Sherlock Holmes - A Considerable Difference
Title: A Considerable Difference
Author: ladylovelace
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Disclaimer: Both Holmes and Watson predate me by nearly 100 years. Logically, therefore, I cannot claim that they were my idea.
Summary: Watson has slept with dozens of women. But never before with a man.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Graphic sex.
Word Count: 2500
Author's Notes: Written for a prompt on shkinkmeme which I have subsequently lost and cannot be bothered finding to link.
I have never had cause to think myself inexperienced when it comes to matters of the body - whether healing it or bringing it pleasure, it has long been the case that I know what I'm doing.
And yet every rule has its exception. In this case, mine was Holmes. It was not merely that he was a man - though that was new as well - but that he was a very close friend and he was him. He was manic and brilliant and so, so gorgeous; spread out naked on the bed and completely relaxed, completely trusting, waiting for me to do, as he put it, “whatever it is you usually do.”
But I don't usually do this at all. Not with him. The fact that he had been very clear that he had no preconceived notion of what to expect didn't help me in the least - what if he was disappointed by the whole experience? I had little more idea what I was doing in this instance than he did.
Already, I knelt at the foot of the bed, looking up along his lean body and noting how very different he was from a woman. No soft curves, or full breasts; all sharp angles - too sharp, even for a man - and hard where he should have been soft. Yet the look in his eyes when I met him was so much the same as I had seen before, so many times, that it made me want more than anything to investigate all of his differences, and see what I could find that was the same.
I traced a finger lightly along a prominent hipbone, fascination overriding my medical sensibilities as I brushed lower along a much narrower thigh than I was used to. I found myself drawing my fingers idly up and down the inside, feeling firm muscle where there had always been soft flesh before. A tiny whimper from further up the bed brought me back to my senses, and I looked up and smiled brightly. “You are amazing,” I stated honestly, and he squirmed in a way that I thought probably meant he enjoyed the compliment.
I crawled further up the bed to give in to the impulse to explore his upper body. Where I had always enjoyed putting my mouth and hands to the softness of a woman's breast, he was flat and hard here, with no give at all. I rolled an already-peaked nipple under my thumb and was rewarded with a pleasured gasp. I soon caught myself playing with the sparse hairs on his chest in an almost affectionate manner, fascinated by their presence where I was used to hairlessness.
Leaning closer, I pressed a kiss to lips that were as soft and warm and pliant as a woman's, though thankfully free of sticky paint. Rough stubble scratched at my chin, the extra stimulation not unpleasant but certainly new, and I wondered for a moment if this was what it was like for a woman to kiss a man. He sighed softly as I pulled back, and the sound was one so familiar to me as to be incongruous with the rest of the situation.
“Watson, please.”
“Patience, darling.” I replied automatically, then started at my own use of the feminine epithet after having spent time thinking about how masculine the subject of my attentions was. Far from being offended, though, he merely laughed softly, and so I began a trail of light kisses down his chest, noting that the soft, gentle rise of a woman's stomach was absent here, and his belly only softened a little below his naval, where a fine trail of dark hairs - far coarser than those on a female body - led down to his groin. I pressed my nose into the softer flesh, kissing wetly at smooth, pale skin that was not so terribly different, before trailing down further and being met with the most definitive evidence that this was not the body of a woman.
Naturally, I was not unfamiliar with male genitalia - it was perhaps in this that I could be most confident, for I knew the workings of it first hand. Despite the stimulation, he had only reached about half his potential by the time I turned my attentions more centrally. I watched, enthralled by the shift and play of strong muscles under my fingers, the slowly deepening blush, as he hardened under my touch. I reached lower to trace over the velveteen skin of his sac, weighing the globes gently in my hand and smiling at the stifled moan from above. Where previously I had worried about my own efficacy in this, here I could be sure I knew that I would create agreeable sensations. Now that I had this marvellous plaything, I would not be rushed. I extended a finger on the hand that was cupping him to press at the spot behind, where a bundle of nerve-endings made the skin incredibly sensitive to touch.
This brought me frighteningly close, though, to the thing that had been tugging at the back of my mind. Should I enter him? I had heard tell that penetration of that kind, done carefully enough, could bring great pleasure to a man - certainly, given the internal gland to be found a few inches in, there was a distinct possibility that this could be true. But was it worth the risk of putting him off for good? I could bring him off effectively enough with hands and mouth, and there would be no little pleasure in those acts. But then, should I allow my own fear and uncertainty to deny us both? Surely if I could not satisfy him completely, he would find someone else who could - there would be a number of people happy to take up the position, I was sure. I found that my finger had shifted further back while I was thinking, so close now to the spot that was giving me pause. Feeling daring, I brushed over his entrance gently, and heard a gasp from further up the bed.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. I just...I want...”
“You wish me to enter you?”
“Please. I want to feel you.”
Well, that settled that question effectively enough, though I thought there may be need for discussion later over just how much reading he'd been doing on the subject. To my great surprise, while I was contemplating how I might go about it, there was something being waved in front of my face. A little bottle of amber-coloured liquid. Oil, I realised, and looked up, one eyebrow raised.
“You planned this?”
“I...prepared for it. In a fit of optimism. That bottle has been hidden under my pillow for months.”
“I'm sorry it took so long, then.”
“The fault is entirely mine, my dear. I could easily have spoken up sooner.”
I fingered the little bottle with a soft smile on my face. Trust him to think of everything, even if he didn't really know what he was thinking of. I uncorked the bottle and coated my fingers generously.
“Are you sure?”
“Well, I can't be sure until I have data. But I am sure I would like to collect it. Please.”
It was impossible to deny him, stretched out and lying in wait for me to do whatever I wished. I pressed a slick finger against his entrance and pushed in to the first joint. This was not so terribly unusual either, though I'd only ever done this in a medical capacity, and normally at a better angle. But I wouldn't have asked him to turn over for the world, either, because now that I had catalogued his body in my mind, I didn't want to lose sight of all the things that made him different. Special.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No. Stop worrying, I'm a grown man and I could more than stop you if I wanted to.”
“Good point.”
Fears assuaged for the moment, I pressed in further, searching for the gland that I knew was there somewhere. I knew I'd found it when a startled cry came from above me, and looked up to make sure that I hadn't caused any pain.
“Do that again.” Came the breathless order, and I complied to be rewarded this time with a heartfelt moan. “Ah. Watson, please.”
I chuckled as he squirmed under me and placed a stabilising hand on his hip, stroking gently at his belly. Emboldened by the positive reaction, I began to shift my finger in an imitation of what I would do for a woman. I took, from the breathy little noises he was making, that I was doing much the right thing, and as I felt strong muscles begin to give and relax, I added a second finger and took up a proper massage of his insides. I was obliged at this point to apply rather more pressure to his hip with my other hand, to prevent him from hurting both of us. Once I found a steady rhythm, I widened my focus to see that he was practically sobbing now, and his cock was swollen and reddened and dripping pre-come.
“I take it you're enjoying yourself?”
“God, yes. Don't stop.”
“Oh, I don't intend to.” I grinned, and bent forward to inspect his manhood more closely - I had never seen one at the peak of sexual arousal this close before, and I thought it would be best to get everything I could out of this experience, as I was still unsure it wouldn't be my only chance. My tongue darted out almost of it's own volition once I was close enough. The taste of salt was nothing like unpleasant enough to deter me when he was moaning in earnest with every lick. It wasn't long before I was drawing him into my mouth, sucking sharply at the head and swirling my tongue around it. So absorbed was I by my dual tasks that I fear it took a frantic hand at my shoulder and a very loud cry of “stop” to get through to me. I pulled off and froze, looking up in fear and panic that I had done something very, very wrong.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, it's just-”
“Calm down. Please. You didn't hurt me...far from it, indeed, which was rather the problem.” He blushed furiously, and my brain spent a few moments catching up to what was going on.
“Oh. Oh! I see...and you didn't want...?”
“I want you inside me. And I am so far beyond ready that I cannot quite recall what it was like not to be.”
It was my turn to blush now - I had gotten carried away with what I was doing and, ironically enough, failed to pay attention to him. I retrieved the little bottle from where I had discarded it earlier; it had rolled a fair way across the bed during the course of our efforts. The cork was completely lost, but there was still enough oil left to coat myself in a manner that I thought would be adequate. I shuffled up the bed, between his legs, and the position that should have been familiar struck me once again as new, exciting in it's exoticness. I removed my fingers slowly, leaving as much slickness behind as I could and wiping the excess on the bedclothes. I spent a moment considering how best to approach positioning, and then gently lifted one of his legs over my hip and shifted further forward until I was pressed against the entrance to his body.
“Are you sure.”
“I may be forced to hurt you if you don't get on with it.” There was little actual force behind the words, but the meaning was clear and understood.
I took a deep breath, gripped his hips firmly, and pushed forward. There was a satisfying balance between pressure and give, and it took every once of willpower I had not to simply thrust in as far as I could go, instead of taking it slow. After long moments of pressing in as gently and smoothly as I was able, I could finally go no further, and breathed out heavily in relief, releasing the bruising grip I had taken on his hips - there would undoubtedly be bruises come morning.
When I looked up to check that I wasn't hurting him, I was met with the sight of flushed features, wide-open eyes and heavily-panting mouth.
“All right?”
“Perfect. A moment, if you please.” He gasped out, and whilst he didn't quite sound pained, it was with great effort that he had spoken.
“As long as you need.”
I watched him catch his breath for a few moments more, and then he locked eyes with me and nodded once decisively, and I pulled back and thrust in more quickly this time. The sound he made was very nearly a scream, though silent, and most definitely not one of pain. I became bolder then, thrusting in more fully, taking note as I went of how much warmer he was than any woman. Warmer, and somehow less smooth. Grittier, I thought, was the term I was searching for. It was different enough that I would never confuse the two acts, though it was certainly far from disagreeable. Indeed I fear I may have been slightly over-enthusiastic, for it took me some time to notice that I was causing his whole body to shudder with each thrust. I slowed myself down at that, and at the same time took hold of his cock and began working it in time to my newly-regulated thrusts. His back was arched a little, eyes glazed over and breath coming in sharp pants, with occasional, slightly pathetic moans breaking through. It was truly a sight to behold, and I wondered in that moment if I had ever seen anything quite so magnificent before.
My own release came as something of a surprise, and I was horrified for a moment when I realised that he hadn't reached his yet. Never had I come before my partner in such an ungentlemanly manner. But then had he been a woman, I could have brought him to orgasm several times by now, and almost had without meaning to once. The dynamic simply wasn't the same with a man, I realised, but I still felt the need to make it up to him. I pulled out carefully and lay down between his legs to take him in my mouth as I had before, only this time I would not be pulled away. His release was also completely different from a woman's, in taste, texture and appearance. I had wondered if this would be the final difference, until I crawled up the bed and collapsed next to him. He instantly curled himself tightly around me, clinging as if for dear life, and promptly fell asleep.
I suspect that was not because he was a man, though. I suspect it was because he was Sherlock Holmes.
Author: ladylovelace
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Disclaimer: Both Holmes and Watson predate me by nearly 100 years. Logically, therefore, I cannot claim that they were my idea.
Summary: Watson has slept with dozens of women. But never before with a man.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Graphic sex.
Word Count: 2500
Author's Notes: Written for a prompt on shkinkmeme which I have subsequently lost and cannot be bothered finding to link.
I have never had cause to think myself inexperienced when it comes to matters of the body - whether healing it or bringing it pleasure, it has long been the case that I know what I'm doing.
And yet every rule has its exception. In this case, mine was Holmes. It was not merely that he was a man - though that was new as well - but that he was a very close friend and he was him. He was manic and brilliant and so, so gorgeous; spread out naked on the bed and completely relaxed, completely trusting, waiting for me to do, as he put it, “whatever it is you usually do.”
But I don't usually do this at all. Not with him. The fact that he had been very clear that he had no preconceived notion of what to expect didn't help me in the least - what if he was disappointed by the whole experience? I had little more idea what I was doing in this instance than he did.
Already, I knelt at the foot of the bed, looking up along his lean body and noting how very different he was from a woman. No soft curves, or full breasts; all sharp angles - too sharp, even for a man - and hard where he should have been soft. Yet the look in his eyes when I met him was so much the same as I had seen before, so many times, that it made me want more than anything to investigate all of his differences, and see what I could find that was the same.
I traced a finger lightly along a prominent hipbone, fascination overriding my medical sensibilities as I brushed lower along a much narrower thigh than I was used to. I found myself drawing my fingers idly up and down the inside, feeling firm muscle where there had always been soft flesh before. A tiny whimper from further up the bed brought me back to my senses, and I looked up and smiled brightly. “You are amazing,” I stated honestly, and he squirmed in a way that I thought probably meant he enjoyed the compliment.
I crawled further up the bed to give in to the impulse to explore his upper body. Where I had always enjoyed putting my mouth and hands to the softness of a woman's breast, he was flat and hard here, with no give at all. I rolled an already-peaked nipple under my thumb and was rewarded with a pleasured gasp. I soon caught myself playing with the sparse hairs on his chest in an almost affectionate manner, fascinated by their presence where I was used to hairlessness.
Leaning closer, I pressed a kiss to lips that were as soft and warm and pliant as a woman's, though thankfully free of sticky paint. Rough stubble scratched at my chin, the extra stimulation not unpleasant but certainly new, and I wondered for a moment if this was what it was like for a woman to kiss a man. He sighed softly as I pulled back, and the sound was one so familiar to me as to be incongruous with the rest of the situation.
“Watson, please.”
“Patience, darling.” I replied automatically, then started at my own use of the feminine epithet after having spent time thinking about how masculine the subject of my attentions was. Far from being offended, though, he merely laughed softly, and so I began a trail of light kisses down his chest, noting that the soft, gentle rise of a woman's stomach was absent here, and his belly only softened a little below his naval, where a fine trail of dark hairs - far coarser than those on a female body - led down to his groin. I pressed my nose into the softer flesh, kissing wetly at smooth, pale skin that was not so terribly different, before trailing down further and being met with the most definitive evidence that this was not the body of a woman.
Naturally, I was not unfamiliar with male genitalia - it was perhaps in this that I could be most confident, for I knew the workings of it first hand. Despite the stimulation, he had only reached about half his potential by the time I turned my attentions more centrally. I watched, enthralled by the shift and play of strong muscles under my fingers, the slowly deepening blush, as he hardened under my touch. I reached lower to trace over the velveteen skin of his sac, weighing the globes gently in my hand and smiling at the stifled moan from above. Where previously I had worried about my own efficacy in this, here I could be sure I knew that I would create agreeable sensations. Now that I had this marvellous plaything, I would not be rushed. I extended a finger on the hand that was cupping him to press at the spot behind, where a bundle of nerve-endings made the skin incredibly sensitive to touch.
This brought me frighteningly close, though, to the thing that had been tugging at the back of my mind. Should I enter him? I had heard tell that penetration of that kind, done carefully enough, could bring great pleasure to a man - certainly, given the internal gland to be found a few inches in, there was a distinct possibility that this could be true. But was it worth the risk of putting him off for good? I could bring him off effectively enough with hands and mouth, and there would be no little pleasure in those acts. But then, should I allow my own fear and uncertainty to deny us both? Surely if I could not satisfy him completely, he would find someone else who could - there would be a number of people happy to take up the position, I was sure. I found that my finger had shifted further back while I was thinking, so close now to the spot that was giving me pause. Feeling daring, I brushed over his entrance gently, and heard a gasp from further up the bed.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. I just...I want...”
“You wish me to enter you?”
“Please. I want to feel you.”
Well, that settled that question effectively enough, though I thought there may be need for discussion later over just how much reading he'd been doing on the subject. To my great surprise, while I was contemplating how I might go about it, there was something being waved in front of my face. A little bottle of amber-coloured liquid. Oil, I realised, and looked up, one eyebrow raised.
“You planned this?”
“I...prepared for it. In a fit of optimism. That bottle has been hidden under my pillow for months.”
“I'm sorry it took so long, then.”
“The fault is entirely mine, my dear. I could easily have spoken up sooner.”
I fingered the little bottle with a soft smile on my face. Trust him to think of everything, even if he didn't really know what he was thinking of. I uncorked the bottle and coated my fingers generously.
“Are you sure?”
“Well, I can't be sure until I have data. But I am sure I would like to collect it. Please.”
It was impossible to deny him, stretched out and lying in wait for me to do whatever I wished. I pressed a slick finger against his entrance and pushed in to the first joint. This was not so terribly unusual either, though I'd only ever done this in a medical capacity, and normally at a better angle. But I wouldn't have asked him to turn over for the world, either, because now that I had catalogued his body in my mind, I didn't want to lose sight of all the things that made him different. Special.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No. Stop worrying, I'm a grown man and I could more than stop you if I wanted to.”
“Good point.”
Fears assuaged for the moment, I pressed in further, searching for the gland that I knew was there somewhere. I knew I'd found it when a startled cry came from above me, and looked up to make sure that I hadn't caused any pain.
“Do that again.” Came the breathless order, and I complied to be rewarded this time with a heartfelt moan. “Ah. Watson, please.”
I chuckled as he squirmed under me and placed a stabilising hand on his hip, stroking gently at his belly. Emboldened by the positive reaction, I began to shift my finger in an imitation of what I would do for a woman. I took, from the breathy little noises he was making, that I was doing much the right thing, and as I felt strong muscles begin to give and relax, I added a second finger and took up a proper massage of his insides. I was obliged at this point to apply rather more pressure to his hip with my other hand, to prevent him from hurting both of us. Once I found a steady rhythm, I widened my focus to see that he was practically sobbing now, and his cock was swollen and reddened and dripping pre-come.
“I take it you're enjoying yourself?”
“God, yes. Don't stop.”
“Oh, I don't intend to.” I grinned, and bent forward to inspect his manhood more closely - I had never seen one at the peak of sexual arousal this close before, and I thought it would be best to get everything I could out of this experience, as I was still unsure it wouldn't be my only chance. My tongue darted out almost of it's own volition once I was close enough. The taste of salt was nothing like unpleasant enough to deter me when he was moaning in earnest with every lick. It wasn't long before I was drawing him into my mouth, sucking sharply at the head and swirling my tongue around it. So absorbed was I by my dual tasks that I fear it took a frantic hand at my shoulder and a very loud cry of “stop” to get through to me. I pulled off and froze, looking up in fear and panic that I had done something very, very wrong.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, it's just-”
“Calm down. Please. You didn't hurt me...far from it, indeed, which was rather the problem.” He blushed furiously, and my brain spent a few moments catching up to what was going on.
“Oh. Oh! I see...and you didn't want...?”
“I want you inside me. And I am so far beyond ready that I cannot quite recall what it was like not to be.”
It was my turn to blush now - I had gotten carried away with what I was doing and, ironically enough, failed to pay attention to him. I retrieved the little bottle from where I had discarded it earlier; it had rolled a fair way across the bed during the course of our efforts. The cork was completely lost, but there was still enough oil left to coat myself in a manner that I thought would be adequate. I shuffled up the bed, between his legs, and the position that should have been familiar struck me once again as new, exciting in it's exoticness. I removed my fingers slowly, leaving as much slickness behind as I could and wiping the excess on the bedclothes. I spent a moment considering how best to approach positioning, and then gently lifted one of his legs over my hip and shifted further forward until I was pressed against the entrance to his body.
“Are you sure.”
“I may be forced to hurt you if you don't get on with it.” There was little actual force behind the words, but the meaning was clear and understood.
I took a deep breath, gripped his hips firmly, and pushed forward. There was a satisfying balance between pressure and give, and it took every once of willpower I had not to simply thrust in as far as I could go, instead of taking it slow. After long moments of pressing in as gently and smoothly as I was able, I could finally go no further, and breathed out heavily in relief, releasing the bruising grip I had taken on his hips - there would undoubtedly be bruises come morning.
When I looked up to check that I wasn't hurting him, I was met with the sight of flushed features, wide-open eyes and heavily-panting mouth.
“All right?”
“Perfect. A moment, if you please.” He gasped out, and whilst he didn't quite sound pained, it was with great effort that he had spoken.
“As long as you need.”
I watched him catch his breath for a few moments more, and then he locked eyes with me and nodded once decisively, and I pulled back and thrust in more quickly this time. The sound he made was very nearly a scream, though silent, and most definitely not one of pain. I became bolder then, thrusting in more fully, taking note as I went of how much warmer he was than any woman. Warmer, and somehow less smooth. Grittier, I thought, was the term I was searching for. It was different enough that I would never confuse the two acts, though it was certainly far from disagreeable. Indeed I fear I may have been slightly over-enthusiastic, for it took me some time to notice that I was causing his whole body to shudder with each thrust. I slowed myself down at that, and at the same time took hold of his cock and began working it in time to my newly-regulated thrusts. His back was arched a little, eyes glazed over and breath coming in sharp pants, with occasional, slightly pathetic moans breaking through. It was truly a sight to behold, and I wondered in that moment if I had ever seen anything quite so magnificent before.
My own release came as something of a surprise, and I was horrified for a moment when I realised that he hadn't reached his yet. Never had I come before my partner in such an ungentlemanly manner. But then had he been a woman, I could have brought him to orgasm several times by now, and almost had without meaning to once. The dynamic simply wasn't the same with a man, I realised, but I still felt the need to make it up to him. I pulled out carefully and lay down between his legs to take him in my mouth as I had before, only this time I would not be pulled away. His release was also completely different from a woman's, in taste, texture and appearance. I had wondered if this would be the final difference, until I crawled up the bed and collapsed next to him. He instantly curled himself tightly around me, clinging as if for dear life, and promptly fell asleep.
I suspect that was not because he was a man, though. I suspect it was because he was Sherlock Holmes.