Bound
Title: Bound
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Guy Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes
Characters/Pairings: Ritchie!verse Watson/Holmes
Warnings: BDSM, predicament bondage, breathplay, choking, corsetry.
Summary: Ritchie!verse Holmes sits on Watson's lap on the settee while they discuss their bondage plans. I almost forgot about this fic. Written for this prompt: http://shkinkmeme.livejournal.com/8789.html?thread=17339477#t17339477
"Now what is it you want me to do to you?" Watson murmured in Holmes' ear. He left his hands at his sides on the settee, refusing to reciprocate the other man's gentle touches--at least for now. "I really cannot guess."
He heard the small wet sound of Holmes licking his lips, then saw his Adam's apple move. "Shall I tell you, then?" Holmes whispered back.
"You'll have to." Watson let his moustache brush Holmes' skin as though by accident, felt him shift and lean closer.
"I want you to dress me in that boned corset I used for the Everson case." Holmes spoke rapidly in a low voice, as though embarrassed. His hands clung frozen to Watson's shirt. "Do you remember helping me into it, Watson? A rather cumbersome affair, I'm afraid. You had to do up the laces in the back for me, and pull them very tightly."
Watson remembered it well. He flushed slightly, recalling how he had tugged impatiently, forcing Holmes' waist smaller and smaller. At one stage he had even braced a foot against Holmes' arse in order to draw the lacing to its absolute limit, all the while Holmes' breathing shortened into quick, shallow pants.
"But this time it ought to be easier," Holmes added, "because I won't need to wear anything else."
Watson forgot his show of aloofness and wrapped his hands around Holmes' waist, pressing him down to his groin. Holmes let his head fall to rest on Watson's shoulder.
"At least--I won't want any other articles of clothing," Holmes continued, his voice low and breathy, his body rubbing lightly against Watson's, fingering Watson's buttons without undoing them. "There are a few other things I should like you to dress me in. I want you to buckle a dog collar around my neck--one made of wide, thick leather. I want you to bring my arms over my head so that my hands are clasped at the back of my neck. Then you'll take a length of silk rope and bind my wrists to the collar."
"I'll have to bind them very tightly," Watson whispered back, one hand creeping up to the back of Holmes' shirt collar. "You have a terrible habit of slipping out of things."
"I do indeed," Holmes agreed. He rocked against Watson rhythmically, absently, almost childishly, setting a slow burn in Watson's body. "I think you may have to take some measures to prevent my escape. If you were to splint and bandage my fingers together, for instance, from the first knuckle to the last, you might render it impossible for me to use my hands at all."
Watson groaned. Holmes' groin began rubbing against his a little harder and quicker and more deliberately than before.
"Then, of course, I want you to tie the back of the collar to the corset lacing. You may pull that tight as well, so that it comes near to choking me. I shall have to arch my head back to be able to breathe."
"I think," Watson said hoarsely, grinding up to meet Holmes' thrusts, "I think I may have to lay you on the bed."
"Yes. Face up, my elbows sticking above my head, I'll need all the strength in my neck and back to keep my airway open. Of course, I could always use my legs to assist me. You had better prevent that."
"Had I?" Watson gripped Holmes' hips tightly and forced him down as hard as he could, rubbing rough, slow circles. He bent to mouth Holmes' stubbled neck above the collar, sucking.
"Yes, by splinting each of my legs separately." Holmes ground down against him willingly. His low voice kept murmuring on as steadily as ever, broken only by small gasps that sometimes punctuated his sentences. "Once you've done that, I shall no longer be able to bend either at the knee. Then you may spread them as far apart as you like, rotating each thigh outward so that I can get no leverage."
"I wonder how I can keep them in such a position?"
"I have a peculiar device, my dear Watson, a long bar with straps attached to it. With a bit of delicacy, you might be able to keep my feet and ankles turned out by binding them to either end of the bar."
"Very good," Watson breathed into Holmes' neck, the rocking of their bodies growing faster. He reached up to feel for one of Holmes' nipples through his shirtfront, giving it a hard pinch. "I think I have you more or less immobilised now."
"Indeed." Holmes sighed, swallowed, shifted his mouth closer to Watson's ear. "Watson. There is one more thing I want you to do for me."
"After I've done so much already?" Watson gave Holmes' hips a hard squeeze, rubbing the trouser fabric over the skin. "Well, I suppose I might consider it. Tell me."
"I want you to straddle my chest. Not resting your weight there--merely kneeling, with your cock in your hand." Holmes had his head braced against the back of the settee as he thrust against Watson. His breaths came out in pants. "I want you to stroke yourself slowly. Watching me while I struggle to raise my head from the mattress. Because I'll want--very much--to suck you, Watson. I know I shall. I'll bend my neck upward, choking on the collar, struggling to touch my lips to the tip of your hard cock."
"You'll beg," Watson whispered back.
"I'll beg, yes, with all the breath in my body, even as I fall back exhausted after each try, all the while you watch me, stroking your cock lightly, casually. Perhaps you will reward me--moving forward just enough to let me suckle the tip--waiting while I fall back to catch my breath--letting me strain forward to suckle eagerly again." The motion of Holmes' hips mimicked his words, pressing hard, circling, slowing, then grinding again.
"Or perhaps," Watson gasped, "I won't."
"Yes, perhaps you will merely stay where you are. You'll watch me lie struggling beneath you. You'll bring yourself off in your hand--perhaps letting a few drops land on my face--letting me lick them away. Or perhaps--perhaps you'll turn me face down, my dear Watson. With my legs forced so far apart, you may"--and here Holmes' voice broke, his body shuddering--"you may have complete access to me." His hips jerked violently against Watson's and then went still.
Watson pulled Holmes' hand roughly from his shirtfront and thrust it down against his trousers. Holmes instantly gripped him hard, running his thumb from the shaft to the head, and Watson let out a harsh cry as he spilled his seed, soaking the fabric through.
They slumped together on the settee, heads resting on each other's shoulders, until they had caught their breath. Watson inhaled the scents of sweat and tobacco on Holmes' neck. The image flashed across his mind of Holmes face down on the bed, struggling to keep his head arched up while Watson tugged his splayed hips backwards.
"Holmes?"
"Hm?"
"Do you really still have that corset from your disguise?"
"Of course, my dear Watson. Have you ever known me to discard a souvenir of a case?"
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Guy Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes
Characters/Pairings: Ritchie!verse Watson/Holmes
Warnings: BDSM, predicament bondage, breathplay, choking, corsetry.
Summary: Ritchie!verse Holmes sits on Watson's lap on the settee while they discuss their bondage plans. I almost forgot about this fic. Written for this prompt: http://shkinkmeme.livejournal.com/8789.html?thread=17339477#t17339477
"Now what is it you want me to do to you?" Watson murmured in Holmes' ear. He left his hands at his sides on the settee, refusing to reciprocate the other man's gentle touches--at least for now. "I really cannot guess."
He heard the small wet sound of Holmes licking his lips, then saw his Adam's apple move. "Shall I tell you, then?" Holmes whispered back.
"You'll have to." Watson let his moustache brush Holmes' skin as though by accident, felt him shift and lean closer.
"I want you to dress me in that boned corset I used for the Everson case." Holmes spoke rapidly in a low voice, as though embarrassed. His hands clung frozen to Watson's shirt. "Do you remember helping me into it, Watson? A rather cumbersome affair, I'm afraid. You had to do up the laces in the back for me, and pull them very tightly."
Watson remembered it well. He flushed slightly, recalling how he had tugged impatiently, forcing Holmes' waist smaller and smaller. At one stage he had even braced a foot against Holmes' arse in order to draw the lacing to its absolute limit, all the while Holmes' breathing shortened into quick, shallow pants.
"But this time it ought to be easier," Holmes added, "because I won't need to wear anything else."
Watson forgot his show of aloofness and wrapped his hands around Holmes' waist, pressing him down to his groin. Holmes let his head fall to rest on Watson's shoulder.
"At least--I won't want any other articles of clothing," Holmes continued, his voice low and breathy, his body rubbing lightly against Watson's, fingering Watson's buttons without undoing them. "There are a few other things I should like you to dress me in. I want you to buckle a dog collar around my neck--one made of wide, thick leather. I want you to bring my arms over my head so that my hands are clasped at the back of my neck. Then you'll take a length of silk rope and bind my wrists to the collar."
"I'll have to bind them very tightly," Watson whispered back, one hand creeping up to the back of Holmes' shirt collar. "You have a terrible habit of slipping out of things."
"I do indeed," Holmes agreed. He rocked against Watson rhythmically, absently, almost childishly, setting a slow burn in Watson's body. "I think you may have to take some measures to prevent my escape. If you were to splint and bandage my fingers together, for instance, from the first knuckle to the last, you might render it impossible for me to use my hands at all."
Watson groaned. Holmes' groin began rubbing against his a little harder and quicker and more deliberately than before.
"Then, of course, I want you to tie the back of the collar to the corset lacing. You may pull that tight as well, so that it comes near to choking me. I shall have to arch my head back to be able to breathe."
"I think," Watson said hoarsely, grinding up to meet Holmes' thrusts, "I think I may have to lay you on the bed."
"Yes. Face up, my elbows sticking above my head, I'll need all the strength in my neck and back to keep my airway open. Of course, I could always use my legs to assist me. You had better prevent that."
"Had I?" Watson gripped Holmes' hips tightly and forced him down as hard as he could, rubbing rough, slow circles. He bent to mouth Holmes' stubbled neck above the collar, sucking.
"Yes, by splinting each of my legs separately." Holmes ground down against him willingly. His low voice kept murmuring on as steadily as ever, broken only by small gasps that sometimes punctuated his sentences. "Once you've done that, I shall no longer be able to bend either at the knee. Then you may spread them as far apart as you like, rotating each thigh outward so that I can get no leverage."
"I wonder how I can keep them in such a position?"
"I have a peculiar device, my dear Watson, a long bar with straps attached to it. With a bit of delicacy, you might be able to keep my feet and ankles turned out by binding them to either end of the bar."
"Very good," Watson breathed into Holmes' neck, the rocking of their bodies growing faster. He reached up to feel for one of Holmes' nipples through his shirtfront, giving it a hard pinch. "I think I have you more or less immobilised now."
"Indeed." Holmes sighed, swallowed, shifted his mouth closer to Watson's ear. "Watson. There is one more thing I want you to do for me."
"After I've done so much already?" Watson gave Holmes' hips a hard squeeze, rubbing the trouser fabric over the skin. "Well, I suppose I might consider it. Tell me."
"I want you to straddle my chest. Not resting your weight there--merely kneeling, with your cock in your hand." Holmes had his head braced against the back of the settee as he thrust against Watson. His breaths came out in pants. "I want you to stroke yourself slowly. Watching me while I struggle to raise my head from the mattress. Because I'll want--very much--to suck you, Watson. I know I shall. I'll bend my neck upward, choking on the collar, struggling to touch my lips to the tip of your hard cock."
"You'll beg," Watson whispered back.
"I'll beg, yes, with all the breath in my body, even as I fall back exhausted after each try, all the while you watch me, stroking your cock lightly, casually. Perhaps you will reward me--moving forward just enough to let me suckle the tip--waiting while I fall back to catch my breath--letting me strain forward to suckle eagerly again." The motion of Holmes' hips mimicked his words, pressing hard, circling, slowing, then grinding again.
"Or perhaps," Watson gasped, "I won't."
"Yes, perhaps you will merely stay where you are. You'll watch me lie struggling beneath you. You'll bring yourself off in your hand--perhaps letting a few drops land on my face--letting me lick them away. Or perhaps--perhaps you'll turn me face down, my dear Watson. With my legs forced so far apart, you may"--and here Holmes' voice broke, his body shuddering--"you may have complete access to me." His hips jerked violently against Watson's and then went still.
Watson pulled Holmes' hand roughly from his shirtfront and thrust it down against his trousers. Holmes instantly gripped him hard, running his thumb from the shaft to the head, and Watson let out a harsh cry as he spilled his seed, soaking the fabric through.
They slumped together on the settee, heads resting on each other's shoulders, until they had caught their breath. Watson inhaled the scents of sweat and tobacco on Holmes' neck. The image flashed across his mind of Holmes face down on the bed, struggling to keep his head arched up while Watson tugged his splayed hips backwards.
"Holmes?"
"Hm?"
"Do you really still have that corset from your disguise?"
"Of course, my dear Watson. Have you ever known me to discard a souvenir of a case?"