(no subject)
So I filled this prompt on the Sherlock Holmes kinkmeme, I intended crack at first but my brain decided to take it in another direction and end with mush :/
Name: TEETH
Rating: 18 because I am 18 and I wrote it >:/
Summary: This video inspired, Holmes wants to see Watson's teeth
It hadn't taken Holmes long to figure out what was going on, it never does.
The sudden drop in return clients to Watson's business, the increased amounts of blood tests logged in his case book (which Holmes had merely borrowed) the only times he preferred to be outdoors were the early mornings and late afternoons. The lack of appetite also helped Holmes along in his deductions but even when he knew he still refused to believe it on principle, surely there was something he was missing, Watson's teeth would be the only conclusive way of telling. A significant change in dental structure is not easily explained without the use of prosthetics.
However any plans of subtlety were tossed out the window when he caught Watson slipping out one night and after trailing him through the shady london streets caught him in the process of what could only be called hunting.
"Really Watson, a lady of the night? Surely you have better taste than that."
Watson's mustache quirked slightly at the comment, the dirty woman gave an irritated huff and declared that she didn't cater for more than one gent at a time and took her leave.
"You've been following me Holmes."
"Don't avoid the issue old boy," Here Holmes backed his companion towards the grimy street wall, Watson eying him warily. "and surely the lovely miss Mortisan satisfies your... thirst." He smirked. "Or perhaps she does but it's not enough. Tell me, why have you been avoiding returning to your house with her lately?"
A flash of panic appeared in Watson's eyes and was quickly extinguished, but Holmes caught it easily and knew he was getting somewhere closer to the truth.
"Mary," Watson avoided his eyes "Mary hasn't been feeling well lately, we've had some relationship issues and I needed to get away."
True enough, Holmes thought sardonically. Reading the true meaning of the statement and feeling justified for what he did next.
Namely; Spin Watson against the wall and bind his wrists to ensure a safe trip back to their place at 22b
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There had been much struggling but Holmes had managed to get Watson back behind their doors and sat him down in a chair after the complicated task of removing his shirt.
"Holmes, what do you think you're doing? Release me this instant!"
While he locked the door and removed his shirt Holmes briefly entertained the thought of making some banal comment like "I know what you are, you're impossibly fast and strong..." and so on, lay on the compliments to distract him. But Holmes would mach rather use a more direct approach in this matter.
He strode over to his bookshelf and bushed aside some books to reveal a box of redwood covered in paganistic markings.
"You'll pardon me if I don't take your word for it my dear Watson." When he opened the box and withdrew a pair of gloves that a metal smith might wear.
Watson gave him an alarmed look as he slipped them on.
"Don’t be scared, i’ve done this before." Not a complete lie, he had tracked down a murderer who killed his victims under the impression of being a vampire before, however that was a case of insanity, this time there may be cause to believe in such a supernatural being if Watson had indeed become one.
"Show me your teeth." A statement without any real tone, almost nonchalant.
Watson feigned ignorance.
"If this is due to you worrying about me spending my money on whores then don't worry, I easily make back any losses in my practice."
Holmes scoffed "I do not want any money, to be quite frank beyond necessity's sake the stuff is repugnant to me!" He leaned forward, resting his gloved hands on the arms of the chair either side of Watson, time to raise the stakes "I'd much rather you allow me to do what Mary could not do for you."
Watson's eyebrows rose towards his hairline.
Holmes tilted his head back, displaying his neck. "Why don't you have a taste of my flesh," Watson's eyes darted from the skin to Holmes' eyes and back again. "Take a bite of me."
When Watson refused to react Holmes backed off again, not seeing Watson's hands flex in their bindings.
You shall have to show me some aggression first. Thought Watson.
Crossing back to his bookshelf; Holmes withdrew a book not easily found outside the darker alleys of London, muttering "I've got no direction, I need direction." He flicked to a particular chapter "I've just got my Vampire, and I should proceed by..." A frown "No, that's far too violent... Really now, is there no option for placating them? Hmm..."
After turning to a different section of the book Holmes settled on a course of action and went back to the red wood box to take out Some garlic and holy water but dismissing the cross seeing as of the many items received from his cases several had the symbol on them and had not seemed to trouble Watson in any way.
Watson watched Holmes walk back over to him, holding out the garlic.
"Tell me how you feel about this, old boy." He crushed it under Watson's nose who turned his head away in poorly disguised revulsion.
"You know I could never stand garlic Holmes, the odor is far too strong." Holmes leaned forward, dropping the chunks of garlic to the floor.
He whispered into Watson's ear, breath hot and neck vulnerable. "Take a bite of my flesh..."
Glancing from the corner of his eyes he saw Watson twitch, a more aggressive approach was needed then.
"Take a bite of me old boy." Face to face now, Watson's pupil's most definitely dilated now, obvious at this distance. "You know how I do love finding out the truth."
Watson still held his composure "If you want the truth you shall have to tell me something that can help me," He leaned back as far as the chair allowed while trying to look disinterested and thinking how what he really needed was for Holmes to make things alright again, to tell him everything would be okay and tell him something that could change him back. But while he may not get what he needed despite Holmes' best efforts, and they were always his best, he may be able to get what he wanted if he could get his wrists unbound... Though to be honest he could probably manage to do the things he wanted to Holmes with his hands tied.
Holmes gazed back at watson, equally cool in appearance. He ran through several possibilities in his mind, of asking again, of demanding, of forcing his lips apart, of- Ah, a solution, he would use a different method of persuasion.
"It is quite clear to me, my dearest Watson," Ahha that had his attention, now they were looking directly at each other, the shift in Sherlock's tone grabbing Watson's attention. "That you are now beyond salvation."
"No salvation?" Holmes was pacing around him now, on another trail of thought.
"And you were never exactly a devout in the first place," a slight chuckle "I knew the cross wouldn't have worked."
Watson scoffed, if he indeed had a religion at this point it may as well have been Holmes, such was the depth of his trust in his companion, and now he had Holmes brazenly offering himself in his attempts to get a confession. All Watson would have to do was show his teeth and- but no; the box Holmes had taken out was filled with implements for his destruction and he had no doubt Holmes would do all in his power to ensure he do no more harm to the common people of London. But if Watson could get his hands out of the straps that bound them, as he was currently trying to do, then he would have a chance to overpower Holmes. Holmes may be one of the most skilled fighters but his new immortality had made Watson as tough as a dog.
Suddenly Holmes was up close again, too close to be tuned out.
"I've got my own addictions," Watson felt stubble graze his cheek from Holmes' wry smile, "and as much as I love to get my... fix, I am aware that I am by no means perfect and use other means to satisfy myself." He was referring, of course, to his cases, but the way he started mouthing hotly along Watson's neck and jawline suggested he had a different kind of substitution in mind for his dear Watson.
And Watson was finding it harder and harder to contain himself at the smell of Holmes' skin beckoning him to take a bite, to graze his teeth.
Holmes placed his gloved hands on Watson's collar. "I could use some guidance..."
Watson inhaled sharply, sure that Holmes could feel his undead heart hammering in his chest. When he spoke his voice came out gravely.
"Give me something that can save me, make me feel better, change me..." if he could, Watson half needed him to succeed, half wanted him to fail.
Holmes gave him another calculating look before reaching into the nearby box and withdrawing a vial, holy water, given Holmes' previous deduction it was clearly a way of toying with Watson.
Next thing Watson knew Holmes had tossed the liquid at him in a fashion that would have felt ridiculous if it hadn't been directly followed with Holmes trailing a wooden steak (that he had grabbed when Watson had closed his eyes at the water) against Watson's lips, down his neck and over his chest, stopping inches above the belt loops of his trousers.
Holmes' glance downwards showed that he was very aware of how he was affecting Watson and seemed all to happy to make him feel deliciously debauched despite still having his wrists restrained.
Holmes leaned in, his breath on Watson's lips, mouth almost unbearably close.
"Show, me, your, teeth." each word punctuated with a brush of Holmes' perpetually bruised and cut lips. He waited for a cue from Watson to continue, Watson complied with a groan and they locked lips.
As Holmes pushed Watson against the chair, making his arms ache where they were trapped behind his back, Watson felt Holmes' tongue press insistently at his lips in a silent plea for him to open his mouth and after a moment's hesitation Watson surrendered and yielded.
Next thing he knew Holmes was enthusiastically kissing him with a kind of passion he usually reserved for his cases; tongue exploring his mouth so thouroughty that Watson realized that he didn't even need to let him see his teeth anymore, Holmes could feel his fangs with his probing tongue quite easily. The kiss deepened and their teeth clacked against eachother drawing a muffled laugh from one of them, or both of them, it was hard to tell as all Watson could concentrate on was the taste of Holmes' mouth and all Holmes could concentrate on was the feeling of teeth, teeth, teeth, teeth.
With a sharp inhale and no little reluctance they parted and Watson longed to run his hands through Holmes' already wild hair and kiss him back at the sight of his flushed appearance.
"Show me what you've got John."
That was all Watson required to lean forward and throw himself back into the kiss, nipping Holmes' bottom lip and drawing a small amount of blood which he quickly licked up and sucked at the small scratch in a vain attempt to draw more.
Holmes pushed him back, eliciting a small noise of want from Watson at the loss of the metalic tasting liquid he thirsted for.
Pulling his straight razor from the back pocket of his trousers and made a shallow slash into the skin under his chest, cutting into the flesh that was bleeding quickly.
Watson couldn't hold back a shudder and with a gutteral moan he leaned forward and covered the wound with his mouth, beyond the metallic blood he tasted something more; a rich and complex set of flavours that he knew must be Sherlock on some level, moaning he sucked harder and felt his mouth flood with the intoxicating blood.
Holmes held him in place with a hand on his short hair as Watson's mind was flooded with an empathatic sense of arousal, so Holmes wasn't the wonderful machine he allwas saw him as. Not he was deliciously, tragically human and Watson knew that if he thought he was a little too praising of Holmes before then he most definitely came close to worshiping him now knowing that he tasted so good.
The awkward position he was in currently, consisting of him bending forwards and tilting his neck backwards, meant that he couldn't get the right angle to bite down as he longed to do, and to his dismay Holmes pushed him back by the shoulders with a "Steady on, Watson..."
Holmes looked down at Watson, his natural need to analyse coming out momentarily as he wondered what was going on with Watson's body right now, the basic reactions of his body being similar to being under the influence of an intoxicant. Watson's hungry stare framed by his hair, now scruffy enough to rival Holmes', and his lips which were red from both their kissing and the blood.
"Help..." The word was all Holmes needed to step forward with his legs now on either side of Watson's thighs and his chest in his face. Watson practically fell forward and licked the trickle of blood up the side of Holmes' stomach, trailing his lips along the slightly too visible ribs (he would have to make sure Holmes ate more frequently when this was over... ) and lingering on the nipple which Watson took pleasure in teasing, making Holmes squirm. Then he went up the side of Holmes' neck to his jaw where, deciding to take control, Holmes gripped his head and re-captured his lips fiercely.
Holmes tasted his own blood in Watson's kiss and the idea that Watson's teeth had been grazing along his chest only moments ago spurned him into trying to feel them with his tongue again. Watson reprocipricated in an equally demanding fashion, nipping and sucking and essentially trying to devour Holmes' through kissing alone. Holmes was now not only straddling Watson but also rocking against him, Watson able to feel Holmes' blood throbbing through hime where they were connected; at the mouth, at Holmes' explorative hands, at the heat against Watson's lower stomach...
Watson's actions became desperate now, still working on his bound wrists behind his back and the material now starting to slacken. Watson had a feeling that he would need to take Holmes soon to feel release even with his hands restricted, however if he could only get his hands free, then things would really get interesting. Not that the tongue now sliding over his teeth wasn't already engaging. But he was struggling to hold himself from biting down on the insistant appendage. Holmes was now pressing his chest, flushed from the earlier attention and starting to develop little bruises, against Watson. In his mind Holmes documented avery moan, every gasping, shuddering breath for posterity. Holmes ground his hips downward, elicting another delicious noise from his Watson, and for a moment he wished he was of a larger stature so as to envelop Watson as much as possible. As it is Holmes settled for trapping him against the chair with an arm on either side of Watson's neck. What he lacked in stature he made up for in pure, aggressive, enthusiasm.
When Holmes stopped his attack on Watson's mouth it caused the doctor no little frustration, however this was easily remedied when he reached behind the chair and withdrew his crop which he promptly used to hook behind Watson's neck and hold him in place as he mouthed hotly up it's length and licked and sucked at his ear. Watson bared more of his neck, savoring the sensations and imagining Holmes doing the same thing as Watson did something very different to his neck.
At the tiny nip to his clavicle Watson's mouth formed an unintentional "oh" shape, his whole undead body practically singing out for Holmes' touch, it was Watson's new vice.
Holmes ducked his head to suck at the place connecting Watson's neck and shoulder and Watson licked his lips at having the taught skin of Holmes' neck laid out before him. Carefully sliding his hands out of the now useless binding Watson laid his cool hands against Holmes' heated and sinewy back, his mouth coming down on Holmes' neck and his fangs sinking effortlessly into it.
Watson could feel Holmes' muscles tense in realization as Holmes took his mouth off Watson's neck with a slick sound that would have been funny if not for the whirling, dizzying taste of panic that filled Watson's mouth for a split second before slowly being drowned out by a haze of pleasure and a small shivery jolt of pain when Watson raked his nails down Holmes' back.
The whip was dropped and with a growl (Watson had had the irrational urge to have a victory screech now that he had captured his prey however that was a little to much for him.) Watson hauled Holmes up and practically carried him to his bedroom, rather than risk trying to navigate the clutter that Holmes' room was bound to hold.
As he was tossed backwards onto the bed Holmes spent the brief moment observing his body's reaction to Watson's bite, heart rate elevated to ensure a quick blood flow, muscles weakening to reduce resistance, mind fogging in an almost drugged haze. This would not do, if they were to continue then Holmes would much rather be alive and, well, able to give consent rather than just mumble incoherently.
Watson threw himself down over Holmes' body and jammed a leg between his still infuriatingly clothed thighs. If he didn't know that they were his pants Holmes was wearing Watson would have simply ripped them off. To compensate Watson ground down, delighting in the friction mixed with the taste of Holmes which he took from a second bite he was currently making upon Holmes' neck.
"W-Watson." Holmes cleared his throat in a vain attempt to get rid of the scratchiness. A more commanding tone now. "John." The clearing of the shadows that had come over Watson's eyes was encouraging, as was the pause in the ravenous act of drawing blood from Holmes. It was all Watson could do not to ravish Holmes in his current flushed state below him, but his blood lust and his other, more conventional need, were held at bay by Holmes' surprisingly calm and calculating voice.
"While I am enjoying this immensely, and I do mean immensely, I am finding it rather hard to concentrate due to the effect of your bite and as a man of the medical profession surely you realize that blood loss is not conductive to consummating an act of sodomy." Holmes raised his eyebrows and somehow managed to look smug despite lying on his back with his trousers in the process of being unbuttoned. Watson let out a heady laugh.
"I must concede to your opinion once again Holmes." Here Watson licked his lips "And as a doctor I estimate that it would be possible for me to drink an small amount more of your blood without having you pass out on me." They exchanged a smirking expression before Watson gripped the others trousers and tugged them down to the ankles where they bunched up around Holmes' shoes. Watson then swooped upwards to lay a lingering kiss on Holmes' lips and pulled back. Holmes watched as Watson took his medical kit from the corner and took out a jar of a lubricating substance, it was message enough for Holmes to jerk his trousers and shoes completely off.
Watson was soon similarly disrobed and on top of Holmes. His war injury did not seem hinder him one bit as he gripped Holmes' hips and after a excruciatingly slow moment, where Holmes' body felt far to strung out by the feeling of Watson's breath near such a sensitive area, bit down into the pliant flesh next to Holmes' hipbone. Holmes gasped and tried to sit up but Watson eased Holmes onto his back with one hand, the other still on the now bleeding hip and some of the blood being licked off Watson's lips. The look Watson was giving him would stay with Holmes for a long time, of that he was certain.
Watson kissed Holmes again who writhed under him as Watson smeared the blood from the wound down Holmes' thigh and up his chest, the hand finally coming to rest where it gripped Holmes' mess of hair. Watson stopped kissing for a moment only to fall back into it with even more vigor than before at the sight of Holmes' flushed skin marked with bites, bruises and the crimson blood tracking the path of his hands. Holmes reciprocated with much energy and skimmed his fingers along Watson's erection. That got Watson's attention to focus on a more southward direction and Holmes was soon thrusting helplessly into Watson's hand.
"Too... soon..." Holmes was chastised himself internally for only being to manage monosyllabic words however even that part of his mind was struggling to hold coherence and against Watson's skilled ministrations the mental voice had no chance.
Watson, interpreting Holmes' moans correctly, slowed his pace before abandoning Holmes' neck (which was developing some very satisfactory hickeys at Watson's attention) in favor of lubricating a hand and moving downwards to part Holmes' thighs. After a few moments where Watson pushed back his urges to confirm with Holmes that everything he was about to do would be in the interest of satisfaction and pleasure, Holmes was feeling rather impatient but would thank Watson later, then without further ado he prepared Holmes' for the actual act of penetration.
Watson took no little pride in the way Holmes' muscles could be felt tightening all down his body as Watson quickly found the gland that he had read of in his medical books and thankfully had not yet needed to seek out before today. Shortly after he slid into place and braced Holmes with a hand groping at the base of Holmes' back and himself with a hand digging into the mattress.
Their movements became increasingly erratic as they fell out of the rhythm they had gained, each working hard to bring both themselves and their partner to climax. Then with much noise Watson felt the ecstasy of release overtake him and pressed Holmes firmly back into the mattress. Holmes was not soon after, Watson's hands being no little help in the matter, and as the white hot sensation uncurled in his stomach at Holmes' own ejaculation he inhaled sharply and had his senses almost totally overloaded by the sensation of their connection, the skin on skin, the scent of sweat and the sight of Watson's still euphoric expression.
They lay there, collapsed on the mattes for several minutes, Holmes feeling like he was about ready to rest for the next decade or so, when Watson gave the detective a wicked smirk.
"Now surely the great Sherlock Holmes is not so feeble as to be finished so easily?"
Still out of breath, Holmes raised an eyebrow at the jibe. "I suppose I could be persuaded to go another round..." Holmes shivered as Watson chose that moment to take his cock in one hand and lick a line of blood off it. "However I have not yet tested my body's limits adequately enough to know weather it would be able to function properly for our purposes having lost this much blood."
A brief expression of regret passed over Watson's feature, Holmes remedied that little problem by taking Watson by the chin for a soft, languid kiss. The parted reluctantly with their breaths still mingling and their eyes closed.
"I've patched you up after much worse then this, I can do the same again." Watson seemed to be contemplating something, Holmes quickly figured out what it was and cut of Watson's next words.
"Or; you could make sure that this is never a problem again." Holmes breezed past Watson's worried expression easily. "It would be beneficial to us both old boy."
Watson tried to sit up but Holmes restrained him with a hand on the back of his neck and Watson held off his frustrated worrying by allowing himself to be restrained and soothed by Holmes' fingers rubbing at his neck.
"How could becoming a vampire possibly have a beneficial outcome, the hunger, the daily struggle, the prospect of outlving everyone you-"
"That is precisely why you should change me Watson!" Holmes was not used to offering comfort, it was difficult for him so tried to utilize his usual logical approach. "It would achieve your initial need to satisfy your thirst, I would no longer act as a temptation-" Watson scoffed here "- as a temptation due to my blood, I would not only help you through any struggles you may have but by gaining a true sense of empathy I may be able to discover a solution!" Holmes was now getting rather excited at the same issues that made Watson fret so. "I would become quite literally your eternal companion, and yes Watson I do intend to stay with you, I would be of great assistance to your hunts. And I must admit I find the thought of living an eternity to explore the infinitely strange occurrences amongst not only the common place matters of existence here in our beloved London of the present but also to observe the coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chains of events throughout millennia..." Here Holmes laid a passionate kiss upon Watson's lips before continuing. "Watson can you possibly conceive how incredibly profitable it would be to experience all of that with you."
Watson laughed and shook his head in slight disbelief. "It shall always continue to astound me, Holmes, what you can draw from a situation so easily where I can see so little."
Holmes sighed and replied "Well, we shall have plenty of time to work on improving your skills shan't we?"
Watson's resolve broke and he fell on top of Holmes, muffling his guffaws into Holmes' throat who seemed to be quite at ease.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lestrade had been sad to see Holmes go, not that he would readily admit it, although he supposed he could hardly blame the fellow. After all, the amount of petty crimes and curious incidents had lessened significantly, in part due to Holmes' handiwork. If Lestrade didn't know any better he would swear that the man never slept. What surprised him was that Watson was leaving with him, although he supposed, someone was required to keep Holmes in line. The Doctor's practice had been suffering of late and what little gossip Lestrade caught told him that his relationship with Miss Mortisan had been deteriorating as well.
But he had always been of little contact with them outside of the occasional consultation, so he shouldn't let their absence disrupt him too much.But the curious thing was that he was getting fewer familiar faces ending up in the jail cells coinciding with their decision to leave. Something had the common criminals scared, some silly ghost story of a pair of spirits who haunted the back alleys of london, killing some, leaving others shaken and mad. The whole thing was only made more ridiculous from the tales of their strength and ability to turn to shadow. Lestrade was convinced that it was simply the latest horror story and would end up in some trashy penny dreadful serial and later used to scare children into staying off the streets.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In a small urban flat Watson's morning coffee was interrupted by Holmes striding into the room.
"You've been keeping secrets from me old boy." Holmes plopped himself into the chair opposite Watson, planting his feet crossed at the ankles upon the table so that Watson had to pull his laptop away to avoid scuffmarks.
"I find it rather difficult to believe I could keep anything a secret from you considering how long we've known each other." Watson decided to take a great interest in his novelty coffee mug they had picked up in Cairo a few years ago.
Holmes just tutted before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a scalpel, one of Watson's but while he would never be quite as skilled as him Holmes' biological knowledge was improving in leaps and bounds, he began twirling it idly between his fingers.
"I must admit that I have been remiss in overlooking some of your recent spending..." Holmes balanced the scalpel on the tip of a calloused finger. "You truly are a romantic aren't you."
Watson snatched the scalpel away, nonplussed by the face Holmes was giving him having built up an immunity to it a few lifetimes back. "And what spending might that be?"
"That auction a couple of months back, you were the highest bidder on an item which you planed to reveal to me on the anniversary." The anniversary had become the common name they chose for that heated event many, many years ago, that had drawn them together, anything more specific would have seemed crass or silly.
Watson stood and moved to sit on the arm of Holmes' chair, sighing in a put upon manner. "Well you had told me many times how you missed it."
"Many times but spanning almost a hundred years, dear boy, I must admit that you doing it at all is rather-"
The particular grin that came across Watson's face let Holmes know that now was hardly a time for talking and his mouth could be used in much better ways.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The surprise had been two tickets to London, a place they hadn't been in over a hundred years; at first for caution's sake but later out of a kind of procrastination.
Holmes drank in the changes to the still familiar streets and smiled back at Watson with a glint in his eye.
"Care for a bit of fun old chap?"
their stay in London consisted of some very passionate (and it had to be said, creative) behavior, casually tracking down the descendants of certain old acquaintances, buying a portrait of queen Victoria (their old one had been damaged in a fire at some point, finally freed from having to witness their debauchery.) taking some photos and when night fell; doing a little hunting.
Nothing was quite so invigorating as stalking through the crisp night air and the taste of blood; and after all those years Holmes, bless his bohemian soul, still found ways to make everything exiting and tempt Watson to show his teeth with nothing more than the moonlight to light their way through the dark alleys.
Name: TEETH
Rating: 18 because I am 18 and I wrote it >:/
Summary: This video inspired, Holmes wants to see Watson's teeth
It hadn't taken Holmes long to figure out what was going on, it never does.
The sudden drop in return clients to Watson's business, the increased amounts of blood tests logged in his case book (which Holmes had merely borrowed) the only times he preferred to be outdoors were the early mornings and late afternoons. The lack of appetite also helped Holmes along in his deductions but even when he knew he still refused to believe it on principle, surely there was something he was missing, Watson's teeth would be the only conclusive way of telling. A significant change in dental structure is not easily explained without the use of prosthetics.
However any plans of subtlety were tossed out the window when he caught Watson slipping out one night and after trailing him through the shady london streets caught him in the process of what could only be called hunting.
"Really Watson, a lady of the night? Surely you have better taste than that."
Watson's mustache quirked slightly at the comment, the dirty woman gave an irritated huff and declared that she didn't cater for more than one gent at a time and took her leave.
"You've been following me Holmes."
"Don't avoid the issue old boy," Here Holmes backed his companion towards the grimy street wall, Watson eying him warily. "and surely the lovely miss Mortisan satisfies your... thirst." He smirked. "Or perhaps she does but it's not enough. Tell me, why have you been avoiding returning to your house with her lately?"
A flash of panic appeared in Watson's eyes and was quickly extinguished, but Holmes caught it easily and knew he was getting somewhere closer to the truth.
"Mary," Watson avoided his eyes "Mary hasn't been feeling well lately, we've had some relationship issues and I needed to get away."
True enough, Holmes thought sardonically. Reading the true meaning of the statement and feeling justified for what he did next.
Namely; Spin Watson against the wall and bind his wrists to ensure a safe trip back to their place at 22b
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There had been much struggling but Holmes had managed to get Watson back behind their doors and sat him down in a chair after the complicated task of removing his shirt.
"Holmes, what do you think you're doing? Release me this instant!"
While he locked the door and removed his shirt Holmes briefly entertained the thought of making some banal comment like "I know what you are, you're impossibly fast and strong..." and so on, lay on the compliments to distract him. But Holmes would mach rather use a more direct approach in this matter.
He strode over to his bookshelf and bushed aside some books to reveal a box of redwood covered in paganistic markings.
"You'll pardon me if I don't take your word for it my dear Watson." When he opened the box and withdrew a pair of gloves that a metal smith might wear.
Watson gave him an alarmed look as he slipped them on.
"Don’t be scared, i’ve done this before." Not a complete lie, he had tracked down a murderer who killed his victims under the impression of being a vampire before, however that was a case of insanity, this time there may be cause to believe in such a supernatural being if Watson had indeed become one.
"Show me your teeth." A statement without any real tone, almost nonchalant.
Watson feigned ignorance.
"If this is due to you worrying about me spending my money on whores then don't worry, I easily make back any losses in my practice."
Holmes scoffed "I do not want any money, to be quite frank beyond necessity's sake the stuff is repugnant to me!" He leaned forward, resting his gloved hands on the arms of the chair either side of Watson, time to raise the stakes "I'd much rather you allow me to do what Mary could not do for you."
Watson's eyebrows rose towards his hairline.
Holmes tilted his head back, displaying his neck. "Why don't you have a taste of my flesh," Watson's eyes darted from the skin to Holmes' eyes and back again. "Take a bite of me."
When Watson refused to react Holmes backed off again, not seeing Watson's hands flex in their bindings.
You shall have to show me some aggression first. Thought Watson.
Crossing back to his bookshelf; Holmes withdrew a book not easily found outside the darker alleys of London, muttering "I've got no direction, I need direction." He flicked to a particular chapter "I've just got my Vampire, and I should proceed by..." A frown "No, that's far too violent... Really now, is there no option for placating them? Hmm..."
After turning to a different section of the book Holmes settled on a course of action and went back to the red wood box to take out Some garlic and holy water but dismissing the cross seeing as of the many items received from his cases several had the symbol on them and had not seemed to trouble Watson in any way.
Watson watched Holmes walk back over to him, holding out the garlic.
"Tell me how you feel about this, old boy." He crushed it under Watson's nose who turned his head away in poorly disguised revulsion.
"You know I could never stand garlic Holmes, the odor is far too strong." Holmes leaned forward, dropping the chunks of garlic to the floor.
He whispered into Watson's ear, breath hot and neck vulnerable. "Take a bite of my flesh..."
Glancing from the corner of his eyes he saw Watson twitch, a more aggressive approach was needed then.
"Take a bite of me old boy." Face to face now, Watson's pupil's most definitely dilated now, obvious at this distance. "You know how I do love finding out the truth."
Watson still held his composure "If you want the truth you shall have to tell me something that can help me," He leaned back as far as the chair allowed while trying to look disinterested and thinking how what he really needed was for Holmes to make things alright again, to tell him everything would be okay and tell him something that could change him back. But while he may not get what he needed despite Holmes' best efforts, and they were always his best, he may be able to get what he wanted if he could get his wrists unbound... Though to be honest he could probably manage to do the things he wanted to Holmes with his hands tied.
Holmes gazed back at watson, equally cool in appearance. He ran through several possibilities in his mind, of asking again, of demanding, of forcing his lips apart, of- Ah, a solution, he would use a different method of persuasion.
"It is quite clear to me, my dearest Watson," Ahha that had his attention, now they were looking directly at each other, the shift in Sherlock's tone grabbing Watson's attention. "That you are now beyond salvation."
"No salvation?" Holmes was pacing around him now, on another trail of thought.
"And you were never exactly a devout in the first place," a slight chuckle "I knew the cross wouldn't have worked."
Watson scoffed, if he indeed had a religion at this point it may as well have been Holmes, such was the depth of his trust in his companion, and now he had Holmes brazenly offering himself in his attempts to get a confession. All Watson would have to do was show his teeth and- but no; the box Holmes had taken out was filled with implements for his destruction and he had no doubt Holmes would do all in his power to ensure he do no more harm to the common people of London. But if Watson could get his hands out of the straps that bound them, as he was currently trying to do, then he would have a chance to overpower Holmes. Holmes may be one of the most skilled fighters but his new immortality had made Watson as tough as a dog.
Suddenly Holmes was up close again, too close to be tuned out.
"I've got my own addictions," Watson felt stubble graze his cheek from Holmes' wry smile, "and as much as I love to get my... fix, I am aware that I am by no means perfect and use other means to satisfy myself." He was referring, of course, to his cases, but the way he started mouthing hotly along Watson's neck and jawline suggested he had a different kind of substitution in mind for his dear Watson.
And Watson was finding it harder and harder to contain himself at the smell of Holmes' skin beckoning him to take a bite, to graze his teeth.
Holmes placed his gloved hands on Watson's collar. "I could use some guidance..."
Watson inhaled sharply, sure that Holmes could feel his undead heart hammering in his chest. When he spoke his voice came out gravely.
"Give me something that can save me, make me feel better, change me..." if he could, Watson half needed him to succeed, half wanted him to fail.
Holmes gave him another calculating look before reaching into the nearby box and withdrawing a vial, holy water, given Holmes' previous deduction it was clearly a way of toying with Watson.
Next thing Watson knew Holmes had tossed the liquid at him in a fashion that would have felt ridiculous if it hadn't been directly followed with Holmes trailing a wooden steak (that he had grabbed when Watson had closed his eyes at the water) against Watson's lips, down his neck and over his chest, stopping inches above the belt loops of his trousers.
Holmes' glance downwards showed that he was very aware of how he was affecting Watson and seemed all to happy to make him feel deliciously debauched despite still having his wrists restrained.
Holmes leaned in, his breath on Watson's lips, mouth almost unbearably close.
"Show, me, your, teeth." each word punctuated with a brush of Holmes' perpetually bruised and cut lips. He waited for a cue from Watson to continue, Watson complied with a groan and they locked lips.
As Holmes pushed Watson against the chair, making his arms ache where they were trapped behind his back, Watson felt Holmes' tongue press insistently at his lips in a silent plea for him to open his mouth and after a moment's hesitation Watson surrendered and yielded.
Next thing he knew Holmes was enthusiastically kissing him with a kind of passion he usually reserved for his cases; tongue exploring his mouth so thouroughty that Watson realized that he didn't even need to let him see his teeth anymore, Holmes could feel his fangs with his probing tongue quite easily. The kiss deepened and their teeth clacked against eachother drawing a muffled laugh from one of them, or both of them, it was hard to tell as all Watson could concentrate on was the taste of Holmes' mouth and all Holmes could concentrate on was the feeling of teeth, teeth, teeth, teeth.
With a sharp inhale and no little reluctance they parted and Watson longed to run his hands through Holmes' already wild hair and kiss him back at the sight of his flushed appearance.
"Show me what you've got John."
That was all Watson required to lean forward and throw himself back into the kiss, nipping Holmes' bottom lip and drawing a small amount of blood which he quickly licked up and sucked at the small scratch in a vain attempt to draw more.
Holmes pushed him back, eliciting a small noise of want from Watson at the loss of the metalic tasting liquid he thirsted for.
Pulling his straight razor from the back pocket of his trousers and made a shallow slash into the skin under his chest, cutting into the flesh that was bleeding quickly.
Watson couldn't hold back a shudder and with a gutteral moan he leaned forward and covered the wound with his mouth, beyond the metallic blood he tasted something more; a rich and complex set of flavours that he knew must be Sherlock on some level, moaning he sucked harder and felt his mouth flood with the intoxicating blood.
Holmes held him in place with a hand on his short hair as Watson's mind was flooded with an empathatic sense of arousal, so Holmes wasn't the wonderful machine he allwas saw him as. Not he was deliciously, tragically human and Watson knew that if he thought he was a little too praising of Holmes before then he most definitely came close to worshiping him now knowing that he tasted so good.
The awkward position he was in currently, consisting of him bending forwards and tilting his neck backwards, meant that he couldn't get the right angle to bite down as he longed to do, and to his dismay Holmes pushed him back by the shoulders with a "Steady on, Watson..."
Holmes looked down at Watson, his natural need to analyse coming out momentarily as he wondered what was going on with Watson's body right now, the basic reactions of his body being similar to being under the influence of an intoxicant. Watson's hungry stare framed by his hair, now scruffy enough to rival Holmes', and his lips which were red from both their kissing and the blood.
"Help..." The word was all Holmes needed to step forward with his legs now on either side of Watson's thighs and his chest in his face. Watson practically fell forward and licked the trickle of blood up the side of Holmes' stomach, trailing his lips along the slightly too visible ribs (he would have to make sure Holmes ate more frequently when this was over... ) and lingering on the nipple which Watson took pleasure in teasing, making Holmes squirm. Then he went up the side of Holmes' neck to his jaw where, deciding to take control, Holmes gripped his head and re-captured his lips fiercely.
Holmes tasted his own blood in Watson's kiss and the idea that Watson's teeth had been grazing along his chest only moments ago spurned him into trying to feel them with his tongue again. Watson reprocipricated in an equally demanding fashion, nipping and sucking and essentially trying to devour Holmes' through kissing alone. Holmes was now not only straddling Watson but also rocking against him, Watson able to feel Holmes' blood throbbing through hime where they were connected; at the mouth, at Holmes' explorative hands, at the heat against Watson's lower stomach...
Watson's actions became desperate now, still working on his bound wrists behind his back and the material now starting to slacken. Watson had a feeling that he would need to take Holmes soon to feel release even with his hands restricted, however if he could only get his hands free, then things would really get interesting. Not that the tongue now sliding over his teeth wasn't already engaging. But he was struggling to hold himself from biting down on the insistant appendage. Holmes was now pressing his chest, flushed from the earlier attention and starting to develop little bruises, against Watson. In his mind Holmes documented avery moan, every gasping, shuddering breath for posterity. Holmes ground his hips downward, elicting another delicious noise from his Watson, and for a moment he wished he was of a larger stature so as to envelop Watson as much as possible. As it is Holmes settled for trapping him against the chair with an arm on either side of Watson's neck. What he lacked in stature he made up for in pure, aggressive, enthusiasm.
When Holmes stopped his attack on Watson's mouth it caused the doctor no little frustration, however this was easily remedied when he reached behind the chair and withdrew his crop which he promptly used to hook behind Watson's neck and hold him in place as he mouthed hotly up it's length and licked and sucked at his ear. Watson bared more of his neck, savoring the sensations and imagining Holmes doing the same thing as Watson did something very different to his neck.
At the tiny nip to his clavicle Watson's mouth formed an unintentional "oh" shape, his whole undead body practically singing out for Holmes' touch, it was Watson's new vice.
Holmes ducked his head to suck at the place connecting Watson's neck and shoulder and Watson licked his lips at having the taught skin of Holmes' neck laid out before him. Carefully sliding his hands out of the now useless binding Watson laid his cool hands against Holmes' heated and sinewy back, his mouth coming down on Holmes' neck and his fangs sinking effortlessly into it.
Watson could feel Holmes' muscles tense in realization as Holmes took his mouth off Watson's neck with a slick sound that would have been funny if not for the whirling, dizzying taste of panic that filled Watson's mouth for a split second before slowly being drowned out by a haze of pleasure and a small shivery jolt of pain when Watson raked his nails down Holmes' back.
The whip was dropped and with a growl (Watson had had the irrational urge to have a victory screech now that he had captured his prey however that was a little to much for him.) Watson hauled Holmes up and practically carried him to his bedroom, rather than risk trying to navigate the clutter that Holmes' room was bound to hold.
As he was tossed backwards onto the bed Holmes spent the brief moment observing his body's reaction to Watson's bite, heart rate elevated to ensure a quick blood flow, muscles weakening to reduce resistance, mind fogging in an almost drugged haze. This would not do, if they were to continue then Holmes would much rather be alive and, well, able to give consent rather than just mumble incoherently.
Watson threw himself down over Holmes' body and jammed a leg between his still infuriatingly clothed thighs. If he didn't know that they were his pants Holmes was wearing Watson would have simply ripped them off. To compensate Watson ground down, delighting in the friction mixed with the taste of Holmes which he took from a second bite he was currently making upon Holmes' neck.
"W-Watson." Holmes cleared his throat in a vain attempt to get rid of the scratchiness. A more commanding tone now. "John." The clearing of the shadows that had come over Watson's eyes was encouraging, as was the pause in the ravenous act of drawing blood from Holmes. It was all Watson could do not to ravish Holmes in his current flushed state below him, but his blood lust and his other, more conventional need, were held at bay by Holmes' surprisingly calm and calculating voice.
"While I am enjoying this immensely, and I do mean immensely, I am finding it rather hard to concentrate due to the effect of your bite and as a man of the medical profession surely you realize that blood loss is not conductive to consummating an act of sodomy." Holmes raised his eyebrows and somehow managed to look smug despite lying on his back with his trousers in the process of being unbuttoned. Watson let out a heady laugh.
"I must concede to your opinion once again Holmes." Here Watson licked his lips "And as a doctor I estimate that it would be possible for me to drink an small amount more of your blood without having you pass out on me." They exchanged a smirking expression before Watson gripped the others trousers and tugged them down to the ankles where they bunched up around Holmes' shoes. Watson then swooped upwards to lay a lingering kiss on Holmes' lips and pulled back. Holmes watched as Watson took his medical kit from the corner and took out a jar of a lubricating substance, it was message enough for Holmes to jerk his trousers and shoes completely off.
Watson was soon similarly disrobed and on top of Holmes. His war injury did not seem hinder him one bit as he gripped Holmes' hips and after a excruciatingly slow moment, where Holmes' body felt far to strung out by the feeling of Watson's breath near such a sensitive area, bit down into the pliant flesh next to Holmes' hipbone. Holmes gasped and tried to sit up but Watson eased Holmes onto his back with one hand, the other still on the now bleeding hip and some of the blood being licked off Watson's lips. The look Watson was giving him would stay with Holmes for a long time, of that he was certain.
Watson kissed Holmes again who writhed under him as Watson smeared the blood from the wound down Holmes' thigh and up his chest, the hand finally coming to rest where it gripped Holmes' mess of hair. Watson stopped kissing for a moment only to fall back into it with even more vigor than before at the sight of Holmes' flushed skin marked with bites, bruises and the crimson blood tracking the path of his hands. Holmes reciprocated with much energy and skimmed his fingers along Watson's erection. That got Watson's attention to focus on a more southward direction and Holmes was soon thrusting helplessly into Watson's hand.
"Too... soon..." Holmes was chastised himself internally for only being to manage monosyllabic words however even that part of his mind was struggling to hold coherence and against Watson's skilled ministrations the mental voice had no chance.
Watson, interpreting Holmes' moans correctly, slowed his pace before abandoning Holmes' neck (which was developing some very satisfactory hickeys at Watson's attention) in favor of lubricating a hand and moving downwards to part Holmes' thighs. After a few moments where Watson pushed back his urges to confirm with Holmes that everything he was about to do would be in the interest of satisfaction and pleasure, Holmes was feeling rather impatient but would thank Watson later, then without further ado he prepared Holmes' for the actual act of penetration.
Watson took no little pride in the way Holmes' muscles could be felt tightening all down his body as Watson quickly found the gland that he had read of in his medical books and thankfully had not yet needed to seek out before today. Shortly after he slid into place and braced Holmes with a hand groping at the base of Holmes' back and himself with a hand digging into the mattress.
Their movements became increasingly erratic as they fell out of the rhythm they had gained, each working hard to bring both themselves and their partner to climax. Then with much noise Watson felt the ecstasy of release overtake him and pressed Holmes firmly back into the mattress. Holmes was not soon after, Watson's hands being no little help in the matter, and as the white hot sensation uncurled in his stomach at Holmes' own ejaculation he inhaled sharply and had his senses almost totally overloaded by the sensation of their connection, the skin on skin, the scent of sweat and the sight of Watson's still euphoric expression.
They lay there, collapsed on the mattes for several minutes, Holmes feeling like he was about ready to rest for the next decade or so, when Watson gave the detective a wicked smirk.
"Now surely the great Sherlock Holmes is not so feeble as to be finished so easily?"
Still out of breath, Holmes raised an eyebrow at the jibe. "I suppose I could be persuaded to go another round..." Holmes shivered as Watson chose that moment to take his cock in one hand and lick a line of blood off it. "However I have not yet tested my body's limits adequately enough to know weather it would be able to function properly for our purposes having lost this much blood."
A brief expression of regret passed over Watson's feature, Holmes remedied that little problem by taking Watson by the chin for a soft, languid kiss. The parted reluctantly with their breaths still mingling and their eyes closed.
"I've patched you up after much worse then this, I can do the same again." Watson seemed to be contemplating something, Holmes quickly figured out what it was and cut of Watson's next words.
"Or; you could make sure that this is never a problem again." Holmes breezed past Watson's worried expression easily. "It would be beneficial to us both old boy."
Watson tried to sit up but Holmes restrained him with a hand on the back of his neck and Watson held off his frustrated worrying by allowing himself to be restrained and soothed by Holmes' fingers rubbing at his neck.
"How could becoming a vampire possibly have a beneficial outcome, the hunger, the daily struggle, the prospect of outlving everyone you-"
"That is precisely why you should change me Watson!" Holmes was not used to offering comfort, it was difficult for him so tried to utilize his usual logical approach. "It would achieve your initial need to satisfy your thirst, I would no longer act as a temptation-" Watson scoffed here "- as a temptation due to my blood, I would not only help you through any struggles you may have but by gaining a true sense of empathy I may be able to discover a solution!" Holmes was now getting rather excited at the same issues that made Watson fret so. "I would become quite literally your eternal companion, and yes Watson I do intend to stay with you, I would be of great assistance to your hunts. And I must admit I find the thought of living an eternity to explore the infinitely strange occurrences amongst not only the common place matters of existence here in our beloved London of the present but also to observe the coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chains of events throughout millennia..." Here Holmes laid a passionate kiss upon Watson's lips before continuing. "Watson can you possibly conceive how incredibly profitable it would be to experience all of that with you."
Watson laughed and shook his head in slight disbelief. "It shall always continue to astound me, Holmes, what you can draw from a situation so easily where I can see so little."
Holmes sighed and replied "Well, we shall have plenty of time to work on improving your skills shan't we?"
Watson's resolve broke and he fell on top of Holmes, muffling his guffaws into Holmes' throat who seemed to be quite at ease.
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Lestrade had been sad to see Holmes go, not that he would readily admit it, although he supposed he could hardly blame the fellow. After all, the amount of petty crimes and curious incidents had lessened significantly, in part due to Holmes' handiwork. If Lestrade didn't know any better he would swear that the man never slept. What surprised him was that Watson was leaving with him, although he supposed, someone was required to keep Holmes in line. The Doctor's practice had been suffering of late and what little gossip Lestrade caught told him that his relationship with Miss Mortisan had been deteriorating as well.
But he had always been of little contact with them outside of the occasional consultation, so he shouldn't let their absence disrupt him too much.But the curious thing was that he was getting fewer familiar faces ending up in the jail cells coinciding with their decision to leave. Something had the common criminals scared, some silly ghost story of a pair of spirits who haunted the back alleys of london, killing some, leaving others shaken and mad. The whole thing was only made more ridiculous from the tales of their strength and ability to turn to shadow. Lestrade was convinced that it was simply the latest horror story and would end up in some trashy penny dreadful serial and later used to scare children into staying off the streets.
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In a small urban flat Watson's morning coffee was interrupted by Holmes striding into the room.
"You've been keeping secrets from me old boy." Holmes plopped himself into the chair opposite Watson, planting his feet crossed at the ankles upon the table so that Watson had to pull his laptop away to avoid scuffmarks.
"I find it rather difficult to believe I could keep anything a secret from you considering how long we've known each other." Watson decided to take a great interest in his novelty coffee mug they had picked up in Cairo a few years ago.
Holmes just tutted before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a scalpel, one of Watson's but while he would never be quite as skilled as him Holmes' biological knowledge was improving in leaps and bounds, he began twirling it idly between his fingers.
"I must admit that I have been remiss in overlooking some of your recent spending..." Holmes balanced the scalpel on the tip of a calloused finger. "You truly are a romantic aren't you."
Watson snatched the scalpel away, nonplussed by the face Holmes was giving him having built up an immunity to it a few lifetimes back. "And what spending might that be?"
"That auction a couple of months back, you were the highest bidder on an item which you planed to reveal to me on the anniversary." The anniversary had become the common name they chose for that heated event many, many years ago, that had drawn them together, anything more specific would have seemed crass or silly.
Watson stood and moved to sit on the arm of Holmes' chair, sighing in a put upon manner. "Well you had told me many times how you missed it."
"Many times but spanning almost a hundred years, dear boy, I must admit that you doing it at all is rather-"
The particular grin that came across Watson's face let Holmes know that now was hardly a time for talking and his mouth could be used in much better ways.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The surprise had been two tickets to London, a place they hadn't been in over a hundred years; at first for caution's sake but later out of a kind of procrastination.
Holmes drank in the changes to the still familiar streets and smiled back at Watson with a glint in his eye.
"Care for a bit of fun old chap?"
their stay in London consisted of some very passionate (and it had to be said, creative) behavior, casually tracking down the descendants of certain old acquaintances, buying a portrait of queen Victoria (their old one had been damaged in a fire at some point, finally freed from having to witness their debauchery.) taking some photos and when night fell; doing a little hunting.
Nothing was quite so invigorating as stalking through the crisp night air and the taste of blood; and after all those years Holmes, bless his bohemian soul, still found ways to make everything exiting and tempt Watson to show his teeth with nothing more than the moonlight to light their way through the dark alleys.