ruyu
in
wax_rabbit
The Man Makes the Dress 2/4
Title: The Man Makes the Dress 2/4
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG-13 (this chapter) crossdressing
Word Count: 728
Pairing/Character(s): John/Sherlock
Summary: Two men. A dress. And one of them is in it. Plus a dastardly zipper.
Disclaimer: Don't own these guys. Obviously.
A/N: For madrona_8. Sorry for the length. If not this short, then nothing would ever get written. Enjoy. More to come. :D
Read Part I
The loose ends of the dress have draped between Sherlock’s legs, like sheets lain over a lover’s body and John can’t really find the mental capacity to focus on shoes at the moment. He doesn’t think Sherlock wants him to either.
John falls to his knees, worshiping this god of cross-dressing (a god in the sense that no normal man should ever look this good in women’s clothing). The shoes match Sherlock’s dress, slick and black as sin, sitting beside the bed innocently, prepared to cap off the ends of the man’s impossibly long, stocking-clad legs. John’s not really looking at the shoes though.
Sherlock has a garter-belt on and the sheer sight of it hits John like a punch to the stomach. The edges of the elastic band peek from beneath the dress as it rides up his flatmates' thighs, hugging his hairless upper legs.
He lets his gaze wander a bit more, taking in all that he can, because really, how often must Sherlock go to parties dressed like this. John has never even heard of Sherlock going to a party, much less crossdressing for one. He counts himself lucky for two reasons: Sherlock would never let anyone else see him like this; Sherlock would never let anyone else touch him like John has and that idea alone has John considering what else Sherlock would let him do to him.
Sherlock clears his throat nervously and wiggles a foot at John, reminding him to get on with it. With one last look at the belt beneath Sherlock’s dress, John picks up a sleek black pump with one hand and cradles his flatmates foot in the other. The shoe slips on effortlessly and John has no excuse as to why he lets his hands roam up Sherlocks calf, curling behind his knee and twisting around to the front, rubbing against the hard bone of his kneecap.
Sherlock isn’t breathing, hasn’t been for a few moments now. His eyes are closed like maybe if he opens them John will stop what he’s doing and that alone is encouraging. John lets his hands fall against Sherlock’s legs, back down to his ankles. He leaves one hand to continue to caress and the other to fetch the other shoe. If he’s about to attempt what he thinks he is, then Sherlock might as well have both shoes on.
John likes to imagine that everyone shares the same impulse to simply spread something open. To expose what was hidden from sight or to be allowed to delve into something secret and just so horribly tempting that it’s almost maddening.
The hidden space between Sherlock legs is begging John to explore it. The long lines of Sherlock’s legs lead to that spot and the shiny elastic of the garter belt make John’s fingers itch to push past the draped fabric of Sherlock dress and touch. John wraps his hands of each of Sherlock’s long legs, pressing his thumbs against the inner portions, dragging them up, up, up until he can feel Sherlock’s bare skin just above the belt.
“John!” Sherlock grunts out, before he closes his legs, trapping John’s hands between them. They are panting, the two of them, hovering of the edge of something profound. The heat of Sherlock’s legs is almost burning John’s hands but he wouldn’t move them for the world, not until Sherlock tell him to do so.
Pale eyes open and John is even more frustrated in their gaze. His fingers are so close and warm and the urge to push forward and spread is even more tempting, more of a need than a want. And the trembling of the detectives thighs tells John that Sherlock wants him to do it to. Needs him to, even.
They both sit up straighter and John sits back because he’s been leaning closer and closer between Sherlock’s thighs. It only makes him realize how close he'd come to having what he wanted. Sherlock loosens his thighs and he takes John’s hands and holds them between his own.
“Not now, John,” Sherlock explains breathlessly, his eyes impossibly green and pupils wide. “After the party.”
And that’s a promise if John’s ever heard one. His hands tighten against Sherlock’s and that’s him saying, Oh, God, yes. You're mine when you get back.
tbc...
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG-13 (this chapter) crossdressing
Word Count: 728
Pairing/Character(s): John/Sherlock
Summary: Two men. A dress. And one of them is in it. Plus a dastardly zipper.
Disclaimer: Don't own these guys. Obviously.
A/N: For madrona_8. Sorry for the length. If not this short, then nothing would ever get written. Enjoy. More to come. :D
Read Part I
The loose ends of the dress have draped between Sherlock’s legs, like sheets lain over a lover’s body and John can’t really find the mental capacity to focus on shoes at the moment. He doesn’t think Sherlock wants him to either.
John falls to his knees, worshiping this god of cross-dressing (a god in the sense that no normal man should ever look this good in women’s clothing). The shoes match Sherlock’s dress, slick and black as sin, sitting beside the bed innocently, prepared to cap off the ends of the man’s impossibly long, stocking-clad legs. John’s not really looking at the shoes though.
Sherlock has a garter-belt on and the sheer sight of it hits John like a punch to the stomach. The edges of the elastic band peek from beneath the dress as it rides up his flatmates' thighs, hugging his hairless upper legs.
He lets his gaze wander a bit more, taking in all that he can, because really, how often must Sherlock go to parties dressed like this. John has never even heard of Sherlock going to a party, much less crossdressing for one. He counts himself lucky for two reasons: Sherlock would never let anyone else see him like this; Sherlock would never let anyone else touch him like John has and that idea alone has John considering what else Sherlock would let him do to him.
Sherlock clears his throat nervously and wiggles a foot at John, reminding him to get on with it. With one last look at the belt beneath Sherlock’s dress, John picks up a sleek black pump with one hand and cradles his flatmates foot in the other. The shoe slips on effortlessly and John has no excuse as to why he lets his hands roam up Sherlocks calf, curling behind his knee and twisting around to the front, rubbing against the hard bone of his kneecap.
Sherlock isn’t breathing, hasn’t been for a few moments now. His eyes are closed like maybe if he opens them John will stop what he’s doing and that alone is encouraging. John lets his hands fall against Sherlock’s legs, back down to his ankles. He leaves one hand to continue to caress and the other to fetch the other shoe. If he’s about to attempt what he thinks he is, then Sherlock might as well have both shoes on.
John likes to imagine that everyone shares the same impulse to simply spread something open. To expose what was hidden from sight or to be allowed to delve into something secret and just so horribly tempting that it’s almost maddening.
The hidden space between Sherlock legs is begging John to explore it. The long lines of Sherlock’s legs lead to that spot and the shiny elastic of the garter belt make John’s fingers itch to push past the draped fabric of Sherlock dress and touch. John wraps his hands of each of Sherlock’s long legs, pressing his thumbs against the inner portions, dragging them up, up, up until he can feel Sherlock’s bare skin just above the belt.
“John!” Sherlock grunts out, before he closes his legs, trapping John’s hands between them. They are panting, the two of them, hovering of the edge of something profound. The heat of Sherlock’s legs is almost burning John’s hands but he wouldn’t move them for the world, not until Sherlock tell him to do so.
Pale eyes open and John is even more frustrated in their gaze. His fingers are so close and warm and the urge to push forward and spread is even more tempting, more of a need than a want. And the trembling of the detectives thighs tells John that Sherlock wants him to do it to. Needs him to, even.
They both sit up straighter and John sits back because he’s been leaning closer and closer between Sherlock’s thighs. It only makes him realize how close he'd come to having what he wanted. Sherlock loosens his thighs and he takes John’s hands and holds them between his own.
“Not now, John,” Sherlock explains breathlessly, his eyes impossibly green and pupils wide. “After the party.”
And that’s a promise if John’s ever heard one. His hands tighten against Sherlock’s and that’s him saying, Oh, God, yes. You're mine when you get back.
tbc...