Dinner and a show.

[lightconductor]

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.

Comments

[mustbethetruth]

Though of course Holmes dreads the idea of discovery, he's forgotten how much he enjoys these subversive little games of affection. He lets their thighs rest together, remember how this action seemed too hopeful and risky just about a week ago, and now it's just the tip of a greater iceberg of intimacies.

It is true, though, that he and Watson haven't gotten very far in exploring the physical possibilities between them. He's been hesitant to push things ahead, too afraid of startling Watson by coming on too strong. He'd expressed a good deal of distaste for this kind of lifestyle on that first night of their arrangement, and the last thing Holmes wants is to undue the progress Watson's made toward accepting these desires, and Holmes.

The dinner tonight, though, and the thigh against his own -- it all seems to be conspiring to suggest that maybe Watson is ready for a little more adventurousness. Holmes has kept his attentions light and gentle, half because he had to, but since his lip has healed, it's simply been... awkward. When to start kissing more passionately? When does one just decide that?

Perhaps after a first official outing.

Holmes resolves to try pushing them forward a little bit tonight -- certainly he isn't sure he could wait another day, anyway.

"That was certainly a remarkable evening," he comments finally. "A marked contrast from the way we spent the evening earning our funds for tonight." His tone is innocent but his smile is more playful. "But I suppose there's time yet to see what we can do about that," he adds, much softer, his words nearly lost in the din of the hansom and London just outside it.

[lightconductor]

Watson hissed softly through his teeth, surprise and pleasure at the feel of teeth again. Why did he like that? Why did that edge of roughness attract him so much? It was the same rush of danger he enjoyed when following Holmes about after dangerous criminals with his gun in his pocket, or watching a horse with long odds cross the finish line in the lead when he had a winning bet in his pocket.

His breath was harsh and raw in his throat, gasping as his hands moved to explore Holmes's upper back as best as he could from his position. He couldn't see what he was doing, perhaps, but he could try to learn the feel of the muscles in Holmes's back by touch alone.

[lightconductor]

Watson sighed a little, finding himself relaxing despite himself, and he shifted a little closer. Holmes's body warmth and his gentle touches were far more pleasant to think about than the possible ramifications of what they were doing.

"Have no fear, I shall let you know," he murmured.

He smoothed his hand along the line of Holmes's jaw, and pulled himself close for a kiss, a very gentle and lingering one. How easy it was to fall into this, how easy to let himself do this.