lightconductor | Dinner and a show.

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Dinner and a show.

Continued from here...

Watson was, at least, as good as his word as far as his promise to treat Holmes to dinner went, even if the offer had been made under slightly different circumstances with slightly different goals in mind, slightly different expectations.

Little had changed between them, too, except in an unspoken sense. When they sat together on the sofa they sat closer than they had been, and there were occassional kisses between them, as light and as hesitant as that first night. Whether the excuse was more Holmes's lip or Watson's inexperience was debatable. And if it was the latter, that hurt his pride. He was no blushing virgin, no untried youth. It was the gender of his partner that was new. Surely it could not be so different?

He didn't know the answer to that.

As the week stretched on he was beginning to be just a bit overeager; despite his own unease, his own fears, he was a man of action. He had to wonder if Holmes, being more experienced, was not impatient with him, too.

But he had held onto his riches successfully, and on what had seemed an ideal night he had paid for dinner for the two of them at one of the nicer of their favourite restaurants, and they had gone to a concert afterwards. Both had been splendid. It had been a well-spent evening, despite Watson's dual eagerness and anxiety for what might happen on their return.

Coming home in the hansom afterwards was certainly a far different experience than the ride home from the boxing match. Watson let their shoulders touch, their thighs, surely contact that would look perfectly innocent to an onlooker, although he could not entirely convince himself that they would not immediately be found out and arrested.

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Watson let his hand brush against Holmes's cheek as he kissed him, before he sank back down into the sofa, breathless and exhausted, and resisting the cloud of confused thoughts that was threatening to descend upon him.

What had that been? It had been very good, whatever else was true. It had been satisfying and enjoyable, and he thought that they had seemed to fit rather nicely together. It had had surprisingly romantic undertones, far more romantic than Watson might have expected. Was that morally wrong? Was that sin? He could hardly say what he believed one way or the other, let alone what was and was not a sin.

As his breathing slowed, he found himself staring up at the ceiling, trying to sort out his thoughts, while he stroked Holmes's skin absently with his thumb. He didn't think he felt degraded, or corrupted, or damned. He just felt... very sated, very content.

He hadn't any idea what to say.

This is generally the time when regrets surface, but Holmes doesn't want to believe that there will be any. He's far too comfortable with Watson, and now that he's seen his carnal side, he's far too enamored with the idea of Watson as his lover to let it go so easily. He idly kisses Watson's neck and shoulder, a smile forming on his face as he fills with afterglow.

"You know what I think?" he asks warmly, tracing his finger over Watson's collarbone. "You're simply too good a lover, and it's unfair that only one gender gets to partake in you. You're righting an imbalance. How noble of you," he says, grinning.

Startled out of his not-very-pleasant reverie, Watson began to laugh. "Is that what you think?" he said. "When you put it like that, it does sound very noble. I'm afraid my motives were somewhat baser than that."

Laughter made this seem more... more natural, more normal, and it was hard to be anything but happy, curled like this on the sofa in a post-orgasmic state with Holmes idly kissing him. That was a side of his friend he'd never suspected. He rather liked it, he found, now that he'd been privileged to see it.

"Nonetheless," he says, grinning wider. It's good to hear Watson laugh and to know that he isn't currently stewing in a self-hating post-orgasmic haze. "I certainly feel privileged. You were most certainly my white knight this evening, saving me from a dark world in which I did not know the character of John Watson in bed." He glances around them and lifts an eyebrow. "Or on the sofa."

He's in a remarkably good mood, and there's little reason to wonder why. He just had the first form of sex he's had in some time, and it was amazing, and it was with his closest friend and a man he truly thinks he has some feelings for. And who may have feelings for him in return.

Watson chuckled again. He rather liked the idea of being a white knight for Holmes in any context, sexual or not. "You're most welcome, but I think you make a little too much of the privilege." Unable to resist doing so, he settled his arm rather hesitantly around Holmes, his hand in a good place to stroke his hair. "Especially as you did rather take the lead."

He let out a sigh, one that was more perplexed than really grieved, wondering if he ought to feel guiltier than he did, and if it was ridiculous to feel guilty over not feeling guilty.

He closes his eyes briefly when Watson's hand finds his hair, and his smile fades somewhat upon hearing that sigh. And he'd so been enjoying ignoring the possibility that Watson won't end this before it has a chance to become something good.

"I did. I thought it fair of me, to guide you through it." He looks down at Watson, lightly tracing the line of his jaw. "The last thing I want is for you to feel lost or uncomfortable. How do you feel?" A knot of nervousness tightens inside him, bracing himself for an answer he may or may not want to hear.

"I don't know," Watson said, after a moment's silence. "I can't say I didn't enjoy that, because I did. Very much." He paused again, not at all sure what it was he wanted to say, but he stroked Holmes's hair while he thought. That was a remarkably easy, natural thing to do, considering he had never done it. "Should I feel corrupted? I'm not sure that I do."

He sighed, more thoughtful this time. "I am feeling rather tired, and rather pleased, but also rather conflicted about it. Not as conflicted as I would have thought, however. I suppose that's promising."

He glanced at Holmes again, his expression soft. "If I may ask... how did you feel, your first time?"

Holmes blinks, completely caught off guard by the question, and he recoils mentally as well as physically, if only slightly. He stops stroking Watson's jaw, laying his hand on the sofa instead.

It's easy for Holmes to talk about relations between men in the general sense, but his own relationships, his own personal history -- he doesn't like to discuss those details. It took him a year to even inform Watson of Mycroft's existence, and Holmes has no real strong reasons to want to keep Mycroft secret. Gideon is part of something that Holmes has worked to keep secret for too long, and seen that secret exposed far too painfully.

But there's no reason he should have to divulge too many details; he can speak of his first time in the general sense, can't he, without needing to finish the story. Denying Watson his answer now may well deny Holmes a perfectly nice relationship.

"Ah," he starts, trying to recall that first time with Gideon. "I suppose I felt conflicted, mostly in fear of discovery," a fear which turned out to be justified, "but on the whole I was very... satisfied. Thrilled, even, to finally enact what I'd felt for sometime. I was young and just thankful to know that I wasn't alone," he finishes in a softer tone.

It had been such a rush, such a risk, and so relieving to share something so passionate with Gideon that he hardly had room for regrets until it was over.

"If I felt corrupted, I'm afraid that only made it better." He attempts a playful smile, though he's shaken with the need to recall something so personal, and not on his own terms.

Vaguely aware that he had touched on something intensely personal, and not in a positive way, Watson tightened his arm around Holmes a little. He was already missing the stroking fingers on his jaw.

"'Satisfied' and 'thrilled' seem very apt to me," he said, "if I may borrow those words. 'Conflicted,' too. What if we are discovered? Are we really to carry on an illegal affair under the very noses of Scotland Yard? What of Mrs. Hudson?"

These considerations were very real, but even as he said them Watson realised they were an admission that he considered it to be a real option, that he was open to the idea of doing this sort of thing again. To be honest, it was hard to imagine returning to the way things had been between them, after crossing the line they had tonight.

Naturally this is one of Holmes's principle concerns, and it isn't because he fears for his own reputation and safety, but because -- and this is becoming increasingly obvious -- he couldn't bear to be torn away from Watson. What would make him feel better, actually, though it would be so very foolish, would be terrible... but would it be so terrible to ask Mycroft what he might be able to do in the event of Watson and Holmes's discovery? Having a plan would make Holmes feel much more at ease.

He doubts that would ease Watson's tensions.

"Thankfully we can rest assured in the knowledge that the Yard is incapable of discovering anything of use." He smiles, hoping his joke will ease the situation. "And as for Mrs. Hudson... we shall have to be particularly careful. An extra set of your clothes in my rooms, always keep dressing gowns at hand. And keep the door locked as much as possible."

He's coming back from his moment of surprise and tension, realizing that divulging hadn't been that bad, after all. He will have to tell Watson these things at some point, so it's good if he starts mentally preparing himself. He resumes his touch against Watson's jaw, unable to keep from touching him any longer.

Watson relaxed with the return of that gentle touch. Strange how much of a difference that made, how reassuring it was. Was it forgiveness for his question? Perhaps. As long as it meant Holmes continued as he was.

"You really wish to do this?" he asked, softly. "To take this risk? With me?" This was the most unexpected romance he had ever embarked on in his life, the most worrying, the most dangerous, the most frightening. And yet... and yet he wanted to. That was the strange part. He wanted to embark upon an illegal affair with Holmes. He wondered just how long he'd been lying to himself. He wondered, too, that he could possibly be worth such a risk.

"I would like to try, at least. I don't know, really, what I'm doing. But I would like to try, with you."

That soft confession is just what Holmes needed to hear, though he hadn't quite realized it. The corners of his mouth light in a smile, and he leans down to kiss Watson very gently.

"I would really like to try," he murmurs, still smiling, and he kisses Watson's forehead before stealing a proper kiss once more. "You, my dear Watson, are a risk I'm more than willing to take. Truthfully... not taking it hardly feels like an option. You've come to mean so much to me." He brings his fingers down Watson's neck to his shoulder, lightly tracing patterns over his skin.

"I believe I have little choice but to see how much more you could mean."

It's humbling to make such admissions, but coming on the tails of his last one, Holmes seems more capable, having already stripped away a level of privacy. Besides, knowing that saying such a thing would hopefully please Watson makes it far too tempting to pass up.

Watson was admittedly more than a little taken aback by this, to be told so plainly that he was an important part in Holmes's life. He knew Holmes was of a disproportionate importance in his own life; he'd often felt like a hanger-on to Holmes, or at worst, a tolerable and necessary nuisance. To hear this now was reassuring, and a little touching.

"I think I'd like to say the same thing," he said, faintly wondering. "You are important to me, and I cannot do anything but explore these possibilities and see how deep it runs." He smiled, lifting his face to kiss Holmes tenderly. The part of his brain that was horrified at himself for doing such a thing was not gone, but it was somewhat muffled, somewhat quieter.

This kiss is particularly sweet, and Holmes returns it gently, his fingers still wandering over Watson's skin, still gently stroking and touching. He's quietly claiming Watson with these touches, quietly mapping out his skin and learning it for himself. Now it seems he has permission to claim Watson. He follows the kiss up with another one, tender and light, and he smiles when he draws away finally.

"Then we're in agreement. How very convenient." He smiles wider and leans down, kissing one of Watson's cheeks, then the other, and then placing a small kiss to Watson's nose.

"Are you comfortable?" he murmurs, reaching up and smoothing Watson's hair back. They're still laying together half-naked on the sofa, and he's full aware that's a position that may lose its appeal once a heated moment has passed. "I can move if you'd like."

"Well," Watson said, after a moment's thought, "I'm rather comfortable, to be honest, although we're admittedly a little cramped like this." He was quickly finding that he quite liked being petted like this. He hadn't really expected that. It did make him extremely reluctant to move from the sofa. "I can't say how long we'll stay comfortable. At some point, a limb will probably start going to sleep."

He ran his fingers through Holmes's hair, his touch very tender, very fond. Good heavens, he was already a loss cause, wasn't he?

Some of what Watson says gets Holmes thinking about how advantageous it would be to move to the bed, where it wouldn't be cramped and where they would fall asleep before their limbs do. He has no idea how Watson might take to that idea though Holmes truly has no ulterior motives, just a desire for comfort and intimacy.

"It is possible for us to simulate this position somewhere more comfortable," he murmurs cautiously, trying to sound and look as innocent as he is. "If you would be accepting of such a thing."

Watson was silent a moment, considering this. There was only one possible interpretation of this offer, that he could see, or at least only one that would justify Holmes's cautious tone. Sleeping together? In a bed? As... well, lovers?

To be entirely truthful, getting up off the sofa and dressing only to creep up to his own room and his own lonely bed, alone, was not a prospect that had a lot of attraction just then. And really, there was nothing unusual about sharing a bed with a lover, even a very new one. At the same time, it seemed to draw out the lines of this new relationship even more clearly. That made him just slightly uneasy. It was all so new, after all.

There was really only one choice, in Watson's mind.

"If you mean to suggest," he said, equally cautious, "that we both retire for the night, together, well... I think that's a rather good reason to get up from the sofa."

Edited 2011-02-23 05:32 (UTC)

"That's precisely what I mean to suggest." He can hear the cautiousness in Watson's voice but at this point, he can hardly blame him or fret over it because Holmes is feeling somewhat nervous himself. Even though he doubts the two of them will embark on any new sexual explorations, they're definitely crossing a line here.

"Very well." He gives a hopeful smile and softly kisses Watson before he pulls away; instantly he misses the warmth of Watson's body, and not just for physical reasons. He gathers up the clothes he can reach, holding them in one arm in the hope that he may be able to take Watson's hand.

Watson rose, feeling somewhat awkward, somewhat sorry about having to move at all in his current lazy state. This was the unfortunate thing about having relations in such a place, of course, the necessity of moving afterwards. Good god, sleeping together, sharing a bed... such things were dangerous, with far more likelihood of being discovered.

It was also irresistable.

"Your room?" he asked. "Or mine?" Both had their advantages, he supposed. Both were acceptable by him.

"Mine," he answers, presuming his room would be the easiest considering there was no chance that the both of them could be caught ascending to Watson's room together -- which would be difficult to explain. Watson is standing before him, shirtless, his trousers undone, his hair mussed, and Holmes is struck with the sheer handsomeness of him. Of course he is; his goal now is to appreciate Watson anew from any and all angles.

He steps close to him, wrapping his free arm around Watson's waist and kissing him openly, firmly.

"I am going to have a difficult time refraining from doing that at every available opportunity," he says softly.

"Well," Watson said, rather breathlessly, "I can't say that I object strenuously to it."

Holmes's room. He was going to sleep in Holmes's bed. That was... strange to think of. Would it be difficult to sleep in a strange room? Well, not strange, per se, but not one he spent a great deal of time in. Still, the climb to his own room seemed impossibly strenuous and long just then, and it was remarkably easy to settle into the embrace of Holmes's arm like this.

Pulling away only enough to make walking possible, he moved towards Holmes's room, wanting to be the one to take the first steps in that direction, because then it was him doing so and not Holmes 'coercing' him. Besides, he was possessed of a full-body exhaustion that made collapsing into a bed a very tempting option.

Holmes would've been better off staying out of Watson's embrace because now he's lowering his mouth to kiss Watson's neck and jaw, and that seems only slightly less important than moving to his room. He follows Watson lead happily -- happy to be lead by Watson -- and his nerves are fluttering almost pleasantly because soon he'll be stretched out with Watson in his bed, and it will be wonderful.

Thankfully it isn't a long walk to his room because he doesn't think he could have managed a longer one.

Watson had never quite imagined Holmes as being so tender, or so attentive a lover, when he had bothered to think about the possibility at all, because it had seemed rather unlikely. He liked being proven wrong about this, about his assumptions about what a sexual relationship with another man would be like. It was much easier to change his mind about these things when Holmes kissed him so tenderly, so warmly.

He could, Watson realised, very easily fall in love with Holmes. He was probably halfway there already, at the least.

Once in the bedroom, Watson was seized with a sudden sense of being utterly out of his depth again, but at least with Holmes so close against him, it was a little less tempting to give into the rather cowardly desire to bolt. He did pull away a little, giving Holmes a look that was suddenly somewhat shy, before beginning to undress fully. He felt awkward doing so, for no really good reason.

Holmes gives a reassuring smile in return, dropping their clothes on the floor and then slipping out of the rest of his clothes, though not without some hesitation. It's strange to feel so bare in front of Watson, and stranger still that he should feel so nervous to leave himself bare?

He turns down his bed, stealing glances at Watson all the while, his shyness giving way to a certain quiet excitement at having Watson in his bed. At the possibility of waking up together. He slips into bed, waiting for Watson expectantly.

"If it makes you feel any better, I've had no complaints about this bed. I find the mattress to be very sound," he says with a softly teasing smile.

"I only hope you have good taste in mattresses, then," Watson returned. The joking, as mild as it was, did help to diffuse some of his tension, some of his worry, some of his sheer awkwardness of being in this position, of climbing into bed, in the nude, with Holmes. And not, either, in the context of sex, but in a post-orgasmic sort of haze.

This seemed to cross the line between casual affair and something more serious, all by itself.

Watson slipped between the sheets, wondering if he looked as awkward as he felt. He tried to settle himself, uncomfortably aware of the tension in his body. Swallowing his fear as he always had, he turned to Holmes and cautiously slid his arm around him.

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mustbethetruth - 2011-02-24 06:55 (UTC) - Expand

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