Eyes closed, Holmes sat on a chair in the middle of the room. What was he missing? There was one piece missing. What is it? Think, Holmes! Think harder! Ignore Watson massaging back! What could possibly...? Hngh. Ignore Watson tousling hair gently. Maybe it's something too obvious to actually think about? Good Lord! Pull yourself together! Ignore Watson nibbling earlobe. Ignore those soft and warm lips sucking softly. Don't think of the smooth, wet tongue licking ear. Just don't... Wait! Holmes frowned. Something was different. There was something missing. Something important. Holmes's eyes popped open and he abruptly turned around to Watson.
"Your moustache is gone."
"Your deductive skills are impressive."
"I know. Why's it gone?"
"I shaved it."
"I deduced that."
"It was getting annoying."
Holmes looked up at Watson, pouting.
"I liked it."
Watson pulled Holmes up from his chair and started kissing his jaw.
"You'll get used to it", he whispered, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin just behind Holmes's ear. The detective moaned silently. Then he gathered all the self-restraint he could muster and detached himself from Watson.
"Wait right there. Don't move." Watson watched with one raised eyebrow as Holmes scurried off, threw around papers ins search of something and just moments later was right back at his side. The doctor immediately pulled him close again, resuming his actions of kissing and nibbling at Holmes's skin. The shorter man just gripped his lover's chin and popped it up and held Watson's face thus in place. He triumphantly held a piece of charcoal up in the air. Watson – having, after all, learned a few seductive... erm... deductive, that is, skills in their time of working together – caught Holmes's hand with his own, just as he was about to bring the charcoal nearer to his face. He eyed the drawing device suspiciously.
"Get that out of my face."
"It's not in your face, it's in my hand."
"Get what's in your hand out of my face." *
Doe-eyes: weakening resistance. Pouting lip, tilted head: making eyes roll in resignation. Finally, tearing up: will broken. Ability to resist: neutralised.
Sighing, Watson dropped his hand that kept Holmes from carrying out his plan. The detective grinned and gently pressed the charcoal to the skin beneath Watson's nose. His tongue tucked in the corner of his mouth, he fully concentrated on painting countless small strokes between the doctor's nose and upper lip. Watson himself – having his lover so close in front of him – found it rather difficult to remain still. He reached out his hands for Holmes's shirt, thinking it quite superfluous. Noticing this, the detective paused in his work and looked Watson sternly in the eye.
"Hold still, old boy!", he demanded and then got back to work, the tip of his tongue slowly wandering over his lower lip in concentration. Watson knew that he was doing that on purpose. The doctor couldn't stop staring at Holmes doing that, letting his own tongue trail his lower lip unconsciously in the process. After what seemed an eternity, Holmes finally stepped back to take a look at his work and nodded, quite content with himself as it seemed.
"Yes. Quite good work, I must..."
He didn't have time to finish his sentence, because immediately, there was Watson all over him, kissing, stroking, sucking. Holmes moaned.
"I must say... aaah... the moustache... mmmmh... is quite... quite elementary for my pleasure, my dear Watson."
*Just because that is prolly my favourite dialogue in the whole frickin' history of moving pictures.