An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Genderbending, Butch/Femme, Genderfluid Character, Romance, Fluff, Getting Together, POV John Watson, POV First Person, Crossdressing
Summary:
"I feel I should begin by saying—and I ask the gracious reader not to place judgment upon me until I have told all—that I have several times committed illicit acts against the Crown and, I will say, feel no remorse for them."
An AU where Watson and Holmes are women. Probably.
Notes:
Sometimes you just have to ask yourself, "What if Watson and Holmes were butch4femme women who messed around with their gender?" and then write 10k words about it.
A fic about various things I wanted to write about instead of rambling about them; focuses on Manta and Hannah. The whole thing is under the cut.
Manta didn’t expect his and Hannah’s connection to fizzle out the way it did.
Not that he was expecting anything specific; She wasn’t someone he would really consider a friend. At the same time, though, he couldn’t deny that they weren’t exactly strangers, either. They hung out sometimes, she tried to help him during his illegal race against Corto, and they bonded over how great they thought Teach tech was – something that left a bitter taste in his mouth now.
He would have expected some kind of a lukewarm goodbye, or an awkward wave as they stepped onto the boats meant to take them to their homes. But as the boat steering towards the Solar Sea took off, there was no exchange between them - in fact, he wasn’t even anywhere nearby, instead preparing for his and Shino’s attempt at getting a better life for themselves.
He did think then if he should have approached her outburst the day before the way he did. Back then, he didn’t see it as anything more than a show of weakness; she wouldn’t have lasted a day in what he had to live through on Polaris. Why should she get sympathy for being a double-crosser? For only feeling bad now that it was too late anyway, now that Gavinda’s plan was in full swing?
But it wasn’t too late. Not to her and the Tikis, anyway. And she did her part in fighting against Teach…
Unlike him, at first.
No, Hannah wasn’t weak. After everything, Manta could tell that much.
Maybe he shouldn’t have underestimated how cruel Teach could have been to her. Maybe that shouldn’t have been his last words to her.
“Oh well. Too bad”, he thought, going back to packing his stuff. What’s done is done.
He hasn’t really thought about this, or anything related to the Mirages, for the next few months. He had more important things on his mind - building a new life from scratch with Shino (and Debbie) on an entirely new island was challenging enough to take away any time he could have had for reminiscing about his old acquaintances from the Whale Cup.
They weren’t on his mind these few months later, as he was walking through one of the lesser known alleys of Tortuga to his boat, either - at least not until he saw a familiar looking silhouette walking through one of the streets he’d usually pass.
“Hannah?” He called out instinctively, more out of surprise than anything else.
“Oh– hi, Manta.” She replied, turning around to face him. “Been a while, huh?”
“Yeah, but– What are you doing here?”
“On Tortuga? I came for the Rotor Punch, obviously.” She shrugged. “But, I wanted to see how you’re doing with my own two eyes while I’m here, too.”
“You heard of me?” He asked, squinting his eyes.
“Duh. It’d be harder to not hear of the famous White Tiger, honestly.” She said, leaning on the wall next to her. “You’re taking Aquagram by storm– You know that, right?”
He shrugged and made an indecipherable hum. Debbie did tell him that he was getting more popular day by day, but he never really got interested in how popular he was outside of Tortuga, exactly. His winning streak mattered to him more than whatever she was doing over on her hologlove.
“Wait, but– Rotor Punch? You’re competing?”
“What, you think I can’t handle it?”
“It’s just– I didn’t know if you’d still be racing after… Everything.”
Hannah frowned for a short second, but quickly smirked instead.
“It takes more than that to make me quit, you know. I managed to get into Solar Empire’s drone guard.”
She crossed her arms, still leaning on the wall.
“So, I’m the one representing the Empire this year.”
“Oh, wow. You got yourself a solid position, huh?” He said, walking over and sitting down on the stairs next to her. “How’d you even do that?”
“Eh, turns out getting to the finals of the Whale Cup was good enough of an achievement to sign up. Only had to climb a few ranks after that.”
“Pshf, sounds easy.” He teased. She only hummed in response.
“What about Adam? Is he participating with you?”
A slight grimace showed up on Hannah’s face. Manta wasn’t sure how to decipher what emotion it was supposed to show.
“...No, he’s not. He hasn’t reached out to me after Teach’s defeat.”
“Oh.” Manta said. “...Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Hannah sighed, sitting next to him on the stairs.
“...I haven’t tried to reach him, either. At first I thought I should, since Teach manipulated him, too, but… He was always more invested in her plans than I was. It seems like we both picked our sides.”
“...I see.”
“Yeah.”
A moment of silence fell upon them.
“And you’re…not worried?”
Hannah glared at him for a few seconds before deciding on an answer.
“I… don’t know. I have mixed feelings about it all.” She stated, resting her chin on her hand.
“Teach was cruel to him, too. She’s not going to suddenly do a 180. But, if that was his choice, then–”
She suddenly waved with the same hand in the air, leaning back.
“--so be it! I’m not going to chase after someone who made up their mind!”
She let out something between a groan and a sigh, hiding her face with her hands for a moment.
“...What’s it to you, anyway? I didn’t take you for the type to talk about this kinda stuff.”
Manta shrugged, looking somewhere else.
“You were the one who said it’s been a while.”
“Heh– yeah, that’s true.” She chuckled. “I guess it did a number on you.”
“Hmm.”
They sat for a moment in silence before Hannah stood up from the stairs.
“...Well, I should go. I take it you’re taking part in the Rotor Punch too, right?”
“Of course. Who do you take me for?”
“Yeah, thought so.” She smirked again, turning back to go about her way.
“I’ll see you around, then. Just don’t expect me to go easy on you.”
“Psh, as if I’d need that. But yeah. See you around.” He replied, also getting up from the sidewalk.
As he got back to walking to his boat, he felt a sense of a relief he didn’t expect.
amazing art, and concept, by the incredible @mrstarksbaby
WARNING - OUR FIRST NC-17 OFFERING IN THIS SERIES
Enjoy
Samhain
Tony knew there would be trouble when they had returned from Mabon and, within half an hour of entering the penthouse, he had caught Peter sobbing over his phone. His to-do list for the next Monday had grown exponentially and the boy was blaming himself.
“Why was I so naive to think they would ever give me a chance to catch up? Why did I ever think a 3-day weekend wouldn’t just get me further behind? Why was I so stupid?” It was a familiar line of reasoning ever since Peter has started
graduate school, and it left Tony perplexed and baffled.
Perplexed, baffled, and helpless.
His entire life, Tony Stark had been surrounded by men whose anger exploded outward, who blamed others. He didn’t know there was any other way to be angry. But Peter was different. Peter exploded inward, blaming himself. And Tony was helpless to do anything about it.
And, really, what else could Tony do? He could provide laundry and meal service, could make sure Peter always had a ride to and from wherever he needed to go. But that wasn’t much help - those were things Tony was providing anyway, had been providing since he had finally convinced his lover to move in together. He couldn’t do anything else but watch.
Watch, and try very hard not to advise. Peter didn’t like it when Tony advised.
But really, what advice could Tony even give? That was the trouble with their May-December romance (although Tony insisted it was a May-October romance, he wasn’t that old.) They had both faced their 20’s on two different planets. When Tony was Peter’s age he coped with drugs and alcohol, just like the rest of his peers and everyone on TV. Drugs, alcohol and anonymous sex. Two of which Peter would never touch and the third - well that just gave Tony nightmares…
(But that was the real problem, wasn’t it? In Peter’s new world, a world of new challenges, new names and new faces and new time-demands left Tony in the dark, sometimes in the cold.)
The days after Mabon became a steady challenge, leaving Tony feeling less useful than ever before. There simply wasn’t enough sex to comfort his boyfriend now, to erase the doubts that were blossoming in the mind of the young genius who had never doubted himself before. But those were the milestones that every 20-something kid had to face and, in the end, Tony was no help at all.
But Samhain Was Here and no matter how busy the schedule, his witch couldn’t miss a High Holy Day. So here they were on their way out of town. Driving in silence since that last blow up (another tense argument. Over nothing, as always.) Now Peter was giving him the cold shoulder. There was nothing Tony could do but drive.
When they arrived at the cabin it was already drizzling. Tony asked, as cautiously as possible, if Peter had any High Holy plans.
“Maybe just light some intention candles,” he mumbled, reaching for his bag. Which meant Tony wasn’t even carrying his bag in.
Just one more way that Peter didn’t need him.
Just like that graduate degree that Peter was paying for himself (“It’s what Uncle Ben wanted, it was what the money was for, he wanted it that way!”) Add that to the list of One More Thing Peter Could Do For Himself.
To add insult to injury, Peter didn’t even have a special recipe for Tony to prepare for dinner. That, somehow, stung the most. More than once Tony offered to wing it - after reading Cunningham’s Book of Magical Herbs from cover to cover he had bought every spice and herb listed in the book so he was ready for all occasions. Their battered copy of Cunningham’s Book sat right there in the pantry for convenience. Tony could whip up a pasta or rice dish for any occasion and a corresponding omelet for breakfast to boot.
But Peter had grabbed some microwave meals at the last convenience store they hit before heading to the cabin. Peter didn’t need him to cook.
Which meant Tony would be pretty much useless for the rest of the weekend.
The sun was setting when they arrived, but the cloud cover meant there was no sunset to view. Cloud cover meant there was no moon or constellations to view either, which would just put Peter in a darker mood. But then his witch said something offhand that made Tony’s ears perk up.
“Just a few intention candles, and I’ll put some rocks out on the porch facing west. Then the 5-fold kiss and I’m going straight to bed.”
Tony smiled ruefully. At least he would be good for something tonight.
His witch couldn’t exactly kiss himself.
* * *
They somehow even managed to get into an argument about whether they were doing this in front of the fireplace or in the bed, and how that argument even started Tony couldn’t hardly fathom. He had been so careful not to say anything, not to make any definitive statements or make any suggestions. He was very careful to only ask questions (and that only when necessary.) And yet here they were yelling “Fine!” “Fine!” at each other and stomping off to various parts of the cabin to get what they needed for the most intimate ritual of the evening.
Tony found himself storming off to the bedroom with a clenched jaw. But that was better. Keeping his mouth shut meant that he wasn’t talking. Talking always seemed to get him into trouble.
He returned to the fireplace room with the sheet he found his witch already laying down on the scratchy rug, his tense, angry body covered in the gentle silky wine-colored negligee that Tony had been the present from Mabon. Tony was glad to see his witch wearing it, even if his heart sank to see his lover lying down instead of standing up.
The last time they had been at the cabin, Peter had finished his rituals full of vim and vigor, which had led to an amazing night in front of the fireplace. When it came time for the five-fold kiss, he had stayed on his feet. Stayed on his feet, ordering Tony to his knees to supply the first two kisses.
Tony had gone gladly. Gladly bowed his head to kiss and caress Peter’s feet, then his knees, as his grinning witch murmured the ritual words.
Words that dried up in Peter’s smiling mouth when Tony pressed the kiss softly onto Peter’s silk-covered cock. Even the smile disappeared, Tony remembered, when Tony, using only his mouth, had teased Peter rock-hard through the tiny slip of silk panties.
Tony hoped that this was a sign of more good things to come. Since they had started dating Peter had become, naturally, more confident in bed. More willing to give up the romantic for the more adventurous (ie the more kinky. More of the things that Tony had asked for.)
Things like ordering Tony to his knees, things like standing up when the oral sex began. Things like allowing Tony to fully define the term “Cock Worship.”
But that had just been a moment in time, it would seem. From now on the five-fold kiss would involve Peter lying down, just as it always had. That last ritual, that had just been a special occasion. The very first time that Tony’s younger, shyer lover had allowed Tony to engage in this particular sex-act. Tony’s favorite sex-act (ie, oral sex that was less tender and more agressive, with Tony on his knees and Peter’s hands tangled in his hair. There was a crude word for that, but Peter didn’t like to hear those words in bed.)
And, it would seem, the last.
That had been a special night, a night when his young witch, filled with confidence after his midnight ritual, had discovered that he could do all the things that Tony had been suggesting, had been hinting at (had sometimes begged for.) Could take Tony’s head by the hair and move him into position, could use his mouth… and use it vigorously… until he came…
It had only been a moment in time. There would not be a repeat of that night again. It was obvious when Tony walked into the room and found Peter lying on the floor, in his usual position.
Tony tried not to be disappointed.
At least Peter was here at all.
* * *
He said nothing. Silently he tossed the wine sheet aside by the door. He took his place at Peter’s feet and knelt.
He wanted to apologize before he began, but there was no real way to do that. Words just got him into trouble, so he didn’t try. But before he placed the kiss on the two bare feet he began to knead them, massaging them instead of apologizing. He tried to let his hands do the talking, saying what he couldn’t really say.
And so, silently, he apologized. Apologized for being so old, for being so needy. As he caressed and kneaded, digging his fingers gently but firmly he knew he had much more to apologize for. For being him. Unuseful. Uneeded. For the part where he hadn’t warned Peter. Hadn't warned him that this was inevitable. That Peter would go on to do new things, face new challenges, become a new person, and more importantly MEET NEW PEOPLE and realize that it was time to move on – peter as moving forward, which he was supposed to do at his age – and Tony is standing still – which he is supposed to do at his age, and this May-October romance may be coming to its logical conclusion.
It’s foreordained conclusion.
It hurt, but the truth hurt sometimes.
Tony lifted Peter’s foot and pressed it to his mouth, kissing the instep.
Peter’s breath caught.
Tony looked up, blinking. He hadn’t even thought about it - had just kissed instinctually. Kissed the boy that he was hurting… kissed the boy that hurt. And now that same boy was lying in front of him, eyes closed, mouth hanging open…
Tony leaned down and kissed the instep again.
* * *
What happened next happened very naturally. Although it had been years, decades really since Tony had enjoyed a lover who let him play with his feet… well… enjoying it again was a rare treat.
His hands continuously working, Tony kissed and nuzzled and teased with his tongue, his teeth. Peter enjoyed the treatment with his eyes closed, moaning softly, right up until his big toe went entirely into Tony’s mouth. He jerked a little, but Tony only smiled. Gently he put that foot down and picked up the second, and started the treatment again. There were words Peter was supposed to say at this point, but the room was silent. There was no noise except the crackling fire. The fire, and Peter’s tiny whimpers.
Tony slipped his tongue between each toe, holding Peter’s foot steady as he shivered, teasing the tip of each toe with his teeth. A plan was forming in his mind… a plan that involved doing the same thing to Peter’s knees… first the massage, then the tongue and teeth…
… but that wasn’t going to happen. Tony sighed in disappointment as Peter pulled his foot, gently, away.
“No… I didn’t say stop…” Peter whispered, pushing his foot back into Tony’s hand.
Tony looked down at him in confusion.
“Do it again,” Peter said in a tiny voice.
Confused, Tony began massaging again. It was only when he leaned down to kiss Peter’s big toe that Tony understood.
Keeping his mouth close to Peter’s foot, he followed as the boy pulled him closer.
His acrobat spent no effort at all, bringing his foot until it was hovering right above his cock, visibly straining under two layers of fabric. Then the foot went away and Tony lowered his head with a moan to place kisses on what he found there.
Breathing in deeply, anchored in Peter’s scent, Tony relaxed completely, his worries melting away. He moaned in appreciation as Peter lifted up the skirt of the negligee. Beneath it, Peter’s erection poked out from the silk and lace. Tony teased the tip with a wicked tongue…
…then reminded himself to be a good boy, and kissed his way back down to the base. The 3rd ritual kiss of the night (apparently they had skipped the knee-kisses but who was Tony to complain?? Peter was in charge here) was not supposed to turn into a different type of sex-act. Peter was adamant. Oral sex could happen after. That was the rule.
Not that they always followed that rule.
And apparently they weren’t following that rule tonight.
It was particularly apparent when Tony found himself, with no idea how he got there, with Peter’s legs wrapped around his shoulder and not ONE but TWO of Peter’s insistent hands tangled in his hair. And then… ah gods and then…
…from the very beginning of their relationship, Tony had begged for this. Begged for Peter to use his mouth this way, to be more, well, enthusiastic during this particular sex-act. To be more demanding. It was something his young, gentle lover had always blanched at, up until now. Until tonight. Tonight, Tony was getting everything he had suggested, had hinted at, had provided a few video clips as descriptors (that was what his gentle lover had blanched at.) Tonight, Tony was getting his wish.
It was a truly holy night after all.
He was hoping that Peter would come in his mouth, of course. But he couldn’t exactly argue when Peter pulled away and flipped him onto his back (after all, his lover was quite a bit stronger than he was.) He tried to argue a bit when Peter straddled him, but before he could even catch his breath to speak he found his lover already prepped himself during their short time apart. He opened his mouth to comment, only to fall silent when Peter began riding him with a will.
“Our first angry-sex,” Tony’s belegured brain informed him, and it was true (certainly this wasn’t makeup sex.) Peter had thigh muscles that just wouldn’t quit, and seemed, once again, to prove it. Tony himself wasn’t a young man - but tonight he had a few things to prove as well. He’d been sore in the morning, but right now? He was prepared to give as good as he got.
* * *
They held each other in the afterglow, talking quietly. Trading ‘I love you’s.’ Trading apologies. Holding each other close.
Then, when Peter had turned around and snuggled against Tony’s chest, they watched the fire together.
And Tony spoke.
He spoke about young men who needed to spread their wings and fly out on their own, and about the older men who just needed to be needed. And he spoke of the specific type of brains that never stopped moving who found every puzzle presented in highschool to be simple to the point of boring. He spoke about the panic the first time that brain faced a puzzle that it had solved wrong. He spoke of impossible expectations that might come from demanding parental figures, or might just come from the demanding voice inside a head. Both were voices that could never be pleased. Both were voices that could never be satisfied.
They spoke long into the night. There were tears and whispered confessions and repeated assurances and more declarations of solidarity.
Finally, as the fire died down, there were actual plans made. Plans that involved more realistic goals. Plans that involved longer timelines, and less ambitious courseloads. It was only in the wee hours of the morning that Peter fell silent, turning around and snuggling in to sleep.
But Tony lay awake for a long time afterward. Holding his boy close, harboring a little hope for the future.
