Summary: For years the detective genius Sherlock Holmes has
watched his lion from afar, yearning to confess his feelings for his
beloved, but shying away from him in fear of rejection. Sherlock has stayed
awake, watching his sleeping lion nearly every night, wanting and dreaming,
but never touching. until now. Until tonight. A night among nights when the
lion shall become prey.
Warning SLASH and IMPLIED RAPE. R&R welcome!
Disclaimer: If I owned Holmes and Watson they'd be on a life long vacation to a nude beach and I'd be on the 30th floor of the nearest resort motel with a pair of extremely good binoculars. But I don't own them, damn the luck, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle gets that claim. However, I've begun additions to find look-alikes for my mad plans. If you happen to know anyone.. Never mind.
Copying for archiving is just dandy. Just let me know where it goes and be sure to take my name along for the ride as well. I could always use another bookmark.
Bound Saint
By XRWolff
Beta and Summary by Laurie-kins
So utterly stupid of me to do this. As much as he praises my genius he ignores my idiocy. This time it will cost him dearly. This time I can't suppress my desires, even with my damnable drugs. It's gone too far, become an obsession. He has become my first and only love.
His strong body lies so peacefully on the bed. For years I've been slipping into his room and observing his supine form as he sleeps. Ever since I divined that it was still his habit to sleep nearly nude, as he had grown accustom to in the warmer climates he endured before coming into my life, I' ve been watching. It's a pleasure I should have long ago denied myself but could not. Such beauty deserves to be seen.
And now, after so many years of appreciative gazes that honeyed flesh shall be touched. It's utterly filthy of me for I've not been invited to partake. It hardly matters now; the urges will wait no longer.
There is a brief moment of drowsy struggle, easily subdued. After all, this is his home, where he feels safest. Before the morning I'll have ruined any such feelings of comfort. Such thoughts pain me. Truly I don't wish to hurt him, just love him. I've watched and hoped since first realizing my affections, searching for any indication that they would be welcome. My innocent love never so much as cast a look of interest my direction. Perhaps it was that utter lack of interest that hurt most, nearly more than his naive feelings of brotherly love.
I've planned my actions to cause the least amount of discomfort for him. During the few moments of drowsiness I slip soft silk cords around his wrists. They are tied to the headboard securely. If I can keep him content enough he should only receive the most superficial of burns from the bindings. In an attempt to ease this task further, I also cover his eyes with a wound scarf and slip a second scarf between his full lips. Perhaps not knowing it is his most trusted friend doing this to him will ease the disgust for him.
I can make out a few muffled curses. It nearly makes me chuckle. My passionately emotional love. I stroke his brow comfortingly until he settles, ceasing to fight the satin ropes I've used to bind him to his bed.
He's not nearly as foolish as he'd wish the public and I to think. It is very likely he will realize it is me, simply by the manner of my touch, even though I've never been given so much liberty with his smooth flesh and I made sure the silken blindfold was snug. I've managed to sooth him. He'll remain so until I give him cause to revolt. Brilliant tactic. A lion feigning sleep to wait for his moment, proud and defiant yet wise. Unfortunately, I'll soon give him more than enough reason to struggle.
I'll never be forgiven for this. I must make it good. Good enough to satisfy a broken heart. My heart, for as mush as I love him I don't delude myself that the feelings are ever going to be returned. It's only after years of longing that I turn to this despicable action.
Tonight I'm going to force my lion. In return for years of devotion and loyal companionship I'll bind him and take pleasure from him. Just once, for this night alone, I will be able to claim him as my own.
My lion.
My only love.
He's always noted my lack of desire and love for my fellow humans. Sweet naivety. He never saw that the lack was due to my utter adoration of him alone. All others are foul and weak against him.
He's a good man. Perhaps the only one I'll ever have the honor of knowing.
I will miss so much of that purity after this night. His shining smiles. His gentle nagging about my foul health practices. His naive but helpful comments as I ponder my cases. His bull doggedly loyal support, and those broad shoulders I've grown so fond of leaning on whenever I need help.
He's always been there. After tonight.
Such thoughts make me regret the gag I've been forced to use on him so we might remain undisturbed. I've wanted to kiss his full, rose pink lips from the very beginning of my infatuation. Press my mouth to his and delve deeply into his sweetness with my tongue... A painful sacrifice for his continued silence, a necessary sacrifice.
I've begun to make up for it by slowly bestowing caresses. With each stroke I use my streetwise skills as a pickpocket to undo his sleeping pant buttons one by one. Soon, I can flick open his fly. He's still staying relatively still, with only a few restless moves of his thighs under the sheets. He does not yet realize how far I've gone.
Oh god.
He has a treasure trail. It's irresistible and soon I find my tongue tracing the fine hairs running from his deep navel to the tender flesh newly bared through his fly. It made him moan and I cannot think of a sweeter sound. I will do all within my power to have him produce it again...
And again...
Oh, and again.
***
I'd never meant to actually do it. It had been a desire I buried deep inside, never to see daylight. Foolish of me. I had wanted him too badly for that to actually work. Now I'd dared to lay my filthy hands on him, taken my pleasure from him, forced him. Raped my lion.
It hurt to think of. The memories of him sliding beneath me are clear enough to cleave my heart with desire. I wanted more. I'd do it to him again, there was no doubt of that. Every moment I remained near him he was in danger of being attacked anew.
I shouldn't stay here. I should run now, while he sleeps. Getting far away before he wakes and accuses me. I deserve to be accused.
He deserves to be avenged. My lion needs revenge. How many times before had I sworn that any to dare lay a malicious hand on him would have a fitting judgment meted out to them? The time had come to judge myself. What would I demand of any other who'd dare to touch my Watson? Dared to steal his innocence?
God. I deserve to die.
Yes. The hair-trigger is in my desk. Easy to retrieve it and slowly load a single bullet into the chamber in preparation. I've been judge and executioner to others. Perhaps it is simply my time.
I hear the rustling just as I press the cold barrel to my temple. As I raise my eyes I pray it's not Watson. I can't bare the thought of bringing him more pain.
His head is held high, his shoulders squared in an almost regal fashion. My lion. Even after all I've done to him this night he refuses to hide. So beautiful with my linen sheet wrapped about his slim waist, chest and shoulders bared unashamedly. It brings my heart to near bursting to see him so strong. He'll survive this. He's already recovered.
My hand falters. I can't pull the trigger. Something about his eyes...
My lion is crying, nearly weeping. Before my eyes he's crumbling. He leans heavily against the wall and slides to the floor where he grasps his shins and sobs into his knees. A bit of me dies as I sit with the gun and watch his pain, yet I can't make myself go to him. I still fear his rejection.
Just barely loud enough for my sharp hearing, he speaks. His voice is broken and harsh. "I was never enough. Now I'm not even enough for you to want to keep or even bother to remain for."
The pain in his tones, the self-depreciating meaning of his words, it's the motivation I needed. I have to comfort him. Rejection can't possibly hurt as much as watching the dignity drain from my lion.
The gun drops from my limp fingers onto the desktop. In moments I'm kneeling beside him, pulling my love into my lap so I might rock him in an attempt to calm his sobs. "Shhh, don't say such things, John."
"Why shouldn't I? It's the truth. You've hinted a thousand times, and Lestrade outright tells me, I'm not smart enough to help. All I am is a second gun for your protection. Now I'm not even worthy of being your lover. Why do you even put up with me?"
"Stop it!" I can't slow my breathing. He's enraged me. If Lestrade were here I'd strangle the imbecile. My lion is so hurt inside. I've done this to him. I've twisted him. The one good man I've ever known and I've tainted him. "Please stop, John. I'm sorry. Please don't talk like that."
He won't answer me. His eyes have gotten distant and unfocused. I'm losing him.
I can't bare it any longer. He's in my arms and in pain. I give the only comfort I know how. I steal a kiss. I use my filthy hands to brush aside his tears. It's more tenderness than I've ever shown to any other. And he knows it.
"I was wrong to get the gun, John. I won't do it again, even if I do deserve it."
"You'll stay, Holmes?"
His eyes are wide and childlike. Pleading has never affected me so strongly. Does he really believe me capable of saying no?
"I'll stay, but you must understand, John, now that I've... I've had you, I can't stop. I'm sorry, but I can't. If I stay, I will try again."
His laugh startles me. So rich and deep and happy. Honest laughter. Healthy laughter.
"Oh, Holmes, you ass! Come back to bed. Let me show you just how much I resent what you did."
His beautiful mouth is set in a positively lecherous smile. My god!
"But! Why did you fight the cord then? Dear god, I thought I was raping you!"
The smile is growing, if I'm not mistaken. My body is reacting rather enthusiastically to that expression. Having him lean over and breathe softly into my ear only furthers my arousal. The words he whispers to me are hardly to be endured!
"I wanted to free my hands so I might use them to a better purpose on your delectable flesh, my love. Wouldn't you have liked that? My fingers spread wide to trail up and down your skin. My nails free to dig into you when I'm overcome by lust."
"Shut up and march into that room, John Watson. Now!"
He chuckles and gives me a mock salute before sauntering into his bedroom, behaving like a right slut and not even bothering to take the sheet. I follow just to make sure he was not merely a marvelous dream.
Warning SLASH and IMPLIED RAPE. R&R welcome!
Disclaimer: If I owned Holmes and Watson they'd be on a life long vacation to a nude beach and I'd be on the 30th floor of the nearest resort motel with a pair of extremely good binoculars. But I don't own them, damn the luck, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle gets that claim. However, I've begun additions to find look-alikes for my mad plans. If you happen to know anyone.. Never mind.
Copying for archiving is just dandy. Just let me know where it goes and be sure to take my name along for the ride as well. I could always use another bookmark.
Bound Saint
By XRWolff
Beta and Summary by Laurie-kins
So utterly stupid of me to do this. As much as he praises my genius he ignores my idiocy. This time it will cost him dearly. This time I can't suppress my desires, even with my damnable drugs. It's gone too far, become an obsession. He has become my first and only love.
His strong body lies so peacefully on the bed. For years I've been slipping into his room and observing his supine form as he sleeps. Ever since I divined that it was still his habit to sleep nearly nude, as he had grown accustom to in the warmer climates he endured before coming into my life, I' ve been watching. It's a pleasure I should have long ago denied myself but could not. Such beauty deserves to be seen.
And now, after so many years of appreciative gazes that honeyed flesh shall be touched. It's utterly filthy of me for I've not been invited to partake. It hardly matters now; the urges will wait no longer.
There is a brief moment of drowsy struggle, easily subdued. After all, this is his home, where he feels safest. Before the morning I'll have ruined any such feelings of comfort. Such thoughts pain me. Truly I don't wish to hurt him, just love him. I've watched and hoped since first realizing my affections, searching for any indication that they would be welcome. My innocent love never so much as cast a look of interest my direction. Perhaps it was that utter lack of interest that hurt most, nearly more than his naive feelings of brotherly love.
I've planned my actions to cause the least amount of discomfort for him. During the few moments of drowsiness I slip soft silk cords around his wrists. They are tied to the headboard securely. If I can keep him content enough he should only receive the most superficial of burns from the bindings. In an attempt to ease this task further, I also cover his eyes with a wound scarf and slip a second scarf between his full lips. Perhaps not knowing it is his most trusted friend doing this to him will ease the disgust for him.
I can make out a few muffled curses. It nearly makes me chuckle. My passionately emotional love. I stroke his brow comfortingly until he settles, ceasing to fight the satin ropes I've used to bind him to his bed.
He's not nearly as foolish as he'd wish the public and I to think. It is very likely he will realize it is me, simply by the manner of my touch, even though I've never been given so much liberty with his smooth flesh and I made sure the silken blindfold was snug. I've managed to sooth him. He'll remain so until I give him cause to revolt. Brilliant tactic. A lion feigning sleep to wait for his moment, proud and defiant yet wise. Unfortunately, I'll soon give him more than enough reason to struggle.
I'll never be forgiven for this. I must make it good. Good enough to satisfy a broken heart. My heart, for as mush as I love him I don't delude myself that the feelings are ever going to be returned. It's only after years of longing that I turn to this despicable action.
Tonight I'm going to force my lion. In return for years of devotion and loyal companionship I'll bind him and take pleasure from him. Just once, for this night alone, I will be able to claim him as my own.
My lion.
My only love.
He's always noted my lack of desire and love for my fellow humans. Sweet naivety. He never saw that the lack was due to my utter adoration of him alone. All others are foul and weak against him.
He's a good man. Perhaps the only one I'll ever have the honor of knowing.
I will miss so much of that purity after this night. His shining smiles. His gentle nagging about my foul health practices. His naive but helpful comments as I ponder my cases. His bull doggedly loyal support, and those broad shoulders I've grown so fond of leaning on whenever I need help.
He's always been there. After tonight.
Such thoughts make me regret the gag I've been forced to use on him so we might remain undisturbed. I've wanted to kiss his full, rose pink lips from the very beginning of my infatuation. Press my mouth to his and delve deeply into his sweetness with my tongue... A painful sacrifice for his continued silence, a necessary sacrifice.
I've begun to make up for it by slowly bestowing caresses. With each stroke I use my streetwise skills as a pickpocket to undo his sleeping pant buttons one by one. Soon, I can flick open his fly. He's still staying relatively still, with only a few restless moves of his thighs under the sheets. He does not yet realize how far I've gone.
Oh god.
He has a treasure trail. It's irresistible and soon I find my tongue tracing the fine hairs running from his deep navel to the tender flesh newly bared through his fly. It made him moan and I cannot think of a sweeter sound. I will do all within my power to have him produce it again...
And again...
Oh, and again.
***
I'd never meant to actually do it. It had been a desire I buried deep inside, never to see daylight. Foolish of me. I had wanted him too badly for that to actually work. Now I'd dared to lay my filthy hands on him, taken my pleasure from him, forced him. Raped my lion.
It hurt to think of. The memories of him sliding beneath me are clear enough to cleave my heart with desire. I wanted more. I'd do it to him again, there was no doubt of that. Every moment I remained near him he was in danger of being attacked anew.
I shouldn't stay here. I should run now, while he sleeps. Getting far away before he wakes and accuses me. I deserve to be accused.
He deserves to be avenged. My lion needs revenge. How many times before had I sworn that any to dare lay a malicious hand on him would have a fitting judgment meted out to them? The time had come to judge myself. What would I demand of any other who'd dare to touch my Watson? Dared to steal his innocence?
God. I deserve to die.
Yes. The hair-trigger is in my desk. Easy to retrieve it and slowly load a single bullet into the chamber in preparation. I've been judge and executioner to others. Perhaps it is simply my time.
I hear the rustling just as I press the cold barrel to my temple. As I raise my eyes I pray it's not Watson. I can't bare the thought of bringing him more pain.
His head is held high, his shoulders squared in an almost regal fashion. My lion. Even after all I've done to him this night he refuses to hide. So beautiful with my linen sheet wrapped about his slim waist, chest and shoulders bared unashamedly. It brings my heart to near bursting to see him so strong. He'll survive this. He's already recovered.
My hand falters. I can't pull the trigger. Something about his eyes...
My lion is crying, nearly weeping. Before my eyes he's crumbling. He leans heavily against the wall and slides to the floor where he grasps his shins and sobs into his knees. A bit of me dies as I sit with the gun and watch his pain, yet I can't make myself go to him. I still fear his rejection.
Just barely loud enough for my sharp hearing, he speaks. His voice is broken and harsh. "I was never enough. Now I'm not even enough for you to want to keep or even bother to remain for."
The pain in his tones, the self-depreciating meaning of his words, it's the motivation I needed. I have to comfort him. Rejection can't possibly hurt as much as watching the dignity drain from my lion.
The gun drops from my limp fingers onto the desktop. In moments I'm kneeling beside him, pulling my love into my lap so I might rock him in an attempt to calm his sobs. "Shhh, don't say such things, John."
"Why shouldn't I? It's the truth. You've hinted a thousand times, and Lestrade outright tells me, I'm not smart enough to help. All I am is a second gun for your protection. Now I'm not even worthy of being your lover. Why do you even put up with me?"
"Stop it!" I can't slow my breathing. He's enraged me. If Lestrade were here I'd strangle the imbecile. My lion is so hurt inside. I've done this to him. I've twisted him. The one good man I've ever known and I've tainted him. "Please stop, John. I'm sorry. Please don't talk like that."
He won't answer me. His eyes have gotten distant and unfocused. I'm losing him.
I can't bare it any longer. He's in my arms and in pain. I give the only comfort I know how. I steal a kiss. I use my filthy hands to brush aside his tears. It's more tenderness than I've ever shown to any other. And he knows it.
"I was wrong to get the gun, John. I won't do it again, even if I do deserve it."
"You'll stay, Holmes?"
His eyes are wide and childlike. Pleading has never affected me so strongly. Does he really believe me capable of saying no?
"I'll stay, but you must understand, John, now that I've... I've had you, I can't stop. I'm sorry, but I can't. If I stay, I will try again."
His laugh startles me. So rich and deep and happy. Honest laughter. Healthy laughter.
"Oh, Holmes, you ass! Come back to bed. Let me show you just how much I resent what you did."
His beautiful mouth is set in a positively lecherous smile. My god!
"But! Why did you fight the cord then? Dear god, I thought I was raping you!"
The smile is growing, if I'm not mistaken. My body is reacting rather enthusiastically to that expression. Having him lean over and breathe softly into my ear only furthers my arousal. The words he whispers to me are hardly to be endured!
"I wanted to free my hands so I might use them to a better purpose on your delectable flesh, my love. Wouldn't you have liked that? My fingers spread wide to trail up and down your skin. My nails free to dig into you when I'm overcome by lust."
"Shut up and march into that room, John Watson. Now!"
He chuckles and gives me a mock salute before sauntering into his bedroom, behaving like a right slut and not even bothering to take the sheet. I follow just to make sure he was not merely a marvelous dream.