November 28th, 2009

Hopelessly Unforgiven

He slowly climbed on top of me, never allowing his lips to come more than an inch from my face as he undressed himself, and then me. My heart pounded as I watched his fingers fly over the buttons of his shirt and wiggle it from his shoulders. He freed me of my cravat and collar, then my waistcost and shirt, fully embracing me for a long, delicious kiss before he reached down to unfasten my trousers. He slid from me just long enough to pull them from my legs and then divest himself of his own. When he again laid on top of me we were both entirely nude. It felt wonderful.

I let my hands drift from his shoulders down his strong back and over the smooth contours of his buttocks. I opened my legs a little wider to accommodate his narrow hips and we gyrated together, neither teasing nor testing, but simply sharing in the first-time sensation of our two bodies joining as one. He kept his lips close to mine, stopping his kisses only now and again to expel a blissful sigh.

I did not think Holmes was capable of such a loving act, nor did I expect he was interested in a prolonged experience. But when I looked into his face tonight, I saw no traces of amusement, scientific scrutiny or prideful gaze. I saw only affection.

He rolled us gently to the side so he could touch me, letting his fingers lightly play over my chest and then my stomach before he ran them down through my hair to reach my arousal. He did not take his usual firm hold, but rather lingered there for a few moments, lovingly tracing my hardness, tapping his fingertips in all the places he knew me to be sensitive, while I rested my hand on his hip, my sighs giving way to short gasps.

When the beads starting forming at my tip he turned me to my other side so I faced away from him. He traced patterns down my back, generating the finest physically calming sensation I’ve ever known, until he questioned my small entrance with delicately swirling fingers. I responded by pushing my buttocks slightly towards him and giving a soft, affirming moan. He briefly pulled his hand away, then returned with two moist fingers which he patiently worked into my tight heat. It felt like he was lighting fire to the bottom of my spine, and I gripped the pillow at first in tension and then in desire, hoping he would take his time and never, ever stop.

I relaxed as his soft lips pulled at my ear lobe, and was soon sufficiently parted below. I gave a small cry when I felt his length slide into me, for the experience was much more visceral than I had expected. He wrapped himself around me, and in the manner of a sacred ritual, we inhaled and exhaled together as we established a comfortable rhythm.

In all my months of fantasizing, I never once pictured this. Nothing could have prepared me for the fullness of his warm soft heat behind me, nor had I imagined the erotic pressure of his thigh gripping me to him, or of his arm across my chest pulling me closer. I had not counted on my primal response to the raw scent of our mingled essence or the recognizable fragments of his speaking voice becoming syllables of lust. And had I ever considered how it would feel to be taken so gently and reverently as this it would have far surpassed the arousing effects of my desire for a rough encounter.

It was with easy confidence that he pulled me onto my back and hooked my leg over his hip so he could remain buried inside me and make love face to face. He once again reached for my cock, this time taking it with more firmness than before, and remained actively still while I rolled my hips between the exquisite sting of his penetration and the flood of pleasure in my groin. I did not doubt that with this act he was claiming me as his own, and I made no attempts to stifle the impassioned cries that I heard escaping my throat.

The experience was so wholly enveloping that I lost the sense that my body was separate from his, and melted into the surreal impression that we were united as a single, pulsing spirit.

At the sign of my approaching climax, he massaged my flesh and thrust into me with more deliberation, his own breathing growing ragged and urgent. Just before I reached the top, I placed my hand over his so we could share my release, and then felt the fire start in deep inside my loins and spread into my stomach, and when the first orgasmic tide swelled up inside me I called his name once, then again, as my issue began bubbling forth. It did not stop there, for there was a second wave and even a third, because Sherlock Holmes knows my sex so well that his ability to bring me to higher realms of ecstasy had taken place among his best and proudest skills.

The resultant clenching around him set off his own climax, for he began to emit more staggered groans and pressed on my pelvis to steady me while he increased the tempo of his movement. When he reached his peak it was every bit as satisfying as my own; he threw his head back with a final cry and I felt the tremors wrack all the muscles in his body as though a strong electric current had taken possession of him, then surged into me. He pressed his mouth into my neck as he died, his hot, shuddering sighs moistening my skin until little by little he relaxed his grasp, unwound his leg and fell limply behind me.

We lay there for a long time, as thoroughly spent as we had ever been, before either of us spoke again. When the haze of aftermath began to clear, I remembered the troubling night we had spent before this. My fear and concern began to resurface and I rolled over towards Holmes, whose warm, soft body next to mine provided immeasurable comfort.

“Holmes,” I whispered, and looked over at him. His eyes were closed and his smile so completely tranquil that I almost did not say it. But I knew he would understand.

I placed my hand on his shoulder. “I cannot forgive you for not taking me into your confidence,” I said.

"Ah," he sighed with the twinkle of discovery that means a theory has been confirmed. He covered my hand with his own.

"That," he whispered, "is precisely why I love you."

I only gazed at him then, and let this rare and glorious sentiment resonate between us. I watched those eyes I've always loved drop slowly into their slumber.

“Do you really think she’s all right?” I asked him once more just before we fell asleep.

“I am counting on it,” he assured me. “But I shall be surprised if we do not hear from Scotland Yard in the morning.”