bakerstreet | The Crossover Smut Meme

The Crossover Smut Meme

The CROSS|over Smut Meme
♥1♥ Post with your character! Include name, series, and any prefs

♥2♥ Reply to others!
You can not under any circumstance reply to a castmate. It is forbidden!

While you're at it... Use the Random Number Generator to see when you're at here...
○1○ Sometime before- Maybe you're on a date, or getting cozy on the couch with a movie... whatever you're doing the clothes haven't come off yet
○2○ Starting to get there- There is heavy makeouts going on... maybe some clothes are getting unbuttoned too...
○3○ Mid-Sex- You are LITERALLY right smack dab in the middle of the good part.
○4○ Moment After- You just finished with your wild romp, satisfied? Disappointed? Ready for round 2?
○5○ Morning After- Are you happy with who you're waking up next to? Do you even remember getting in bed with them at all?

♥3♥ Have fun and play safe! ...Or not~

[Yes, another porn and crossover meme. Because you just can't have enough. Stolen from a previous meme.]

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[ Any characters from various rdj films, are welcomed~ ]

Sherlock Holmes the younger is completely nude, his pale form on his back, on the bed. His legs are parted obscenely, knees held up to his chest. Breathing hard, he wants this, needs to satisfy this need, especially with this intriguing man.

Holmes never did deprive himself of anything, no, not even of pleasure- the detective has come to find out that becoming intimate with a man was quite rewarding, though he was even more sure that he'll be hanged for this. For it was against the law, but no one would believe that he was getting physical with his younger self. As it so happens, it doesn't seem as though clarkie or lestrade were going to visit, and both watson's were too busy walking gladstone, and lord knows how long that would take, so the older man is going to take every advantage of the time alotted to him.

Closing and locking his bedroom door, he turned around and was welcomed with the younger man's form. Would this technically be called masterbating since it was his other self? What ever the case, holmes is an expert of that. Crawling over the other, still very much clothed, sherlock let his lips ghost over the younger man's own as he said, sliding a finger down the cleft of sherlock's arse, "Do you like a good challenge as I do?"

It wasn't exactly against the law if Sherlock wasn't his younger self, but a different version of himself. He didn't care to stop and wonder how this was possible, how their timelines had somehow crossed. All he knew was that this older version of himself intrigued him, for all his rustic ways. Now that their Watsons were out of the way, he couldn't help himself. He might not have enjoyed sex as much as their Watsons, nor as much as this form of himself, but bodily needs must be attended to... and something told him they were going to enjoy themselves.

Sherlock smirked into that kiss, sighing softly as he felt the touch on his arse. "I thought you'd never ask, Mr. Holmes. Do as you will. I brought the riding crop, in case you wanted to be... creative," he murmured in that deep voice of his.

In these circumstances, especially the one where he is the one in control, the older holmes can't just ignore the nagging of his mind, for his curiousity trumps all. The constant need to find out how the younger had managed to cross over to his plane of existance.. Well. That was a variable he never would have imagined. Which was why Sherlock Holmes must solve this latest case! The only way the older man would ever not care about the little details of how they arrived, was if sherlock, the younger one, were to touch him most inappropriately. Which would surprise him enough to succumb to a throaty groan. But as it so happens, that didn't occur. Yet. A smirk tugging at his lips and holmes had secreted his own riders crop behind his back. Immediately pulling it into view, holmes answers, "What a coincidence, I had the similar idea. Though I was just going to give you an even greater challenge. What do you say to seeing who can last longer?"

[The sunlight falling on her face woke Sophie Hatter up. Not opening her eyes yet, the young woman let out a grown. She was supposed to have been up hours ago to start setting up the shop. To make matters worse, the woman had a pounding headache. Shaking her head and blinking her eyes open, Sophie paused for a moment.

Then she stared, then she gasped. These were not her sheets. This was not her worn grey quilt. This was not even her bed or any place relatively familiar. And to make matters all the worse, she wasn't even wearing her nightgown. Instinctively, she tried to pull up the blanket up to her chin only to find that it was stuck under something. With another tug, Sophie found that it was still stuck and slowly turned her head to see what it was stuck under. It was a man.

She flailed off the bed, landing with a thump on the cold, hardwood floor. Oh bother, this was what came of being the eldest. ]

Edited 2012-10-15 15:17 (UTC)

[Angels don't sleep. And yet, Castiel finds himself subjected to the strange sensation of waking up. He's perfectly still as he blinks his eyes open, and finally he sits up. It seems he is on a bed, he is naked and there is an equally underdressed girl on the floor next to the bed.

Either Gabriel is having fun at his expense, again, or there is a witch, or Dean has finally found a way to play a practical joke on him, unlikely as that is. Castiel frowns a little.]

Who are you?

S-Sophie. [She just manages to stutter out her name. Her cheeks flare red. Oh, Sophie could just hear the gossip that'd be all over the hat shop tomorrow if word got out. Mentally, she listed off a few of the words Martha had taught her.

Pulling her knees to her chest to preserve some manner of decency, or as much decency as a woman sitting bare on the floor could have, she looks up at the man.] And you are, Sir? [Her next words came out with less of a squeak.] And do you know what happened? ...Where we are?

Even the great Sherlock Holmes has to satisfy his needs every once in a while. And since the world thinks he's dead, might as well satisfy that need with a time and world traveler. Although he's not actually big into prolonged foreplay, the kisses are deep, messy, things are getting hot and heavy, and many articles of clothing have come off. He's almost completely naked, save the pants, or boxers, he's wearing, where an erection is straining that he's rubbing against River Song.

River Song certainly gave as good as she got. She was kissing him back with a wild passion, hands roaming over the newly bared skin of his shoulders and sides. She's in little more then her bra and panties when she pushes him back against a wall and grins against his mouth as she drags her palm over the straining bulge in his boxers, "Someone's eager."

[Gregor is not a frequenter of night clubs, and it shows. He's really only here because it's open and he needs a drink that's the shortest walk possible from his hotel room. He crams himself into the darkest corner possible and tries not to draw attention to himself while he sips a three-olive martini.]

[he doesn't have long to actually enjoy that martini, unfortunately.

For once it had been work and not fun that had brought her to the club. The goal, of course, had been to get the vamps outside before causing a little mayhem...but for the second time in as many weeks, she wasn't quite so lucky. Someone, it seemed, had been passing around the fact that a Slayer was in town...and what she looked like.

Clad in tight leather pants and a shirt that left little to the imagination, she figured she wouldn't seem to pose much of a threat. Her only stake was hidden in her boot, hopefully out of sight enough to avoid suspicion. But as she wove away from the bar in search of a good place to watch from, she gave a loud curse as someone shouldered her and sent her watered-down drink crashing to the floor. Irritable, and only half paying attention, she tried to push past him]

Hey, watch it, bud-

[But she cut off suddenly as fingers closed around her throat and she found herself suddenly slammed back against Gregor's table and staring up at the twisted, ugly face of an undisguised vampire.

Shit.

...Hope he hadn't been enjoying that drink]

Edited 2012-10-15 05:24 (UTC)

[That had been the idea.

Most of the martini winds up in his lap and on his sleeve. He'd at least been holding the stem of the glass. That's the least of his concerns when a woman is shoved up against the table. A wet hand reaches automatically for the stunner at his side. Out it comes, and with the sound of a mild buzz, a beam hits the vampire.]

[when the blast hits him, the vampire jerks, his limbs twitching as his right side goes numb. It's not enough to bring him down, but it's enough for Faith. Bringing her knee up, she shoved the vamp off her with a grunt. As he staggered back, barely keeping his balance, she sprang back up to her feet, and promptly knocked him to the ground with a roundhouse kick.

Dropping down beside him as he fell, cursing, she pulled the stake from her boot, stabbed it through her attacker's heart, and watched him explode into dust before her eyes.

Shifting her grip on her weapon, she stood up with a grimace, glaring down at the pile of the dust, completely oblivious to the shocked gasps of the onlookers.

....She was also oblivious to the crowd of vampires that had begun to shove their way into a circle around the table Gregor had chosen to occupy. She might have been watching a single vampire, but quite a few more had been watching her]

[Gregor quietly mouths a curse. First at her takedown of the guy, then again at the approach of others like him.

So much for not drawing attention.

He slides off the chair and reaches for Faith, intending to grab her and usher her outside.]

[grabbing her was very nearly a bad idea. At his touch, she whirled, reflexes startlingly fast, fully intending to lay him flat with a blow. But, mid turn, she saw the gathering crowd...and stopped herself just short of driving her elbow into his nose.]

Damn.

[Gregor only got the slightest of sideways glances as she dropped her arm and took a step backwards beside him, falling into a more defensive pose. Her expression, however, was far from scared. However bad this was, she was smirking as she looked over the monsters creeping closer.]

Gee, and here I was worrying no one was gonna ask me to dance.

[despite her bravado, there were too many and she knew it. Even for her. Already, she was scanning the bunch, looking for the weakest point to break through]

[Two bouncers are shoving their way toward the commotion, but these guys look like they mean business. Gregor aims his stunner for the nearest vampire and fires. Fortunately the woman nearly touching him dives out of the way in time to avoid being hit. The vamp goes down.]

Get behind me.

[The cold, steel operating table beneath them, the array of silver, sterile surgical instruments just within reach, even that obnoxious artificial lighting adds a certain level of legitimacy to this game they're playing. Vice breaks the rough seal of their mouths to settle back on the good doctor's hips, expression all predator as her hands leave his collarbone, releasing the pressure to select a scalpel blindly with one hand. Her fingers find the sterile grip and she adjusts her hold on the tool until it feels right, until it's cradled in the joint between her index finger and thumb, perfectly balanced. The other sets to work ruining a perfectly good dress shirt, haphazardly ripping the front open, buttons and good tailoring becoming casualties of the night. She can't help the smile, can't help the drop to her voice when she asks him:]

Ready for the first incision?

[ in, out, in, out goes the air through his nostrils — medic is excited, pleased, because this is going to be a different kind of experience all-together; this is new and he already loves the thought of it alone. that's why, before he answers, his hands stretch out to touch her — those beautiful stocking-covered thighs that he'd like to glimpse at, open, test under certain conditions; the doctor enjoys runs his hands across her thighs and rear, feeling her curves with his fingers and palms — raising them up all the way to her waist before running them down once more.

he doesn't even care that his uniform is ruined. it tends to be covered in blood on a daily basis. ]

Proceed.

[He's not alone in his excitement. Defeating someone, breaking them down until they relent to her will, that's familiar ground; having someone submit to her for curiosity's sake, trust her not to plunge the knife in until it severs something vital, is a new experience. It's something of an aphrodisiac if her heart rate is any indicator.

The first cut is hardly shy — a sweeping red line carved into his chest, from the center out, passing over his heart — but it's not going to kill the man either. She watches the blood bead up out of his flesh for a moment, before flitting her eyes up to him and beginning another branch. This time, her blade crosses south.]

[ there's that short, sharp intake of breath when he feels the diamond-edged blade cross him not once, but twice — it doesn't remind him of when the blu spy tries to cut him up with that butter knife he uses to stab people on the back, that feeling doesn't please him when he wakes up in respawn. this, though — the sting on his chest, it's painful but he doesn't hate it; the grunts that he lets out after each slash rumbles in his throat, though he doesn't even contain it when his lips part and his teeth clench down to form a small grin.

medic also enjoys feeling his healing factor kick in sometimes — this time especially. it means the cuts will disappear and he'll feel better; it means she'll have to do it again. that's why his hands tightened around her hips during the slashes, but not too tightly — those cuts weren't deep enough, and neither is he at that point yet. ]

Edited 2012-10-15 16:25 (UTC)

[The way Medic's slit skin knits back together is watched with some interest. It's an odd little trick and, when she has the occasion to witness it in action, she wonders how far it goes, how much it can handle without the precious contraption he uses on everyone else.

As he grips her hips a little tighter, Vice presses the edge a little deeper. Give as good as you get, right? She cuts back and forth, tracing little patterns with the scalpel, cross-hatching his skin with blood as she goes. But his reaction says it's not enough, just marring him a little; her nails could do as much to him and this is an experiment. So she doubles back on her strokes, destroying her deliberate patterns, angling the blade to trim his flesh back a bit without removing it. A little flaying never killed anyone — unless the person doing the flaying got clumsy. She repeats the action, cutting another shape into his skin, peeling it back just to see how it will heal. When she begins the third petal of her gruesome flower, she tightens her thighs on his hips, forces her hips down against him harder.

As nice as the art project is, there's little she hates more than being left out.]

[ much better.

hips react back to press-then-rock against her. medic hisses, grunts, and groans in pain as he feels the scalpel trace and toy with his chest like window glass shattering over flesh — but, he likes it. that's what matters, not that she could injure him with one wrong move of her arm — vice is smarter than that, right, right? after all, he can see her work when he leans his head back because there's a mirror behind.

it makes his fingers grab opposite sides of her clothes — that red vest — and pull it from side to side to tear it apart. threads break, buttons pop, cloth is torn — he wants it off.

the mirror shows the both of them — where that sadistic woman is sitting, his bloody chest, the speed she's using, the look on his face... the doctor can even watch his chest recover from the rather pretty floral pattern she created ( muscles and skin forming up, leaving blood and flayed skin behind for someone to brush off — drops of red drip down his body, leaving a bloody mess of a portrait ).

it's a good show, and it just started. ]

Edited 2012-10-15 18:10 (UTC)

[For a moment, she considers embedding the scalpel in his shoulder so she can get out of her top properly, but then the fabric tears and the buttons scatter. Distancing the blade from him, she mumbles —]

Impatient.

[— before shrugging off the remains of her vest.

The blouse beneath it is another barrier, one she chooses to eliminate herself. Leaning backward on his thighs, she tugs the bottom of the shirt outward, putting a gap between her flesh and the cloth before running the knife upward, neatly sundering what was keeping it together and adding more fasteners to the colorful little collection they've begun. She snakes it off, mindful of the scalpel she pulls through one sleeve, leaving her torso bare aside from a very expensive-looking black bra.

(And if Medic tries to rip that off her, she will sink the knife into something truly essential.)

Shifting back to her original position, Vice rakes her nails across his stomach, hard enough to leave five little red tracks, but not enough to cut — that's what she has the scalpel for after all. The scalpel whose point she has decided to ever-so-gradually press into his areola and the vulnerable muscle beneath, humming to herself and watching his face as she deepens the wound.]

[ when the blade digs deep, the doctor chomps down on his teeth, hard, before he ends up screaming; it feels like ice against his chest, only it's inside and it stings and it makes him —

medic's eyes widen, neck leaning back, and nails clawing down as though trying to grab hold of her stockings and thigh because the tip of the sharp blade brings immediate, intense pain that is driving his senses wild. it's different, his back instinctively pushes back against the cushion as though to get away from the knife but that's the point of this. it's never happened to him, it's happened to other people during medical operations because he needs to cut them open to either fix them, or to take a reward.

( sending the tip of the diamond-edged blade through the areola, hitting the nerves underneath with the best precision; enough to make him twitch like a frog during a class vivisection, and when it does cut they mend back together because cell regeneration is in his genes. )

his flesh heals up around the blade, but it cuts again whenever she moves it and he can feel that — it's painful, his body is reacting, his fingers claw down her thighs so deeply that he leaves red marks — it's threatening to tear through flesh; goosebumps appear across his arms, there's that feeling of something cold rolling down his spine... even his legs react, his feet slamming down flatly on the table.

a normal person would call this torture, they would say stop.

the doctor never says stop. ]

Edited 2012-10-23 16:42 (UTC)

[Vice watches Medic's pain spread across his features, catching the tension in his skin and following it like a map, readable degrees of excruciation in the grinding of teeth and the tightening of the doctor's jaw all spread out plainly. It's a pretty sight, one that makes her sigh, one she means to burn into her mind for keeps.

At the bitter bite of hands and nails, her knees reflexively dig into his sides, legs tightening on him as though he were a colt she had set to breaking while her skin prickles electric. It sends a pleasant shiver through her, causing the path of her steady knife to veer ever so slightly, zig-zag and plunge a little deep. Deeper than intended.

Even as that mysterious body of his undoubtedly works to counteract her damage, his blood forms a neat little pool in the gash, a well of red in all the pale expanse of skin. A laugh bubbles out of her, whim taking her, and she rips the blade from him, making sure to watch his reaction before leaning down and lapping at her handiwork.

It's acrid copper, the same as any mouthful she's ever earned in a fight, nothing special, but she treats it like it is nonetheless. She knows he'll like it — the slow glide of her tongue across the laceration as cells and tissue regenerate beneath it, the faint drag of her lips, the scraping of her teeth — which is reason enough for her to play the devout. For the moment.]

[ the cool down from the relief of her sharp toy — his, technically, but it is hers until their game is over — is pleasing, even though he already misses the stinging pain the woman gives him with just that movement, something a normal man would have never enjoyed because they would have screamed and cried. such things never bother the doctor.

he did, after all, enjoy it — that stinging sensation, medic would call it.

.............. of course, feeling himself healing up cell by cell, the way vice runs her warm tongue against his skin — it makes a sigh escape his lips because it is such a pleasant feeling, at least for now because he knows exactly what kind of person she is. there is no way she's one of those people who would go down to lick his feet willingly — this is all because of the blood that she spills, that he lets her spill.

that is why the dear doctor is excited for her to do it again.

medic doesn't use the mirror because he won't be able to see her face that way, which is why, after she finishes off, he leans forward for a better view — is it smeared with red, like his chest? which is why he raises a hand to move her hair to the side so he can see, then trace his finger to her jaw, to the bottom of her chin to urge her to look at him.

the thought of it alone fires him up; he would like a taste, if so. ]

Edited 2012-11-11 03:56 (UTC)

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The Crossover Smut Meme

Sherlock Holmes | movie!verse

If you're not cool with slash, or the idea of two Sherlocks, then just ignore this!

Sorry for lateness!

I'm sorry, too!

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Elazul | Legend of Mana | OTA (smut allowed)

Castiel | Supernatural | OTA

So... Nonsensically random crossover? Yes/no? I rolled a 5.

This is going to be heaps of awkward fun

Yes, yes. :D

River Song | Doctor Who | ota

2? Hope this is okay!

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Abby Sciuto | NCIS | ota

Lenalee Lee | D.Gray-man | OTA

Locked to want-take-have

Re: Locked to want-take-have

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red medic | tf2

( 2 ) do it for the thrill of it all

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Sherlock Holmes | BBC Sherlock | OTA