Sherlock Holmes Fic: Fixation
Well, since I'm kinda stuck on Tilt again, I figure I may as well get off my butt and post the stuff I wrote for sherlockkink and shkinkmeme .
Title: Fixation
Wordcount: 444
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Holmes/Watson UST (literally)
Warning(s): Bigtime sexual innuendo
Summary: Written for a kinkmeme prompt, "Can we please have Watson being turned on in the most innapropriate situations because an orally fixated Holmes just can't stop putting random objects in his mouth?"
He was not looking.
Absolutely not.
He was calmly reading his new novel.
He was not fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat or biting his lip.
He was not.
Because he was NOT LOOKING.
…
Oh who was he fooling?
Watson risked a glance over the top of his book and sincerely wished he hadn’t.
Holmes sat at the table, contemplating a set of maps.
This in itself wouldn’t be a problem if not for the Pen.
The Pen, which Holmes had begun absentmindedly gnawing on as he thought.
Holmes sucked and licked at the end of the Pen like a child trying to get every last bit of sugar from a lollypop.
He twirled it, nipped it, pressed it against his lips, all while wearing a look of determined concentration.
Watson bit back a whimper as he saw a brief flash of tongue.
“Hmm? Did you say something Watson?”
“No, nothing Holmes.”
Holmes blinked at him innocently, and went back to his work.
And back to the Pen.
One would think, after all this time, Watson would have gotten used to his good friend’s… oral fixation, but no. Every time was just like the first time, with Holmes and his blasted soup spoon.
Remembering that little incident only made his trousers even tighter.
Watson closed his eyes as his traitorous mind brought forth even more memories of Holmes and his little…habit.
Pens, cutlery, pipes, stirrers, his own fingertips…
And all the while Holmes had no idea what he was doing!
Watson swallowed another moan and went back to his book.
This was very rapidly becoming intolerable.
If it went on for much longer, he was going to have to think up and excuse to run up to his room.
At the table, Holmes continued to… occupy himself with the Pen.
He was not looking.
He was NOT looking.
No.
He was not looking.
He was not envious of the Pen.
He was not picturing that mouth suckling on his fingertips.
He was not imagining what that neatly pomaded hair would look like with his hands grabbing and pulling it.
He was not wondering what those lips would feel like, wrapped around the end of his prick.
He was not desperately wishing to see that pink tongue licking his slit.
He was not daydreaming of Holmes‘s head in his lap, nipping and nuzzling his swollen member.
He was not barely restraining the urge to march over to the table, shove Holmes onto his knees, unbutton his trousers and…
Holmes hummed around the Pen.
Oh bugger.
“SorryoldboyIjustrememberedsomethingIneedtocheckonupstairsgoodday!”
Holmes blinked in surprise at his friend’s sudden departure, shrugged, and went back to his maps.
And the Pen.