My three or four Iodine or l'angoisse readers, this is a story with Irene and Holmes but it's no good. You may as well skip it if you like.
Everyone else should just read if you want to, it is just a sad excuse for a sad excuse of porn which is the true spirit of most fanfiction isn't it? I always start excusing myself, ha, well one must ask for apologies when one must.
I don't expect any good reviews, but since I don't even expect a single review I must say that I appreciate sincere horrible reviews too, I mean it; it's just interesting to know what someone else might think of something you wrote, even if you didn't put any heart into it.
Last, I put my Irene and my Holmes in a real psychological world, where a criminal has to have a certain unamusing profile which would make her criminal, and a very smart but unadapted man is a very smart unadapted man, not just a sexy, law-abiding, funny smartass; so no they'll never be exactly as in the movie. Well... I'll just stop talking now.
...
The sheets were undone, only covering his bottom and part of his legs as if he was being filmed for a movie scene of sexual subtext where careful measures must be undertaken to protect the modesty of an audience of not quite so liberal beliefs… Sun fell on his lower back… only the ascent of his left buttock was visible…
He lifted his head slightly from the pillow as he woke up, and when his eyes barely opened catching the white sun rays a headache exploded in his forehead and wormed along the wiry nerves overrunning his mind. He groaned and forcefully clammed his hands over his temples.
He dragged his legs messing up the sheets even more, the corner of them was caught around his shins, and so he continued barely protected around the shins, as he curled like a fetus. His penis felt small against his thighs, but that was only because just some hours ago it had been swollen, stretched out taut as the arms of men tend in reaching out for a goal.
Irene.
Irene is the goal and is a labyrinth. One must not only stretch out, but bend, twist and take turns. His penis just didn't have that much flexibility.
It had been a wild night. It hadn't been a necessity that it developed in such a way, but they both were deeply dissatisfied individuals, always on the look for the most minor of triggering events so they could live beyond what is allowed. Irene and Holmes moved there where they foresaw the most chances of being thrown out of balance.
They were dissatisfied with this world that forced them anyway to live one boring day after another.
Irene Adler, the thief and woman, had been confronted that day with Humiliation, probably for the third or fourth time in her life. The rotten crowd between which she mingled, were unworthy of her Holmes thought, as unworthy as the ordinary lot between which he was forced to walk were of the dénouement of his every moment. He professed no faith, he did not even professed science but he believed in Irene, she was in the world a shining Virgin, bearer of all that is good and sacred, mother of the future, a future which Holmes saw finally inhabited by Women, capricious overpowering beings, nymphs will jump on the grass of the continents and men will be both satiated and subdued, and at last his dissatisfaction will cease.
Moving then between her crowd in an isolated street, a pair of strong arms had squeezed her, she set herself up for a not unusual fight and suddenly darkness wrapped and crept into her with the realization that she couldn't move, those arms were too strong, her position too uncomfortable, and they dragged her and she could not do a thing, her feet scratching the dirt the sky fell on her and she began suffocating.
In the room to which she was dragged were other three men. These men of her kind, criminals, had at one time felt rejected if only because she was above all things Indifferent. Irene had never been able to care much for anything, not even herself, she was fickle, unreliable, always likely to break her word, duty was not amongst her vocabulary and she might even forget YOU. Irene was a great mocking laugh.
They had asked her one day if she would kill Edward. Edward was very rich and specialized in swindles, had made them then part of a scam once; they often crossed ways in the same pub and shared a story or two, but once, drunken, he had offended them. Irene had never killed anyone and pondered it as an opportunity.
"-Why not?", she had answered them.
The next day in the morning she sat before her dresser as she brushed her hair and began to scheme: "- I must go up to his country home and invite him for a walk… Oh! Bloody hell is too much hassle!" And just like that she had let the subject go.
These four men now regarded her as unprofessional and a traitor, as a woman who had disrespected them, and in doing so had made evident her 'haughty' lack of sexual interest for any of them.
Holmes was running around London looking for her, because she had let him stood up at the Royale; and though it wouldn't be the first time, in his recent past he lived haunted by the dreams and ideas of Irene in danger. Recent past: six months since he had met her. Times stood up at the Royale: three, and counting.
Always immobilized by two or three of them they had undressed her, then she had been pinned to the ground and received a kick to the ribs and swiftly another one to her face. She had been left without wind and the other kick almost knocked her out. She lost all strength and so they let her go. They slapped her twice on each cheek, they also slapped her body three or four times each, smiling playful like chimps, she said "ouch" in a moan, and they left.
She was alright.
She could breathe again, the slaps would only make a bruise or two, she had fast recovered from the almost-knock-out. In the end, she was only scraped, with her hair disheveled, naked and smeared with mud and muck all over, of which she had also eaten a little. She opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling and realized for the fourth time in her life while her tongue cleaned a chunk of dirt from her molar, that even she was Impotent before others and before circumstances, that she was Insignificant and depended on the good will of people, on the weather, on politics, and on the occurrences of her era. She wasn't a capable fighter and she should better understand that she would one day end in jail.
Holmes stepped into the room at first quietly, but then when making her out alone on the middle of the floor he rushed to her.
He put his hand on her cheek and fixed her hair a little. – Irene, are you alright?
Irene made a face, and broke crying. Holmes' face turned the color of pallor. He surrounded her shoulders and made her sit up and caressed her face while she cried on his shoulder.
Always observant, his eyes had made an accurate examination and determined she wasn't really injured, and yet she was crying and so he didn't really understand.
It's alright, it's alright Irene. What hurts? Tell me what hurts. – When she didn't answer he whispered it to her cheekbone: - Does anything hurt you?
Again no response and so his hand went to her ribcage, he felt around, went to her leg.
Holmes' heart began pounding frantic against her ear and at last she shook her head and answered between cries: - No, I'm alright Holmes, nothing hurts. – She heard his heart gradually slowing down its beat.
He was about to ask: "well then, what's the matter?" when he took a second look at her naked body, her naked body covered in muck and her disheveled hair, the fading red marks of slaps, and so he understood Irene felt humiliated and ashamed, and powerless and fearful of what she could not control or evade.
He put his cheek against hers.
…
…- I've only met you 15 times. - He said. He would not follow it by the "and I care too much about you", but they both knew what that comment he had made to himself meant.
15 times. The first time he had stopped her from stealing. The second time she had paid him a visit to congratulate him on figuring out it had been her under that black hood and that black man's outfit. The third time she had played a joke on him and led him to an inexistent crime scene, he had found her there laughing and he had much preferred that to a crime. The fourth time was a very short date. The fifth time he kissed her fiercely and reasoned that they were much too old to flirt, then turned red and walked out of the place rashly. The sixth time was a date of normal length. The seventh time was a fight because it was the first time he got stood up and they took it as the trigger and they had sex.
How could it be that they were certain to know each other fairly well?
He kissed her cheek, and she laid her lips gently on his. Holmes kissed them. She deepened the kiss. Holmes hugged her tighter.
In the bathtub Irene surrendered to her mortal insignificant stance and let Holmes clean her up. With her eyes closed she did not see him roll his eyes at how insignificant he knew she felt. He knew those men still felt humiliated and unworthy of her, she had him on his wet knees beside her. How many people were capable of inspiring as much spontaneous love?
… - I want champagne.
… - I have champagne.
- A good one?
- Of course.
….
…. – I'm leaving you alone for a while Irene.
- Why? – but immediately she realized she knew why, – Are you going after them?
Holmes poured a vase of water on her head and Irene crossed her arms. He smiled a little.
- Yeah.
- Of course… I'm going with you.
-Are you sure? Why don't you just stay and drink all of my champagne?
- Nah, there's no fun in drinking alone.
He left her to get dressed and she entered the sitting room in a tailored black suit and a black fur coat, and a hat pulled as low as that of Holmes. They had to stand close for the shadow of the brim to let their eyes be shown. Holmes kissed her on the mouth appreciative of her panther-like presence, and then they took off.
She knew who they were and where one might usually find them. However, it was the gossip of the year, among her kind, that Irene was dating that uber-famous detective who had caught everyone they knew. They were on the run then. Don't matter, Holmes had now in his head recollections of little details from where he had found her, and now from their usual hovel, as well as tales heard from her to go on.
They went into a house of vice and stayed a while talking with this person and that one. Irene got distracted, sat at the bar and had the time to order two shots.
They both looked completely out of place. The women there wore shreds and too much make up. And Holmes was using money and usual snitches to get information instead of an attitude and a costume, therefore he looked too serious and his factions very well put together. Somehow their extravagance made them fit anyway.
Holmes went and took her black leather gloved hand. – Are you done?, he asked.
They went out of there and shared the same cigarette along the road.
Inside a pub Holmes was done questioning and Irene decided they should dance. He did not want to but she held on to him with absurd resolution. He moved her along the rhythm and Irene smiled somewhat mockingly. – I don't appreciate you having fun with me. – Oh but I DO have fun with you -. She had fun with him and that is just what anyone would want, isn't it?
At their next spot they found one of them, hiding in a hidden room on the second floor of another pub. Holmes dragged him by the collar and pushed him outside, dealt with his struggles. Irene watched him punch him into unconsciousness, saw his face gradually bulge and blister. They left him in an okay state, nothing a few frozen stakes couldn't fix over the days, even though he was groaning like an agonizing man.
When standing up over him Holmes had thought of sending him to jail, but Irene spoke and said: - Retaliation, fair retaliation.- It was enough then, yes it was enough.
The next two they found crouching on the cold corner of a railway station. The train wouldn't come until forty minutes later and they trembled in their cowering wait. They each had only a small suitcase for petty criminals of their kind lacked always something to lose.
They tried to run away from Holmes but Irene cut their way taking a blade out from somewhere beneath her coat and brandishing it in a wide circular motion, which cut the shoulder of one of them. Holmes was there in the next second and they were ambushed. He kicked their shins and made them fall to the ground.
When they were disoriented he stood there wondering what he would do in the name of justice.
Irene stood by his side and said, her index signaling: - Let him go. About him… - She handed Holmes a piece of iron that was designed to have a good grasp on it and have it cover one's knuckles. - I don't need this. – Don't hurt your hand.
He looked at the iron covering his hand and felt afraid he might make too much harm. But he then decided he could control his strength.
He tried it out punching his stomach first. The guy barely complained and he followed it with a swift punch to his right cheek from his naked hand. The pain going up the bones of his arm spurred him and the iron-covered hand followed. Nothing happened; another from his naked hand, then iron and he heard the molars ripping away from the gums.
- Your lady. – Said the guy swallowing blood and seeming having turned stupid. – Has a heavy bush.
He pressed his throat then with his left hand, and choking him used only his right iron fist in the battle. Irene thought she might murder her first man via her lover.
But he was regulating his strength.
He stopped, there on his knees panted and managed to say: -I think it's enough.
The guy indeed was still breathing, but that was about all he did.
- Let's go -, he finished.
Irene put an arm around his waist and they walked through the doors of the train station.
- Now we just have to find that guy, Feld, it shouldn't be difficult.- He was still panting, and sweating.
- But you're tired.
- Irene, please! -, he said rolling his eyes.
- Okay, maybe you're not, but I'm done with this.
- I'm not! Or what is it about this Feld that you want to defend him?
- I'm not, but we've been at this for four hours.
- Yes, well, that's what a case is like.
- Can't you just let it go?
- No!
Feld is just a very dumb man, I'm telling you.
- So you're fine with it?
- Nothing happened to me. I'm disappointed at myself, but nothing happened to me.
- It is preposterous that you're disappointed.
- Is it?
- If I had to fight alone with four men I'd be in serious trouble.
Indeed the length of their quest, and the brutality of this last beating had Irene wanting to quit. But Homes was not fickle, he was stubborn, and since leaving Baker Street he had not stopped frowning. She reckoned he was furious, but she just wanted to kiss him and soothe him.
She put her arms around his neck and gave him a tender tender kiss.
Then with a bit of a pout and a low voice she said: - Let's go to your punchbowl. Maybe there you'll calm down.
He shrugged.
He felt very angry and so he bet a lot. When this didn't work he took his shirt off and offered himself as a fighting cock. He had to fight with two for his rage to finally be quenched, and then with other two just because he was having fun and wished to be exhausted. After that he found Irene drinking and so he accompanied her gladly.
She sat on his lap cleaning a split under his eye. They had a few laughs. And then in a dark corner Irene began caressing his torso, which naked had turned her on while he fought. And Holmes kissed her deep and lascivious. She sat astride him and that eventually made his cock harden.
Staggering of drunkenness they arrived to Baker Street, where Mrs. Hudson decided she would ignore the moans that sounded in the house with the opening of the door and the thuds following them up the stairs.
They were at last in his bedroom.
The intimacy of it made them suddenly very quiet.
Holmes stood with his back against the door he had just closed and she just looked at him, two steps away. Their chests heaving. Yes they knew they were about to see each other naked, and touch everything and lick indecorous places, and he would penetrate her, he would penetrate her. It was an absolutely self-revealing act, between the two of them anyway. That room had become a confessionary.
Finally he took those steps and put a hand under her jaw, the other on her hip and he kissed her. He turned them, cornered Irene to the door, pressed only a little bit against her. Irene felt the bulge of his erection and she covered his wide back under his armpits, pulling him closer against her, close until they felt nothing but warmth and every movement was the sound of fabric in friction. They moaned quietly with every difficult breath, which only exacerbated their excitement. Their lips and tongues were slow and yet insistent, rubbing in a real touch.
He suctioned her bottom lip and separated taking her head in his hands, looked at her red shiny lip, inclined to kiss her again, flutters of kisses this time. Irene caressed his sides and moaned more sensually, that is, longer, her voice more silky, long stroke of silk, her eyes closed inevitably and her diaphanous cheeks clearly patched red and pink.
Through caresses she tugged his shirt out. Her coat fell to the ground, and when he had unbuttoned her jacket his hands took hold of her waist in a massing grip, right under her breasts, his mouth was now occupying itself with her jaw, her ear, her neck. She began to feel weak in the knees. His hands on her ribs truly possessed her, in their greed the kneading moved her breasts, his groin emanated heat, his hard chest when heaving crushed her deliciously, his teeth and tongue did marvels.
He took her jacket off, and as she hung to his neck and tousled the hair at the back of his head in a deep kiss, she slid his jacket off him, pushing ahead so they would walk to the bed. Holmes felt his erection throbbing. Irene fluidly pulled his shirt up and he let her slip it off.
Sitting on the bed he pulled her to him by the waistband of her trousers. He undid the buttons and pulled them down, neither slowly nor fast. Irene stepped out of them while she unbuttoned her own shirt.
She was wearing absolutely provocative underwear, lace in a lot of places letting the skin be seen, panty hose attached to a garter, all black like her outwear. She undid her hairdo and then slowly sat astride him. Holmes was looking at her with eyes that shone too much in that darkness, took her waist and caressed it up and down, then one of her legs. He let himself go and began kissing her cleavage as his hands attached to her buttocks and pulled her to press against his sensitive groin.
He pulled the left cup of her brassiere down, the strap falling down her shoulder and sucked at the nipple. Her nipples were big, clear and pointy; it was one part of her body that he liked better. Irene hissed in delight. He unhooked her brassiere and detached Irene's arms from his neck so he could take the piece of garment off. It fell down her arms, and thinking only of his own desire sucked her other nipple, rubbed and pinched the last one, which was still humid. Irene hissed again, and moaned. Finally he laid his hands on her back, and lied down with her on top of him.
They kissed for some time, somehow always feeling different. Holmes was definitely transported, forgetting sometimes the character of who he was with, and of course he wouldn't think of Mrs. Hudson in the room downstairs who was hearing everything (intently by the way). Irene's hand sneaked and massed his groin. It could not grow thicker and yet Holmes' moans let her know it was giving him pleasure.
Irene too was in a surreal state of mind, Holmes had become a male, a wondrous male in more of an anatomic sense than anything else. She wanted him to pierce her.
She finally undid the buttons and clumsily pulled down, he kicked them off the bed. She played with his underwear, gripped his right butt cheek. Holmes felt ablaze, and tried to touch as much of her as he could. He was touching everything. He too was fondling her butt.
- Irene. – He whispered unthinkingly because of the roundness of her butt.
His mouth began to play with her neck and went down her body, from her clavicle it went to her shoulder and she turned a little so he could kiss the back of it. He nibbled her shoulder and they both smiled. Pushing it gently down she came to lie on her stomach. He licked the soft flawless skin of her back, also in several lovebites and pecks, all the way down until reaching her panties, while she undulated; he stretched the band of her panties and pulled them down. Massaging her buttocks kept drawing them until they reached her feet and he untangled them off. He looked at her. Her buttocks were round, white, heart shaped; her panty hose still remained attached to the garter. He thought he would lose his mind.
Irene heard him moan and smiled. He lied slightly on top of her and licked her ear as he stroked his fingers along the front of her belly, from her belly button to her sides; her muscles there started quivering, and she felt his groin, still covered by his underwear, pressing against her between her buttocks. Irene's lips opened to whimper and then panted away. Holmes's hand went down and touched her then, rubbing her slowly with just the right amount of pressure. Irene impulsively opened both her legs and mouth wider. His hand started becoming wet and viscous from her. Her buttocks and the muscles of her thighs tightened. She moaned again, she moaned all the while. He inclined to kiss her cheek, put one finger beneath her entrance, and kissed her nape as he slipped one finger in. Irene moaned. Inside it felt too wide and slippery for that single finger, but he moved it in and out anyway. His own precum was wetting his underwear now, and she could feel it.
He at last turned her around. She lied there completely blushed, her knees bent, breathing with difficulty, her stomach sinking and becoming too taut in a frantic and attractive rhythm, her breasts also stretched a bit when she inhaled. Her dark pubic hair also excited him. A weird sensation took hold of him, it was as if he wanted to eat her. Holmes was blushed too and could only try not to gasp so loudly.
He unhooked the strings from her garter and bent down to kiss the insides of her thighs. Irene trembled and closed her eyes, she felt close, way too close. Sliding his hands up her thighs he went up kissing the inside of her leg, then he slowly pulled one panty hose down, then the other. He kissed each ankle and other parts of her feet as each turned naked.
He knelt still for a while observing her, treating his senses and allowing her to recover a little; she had her eyes closed and tried to breathe deeply and gain back a bit of composure. He put a hand inside his underwear and began touching himself. Irene opened her eyes, looked at him, whimpered and closed them again. 'You're torturing me', she thought.
With a little bit more power of will and a mischievous spirit, she used her elbows to support herself up a bit and now looked at him, down up and down again. – Take your underwear off already -, she said.
He did, and trembled when he saw Irene lick her lips unconsciously fixing her eyes on his penis.
Should it be weird that Irene found that part of his anatomy elegant? And just a little bit above, his hipbones protruded, and the muscles of his stomach traced a route on his skin. Irene's head said no very discreetly as she thought he was one of the most attractive men in this world without a doubt.
She budged closer to him and sitting up put one arm around his upper back and kissed him, and then her other hand touched gently his testicles. He jumped a little, only because he was excited. He put his hands on her thighs, amongst all motives also for a bit of support. That same hand later stroked his erection, from the base to the tip. Holmes rashly moved his mouth off hers gasping and turned his head slightly right, desperate to breath; but she found his mouth again, and her hand did just the same. He moaned once piteously, and she smiled.
Both kissing her and stealing her air, he decided to let his tongue go deeper. Irene groaned and lost just for a second the control of her hand. He was encouraged, so took the back of her head and kissing her in the most lustful way he could, he slowly pushed and lied on top of her and between her legs. Irene accelerated the motion of her hand, Holmes caressed her inner thighs and made her separate them more. He took her wrist commandingly and put it above her head. Irene whimpered again knowing what would come. He thrust the head of his penis inside her.
Irene's voice made too many sensual imploring sounds to name. Holmes sank his nose on the part where her neck met her shoulder and inhaled deeply, because he could smell it all and sweating, or freshly showered, and turned on, the smell of her was always a bewildering pleasure. He pressed his buttocks and slid deeper in. Gasping, she too turned her head and kissed his cheek. He put his forearms beside her head and started sliding in and out in a gentle rhythm. At one moment he pecked her nose and that made her open her eyes. They looked at each other through heavy eyelids and small sensuous gapes, sharing hot breaths again. Holmes put his hand to her cheek, then moved some strands of hair beneath her ear. This changed Irene's gesture only minimally, but it looked like an expression full of love.
Holmes could not contain himself and whispered: - You're beautiful.
Irene's breathing changed, it was only a little bit deeper, as if she was about to reach orgasm. Her eyes closed in a flutter.
When she opened them again he pecked her lips, and she wrapped her arms around his back. Slowly, her hands went to his hard buttocks and massed them. Holmes moaned and controlled himself, did all he could not to go faster. Right then, what he wanted was for it to last.
At last, she began to feel the heat climb from the tips of her toes and her fingers, to the center of her body, right to her head. She began to whimper continuously. Holmes felt it too, all of it. Her insides clammed around him. He tried to kneel, he tried to get out, but Irene pressed his buttocks and pushed up against him. He was somewhat surprised but his rationality was diminished. He succumbed to his delirium, just as she seemed to want him to, and as she orgasmed so did he, filling her with his sperm.
He wasn't alarmed and neither was she. Their skin was tickling and burning, and they even found pleasure in such a thoughtless act. They suddenly felt very very in love.
Cradling her neck he kissed her cheek, jaw, up to her mouth. Irene reciprocated ardently.
They fell asleep.
And now he had woken up wearing the crown to their previous day: an almighty headache.
Somebody came and began hammering a portrait to the door. Irene woke up groaning. Holmes knew nobody would do that and so he called: - Who is it?!
The wise voice of Mrs. Hudson trespassed the wood. – I brought you breakfast!
- Just leave it outside Mrs. Hudson!
- It's past twelve. I brought you TWO breakfast!
Irene groaned again. – Oh let her in, please just stop yelling.
- The two of us? - , he said towards Irene.
- The woman heard of course, she doesn't have a problem. Let her in.
- We're naked!
- IT WILL GO COLD!
- Let her in, let her in!
He quickly wrapped them both in the sheet ridiculously and when Mrs. Hudson came in they looked like caterpillars.
- Come in!
Mrs. Hudson pretended not to look, but Holmes caught her getting glances of them many, many times.
- You know Mrs. Hudson, this is highly inappropriate.
- So are you Mr. Holmes, so are you. – She closed the door behind her, her perverted curiosity enough satisfied.
He made his torso free form the sheet, and complained between his teeth, - I've never trusted that woman.
- You're covered in bruises Sherlock.
- Punchbowl.
- Right. I just thought you had done better. – Holmes rolled his eyes, she smirked.
- Are you hungry?
- I'm thirsty.
- Okay.
Holding on to the sheet on his mid-section he stood up and tried to go for the tray, but when trying to wrap it around him, Irene yanked and didn't let him.
- Take the other sheet Irene!
- What for? – She said in complete incomprehension looking at him with big big blue eyes.
Surrendering, he sighed and let his shoulders fall, released the fabric. He shook his head, but still naked went to get the tray. He returned to a smiling Irene.
- You're horribly annoying woman, did you know that?
Irene only gave him her sympathy through a mockingly sympathetic smile and took the glass of water.
He sat down next to her, looked at the window. – Yesterday was insane.
- I know, it was awesome.
- My head is pounding like a drum.
- Mine too. That's not quite as awesome.
Holmes smirked. Irene could be terribly silly, and boyish too…
When the glass was drained she began eating one of the omelets. And she quite fortuitously commented: - You came inside me.
Holmes inflicted a wary look on her. She was just eating. - … Yes… You remember you didn't let me go don't you?
- If we have a kid. You're raising him too.
- I never said I wouldn't.
- Fine.
Holmes started eating too. And they finished their breakfast in silence.
The day for them would be starting at 2 pm; what a promising hour to start screwing up a perfectly ordinary day.