amaraal (amaraal) wrote,

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Enhancing The Taste - fic

Enhancing The Taste


Author: amaraal

Pairing: Holmes / Watson

Rating: NC-17

Word count: ~900

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Spoilers: Some hints to four or five different movies. If you find all I’ll throw you a biscuit :)

Warning: Belly-button nibbling, fluff, pwp, cream, pips.

Summary: Cream and a cherry on top.

A/N: A self inflicted prompt, so to say. I mistook a word in nibblexmyxnaan’s name. I thought ‘naan’ means ‘belly-button’ J So we were tempted to write a fic about belly-button-nibbling. Gents – ye be warned :)





“Holmes! What have you done with my shirt?” The outrageous roar came from Watson’s bedroom and put a sly smile on Holmes’ face. That’ll be fun. It worked. He forced himself to stay calm, pretending to watch something very interesting under his looking glass when Watson entered the room. His handsome face was flushed, the shirt hung open over his broad shoulders showing his chest covered in something white and sticky. He grabbed Holmes’s hand and turned him round to look at him.

“What is this? You are driving me mad with your experiments. Explain yourself!” Holmes had to hold onto himself not to laugh out loud. The doctor looked absolutely stunning, slick as he was. Instead he made a worried face.

“Watson, please. Come on. Sit down here. I beg you… I nearly forgot… I’m so sorry… Please. Wait! I’ll be back in a minute. A… and don’t touch it! It’s…” The rest of his words vanished with him to his own bedroom and left Watson alone. When he reappeared he carried a tray with a towel, a big bowel and two cups on it. Watson watched paralyzed. What the hell Holmes was planning? He sighed and sat very uncomfortably on the edge of the settee. Gladstone sniffed at his hand and licked some of the white stuff from it. Holmes shushed him away.

“Bad dog! On your rug!” Gladstone obeyed and Watson hid a smile. Holmes put the tray down on the chair near the settee and took the towel. Patiently and very carefully he began to wipe away the white grime. Soothing his friend with a low rumbling voice he pushed the shirt wide open and forced Watson to lean back.

“Patience, old friend. It’s a kind of an explosive. Maybe it will explode. If you move too quickly… Slowly Watson… Oh… It’s all my fault. It was meant to be for a couple of scoundrels I met at the Punchbowl, you know… Ah… I’m sorry. It’s a mess…” Watson said nothing. Just watching Holmes, trying to clean him made his heartbeat grow faster. ‘How long his eyelashes are,’ he thought. And if he had heard it Holmes looked up at him and holding his gaze he slowly descended onto his chest, starting to lick the cream away.

“Holmes… what you’re doing?” His breath hitched. A hot tongue, wet and wicked, swirled around his nipple, hardening it in it’s wake. He moaned, arched into this touch.

“Enhancing the taste…” Came Holmes’ soft reply…


“Yes. Taste… Watson…” The doctor grabbed the dark head, burying his fingers in the dark strands. He gave himself over to the sensual ministration, loosing the train of coherent thoughts. Pleasure overwhelmed him, his trousers were too tight, it was all a distant haze, blurred and hot and wonderful. Holmes’ tongue was all over his face now. He could feel the detectives weight on his lap, his hands on his breast, stomach, throat. Then suddenly something cold was applied into his navel. He froze, startled. He looked down into his lap, then up into Holmes’ black eyes.

“Is this cream?” He croaked.

“Yes. With a cherry on top.” As he said it Holmes stuck a cherry, red and glistening with moisture and a tiny stem into the cream.

“And now… I’m going to taste you, old chap…” And then Watson nearly fainted as Holmes descended into his lap once more fulfilling his promised task. Holmes first took the cherry into his mouth, shoved it into his left cheek and then… licked the cream out of Watson’s belly button. Oh. The dear doctor tried to writhe away from this sweet torture. He writhed and moaned, small pearls of sweat appearing on his forehead. Carefully Holmes opened the buttons of his dear friend’s trousers… And then licked again.

“Holmes… no… please…” Holmes grinned. ‘So it is true then,’ he thought. ‘Put your tongue in a man’s navel and he is on fire.’ And he tasted really good, his beloved man. Nibbling happily around the era of his belly-button he started to knead his own hard on through the fabric of his trousers. He could feel the gentle massage of Watson’s strong fingers on his scalp and intensified his licking. Going down south he discovered white cream in dark blond pubic hair… and another kind of cherry... Red and ripe for the plucking. He sighed, stretching his tongue, licking, tasting, recording every single sound coming from Watson.

“Holmes… what are you doing… please… don’t stop it… ah!” And with that the doctor released himself in Holmes hungry, sinful mouth. Exactly then Holmes bit the cherry into two pieces, mixing the sweet juice with another flavor… ‘Enhancing the taste… yes!’ Watson’s body in his power, convulsing, trembling, shivering.

“Holmes… careful… it… exploded…” He sighed, took a deep breath and collapsed bonelessly on the settee.

Holmes released the softening prick and crawled up to be face to face with his friend. Holding the strong chin in one hand he started to kiss the red lips, shoving the half of the cherry into the waiting mouth along with the pip. They changed it back and forth a few times until it was clean and blank, then Holmes spat it away in a high bow, descending once more onto Watson’s body, into the heat and scent that was unique Watson and Watson alone. He was addicted… He knew it. He came, biting Watson’s lower lip, clinging tight to his body, his name like ardor on his lips. The last thing before the lights went out was the feeling of Watson’s grin on his own lips. Then he knew no more.

Minutes later Watson moved his injured leg, he settled more comfortably onto the settee drawing Holmes with him, nestling his face into the dark hair. He sighed contentedly, smiling faintly to himself. Holmes looked up at him, looked up into his cerulean eyes. And froze. He knew it. From the beginning. It was useless. He blushed vehemently, coughed, and tried to steal away, avoiding Watson’s gaze. But he was held close to the still sticky chest by two strong arms. He froze a bit more.

“I love playing these games with you, Sherlock.”

“Do you?” Black, deep, innocent eyes, looking up at him, astonished.

“I do. But next time try not to ruin one of my shirts, won’t you?”

“Promised…” He snuggled back into Watson’s embrace.

“When did you know exactly?”

“Gladstone. He snored. So it couldn’t have been a drug.”


“Your incredible, Holmes.”

“I know.”


“Yes.” But neither of them moved.


“Yes, Watson?”

“What have you done with the stem?” The detective only smiled and sighed. Watson kissed the black hair and with a faint smile on his face he joined Holmes in his sleep.


He discovered the stem the next morning laying on the tray with a small knot in it…





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