Holmes is up and waiting at the door to their sitting room as soon as he hears what can only be Watson approaching from the street below. Even he can recognize that that observation had been a little farfetched, as there were many people out today, but he was right, wasn't he? And now Watson's coming up the stairs, and Holmes frets, quickly trying to assess any damage he might have picked up, but it all only seems to be packages.
"Was all this really necessary?" he drawls, arching an eyebrow, and he reaches out to take something from Watson.
"Of course it was." Watson put the remainder of his packages down on the door, and he took Holmes in his arms and kissed him, warm and loving and surprisingly calm for someone whose life was possibly in danger. "It's Christmas, my dear. You don't honestly expect me to pretend otherwise?"
His arm did ache, the stitches still in his flesh, but it hardly seemed the time and place to complain about that.
However annoyed he is at Watson not -- not -- well, not remaining perfectly still until he's entirely healed, or something along those lines, he melds easily into the kiss and wraps an arm around him briefly.
"You needn't pretend otherwise. We're perfectly capable of celebrating Christmas without holly," he points out as he draws away and stoops to recover more packages. "Get inside before you tea gets cold," he chides and turns away in a huff.
"Did I miss tea?" Watson returned, faintly teasing. He followed, repressing the urge to catch Holmes from behind and... well, his plan didn't go far beyond that, admittedly. "And I don't know how you expect me to celebrate Christmas without holly. What about mistletoe? Surely you wouldn't leave me without mistletoe."
He moved to the table, pouring himself a cup of tea, and he took a long sip, savouring it. "Don't tell me now that you object to a little seasonal decoration."
With an effort, Watson fell still, his eyes still closed. He hated this, hated being weak and injured and less than what he could be, and hated that he would never really be physically whole again. He let Holmes undress him, enjoying the brush of knuckles against his skin for a moment or two before turning his head to kiss Holmes's neck, far more gently than he had before, his ardor slightly muted now.
"Patience is not always something I find it easy to exercise, when it comes to you," he sighed. He trailed his fingers over Holmes's chest, moving in slow, gentle circles.
"And there are times when I'm very thankful for that," he returns warmly.
He divests Watson of his shirt, moving carefully over his stitches, and he leans forward to kiss his good shoulder; he ghosts his lips over his skin, moving slowly and gently. What upsets him most about Watson's opinion of himself is that he seems to find himself somehow less, but all Holmes manages to see is that Watson overcame, and he's here now, warm and alive in his arms.
He doesn't want this to turn into something sad and depressing. They were gearing up for some enjoyable afternoon sex, made all the more enjoyable by the fact that Mrs. Hudson is out all afternoon and so they can be a little bit louder. He doesn't want all that thwarted because some criminal wants one or both of them dead. Not at Christmas.
So he scrapes his teeth against Watson's skin, then again, and then he bites a little more forcefully, and he slides his hand to cup Watson's arse.
It was not hard to slip back into the right frame of mind, and Watson lifted his head to kiss Holmes a little more forcefully -- although admittedly perhaps just a little more cautious about his injured arm. He would be very glad when he was healed again, to be sure, but seemingly against all odds, here was Holmes now, and here was Holmes wanting him now.
"I think," he said, "that mistletoe is wasted on us. We hardly need it, do we?"
"I could always use an excuse to kiss you," he murmurs thickly, and he captures Watson's mouth in another kiss, deep and searching, before he breaks away and sets himself on Watson's neck. He follows his collarbone with his tongue, presses kisses at the junction of his shoulder and neck, and he tugs his earlobe between his teeth, scraping at the skin. He tugs at Watson's flies, his fingers brushing against the skin of his abdomen, and he draws away from Watson with a husky chuckle.
"Though considering how quickly I went from decorating Christmas to wanting, a little desperately, for you to bugger me, mistletoe does seem a bit superfluous."
Comments 69
"Was all this really necessary?" he drawls, arching an eyebrow, and he reaches out to take something from Watson.
Reply
His arm did ache, the stitches still in his flesh, but it hardly seemed the time and place to complain about that.
Reply
"You needn't pretend otherwise. We're perfectly capable of celebrating Christmas without holly," he points out as he draws away and stoops to recover more packages. "Get inside before you tea gets cold," he chides and turns away in a huff.
Reply
He moved to the table, pouring himself a cup of tea, and he took a long sip, savouring it. "Don't tell me now that you object to a little seasonal decoration."
Reply
"Patience is not always something I find it easy to exercise, when it comes to you," he sighed. He trailed his fingers over Holmes's chest, moving in slow, gentle circles.
Reply
He divests Watson of his shirt, moving carefully over his stitches, and he leans forward to kiss his good shoulder; he ghosts his lips over his skin, moving slowly and gently. What upsets him most about Watson's opinion of himself is that he seems to find himself somehow less, but all Holmes manages to see is that Watson overcame, and he's here now, warm and alive in his arms.
He doesn't want this to turn into something sad and depressing. They were gearing up for some enjoyable afternoon sex, made all the more enjoyable by the fact that Mrs. Hudson is out all afternoon and so they can be a little bit louder. He doesn't want all that thwarted because some criminal wants one or both of them dead. Not at Christmas.
So he scrapes his teeth against Watson's skin, then again, and then he bites a little more forcefully, and he slides his hand to cup Watson's arse.
Reply
"I think," he said, "that mistletoe is wasted on us. We hardly need it, do we?"
Reply
"Though considering how quickly I went from decorating Christmas to wanting, a little desperately, for you to bugger me, mistletoe does seem a bit superfluous."
Reply
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