Thanks so much for the reviews! Overall, the main critique I've gathered is that Holmes is a little OOC – which after reading again, I completely agree. I will try to keep him more in character; however, I feel that it might make this sex scene harder to write, so we'll see how it turns out. Hopefully, it will be just as good as I had originally planned. Please review! It totally makes my day :D
Also, the rating will be changed to M. And the category as well: from Romance/Humor to Romance/Angst.
Watson stood, pants unbuckled, shirt halfway undone, hair unkempt, staring at Holmes with what can only be described as pure lust, and leaned in to Holmes, only a centimeter from the detective's lips. "And what are you going to do with your subject?"
Holmes couldn't help but grin. "I believe I need to further assess my findings, paying particular attention to…" he slipped two fingers into the already unbuckled pants. "the more ambiguous signs."
And the backs of those fingers were slowly working their way along the firm muscle that led directly to what both men knew was the desired destination. The fingertips almost tickled their way to the warm, more sensitive skin beneath the doctor's constricting pants, and the man felt his shuddering exhale hitch in his throat. A reaction he was certain that Holmes had noticed, as well as the slight jerk as his entire body reacted sharply.
The doctor lifted his hand gradually, but then left it hanging motionless at his side as if he wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do with it. "Holmes…" he whispered, his voice low and sounding slightly weakened.
The detective gave him a couple seconds, adding his thumb in to the mix and allowing it to wander across the flat, hard section of his friend's lower abdomen, taking a great deal of liberty in its exploration. Its tip brushed over firm muscle that pulled away slightly at his touch and felt the resistance of hairs as he bordered between friendship and something more.
A question that Sherlock was certain was now on his good friend's mind. Watson's demeanor had shifted from a state of eagerness and unanticipated lust, of which he was willing to comply since it was sudden and he was "in-the-moment," but it quickly shifted to the state of uncertainty as the gestures slowed and more thought-out emotion was presented. The air between them had changed, morphed into something that was much different than before. It was one thing to have frenzied, hurried sex that could be chalked up as a mistake and determinedly forgotten about, but it was another to have deliberate and conscious intercourse that would bring its own bundle of loaded questions that the doctor either had no desire or was unable to answer. This entire hypothesis was calculated and confirmed within a second's time in Sherlock's mind. His fingertips hesitated. "Watson?" he inquired, his voice light and attempting to possess none of the concern that riddled his thoughts.
Slowing down was certainly not a mistake on Holmes' part. Even if Watson did freak out and end this prematurely, leaving the detective tousled and most unused, Holmes would leave things be. If Watson felt more content with going throughout their lives pushing the façade of them being "bestest-best-friends" or his "loyal dog" then it wasn't Holmes' position to pressure the man into sexual situations, give a little push maybe, but not pressure. It was blatantly obvious how Holmes felt for Watson and Sherlock had deduced quite certainly that Watson was aware of his crush-like feelings. What Holmes was certain that Watson had not deduced, however, was that his feelings for his friend ran much deeper than a childlike crush and was bordering on serious infatuation and long-term obsession. No matter how badly Holmes wanted to take his best friend and use every bit of his infinite knowledge to thoroughly and inarguably defend his point that they would be infinitely better lovers than they could ever be friends and considering how good of friends they were, that really said a lot, but nothing would be worse than losing Watson forever. Even with pure logic shoved in his face, the doctor could still decline, whether from social stigmas or simply not reciprocating (which Holmes doubted severely through many years of studying and reasoning). It also presented a situation in which he could be perceived as very vulnerable, which was situations Holmes had mastered avoiding, especially when it came to emotional vulnerability.
The most important aspect, however, was Watson, always Watson. Holmes would give anything to continue, to carry out the very explicit thoughts he conjured up in the middle of the night, but simply not at the cost of Watson's virtue. And if Watson thought he would regret or feel any sort of guilt over their illicit actions, than Holmes would not allow it and would prefer to suffer himself and have Watson leave.
The silence had stretched between them long enough and Watson appeared to be fighting between the instinct to flee and the confusion and possible consequences of staying. Again, a single word, "Holmes…" and a pause, as if he had something else to divulge, to ask, to confess, but never did.
The detective gave the man in front of him a desperate look, but only because he knew Watson was avoiding his gaze and would not see it. His voice however held no such hints of desperation, only a sense of denseness for the seriousness of the situation. "Yes, my dear Watson?"
That seemed to trigger something within his friend and to Holmes' displeasure, the doctor took a step away and Sherlock's fingers slid easily out of the doctor's pants without protest.
Finally Watson's eyes came up to meet Sherlock's and the detective stood motionless, giving off no hint of desire or disappointment. He just cocked his head to the side expectantly.
"I think this has gone far enough, Holmes," Watson said, trying to tuck his shirt back into his pants. "Your eccentric behavior has already caused enough damage." His eyes flicked around the room, presumably looking for his cane.
"Looking for this?" Holmes asked, retrieving the object of Watson's desire and holding the thin cane up.
"Yes." Again the young doctor was having difficulty looking anywhere near the vicinity that Holmes was occupying. "Thank you."
Why couldn't Watson see this? Why couldn't the man understand that Holmes could provide everything for him? Whenever the doctor looked for something, Sherlock knew him well enough to already know what it was and get it for him. Whenever the doctor needed to know some random piece of knowledge, Holmes could certainly supply that information to him. And, yes, whenever Watson needed that touch or yearned for that release, Holmes would happily do the honors. It almost made his stomach turn over on itself he wanted so badly to do the honors.
But instead of explaining all this, Holmes simply replied, "Always."
Again a somewhat awkward pause occurred, and Holmes debated simply jumping the doctor and seeing where it led, but logic and fear kept him from doing so.
"I'll be in my quarters," Watson replied, glancing at the table where this had all started. "Clean that up. You have enough mess in here. We don't need spoiled food sitting stagnant in here for weeks…" he continued to mumble as he left, swinging the door shut but not all the way.
"Of course," Holmes called after, just barely able to maintain his indifference until his friend had fully left the quarters. He immediately bowed his head, closing his eyes in a forced effort to contain a strained scream that threatened to surface. Instead he bunched his hands into fists and dug his nails into his palms, shaking.
This is what Watson didn't know. This is what Holmes wasn't willing to let him see, at least, until he knew that his own feelings would not be slaughtered. There wasn't much that Holmes put before Watson in terms of importance, and these hidden feelings really held to contest either, but they did threaten what he already had with Watson and that was enough to shove them away forever if need be.
Trying not to shake too visibly, Holmes moved over to the table, where the food still layout. He placed his hands, palms down, onto the smooth surface, letting out an aggravated exhale. And then, in a rare fit of frustration, Holmes shoved half the plates off the table and onto the floor and the clutter that covered most of said floor.
"Why do you hide that from me?"
Holmes spun around, startled by the noise and startled by the unanticipated turn of events. Watson must have slid back into his room and was currently leaning contently against the wall near his door. His ankles crossed and cane in hand.
"What?" was all Holmes could think to say because a hesitation or pause would surely give him away.
"Oh, stop it, Holmes," Watson said, slight anger growing in his tone. "Stop acting so socially obtuse and start being… honest. Be honest with me." His tone finished low, steady.
The man was asking, and Holmes was certain he wasn't prepared for his answer. "Sit down."
Instead of sitting at the strewn table, Watson opted for the small couch that was closer to him.
"Do you really wish to venture into the truth, my dear friend?" Holmes asked, not afraid to make eye contact with his long time friend.
Watson's gaze shifted, indicating that he was in thought over his answer. Holmes, however, was studying his face, specifically his mouth. The soft, inviting lips that he's had to stare at for years and resist for just as long and the small hairs that covered the top one, shaping his mouth perfectly.
"I don't know," the doctor finally answered.
This was becoming ridiculous. It was as if both of them wanted to give in to the other and finally say, "I want you" but neither had the gall or nerve to admit it first. So Sherlock began compromising with himself. "Watson, you have to promise me something."
"What is it?"
"You would never leave me, would you? Just stop seeing me altogether?"
Watson gave a small smile. "That would be quite impossible, Holmes." His words held a definite affection, as if Watson would never want Sherlock out of his life.
"Alright." Holmes shrugged, finally making up his mind for good. "My feelings for you over the past couple of years have increased significantly, bordering on the point of falling irrevocably in love with you, and I would give almost anything for you to simply reciprocate, but it absolutely pains me to think that you may regret the experience or push me completely away, because I would considerably prefer us to remain 'friends'," he held up quotation marks with his fingers. "then to lose you entirely. And I know that we could better our time together, especially at night, with activities that are equally more gratifying for the both of us. Especially when I sometimes watch you while you're sleeping… that bed was made for two." Of course, he ended with a statement of pure logic.
With each word, he felt himself become more and more vulnerable, but if anyone was worth getting vulnerable for it was Watson. "Say something," Sherlock said after a long moment. "Just don't leave."
The request hit Watson right in the deep corners of his heart. "I'm not going to leave," he said softly. "But I'm not sure what to do either."
Holmes took this as his queue to advance on the sitting man. He sat, as well, close to Watson, but was uncharacteristically out of things to say.
"I see you're perspiring," Watson said, suddenly studying Holmes in a way that made him feel slightly taken advantage of, but in a really good way.
Sherlock's fingers touched his forehead, feeling sweat that he knew was already there.
"Your breathing has faintly increased and," Watson leaned over, causing Holmes to freeze. "Your pulse has quickened."
Their faces were no more than an inch apart and Holmes felt the doctor's hot breath just before his lips were covered with the soft touch of Watson's. Holmes couldn't help but release a shuddering exhale into Watson's mouth, feeling an intense need to take the man that was so gently offering his lips and only his lips for the moment.
Watson shifted, and while still sitting on the couch, positioned himself in front of Holmes as best he could, continuing the kiss the entire time. Holmes responded by lifting his hands, and placing one on Watson's side and the other on the back of the doctor's head, inadvertently deepening the kiss in the process.
Luckily, Watson did not seem to mind. The doctor opened his mouth and allowed him and Holmes to steadily exchange their air, finally letting his tentative tongue inside the detective's mouth.
"Holmes?" Watson said once he had broken the kiss. There was a quick moment, a moment most men wouldn't catch but of course Holmes did, where numerous little things happened: both of them ever-so-slightly leaned back in wanting more, a subtle shaking in their hands, and a faint shift of their hips as they both yearned for friction and touch.
Watson fingertips languidly slid across Sherlock's face and he closed his eyes as he spoke. "Convince me."
"Holmes." Watson's voice was strong. He moved his mouth to Sherlock's ears. "Convince me."
Usually Holmes convinced people with his words, but in this case, he would use his fingers, his mouth, his body. "Lay back," Holmes requested, starting to kiss his friend again before Watson had even started on his request. In unison, they lay, Watson on his back and Holmes straddling him.
For the first time they felt each other. Holmes slowly shifted his open legs against the bulge in Watson's pants, and the doctor responded in such a way that made Holmes' feel a strong twitch between his own legs. Watson dug his fingers into Sherlock's thigh and gripped it for a moment, arching his back and closing his eyes.
As Holmes maneuvered himself against his best friend, he could feel the immense hardness of Watson. "Well…" Holmes smirked, bringing some of his infamous humor into the mix. "I can tell you've certainly wanted this."
"Wanting it was never the question for me," he breathed out. "Risking it was of more concern, but as always…" he paused, shaking his head slightly and letting out a small laugh. "I can't seem to say no to you."
"Thank God," Holmes said, acting as if anything other than that would be absolutely preposterous.
As with everything else Holmes did, he concentrated on details. Slowly he undid each button on the doctor's vest and then went directly to the buttons on his shirt. Opening them both revealed a bare chest, rising and falling quickly with Watson's breathing, and Sherlock couldn't resist running his fingers over every inch of skin he saw. He took in other details as well, including the many bruises and healing abrasions just on the little skin revealed to him already.
"Watson, you should really be more careful," he observed, letting his fingers glide gently over the injuries.
"All of them are your doing. I would merely be a simple doctor if it weren't for you and your insane escapades."
"Really?" Holmes sounded intrigued. "I'll just have to make it up to you then."
They locked eyes, their looks wrought with lust, just before Holmes slid his body down the couch, so that his hands were on each of Watson's knees, spreading the man's legs. First Holmes took his teeth and undone the button on his friend's pants for the second time that night, this time more confident in the mission. He let his tongue travel along the man's lower abdomen for a while, starting around his bellybutton and steadily moving lower and lower until the pants prevented any more exploration. Holmes slipped all of his fingers into Watson's pants and gradually lowered them, hearing a low moan of approval from the doctor as his cock was finally released.
The first action the detective took was to run his tongue from the base of his friend's cock to the very tip, letting his tongue tempt the head, and in response the doctor jerked greatly and let out a somewhat loud yell. The doctor immediately, shoved his forearm over him mouth, biting viciously onto his sleeve in an attempt to prevent anymore loud noises from disturbing their lovely landlady.
Holmes chuckled. "Don't fight it, my dear friend."
"Shut up, Holmes," Watson said, gripping the edge of the couch as he anticipated the next sensation.
"With pleasure," Sherlock said, opening his mouth and taking most of Watson in.
In Watson's defense he was able to keep most of his noises classified as breathy moans and guttural groans, but there was the occasional shout and (Holmes' favorite) the sporadic yelling of his name.
Holmes could taste his friend. A taste he very much enjoyed. But the best part about servicing his friend's cock was the reactions and movements he could feel so well, so accurately. He felt every single twitch and jerk that ran through Watson's stomach and thighs. He felt the increased breathing as Watson got close. He felt Watson's toes curl into the cushion. He felt every single delicious wanton movement.
"Holmes, ah. Holmes!" Watson said. "Stop. I'm getting too close."
The detective lifted his head. "I believe that's the point, my friend."
"What about you?"
"I'm concerning myself with you."
Of course, Watson thought. "Well, I'm concerning myself with you." He used Sherlock's unkempt hair to pull him up to his face. He allowed his fingers to unbuckle the detective's pants while he spoke. "Use me, Sherlock. Use my body. Make me come when you come."
Even if he tried, Holmes could never hide the intense shudder of anticipation that ran through his body at Watson's words.
Kicking his pants the rest of the way off, Watson shifted his legs and body to make the invitation complete… and utterly irresistible.
"You've swayed me," Holmes admitted, although both knew it wasn't ever really a question. Holmes shifted his hand in order to finish the job Watson had started, but then a firm grip was on his wrist.
"Let me do it," Watson said, pushing Holmes's hand away.
Watson guided their lips together once again, while one of his hands worked at the button and zipper of his companion's pants. Once completed and the pants kicked completely off, Watson, without warning, allowed his hand to slip across Holmes' quivering skin and feel the warm, hardened shaft.
"Ah!" Holmes yelled, severing their kiss and burying his head above Watson's shoulder, allowing perfect positioning for Watson to lick, nibble and suck on Homes' neck. Watson's fingers formed an 'O' shape and moved slowly up and down the detective's pulsing shaft, feeling Holmes' hips slightly meeting his hand in an effort to cause more friction.
"Hmm," Holmes hummed his approval. A minute or so passed before Sherlock raised his torso. "You've got to stop— I need…" he trailed off, finishing his sentence with his actions. He braced his body, placing a hand on Watson's hips and the other on the back of the couch, before lubing himself up with the best of his abilities, and gently inserting himself into Watson. There was resistance, which was mind numbingly fantastic for him, but he assumed very painful for Watson.
"Just push in," Watson urged, grimacing from the pain but handling it well. "I'm fine."
Holmes was delicate and would remain so until he knew for certain Watson was feeling just as much pleasure as he. Gradually, Watson began to move against him, gripping the front of Sherlock's shirt and almost ripping it.
Holmes was never ever one for dirty talk during sex, and he knew the risk he was taking when he asked this, but he really needed to know. "Does it feel good?"
"Yes, Holmes, yes. It feels good," Watson could barely get out between his heavy breathing and moans.
As long as Holmes knew that Watson was being pleasured he allowed himself to succumb, give in to the pleasures that Watson's body was giving him. With each thrust, Holmes could feel the building of intense pleasure low in his abdomen, making his legs shake. He helped Watson by putting his hand on Watson's cock and pumping with his thrusts.
Just before Watson jerked violently and came onto his stomach and chest, the doctor whispered, "I love you, Holmes."
That was enough to initiate the detective's orgasm, and his body went rigid with waves of pleasure as he emptied himself into his lover. After a moment of heavy breathing, Holmes smirked. "I think that gives you an accurate idea of how I feel for you."
Watson shifted, glancing to his side when he heard some movement. Gladstone was staring at them from the floor. Holmes followed the doctor's gaze and they both stared back at Gladstone for a still moment.
"I think we've mortified my dog," Watson said.
Watson smiled, nodding. "Our dog."