THEY MADE ME DO IT
Lol okay. I tried to resist, honest. But the other day one of my very dear friends was like, 'how come all the 'NC-17' Holmes/Watson fics skimp out on the then-illegal buttsex' and my brain was like 'hmm' and my pants were like 'woohoo,' and welp here is the result XD My first and potentially only foray outside the realm of House/Wilson, although admittedly it's not that far a leap. Basically I just wanted to see if I could write old-world porn and lol yes, I have gone completely insane and should be put down.
Okay lol. I've now spent more time debating over posting this than I spent actually writing it so I'm just gonna do it so i can delete the file on my harddrive and you know go off into the wilderness to die okay bye XD
Title: The Perfume-Bottle
Author: magie_05 is such a loser lol
Pairing: Holmes/Watson lol what
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Holmes needs assistance with his latest experiment. LOL why do I bother XD
“Doctor Watson,” my friend sighed, moments before the heavy oak door to my room gave way behind me, “I wonder, if you have no other pressing engagements to-night, whether you might be willing to assist me in a series of - experiments.”
Although the answer was upon my lips faster than thought, I was at first unable to respond, engrossed as I was in the studious exploration of my friend's warm, cavernous mouth. “I shall be happy to oblige,” said I, once I had regained the usage of my larynx.
“Excellent,” said he, expressing his gratitude by slowing levering me onto the bed.
I had for some time been the willing object of Sherlock Holmes's latest study. While I was unsure how our night-time pursuits contributed to his singular profession, he seemed as focused on them as any feat of deduction, any perplexing chemical reaction. Indeed, since we began, scarcely a night seemed to pass without his lithe form creeping into my room, his long fingers snuffing out the candle, his palm resting demurely on my cheek.
Resistance never seemed to cross my mind.
I did not presume to know precisely what it was that made him come to me at night. His sensibilities and his intellectual austerity seemed to preclude that which, on the surface, was purely biological. By necessity, he made very little comment about our nocturnal activities, which we, more often than not, practiced in pure, suffocating silence. However, I flatter myself to believe that he had fully reconciled our relations with his particular worldview. After all our years of intimacy and all the unconventional facets of our friendship, expansion into the physical was, indeed, the only logical course of action.
Holmes knelt before me as I sat on the side of the bed, his hands at my hips and his lips fixedly against my chest. For my part, I was unable to extract my gaze from his sharp profile, the broad line of his shoulders, the delicate bones of his hand as he undid the remaining buttons of my waistcoat. I had, over the course recent months, been subject to the whim of those well-practiced fingers and that endlessly inquisitive mouth, and so the news that he had some fresh idea in mind fell upon eager ears. The interest it piqued in me was a close relative of that which had first endeared me to Holmes - that sense of adventure and discovery which I might never have indulged if not for knowing him. Even so, I tried to retain my stoicism as Holmes slowly unbuttoned my shirt, his long, nervous fingers worrying at the fabric while his steady exhales brushed along my skin. “As you know, Watson,” said he, pressing his lips to my abdomen during the pause between his words, “my investigations often lead me to areas of the city which lie decidedly outside of what might be considered polite society.”
I smiled at his understatement. “Quite so, Holmes. Most notably opium dens and back-alleyways.”
I could feel my friend's breath flutter in amusement. “Precisely. As always, you summarize the situation succinctly and to the point. My career often exposes me to places and lifestyles that are distinctly opposite to the norm. Not only do these encounters frequently provide the information pivotal to my latest inquiry, but they have the additional benefit of bringing to my attention practices which one would not likely read about on the front page of the Daily Telegraph.”
As his hands were at work on the clasp of my trousers, it seemed the appropriate time to lie back and take his collar in my hands. “How convenient,” said I, as my friend's limbs pooled around me on the bed, the sharp points of his knees pressed against either side of my hips.
For a moment, I could feel his smile against my lips, but from there his efforts became deeper and much more erratic. I could scarcely open my mouth to draw a breath, it seemed, without tasting the grainy surface of his tongue against my own, relished as I was by one very discerning connoisseur. During the pause in conversation, I took the liberty of relieving Holmes of his upper layers of clothing, achieving momentary satisfaction only when I felt the smooth skin and broad sinews of his shoulders beneath my palms. “It happens, Watson,” he began, and pressed his thin frame more firmly against my own, “that on my last foray into this city's prodigious underbelly, I came across a substance which I believe will prove itself invaluable to our purpose this evening, and many evenings after.”
Immersed as I was in the stroke of his fingers along my scalp and the simple press of lips across my brow, his words failed to fully register. “A substance, Holmes? I hardly imagine that a substance could offer any improvement, or, more importantly, that we are in need of it.”
From his expression, I detected that he was, despite himself, pleased at this remark, which had been designed purely to compliment his impressive skill. However, and not surprisingly, nothing could deter him from his established goal. “A simple formula, yes, but what it lacks in complexity, I believe it will more than make up for in - as you might appreciate, dear doctor - its practical use.”
I was about to confess myself baffled when my companion suddenly pulled back, extracting from the pocket of his discarded coat what appeared to be a lady's perfume-bottle, filled to the brim with an amber-colored liquid.
Something of my friend's deductive skill seemed to pass to me in that moment, and I suddenly needed no further exposition. “Holmes - ”
“You will forgive, I hope, its rather common appearance, but the small establishment at which I purchased it is better known for its discretion than for its décor.” He must have noted the flush I felt creeping up towards the roots of my hair, because his expression faltered slightly and he continued in a breathy, excitable state. “If you are averse to this suggestion, Watson, you need only indicate as much. I may have blundered, it appears, by imposing the idea upon you, and I assure you that no such mistake need occur in the future, if the thought itself offends your principles - ”
He was slowly withdrawing from me as he spoke, as I lay in limp contemplation, struck deaf and dumb by the weight of revelation. The thoughts that occurred to me were neither protest nor affirmation, simply a primal intuition which possessed me so completely that I could think of no other alternative but to grip his shoulders and crush his words against my own mouth.
Lying vertically across the bed as we were, we were in no position to carry out Holmes's latest chemical exercise. I positioned myself against the pillows, reclining there while Holmes dutifully removed the remainder of our clothing, not pausing or looking up from his task until not a single stitch separated us. The perfume-bottle remained clasp in his hand, so firmly that I observed the bones and tendons of his knuckles, stretched white with too much force. Rarely had I seen him more reticent in manner, his movements somewhat shaky and unsure. It took longer than the act required for him to position his long, lean frame over mine, his large hands beneath my shoulders and my calves instinctively crisscrossed over his hips. The yellow lamplight threw his features into such stark relief that I could scarcely read his expression, his eyes pools of darkness as he leaned forward, his lips just brushing my temple as he pressed his bare front fully against mine.
Some time later, after a rousing course of our familiar warm, slow, silent rhythm, my higher faculties had begun to ponder over the contents of the perfume-bottle. I said nothing, but, as was his metier, my companion seemed to deduce my very thoughts. His hand, which had hitherto been pinned between us to steady our union, ceased momentarily to open the little vessel, and the air filled with the scent of some foreign herb, strong but not entirely disagreeable, and in fact quite invigorating to the sinus. Any remaining qualms I had about my friend's mysterious tonic vanished completely when I felt the thick oil coat my most secret and sensitive areas, spread there on Holmes's steady hand. The solution seemed almost effervescent to the skin, creating a sensation that paled my past experiences, strengthening a rising tension in my marrow.
A sensation that was enhanced, or perhaps precipitated, by the unprecedented speed and vigor of Holmes's touch.
We resumed our previous endeavor, this time with a natural, polished tempo that might have seemed almost indecent. Curiously, however, I felt no immediate instinct towards shame, and neither did I sense shame in my companion as he fell into an ever-increasing rhythm, the results of which are quite impossible to articulate. Indeed, no words passed my lips as the minutes spiraled onwards - only sounds, low and carnal, which I feared would irreparably damage my reputation as a gentleman. I needn't have worried, however, as the only witness to my debauchery was himself approaching a similar state. His soft, sonorous exhales were stifled against my neck as he moved in a natural, harmonic rhythm, the oil wrapped around us like the finest silk.
Its merits having been thus proven, it seemed only logical to put the substance to a more intensive test.
Medicine lost a fine surgeon and clinician when Holmes discovered his flair for crime-solving. His strong fingers, slippery with the subject of our inquiry, mapped the terrain of my anatomy with no notable difficulty whatever. I suddenly found myself at the whim of his delicate touch, every fibre of my body attuned to the deliberately random strokes, my spine curling slightly upward in instinctual invitation. Fear of society did not factor into my current tender condition. It had disappeared completely from my mind at the exact moment my friend's clever fingers found their purpose, moving unerringly through strings of hidden tissue to strike the perfect chord.
Holmes must have taken my verbose reaction as a cry of dismay or protest. His shoulders jerked as if he was shocked, and his hand quickly retreated to the bed-cover. “Pray accept my apologies, Watson,” said he, in a futile impression of his normal cold and logical manner. “'Pon my word, our object means nothing if it causes you pain.”
Charmed physically as I was sentimentally, it took no great effort to grasp his hips, entwine my legs around his back, and begin the long and involved process of assuaging his doubts.
In a span of time that seemed both interminable and immediate, I could feel the tip of him as he prepared to test his theory, poised there as in preparation of some great feat of music or deduction, a glazed and far-away look in his expression. Then his pupils constricted, one long-held breath puffed across my face, and he pressed forward slowly, the friction cooled by the amber liquid. He was disinclined to stop until I could feel the sharp points of his hipbones against my thighs, by which time my mind had unwound like a ball of string.
As anything surrounding Holmes, it took a period of adjustment, and time to acquaint oneself with the method. However, it was not long after my heartbeat had subsided against my eardrums that I began to truly savor the firm, tantalizing pressure of him, and to feel the pain bursting into secret, savage pleasure in my limbs. For comfort's sake, I hooked a leg over each of his long, thin arms, stretched to their full length as he looked down at me, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. Then his mouth was on mine, and he pressed forward experimentally, and I knew nothing more of pain.
He did not slip from me completely, but made as if to do so, only to push back against me at the very last moment. This deception became a pattern, and the pattern became a delicious, unspeakable motion that was not motion at all, but rather a thickening pool of sensation, a fluid of pleasure rippling from my abdomen, across my chest, into my very bones. My nerves hummed so that I could no longer distinguish one motion from the next, nor pause to slacken my bruising grip on Holmes's shoulders, nor dwell upon the soft groans of satisfaction I could feel vibrating in my companion's chest. I knew only my own desire, which was, in simple terms, that we continue in this raw and earthy endeavor for as great a time as our bodies could possibly endure -
But, inevitably, the moment was quickly forced to its crisis.
Some minutes later, I regained the ability to breathe. I felt the warmth of our individual exertions against my chest and along my thighs, flowing into the bed-cover like so much warm water. Holmes's mouth lay wet and open against my ear, exuding puffs of damp air into my skin. He did not withdraw, but rather lay against me in a state of rest and satiety of which I had seen far too little in our years together. “Thank you, doctor,” said he, his voice still as airy and timorous as I myself felt. “This test yielded, I must confess, far greater results than I had anticipated.”
Strangely, although I could not coordinate my muscles well enough to open my eyes, I felt my face breaking into an easy grin. “I am happy to have been of use.”
“Although, Watson, one does begin to wonder how much these results would vary under fresh circumstances.” He paused to kiss me, clear his throat, and blot the perspiration from his forehead against the inside of his wrist. “Might you, after an improving drink and strong tobacco, be persuaded to assist me once more?”
I chuckled then, both in diffidence and at the worried look on my friend's face, combined with the desperately logical phrasing of his request. “Again, Holmes? Surely you don't doubt yourself?” said I, with as much sarcasm as I could muster.
Holmes's lips twitched and he began toying idly with the ends of my damp hair, affirming that he was in on the joke. “It is a widely-known practice in the scientific community to test one's own findings. Indeed, for it to prove truly valid, an experiment must be repeated numerous times and in numerous circumstances with the same or improved results. I trust you are up to the challenge, Watson?”
“I suppose,” I pronounced loftily, although I could feel myself flush. “All that remains,” I continued, retrieving the considerably lighter perfume-bottle from the pillows, “is for you to replenish our supplies.”
“I shall do my best not to forget,” said he, his voice suddenly lower as he gently pried the vial from my fingers, as the soft bud of him began to stir within me.
As it happened, the use of alcohol and strong tobacco was not required.
Okay lol. I've now spent more time debating over posting this than I spent actually writing it so I'm just gonna do it so i can delete the file on my harddrive and you know go off into the wilderness to die okay bye XD
Title: The Perfume-Bottle
Author: magie_05 is such a loser lol
Pairing: Holmes/Watson lol what
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Holmes needs assistance with his latest experiment. LOL why do I bother XD
“Doctor Watson,” my friend sighed, moments before the heavy oak door to my room gave way behind me, “I wonder, if you have no other pressing engagements to-night, whether you might be willing to assist me in a series of - experiments.”
Although the answer was upon my lips faster than thought, I was at first unable to respond, engrossed as I was in the studious exploration of my friend's warm, cavernous mouth. “I shall be happy to oblige,” said I, once I had regained the usage of my larynx.
“Excellent,” said he, expressing his gratitude by slowing levering me onto the bed.
I had for some time been the willing object of Sherlock Holmes's latest study. While I was unsure how our night-time pursuits contributed to his singular profession, he seemed as focused on them as any feat of deduction, any perplexing chemical reaction. Indeed, since we began, scarcely a night seemed to pass without his lithe form creeping into my room, his long fingers snuffing out the candle, his palm resting demurely on my cheek.
Resistance never seemed to cross my mind.
I did not presume to know precisely what it was that made him come to me at night. His sensibilities and his intellectual austerity seemed to preclude that which, on the surface, was purely biological. By necessity, he made very little comment about our nocturnal activities, which we, more often than not, practiced in pure, suffocating silence. However, I flatter myself to believe that he had fully reconciled our relations with his particular worldview. After all our years of intimacy and all the unconventional facets of our friendship, expansion into the physical was, indeed, the only logical course of action.
Holmes knelt before me as I sat on the side of the bed, his hands at my hips and his lips fixedly against my chest. For my part, I was unable to extract my gaze from his sharp profile, the broad line of his shoulders, the delicate bones of his hand as he undid the remaining buttons of my waistcoat. I had, over the course recent months, been subject to the whim of those well-practiced fingers and that endlessly inquisitive mouth, and so the news that he had some fresh idea in mind fell upon eager ears. The interest it piqued in me was a close relative of that which had first endeared me to Holmes - that sense of adventure and discovery which I might never have indulged if not for knowing him. Even so, I tried to retain my stoicism as Holmes slowly unbuttoned my shirt, his long, nervous fingers worrying at the fabric while his steady exhales brushed along my skin. “As you know, Watson,” said he, pressing his lips to my abdomen during the pause between his words, “my investigations often lead me to areas of the city which lie decidedly outside of what might be considered polite society.”
I smiled at his understatement. “Quite so, Holmes. Most notably opium dens and back-alleyways.”
I could feel my friend's breath flutter in amusement. “Precisely. As always, you summarize the situation succinctly and to the point. My career often exposes me to places and lifestyles that are distinctly opposite to the norm. Not only do these encounters frequently provide the information pivotal to my latest inquiry, but they have the additional benefit of bringing to my attention practices which one would not likely read about on the front page of the Daily Telegraph.”
As his hands were at work on the clasp of my trousers, it seemed the appropriate time to lie back and take his collar in my hands. “How convenient,” said I, as my friend's limbs pooled around me on the bed, the sharp points of his knees pressed against either side of my hips.
For a moment, I could feel his smile against my lips, but from there his efforts became deeper and much more erratic. I could scarcely open my mouth to draw a breath, it seemed, without tasting the grainy surface of his tongue against my own, relished as I was by one very discerning connoisseur. During the pause in conversation, I took the liberty of relieving Holmes of his upper layers of clothing, achieving momentary satisfaction only when I felt the smooth skin and broad sinews of his shoulders beneath my palms. “It happens, Watson,” he began, and pressed his thin frame more firmly against my own, “that on my last foray into this city's prodigious underbelly, I came across a substance which I believe will prove itself invaluable to our purpose this evening, and many evenings after.”
Immersed as I was in the stroke of his fingers along my scalp and the simple press of lips across my brow, his words failed to fully register. “A substance, Holmes? I hardly imagine that a substance could offer any improvement, or, more importantly, that we are in need of it.”
From his expression, I detected that he was, despite himself, pleased at this remark, which had been designed purely to compliment his impressive skill. However, and not surprisingly, nothing could deter him from his established goal. “A simple formula, yes, but what it lacks in complexity, I believe it will more than make up for in - as you might appreciate, dear doctor - its practical use.”
I was about to confess myself baffled when my companion suddenly pulled back, extracting from the pocket of his discarded coat what appeared to be a lady's perfume-bottle, filled to the brim with an amber-colored liquid.
Something of my friend's deductive skill seemed to pass to me in that moment, and I suddenly needed no further exposition. “Holmes - ”
“You will forgive, I hope, its rather common appearance, but the small establishment at which I purchased it is better known for its discretion than for its décor.” He must have noted the flush I felt creeping up towards the roots of my hair, because his expression faltered slightly and he continued in a breathy, excitable state. “If you are averse to this suggestion, Watson, you need only indicate as much. I may have blundered, it appears, by imposing the idea upon you, and I assure you that no such mistake need occur in the future, if the thought itself offends your principles - ”
He was slowly withdrawing from me as he spoke, as I lay in limp contemplation, struck deaf and dumb by the weight of revelation. The thoughts that occurred to me were neither protest nor affirmation, simply a primal intuition which possessed me so completely that I could think of no other alternative but to grip his shoulders and crush his words against my own mouth.
Lying vertically across the bed as we were, we were in no position to carry out Holmes's latest chemical exercise. I positioned myself against the pillows, reclining there while Holmes dutifully removed the remainder of our clothing, not pausing or looking up from his task until not a single stitch separated us. The perfume-bottle remained clasp in his hand, so firmly that I observed the bones and tendons of his knuckles, stretched white with too much force. Rarely had I seen him more reticent in manner, his movements somewhat shaky and unsure. It took longer than the act required for him to position his long, lean frame over mine, his large hands beneath my shoulders and my calves instinctively crisscrossed over his hips. The yellow lamplight threw his features into such stark relief that I could scarcely read his expression, his eyes pools of darkness as he leaned forward, his lips just brushing my temple as he pressed his bare front fully against mine.
Some time later, after a rousing course of our familiar warm, slow, silent rhythm, my higher faculties had begun to ponder over the contents of the perfume-bottle. I said nothing, but, as was his metier, my companion seemed to deduce my very thoughts. His hand, which had hitherto been pinned between us to steady our union, ceased momentarily to open the little vessel, and the air filled with the scent of some foreign herb, strong but not entirely disagreeable, and in fact quite invigorating to the sinus. Any remaining qualms I had about my friend's mysterious tonic vanished completely when I felt the thick oil coat my most secret and sensitive areas, spread there on Holmes's steady hand. The solution seemed almost effervescent to the skin, creating a sensation that paled my past experiences, strengthening a rising tension in my marrow.
A sensation that was enhanced, or perhaps precipitated, by the unprecedented speed and vigor of Holmes's touch.
We resumed our previous endeavor, this time with a natural, polished tempo that might have seemed almost indecent. Curiously, however, I felt no immediate instinct towards shame, and neither did I sense shame in my companion as he fell into an ever-increasing rhythm, the results of which are quite impossible to articulate. Indeed, no words passed my lips as the minutes spiraled onwards - only sounds, low and carnal, which I feared would irreparably damage my reputation as a gentleman. I needn't have worried, however, as the only witness to my debauchery was himself approaching a similar state. His soft, sonorous exhales were stifled against my neck as he moved in a natural, harmonic rhythm, the oil wrapped around us like the finest silk.
Its merits having been thus proven, it seemed only logical to put the substance to a more intensive test.
Medicine lost a fine surgeon and clinician when Holmes discovered his flair for crime-solving. His strong fingers, slippery with the subject of our inquiry, mapped the terrain of my anatomy with no notable difficulty whatever. I suddenly found myself at the whim of his delicate touch, every fibre of my body attuned to the deliberately random strokes, my spine curling slightly upward in instinctual invitation. Fear of society did not factor into my current tender condition. It had disappeared completely from my mind at the exact moment my friend's clever fingers found their purpose, moving unerringly through strings of hidden tissue to strike the perfect chord.
Holmes must have taken my verbose reaction as a cry of dismay or protest. His shoulders jerked as if he was shocked, and his hand quickly retreated to the bed-cover. “Pray accept my apologies, Watson,” said he, in a futile impression of his normal cold and logical manner. “'Pon my word, our object means nothing if it causes you pain.”
Charmed physically as I was sentimentally, it took no great effort to grasp his hips, entwine my legs around his back, and begin the long and involved process of assuaging his doubts.
In a span of time that seemed both interminable and immediate, I could feel the tip of him as he prepared to test his theory, poised there as in preparation of some great feat of music or deduction, a glazed and far-away look in his expression. Then his pupils constricted, one long-held breath puffed across my face, and he pressed forward slowly, the friction cooled by the amber liquid. He was disinclined to stop until I could feel the sharp points of his hipbones against my thighs, by which time my mind had unwound like a ball of string.
As anything surrounding Holmes, it took a period of adjustment, and time to acquaint oneself with the method. However, it was not long after my heartbeat had subsided against my eardrums that I began to truly savor the firm, tantalizing pressure of him, and to feel the pain bursting into secret, savage pleasure in my limbs. For comfort's sake, I hooked a leg over each of his long, thin arms, stretched to their full length as he looked down at me, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. Then his mouth was on mine, and he pressed forward experimentally, and I knew nothing more of pain.
He did not slip from me completely, but made as if to do so, only to push back against me at the very last moment. This deception became a pattern, and the pattern became a delicious, unspeakable motion that was not motion at all, but rather a thickening pool of sensation, a fluid of pleasure rippling from my abdomen, across my chest, into my very bones. My nerves hummed so that I could no longer distinguish one motion from the next, nor pause to slacken my bruising grip on Holmes's shoulders, nor dwell upon the soft groans of satisfaction I could feel vibrating in my companion's chest. I knew only my own desire, which was, in simple terms, that we continue in this raw and earthy endeavor for as great a time as our bodies could possibly endure -
But, inevitably, the moment was quickly forced to its crisis.
Some minutes later, I regained the ability to breathe. I felt the warmth of our individual exertions against my chest and along my thighs, flowing into the bed-cover like so much warm water. Holmes's mouth lay wet and open against my ear, exuding puffs of damp air into my skin. He did not withdraw, but rather lay against me in a state of rest and satiety of which I had seen far too little in our years together. “Thank you, doctor,” said he, his voice still as airy and timorous as I myself felt. “This test yielded, I must confess, far greater results than I had anticipated.”
Strangely, although I could not coordinate my muscles well enough to open my eyes, I felt my face breaking into an easy grin. “I am happy to have been of use.”
“Although, Watson, one does begin to wonder how much these results would vary under fresh circumstances.” He paused to kiss me, clear his throat, and blot the perspiration from his forehead against the inside of his wrist. “Might you, after an improving drink and strong tobacco, be persuaded to assist me once more?”
I chuckled then, both in diffidence and at the worried look on my friend's face, combined with the desperately logical phrasing of his request. “Again, Holmes? Surely you don't doubt yourself?” said I, with as much sarcasm as I could muster.
Holmes's lips twitched and he began toying idly with the ends of my damp hair, affirming that he was in on the joke. “It is a widely-known practice in the scientific community to test one's own findings. Indeed, for it to prove truly valid, an experiment must be repeated numerous times and in numerous circumstances with the same or improved results. I trust you are up to the challenge, Watson?”
“I suppose,” I pronounced loftily, although I could feel myself flush. “All that remains,” I continued, retrieving the considerably lighter perfume-bottle from the pillows, “is for you to replenish our supplies.”
“I shall do my best not to forget,” said he, his voice suddenly lower as he gently pried the vial from my fingers, as the soft bud of him began to stir within me.
As it happened, the use of alcohol and strong tobacco was not required.