Sherlock Holmes - The Morning After
Title: The Morning After
Word Count: 534
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Holmes/Watson
Spoilers: None. At least, unless I missed the part where they got it on...
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is not mine.
Notes: For this prompt on sherlockkink :Can I have some sleepy, cuddly morning kisses, please? I'd really like to see Watson waking up the morning after the night before (maybe after their first time together? And he's freaking the fuck out?) and then Holmes starts being all snuggly/clingy and keeps him there, despite his (weak) protests.
It took several moments for John Watson to figure out why he didn't recognise the ceiling he was looking at. Then the burn marks gave it away, and he found himself re-living the events of the evening before.
And what an evening it had been. He ached pleasantly all over from the night's exertions. Who would ever have suspected that Sherlock Holmes had so much passion under his black frock-coat? Watson shivered from the memory of being pinned to the mattress by elegant hands and a body which only looked delicate.
Perhaps it was the remnants of sleep which caused him not to comprehend the full implications of what had occurred, but now, slowly, it dawned on Watson what exactly he had done last night. He had slept with Sherlock Holmes, who, quite aside from being a generally cold person, and his best friend, was a man. And more than that, a man who, by his own admission, was unaffected by the softer emotions, and did not have time for things like affection or love.
And Watson had told this man that he loved him - admittedly in the heat of passion, but Holmes was unlikely to think that a reasonable excuse. He would hate him, for turning what should have been a simple physical release into a matter of the heart. Watson would never be allowed to speak to him again, he would have to move out, move away. He would be denied the simple pleasure of his friend's company because of his own stupid mistake.
He was curled up in the detective's arms. That didn't quite seem to fit with the scenario in his mind.
“Are you quite finished with your nervous breakdown, Watson?” an amused voice whispered against his shoulder.
“I...well, I mean...” he shifted so as to face the other man, a flicker of hope lighting in his breast.
“Good.” Holmes closed the half-inch gap between them to kiss the tip of his nose. Watson sighed with bone-deep relief. Clever fingertips danced over his shoulder as a bony knee was insinuated between his legs and a deceptively thin arm pulled him closer. He sighed again and closed his eyes, only then daring to press his lips to the neck he found his mouth hovering over. The gasp he was rewarded with was nice.
“You're not disgusted.”
Holmes chuckled briefly in response, “we'll make a fine reasoner out of you yet, old boy,” he drew back to look into his brand-new lover's eyes, and Watson could see the crinkling at the corners that meant Holmes was smiling. A rare event indeed, and a welcome one, since he knew from experience that coming from the detective, a smile meant a lot more than from an ordinary man.
“But I thought-”
“Shh. Hush, darling,” Holmes brought a hand to Watson's face and pressed their lips together lightly for a long moment, “I am not disgusted, I have no regrets, and I would very much like a repeat performance.” he moved his hips forward to make his meaning clear.
“Oh, thank God,” Watson muttered and claimed his friend's mouth without hesitation, before fulfilling his request.
Word Count: 534
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Holmes/Watson
Spoilers: None. At least, unless I missed the part where they got it on...
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is not mine.
Notes: For this prompt on sherlockkink :Can I have some sleepy, cuddly morning kisses, please? I'd really like to see Watson waking up the morning after the night before (maybe after their first time together? And he's freaking the fuck out?) and then Holmes starts being all snuggly/clingy and keeps him there, despite his (weak) protests.
It took several moments for John Watson to figure out why he didn't recognise the ceiling he was looking at. Then the burn marks gave it away, and he found himself re-living the events of the evening before.
And what an evening it had been. He ached pleasantly all over from the night's exertions. Who would ever have suspected that Sherlock Holmes had so much passion under his black frock-coat? Watson shivered from the memory of being pinned to the mattress by elegant hands and a body which only looked delicate.
Perhaps it was the remnants of sleep which caused him not to comprehend the full implications of what had occurred, but now, slowly, it dawned on Watson what exactly he had done last night. He had slept with Sherlock Holmes, who, quite aside from being a generally cold person, and his best friend, was a man. And more than that, a man who, by his own admission, was unaffected by the softer emotions, and did not have time for things like affection or love.
And Watson had told this man that he loved him - admittedly in the heat of passion, but Holmes was unlikely to think that a reasonable excuse. He would hate him, for turning what should have been a simple physical release into a matter of the heart. Watson would never be allowed to speak to him again, he would have to move out, move away. He would be denied the simple pleasure of his friend's company because of his own stupid mistake.
He was curled up in the detective's arms. That didn't quite seem to fit with the scenario in his mind.
“Are you quite finished with your nervous breakdown, Watson?” an amused voice whispered against his shoulder.
“I...well, I mean...” he shifted so as to face the other man, a flicker of hope lighting in his breast.
“Good.” Holmes closed the half-inch gap between them to kiss the tip of his nose. Watson sighed with bone-deep relief. Clever fingertips danced over his shoulder as a bony knee was insinuated between his legs and a deceptively thin arm pulled him closer. He sighed again and closed his eyes, only then daring to press his lips to the neck he found his mouth hovering over. The gasp he was rewarded with was nice.
“You're not disgusted.”
Holmes chuckled briefly in response, “we'll make a fine reasoner out of you yet, old boy,” he drew back to look into his brand-new lover's eyes, and Watson could see the crinkling at the corners that meant Holmes was smiling. A rare event indeed, and a welcome one, since he knew from experience that coming from the detective, a smile meant a lot more than from an ordinary man.
“But I thought-”
“Shh. Hush, darling,” Holmes brought a hand to Watson's face and pressed their lips together lightly for a long moment, “I am not disgusted, I have no regrets, and I would very much like a repeat performance.” he moved his hips forward to make his meaning clear.
“Oh, thank God,” Watson muttered and claimed his friend's mouth without hesitation, before fulfilling his request.