Saturday, September 1, 2012

Private Life, part 10

After reading about PLoSH again recently, I've written a new chapter on my Private Life fic aka "A Love Story Between Two Men". If you've forgotten, here's the first chapter, and each part links to the next. Other chapters and discussion of the movie are also tagged Private Life.

Chapter 9 left off with Holmes and Watson in their Paris hotel, on their honeymoon. This chapter finally moves out of France. Here's the honeymoon map again.

A Love Story Between Two Men, part 10

Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Story: movie-verse, The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Warnings: slash, rated NC-17

In the morning Holmes and Watson were still sticky from the night before, so they rose to clean themselves in the bathroom. They could not linger for a long bath, though, because they had to catch a train later that morning. So they washed efficiently, then brushed their teeth and playfully shaved each other by the sink.

When they returned to the bedroom, they picked up their discarded night-clothes, along with the erotic books that they'd dropped on the floor. They hurried to pack everything up, adding the books to Watson's satchel. After dressing, they ate a light breakfast, then checked out of the hotel. A short carriage ride brought them to the train station where they would resume their journey.

So Mr. Wilson and Mr. Hatch got another first-class carriage to themselves, and they drew the blinds so they could kiss and embrace. That would be the last they'd see of Paris, on this trip at least.

Watson asked if Holmes felt better, and he said yes, the cocaine craving had lessened. Lest Watson spend their honeymoon in "worried doctor" mode, he changed the subject.

Gesturing to the ring he wore, Holmes asked Watson about his university days. "After all the stories I've told you about my youth lately, I think it is your turn to reminisce now."

"Certainly," Watson said with a smile. He told amusing tales about his professors, his medical studies, and his days on the rugby team. "I took my share of knocks. That's why my leg acts up every now and then, depending on the weather."

"Ah, as does my ankle," Holmes said, gesturing to his scar from his dog bite.

Watson glanced at his now covered ankle, then said smilingly, "It is cute little scar."

"Is it?" Holmes asked with a raised eyebrow. He recalled that Watson had liked caressing and kissing it in bed.

"Yes. Tell me, did you have any injuries during your days as a boxer?"

"Oh, you will never cease to question me about my past, will you?"

They laughed and then reminisced over many scars they each had on their bodies.(Although they purposely did not mention Holmes's needle scars on his arm.)

Once the train left the city, they opened the blinds so they could see the autumn foliage in the countryside. Watson enjoyed the cheery scenery in contrast to foggy London, and Holmes contentedly lay his head on Watson's shoulder.

As they travelled deeper into France, they entered Burgundy, that lovely region known for its wines. They passed rolling hills dotted by medieval villages and the occasional castle. Holmes restrained himself from remarking that the countryside is a worse place for crime than the city, and Watson told him tales about his childhood, chasing Percy Phelps around the schoolyard and hitting his shins with a cricket bat.

"What about at home?" Holmes asked. "Any clashes there?"

Watson took the hint reluctantly. With a sigh, his spoke of his now dead alcoholic brother. "We were never really close, even when we were young."

Holmes sympathized, given his own strained fraternal relationship.

"Now we have each other for family," Watson said.

Holmes smiled and looked touched. Then he coughed and murmured, "What a romantic you are, James Wilson."

Watson agreed with a grin. What a wonderful honeymoon they were having.

Soon the railway began to run parallel to the Canal de Burgogne, that vital artery which allowed shipping traffic to flow to southeastern France. Watson enjoyed seeing the idyllic countryside and the gently flowing canal. Holmes said that the canal had been finished in 1832, and talked about its clever system of locks, which allowed boats to slowly rise as the canal went uphill. After the partition at its highest point, the canal flowed downstream to the SaƓne river.

Holmes and Watson disembarked the train at Dijon to enjoy a fine meal with a bottle of Beaune wine, which was Watson's favourite. They admired the architecture of the many churches in the city, and had a ramble through a couple of museums to view the artworks.

Finally, they returned to the railway station to catch another train. They embraced again in private, and the motion of the train lulled them into a cozy nap.

That night they crossed the French/Swiss border and arrived in Geneva, where they again checked into a hotel under their aliases. Their suite had a lovely view of the lake and the surrounding mountains.

By the light of a cozy fire, they ate another fattening gourmet meal, and Holmes joked that Simon Hatch might soon gain quite a lot of weight indeed. Watson smiled and knew it wouldn't change how he felt about Holmes's looks. He loved him for far more than his looks, anyway.

At last they retired to bed and undressed, but due to the cooler climate, they kept their nightshirts on. Still they kissed and played with each other under the covers, while Watson suggested that they read the erotic books again for more ideas. Soon they read about something called rimming, and Watson thought it sounded unpleasant, but Holmes suggested that they try it first before judging it.

"After all, you had never kissed me before that night after the ballet, but you found that you liked it."

"I certainly did." So Watson agreed to the experiment and turned over so that Holmes might lift his nightshirt above his arse.

Lying close between his legs, Holmes teased Watson slowly with soft nuzzling and warm kisses near his cleft. Then his hands began to hold Watson's cheeks firmly apart as he introduced his tongue. Watson reacted with surprised gasps at the hot, slick sensations. After some leisurely licking, Holmes pressed on, venturing inside with the very tip of his tongue.

Watson moaned and trembled with desire, becoming quite unable to think. "Oh God." He let the book drop carelessly out of bed.

Holmes paused to smile and murmur, "You do like it." Then returning to his task, he endeavoured to reach Watson's prostate, and when he did,Watson gave a sudden cry and nearly jumped.

"You're all right?"

"Yeah, I--too much. Just... too much."

"I'm sorry." Holmes gave him a moment to breathe. "Perhaps if you were to demonstrate to me what it feels like, then I should know the intensity..."

Watson hesitated only a moment before turning around to Holmes and nodding eagerly. "Yes, I want to."

So now Holmes rolled over for his turn at the intimate act. Watson slid up his nightshirt and admired Holmes's nicely shaped arse for a moment before eagerly lavishing attention on it. He tried to be slow and teasing with his tongue too, but there was an added sensation of Watson's moustache tickling Holmes's skin. Holmes liked this quite a lot, quivering and moaning in his desire.

Holmes begged for more, so Watson gently started adding his fingers along with his tongue. He quite forgot about merely trying to demonstrate "what it feels like" or to copy the book; he just wanted to keep tasting and touching his beautiful lover.

By the time Watson reached his prostate, Holmes was quite desperate, asking for the vaseline and for Watson to be inside him again.

"Yes." Watson was very hard, and he scrabbled to find the vaseline and open it.

Meanwhile, Holmes turned over to face him and held his legs open as well as he could, for he still wanted to try this position. Holmes did seem more flexible now, so Watson went along and hurried to lubricate him. Then he plunged in and Holmes cried out again, closing his eyes. Jostled by the movement, the tails of Holmes's nightshirt slid down over Watson's hands on his hips, and he liked that sensation too. Slowly Watson pressed on, tangling their fevered bodies.

When he was filled, Holmes opened his eyes again to watch Watson's face with each passionate thrust. He was overcome with emotions, including gratitude that his love was requited after all. "John."

"Oh Sherlock."

With an idea, Holmes reached for the vaseline and began to rub Watson's cleft again.

Watson gasped, but liked it, thrusting harder and holding Holmes closer.

Finally Holmes slid a finger inside, and tried to imitate Watson's rhythm. Watson shuddered and lost all control, imagining how it would feel when Holmes took him in return. For now he gently withdrew and stroked Holmes to set off his orgasm as well. Both their nightshirts were quite a mess now, so they finally took them off and tossed them aside. Then with weary words of love, they snuggled together for warmth the rest of the night.

To be continued.

Next chapter they shall be in Italy and soon Venice.

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