Sherlock Holmes: alternate endings to Perversions of Nature
Titles: Protect and Serve, A Friend in Need
Characters: Clarky/Holmes, Watson/Holmes
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1400, 2000
Warnings: sexual content
Disclaimer: 09 movie characters, situations don't belong to me.
Summary: Two alternate endings to the fic Perversions of Nature ( read here). In the first, Holmes rejects the idea of Watson seeing him in such a state and begs Clarky to help him. In the second, Holmes is desperate to have the only man he truly wants.
Notes: *Reposted from the kinkmeme, obviously. These are presented here as alternate endings, but they are, in fact, the original two ending choices. Now, they are just more porn.
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Protect and Serve
"Help me," Holmes whimpered, shamed almost past bearing, but so desperate for relief and release.
"What do you...?" Clarky's breathing was rapid and shallow and a flush covered his entire face. He gulped then continued, "Do you want me to get the doctor?"
"NO!" Holmes half gasped, half cried. Watson cannot see me like this. Not now... "No," he repeated. "Please, Clarky, you must help me."
"Help you? Sir, I have no... I don't know how I could help you." There was an edge akin to panic in the constable's voice.
"I need you to... to..." Holmes felt his cheeks burn even hotter as he closed his eyes and searched for the right words. He moved a leg in a vain attempt to relieve some of the pressure in his groin, but it only served to shift the fluid inside him. He moaned and his hips thrust forward again unconsciously in response to the maddening sensation within. "Nngod, I need you... Need you inside, now."
There was no spoken answer -- just a sharply inhaled breath and a slight stirring of Clarky's manhood under his arm. There was a change in the grip of the arms holding him and Holmes was certain that the other man's eyes were roving over his body. He visualized what the constable must be seeing: lust-flushed skin covered here and there in glistening white fluid. "I--" There was a hitch in that voice. "I can't..."
Holmes opened eyes that felt strangely hot and difficult to focus. "Please," he begged, meeting Clarky's eyes, which widened and seemed to fill with an echo of Holmes' own desperation.
"It isn't right, sir" Clarky protested in a husky voice, though Holmes could feel the man's arousal.
What am I doing? The part of the detective's mind that was not a maelstrom of drugs and desire berated him for asking one of the best men he knew to share in his degradation. He was asking an officer of the law to break it. "Sorry," he whispered. "It's a disgrace, I kno--"
"That isn't it!" It was as close as the man had ever come to raising his voice. "I don't... I want... You... you're not yourself, Mr. Holmes."
"I fear I will go mad," Holmes pleaded, not understanding the pain and frustration in Clarky's gaze. All he could comprehend as his hips rocked again, brushing his arousal against his rescuer, was that his relief was there, pressed against his arm. "Clarky, please."
"Very well, sir. Just, please, not in this room."
Holmes nodded his assent as best he could, the wool of the constable's uniform caressing his sensitized skin, making him shiver. It was an agonizingly slow procedure getting downstairs. The detective's legs could scarcely bear his weight and every move of his limbs, every brush of Clarky's body against his own was exquisite torture.
By the time they reached the dust covered sofa in the sitting room, Holmes was incapable of speech. Now! he pleaded with his eyes when Clarky's hands went to the collar of his uniform. He writhed there, trying to spread his legs wider in invitation.
With a guttural sound from deep in his throat, Clarky lowered his hands to his own trousers. He feverishly struggled them open and lowered them just enough to release his arousal from the confines of undergarments and clothing.
All shame lost momentarily to the madness of desire, Holmes moaned and wriggled again. "Now," he managed to vocalize.
"I don't want to hurt you," was the deep but breathy reply as the other man positioned himself against Holmes' entrance. He waited for a response, though the strain was apparent in the narrowing of his eyes and the clench of his jaws as he lowered his body over Holmes'.
Holmes had no response but raising his weakened arms and clutching with all his remaining strength at the fabric of Clarky's uniformed lower back. It communicated all that was needed and with a groan, Clarky entered Holmes fully with one strong thrust of his hips. The detective cried out in unadulterated pleasure, the fluid still inside him easing Clarky's passage and enabling him to feel every inch of the man inside him. Above him, Clarky's eyes were closed, his expression indescribable. With a rough jerk of his hips, the constable half withdrew himself and then thrust back in, deeper than before. Holmes' back arched and he cried out again as this stroke brushed his prostate. He felt himself tighten around Clarky even as his arms found the strength to move up and wrap around the other man's back.
"Holmes," Clarky moaned, starting a rapid rhythm of thrusts and each one sent molten pleasure coursing through Holmes. The detective's own manhood was now pressed between them, rubbing deliciously against the wool of the constable's uniform with every motion. Holmes eyes went to Clarky's and he found them open once more, gazing at him with a look of such intensity of sorrow-tinted passion.
Of its own volition, one of his hands went to the constable's face. Clarky, he mouthed the name, unable to speak.
"Holmes..." Clarky's eyes closed again as his face came closer. He covered Holmes' still parted lips with his own. Holmes moaned into that kiss and when a hot, moist tongue slid inside his mouth, he sucked on it, drawing an answering moan from his partner. Clarky's thrusts sped up even further as both men neared completion.
With one last muffled cry into that kiss, Holmes found his release. His vision went white and his entire body shuddered with ecstasy. He felt Clarky's lips pull back and heard his own name cried out as his partner's release followed his.
Before the white darkened to black and he let go of consciousness, Holmes felt one more, soft kiss upon his lips and a gentle hand stroking his brow.
When he awakened, he was still lying on the sofa, but his skin had been wiped clean and a musty blanket wrapped around him. Clarky was sitting on the floor beside him, his warm brown eyes watching Holmes intently and one hand was stroking the detective's hair. When he realized that Holmes was awake, he withdrew the hand.
"Are you quite all right, sir?" The intent gaze shifted away and there was a flush across the man's cheekbones.
"I am..." Holmes paused to assess his own condition. There was a slight pain in his lower body, but other than that, he experienced only a pleasant lethargy... and an acute sense of shame. "I am sorry."
"Sorry?"
"I made a grave miscalculation and then I dragged you down with me in my disgrace." Holmes doubted they could recover their easy friendly-professional relationship after this... debacle. Ironic I should only realize how much I value his respect when it is lost to me.
"Sir -- Holmes, no." Clarky's eyes came back to him, wide with denial and dark with emotion. "I am the one who ought to be apologizing. I should not have given in... then. I should have fetched the doctor to treat you."
"Then you regret it." It was so natural a response that Holmes wondered at the constriction in his chest at the thought.
"Yes! No! I... I would not have had it happen that way..." As his speech petered out to awkward silence, Clarky's hand returned to Holmes' face to caress his cheek.
"You...?" He did not know what he wanted to ask. Perhaps it was that plant's chemicals still in his system that caused speech to fail him. With not the least idea of what else to do, Holmes reached an arm out of the blanket and pulled Clarky's face toward his own. Their lips met in a brief, warm kiss that nevertheless induced a light tingling, far more enjoyable than anything caused by toxins, along Holmes' scalp.
"What was... what did that mean, sir?" There was a hesitant smile playing over the constable's features, which were flushed a particularly stunning shade of scarlet.
"I'm afraid, for once, I haven't the least idea." He traced the curve of that smile with his thumb and felt an answering grin begin to bow his own mouth. "But I shall give the investigation my utmost care and attention."
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A Friend in Need
"Help me," Holmes whimpered, shamed almost past bearing, but so desperate for relief and release.
"What do you...?" Clarky's breathing was rapid and shallow and a flush covered his entire face. He gulped, then continued, "Do you want me to get the doctor?"
"Yes, please," Holmes begged. "Hurry!" Watson, he called in his heart, Watson! His own need and weakness shamed him and he would never wish for the doctor to see him this way, but...
Who else could he trust? "Please," he repeated, fixing his gaze on the obviously distressed constable.
"In a moment, sir." Clarky averted his eyes from Holmes, flush more pronounced than ever. "I cannot leave you in this room. There's no telling if that thing is truly dead."
Not trusting himself to speak at the moment lest more shameful noises escape him, the detective merely nodded his assent. Clarky slowly raised them both to their feet and they made their agonizing way downstairs. Each move sent maddening desire shuddering through Holmes body, shaking legs that would scarcely support him as it was.
In the end, the constable had to drag Holmes, the detective having given up on anything except trying to divert his mind and dampen the fire within. Unimaginative criminals... Gladstone's rug muffins... Lace doilies...
At length, they made it to the sofa in the downstairs sitting room. The detective collapsed onto its surface, ignoring the cloud of dust that rose up around him. He realized the disgraceful sight he must make, skin flushed and covered in white fluid, erect member jutting up from hips that would not cease squirming as an unnatural arousal sought release.
If Watson should see me like this... He looked up at Clarky. The other man's eyes quickly darted away from where they had been resting wide-eyed on Holmes' body. Perhaps, Clarky...
"I should find something to cover you before I go." The constable's profile expressed both concern and guilt, while his clenched fists bespoke a man striving for self-control.
"No," Holmes breathed, answering both of them. It would be reprehensible to use Clarky in that way -- and would likely cost him whatever respect the man still held for him. "Watson," he pleaded. The doctor might find another way to help him. And if he could not... Well, he was already drifting away from Holmes. "Quickly," he added to the constable. He could feel the shreds of coherency to which he currently clung becoming more and more tenuous.
"Yes, sir!" A surge of affection for Clarky momentarily cleared Holmes' mind as he watched the constable dash off at full speed. It did not last long, though. The fluid within and without his body was losing none of its potency. If anything, it seemed to be taking full effect now. A short whimpering moan slipped through his clenched teeth as the sensation of the toxin danced throughout his body like teasing fingers whose touch brought no genuine pleasure nor hint of release.
Perhaps he might help himself. It was difficult to make his limbs respond, but he brought a shaking hand to his arousal. He gripped the base as firmly as he could and then stroked along the entire length. His hips thrust weakly into his own hand, but if anything the action seemed only to heighten the burning need within. With a sharp, high pant of desperation and shame, he moved his other hand to his opening and slowly slid a finger inside, searching for that one spot.
It's not enough! Tears of frustration leaked from his eyes as he moved his fingers ineffectually, unable to put enough strength into his motions to do any good.
"Holmes!" a frantic voice called him and he looked up to meet the stunned, frozen gaze of John Watson. "What..." His wide eyes were locked on Holmes' hands, which continued their ineffectual movements. His gulp sounded quite loud in the quiet room.
"I found him already on his way here, Mr. Holmes," Clarky called out as he bounded to the door of the sitting room. "Are you--"
He was cut off from both speaking and reaching the door of the room as Watson, something unfamiliar, hot, and almost angry glittering in his blue eyes, turned back to guide the constable back out. "I'll see to him, Clarky. We need you to secure the perimeter here."
"All right, sir." The response was hesitant, but the other man left the two friends alone in the house.
"Watson!" Holmes called out as the tide of need within him rose higher than ever. "It's not enough..." He no longer had the will to even be embarrassed by his state or his pitiable voice.
"I'm here, Holmes." Watson's voice was soft, but it hitched oddly on the detective's name. He moved to the sofa, keeping his eyes very deliberately on those of his patient. "Constable Clark explained something of your... condition to me." Outwardly, his words and manner were those of a physician in his surgery, yet Holmes could feel the tension vibrating between them. "Can you explain any of your... symptoms?"
"Mmm... Weak," he complained. "Tingling... Fire..." He tried to be more coherent, but his entire being could focus on but one thought at that moment. "I need you," he whispered, putting what strength he had left into the intensity of his gaze.
Watson swallowed again and his face flushed as he knelt in front of Holmes. His hands trembled slightly as he put a hand out to wipe up the fluid on Holmes' cheek. The detective inhaled sharply at the brief contact and his body tried to move closer to the heat of the other man. "Odorless... It doesn't match anything I've encountered before." There was a peculiar strain to his voice. "I'm sorry, Holmes." This time he cupped that cheek with his hand, though his attempt at comfort was undermined by the irregular heat of that hand. "I don't know what I can do for you."
"You do," Holmes protested, turning his head to take Watson's thumb into his mouth. He sucked feverishly and thrust his hips against the doctor. Later he might despise his actions -- those of a wanton slut -- but now...
"Holmes! I can't. You know I can't." There was a struggling resolution there.
Holmes painstakingly lifted himself on his arms to a more upright position. "Then... Clarky..."
"No!" Watson's hands clutched at his shoulders, both their touch and Watson's glare almost burning him. "No."
Whatever of the detective's cunning was currently untouched by induced madness latched onto Watson's conflict. "No choice... 'Fyou won't, Clarky will."
He had a split second to register the flared nostrils and widened eyes before he was pinned down on the sofa with a growl. "Like Hell he will!" Watson moved to straddle him, grabbing one of Holmes' hands and bringing it to the doctor's groin. It was hard. "Is this what you want?"
"Yes!" Holmes cried, back arching to bring his own arousal into contact. "No... I..." There was something like pain in Watson's eyes. "Body wants..." It was so hard to be coherent -- to speak at all -- but he must. "But I... I want... I need you, Watson!" The doctor's name became a cry as his hand went to Holmes' member. The dark haired man thrust up into that hand and he tried to spread his legs, desperate for greater, deeper contact.
"Holmes," Watson breathed above him, shifting position so that he was between Holmes' legs. He raised one up to wrap around his hip as his other hand moved from Holmes' erection to his entrance. The doctor's fingers met no resistance as they slid inside. Holmes cried out and rocked into that touch, needing so much more.
He tried to speak, but at that moment, the doctor's questing fingers found his prostate. With an even louder cry, his entire body spasmed. His eyes refused to focus, but he fixed them as best he could on Watson's. Please, I need you now.
"I know, old cock," was the breathless reply to his silent beseeching. He cried a third time as the fingers were withdrawn. There was a rustling of fabric, the sound of cloth sliding across flesh, a shifting of weight over him, and then something hot and hard was pressed against his entrance. "Holmes," Watson moaned his name before bringing their lips together and thrusting into Holmes.
Watson! He would have screamed the name had his mouth not been so fully covered by his partner's. Distantly he felt the doctor nipping at his lips as he kissed him harder. His entire being was focused, however, on the feel of Watson inside him, filling him. There was a slow pulling out, and with a whimper into their kiss, Holmes tightened around Watson. There was an answering moan as Watson thrust back in with a hard stroke. Holmes' hands went to the doctor's shoulders, clutching weakly at the fabric covering them.
"More," he thought he said in a break between kisses. Spoken or not, Watson obliged, alternating teasingly slow withdrawals with swift thrusts back in. One hand went to Holmes' arousal to stroke it firmly. The detective clenched his muscles even more firmly around Watson as the leg that was wrapped around the doctor also tightened its hold.
"Holmes..." With a drawn out moan of his name, Watson's motions became faster, harsher. His hand frantically pumped Holmes' member as each thrust into him became jerkier than the last. When he brought their lips together again, this time he pushed his tongue in to brush against Holmes'. The detective tried to return the caress, but just then, Watson's hand tightened around his erection at the same time a solid thrust found his prostate.
With a wordless cry and a spasm of his entire body, Holmes released into Watson's hand, bright lights exploding behind his lids as his eyes closed. Through the humming in his ears, he heard Watson grunt before answering tremors shook the body above him.
"Watson," he breathed the name slowly when their lips parted. He could feel the heat of Watson's release inside him, washing away the unnatural tingling of the plant's toxins, leaving a warmth of completion and a slight, oddly pleasant pain behind. The delicious sensation was heightened when the other man pulled out.
"Holmes." After a moment to catch his breath, Watson sighed the detective's name. "What...?" There was a small aggravated groan. "Why didn't you wait for me before coming here?"
"I'm sorry, Watson. I... I just..." He had just wanted to feel that old thrill of delight that came whenever Watson followed him in spite of himself. "I'm sorry," he repeated.
"God," Watson groaned. "Why this? Why now?"
Ah... Of course he regrets it. "I never thought -- never intended for this, my dear Watson." He had wanted it, and badly, in moments of weakness, but he truly had never intended for it to happen, let alone under such undesirable circumstances. "We were neither of us ourselves." He would make excuses, and with time (and with a great deal of assisted forgetfulness), perhaps things might go on as before. "And it will not happen again." He met those blue, blue eyes and silently pleaded with them to forgive and forget.
"You're a fool."
"Pardon?"
"Holmes, you may be the greatest detective in all the Empire, but at times you are the most obtuse, oblivious idiot." He wanted to protest that epithet, but the look on Watson's face silenced him. The doctor's mouth was curved in a tiny smile and his eyes filled with something both warm and sad. "The trouble is that, now that it has happened once, I can't not want it again... and again."
"I...I don't understand." Holmes felt a fluttering in his chest and lightness in his head, but he could comprehend the meaning of neither those sensations nor his friend's words.
"I know you don't." Watson's smile became fuller as he levered himself upright. "But I think I'm going to enjoy the rare opportunity of enlightening you."
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OK, so Mary's kinda forgotten at the end here. I'll make it up to her in another fic!!!