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Jan. 4th, 2012 08:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skidmo_ficTitle: Subjunctive Fingers
Rating: PGish
Pairing: David Posner/Sherlock Holmes
Word Count: 340
Warning: none, really
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me...sadly
Feedback: yes, please.
Summary: Just a snippet based loosely on RP. Inspired by the finger!pr0n in the newest Sherlock episode
Sherlock’s fingers are lovely. They’re long and pale and slender, just like the rest of him, but there’s a perfection in them that doesn’t exist in the rest of him. Precise and specific in their movements, even when they’re just restless. Even when they just twine distractedly between David’s and he knows that Sherlock is thinking about something else, probably a million something elses, maybe even a million someone elses.
Sometimes David thinks about those fingers touching him in a way they never do and never will.
He’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a longing in those thoughts, but that’s not at all unusual for him, nor are Sherlock’s the only fingers he’s thought of that way. He notices lots of hands, lots of fingers. Most of them, in fact. He’s even noticed some feminine fingers on feminine hands on feminine bodies. (Few, but the occurrence must be noted.)
He doesn’t notice every hand. Or not enough to start thinking of them the way he sometimes thinks of Sherlock’s hands. Not with that longing and wondering.
It doesn’t bother him that his thoughts about Sherlock’s fingers will forever be in the realm of ‘what if.’ It’s a bit like Dakin, really. He always knew that he and Dakin would only ever be, well, subjunctive. Possible, not actual.
Sherlock’s fingers are subjunctive in the same way. A slim and perfect possibility, never to be realized.
He’s not starved for sex. There are others. A regular if not exactly steady stream of men, young and old, mostly strangers, the occasional friend or acquaintance.
Sherlock is cataloging them, he thinks. Or perhaps it’s just that Sherlock does catalog them, the way he does everything else. Perhaps it’s that he can’t help but catalog them.
So David goes off with them for an evening and comes back in time to make sure Sherlock eats breakfast.
And those lovely, precise, pale and slim, subjunctive fingers curl around a cup of tea David brewed, and David watches and wonders and keeps both to himself.
Rating: PGish
Pairing: David Posner/Sherlock Holmes
Word Count: 340
Warning: none, really
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me...sadly
Feedback: yes, please.
Summary: Just a snippet based loosely on RP. Inspired by the finger!pr0n in the newest Sherlock episode
Sherlock’s fingers are lovely. They’re long and pale and slender, just like the rest of him, but there’s a perfection in them that doesn’t exist in the rest of him. Precise and specific in their movements, even when they’re just restless. Even when they just twine distractedly between David’s and he knows that Sherlock is thinking about something else, probably a million something elses, maybe even a million someone elses.
Sometimes David thinks about those fingers touching him in a way they never do and never will.
He’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a longing in those thoughts, but that’s not at all unusual for him, nor are Sherlock’s the only fingers he’s thought of that way. He notices lots of hands, lots of fingers. Most of them, in fact. He’s even noticed some feminine fingers on feminine hands on feminine bodies. (Few, but the occurrence must be noted.)
He doesn’t notice every hand. Or not enough to start thinking of them the way he sometimes thinks of Sherlock’s hands. Not with that longing and wondering.
It doesn’t bother him that his thoughts about Sherlock’s fingers will forever be in the realm of ‘what if.’ It’s a bit like Dakin, really. He always knew that he and Dakin would only ever be, well, subjunctive. Possible, not actual.
Sherlock’s fingers are subjunctive in the same way. A slim and perfect possibility, never to be realized.
He’s not starved for sex. There are others. A regular if not exactly steady stream of men, young and old, mostly strangers, the occasional friend or acquaintance.
Sherlock is cataloging them, he thinks. Or perhaps it’s just that Sherlock does catalog them, the way he does everything else. Perhaps it’s that he can’t help but catalog them.
So David goes off with them for an evening and comes back in time to make sure Sherlock eats breakfast.
And those lovely, precise, pale and slim, subjunctive fingers curl around a cup of tea David brewed, and David watches and wonders and keeps both to himself.
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Date: 2012-01-08 08:46 pm (UTC)