mustbethetruth | (no subject)

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Continued from here.

He smirks faintly, adjusting to being touched once again, but so far nothing seems to be driving him toward sensory overload. It helps that Watson can amuse him, even now, even when Holmes's heart is racing just a little at entering into something like this now, so suddenly.

"I wasn't quite asking permission," he admits a little sheepishly, his fingers seeking out Watson's ribs and mapping them carefully. Their positions have slid from when they were sitting properly, and Holmes is slightly uncomfortable from the angle; besides, the urge to situate Watson under him is quite strong, suddenly. He finishes their transition from sitting to laying down, nudging Watson down and positioning himself over him.

It's rather enjoyable to have Watson solid and secure and half naked beneath him, the latter not nearly as important as the first few.

"It seems so long ago that we last did something like this," he observes, and he ducks his head to kiss Watson's collarbone.

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He couldn't hold back any longer. Watson might've had a chance to carry on a minute or two longer if it hadn't been for the teeth on his shoulder, the sharpness and the heat and moisture of Holmes's mouth on sensitive skin. But it had been too long, and with it, it was the last thing he needed to push him over the edge.

Watson gave a strangled, gratified, wordless cry as he tipped over into his release, still clutching at Holmes by his shirt; he turned his head to catch Holmes's ear between his lips while he continued stroking his cock, somewhat more urgently.

Watson's release never fails to hasten Holmes to his own end; the sound of his gasps, the tensing of his muscles, the climax of his emotions all mix together and consume Holmes's senses. He is drenched in Watson's smell and sound and feel, and he is losing control of himself, but it's okay -- it's okay -- because he's still Holmes, and Watson's hand is clutching at him. They are lost in each other, and they fill find each other again.

His release comes as a surprise; he'd hardly been feeling it build up. This release is entirely emotional, coming from Holmes's thoughts, and he utters a small cry of surprise as he loses control, his hips jerking in Watson's hand.

As Watson stroked the last of Holmes's orgasm out of him, he shifted a little, releasing his grip on Holmes's shirt to put his arm around him closely. "Oh, my dear. My dear." He murmured his words, not having the breath for any more volume. "I've missed you so. I've missed you."

Not that Holmes had been gone, but he had seemed so very far away, and that was what made the difference. Watson sought out Holmes's mouth, and kissed him warmly and tenderly.

He returns the kiss gladly, feeling somewhat shaken after everything, but certainly much improved; certainly closer to what serves as normal for him, anyway. Lightly he cups Watson's face, tenderly brushing his fingers against his skin. He's not sure he'll ever stop appreciating how handsome Watson looks in different situations, different clothes, different contexts. This rumpled look here, with his shirt undone, is quite enjoyable.

"So have I," he admits softly, and he settles his head against Watson's shoulder, letting his eyes fall shut. "It feels like years since we've done this. It's like coming out of a cave after days..." He sighs, glad to have admitted that much, and he nudges his nose against Watson's neck.

His breathing still slowing, Watson pulled Holmes close against him. He loved these moments, these quiet and heavy intimate moments in the afterglow of sex. Sex was wonderful -- he had a quite unseemly interest in it, admittedly -- and sex with Holmes was extraordinary, but there was something that he cherished deeply about these sweaty, sticky moments afterwards.

"You're all right?" he murmured, half a question and half a reassurance. It was difficult to know; for a moment Holmes had seemed about to break apart. If Watson could say it, could mean it enough, then perhaps he could make it true.

No, he isn't. Well, maybe he is now, but he won't be all the time; inevitably the time will come again when he will disappear, slip away into a dark mood. He'll need the cocaine again, and will Watson be as forgiving in the future? God, he can hardly believe Watson condoned it this time. It's strange to recall Watson injecting him now, as if remembering something from a dream if only because it's so unreal.

"For the moment," he murmurs, running his fingers down Watson's arm, and his thumb brushes the inside of his elbow. He's glad they kept their shirts on. "For now. I think the storm has passed."

"I'm glad to hear it." Watson let his fingers find their way to the back of Holmes's neck, and he stroked the skin there very gently. "Were it in my power to do so, I would spare you of it entirely." How to possibly put into words how much this frightened him sometimes, how utterly powerless he felt.

He concentrated on his breathing, inhaling Holmes's scent and breathing back warmth into him. "I love you. I would protect you from everything, if I could. I cannot, I'm sorry, but I love you."

"That is the definition of love, my dear." Lifting his head, he slips his hand around to cradle the back of Watson's neck and pull him in for a kiss. "And I love you," he murmurs and places another small kiss against Watson's mouth.

"I do feel better from this morning, even. It's possible I could do more than simply cling to you all day, but I'm not sure I want to." He smiles slightly and runs his fingers through Watson's hair.

"You can cling to me all day if you wish," Watson murmured. He pressed several small kisses against Holmes's face, over his chin and jaw, before returning to his lips for one longer kiss. "I think I would like that, actually. But only," he continued, shifting in such a way that was almost burying himself closer to Holmes, "if I have full permission to cling to you as well."

He let out a sigh, one of pure contentment and comfort. "Do you have any ideas beyond that? Is there something else we ought to read? Shall we take a bath?"

"A bath is a splendid idea," he says thoughtfully. It's certainly better than anything he'd thought of. A chance to wash away the past few days -- and shave -- would certainly help him to feel more like himself. "Yes, I think we will start with a bath. I'm not sure how you feel about it, but I'm quite keen to shave."

He isn't quite ready to move now, though, and he lays his head back against Watson's chest, nuzzling closer.

"You look a little more yourself when you're shaved," Watson said thoughtfully, "but I cannot complain about the state you're in, either. Not seriously." He would have taken Holmes any way at all, shaved or unshaved, and there was part of him that rather revelled in the relative novelty of kissing that much stubble.

"But a bath it is," he agreed. He slid his hand up under Holmes's shirt, stroking the skin of the small of his back. "When you're ready."

The mention of Watson's opinion on Holmes's facial hair had been a throwaway statement at first. Holmes generally dislikes feeling so disheveled as to go unshaven for too long, always has, and so gives little thought to his unshaven state beyond the fact that it bothers him slightly. But perhaps Watson might like it; that is something worth investigating.

"You cannot complain?" he returns, playfully. "What am I to glean from that? Am I only moderately repulsive, but not so much as to detract from my appeal too seriously?"

This is nice; calming and quiet and nice. He makes sure Watson's shirt is pushed away as much as possible, and he dutifully sets to tracing his initials against Watson's chest, over his heart.

Smiling at the slightly ticklish touch on his skin, at the possessive branding of the initials over his heart, at the small and meaningful mark of ownership, Watson turned his head to kiss Holmes again.

"You are never repulsive," he chided. He spoke in a low murmur, hardly more than a whisper, throaty and full of emotion. "Don't speak such nonsense. You are so handsome, you are such a blessing to me, it would be poor of me indeed to complain about so small a thing as a little stubble." Watson brushed a thumb over Holmes's chin, following the touch of his fingers with his lips. "I haven't often kissed men so unshaven, that's all."

With one hand on Holmes's back, his fingers curled and gently stroking the skin, and his other playing over Holmes's face, Watson sighed, rather happily. "I think I might enjoy the novelty a little."

He can feel himself settling back into place, and it almost seems fitting that he ought to trace his own initials onto his own skin -- reclaiming his body for himself again.

"Is that so?" he murmurs, pleased at this result, though his vanity may not be entirely satisfied. Watson might enjoy it a little? Holmes's vanity could use some bolstering, and he's not quite getting as much as he would like. He steals another slow kiss, lingering in it for a while before he pulls Watson's lower lip between his teeth and playfully nibbles at it.

"Well. It will soon be gone, so get your amusement with it while you can."

"Oh, I think I am doing so," Watson murmured, smiling, and returned to trailing his lips over whatever bits of Holmes's face he could reach. He was enjoying it, but at the same time he thought he would be very glad indeed to have Holmes back to his usual well-groomed self. It fit in very well with having Holmes back to his usual self -- or nearly so -- in other respects, as well.

Giving a sudden low chuckle, Watson pressed close, his eyes shut. "Good heavens, am I this bristly? Or even moreso, I must suppose." He laughed again, finding it strangely humorous, and kissed Holmes playfully.

He chuckles warmly in return, though he's only somewhat cajoled; at least he's being petted and nuzzled, which is rather gratifying, and Watson's warm amusement is comforting. He returns the kiss, and as it breaks, he smooths out Watson's moustache.

"You are, but only in one concentrated area. My upper lip has become immune."

Around this time, Nell has become curious as to what her people are up to, and she wanders into the living room to find them laying together on the couch. They look cozy, and they seem to be enjoying themselves, and Nell very much wants to cozily enjoy herself with them. Wagging her tail, she approaches the couch and sniffs her peoples' faces, her tongue coming out to give Watson a friendly lick.

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