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“Have you seen the morning edition?”
I held the newspaper out for Watson as he arrived down from his bedroom, a delectable vision of sleep-mussed hair in the burgundy dressing gown I had gifted him for his birthday. He took it with a nod of thanks and sat down. The fact that he had not bothered to dress before breakfast gave me a hint that he might be open to a little playfulness this morning.
“May I have the society pages, if you are not reading that section?”
I reached for the page on his lap, letting my fingers brush the inside of his thigh while my expression remained the picture of innocence. Before he could catch my hand I whisked the paper away, pretending to be absorbed in it. He adjusted himself and muttered something under his breath. I hid a grin behind the gossip section.
At breakfast I let a hand rest on his knee while I pointedly ignored my egg cup and sipped hot chocolate from Mrs. Hudson’s best china (I'd not broken anything in nearly two months). When she returned to take our plates I squeezed Watson’s leg under the table, biting back a smile at the sudden exhale that exploded from him at the improprietous touch.
“There’s no need to huff at me, Dr Watson, I am clearing the table as quickly as I can. You are picking up the most dreadful habits from Mr Holmes.”
Watson stammered a protest but she bustled out the door with her arms full before he could manage a proper apology.
“My dear fellow, you must refrain from irritating our landlady this early.”
He shot me a look that let me know I was in for it and I had to excuse myself to dress for the day before the state of things below the sash of my dressing gown became apparent.
I went walking to give Watson time to miss me. The time apart was vital for my own self control as well, for rarely looked more alluring than he did when frustrated beneath a thin veneer of polite civility. Just the thought of his hungry gaze– face flushed, lips parted beneath his bristling moustache– and I could barely quell my excitement. A brisk stroll would cool my ardour until the time came to indulge ourselves.
I wondered what Watson would do in my absence. He knew the rules of this game, but would he obey them? I had left him in a state of some arousal and relief by his own hands was forbidden. The same rule restricted my own behaviour and made my mind turn to what mischief I might initiate upon my return.
With excitement building in my mind, I chose to perform another circuit of the park to ensure that Watson was ready for whatever I might demand of him when I next set foot in our sitting room.
I gauged the time of my return perfectly. When I hung my hat and coat then walked in with an air of complete innocence, he looked up hungrily.
“Well,” he said in a voice both low and commanding that quite set my spine a-tingle. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Having a pleasant morning?” I asked, not meeting his gaze. I draped myself across the settee and reached for my pipe, not bothering to brush aside the lock of hair that slipped from its hold and fell across my forehead.
“A contemplative morning,” he said, looming over me, but not quite close enough to touch.
“And what has my dear companion been contemplating in my absence?”
He stepped forward and I lifted a leg and gently pressed the sole of my shoe against his groin, not pushing but warning. Here, and no further.
I watched his eyes widen but he did not retreat. Instead he surprised me with a wicked grin, but when he opened his mouth to speak we were interrupted by a visitor at the front door.
I righted myself and focused on lighting my pipe as Watson brushed off his trousers. We both cast glances at the visible bulge he sported and I flashed him a mirthful smile as Mrs. Hudson called up to announce Inspector Lestrade.
“How delightful to see you, please come in! Look, Watson, it's our dear friend from Scotland Yard!”
In a desperate attempt to look casual about the situation, Watson held one of his notebooks over his front with one hand and quickly shook Lestrade's hand with the other before retreating to the safety of his desk.
Lestrade looked a bit spooked by the warm welcome and I offered him a cigarette as Watson would not be standing up any time soon.
The reproachful look Watson gave me held a great deal of promise of things to come. Inspector Lestrade related a few observations about a case that vexed him and, as usual, I had given him three possible solutions by the time he had finished his second cigarette. Over a glass of sherry I narrowed it down to two likely conclusions and gave him instructions on how to question his suspects to narrow two down to one.
Watson was quiet until Lestrade finished writing his own notes, then he sprang up, offered Lestrade a handshake and steered him gently but firmly to the door.
“Holmes, that was beyond the rules,” he said tersely as he locked the door. “I ought to teach you a lesson on good manners.”
“I look forward to it,” I purred. “It will be a fair trade for all the patience and restraint I’ve been teaching you.”
I expected a sharp retort to my comment but Watson leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Now even for you Holmes, that is unusually perceptive.”
I blinked. “What is?”
“Restraint,” Watson said, raising a brow. “You asked me what I was contemplating in your absence.”
A pleasant little thrill went through me at the tone of his voice. Watson’s capacity to surprise and delight me was one of his most endearing traits.
I sidled up to him and took advantage of my height to back him gently against the door. He gazed up at me with an unmistakable fire in his eyes as I leaned in to whisper, “I simply can’t imagine what you mean by that.”
His lips grazed mine before I pulled back again. Watson cleared his throat.
“Come upstairs with me, there’s something I’d like your assistance with.”
I resisted the urge to pout at the unexpected conclusion of our game, but if he’d had enough of my teasing I would concede and enjoy whatever came next. He took my hand and led me to his bedroom.
He walked infuriatingly slowly. I was, by now, of a mind to take the stairs three at a time and push him into his own bedroom, onto his own bed and treat him as he once demanded: I am here to be used, so use me. But he was not to be rushed. He took the stairs placing one unhurried foot sedately before the other and I could only follow.
Upon reaching the landing where his room sat above my own, he opened the door and commanded me to wait in a tone of voice that made the skin of my back prick up into gooseflesh in the most delightful manner. I would not argue with my Captain Watson. He left me for only a moment, returning with a length of soft, black silk in his hands. I recognised the scarf I had gifted him for visits to the Royal Opera House.
“You have teased me mercilessly, my dear,” he said. “Therefore I declare that it is my turn to be the tease.”
And with that, he wound the silk around my head so that I would see not even the slightest hint of what he planned to do next.
A blush flooded my cheeks and my cock stirred to full arousal. Before I could even form a protest he pulled me into his room and began to undress me. His maddeningly methodical pace precluded any attempt to rush things along. I was entirely at the mercy of his steady and capable hands. With his hot breath on my neck and the bewitching scent of his cologne inflaming my desire, I struggled to keep my hands to myself. My soldier was not to be disobeyed.
At last I was laid out upon my back on the bed with my wrists and ankles tied to each of the four posts with two pairs of his suspenders and two more scarves. I wriggled a little but did not test my bonds too strongly, excited by the possibilities.
“Watson,” I called, desperate for the warmth of his hands again.
“Where is that patience you spoke of before?” He taunted me. The soft rustling of clothes let me know he would soon join my state of undress. When he finally, finally crawled up beside me I leaned up to meet his mouth but he only pressed a playful kiss to the tip of my nose. His lips brushed my chin, my throat, and my collarbones with a tenderness that only increased my wanting. My nipples hardened as he brushed his thumbs over them. I thrust up once and was pressed lovingly back down with one firm hand on each hip.
“That won’t do at all, my darling.”
“Unfair!” I protested, the sound more of a gasp than a word.
“Of course it’s unfair,” he said, patting my hip. “That’s the point. You are at the mercy of my desires.” His hand stilled. “Of course, you know exactly what to say?”
I nodded, for I knew that a single call of Yarders! would see me freed from my comfortable bonds and scooped into his arms.
“Well, then. Allow me to take care of us both.”
He leaned down and sucked a hot kiss onto the cool, pale skin of my abdomen. I would have a memento to replace the one that had faded to yellow on my hip. He followed this act by tracing the line of my collarbone with the point of his tongue, pausing to kiss the hollow beneath my throat. He diverted his attention to my nipples again, feasting on one and then the other with lips and tongue and teeth until I squirmed so much, unsure of whether to beg him to stop or to continue, that I almost threw him off me.
He laid his head on my chest and blew air across my peaked nipple, chilling it and making me desire his mouth again. And he gave it to me - he heaved himself higher and kissed me once on the lips before resuming his relentless southerly quest.
Though I ached for a soothing kiss to the neglected organ that remained at attention for my captain, he ignored it entirely, favouring the insides of my thighs. He tormented me by burying his nose in the crease of my leg and groin, and tickling me with his moustache. I begged very prettily for him but did not use our word so he might continue his path down my tensing legs. I almost shouted with laughter when he blew on my toes and stroked the soles of my feet.
“John, please, I can’t bear not having you this instant.”
“You will have me,” he said, between deliberately slow kisses against my ankles, “when I am good and ready and not. A. Moment. Before.”
He paused as thought considering his next path of approach. When he returned to nuzzle my ear I thought my “punishment” had come to an end but he could be deviously-minded when we played these little games of ours.
“Has it not yet occurred to you, my mischievous troublemaker, that I am quite capable of taking my pleasure from your body without bringing you to your own crisis?”
A choked off gasp escaped me, “You are too much of a gentleman.”
“I am a man who has been provoked most cruelly and I believe you are due a bit of punitive action, don’t you think?”
He punctuated his declaration with a nip to my earlobe. I twisted in my bindings and his chuckle at my plight sent another spark of arousal straight to my groin.
“You are helpless, my darling Holmes, and there is nothing to prevent me from rutting between your thighs while you plead for release. I might even stop your pleas with my mouth while I work myself against you… if you are very lucky I will tease the base of your cock without letting you finish. You could do nothing to stop me.”
The mental image of my darling taking pleasure while I could do nothing but exist for his use made me whimper as my neglected member twitched in anticipation of at least an accidental touch.
I spoke with a little force. “Do it, then.”
He did not reply to my dare with words, but with actions. His weight moved and I imagined him settling over me with his weight on one steadying elbow and his own slicked staff in his hand as he guided it between my thighs. My ankles were tied so I could not trap him the way I wanted, the way that would give me some measure of delight also as he thrust against the sensitive skin behind my ballocks. As his prick slid against me, I cursed at the intensity of my desire for his touch and he laughed softly, breath puffing against my skin.
“Perhaps you like this too much,” he said.
I shook my head, not trusting my words. He rocked gently against me at first, careful not to settle too much weight on me, sending delightful tingles through my groin as his prick rubbed the underside of my ballocks and his soft, lower belly trapped my cock against my own belly and pressed rhythmically on it.
I gasped once and he stopped. I whimpered a complaint and he kissed me, leaving his lips close to mine as he resumed with faster, harder thrusts of his hips. I heard the change in his breathing as his pleasure built and he neared his agony of bliss, and I met his thrusts with shallow rolls of my hips to encourage him and to bring my own little death closer.
With a series of breathy moans, he reached his release. I felt the warmth of it against my arse and the sensation almost brought me to my conclusion. He lay still for a minute, a pleasant weight on my body, then he kissed me and sat up.
He cupped my ballocks and held my hard cock around the root of it. For a horrifying moment I thought he planned to make good on his threat to leave me unsatisfied.
“For God’s sake, man, touch me!”
“My darling, you are in no position to be giving orders.”
I whimpered and cursed. “You are a cruel man, John Watson!”
His hands massaged my ballocks and my root. I groaned, forcing my head and shoulders down onto the bed as I desperately raised my hips to find relief. With a contented sigh, he relented. He took my prick into his mouth and within a minute my agony of bliss crashed over me with such intensity that I may have blacked out for a second or two.
He did not release me yet, but came up to lie beside me, a possessive hand cradling my spent cock. Tender kisses against my jawline set me further aglow: the pleasant post-coital haze the perfect accompaniment to sweet whispers of praise against my skin.
His practised doctor's hands made quick work of my bindings and as I blinked at the low light from his partially drawn curtains he wrapped me fully in strong arms.
“Are you satisfied, dear heart?”
“I could sleep for the rest of the day,” I said, and meant it.
“Sleep in my arms, then.”
When we were fully enmeshed, as tangled up in one another as two people can be, he stroked my hair and nuzzled my cheek.
“I do love it when you play the rapscallion with me.”
“If this turnabout is in store I will indulge myself more often.”
“I will give my naughty boy what he deserves,” Watson promised, tilting my chin with a finger to deliver a passionate kiss I eagerly surrendered to.
“And what do I deserve?” I asked, lips close to the shell of his ear, lingering on the sibilant in a way that made his skin prick up.
He shivered and laughed, holding me tighter to him for an instant. “Unless you have other plans for the remainder of the morning, let’s lie here and rest for another ten minutes then I will show you.”
I smiled and closed my eyes. As I welcomed another kiss, so tender and reverent that it made my heart ache, I wondered just what good I had done in my life that meant I deserved John Watson.