(Untitled)

[mustbetruth]

Continued from here"Oh, there absolutely must be some traditional deflowering," he murmurs back, his voice husky, and he settles easily into Watson's embrace. He's already shed his shirt, happy to be free of that layer, and he cups Watson's face in his hand to give him a long, hungry kiss. Maybe it's shameful that they are so eager to tear each

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[armydoctor]

Feeling a distinct lack of air, Watson merely tried to breathe a moment, nearly overwhelmed by skin on skin, by heat and sensation. Watson had always felt slightly guilty, certainly conflicted about his desire for his partners to be eager for the physical part of the equation, and it was a wonderful thing that Holmes could be so accomodating in this respect now, so gladly.

"There are other places more comfortable than the sofa," he murmured breathily. He caught Holmes's hand and began to kiss his fingers, long, leisurely, sensuous kisses, savouring and devouring kisses. He liked very much the idea of being deflowered, and wondered, as he sometimes did, if that made him less of a man in some respect. "And I believe that a marriage bed is traditional."

[mustbetruth]

"You are correct," he murmurs thickly, shifting his attention to Watson's neck so that he might watch as Watson pays such meticulous attention to his hands. He can't say why it pleases him so much that Watson finds his hands so alluring; perhaps it's because Holmes himself thinks there's something elegant about his hands, despite the chemical stains and the scars and scratches, and it's gratifying to see them so appreciated.

He traces Watson's lips with his thumb, first around the outside, and then along where his lips meet, and he presses in, seeking entrance.

"Shall I escort you to our marriage bed?" he asks, his voice considerably rougher.

[armydoctor]

Watson didn't answer right away. He opened his mouth enough to toy with with Holmes's thumb against his tongue, to hold it very gently between his teeth for a moment, closing his eyes with all the air of a gourmand savouring a delicacy.

Presently he did remove Holmes's fingertips from his mouth, giving him a rather smouldering sort of smile. "Yes. Yes, I think we should head in that general direction." Watson turned his head to kiss Holmes's palm and wrist several times, lingering and gentle, before moving to rise to his feet.

[mustbetruth]

Holmes can maintain his control fairly well, has used his control masterfully when it comes to Watson and the bedroom in the past, but right now he feels a small chink in his resolve. Watson's smile seems to cut right through him, and he allows himself to act on that impulse. He stands and kisses Watson hungrily, almost aggressively, and he pulls Watson in tight against him.

Yes, it's good they decided to do this now instead of waiting; Holmes couldn't imagine actually trying to talk about food and recipes and fruit when he could be kissing Watson like this, with some teeth and some (understood) tenderness as he maneuvers them back to their bedroom a few steps, without releasing Watson from his grasp.

[armydoctor]

Watson's breathing was becoming a series of low moans, rough and coarse. He leaned his head back, reaching back to take hold of Holmes's hip again, his fingers desperate and grasping. The fingers of his other hand were tightly fisted in the bedclothes under him; the tempation to take his own cock in hand was strong, but he wanted nothing that could distact him from how perfectly connected he was with Holmes just then, how intimately, how there was nothing in the world but how Holmes was touching him.

He made a small, pleading noise, and attempted to move his own hips a bit faster, trying to provoke Holmes into also picking up the pace.

[mustbetruth]

He takes a shuddering breath, kissing Watson's shoulder and gathering his sense of mind. Soon he'll make Watson take his cock in hand; he could do it himself, but Holmes is in such a spot now that he could see Watson's cock clearly and it seems a waste to do it himself. For now, though, he contents himself with gripping Watson's hip, and he takes another breath before he complies with Watson's wishes.

His hips work faster against him, grinding harder, his fingers pressing into Watson's skin. He groans now, breathless and senseless as he drags his teeth against Watson's shoulder again.

[armydoctor]

The teeth on his shoulder caused him to gasp again; in the state he was in, every sensation was that much more intense, that much more welcome. He pressed back against Holmes, almost writhing against him with exertion and arousal. Watson was very far gone indeed, and would have allowed or welcomed anything Holmes might want to do to or with him. It was strange how easily and quickly he slipped into mindless sexuality, how quickly he fell into this state of mind where nothing else mattered, a creature of lust. At some points in his life he'd considered it blessing, at others it had been more of a curse and a weakness of character, but while in the throes of it he simply was, for good or ill.

His fingers tightened desperately on Holmes's hip, vainly trying to keep hold of some vestige of rationality, and failing.

[mustbetruth]

Holmes is honestly unsure as to how long he'll be able to draw this out. It's quite the paradox, to want to prolong his own sweet torture while desperately thinking about the ultimate release. He knows one thing he wants, however, and he wants it now.

He takes Watson's hand from his hip and sets it on Watson's cock, his wishes hopefully pretty clear. He could muster up the words to say something, but he doesn't think he could say anything particularly sexy, or coherent. Actually, it's more likely he would just open his mouth and expletives would come out, with a few 'pleases' in there, and maybe Watson's name once or twice.

He grips Watson's hip again, and he needs to adjust his angle, as he's been sliding a little bit on the bed. Doing so changes his angle into Watson, and he tries to bite back a groan, but ultimately fails.