creepin with the sailor next door

[mustbetruth]

Island life is not as stimulating as life in London. Even with the variety of people here and the strange occurrences, Holmes finds himself feeling idle much of the time, and the lack of food of any substance or flavor or worth has left him quite unhappy and in need of a good, absorbing distraction. The best answer he could think of was to recall

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[armydoctor]

His daily walk with Nell was something Watson looked forward to, whether or not Holmes was joining him on it. He was a little disappointed he was alone today, but he wouldn't make a fuss about it. It wasn't fair of him to do that.

As he wound his way back to the cottage, Nell dancing around his feet, he was trying to work out what he would do with the rest of his day; he was surprised to see someone waiting outside the cottage. Nell also saw him; she barked before she caught a whiff of familiar scent, and ran to greet him.

"Heel, Nell. Come back here," Watson said. He didn't want Nell all over this stranger, whoever he was. Nell looked between them, puzzled, but she circled back to Watson as he came near. "Good afternoon, sir. Could I be of any help?"

[mustbetruth]

"You might be, if you're of a mind to give it," Holmes answers gruffly, slipping easily into a familiar accent common around the docks. He gives Nell a half-interested look and turns his attention back on Watson. Nell would be a problem, he realizes, but Watson hasn't put two and two together yet; it'd be better if he didn't do much to acknowledge the dog, though.

"Are you the doctor that lives here?"

Already Holmes is feeling the rush of adrenaline. Hopefully this won't fail, but he doesn't think it will.

[armydoctor]

"I am." Watson put a hand on Nell's head to steady her as he came near; he offered his hand to shake. "Dr. John Watson, at your service." Had the man knocked? Where was Holmes, if he had? Had he gone out?

Nell sniffed cautiously at Holmes's trousers, a bit confused about what was going on, but too pleased about having her people together to be seriously worried.

"Apparently my reputation precedes me. What sort of assistance did you need?"

[mustbetruth]

"Nothing too serious, Doctor," he says, shaking Watson's hand. He makes his handshake a little tighter, a little less practiced. "Benedict Brett. I've just arrived, and a fellow I came across in the big house said I might find someone from my time and place out here. You being a doctor's a bonus."

He steps closer and casts a look down at Nell, hoping she wouldn't blow his cover. She is not nearly as interested in this as she might be in a passing squirrel, so her attention is thankfully diverted.

"I was hoping you might check me out, make sure I'm in working order, make sure whoever plucked me out of that pub in London didn't do something else to me while they were at it."

[armydoctor]

Watson sighed under Holmes's touch, and he stretched out leisurely over him, breaking away from that kiss (as wonderful as it was) to take Holmes's ear between his teeth. He was caught between imagining Holmes beneath him, and imagining this Benedict Brett stranger, whether sent to him by Holmes or not.

"I suppose you want me to get on with it?" he said, playfully if rather hoarse. Somehow he had managed to work open the little jar one-handed, and he held up his slicked fingers with a curious lift of his eyebrows. "Unless you can think of some very good reason for me to hold off, Mr. Brett, I would recommend this course of action."

Dear God, but it was strange to call Holmes that during a moment like this.

[mustbetruth]

To hear his fake name like that is so very... thrilling. He moans, somewhat enjoying these more vocalized reactions; he feels a bit freer in offering them up, even if he has to think about them each time. It occurs to him now, when confronted with the notion, that letting Watson fuck him while he's in this persona will be arousing in strange ways.

"Can't argue with your good opinion," he says, straining slightly, and he spreads his legs, inviting Watson to carry them forward. "You do have," he says, with some effort, "a wonderful, if forceful, bedside manner."

[armydoctor]

"Sometimes one has to be direct with patients," Watson murmured, "who don't know what's best for them." He smiled, darkly, as he let his finger seek out Holmes's entrance.

He was cautious at first (no game would trump that, in his mind, not ever), but as he worked his finger inside Holmes, Watson busied his mouth at Holmes's throat. He could make out Holmes's pulse point with his tongue, for crying out loud; that was something he suspected he would never admit to enjoying doing. He closed his eyes, working entirely by feel.

Still with that dark smile, he asked (though hoarse and wicked), "Do you feel any pain?"

[mustbetruth]

Holmes isn't in this position nearly as often as Watson is, so Holmes isn't quite primed for this. It does hurt initially, but he's far beyond having some complex about letting himself be taken in this way. He relaxes easily under Watson's touch, especially when he's so deliciously distracting against Holmes's throat.

"Not now," he murmurs, a bit breathless, and he skims his fingertips down Watson's back to settle his hand heavily against his arse. "Must be your healing touch. I could use a little more of it, I think." He presses his mouth against Watson's neck and nibbles, giving his arse a squeeze.