teaser for a second fill "Bleed For Me"
anonymous
July 31 2012, 13:18:36 UTC
Not sure when exactly I'll have time to... flesh out the actual, proper fill (have to decide how much lead-up I want / is necessary, though knowing you, including the application of those ropes would be appreciated, I'm sure... must decide if I want to combine it, as a sort of continuation, with the fill to this prompt that I never got around to finishing before I went into almost permanent retirement... you called me back, tabby, you called me baaaack! ...have to figure out how Moriarty strips & ties up Holmes without finding the red notebook... must decide how far we want things to go...) Anyway...
Pain... fear... revulsion... Moriarty could sense all of it as he pulled the detective close against him. He could feel it. It was there in the heat that radiated from Holmes' body to his own... in the tremor of that bound frame against him: the shudder the other man could not repress. It was in the glaze that replaced the calculation in one wide brown eye... in the fretful working of those clever lips against the gag as Holmes vainly tried to hold back the exquisite little noises he was making. The professor felt it in the race of the pulse against his fingers as he gripped his captive's throat and drew his head back, closer against him... in the arrhythmia of that beat as Moriarty caressed the hook he held in his other hand against the front of the detective's trousers.
And he could smell it -- almost taste it -- in the other man's sweat and blood. Moriarty's lips parted as he drew in a deep, slow breath, inhaling and savoring that salty, tangy, positively heady perfume.
"Holmes..." His exhalation became a purr of his captive's name against his sweat-damp hair. He wondered, as Holmes flinched and shuddered again, deliciously, against him, if the detective could read as clearly what was behind his captor's near-feverish heat... behind the throbbing of his pulse through his entire body. Yes, he decided, breathing the hint of laugh into Holmes' ear. If the refinement of those glorious, muffled cries as the bound man's weak struggles brought his posterior into firmer contact with the epicenter of Moriarty's hightened temperature and circulation was any indication, then the answer was decidedly "yes."
"I believe, Holmes," the professor said softly, pleased that no hint of fever could be read in his voice, "that, before I inhibited your speech, you had a question for me." He slowly moved the hook in his right hand upward, tracing the curve of a hipbone before nipping at the quivering flesh above the waistband of Holmes' trousers. The shiver and muted whimper that action elicited made it fractionally harder to maintain an even tone as he continued, "pain rather got in the way of coherency, I'm afraid..." He added to that pain, slipping the hook into the other man's waistband and drawing a shallow cut across the right buttock, from hip to tailbone. "...but I think the essence of the question was 'what more could I possibly want from you?'" So much more... He fought back a flow of simulations and scenarios as he slid the hook back again, deepening the cut, and infinitesimally tightened his grip on Holmes' throat. But to start with... "I want you to bleed for me."
Re: teaser for a second fill "Bleed For Me"
anonymous
August 4 2012, 10:37:16 UTC
Thank you! <3
As for calling me back... Well, for several months now, I've been away from fandom and not really missing it at all (feeling like there were a million things I'd rather do that look at LJ). I wasn't even really having any slashy fantasies. I was starting to think I'd just disappear from it all -- leave off it forever. But, on some whim I decided to have a half-bored browse through somewhat recent kinkmeme stuff and CRASH, like divine slash lightning, this stunning bit of art struck and revived me.
Am anon-ed for now because I'm not sure if and when I'll be able to fulfill that promise for more (been away the last 4 days with no internet access & in a place not conducive to porny thoughts, and will be out of the loop again for a couple of days) and I find it easier to shrug off the pangs of conscience for breaking promises made when anon.
Pain... fear... revulsion...
Moriarty could sense all of it as he pulled the detective close against him. He could feel it. It was there in the heat that radiated from Holmes' body to his own... in the tremor of that bound frame against him: the shudder the other man could not repress. It was in the glaze that replaced the calculation in one wide brown eye... in the fretful working of those clever lips against the gag as Holmes vainly tried to hold back the exquisite little noises he was making. The professor felt it in the race of the pulse against his fingers as he gripped his captive's throat and drew his head back, closer against him... in the arrhythmia of that beat as Moriarty caressed the hook he held in his other hand against the front of the detective's trousers.
And he could smell it -- almost taste it -- in the other man's sweat and blood. Moriarty's lips parted as he drew in a deep, slow breath, inhaling and savoring that salty, tangy, positively heady perfume.
"Holmes..." His exhalation became a purr of his captive's name against his sweat-damp hair. He wondered, as Holmes flinched and shuddered again, deliciously, against him, if the detective could read as clearly what was behind his captor's near-feverish heat... behind the throbbing of his pulse through his entire body. Yes, he decided, breathing the hint of laugh into Holmes' ear. If the refinement of those glorious, muffled cries as the bound man's weak struggles brought his posterior into firmer contact with the epicenter of Moriarty's hightened temperature and circulation was any indication, then the answer was decidedly "yes."
"I believe, Holmes," the professor said softly, pleased that no hint of fever could be read in his voice, "that, before I inhibited your speech, you had a question for me." He slowly moved the hook in his right hand upward, tracing the curve of a hipbone before nipping at the quivering flesh above the waistband of Holmes' trousers. The shiver and muted whimper that action elicited made it fractionally harder to maintain an even tone as he continued, "pain rather got in the way of coherency, I'm afraid..." He added to that pain, slipping the hook into the other man's waistband and drawing a shallow cut across the right buttock, from hip to tailbone. "...but I think the essence of the question was 'what more could I possibly want from you?'" So much more... He fought back a flow of simulations and scenarios as he slid the hook back again, deepening the cut, and infinitesimally tightened his grip on Holmes' throat. But to start with... "I want you to bleed for me."
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And you're going to write moar? Brb, baking you porn cookies.
Also
you called me back, tabby, you called me baaaack!
I did? What? How? Who? *flails* *clings to Anon*
I wish my bondage icon wasn't inactive. Damn you LJ.
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As for calling me back... Well, for several months now, I've been away from fandom and not really missing it at all (feeling like there were a million things I'd rather do that look at LJ). I wasn't even really having any slashy fantasies. I was starting to think I'd just disappear from it all -- leave off it forever. But, on some whim I decided to have a half-bored browse through somewhat recent kinkmeme stuff and CRASH, like divine slash lightning, this stunning bit of art struck and revived me.
Am anon-ed for now because I'm not sure if and when I'll be able to fulfill that promise for more (been away the last 4 days with no internet access & in a place not conducive to porny thoughts, and will be out of the loop again for a couple of days) and I find it easier to shrug off the pangs of conscience for breaking promises made when anon.
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;)
*hugs*
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