you were taking me to a bondage shop.”

“Manji’s still an artist, John.”

The doors to the fifth floor opened and wave of pop music flooded into the space. John waited for the young men to leave and the din to recede before he started again.

“Ares Adler is Manji’s patron,” Sherlock said.

“Aries? Like the zodiac sign?” John asked.

“No. The God of War.” 

“Of course… And how exactly do you know him?” 

Sherlock shrugged off the question. “Long story, not particularly relevant.” 

“I’d like to know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Would you? I thought that was half of the thrill with you,” Sherlock said. He adjusted the back of John’s jacket collar. “Not knowing what you’re getting yourself into.” 

John allowed Sherlock’s attention; it was the first sign of things to come. He noticed that as they moved closer to the start and the power dynamic began to shift, Sherlock began to focus only on him. With that focus came an intimacy that was never a part of their daily life, so John waited patiently for Sherlock to straighten his jacket, and savoured the touch.

“And what’s the other half, then?” John asked.

Sherlock leaned closer. “Enduring it.”

John tried not to smile.

The elevator doors opened onto a narrow hallway. John stepped out onto a hardwood floor polished so brightly that he could almost make out his image on the ground before him. Dark metal doors dotted the long hall, giving no sign as to what sort of worlds existed behind them. The word MANJI was painted in bold red letters down the door at the far end. The end of the road. 

“So you don’t want to tell me,” John said.

Sherlock sighed and slowed his pace. “Ares Adler. British ex-pat. Got in my brother’s sights after it came to light that he had an extensive image collection of numerous influential people in compromising situations.”

“So he’s a-?”

“Professional disciplinarian. Specialises in obedience training.” 

“I see.”

“Mycroft asked me to contact him, get him to turn over the images. Or at least the most sensitive ones. Ares claimed that as long as he was left alone the Empire need not worry. End of story.”

“So, I’m assuming you got the pictures?”

Sherlock picked up his pace. “Not exactly.”

“Wait, so you didn’t get the images?” John paused to ponder that. “Really?”

“It was a stalemate.” 

“And you kept in contact with him, why?”

Sherlock continued down the hall.

John frowned and wondered what type of man could prove to be a challenge for Sherlock Holmes. Ares Adler. Professional disciplinarian. Who the hell named himself after a Greek god? John imagined Ares as a pale, steely-eyed older man with leather gloves and some sort of military uniform. Unyielding. Calculating. Probably of the mindset that a submissive should be seen and not heard. It was a stereotype, and a ridiculous one, but the image came nonetheless. 

“So, is he going to be here tonight?” John asked, suddenly realising that he might actually have to meet this man.

“I would be surprised if he wasn’t. I’m sure Manji told him we had an appointment.” Sherlock paused and scanned John quickly. He frowned and made adjustments, straightening John’s hair with his fingers and unbuttoning the top button of John’s collar. John began to wonder if Sherlock doubted his ability to dress himself properly. 

“You’ll do fine, John.” 

Sherlock knocked on the door and they were greeted with a burst of laughter from the other side. John wondered what the joke was all about.

A young Japanese man opened the door, still laughing from whatever hilarity had just occurred. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and smiled broadly. 

“Kazuo.” Sherlock extended his hand and the young man shook it firmly.

John put Kazuo in his early twenties if that. He stood a head taller than John, slender and long-limbed, with dishevelled hair that had either been slept on or styled that way. His suit looked like it had cost a small fortune. 

“Sherlock, it’s good to see you again. Welcome back to Tokyo.” He stood aside to let them pass. “And you must be Dr. Watson,” Kazuo said.

The West London accent took John by surprise. He had assumed that if you were Japanese in Japan then you must’ve grown up here, but Kazuo proved him wrong. As he shook Kazuo’s hand John couldn’t help but notice the quick glance that ran down the length of his body and back up again. When Kazuo’s gaze met his own, John forced a smile.

“Please, call me John.”

When he stepped over the threshold, John’s attention was pulled in ten different directions by the clutter and chaos before him. The studio took up half of the tenth floor and was filled with the thick smell of cigarette smoke, paint, and leather. Wooden shelves covered the long wall, each taken up with clusters of similar things, metal parts, art supplies, bondage tape, bolts of vinyl, and gauge upon gauge of chain. In one corner, a group of faceless mannequins stared blindly out into the space, naked save the black tattoos inked on their fibreglass skin. Floor to ceiling windows covered the opposite wall and John didn’t know where to look.

The only open space was a sitting area at the heart of the studio. Red shag carpet filled the space between two leather sofas and would serve as a stage for the person who stood in the centre. It was a place to be watched from both sides. Spacey lounge music drifted down from speakers mounted high on the walls and John added all of this to his list of ‘new and surreal experiences’. He had a feeling that this list would grow by the end of the night.

“Dr. Watson,” Ares Adler stepped forward and extended his hand. He looked John in the eyes as he spoke. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“Ares,” Sherlock muttered as he brushed past.

“Sherlock,” Ares said, his attention still focused on John.

John’s image of the riding crop-wielding military man was quickly overwritten. Ares Adler was younger and taller and more fit than John had imagined. He was somewhere in his mid thirties perhaps, African descent, close cropped hair and goatee. John admired Ares’ style; crisp white dress shirt, black tie and waistcoat, black tailored trousers, nothing out of place. Ares’ handshake gave John the impression that if he wanted, Ares could probably break his hand. 

Ares wore a Blancpain 1735 Grand Complication watch, the 18 karat gold gears accenting the matte black metal face. The only reason John knew this was because he’d read about the watch in a Sunday magazine. Only fifty were produced each year and at the time John had wondered who the hell would waste £200,000 on a bloody watch. Now he knew. John tried not to stare at it. 

“Uh, please…” John paused, watching Sherlock stalk to the other side of the studio. “John’s fine.” 

Ares seemed nonplussed by Sherlock’s quick dismissal and retreat. “Don’t worry. He orbits for a while before he lands. Things calm down after about ten or fifteen minutes when one of us finally relents and decides to start a conversation. Alright, John it is.” 

Ares smiled warmly, his brown eyes brightened and John felt a bit unsettled at how personable Ares seemed and how oddly
Sherlock had reacted.

“Can I get you a drink?” Ares asked. “Kazuo, take his coat for him.”

John stepped back as a flurry of activity circled around him. Kazuo took his jacket as Ares stalked off towards a refrigerator. Sherlock hovered by the side of a quiet young man who was hunched over a drafting table and sketching in a battered book. John figured that had to be Manji. 

At first glance, with his buzz cut and quiet demeanour, Manji resembled the monks John had seen tending the temples in Kamakura. But from the neck down Manji was covered in pin-up girl tattoos and instead of orange robes he wore a tattered London Calling t-shirt and skinny jeans. He looked even younger than Kazuo. Within moments Sherlock had lit up from a crumpled pack of offered cigarettes, and was peering over Manji’s shoulder, pointing out details on the page. 

Ares returned with a bottle of brown liquor and three ceramic glasses as Kazuo cleared off a space on one of the cluttered worktables. 

“Do you drink shōchu John?”

“No, I’ve never had it. But, that’s alright. I’m good thanks.” 

“I hear this is your first time to Japan,” Ares stated, and John nodded. “It’s the first time that always leaves a mark. Either you hate it or you end up moving here.” 

“It’s different than I expected. But I’ve enjoyed it so far. When did you come over?” 

Ares smiled, thinking back. “Ah, first time was in June 2002.” 

“During the Cup? Seriously?” John perked up a bit then, surprised that Ares was fan enough to venture to Japan for the World Cup.
He’d been forced to watch the Brazil vs. England Quarter-finals at an overcrowded pub at 7:00AM. He had been drunk by 7:30. “Did you-”

Ares frowned. “I watched it all from the midfield sideline; saw that bloody free kick up close. We were all gutted. I mean it was Brazil, but my God, it was close.”

John laughed. “Close? Not with fucking Ronaldinho. I vaguely remember a fight breaking out at the table next to me. Or it might have been at my table.” 

Ares laughed then and John leaned back against the table as the conversation began to flow between them. 

Kazuo returned once more with a pot of black tea and John relented to the hospitality, happy to have a proper cuppa after getting his hot tea from vending machines all week.

After spending the week stumbling through awkward half-English exchanges and Sherlock’s aloofness, finally having an actual conversation made John realise how much he had missed it.

Ares looked completely relaxed and at ease, and oddly not out of place in the centre of the chaos. It took John a while to get used to the way that Ares paid such close attention to him as they spoke. Ares’ stare was relentless, and no matter how hard he tried, John was always the one to look away.

They bounced easily from football to hometowns. Ares had been born in Hackney of all places, his parents had come over from Ghana, and he was quite proud of both his roots and the fact that he was a self-made man. John mentioned that he didn’t get the chance to travel much and that started them in on places they would like to visit or in Ares’ case, visit again. Ares poured John another cup of tea the moment his first one was drained. 

When John asked Ares how long he had been in this profession, Ares stunned him with seventeen years. When Ares asked John what he thought about the fact that he was going to be fitted for restraints tonight, John blushed.

“At least you’re honest about it,” Ares said.

Manji tucked his sketchbook under his arm and together he and Sherlock rejoined the group. Up close, John admired the bound and corseted Betty Page that covered the length of Manji’s forearm. The silver hoops in Manji’s ears matched the silver collar that looked to be welded around his neck. John wondered if that meant he belonged to someone.

Manji nodded at John in greeting and studied him for a while, then pulled out a pen from his back pocket, opened his book and began to sketch. He kept his head down as he wandered towards the sitting area. He raised his hand absently and gestured for John to follow.

“Please, come with me, Manji wants to begin,” Kazuo said.

John looked down as Kazuo took him by the wrist.

“Kazu,” Ares said, his eyes serious above his cool smile.

Kazuo pulled his hand away. “Please John, this way.”

“We’ll be there in a moment,” Ares said. His hand came to rest on Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock turned towards him.

Manji shuffled across the carpet, his bare feet swallowed up in the red. He stepped up onto the tattered sofa and settled down against the armrest. He drew his knees to his chest and looked up from his sketchbook at John.

John stood on the very edge, not sure if the centre was for him.

“Sokko ni tatte kudasai,” Manji said.

“I- I’m sorry, I don’t understand Japanese.” 

Kazuo sat down beside Manji.

“It’s alright. He wants you to stand on the rug. You should face us.”

“Should I take off my shoes?” 

Kazuo nodded.

“So they’ve known each other for a while?” John asked. He removed his shoes and socks and left them by the sofa.

He glanced over at Sherlock and Ares who were lost in conversation. Ares had his hand against the small of Sherlock’s back, their attention focused on some detail on the leather strap of a ball gag. John stopped. He’d never seen Sherlock allow anyone that kind of intimacy. The gesture seemed so natural to Ares, like he was used to being so close to Sherlock, or perhaps Sherlock was familiar with his touch. John wondered if he should look away. When they were finished, Ares passed the gag to Sherlock and Sherlock slipped it into his jacket pocket. Ares looked up and smiled as he met John’s gaze. 

Kazuo nodded. “Yes, since I’ve been with Ares, about two years now. Doesn’t really seem that long.”

John pulled his attention back to Kazuo. “So you’re with Ares, then?” 

“He’s teaching me. Ares is more of a- my mentor.” Kazuo contemplated the question. “I want to be more like him.”

“So you’re not his, so he doesn’t…” John wondered if there would be such a thing as a ‘too personal a question’ tonight, but he
doubted that this was it.

“Does he dominate me? Of course, he’s Ares.” He fished a cigarette from Manji’s battered pack. The word HOPE was printed on the blue wrapper and John found the whole thing ironic.

“And you? Sherlock, he’s your first?”

“My first? I mean it’s not exactly like that.” John trailed off, trying to wrap his head around what he was trying to say. Top? Dom? There had to be a better word than that. He hated having to put a label on it. 

“Yes,” John finally answered. “Yes, he’s my first.”

“You’re lucky,” Kazuo said.

John wasn’t sure if he was supposed to nod.

“Anata no fuku wo sakujo shite kudasai.”

John looked to Kazuo once more for help.

“He wants you to take off your clothes.” Kazuo gave John the once-over again. “He needs to see your body.”

“All of it?” John glanced over at Sherlock once more, but Ares still monopolised Sherlock’s attention. They stood shoulder to shoulder, and Sherlock frowned as he spoke, and John couldn’t hear what they were saying over the music.

Manji and Kazuo went back and forth for a few moments until Manji sighed and finally frowned. He looked at John and gave him a thumbs-up.

“Yes, all of it,” Kazuo said.

John was sure that he had just missed something.

He stepped into the centre of the space and stared out at his audience of two. He set his jaw in a hard line, his hand hovering at his belt buckle. Kazuo smiled at him and nodded as if to say, ‘Go on now, it’s really not that bad.’ Manji squinted at him over the top of his sketchbook, tapping his pen against the spine quickly as if to prompt him to pick up the pace. Sherlock and Ares rejoined them in the middle of this awkward standstill. 

“It’s alright, John,” Ares said. “Take all the time you need.” He settled beside Kazuo and claimed the cigarette between Kazuo’s lips as his own.

John looked at Sherlock for a cue. He wanted to say no to this but the rules had been clear and he had agreed to them, so he unbuckled his belt. 

“Wait,” Sherlock said. “It’s neglectful of me, I should be helping you with this.”

John let his arms fall to his sides as Sherlock stepped into the centre with him. Sherlock made slow work of the buttons on John’s shirt and John found that if kept his focus on Sherlock, he could almost forget that they were on display. 

Sherlock seemed lost in the act of undressing him. His progress was deliberate, as if each button to be undone had meaning. Sherlock tugged on the hem of John’s vest and John caught the cue and raised his arms above his head. The vest joined the growing pile of clothes on the carpet.

Sherlock guided John’s hands forward until he touched the buckle of his belt. The weight of Sherlock’s hands on his wrists remained as he tugged the belt free and unhooked the buttons of his jeans. Sherlock did the rest. John closed his eyes as Sherlock leaned in close to him.

“Will you do this for me?” Sherlock hooked his fingers onto the waistband of John’s boxers.

John turned his face towards Sherlock and it was as if they had slipped back into their in-between space and were utterly alone. A choice had been given to him again, when John assumed that it wouldn’t be. So in return he gave it back.

“Do you want me to?” John asked so that only Sherlock could hear.

“It’s alright,” Sherlock said, he drew his hand away from John’s hip. “It’s enough.”

“But do you want me to?” John asked again.

Sherlock squinted past John, as if he was turning over a problem in his head. John counted the seconds until Sherlock returned to him.

“Yes,” Sherlock said.

John removed his boxers and added them to the pile.

The moment between them broke as Manji pulled a measuring tape from between the sofa cushions and made to stand. Sherlock shook his head.

“Only I touch him.” Sherlock looked at Kazuo. “Tell him that.”

Kazuo whispered the words to Manji. Sherlock claimed the measuring tape and in doing so claimed John. 

LJ: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Read on AO3