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Blackwood swirls a wine glass filled with a golden, warm liquid. Holmes shudders, looking at the glass. His clothing is soaked from the waist down, urine tricking down his calves. Just minutes before a bucket had been pulled out from beneath him and from it a faceless brute had filled the wine glass, wiping it clean before settling it into the black-gloved hands of Lord Blackwood.
“Open his mouth.”
One of Blackwood’s men pulls back Holmes’ head and large, filthy fingers force their way into his mouth. He tries to bite down but then there are more fingers prying at his lips, too many thick and gritty appendages and his jaw aches as they force it open. The nameless hands tip his head back even further, and he can barely breathe at this angle, his neck straining painfully. His arms strain against handcuffs, the unmoving metal biting into raw skin. He can’t even kick, his ankles tied to the legs of the chair.
With a quiet step Blackwood slides up beside the chair and drains the bitter, salty fluid into Holmes mouth. It pours over the corners of his mouth, trailing down his neck. The intrusive fingers leave his mouth and Holmes tries to spit, gagging and wrenching against the hands still holding his head and shoulders.
Blackwood tuts, and waves his hand. Again the brutes roughly force their fingers into Holmes’ mouth, holding it open and his head still. Blackwood pours the rest of the foul liquid into Holmes’ mouth, more rivulets of warm golden piss streaming down the sides of Holmes’ face, soaking the collar of his shirt. He struggles, feeling a trickle of urine winding down this throat, and he nearly heaves for a second time. The hands hold him firm even as he tries to writhe out of their grasp, and Blackwood intones in an almost bored voice,
“Grab his nose.”
Holmes tries to inhale but he’s too late, and his lungs begin to burn almost immediately, precious oxygen being consumed by his racing heart. More bitter fluid trickles down his throat, irritating his esophagus and he fights the twin urges to cough and vomit as his vision begins to swim. His throat flexes involuntarily, his lungs desperately trying to gasp for air. He gags violently as piss tries to invade his trachea, and relents. He gulps down as much as he can before coughing and gasping for breath, bucking violently in the chair. The hands leave as soon as he begins to swallow and he curls over himself in the chair, piss and bile and spit dripping from his sore open mouth. He weeps, fighting wave after wave of nausea as his body breaks into a cold sweat, tears falling from his eyes.
“I’d advise keeping it all down Holmes. It won’t taste any better the second time around.”
The thought alone makes Holmes choke once more, and he fights to breathe deeply and quell the rising bile despite the overwhelmingly nauseating taste left in his mouth and the stench permeating his nose and burning his eyes. Blackwood watches him, his cold black eyes fixated on the detective's dripping wet lips.
A black-gloved hand reaches out and Blackwood's thumb traces along Holmes' slick lower lip. Flinching, Holmes draws himself back up and turns away, his brown eyes refusing to meet with Blackwood's. With one look, Blackwood's men grab Holmes' head again and he whimpers desperately, trying to lean back in the chair but finding his head pressed against a pair of unmoving legs. The hands hold him still as Blackwood's fingers explore his face, leather brushing with sickeningly gentle touches against the tears streaming down his cheeks. His hands clench involuntarily, his wrists now aching, every movement sending pain shooting up his arms.
Blackwood traces the sharp cut features of Holmes' face, pressing into the hollows of his cheeks, his thumb gliding against the detective's chin. Slowly he slides two fingers along Holmes' lips again, reveling in the look of the black leather glistening with moisture against the detective's red, sore mouth.
"Open up, Mr. Holmes."
Blackwood's men wait only a moment for Holmes to comply, and when he doesn't, one man presses against the joins of his jaw brutally until he opens his mouth with a pained cry. Blackwood shoves in two leather-clad fingers, slickened by the abundance of fluid collected in Holmes’ mouth, and exhales with a perverse tremble. Holmes bites down rapidly, and Blackwood wrenches his fingers from the detective’s mouth with a low growl.
A fist collides with his jaw from behind, not unexpected but still causing his vision to explode with light and his face to erupt with pain, his head snapping to the left. His head is wrenched to face forward once more as the taste of copper fills his mouth, and Blackwood is there, taking his chin in hand and pulling it open before Holmes has a chance to resist, his jaw grinding painfully now. He writhes in pain and more hands press against his shoulders, holding him in place.
“Don’t make me break your jaw Mr. Holmes, because I gladly will.”
Holmes inhales harshly, fear escalating and replacing the revulsion in his mind. Blackwood slides his fingers back into Holmes’ mouth and this time the detective doesn’t resist as the taste of leather mingles with blood, piss and bile. He closes his eyes and manages to block everything out until Blackwood’s fingers graze against the back of his throat, pulling him to attention and making him gag, his throat clenching around Blackwood’s fingers. Blackwood lets out a hissing sigh and withdraws his slick fingers, rubbing them against his thumb and watching them glisten.
Holmes’ eyes snap open at the sound of metal and leather sliding apart - Blackwood’s belt - and he feebly tries to pull away, knowing it’s futile at this point. Thick fingers dig into his shoulders until another shout breaks from his throat, subduing him once more. He finally speaks, his voice breaking as he shakes his head against the hands holding it firm, their fingers tightly gripping his hair.
“No… no, no, no–”
Blackwood only smiles again, running his moistened fingers along Holmes’ jaw, coaxing it open once more, cutting off his words until all he can do is moan quietly and tremble. He closes his eyes again, tightly shutting them against the sight of Blackwood pressing his hips into his face. The arms on his shoulder push him forward suddenly, and he bucks until the fingers clutching his hair tug fiercely, sending pain shooting down his neck. He whimpers, Blackwood’s thumb sliding into his mouth, encouraging his lips to stay parted.
He can smell Blackwood now, a dark and sickening musty scent. Blackwood sinks his fingers into Holmes’ brown hair, pulling him closer and burying his nose in the tangle of greasy black curls above his groin. Holmes whines helplessly and tries to pull away again, but there are too many hands holding him down and he has no choice but to stay there as Blackwood lifts his member. It is already thick and ready and Blackwood brushes it against Holmes’ lips, still holding his mouth open with his thumb. Holmes jerks involuntarily, which only encourages Blackwood to bear down on his head, grinding Holmes’ mouth against his cock.
Blackwood maneuvers Holmes’ head until his lips are pressed against the tip of his member. With one thumb Blackwood forces Holmes’ jaw open further and slides his foul cock inside, invading Holmes’ senses. He struggles to pull away with renewed fervor, pushing back against the hands on his shoulders, terror rising as Blackwood’s member slowly slides into his mouth, filling him, his throat clenching as it presses against the back of his mouth.
He tries to drive Blackwood out with his tongue, but there is a sudden jolt of intense pain as one of Blackwood’s men bends his thumb backwards and he screams, the sound turning to a gurgle as Blackwood forces himself the rest of the way in. Holmes gags repeatedly as Blackwood thrusts into his mouth with growing speed and violence, humming ferociously. Holmes simply surrenders himself and tries desperately to breath around Blackwood’s cock. His throat and mouth ache and he waits weakly until Blackwood’s hips snap and his fingers dig into Holmes’ hair painfully, and his mouth fills with yet another bitter fluid, this one thick and viscous and just as nauseating. He is pulled away quickly, an arm wrapping around his neck and another forcing his jaw shut, holding him firmly against the back of the chair.
“Swallow.”
Holmes doesn’t resist this time. Blackwood caresses Holmes’ neck as he swallows, following a path down his shirt to where his stomach lay beneath fabric and flesh, and spreads his fingers possessively, growling.
“Mine.”
Holmes whimpers and Blackwood draws back, wiping his gloved hands on Holmes’ shirt and putting himself back together. He looks down at Holmes, something dark and calculating in his eyes. Then he gestures to his men, and they walk to the door of the dark, empty room. Blackwood stops, turning for a moment.
“I trust my message is clear, Mr. Holmes. Stay out of my way.”
With a quiet hiss of leather Blackwood leaves, the door closing with a metallic thud.