Fic: The Spy Who Loved Me (3/?)
The Spy Who Loved Me
Rating: NC-17/M
Pairings: Sherlock/Victor Trevor (for now)
Warnings: ANGST! Character death. Drug abuse. Man-on-man explicit situations (this chapter).
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are the property of ACD. The latest incarnation of Sherlock belongs to the BBC. I own nothing.
Notes: This is a prompt fill that grew into an unwieldy beast. The original prompt is here: Make Me a Monday Week 26 Thank you to theimprobable1 for coming up with such an awesome prompt and hope you don't mind that it has been tweaked ever so slightly. I hope to finish sometime soon, but couldn't resist posting at least some of it, before I edit and edit and edit until nothing else is left.
Summary: Sherlock's first love was a secret agent named Victor Trevor. He was sent away on a dangerous top secret mission and Sherlock swore to wait for him, even though the mission was expected to take several years.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Chapter Three
The silence at Baker Street stretches on through the evening and John is lost. He is used to caring, to trying to do something to help people in pain, and if this were anyone else, he would know what to do - but this is Sherlock. The rules are different and John never knows what to expect from his flatmate. This is a very good illustration of the point: Sherlock - the self-confessed sociopath - was in a relationship. With another human being. A man who is now dead and John knows Sherlock well enough by now to realise that the small signs of his distress - his trembling hands, that awful look in his eyes - speak louder than cries of grief. And John doesn’t know what to make of it.
John makes enough dinner for both of them, even though he’s already pretty sure Sherlock won’t eat anything. He knocks tentatively on Sherlock’s door and calls his name. And to his surprise, the door opens a few seconds later and Sherlock appears, tell-tale smears marking his pale cheeks.
“I made dinner, if you want any.”
He knows he sounds absolutely ridiculous: I know your old boyfriend’s dead but how about some spag bol to make it all better?
“I’m not hungry,” Sherlock answers in a rough vice, but he moves into the living room and John breathes a sigh of relief that he’s not shutting himself in his room again.
Sherlock settles on the sofa with none of his usual extravagance, his arms wrapped almost defensively across his chest. He looks so small, so boyish and helpless that John wants to reach out for him, but he forces himself back to the kitchen. He’s pretty sure (as much as he can be with Sherlock) that Sherlock would not tolerate that kind of sympathy. John picks up his dinner and moves to his armchair and it’s almost as if everything is as it should be.
One look at Sherlock tells him it is most definitely not. He is hunched in on himself and John can see his hands still trembling, even with how hard he has his fists clenched. Sherlock notices his look, of course, and quickly turns away, turning on the television pointedly. John knows what it looks like when someone is at the edge of their control - knows it too well - and he forces his gaze away, trying to keep up the illusion that everything is normal for as long as Sherlock needs him to.
***************************
The first time Sherlock had sex with Victor was like a revelation. Despite the frenzied kisses and daring touches of their first night together, Victor had exercised almost-enviable self-control from then on, insisting that they take things slowly. He still seemed half-convinced that Sherlock would change his mind at any moment, push him away and declare this whole thing disgusting and below him. So he held out, allowing nothing more than a bit of mutual masturbation, no matter how much Sherlock writhed at his touch and begged him for more. No matter how much Sherlock kissed him and tried his best to seduce him, dragging his nails down the other man’s back and pressing their hips together. No matter how frustrated Sherlock grew and how many (fairly tame) names he called him.
It seemed even Victor’s control had a limit though and that limit came the day a fellow - male - biochemist asked Sherlock out on a date. Sherlock had blushed and excused himself politely, and when he mentioned it to Victor later that night, he joked that he hadn’t realised he was now sending out signals to Oxford’s gay population.
“I mean, they can’t tell, can they?” Sherlock asked, genuinely intrigued, “Unless I’ve been sending out gay signals all this time.”
Victor laughed and pinned Sherlock to the bed.
“You don’t need to send out signals. You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to Sherlock’s neck, “Everyone wants you. You must have noticed.”
“I’d noticed the women, of course. Not the men.”
“I’m glad,” Victor said, “Less competition for me.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Sherlock replied quietly, arching into Victor’s mouth, hands sliding under the other man’s shirt.
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t find myself attracted to any other men. I thought I might, since we…well, since this started, but I don’t get any pleasure out of looking at other men. Except you.”
Victor pulled back, eyes shining, and Sherlock wondered briefly if he’d said a bit too much, given away too much about how strongly he was already starting to feel for Victor.
“I think I should probably be annoyed that you’ve even been looking, but I really can’t bring myself to care.”
Victor dipped his head and kissed Sherlock hungrily, one hand leaving a teasing trail just above Sherlock’s waistband.
“Victor,” Sherlock growled against his mouth, arching into his touch, desperate for more.
Victor pulled back and grabbed Sherlock’s hands, pinning them to the bed either side of his head.
“Stay.”
Sherlock went to protest but his throat closed up a moment later when Victor slid smoothly down his chest and starting mouthing at the zip to Sherlock’s trousers.
“Oh fuck.”
He heard Victor say something that might have been ‘next time’ but then his trousers were being quickly undone and tugged down his legs along with his boxers. A moment later, warm breath was ghosting over him and he let out a gasp as Victor’s mouth closed around him.
“Oh God.”
One hand drifted to Victor’s shoulder as he tried to breathe as evenly as he could, tried to stop this from being over far too soon. Victor let out a moan against him and it was almost his undoing.
“Oh God.”
Victor sped up his movements then and Sherlock was left trembling from the onslaught. He couldn’t stop himself from lacing the fingers of one hand in Victor’s hair, although he had to try much harder not to thrust upwards. The whole experience was so much more intense than it had ever been with the few girlfriends who had been willing to try - whether it was because of the wait, or Victor’s own skill, he was too mindless to tell. But all too soon he was struggling to breath, his thighs were trembling and finally, he let out a cry as he came.
He came back down from his high to find Victor’s head resting against his thigh as he watched Sherlock warmly.
“You’re even more gorgeous like this, thoroughly debauched.”
Sherlock let out a laugh and urged him back up into a kiss, tasting himself on the other man’s tongue. He couldn’t remember feeling so lighthearted after sex before, or so completely at ease with the other person, and he kissed Victor harder, cupping his face in his hands - wishing he could imprint this moment on his brain and remember it forever.
Chapter Four
Rating: NC-17/M
Pairings: Sherlock/Victor Trevor (for now)
Warnings: ANGST! Character death. Drug abuse. Man-on-man explicit situations (this chapter).
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are the property of ACD. The latest incarnation of Sherlock belongs to the BBC. I own nothing.
Notes: This is a prompt fill that grew into an unwieldy beast. The original prompt is here: Make Me a Monday Week 26 Thank you to theimprobable1 for coming up with such an awesome prompt and hope you don't mind that it has been tweaked ever so slightly. I hope to finish sometime soon, but couldn't resist posting at least some of it, before I edit and edit and edit until nothing else is left.
Summary: Sherlock's first love was a secret agent named Victor Trevor. He was sent away on a dangerous top secret mission and Sherlock swore to wait for him, even though the mission was expected to take several years.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Chapter Three
The silence at Baker Street stretches on through the evening and John is lost. He is used to caring, to trying to do something to help people in pain, and if this were anyone else, he would know what to do - but this is Sherlock. The rules are different and John never knows what to expect from his flatmate. This is a very good illustration of the point: Sherlock - the self-confessed sociopath - was in a relationship. With another human being. A man who is now dead and John knows Sherlock well enough by now to realise that the small signs of his distress - his trembling hands, that awful look in his eyes - speak louder than cries of grief. And John doesn’t know what to make of it.
John makes enough dinner for both of them, even though he’s already pretty sure Sherlock won’t eat anything. He knocks tentatively on Sherlock’s door and calls his name. And to his surprise, the door opens a few seconds later and Sherlock appears, tell-tale smears marking his pale cheeks.
“I made dinner, if you want any.”
He knows he sounds absolutely ridiculous: I know your old boyfriend’s dead but how about some spag bol to make it all better?
“I’m not hungry,” Sherlock answers in a rough vice, but he moves into the living room and John breathes a sigh of relief that he’s not shutting himself in his room again.
Sherlock settles on the sofa with none of his usual extravagance, his arms wrapped almost defensively across his chest. He looks so small, so boyish and helpless that John wants to reach out for him, but he forces himself back to the kitchen. He’s pretty sure (as much as he can be with Sherlock) that Sherlock would not tolerate that kind of sympathy. John picks up his dinner and moves to his armchair and it’s almost as if everything is as it should be.
One look at Sherlock tells him it is most definitely not. He is hunched in on himself and John can see his hands still trembling, even with how hard he has his fists clenched. Sherlock notices his look, of course, and quickly turns away, turning on the television pointedly. John knows what it looks like when someone is at the edge of their control - knows it too well - and he forces his gaze away, trying to keep up the illusion that everything is normal for as long as Sherlock needs him to.
***************************
The first time Sherlock had sex with Victor was like a revelation. Despite the frenzied kisses and daring touches of their first night together, Victor had exercised almost-enviable self-control from then on, insisting that they take things slowly. He still seemed half-convinced that Sherlock would change his mind at any moment, push him away and declare this whole thing disgusting and below him. So he held out, allowing nothing more than a bit of mutual masturbation, no matter how much Sherlock writhed at his touch and begged him for more. No matter how much Sherlock kissed him and tried his best to seduce him, dragging his nails down the other man’s back and pressing their hips together. No matter how frustrated Sherlock grew and how many (fairly tame) names he called him.
It seemed even Victor’s control had a limit though and that limit came the day a fellow - male - biochemist asked Sherlock out on a date. Sherlock had blushed and excused himself politely, and when he mentioned it to Victor later that night, he joked that he hadn’t realised he was now sending out signals to Oxford’s gay population.
“I mean, they can’t tell, can they?” Sherlock asked, genuinely intrigued, “Unless I’ve been sending out gay signals all this time.”
Victor laughed and pinned Sherlock to the bed.
“You don’t need to send out signals. You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to Sherlock’s neck, “Everyone wants you. You must have noticed.”
“I’d noticed the women, of course. Not the men.”
“I’m glad,” Victor said, “Less competition for me.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Sherlock replied quietly, arching into Victor’s mouth, hands sliding under the other man’s shirt.
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t find myself attracted to any other men. I thought I might, since we…well, since this started, but I don’t get any pleasure out of looking at other men. Except you.”
Victor pulled back, eyes shining, and Sherlock wondered briefly if he’d said a bit too much, given away too much about how strongly he was already starting to feel for Victor.
“I think I should probably be annoyed that you’ve even been looking, but I really can’t bring myself to care.”
Victor dipped his head and kissed Sherlock hungrily, one hand leaving a teasing trail just above Sherlock’s waistband.
“Victor,” Sherlock growled against his mouth, arching into his touch, desperate for more.
Victor pulled back and grabbed Sherlock’s hands, pinning them to the bed either side of his head.
“Stay.”
Sherlock went to protest but his throat closed up a moment later when Victor slid smoothly down his chest and starting mouthing at the zip to Sherlock’s trousers.
“Oh fuck.”
He heard Victor say something that might have been ‘next time’ but then his trousers were being quickly undone and tugged down his legs along with his boxers. A moment later, warm breath was ghosting over him and he let out a gasp as Victor’s mouth closed around him.
“Oh God.”
One hand drifted to Victor’s shoulder as he tried to breathe as evenly as he could, tried to stop this from being over far too soon. Victor let out a moan against him and it was almost his undoing.
“Oh God.”
Victor sped up his movements then and Sherlock was left trembling from the onslaught. He couldn’t stop himself from lacing the fingers of one hand in Victor’s hair, although he had to try much harder not to thrust upwards. The whole experience was so much more intense than it had ever been with the few girlfriends who had been willing to try - whether it was because of the wait, or Victor’s own skill, he was too mindless to tell. But all too soon he was struggling to breath, his thighs were trembling and finally, he let out a cry as he came.
He came back down from his high to find Victor’s head resting against his thigh as he watched Sherlock warmly.
“You’re even more gorgeous like this, thoroughly debauched.”
Sherlock let out a laugh and urged him back up into a kiss, tasting himself on the other man’s tongue. He couldn’t remember feeling so lighthearted after sex before, or so completely at ease with the other person, and he kissed Victor harder, cupping his face in his hands - wishing he could imprint this moment on his brain and remember it forever.
Chapter Four