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.

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[mustbethetruth]

"And there are times when I'm very thankful for that," he returns warmly.

He divests Watson of his shirt, moving carefully over his stitches, and he leans forward to kiss his good shoulder; he ghosts his lips over his skin, moving slowly and gently. What upsets him most about Watson's opinion of himself is that he seems to find himself somehow less, but all Holmes manages to see is that Watson overcame, and he's here now, warm and alive in his arms.

He doesn't want this to turn into something sad and depressing. They were gearing up for some enjoyable afternoon sex, made all the more enjoyable by the fact that Mrs. Hudson is out all afternoon and so they can be a little bit louder. He doesn't want all that thwarted because some criminal wants one or both of them dead. Not at Christmas.

So he scrapes his teeth against Watson's skin, then again, and then he bites a little more forcefully, and he slides his hand to cup Watson's arse.

[lightconductor]

It was not hard to slip back into the right frame of mind, and Watson lifted his head to kiss Holmes a little more forcefully -- although admittedly perhaps just a little more cautious about his injured arm. He would be very glad when he was healed again, to be sure, but seemingly against all odds, here was Holmes now, and here was Holmes wanting him now.

"I think," he said, "that mistletoe is wasted on us. We hardly need it, do we?"

[mustbethetruth]

"I could always use an excuse to kiss you," he murmurs thickly, and he captures Watson's mouth in another kiss, deep and searching, before he breaks away and sets himself on Watson's neck. He follows his collarbone with his tongue, presses kisses at the junction of his shoulder and neck, and he tugs his earlobe between his teeth, scraping at the skin. He tugs at Watson's flies, his fingers brushing against the skin of his abdomen, and he draws away from Watson with a husky chuckle.

"Though considering how quickly I went from decorating Christmas to wanting, a little desperately, for you to bugger me, mistletoe does seem a bit superfluous."

[lightconductor]

Watson drew back to look at Holmes in a mixture of surprise, delight, and desperate want. It was good, a bit of a relief, to be desired. "Who would I be," he murmured, leaning forward to briefly catch Holmes's lower lip between his teeth, "what sort of lover would I be if I were to deny you that?"

He slid his hands around Holmes's middle, tucking his fingers down into his waistband, and drew him away from the wall and into the middle of the room. He kissed him, hard, as they went, not really sure where he was planning to go.

"I could bugger you very hard indeed, if you wanted," he offered, rather innocently, as he bit down onto Holmes's collarbone. "Or -- if you prefer -- I could try to draw it out?"

[mustbethetruth]

Holmes makes a small, entirely involuntary, very quiet sound of frustrated want, and he pulls Watson's mouth up for another rough kiss, his teeth scraping against Watson's bottom lip. The trouble with being presented with these questions is that he'll spend far too long attempting to analyze them. When he is in control, it's far easier for him to decide because he has a better idea of how things will go. When the control is Watson's, who can be a beautiful surprise to him sometimes, he's left agonizing over the options.

"How cruel of you to make me choose," he murmurs against Watson's lips, and he skirts his fingernails along the lines of Watson's hips. "I submit to your discretion."

[lightconductor]

"Cruel? I was trying to be considerate." Watson explored Holmes's skin with his fingers, considering the matter. "But in that case... how would you feel about my bending you over something convenient?" He cast his eyes around the room before turning back to kiss Holmes, full of passion and heat.

He was beginning to be eager again, perhaps overeager, although he was still trying to rein himself in, for his own sake.

[mustbethetruth]

"I would feel that you shouldn't waste any more time in finding an available surface," he returns, and a small thrill runs through him. He loves that he and Watson are getting comfortable enough with each other that their sex is becoming this much more adventurous. They're a step closer to sex with Watson's uniform, he hopes.

"Your desk?" he suggests, a little hopeful, and he drops his mouth to Watson's shoulder, sucking at the skin.

[lightconductor]

His desk. Now, that was a thrilling idea. Good God, but the two of them were nicely matched as far as this sort of thing went. He'd never had high hopes of settling down with a woman who, when he did marry, was as eager as he was in the bedroom. It would have been too much to expect. But this... well, he was a man with healthy appetites, to be sure.

Watson shut his eyes briefly, savouring the feeling of Holmes's mouth against his shoulder. "My desk it is," he agreed, guiding them both in that direction. With his hand against the small of Holmes's back, he pressed him back against the edge of the desk, gently. His expression was eager, faintly challenging.

[mustbethetruth]

Holmes goes along easily, far too pleased that Watson's going with this idea to go any other way; blindly, he shoves aside whatever lies just behind him, and he settles comfortably against the desk. He pulls Watson in against him, between his legs, and leans in to capture his mouth in a hungry kiss.

"Don't go gentle on me now," he breathes hotly against Watson's mouth as the kiss breaks, their lips brushing as he speaks, and he rocks their hips together with decided intent.

[lightconductor]

"Is that a decision?" Watson grinned, relieved that this was going well, eager for it to play out. "I shan't be any more gentle than necessary, then." He reached down to cup Holmes's cock through his trousers, kissing him hard while his other hand dug through the desk drawer, searching for a convenient bottle.

With that in hand, he moved to unbutton Holmes's flies. He'd had enough of being patient, at least for the time being.

[mustbethetruth]

He makes a soft noise when Watson cups him, and for a moment he's lost in how much he loves Watson, how dearly he loves him. It might be odd that he very nearly views being roughly taken against a desk as almost making love, but he doesn't particularly care. He loves Watson for his vitality, and he's giving Holmes the best example of it right now.

He works to divest Watson of his trousers and fondles his cock, cupping it in his palm.

"Must I choose between vigorous fucking and drawing the thing out?" he says, breathless. "Can't there be a little of both?"

[lightconductor]

"I'll see what I can manage," Watson said, with a rather predatory grin. It would have been useless to deny the little gasp he gave, entirely involuntary, when Holmes's fingers reached his cock. Holding back might be an effort, and he was far gone enough that it was hard to envision doing, but it would be worth it for both of them, to be sure.

After working Holmes's trousers off, kissing and nipping the whole while, Watson pressed them back against the desk. "You had better turn around," he said, low and hoarse. "It will make this that much easier."

[mustbethetruth]

"Oh, of course," he says silkily, and he inclines his head mock-politely; he gives Watson's cock a light squeeze before he complies. His heart beating rather rapidly in his chest, he braces himself; facing the contents of Watson's desk really brings home the fact that they're about to have sex here, with the smell of pine in the air and the desk rattling with the sure-to-be strong force of their bodies. He takes a steadying breath and spreads his legs a little more, already far too eager for this all to begin.

[lightconductor]

With his fingers slicked, Watson laid one hand on Holmes's back to still him, and slowly, cautiously, not rushing himself at this stage of things, slipped a finger inside him. He was cautious, though no less eager for that. He sighed, breathing in deeply in an attempt to steady himself. If he was going to draw this out, he could not get ahead of himself, not now. Part of him was overeager, he knew it, and he couldn't let that part get out of hand.

He was watching Holmes closely, drinking in any reaction at all, good or bad.

[mustbethetruth]

Oh, this part. This part is so much more enjoyable when he's the one watching Watson come apart at his touch. Holmes, however, finds it infuriating, and he arches back against Watson's touch, already eager, maybe over eager, for more. He makes a soft noise of impatience and then tries to rally himself, breathing deeply and trying to summon his patience.

"Perhaps we ought to change our mistletoe tradition," he murmurs, voice thick.

[lightconductor]

"I'm not going to go get some mistletoe now," Watson murmured. "Not when I have you at my mercy like this."

He added a second finger, moving slow, savouring it. His breathing was hoarse and heavy, and he was biting his lip because he thought if he didn't he would be entirely unable to hold himself back from pouncing Holmes completely.

[mustbethetruth]

"No," he says, voice low and husky, and he moves his hips with Watson's fingers, trying to get more out of him than he's currently giving. "For the future. We can surprise each other with mistletoe sex, rather than kisses." He takes a breath to steady himself, but it does't quite work; he reaches behind him instead and grips Watson's hip, squeezing him lightly.

"Sounds much more enjoyable than the usual tradition."

[lightconductor]

Watson gave a small laugh, breathless and uneven. "You're incorrigible," he murmured, "and I love you for it."

He shifted a little closer behind Holmes, pressing up behind him, although he continued with only his fingers, not going to rush himself. "If you think we can keep up with that sort of game, you're more than welcome to begin it. You are far too coherent. I'm obviously not doing this properly."

He was teasing, but his voice was nevertheless full of lustful intent.

[mustbethetruth]

"No," he says very seriously, and he rocks his hand back against Watson's hands with obvious intent and desire. "You aren't." This time though, his breath comes in a gasp, and he squeeze his eye shut, leaning his head forward.

The idea of planting mistletoe in various places around their flat is very appealing to him, he finds, and he's fairly certain right now that he'll have to test this game in the next few days. It may even be a holiday tradition worth carrying on after Christmas.

[lightconductor]

"Let me see what I can do about that, then," Watson murmured. It was as good an excuse as any, although in truth he was terribly eager to get on with it himself. He withdrew his fingers, slowly, and positioned himself behind Holmes.

He thrust forward, moving slow, biting back a small groan, smoothing his hands over Holmes's back as he moved.

[mustbethetruth]

While he doesn't make any vocalizations, his breath hitches in his throat, and he breathes raggedly as he forces himself to relax into this. It comes to him again that they're having sex on Watson's desk, and it's likely that every time he looks at this desk, he'll remember being taken on it, and probably Watson will remember this too, so Lestrade's next visit ought to be extra entertaining.

"Much better," he hisses finally under his breath. He wills the tension out of him so that he can rock back, slightly, against Watson; that brings a small moan from his throat.

[lightconductor]

With a small moan of his own, Watson moved his hands to grip Holmes's hips. He moved slow, forcefully but slow, trying for that compromise between force and drawing it out.

"Oh, I can do better," he said, hoarse and eager, his grip tightening slightly. Words were hard to form.

[mustbethetruth]

He's pleased when the desk rattles with Watson's thrusts while Holmes tries to brace himself a little better, almost as pleased as he is to hear Watson goading him right back. He loves when their sex is like this, teasing and rough and all dominance, and he meets Watson's thrusts with increasing eagerness now that his body has adjusted properly.

"I look forward to it," he says thickly, his head falling forward. "But don't feel bothered to rush."

[lightconductor]

He could feel the sweat standing out on his forehead already. Judging it an appropriate time, and unable to resist it any longer, Watson moved a little faster. He couldn't seem to keep his hands still, sliding them over Holmes's back, exploring the curves and angles and lines of his body, counting the ridges of ribs beneath his skin.

"I won't rush anymore," he murmured, "than I have to."

[mustbethetruth]

Holmes is torn now, as he does want to draw this out because it's wonderful, but he also would like it very much if Watson decided to fuck him as hard as he could without making it impossible for Holmes to stand. He grinds back against him, feeling himself come alive underneath Watson's touch; it allows him a moment to fantasize that Watson is learning him, like how Holmes learns Watson, and there's little else more arousing to him than Watson exercising his mental faculties.

"I'm beginning to doubt," he manages, though it's difficult; he swallows thickly and tries again, "that you really have more to give."