Reunion
by Pandapony

Chapter Three

I must have fallen asleep during Holmes' playing. When I awoke, the fire in the hearth was reduced to glowing coals. A blanket had been carefully draped over my body, and a pillow discreetly propped behind my head.

The dim light coming in from the blinds suggested that it was very early, almost dawn. The stiffness in my neck suggested the same. The door to Holmes' bedroom was closed –- I could only assume that he had given me a blanket and then retired himself for the night.

I shifted under the blankets, stretching, and realized that I had awoken in a state typical of most healthy men upon arising. My thoughts immediately returned to Holmes' red lips, to his long hands, working my shaft, and I couldn't help the shudder of pleasure that racked my body from head to toe. It would be so easy to feel that again. To take pleasure in him again.

And, my aroused mind reasoned, what harm truly was there? I had known inverts in the army and in my medical practice, and they were otherwise respectable men. Would it be such a crime to be associated with such a person?

And truly, there were great advantages to having a male lover. I would never worry of pregnancy. With women, I would have to propose, and marriage was a venture I was not yet prepared to undertake so soon after Mary's death. My only other option for physical pleasure would be from a brothel, which I found degrading and unappealing. So why shouldn't I look to a friend of mine, who had expressed interest in such proclivities, whose discretion I could trust, and who would expect no proposal of marriage or long-term commitment in return?

Thus my sexually-fevered mind worked furiously in that early morning hour to justify approaching Holmes with my morning state of need. I always felt that I received far more in my friendship with Holmes than he had in return. If I could do something small like this, to make him so happy, wouldn't it be wrong for me to deny him?

All of these thoughts, coupled by the memory of his fingers massaging my shaft, was enough to bring me to the brink of excitement. I tossed on the settee, unable to think of anything else. I realized my reason had once again become hijacked by desire, but I no longer cared.

I abandoned the warmth of the blanket and made my way slowly over to Holmes' door. My heart pounded in my chest, so loudly that I thought the sound could be heard by everyone in the house in the quiet of the morning. My trousers bulged obscenely, but I hoped the darkness of the sleeping apartments would hide my excited state.

I knocked on Holmes' door quietly. “Holmes?” I whispered. My heart beat so rapidly it was hard to speak.

“Come in.”

I opened the door slowly, and found Holmes in his bed, leaning over to light a candle. The explosion of light made us both blink. I sat down quickly on the edge of his bed, crossing my legs to cover my urgency.

“Are you leaving?” Holmes' voice was cracked with sleep. He wiped his eyes with a fist, trying to wake up.

I sat still, unable to speak. Now that I was here, on his bed, I was terrified. How on earth did I believe I could proceed with this?

Holmes sat up and stared at me. His eyes met mine for one long, excruciating moment. He seemed to be reading my mind. His eyes flickered over my body, stopping briefly at my waist, and then quickly returning back to my face.

I flushed.

Thank God, Holmes took the lead. Without another word he reached out and cradled my face in his hands. He closed his eyes and brought his lips to mine, kissing me with exquisite sweetness. These were not the violent, starved kisses we shared in my study. These were slow, lingering, exploring, both of us getting used to the feel and taste of each other.

Holmes' cheeks were slightly rough with stubble, and the feeling was strange against my own whiskered cheeks. I broke our embrace for a moment to run my hand along my chin.

“Do you wish me to shave?” Holmes whispered anxiously.

I smiled and shook my head. “No.” I kissed him again to reassure him, and he fell back against the bed.

Once again, all thought fled the moment I felt his fingers upon my flesh. There was something so erotic about making love to Holmes, it was mind-destroying. It had never been so with women for me. I had never lost my reason. But with Holmes I devolved into a base creature of sexual appetite, my body arching towards him in a reckless need for more contact.

Holmes' body was trembling. He ran his hands along my body, his fingers gently tracing my contours through my clothing. With silent grace he undressed me, his lips never leaving my mouth. I tugged at the hem of his nightshirt, and without a word, he lifted it from his body and revealed himself to me.

I had been worried about what thoughts might occur at this moment, staring down at a naked man with the intention of pleasing him. But Holmes was so stunning a specimen, my concerns vanished. He was at once both feminine and intensely masculine. His lithe body had only a scattering of hairs. His hip bones proclaimed themselves pointedly, and his thin wrists, his svelte thighs, they all spoke of a man much softer than Holmes in personality.

But there was great strength here as well. Each of his muscles was taut and defined. His years abroad had thinned him, made him more toned. I wanted to touch him everywhere, to learn where he had been by feel rather than words.

But I held off my explorations until Holmes finished undressing me in return. I was shy once more, especially as he pulled my trousers from me and my member bounced forward, actively seeking his warm palm. He looked me over with eyes glazed over with emotion.

“John,” Holmes whispered. The sound of his voice sent a tingle of pleasure from my head to my groin. He had never called me by my Christian name before, and the sound of it on his lips drew me towards him, it banished my shyness.

Holmes' skin smelled like sleep and sweet tobacco. His flesh was soft and warm, fresh from slumber, and I ran my nose and cheeks along his chest and stomach, savoring his scent. My moustache must have tickled him, for he suddenly convulsed and began to laugh. I laughed with him, too joyous to hold back.

Holmes crushed me in his arms and threw himself down upon me. He pressed the length of his shaft against mine, and I opened my mouth to groan. At that moment he thrust his tongue in, and I felt completely and utterly consumed by him. He was swallowing me whole, eating me alive, and I wanted it. I wanted more.

Holmes' hands constantly caressed the sides of my body. His hand traveled lower and reached between us to cup my sac.

I moaned in ecstasy. I had never known such a delicacy, and I spread my legs wider to encourage him, bring him down closer to me. His long fingers gently held my testicles, weighing them, and then he rolled them in his palm and I cried out in pleasure. I placed my hands on his face, one above and one below his mouth, and gently held his mouth open while I plunged into it with my tongue, thrusting as deep as I could, forcing him to stay open for me. His trembling increased, and he rubbed his cock against mine in mounting urgency.

I broke from his mouth and ran my lips and tongue down that perfect neck, sucking at the base of his throat. “Oh God…oh God…oh God!” he prayed, sounding like he was crying, and I laved his collar bone and moved lower.

His hands reached for me again, one cupping my testicles, the other stroking my erection, and each touch sent a fire through me that burned all thought from my mind. I licked at his left nipple, biting slightly, and he started to sob for real then, mumbled chokes mingling with “Christ!” and “God!” until it sounded like a heart-wrenching religious confession.

Holmes slowly lowered himself, kissing his way down my chest. I leaned back and reveled in the feel of his burning lips against my flesh. I arched upwards to meet his mouth, anticipation growing as he lowered his head towards my groin. I was so excited I could barely breathe.

And then Holmes stopped. He moved to my side, and slowly turned, until I was face to face with his own straining member, and he had his head between my thighs. Arousal throbbed through me at the sight.

I felt his hands upon my thighs, pushing me open for him. Before I could react, or think, or act, his mouth pulled my cock into him, his tongue circling the tip of me, and I froze. I rested my head against his thigh, taking in the earthy smell of his own sex as my body sank into delirious sensation. I opened my legs wider so I could watch him, and the sight was exquisite, his long, thin neck moving as he ran his tongue over the tip of my shaft. My slit oozed pre-cum, and I felt myself blush in embarrassment.

Holmes smiled slowly, sensually. And as though he were a cat licking himself in a sun beam, he closed his eyes and slowly licked the tip of my cock clean. I moaned at the exquisiteness of the feeling. Nothing in the world felt like this. It was wet heat, slithering across the top of my most sensitive skin, a combination of gentle licks and hungry strength. Holmes sucked my cock, his face lit with an expression of bliss. He opened his eyes for a moment and looked at me, and the two of us smiled at each other. Then he turned once more to plunge his mouth down upon me, swallowing me whole, using his hands to pull my sac to his face, and I cried out and climaxed, pushing even farther down his throat as I did so, wanting to be consumed by him, owned by him.

Holmes swallowed my seed, and then slowly slid my cock free of his lips, licking me clean as he did so. I shivered with aftershocks of pleasure. And then I looked over to see the engorged shaft at eye level, standing erect and proud between his legs, and I hardly gave it a second thought.

I spread his legs and he tensed. He looked startled, almost afraid, disbelieving. I could hardly believe myself. What on earth was I doing?

But the sight of his cock was too beautiful, to enticing, for me to wonder for long. I let my prudish concerns be damned, tempted towards his straining flesh, the head of his cock leaking clear fluid, shivering with each breath nearby. I hovered over his prick for a long moment, taking in the smell of his desire, the softness of the flesh, the ruddy color, the delicious hang of his testicles.

I reached down and cupped his heavy testicles in my hand. Holmes moaned, his whole body curling around me, drawing me closer. I tentatively leaned forward, and gave an experimental kiss to the tip of him. His flesh was warm and smooth, and smelled pleasantly masculine. I could do this. I thought about the intense sensation of his lips upon my shaft, and I closed my eyes to return the favor.

I swallowed his velvety head and lowered my mouth down upon him. I moved slowly, getting the feel of his throbbing flesh in my throat, trying to milk out a rhythm that he would find pleasing. At this point, I had to go by feel – Holmes had devolved into sobbing, his moans hushed and tremulous as he pumped his cock into my mouth.

It did not take more than a few thrusts to bring Holmes to completion. He cried out, rather loudly I'm afraid, and his entire body shivered. His hands curled in my hair and held me to him as he spilled down my throat.

As we lay there, faces nestled in each others' crotches, my first feeling was one of intense pride. I was the one that the great Sherlock Holmes desired. I was the one who brought him to completion. It had always given me pleasure to gift my friend with something dear. And now I had. Holmes was not cold-blooded, he was merely secretly in love. And he was in love with me.

But as we lay there, catching our breaths, that unnerving feeling of guilt and dread began to sink through me once more. It wasn't as though my reasoning before I entered his room was wrong , but I had not considered all the potential consequences of my actions until this moment.

Holmes was in love with me. I was not sure I was in love with him. I knew I had strong feelings towards him… but love? This was a concern, as well as the fact that what we were doing was illegal. We faced terrible disgrace should we be discovered. And I was also troubled by what this all meant about me, about my manhood, and whether it meant I could no longer look towards a future with a wife and children, continuing down this path with Holmes.

My head hurt with all the repercussions of my act.

Holmes chuckled softly to himself and turned around so we were face to face once more. He pulled me close, resting his head on my chest and throwing his leg over mine. The action pulled our sticky groins together once more, and shame burst through me at the thought. My God, what had I just done?

I looked hesitantly into Holmes' eyes, and I saw pure, unadulterated joy. He was languid, boneless, sated as if drugged. I could see that he would no longer need his cocaine to reach this state if I were to agree to our continued cohabitation. But I myself had not decided that this was something I wanted.

He was beautiful. His long body was alabaster, sinewy and graceful. He was all poise and strength, his thin arms pulling me tightly and stroking my back with absent-minded affection.

“I had never, in all the years of our acquaintance, dared to dream that my inclinations towards you could be reciprocated.” He softly leaned forward and kissed my forehead with all the love and tenderness of a mother. “John, you have given me something I thought I could never have.”

My stomach rolled. What had I done? I must have stiffened in his arms, for the languid stupor in Holmes' gray eyes instantly disappeared, and he stared at me with all of his intensity. His smile faded quickly.

“Holmes…” I sat up and rubbed my face. “Look, I… I need to think.” Without glancing back, I got up and quickly dressed. I didn't dare look at him, for fear of the pain I might see there. I didn't even bother with my tie. I threw on clothes in a haphazard fashion, all-too-aware of the pervasive silence from my recent bed partner.

At the door, I hesitated, my shoes in my hands. I turned to see Holmes sitting up, still naked, staring at me with an inscrutable expression. He had carefully washed his face blank of emotion. But I who knew him so well could see the hardness in the line of his mouth, the pinched expression behind the eyes. I had hurt him, and terribly so.

“I will see you later this afternoon,” I said quickly, hoping to hide my own queasy emotions. I opened my mouth to say something more, but realized I had no idea what I wanted, what I needed to say. I was at a complete loss, and for once, I believe Holmes was as well. As I turned, he reached out his hand and started to say my name, but then dropped his hand and looked away, changing his mind.

I fled from Baker Street in all haste.

 
Chapter Four