awww yeah

[mustbethetruth]

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.

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[mustbethetruth]

Watson is beautiful. He's handsome all of the time, but when he's in the throes of ecstasy like this, wild and reckless and uncaring, he's indescribably beautiful, certainly the sexiest person he's ever encountered, and certainly that he's ever bedded. He's so confident and demanding, even in the submissive position, and that attitude is far sexier to Holmes than a wholly obedient one.

Even though this challenge was about driving Watson to incoherent noise, Holmes finds a side effect is that he's falling to it himself. His grunts are rapidly turning to short, sharp groans as he clings to Watson's knee and drives into him forcefully. He tries to keep his eyes open, wanting to watch Watson writhe beneath him, to watch him pleasuring himself, but his eyes keep falling shut of their own accord.

[lightconductor]

He was too far gone for any noise that came from him to have even the faintest similarity to real words, and it wasn't long before Watson was honestly shouting, desperate under every thrust, every muscle in his body taut and humming. Holmes had won, just as he'd known, hoped he would, and he had, by way of ceaselessly rough rhythm, driven almost every conscious thought out of Watson's head.

It was only because of their earlier activities that Watson was able to last like he did. He was sweaty, growing quickly exhausted, but he rose to meet Holmes with every thrust as much as he was able. He held out as long as he could, but it could only last so long. With his back arching, he gave a sudden yell that was more than halfway a moan, and came, hard, tension quickly evaporating, his cry softening at the end to almost a whimper, if a pleased and deeply satiated one.

[mustbethetruth]

Without question Holmes has won his challenge, but he himself is pretty incoherent, and his groans have turned into small cries of his own (though not quite as loud as Watson's, he is eager to point out). Somehow that seems to diminish the win, though it doesn't go against the rules -- and regardless, he's enjoying himself immensely.

Generally when Holmes is in the dominant position he prefers to wait until his partner has reached their end before he allows himself to reach his own; it seems the most polite thing to do. This evening is no exception, though he begins to wonder if it will be, as his restraint cracks and the tension tightening in his muscles threatens to break.

After Watson's cry, it's only few thrusts before Holmes finishes with a cry, rocking forward into Watson one last time. He drops his head onto Watson's shoulder to catch his breath, his hair quite matted to his forehead, which he will have to fix in a moment. For now he wants the liquid exhaustion in his body to settle enough so that he can find the strength to roll over.

"I won," he mumbles, breathing heavily.

[lightconductor]

"I was rather hoping you would," Watson confessed, still quite breathless. He put his hand to the back of Holmes's neck, cupping gently, and moved just enough to seek out Holmes's mouth with his own. The kiss was very loving, very tender, and also utterly exhausted. He could think of any number of things to say along the lines of whether they had successfully disturbed the neighbours, but he had absolutely energy to actually voice any of them, or to say anything else at all for the time being. He'd managed a whole eight syllables; he didn't think he had anything else left in him.

He put his arms around Holmes, and drew him very close.

[mustbethetruth]

The kiss is perfect for the moment and Holmes lets himself be embraced, not that he's particularly eager to do anything that doesn't involve being near Watson. He closes his eyes, enjoying being still and tucked safely against Watson's chest.

"I thought you knew better than to play to lose," he murmurs when he manages to get his breath back and speaking seems possible.

[lightconductor]

It was another long moment before Watson found the breath to answer. He was wonderfully exhausted, perfectly so, and answering seemed a good deal less urgent than simply continuing the moment.

"Typically," he said at last, "yes. When it's horses or dice or cards, certainly. But sometimes there's more benefit in losing. Now, for example." This was almost an immpossibly long speech, in his current state, and it was more than a little slurred. He rubbed his thumb gently against the nape of Holmes's neck.

[mustbethetruth]

Holmes is rapidly feeling the pull of sleep get tighter, which means he ought to situate himself on the bed, which means summoning up some effort. He takes a deep breath and lifts his head enough to brush a kiss across Watson's lips, and thus strengthened, he shifts sideways. Stretching out beside Watson, he wraps his arm across Watson's chest and presses close.

"That was a mutually beneficial competition," he murmurs contentedly, lightly kissing Watson's shoulder. "Mm, darling, you have worn me out. Shall we say good night?"

[lightconductor]

"You'll forgive me if I'm not up to a third round," Watson murmured.

He shifted, stretching, settling automatically into a position that would not cause undue strain on his bad leg and one that allowed him to lie close to Holmes, an arm draped lazily over him. He reached for the blankets, and pulled them around both of them.

Watson pressed a kiss to Holmes's throat, a very gentle one. "Good night," he said.

[mustbethetruth]

"Forgive you, indeed. Good night, my dear."

It isn't long until he falls into a comfortable sleep, content and safe in the arms of his husband, nestled in their marital bed. Sometime once the sun's come up he stirs awake, but it feels early and he's far too warm and comfortable to think about getting up yet, so he throws his arm around Watson again and huddles close, managing to doze off for another couple of hours.

By the time he wakes again, he knows it must be time to get up, but the thought is far from desirable. Making a soft noise of complaint, he shifts closer again and softly kisses Watson's shoulder, shutting his eyes once again.