This Pen ~ Earl Grey and Marzipan
I still do not know how we restrained ourselves until we reached our room. With a single sweeping movement, Holmes pulled me through the door and shut it behind us, slamming me up against it as he threw himself upon me, devouring me in violent kisses, biting my neck and crushing himself into me, knocking the breath from my lungs. I responded in kind, wrapping my legs around his and sending us both tumbling to the floor as my mouth took possession of his, my tongue thrusting between his lips as I drank deeply of him. I then set myself to raking my teeth across his alabaster throat, my hips straddling his as he writhed beneath me, groaning faintly as I ground my urgent hardness into his.
“For a moment, I thought you would carry me over the threshold,” I hissed, adding a tender bite to his earlobe.
“I considered it,” he admitted, his long fingers blurring as he worked frantically to remove my clothes. “But it didn’t seem right.” In his haste, he ripped my dress shirt.
“We’ve got all night,” I said a little reproachfully, making a point of unbuttoning his waistcoat slowly and deliberately. “After all, it isn’t as if we shall be doing anything we haven’t done before.”
Holmes rolled us over, sitting astride my hips so suddenly that I gave an involuntary moan as the obvious bulge in his trousers rubbed irresistibly against the equally obvious bulge in mine. Smiling angelically, he touched my cheek, running a single finger along the line of my jaw. “You see, Watson, there is a fallacy to your reasoning. In fact, we shall be doing something we haven’t been doing before.”
“Holmes, we’ve been lovers for five years. The only thing we haven’t –” I broke off, my eyes widening as I grasped his meaning. “Are you … are you sure?” I breathed.
He did not reply, but threw himself upon me, tearing the clothes from my body with wildly grasping hands, sending buttons flying as my best formal wear was rent into shreds. We rolled upon the floor in unbridled passion, our mouths and hands engaged in a fury of lustful abandon.
Holmes tore his mouth away from mine. “The bedroom,” he growled, “now.”
I shook my head, and sat up, panting heavily. “No,” I answered, taking wicked pleasure in the look of confusion that crossed my lover’s face. I stood up, and reached out a hand. “The bathroom,” I said firmly.
Holmes took my hand and pulled himself to his feet. “The bathroom?”
I drew him into a fierce kiss before releasing him once more. “I am a physician, sir; I shall want a clean working surface,” I explained. He followed me with uncharacteristic meekness as I led him into the bathroom, and we removed the last of our clothes as the water filled the tub, covering each other’s naked flesh with hot kisses.
We slipped together into the steaming hot water, splashing around and playfully dunking each other before our embraces grew amorous again. Two wet naked bodies rolled and rubbed against each other above and below the water, two pairs of lips bestowed and received hungry kisses, two pairs of legs entwined deliciously as two straining cocks fenced urgently, one against the other. Our moans played counterpoint over the strains of thrumming strings and pounding drums –
I reluctantly pulled back from his mouth. “Holmes,” I said, “do you hear –”
He laid a finger upon my lips, his eyes sparkling mischievously. The sound of a small orchestra wafted through the windows from the courtyard below, mixed with the sounds of merrymaking.
“Is it a festival?” I asked.
“One of the guests paid the owner to allow a few musician friends a place to rehearse for the evening. The owner decided to turn it into a party to reward his staff.”
“And you wouldn’t know the identity of this mysterious guest, would you?”
“No idea,” he chuckled, “but it is rather fortuitous for us, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Fortuitous? Well, I suppose it is nice to have the music, but I don’t see –”
“It means,” said he, pulling me to him again, “that we need not worry about any noises we might make tonight.”
“Then that is indeed fortuitous,” I said, grinning widely, as I wriggled free of Holmes’ grasp. I reached behind him and took a washcloth from its hook on the wall. “For, my darling, I have every intention of making you scream in ecstasy tonight.” I took the soap from the dish and began to lather the cloth. I slowly ran my hands over his thighs, soaping his sinewy flesh until he writhed beneath me, groaning and arching his back as I reached between his legs with the cloth, massaging him slowly and thoroughly. He clutched me to him with trembling arms, and I kissed his cheek as I traced a fingertip along the rim of his hole.
“Yes,” he hissed, as the muscle twitched at my touch. “The oil. Now. I need you to take me –”
I thrust my tongue deep into his throat, silencing his protest as I continued to toy with him, tickling the puckered entrance slowly.
He tore his mouth away from mine. “John, please –”
“Get up on the side of the tub,” I commanded softly.
In one graceful movement, he lifted himself from the water, placing his hips on the tile ledge between the tub and the wall, spreading himself invitingly before me. He reached for a bottle of oil, but I stayed his hand with a single gesture. “Not yet, my sweet,” I whispered, and placed myself between his legs, bending to kiss his scrotum, just where it joined with his cock, nibbling tenderly at the skin as I moved lower. Holmes groaned softly as my mouth found its goal, began to babble softly in French as my tongue flickered around the shuddering muscle, and, when I began kissing his hole as deeply as I could, his speech degraded into a series of animal grunts as he squirmed at my efforts.
He reached for his straining member, but I pushed his hand away. “Not yet,” I told him, adding a teasing lick for emphasis. “I’m not finished.” I reached for the oil and slowly poured a measure onto my finger.
He gasped and bit his lip as I pressed my fingertip to his opening. I circled around the muscle and then pushed through. I thrust deep into his heat, feeling for the spongy gland my first lover had shown me so long ago. He let loose a long, guttural moan as I stroked his prostate; when I added a second finger and began frigging him gently, he began bucking his hips in rhythm, his hand once again straying to his prick.
I grabbed his wrist and held it firmly down. “Not yet, William,” I purred, biting the inside of his thigh. He writhed as I pumped in and out a few more times, delivering a few playful licks to his ballsac, and he sighed with deep tristesse as I withdrew my fingers.
Holmes slid back into the tub and leaned over the side, silently offering himself to me, his muscular buttocks gleaming in the flickering candlelight surrounding us.
I leaned over him, covering his body with my own, delighting in the feel of his naked flesh against mine. I kissed the back of his neck and then stood up and stepped out of the tub, reaching out a hand to my love. “Not like this, not for our first time,” I told him. “Come to bed.” Picking up a bottle of bath oil, I led him through the sitting room, where the moonlight from the balcony mingled with the torchlight from the courtyard. I was barely conscious of the happy babble of the crowd as Holmes and I stopped to share a kiss at the door of the bedroom.
I took his left hand in mine, and kissed the ring upon his finger. “Partners in love and in life,” I said solemnly.
He drew our joined hands to his lips. “Partners in love and in life,” he echoed.
I pulled us to the bed and we fell upon it together, trading lingering kisses. I rolled atop him, grinding my hips into his. Our cocks rubbed against each other as he reached around and gripped my buttocks, his fingers digging into my flesh.
Holmes kissed my cheek. “Please,” he whispered. “I need you inside me. Je t’emprise.”
I smiled against his throat, biting it playfully. I got up on my knees, situating myself between his legs. “Spread yourself for me, then,” I told him softly.
Splaying his hips wide, he took his buttocks in both hands and held himself open before me, his beautiful dark pink hole so inviting, his beautiful burgundy cock twitching as a single drop of fluid formed at its tip. I could not resist; I leaned forward and ran my tongue from the hole at the top of his prick to the hole below his ballsac, thrusting it deep inside him and tasting once more of his deepest essence. I inhaled the sweet musk of his balls as I licked him a while, and he moaned as I withdrew my mouth. I poured a generous amount of oil into my palm and greased up my fingers well before invading him again, using a single fingertip to drive him wild. Holmes writhed and trembled under my ministrations, cursing fervently in French, but I waited until his he lost the power of speech once more before drawing away.
I had deliberately ignored my own rampant need, but now I relished the feel of my grip around my own shaft as I oiled myself in preparation.
“Let me,” Holmes begged, reaching for my prick, but I gently stayed his hand, bringing it to my lips.
Staring into his eyes, I placed the tip of my cock against his hole. He shuddered and licked his lips, nodding slightly.
I pushed slightly inside him, gasping as the muscle twitched against the tip of my cock. I kissed his hand again, still gazing into his eyes. I reached forward and touched his cheek, waiting until he nodded again.
“Yes,” he breathed faintly.
I thrust deep into him, nearly losing all control as his pulsing heat enveloped me.
“Are you all right?” I asked, panting heavily.
He nodded, squirming beneath me.
“Then touch yourself for me,” I demanded, as I slowly started thrusting my hips.
Holmes’ long white fingers gracefully caressed his shaft, and I timed myself to match his rhythm, savouring the velvet tightness of him as I slid in and out, pumping over and over again. He began throwing his hips toward me, responding to my thrusts, even squeezing me with his internal muscles. I could tell by the pace of his hand upon his prick and from the tingle in my spine that neither of us would last much longer, and I plunged deeper and faster into him with desperate furore as he began chanting my name, softly at first, then louder and louder, until he screamed in ecstasy, his seed spurting out upon his belly and over his madly grasping fingers. With his completion, his inner muscles constricted around me, squeezing my own climax from me, and I poured myself into him before falling down upon his breast in exhaustion.
He wrapped his arms around me, moaning softly as I slid from him, kissing my forehead with ice-cold lips. I snuggled into the hollow of his shoulder, listening to his pounding heartbeat as I reached up and caressed the perspiration from his brow.
“John,” he whispered faintly. “That was …” he faltered, and held me tighter as he began to tremble. I stroked his mussed hair smooth, raising my face to his and nuzzling him soothingly. His shoulders shook violently as he released two decades of pent-up emotion, and I held him until the storm passed, comforting him with whispered endearments interspersed with soft kisses, until we both drifted to sleep.
The party was still well underway when I awoke to find Holmes sitting up beside me in the bed, smoking a cigarette. The brilliant half-moon was far to the west now, and it shone golden-yellow into the bedroom window, blending with the flickering of the torchlight from the courtyard plaza reflected off the waving cocoanut trees. A spice-scented ocean breeze lingered with the rich aroma of a familiar tobacco, bringing with it the faint sound of the waves over the murmur of the crowd and the chatter of the insects. I rolled over and sat up next to my lover, kissing him on the cheek and receiving an enthusiastic embrace.
“It’s a Monday night; shouldn’t they be in bed?” I laughed, as Holmes passed me his cigarette and lit another for himself. “What is it, two o’clock in the morning?”
“Only half past one. They certainly enjoy a party in this town,” he agreed softly. He was smiling absently, humming along quietly with the music, his fingers tapping to the beat.
I took a long drag off the cigarette. “These are Bradley’s hand-rolled specials,” I remarked. “You had these made for the occasion, didn’t you?”
“Your favourite blend?” he grinned. “I couldn’t resist, my boy.”
“You know,” I sighed, leaning back upon the pillows, “I’m surprised I didn’t catch what you were about when you measured me for the ring. ‘Body topography,’ indeed. And then that marriage contract – a fine piece of work, by the way. Does Mr. Cox know the implications?”
“I shouldn’t be surprised, but he has always been discreet and trustworthy when it comes to handling my family’s affairs.”
“The pen was magnificent, Holmes.”
He shot me a fleeting smile. “You deserve the best, my boy.”
“That’s why I married you,” I chuckled.
“My blushes, Watson!”
“I meant that now I can afford the best,” I teased.
“So you married me for my money, eh?”
“That would have required me to know that I was actually getting married,” I quipped, then regretted it as I saw the hurt on Holmes’ face. “You know I don’t regret it for an instant,” I said quickly. “After all, I could have walked away. You did leave me that option.”
He stared out at the window for a long time, the lines of his profile aglow in the golden moonlight slanting into our room. I do not think I can remember when he ever looked more beautiful than he did that night. “John,” he began, and then paused. “I’m sorry that I … I wish I were better to you. I lead you a merry chase across half a continent, keep you mystified for most of the way, and still you follow me.”
“I think I would follow you to the ends of the earth,” I said simply.
Holmes shook his head sadly. “You shouldn’t have to.”
I twisted the wedding band upon my finger, watching it gleam in the moonlight. “Yes, I should,” I told him gravely. “I made a vow, remember? ‘To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.’ I might not have come to Portugal to say those words, but believe me when I tell you that I meant every word. I’ve decided to take you the way you are, love you and keep loving you, for the rest of our lives, and, as Mrs. Browning would say, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.”
There are moments when everything seems perfect, and then there are moments that are turned into a farce by the baser operations of our bodies. I am afraid that my traitorous stomach turned my declaration into the latter; it gave a low growl just as I spoke the last words.
Holmes touched my cheek. “Watson, when was the last time you ate?” he asked kindly.
I thought a moment. “I had a little something about sunset, but nothing since then,” I admitted.
“Tsk, tsk, Doctor,” Holmes chided me. “And you a medical man. Weren’t you lecturing me just last week upon the importance of keeping a regular diet?”
“Do you think there might be a restaurant still open?”
“Several, to be sure,” Holmes murmured, “but I took the liberty of alerting the staff to the eventuality that we might need refreshment sometime late this evening.”
I raised an eyebrow. “The staff are certainly accommodating,” I said, an edge of suspicion creeping into my voice.
“The owner is one of Mycroft’s friends,” Holmes offered sheepishly.
“Your brother is paying for this, isn’t he?”
Holmes looked down at the bed-sheets. “He wished to give us a wedding present we would enjoy,” he said quietly.
I smiled despite myself. “Your brother is a generous man.”
“He can afford to be generous.”
My stomach roiled again, and Holmes leaned over and kissed me, then leapt gracefully up from the bed and strode into the sitting-room. I heard him calling out something in Portuguese, and a cheerful voice answering him in a brief conversation.
Holmes came back into the bedroom, and lit the bedside lamp before pulling his clothes out of the drawer. “I’m glad you got out to explore the city,” said he cheerfully, getting dressed, “I didn’t know how I was going to unpack before the ceremony otherwise.”
I slapped my forehead. “I completely forgot! Your present!” I got up and began rummaging in the parcels I had brought back to the hotel.
“You might want to get dressed first,” Holmes said, laughingly patting my bottom. “The service here is wonderfully quick.” He buttoned up his shirt and slipped on his waistcoat. “I’ll be in the sitting room; don’t dawdle,” he called, sweeping out of the room.
I had barely finished dressing when a knock at the door announced the arrival of our repast. It was much too early for breakfast and much too late for supper; the chef thus sent us a tantalizing combination of sweet and savoury offerings, and Holmes and I fell to our meal as soon as it was laid out for us, at the table by the balcony. We ate in silence a while, watching the throng of merrymaking staff in the courtyard. The orchestra still played on, though the music had grown softer, and we could hear the singing of the insects in the bushes over the murmur of laughter and conversation as we enjoyed our meal.
I was not surprised to see champagne in an ice bucket beside the table. I was, however, surprised to see a pot of tea, and I smiled as a familiar aroma reached my nostrils. “Earl Grey?” I chuckled. “At two in the morning?”
“I might even bring myself to have a sip or two, but you will forgive me if I concentrate upon the champagne.”
“It’s all yours,” I said. “Never could abide the stuff.”
“But you will have just one glass with me, won’t you, Watson? There, I didn’t think you would refuse me that,” he continued cheerily, as I nodded. He stood up to open the champagne, twisting at the wire holding the cork in place. “By the bye, you have not partaken of that small dish to your left.”
Indeed, I had missed the unobtrusive covered dish amongst all the tempting platters. I lifted the lid to find a quarter-pound of high-quality marzipan, arranged in an eye-catching pyramid of various shapes. “Holmes …”
“I thought you would be pleased. You know, Watson, I find it strange that such a hopeless romantic as yourself does not like champagne.”
“I hardly think that you should call me hopeless,” said I, smiling as I watched Holmes fiddle with the bottle. “And you have recently proved yourself to be capable of suspiciously romantic behaviour for a man who claims to have no need for such emotional displays.”
“What can I say, Watson? You have corrupted me.” The cork finally popped out and onto the balcony, and I suppressed a wave of laughter at the gush of white froth spilling out over his hand. “For shame, my boy,” he scolded me teasingly, divining the reason behind my merriment. “Such puerile thoughts. And you a married man.”
“As are you,” I answered as he poured our glasses full. “And who better than a married man to know the pleasures of the marriage bed?”
“To the pleasures of the marriage bed, then,” he rejoined, as our glasses clinked together. His manner was casual and off-hand as we drank, but I who knew him well could see that he was deeply affected by all that had passed between us this night.
I put my glass aside and reached for his hand. “William,” I began. “I want you to know that tonight –”
He squeezed my hand affectionately, but waved aside my words with an impatient gesture. “Honestly, Watson, simply because I have descended into romanticism, it does not follow that I shall lower myself to becoming maudlin.”
I was not irked by his speech, as I could tell that it was mostly bluster to cover his discomfort. Instead, I poured myself a cup of tea. “I do not think you could be capable of becoming maudlin,” I replied gently. “But neither do I consider you the brain without a heart you so love to present to the world.”
Holmes snorted in amusement. “That I love to present! I have made my opinion of your little fictions in the Strand quite clear, Doctor,” said he, his eyes twinkling in the flickering torchlight. “In any case, shall we see what is in the parcel you’ve hidden in your jacket pocket?”
“You could have at least waited for me to tell you,” I sighed wearily, pulling it out and pushing it across the table.
“At least I did not attempt to deduce your purchase,” he said a little sheepishly. “I can tell little beyond the fact that you spent some time at the tobacconist’s where you purchased this item, debating whether or not to buy this or whatever it was you had seen at the bookstore –”
“Oh, very well,” he grumbled petulantly, pulling the paper off the box with a dramatic flourish. I flushed with pleasure as I watched his eyes widen at the contents of the parcel; in this, at least, he had not anticipated me.
He lifted the pipe from the folds of tissue paper and held it up to inspect it. “Watson, it’s beautiful,” he whispered. “Perfect balance, amber mouthpiece, silver bands, mother-of-pearl inlay –this must have cost a fortune.”
“It’s all right, old fellow,” said I heartily. “After all, I just married into a fortune.”
“I should hardly call a decrepit title and a crumbling manor house a fortune,” he muttered. “In any case, Mycroft is heir to the former and I have sworn never to return to the latter.” His eyes glittered darkly a moment before he shook free of his poisonous reverie. He laid aside the pipe and took both my hands. “John, you have given me so much,” he began quietly, “and I have given you so little –”
“Holmes,” I interrupted gently, “look around. You have given me all of this,” I indicated the room around us, “and much more. Earl Grey, marzipan, Bradley’s best blend, the pen – all my favourite indulgences. Good heavens, man, you just arranged a complete wedding ceremony for me.”
“For us,” he corrected me.
“For us,” I agreed, squeezing his hands. “Holmes, you found a way to give me the stability and security I needed, and then, in order to prove the sincerity of your intentions, you stage-managed a romantic scene to rival any one of those yellow-backed romances you claim to hate.”
Holmes looked down at our joined hands, a mysterious smile fluttering just at the corner of his mouth. “So did you enjoy it?” he asked, his piercing gaze flickering momentarily up to mine before retreating back to the table.
“Did I enjoy it! Holmes, do you really need to ask? It was absolutely marvellous. Add the traditional first dance and a few flower-girls, and it would have been the perfect wedding,” I added with a chuckle, my fingers caressing his.
The band finished the number it had been playing to a smattering of applause, and then started into a slow waltz.
Holmes stood up, still holding both my hands, his manner suddenly grave. “I neglected to arrange for flower-girls,” said he, “but I should be honoured if you would give me this dance.”
I must confess that my first reaction was one of shock. I had been to boarding-school and had always enjoyed a discreet tumble with one or two of the fellows, but I wasn’t the type that would dance with a man …
My fingers brushed against the band of gold upon my companion’s left ring-finger, and I knew in an instant exactly what type of man I was.
I was a married man on my wedding night, and I was going to dance with the man I loved. I laughed as pulled myself up out of my seat and into Holmes’ arms.
“This is rather pleasant,” he said a while later, “but it’s not exactly dancing.”
I disentangled myself from his lips with some regret. “So which one of us leads?” I asked, feeling supremely ridiculous.
“You may, if you like.”
“But you are the taller –”
Holmes laid a finger upon my lips. “It has been said,” he told me quietly, “that one may learn much of how a couple interact with each other sexually by how they dance together. Indeed, dancing can be taken as a public display of one’s sexual skill. Particularly in the dances where one changes partners –”
“Holmes, you have a filthy mind!”
My friend merely smiled, tracing his finger along my lips, teasing them so delicately that I was compelled to suck his fingertip into my mouth before releasing it with a sultry kiss.
“Just so,” Holmes whispered, “you are quite aware of my preferred rôle in our bed. I should very much like you to lead,” he added, his voice barely audible.
My heart flushed with pride as I realized how much this admission had cost him, and I knew now exactly what he wanted me to do.
Without hesitation, I took him in my arms and spun him around the sitting-room floor, propelling him firmly in time to the beat of the music. The orchestra moved from one dance number smoothly to the next, and the idea of expressing my sexual love for him through our dance began to colour my motions. My hand upon the small of his back found its way to the base of his spine and soon I was cupping his buttock, pressing him against my groin as I led us into the bedroom. Our dance moved out of the vertical plane and into the horizontal as our legs became entangled and we tumbled carelessly onto the bed, tearing at each other’s clothes in a frenzy of flying buttons and rent cloth.
“At this rate,” I hissed, biting his collarbone as I ripped the shirt off his chest, “neither of us will have a thing to wear by Friday.”
“I’ll take you shopping for a whole new wardrobe tomorrow,” he groaned, as I raked my fingernails down his torso. “Just take me now,” he added, as he helped me remove his trousers. He pulled himself free of the last of his garments, and then leaned back upon the bed, spreading his legs wide. “I want to feel you inside me again.”
I bent my head over him and slowly ran the tip of my tongue along his delectable flesh, starting at the base of his prick and over his ballsac, laving it softly, gently sucking at his balls, even drawing them into my mouth one at a time. Holmes whimpered softly, running his fingers through my hair as I moved from his sac to cover his burgeoning rod in slow kisses, starting from the soft spot just at the base, all the way up that gorgeous shaft until I reached the top, tickling the hole and receiving a sweet drop of nectar in return. I took just the tip into my mouth and sucked upon it hard, sending him into a frenzy of moaning. He arched his back and sent himself further down my throat, and I opened myself to him, taking his whole length before releasing it slowly, my lips caressing him from base to tip. I sat up again and smiled down at him.
“You shall feel me inside you, my dear,” I murmured, touching his cheek lightly. “But not before I feel you inside me.” I reached for the bottle of oil we had left on the bedside table, and handed it to Holmes with a meaningful look. “I’ve waited a long time for this.”
Holmes looked at the bottle and then at me with a look that held none of his usual confidence and self-assurance, but all of his vulnerable charm. “But if I should lose control and hurt you …”
I leaned forward and kissed him tenderly. “I have trusted you with my life; certainly I can trust you with this.” I pulled him up to a sitting position and manoeuvred us to the side of the bed; I turned and leaned over the bed as Holmes stood behind me, lovingly caressing my bottom. I held myself open for him, shivering as the oil touched me, closing my eyes as I felt his finger caress my hole. I moaned softly as his finger invaded sweetly, rubbing up against my prostate and sending shivers from the base of my spine to the tip of my prick. Then his finger was gone and something much larger pressed at my entrance.
Holmes laid a hand upon my shoulder. “May I?”
I nodded, unable to speak. He broached the opening and paused, caressing my bottom with maddening softness. I pushed back upon him and he thrust to meet me, filling me almost to the breaking point. We hit our rhythm immediately, grunting in unison, two lustful beasts intent on nothing but that single moment of carnal bliss. Our mouths found each other over my shoulder as his fingers dug into my hips with delicious force, just painful enough to push me into a frenzy of delight. He slammed his hardness into me and I took all he had to give; I found my very breathing coming in gasps in between his thrusts as he plunged deep to the hilt, All the nerves along my spine blazing with each lunge of our joined hips. I could feel every last inch of my lover, every vein, every ridge of his beautiful cock buried inside me, and I felt his member jump and buck as he groaned in his coming, his every muscle stiffening, his fingers clawing frantically at my flesh as he died into me.
He collapsed onto my back, panting heavily, and then rolled onto the bed where he lay crossways upon it, an arm over his eyes. “Sweet God above,” he gasped. “John, my darling …” he licked his lips. “I never knew …” He lifted his arm from his eyes and smiled up at me, his slate-coloured eyes gleaming in the moonlight. The corner of his lip curled upwards with the smile of a courtesan as he arched his back elegantly, spreading his legs wide in tacit invitation. I watched in awe at his gorgeous body laid before me like a banquet, the contours of his torso shimmering in the moonlight. His smile widened as he touched his dripping prick, collecting his seed from where it had settled upon him, and then, still smiling coquettishly, used a single finger to apply it to his own nether hole, rocking his hips slightly as he used his issue to prepare my way.
I could contain myself no longer; in the next moment I was upon him, pounding my length into him as he thrust his hips up to meet me, our bodies slamming together with an audible slap of skin upon skin.
“John,” he moaned, writhing beneath me, “John I’m yours. Completely, totally, absolutely yours, j'appartiens à tu et à personne d'autre, mon cher –”
I laid a finger upon his lips, not altering my pace as our hips pumped together. “Taises-toi,” I hissed. “We belong to each other now.”
He said no more, but sucked my finger into his mouth, his eyes glowing with wanton delight as he looked up at me, timing the caress of his lips with the flow of my strokes. This alone I could have withstood, but when my love began tightening his inner muscles, I was lost, and I shuddered in climax, calling out his name as I poured my essence deep inside him.
Much later, we lay in each others’ arms, talking quietly as the orchestra played its last number and went home. Eventually the sounds of merrymaking faded as the party dispersed, and soon there was only the singing of the insects as we exchanged reminisces and casually speculated upon the future. The moon set and the torches were extinguished, and we lay together in the dark, our talk growing more desultory as the hours wore on and we used our lips more and our voices less.
We had almost given up speech entirely, our lips much more interestingly engaged, when Holmes pulled away suddenly from our embrace. “Watson, you know what happened to me at Cambridge.”
I attempted to draw him back into my arms. “Easy, old fellow, you know that I won’t ever –”
He tore himself away from me, his voice becoming cold steel. “You listen but you don’t hear, Doctor. I know you shan’t harm me; you have earned my absolute trust.”
“And you have earned mine, Holmes. So I don’t understand –”
“You know that I murdered three men and yet you would trust me?”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I had divined that particular dark secret some time ago, but until now it had remained unspoken between us. “Yes, I do trust you,” I said quietly. “I know what you did, and I know what they did to you. My only feeling upon the matter,” I continued, a strange anger welling up within me, “is a sense of regret.”
“Regret,” I answered darkly, “that I was not there by your side to help you.”
“I am not proud of what I did. I decoyed them to the far end of the lake and –”
I stopped his mouth with a kiss. “I do not wish to hear the details,” I murmured against his lips, soothing his shoulders with soft caresses.
“But I –”
“Shhh. It’s all right, William. I love you.”
“John, I –”
“Shhh.” And not another word would either of us speak that evening. I rocked him in my arms for a long while, and as the sun rose upon the new morning, my love finally slept upon my breast, worn out from the exertions of his schemes. It would be my responsibility, as it had always been, to get him home in one piece once he collapsed. I kissed his forehead and watched the glow from the East touch the tips of the hills above the courtyard, smiling to myself as I thought of how the man in my arms had led me here, and idly wondering where he might lead me next.
Wherever it was, I knew it would be well worth the trip.
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