Sherlock Holmes - Never That Simple
Title: Never That Simple
Author: ladylovelace
Rating: M
Pairing/Characters: Holmes/Victor Trevor
Disclaimer: Very much not mine.
Summary: An early morning conversation after a night spent in a strange bed.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Mentions of sex and sexual situations.
Word Count: 1700
Author's Notes: This one's a little sad. I promise I will fix it. As always, thank you to beeinmybonnet for bringing Victor to life. Follows straight on from A New Experience.
Back to A New Experience
Victor woke slowly and cuddled closer to the warm body next to him. He thought vaguely about how this part was always nice, whatever happened the night before. He always liked the ones that let him stay the best.
Of course, it would probably be helpful to identify the kind gentleman he was pressing himself against. Just as soon as he was ready to open his eyes. It occurred to him at that moment that he was still mostly dressed. There was probably some ego soothing to be done, then. Luckily, at least one part of him seemed to be up to it. Whoever was lying next to him shifted a little and mumbled in his sleep. Victor sighed. If he was going to reassure his partner, the simplest way might be to undress him and get 'caught' admiring. That usually worked nicely.
Yawning, stretching and opening his eyes at the same time, Victor realised with a jolt that he was in his own bedroom. A few seconds of panic gave way to actual, lucid memories of the night before, and he smiled happily. Handy that he didn't start on what would have been pointless and possibly disastrous efforts, then. He leaned forward and kissed his bedmate's forehead.
“Morning, Sherlock.”
Holmes grunted softly and blinked a half-dozen times before registering where he was, and with whom, and how he'd gotten there. He smiled, softly and openly. “Good morning, Victor. Sleep well?”
“Mmm. You?”
Wriggling and shifting to get comfortable, Holmes considered the question carefully. “You're warm.”
“That wasn't an answer.”
“Yes, it was. I hate to be cold. It is the one thing that stops my brain from working. I can think clearly through hunger, thirst, and more sleep deprivation than a normal man could stand, but the cold does me in every time, and all I can think about is being cold. You're warm.”
“Hmm. Warmth and tea-making skills. You are so very easily pleased. I'll take that to mean that you had a restful night, then.”
“I think I did. I feel... repaired.”
“You look a mess.” Victor ruffled Holmes' hair fondly.
“Charming as ever, Victor.”
“I've told you, I'm not trying to charm you. Charm implies deceit. I wouldn't do it to you.”
“And yet, I still find myself charmed.” Holmes shifted closer, paused, and then shifted again. “Oh,” his eyes widened, “oh.”
Victor cursed himself silently, fully aware that it was the erection that hadn't gone away yet that Holmes had just noticed. And was shifting against almost rhythmically, but that was probably irrelevant to him. “Sorry.” he shifted back.
“I don't know what to do. I should be doing something, shouldn't I?” Holmes looked even more uncomfortable now, and Victor was ready to throttle himself for it.
“No,” he answered quickly, “no, there's nothing you should do, it's all right,” he explained as he scrambled out of the bed, “just... I'll be back in a moment, all right? Don't worry yourself.” Victor fled to the safety and privacy of the lavatory with all due speed.
He returned after an embarrassingly short period of time, and wondered idly if he needed to be embarrassed, or if Holmes was entirely ignorant about such things. It was almost something he wanted to know, but he realised that he was better off not fantasising about teaching Holmes exactly how to touch himself. He groaned softly, and took a moment to be glad that he wasn't fifteen any more.
Holmes was still more-or-less where Victor had left him, curled up under the blanket, eyes open but hooded. “You could have just told me what to do.”
Victor padded over to the other side of the bed, and then curled up under the blankets again. “If you don't know, I'm not sure I should be the person to teach you. It would be terribly selfish of me.”
“I do know what is done with... I know how to achieve physical release, Victor. I'm not an idiot. I was simply unaware of the etiquette of the situation.”
At that, Victor couldn't help but laugh. “I didn't think you were. As to etiquette...” he paused to consider not only the ridiculousness of the conversation, but what on Earth he was going to supply as an answer. “Well, I suppose the most important thing is that everyone is comfortable with everything that goes on. It's nice if everyone enjoys it, too.”
Holmes looked unsure, and maybe even a little sad for a moment. “You don't enjoy it? Isn't that the whole point?”
Victor smiled wryly, and brushed Holmes' hair back carefully. “It should be. I want you to promise me that if you ever do, it will be with someone who will treat you as the marvellous gift you are. Promise me, Sherlock.”
“I promise, but...” Holmes swallowed, “you said... that is, I thought you and I would...” he trailed off expectantly.
A sad, resigned smile spread across Victor's features. “You deserve so much better than me.” He stroked at Holmes' hair idly, trying desperately not to let his disappointment show.
“But I don't want better than you,” came the quiet reply, “you said last night that you liked me enough to... and I thought that meant that one day, we might, and I wanted to last night, but you said no,” Holmes swallowed thickly, “did I do something wrong?”
“Oh, Sherlock,” Victor gathered the other man to him, “no, you've done nothing wrong, nothing at all. I don't think you could if you wanted to. You are so perfect.” He could feel the sting of tears behind his eyes; the last thing he'd wanted was to hurt his friend, or make him think that he was anything less than he was.
“I don't understand.”
Neither do I, Victor found himself thinking. “It's not that I don't want you. I do. I just don't deserve you.”
“You don't think that might be up to me to decide?” Holmes mumbled into Victor's shoulder.
“You don't know me. You don't know what I'm like.” Victor was horrified at the tears starting to wet Holmes' shirt. He didn't want him to think he'd made him cry.
“I do know you; Victor Trevor, originally from Norfolk, nouveau riche, five-foot-eleven. Mother and sister both dead, terrible tragedy. Invert; has slept with most of his own college, parts of mine, and several others. Owns a bull terrier called Cerberus, suspect demonic possession of same,” Victor chuckled, “best and quite possibly only friend to Sherlock Holmes, who may have fallen hopelessly in love with him, assuming he is indeed capable of such. Otherwise, an all-round good, kind man, who really doesn't think highly enough of himself.”
Having missed everything after 'hopelessly in love', Victor spent several moments in silence trying to catch up with the conversation. He swallowed a few times convulsively, and decided to attempt a reply. “I can't know what's in your heart, Sherlock, but I know that you've shown me more love than anyone else has for a good number of years.”
Holmes positively beamed at that. “I don't know much about these things, but I suspect that goes both ways. You're surprised, aren't you?”
This time, there was nothing Victor could do to prevent a few further tears from rolling down his cheeks. “Yes,” he managed to croak eventually.
“Why are you crying?” Holmes asked unsurely, reaching out to touch his friend's cheek gently. “I thought this is what you wanted?”
“Happy tears, Sherlock. Happy tears.”
Holmes nodded, reaching out again to touch tear-tracks in something akin to wonder. Victor remained as still as he could, unwilling to disrupt the gentle exploration of his features that Holmes had progressed into for anything. “I suspect I am very lucky to have you.” Holmes trailed a curious finger along his nose.
“Not as lucky as I am, I assure you. You never ask for anything, and you are so beautiful. Musgrave glares at me whenever I see him,” Victor grinned at that, and then softened and brought his hand up to cup Holmes' cheek, “I love you,” he added quietly.
“I know.” Holmes replied quietly, and then leaned in for a soft kiss. Victor cried all the harder, and Holmes was left trying to comfort a hurt that wasn't there. Victor realised about thirty seconds later that he was causing undue pain in his friend. “Shh, it's all right. I'm fine.” He shifted closer to Holmes and buried his face in his neck.
Holmes sighed happily and shifted to get comfortable. The fact that Holmes' version of 'comfortable' involved cushioning all his poky bits against Victor's soft bits didn't bother him as much as it should have. “How long do we have before you have to pick up your demon hound?”
“Oh, hours yet. You can go back to sleep, if you like.”
“Actually, I was wondering how long it normally takes to copulate, and if we have enough time for that.” Holmes spoke directly into Victor's ear, in the same tone he might use to ask for a cup of tea.
Victor choked, and continued to do so for what felt like hours. He wondered if this was what it was like to feel your heart actually break, and if it was possible to survive it. He pulled back and away from Holmes as quickly as he could. “Oh God, you're just like everyone else,” he began in a panic, “I thought you'd be different, but you're not. I knew I shouldn't have believed it, you don't even like my dog, how could I be so stupid?” He looked at Holmes for a moment, who was simply confused and more than a little hurt, and then bolted for the door.
By the time Holmes gathered himself together enough to go looking, Victor was long gone. Holmes made a cursory attempt to make himself look presentable, and then returned to his own rooms in defeat, wondering what he'd managed to do wrong.
On to That's what Love Means
Author: ladylovelace
Rating: M
Pairing/Characters: Holmes/Victor Trevor
Disclaimer: Very much not mine.
Summary: An early morning conversation after a night spent in a strange bed.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Mentions of sex and sexual situations.
Word Count: 1700
Author's Notes: This one's a little sad. I promise I will fix it. As always, thank you to beeinmybonnet for bringing Victor to life. Follows straight on from A New Experience.
Back to A New Experience
Victor woke slowly and cuddled closer to the warm body next to him. He thought vaguely about how this part was always nice, whatever happened the night before. He always liked the ones that let him stay the best.
Of course, it would probably be helpful to identify the kind gentleman he was pressing himself against. Just as soon as he was ready to open his eyes. It occurred to him at that moment that he was still mostly dressed. There was probably some ego soothing to be done, then. Luckily, at least one part of him seemed to be up to it. Whoever was lying next to him shifted a little and mumbled in his sleep. Victor sighed. If he was going to reassure his partner, the simplest way might be to undress him and get 'caught' admiring. That usually worked nicely.
Yawning, stretching and opening his eyes at the same time, Victor realised with a jolt that he was in his own bedroom. A few seconds of panic gave way to actual, lucid memories of the night before, and he smiled happily. Handy that he didn't start on what would have been pointless and possibly disastrous efforts, then. He leaned forward and kissed his bedmate's forehead.
“Morning, Sherlock.”
Holmes grunted softly and blinked a half-dozen times before registering where he was, and with whom, and how he'd gotten there. He smiled, softly and openly. “Good morning, Victor. Sleep well?”
“Mmm. You?”
Wriggling and shifting to get comfortable, Holmes considered the question carefully. “You're warm.”
“That wasn't an answer.”
“Yes, it was. I hate to be cold. It is the one thing that stops my brain from working. I can think clearly through hunger, thirst, and more sleep deprivation than a normal man could stand, but the cold does me in every time, and all I can think about is being cold. You're warm.”
“Hmm. Warmth and tea-making skills. You are so very easily pleased. I'll take that to mean that you had a restful night, then.”
“I think I did. I feel... repaired.”
“You look a mess.” Victor ruffled Holmes' hair fondly.
“Charming as ever, Victor.”
“I've told you, I'm not trying to charm you. Charm implies deceit. I wouldn't do it to you.”
“And yet, I still find myself charmed.” Holmes shifted closer, paused, and then shifted again. “Oh,” his eyes widened, “oh.”
Victor cursed himself silently, fully aware that it was the erection that hadn't gone away yet that Holmes had just noticed. And was shifting against almost rhythmically, but that was probably irrelevant to him. “Sorry.” he shifted back.
“I don't know what to do. I should be doing something, shouldn't I?” Holmes looked even more uncomfortable now, and Victor was ready to throttle himself for it.
“No,” he answered quickly, “no, there's nothing you should do, it's all right,” he explained as he scrambled out of the bed, “just... I'll be back in a moment, all right? Don't worry yourself.” Victor fled to the safety and privacy of the lavatory with all due speed.
He returned after an embarrassingly short period of time, and wondered idly if he needed to be embarrassed, or if Holmes was entirely ignorant about such things. It was almost something he wanted to know, but he realised that he was better off not fantasising about teaching Holmes exactly how to touch himself. He groaned softly, and took a moment to be glad that he wasn't fifteen any more.
Holmes was still more-or-less where Victor had left him, curled up under the blanket, eyes open but hooded. “You could have just told me what to do.”
Victor padded over to the other side of the bed, and then curled up under the blankets again. “If you don't know, I'm not sure I should be the person to teach you. It would be terribly selfish of me.”
“I do know what is done with... I know how to achieve physical release, Victor. I'm not an idiot. I was simply unaware of the etiquette of the situation.”
At that, Victor couldn't help but laugh. “I didn't think you were. As to etiquette...” he paused to consider not only the ridiculousness of the conversation, but what on Earth he was going to supply as an answer. “Well, I suppose the most important thing is that everyone is comfortable with everything that goes on. It's nice if everyone enjoys it, too.”
Holmes looked unsure, and maybe even a little sad for a moment. “You don't enjoy it? Isn't that the whole point?”
Victor smiled wryly, and brushed Holmes' hair back carefully. “It should be. I want you to promise me that if you ever do, it will be with someone who will treat you as the marvellous gift you are. Promise me, Sherlock.”
“I promise, but...” Holmes swallowed, “you said... that is, I thought you and I would...” he trailed off expectantly.
A sad, resigned smile spread across Victor's features. “You deserve so much better than me.” He stroked at Holmes' hair idly, trying desperately not to let his disappointment show.
“But I don't want better than you,” came the quiet reply, “you said last night that you liked me enough to... and I thought that meant that one day, we might, and I wanted to last night, but you said no,” Holmes swallowed thickly, “did I do something wrong?”
“Oh, Sherlock,” Victor gathered the other man to him, “no, you've done nothing wrong, nothing at all. I don't think you could if you wanted to. You are so perfect.” He could feel the sting of tears behind his eyes; the last thing he'd wanted was to hurt his friend, or make him think that he was anything less than he was.
“I don't understand.”
Neither do I, Victor found himself thinking. “It's not that I don't want you. I do. I just don't deserve you.”
“You don't think that might be up to me to decide?” Holmes mumbled into Victor's shoulder.
“You don't know me. You don't know what I'm like.” Victor was horrified at the tears starting to wet Holmes' shirt. He didn't want him to think he'd made him cry.
“I do know you; Victor Trevor, originally from Norfolk, nouveau riche, five-foot-eleven. Mother and sister both dead, terrible tragedy. Invert; has slept with most of his own college, parts of mine, and several others. Owns a bull terrier called Cerberus, suspect demonic possession of same,” Victor chuckled, “best and quite possibly only friend to Sherlock Holmes, who may have fallen hopelessly in love with him, assuming he is indeed capable of such. Otherwise, an all-round good, kind man, who really doesn't think highly enough of himself.”
Having missed everything after 'hopelessly in love', Victor spent several moments in silence trying to catch up with the conversation. He swallowed a few times convulsively, and decided to attempt a reply. “I can't know what's in your heart, Sherlock, but I know that you've shown me more love than anyone else has for a good number of years.”
Holmes positively beamed at that. “I don't know much about these things, but I suspect that goes both ways. You're surprised, aren't you?”
This time, there was nothing Victor could do to prevent a few further tears from rolling down his cheeks. “Yes,” he managed to croak eventually.
“Why are you crying?” Holmes asked unsurely, reaching out to touch his friend's cheek gently. “I thought this is what you wanted?”
“Happy tears, Sherlock. Happy tears.”
Holmes nodded, reaching out again to touch tear-tracks in something akin to wonder. Victor remained as still as he could, unwilling to disrupt the gentle exploration of his features that Holmes had progressed into for anything. “I suspect I am very lucky to have you.” Holmes trailed a curious finger along his nose.
“Not as lucky as I am, I assure you. You never ask for anything, and you are so beautiful. Musgrave glares at me whenever I see him,” Victor grinned at that, and then softened and brought his hand up to cup Holmes' cheek, “I love you,” he added quietly.
“I know.” Holmes replied quietly, and then leaned in for a soft kiss. Victor cried all the harder, and Holmes was left trying to comfort a hurt that wasn't there. Victor realised about thirty seconds later that he was causing undue pain in his friend. “Shh, it's all right. I'm fine.” He shifted closer to Holmes and buried his face in his neck.
Holmes sighed happily and shifted to get comfortable. The fact that Holmes' version of 'comfortable' involved cushioning all his poky bits against Victor's soft bits didn't bother him as much as it should have. “How long do we have before you have to pick up your demon hound?”
“Oh, hours yet. You can go back to sleep, if you like.”
“Actually, I was wondering how long it normally takes to copulate, and if we have enough time for that.” Holmes spoke directly into Victor's ear, in the same tone he might use to ask for a cup of tea.
Victor choked, and continued to do so for what felt like hours. He wondered if this was what it was like to feel your heart actually break, and if it was possible to survive it. He pulled back and away from Holmes as quickly as he could. “Oh God, you're just like everyone else,” he began in a panic, “I thought you'd be different, but you're not. I knew I shouldn't have believed it, you don't even like my dog, how could I be so stupid?” He looked at Holmes for a moment, who was simply confused and more than a little hurt, and then bolted for the door.
By the time Holmes gathered himself together enough to go looking, Victor was long gone. Holmes made a cursory attempt to make himself look presentable, and then returned to his own rooms in defeat, wondering what he'd managed to do wrong.
On to That's what Love Means