May I Worship You
Pairing: Holmes / Watson
Word count: ~960
Warnings: Acute fluffiness. PWP. One deadly sin.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Who’s the sinner and who’s the saint?
A/N: Sequel to ‘Give Him To Me’. Dedicated to the lovely goldenfish_JZ who left the only comment last time, and dear nodbear for the beta-reading.
“Have you never asked yourself, Holmes, why I visit church that often?” Holmes’ brown eyes became incredibly huge.
“You’re a saint, Watson. That’s the place where to find them…” Watson’s smile sunk like a sunbeam into Holmes’ heart.
“I am no saint, Holmes. Come. And find out at Baker Street…” A low whisper full of promises. Holmes blinked several times and followed the doctor down the street. And there, at Baker Street, his prayer was answered.
He followed Watson up the stairs. He noticed every little detail: the broad shoulders, the neatly trimmed hair at his neck, small ears, slightly reddened by the fresh air and their brisk walk. Watson put his cane under his left arm and opened the door. Welcoming warmth enveloped them as they entered the room. Mrs Hudson had stoked up the fire. Gladstone was nowhere to be seen, that meant they would have about an hour…
Holmes gaze flickered up nervously over the handsome face of his dear doctor. Watson smiled, got rid of his hat, coat, cane and sat down in his chair near the table, his interest only shortly fixed on the newspapers Mrs Hudson had brought up during their absence. Holmes stood motionless for a while then followed his fellow lodger’s example.
Watson looked at him, blue eyes shining and a smug smile on his face. He looked absolutely adorable in his pristine white shirt, and the tight black waistcoat. Too tight in Holmes’s opinion. He begun to fiddle with his braces and avoided Watson’s eyes, studying the floor instead with downcast eyes.
“Holmes…” That one word set him in motion. Like drawn on a string he went over to the chair, a strong hand gripped his shirt and draw him close to a warm chest, into an even warmer lap. He had to swallow and looked up. Heaven! He couldn’t utter a single sound, instead he touched the rosy cheek, put a few hair behind the small still red ear. Eyes locked with Watson’s he kissed the doctor’s forehead, hesitantly, cautiously, tenderly, carefully… He felt Watson’s breath at his throat, then his moustache, then his lips. He froze, his heart a hammering thing in his breast. Closing his eyes he melted into Watson’s embrace, closing his own arms around his back.
“Watson…” He was lifted up like if he was weighing nothing, five, six, seven big steps brought Watson into his bedroom and onto his bed. Shivering hands freed him as fast as possible from his clothes, waistcoat, shirt, tousling his hair by removing it, shoes, stockings, his belt. He met Watson’s fingers with his on his belt buckle and opening his eyes again met the blue gaze, a determined look in it that left him weak and wanting. A short stop when the pin left the buckle and slowly his trousers were removed, too. A warm hand traced his biceps, his breast, stomach, his prick, hard under the last thin fabric. He didn’t dare to breathe… He felt Watson’s gaze roaming over his body, his lithe form.
“May I worship you?” Watson’s breathless whisper and then… his lips in his armpits, feeding on his skin, smooth and white were the sun hasn’t reached it. His hard nipples were touched by skilled fingers, he tried to stop it by lacing them with his own.
“Watson… It’s a sin…”
“It is. You’re my angel. Let me worship you…” Holmes’s breath hitched in his throat. Tears in eyes he said:
“I’m no angel… I’m a sinner…” He felt Watson’s smile on his breast and then… his kiss.
“Isn’t here, Holmes.”
“She’ll be back in an hour…”
“Then we’ll better hurry…” And with that Watson discarded his own clothes and naked as the day he was born pressed himself to the detective and rolled him over onto his chest. He could feel the heat emanating from his wiry body. The hard muscles, lean and flexible under his touch. He moaned and Holmes answered. Clutching Holmes’s buttocks he started to rub his hot flesh against another hard piece of meat. Holmes started rocking, small movements that caused Watson to moan again.
“Holmes… What are you doing?”
“Committing a deadly sin… Watson…”
“Please! Do it faster!” Holmes had to smile and obeyed. Licking Watson’s throat, right hand in his hair, the other under his shoulder he found a magic rhythm. Watson held him close, breathing hot and ragged into Holmes’s ear, still grabbing his left buttock, right arm around his shoulder, hand in black hair. Like two pieces carved out of one they moved together like ocean’s waves. Holding each other they neared completion.
“Watson…” A sob and then wetness at the doctor’s throat.
“Hold me, hold me…”
“I’m yours… you’re mine… Come… come…” They seed mingled on their bellies. Watson made a tiny sound like Gladstone when he had been a pup. He bit his tongue, eyes clenched, tears running into his hair, he felt Holmes tensing on top of him, shivering and then melting over him like honey on a hot piece of toast. Watson started licking Holmes’s forehead, kissed his nose, his lips, licking his tears. They lay quietly for a while. Without a word they released each other, Watson dressed himself slowly and then stood before the bed. The detective still stared up at him.
“God exists.” He stated eventually.
“I know. He gave me you.” And with a kiss and a loving touch to his cheek Watson left Holmes in his bedroom, sat down in his chair, and began to read the news.
Holmes sat motionless. He couldn’t move. Wiping away a stray tear he too dressed once more. Slowly he went to their living-room, took his usual place near Watson, his features calm to the outside world, but inside a raging inferno.
When Mrs Hudson showed up in the doorway, shoving in a happy Gladstone, everything looked normal. But everything had changed.