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Rules were meant to be broken. Boundaries were set to be pushed. Lines were drawn to be crossed. And once the line has been crossed, it no longer matters who pushed who over.
Some things change gradually; boundaries shift and lines blur, rules become meaningless and forgotten, until one day we find ourselves in a situation that is so different, so new that we cannot help asking ourselves, how did I ever even get here?
It’s like falling in love, really.
Once the change has registered with us, once we have realized how close we are to crossing the line, to abandoning all hope and reason and giving in to our desires, all it takes is one more look. One breathless second, eyes locking and hearts racing. And that one second, that one look makes us snap, makes us throw reason out the window. Makes Watson press Holmes against the wall and kiss him hard.
Holmes groans and opens his mouth under Watson’s, lets Watson push his tongue into his mouth and grab his face between his hands. Watson pins Holmes against the wall, deepening the kiss as Holmes rolls his hips against Watson’s. He groans in the back of his throat as Holmes takes control of the kiss, cupping Watson’s face and biting into his bottom lip.
Watson hisses as Holmes sucks on his abused lip, the flesh already swollen and red, glistening with their mixed saliva. With a gentle nip to Watson’s jaw Holmes pushes him back. Surprised, Watson stumbles backwards, frowning at Holmes in confusion.
“ Strip.” Holmes orders curtly without even looking at him.
Holmes sits in his favourite armchair and packs his pipe like he does every evening. His eyes briefly flick up at Watson and he purses his lips in displeasure at the clothes Watson is still wearing.
“ Do you plan on standing there all evening?” he asks nonchalantly, but Watson can hear the slight edge to his voice, “I asked you to strip, did I not?”, his attention still focused on his pipe.
“ Holmes…,” Watson clears his throat as Holmes looks up at him, lighting his pipe carefully. “I don’t…what are you…?” Holmes flashes him a dangerously impatient look, “I don’t quite understand…”
Watson blushes. Holmes slowly exhales a thin stream of smoke and leans back in his chair, eyes glittering darkly.
“ I told you,” he repeats in a low voice, “to strip.”
Watson isn’t sure whether it’s fear or desire that makes him shiver at the words, but he complies nonetheless.
He unbuttons his waistcoat and drops it to the floor and slips out of his shoes and socks. He hesitates slightly as he slips his suspenders down his shoulders and unbuttons his shirt with shaking fingers, but shrugs out of it gracefully. He blushes as he undoes his trousers and lets them pool around his ankles, barely stifling a soft gasp as he pulls down his underwear and his already half hard cock is released.
Watson doesn’t have time to feel self-conscious about his body, because Holmes makes a faint noise of approval and he looks up to find Holmes lounging in his chair, idly puffing away on his pipe as he presses the heel of his hand against the obvious bulge in his trousers.
Watson can’t tear his eyes away from Holmes, spreading his legs and breathing heavily as he palms himself through his trousers. His eyes roam Watson’s naked body hungrily, lingering on his lips, his neck, his thighs, his hands, his cock, swelling rapidly under Holmes’ gaze.
Holmes smirks as Watson’s blush deepens and he shifts uncomfortably, embarrassed at his body’s reaction.
Holmes’ tongue darts out to swipe over his bottom lip, “Come here.”
Watson comes to stand before Holmes, still a few feet away.
Holmes smiles, “Closer.”
Only when Watson is standing between his spread legs Holmes is satisfied. He looks Watson up and down, breathing heavily as his thumb rubs the tip of his clothed cock. He is close enough to smell Watson; soap, tobacco, antiseptic and the musky scent of his arousal.
“ On your knees, Watson.”
Watson hopes Holmes missed the way his cock twitched at the words, but judging by his smug expression, he hasn’t.
With some difficulty Watson drops to his knees, wincing as his thigh protests. It takes him a moment to find a position that doesn’t make him want to scream in agony, and he’s grateful that Holmes waits until he is ready. Holmes strokes his hair lovingly, but his face is indifferent as Watson looks up at him.
“ Open my trousers.”
Holmes’ fingers tighten in Watson’s hair as he speaks. A shiver runs down Watson’s spine as Holmes removes his own hand from his crotch and spreads his legs farther. Watson clumsily undoes Holmes’ flies and pulls out his hard cock, fumbling slightly. Holmes groans in the back of his throat as his pulsing member is released from its confines.
Unsure what to do next, Watson rests his hands on Holmes’ thighs and waits for Holmes to tell him what to do, eyes fixed on Holmes’ engorged cock, thick and red and smelling distinctly of Holmes. Holmes hums approvingly, though Watson isn’t sure why, and strokes Watson’s cheek.
He hooks his thumb and forefinger under Watson’s chin and forcefully tilts it up. Watson looks up at Holmes with wide eyes, meeting Holmes’ steady, dark gaze. Holmes stares at him for a moment, then at his mouth, running his thumb over Watson’s plump bottom lip. Almost instinctively Watson’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, accidentally brushing the slightly salty pad of Holmes’ thumb.
Holmes inhales sharply, his thighs tensing under Watson’s hands and he seems to go completely still before slipping his thumb into Watson’s mouth. Watson closes his lips around the digit, surprised at the thrill that runs through him as he tastes Holmes’ skin; tobacco, salt, smoke and something akin to ginger. Holmes rubs his thumb over Watson’s tongue, along the insides of his cheeks, the roof of his mouth, the backs of his teeth. Watson can feel the saliva pooling in his mouth and swallows reflexively, making his teeth press into Holmes’ finger as his mouth tightens momentarily.
Holmes gives a soft sound of pleasure, and, encouraged, Watson sucks on Holmes’ thumb, swirling his tongue around the tip and scraping his teeth over it until Holmes is panting above him, the puffy head of his cock steadily oozing pre-come. Watson moans around Holmes’ finger, surprised at himself and his body’s reaction as he sucks and licks and his cock, straining up against his stomach, pulsates in the rhythm of his heartbeat.
He is exhaling forcefully through his nose, cheeks flushed and tiny droplets of sweat beading on his forehead when Holmes makes him open his mouth by pulling his jaw down with no small amount of force. Holmes inspects his mouth, running his fingers over Watson’s teeth, the inside of his upper lip, underneath his tongue, all the while frowning slightly, lips pursed, as if he were inspecting a horse.
Watson dares to dart out his tongue once and lick at Holmes’ fingers, but it is met with an annoyed frown and a disapproving glance and so Watson doesn’t do it again and simply holds still as Holmes rubs his own saliva into his swollen lips.
Holmes' eyes are dark and full of mischief as he smiles at Watson in a way that sends shivers down his spine.
“ I want your mouth.”
Watson’s breath catches in his throat, “I…” he stutters, “What…”
“ I want your pretty mouth on my cock,” Holmes growls, “Now.”
Watson has to stifle the groan that tries to claw its way up his throat. He closes his eyes briefly and takes a steadying breath. Holmes runs his fingers through Watson’s hair, pulling just hard enough to make it hurt. Watson hisses and looks up at Holmes’ inscrutable face, then leans forward.
He kisses the wet tip of Holmes’ cock, flicking out his tongue to lick up the pre-come covering it, probing at the slit with the very tip of his tongue. Holmes’ fingers tighten in Watson’s hair as he gasps softly. Watson slowly slides his lips down Holmes’ shaft, encouraged by the small sounds of pleasure Holmes is making. He can feel the tip of Holmes’ cock nudging at the back of his throat, not quite triggering his gag reflex.
Holmes keens low in his throat, his hips jerking slightly as Watson’s throat stretches around him, convulsing every now and again, squeezing Holmes cock. His throat burns, his jaw aches and he feels like he is about to choke on his own saliva as he is unable to swallow. So Watson tries to focus on breathing deeply and evenly through his nose. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Once he has found the right rhythm, he loses himself in it. Holmes cock still isn’t moving, just resting in Watson’s hot mouth and Holmes can feel Watson’s throat relax and widen around the head of it.
He groans as Watson swallows around him, sending sparks of bright pleasure through Holmes’ entire body. Suddenly staying still seems impossible. He wants to grab Watson head and fuck his pretty mouth until he can’t breathe, until he’s choking on Holmes’ cock and his own spit. He wants to come down that tight, hot throat and force Watson to swallow it all.
And just as his control is about to snap, Watson exhales forcefully through his nose as he slides his lips down Holmes’ hard length, throat stretching impossibly until his nose is buried in Holmes’ pubic hair and he can go no further.
Holmes is making breathless noises of pleasure, stroking Watson’s jaw, his slightly hollowed cheeks, the underside of his chin. Watson is trying to breathe through it as his throat is on fire and tears fill his eyes. He feels like he’s suffocating, but he can’t pull away. He feels humiliated, naked on his knees in front of a fully dressed Holmes with his cock buried all the way in Watson’s throat. And the feeling, the mental image, they make his cock twitch against his stomach as droplets of pre-come gather at the tip.
After a few minutes, minutes that are exquisite torture for Holmes, Watson has accommodated somewhat to the sensation of having Holmes’ cock in his mouth. His eyes closed in concentration, he starts to work his tongue around Holmes, licking and sucking gently, almost hesitatingly. Humming, Holmes strokes the underside of his chin and his throat, feeling the muscles work. He strokes hair affectionately and makes a sound of approval, as Watson lets a few inches of Holmes’ cock slide from his mouth to better work his tongue on him.
Holmes puts both of his hands to the base of Watson’s skull and gently guides his head up and down, watching Watson closely, creating a rhythm that makes him groan low in his throat. His hands become lighter and lighter on Watson’s head until he lets Watson do it on his own. Watson tries to keep the rhythm Holmes has set for him, always careful to keep his teeth covered with his lips. Once he has found the right angle for his head it’s easier. He goes with his instinct then, speeding up and slowing down, sucking in and blowing out, applying just a bit of teeth, his hands tightening on Holmes’ thighs. His own cock is twitching against his stomach, wet and hot and begging for release.
Holmes face is flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his forehead and temples, the tendons in his neck stand out as he throws his head back, mouth open and eyes squeezed shut. Suddenly his hands tighten on Watson’s head again, his hips jerking upwards. Watson chokes and coughs around Holmes’ cock as Holmes fucks his mouth in hard, measured thrusts.
“ Touch yourself,” he moans breathlessly, “Touch yourself for me.”
And Watson’s hand flies to his cock, squeezing hard before fisting his cock roughly. His hand glides against the heated flesh slickly, pre-come and sweat easing the way, as Holmes pumps into his mouth relentlessly. Watson’s throat burns, he can barely breathe and the light-headedness sends a curiously pleasurable spark down his spine.
Holmes looks down at Watson, at Watson’s lips stretched around his glistening cock, his own cock disappearing in Watson’s tight mouth. Moans tumble from his lips unchecked and he grabs Watson’s head harder, pulling at the short hair, fingernails digging into Watson’s scalp.
“ Ah, Watson…,” he keens low in his throat, “I need you to come…I…”
And the words alone make Watson groan around Holmes’ length, his cock jerks violently in his grip and thick streams of semen cover his hand, stomach and thighs and the floor. Watson shouts around Holmes’ cock, the sound muffled and hardly more than a groan, but it, combined with the images of Watson’s orgasm, is enough to make Holmes come.
He pushes Watson’s head into his lap as bitter, gooey come fills Watson’s mouth, making him swallow reflexively as he gags at the taste and texture of it. When Holmes’ orgasm has subsided and Watson tries to pull away to be able to spit out the disgusting fluid still filling his mouth, Holmes pushes his head down harder, keeping him firmly in place.
“ Swallow.”
Watson looks up at him with frantic eyes and tries to pull away. Holmes grips his hair hard, making Watson wince.
“ I said,” he snarls at Watson, “swallow.”
Watson closes his eyes, his stomach churning at the thought. He exhales and desperately tries not to gag around Holmes’ softening cock as he forces himself to swallow his come.
“ There’s a good boy,” Holmes’ murmurs, loosening his grip on Watson’s hair and petting his head soothingly.
It’s not quite as bad as Watson thought it would be, but the taste is still unpleasant. And yet, as Holmes runs his fingers down Watson’s throat, feeling the muscles contract and move as he swallows, Watson’s spent cock twitches painfully hard. He laps up every drop before letting Holmes’ limp cock fall from his mouth, his jaw throbbing, and nuzzles the soft, wet skin. Holmes makes a content noise and continues to stroke his hair, occasionally rubbing his fingertips against Watson’s scalp, sending warm shivers down his spine.
Holmes gently scratches the spot behind Watson’s ear and Watson closes his eyes, resting his head in Holmes’ lap, idly running his fingers up and down Holmes’ right calf, still covered by the fabric of his trousers.
For quite a while it goes on like that. Holmes makes Watson strip, while he himself remains fully, or at least mostly, clothed. What follows then depends entirely on Holmes’ mood.
When Holmes is in a good mood, he sits down on the settee and allows Watson to climb into his lap. On those occasions his shirt is undone and Watson is allowed to bite, kiss, lick, suck and scratch at the exposed skin as much as he likes. Holmes hands on his hips and cock steady Watson as he rides him hard. Sometimes, when they have solved an especially hard case, when Holmes is in a particularly good mood, he even lets Watson sleep in his bed with him. And on very rare occasions, they have sex in Holmes’ bed, instead of on the settee.
When Holmes is in a bad mood, he presses Watson against the wall and assaults his mouth, biting down on his tongue until warm blood fills their mouths, until Watson is keening low in his throat as pain morphs into a throbbing kind of pleasure. Holmes growls and snarls at him as he closes his fist around Watson’s cock, pumping hard and fast and leaving Watson crumpled on the floor, spent and sweaty, blood trickling from his mouth, his own come covering his stomach, his neck bitten and bruised. Holmes never touches himself, much less lets Watson touch him, on those occasions.
When Holmes is feeling lazy, a bit tired maybe, he simply kisses Watson. It begins with a chaste peck on the lips, then a kiss to Watson’s jaw, his chin, followed by a warm, wet tongue gently sliding into Watson’s mouth. They kiss until their kisses become something else, until time becomes irrelevant and all that is left is sensation. Tongues sliding against each other slickly. Teeth slowly sinking into the plump flesh of a bottom lip, leaving it red and swollen. Noses bumping and breaths mingling. On those occasions they lie down on the settee together, bringing each other off with their hands, mouths still locked, tongues still tangled, breaths still shared.
When Holmes in one of his dark moods, he makes Watson prepare himself in front of him. He makes Watson sit in the chair opposite his own and spread his legs wide as he pushes his own fingers into his tight hole. Holmes makes him do it until Watson is throwing his head back, sweaty and flushed and desperately fucking himself on his fingers, his swollen cock wet with pre-come. Holmes usually smokes his pipe as he watches Watson. Most times he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, head cocked to the right, eyes dark and fixed on Watson’s slick fingers. Sometimes he idly palms himself through his trousers as he waits for Watson to reach that certain point. That point where he is out of his mind with pleasure, frantically rubbing his prostate, wanting to come so badly. And that is where Holmes tells him to stop, in that low, commanding voice of his.
That’s where Holmes bends him over the nearest flat surface and fucks him hard, relentlessly, mercilessly. Watson whines in frustration as he tries to reach orgasm, tries to clench around Holmes’ cock, but finds himself prepared so thoroughly, his hole so loose and slick that his climax remains well out of his reach until Holmes decides to touch his cock. Sometimes Holmes fucks him in front of a mirror, making Watson watch as his body is being penetrated, brutalized, as Holmes sinks his teeth into his neck, drawing blood and making Watson’s cock twitch hard against his stomach.
Most times Holmes will bring himself to the brink of orgasm several times, slowing down just before he tumbles over. When he can finally take in no longer, sweat running down his neck, his back, his chest, his clothes sticking to his skin, his eyes wild, frenzied, his thrusts brutal, painful even, he fists Watson’s cock roughly, scraping his thumbnail over the puffy head. And finally, finally, Watson is allowed to come, clenching around Holmes and releasing a silent scream as his cock jerks in Holmes’ grip. Holmes muffles his shout against Watson’s sweat slick shoulder blade as he releases inside him.
On those occasions Holmes makes Watson go down on his knees before him and lick his cock clean. Then he shoves Watson away and tells him to clean himself as he refastens his trousers, picks up his violin and starts to pluck at the strings.
When Holmes is angry with Watson, he bends him over his knees and gives him a good spanking. He slaps his backside over and over until Watson is flushed and panting and trying to rub his erection against Holmes’ thigh. On those occasions Holmes doesn’t allow Watson to come. And if Watson masturbates, Holmes doesn’t allow him to come for weeks at a time, driving him to the brink again and again until the actual climax is painful and leaves Watson gasping, choking, tears running down his cheeks.
When Holmes is feeling content, he lets Watson sit at his feet as massages his scalp, scratches behind his ear or simply pets his head. Sometimes he lets Watson suck on his fingers. On those occasions Holmes usually watches Watson masturbate as he strokes his own cock, particularly delighting in releasing right into Watson’s face, watching as his come covers Watson’s cheeks, his mouth, his neck, as Watson licks his lips and moans low in his throat.
It would be a lie to say that Watson doesn’t enjoy himself. He loves every minute of it. But at some point he starts wondering why he’s not allowed to fuck Holmes, why Holmes never sucks his cock and why Holmes never takes his clothes off. He tries to bring the matter up one day, but it earns him a spanking and a painful hard-on. About a month later he tries to make Holmes take off his shirt and to his surprise Holmes does. Watson proceeds to nudge them towards the bed, but Holmes stops just short of it and regards Watson with a cool, calculating look.
“ Get on your knees,” he snarls at Watson.
Watson doesn’t know why, but he complies. Holmes roughly fucks his mouth that night. Pumping into the tight wetness until Watson’s lips are bruised and swollen, his jaw is throbbing and tears sting in his eyes as he tries to pant through his nose. Watson is almost glad that Holmes leaves him on the floor without so much as a glance once he’s finished. For the first time since this thing between them has started, Watson finds his cock flaccid and himself disgusted and humiliated, the curious spark of pleasure replaced by repulsion.
It goes on like that for a few months. Watson still gets aroused when they are together. He is still attracted to Holmes. His body still responds. But beneath the pleasure, there is a throbbing, sickening kind of guilt and repulsion that makes him uneasy.
For all his deductive powers, Holmes remains oblivious.
Maybe he simply chooses to.
And then, Watson meets a Miss Mary Morstan. She is pretty enough, kind, gentle, sweet. She regards Watson with those big, adoring eyes, like he is the best thing that has ever happened to her. She smiles broadly at him whenever she sees him and thanks him for the tiniest of favours. And most of all, she doesn’t tell him what to do. It is Watson who allows, who lets, who does. She is his to use as he sees fit. And she seems to enjoy it and even if she doesn’t, who is she to tell Watson what to do?
He asks her to marry him. She says yes, beaming at him and gasping in delight as she sees the ring he bought for her.
He loves Holmes, but he cannot be with Holmes. He cannot abide by the rules Holmes has established. He cannot stay within the boundaries Holmes has set. He cannot remain within the lines Holmes has drawn.
And so he moves out, marries Miss Mary Morstan and leaves Holmes. He would be a fool to stay with him.
After all, rules were meant to be broken, boundaries were set to be pushed and lines were drawn to be crossed.