amaraal (amaraal) wrote,

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Fic - After the Hunt

Author: amaraal
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Rating: NC-17
Warning: PWP
Word count: 933
Summary: Always there, always, always…
Prompt: How did it come to that?
A/N: For jcporter1 who is delighted to read my stories. *blushes* . For ingridmatthews, who needs porn, and my dear nodbear with all my heart. Hints to 'Death is just a heartbeat away'. Enjoy.

watson crushing holmes

His ever present calmness. I put it to the test and it nearly costs me my life, but it was worth the outcome. I, the wild river and he the unmovable rock. I wanted to see if I could move him just a tiny bit, lift him up, take him with me and settle him down again at another, a new place.

I was aware that it annoyed him to loose the thread in the case afoot. My always reliable Watson. So steadfast, so predictable.

We were on the hunt again. At night, at the docks, the cobblestones still wet from a cold shower, the city noise deafened by the fog. I was aware that the risk was high to follow them through a high placed window, slithering over roofs, jumping distances my dear doctor wasn’t capable to manage with his injured leg, plaguing him even more so on rainy days.

I left him behind, knowing too well that he would curse under his breath, and with a steely gaze and determined step would follow me through the narrow streets, Lestrade and his men in his wake. His military instinct would lead him to me, as always. Or so I thought…

The barrel of a gun at my temple, my vision blurred. The villain had overwhelmed me, choking me to death with a vice grip. But then, alas, my dear doctor appeared, his sword went through the man’s chest, the blood ruined my shirt and his coat, but he saved my life. He was aggravated, upset. He crushed my lips with a kiss I will always keep deep in my heart and when Lestrade and his men finally arrived, the man he had stabbed was dead and we were alive.

In the cab he said nothing, just stared at me and I couldn’t for the first time in my life decipher his expression. He looked as if he was going to kill me, but then he simply smiled at me and that nearly made me cry.

“You have the gift of silence, Watson,” I said, but he answered not, just bend his head so, that I couldn’t see his eyes anymore.

We entered Baker Street around two at night, another shower had cleared the fog, it had cooled down and we were glad to return to our warm haven.

I climbed the seventeen steps as fast as I could, feeling his eyes like a hot iron rod at my back. I grinned inwardly, so I had set something into motion that had too long been hidden behind his sedate behaviour.

The instant he closed the door, he was all over me.

“How dare you!” He cursed and kissed me with a force I had only met at the Punchbowl when my opponents were fighting against me.

“Risking your life on a whim. What for, Holmes? What for? Did you really intend to die in a filthy gutter, stabbed my a mere villain with not much more brain than a dead horse?” O, he was furious, my brave soldier. I just smiled up at him and he ripped and tore my clothes off, then kissed me again. I had to defend myself, my widespread fingers over his hard muscles ached in their tendons, and still he searched my lips, his own seering hot on mine, I drowned in his fury, his concern about my life or death made my chest deep and wide and flames flared out of my loins, igniting the fire even more.

“Watson…” I whispered under my breath. “Watson, please.” I don’t know why I begged him now, my stubborn pride had never made me beg anyone before. But somehow I needed it, needed him, now more than ever.

“Holmes.” My name from his lips, almost pleading, made me shiver and succumb to his ministration. He crushed me under his body, I struggled, but more for my own pleasure than for his. He bit me and I moaned, we were both hard as a rock, the last barriers torn away and finally, finally, I held him in my arms, clawed at him, my nails scratching his skin, over the scar on his back, his spine, his ribs, still prominent under the soft skin.

I had unsettled him, for his hands in my hair were not gentle, but forcing me to keep still.

“Watson…” I breathed into his face, drank in his scent and the heat emanating from his body.

“Promise!” He cried, wriggling between my widespread legs.


“Holmes.” His blue eyes like steel locked with mine.

“Watson…” And he kissed me again, gentle this time, slowly, sinking down on me and I felt loved and protected, Watson, my Watson, here, with me, a wild river surrounding a tree. Deep roots it settled into me, grew and became strong and thick, slow motion made me moan and beg and then we were one and I felt his heat melting the ice around my heart, his heart against my own, his hands searching for mine, his breath, his lips… Watson!

I hurt him, every time. He bears it, my reliable friend. I press our foreheads together, I hold him, I cry, I sob, I beg and he holds me, is there, always there, always, always, always… I come, he kisses my tear stained face, I smile, a feeble attempt to hide my deep feelings, my love, for him. But his eyes are full of love when he looks at me, and I know, he can see this love reflected in mine. Always.


Tags: fic, hard pore corn, holmes/watson, slash
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