ruyu
in
wax_rabbit
The Man Makes the Dress
Title: The Man Makes the Dress 1/4
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG-13 (this chapter), crossdressing
Word Count: 796
Pairing/Character(s): John, Sherlock,
Summary: A dress. Two men. And one of them is in it. Plus a dastardly zipper.
Disclaimer: Don't own these guys. Obviously.
A/N: For madrona_8
John is relaxing in his chair, contemplating dinner when he hears Sherlock shout his name.
“What!” he shouts in return, having learned his lesson about running in on Sherlock and his “experiments”.
“Come here!”
“What for?”
“John!”
With an all too familiar sense of uneasiness, John arrives at Sherlock's bedroom door and taps politely, refusing to do as Sherlock does and burst through the door, invited or not.
“Get in here,” Sherlock whines through the door.
After opening the door, John wonders if it would have been better if he’d have just stubbornly refused to help unless he knew what he was needed for. Because right now, John can’t think clearly; hell, he can only stare, wide-eyed and mouth agape at Sherlock.
Oh, and Sherlock’s in a dress.
A silky black dress that makes his skin look creamy white and his hair even darker, like ink spun silk atop his elegant face. John sees the man’s prominent hip bones jutting through the thin fabric of the dress, accentuating the flat planes of his stomach and chest where the fabric hangs loose from Sherlock's obvious lack of female parts. The dress clings tight to his skinny hips, wrapping around his sides and fitted to the delicate arch of his back.
The zip of the dress is incredibly low, exposing the sharp cuts of his shoulder blades and spine, but Sherlock still can’t reach the zipper to pull it completely closed. Sherlock bends and twist his lanky arms to capture it, but his attempts are futile.
“Sherlock?” John says somewhat breathlessly, heart pounding like drums in his chest. It’s a sight he never thought he see, a vision he never thought he’d witness. Sherlock looks bloody fantastic in a dress. He wonders if he has knickers on?
“The zip. Obviously, John,” Sherlock draws in an irritated fashion, despite his flailing arms behind him in search of the zip of his dress. “Do keep up.”
John can’t seem to make his legs work or process his cross-dressing flatmate’s request to perform a simple task for him. He opens his mouth instead. That always works best.
“Why are you in a dress?”
He feels Sherlock roll his eyes at him, the dress swaying as he twists in another direction. “I’m off to a party.”
“Really? Well... who’s dress is that?”
“Mine.”
John pretends he doesn’t see Sherlock blush because that’s just something he doesn’t do. Just like he doesn’t wear dresses. Of course, John tells himself, that makes perfect sense.
Sherlock eventually stops his attempts at the zip and slumps in defeat, making the zip fall down it’s track, revealing more skinskinsmoothpaleskin to John’s wandering eyes.
The blush that Sherlock doesn’t have is so red it might be cosmetic in nature and the straps of the slinky dress hang precariously off of Sherlock’s pronounced shoulders. All the skin John sees is hypnotic and flawless and he needs to touch something or he’ll go insane. Sherlock walks up to him and all the muscles in John’s body tighten and ache to reach out to the man.
“It’s for a case,” Sherlock explains nervously. “Now just do up the bloody zip.”
The detective turns to let him have at the back of his dress and John can smell him, like sweet candy and cream. He’s simply mouthwatering.
His hands are shaking as he places one hand on Sherlock’s hip to steady him and he hears Sherlock take a deep breath and he might have shivered when John’s knuckles brushed against the bare flesh of his back above the zip. John decides this is his only chance to ever do this so he grabs the zip and brushes his hands along Sherlock’s spine as he drags it upwards. Each vertebrae he touches makes Sherlock twitch, he feels it all as his hand tightens on the man’s hip through barely-there black silk.
John finds that he can breath again when the zip ends it’s journey and snaps into place. The flat section of skin between Sherlock's shoulder blades is the perfect size for John’s hand, so he places it there and feels the warmth pulsing from the man’s skin. He also feels the sharp inhale from Sherlock, probably from his cold hand. He removes it and turns to leave.
“John,” Sherlock chokes out, twisting to grab John’s wrist.
John doesn’t trust himself to look at Sherlock and not pounce on him.
“Will... will you help me with my shoes?”
John turns to lock eyes with his flatmate. Did he just...? Does that mean...?
Sherlock lets his wrist fall and he backs up to his bed and sits gracefully on it, knees spreading slowly to let the loose silk of his dress fall between his thighs. “Is that alright with you, John?”
Johns can only say, “It’s fine," and follows Sherlock to bed.
Continue to Part II
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG-13 (this chapter), crossdressing
Word Count: 796
Pairing/Character(s): John, Sherlock,
Summary: A dress. Two men. And one of them is in it. Plus a dastardly zipper.
Disclaimer: Don't own these guys. Obviously.
A/N: For madrona_8
John is relaxing in his chair, contemplating dinner when he hears Sherlock shout his name.
“What!” he shouts in return, having learned his lesson about running in on Sherlock and his “experiments”.
“Come here!”
“What for?”
“John!”
With an all too familiar sense of uneasiness, John arrives at Sherlock's bedroom door and taps politely, refusing to do as Sherlock does and burst through the door, invited or not.
“Get in here,” Sherlock whines through the door.
After opening the door, John wonders if it would have been better if he’d have just stubbornly refused to help unless he knew what he was needed for. Because right now, John can’t think clearly; hell, he can only stare, wide-eyed and mouth agape at Sherlock.
Oh, and Sherlock’s in a dress.
A silky black dress that makes his skin look creamy white and his hair even darker, like ink spun silk atop his elegant face. John sees the man’s prominent hip bones jutting through the thin fabric of the dress, accentuating the flat planes of his stomach and chest where the fabric hangs loose from Sherlock's obvious lack of female parts. The dress clings tight to his skinny hips, wrapping around his sides and fitted to the delicate arch of his back.
The zip of the dress is incredibly low, exposing the sharp cuts of his shoulder blades and spine, but Sherlock still can’t reach the zipper to pull it completely closed. Sherlock bends and twist his lanky arms to capture it, but his attempts are futile.
“Sherlock?” John says somewhat breathlessly, heart pounding like drums in his chest. It’s a sight he never thought he see, a vision he never thought he’d witness. Sherlock looks bloody fantastic in a dress. He wonders if he has knickers on?
“The zip. Obviously, John,” Sherlock draws in an irritated fashion, despite his flailing arms behind him in search of the zip of his dress. “Do keep up.”
John can’t seem to make his legs work or process his cross-dressing flatmate’s request to perform a simple task for him. He opens his mouth instead. That always works best.
“Why are you in a dress?”
He feels Sherlock roll his eyes at him, the dress swaying as he twists in another direction. “I’m off to a party.”
“Really? Well... who’s dress is that?”
“Mine.”
John pretends he doesn’t see Sherlock blush because that’s just something he doesn’t do. Just like he doesn’t wear dresses. Of course, John tells himself, that makes perfect sense.
Sherlock eventually stops his attempts at the zip and slumps in defeat, making the zip fall down it’s track, revealing more skinskinsmoothpaleskin to John’s wandering eyes.
The blush that Sherlock doesn’t have is so red it might be cosmetic in nature and the straps of the slinky dress hang precariously off of Sherlock’s pronounced shoulders. All the skin John sees is hypnotic and flawless and he needs to touch something or he’ll go insane. Sherlock walks up to him and all the muscles in John’s body tighten and ache to reach out to the man.
“It’s for a case,” Sherlock explains nervously. “Now just do up the bloody zip.”
The detective turns to let him have at the back of his dress and John can smell him, like sweet candy and cream. He’s simply mouthwatering.
His hands are shaking as he places one hand on Sherlock’s hip to steady him and he hears Sherlock take a deep breath and he might have shivered when John’s knuckles brushed against the bare flesh of his back above the zip. John decides this is his only chance to ever do this so he grabs the zip and brushes his hands along Sherlock’s spine as he drags it upwards. Each vertebrae he touches makes Sherlock twitch, he feels it all as his hand tightens on the man’s hip through barely-there black silk.
John finds that he can breath again when the zip ends it’s journey and snaps into place. The flat section of skin between Sherlock's shoulder blades is the perfect size for John’s hand, so he places it there and feels the warmth pulsing from the man’s skin. He also feels the sharp inhale from Sherlock, probably from his cold hand. He removes it and turns to leave.
“John,” Sherlock chokes out, twisting to grab John’s wrist.
John doesn’t trust himself to look at Sherlock and not pounce on him.
“Will... will you help me with my shoes?”
John turns to lock eyes with his flatmate. Did he just...? Does that mean...?
Sherlock lets his wrist fall and he backs up to his bed and sits gracefully on it, knees spreading slowly to let the loose silk of his dress fall between his thighs. “Is that alright with you, John?”
Johns can only say, “It’s fine," and follows Sherlock to bed.
Continue to Part II