bakerstreet | Healing the Broken

Healing the Broken

healing the broken meme
a shipping meme

The events of many canons have left its characters ravaged, unable to be the whole people they once were. They can never go back to the innocence they had before. However, they can find someone who can pull you back from the brink. Some say love can conquer all ills and cure all broken people - the jury is still out on that, but enough people subscribe to the notion that it may have some merit. With the right affection behind it, can it be the elixir to heal traumas or mend angst? For this meme, it can be. No matter what your what your problem is, from daddy issues to being mind controlled to hating all humans or being just a jerk, all you need is healing from the right person.

All in all? This is a shameless meme playing with the idea of "cured by love." Love it or hate it, it's prevalent in fiction, both fan and published. And sometimes, no lie, you just want to play it and not be judge for the pure shlock you know it to be. Here is the place; now is the time. However, you don't have to go for unrealistic escapism. One partner trying to help the other through trauma is not an easy task, and there are bound to be setbacks, resistance, and hurt feelings. And what if BOTH partners are a little bit broken? Can they survive together, or will they bring each other down?

how to play
- Comment with your character and preferences. Feel free to talk about your character's problems. You might also want to mention if your character is the one who needs to be healed or can do the healing. Or perhaps you and your thread partner can play two roughed up characters learning to trust again!
- Reply to others.

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"That cute unguarded submissive thing really gets to me. I'll probably need my wrists tied behind my back. An illusion knot would be fine, I just need something to pull against. It's so beautiful to witness, but then I have to resist the urge rip you apart and suck out your marrow at the same time."

Jack. On his knees, or pinned in a straddle, or any number of other positions that conveyed devotion without servitude. Jack, vulnerable and unafraid. The brief memory of it almost made Jim salivate, and it was definitely getting him hard again.

Every time he heard the word 'cute', Jack had to review the dictionary definitions.

1. attractive, especially in a dainty way;
2. appealing and delightful;
3. affectedly or mincingly pretty or clever; precious;
4. mentally keen; clever; shrewd.

Most of the time he settled settled on the second or third definition, although occasionally the fourth was employed.

"Except you'd like that too," but for how long? Shook his slightly, letting it go. The question was, where was the balance point on restrained but not manacled. "I am seeing rope in your near future."

"I am completely in favor of rope. So long as you don't wrap it around my neck. Or use 'stress positions,' I hate that sort of thing, takes away from the moment." Focusing on what he hated probably wasn't the answer right now, so Moriarty started thinking about what he knew he didn't hate, instead.

"If you're willing to made do with scarves, we've got those on hand. If I'm not blindfolded or gagged you can immobilize me partially, or completely, and it won't bother me. Mmm, just like getting trapped in a spiderweb so you can have your gentle way with me, or nail me to the floor."

More likely to sprawl on him, using weight to pin Jim in place, bite his neck and purr while doing it.

"I want what I started. Let's take that second scarf. Yes, I'll be quick and you may show off your skill at false knots," and I will be properly impressed.
Eyed the end of the scarf around Jim's head, working a mental makeshift gag. "Hop to it, Jim. Time's ticking."

Edited (html error. oops) 2016-04-04 17:33 (UTC)

"We'll call that a plan, then." Jim pushed up and off Jack's chest, tugging his blindfold off with an easy tug at the loose knot. While scooping up both of the others off the floor he tugged the orange one free with his teeth. After draping the still-innocent scarves over his left shoulder so Jack would have them in easy reach, he made quick work of winding the abused orange scarf tightly around his wrists behind his back.

"Shall we, then?" His cheerfully challenging attitude was as close as Jim knew how to get in attempting playfulness that didn't include holding a concealed weapon.

Holding Jack's concealed weapon.

A eyebrow arched as he considered what was missing, to speed them along, the sound occurred to him first. "Get comfy."

Dropping to the floor, he rifled through Jim's pants to locate the tube which would make everything slightly more comfortable, at least for him. Was fairly certain that Jim might be just fine with a dry entry...minus recent stitches. Aaaaaad there the mind had just gone back there....again. Made himself move once the container was in hand, to return to the bed.

"I love it when you start running through the different possibilities. The outcome is always a surprise, and usually interesting."

Jim decided that comfy meant sitting up in the middle of the bed with his legs folded. His voice shifted towards sing-song. "I love it even more when you're choosing a favorite from a number of rare delicacies."

Bit the corner of his lip and shoved upright. Wasn't thinking of any of those things. Was just climbing out of a mire again.
With some kind of thorny bramble.
Devil's club. Given the infection.

"Yes?" turning on a growl, making himself return to playful ground. Eyed the pillows behind Jim, adjusting them to support weight and the placement of the let's-pretend-I'm-tied-up hands without cutting off circulation. "What else do you love?" helping him lie back.

The very idea of propping Jim's body up to increase his physical comfort (not safety in this case, he could loosen the bonds as much as necessary) was surprising by itself. No, he had never given Jack even the slightest chance to demonstrate this kind of consideration for any sexual encounter. Why did that make Moriarty, HIM of all people, assume that this meant Jack had neither the inclination nor the skill to accomplish it.

The surprise and curiosity showed plainly on his face, and in his voice. "I love it when you get away with murder, and much worse, and are still able to look everything and everyone in the eye after." Including Jim. Especially Jim.

Fully expected someone to want to do the same for him, hopefully for the same reasons, namely that he was no longer removing those who deserved it.

"What else?"

Settled between Jim's legs, returning to the irritation of pale skin with cheek, chin, and nips of teeth. Where he had been content, as least now he went into it with the knowledge that dawdling once aroused was just another pressure point. They had always rushed, and he had never considered why, or that there was even a reason at all.

Someone else might want to, perhaps, but Jim didn't know how. Every so often he realized just how much he didn't know, and he didn't like that feeling.

"Nngh!" Jim pressed his heels down into the bed and grit his teeth. He had been willing to attempt an answer to the question, and would still answer it when he could. Right now, if he were to speak it would just end up being some kind of protest or demand. Jack simply touching his face to Jim's stomach was enough to set off instant sexual interest. This was torturously intense.

And here Jack meant sniping the sniper.

"Tell me before it becomes too much. Or," observing the arc putting weight onto shoulders. "Should I stop already?" Didn't wait for an answer however.

Continued the irritation, moving it to Jim's rising length. After last attempt, specifically the brevity, the lid of the gel was opened, surreptitiously preparing his fingers to meet the demand and prevent breaking apart in different directions.

"It's always too much!" One foot slid out, extending Jim's leg as he thrust his hips up to meet what little stimulation was actually being offered at the moment. "It's never enough!" Story of Jim Moriarty's life, right there?

Complaining about it did offer some degree of comfort, and being able to yank at the poor mangled fabric behind his back also helped.

"More?" added in rolling twin ovals in heated wrinkled skin to the scratch of his cheeks. "Or less?" His fingers ceased, the irritation stopped, and his breath coasted over Jim's cock, lips hardly touching him.

Jim growled and glared angrily. This was exactly the treatment he had been very clear about not being able to tolerate. "Don't tease me, Jack. I really don't appreciate it."

"I am -" cutting himself off, - sincere and in earnest.

Sighed heavily before closing his mouth around the bulbous tip, easier not to say what he thought if his mouth was full. Reflected at at least one of them was up and running.

"Just stop! This isn't working!" Jim tossed his shoulders one way, then the other, twisting in frustration, still yanking at his scarf instead of trying to unwind it.

(We don't need to look up your nose, Jim.)

Either path was wrong. Chose with a growl, a sound that would carry directly to Jim's core. Increased attention, adding his slick fingers, pushing in deep, zeroing in on the organ that pressed against inner walls. His thumb rubbed over a firm kernel of knotted nerves just behind the heavy sac.

Just let go, Jim. Stop fighting me.

He wasn't inclined to stop fighting. At the same time, he didn't untwine his wrists to put up a genuine protest. Jim made an anguished noise and kicked his feet out, spasming around Jack's fingers and throbbing in his mouth. He wasn't going to last long, despite his protests or maybe because of them. It was all a chaotic mess, defiance criss-crossing with a painful longing that could never be satisfied so would have to be abandoned instead.

Wrists still caught, not getting slapped upside the head, not having his hair pulled out by the roots was no use of a safeword. Had they ever established one?

Yet the only one who stay - oh yes, he'd be the first one to admit that sometimes he took a step back to regroup, but dove back in again - wasn't leaving anytime soon, the only one of his 'hench-things' to follow. No, they didn't have years of contact, but Jack was determined, picked up, or picking himself up, when he failed.

Growled again, the tip of Jim's cock hitting the back of his throat. Mouth, both hands employed, Jack pushed wanting Jim off of the fence, off the cliff, he would be there to catch him afterwards, just like every time before.

Jim didn't have the least bit of respect for safewords. He would cheerfully allow himself to be mauled to death before using one, and someone else trying to use one would just egg him on.

He arched his back with a sharp, half-swallowed sound as the spasms turned into rhythmic jolts and spiraled out of his control. The fighting was over now, the battle won/lost, Jim emptying himself down Jack's throat in shaking pulses.

When the hurly burly's done, when the battle is lost and won.
That will be ere the set of sun.
...
Fair is foul, and foul is fair, Hover through the fog and filthy air.

A classical education. But what did he get from it? Only words to lighten his existence.

Hot salty spurting over his tongue, Jack suckled every musky drop before gathering Jim into his arms.

Now he unraveled the binding from around his wrists as if it had never been there in the first place, though it left behind deep raw welts. Clinging to Jack wasn't one of Jim's more common habits and it just didn't make any sense in the context of sex, but here he was doing it anyway. It was so strange to be mentally reeling and physically hypersensitive, curling up against the steady, strong, living warmth that was Jack.

"This is nice," he murmured, echoing his earlier observation about kissing and reminding himself of it. Jim tilted his head up to kiss Jack, neediness dissipated for the moment and replaced with something calmer and more conscious.

"Yes." a breath, perhaps three. His voice hoarse, "All you had to do was let go," and trust me, the hardest part. Shared Jim's flavor with himself, licking is lips, working his way past teeth to tongue and the roof of his mouth.
You're going to have to kill me-
get me killed
- to leave you.

It was only because of his post-orgasmic quiescence that Jim didn't respond to Jack's tongue by ripping it open to suck on the metallic tang of his blood. Maybe the unfamiliar taste of semen was an interesting enough substitute, too. Jim pulled closer, encouraging Jack to make his way deeper still, realizing that his own tongue could barely reach to the inner angles of Jack's teeth.

The notion that any kind of letting go had happened made no sense to Jim, but he wasn't particularly thinking too much about it right now.

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