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Torment	By : pandapony Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Sherlock Holmes > Slash > Slash Views: 8343 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on the Sherlock Holmes series by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Chapter List
- 1-Torment
- 1
A/N: Thank you to my beta, k_haldane

Neither of us discussed the sexual energy between us.

It was simpler that way, to continue on as roommates and friends, to act as if the constant, underlying attraction between us did not exist. For myself, I had sworn after my time in the army that I would give up the pleasures of male companionship once I returned to civilization, once I had the choice of womanhood as an alternative. But within the first two months of living with Sherlock Holmes, I realized that I was going to fail miserably.

He was simply too strange and attractive. Physically, Holmes was beautiful. A perfect mixture of grace and strength. He was thin, almost feminine, in parts, and other parts of him coursed with intoxicating masculinity. His piercing grey eyes and his thick raven hair left me feeling inebriated. There was a rich smell to him, a mesmerizing nature to his refined movements, a power which lurked under the surface of his pale, flawless skin, all of which rendered me senseless, slave to base desires.

However, like most deviants in my time, I was loathe to bring attention to my unnatural inclinations towards my good friend, even long after the fact that I was aware of his returned affections. For close to six months we tormented each other in this fashion. We returned home from cases leaning on each other in cabs, seeking out excuses to touch one another. Holmes always found the need to brush lint from my shoulders. I would reassuringly leave a guiding hand to linger on his lower back. Small gestures, acceptable gestures, yet each charged with hidden need. Under the table, his knee would brush mine, and neither of us would move our legs, sitting, reading the paper, eating and sipping coffee quietly, not acknowledging that secret touch, nor the shocking surge of arousal this caused.

What surprised me most was not that Sherlock Holmes found me attractive. I had suspected his inverted nature shortly after we first met. What shocked me was how long we both continued to torment each other. I am many things, but a patient man is not a term ever to be applied to me. Night after night, we would eat dinner together, smoke together, discuss the world around us, cases, our own hobbies, each of us looking at each other pointedly, our fingers trailing along shoulders, talking lowly, breathing deeply. And I grew bolder with time, sitting next to him on the settee, leg pressed against his, shoulders rubbing, the occasional finger daring to breach propriety altogether and stroke down a neck.

And yet we never spoke of these small physical affections. We always retired to our separate rooms, my frustrated longing churning in my breast long after the hour that I should have been asleep.

One such evening, after we celebrated the successful conclusion of a case with an excess of fine wine, I found my restraint had fled altogether. On the cab ride back to Baker Street, I watched my own hand brazenly reach over and squeeze Holmes’ knee. It was as though my body was no longer receiving any input from my brain at all. I slid my hand up his thigh, towards his crotch.

“That’s quite enough of that, Watson,” Holmes scolded me. And yet he did not move away, or lift my hand from his inner thigh. Nor did he sound particularly disgruntled by my sudden audacity.

I left my hand there, on his thigh, in silence. We did not look at each other, but I could feel the tension in the air, the desire. More startling, I could even smell it, on him, the smell of craving, of sexual release, and I became even drunker with his heady, masculine scent.

I had never wanted anything so much as I wanted Holmes at that moment.

We both hastily departed the cab, and made our way quickly up to our sitting room. Once Holmes had shut the door I moved towards him, pushing him against the wall and kissing him.

Holmes’ tongue surged into my mouth, and he gripped me fiercely to him, grinding his hips against mine so that I could feel the hard heat of his arousal. I moaned.

And then, as quickly as this kiss started, he terminated it.

“No.” He turned his face away from me, refusing to make eye contact. His cheeks were highly flushed, his black pupils wide with desire, his lips swollen and red. And yet he shook his head and gently pushed me away. “No.”

“But Holmes…” I could not help but whine. My need was very urgent now, and I could tell by his kiss that he was equally hungry. If I had ever doubted his own inversion, I had ample proof now in his wild eyes, his flushed skin.

But Holmes would not waver. He looked at me, sternly. “It is too risky, Watson. I will not endanger everything I have worked so hard for in order to fulfill your base cravings.”

I was about to point out his own base cravings, standing at attention before me, but instead I stomped off to my room to take care of pressing matters at hand.

I had thought this would be the end of his dangerous flirtation. But in fact, matters were only made worse. It was as though Holmes enjoyed tormenting me in this manner. I returned home the following day and found him barely dressed, his shirt collar open to reveal his collar bones, his mouse-grey dressing robe draped loosely over his sinewy frame, shoes and socks off, lounging cat-like across the settee. His eyelids drooped seductively at me as he inquired about my day.

I tried to respond normally, but it took every ounce of my willpower to control the urge to fully undress him. He did not make this easier. He had a little smile on his face as he stretched, showing me the lines of his body, his pose more than accidentally seductive.

It was then that I realized he truly was enjoying this torture. He wanted to see how far he could push me.

Our lives continued in forceful observance to this new, unspoken tension.

In darkened stairwells, his cold hand crept into mine and held me. Crouching behind bushes, waiting for our suspect, his lips would press against my ear, whispering his deductions in his low, dark voice. He would rouse me at any hour for a case, and I would wake, finding him staring down at me, a glazed expression in his eyes as he commanded me to make haste and prepare for another adventure.

Sharing lap blankets in cabs, falling asleep against one another in train compartments. It was all too common to find ourselves touching, reassuring, needing one another.

Months of such torture.

I do not know what it was that finally broke my will. There was nothing special about that particular evening, except there was a singularly brooding storm outside, a full gale shaking the window panes and causing the flames in the hearth to jump wildly. The gas lamps were lit low, and I found myself once more considering Holmes in an inappropriate fashion as he slowly wandered the sitting room, playing a sweet melody on his violin.

If I closed my eyes, I could imagine he was serenading me. The sweetness of his song mingled with the warmth of brandy in my stomach, and I began once more to think of this man, for whom I had risked my life and practically given up my career, this strange creature who could stand no company but my own. Our eyes met as he played, and I saw him freeze under the power of my unbridled desire.

He quickly put down his violin. The room was shrouded in sudden silence.

“Perhaps I should turn in for the evening,” said he. I merely stared, my desire growing as I watched him flutter about the room, flipping through correspondence, adjusting the coals, his long fingers dancing upon each surface nervously, a trembling energy in every movement.

“I believe I’ll stay up through the rest of this chapter,” I informed him, forcing my attention back to my sea novel.

Holmes sat beside me on the settee. There was great anxiety in his movements. Even sitting still, he was trembling with unspent energy.

“Have you decided upon a title for your account of our latest case?” he inquired. He lit his pipe. The smoke writhed around his dark hair like a halo.

I was about to ask instead what had happened to his resolve to turn in. But I could deduce the answer by his behavior. He had attempted to leave my company and had failed. The same had happened to me on countless nights, nights when I was half-dead with exhaustion, and yet I still stayed up, just to be with him, to see him, hoping beyond hope that something would transpire between us.

“I was thinking of calling it ‘The Speckled Band’.” I looked to him for approval.

The corners of his mouth lifted in a brief, sardonic smile. “How fanciful.”

“You do not approve?”

“I hardly approve of anything you write, my dear Watson. This latest case should be a treatise on the import of determining vital clues through the careful application of deduction and reasoning. You will no doubt turn it into a romanticized adventure upon which our lives hung in the balance.”

“Our lives did hang in the balance, Holmes!” I told him, feeling chided.

“There was no great danger.” His eyes twinkled mischievously, and he grinned at me. “And I would never let any harm befall you, Doctor.” His voice had gone sultry and warm, and he leaned in towards me as he spoke.

I leaned towards him to kiss him. He turned his face abruptly, presenting only his right cheek.

“No! Watson,” Holmes hissed, “stop it. I told you it is too precarious.”

I covered my face with my hands and moaned. “Then for God’s sake, stop tormenting me like this!”

“I am doing nothing,” said Holmes, raising his eyebrows. “I cannot be held responsible for the wicked turnings of your own mind.”

I had just about enough of his claim of innocence. I could see the fire rushing through his veins, the desire, I watched his long fingers tighten on my shoulder as if of their own accord. His mind may have determined to allow himself no distractions of the physical world, but his body was of a different opinion entirely.

“You want me,” I told him lowly.

“No.” His voice trembled slightly, as if ashamed at its own lie. “I have no need for such stimulation. My mind craves work. Give me problems, intricate riddles, and I—“

“—You lie.” I touched his leg, felt the reciprocal surge in his muscles, the tensing and mellowing. Heat radiated from his pale flesh.

He stood abruptly, turning from me to face the fire. He leaned against the mantle and put his pipe down upon it. I saw him breath heavily, his head low, as if channeling all his energies.

“Holmes,” I said, moving towards him. It was not my intention to hurt him, and I could see that his own desires and his own determination to ignore them were battling. It was not fair of me to put him in such a disposition.

“Leave me alone.” He whispered these words, not looking at me, his voice sounding ragged and tired, pleading with me.

“Holmes, I’m sorry.” Instantly I felt awful, forcing my own desires in such a manner, and I reached out to touch his shoulder.

Holmes instantly spun and gripped me fiercely to him. His lips crashed upon mine with brutal force, and his tongue thrust into my mouth. We kissed furiously, I could not breathe, all I could taste was Holmes, and my mind wafted away from me, melted in the heat and power of his desire.

Holmes shoved me away from him suddenly. He frowned. “We cannot do this.”

It was too much. Just as I had extinguished my desires he had lit a match to them once more. My patience was at an end.

I pressed him against the wall. He tried to turn his face but I gripped his jaw, hard, and forced him to look at me.

“No,” I growled raggedly. “Look what you have done to me!” I slammed my mouth down upon his with bruising force. I could feel him instantly submit, his mouth open to mine, and I ravaged him with my tongue, feeling his entire grow languid, his arousal poking me in the stomach as he thrust his tongue into my mouth.

And then he tried to stop himself once more. I felt him tense and try to retreat. Before he could, I pressed closer, pinning him to the wall, my mouth holding his tongue captive, not letting him go. He began to struggle. I ignored him.

Holmes finally managed to break free. He glared at me, breathless, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Watson! Have you completely lost your m—“

I kissed him again, harder. I ground my hips into his and he moaned into my mouth. He tasted of wine and tobacco, he smelled sweet and warm, and I reached up and held him by the nape of his neck, my fingers twining in his hair, mussing it from its usual perfected state.

By the time I finally withdrew, he stood gasping and stunned, his eyes glazed over, pupils wide, cheeks flushed. He leaned his head back wantonly, his lips red and swollen, and he looked so ravishing, I could not stop myself from leaning forward once more and tracing a line down his pale, thin neck with my tongue, running my moustache along his skin, and delighting in the shiver which overtook him.

“Stop,” he whispered hoarsely, although he made no move to pull away.

“I cannot,” I said back, my voice low and gravelly with desire. His pulse beat fiercely in his throat, and I kissed him at the nape of his neck, untying his cravat and removing his collar to lave his collar bone. He moaned again, pressing closer to me.

And then, suddenly, his eyes snapped open and he pushed me away. “No!” he whispered. He looked startled, almost frightened. “Watson, I cannot. I must keep my mind clear. I must focus my energies on reasoning.”

I was beyond all reason. As he tried to move I once again slammed him against the wall, pinning him there and kissing him once more to shut him up. When he was sufficiently soft and silent, I released his mouth to kiss his jaw. I reached down and unbuckled his belt, and deftly unbuttoned his flies. He shivered, but he had stopped resisting. I ran my hands along the insides of his thighs, and then slowly reached into his trousers to pull his member free.

“Don’t move,” I whispered in his ear.

Holmes’ expression looked desperate.

I reached between his legs and gently caressed his scrotum, eliciting a curse and more shivers. I lifted my hands upward and began to stroke his erection. Every time he shifted as if to get away, I tightened my grip on the base of his cock, making him moan louder and deeper.

The feel of him excited me beyond belief. I had seen Holmes naked of course, but never aroused, and the sight of his large erection, already leaking in my hands, made the blood pound in my ears. Without thinking of the need to restrain him any longer, I dropped to my knees, spreading his legs further apart with my palms and stretching upwards to lick along the hot flesh of his shaft.

Holmes sucked in his breath with a startled gasp. His shivering was his only movement. I worshipped his prick from between his legs, taking in his unique, earthy, musky scent, the salty taste of his flesh, the velvety softness of him. Holmes emitted a small cry and pressed his cock deeper down my throat, his shaking so bad now it was an effort to hold him still.

I pulled him deep into my throat, relishing the feel of his shaft inside of me, stretching my flesh. His legs trembled with his restraint. He began to push himself further, harder, and I took him inside as deeply as I could, savoring his heat. I gently cupped his scrotum, rubbing it against my chin. The moment I did so, Holmes cried out. His fingers twined in my hair and gripped me to him, hard, and he emitted a string of French curse words and came down my throat. I swallowed all of him, only pulling free once his fingers had unclenched from my hair.

Holmes looked at me, eyes wide and stunned.

“God in Heaven.”

I smiled up at him, breathing heavily from my exertions. “Tell the truth, Holmes. Surely that was almost as enjoyable as a good clue.”

Holmes slid down the wall until he was crouched beside me. He wrapped his long arms around me and rested his head wearily on my shoulder.

“God in Heaven,” he said once more. His shaking was finally subsiding.

I stroked the nape of his neck fondly. I was very pleased with my results. Holmes was a quivering mass of sated happiness in my arms. However, my own need was pressing uncomfortably against the waist band of my trousers.

I was not going to address the issue, satisfied enough with having rendered Holmes to jelly. But he hesitantly reached out a hand, and rested it softly on the contours of my erection. He traced the length of it with his finger.

He did not look at me, or speak. He kept his head on my shoulder, but his breathing grew more ragged as he stroked me outside my trousers.

The exquisite sensation grew more painful, and so I reached down to unfasten my trousers. Our fingers met and mingled as we both grappled to unbutton my flies. My erection sprang forth from the opening immediately, and Holmes held it gently but firmly in his hand. I sighed in contentment.

“Like this?” Holmes whispered. He stroked me slowly, his head still resting on my shoulder. A gentle tremble had filled him once more, and I could see his own member beginning to rouse itself again. I tilted my hips to press myself further into the warmth of his palm. He sped his movements, rubbing his thumb over the tip of my slit with each long stroke. I leaned into him for support, and we clung to each other, his hand rapidly pulling me to completion as he breathed raggedly onto my shoulder.

When I climaxed, I did so silently, going tense in his arms, letting my seed pour onto his fingers and palm. He continued to hold me for a moment longer. And then he released my shaft.

I hastily reached into my coat pocket and produced a handkerchief, which I used to wipe of his hands. As I did so, he looked at me with eyes half-closed, heavy lids hiding his emotions. But the corners of his mouth were still raised in his peculiar partial smile.

I looked at him then, worried about what happened now. Would he despite me for this transgression? Would he regret our intimacy, now that our tensions had been released?

But instead of any scathing remarks, Holmes gave me one of his brief, dazzling smiles, and then kissed me.
“Mm. That does wonders for calming an over-active mind.” He fondly touched my head.

I laughed. “You see? There is something to be gained from not always focusing on pure reasoning.”

His grey eyes remained veiled under his heavy lids. “Well then, perhaps the next time one of us finds ourselves plagued with an over-active mind, we shall seek similar recourse to relieve the issue?”

“I would be delighted to assist you in any way I can, Holmes.”

“Well, then.” He stood, yawning, and then stretched his long limbs. He leaned down to help me stand. He blushed slightly at the sight of my member, still protruding from my trousers, but then his shyness gave way to a satisfied grin.

“I really should turn in for the night,” said he. He tried to straighten his mussed hair, and made towards his bedroom.

My mind was too excited to contemplate sleeping, and so after righting myself I re-opened my novel and made myself comfortable once more in front of the fire. “I shall stay up until the end of the chapter. Good night, Holmes.”

Holmes hesitated at his door. I looked down at my book, not wanting to distract him. But my heart leapt in joy when he came over to me and gently kissed my cheek.

“’Night, Watson.” He then fled the room and shut the door behind him.

It was a very sweet feeling to have Holmes admit that my method of solving our problem, or indeed any problem, was right. I smiled to myself, finally content in mind and body.

END
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Torment