Watson has been known to have many patients that see him as important or handsome. I am not surprised, for he is the type of man that anyone would find attractive, and I have always enjoyed his touches as much as I enjoy touching him, though I must admit I have yet to speak to him on these matters. He enjoys my company but I know Stamford and having been introduced through such a connection, I must admit I was surprised the talkative, annoying man didn’t visit more often. It was before we traveled to Reigate that I learned he and Stamford were just friends. His friend that we spent time with…
I have ears, and it is a bachelor pad. Perhaps that was why I didn’t take his advice to heart concerning my nerves, but the small mystery was good for me and despite leaving Watson to speak to his former friend (I can say now because I’ve not heard of him since, nor has Reigate been mentioned), I was all the better for at least knowing Watson enjoyed the company of men.
However, that did not stop my general dislike for a specific patient, one who’s ailments have kept Watson away for far longer then I like or care to think of. The patient came down with brain fever after an incident that Watson cannot speak to me about, for the patient asked for it to be as such. Not that I don’t know already after a day’s worth of checking, but that is beside the point. Having no friends in the area and also having called upon Watson to help him for some unknown reason, I now saw far less of Watson then I ever had when he was married.
It was a few weeks later and I was in a rather horrid mood when Watson came home, looking slightly out of sorts himself, but not in the angry sort that I wanted him to be in now. No, there was more to it, and I felt my jealousy rise as I stood and crossed the space between us, he with his back turned to me and checking his unopened correspondence. All of it dropped on his desk as I put my arms around him, trapping him and also startling him as a hand moved to his chin, directing it to face me.
“Are you so used to being alone that I am to be ignored now?”
“You were not in a good mood,” he muttered, and I could feel his body’s heat, radiating from our close proximity and, I am sure, embarrassment at the fact he was quite trapped and knew it. “Talking to you often does no good, and even when I have tried, you don’t always answer in the best way.”
I knew that. I had told him as much when we decided to move in together.
“You’re the reason for my bad mood,” I muttered, leaning closer so that our lips were nearly touching, and I was suddenly glad he had changed into a dressing gown with only a few layers between us. “Your patient demands much of you, so much that I am getting rather annoyed with him. Is he better?”
“He is,” he muttered, attempting to move away but I tightened my grip only slightly, pressing with my thumb and middle finger along his chin to points I knew that would cause pain and also stop a person from moving, my arm around him also tightening to hold him closer to me. “Holmes, stop this.”
“I am far too jealous of those you have spent your time with,” I murmured to him, my eyes half-closed and simply taking in that scent around him. It was purely Watson but also mingled with the smell of the patient, one I was only partly used to after his infrequent breakfasts and even less dinners at Baker Street. “I am jealous that you smell like him. I was jealous of many others, but I could hold it back because you always returned to me and Baker Street. I was afraid this time that you wouldn’t.”
“Holmes, someone will see us.”
“They won’t,” I was getting closer and could feel his body flush even more with fear, anger, desire, embarrassment, and felt him attempting to pull away, though only slightly. He’s seen my strength and knows only a few ways to break it, but I currently have in such an intimate and total hold that I doubt he can or will be able to break away. “Mrs. Hudson is out for the day, and no one is in the house across the street that we used so well that one occasion, when I returned to you.”
“You should not have left.”
“If I hadn’t, then you would have been targeted,” I wondered why this turned into a confession, and was angry at it. My jealousy of those who had him in three years of my being gone caused me to kiss him roughly, thrusting my tongue into his mouth as he attempted to protest. He tasted of expensive brandy and foods, none of which we had in Baker Street. My jealousy grew even more as I broke away, “I kept away and Moriarty thought you no less than a life-sized doll I took with me. Moran respected you for your military career but did not bother you because I had turned my back on you when you were calling for me, and no one who cares for someone would be so callous.” My anger died as I said that, though my jealousy was still burning as I kissed him again, gently this time and simply. “My heart still breaks, thinking of what I had to do to you, of what I had to make you think, in order to keep you safe and alive.”
Watson was breathing heavily from the kisses and, I wondered, if not from the rather forced confession a few words from him had brought out. He has such a way of making me tell him my secrets it’s a wonder he doesn’t see me as ordinary and dull.
My thumb moved to trace his swollen lips and I briefly wondered if this was the best way to tell him I did not want him to continue visiting that patient, that I wanted him to remain by my side and my side alone.
“Holmes,” he said softly, licking his lips lightly and looking up at me, “please let me go.”
Somehow, to me, that was the wrong thing at this moment to say. I kept my hold on him, but I didn’t tighten it or loosen it either. I lightly touched his lips with mine and moved along one side of his jaw instead, placing light, almost fluttering kisses along it and found me moving his head slightly to get at his neck. The hand on his jaw moved to undo his collar and buttons on his shirt.
“Holmes,” I heard Watson gasp, moving slightly and instead of getting free opening up more for me to kiss and suck at. I considered marking the spot where his shoulder appeared as I finished with the available shirt buttons and moved up to cover his mouth as he started to sound a little desperate or angry, I honestly didn’t care at this point. His shoulders were soon exposed, and I was amazed to find that even as my hands traveled, one inside his shirt towards his nipples and other to cover his mouth, he didn’t attempt to get free either. At least two fingers found their way into his mouth, though I expected him to bite down on at least one.
I paused long enough to whisper in his ear, “The way this is, the way this stands, I am forcing you. Your reputation is safe. Watson…please…I am far too jealous. I gain all the attention but because I go searching for it,” I moved back to kissing his shoulder and neck, this time on the other side, as I felt him stiffen and arch slightly at the stimulation my hands were giving him, and sucking a little on the fingers in his mouth. “But to not have you with me, to not have you speak and make me explain all in such clarity…to share with someone who won’t allow you back so that I may be selfish with you, so that I might be jealous but know you will return…that is a hell I cannot live in.”
My hand had stopped playing with his chest and moved down to open the first of his flies, and I now felt his hands move, attempting to either stop or help me in my final destination. I didn’t want that. I moved quickly and had him in my hand before he could reach me, gasping around my fingers and tense against my body as my own need pressed against him, demanding to be where it should have been a few minutes after we met and I realized this nut-brown man was hurt but the most handsome and wanton thing I would find and decided that I would find a way to be his friend, despite my failed attempts save with Trevor, who really simply liked me for my technique and my deductive skills then my friendship.
I felt more then heard him attempt to speak, my fingers coated with saliva and I removed them as he looked over at me, breathing heavy from my slow movements along his sensitive parts that only just missed the very sensitive tip and from the stimulation he was still feeling. “Th-there’s some-ah—table, Holmes, the table…”
“You want me to take you over it,” I whispered as he continued to gasp, attempts to thrust only meeting with me letting go and returning to his chest and sides, “or there is something there for me?”
“L-lub-ah, Holmes, stop-stop that…”
I smiled as I sucked at the crook of his neck, licking and wondering if I shouldn’t mark him, if that wouldn’t somehow help in his remembering that I was the one who would give him everything he wanted, that all he needed do was start a fight and I would slowly torment him to death with kisses and touches as his body caught fire and drew closer to that little death.
“I see,” I moved enough to free one of his arms, “get it for me, will you?”
He reached for it, then moved a little before I caught his manhood again, causing him to fall back against me and shudder at the contact.
“Tell me truthfully you never did this with your friend at Reigate, or that Stamford didn’t have you like this shortly before we met, or that countless others haven’t handled you,” I was angry again, and jealous. Why did others get what I never would unless I forced him into it? Did he not realize how much I might hate myself after this for what I would do?
“I…always to me, it’s alwa--.”
I felt myself freeze at the confession I did not mean to wring out of him, and turned him, so we faced each other and I saw his face red with shame as I forced him to look at me and kissed him soundly, as I should have done before.
“This time,” I muttered when we were done and both were panting, for Watson can kiss in such a way that even a little will leave one craving it for eternity, “let me this time, and all others shall be yours, save the ones that I am so angry and wish to know you are mine. I’ve been yours in so many ways, Watson, and I will be, however and whenever you like. But this once, let me banish the others.”
“The others were never so kind,” he said, and I suddenly was both jealous of them having Watson and so angry that I hugged him closer, as if holding him tight enough would merge us and force out all those bad memories that caused his nightmares, that caused him to sometimes be so sad, that made him depressed on days filled with sunshine. His arms wrapped around me and held as I loosened mine, kissing him again as I pushed down his trousers and used my fingers to test his entrance. I felt him stiffen at first as my legs and fingers slowly opened his legs for me, and one entered the first ring he hissed and buried the sound against my chest.
“I have you,” I muttered, slowly going into him, angling when I could and he gasping and attempting to impale himself when I found that small spot inside that made all men gasp for pleasure.
I slowly turned him around so he was standing but backed against me, using me as the sole thing keeping him upright while I stretched his muscle, inserting another finger as he made sounds of barely-suppressed pleasure and amazement.
My jealousy at those who had Watson made me slow and almost torturous in my use of his body, my anger that anyone would hurt him in such a way making me cautious and mindful of when he stiffened and relaxed, of how he acted. I treated his body with the same care and abandon I treated my Stradivarius at times, entering him slowly and with all the force of one who is dominating another utterly. He shuddered and was leaning heavily on me, I holding him up for only a minute before I sat in a chair, bringing him with me and impaling him further before I realized how good this way would be for him.
I leaned to whisper in his ear as I slowly stroked and lightly thrust into him, “You can decide at this part. I cannot go deeper without you moving, I cannot move at all without you. You’re in control of this, Watson, as I control you. As we always have been, a partnership. Move, Watson.”
As with many things, he did as I asked, and soon all there was in the world was him moving against me, gasping and crying in pleasure as the angle hit right, as my hand outside and my cock inside unraveled all that had been and undid him, I only just able to get my mouth around his as he let out a cry, coming to glory in such a violent manner that my own prick throbbed and exploded inside of him.
We were both sitting, panting as I came to myself a little quicker, slowly helping him stand and rubbing down his back at the wince before leading him to the bathroom and changing my own clothing, as I had only a small area to clean.
I joined him again as he sat in the bath, looking as if he was not sure what had just happened and what his reaction should be to it.
I touched his temple gently, my jealousy and anger having disappeared after all that happened, but my mind unable to release that information. “I am sorry I brought up such memories for you, my dear Watson. I never meant to.”
“You didn’t know,” he replied almost sleepily. “I am sorry, but he was very ill. I could not leave his side.”
“You needn’t be sorry for me being jealous. I have wanted you for a long time, and my friendship with you has only caused me to be both fiercely protective of you and dangerously jealous of all your other friends.” He gave a small smile as I finally broached the subject I didn’t wish to. “Who hurt you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“They are punished. They are not here, or if they are, they could not reach me. It doesn’t matter, Holmes. Yes, I had some relations with Reigate, but it had ended long before we went there. That we had one while there was my worry over you and his anxiety, as well as too much brandy. I am sorry you were hurt by it.”
“I wasn’t. If anything, it gave me hope for me later on,” I helped him out of the bath and into a gown. I hadn’t realized how tired he was.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, I am fine.” The many unspoken things of being hurt worst, of being tired already, of all those things my mind could think he might say and that might cause me to be angry again and demand names…I helped him to the sitting room and into his clothing again before he sat gingerly on his cushioned chair.
“I was being truthful, Watson,” I said, “however you want me, I am yours to use.”
“I don’t want to use you as I was.”
I have much to ask him, but I cannot because it caused him pain. I offered a song on the violin but he said he wanted simply to check his mail, eat, and sleep. So I did that, giving up my bed because he was too tired to climb the stairs, and hugging him close as I feel asleep with him.
The next morning, Watson was still there.
“Don’t you have a patient to tend to?” I asked, suspicious.
“He got well two days ago. I went over yesterday to ensure he was fine, and he treated me to dinner. I was going to tell you…”
“Yes, I know, I am in such moods at times,” I said when Mrs. Hudson came in with breakfast, “I am sorry for how I treated you last night, Watson. I will make it up to you.”
“I know,” he said simply, with a smile that I somehow thought meant it would happen that night, and I returned it, saying I would be prepared and his, his alone, for all that night.