mustbethetruth | awww yeah

Entry tags:

awww yeah

continued from here

To be honest, he isn't sure what he'd been waiting for; perhaps he was trying to see how long he could last without kissing, or clinging, or betraying his desire in any overly forward way; or maybe he was waiting for the both of them to be bared to the waist, so that when he finally gave in, they could begin right away with the honey aspect of this.

Regardless of what he'd been waiting for, it appears as if the moment has arrived. Certainly he can't negotiate himself into waiting longer. He reaches for Watson, sliding his hand into his hair, and pulls him in for an unapologetically passionate kiss.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Smiling, Watson shook his head a little. He couldn't argue with the brandy, at least, although personally he wasn't sure he was quite ready for a second cigarette. Whatever the context was, sliding naked between the sheets with his husband beside him was a pleasant and desirable pastime.

"Very well, I'll be waiting." He finished drying and, after a moment's consideration, dropped the towel over a hook. The only reason to take it was modesty, as there was no need to cling to it for warmth, and what, he reasoned, was the point of modesty in front of Holmes?

Naked, he left the bathroom, and slipped into the bedroom, and naked, he slipped beneath the sheets of their bed. Their bed. What a splendid thing that was to think about. Watson settled himself against the pillows very comfortably, waiting for Holmes to rejoin him.

Holmes recovers the brandy and returns to the bathroom for the cigarettes, pausing to light one for himself. He sees, of course, Watson's towel hanging in the bathroom and so he leaves his there as well, walking naked into the bedroom carrying the brandy and the cigarettes.

He smiles at Watson from around the cigarette in his mouth, and he tosses the case onto the bed beside Watson. "There you are, if you want." He pours them both some brandy and then slides into bed, handing Watson's brandy over to him.

They're in their own bed. Their own bed. His smile grows at the thought as he reclines against the pillows, taking a slow drag and exhaling contentedly.

"It's still difficult to think of this as our bed. I keep feeling as if somewhere there's another bed where one of us should be." Leaning over, he kisses Watson's cheek softly. "I look forward to when that feeling dissipates."

For the moment content without a cigarette, Watson set the case aside, though he took the brandy gladly. "I do, too," he agreed. Looking up at the ceiling, which was unfamiliar yet cosy and reassuring, he felt remarkably comfortable. He settled himself against Holmes's shoulder, careful of the brandy in his hand. "I have the feeling it shan't take us very long at all. We're already quite at home, after all."

He stretched, his own naked leg alongside Holmes's beneath the blanket, and he sipped his brandy.

He shifts comfortably next to Watson, sipping his own brandy before lifting his cigarette to his lips. They've been married for a while now, and Holmes had certainly felt married up until this point, but there's something unusual about owning a home with only one bedroom, only one bed, that's changing that feeling of being married.

Geography and living arrangements can hardly be said to comprise a significant part of the emotional bond of marriage, but they do mean quite a lot in terms of presentation. Now they're unquestionably living as married men. Married men. It sounds so strange, something out of a fantasy. Their life now isn't far from a dream, but it's still their life, remarkably. He kisses Watson's hair, breathing deeply in contentment.

"We are, aren't we?" He smiles fondly, pulling again on his cigarette. "Tonight is quite different from our first official moved-in night in Baker street." He grins sideways at Watson and sips his brandy again. "At least there was brandy and cigarettes, then."

Watson smiled mildly. "Very different, indeed. I'm not sure I would have been quite capable of the sort of athletics I've discovered you enjoy, not then, even if I'd thought you might like them." Good lord, but he had been ill, then. Ill, and broken, and without any notion of the sort of fellow he had thrown his lot in with.

He gave a sudden laugh as a thought occurred to him. "Imagine it, if I had been free to say it. 'I object to rows because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. And also I am occassionally inclined to fucking men, although you needn't worry about my attentions if you're not similarly inclined.' Do you think that's what it's like, to share lodgings in the future?"

He chuckles at the idea, which diverts his thoughts away nicely from how thin and ill Watson had been when they first met. He could see this Watson beside him now buried underneath the layers of suffering, and to see Watson gradually get better over the course of those first months together was remarkable, in its way.

"I would think it is, actually. If it isn't so taboo, then that's the sort of thing you'd want your flatmate to know, just like anything else. And if you had been free to say that then, I don't think there would have been any delay in our moving in together, to be sure. My feelings toward you notwithstanding, to have such an agreeable flatmate who shared my inclinations would have been too good to pass up."

He sips his brandy thoughtfully, starting to smile softly.

"That isn't to say you weren't already intriguing. Whatever you were or were not capable of then, I could see your potential. There's a distinct air of danger around you, even when you are ill. As if any moment you might throw something at an offending person's head if they fussed over you too much." He gives Watson a sly smile.

Watson's smile was very warm and more than a little grateful. He had felt so very ruined then; to be told that his potential showed even then was a wonderful thing. He hadn't felt, then, that he'd much to speak of.

"A very strange idea," he remarked, venturing back onto a safer topic, "to think of simply announcing to you my inclinations. At what point would you have made your move? At once? Would you have waited for that 'potential' to fully develop? Longer?"

What he was really asking, of course, in a light-hearted way, was 'how long did it take for you to fall in love with me?' He hardly cared what the answer was, to be truthful, but it was easy to be careless and comfortable, just then.

He can hear the real question in there somewhere, and he smiles playfully at Watson, wondering at the answer. If Watson had announced his inclinations it's very possible Holmes would have fallen in love sooner, or maybe even later if he'd not considered Watson so mysterious as all that, if he'd not been watching closely to determine his character.

"Let me think," he muses, taking a thoughtful drag off his cigarette. "I would have hardly leapt on you all at once. It wouldn't be a good idea to complicate relations with a new flatmate so soon, before true characters are understood. No, I would have had to wait until I knew you better. And by then I would have fallen in love with you." He takes another drag, exhaling slowly, trying to pinpoint when exactly he'd fallen in love with Watson.

"Judging from previous experience, I would have waited until after our first couple of cases together. Perhaps I would have acted sooner, even, with the possibility of success easing the way."

"Success would have been very certain," Watson said, truthfully, "at any stage. I was rather taken with you from the beginning, you realise, even if I was intending it to be a merely fraternal sort of regard." He pressed a lazy sort of kiss to the side of Holmes's neck before settling back down with his brandy. "At any rate, as I said, it's fortunate for my health that you did not 'leap on me all at once.'"

They had been good days, and what it meant for his regard for Mary, he didn't like to think about, but they had been good, agonising days.

"I really never had a chance," he observed, thoughtfully. "Rooming with a handsome, charming-if-tempermental artistic genius, particularly one who was able to provide me a taste of adventure when I sorely needed it? I should have known better than to try to remain platonic."

He snorts and finishes off his brandy, setting his glass aside. "I didn't have much of a chance either, but you could hardly say I was innocent in what I was getting into. A handsome military man, interested in the sorts of pursuits I engage in as part of my business, perhaps patient enough to put up with me, and did I mention handsome?" He smiles devilishly and takes the last drag off his cigarette, putting that out.

"Just as I could sense your inclination for danger, I could sense too that there was a very attractive man waiting to recover from some unfortunate circumstances, and I couldn't really argue with the idea of surrounding myself with someone who was pleasant to look at." His smile turns slightly more sheepish and he shakes his head. "It was foolish of me. I thought I could resist falling in love, but apparently that has been one of my greatest downfalls, as in the end, I can never resist."

"You," Watson observed, finishing his own brandy and settling back against Holmes, "are asking to be kissed, the way you carry on. Very thoroughly, too." He leaned his head back to grin at him. "Although if you could see anything handsome hiding under the mess I was then, you're clearly a more astute observer than even I have hitherto suspected."

Despite his jesting, he was undeniably deeply touched. "I am only ever sorry that I believed you when you told me you were no creature for love, as I cannot imagine many people being as good as falling in love and being in love as you have so far proven yourself to be." Watson smiled softly. "Your downfall or not, it's to my benefit."

Even though an argument is stirring in him, it isn't an overpowering feeling, and instead he can only give a flattered, abashed smile, turning his eyes away from Watson momentarily. Can it be that Watson's told Holmes enough times that he is worthy that it's begun to sink in? He recovers himself, taking back control of his smile from his flattery.

"Then you must not know very many people who are good at it. I'm just thankful that in this instance things have turned out in my favor. You seem to have changed my fortune in love, my dear."

"Not a bad thing to have accomplished, if that's true," Watson said. He did turn and kiss him, then, unable to resist the opportunity. "I hope your fortune remains good, as it's my fortune too, now."

Sometimes the urge to bubble over with ridiculous poetry, with declarations of love and eternal devotion, with adoration and worship was all nearly too much to resist, and now was one of those times. Rather than make a fool of himself, Watson opted to kiss Holmes again, deeply.

It's a very easy thing to return the kiss with all he has, especially because in that moment he doesn't quite trust his words to say something that would adequately reflect what he's feeling. A kiss, on the other hand, is very easy to infuse with the appropriate meaning.

When he feels as if it's safe to trust his words again -- and right around when he needed to draw a breath -- he draws out of the kiss and rests their foreheads together, his eyes shut contentedly.

"Our fortune has turned out rather well," he murmurs, his voice thicker. "If nothing else, we've gotten married and literally walked into our marital home without so much as one word of argument from anyone else. I'd say that was lucky for us."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

awww yeah

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject