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Fill: However Improbable (2/2)tenderly_wickedDecember 16 2014, 21:59:00 UTC
“I’m not finished,” Charles reminds him suavely. “Pray let me continue, my dear. I’m sure you could have been a great detective if things went other way. I appreciate your ability to deduce dirty secrets that everyone has in abundance. But I also appreciate you following my requests and discussing these secrets only with me, and only if they are relevant to my line of work. You are certainly not meant to show off before a man you hardly know just because he finds it amusing. And that’s instead of mingling with other guests. I’m very, very disappointed.”
Sherlock cringes at this word because it doesn’t bode well. Charles trails a finger along his cheekbone and traces the outline of his chin. Sherlock’s skin is smooth, cleanly shaven. He’s equally smooth down there, in his pants. The thought of it is nice.
“Perhaps it’s my fault, dear,” Charles purrs, caressing Sherlock’s plump lower lip. “I should pay more attention to your behaviour and correct you at once when needed. Perhaps I should have had you escorted away during the party. I certainly intend to do so if you fail me next time. Maybe I won’t even be as discreet as to close the doors to my study while your transgressions are being corrected. If someone walks in and sees you with your pants down, it will be your own fault.”
Sherlock’s face is contorted with mortification, and again Charles wishes he could see him blush.
He turns away for a moment to set his emptied glass aside and then spreads his legs a little wider. “I see you regret your misdeed, Sherlock. That’s a start. Now you need to show me just how much you do.” He takes Sherlock’s hand by the wrist, almost gently, and guides it to his crotch. Sherlock knows what he’s expected to do. Not that he enjoys it very much, but Charles hopes yet to make a good slut out of him.
***
Later at night, when Charles is lightly snoring, sated, in their enormous bed, Sherlock quietly moves away from him as far as he can and curls in on himself, sleepless. He finally has some time on his own. Time to dream of improbable things. In the darkness, he imagines another life for himself, a life full of adventure and excitement, somewhere in London. He could become anything he wanted. A detective, perhaps? In these dreams, the image of John Watson haunts him, and Sherlock gives in to a temptation of imagining they could become friends and maybe even live together. Not as lovers, no. Sex is something Sherlock would rather not think of right now. But John isn’t married either. There’s no one else between them.
Of course it’s not meant to happen. There’s no way he’ll ever be free, unless Magnussen dies, and he’s not likely to do so very soon on his on accord. If Sherlock helps him with that, he’ll only have a brief moment of freedom. But Sherlock indulges in dreaming anyway. However improbable his fantasies may be, it’s the only thing he can hold on to.
Re: Fill: However Improbable (2/2)tenderly_wickedDecember 17 2014, 18:18:55 UTC
Actually, I might write more: I've got a vague idea of a case fic. But that's only if I have enough free time, so I can't promise anything yet. I can hardly find time to write my own BDSM-ish novel :) But Mycroft says "you can do this", and I tend to believe him.
Re: Fill: However Improbable (2/2)tenderly_wickedDecember 30 2014, 21:47:43 UTC
Just wondering if you're going to post this story on AO3. I'd love to bookmark it. There's never enough creepy C.A.M./Sherlock fics and I think there should be more... I love yours to pieces. I wish you continued it.
Sherlock cringes at this word because it doesn’t bode well. Charles trails a finger along his cheekbone and traces the outline of his chin. Sherlock’s skin is smooth, cleanly shaven. He’s equally smooth down there, in his pants. The thought of it is nice.
“Perhaps it’s my fault, dear,” Charles purrs, caressing Sherlock’s plump lower lip. “I should pay more attention to your behaviour and correct you at once when needed. Perhaps I should have had you escorted away during the party. I certainly intend to do so if you fail me next time. Maybe I won’t even be as discreet as to close the doors to my study while your transgressions are being corrected. If someone walks in and sees you with your pants down, it will be your own fault.”
Sherlock’s face is contorted with mortification, and again Charles wishes he could see him blush.
He turns away for a moment to set his emptied glass aside and then spreads his legs a little wider. “I see you regret your misdeed, Sherlock. That’s a start. Now you need to show me just how much you do.” He takes Sherlock’s hand by the wrist, almost gently, and guides it to his crotch. Sherlock knows what he’s expected to do. Not that he enjoys it very much, but Charles hopes yet to make a good slut out of him.
***
Later at night, when Charles is lightly snoring, sated, in their enormous bed, Sherlock quietly moves away from him as far as he can and curls in on himself, sleepless. He finally has some time on his own. Time to dream of improbable things. In the darkness, he imagines another life for himself, a life full of adventure and excitement, somewhere in London. He could become anything he wanted. A detective, perhaps? In these dreams, the image of John Watson haunts him, and Sherlock gives in to a temptation of imagining they could become friends and maybe even live together. Not as lovers, no. Sex is something Sherlock would rather not think of right now. But John isn’t married either. There’s no one else between them.
Of course it’s not meant to happen. There’s no way he’ll ever be free, unless Magnussen dies, and he’s not likely to do so very soon on his on accord. If Sherlock helps him with that, he’ll only have a brief moment of freedom. But Sherlock indulges in dreaming anyway. However improbable his fantasies may be, it’s the only thing he can hold on to.
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yes please!
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.........
This story is the best thing that has haoppened to me today. Absolutely perfect! Thank you so much!
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