"You're incorrigible," Watson laughed breathily. He shifted downward to kiss Holmes's chest, going by feel with his eyes closed. "But I don't think I would have you any other way, either."
He gave a long sigh, pulling himself very close. "Perhaps some time I ought to let you take it off, then. In the meantime, I'm already naked as a jaybird, so there isn't much point." He placed several more kisses across Holmes's skin, then added thoughtfully, "Perhaps it would be worth getting up to see if there's coffee."
At the thought of food, his stomach actually growls, which makes sense considering he's barely eaten a proper meal for the past... he isn't even entirely sure. He's been preoccupied with coming back and avoiding the possibility of encountering one of Moran's men; eating had hardly seemed important, as usual.
"And breakfast, apparently." He cups the back of Watson's head and pulls him in for a soft kiss. "Naked breakfast, though; I insist. Dressing gowns only. No objections to that, I hope?"
"None at all," Watson agreed, after returning the kiss, feeling strangely grateful for it. He gave Holmes several kisses, ranging from brief and playful to lingering and seductive, before tearing himself away with a small laugh.
He stood, and fetched a couple of dressing gowns from his wardrobe; he tossed one to Holmes before pulling the other one on. Good God, but this was insane -- wonderful, but insane. How could he possibly have Holmes back in his life? How could even begin to deserve that?
As Holmes stands up, naked and vulnerable in his former bedroom, now their bedroom, it really sinks in that Moran is in custody. That he won't have to worry about who might try to kill him or who might see him if he doesn't disguise himself carefully. How strange. How wonderful. He grins as he pulls on his dressing gown, and then he starts to laugh, soft and joyful. He wraps his arms around Watson and nuzzles into Watson's neck and laughs, holding him close, until he has a better handle on himself and he draws away.
"Come, my dear. Let's have breakfast in our sitting room wearing nothing but our dressing gowns, and we have all day to do it."
Watson raised an eyebrow, but he was smiling, broadly and with no small amount of anticipation. He felt just slightly in thrall, for all the game of power, and he followed Holmes out of the tub, eagerly, impatiently.
He took the towel, before advancing to kiss Holmes hard again, too impatient to wait, still feeling clouded with lust. He had half a mind to take Holmes's hand and put it back on his cock, truthfully.
"Well? I'm out. You had better decide before I decide for you."
Holmes would laugh at his eagerness if it isn't so contrary to his plans, and so therefore he can't find it amusing. He gives Watson an entirely disapproving look instead and takes the towel back.
"You had better find your patience," he returns, a challenge to his voice, and he advances on Watson until he has him backed against the sink. It's effort to draw away from him; in fact, he indulges and kisses him, but only briefly, before he makes himself take a step back.
"You took your time; I intend to take mine."
He shakes out the towel and starts to dry Watson off, scrubbing the fabric over his chest; he's sure to hit the sensitive spots, to brush over his nipples, to linger over his hips. He gently towels off Watson's cock before he gets to his knees to do his legs.
Bracing himself against the sink, Watson gave a low groan at the touch on his cock. "I've already waited longer than you have," he reminded Holmes, in a sort of gasp. He slid his hand over Holmes's head, running fingers through his hair, caressing the top curve of his ears.
He felt exposed, vulnerable, but for the first time in three years that was all right. Exposure before Holmes was nothing, no weakness at all, but a mutual meeting of mind and soul -- if he could be poetic about it. It was right, in a way very little had been for those past three years.
Watson curled his fingers around the angle of Holmes's jaw, possessive and claiming, hungry.
Holmes doesn't waver from his task until he's scrubbed Watson dry; only then does he toss the towel away and look up with dark eyes, expression hungry and eager. He slides his hands up Watson's legs until he grips his hips, thumbs brushing over his hip bones, and he leans in to drag parted lips over his skin.
"That was your fault," he murmurs, pressing a few delicate kisses to his skin, mainly so that when he bites into the skin of his hip it's particularly shocking. It's important that he mark Watson too, that they claim each other, and he sucks a bruise onto Watson's skin. He licks carefully over it as he pulls away, and he locks his eyes onto Watson's.
"You are mine," he murmurs, and he lowers his mouth to the side of his cock, his tongue darting out to tease him; he murmurs it again, his lips brushing against the skin.
"Ah, you have seen what I've done in the Strand, then." Watson gave a small, nervous little laugh. The writing he'd done after Holmes's death was the sort of thing he had had to do or suffocate with grief. He was proud of it, in its way, and he had made a decent sum for it, but it was also not something he'd ever expected Holmes to actually see.
He was almost afraid to ask what Holmes thought of it.
"But very well, our cases, if you say so." He smiled a little, pleased at being included in that possessive. "They shall be my first priority, so long as I'm permitted."
"My darling, of course you are permitted. You are my conductor of light, and my husband besides. I can't fathom taking up the mantle again without you by my side." He sighs softly and closes his eyes as he smooths his hands down Watson's back. He stills, resting comfortably with husband tucked against him, surrounded by the familiar/unfamiliar smells of Baker st. Though he's just slept, he can feel the beginnings of a restful nap starting to claim him.
"I think I'll take a nap on my sofa in my sitting room now that I don't need to worry about gunmen shooting you through the window," he says, his voice already more of a tired rumble.
Watson smiled. "I won't be going anywhere," he promised in a murmur. "So long as you need me to conduct your light." He smoothed his hand down Holmes's side, and tucked himself against him comfortably. He rather liked the idea of lying here, his ear on Holmes's chest, while he slept.
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He gave a long sigh, pulling himself very close. "Perhaps some time I ought to let you take it off, then. In the meantime, I'm already naked as a jaybird, so there isn't much point." He placed several more kisses across Holmes's skin, then added thoughtfully, "Perhaps it would be worth getting up to see if there's coffee."
Reply
"And breakfast, apparently." He cups the back of Watson's head and pulls him in for a soft kiss. "Naked breakfast, though; I insist. Dressing gowns only. No objections to that, I hope?"
Reply
He stood, and fetched a couple of dressing gowns from his wardrobe; he tossed one to Holmes before pulling the other one on. Good God, but this was insane -- wonderful, but insane. How could he possibly have Holmes back in his life? How could even begin to deserve that?
Reply
"Come, my dear. Let's have breakfast in our sitting room wearing nothing but our dressing gowns, and we have all day to do it."
Reply
He took the towel, before advancing to kiss Holmes hard again, too impatient to wait, still feeling clouded with lust. He had half a mind to take Holmes's hand and put it back on his cock, truthfully.
"Well? I'm out. You had better decide before I decide for you."
Reply
"You had better find your patience," he returns, a challenge to his voice, and he advances on Watson until he has him backed against the sink. It's effort to draw away from him; in fact, he indulges and kisses him, but only briefly, before he makes himself take a step back.
"You took your time; I intend to take mine."
He shakes out the towel and starts to dry Watson off, scrubbing the fabric over his chest; he's sure to hit the sensitive spots, to brush over his nipples, to linger over his hips. He gently towels off Watson's cock before he gets to his knees to do his legs.
Reply
He felt exposed, vulnerable, but for the first time in three years that was all right. Exposure before Holmes was nothing, no weakness at all, but a mutual meeting of mind and soul -- if he could be poetic about it. It was right, in a way very little had been for those past three years.
Watson curled his fingers around the angle of Holmes's jaw, possessive and claiming, hungry.
Reply
"That was your fault," he murmurs, pressing a few delicate kisses to his skin, mainly so that when he bites into the skin of his hip it's particularly shocking. It's important that he mark Watson too, that they claim each other, and he sucks a bruise onto Watson's skin. He licks carefully over it as he pulls away, and he locks his eyes onto Watson's.
"You are mine," he murmurs, and he lowers his mouth to the side of his cock, his tongue darting out to tease him; he murmurs it again, his lips brushing against the skin.
Reply
He was almost afraid to ask what Holmes thought of it.
"But very well, our cases, if you say so." He smiled a little, pleased at being included in that possessive. "They shall be my first priority, so long as I'm permitted."
Reply
"I think I'll take a nap on my sofa in my sitting room now that I don't need to worry about gunmen shooting you through the window," he says, his voice already more of a tired rumble.
Reply
All was right in the world.
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