5 Times Moriarty's Tentacles Were Naughty, and 1 Time They Were Nice

[jessamygriffith]

Title: 5 Times Moriarty's Tentacles Were Naughty, and One Time They Were Nice, (But Not In Any Chronological Order.)
Rating: Mature
Spoilers: Season 1
Warnings: Tentacles. Implied non-con. Abuse of seabirds. Crack nonetheless.
Pairing(s): John/Sherlock. Moriarty/Tentacles
Word Count: 12,000 for the entire fic
Disclaimer: Interpretation of characters is my own. Standard disclaimers apply.
Betas: None on this one, I just...did it, Before I had Betas.
Also Found Here: AO3
Summary: 5 part +1 series - Moriarty has eight tentacles along his back, which can retract into his body. Doesn't that sound all cool and villain-ish? Unfortunately for the Great Consulting Criminal, they have minds of their own...
Based on a kinkmeme prompt. One anon suggested that the tentacles were mostly autonomous and could do things without Jim's control, which led to much speculation on what they would get up to, which led inevitably to crack.
References to episodes abound. Spoiler-y for Season one.

If I had to describe this fic in a sentence, I'd say it is creepy cracky tentacle fic about Moriarty, with my kind of stupid humour and meticulous details concerning Asia.

Part 2 found HERE
Part 3 found HERE

~oOo~

~Part one~

Barts, March 30th

Moriarty is SO excited.

It had been a breeze, flirting with that wet Molly Hooper, using her in order to meet Sherlock face to face. Sherlock Holmes. He hitches up his underwear, which are getting more uncomfortable the more he thinks about him.

I wonder if he'll know it's me/Of course he'll know!/Oh boy oh boy oh boy!

The tentacles on his back give a great throb, as if of displeasure at the trend of his thoughts.

Piss off! He thinks angrily. Not even you lot can spoil this moment. They vibrate, then subside sullenly.

He pokes his head through the door, playing 'Jim from IT.' All awkward and starstruck, except of course, he isn't really playing. Starstruck, that is. Look at him. Perfect!

Sherlock looks him up and down with that cool gaze of his, and dismisses him. Dismisses him! “Gay.”

Oh like you're not, for all you act so aloof! How could he not know it's me/Thank god he didn't guess/Who is Mr. Clever Trousers now huh Sherlock?

Utter GLEE.

Moriarty throws a quick glance at that upstart nobody John Watson. He moves away from Molly and between John and Sherlock possessively, hovering over Sherlock's shoulder. MINE. Palming the paper with his phone number, he knocks over the metal dish, and puts it back with the note underneath.

“Sorry! Sorry!”

John turns away (in embarrassment at his pretended clumsiness?) and suddenly starts, straightening up quickly. He steps hurriedly away from Moriarty and folds his arms, turning his back.

Jealous much, bitch?

It is perfect. His satisfaction and lust are like candies melting in his mouth. Oh, Sherlock. What I wouldn't give... His tentacles again pulse warningly against his back, distorting the fit of his tight t-shirt. Uh oh, must dash before things get out of... control.

He arranges a quick after-work drink with Molly (wish it was with you, dearest Sherlock) and says goodbye, looking longingly at the man.

“It was nice to meet you.”

There is no response. Sherlock only tightens his lips and steadfastly looks into the microscope. Disappointed, Moriarty takes his leave.

Until next time, darling boy.

Once beyond the doors, he hurries quickly to the nearest W.C. to get himself in hand.

~oOo~

“...and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain.”

Molly looks at Sherlock with furious disbelief and pain in her face, shakes her head slightly, and slams out of the lab. Sherlock watches her with an air of real puzzlement at her actions.

John grimaces slightly. “Charming. Well done.”

Sherlock turns to him. “Just saving her the time. Isn't that kinder?”

“Kinder?! No, no – Sherlock, that... wasn't kind.”

There is a pause. John shrugs a shoulder.

“You're right though. A poofter, through and through.”

“You agree then?”

“Well, in spite of the fact that he could hardly tear his eyes away from your gorgeous self, he did manage to find time to pinch my arse.”

Sherlock looks surprised. “You, too?”

“Yes! Wait... he goosed you, too?”

Sherlock taps a finger against his lips. “Moves quickly, does Jim from IT. How did he manage that, I wonder?”

“Yes. Poor Molly. Well, maybe it was kinder to tell her.”

“Indeed.”

The detective and the doctor look at each other.

“You're surprised he pinched me?”

“Not at all, John. You know I think you are quite fit. And... you think I'm gorgeous?”

John smiles his sweet quirky smile, eyes crinkling with amusement and fondness. "Vain."

~oOo~

Moriarty tears the headset off and throws it across the room.

“Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!!!”

The bug he'd placed in the lab had recorded the conversation after he'd left. He is bloody FURIOUS.

“You!” he spins in a circle, trying to reach the spots on his back where the tentacles come out. “You did this!”

The tentacles withdraw away from his groping fingers into indentations, and quiver. He could swear they are giggling.

~oOo~

Part Two

Eurostar - Early March

Sweet Christ, if he had to have tentacles, why the hell did he have to get ones that were autonomous? Jim thinks grumpily. That's not how it worked in all the Japanese anime he'd seen. In those, the monster-men and tentacles always work together with terrible purpose. They are of one mind. But not his, oh no. It is infuriating. They are pissing him right off.

What's worse, they are clever little bastards. He has to keep an eye on them all the time. Oh, he supposes there are compensations. On the rare occasions (oh so special those happy days!) when he gets his hands dirty, he quite enjoys the look on his victim's/lover's/schoolmate's faces when he rapes/throttles/mutilates them. You only get to see the real Jim once, he thinks, a jaunty smile transforming his face into something vulpine, all sharp points and teeth.

Well, except for Sherlock Holmes. For him, he has a few special surprises planned. He will see the real James Moriarty, and as for that pet doctor...

Moriarty props a chin on his hand and stares dreamily out the window at the blackness of the Chunnel walls racing past. The Leisure Select car is empty, save for him, booked specially. Moran is at the end of the car beyond the sliding glass door, on guard. Moriarty has complete privacy, as is his due. He is on his way to London, and has time to savour his plans, his game, and its recipient. Sherlock, Sherlock. His interest is ensnared by the consulting detective, Jim is enraptured by his mind. As for the package… His tongue darts out to wet his lips.

Almost an equal/Could he be my match/Let's see, shall we/Will he like my game/Of course he will you are brilliant!

His reverie is rudely interrupted by a shove on his shoulder. He turns with a snarl. "Couldn't you wait a fucking second, I was having a moment!"

The dark grey mass of tentacles are swaying like seaweed by his shoulder. The tips of three quickly join to make a rude gesture, complete with movement and a squelching sound of slickness.

"Fuck you, you are the cunt here, not me!"

Two of the tentacles turn to each other as if in amazement, one begins to pantomime sadness, drooping down. Two do the equivalent of miming a yawn, one stiffens in mock affront and the last two snap forward, grasp Jim's face and pinch his cheeks, shaking his head from side to side. Oh, Jimmy, say it ain't so! In spite of himself, he grins widely, and knocks them away.

"Jesus Christ, enough already. Just let me finish my drink, right?"

Immediately one appendage reaches out and pulls the cart with the remains of his luncheon and his fresh gin and tonic on it towards him. The cart bumps into his seat, rattling the china and knocking over the salt shaker. His drink is passed to his hand, and he sips, eyes narrowed in enjoyment.

His tentacles spread out, as though watching. He drags out the moment, getting his own back. The tentacles are practically vibrating with impatience. The ice cubes clack against his teeth and the glass is snatched away and slammed back on the cart hard enough to crack the glass.

"Oi! Do you mind? We can't be having that kind of behaviour! Jesus, people will think you can't act in a civilized manner!" Moriarty giggles at his own wit. Him. Civilized.

The tentacles writhe and flick impatiently, directing his attention back to the travel chess board set up on the fold-out table. He heaves a huge put-upon sigh.

"Fine, God! I've seen five year-olds with more patience! I know it's my turn."

He scans the pieces and positions, and makes his move. The tentacles hover, a few gently tapping the table, considering. One flicks out and nudges a knight into position. Moriarty reaches out, pauses, and with a smirk moves his queen. A few more moves, and the game will be his. That's how it always goes. God, he needs a challenge. Sherlock…

I hope you are ready for the game, Sherlock/Christ what will he think of me/Doesn't matter you will have him/Yours all yours/And you will WIN/Like you always do

There is a clicking noise as a chess piece is snapped down, and he focuses again. The tentacles are quite still and upright, except for one that is tapping the board in a manner that seems… well, smug. Moriarty looks down and freezes.

FUCK ME.

His brows snap together and he snarls, lips pulling back from his teeth, "You fuckers! You must have cheated!"

Oh, no, not US, they pantomime in glee, gesturing at the board. Look. Just the way you left it. Except for how you failed to see the cunning trap we laid – see, just here - and you fell right in. Ha, ha, nyah, nyah, we win!

Moriarty gives an inarticulate cry of rage, and knocks the board away, pieces flying everywhere. "Fuck you! I'm not gonna lose to you!" He goes for the flatware on the cart. It's not there. A tentacle tsk-tsks at him, moving from side to side like a chiding finger. Another tentacle crooks at him - come on then, if you think you're hard enough! His hands curl into claws and he lunges at the taunting grey mass.

~oOo~

Sebastian Moran leans against the grey wall outside the Leisure Select car, listening to the noises within. He sighs. Why he ever joined up with such a freak-show is a question he ponders about every two days, which is when the boss has a little… incident. With himself, for god's sake. Give me an honest nutter any day, Moran thinks, as the crash of chinaware punctuates the gasps and shouts.

OW! Ow! Stop that, you little fuckers! Where's the knife, where's the knife… Dammit! Let go of the neck tie, you're sliming it you wankers it's VERSACE stoppit! Gnnfff… guh, ptooey Fffttt! Yeah well you deserved it, try that again and I'll bite it off... Argh! No, NO, not the lime wedge again! My fucking eyes!! You...Mmph! Do you want me to salt you, do you WANT ME TO SALT YOU AGAIN YOU TOSSERS! …. I thought so. Fine. Now, let me up.

Moran starts upright as the door wooshes aside.

"Yeah, boss?" He carefully doesn't change expression as he looks down at the rumpled lime-scented figure. Moriarty has reddened eyes, a vivid contusion beginning to show on his forehead and a black pawn piece shoved deeply up one nostril. The dark eyes scowl ferociously up, daring him to comment. His mouth is firmly set in a tight line of aggravation. Moran casts his eyes downwards.

"I'll just get the tweezers, sir."

Moriarty nods as regally as possible in such an absurd situation and turns back to the train car.

His back stiffens, and his hands clench when he hears Moran's muttered, "Again," but Moriarty doesn't even reply. He is far beyond speaking.

GOD. Why oh why couldn't he have NORMAL evil tentacles?

~oOo~

Part Three
The Proxies of Love - March 31rst - April 1rst

"This is about you and me."

"We were made for each other, Sherlock,” the kidnapped man wrapped in Semtex says. The man's voice is tremulous with fear, but the intent behind them utterly sincere. Sherlock was meant to be Moriarty's.

How much fun Jim is having with his game. Sherlock is a fitting opponent, Sherlock is wonderful. Still always a step behind, but oh! so quick! Moriarty can’t get enough of him. It is hard, so hard to restrain himself from a face-to-face meeting - but a distance must be maintained for the time being. It is part of the game. Thus - his proxies. The first one was irksome, they way she sobbed and distorted his words. This one, the young man is doing much better. Jim is abiding by his own (admittedly whimsical) rules. He let the crying woman go, and provided Sherlock can keep up, (oh keep up Sherlock! Do I need to give you another clue?) he'll cut this one loose as well. After all, they had served their purpose.

And it is oh so delicious, hearing Sherlock’s voice in his ear through the headset link-up. An ingenious system - the victims cannot ID who their kidnapper is by either face or voice. Via texting they relay everything to Sherlock: their lips, his message. To dear Sherlock.

Sherlock responds, and that sultry baritone curls into his ear, going straight to his groin. "Then talk to me in your own voice."

Jim lets his eyes close a moment in glee. He imagines the detective is standing just behind him, the long slim body pressed against his back, his voice murmuring into his ear. The damp edge of his tongue tracing the outer edge and tugging away the earpiece, Sherlock's hands curling around his waist, unfastening his trousers...

Wait. What? No.

His neck twisting away from the slimy touch on his ear, Moriarty wrenches the tentacle away from his pants, squeezing it painfully hard. “Jesus! What are the fuck are you doing, can’t you see I am BUSY here!” he grates out from between clenched teeth. With his other hand he quickly taps his last message, [Patience,] and hits Send.

A third grey appendage pops free from his tucked-in shirt, rumpling his suit jacket up even more as it reaches around to tug his thumb painfully away from the tentacle. He yelps, and slaps at it.

A fourth quickly nudges the notebook PC he is using to text out of reach of his arms and brings up Internet Explorer, overlaying the program he has been using to communicate with his proxy. Bookmarks -> Tentacles -> Wish List Folder....

“What is wrong with you? If you don’t want to piss me off even more, then you’d better... ”

Moriarty makes an abrupt noise something between a gagging cough and a goose honk as twinned tentacles abruptly thrust up his nose. Eyes watering, he reaches up with curled fingers to yank them away but his wrists are caught.

Led by the nose (ow ow OW you shits leggo ov me!), Jim is abruptly bent over the notebook PC screen (fucking OW!!). A grey tentacle tap taps the screen – Look here at this. Stop playing with Sherlock and play with US. Or get us some toys. Like these. We want. We TOLD  you before.

“GOD. You theriouthly want me to buy a fucking Japanethe thchoolgurl doll right now? Right now? And what the fuck ith that! It lookth like a piethe of thcreaming meatloaf and a gay rabbit!”

It’s Domo-kun and Usajii, the tentacles tap out on the keyboard sulkily. We like them. Also, we want...

“Fuck the toyth! Fuck Godzthilla and that pink kitty shite! You aren’t getting ANYTHING unleth you let Daddy work!”

Abruptly the tentacles set him free. His nose is unplugged with a pop! pop! Tears dripping down his face from his watering eyes, nose running, he grabs the PC away. His team is in place; there's a third pip to play, and there's no fucking time to waste on internet shopping for crap Japanese toys.

The tentacles droop in disapointment, then stiffen. Moriarty is absorbed in composing his instructions for Moran, and doesn’t notice the determined way the tentacles rub each other, and withdraw back under his jacket.

~oOo~

“This one is a bit defective. Sorry - she's blind.”

Moriarty speaks into his headset, the old lady relays the message. He leans back in his desk chair, a sharp smile all over his thin face.

Broke my own rules with this one/ she's actually hearing my voice/ just one degree closer to you, Sherlock/ Hope you appreciate the gesture/ letting you in/ soon you will be trapped/ in my arms/ just us together/ God I am so HARD now

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock's voice, with a degree of tension that was absent from the previous calls.

Yes, ask me that again, say it like that when I have you under me, Sherlock, oh, soon. Jim's hands rub up and down his trousers, thumbs passing teasingly close to his groin. His lids squeeze shut in a pulse of unadulterated lust as Sherlock's deep tones roll over him. That voice. Oh yes, yes. So close... His tongue darts out to moisten his lip, as he imagines Sherlock brushing his mouth over it. Oh, God...

"I like to watch you dance... OOH!" Moriarty gasps, as a sly tentacle abruptly rubs once, twice, three times against his erection. Oh shit, he's coming, coming, the front of his pants growing warm and damp as he gasps his release. The old lady faithfully copies his words, down to the drawn out exclamation. Oh. My. God. What will Sherlock think? Moriarty abruptly fumbles and terminates the connection, vision washed in red fury.

“You... you... “ He is literally unable get any other words out. A vein throbs in his temple, and he abruptly wipes away a trickle of blood from his nose. The guilty appendage waves - buh bye! and ducks out of sight.

~oOo~

[ Raoul de Santos, the house-boy. Botox. ]

Oh, well done, my dear! thinks Moriarty. He connects the phone for the last time, just one more listen to that sexy voice.

~oOo~

“Hello.” Sherlock, terse.

“Help me!” A wail in a cracked old voice.

“Tell us where you are, the address.” The words fly out, relieved the puzzle is solved but still tense.

“He was so... his voice... "

“NO! No no no, tell me nothing about him, nothing!”

“He sounded so soft... " There is a burst of noise, then a dial tone.

“... Hello?”

.

.

.

~oOo~

Jim is frozen in disbelief. “I can’t... I can’t believe you just... “

The tentacles make a smug rolling movement, and flip his mePhone into his lap. Believe it, bitch, they gesture rudely. Because we just DID. Obviously. Now where are our fucking toys?

“But... I wasn’t done listening to Sherlock yet!” Jim practically shrieks, voice rising to a shrill pitch. He is actually beginning to hyperventilate in his distress.

Oh oh oh oh/ He’s going to think I cheated/ stoppit Jim don’t start blubbing for God’s sake/ Oh oh oh shiiiiit....

If the tentacles had eyes, they would have rolled them. For fucks sake! Instead, they throw themselves into the air dramatically and flop all around Moriarty with wet splats. God, if we'd known you were going to be such LITTLE GIRL about it...

~oOo~

Sherlock is sulking. “Well, obviously I lost that round, though technically I did solve the case. He killed the old lady because she started to describe him. Just once he put himself in the firing line."

~oOo~

Not quite, Sherlock. But a good deduction nonetheless.

~oOo~

Part 2 found HERE
Part 3 found HERE