mustbethetruth | awww yeah

"Stir them out?" Watson asked, looking pensively up towards the ceiling before returning his attention to kissing Holmes's face leisurely. "A very interesting idea," he said, between kisses. "Did you have some notion of how we might do so? And may I inquire as to what it might be?"

He let his fingers curl against the back of Holmes's neck, and he kissed him deeply again. Oh, let the entire island population raise protest against the two of them -- just then, Watson felt capable of taking them all on.

He relaxes against Watson's ministrations, though his hands are wandering from Watson's hips to his thighs slowly, occasionally sliding back to Watson's lower back.

"It would have to be something that unmistakably marks us as a pair of degenerate inverts, and it would have to be something that ensures an immediate flare up of righteous indignation at our wild ways." He pauses thoughtfully, a falsely innocent smile on his face, and the innocent look melts away as he starts to smile wolfishly. "A good bout or two of some unapologetically loud sex might do the trick."

"I thought your plan might be something along those lines," Watson smiled. He bent his head to Holmes's neck to kiss and bite the skin there, none-too-gently. "Was there a time frame in mind for this? Shall we announce our presence at once?"

The smile he turned on Holmes was faintly amused, faintly abashed, and very lustful. "Because I think I might be able to accomodate you, if that was the case."

He inhales sharply at the bite, his grin turning predatory. There's little doubt about Holmes's luck in discovering Watson. Not only is his flatmate-turned-husband ridiculously handsome, but he's just as energetic as Holmes is in bed. It's quite a winning combination.

"I think we had better get started on this task. When would be a better time to do it then around bedtime but before it's likely that people are asleep?" He catches Watson in a playfully rough kiss, nipping gently at his lower lip before he draws away.

Watson followed when Holmes pulled away, laughing a little. "Then now is ideal. I am your man, and I am quite fully at your service." He kissed him, hard, and pressed himself very close, letting his hands wander purposefully. "If we are going to 'break in' the bed, the entire cottage for that matter, we may as well do a proper job of it."

"My thoughts exactly," he says with a laugh, cupping his hand against the back of Watson's neck and pulling him close for another rough kiss. Before he breaks the kiss, he slips his hand into Watson's hair and gives it a light tug, and the smile he gives Watson is playful.

"Now, darling, what do you think I ought to do with you, hm?" His voice and expression is challenging, his grin wide.

Something about that turn of phrase caused Watson's stomach to twist in a surprisingly delighted way. Any number of answers to that question occured to him, the vast majority of them highly obscene.

"What ought you to do with me?" Watson repeated, sitting back and appearing to give the matter great thought. "Your plan does not go beyond 'unapologetically loud'? There are quite a few highly satisfactory ways to accomplish that." He returned his gaze to Holmes's face, his expression playful. "What you ought to do with me is anything you want, provided you think you can accomplish that goal that way."

"You are incredibly trusting," he says, his tone implying teasingly that it isn't a compliment. He shifts closer to Watson, sliding an arm around Watson's waist and pulling him in tight.

"Anything I want gives me a fair amount of room. What if I wished to bend you over my knee and spank you?" It's difficult to imagine Watson in such a position, truly, which makes it all the more an outrageous thing to say.

That gave Watson slight pause; he hadn't expected that answer. Was he willing to subject himself to that sort of treatment? It was not something he had spent a lot of time considering, although it was hardly so outlandish as all that.

"Do you think I require that sort of correction?" he asked, idly running his hands along Holmes's side. "I am incredibly trusting, I suppose, but if you feel I need to be disciplined in that manner, who am I to argue with you?" He smiled wryly. "On the other hand, if you have other plans for me, I'd like to hear them just as well."

"You would let me correct you like that?" he asks, somewhat incredulous, and unsurprisingly now that it's a possibility he has to picture the event unfolding. It's slightly silly; perhaps he'd need to approach it in the heat of the moment because right now it just seems slightly odd.

"Well, I'll have to remember that for when it is necessary to discipline you. For now... I was planning on a thorough buggering."

The thrill of arousal that ran through Watson was undeniable; he inhaled sharply, in an attempt to regain enough equilibrium in order to be able to answer. Perhaps most strange of all was that he meant it when he said he would allow Holmes that freedom, and saying so aloud was a surprise to him as well. That declaration of submissive intent may have been a shock, but it also seemed to intensify the moment all the more.

He leaned very close, letting their foreheads touch, his touch almost possessive. "I think that's a very good plan," Watson murmured. "I suspect we should waste no time in enacting it." He kissed him, the gesture strangely hungry.

Holmes returns the kiss, certainly hungry himself, but also a fair bit intrigued by whatever has possessed Watson this evening. Whatever it is, it seems to be leading them to some interesting possibilities, and maybe he shouldn't be so quick to discount them.

"How right you are." He kisses Watson again, his touch more heated now, just as possessive of Watson as Watson is of him. "I'm not certain I could wait much longer, besides."

He wraps his arms around Watson, kissing him deeply as he tries to pin Watson back to the bed.

Ah, now, this was going to be the perfect way to christen their new bedroom, their new bed, their new home. Doubtlessly, to make it complete, Watson was at some point in the future going to have to try for the upper hand and take the dominant role, but for now, he was more than content with this. Bending Holmes over the arm of a chair and taking him, relentlessly, had all sorts of promise to it. Possibly he could be indulgent and involve his uniform. Holmes might enjoy that. Watson suspected he certainly would.

But for now, he slipped down gladly under Holmes's guidance, clutching at him, refusing to break the kiss for as long as he could go without breath, as though attempting to breathe in Holmes himself. When he did have to break away, gasping, he buried his hands in Holmes's hair and held his face close. "You have your challenge, then," he managed, breathless. "Make me incoherent and loud."

He loves their sex, he truly does; it is possibly some of the best he's ever had, because with Gideon they were both too young to truly grasp the nuances of what they were doing, and Victor was never as fully committed as Watson is. And to be honest, Holmes's heart wasn't as in it then, after everything that had just happened.

But the two of them together now is glorious because they are both adventurous and unafraid, enthusiastic and confident; they push each other's boundaries and the other always pushes back. Here, even as Watson submits to him, instead of begging Holmes to do something, he's challenging Holmes. And Holmes loves rising to a challenge.

"Challenge accepted," he breathes against Watson's ear, his voice low and promisingly dangerous. He leaves a trail of none-too-delicate kisses down Watson's neck and onto his chest, safer territory for what he's about to do. He bites Watson roughly, his hands possessively moving down Watson's body until he can grab Watson's arse.

With such a challenge given, the last thing Watson could have done was make it easy for Holmes. Still, it was an effort to choke down on the cry that threatened to break from him at that bite on his chest. It would leave a mark, it would have to leave a mark, he couldn't imagine it somehow not leaving a mark, but somehow that was perfect, too. They were owning this bed, this cottage, and each other, and if Watson had to wear physical evidence of that, then that was just a little bit perfect.

His back was arched, his body full of tension -- a wonderful sort of tension, too -- and he reached down to take Holmes by the hair. He had to take hold of something, just then.

He looks up at Watson, amused at his stifled cry. So that's how it's going to go. He leaves tender kisses across Watson's chest, paying some attention to one of his nipples, before he finds another place to leave a bite, somewhat gentler than the other. He doesn't want to mark Watson up entirely; he is at least that considerate.

"Hand me the lotion," he orders, glancing up at Watson again to ensure compliance. He resumes his attentions to Watson's chest, moving steadily lower.

It was easy to be thankful that they'd had the sense to put such things within quick and easy reach; it was less easy, just then, to remember where that had been. Watson stretched towards the bedside table, rooting around blindly in the drawer until his fingers closed upon what felt like a likely sort of tube.

"Here," he managed, after a brief glance to make sure that he did, indeed, have the right thing out of the drawer before thrusting it in Holmes's direction. Buggery was not the sort of pastime that allowed for foolish risks, after all. There was a wildness to his actions all the same, but he could hardly be blamed for that. A lot of it was mere anticipation, knowing what was to come, unable to hurry the process along any.

"How obedient of you," he murmurs, though it somehow manages to sound like a threat. The look in his eyes is dark and dangerously playful, and he travels lower, kissing the insides of Watson's thighs as he slicks up his fingers. While he's down there, he may as well kiss up the shaft of Watson's cock as he starts with one finger, pushing it past Watson's entrance.

He watches Watson's reactions carefully, trying not to grin too widely. Watson is so wonderfully sexy when he's so definitely given himself over to his animal urges.

Holmes's dangerous tone, preceding that first intimate breach which he had been waiting for, desperate for -- it was almost too much. Watson bit down on his lip, hard, but he groaned despite that. He was rapidly losing his own challenge, but as far as he had been concerned, it was more advantageous that way. He certainly had no desire to win.

"Oh, God, yes," he gasped, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands momentarily fisting convulsively in the bed linens. With an effort, he opened his eyes again to be able to see, to watch Holmes at work.

He hadn't been expecting that Watson would be able to resist making noise for too long -- that simply isn't how Watson operates -- but to see him cave is certainly a satisfying experience. His hand settles into a steady rhythm, familiar as he is with Watson's body; it's nearly second nature now.

"What was that?" he teases, a dark glint in his eye. "I didn't quite hear you."

He entertains himself with more light, teasing attention to Watson's cock, more interested in working him up than giving him any relief at all, and after a few moments he switches his attentions. He moves his kisses to Watson's inner thighs, biting as hard as he dares to without seriously harming Watson.

Watson gasped, shutting his eyes again. "I swear," he said, with a great effort, "that you are the very Devil himself." Half the reason he said anything at all was because he was struggling to prove that he was not yet entirely incoherent, and therefore Holmes had not yet won the challenge. At the same time, he had to wonder about the wisdom of provoking Holmes too much, because he was already very hard, and admittedly quite entirely at Holmes's mercy. It was have anticipation of what was still to come, he was sure, or he might have been sure had he the mental faculties to spare on it.

Despite the near torture, there was nothing in his body language that was not complete surrender, besides the lingering effort at remaining coherent enough to form words and not merely insensible sounds. He spread his legs, grateful for every little violent touch of teeth on the delicate skin of his thighs, craving more of it and also tempted to demand Holmes simply get the business over with and fuck him already.

Truthfully, he isn't interested in prolonging this, himself. They already had a long preamble in the kitchen, his appetite is certainly whetted, and he's eager to fuck Watson into incoherence. He adds another finger, increasing the rhythm of his hand purely to torment Watson a little more, and at the offering of more thigh, well, he leaves another set of rough bites against his skin. Satisfying himself, he lifts his head, a smirk twisting his lips.

"If you take issue with my devilish nature, then may I point out that the door is open," he says silkily, as he begins to scissor his fingers.

"Did that sound like a complaint?" Watson grunted. He was, in fact, rapidly losing the ability to form complete sentences, but also determined to hold out for as long as he could.

Despite his battle for silence, out of pride more than anything else, he let out a long moan, caught between exquisite sensation and the agony of drawing out the moment, teeth and fingers in dangerous places, and dear God he was going to repay Holmes for this next time he had him at his mercy. It was part revenge and part repaid debt, but he would have the man babbling and insensible before they were through.

"Bloody hell," he gasped, coarsely. "Would you get it over with and fuck me, for the love of God."

His smirk slides into a grin and he kisses Watson's thigh before he sits back on his heels. He's mastered the art of continuing to prepare Watson while opening the bottle of lotion in order to prepare himself. It's a useful skill, and one he's enjoyed practicing. He works his hand own hand over his cock, fully intending on giving Watson a brief show.

"So you eagerly get into bed with the Devil?" he asks, semi-playful, though there's far too much lust in his voice now to fully succeed at sounding light. He slides his hand free from Watson so that he can instead position himself properly over Watson.

"My, my. You are a slave to your desires." His desire has taken over his voice completely as he brushes a teasing kiss against Watson's lips, and he pushes his hips forward. Now he has to bite back his own moan, and he buries his face against Watson's neck, one hand keeping a firm hold on Watson's hip.

Watson did eagerly get into bed with the Devil, that was true enough, but his only answer -- the only one he was capable of, to be certain -- was a long and satisfied sound, low in his throat, halfway between a moan and a cry. Words were not his allies, right then, because there were no words to describe the intensity of finally having Holmes's cock inside him after being tortured by the waiting for it. He had lost this challenge, lost it utterly, only really needed more volume to make it official, but he had been playing to lose in the first place.

One hand was gripping the bedcloths with white knuckles, but he brought the other to Holmes's side, needing to hold him, seeking some symmetry for that hand on his hip. His eyes were half-lidded; as tempting as it was to let his eyes close and revel in pure physical sensation, he wanted to see Holmes's face, if and when he pulled away from Watson's neck. He wanted to see the expressions that passed over Holmes's face as he fucked Watson.

awww yeah

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