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Walking alone through Leicester Square at night was a mistake. After rejecting five women on two streets, Barok Van Zieks finally realized this.
He was in the area on an official errand. He had recently resigned from the prosecutor's office and, as usual, was returning all his credentials, keeping only the old prosecutor's badge he had inherited from his deceased brother Klint.
After the handover, Van Zieks sat alone in his office for the last time, until it was completely dark. Unfortunately, it's also when the theater was closing, and the square was packed with audience rushing home. To make things worse, his coachman had recently contracted typhoid fever and couldn't come to pick him up. Van Zieks was pushed along by the crowd, unable to escape it no matter how far he walked. It wasn't until the third woman on the street tugged at his sleeve that he realized he had wandered into Haymarket—London's most famous red-light district.
Knowing Haymarket wasn't for him, Van Zieks wanted to leave quickly. Just at that moment, he saw that woman.
The woman was very tall, a head taller than most women. To avoid drawing attention to her height, she had to walk with her knees bent. She had long, seaweed-like golden curls that cascaded down her back, swaying gently with her light steps. Beneath her hair, she wore a gaudy and revealing purple dress that almost completely exposed her waist, and the pale skin of her thighs was faintly visible in the night.
The night was a bit chilly, but she didn't seem to care. She hummed a song as she walked slowly, her beautiful green eyes casually wandering through the shop windows and passersby.
Those green eyes were captivating and mysteriously familiar, and they lingered on Van Zieks for a fleeting second. The woman smiled slightly at him, then quickly looked away, which gave Van Zieks a strange jolt in his heart. As if possessed, Van Zieks quietly followed her into a tavern on the street.
Noble gentlemen rarely frequented such inferior taverns. The gin served here was as weak as water, yet the workers who kept coming in were still drunk, drinking and smoking, loudly spouting vulgarities. Van Zieks found a quiet corner to sit in, watching the woman he eyed flit between the tables like a butterfly, but never glancing at his corner.
When the woman flew past him for the fifth time without even looking at him, Van Zieks finally couldn't resist reaching out to stop her. She tilted her head and smiled, then turned and, mimicking a noblewoman, lifted her skirt to curtsy at him, her eyes showing no trace of surprise.
“Lord Van Zieks, are you inviting me for a drink?”
Now that she called him by name, there was no need to play strangers. Van Zieks grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. A scrutinizing gaze swept over the man, taking in his sweet face beneath the heavy makeup, his meager chest encased, his slender waist, and his pale thighs in the dress. He looked no different from any other woman of the night.
“Holmes, what are you doing here?”
“I suppose this is none of your business, Prosecutor, no, former Prosecutor.” Holmes’ smile and patience lasted only three seconds. He changed expression swiftly, and shook off Van Zieks’s hand. “I have a lot on my plate.”
Holmes turned to leave, but Van Zieks grabbed his wrist again.
“Busy making money as a barmaid?” Anger made Van Zieks sarcastic, though he didn’t know where it came from. He forcefully pulled Holmes’s wrist, mimicking the actions of the previous customer, and awkwardly shoved ten pounds into Holmes’s palm. “I will pay you.”
“You will pay me?” Holmes stared at the notes in his hand for a moment, then slowly smiled. He was casually tossing his long, blond hair that hung down his chest with his free hand, his every move exuding a charm and allure Van Zieks had never seen before. "Do you know what that means?"
That smile sent a shiver down Van Zieks's spine. The recently retired prosecutor swallowed nervously, insisting, "I want to know."
The woman studied his expression for a moment, then suddenly let out a soft, seductive laugh. She grabbed Van Zieks's wrist and led him up the stairs from the back door of the tavern.
The stairs led to a corridor on the second floor of the tavern, lined with doors on both sides. Holmes opened one, pushed Van Zieks inside, and turned on the gas lamp.
Van Zieks surveyed the room in the dim light. A roughly made table and chairs sat beside the tightly closed dark curtains. A small door next to it led to the bathroom. Besides that, there was only a large bed in the center of the room. The room was simply furnished, yet had a detective's characteristic chaotic style. Strange props, whose functions he couldn't identify, were scattered all over the floor, making it difficult to walk through. The famous deerstalker hat with goggles and the pipe lay on the bedside table, along with three ill-fitting dresses of the same style as what the detective was wearing right now.
This seemed to be one of the detective's secret hideouts. What did Holmes want with him here? Van Zieks wondered, until Holmes abruptly pulled him against the door.
A strong scent of perfume wafted over him, when the beautiful woman embraced his neck and kissed him fiercely. Van Zieks gasped. He should say no, but his body reacted before his mind could. He was responding to that passionate kiss.
How long had it been since he'd kissed those lips? Van Zieks wondered mindlessly. Long-buried memories surfaced one by one, like Pandora's box pried open by Holmes' kiss, releasing sinful desires that should have filled him with shame. Yet his body craved Holmes' kiss far more than he had imagined. His lips, against his will, opened willingly, his tongue intertwining with Holmes'. The familiar faint smell of tobacco and cheap alcohol on Holmes' breath, amidst the scent of perfume and cosmetics, made him feel dizzy. He tightened his grip on Holmes' waist, the exposed pale skin pressing against his belt buckle, making a soft jingling sound. Van Zieks was lost in this long-awaited kiss, unaware of the other's fingers fastened to his belt.
"What are you doing?"
It wasn't until the detective pulled down his trousers that Van Zieks snapped back to reality. How had things come to this? He only wanted to figure out the detective's motives behind posing as a prostitute at the tavern, not to actually become her patron and manipulated by her.
"Making love," the detective winked merrily, tiptoeing to peck at his nose. "You're paying me, isn't that what you're here for?"
Holmes thrust forward as he spoke. Their cocks rubbed tightly together through the woman's skirt, both feeling the tension in each other's bodies. Van Zieks couldn't help but let out a soft moan. Holmes chuckled, his right hand tracing down Van Zieks's waist, stroking his cock.
Van Zieks bit his lip, trying to suppress any more embarrassing moans, but he couldn't stop his cock from eagerly rising in the detective's hand. Pre-ejaculate quickly seeped from the tip, wetting the detective's hand with a gurgling sound. The detective leaned close to his ear and bit his earlobe. "Are you not looking forward to it too, Mr. Reaper?"
Holmes gazed into Van Zieks's eyes with his knees slowly lowering. He brought his cheek close to the erect cock, nuzzling it affectionately.
"Holmes—"
With another muffled groan from Van Zieks, Holmes opened his mouth and took the cock into his mouth.
The instant his cock was swallowed by the hot, tight mouth, a tingling pleasure surged through Van Zieks's spine like an electric current. Van Zieks instinctively thrust his hips, seeking more from the source of the pleasure.
The detective obediently opened his mouth, allowing the other to fill his entire oral cavity. Once the cock was fully inside, the tip pressing against the entrance of his throat, Holmes buried his head between Van Zieks's legs, and started to suck it skillfully. His long, blond hair spread out along the hem of his skirt, which then spread out and fell to the floor. With each of his motion, the long hair and the hem of his skirt rose and fell like waves on the old wooden floor. Holmes, with his voice strained, forced out faint moans, humming "Mr. Reaper" in a sweet melody.
The scene was so erotic and bizarre that Van Zieks dared not look any longer. He covered his eyes helplessly, in an illusion that he was truly being served by a prostitute.
Yet at the same time, he knew clearly that the one devouring his desire was not an ordinary prostitute. It was Sherlock Holmes, the great detective renowned for his reason and logic.
Holmes was giving him a blow job. It was something that rarely happened even during their young school days. The thought sounds so surreal that made Van Zieks feel lightheaded, yet the pleasure surging from his cock was so overwhelming and real. Van Zieks couldn't resist grabbing a handful of Holmes's golden curls and kissing them, as if trying to confirm that the alluring detective before him was real, and not a figment of his imagination.
Holmes lifted his eyes from beneath him. The long blond hair and makeup blurred the original handsomeness of the face, adding a touch of coquettishness. That face was now a beautiful mess from sucking Van Zieks's cock. His curls were disheveled, cheeks flushed, his mouth mingled with lipstick and saliva. But his sharp green eyes remained fixed on Van Zieks, as if the ex-prosecutor's were the prey being devoured by the detective.
This bizarre contrast only aroused Van Zieks more. A strange surge of competitiveness and possessiveness made him grip the blond hair tightly. With a slight exertion, the detective beneath hime let out a muffled groan of pain. This one didn't sound like a woman's, but it didn't evoke any pity from the former prosecutor. Instead, it spurred him to press the detective's head between his legs, while fucking the detective's throat even harder.
The poor door banged loudly from their movements. Van Zieks heard increasingly soft, woman-like moans. All the external stimuli amplified the most primal desires deep within his body, driving him to the brink of madness. Van Zieks could think of nothing, except pursuing pleasure in Holmes's mouth.
Holmes reached out and gripped his hips, sucking his cock even more passionately, opening every inch of his mouth and throat. Van Zieks thrust into the detective's throat again and again, lost in the overwhelming pleasure. Suddenly, Van Zieks covered his eyes and groaned, cumming into the detective's mouth.
Holmes didn't pull away, but gladly opened his mouth, letting the semen fill his throat. The thick, bitter fluid made him choked and coughed. The detective covered his mouth with one hand and gripped his skirt with the other, collapsing to the floor.
Van Zieks finally dared to look down at him. Through the disheveled, seaweed-like blond hair, he saw the other man's Adam's apple move as he swallowed his seed. As if still unsatisfied, Holmes stuck out his tongue and, with extremely slow movements, licked away the white fluid that had dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Van Zieks felt ashamed of his shameless act and turned his head away to avoid eye contact. Holmes, however, wouldn't allow him to escape. Like a snake, he crawled up Van Zieks's body, which was still leaning against the door, and grabbed his chin, sealing his lips with his own.
The lingering taste of semen in the other man's mouth made Van Zieks want to frown, and the thought that it was his own ejaculation made him even more nauseous. Holmes was definitely doing it on purpose. He sensed Van Zieks's disgust, yet he still whispered filthy in his ear, "You tastes as good as ever, Mr.Reaper..."
Van Zieks, still reeling from his orgasm, was too weak to retort. He leaned against the door pantingly, letting Holmes touched all over his body. His cock hung limply between his legs, the fluids and sweat staining Holmes's skirt. Holmes didn't seem to care, body nuzzling against Van Zieks like a rabbit in heat.
Van Zieks then noticed he was still very hard, the cock creating a bulge in his skirt. He stared at the exposed skirt and the pale skin underneath, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. he suddenly started to wonder if he was hallucinating. Even though nothing was happening here, he could still hear the creak of the wooden planks and the woman's muffled moans. His mind seemed hazy after the sex. Van Zieks drifted off for a few seconds there, letting the detective rub against him, before realizing the noise was coming from the next room.
The secret hideout Holmes had rented was just one of the rooms rented to prostitutes. In other words, real prostitutes could be doing business there at any time. Each room was separated by only a thin wall; if they could hear the woman next door, the woman next door could certainly hear them too.
By the time he realized it, Van Zieks had already been pushed onto the bed by Holmes.
The detective, like a child unwrapping a present, eagerly stripped the former prosecutor of layers of clothing—cloak, coat, waistcoat—until only a close-fitting white shirt and an elaborate cravat. The gas lamp cast a dim yellow light above them, making the thin white linen translucent, revealing the pale skin and mottled scars beneath. The detective stopped unbuttoning the shirt and instead gently stroked Van Zieks's scars through the fabric. The sensation of slender fingers caressing the scabbed scars was amplified through the linen fabric. Van Zieks hadn't been touched in so long, and his body, still incredibly sensitive from his recent orgasm. One touch was intense enough to make him tremble, and his desire rise again. He instinctively tilted his head back, uncertain whether to avoid or welcome the touch.
His pale neck peeked out from under his cravat, an invitation in Holmes's eyes. Holmes lowered his head and kissed him there, the light kisses tracing the jawline up to his earlobe. Then, he opened his mouth and took Van Zieks's earlobe into his mouth, whispering "Mr. Reaper" again。
The detective knew the earlobe was one of his most sensitive spots, yet the kisses and sounds lain down theree were deliberately seductive. Van Zieks couldn't help but let out broken moans from the pillow. But what reached his ears first was a soft moan from the woman in the next room. Van Zieks froze for a few seconds, suddenly overwhelmed by an indescribable shame—what difference was there between him, now moaning softly beneath the detective, and the prostitute next door?
This thought filled Van Zieks with unbearable shame and indignation. He immediately bit his lip, burying his face in the pillow, but he couldn't escape the detective on top of him.
As if reading his inner struggle, Holmes licked his earlobe lewedly with wet sounds. He chuckled and whispered, "A bit of a problem, isn't it? Mr. Reaper doesn't want to be seen lying beneath a man, does he?"
But the man on top of the Reaper wouldn't be any other man; it could only be that one and only detective in the world.
The prosecutor's usually sharp mind was already clouded by the unexpected developments of the night. And now, Holmes's teasing only made it more confused. Van Zieks shook his head helplessly. The detective's long fingers had somehow found their way to his hole. The touch of his fingertips awakened a long-suppressed desire within him, and Van Zieks instinctively spread his legs.
The emptiness and the yearning to be filled by Holmes, tormented him, utterly overwhelming his shame and rational thought. Holmes was still calling him by the nickname he hated most in the sweetest tone and the dim gaslight stinging his eyes. Van Zieks suddenly remembered that he had wished Holmes would stop calling him that; he had left the Old Bailey, and that damned nickname was no longer with him. But now, staring into those deep green eyes above him, the desire hidden behind the tease was laid bare in Holmes's eyes, which gave him an illusory feeling of being needed. So what was the matter of all those stupid names and curses? Van Zieks thought carelessly. Under Holmes's gaze, the shadow and mystery of the haunting curse vanished; He only wanted to immerse in the pleasure Holmes brought him with.
Van Zieks slightly shifted his hips, gently rubbing his heel against Holmes's bare back beneath his skirt. He practically pleaded with the detective, "I'll keep quiet."
Who could resist it when London's most beautiful prosecutor demanded sex from a man? At least, the greatest detective of the century couldn't. Holmes immediately inserted a finger inside him, and seeing no resistance in the man's hole, but rather a passionate welcome to it, he quickly inserted another.
Being opened again after so many years, the strange yet pleasurable sensation caused Van Zieks to involuntarily arch his back and wrap his arms around Holmes's neck. He let out a soft moan, and under Holmes's sudden, accelerated thrust, felt an urge to scream. Bearing in mind his promise to keep quiet, Van Zieks instinctively bit the other's shoulder to prevent a scream from being heard.
"Such a sharp tongue, no wonder you used to be a prosecutor."
Holmes gasped in pain, his hand, which had been on Van Zieks's waist, touched his own shoulder and found a few drops of blood. Embarrassed by the detective's teasing, Van Zieks blushed and licked the blood from the detective's fingertips as an apology. He then sheepishly licked the wound on the detective's shoulder.
Suddenly, Holmes stopped on top of him, withdrawing his fingers that had been carelessly exploring in his hole. Van Zieks felt a sudden emptiness and glanced at the detective with displeasure. However, Holmes stared at him expressionlessly, then abruptly pressed him back onto the sheets.
"What's wrong..." Van Zieks asked softly, squirming restlessly on the sheets. His hole was still openning eagerly, seemingly still savoring the detective's skillful fingers, yet yearning for something thicker and hotter. Holmes said nothing, simply leaning down and forcefully spreading Van Zieks's legs, leaving a tooth mark at the base of his thigh.
The detective's rare possessiveness and aggression made Van Zieks gaspe. But he had to admit, the dangerous aura emanating from Holmes only excited him more. His lower body was already soaked, and his lower abdomen throbbed slightly. If Holmes didn't act soon, he felt he would die from lust.
Finally, Holmes lifted his skirt with one hand and pressed his cock against his hole with the other. Van Zieks spreaded his legs willingly—his flexibility, once used to intimidate defendants in the courtrooms with his boots, was now only used to make the detective fuck him with more ease—he felt the other's cock slowly enter his body, until it was fully inside. Throughout the entire process, Holmes's emerald green eyes remained fixed on him, until Van Zieks could no longer bear that gaze that seemed to see into his soul. He reached out and wrapped his arms around Holmes's neck, burying his face in the other's long hair.
Only then did Van Zieks realize that whatever Holmes's initial purpose, from the moment he followed the detective into the tavern, he had become the detective's sole prey for the night—a victim of his own making.
Letting his skirt down, Holmes leaned down, cupped Van Zieks's face in his hands, and started to thrust forcefully. The hem of his skirt brushed against Van Zieks's abdomen, giving him the illusion of being fucked by a woman. But there was no woman, only Holmes fucking him in women's clothing—this thought sent chills down Van Zieks's spine. The detective's long curly hair cascaded down, like a shimmering transparent veil surrounding them, isolating them from the world. Accompanying the falling hair were Holmes's dense, deep kisses on his cheeks and lips. A strange feeling suddenly welled up in Van Zieks, as if his soul and body had merged with Holmes's, becoming a part of him.
But that wasn't enough; he wanted more. Van Zieks' long legs shamelessly locked around the detective's waist while he reached out and embraced Holmes's shoulders, tilting his face up for more kisses, thrusting his chest against the other's. He craved more physical intimacy, but only left more scratches on Holmes's back in vain. Holmes thrust into him mercilessly, his hard cock relentlessly carving through his body, as if trying to nailing him to the bed.
The rough sex surged even more intensely, sweetly pleasure from every part of his body. Van Zieks bit his lip hard, suppressing any more moans; he tasted the rust on his tongue.
In the secluded corner of London, the former prosecutor's long legs were entwined around the detective's waist, swaying with the detective's thrust.
When Holmes's cock hit his sweet spot again, Van Zieks almost screamed. He turned his head and bit down on the cravat that had been tossed onto the pillow, barely managing to keep his voice from leaking out. While he struggled to endure, the woman in the next room continued to moan intensely, as if venting the unspoken pleasure and pain for him. The distorted perception made Van Zieks feel as if he were the woman being devoured beneath Holmes, sometimes screaming with ecstasy on the detective's cock, sometimes sobbing and begging for the detective's mercy.
The night was getting darker. Footsteps and laughter echoed on the second floor of the tavern. This was followed by women's moans and men's growls, accompanied by the creak of the shaking beds. The sounds echoed in every closed room, creating a wanton symphony through the thin doors and walls.
Such things were not rare in London's red-light district. In this infamous neighborhood, hundreds, even thousands, of such secluded rooms lie hidden, each concealing its own secrets. The room where the detective and the former prosecutor now reside is no exception; their passionate encounter here is their shared secret. And within this intense and secretive embrace, nestled between their pressed chests, lies their own secrets, closest to their hearts.
Just as Van Zieks didn't' know why Holmes suddenly left years ago and then suddenly reappeared, Holmes perhaps didn;t know why Van Zieks suddenly abandoned his long-held title of prosecutor. Both are destined to guard secrets that belong only to themselves.
"Sherlock..." Van Zieks's mind drifted away in the waves of pleasure. He bit Holmes's shoulder again, trying to suppress a low sob, but the detective's name escaped his lips.
No matter how intimate the whispers, no matter how close the bodies, nothing can mend the years of separation, neither can bridge the gap between their hearts now. The response Van Zieks received was a fierce kiss from Holmes, the detective's kissed like a tempestuous onslaught, as if trying to drain every last drop of saliva, air, and even his broken soul from him.
But Holmes didn't. He simply lifted Van Zieks by the waist, guiding him onto his lap, adjusting them to face each other. The skirt fell to their joined bodies, concealing the erotic scene. Van Zieks's legs remained wrapped around Holmes's waist, and his weak body slumped into Holmes's arms. Holmes gently embraced him with open arms, but his hip didn't stop thrusting. The tip of his cock relentlessly ground against the sweet spot inside Van Zieks's body. Waves of tingling pleasure surged through his body, so intense that Van Zieks's toes curled up in pleasure. He helplessly bit his cravat, quietly welcoming his second orgasm of the night.
The white fluid splattered all over Holmes's skirt, completely ruining the already unsightly dress. Holmes casually lifted the skirt and wiped it on his lower abdomen, revealing the obscene sight of their joined bodies beneath. Overwhelmed by a mixture of pleasure and shame, Van Zieks's eyes reddened, and the groans he couldn't utter seemed to transform into tears that slipping down his face. Holmes leaned down and kissed away his tears, while Van Zieks whispering Holmes's name and weakly licking his earlobe.
Holmes's body stiffened for a few seconds, then suddenly tightened his embrace, so tight that Van Zieks felt as if he were melting into Holmes's bones. He couldn't help but let out a soft gasp. Holmes's thrusting became fiercer, the already less-than-gentle sex now transforming into a merciless fuck. Van Zieks was long since exhausted, slumped in Holmes's arms, his body rising and falling with each thrust, completely at the detective's mercy.
The sweat- and semen-stained sheet had fallen to the floor, making the room even more chaotic. Van Zieks had lost his consciousness for a while, until the detective filled him with his seed again. He was so full that when Holmes pulled out, there was a soft popping sound. The white fluid slowly flowed from his hole, down their intertwined legs, onto the bed.
Van Zieks bit his cravat, suppressing a final sob of satisfaction. His cocked had ejaculated too many times today and was utterly exhausted. Now, suddenly held in Holmes's hand, it trembled pitifully a few times, releasing only a small amount of thin fluid. Van Zieks was too exhausted to even feel shame; he simply slumped in Holmes's arms, gently carried back to the bed.
Holmes kissed his cheek again, then slowly rose from the bed. Was he leaving already? Listening to the fading footsteps, Van Zieks thought wearily. Holmes was always so unpredictable, appearing and disappearing without a trace. Perhaps he should have given up trying to understand the other's thoughts long ago.
It wasn't until a warm touch brushed against his thigh that Van Zieks's drowsy mind cleared slightly. He lowered his eyes and saw Holmes wiping the mess between his legs with a hot towel.
Why did he have to do this unnecessary thing? Van Zieks suddenly felt an urge to question the dectective, but even more so, an urge to cry. He covered his eyes with his hands, hiding his head under the pillow. He thought he must look pathetic to have elicited that weary, sad sigh from Holmes. But the detective said nothing, only gently cleaning the prosecutor's body and covering him with a clean sheet.
A sudden thud echoed in his ears. Van Zieks cautiously opened his eyes and saw Holmes finally remove the woman's dress and crawl naked into the sheets. Van Zieks tensed and curled up, only to be gently pulled into Holmes's embrace.
"Good night, Barok."
The tenderest kiss landed on the scar between his brows, and the familiar, faint scent of tobacco surrounded him. The prosecutor closed his eyes and slowly drifted off to sleep.
Lord Barok Van Zieks would never admit it, but in some dark, secluded corner of London, he was having the most peaceful sleep he had had in years.