charlotteyonge (charlotteyonge) wrote,
charlotteyonge
charlotteyonge

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So Inclined, part II

I saw the open box before I saw Holmes.

Just back from a weekend in the country, I was not surprised to find that Mrs. Hudson had been doing some cleaning in the attic. I was surprised, however, to find Holmes curled into a miserable ball on the settee with one hand covering his face. This was not among the characteristic poses wrought by his use of the needle.

The box of my army memorabilia had not been unduly molested, though a few photographs lay on top as though they had been recently unearthed.  Then I saw the sketches lying next to them.

“Were you looking at these, Holmes?”

“I am not well, Watson,” he said in an unnaturally high voice.

My cheeks burned with embarrassment. Holmes must have found the sketches my friend Jules had done, and been disgusted by them.

“I was only helping a friend,” I said defensively. “He was aspiring to be an artist and wanted to study the male form.”

Holmes moved his hand from his face and gave me a queer look. “That wasn’t what—oh, never mind,” he said.

“Well, what then?” I asked him as I approached the settee.

“Don’t!” he shouted. “Do not come any closer. I am not well.”

“Oh, come along, Holmes, I doubt there’s anything wrong with you. You’re probably just—“ I went to feel his forehead and saw that his trousers were open and stained with a thick white glaze. I stepped backwards in shock.

“I told you I am not well,” he barked at me as he hastily refastened his flies. He flew from the settee and stormed into his bedroom. He slammed the door before I had a chance to say another word.

*          *          *

Holmes would later laugh at me for the slowness of my deductions. “Once you eliminate the impossible…” he always said.

And so, improbable as it was, I had to resign myself to the fact that Holmes had actually been pleasuring himself. On the settee. After looking at nude sketches of me. Truthfully, I was more concerned about the fallout from my having discovered this. The actual event that occurred just before I came home, well, I thought it was kind of sweet.

But Holmes was an absolute bear. He stayed locked in his room for hours, and when he finally emerged to fetch his pipe he appeared sullen and grouchy. He remained so long after Mrs. Hudson cleared away the dinner tray that evening, and still refused to look at me despite my attempts to engage in light conversation.

It wasn’t until I glanced over at him sitting unhappily at the table with both hands over his face that I decided to have it out once and for all.

“Holmes, self-gratification is a perfectly natura—“

“Not to me it isn’t,” he said from behind his hands. “I have degraded myself. And you.”

“Rubbish,” I scoffed. “I don’t feel degraded. In fact, I’m flattered.”

He sighed and dropped his forehead onto his arms. I rose from my chair and approached the table. “May I sit?”

He kept his head down, but waved his hand towards the empty chair.

I took a seat and sat before him. “Holmes, let me ask you something.”

He raised his head and finally looked at me with a sad, defeated expression.

“Did you enjoy it?” I pressed gently.

He closed his eyes and knit his brow as if the memory was painful, but he did not answer me right away. He shielded his eyes behind his hand once again and sat for some time before he responded.

“It wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever done,” he quietly confessed. “But of course it can never happen again.”

“Why is that?” I asked him.

“Matters of sexuality,” he started, and faltered a bit. Honestly, I’ve never seen Holmes so disturbed by his own actions, and I’ve borne witness to a fair amount of his cocaine use.

“Matters of sexuality,” he repeated, “are for other people. Not the world’s only unofficial consulting detective. To think that I compromised my intellect for self-abuse is…well, it’s…it just won’t do.”

“You’ve compromised your intellect to far greater degrees with that seven percent solution of yours,” I reminded him. “And as for your so-called ‘self-abuse’ do you not think your personal discovery just might be something worth developing?”

He took his hand away and looked at me like I had just told him to go out and murder someone.

“What on earth can you mean by that, Watson? Surely you don’t think that I…”

“That you’re a sexual creature like the rest of us?” I snorted. “To be honest, Holmes, I’m glad to know that you’re a little closer to human than I first thought. Maybe you’d like to tell me about it.”

“Well, now you really have gone mad,” he snapped and started to rise from his chair.

“Is it so strange to consider?” I challenged him. He sauntered over to the fireplace and placed one hand on the mantle, his back to me.

“Haven’t I been humiliated enough?” he answered miserably.

“What if I told you a similar story about myself?” I tried.

He huffed a sarcastic chortle through his nose. “I doubt your tales of being tempted by exotic buxom women in Afghanistan will bring me much comfort, Watson, as I cannot relate in the least.”

“Actually, Holmes, it concerns you.”

He whipped around and stared at me incredulously.

As I rose from my seat and walked over to him, I began to speak.

“It was just over a year ago, I think. Maybe a little more. You recall the case concerning the murder of Sir Eustis Brackenstall?”

He nodded.

“After Lady Brackenstall and Captain Croker left our rooms, you and I sat in here with our brandy. I was proud of the gentle way you handled Captain Croker’s confession and how you remained steadfast in your determination to make sure he left here a free man.”

I now stood directly in front of Holmes.

“But to Lady Brackenstall,” I continued, “you were less kind. When she threw her arms around you in joyous gratitude, you were quite ill at ease. You untangled yourself and stepped away. That’s when I knew you really were repelled by the affections of women.”

I lowered my voice before I went on. “I went to bed that night wondering about this disparity, and began to imagine that there might have been more than the Captain’s well-being that motivated your actions. I considered for a moment that you might have stronger feelings for him.”

I stepped closer to Holmes and passed my hand over the mantle just underneath his.

“Something curious overcame me as I imagined you and Captain Croker. Together. His hands on your back. Your face reaching down to his. I became aroused, and I stroked myself to completion that night as I pictured the two of you pleasuring one another.”

Holmes’s mouth had parted in disbelief as he listened to my story.

“Whether or not my impressions were accurate,” I finished huskily, “they presented a powerful and very pleasurable distraction. I don’t regret it in the least.”

“Tell me about those sketches, Holmes,” I whispered, inches from his face.

His embarrassment had been replaced by shyness, which was evident when he almost smiled before he cast his gaze to the floor. “They were rather…you were…”

I grazed his cheek with my own when I leaned in close enough so that his mouth almost touched my ear.

 “I think you’re beautiful,” he breathed.

“Tell me,” I whispered back, and dared to place my right hand over his groin. He was becoming hard, as was I.

“I wanted you to,” he paused to close his eyes when I squeezed his member through his trousers, “to watch me.”

I nodded as I felt another rush of blood tighten my own loins.

“Go on,” I urged him, and started to massage his arousal.

“I watched you slowly undress. And then…you were touching yourself as I sought my own pleasure, watching me, wanting me, waiting for me to…climax,” he was barely audible when he breathed this last word, though it was not from shame anymore. I could feel his own desire roiling within him, and his body was shaking from the buildup of heat and energy.

I exhaled unevenly against his cheek, and felt a droplet of sweat begin to trickle down his jaw. I snaked my tongue out and caught it with the tip. His slight tremor of surprise flooded my senses with lust, and I felt my nipples grow hard and my anus constrict in response.

My mouth closed around his ear.

“Holmes,” I whispered through a shallow breath, “Do you want me to…”

He swallowed, closed his eyes and nodded.

My trembling fingers quickly worked their way through his flies. When at last his cockstand was released, he had to grasp my elbows to maintain his footing. I curled my hand around him and a wanton cry finally escaped from the back of his throat.

“Shhhh,” I whispered, “there…easy …just a little bit…for now…” My words formed around moans of desire as I tugged at him, teasing my own arousal by occasionally scraping his weeping tip across the front of my trousers.

I fastened my mouth onto his perspiring neck. His chest heaved as his breathing became laboured, and he dropped his head back so I could lave his throat.

“Push,” I commanded him. “Push into my hand.”

He did this awkwardly, thrusting so hard that his moistened cock slid through my hand and slammed into my groin. A stuttered cry leapt from the pit of my stomach, and I squeezed him until his pre-ejaculate seeped through my fingers.

He cried out again. “Watson,” he moaned, “I think I’m going to…”

I didn’t wait for him to finish. I pushed him roughly to the settee where he landed with a start in the corner, his arousal bouncing wildly from the impact. He looked up at me in surprise before his eyes fell to the wet spot protruding from my trousers. I relished the profound wave of desire that washed over his expression.

I took off my coat. I shed my cravat and collar. I wiggled out of my shirt.

Holmes never took his eyes from me, though his lids fluttered momentarily when his hand closed around his member.

I unbuckled my belt. I pushed my trousers to the floor. I stepped out of them. I took out my swollen cock. He gasped.

I stared so intently into his glittering black eyes while I stroked myself that I could almost see through him. I had never performed this act for anyone, and I had no idea how incredibly stimulating it could be to have Sherlock Holmes watching me while I did so.

I widened my stance and pushed my hips forward, my hand furiously rubbing my cock, my mouth suspended open to give volume to my panting.

Holmes had pushed his trousers to his knees to he could spread his legs apart, and began pumping his fist at the same rapid pace as myself. Our eyes remained locked in a mesmerizing stare that became more challenging to maintain by the second, and soon my legs were shaking so violently I could not remain standing.

Without letting up on myself for an instant, I crossed to the settee and knelt over Holmes. With my free hand I braced myself on the back of the settee and bounced and rocked to my finish.

Upon a crescendo of strangled groans, I climaxed, and my body convulsed in a state of such overwhelming delirium that I finally let my head drop and my eyes close. I called out Holmes’s name again and again as I shot viscous threads of semen into his lap. Everything around me faded from my senses to make room for the consummate joy that coursed through my veins, filling every cell of my body.

I was next aware of the helpless cries coming from Holmes, who had still not yet reached his end. The moment I began to recover myself, I bent over and engulfed his hot, slick flesh in my mouth. He was instantly undone, twisting and thrusting, pushing on the back of my head so he could bury himself more deeply inside me.

Two labored cries and the jerk of his cock predicted his release, and he came so hard that his entire body stiffened as his bitter seed exploded onto my tongue. Milky white rivulets trickled from the corners of my mouth as I fought to accommodate his release, and in the grips of his ecstasy he alternated between calling my name and that of his maker.

I swallowed all I could manage and let the rest drip from my tongue where it mingled with my own spending on his bare thighs. I kissed him there before I raised my face to his and captured his red, swollen lips. We embraced for a deliciously long spell, and when I finally pulled back I was gratified to see his dark eyes flashing with excitement and affection.  

“Watson,” he said hoarsely behind a sated smile, “that was incredible.”

My lust had passed, but my desire had not. I could suddenly no longer imagine a future without this kind of relationship.

“Holmes,” I said, taking his hand and bringing it to my lips. “I want you to be my lover. I want you for my sexual muse as well as my literary muse, and I want to spend the rest of our days engaging in such activities as these, discovering each other’s pleasures as well as our own. Please.” I looked at him hopefully and continued to minister kisses to his hand and wrist.

He grinned. “I suppose if I have to be a sexual creature, I might as well be one with you.”

He gave a playful grunt when I collapsed onto him, and buried us in the next of many more embraces.

 

Tags: charlotteyonge, holmes/watson slash, merry month of masturbation challenge
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