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come_at_once2013-06-26 07:02 pm
alienangel4.livejournal.com) wrote in come_at_once2013-06-26 07:02 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: This Golden Moment
Title: This Golden Moment
Author: Alienangel4
Paring: Holmes/Watson
Rating: NC-17
Verse: Granada
Word Count: 1351
Summary: Holmes awakens to a dream come true.
Prompt given me by kestrel337: “In a glass of cheap champagne”
The ballroom was alive with dancing and music and cheer. A dream.
Ah, Mrs. Markby’s ball, I perceive. A simple “thank you for finding my blasted jewels” would have been more than adequate and far less tedious. Must I suffer it a second time? Yes, it would appear so, for there is Watson dancing merrily with what must be his third woman of the night. Oh, and there! Another has set her sights upon him. She will wait politely until the dance is over with and attempt to gain his attentions. Desperation is so unseemly.
I turn away only to bump into the man himself. “Ah, there you are!” he purrs taking my hand in his grip and settling his other at my back. Heat blossoms from the points where his hands make contact.
“Watson!” The exclamation is startled out of me, and I look around.
“Oh, don’t worry about them.” He whirls us onto the floor. “I have been watching you all evening, you elusive fox. You danced with everyone but me. Though I knew it was I that you wanted all the while, with you fixing that sultry gaze upon me at every opportunity; gliding past just close enough that I might be enticed to shove the man holding you and claim you as my own. That is what you want, is it not?”
“Have you lost your mind, Watson?!” He urges me closer.
“In a way, yes. To the most brilliant and gorgeous man I have ever come to know.” The scowl is struck from my face as his hand--his oh so capable hand--slides dangerously down to the small of my back, making me arch against him. Why am I fighting. This is a dream, after all.
I chuckle softly. “You’ve caught me out, Watson. Now that you have snared me, what do you plan to do?”
Watson smirks. “Guess.”
“Oh, I’m no good at that, as you well know. However, you are looking quite handsome tonight, Watson. I just might have to take you somewhere private where you might have your wicked way with me.”
That smirk turns dark with unspeakable promises, and his hand slides south.
The next moment there is only darkness and sensation. Hard planes against my skin, squirming and grasping, heat coiling in my belly. I can hear a fire crackling softly; my own heavy breathing.
I gasp awake. The familiarity of the sitting room ceiling jars me. I should not have allowed the lewd dream take root. Wishful thinking is a tool for the common man. It holds no purpose for me.
Someone’s here.
I turn my head to see Watson sitting calmly in my basket chair at the fire side. He and I are similarly dressed in nightshirt and dressing gown. Was he only just now getting ready for bed?
“Nice dream?” he asks quietly. I regard him carefully, ascertaining inconspicuously that my erection is adequately concealed.
“Quite.” Damn! My voice will betray me. I clear my throat and hope that he takes it as sleep related.
It was moments, through which we watched each other, before he spoke again. “You were talking in your sleep.”
Do not show panic. “Oh?”
“Mmm,” he nods raising to his lips a glass of the cheap champagne that Mrs. Markby gifted us.
“What was it about?” Of course I will tell a half-truth. They are often more disarming than a blatant lie.
“That horrid ball you forced me to attend last week.” Yes. Anger always proves to be a good deflector as well, yet he remains insistent.
“I did not force you to go, Holmes. I do not own you...” I swallow thickly. What I wouldn’t do for a finger or two of that champagne, but I daren’t rise lest my ongoing state betray me utterly.
“...yet.” At this he chuckles. “Oh, if only you could see yourself! Those mesmerizing eyes of yours are as wide as those of a doe’s, and your surprisingly sensual lips are parted so prettily. You said I looked quite handsome that night.”
Oh, Watson! I want you, but...
“You did look quite ravishing. If I were romantically inclined--”
“Which you very much are. I’ve been watching you, Holmes, and I’m becoming impatient.”
How extraordinary! This moment on which everything hangs. I feel as though I am submerged in Watson’s glass. I feel enclosed in glass walls were society can easily look upon me and jeer... but my dear friend Watson is there with me. He always has been, and I am now quite reluctant to leave this golden, bubbly, invigorating, intoxicating atmosphere that the room has become. Damn the law and society’s small-mindedness!
I rise from the settee and--Watson would have said--stalk to where he was sitting. The man was speechless now as I slowly pulled up my night shirt past my knees looking into his eyes all the while. He holds out his hands, and I climb into the chair with my knees on either side of him. He slides his hands up my thighs, over my hips, up my back, and into my hair. I bend to his will and, finally, we kiss.
Oh, God! Watson’s kisses! He keeps them deceptively benign by using his lips, but John Watson is a man that kisses with his whole body and soul. He licks at my lips gently, and I fall into his trap. His arms snake around me and he pushes not just his tongue into my mouth but somehow all the feelings he’s held for me. Any doubt I had in my mind that Watson wanted me vanishes with every moan that falls from our lips. I had to thread my fingers into his absolutely touchable hair in order to anchor myself.
I break away not only because I need air but because I can no longer support myself bent over him on my knees.
“My dear Watson!” I lick up his neck to his ear. “Why don’t you take me to bed?” His resulting groan was like pure oxygen to the fire in my groin.
“Oh, Wats--OON!” Quite suddenly I have a close view of Watson’s broad back. He had marched me over his shoulder, and the next moment I am on my bed being kissed again.
“Do you have any idea what your voice sounds like?! God, I want you. What would you like?”
“You, Watson! Claim me! I’m yours.” He growls, and at his urging I spread my legs for him to kneel between.
“Have you done anything like this before?” He asks hurriedly. I hand him a half empty jar of specially formulated grease in answer.
He begins as I expect, but “Oh!” that felt different. Perhaps it was the fact that his fingers were thicker than mine or that I wasn’t expecting them or--
“Holmes. Let’s turn the brain down for a time, yes?”
He pulled my nightshirt and dressing gown off as well as his own and pulled my bottom into his lap. His fingers return and I really want to slap him.
“Watson if you don’t get your prick in me--Oh!”
I grab fist fulls of the bedding as he starts to rock his hips into me. He tries to soothe me with his hands on my thighs and cock. Mmm, but it’s glorious! His girth filling me; possessing me. I arch my back and give myself over to him.
“You’re beautiful! Stunning!…Oh, my love!”
No I’m not, my love, but our lovemaking is. God, to watch your powerful chest heave with the effort of pleasuring me; to feel the bed quake with the intensity of it; to have you thrusting and rubbing that spot and working your hips like a piston to force a part of yourself into me over and over is just
plain gorgeous. You thrust and thrust and thruh and thuh and--“Ah!”
plain gorgeous. You thrust and thrust and thruh and thuh and--“Ah!”
A moment later I feel you join me in bliss.
When I open my eyes for the second time that night, it’s to the familiarity of your smiling face.
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Very nice, indeed.
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Ambiguity?
I thought it could be taken as EITHER first-time or established-relationship, and it seemed possible to interpret that the "encounter" with Watson, after Holmes was (supposedly) awake from the ball-dream, was also a dream.
I have to say, it doesn't sound much like Granada (Brett-Hardwicke)? It put me more in mind of the Ritchie-movie-verse.
Re: Ambiguity?