Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2662841.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_Holmes_&_Related_Fandoms
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/John_Watson
  Additional Tags:
      Fawnlock, Prostitution, Racism, Mating_Cycles/In_Heat, Oral, Anal,
      Vaginal, Dubious_Consent, Triggers, Addiction, Accidental_Drug_Use,
      Bondage
  Series:
      Part 5 of Satyr_Fics
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-31 Words: 2801
****** Faceless ******
by VincentMeoblinn
Summary
     John visits a Satyr brothel to perk himself back up after coming home
     a broken man. He quickly becomes addicted to the scent of Satyr Heats
     and returns again and again, throwing away his pension until a Buck
     takes pity on him and helps him recover.
 
John hated himself for wanting it so badly, but it had devolved into a kind of
need that shamed him entirely. The first scent had made him dizzy: so much so
that he’d fled the whorehouse without getting what he’d paid for. They’d
laughed at him as he bolted out the door, rock hard and panting for it. He’d
gone home and wanked himself into oblivion. The next week he returned, paid up,
and headed in to view the rows upon rows of stalls.
They were clean, at least. He’d been appalled at first, but the hay seemed to
be there for looks only, and so was the rest of the décor for that matter. It
was all to give a sense that they weren’t higher thinking creatures, but of
course Satyr had been proven to be just that. They’d added to it by having
their faces hidden, which explained the name of the establishment. Each stall
had a hole, in a various location to accommodate the sexual position of the
Fawn inside, and each Fawn’s head was hidden within. It was a split door in the
rear of the stall with a half-circle cut out of each door latched and padlocked
door, some of them meeting in the middle while others were uneven. The Bucks
and Does were literally trapped in them, their necks given enough room to
breathe without allowing them to free their heads. John was horrified and
walked up to the first, a Doe on her hands and knees, and leaned over her to
ask if she needed help.
“Only with this itch between my nether-lips!” She declared, “Please, sir! It’s
hurts! Fill me!”
And John was buried inside of her before reason could lend itself further. Her
pussy was soaked to the point of dripping, the scent of heat rolling off of her
in waves as he thrust into her again and again. She pushed back onto him as
much as she could, moaning and fingering her clit until she came around his
cock, sucking and squeezing him until he was done for, coming into her and
screaming in pleasure. He pulled out, legs shaking, and she continued to finger
herself and moan for more. He stumbled away, drunk on her scent and still hard
despite his release.
Over and again he came back. He found out there were some who were unwilling at
that wicked place, but he was too hooked on the heady scent of pheromones to
report it at that point. He just avoided them, able to tell them from the
others by giving them a quick stroke. If they slapped at him or sobbed then he
moved on to the next stall and repeated the test. He didn’t want to take a Doe
without consent. He was there one day, buried inside of a Fawn who was propped
up on a stool at standing height. Her tits were bouncing beautifully as he
fucked her fast and hard when her heat quite suddenly ended. The scent vanished
and John, on his third round, withered without that chemical prop. Grumbling in
frustration he pulled out of the woman’s quickly drying body and staggered to
the next stall.
It was a Buck. He’d never been with men before, and he’d not touched a Buck
until now. He stumbled in, taking in the permeating scent of Rut, and dropped
to his knees to prop up the legs before him. His swollen cock was leaking with
need despite the fact he’d been stroking himself fervently. John located his
hole amidst his thick leg fir and lapped at the clear, bitter fluids leaking
from him. He easily pressed his tongue into the hole and the creature writhed,
kicking him accidentally in the side with a sharp hoof. John grunted at the
pain but otherwise ignored it. He quickly climbed the creature’s body and
pressed inside, moaning as the tight heat surrounded him.
He was unable to stop himself, crying out in pleasure as it escalated higher
and higher. Far too soon he was coming, grasping the cock in front of him to
try and bring the Buck off as well. He came spectacularly, his huge cock
spurting across his body as his arse clenched and pulled a fourth climax from
John that left him collapsed on the floor, fading in and out of consciousness.
John was pried up off the floor and laid out in another room with other men and
women recovering from their high. He was there when the authorities raided the
building and was dragged in for questioning. They hosed him off to get the
stink of pheromones off of his body and left him sobbing and cold, rocking back
and forth in a chair in an interrogation room.
“You raped them,” The silvering man in front of him shouted, slamming
photographs down on the table, “You raped all those Bucks and Does you
shameless cock!”
John jumped, eyes darting about as trails danced in front of his eyes, “I
didn’t… I’m not…”
“The fuck you didn’t,” The man snarled, pacing in front of him, “You disgust
me.”
“If they struggled I stopped. I didn’t want… some of them were there willingly.
I found them.”
“Did you?”
“I tried to,” John choked, “Fuck. If I ever see Harry again I owe her the
biggest apology.”
“Who’s Harry?” The man demanded, leaning over him with narrowed eyes.
“Shit! NOT involved in this! Sh-she’s my sister. An alcoholic. I had no idea
when she told me she couldn’t stop drinking… I just.... Please. Lock me up. I
don’t want to hurt anyone and I’ll do anything for a fix.”
“Sure,” He grinned, “Just write all that out for me and sign at the bottom.
I’ll make sure you never see the light of day again.”
John grabbed the pen and paper, dragging them towards him, but had barely put
pen to paper when the door to the interrogation room was thrown open.
“John!” A voice shouted out, deep and smooth as honey.
John’s head shot up and his eyes widened. A Buck; an absolutely gorgeous Buck
with curly hair and legs up to heaven. He walked in dressed in a suit with a
nearly frantic look on his face. John’s fingers went numb and the pen dropped
to the desk.
“There you are!” The Buck sighed in relief, then crossed the threshold with a
sharp clatter of hooves, “I’ve been out of my mind with worry!”
The Buck leaned down and caught John’s head in his grasp before pressing their
lips together for a scorching kiss… through which he whispered out of the
corner of his mouth, “Play along.”
“Sherlock?” The graying DI asked, his tone uncertain.
Sherlock straightened and replied; “You remember when you pulled me out of that
shithole that I told you I was working with someone? Well this is he. John,
meet Lestrade. I hope he’s taken good care of you darling?”
“I… yeah, just…” John stammered, his cock hardening painfully in the prison
garb they’d given him to wear. Oh no…
“I know,” Sherlock soothed, stroking John’s cheek and staring into his eyes,
“You’ve been through so much. We both have. My brother has a therapist on
stand-by to help us get through this. I want you to know I don’t think of you
as unfaithful. I never did.”
John forced a relieved expression onto his face and smiled weakly up at him,
“Doctors? They’ll…” John licked his lips, “They’ll put me in a… a… rehab or
something?”
“They’ll put us both there, and all the other victims as well. We’ll need to
detox from the chemicals they put into us to keep our Heats and Ruts going, and
you lot will need to come down off of our pheromones as well. That’s best one
naturally as they wanes from our bodies.”
“Naturally?!” Lestrade spat out, “Wait a second, they’re putting you in with
your rapists to fuck it off?!”
“Basically,” Sherlock replied, “But with doctors to supervise, run some
sensitivity training for those who tend to objectify us, and with the
understanding that anyone who causes an issue will be booted out. In fact, we
need you to start a line-up. While none of us could see our assailants, we
could smell them. I’ve talked several other Does into helping me identify who
was there for malicious reasons so they can be sent to the hospital to detoxify
the hard way.”
John was having trouble following his words because his erection was level with
his head. Lestrade took that moment to glance down and at John and noticed
Sherlock was aroused. He pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose as
he sighed in frustration.
“You two are trying to get me to leave so you can fuck, aren’t you?” He asked.
“Well that would be convenient,” Sherlock nodded with a polite smile.
“Not happening,” Lestrade replied, “He raped you, Sherlock. We found him
covered in your DNA. You’re not thinking straight.”
“He’s my boyfriend, Graham,” Sherlock snapped, “I’m not thinking straight
because I’m thinking gay.”
“It’s Greg, and how come you never mentioned a boyfriend before this whole
caper?” Lestrade asked, folding his arms while John began to nuzzle the cock
hidden behind far too many layers of fabric.
“How come you never- oh gods- asked?” Sherlock retaliated, his voice starting
to crack.
John finally had that thick cock out and was lapping at the tip. Lestrade
apparently decided the battle was already lost and left with a scoff of
indignation. John found himself dragged out of his chair and seated forcibly on
the table he’d been facing. Hands stripped him of his clothes and Sherlock
turned to press back against him.
“In me. Now!” Sherlock gasped, “It’s agony!”
John groaned his agreement and tugged those gorgeous hips into his lap,
pressing up into the tall Satyr with eager snaps of his hip. Slick fluids
dripped down onto his thighs and he groaned as the pleasure began to mount
fast. He slowed himself, reaching down to wrap a hand around the base of his
cock as the Buck rocked into him. He knew he needed to last as long as possible
to bring the suffering creature off. He slid into the madness of the Rut,
moaning as he stroked Sherlock’s thick cock. The world blurred around the
edges, and John’s vision faded in and out.
Days passed. He often started fucking Sherlock only to come around while
sitting sleepily in group therapy, surrounded by sobbing Does, Bucks, Men, and
Women. He would wrestle himself into control, sitting up and remembering his
dignity. He’d wipe the drool off of his face and reply when spoken too, but he
hated it. Slowly but surely the time he was conscious was becoming longer and
longer; Sherlock’s needs were diminishing and becoming more that of a normal
Satyr rather than a drug addled one.
John spent a few hours each day simply talking to Sherlock, learning who the
brilliant Faun was and listening to his wild stories of crime solving. That was
how he’d found out that he hadn’t gone home in between trips to the club like
he’d originally thought, not after the first time he’d fled at least. Instead
he’d been kept locked up for most of the time while they used his cards to milk
his accounts of his army pension. They’d kept him near the stalls so he’d be
high at all times, but he’d only rarely been allowed in to touch them, only
being tossed into the rooms when they needed a new client to see how exciting
it could be. He mostly spent his time tossing off while his mind supplied him
with what it wanted to see. That was how Sherlock knew him so well. Apparently
they’d spoken through a hole in the wall while John was out of his gourd, so
much so that when John had touched him on that last day Sherlock had recognized
him right away and the climax had brought him out of his chemically induced and
extended Rut. He’d managed to pick his lock and escape, calling Lestrade from
his pimp’s office and getting them all out of that hellhole.
“Honestly I would never have believed it if I hadn’t seen you talking to
Lestrade. All the shit you put yourself through for a case!”
Sherlock shrugged, “I had to stop it. They were suffering. I just never
expected to get dosed and trapped myself.”
John struggled for a moment and then forced himself to ask the question,
“Sherlock, did I rape you?”
“No,” Sherlock replied easily.
“Did… did anyone else?”
Sherlock’s eyes slid away and John wished he could take the words back. Instead
he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
Sherlock shrugged, “Sorry won’t get my virginity back.”
“Oh gods,” John whispered in horror, “How long were you there?”
Sherlock was by no means a young Buck, but a Satyr that stayed virgin past
puberty was a rarity indeed. They literally craved sex, and their scent was
erotic to both their own kind and Humans when their bodies were demanding to be
bred. However, when John asked that question and then slapped his hand over his
mouth Sherlock merely laughed at him.
“John,” Sherlock chuckled, shaking his head, “I’m only half Satyr. I’d never
had a Rut before then. I was there a month longer than you were.”
“Well that’s… good then. You have some sort of… er… religious belief?”
“To keep me virginal? No. Just a highly dedicated passion for science and a
good mystery. I’ve never had the time for a relationship… before now.”
“Is this… going somewhere then?” John asked hesitantly.
“If you’d like it to,” Sherlock replied, “I enjoy your company, and you enjoy
mine. Besides, you lost your bedsit while you were away being used for a prop
in a sex factory.”
John snorted and their subject moved on to chess and the merits of strategy, a
conversation Sherlock strategically won in short order- but not nearly as short
as their chess games were.
Finally their sexual desires were returned to the average allotment for a male
of their respective species and ages- which meant just a bit more horny on
Sherlock’s end- and they’d stopped blacking out completely. Each was warned
that they should avoid Heat and Rut for at least a year and Sherlock was given
medication to hold his off. It had dreadful side effects and John didn’t bat an
eye when he tossed it in the bin the second they were out the door. Instead
they went back to Sherlock’s home on Baker Street where he was introduced to a
lovely Doe named Mrs. Hudson who cooed over John and called him Sherlock’s mate
until he got a bit doe eyed himself.
Sleeping in a bed together was so familiar that John doubted he’d be
comfortable sleeping alone anymore. That thought alone sent him snuggling up
against a furry backside, giggling at the wiggle of a tail against his belly,
to wrap himself around warm Satyr.
“You’re always so hot.”
“You know full well we run at a higher body temperature,” Sherlock scoffed.
“I love you,” He replied with a yawn, and then froze in horror. He’d been
thinking it for weeks, but to say it out loud, and to a Buck who scorned
sentiment as a weakness in the loosing side! He was committing romantic
suicide!
“Mm,” Sherlock replied with his own yawn, “Of course you do.”
“Yeah,” John replied with a sigh, glad that Sherlock had spared him an
emotional flaying.
They were asleep in minutes and John didn’t think of it until morning when he
woke to find Sherlock cooking in the kitchen.
“What’s all this then?” John asked in surprise, “I didn’t know you could cook,
lazy horns.”
“Well,” Sherlock replied, looking anxious, “I wanted you to know I could… erm…
provide for us. Care for us. For anyone small and helpless in our lives… that
sort of thing.”
“Are you pregnant?” John asked in alarm.
“No! Gods, no. We’ve been so careful I’d suspect divine intervention,” Sherlock
laughed anxiously, “However… if I were to… become pregnant. I wanted you to
know that I can feed a child.”
Sherlock nodded as though he’d made quite the point and then turned back to the
sink to do the dishes. John only just managed not to faint away. Only just.
Then Sherlock’s words sank in.
“Sherlock, are you courting me?”
Sherlock paused a moment and then nodded at the skillet. John smiled, his whole
body feeling light and warm.
“Love you too, you brilliant Fawn,” John pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek and
then shoved him out of the way, “Now move over before you scratch up my pans.”
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