Fic: An Open Book (Sherlock Holmes H/W)
Mar. 30th, 2010 09:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
przedTitle: An Open Book
Author: P. R. Zed
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Summary: Holmes lays down a challenge, and Watson accepts it.
Notes: Written around a prompt![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
draycevixen gave me for a ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
help_haiti drabble. (I know it's the wrong fandom--the right one is coming soon--and it's a tad more than a drabble. But I'm hoping you'll enjoy it.) Thanks to callistosh65, shayheyred, and ancastar for awesome beta comments.
My last patient hadn't been out the door thirty seconds when Holmes appeared in the sitting room, leaning insouciantly against the doorjamb, an extremely self-satisfied smirk on his face.
It had been a long day dealing with housewives' hypochondria and their husbands' gout, and I wasn't quite prepared for my friend in this mood. "Not tonight, Holmes," I said as I collapsed into my favourite chair.
"I don't know what you're talking about." He wasn't remotely convincing, and his smirk got considerably wider.
"Whatever you have planned, I want no part of it."
"You don't have the faintest clue what I have planned." The arrogance of the man! My next words can only be explained by my irritation with him at that moment.
"You're an open book to me, Holmes," I said, throwing down a gauntlet I was far from sure I was ready to have him take up.
"Am I? Let us test that theory." He slouched indolently in the chair across from me, a look of delighted anticipation on his face. "You think I am an open book? Read my pages."
"Holmes," I said, suddenly aware of what I was getting into. "I don't think-"
"It will be fun."
"For whom?"
"For both of us."
"If you're certain."
"I am."
"Very well." I steepled my hands in front of me and considered where to start. I turned over every bit of knowledge I possessed about Holmes. I contemplated everything he'd done in the past two days, the articles he'd read, the comments he'd made, the set of his shoulders, and the look in his eye. And I came up with several interesting conclusions. Things I should have noted a long time ago, but had somehow failed to notice.
I leaned back in the chair, and smiled. Holmes was right: this was going to be fun.
"Well," he said. "At what conclusions have you arrived?"
"You are bored."
"Hardly a deduction at all."
"Be quiet, Holmes." I glared at him, and he subsided, though he didn't look at all repentant. "Bored," I repeated. "We really must get you another case soon."
"That's not a deduction either."
"It's an observation."
"It doesn't count." Some might consider Holmes' petulance irksome. It was probably telling that on most days I found it endearing.
"I never said it did." I sat up a bit straighter and prepared the lead up to my pièce de résistance. "You had been considering the opera, but having determined that tonight's performance is Bizet, you have discarded the notion."
"I have nothing against Bizet."
"But you do have something against the Italian opera company that is performing his work."
"Their tenor is atrocious," was Holmes' response, telling me I'd hit my first target.
"You have instead decided on a late dinner at Simpson's."
"I didn't want to risk Nanny poisoning me tonight."
"And you thought," I continued quickly, afraid my nerve to play this hand might leave me, "that might offer you an opportunity for seduction-"
Holmes laugh of derision was explosive. "Now you are being ridiculous."
"-of me."
I don't think I had ever surprised Holmes before, but in that moment I certainly did. His eyes widened briefly in a shock that told me my deduction was entirely correct. His surprise did not last, however. I was quickly fixed with the sort of look I have only seen him direct at the most villainous members of London's criminal underworld.
The silence between us stretched for a long minute, time I spent wondering how badly I'd miscalculated in exposing Holmes' desires. Desires I now wondered if he'd ever have acted upon, had I not exposed them to the light.
I watched the muscle in his jaw twitch, and his eyes narrow. And then, as quickly as sunlight glinting on water, he was standing in front of me, leaning into me, one hand gripping the chair back on each side of my head.
"Well, Doctor. You seem to have learned something of my methods." He leaned in further and whispered his next words into my ear. "What do you think of my plans?"
"They have a certain merit," I said, my voice grown husky as my body reacted to the nearness of the man. "I could, perhaps, suggest an improvement."
"And what would that be?" I could hear the amusement, and the arousal in his voice.
"Why wait for dinner at Simpson's to launch this planned seduction?" I placed my hand on his chest, concentrating on the heat from his body, the feel of his beating heart against my palm. "Why wait at all?"
"Watson," he growled. And then he wasn't talking, and I was tasting his mouth, the tang of his shag tobacco not hiding the flavour that was so perfectly and uniquely Sherlock Holmes.
I scrabbled with the buttons of his shirt—and for once it really was his shirt, not one of my own purloined—as he straddled my thighs, managing to expose his chest just as he unbuttoned my trousers and took hold of my weeping prick. I would pay for this later, taking Holmes' weight on my damaged leg, but it was a price I was more than willing to surrender.
As he stroked me further toward completion, I ran my fingers across his chest, taking immense pleasure in the feeling of his skin against my own. I let my hands continue their journey down his torso until they came to rest against his hipbones, giving me purchase for the minute thrusting of my hips that was all my current position would allow me.
"Look at me," Holmes gasped, and I realized I had clenched my eyes tightly shut, the better to concentrate on the sensations that were threatening to overwhelm me. "Open your eyes, damn you."
I followed his orders, and was rewarded with the sight of Holmes hovering over me, the pupils of his eyes blown as wide as when his blasted drugs coursed through his system, his lips slightly parted, and a flush rising on his chest.
"That's much better," he said, a sly smile twisting his mouth. And then I groaned as he removed his hand from my cock. "Don't worry." He slipped off me and pushed my thighs apart, coming to rest on his knees in front of me, a debauched supplicant. "I have something much better planned."
Before my overloaded mind could catch up with his words or actions, he had taken my cock into his mouth. The heat, the sensation, the sheer improbability of the situation, nearly undid me completely. I threw my head back for a moment, trying to regain some measure of control, lest I spend myself too quickly. A deep breath, and I bent my head again, drinking in the sight of Holmes' dark head in my lap. I wound my fingers into his already tousled hair, and urged him on with thrusts of my pelvis.
It couldn't last. It didn't last. Soon enough I could hear the rush of blood in my ears as my climax built and built, and then I fell over the precipice.
When my senses had recovered, I pulled Holmes up from his knees, and took his mouth with my own. I savoured the taste of myself on his tongue, before remembering his desires had still not been tended to. I slipped from my chair, ignoring the protests of my leg and my companion both as I dragged us down to the tiger skin rug.
Holmes stilled under my hands, though I could feel him quiver beneath my touch, like a wild thing held in thrall by its own curiosity. I kissed him deeply, moved one hand to his prick, and proceeded to give him the same pleasure he had given me.
Afterward, we sprawled there, the two of us, our clothes in disarray, our breath still heaving in our chests, and I couldn't help but think this was the finest moment of my life, finer even than our long ago first meeting in that unprepossessing lab.
"If only I'd known before..." I trailed off and let the thought of all those wasted months, years even, hang between us.
"You see, Watson, but you do not observe."
"No need to be so smug. Apparently you didn't observe either."
"I observed, but I dared not hope." He looked at me with such a desperate longing that I couldn't help but pull him closer to me.
"And now that we have both observed?"
"Well," Holmes said, settling into my arms with an ease I found gratifying. "I did have a few thoughts on the matter."
"And those are?" I prompted when he didn't seem inclined to continue.
"We could make ourselves presentable and take up my reservation at Simpson's. Or-"
"Or?"
"Or you could make yourself just presentable enough and request a simple repast from our devious landlady. We could then spend the rest of our evening...observing."
"Wait, why should I be the one to talk to Mrs. Hudson?"
"Because she likes you, whilst she is constantly making attempts on my life through her cuisine."
"Point taken," I said, then considered the options. Not that there was ever any doubt about my decision. "The second choice suits best, I think. I feel in need of practising my...observational skills."
"Splendid!" I don't honestly think I have ever seen a more open smile on my friend's face, before or since. Though I try my best nightly to bring him that intensity of pleasure again.
And sometimes I almost succeed.
Author: P. R. Zed
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Summary: Holmes lays down a challenge, and Watson accepts it.
Notes: Written around a prompt
draycevixen gave me for a help_haiti drabble. (I know it's the wrong fandom--the right one is coming soon--and it's a tad more than a drabble. But I'm hoping you'll enjoy it.) Thanks to callistosh65, shayheyred, and ancastar for awesome beta comments.My last patient hadn't been out the door thirty seconds when Holmes appeared in the sitting room, leaning insouciantly against the doorjamb, an extremely self-satisfied smirk on his face.
It had been a long day dealing with housewives' hypochondria and their husbands' gout, and I wasn't quite prepared for my friend in this mood. "Not tonight, Holmes," I said as I collapsed into my favourite chair.
"I don't know what you're talking about." He wasn't remotely convincing, and his smirk got considerably wider.
"Whatever you have planned, I want no part of it."
"You don't have the faintest clue what I have planned." The arrogance of the man! My next words can only be explained by my irritation with him at that moment.
"You're an open book to me, Holmes," I said, throwing down a gauntlet I was far from sure I was ready to have him take up.
"Am I? Let us test that theory." He slouched indolently in the chair across from me, a look of delighted anticipation on his face. "You think I am an open book? Read my pages."
"Holmes," I said, suddenly aware of what I was getting into. "I don't think-"
"It will be fun."
"For whom?"
"For both of us."
"If you're certain."
"I am."
"Very well." I steepled my hands in front of me and considered where to start. I turned over every bit of knowledge I possessed about Holmes. I contemplated everything he'd done in the past two days, the articles he'd read, the comments he'd made, the set of his shoulders, and the look in his eye. And I came up with several interesting conclusions. Things I should have noted a long time ago, but had somehow failed to notice.
I leaned back in the chair, and smiled. Holmes was right: this was going to be fun.
"Well," he said. "At what conclusions have you arrived?"
"You are bored."
"Hardly a deduction at all."
"Be quiet, Holmes." I glared at him, and he subsided, though he didn't look at all repentant. "Bored," I repeated. "We really must get you another case soon."
"That's not a deduction either."
"It's an observation."
"It doesn't count." Some might consider Holmes' petulance irksome. It was probably telling that on most days I found it endearing.
"I never said it did." I sat up a bit straighter and prepared the lead up to my pièce de résistance. "You had been considering the opera, but having determined that tonight's performance is Bizet, you have discarded the notion."
"I have nothing against Bizet."
"But you do have something against the Italian opera company that is performing his work."
"Their tenor is atrocious," was Holmes' response, telling me I'd hit my first target.
"You have instead decided on a late dinner at Simpson's."
"I didn't want to risk Nanny poisoning me tonight."
"And you thought," I continued quickly, afraid my nerve to play this hand might leave me, "that might offer you an opportunity for seduction-"
Holmes laugh of derision was explosive. "Now you are being ridiculous."
"-of me."
I don't think I had ever surprised Holmes before, but in that moment I certainly did. His eyes widened briefly in a shock that told me my deduction was entirely correct. His surprise did not last, however. I was quickly fixed with the sort of look I have only seen him direct at the most villainous members of London's criminal underworld.
The silence between us stretched for a long minute, time I spent wondering how badly I'd miscalculated in exposing Holmes' desires. Desires I now wondered if he'd ever have acted upon, had I not exposed them to the light.
I watched the muscle in his jaw twitch, and his eyes narrow. And then, as quickly as sunlight glinting on water, he was standing in front of me, leaning into me, one hand gripping the chair back on each side of my head.
"Well, Doctor. You seem to have learned something of my methods." He leaned in further and whispered his next words into my ear. "What do you think of my plans?"
"They have a certain merit," I said, my voice grown husky as my body reacted to the nearness of the man. "I could, perhaps, suggest an improvement."
"And what would that be?" I could hear the amusement, and the arousal in his voice.
"Why wait for dinner at Simpson's to launch this planned seduction?" I placed my hand on his chest, concentrating on the heat from his body, the feel of his beating heart against my palm. "Why wait at all?"
"Watson," he growled. And then he wasn't talking, and I was tasting his mouth, the tang of his shag tobacco not hiding the flavour that was so perfectly and uniquely Sherlock Holmes.
I scrabbled with the buttons of his shirt—and for once it really was his shirt, not one of my own purloined—as he straddled my thighs, managing to expose his chest just as he unbuttoned my trousers and took hold of my weeping prick. I would pay for this later, taking Holmes' weight on my damaged leg, but it was a price I was more than willing to surrender.
As he stroked me further toward completion, I ran my fingers across his chest, taking immense pleasure in the feeling of his skin against my own. I let my hands continue their journey down his torso until they came to rest against his hipbones, giving me purchase for the minute thrusting of my hips that was all my current position would allow me.
"Look at me," Holmes gasped, and I realized I had clenched my eyes tightly shut, the better to concentrate on the sensations that were threatening to overwhelm me. "Open your eyes, damn you."
I followed his orders, and was rewarded with the sight of Holmes hovering over me, the pupils of his eyes blown as wide as when his blasted drugs coursed through his system, his lips slightly parted, and a flush rising on his chest.
"That's much better," he said, a sly smile twisting his mouth. And then I groaned as he removed his hand from my cock. "Don't worry." He slipped off me and pushed my thighs apart, coming to rest on his knees in front of me, a debauched supplicant. "I have something much better planned."
Before my overloaded mind could catch up with his words or actions, he had taken my cock into his mouth. The heat, the sensation, the sheer improbability of the situation, nearly undid me completely. I threw my head back for a moment, trying to regain some measure of control, lest I spend myself too quickly. A deep breath, and I bent my head again, drinking in the sight of Holmes' dark head in my lap. I wound my fingers into his already tousled hair, and urged him on with thrusts of my pelvis.
It couldn't last. It didn't last. Soon enough I could hear the rush of blood in my ears as my climax built and built, and then I fell over the precipice.
When my senses had recovered, I pulled Holmes up from his knees, and took his mouth with my own. I savoured the taste of myself on his tongue, before remembering his desires had still not been tended to. I slipped from my chair, ignoring the protests of my leg and my companion both as I dragged us down to the tiger skin rug.
Holmes stilled under my hands, though I could feel him quiver beneath my touch, like a wild thing held in thrall by its own curiosity. I kissed him deeply, moved one hand to his prick, and proceeded to give him the same pleasure he had given me.
Afterward, we sprawled there, the two of us, our clothes in disarray, our breath still heaving in our chests, and I couldn't help but think this was the finest moment of my life, finer even than our long ago first meeting in that unprepossessing lab.
"If only I'd known before..." I trailed off and let the thought of all those wasted months, years even, hang between us.
"You see, Watson, but you do not observe."
"No need to be so smug. Apparently you didn't observe either."
"I observed, but I dared not hope." He looked at me with such a desperate longing that I couldn't help but pull him closer to me.
"And now that we have both observed?"
"Well," Holmes said, settling into my arms with an ease I found gratifying. "I did have a few thoughts on the matter."
"And those are?" I prompted when he didn't seem inclined to continue.
"We could make ourselves presentable and take up my reservation at Simpson's. Or-"
"Or?"
"Or you could make yourself just presentable enough and request a simple repast from our devious landlady. We could then spend the rest of our evening...observing."
"Wait, why should I be the one to talk to Mrs. Hudson?"
"Because she likes you, whilst she is constantly making attempts on my life through her cuisine."
"Point taken," I said, then considered the options. Not that there was ever any doubt about my decision. "The second choice suits best, I think. I feel in need of practising my...observational skills."
"Splendid!" I don't honestly think I have ever seen a more open smile on my friend's face, before or since. Though I try my best nightly to bring him that intensity of pleasure again.
And sometimes I almost succeed.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-31 09:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-31 09:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-01 02:20 am (UTC)I'm so pleased you read it, and enjoyed it. I'm already at work on a much longer piece, though I may throw in some short ones in between, because I am having too much fun writing them.
And yeah, someone should really tell them their text isn't really sub anymore. As if they didn't know. *g*