"Do try to pay attention, Watson!" he complained querulously.

Watson lay helplessly beneath his hands, eyes closed and body trembling with pleasure. "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, and Watson volubly moaned.

Holmes growled, ceasing the massage and folding his arms petulantly.

Watson bit his lip with disappointment. Too good to last. Lying undressed on his bed with Holmes's talented hands upon him... Just too damned good.

Holmes sat sulking, still tense. His nerve-wracked restlessness and boredom had earlier prompted Watson to suggest a relaxing Turkish bath. That proposal had held no appeal. Apparently, only a massage could soothe Holmes this time, and only a proper massage at that. --'Proper' being something he'd experienced during his travels in India.

Watson offered to massage him, but was refused dismissively. "You couldn't do it properly, not if I explained it with charts and diagrams."

They'd argued their way into Holmes demonstrating the technique upon Watson. Holmes kept speaking about energy centres and other terms that Watson really couldn't concentrate on.

Resenting his failure, Watson sat up and turned to Holmes, still pouting--and incredibly tempting. Unable to resist, he grabbed Holmes and started massaging him. Even mentally distracted, he could physically remember Holmes's every caress; he skilfully reciprocated each one, and more.

Now it was Holmes's turn to gasp and moan.

---

a May 27, 1999, version

(with some pronoun corrections)

Holmes paced the sitting-room restlessly, his every step tense and impatient. The unbearable ennui that had afflicted him for some weeks now, wearing him down to the very last nerve. And unfortunately for him, unlike in earlier years, a certain promise he'd 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.

Watson sat in his armchair, having long ago put aside his book as Holmes kept crossing his path in front of the fireplace. He knew that he could do very little whenever Holmes was like this. Observing Holmes's seething irritation and self-restraint, Watson ventured a suggestion. "Holmes, how about a trip to the Turkish bath?" He strove to keep the hopefulness out of his voice at the thought of that intensely pleasurable activity that they had only recently come to share. Watson insisted to himself that his motives were only to relax Holmes, not benefit himself.

However, the proposal held no appeal to Holmes. "A bath!" he snorted. "Turkish or English, such an idle, luxurious pastime could not even approach what it would take to relieve me."

Watson pulled a face, sighing. Luxurious indeed. What he liked most about a trip to the Turkish baths was its luxurious, sensual, steaming, restoring, and rejuvenating indulgence. It had delighted him immensely when he had found that he could occasionally coax Holmes into accompanying him there lately.

From Holmes's continued complaining, though, only a massage could sooth Holmes this time, and only a proper massage at that. --'Proper' being something that he'd experienced during his extensive travels in the East.

At that, Watson sat up a bit too eagerly and offered to massage him. Holmes only refused him dismissively. "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 the sensations! Such an involved process could only be taught by touch, a most delicate touch...."

Watson still felt that his intelligence and medical competence were slighted, and they argued over the topic heatedly. 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 massage.

He took Watson by the arm and irritably pulled him from the sitting-room.

It was in his bedroom that Watson began to see the situation as rather ironic, and even fortunate. Holmes went to get some towels, brusquely ordering him to undress. Watson concealed a smile as he complied.

Holmes returned and cleared the bed, laying out the towels and ordering Watson to lie face down. He obliviously took Watson's dressing-gown away from him, tossing him only a towel for modesty's sake and a pillow to rest his head upon. Holmes hung up the dressing-gown as well as his own coat on the chair that Watson had laid his clothes. In a business-like manner, Holmes thereupon unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, then sat down on the edge of the bed.

Watson half turned around at his nearness, uncertain of himself and of Holmes.

"Lie still." Holmes firmly pushed him back down.

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 his shoulders.

"Mmm," he thought over so puzzling and so general a question. He jumped somewhat as Holmes slid his fingers both up his neck and down his back. He slowly began exploring Watson's skin and muscles in a careful, subdued, and teasing way. At least, 'teasing' was the word that came to Watson, biting his lip a little as the two hands roamed him simultaneously.

"The underlying idea that you must understand..." Holmes began, not noticing that Watson barely heard him. Watson was focused too intently upon the touch now purposefully stroking down his spine. He closed his eyes and caught his breath at the pleasure.

Holmes continued warming and rubbing Watson from head to toe. His muscles relaxing, his joints loosening, and even his old war wound throbbing beautifully... the massage made every part of his 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, Watson's body tensed. But then he 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 centers, meditation, pressure points, and other terms that Watson really couldn't concentrate on, too lost in the incredible touch.

"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?"

He 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--" Watson 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, biting his lip with disappointment. Too good to last, of course. Lying undressed on his bed with Holmes's talented hands upon him... Just too damned good.

Holmes sat sulking, as stressed as ever. Indeed, he had been right--the demonstration had benefitted Watson only, and done nothing to relieve his own drawn and agitated state. Watson sighed guiltily and knew that, despite his best efforts, neither of them was getting anywhere.

Resenting his failure, Watson frowned and decided to leave. As he turned and sat up, he remembered his highly aroused state and quickly covered himself with the towel. He reached for his dressing-gown and threw it on in an embarrassed panic.

Holmes was actually ignoring Watson totally, still very peeved. Of all the people that Holmes could reasonably expect to remain unselfish and steadfastly concerned about his needs...!

Watson took a breath and carefully turned back to Holmes. He found his scowl both discouraging and unfair. Watson had tried! He had! But how could Holmes possibly expect him to concentrate on so much talk, especially when given in such a low, seductive manner? 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, Watson had 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 sense of touch!

"Holmes," Watson began, not really sure of what he actually intended to say.

"Your apologies are wasted on me!" Holmes shook his head, rubbing the strain at his temples. "Just let me collect myself, please!"

Apologies! That was most certainly not what he intended to say. If anyone was owed an apology, it was Watson! For being teased, aroused, and unsatisfied. For being made to feel inept and ineffectual.

He huffed, approaching Holmes and pulling his hands aside. He sat and took Holmes's shoulders seriously. "I am not incompetent!"

"Watson, please..."

"Holmes!" Watson shook him. "Listen--"

Holmes shrugged him off roughly. "Watson, if you won't or can't help me--"

"Can't? Can't!" Now Watson was really angry. He stood up. "Undress," he commanded.

"What?"

"Now!" he said, getting a fresh towel.

When Holmes sat hesitating, Watson began unbuttoning his waistcoast for him. Holmes finally complied and handed each article to Watson to hang up, as he shrugged off each piece of clothing. Watson ignored that Holmes had no dressing-gown available to him, simply handing him the towel and hurriedly looking away. He certainly didn't need to be anymore breathless than he was already. Watson might have attempted getting dressed himself in the meantime, if not for the continuing difficulty of his arousal.

When Holmes was ready, still looking at Watson with a kind of puzzled annoyance, Watson pressed him prostrate upon the bed and leaned over him. "Lie still. Breathe," he said as much to himself as to Holmes. Then Watson began the massage.

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. He easily ... lovingly reciprocated each one, and more.

Slowly but surely he felt Holmes relax and loosen under his caress. The knots and tension seemed to flow away. Holmes closed his eyes and sighed with an intense, unexpected relief. Watson knew, without Holmes verbally admitting it, that he had proven himself quite a capable student. Eventually it became Holmes's turn to gasp and moan in pleasure.

Watson became lost in the massage as well. The sensuality of touching him, exploring his skin, kneading his muscles, feeling his reactions... Watson was breathless with desire, his arousal becoming acute again; he was grateful that Holmes couldn't see.

"Watson..." Holmes's faint voice was more tempting than ever.

Forgetting himself, he kissed the back of Holmes's neck fervently. Watson kissed him over and over, breathing heavily, and slid his probing hands down Holmes's slender sides again.

Holmes gasped, shivering a little.

Watson opened his eyes and pulled back then, realising that he'd overstepped his limits. "I'm--I'm sorry," he stammered. Oh, God. What had he done?

Holmes glanced back toward him, looking pale and more than a little shocked.

Watson sat up and decided he had better leave before he did something worse. "I--I just forgot what I was doing for a moment. I don't know what I was thinking!" Watson rose and reached for his clothes on the chair.

Holmes caught hold of his arm and stopped him. "No." He blinked, wavering uncertainly. "No, I ... I liked that." Holmes looked away quickly but held onto him.

Watson sat again. "You did?"

Holmes nodded, still glancing down.

He tentatively leaned nearer. "And this?" Watson kissed him again.

Closing his eyes, Holmes let out a long sigh. "More," he murmured softly.

Watson resumed the massage, now adding his warm kisses here and there, all over Holmes's skin.

Holmes responded to each in a low, breathless voice. His fingers gripped the pillow.

Watson kissed, then 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 him. Watson moved further down Holmes's skin, sending tremors through his body.

Holmes gasped again, 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 frowned with disappointment and concern. "You don't like that?" he swallowed.

Holmes shook his head and turned to face Watson. Rather than appearing uneasy or angry, Holmes looked only radiantly pleased, barely able to keep the feverish haze from his eyes. "No. No, I liked that... too much." His face showed a surprised confusion at the uncontrollable bliss, which he seemed to be trying to sort out, as he blinked repeatedly.

Finally Holmes pulled Watson back down to lie against him, then turned and shut his eyes. With slow, soft breaths, he reached a deeper, more complete release of all his prior tension. After a time, he was lulled into a comfortable, sensual sleep, still lying in Watson's arms.

---

A few weeks later, quite early on a chilly winter morning, Holmes woke in his bed. Yawning and blinking, he turned and shook Watson's shoulder. "Time to get up."

"Hmm?" Watson snuggled nearer against Holmes's 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 ran his hands down Holmes's spine.

"In another way," he yawned again, pushing.

"All right, all right." Watson got up from the bed as Holmes rolled over and went back to sleep. He looked so cozy 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 was almost not worth the pleasure of sharing Holmes's bed. He glanced back to watch Holmes sleeping, wrapped up in the bedclothes.

But Watson did so enjoy touching him! This was surely beyond what Watson had hoped to win from Holmes even just a month ago. It was nice, too, that Holmes found Watson's soothing caresses necessary every night, even when he had not been stressed. Watson became equally 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, frequently waking to find Watson smothering him. So the deal had been struck, to let Watson stay over every night, if he would get out when asked.

Warmer now, Watson busied himself with Holmes's files. He disliked leaving the room once kicked out of bed, and had formed the habit of tidying Holmes's papers in the mornings. Holmes was notoriously slow and haphazard in cleaning out and organising his files, so Watson had taken it up. He could fulfill his curiosity about Holmes's old cases, if the notes were sufficiently detailed. Once he sorted a certain stack, he would later take out the papers to type up if necessary, and then file them in the proper tin box. In contrast to Holmes's earlier possessive and distrustful attitude, it was satisfying that Holmes now trusted Watson with his papers ... as much as he trusted him with his body.

Watson remembered again how these lovely nights with Holmes had begun. He also ruefully remembered 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 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 sighed, still 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 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 still wasn't quite used to the idea of it, nor to how vulnerable he was to the pleasure. Holmes still had to stop 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.

There had been a handful of mornings, before Holmes began kicking Watson out early, when they had woken together--Watson smothering him, 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 hardness, as well as Holmes's responding arousal, pressed close in the heat between them. The look in those grey eyes had held that odd mixture of desire and uncertainty. Watson kissed Holmes's mouth deeply; Holmes had always liked this kiss the best. Watson felt his 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 kiss him softly back, murmuring, "Breathe." They would lie down again and breathe deeply until they could relax and sleep once more.

"Watson?"

He broke out of his reverie, realising that he had been reading the same sentence for several minutes. He turned around. "Yes?"

Watson saw that Holmes lay shivering in the bed, unable to get warm no matter how he wrapped himself in the bedclothes. Despite his lying there nude, Holmes had previously always managed to get cozy 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 swallowed, his voice more faint, "You would be more useful here."

Watson immediately 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.

Holmes sighed and clung to him. He kissed back, closing his eyes and moaning Watson's name several times. 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 were more possessive.

Watson listened to Holmes's heartbeat echoing against his own. He murmured, "Better?"

Holmes didn't respond at first, blinking. He shifted beneath Watson.

Watson kissed his shoulder, stroking his neck. "Holmes?"

Holmes pulled back, looking at him with those lovely grey eyes. "Kiss me."

Watson did, then found Holmes's mouth eager for more. They passionately exchanged kisses for several moments. Watson particularly enjoyed how talented and zealous Holmes's tongue had become. Mmm, he could do this for hours! Shifting, Watson slid his hands down Holmes's spine.

Holmes gasped, pulling back a bit.

"I'm--I'm sorry--"

Holmes covered his mouth.

Watson lay there, trying to read Holmes's burning gaze and his heated breathlessness. Holmes kept blinking and running his fingers slowly across Watson's lips.

Holmes swallowed at last and leaned near again. He closed his eyes and kissed Watson almost hesitantly.

"Are you all right?"

He nodded and stroked Watson's lips with his fingers again. Holmes blinked, then said very softly, "I want ... I want to be intimate with you."

"Are you sure? You really--?"

He nodded again, pulling Watson nearer. Holmes kissed him again.

Watson reached for Holmes's hand. "Then touch me," he murmured. He coaxed Holmes to reach down, sliding across his leg to his groin and touching his stiffening member. Holmes sighed and blinked at the unfamiliar sensation. He slowly caressed and fondled Watson, making him more erect.

Breathless, Watson moved and touched Holmes back. He began massaging him softly in the way that Watson had often done the rest of his body. He was pleased that he elicited Holmes's arousal, not his hesitation. Watson kissed his mouth again.

"Oh God!" Holmes gasped. After a moment he then opened his eyes, half smiling. "You get better with time."

"And you get surprisingly more religious," Watson teased.

Holmes laughed, easily and brightly.

They both knew then that this would not be difficult and uncertain. No, there would be no fear in taking this step, only desire and exploration. The 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.