Watson had long ago put aside his book. Reading was useless just now, as he had plenty to occupy his attention, and his concern, at present.
Holmes paced the sitting-room restlessly, his every step tense and impatient. The unbearable ennui had afflicted him for some weeks now, wearing him down to the very last nerve. And, unlike in earlier years, a certain promise that Holmes had made to Watson prevented him from reverting to his accustomed remedy for such dry spells. Thus, Holmes must grudgingly suffer the boredom of having no cases.
From his armchair, Watson watched Holmes continually crossing to and fro before the hearth and seething with frustration. Watson sighed sympathetically, knowing that he could do very little whenever Holmes was like this. Nevertheless, Watson finally ventured a suggestion.
"Holmes," he cleared his throat, "how about a trip to the Turkish baths?" Watson strove to keep the hopefulness out of his voice at the thought of that acutely pleasurable activity that they had only recently come to share. Watson must keep in mind that his motives were only to relax Holmes, not to benefit himself.
Unfortunately, the proposal held no appeal to Holmes. "A bath!" he scoffed. "Turkish or English, such an idle, luxurious pastime could not even approach what it would take to relieve me."
Watson pulled a face guiltily. Luxurious indeed. What Watson liked most about a trip to the Turkish baths was its luxurious, sensual, steaming, and rejuvenating indulgence. It hardly seemed something to appeal to Holmes's need for intellectual stimulation! To Watson's surprise and delight, though, he had found lately that he could occasionally coax Holmes into accompanying him to the Turkish baths. Apparently the detective was not wholly immune to pleasure and relaxation.
Tonight, however, Holmes made clear in a captious flow of invectives that only a massage could soothe him this time, and only a proper massage at that. --"Proper" being something that Holmes had experienced during his extensive travels in the East, evidently.
Halting Holmes's tirade, Watson sat up a bit too eagerly and offered to massage him.
Holmes instantly refused. "You couldn't do it properly, Watson, not if I explained it with charts and diagrams."
"Holmes!"
"--No one born west of India could. Why, the sheer subtleties of the philosophy and of the sensations! Such an involved process could only be taught by touch, a most delicate touch...."
Stung by these slights to his intelligence and his medical competence, Watson sprang up from his seat. "Now just a minute," he interrupted, "Which of us is the licensed physician here? If you learned it, I certainly can!"
"If that were true, surely you'd have become a competent detective by now, wouldn't you?"
Watson nearly pounced with both hands at Holmes's throat.
They argued over the topic heatedly and rather volubly. In a huff, Holmes finally declared that he would demonstrate the technique upon Watson, to prove how inadequate the doctor would be at reciprocating the "proper" massage.
Holmes sharply took Watson by the arm and irritably pulled him from the sitting-room.
Once in his bedroom, Watson began to see the situation more clearly, his temper having subsided somewhat. How ironic this was. Even fortunate, he might say. To think of all the time that Watson had spent trying to mentally concoct scenarios with which to get Holmes into his bedroom! All made unnecessary now that Holmes had volunteered himself. Watson could almost laugh.
As Watson strove to conceal his amusement, Holmes left to get some towels, brusquely ordering Watson to undress in the meantime. Watson only smiled as he complied.
Holmes returned and cleared the bed, laying down towels and ordering Watson to lie prostrate upon them. Holmes unconcernedly took Watson's dressing-gown away from him, tossing him only a towel for modesty's sake and a pillow for his head. Apparently, their occasional visits to the Turkish baths had taken all the novelty out of Watson's nude body. Holmes showed no curiosity even to touch Watson's scar from Maiwand, as he had done the first time that he saw it.
Watson lay still and swallowed his disappointment. He had to concentrate on how he would manage to win Holmes's (rather fickle) attention once more.
Holmes meanwhile hung up the dressing-gown, as well as his own coat, on the same chair that Watson had lain his clothes. In a business-like manner, Holmes unfastened his cuffs and rolled up his shirtsleeves, then sat down on the edge of the bed.
Watson half turned around at his nearness, uncertain of himself and of Holmes. This felt rather similar to being on a case with Holmes, for Watson had no idea how this scenario would end.
"Lie still." Holmes firmly pushed him back down.
So Watson rested on his folded arms and waited with an alert kind of tension.
"What have you read of Eastern philosophy?" Holmes leaned nearer and began lightly stroking Watson's shoulders.
"Mmm," Watson thought over so puzzling and so general a question. He jumped somewhat as Holmes grazed his fingers both up Watson's neck and down his back. Holmes slowly began exploring his skin and muscles, testing Watson's flesh in a careful, subdued, and teasing way. At least, "teasing" was the word that came to Watson, who bit his lip a little as the two hands roamed and rubbed him simultaneously.
"The underlying idea that you must understand..." Holmes began, not noticing that Watson barely heard him. For a renowned detective, Holmes could be amazingly unobservant at times. Watson had often wondered whether it was due to a lack of personal experience in matters of physical attraction and sex. There was only so much that one could learn from books and dispassionately studying people at a distance.
Watson focused acutely upon the fingers now purposefully kneading and squeezing down his spine and into his lumbar muscles. He closed his eyes and caught his breath at the pleasure of that touch.
"In fact," Watson vaguely heard Holmes speaking, "a monograph alone could be devoted to..."
Holmes continued warming and rubbing Watson methodically, still oblivious. Dammit, Holmes had a way of neatly compartmentalising people and close relationships as comfortable old habits that he was too lazy to alter or investigate further. What would it take to get Holmes involved in emotional intimacy, let alone physical intimacy?
For himself, Watson had already figured out that he personally would have no trouble getting more deeply involved with Holmes, especially sexually. If Watson had had any lingering doubts, they were erased by Holmes's touch, here and now on his bed. His muscles relaxing, his joints loosening, and even his old war wound throbbing beautifully ... this massage made every part of Watson's body feel alive.
"...the ancient practices..." Holmes's murmur continued. "...widespread..."
Watson trembled in ecstasy, his sensitive skin flushed and damp with perspiration. When Holmes's hands slid along his thighs, his body tensed. But then Watson felt the enchanting fingers stroke and knead him slack again, before continuing down his legs.
"... interestingly, meant to enhance spiritual and bodily connections..."
Holmes kept speaking on and on about energy centres, meditation, pressure points, and other terms that Watson really couldn't concentrate on, too lost in the incredible touch that now roamed upward from his feet again.
"Watson?"
"Mmm..." he sighed deeply.
"Watson?" Holmes paused his caresses.
"Oh, don't stop," he breathed, blinking lazily.
Holmes scowled. "Do I need to remind you why I'm doing this?"
"Hmm?"
Holmes exhaled with annoyance. "You're supposed to be learning this for me, remember?" He gripped Watson's shoulders.
Watson at last nodded and looked up with a somewhat less foggy gaze; Holmes doubtfully decided to resume, but not for long.
"Do try to pay attention, Watson!" he complained querulously.
Watson lay helplessly beneath Holmes's hands, his eyes closed and his body trembling again. "I'm--" he gasped, "trying." He was trying, but the delightful sensations overwhelmed him. Holmes's slender, warm fingers reached the small of his back again, and Watson deeply moaned.
Holmes growled, ceasing the massage and folding his arms petulantly.
Watson grimaced, shaking his head with disappointment. Too good to last, of course. Lying undressed on his bed with Holmes's talented hands upon him... Just too damned good.
Over his shoulder, Watson glimpsed Holmes sitting back in an ill-humoured state, and he realised that Holmes was not simply sulking, but actually suffering. If anything, Holmes looked more stressed than he had in the sitting-room. This demonstration had benefited Watson only, and done nothing to relieve Holmes's nervous agitation. Watson sighed guiltily, upset that he had forgotten about Holmes in the midst of his pleasure.
Watson turned and sat up on the bed. "Holmes," he reached to touch Holmes's shoulder.
"Don't!" Holmes jerked away, his eyes shut and his fingers rubbing his temples.
"Holmes."
"Let me ... collect myself," Holmes spoke with considerable strain in his voice. Then he muttered wearily, under his breath, "Of all the people that I could reasonably expect to remain unselfish and steadfastly concerned about my needs..."
Watson bristled a little at such words, but calmed for the sake of the pain in Holmes's face. Watson approached and took him by both shoulders. "Holmes," he intoned, "let me try something."
Holmes shook him off and hissed, looking cross and distrusting.
"Come here," Watson began pulling Holmes down, trying to unbutton his waistcoat at the same time.
Holmes resisted. "No! You don't even know how--"
Watson fought him out of the waistcoat. "Holmes, I can help relieve you. Just let me try. Trust me!"
Holmes glared at him fiercely, but finally complied and began disrobing.
Watson rose from the bed and reached for his dressing-gown, having become aware of his continued nudity. He felt more grateful than ever for this covering when he turned back and saw Holmes undress. Oh dear. If Watson's knees got weak, as always, at just seeing Holmes's lovely body, how would Watson manage staying professional once he touched him? He swallowed and tossed Holmes a fresh towel, steadfastly looking aside as he took Holmes's discarded clothing and placed it with his own.
Finally Holmes finished and sat staring at Watson in silence. He appeared to be puzzled by Watson's odd manner, but with such a headache, Holmes did not seem able to read very much from Watson's face. Besides, perhaps Holmes had never personally observed someone in such a highly aroused state, let alone someone trying carefully to hide it.
"Lie down," Watson said hoarsely.
Holmes did so and waited.
Watson took a breath and remembered how he had melted beneath Holmes's touch. He had honestly tried not to, but how could Holmes possibly expect Watson to concentrate on so much talk, especially when given in such a soft, enticing voice? How could Holmes expect such inhuman willpower out of anyone--let alone Watson, who found him so ... so ... hard to resist under normal circumstances anyway? Granted, he'd been hiding that particular fact from Holmes for a while now, but surely that was no excuse for Holmes, a detective renowned for his perceptive and shrewd senses!
Watson gave up on puzzling it out, taking his place on the bed with Holmes. "Breathe," he said as much to himself as to Holmes. He gently began the massage, trying to focus on relieving Holmes's overwrought tension and distress.
Watson touched Holmes with surprising skill. However intellectually distracted he had been from Holmes's words, he could still physically remember Holmes's every caress upon his body. Watson easily, ... lovingly reciprocated each one, and more.
Slowly but surely, Watson felt Holmes relax and loosen under his touch. The tight knots in his muscles seemed to flow away. Holmes closed his eyes and sighed with an intense, unexpected relief. Eventually, Watson found that he could draw Holmes out into gasps and moans of pleasure.
Despite his own mental injunctions against it, Watson became lost in the massage as well. The sensuality of caressing Holmes, exploring his skin and shape, kneading his muscles, feeling and hearing his reactions... Watson was breathless with desire, his arousal becoming acute again; he was grateful that Holmes couldn't see.
"Watson..." Holmes sighed, his faint voice was more tempting than ever to Watson.
Forgetting himself, Watson kissed the back of Holmes's neck amorously. Eyes closed, he licked and tasted the delicious warmth there, hardly registering Holmes's sharp gasp and now frozen posture. Watson kept kissing him, pressing stiflingly close and breathing heavily upon Holmes's skin. He slid probing hands down Holmes's slender sides again.
Holmes cried out some inarticulate noise and shuddered, shifting around sharply on the bed. He blinked at Watson as though at a complete stranger, looking pale and considerably shocked.
Watson gulped and sat back from Holmes, realising that he had overstepped his limits. "I'm--I'm sorry," he stammered. Oh God. What had he done?
Holmes said nothing as he still stared at Watson, evidently incapable of even believing those kisses, let alone reacting to them. He just sat there, lost and more shaken than Watson had ever seen him.
Watson had a sudden impulse to embrace and soothe Holmes, but stifled it. Oh, where had Watson's self-control been just a minute ago? His recklessness had now upset the delicate balance of their entire relationship. Watson should have known better than to violently alarm Holmes, who was difficult and indefinite enough in terms of intimacy, anyway.
"I--I just forgot what I was doing for a moment," he denied lamely. "I don't know what I was thinking!" Watson sat up and decided that he had better leave before he did something worse. He rose and reached for his clothes on the chair.
Holmes caught hold of his arm before he slipped away. "Watson!" his voice sounded desperate.
Watson halted and turned back to Holmes reluctantly.
"I--" Holmes hesitated, his grasp on Watson wavering, but finally holding after a moment.
"Holmes?" Watson whispered, touching the hand that gripped him. Watching Holmes's eyes, Watson cautiously returned to the bed.
Holmes glanced away and spoke tensely, "Tell me--tell me ... why..." He could not get any further.
Watson raised Holmes's eyes to him again, answering gently, "Those kisses, Holmes, those..." He shook his head, "They--they were just something that somehow slipped by my better senses briefly. I don't know how to apologise enough, Holmes, but I promise you that I will never repeat them, if they disturb you so much."
Holmes blinked and made some faint, uncertain noise.
"Do you understand? Do you believe my promise, Holmes? Please tell me that you trust me."
"I do, I--" Holmes broke off abruptly, then leaned closer to Watson. Taking a breath, he haltingly whispered, "No, but you don't see. You don't--" Holmes swallowed. "When you kissed me, I..." he closed his eyes, "I liked that."
Watson dared not breathe. "You did?"
Holmes nodded, biting his lip.
"You--you're not just saying that?"
Holmes responded by shaking his head, but still frowned with anxiety.
Tentatively leaning nearer, Watson reassured Holmes by brushing his fingers softly against his face. Holmes seemed to relax a little and sigh. "And how about this?" Watson moved to kiss Holmes's lips.
Holmes opened his eyes and turned, withdrawing in panic.
Watson held onto Holmes and kissed his cheek quite tenderly instead. He warmed Holmes's skin with his breath.
The grey eyes fluttered, and Holmes eased once again. He kissed back experimentally, seeming to be getting used to the feeling of Watson's lips against him.
Watson pulled Holmes nearer to him, placing another more lingering kiss on his cheek. Holmes swallowed and slid his fingers through Watson's hair, blinking. They shifted and slowly lay back upon the bed together, Holmes still holding onto Watson with some tension.
"And ... this?" Watson reached down and kissed Holmes's throat.
Reacting considerably more, Holmes closed his eyes with a moan. After allowing Watson to continue ardently at his neck for several moments, Holmes drew Watson's hands to him and kissed the fingertips lightly. Then Holmes turned over and pulled Watson's arms snugly around him, as they had been when massaging him. "More," he murmured.
Nestling close, Watson tenderly resumed the massage, now adding his warm kisses here and there, all over Holmes's skin.
Holmes responded to each caress in a low, breathless voice.
Watson kissed, licked, then breathed upon Holmes's shoulders, which were very sensitive to the heat of him. Watson's mustache seemed to both tickle and excite Holmes, and his fingers meanwhile traced the outline of Holmes's spine and rib cage.
"Oh," Holmes gasped, his fingers gripping the pillow beneath him.
Watson moved further down and explored the softer terrain half obscured by a towel. He brushed the cloth aside and trailed kisses upon Holmes's posterior, sending tremors through his lank, lovely body.
Holmes gasped, arching his back. He had never before seemed so beautiful and feline as this. When Watson moved to kiss him again, Holmes halted him with his hand. "S-stop!" he begged.
Watson withdrew with concern at Holmes's tone of voice. "You don't like that?" he asked, uneasy.
Holmes shook his head and shivered. When he recovered his breath, he slowly turned to face Watson. Holmes looked barely able to keep a feverish haze of desire from his eyes. "No," he answered softly. "No, I like that ... too much." His face betrayed a surprised confusion at the uncontrollable ecstasy which overcame him and which he seemed to be trying to sort out, though the logical side of him failed to analyse at the moment.
Watson watched Holmes blink repeatedly and try to clear his gaze. "Then, you--?" Holmes jumped somewhat when Watson moved to caress him.
Trembling, Holmes tried to explain. "I-- This is ... too much," he frowned. "I don't know--" Holmes swallowed and blushed, averting his eyes.
Watson realised that this doubt and embarrassment surely must stem from Holmes's inexperience. He softly assured him, coming closer. "Holmes, I'll be most good to you, most..." he paused to kiss Holmes's lips, "...pleasing."
Meeting Watson's gaze, Holmes did not answer, still uncertain.
"Do you trust me?" he asked. Watson saw the unfairness of that question when Holmes winced agonisingly. How kind was emotional blackmail to someone who was alarmed by his own desires? Holmes had reached his limits to-night, and ought not to be pressed further. "I'm sorry," Watson said, sitting back from him. "I started this. I can stop, for you."
Grateful, Holmes exhaled more freely at last, but did not completely relax. He lay there staring at Watson with an astonished expression on his face, as if not believing how completely his world had been disrupted in a matter of minutes. Not only did Watson hotly desire him, but Holmes requited that desire with a frightening intensity. Holmes clearly did not know what he was prepared to do about it. This was far too sudden, and too many pleasurable, yet alarming sensations confused him.
Watson ached at Holmes's troubled look. "You're all right?" He moved carefully closer and stroked gently at Holmes's shoulders to ease and calm him. Watson massaged him with complete sincerity and innocence.
Holmes did not protest and was comforted by Watson in the accustomed role of concerned doctor. He sighed. After several minutes of silence, Watson ventured to kiss Holmes's forehead. Holmes held onto Watson and kissed his cheek faintly. Watson kissed him back, and Holmes closed his eyes. "Good-night," he whispered, shifting slightly in the bed.
Accepting the offer, Watson lay down beside Holmes and wrapped his arms lightly around him. "Good-night." They then slept quite cosily together in that bed.
So they took things fairly slowly after that night. For one thing, Watson came to Holmes's bedroom subsequently, to make him feel more at ease and comfortable. Holmes seemed able to act more like his usual assured self in his own territory. He could act as if he were merely conducting a personal experiment in physical pleasure, rather than testing out some newly discovered, intense, and almost overwhelming emotions and desires. However, Holmes's facade did not always hold, especially when their embraces grew heated. Watson could do some truly incredible things to Holmes at times.
There had been a handful of mornings, early on, when they had woken together--Watson smothering Holmes, but Holmes's body rather tightly tangled with him too. Both surprise and trepidation had touched Holmes's features. Face to face, they could both feel Watson's very evident erection, as well as Holmes's responding arousal, pressed close in the heat between them. The look in those grey eyes had held an odd mixture of desire and uncertainty.
At such times, Watson would kiss Holmes's mouth deeply; Holmes had liked this kiss the best, since first experiencing it. Watson felt Holmes's grip relax, then slid out of his arms. He would sit back at that point, waiting for Holmes to react, once his mind was clear enough to think. So far, Holmes had only been able to sit up and softly kiss Watson back, murmuring "Good-night" with a frown. They would lie down again and turn away from each other until they could relax and sleep once more.
Watson privately wondered when Holmes would fully be able to get past his apprehension of consummating their desires. In the meantime, Watson simply endeavoured to be patient and to gently coax Holmes into further sexual experimentation.
Quite early on a chilly winter morning a few weeks later, Watson woke before Holmes did. Watson often did, nowadays. His body could sense the speeding up of heartbeat and breathing right next to him, and this was enough to rouse Watson so that he could bask in the sensation. Watson, however, would remain quite still and try not let his consciousness show to Holmes, if he could help it. It was simply too pleasurable, to lie wrapped up together like this, as if they were lovers. A deceptive appearance, of course, but very comforting nonetheless. It always had to end, though, whenever Holmes woke.
Yawning and blinking, Holmes turned at last and shook Watson's shoulder. "Time to get up."
"Hmm?" Watson pretended not to hear, snuggling nearer against his skin.
Holmes drowsily prodded him again, patting his hip. "Come on, Watson," he sighed. He put on an air of tried patience. "You know that I only agreed to this ... if you made yourself useful around here."
Raising an eyebrow, Watson yawned and smiled mischievously. "I thought I was being useful," he pressed a hand against Holmes's sternum and traced the ribs extending from it.
"In another way," Holmes yawned again, pushing.
"All right, all right." He got up from the bed as Holmes rolled over and went back to sleep. Holmes looked so cosy and so sensual, lying bare in the sheets. Watson longed to stay, but rose and pulled on his dressing-gown.
Watson went to the hearth and started the fire to warm himself up a little. Being thrown out of bed in the mornings was almost not worth the pleasure of sharing Holmes's bed. Then again, Watson did so enjoy touching him! He glanced back to watch Holmes sleeping, and his pulse pounded with unabashed adoration of that gracefully lean, irresistable body.
Oh yes, definitely worth it. Watson sighed. This arrangement of theirs, though lacking in certain matters, was surely better than lusting after Holmes in silence. It was nice, too, that Holmes found Watson's ardent caresses and coaxing embraces necessary every night, case or no case. Watson in turn became addicted to spending the night in Holmes's bed; his own bed no longer held any appeal to him since Holmes had decided to make Watson come to him. However, Holmes objected to being crowded in the little bed, especially as he frequently woke to find Watson smothering him. They had made it a deal that Watson could stay over every night, if he would get out when asked.
Warmer now, Watson turned and busied himself with Holmes's files. Despite his comments, Holmes had never actually assigned such a task to Watson as part of their deal, but it was considered a playful joke between themselves, to lighten the seriousness of their nightly endeavours.
No, in fact, Watson had merely disliked leaving the room once kicked out of bed and had consequently formed the habit of tidying Holmes's papers in the mornings. Holmes had always been notoriously slow and haphazard in cleaning out and organising his case files, so Watson had taken it up, to distract himself from further worries about the progression of his relationship with Holmes. Watson could fulfil his curiosity about Holmes's old cases, if the notes were sufficiently detailed, and Holmes obtained more livable quarters.
Watson began sorting a new stack, setting aside certain papers to read and others to type up later, for better legibility. He would finally file them all into the proper tin box. Watson reflected that, in contrast to Holmes's earlier possessive and distrustful attitude about his files, it was satisfying that Holmes now trusted Watson with his papers ... as much as he trusted him with his body. Oh yes, he would eventually learn all the luscious secrets and delights of Holmes's body.
Watson stopped to remember again how these lovely nights with Holmes had begun. He also ruefully recalled Mrs. Hudson's startled reaction the first time that she had caught them together in bed, when they had had no late case to postpone their clandestine activity. It took a great deal of talking to convince her that they were only teaching each other massage techniques, thus innocently explaining their nudity and their indiscreet moans. She still seemed to doubt them, but from then on, she stayed well away, no matter what pleasurable sounds emanated from behind the bedroom door, at whatever hour.
Watson smiled at their wicked deception. Then he exhaled, somewhat sad that their activities in reality weren't a trifle bit more scandalous. In a sense they really were just massaging each other, only with the slight modification of adding amorous kisses into the mix. Watson at least had the happy pleasure of noticing that Holmes had lately become more thorough in his reciprocation, more expressive in his moans, and more ardent in his kisses. He had yet only to brave lovemaking, to make them any more intimate.
But Holmes clearly needed time, and it wasn't as if Watson weren't being allowed any fun. No matter how much Holmes enjoyed Watson's touch, he was not yet used to the idea of it, nor to how vulnerable he was to the pleasure. Holmes still stopped Watson whenever he was uncomfortable and uncertain about where the caresses were going; his rueful frown often showed how sincerely he liked Watson's explorations, yet still did not feel quite ready. Watson sensed that Holmes needed to come to terms with this steadily increasing loss of his self-control, which he had never given away to anyone before.
"Watson?"
Watson broke out of his reverie, realising that he had been reading the same sentence for several minutes. Dwelling again, he sighed. He turned around. "Yes?"
He saw that Holmes lay shivering in the bed, unable to get warm no matter how he wrapped himself in the bedcovers. Despite lying there nude, Holmes had previously always managed to get cosy after a bit, what with the remnant of Watson's body heat. Now, however, he was cold and sat up hesitantly. "Watson, I--" he trembled again, "I need..." He cleared his throat, "You would be more useful here."
Watson instantly put down the papers and got up, coming back to bed. Thank God for frosty winter mornings! He climbed in and embraced Holmes, enthusiastically rubbing and kissing away the goosebumps on his skin.
Under the covers, Holmes sighed deeply and clung to Watson. Holmes had not seemed so relieved to be touched since Watson had first massaged him. He allowed himself to genuinely relish Watson's warm contact for more than just its heat, and he appreciatively returned Watson's plentiful kisses.
In response, Watson toyed happily with Holmes's more ticklish body parts, beginning with his toes. Holmes closed his eyes and moaned Watson's name several times, finding such endeavours particularly sensual and erotic. He untied and slid off Watson's dressing-gown, preferring the bare skin to the silk. Their limbs tangled up together, and Holmes's kisses became more possessive.
Smiling, Watson listened to Holmes's racing heartbeat echoing against his own. Oh, how comfortable to return to this bed, these arms... Perhaps today Holmes could be persuaded to not throw Watson out of bed anymore. Licking Holmes's nipple teasingly, he whispered with a chuckle, "Warm enough yet?"
Holmes responded only to the lick, moaning and holding onto Watson more tightly. His eyes were hazy and blinking.
Watson kissed Holmes's shoulder and faced him inquiringly, stroking his neck. "Holmes?" he wondered at Holmes's behaviour. Holmes always fought against losing himself so completely when they touched.
Holmes finally came back to himself, sighing. He gazed longingly at Watson with his lovely grey eyes. "Kiss me," he murmured.
Watson gladly did so, then found Holmes's mouth eager for more. They passionately exchanged deep kisses for several moments. Watson particularly enjoyed how talented and zealous Holmes's tongue had become. Mmm, Watson could do this for hours! Shifting, he slid his hands down Holmes's spine.
Holmes gasped, trembling a bit.
Watson withdrew immediately. "I'm--I'm sorry--"
Holmes covered Watson's mouth, shaking his head. "No, that was--" he gulped, averting his eyes. He pulled Watson close to embrace him again.
Puzzled, Watson tried to read Holmes's tense grip and his heated breathlessness. Holmes at last raised his eyes once more and ran his fingers slowly across Watson's lips, but said nothing yet. Watson asked, "Do you want to stop?"
Holmes tried to say something, but was inaudible. Making a decision, Holmes abruptly leaned nearer still, closed his eyes, and kissed Watson almost hesitantly.
"Are you all right, Holmes?"
Holmes nodded and stroked Watson's lips with his fingers again. He blinked, then said very softly, "I want--I want to ... be intimate with you."
Watson did not dare to believe him. "Are you sure? You really--?"
He nodded again, kissing Watson more firmly.
Feeling the fire in that kiss, Watson pursed his lips and looked deeply into those grey eyes. He reached for Holmes's hand. "Then touch me." He coaxed Holmes to reach down between them, sliding Holmes's fingers from his tense abdomen to his expectant groin.
Holmes sighed and blinked at the unfamiliar sensation of Watson's stiffening member in his hand. He seemed fearful of being clumsy, but Holmes slowly caressed and fondled him, making him more erect.
Breathless, Watson moved and touched Holmes back. Watson began massaging him softly, in the way that he had often done the rest of his body. He was pleased to elicit Holmes's trembling arousal, not anxiety. Watson kissed his mouth again.
"Oh God!" Holmes gasped profoundly, shivering. After a moment, he opened his eyes again, half smiling. "You get better with time."
"And you get surprisingly more religious," Watson teased.
Holmes laughed, easily and brightly. No longer blushing or shy. Watson pulled Holmes very close to him, his hot breath mingling with Holmes's.
They both knew then that they could take this step. They need not doubt anymore. The sultry look in those bright grey eyes was certainly an encouraging harbinger to their lovemaking. They kissed, most intimately. The rest of their bodies kissed too, sliding and caressing together as one.