Fic: The Case of the Roman Dinner Party
Title: The Case of the Roman Dinner Party
Author:
lefaym
Beta: Many thanks to misswinterhill.
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Doyle)
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Holmes/Watson
Summary: Holmes insists that Watson accompany him to a Roman-style dinner party in order to gather some vital information--but are his motives pure?
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: PUBLIC DOMAIN, BABY! (But, Arthur Conan Doyle made these characters, not me.)
Word Count: Approx. 1,500 words.
A/N: This was written for the
kink_bingo prompt: "Historical Role Play".
Cross-posted to AO3
The Case of the Roman Dinner Party
"There!" Sherlock Holmes exclaimed. "You see, Watson, these costumes do not look nearly so ridiculous as you feared they would."
I sighed as I struggled with the yards of white fabric draped around my shoulders. "That may be true in your case, Holmes," I said, "but I am afraid that my frame is not suited to Roman attire."
"Nonsense, Watson, nonsense!" Holmes crossed the dressing room to stand in front of me. "If you will allow me to make just a few small adjustments, all will be well. Now, raise your arms a little, out to the sides."
I did as Holmes requested, and within moments, the toga sat properly. I observed myself in the mirror. "I'm still not sure about this, Holmes."
"I assure you, my dear Watson, there is no cause for unease."
It did not surprise me that Holmes felt this way. With his dark hair, his long nose, and his thin frame, he could easily be mistaken for a distinguished Roman Senator. I, however, appeared to be exactly what I was: a nineteenth century Englishman in anachronistic clothing.
"Are you certain this is necessary?" I asked.
Holmes nodded. "It is the only way that I can acquire the information I need regarding Lord Worthington's movements tomorrow. We are fortunate that my brother Mycroft was able to procure invitations for us both."
"I simply hope that I can manage to avoid making a complete fool of myself."
Holmes placed a warm hand on my back. "Have no fear of that, Watson," he assured me.
As always, Holmes' touch calmed me, and I managed to maintain my dignity as we made our way to Worthington's dining hall, which had been outfitted as a triclinium for the evening: the large central table was covered with fine cheeses, olives and grapes, while the guests reclined in large sofas pushed against the walls. I was pleased to see that I was not the only guest who appeared out of place at this eccentric dinner party, and my nerves calmed as Lord Worthington greeted us.
The theatrical nature of this strange event appealed to Holmes, and he quickly abandoned his usual reticence to mingle with the crowd, the answers to each of his seemingly innocuous questions undoubtedly revealing more to him than any guest besides myself suspected. Where he had the opportunity, he conversed in fluent Latin, and I was unable to follow him, for my own command of that ancient language had grown rusty since my days as a student.
When it became clear that I would be of little assistance to Holmes, I found myself a position on one of the sofas that would allow me to observe Holmes from afar. I admired the way he held himself, and the way that those expressive long white fingers would guide his partner in conversation so subtly that only one who knew him well would notice it. I admired the way his eyes would flash as he made a joke, and the way that he smiled imperiously as he listened to others. I had been wrong, I decided, to compare Holmes to a Senator; even without the purple trim on his costume, Holmes was every inch an Emperor.
For the first time, I became truly glad that Holmes had convinced me to wear these historical robes, as the folds of fabric made it easy to conceal my growing arousal. I wished, suddenly, that Holmes and I were back at 221B Baker Street, where it was possible to indulge in intimacies without fear of discovery. But then, if we were back at Baker Street, I would not be here to witness Holmes' most delightful performance.
When I noticed that Holmes was walking towards me, I stood to greet him in as casual a manner as possible. Vainly, I attempted to banish all indecent thoughts from my head. Yet, if Holmes deduced my excited state, he gave no sign of it, although he brought his head in close to mine.
"You must come with me now, Watson," he said. "We are very close to obtaining the information we require."
I followed Holmes without a word as he surreptitiously left the dining hall and led me down a narrow passage and up what must have been a servants' staircase. Finally, he opened a heavy door to reveal a rather ornate bedroom.
"Quickly, Watson," said Holmes, as he crossed the room and opened the doors to a wardrobe that stood against the far wall. "We must conceal ourselves."
Even now, I can vividly recall the intense agitation I experienced, enclosed in the empty wardrobe with Holmes in such close proximity to myself, knowing that under these circumstances, I could not prevail upon him to relieve my arousal. Although it might have been foolish, it was all too easy for me to imagine the way we might have lived had we actually lived in ancient Rome, where inverted men such as ourselves were not censured by law.
I wish I could report that I was rescued from such thoughts by the arrival of Lord Worthington and a chap by the name of Samuels, but I fear that I had entered into such a distracted state that I can barely recall the details of their conversation. It is fortunate that Holmes' memory is more effective than my own, and that, consquently, he was able to retain the necessary information.
It seemed to me that Worthington and Samuels conversed for an age, although reason tells me that it cannot have been more than five minutes. When they finally left the room, I breathed a sigh of relief and raised my hand to the wardrobe door, that I might escape my torment. As I did so, however, Holmes sensed my movement and closed his hand firmly around my wrist.
"Not yet, Watson," he whispered. "Not yet."
Holmes pulled on my arm, and though he was gentle, he applied enough force that I momentarily lost my balance and found my own body pressed against Holmes'. It was then that I discovered that Holmes himself had not been unaffected by my presence, for I could feel the evidence of his excitement most clearly through the folds of his toga, and in that moment I was quite overcome. I pressed my lips to his, and I felt a sudden jolt throughout my entire body when Holmes responded in kind. I knew then that we would not leave this wardrobe without finding release.
Although the darkness and the unfamiliar cut of our costumes delayed us, this did not lessen my enjoyment. On the contrary, I found that there was a certain freedom to be found in our dress, when I recalled my earlier fantasy about living with Holmes in Rome. Even hidden within the wardrobe, I am not sure that I would have found the courage to engage in such intimacies with Holmes outside the safety of our rooms at Baker Street, had I not been boldened by our host's attempts to recreate the bygone era.
When we were done--when both of us had found satisfaction--I allowed myself to lean against Holmes for a moment. As rational thought returned to me, I was seized by a particular idea.
"Holmes," I said slowly, "do you know, I don't think it was actually necessary for me to accompany you to this wardrobe--nor even to this party. It seems to me that you would have managed quite well on your own."
"Do you really think so, Watson?" he asked.
I considered the matter further. "Indeed I do. In fact," I continued, "if I apply your own methods, I can only conlude that you invited me along because you hoped that these costumes would have the very effect upon both of us that we have just experienced. Am I wrong, Holmes?"
Holmes laughed, and opened the wardrobe door. "Now, Watson," said he, "surely you do not wish me to take the fun out of your experience by either confirming or denying your theories."
"But--" I protested.
"Come now, my dear fellow," Holmes interrupted me. "We must clean ourselves up and hurry back to the dinner party, or we shall be missed, and I am not sure how we would explain our absence. I also believe that our host has arranged for a whole roast hog to be served as the main course--and I am sure you do not want to miss that!"
I sighed, knowing that Holmes would continue to be his usual inscrutable self throughout the rest of the evening. Still, I was certain now that the dinner party would not be without its enjoyments, for I fully intended to take advantage of the freedoms offered to me by our unconventional attire. Indeed, I hoped that Holmes and I might find another opportunity to seclude ourselves away from the other guests before this evening was done.
Author:
lefaym
Beta: Many thanks to misswinterhill.
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Doyle)
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Holmes/Watson
Summary: Holmes insists that Watson accompany him to a Roman-style dinner party in order to gather some vital information--but are his motives pure?
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: PUBLIC DOMAIN, BABY! (But, Arthur Conan Doyle made these characters, not me.)
Word Count: Approx. 1,500 words.
A/N: This was written for the
kink_bingo prompt: "Historical Role Play".
Cross-posted to AO3
The Case of the Roman Dinner Party
"There!" Sherlock Holmes exclaimed. "You see, Watson, these costumes do not look nearly so ridiculous as you feared they would."
I sighed as I struggled with the yards of white fabric draped around my shoulders. "That may be true in your case, Holmes," I said, "but I am afraid that my frame is not suited to Roman attire."
"Nonsense, Watson, nonsense!" Holmes crossed the dressing room to stand in front of me. "If you will allow me to make just a few small adjustments, all will be well. Now, raise your arms a little, out to the sides."
I did as Holmes requested, and within moments, the toga sat properly. I observed myself in the mirror. "I'm still not sure about this, Holmes."
"I assure you, my dear Watson, there is no cause for unease."
It did not surprise me that Holmes felt this way. With his dark hair, his long nose, and his thin frame, he could easily be mistaken for a distinguished Roman Senator. I, however, appeared to be exactly what I was: a nineteenth century Englishman in anachronistic clothing.
"Are you certain this is necessary?" I asked.
Holmes nodded. "It is the only way that I can acquire the information I need regarding Lord Worthington's movements tomorrow. We are fortunate that my brother Mycroft was able to procure invitations for us both."
"I simply hope that I can manage to avoid making a complete fool of myself."
Holmes placed a warm hand on my back. "Have no fear of that, Watson," he assured me.
As always, Holmes' touch calmed me, and I managed to maintain my dignity as we made our way to Worthington's dining hall, which had been outfitted as a triclinium for the evening: the large central table was covered with fine cheeses, olives and grapes, while the guests reclined in large sofas pushed against the walls. I was pleased to see that I was not the only guest who appeared out of place at this eccentric dinner party, and my nerves calmed as Lord Worthington greeted us.
The theatrical nature of this strange event appealed to Holmes, and he quickly abandoned his usual reticence to mingle with the crowd, the answers to each of his seemingly innocuous questions undoubtedly revealing more to him than any guest besides myself suspected. Where he had the opportunity, he conversed in fluent Latin, and I was unable to follow him, for my own command of that ancient language had grown rusty since my days as a student.
When it became clear that I would be of little assistance to Holmes, I found myself a position on one of the sofas that would allow me to observe Holmes from afar. I admired the way he held himself, and the way that those expressive long white fingers would guide his partner in conversation so subtly that only one who knew him well would notice it. I admired the way his eyes would flash as he made a joke, and the way that he smiled imperiously as he listened to others. I had been wrong, I decided, to compare Holmes to a Senator; even without the purple trim on his costume, Holmes was every inch an Emperor.
For the first time, I became truly glad that Holmes had convinced me to wear these historical robes, as the folds of fabric made it easy to conceal my growing arousal. I wished, suddenly, that Holmes and I were back at 221B Baker Street, where it was possible to indulge in intimacies without fear of discovery. But then, if we were back at Baker Street, I would not be here to witness Holmes' most delightful performance.
When I noticed that Holmes was walking towards me, I stood to greet him in as casual a manner as possible. Vainly, I attempted to banish all indecent thoughts from my head. Yet, if Holmes deduced my excited state, he gave no sign of it, although he brought his head in close to mine.
"You must come with me now, Watson," he said. "We are very close to obtaining the information we require."
I followed Holmes without a word as he surreptitiously left the dining hall and led me down a narrow passage and up what must have been a servants' staircase. Finally, he opened a heavy door to reveal a rather ornate bedroom.
"Quickly, Watson," said Holmes, as he crossed the room and opened the doors to a wardrobe that stood against the far wall. "We must conceal ourselves."
Even now, I can vividly recall the intense agitation I experienced, enclosed in the empty wardrobe with Holmes in such close proximity to myself, knowing that under these circumstances, I could not prevail upon him to relieve my arousal. Although it might have been foolish, it was all too easy for me to imagine the way we might have lived had we actually lived in ancient Rome, where inverted men such as ourselves were not censured by law.
I wish I could report that I was rescued from such thoughts by the arrival of Lord Worthington and a chap by the name of Samuels, but I fear that I had entered into such a distracted state that I can barely recall the details of their conversation. It is fortunate that Holmes' memory is more effective than my own, and that, consquently, he was able to retain the necessary information.
It seemed to me that Worthington and Samuels conversed for an age, although reason tells me that it cannot have been more than five minutes. When they finally left the room, I breathed a sigh of relief and raised my hand to the wardrobe door, that I might escape my torment. As I did so, however, Holmes sensed my movement and closed his hand firmly around my wrist.
"Not yet, Watson," he whispered. "Not yet."
Holmes pulled on my arm, and though he was gentle, he applied enough force that I momentarily lost my balance and found my own body pressed against Holmes'. It was then that I discovered that Holmes himself had not been unaffected by my presence, for I could feel the evidence of his excitement most clearly through the folds of his toga, and in that moment I was quite overcome. I pressed my lips to his, and I felt a sudden jolt throughout my entire body when Holmes responded in kind. I knew then that we would not leave this wardrobe without finding release.
Although the darkness and the unfamiliar cut of our costumes delayed us, this did not lessen my enjoyment. On the contrary, I found that there was a certain freedom to be found in our dress, when I recalled my earlier fantasy about living with Holmes in Rome. Even hidden within the wardrobe, I am not sure that I would have found the courage to engage in such intimacies with Holmes outside the safety of our rooms at Baker Street, had I not been boldened by our host's attempts to recreate the bygone era.
When we were done--when both of us had found satisfaction--I allowed myself to lean against Holmes for a moment. As rational thought returned to me, I was seized by a particular idea.
"Holmes," I said slowly, "do you know, I don't think it was actually necessary for me to accompany you to this wardrobe--nor even to this party. It seems to me that you would have managed quite well on your own."
"Do you really think so, Watson?" he asked.
I considered the matter further. "Indeed I do. In fact," I continued, "if I apply your own methods, I can only conlude that you invited me along because you hoped that these costumes would have the very effect upon both of us that we have just experienced. Am I wrong, Holmes?"
Holmes laughed, and opened the wardrobe door. "Now, Watson," said he, "surely you do not wish me to take the fun out of your experience by either confirming or denying your theories."
"But--" I protested.
"Come now, my dear fellow," Holmes interrupted me. "We must clean ourselves up and hurry back to the dinner party, or we shall be missed, and I am not sure how we would explain our absence. I also believe that our host has arranged for a whole roast hog to be served as the main course--and I am sure you do not want to miss that!"
I sighed, knowing that Holmes would continue to be his usual inscrutable self throughout the rest of the evening. Still, I was certain now that the dinner party would not be without its enjoyments, for I fully intended to take advantage of the freedoms offered to me by our unconventional attire. Indeed, I hoped that Holmes and I might find another opportunity to seclude ourselves away from the other guests before this evening was done.