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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(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.

The sweetness of arousal was fading, but still present. Breath rumbling, he chased until it vanished. Arms full, no complaints being made, it didn't get better.

Yes it does. You have a boat to catch and can't stay here sleeping.

(a jump would be appropriate)

Jim's newest pastime was pursuing non-injurious physical intimacy with Jack. Outside of their cabin he remained politely decent, if you could call persuading Jack to rest his head in Jim's lap above deck to be decent. Inside their cabin, Jim worked diligently on his bloodless kissing, scratch mark free handling, and on fulfilling his new insatiable desire for skin on skin contact.

The weather had become too hot for him to wear clothing without soaking them with sweat, and now that his legs and upper body were exposed to indirect light for long hours a day, the scorching and peeling ravaged his shoulders and spread down his back.

The blistering sunburn had kept him in constant pain since the day they had spent traversing the French countryside but Jim hadn't complained about it even once. He had taken to laying down towels over the top of the bedcovers and sleeping bare on top of them, though. The breeze helped, and it kept the aloe and shredding blisters from gluing to the sheets.

His hair had bleached all the way to a medium copper color, creating an interesting contrast to the bright red skin of his face with light brown undertones. He took naps more often in the hottest part of the day, waking frequently to reach out for Jack to reassure himself that he was still there.

The ten days floating down the river from Luxor to the Aswan dam were spent in this lazy fashion. Jack, for his part, doted without ordering, handing off whatever was needed, or what he thought was need. In the land of cotton, he made available (and cajoled and attempted to convince James to wear) kaftan tunics and loose trousers to cover him and provide protection from the sun, wetting them and the broad brimmed pith to provide for passive cooling. Silvadene (or it's Egyptian counterpart) applied after cool showers, cool compresses or a damp towel over his back during siesta/riposo, and fluids, usually in the form of tea (boiled water the main ingredient of any liquid offered), aloe provided cooling relief and titanium oxide was slathered on Jim's exposed skin before they went topside.

The longer they traveled south, the more he was coming to the conclusion that a tropical climate wasn't good for James, and they hadn't really been out, always able to retreat under cover or indoors. However, the advantage of going south, was that eventually they would reach a temperate climate that wouldn't hold the promise of continual burning...just had to get through the worst of it.

From the Aswan Dam, they would take the Nile Ferry down Lake Nasser to Lake Nubia, disembarking at Wadi Halfa. The train, that ran once a week, would take them to Khartoum. Had already secured a two-berth cabin with (minimal) air conditioning for the 18 hour ferry ride, but the train he would have to negotiate the day before, and the sleepers would go quickly. Might have to resort to bribery to secure one.

He had found it necessary, when traveling, to bring his own sheets and towels, as many basic accommodations were downright unhygienic. Supplies had been ordered in Cairo and would be waiting for them both at Wadi Halfa and in Khartoum for the next legs of their journey.

[Helpful link: http://www.seat61.com/Sudan.htm#.VwQCm6QrKUk Love the commentary/reviews]

Edited 2016-04-05 18:49 (UTC)

As they had transitioned from areas which spoke predominantly Egyptian Arabic to those using standard Arabic, Jim was able to communicate with much more fluency and ease. Though he had discarded many of the trappings of British culture, both in social mores and appearance, his thirst for tea made from the black leaves he had spent his life drinking was endless. Milk was completely unnecessary and he had no problems going without sugar, which made his habit significantly easier to support. His face wasn't peeling anymore, though the skin was still eternally raw as it struggled to produce enough melanin to keep up with the demand. Yes, his shoulders hurt, but every time Jack decided it was necessary to slather more goop on him became another perfect opportunity for a make-out session.

"There are banks in Khartoum that will give us access to some of the larger overseas accounts. If you think it's necessary to keep getting us unadvertised upgrades we'll have to start carrying more currency." Jim would need a few days there in order to keep his financial affairs in good order as well as cultivate some local contacts just to keep in the loop about the more casual information trade going on around them. Straddling a seated Jack, a position that had caused Jim a great deal of tension during their rocky little tryst in Luxor, was now perfectly comfortable. Jim mouthed his way up the side of Jack's neck, with his arms wound around Jack's waist and a half-aroused erection pressed low against Jack's belly. The constant pain had softened Jim's rough edges, pushing him into a distracted daydreaming state as a way to cope.

'Unadvertised upgrades' earned a snort as he spread the sticky substance. The trip was going to be uncomfortable enough without taking comforts where they could be found. Hotels, even in Khartoum would be terrible. Jim's descent into dirt, dust, and insects would be swift. On the up side, Jack had heard of several tent operations outside of town that were marginally cleaner.

"You are the one slipping cash into pockets. I make people happy by not breaking anything," including them.

"I had imagined at the outset that you would be considered my handler, here. Me, the clueless tourist, you the hardened adventurer."

Jim nibbled at Jack's earlobe, contemplating yet again the question of Jack's communication troubles between the two heads and what could possibly be done to repair the problem. Dr. Whatsit had assured Jimmy that everything below the belt would be in like-new condition well before now. Dr. Whatsit never lies, so the trouble must be above the collar. Jim had been avoiding the topic like the plague it was, but the longer it went unaddressed the more difficult it would be to resolve.

It was a very difficult topic to broach, and thinking about it always made Jim fretful and moody, which led to Jack showering more affection on him to divert his attention. Now Jim was thinking about it again, and now he was getting moody again.

"The best laid plans always deserve a few backup plans. Although," rumbling, his head tilted giving more access, "I do like handling you, not that I'm that familiar with this end of the world." The poacher he shot had been hunting an Asian elephant, not an African one. "If you would like to take an abrupt left turn, I would be happy to take you to my former haunts. Slightly less killing that direction."

"My Hindi is terrible and my Gujarati is worse, but I'm sure the ready availability of tea will make up for it." Jim rested his forehead against Jack's shoulder. He had just had a nap but he was tired again. Still tired. Trying to crawl out of his own skin and into Jack's wasn't working.

"English is still used in India and Arabic is between us and it." Kissed the top of Jim's head. "Wherever you decide, I will follow," and help make possible.

Their laundry and linen was freshly done, dried on the line and brought the scent of limestone sand and the wind into their quarters. Their escape from London hadn't yet been difficult.

"Wherever you wish to go, Love." Hands coasted over the peeling skin. "Drink your tea, it would just slip from my hands," taking the weariness as a symptom of continued mild to moderate dehydration.

"I keep wondering if you're making that promise to a person who no longer exists." Jim sighed, softly. "And I just don't have it in me to keep up the illusion."

The smear of aloe came to a startled halt. "Excuse me?" stumbling where he didn't think there had been unlevel ground or a pothole.

"Moriarty died on a rooftop. Jim died when he bet his own life to save yours." He wanted to shrug, but couldn't be bothered. "And James died when he saw you pay for his mistakes."

Stopping to wipe off his hands on a nearby washcloth. "No," not unless he was - had been talking to ghosts and Jack was fairly stable in mind. "Surroundings have changed, physical difficulties given the change of situation, boredom, lack of an adversary," ticking off the possibilities.

I'm not buying it.

"So you like the illusion?" Jim smiled, just a little, against Jack's shoulder. "It's not going to hold up forever, but as long as I act like nothing gets to me, so can you."

"Then drop it."

Don't do easy, huh?
Well...we might have to impersonate fishermen along the lake, to survive, but what the hell?

"Put the mask down. We'll deal with it."

"I already tried, once. You might recall that it didn't go well. Are you offering to take the next turn? Show me how easy it can be?" Jim couldn't manage any of the melodious sarcastic tones that would have gone so well with these remarks. Instead, his voice was just quietly hollow. He really had lost his touch.

"Not wearing a mask, Jim. I'm a more see what you get kind of guy."

No it hadn't gone well, and even if it looked different than the usual, it was put in the same category. because he didn't wish to look deeper, tired of rejection and still angry himself.

"If you want to wear it, then do it. But I'm not the only one who can crack it for you...and then what happens?"

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