Pairing: Holmes / OC
Rating: NC - 17
Word count: ~ 1500
Warnings: Playing with food, well, a little. Hair fetish.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Holmes meets an Asian at the Punchbowl.
A/N: Lan Yu means Blue Fish. This fic is dedicated to goldenfish_jz . Yes, you may worship me *g*. Special thanks as always to nodbear … I owe you one!
The crowd suddenly went still. Every man in the room held his breath. Holmes sensed everything in a heartbeat. This opponent he had underestimated. He was skinny, sinewy, weighing no more than 140 pounds. He was handsome by all standards. Long black hair that he wore in a pigtail, bronze skin, high cheekbones, full lips and this slanted eyes appraising him with an insistent glare. They sparkled with an inner fire reminding Holmes of his own.
He attacked, the Asian stepped away, caught his right ankle, turned him and in an instant he lay breathing heavily in the dirt facing the Punchbowl’s wooden wall. Holmes sprang up again, attacked in vain. The Asian seemed to know every step he would make before he did. Gritting his teeth he tried to get advantage over this slim fighter. Both arms around his body he tried to defeat him. The Asian turned in his grip, a leg slipped between Holmes’ legs, he could feel something hard at the front of his trousers… A quick glance into these black eyes and he was lost. Quick as a lightning bolt he faced the ground once more. He cursed under his breath. Sweat began to sting in his eyes. Like a bull he attacked again, trying to get a grip around the slim waist by sheer force. But the Asian slipped like a fish through his fingers. Holmes made a fast step forward, catching the long black pigtail while the Asian retreated, who then quickly to free himself. Holmes held only the ribbon in his hand, surprised he looked at it when something hard hit him in the face. Suddenly his eyes and mouth were full of long black hair. He coughed, tried to face his opposer. Something hit him in the back, his legs were pulled from under him and again he looked up into the smiling face. Dark eyes glittering maliciously over him that turned his legs into jelly. He scowled. Slowly he stood up again.
‘Don’t show your weakness,’ he told himself. ‘You can defeat him…’ A third time he failed. The now open hair distracted him. It covered the Asians’ shoulders like a dark silken cloak. ‘Don’t they wear it plaited ?’ was his last thought, when a strong kick with both legs send him across the Punchbowl, hurling him against the wall. He hit his head hard, felt something warm trickle down his face, tried to get up again, but everything was spinning. Suddenly he felt very tired and with heavy limbs gave himself over to darkness.
Opening his eyes very slowly the first thing he saw was a small brown hand pressing out a sponge. He heard drops of water falling as if he was under water, time was running in slow motion. He moaned. A face with slanted eyes hovered over him, moving closer.
“Does it hurt?” Holmes moaned again.
“Yes. It’ll fade away. How are you? What are you doing?”
“My name is Lan Yu. I’m cleaning your wounds.”
“Why? Where is Watson? Where are we?”
“In your refuge at the Punchbowl. Who is Watson?” Holmes growled. His head ached. He rubbed one eye with his right hand, the left he couldn’t move. He had difficulties to look straight. He stopped the hand with the sponge in it before it could touch him. The Asian lowered it and looked at him mildly amused.
“Thanks for letting me win. And the money.” The candles flickered. It was hot in the room. It must be late at night. Outside the window everything was black.
“You’re welcome. Watson is my fellow lodger. A doctor. He should be here…” Sighing he sank back into the pillow, closing his eyes again. A warm hand touched his cheek. Suddenly he shivered. His prick was hard. As always after a fight. Opening his eyes again his gaze was caught by the Asian’s. ‘Such beautiful eyes,’ Holmes thought. Black, with long lashes, the upper lids not to be seen. Slanting eyes… His breath caught in his throat.
“Maybe I can provide some… help?” A second hand at his crotch made it difficult for him to answer properly. Enchanted by these deep black eyes he wasn’t able to move a single limb. Soft lips kissed his eyelids, gliding over his skin. He didn’t want this. Or did he? Everything around him was spinning. Black hair tickled his nose. With a desperate effort he clutched the head of his opponent and kissed him frantically. The hand in his crotch pressed his prick and balls.
Both moaned, Lan ripped his trousers open. Laying half on top of him, half near him he kissed Holmes with a desire that stole the detective’s breath away. He too was hard as a rock.
“Get me rid of it.” He whispered opening his belt buckle. His weeping hard-on was slick with sweat and precum. He pressed their bodies together, lost in the heat and sensation. The Asian tasted of cinnamon and something sweet and spicy. ‘Anise,’ thought Holmes and smiled. His black hair clung to his sweaty skin like black cobwebs. This mouth, small and hot, made him moan in ecstasy. His prick throbbed begging for release. He could feel the Asian’s heartbeat against his chest. He devoured the small nipples, adored the silky skin. Holmes reached for the opening provoking so much lust. To his utter surprise the Asian began to fumble at his bum, too
“What are you up to? I will never admit defeat!”
“Neither will I…” Holmes wanted to say something more but the talented mouth silenced him. The last trousers fell. A storm came up, rattled at the window’s shutter. The wooden bedframe creaked. Holmes’ gave up struggling. His fate was sealed. Slowly he was impaled on a long slender prick. The Asian spared him nothing. He bedded him really hard, then slowly, hard again, very slow. Holmes sobbed, begging for more. He was defeated, accepted defeat. His chest, neck and collarbone full of tiny bitemarks, he held the Asian close to his heart. His fingers tangled in the long hair, his legs around the slim waist he opened himself up as wide as possible. Still his head ached, and his heart was a hammering thing in his ribcage. As the man released his seed he said something in a language that sounded both like a hiss and a melody. Shortly after he lay shivering in Holmes’ arms, slick and warm.
Then something slick and warm went down his body into his navel, lower, lips nibbling at his pubic hair, finding his prick, still hard.
“No…” Holmes couldn’t breathe. He tried to catch the hands away from his private parts – futile attempt. He was sucked into a black hole, everything turned upside down. Long hair tickled at his thighs and his balls were tightly wrapped in the guy’s hair. He bit his tongue, seeing stars behind his eyelids. He needed to come, he wanted to… Again he moaned as if in pain, which he actually was. Then he had to gasp. The Asian had released him, stood up and fetched something from the small table in the back of the room. He returned with a flask in his hand and a devious smile on his face.
“What…” Holmes croaked. Lan took a great sip and again Holmes’ prick was engulfed in the sweet whole formed by two full lips. This time Holmes dug his nails into the sheets.
“No…” The sensation overwhelmed him. He felt like a fish swimming in a deep ocean, everything around him was rolling and moving, like waves in perfect rhythm with the sucking on his flesh. He nearly fainted when he came. Lan Yu swallowed everything, his semen and the tea he had used on Holmes. He smiled down on the detective, kissed him again, licked at his throat and waited until he had regained strength, strands of his hair still clinging to Holmes’ face.
After a while Holmes asked:
“What is it called?”
“What is what called?”
“This incredible technique you used on me.”
“Throw me back into the sea.”
“Who taught you this?” But he got no answer and after a while he fell into an exhausted sleep. Black eyes watched him, watched over him in his sleep.
When he woke up the next morning Lan Yu had vanished without a trace. Slowly and in a measured way Holmes rearranged himself and the room. It took him a long time to get back to Baker Street. When he arrived he barely took notice of Watson sitting by the fire reading. Absentmindedly he answered his greeting, took a bath, went into his bedroom and slept like the dead for several hours.
In the following months he tried to forget the incident. But the black eyes still haunted him in his dreams.