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Don't make me make the damn thing blink. Look, guys, you all know why we're here, and for what. Fic. Lots of fic. And this movie just SCREAMS for it.
The set-up, Watson, my dear, is elementary: Anonymously post a pairing (or a single character, a threesome, foursome, whatever floats your boats) and a kink. Or just a prompt, if you're not necessarily looking for the pr0n. It can be a personal kink, a crack pairing, whatever, but a prompt of some kind is absolutely essential. And if someone's intrigued, they'll write it (usually anonymously, but that's not always necessary either).
Just one more thing: Please limit yourself to one pairing/kink PER comment. You're more than welcome to post more than one comment, however.
And remember, the more requests filled, the longer the meme continues. Let's make it a good run, kids.
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Anonymous
December 26 2009, 08:00:11 UTC 2 years ago
Kink/Prompt: Violins
Rating: IDEFC, but high if at all possible.
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December 26 2009, 08:43:43 UTC 2 years ago
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December 26 2009, 08:47:55 UTC 2 years ago
Doggy style.
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December 27 2009, 00:49:51 UTC 2 years ago
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December 26 2009, 09:00:42 UTC 2 years ago
And much stress on the 'bloody' part.
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December 27 2009, 00:27:48 UTC 2 years ago
--------
The first instinct was panic. It always was, when Holmes staggered through the door, face ashen and clothes stained with blood. Seeing the elegant grace of his friend reduced to spare, economized movements to prevent pain did more to awaken fear in Watson’s heart than years in Afghanistan had ever achieved, because it was inextricably bound with guilt. I wasn’t there. I didn’t stop this. But Watson was a medical man, with the ingrained instincts of one such; his bag was in his hand, Holmes was pressed down into his chair, and the detective’s jacket, waistcoat, and shirt were removed and set aside before the doctor’s mind had unfrozen from shock to catch up with the calm efficiency of his hands.
Two knife wounds this time, one to the right arm and one across the ribs, but neither life-threatening, thank God. Watson’s fingers lingered on Holmes’s chest, jaw set. He had a writer’s imagination to accompany his medical knowledge, and he knew, could see, what would have happened had Holmes’s assailant decided to stab instead of slash with the blade.
“These are already sutured,” he murmured after a moment, the horror of might have been fading from before his eyes to be replaced by puzzlement. Holmes was notorious in risking his life to ensure that Watson and no other treated his wounds. “By a professional, if I’m not much mistaken.”
Holmes let out a shaky breath and leaned back further in the chair, eyes half closed and beginning to grin smugly. “My dear Watson, what better way to investigate a corrupt doctor than to provide a very real need for his services?”
“You permitted this to happen.” The not-question came from numb lips.
“It was necessary. And Hutchens is the most vulgar of amateurs when it comes to knife-fights, my dear fellow; I was never in da—”
He trailed off when Watson rose and walked away to his desk, but Watson did not hear the detective subside; he had not heard Holmes’s words at all. He could see Holmes dying, gasping for air as he choked on his own blood, a knife buried in his lung. He could see the grave—a real one this time, though Watson had already mourned beside the first—and the knowledge that there would be no return from this hiatus. He—
“John.”
“No,” he replied quietly, though whether it was in response to his visions or the quiet plea encoded in Holmes’s words he was not sure. His hand had found the hilt of Holmes’s letter opener, half buried under a pile of papers. It was very real; it had almost killed them both the year before, and Holmes kept it as a reminder of his fallibility as well as his victory.
Holmes was still speaking as Watson unbuttoned his waistcoat and slid the braces from his shoulders.
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December 26 2009, 09:08:41 UTC 2 years ago
Buddy-breathing. Whatever combination.
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December 26 2009, 11:18:58 UTC 2 years ago
'Buddy Breathing'
This was it. This was bloody well it, and this time Watson absolutely meant it.Secret societies, bank heists to fund mad scientist exploits, Turkish assassins - a man had to put his foot down at some point and the only misgiving Watson had about doing it now was that it was well overdue.
Of course, it was a bit hard to put your foot DOWN when you were currently struggling with a weight tied to your leg and sinking fast into London's harbor. A lesser man might have panicked, but you didn't panic easily if you were Sherlock Holmes's partner. He'd been in more dire situations before, but as his fingers frantically attempted to untie the rope knotted tight around his ankle and the air was rapidly being depleted from his lungs, Watson would have to admit no exact 'worse situations' were coming to mind.
Vision dimming, lungs burning, he briefly wondered if he would live to see Mary again. She was expecting him for dinner tonight, he was supposed to finally meet her parents. Why was it always when he was supposed to meet her parents?
A strong arm grabbed tight to the back of his jacket, lessening the pull of the weight tied to him but only slightly. The knife that flashed brilliant against the dim light filtered through the water did one better, neatly slicing the rope and letting the cement block fall to the harbor floor while the somewhat belated Holmes looked apologetically at Watson.
Oh yes, I'm sure you were just taking your sweet time with those men and didn't even notice me going overboard, this is our last case your bloody idiot genius. Watson thought dimly in Holmes's general direction.
Seeing Watson's predicament and no doubt working through his mind the exact time of Watson's fall based on how far he'd gone as well as the capacity his lungs were able to hold, Holmes surely came to the conclusion that Watson wasn't going to make it back up. So he did what any good man would do. He pulled Watson to him and sealed his lips over the other man's. Watson wasn't surprised to find his lips chapped, though he was surprised at the ease and expertise of the move. In the next instant, sweet air was entering Watson's lungs from the act, and he grabbed at the waistcoat (wasn't that one his, too?) Holmes was wearing to keep him close until he had enough.
Still dazed, Watson wasn't able to be much help to Holmes as the other grabbed the back of his coat again and dragged him up out of the water to the docks, kicking only a hair over ineffectually. He was still gasping for breath when he laid on the soaked wood of the dock. Even the polluted air of the factory district was wonderful to a man who almost drowned. Holmes observed Watson's struggling with a sort of detached curiosity that he observed everything with, like a mildly interesting book.
"I suppose-" Watson gasped "-You think that sharing the air with me forgives you for letting me go overboard in the first place."
Holmes quirked an eyebrow.
"That and if you were already going to die, I figured I may as well go for it."
Had Watson the strength to do so, he probably would have hit Holmes again. As it was, he stared at the other man in silence for a moment before he pulled himself to his feet, gave Holmes the dirtiest look he could muster, and headed back towards the main street.
"What?!" Holmes yelled behind him.
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December 26 2009, 09:23:33 UTC 2 years ago
prompt: a proper night at the opera
Anonymous
December 29 2009, 05:23:30 UTC 2 years ago
filled, part 1/2
I didn't mean to write this but then I did. Not a proper fic writer, so apologies if it's not what you wanted/just not good. Feedback is appreciated.God help him, but Watson had very little idea indeed what had possessed him to agree to this evening.
There was nothing at all wrong with the performance; the singers were all exceptional, the scenery exquisite. No, it was rather the company which he took exception to, though not as a rule. On one side, looking dashing in a well-tailored tuxedo, his hair slicked back, sat Watson’s best friend in all the world, Sherlock Holmes. On his other, the beautiful, devious Miss Irene Adler, whose deep crimson gown (with its black lace trim and low neckline) was just a shade shy of tawdry in Watson’s considered opinion.
It would be better for her to dress more like my Mary, he thought stiffly, before a knowing look from Irene alerted him to the fact that his gaze had been lingering on her breasts. He flushed slightly and averted his eyes guiltily, directing his attention back to the opera performance. He found it almost impossible to focus at this point, however; he could sense well enough the heated looks his companions were exchanging, had been exchanging all evening. And he— he was expected to sit between them, almost as a bloody chaperon, expected to endure their whispers and flirtatious looks.
Not anymore, by God. Let them be alone together, since that is what they so clearly desire. Watson sniffed angrily and abruptly stood to leave, stubbornly ignoring Holmes and Irene’s questioning looks. He made it all the way to the hallway connecting the theater’s private boxes before Holmes was at his heels, smelling for once of soap and faint cologne rather than sweat.
“Watson—“
“What?” he turned to his friend and former housemate, bowler already jammed onto his head and cane in hand. At Sherlock’s bewildered look he sighed and softened, grimacing in apology.
“I mean, what is it that you want?” Watson asked with forced politeness. Holmes eyed him blankly for several moments before responding.
“Er, I— We — Irene and myself, that is — were rather hoping you might join us later, for… a nightcap,” he finished lamely. It was Watson’s turn to appear stunned, and Holmes couldn’t help but smirk at his obvious confusion.
“But I thought… You and she— Well, your whispers weren’t exactly quiet, and…”
Holmes quirked an eyebrow in response, the only indication of what he had in mind for his two escorts. He allowed his elegant fingers to glide up the side of Watson’s polished wooden cane, finally curving them over the brass top and pushing it gently down from where Watson had unknowingly raised it in anger. Watson had witnessed the gesture with growing surprise; how could so simple an action seem somehow suggestive coming from Holmes? Sherlock’s smirk widened and he leaned in close, hand still lightly grasping the cane. He glanced quickly to either side of the empty hallway before sliding his mouth over Watson’s, testing the seam of his lips with his tongue. The kiss was hot and insistent and anything but chaste; after a few moments Watson found himself pressed up against the opposite wall, his head resting against expensive damask wallpaper and long, skilled fingers stroking him insistently between his legs. He let his head loll slightly to the side, hips twitching upwards in response to the careful, teasing caresses up and down his length. Holmes grunted his approval and swiftly unbuttoned the collar of Watson’s shirt, leaning in to nip delicately at his exposed neck and shoulder.
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December 26 2009, 10:37:16 UTC 2 years ago
I think that Holmes really, really likes to suck cock. Don't you?
Anonymous
December 26 2009, 11:55:12 UTC 2 years ago
Of course he was aware that guilt might have served the very same purpose, but there was a significantly higher chance of Watson seeing through the ruse. And wasn’t that the problem to begin with? Watson’s obsession with moving on, away even, was what had put Holmes into his current quandary to begin with.
Thus, bribery it was. Let Watson feel guilt instead for putting on whatever this charade with Mary really was. He couldn’t have possibly loved the woman. Who was it that the man owned a dog with, after all? Or spent all those years sharing a flat with? Certainly not bloody Mary.
Aside from his partner’s delusion, it wasn’t as if Holmes had a particular aversion to bribery. It may not have been a legal move, but it was most assuredly a legitimate one.
So, when Watson had shown back up to continue packing, Holmes watched silently from a corner of the room, arms crossed. As much as his partner may have complained about the noise, Holmes was quite convinced of the contrary. Only silence would elicit the proper response.
It didn’t take long. Watson, resisting the intense urge to roll his eyes at the sight of his silent, sullen, supposedly bereaved friend, heaved a sigh. "What is it you’re after now, Holmes?"
The question earned a quirked brow from Holmes. "Are you quite sure that’s the question you want to be asking?"
Watson shook his head. "No. NO, Holmes. I don’t have time for this. No more games."
"No," he answered, his voice sounding out low and heady even as he crossed the room, "No more games, Watson." He a final step forward, backing the man against the wall.
"I am leaving."
Holmes nodded.
"And you’re not coming."
Finally, Holmes smiled. "Brilliant deduction. And no," he said, bracing himself against the wall with an arm, blocking Watson’s exit to one side, while his other hand reached for his partner’s fly. "I am not."
The other man’s eyes widened, his breath hitching in his lungs, if only for a brief moment. "Holmes, I—I can’t." A finger brushed against his lips, and then there was this man kneeling before him, smirking all the while as if he’d planned it this way. God in Heaven, the bastard wouldn’t let up, would he?
"You’re not," Holmes answered simply, reaching to pull the other man’s length out of his open trousers. "I am."
Watson wasn’t quite sure whether or not to hit the man, but as those bloody smirking lips wrapped around his cock, all he could manage was to clutch at the wall behind him. Failing to bite back the low groan that escaped as an all too experienced tongue (how in the world had that happened?) ran along the underside of him, he swallowed thickly in a futile attempt to calm himself. "Holmes," he choked out, trying to chastise.
Holmes growled around the other man, adding the slightest pressure of teeth as he sucked. Shut up and enjoy it, Watson.
"God have mercy," came Watson’s only reply as his fingers wound their way into the other’s hair, urging the hot pressure of his mouth onward. His breathing sped as Holmes’ tongue wrapped around him, teeth grazing, and finally his lips sucked at the base of him before moving back upward, as if he were something to be methodically provoked.
Of course, if Holmes had been able to have an actual say in this instead of a mouthful of something of quite another sort, he would have remarked that this was precisely why sex was referred to as a basic instinct. It was provocation.
Or in Watson’s case, an alarmingly successful attempt at bribery.
Panting now, Watson felt a familiar pressure building at the base of his spine, and with a swirl of the tongue, he was done-for, groaning Holmes’ name—or something very near, as well as his brain could manage given the circumstance—as he plunged into release. After a quiet moment of regaining his senses, he risked a glance down to the man kneeing between his legs. "You enjoyed that, didn’t you?"
Holmes smirked, intensely pleased with himself. "Quite."
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December 26 2009, 11:20:04 UTC 2 years ago
Prompt: "I think the word bromance is so passé. We are two men who happen to be roommates who wrestle a lot and share a bed." - Robert Downey Jr.
Anonymous
December 27 2009, 20:48:00 UTC 2 years ago
Bromance
Oops, I rather forgot the wrestling, but I hope that can be forgiven...Watson sighed heavily. Again. For the fifth time in as many minutes. Holmes rolled over to face him. "Something the matter, my dear Watson? You are evidently uncomfortable. Are the sheets too scratchy?"
"The sheets are fine, Holmes," Watson replied through gritted teeth.
"Oh?" Holmes rolled back over to stare up at the ceiling. "Then whatever is the matter? I, personally, am quite comfortable."
"I am endeavoring," Watson growled, "to remember exactly what train of events led to this situation."
Even though he was lying down, Holmes placed a fist under his chin. It was his thinking pose, and if it had not been hazardous to both of them and nearly impossible to boot, he would have lit his pipe as well. "By 'this situation,'" he began, "I assume you mean the necessity of us sharing a hotel bed."
Watson's silence was answer enough.
"Well then, I shall endeavor to enlighten you, although I'm sure these facts are well known to you and you are simply exaggerating your momentary memory loss. We are here to investigate a very delicate case, and was it known that Sherlock Holmes was on the hunt, solving the mystery would become considerably more difficult. As such, we arranged that you would book a single hotel room and I would meet you later. Regrettably," - and Holmes didn't sound very regretful at all - "it was necessary for your room to have a single bed. Had you arranged for a room with twin beds, they would have known you were not alone, and suspicions might possibly be aroused. Thus, we, two bachelors, are forced to share a single bed. You may be thankful that it is a large bed; otherwise the situation could be considerably more uncomfortable."
"Don't you usually stay awake all night when you're working on a case?" Watson asked, sounding faintly exasperated.
Holmes placed both arms behind his head. "Not all the time, my dear Watson, and anyway aren't you always telling me I need to take more care of myself?"
"That's it," Watson said, "I'm sleeping on the floor."
"Now, now, now," Holmes replied, placing a hand on Watson's elbow to stop him from getting up. "You're about to get married, man. What would Mary say if she knew your aversion to sharing a bed with someone?"
"It's not the same, Holmes!"
"It is almost exactly alike," the detective said with some asperity, "aside from the unfortunate fact that I am neither a woman nor your lovely fiancee." He rolled over to face Watson again and put an arm over his waist.
"Really, Holmes!"
The arm was summarily shoved off, and Holmes retreated with a sigh to his own side of the bed. "I foresee that you will have a troubled marriage," he said gloomily.
Watson did not deign to reply. But neither did he complain when he awoke in the wee hours of the morning to find Holmes with one arm around his waist, snoring quite genially into the crook of his neck.
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December 26 2009, 13:25:15 UTC 2 years ago
Pairing: Irene/Mary
Prompt: Whatever you want. But just fyi, it was sort of inspired by a fic someone wrote about Watson and Irene giving each other the keys to their respective mate's handcuffs.
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December 27 2009, 04:27:48 UTC 2 years ago
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December 26 2009, 15:25:40 UTC 2 years ago
Gambling. I'm not sure how. Watson either loses his half of the rent and food money (again), a fic about Holmes having to hold Watson's money for him, Holmes being a sure bet in the ring, or something off the top of your head. Maybe victory sex after Watson finally wins one. I don't know. I just really want to hear more about Watson's gambling addiction.
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December 27 2009, 17:34:36 UTC 2 years ago
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December 26 2009, 16:12:59 UTC 2 years ago
Prompt: More than words
Not that I don't enjoy reading chatty sex fic, but there's something about utter silence in the moment that's pretty hot. If it involves gagging one of them, that's more than fine. :D
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December 27 2009, 09:39:54 UTC 2 years ago
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December 26 2009, 16:16:40 UTC 2 years ago
Kink/Prompt: Voyeurism
Anonymous
December 27 2009, 09:24:11 UTC 2 years ago
Observation is the First Step (Holmes/Mary/Watson) 1/?
A/N: First Holmes fic! First time ever attempting to write in vaguely Victorian style :oIt began when I noticed the way Holmes looked at him. Or perhaps not the manner of looking, but the basic fact that Holmes was always intent upon him. My own knowledge of the man is quite in keeping with John's portrayal in his accounts of their adventures: Holmes is a genius, and ever observant. But he studies my husband with a singular intensity that he applies nowhere else. After years of cohabitation and an intimacy which I did not achieve with John until long after our engagement, I expected a level of complacency, but it is not so. Surely their every interaction is relaxed with their long familiarity, but Holmes still puts more stock in understanding him than any other person outside of one of his cases. This is how I came to realize that he felt the same tender emotions for our good doctor as do I.
I must admit that I was jealous. Oh, was there ever a wife more jealous. John would run off to be at Holmes' side at a moment's notice. I cannot enumerate the many times he has missed an engagement with myself, or, worse, our peers, in order to have his hand in a thrilling case. My blood boiled at this insufferable man taking my rightful place at John's side. I have only the graces of the fairer sex to draw upon in our contest for his time and consideration, while Holmes is both mentally brilliant and constantly embroiled in excitement. Upon every one of John's returns, I begged him for accounts of their daring attenuation of London's most notorious, or most secret, criminals. With his writerly flair for words, he described the cases in such vivid detail that I could nearly see myself there beside him. I am not proud to admit that I was nurturing an unseemly obsession with their lives in John's days away from our home.
In light of my sentiments and fixation on the matter, it is not surprising that my thoughts often turned to their partnership, and these musings would turn to flights of fantasy. I read deep meaning into every statement John made about Holmes, into every physical gesture between the two of them in the rare times the three of us met. As my jealousy gave way to dangerous fascination, those social engagements came more often. I am sure Holmes observed my declining anger towards him and friendly banter eclipsed the biting insults we had used to exchange.
The smoothing of our public social intercourse was accompanied by my rising private shame. I took to imagining my husband and his partner in ever more compromising positions. First simply the liberties that they as two men may share in lounging about underdressed. I know every inch of John's body but Holmes was constructed whole out of my imagination and observation of the fall of his clothing and those patches of naked skin that public dress affords the world. What a poor world that is left to its imagination! My fantasies grew ever heavier, the caresses they might exchange, palms sliding over skin, mouths meeting in lascivious congress. I am a properly bred woman, but not completely innocent of what passes behind closed doors. John and I are not too shy in our exploration of the carnal bond of marriage. I was lacking in the particulars of the game two men could play in secret, but the generalities I grasped consumed me with a fire I feared I could not long conceal.
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December 26 2009, 16:18:35 UTC 2 years ago
Holmes/Watson; Watson draws on his military expertise. Dom!Watson. :D
December 30 2009, 07:33:58 UTC 2 years ago
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December 26 2009, 16:19:34 UTC 2 years ago
Prompt: Sherlock's emotions run very high when he solves a mystery: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nkp9pPuN2
Urgent, sloppy sex please!
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December 27 2009, 19:36:51 UTC 2 years ago
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December 26 2009, 16:21:58 UTC 2 years ago
Sex pollen. C'mon, with all those chemicals he had dabbled with in the movie, one of them's bound to have an interesting side-effect.
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December 27 2009, 04:33:10 UTC 2 years ago
"What?" Watson replied, continuing to read his newspaper without pause.
"Watson, get in here," Holmes ordered after a slight hesitation, exasperation in his voice. Watson sighed loudly and set aside the paper, hoisting himself to his feet and striding into where Holmes was sitting. Watson entered the room and put his hands on his hips. "Watson, I need your ... medical expertise."
Holmes uncrossed his legs to reveal a rather prominent erection beneath his trousers, and Watson stifled a laugh. Holmes glared as Watson attempted to regain his composure. "I'm sorry," he chuckled. Turning to leave, Watson called over his shoulder, "You're a grown man, Sherlock, I'm pretty sure you can take care of that yourself."
"I already did. Thrice." Watson froze and slowly turned back, an eyebrow raised -- this was a legitimate medical concern. Holmes gestured towards the bulge and shot his friend a strained glower.
"And... and what do you propose I do about it?" Watson said slowly. Holmes made a throaty growl and shifted in his chair.
"Watson, I've determined that this is a delayed effect of those chemicals I handled. Scanning your old medical books, I have found that the only course of treatment is to let nature take its course," Holmes explained swiftly, his dark eyes staring straight into Watson's. "And by nature, I mean I need you to suck me, Watson."
Watson was still for a moment, his eyes fleeting between Holmes' desperate face and his very obvious problem. They'd crossed this boundary once before, the very fine line between friends and lovers, and both had sworn never to put the other in this position again. And yet, Watson continued to think of a lot of positions he could put Holmes in.
Oh, lord in heaven.
Slowly and cautiously, Watson stepped over to Holmes, reaching up to loosen his tie. Holmes watched his every move with intensity, tracking and remembering the way Watson carefully lowered to his knees before him. With steady surgeon's hands, Watson unbuttoned Holmes' trousers and let the man's erection spring free. The spill of cold air on his throbbing length caused Holmes to gasp, though he forced himself to keep his eyes open.
Watson leaned forward and took Holmes' cock in his mouth, sucking lightly at the tip. Holmes immediately arched back slightly, deducing immediately that this was considerably more pleasurable than his own right hand. Especially because he could not quite possibly run his tongue so lusciously along the underside like Watson was so dutifully performing.
Painting Holmes' cock with his tongue, Watson sucked increasingly harder, occasionally pulling back to nip at Holmes' tip, reveling in the quiet moans and gasps he was earning. Each strained hiss went straight to his own cock, and Watson snaked a hand into his own trousers to wrap his fingers around his own shaft, teasing himself to full hardness. Then, synchronising the rhythm of his tongue to that of his hand, Watson sucked and rubbed with increasing intensity before Holmes let out a strangled cry and came hard, gripping at the armrests of his chair.
Watson swallowed the best he could and let Holmes' flaccid cock drop from his mouth, all while fervently jacking himself to his own release. Voicing a loud groan, Watson let himself fall onto Holmes' legs, breathing heavily. They sat there like that for a few moments, Holmes reaching down to toy with Watson's short hair. That is, until...
"Watson, despite your superb performance, I do believe those chemicals were rather strong," Holmes muttered darkly. Watson lifted his head only to be greeted with Holmes' cock, fully hard and glistening with precome in a medically impossible record time.
"I think this is going to take more than I expected," Watson laughed, getting to his feet and pulling Holmes with him in the direction of his bedroom.
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December 26 2009, 16:42:05 UTC 2 years ago
Prompt/kink: first time sex
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December 28 2009, 23:24:43 UTC 2 years ago
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December 26 2009, 17:39:20 UTC 2 years ago
catty yet classily subtledeductions regarding the couple's sex life and Mary determining the way to prove him wrong is to invite him to join. I don't see why we couldn't consider it another one of your adventures, John.I desire it like burning. No joke.
... captcha is "the Drugged" I CANNOT MAKE THIS UP...
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December 31 2009, 11:00:58 UTC 2 years ago
i'd write it if i knew anything at all about pacing...
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December 26 2009, 18:39:37 UTC 2 years ago
Do with it what you will, but preferably more sweet than porn-y and Holmes as the hurt one - Despite always winning, he does get the shit beat out of him in the boxing ring, doesn't he?
December 30 2009, 01:53:17 UTC 2 years ago
First he cleans the split lip. Not much he can do there, but it should heal quickly. There's a long, nasty, dirty scrape along his left cheek from where he fell into the wall of the ring. Watson swallows and puts fresh antiseptic on a piece of cotton. He dabs at it. Holmes hisses. "Quiet," Watson says calmly, "It's your own damn fault." His hand is gentle on the other side of Sherlock's head, steadying him. He is frowning as he dabs with the cotton, which pulls away the beginnings of a scab. Fresh blood drips out of the scrape.
"Aren't you supposed to be stopping that?" Holmes asks.
Distractedly, Watson tells him not to be a damn idiot. He's busy checking a cut further up Holmes' scalp. His hair is fused together with blood. Head wounds always seem to bleed so much.
"What are you looking so angry for?" Holmes asks. Because he doesn't care that he's gotten the shit beaten out of him once again. He's just elated and adrenaline-high. It's probably almost as good as cocaine. Watson puts a cold, damp cloth on his eye and holds it there. Holmes looks at him with his free eye twinkling."What's the matter?"
"Nothing," Watson says. His thumb brushes the split lip and Holmes takes hold of the cold cloth himself. Watson continues his investigation.
"Stitches?" Holmes laughs.
"Not this time."
"You look like someone sedated your dog," Holmes says. Watson suppresses a laugh and sticks a plaster to the side of Holmes' cheek.
"That's not quite it."
Holmes must know, he always knows, but he presses on. "What is it, then? Have bandits stolen your wife?"
"My dog insists on getting into fights," says Watson, "My wife has a habit of coming home beaten up."
"Ah," Holmes says, "Do you worry about them?"
"A great deal more than I worry about you, yes," he mutters, and pulls Holmes to his feet. "All better, old man?"
"I'm afraid my doctor has poisoned me, in fact."
Watson passes him his hat. "I do sometimes have other patients, you know. There's no call for slander."
"I've been called a woman and a dog," Holmes says, "Sometimes I deserve the payback I take."
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December 26 2009, 19:12:23 UTC 2 years ago
Pairing: Holmes/Jack Sparrow
Prompt: trapped
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December 26 2009, 19:17:10 UTC 2 years ago
And, lesse...how about Holmes/Watson/Irene, that scene when Holmes wakes up and they're both sitting there all "you are the stupidest man ever and absolutely delicious when you wake up"
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December 26 2009, 19:58:26 UTC 2 years ago
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December 26 2009, 20:11:33 UTC 2 years ago
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December 26 2009, 21:34:37 UTC 2 years ago
Anal sex. Top!Watson.
Angsty. "This is the last time."
December 29 2009, 06:54:40 UTC 2 years ago
"This is the last time." (long, sorry-- turned into a full fic) PART 1/2
They are quiet as Holmes unlocks the door, holds it open for Watson, and as they climb the steps to their rooms. They say nothing as they enter Holmes' quarters and make no eye contact for a good three minutes, standing still in the bedroom, a wide space between them."Do you think--" Holmes begins, still avoiding Watson's gaze.
"I think we might," Watson nods. "Mary isn't expecting me until the evening, then."
"Wonderful," Holmes answers casually, then pushes Watson against the wall, pinning him with his legs and arms and ravaging his neck until he hears Watson sharply inhale. He tips his head upward and waits, staying as still as he can until Watson bends down slightly and takes his mouth, gripping the back of his neck and plundering every frenzied nerve he can touch.
"Good god," Watson mutters, pulling away to catch his breath. "This--we ought not--Mary--"
"For heaven's sake," Holmes groans, quickly pushing open the snaps of Watson's trousers and rubbing expertly at the growing hardness there. "Don't mention her now, John..."
Watson stifles a gasp in reply and runs his hands beneath Holmes' loose-fitting waistcoat and shirt, pulling them off and bending to lave his tongue against a shoulder. He begins to sink to his knees, but Holmes stops him with a firm press of his hand.
"I would like something," Holmes pants, trying and failing to regain his composure, though his voice holds steady. "You are to be married, are you not?"
Watson straightens and rolls his eyes. "You know I am."
"At the end of the week?"
"We move tomorrow."
Holmes closes his eyes for a moment and steels himself. "This is the last time, then, is it not?"
Watson feels ridiculous, his cravat undone and his trousers wide open. He rubs a hand across his face in evident frustration and scratches his head, looking hard at Holmes. "I...suppose..."
"You suppose?" Holmes asks, hard-eyed as ever. "Watson, did you or did you not pursue Miss Morstan with the explicit intent of acquiring her hand in marriage? At the expense of our partnership?"
Watson grips Holmes' hip and rubs their firming lengths deliciously against one another. "If you choose to view it that way..."
Holmes wrests them apart and sniffs petulantly. "There is one way to see it, Watson. Consequently, this will, barring death and divorce, be the last time you so allow yourself this impropriety with me, is it not?"
"Holmes, what is your point?"
"Only that I deserve a last request, my friend," Holmes admits, scanning Watson's lean body and drawing his open shirt away from his chest with a casual grace. He gives the exposed skin an approving stare. Watson swallows.
"What do you want?" he asks, hesitant but at the same time willing to give his friend the closure he requires.
"I want you to take me, John," Holmes remarks without affect, as if he is commenting on the type of mud found on the banks of the Thames or the lime cream at the Turkish baths. As if he is just revealing another clever deduction or a missing clue, but Watson's air catches in his throat. "Properly, in a bed. I will tell Mrs. Hudson we are not to be disturbed. You will draw the curtains as I lock the doors. And then..."
Watson's jaw has gone slack, and his eyes are wider than Holmes has ever seen them. The pupils are blown and his breath is rapid, Holmes notes, which likely means he is not repulsed by the idea. "All right," he finally manages, and heads to the curtains. Holmes puts himself quickly together before leaving him to it.
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December 26 2009, 22:20:25 UTC 2 years ago
Kink: light weight gain. Either one of them.
Anonymous
December 27 2009, 04:23:25 UTC 2 years ago
want
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December 26 2009, 22:56:47 UTC 2 years ago
Kink/Prompt: Temperature/Wax with those long, thin candles...you know the ones ;)
January 2 2010, 02:58:03 UTC 2 years ago
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December 26 2009, 22:58:31 UTC 2 years ago
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December 30 2009, 04:16:05 UTC 2 years ago
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December 26 2009, 23:17:06 UTC 2 years ago
watson's all fucked up, just back from the war! and holmes is all, you know, crazy and holmesian! how do they wind up living together
in sin?December 29 2009, 05:44:38 UTC 2 years ago
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