FIC: Knot for All the Tea in China
Title: Knot for All the Tea in China
Author: chamekke
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: Naughty.
Word count: 1,069 (!).
Special thanks: To grassle for being my, erm, beta.
Note: Written for archea2's Non-Porn Porn Fest (and also posted to AO3). The kink: knotting.
* * * * *
"Seriously," John coaxed. "There must be something we haven't done that you've always wanted to try with me."
An odd expression flitted across Lestrade's face. Then he nodded, scribbled a word on a piece of paper, and handed it across in silence.
MACRAMÉ, the paper said. John had the distinct impression that the accent on the E had very nearly, but not quite, started out life as a little heart.
"MacRammay?" John read the outlandish word aloud. A Scottish laird, he thought, or possibly a chef-restaurateur?
Lestrade's eyes widened in panic.
"No, no, NO, you must never say the name of the Scottish craft out loud-it's terrible bad luck! Now I have to pull it apart and start again." Lestrade pulled a coarsely woven necklace from under his shirt and began tugging at the cord. Then he looked at John, deadly serious.
"Some call it handweaving. Fingerweaving. Off-the-loom weaving, even. But we who practise this manliest of fibre arts... we call it knotting."
John gaped. He'd heard of such things before: in medical school, at his first walk-in clinic, amongst the troops in Afghanistan. But he'd never expected to meet someone who actually did-it. He felt his face flush with unexpected interest and realised that Lestrade's dark eyes hadn't missed his reaction.
"I reckon you could do with a touch of my dowel, you saucy minx," Lestrade dimpled. He waggled an eyebrow and moved closer.
"This is all so foreign to me," John stammered. "More navy than army, if you don't mind my saying so. H-how did it all come about?"
Lestrade leaned over and slowly, deliberately, knitted his large, blunt fingers through John's smaller, more tapered ones.
"Thanks to a load of seamen, obviously. Bored sailors in days of yore, spending too many months at sea; they needed an outlet, didn’t they?" Lestrade mimed something with his fingers, then caught John's puzzled eye. "Oh, you mean how did I..? A sailor I met in Portsmouth. He knotted me a bell fringe-yes, for my bell end, obviously-and next thing I knew, I found myself swaddling him in a three-ply jute hammock."
Lestrade sighed. "He introduced me to a whole new world. Back in the seventies, that was. An exciting time, right enough, but opportunities were limited for West Country lads like us. Frankly we counted ourselves lucky if we got to knot with a bit of stolen washing line." He cleared his throat. "Which meant we had to learn pegging, too, of course...
"Anyroad it's hard to find men into knotting now, and the few you'll find are mostly in the closet for fear of being mocked. The fashion these days is for crochet, needlepoint... tatting. No one's got time for good, honest knotting any more. Can't tell you how many times I've hit the bars, straining for a glimpse of bracelet under a cuff, a touch of hemp at the neck." He scowled. "And if you get it wrong, you're in for a lecture on the superiority of the doily. Kinky bastards! Knotting's too good for 'em!"
"I'd love it if you'd show me yours," John said shyly. Lestrade beamed.
"It's mainly square knots and granny knots," he began ("Ooh! age play!" John said, trying not to sound as breathless as he felt).
"But when you've got the hang of it..." Lestrade added, pleased, "we can try Cavandoli style." He blushed, clearing his throat. "Very European and, erm, bicolour."
Lestrade fished about in his sock drawer and pulled out something John had never seen before. A plant hanger? "Here, this is good for beginners. Run your fingers over that and see what you think."
The lovely nubbly texture was strangely arousing. John rubbed the rough hemp against his face, pressing the roundness of the large wooden beads against his cheek, and started to hyperventilate.
"I find that beads add an interesting sensation, don't you? And there's nothing I enjoy more than taking some leather and fingerweaving it..."
John bit back a groan.
"I'm known for my big, hard knots. And my bead work. And, erm. Have you ever heard of the switchback? I can do it. Backwards or forwards. And any kind of cord you like." His voice became deeper, husked with emotion. "The thicker the better. You should see my other plant hangers. Lovely heavy things, enormous wooden beads. Got heft to 'em, they have."
Was that dark feral sound from Lestrade's throat actually...a growl?
"Perfect for holding spider plants, I expect," John proffered. Lestrade's eyelids fluttered.
"Spider plants," he moaned, launching himself into John's willing embrace.
"When I'm really in the zone and the chemistry's right?" Lestrade panted into John's ear. "I can knot with someone for ten, twenty hours straight. Afterwards I'm exhausted, wrung dry, but it's worth it to be... tied together with someone for that long."
"I'm getting hot just thinking about it," John admitted.
"Let me show you my fibre arts... I'd love to pin you to my board, you lovely thing..." Lestrade snuffled hungrily at John's neck. "Starting with these gorgeous hands of yours..." He gripped John's left hand, reverently sucked on a finger. "I've always wanted to get hitched to a surgeon. And I don't mind left-handed, really."
"Mostly left-handed," John corrected him hastily. "But I identify as ambi. I can work with both!" He flapped his other hand to demonstrate.
Lestrade's face lit with joy. "Then you really do..."
"I think so, yes," John said eagerly.
"Good. Fetch in the tea-tray, will you?"
"Of course." John hesitated for a moment. "Large pot of Earl Grey, then? And shall I get out...the bone china?"
"You're a natural, you are," Lestrade said affectionately.
"And some HobNobs?"
"One nibble and you're knobbled," Lestrade confirmed. He pressed his lips against John's ear and whispered, "I'll get the project board, my needle-nose pliers, and a good stiff ruler."
"As long as it's not the only thing that's stiff..."
"I'll use a mounting knot to start with," Lestrade promised, "And then a constrictor knot to keep everything in place. After tonight you'll be the belle of my ball..."
"No half-hitching, I hope?"
"You'll be mounted and finished..."
"I'll get the guest china, then..."
"You won't be able to knot straight for a week!"
"...All right, the chocolate HobNobs..."
"And then, if we've got any energy left?" Lestrade said happily. "We might try that 'sex' thing everyone keeps talking about!"
Author: chamekke
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: Naughty.
Word count: 1,069 (!).
Special thanks: To grassle for being my, erm, beta.
Note: Written for archea2's Non-Porn Porn Fest (and also posted to AO3). The kink: knotting.
* * * * *
"Seriously," John coaxed. "There must be something we haven't done that you've always wanted to try with me."
An odd expression flitted across Lestrade's face. Then he nodded, scribbled a word on a piece of paper, and handed it across in silence.
MACRAMÉ, the paper said. John had the distinct impression that the accent on the E had very nearly, but not quite, started out life as a little heart.
"MacRammay?" John read the outlandish word aloud. A Scottish laird, he thought, or possibly a chef-restaurateur?
Lestrade's eyes widened in panic.
"No, no, NO, you must never say the name of the Scottish craft out loud-it's terrible bad luck! Now I have to pull it apart and start again." Lestrade pulled a coarsely woven necklace from under his shirt and began tugging at the cord. Then he looked at John, deadly serious.
"Some call it handweaving. Fingerweaving. Off-the-loom weaving, even. But we who practise this manliest of fibre arts... we call it knotting."
John gaped. He'd heard of such things before: in medical school, at his first walk-in clinic, amongst the troops in Afghanistan. But he'd never expected to meet someone who actually did-it. He felt his face flush with unexpected interest and realised that Lestrade's dark eyes hadn't missed his reaction.
"I reckon you could do with a touch of my dowel, you saucy minx," Lestrade dimpled. He waggled an eyebrow and moved closer.
"This is all so foreign to me," John stammered. "More navy than army, if you don't mind my saying so. H-how did it all come about?"
Lestrade leaned over and slowly, deliberately, knitted his large, blunt fingers through John's smaller, more tapered ones.
"Thanks to a load of seamen, obviously. Bored sailors in days of yore, spending too many months at sea; they needed an outlet, didn’t they?" Lestrade mimed something with his fingers, then caught John's puzzled eye. "Oh, you mean how did I..? A sailor I met in Portsmouth. He knotted me a bell fringe-yes, for my bell end, obviously-and next thing I knew, I found myself swaddling him in a three-ply jute hammock."
Lestrade sighed. "He introduced me to a whole new world. Back in the seventies, that was. An exciting time, right enough, but opportunities were limited for West Country lads like us. Frankly we counted ourselves lucky if we got to knot with a bit of stolen washing line." He cleared his throat. "Which meant we had to learn pegging, too, of course...
"Anyroad it's hard to find men into knotting now, and the few you'll find are mostly in the closet for fear of being mocked. The fashion these days is for crochet, needlepoint... tatting. No one's got time for good, honest knotting any more. Can't tell you how many times I've hit the bars, straining for a glimpse of bracelet under a cuff, a touch of hemp at the neck." He scowled. "And if you get it wrong, you're in for a lecture on the superiority of the doily. Kinky bastards! Knotting's too good for 'em!"
"I'd love it if you'd show me yours," John said shyly. Lestrade beamed.
"It's mainly square knots and granny knots," he began ("Ooh! age play!" John said, trying not to sound as breathless as he felt).
"But when you've got the hang of it..." Lestrade added, pleased, "we can try Cavandoli style." He blushed, clearing his throat. "Very European and, erm, bicolour."
Lestrade fished about in his sock drawer and pulled out something John had never seen before. A plant hanger? "Here, this is good for beginners. Run your fingers over that and see what you think."
The lovely nubbly texture was strangely arousing. John rubbed the rough hemp against his face, pressing the roundness of the large wooden beads against his cheek, and started to hyperventilate.
"I find that beads add an interesting sensation, don't you? And there's nothing I enjoy more than taking some leather and fingerweaving it..."
John bit back a groan.
"I'm known for my big, hard knots. And my bead work. And, erm. Have you ever heard of the switchback? I can do it. Backwards or forwards. And any kind of cord you like." His voice became deeper, husked with emotion. "The thicker the better. You should see my other plant hangers. Lovely heavy things, enormous wooden beads. Got heft to 'em, they have."
Was that dark feral sound from Lestrade's throat actually...a growl?
"Perfect for holding spider plants, I expect," John proffered. Lestrade's eyelids fluttered.
"Spider plants," he moaned, launching himself into John's willing embrace.
"When I'm really in the zone and the chemistry's right?" Lestrade panted into John's ear. "I can knot with someone for ten, twenty hours straight. Afterwards I'm exhausted, wrung dry, but it's worth it to be... tied together with someone for that long."
"I'm getting hot just thinking about it," John admitted.
"Let me show you my fibre arts... I'd love to pin you to my board, you lovely thing..." Lestrade snuffled hungrily at John's neck. "Starting with these gorgeous hands of yours..." He gripped John's left hand, reverently sucked on a finger. "I've always wanted to get hitched to a surgeon. And I don't mind left-handed, really."
"Mostly left-handed," John corrected him hastily. "But I identify as ambi. I can work with both!" He flapped his other hand to demonstrate.
Lestrade's face lit with joy. "Then you really do..."
"I think so, yes," John said eagerly.
"Good. Fetch in the tea-tray, will you?"
"Of course." John hesitated for a moment. "Large pot of Earl Grey, then? And shall I get out...the bone china?"
"You're a natural, you are," Lestrade said affectionately.
"And some HobNobs?"
"One nibble and you're knobbled," Lestrade confirmed. He pressed his lips against John's ear and whispered, "I'll get the project board, my needle-nose pliers, and a good stiff ruler."
"As long as it's not the only thing that's stiff..."
"I'll use a mounting knot to start with," Lestrade promised, "And then a constrictor knot to keep everything in place. After tonight you'll be the belle of my ball..."
"No half-hitching, I hope?"
"You'll be mounted and finished..."
"I'll get the guest china, then..."
"You won't be able to knot straight for a week!"
"...All right, the chocolate HobNobs..."
"And then, if we've got any energy left?" Lestrade said happily. "We might try that 'sex' thing everyone keeps talking about!"