Fic: Of Potions and Cats, Among Other Things
Title To Be Parents (5/5)
Rating R
Fandom Sherlock Holmes
Characters -
Pairing Holmes/Watson
Summery Watson still refuses to believe Holmes' desire to parent a litter of kittens. They strike an odd deal.
It wasn't fifteen minutes before Holmes began pawing at him again, ears and tail up and ready.
“Watson, I'm feeling lucky,” he mewled quietly, hand stroking down to Watson's genitals, “I really think if we-“
“No.”
“It's different this time.”
Watson cracked open an eye. His shoulder throbbed painfully.
“I want to mate with y-“
“I'm going to shoot you, Holmes. I really will.”
Holmes perched himself upon Watson's stomach. Outside, the streets of London glowed silently, and a cat in the distance sang. Holmes himself was illuminated by the soft light of the gas street lamps and the sliver of the moon that hung in the cloudy sky. He did look rather beautiful, Watson reluctantly admitted, but between the ears and the eagerness to continue trying to create a new generation, Watson really did not want to go again. In fact, he considered moving out altogether.
“You're being intentionally thick,” Holmes continued, tapping his chest, “I want to mate with you.”
Something clicked while Watson wondered who'd take him for a roommate, and cold dread filled him up.
“Holmes, I will absolutely not. I'm exhausted and I will not let you put anything of yours inside of me and it is absolutely insane to think that either of us will become pregnant! Especially me, in your twisted logic, because I'm not half-cat! … What are you... Holmes, cut that out, I do-oh my. Oh... oh.”
Watson swallowed thickly as Holmes' mouth descended upon him and suckled softly, bringing his cock back to life and dripping in a few short minutes. It wasn't fair at all, Watson did not want to be fertilized. If anything, he'd want to have another go at Holmes and make love to him, feeling a bit affectionate for his feline friend, but this was absolutely evil. Evil evil evil.
Even so, Watson flipped himself over onto his knees and let Holmes do his thing, seeing as Holmes only wanted it in this particular position. Watson huffed, moody but aroused, and let his mind wander as Holmes did actually take necessary precautions and stretched him out with that tin of lotion from before.
It hurt, but in a strangely full and wonderful way. It was a bit too early for Watson to be back in the game, but even so, he enjoyed the sensation and Holmes' depraved, huffy little breaths and mewls as his hips drove into Watson's ass. This affair, unlike last time, didn't last a spectacular amount of time, but whatever Holmes was doing sure made him enjoy it. It wasn't long before Holmes' rhythm got jerky and erratic and Watson felt himself filled up with warm wetness and wasn't that just odd.
Curling up after a brief recovery period, Holmes purred softly into Watson's neck, legs tangled and tail swishing about. Watson admired him and stroked an ear fondly.
“Oh John,” Watson winced at yet another use of his Christian name, “What if we were parents...”
“Well, Sherlock,” he sighed, “You are disgusted by the thought of procreation and have made this clear on several occasions. It's all in your hormones.”
“John.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Watson, please shut up and be the father.”
“Fine,” Watson gave up, hands in the air, “If you or I give birth to kittens or any sort of sentient being, I'll be the father.”
“It's a deal,” Sherlock gave a wide, fanged grin and Watson, for a moment, feared he may have made a mistake somewhere along the line.
He had. Made a mistake, that is. Eight months pregnant, Watson had to wonder if it was back when he allowed Sherlock to stay up and experiment as long as he had to, or maybe when he'd agreed to move in with the detective. Still, everything could be blamed on getting shot in the army or even just when he'd decided to attend medical school all those years ago.
In any case, both he and Sherlock were now expecting a litter of something, God knows what, in a few short weeks.
“I hate you,” he growled nearly daily, as his back began to hurt worse each time he got up. Sherlock merely sat contently, reading or knitting or cleaning his tail. He wasn't half affected as Watson was, and that really annoyed him.
Finally the day came for the whatevers to be born, and Watson had never expected this much pain. He blacked out half-way through, only coming to when Holmes stood by his side, eagerly telling him of the miracles in his arms. Looking down, Watson saw the half-kittens, three of them, all with big brown eyes and little blonde mustaches.
Wait.
Jerking awake, Watson sat bolt-upright in his bed, the night fading into a pinkish sunrise, Sherlock sleeping soundly by his side. He checked himself over, shoulder still bandaged from Sherlock's fanged love bite, yet Sherlock's fangs, ears, and tail were all gone. Most curious.
Calming his heart down, Watson roused his bedmate, “Sherlock. Wake up.”
“Hm?” he blinked sleepily awake, smiling a bit, “Heavens it's early...”
“Holmes, you're.... you're all human again.”
“I beg pardon?” Holmes yawned again, feeling over his head, “... Oh.”
“Do you feel alright?”
“Yes... odd, though. It's as if I had to find a mate to transform back,” he laughed, “Extremely clichéd, though.”
“Maybe,” Watson agreed, lying down with him, “I'm just glad it's over.”
“Oh, didn't care for me with that pesky tail and ears?”
“What I cared for was the man beneath the tail and ears,” pulling him close, Watson smiled endearingly as Sherlock squirmed in the hold. Back to being reclusive and anti-cuddling. That was his Sherlock.
“Well.”
“Just. No more experiments. Not without supervision.”
Sighing, Holmes agreed, conveying annoyance with a frustrated grunt. Good bye to the clearer signals from flipping ears and his tail puffing up. But honestly, as odd and strangely wonderful as it all was, there was no way Watson would ask for it all back. This was his Holmes. And as amorous as he had been previously, this is the one Watson always did and would prefer.
End.
Rating R
Fandom Sherlock Holmes
Characters -
Pairing Holmes/Watson
Summery Watson still refuses to believe Holmes' desire to parent a litter of kittens. They strike an odd deal.
It wasn't fifteen minutes before Holmes began pawing at him again, ears and tail up and ready.
“Watson, I'm feeling lucky,” he mewled quietly, hand stroking down to Watson's genitals, “I really think if we-“
“No.”
“It's different this time.”
Watson cracked open an eye. His shoulder throbbed painfully.
“I want to mate with y-“
“I'm going to shoot you, Holmes. I really will.”
Holmes perched himself upon Watson's stomach. Outside, the streets of London glowed silently, and a cat in the distance sang. Holmes himself was illuminated by the soft light of the gas street lamps and the sliver of the moon that hung in the cloudy sky. He did look rather beautiful, Watson reluctantly admitted, but between the ears and the eagerness to continue trying to create a new generation, Watson really did not want to go again. In fact, he considered moving out altogether.
“You're being intentionally thick,” Holmes continued, tapping his chest, “I want to mate with you.”
Something clicked while Watson wondered who'd take him for a roommate, and cold dread filled him up.
“Holmes, I will absolutely not. I'm exhausted and I will not let you put anything of yours inside of me and it is absolutely insane to think that either of us will become pregnant! Especially me, in your twisted logic, because I'm not half-cat! … What are you... Holmes, cut that out, I do-oh my. Oh... oh.”
Watson swallowed thickly as Holmes' mouth descended upon him and suckled softly, bringing his cock back to life and dripping in a few short minutes. It wasn't fair at all, Watson did not want to be fertilized. If anything, he'd want to have another go at Holmes and make love to him, feeling a bit affectionate for his feline friend, but this was absolutely evil. Evil evil evil.
Even so, Watson flipped himself over onto his knees and let Holmes do his thing, seeing as Holmes only wanted it in this particular position. Watson huffed, moody but aroused, and let his mind wander as Holmes did actually take necessary precautions and stretched him out with that tin of lotion from before.
It hurt, but in a strangely full and wonderful way. It was a bit too early for Watson to be back in the game, but even so, he enjoyed the sensation and Holmes' depraved, huffy little breaths and mewls as his hips drove into Watson's ass. This affair, unlike last time, didn't last a spectacular amount of time, but whatever Holmes was doing sure made him enjoy it. It wasn't long before Holmes' rhythm got jerky and erratic and Watson felt himself filled up with warm wetness and wasn't that just odd.
Curling up after a brief recovery period, Holmes purred softly into Watson's neck, legs tangled and tail swishing about. Watson admired him and stroked an ear fondly.
“Oh John,” Watson winced at yet another use of his Christian name, “What if we were parents...”
“Well, Sherlock,” he sighed, “You are disgusted by the thought of procreation and have made this clear on several occasions. It's all in your hormones.”
“John.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Watson, please shut up and be the father.”
“Fine,” Watson gave up, hands in the air, “If you or I give birth to kittens or any sort of sentient being, I'll be the father.”
“It's a deal,” Sherlock gave a wide, fanged grin and Watson, for a moment, feared he may have made a mistake somewhere along the line.
He had. Made a mistake, that is. Eight months pregnant, Watson had to wonder if it was back when he allowed Sherlock to stay up and experiment as long as he had to, or maybe when he'd agreed to move in with the detective. Still, everything could be blamed on getting shot in the army or even just when he'd decided to attend medical school all those years ago.
In any case, both he and Sherlock were now expecting a litter of something, God knows what, in a few short weeks.
“I hate you,” he growled nearly daily, as his back began to hurt worse each time he got up. Sherlock merely sat contently, reading or knitting or cleaning his tail. He wasn't half affected as Watson was, and that really annoyed him.
Finally the day came for the whatevers to be born, and Watson had never expected this much pain. He blacked out half-way through, only coming to when Holmes stood by his side, eagerly telling him of the miracles in his arms. Looking down, Watson saw the half-kittens, three of them, all with big brown eyes and little blonde mustaches.
Wait.
Jerking awake, Watson sat bolt-upright in his bed, the night fading into a pinkish sunrise, Sherlock sleeping soundly by his side. He checked himself over, shoulder still bandaged from Sherlock's fanged love bite, yet Sherlock's fangs, ears, and tail were all gone. Most curious.
Calming his heart down, Watson roused his bedmate, “Sherlock. Wake up.”
“Hm?” he blinked sleepily awake, smiling a bit, “Heavens it's early...”
“Holmes, you're.... you're all human again.”
“I beg pardon?” Holmes yawned again, feeling over his head, “... Oh.”
“Do you feel alright?”
“Yes... odd, though. It's as if I had to find a mate to transform back,” he laughed, “Extremely clichéd, though.”
“Maybe,” Watson agreed, lying down with him, “I'm just glad it's over.”
“Oh, didn't care for me with that pesky tail and ears?”
“What I cared for was the man beneath the tail and ears,” pulling him close, Watson smiled endearingly as Sherlock squirmed in the hold. Back to being reclusive and anti-cuddling. That was his Sherlock.
“Well.”
“Just. No more experiments. Not without supervision.”
Sighing, Holmes agreed, conveying annoyance with a frustrated grunt. Good bye to the clearer signals from flipping ears and his tail puffing up. But honestly, as odd and strangely wonderful as it all was, there was no way Watson would ask for it all back. This was his Holmes. And as amorous as he had been previously, this is the one Watson always did and would prefer.
End.