Proud: Rating: Mature
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holmes_gendersTitle: Proud
'Verse: ACD
Pairing: Victor Trevor/Sherlock Holmes
Length: 500
Rating: Mature for anal sex
Notes: Trans Holmes. Takes place during "The Gloria Scott" Bittersweet. First love.
Summary: The first person who told Holmes he should be proud of who he was was Victor Trevor.
“Proud?” Sherlock Holmes ejaculated. “What should I be proud of? My intellectual ‘tricks’? Or,” he huffed with exasperation and waved at his body, “the rest of it?”
Victor Trevor scrambled out of the water and joined Holmes on the towel. “All of it, head and heart and body,” said he in his usual baritone. “Listen, mate, maybe you don’t see it, but most of the world is moths, born moths, die moths, and spend their mothy lives bumping against screens and lights and windows without knowing why, but you, you sir, are a butterfly. Born to transform, born to inspire poetry, wonder, extraordinary things.”
Holmes blinked. “You really believe that?”
“I know it, and I’ll always know it. You ever doubt it, you remember that Victor Trevor said you were something special, something to be very proud of.”
“Trevor.”
They kissed and entangled their damp naked bodies in ways that were becoming easy and natural to them. Eventually, the flask of oil was plucked from the satchel that had served as picnic hamper. Holmes rolled onto his belly, and Trevor rolled atop him. Trevor kept his body as close to Holmes’ as the act allowed.
“You should be proud of this, too,” growled Trevor, “you gorgeous sod.”
“I believe you are doing the sodding,” teased Holmes. “I am merely the sodded.” He wriggled his bottom.
Trevor laughed and bit the nape of Holmes’s neck and spent.
“Victor,” said Holmes, his voice and body quaking.
“I know, love. Come here.”
Trevor folded Holmes into an embrace as strong and warm as late August sun, and they stayed like that for a very long time.
---
“Trevor!”
“Holmes. I’ve got to go. I don’t want to leave you, but I can’t stay, and you can’t come with me. You see that, don’t you?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—"
“Hey, hey, hey, my father made his choices. Hudson and Beddoes made theirs. You just, you know, saw the tip of the cat’s tail before everybody else did. As usual. That’s all. Hey.” He sunk a hand in Holmes’s dark hair and gripped him hard, holding him steady, as he kissed him, hard and desperate. “Remember, you’re proud butterfly.”
“You, you,” stammered Holmes.
“Nah, I’m a moth. I was a moth, that is, but fate has seen fit to rip my bloody wings off, and now I’m going to have to fashion some new wings. Out of what, I can’t fathom. But I know I can’t do it here. But, as God is my witness, I’m going to miss you, Sherlock Holmes, down to the tips of my bloody fingernails. But I think we both knew I was just an early chapter in your story.” He winked.
“Trevor.”
“I’ve got to get an early start tomorrow, but we’ve got tonight.”
“Yes, yes, I want to be—”
“As close as the laws of nature allow?”
“Yes!” Then Holmes whispered, “Face-to-face?”
“Yeah?”
Holmes hummed. “Give us both a proud and proper send-off.”
'Verse: ACD
Pairing: Victor Trevor/Sherlock Holmes
Length: 500
Rating: Mature for anal sex
Notes: Trans Holmes. Takes place during "The Gloria Scott" Bittersweet. First love.
Summary: The first person who told Holmes he should be proud of who he was was Victor Trevor.
“Proud?” Sherlock Holmes ejaculated. “What should I be proud of? My intellectual ‘tricks’? Or,” he huffed with exasperation and waved at his body, “the rest of it?”
Victor Trevor scrambled out of the water and joined Holmes on the towel. “All of it, head and heart and body,” said he in his usual baritone. “Listen, mate, maybe you don’t see it, but most of the world is moths, born moths, die moths, and spend their mothy lives bumping against screens and lights and windows without knowing why, but you, you sir, are a butterfly. Born to transform, born to inspire poetry, wonder, extraordinary things.”
Holmes blinked. “You really believe that?”
“I know it, and I’ll always know it. You ever doubt it, you remember that Victor Trevor said you were something special, something to be very proud of.”
“Trevor.”
They kissed and entangled their damp naked bodies in ways that were becoming easy and natural to them. Eventually, the flask of oil was plucked from the satchel that had served as picnic hamper. Holmes rolled onto his belly, and Trevor rolled atop him. Trevor kept his body as close to Holmes’ as the act allowed.
“You should be proud of this, too,” growled Trevor, “you gorgeous sod.”
“I believe you are doing the sodding,” teased Holmes. “I am merely the sodded.” He wriggled his bottom.
Trevor laughed and bit the nape of Holmes’s neck and spent.
“Victor,” said Holmes, his voice and body quaking.
“I know, love. Come here.”
Trevor folded Holmes into an embrace as strong and warm as late August sun, and they stayed like that for a very long time.
---
“Trevor!”
“Holmes. I’ve got to go. I don’t want to leave you, but I can’t stay, and you can’t come with me. You see that, don’t you?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—"
“Hey, hey, hey, my father made his choices. Hudson and Beddoes made theirs. You just, you know, saw the tip of the cat’s tail before everybody else did. As usual. That’s all. Hey.” He sunk a hand in Holmes’s dark hair and gripped him hard, holding him steady, as he kissed him, hard and desperate. “Remember, you’re proud butterfly.”
“You, you,” stammered Holmes.
“Nah, I’m a moth. I was a moth, that is, but fate has seen fit to rip my bloody wings off, and now I’m going to have to fashion some new wings. Out of what, I can’t fathom. But I know I can’t do it here. But, as God is my witness, I’m going to miss you, Sherlock Holmes, down to the tips of my bloody fingernails. But I think we both knew I was just an early chapter in your story.” He winked.
“Trevor.”
“I’ve got to get an early start tomorrow, but we’ve got tonight.”
“Yes, yes, I want to be—”
“As close as the laws of nature allow?”
“Yes!” Then Holmes whispered, “Face-to-face?”
“Yeah?”
Holmes hummed. “Give us both a proud and proper send-off.”
