Deck the Halls

[lightconductor]

Watson had, despite the danger, been out about town that day. It was, after all, seasonally important. He had brought his revolver with him, at the very least.

Still, he had gone out to fetch several packages of pine, some holly, perhaps a sprig or two of mistletoe, various other decorate flora. With these prizes, he climbed the seventeen steps to their rooms, feeling remarkably happy, despite all that threatened them. Christmas was almost upon them, after all. It was hard to be terribly worried.

Comments

[mustbethetruth]

"No, I suppose not," he says lowly, his lips brushing Watson's neck as he talks. "But the upside is that I can enjoy this present over and over." He unbuttons Watson's shirt, and he trails his kisses lower, following the exposed line of his chest.

"You can't say that for many other kinds of presents," he breathes, and punctuates his sentence with a nip against Watson's chest as he unbuckles Watson's belt. "I can unwrap you now, and then again on Christmas, and again, if I wanted, and it would still be just as good as the first time." He slides Watson's belt off and tosses it aside.

[lightconductor]

Watson's breath caught, just a little, partly because of the lips on his bare skin, partly because of Holmes's words. "You can unwrap me," he said, hoarse and faintly laughing because of something that struck him as ridiculous about it all, "as many times as you wish, if you enjoy me so."

He slipped his fingers down the back of Holmes's collar, toying with it and tickling while he attempted to sidle his hand around to work away his tie and the collar and what seemed just then like frankly far too much cloth. "Provided I can do a little unwrapping of my own."

[mustbethetruth]

"Certainly." He stands and grips Watson by the hips; in a fluid motion he turns them around so Holmes is against the wall, and he pulls Watson in close, stealing a hungry kiss. He would've had to get Watson off the wall anyway if he really wants to get him shirtless, and this seems like a pleasant enough way to introduce the change of position.

"Unwrap at will," he says against Watson's lips, with a devilish smile.

[lightconductor]

It was for Watson often easier to take this more... aggressive, dominant role, to control rather than be controlled (although, to be fair, no less pleasant when he gave that up). He fell onto Holmes like a starving man, sliding his fingers between buttons while his mouth explored well-known skin over Holmes's throat and collarbone. He pressed Holmes up against the wall, pressing the two of them together. His lips trailed to Holmes's ear, nibbling and mouthing gently at the flesh there, while Watson slid his hand over Holmes's abdomen under layers of cloth. He gripped tightly, just above the angle of pelvis.

"You are a wonderful present," he whispered.

[mustbethetruth]

Though Holmes prefers the control he finds when he takes the more dominant role, he'd be lying if he didn't admit that he likes to be worshipped, to be touched like this at the hands of a man who knows what he's about. Sometime, still, he'll have to get Watson in his uniform. If he's honest, he thinks of that sometimes when Watson falls on him like this.

"Then you and I are going to have a wonderful, if exhausting, Christmas," he murmurs, though his silky, seductive tones have been quite interrupted with Watson's attention to his neck; his voice is breathless and strained now. He grips Watson's hips, holding him firm, and rolls his hips up, bringing his straining cock against his thigh.

[lightconductor]

Oh, how Watson loved to feel that. Once it had been a strange and slightly alarming thing to feel his lover's cock against him, but by now it was a rather glorious thing. There were few things that delighted Watson quite as much as the knowledge that he was performing well in his role, whether mundane or erotic.

"I think I might hold you to that," he murmured, half a growl. It made a difference, too, to know that he was the one who could reduce Holmes to this. That was just slightly aweing. He caught Holmes's mouth with his, peeling off his shirt while he shrugged out of his own.

[mustbethetruth]

"And other things, I hope," he says, strained, as he musters up the attention required to help Watson remove items of clothing. It would be decidedly unsexy if they had to stop and tend to him, or if he hurt himself out of his stubborn determination to be perfectly fine, despite the healing wound on his arm.

[lightconductor]

Watson gave a small groan suddenly, as he bent his arm in an unfortunate way, straining the stitches. Foolish of him, but he'd been thinking of almost anything else, of Holmes and of impending sex, not his own infirmity.

He dropped his head down onto Holmes's shoulder, his eyes shut, while he tried to regain his equilibrium, tried to breathe through the sharp pain as it faded into dull throbbing.

[mustbethetruth]

He kisses the nape of Watson's neck and runs a soothing hand down his good arm as he waits for Watson to recover. He'd been afraid of this, of Watson's enthusiasm and stubbornness, both traits he loves him for, of course, but traits that inevitably lead them to this.

"Patience, my dear," he murmurs, and he noses the hair at the nape of Watson's neck. "Let me unwrap my own presents." He slips his hand underneath Watson's shirt and drags his knuckles over his rib cage.