Title: Whiskey & Vino.
Author: Marbella89.
Genre: Romance / Friendship.
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes & Dr. John Watson. (from the "Guy Ritchie-movie-version")
Rating: M, just because I wanna be safe here. :)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters; I just borrowed them for a moment. ;)
Summary: "Then again there was the amber coloured Whiskey, which had another effect on them - none the less emotional, but in a very different way for sure."
Author's note: My second H/W. I'm not as content with the whole thing as I were with my first fanfiction but I think it's quote readable. ;) I hope you enjoy the "Holmes & Watson fluff" because that's really it. ;) & again, the line breaks don't work for me; I've tried everything, I really can't solve this problem & it's driving me mad, gah! :S Sorry!
Whiskey & Vino.
The consumption of whiskey was always connected with a proper enjoyment and excitement, whereas random regalement of wine didn't have quite the effect on both of them, neither Watson nor Holmes.
Drinking Merlot or Cabernet Sauvignon often resulted in never-ending discussions about profound but not entirely emotional topics like an analysis of their last case where a child had been disappeared and eventually warped so badly that even the doctor had to swallow hard when finding him.
These conversations, mostly deep at night, always had psychological side-effects since both of them didn't talk much about their mental contentment when they actually should to handle certain events of their lives.
So the bright red - almost magenta – tinted beverage often brought out their choked down torments concerning cases or nightmares of yesteryear.
Then again there was the amber coloured Whiskey, which had another effect on them - none the less emotional, but in a very different way for sure.
It was one of those nights in which neither of them could sleep or work. The light was dimmed on the very last level.
Watson sat on his chair, studying the amazing cover of one of his favourite books while Holmes was about to start playing the violin as he always did when he was awake in the middle of the night.
It wasn't that exceptional for both of them to be awake around two hours after midnight even though Holmes definitely attracted more attention to himself at those moments than Watson.
In fact the doctor was just comfortable with watching his old friend from the corner of his eyes, slightly smiling. It was their tradition, their nocturnal routine.
And on top of that perfection there was their mutual love for good, old whiskey, which was one of the essential ingredients.
It was almost two thirty in the morning when the detective decided to open another bottle to share with his companion.
"Cheers, old chap," Holmes toasted, while sitting down next to the doctor's chair.
Time step.
After the fourth drink Watson's throat almost caught fire when he tilted the fifth within one single draft.
How many glasses Holmes' already had knocked back was dimmish, but his behaviour indicated a rather low blood alcohol level, although this was entirely impossible since he had been refilling their jars constantly.
The doctor himself wasn't as intelligibly as usual anymore, so that he began so smile absent-minded without noticing it.
"What are you smirking about, my dear Watson?" Of course Holmes had observed the change on Watson's face immediately; maybe because he was such an attentive mind but most likely because he had been watching his friend intensively for an hour now.
"You know," the former soldier started, "you know?" A wide smile spread on Holmes' face. "Know what, darlin'? Know what?"
He leaned forward to close the distance between their faces. "Why are you smiling? Having nice thoughts?"
"Indeed, I'm smiling – not smirking. That's it. You see?"
It was almost the same rather mindless conversation they always had when drinking too much, but both of them were looking forward to these spoken words.
The same game, every time. And there was always a point where Watson dawned that his friend could tolerate much more of the expensive beverage than him, because Holmes seemed to stay in-character whereas he himself was struggling with words that wanted to be said and thoughts that needed to be shared. Then again that was one of their usual features during those evenings.
Time step.
"Kiss me," the detective demanded, "now, my dear, please!"
In any conventional situation Watson would've wondered how he had managed to stand up with at least five whiskeys dancing in his bloodstream, but at this moment he could just concentrate on his companions lips which caressed around his left ear, nibbling on his earlobe at the same time.
And probably he would've given Holmes a sarcastic comment on the belittlement "my dear", although he loved to be called these names by him.
Yes, during these nights, Holmes was his lover – the man whose touch he desired the most and whose filthy voice he wanted to hear so badly every second.
Basically they were months over the "we need alcohol to loose our objections and doubts"-phase, but somehow they loved this tradition of drinking whiskey and knowing exactly what would happen sooner or later that night.
"Holmes," the doctor moaned, "I want your kiss much more than anything else." The kiss they shared was wild and rough, filled with so much passion.
A chuckle from his beloved one made Watson open his eyes again, even though it cost him much effort because Holmes was best in what he was doing right now. "What?", he sighed.
Another kiss. "I love when you're emotionally exaggerating." Their tongues danced a slow waltz.
"I'm... I am..., not, ah," the doctor's eyes shut down again and any rational thought vanished immediately.
"Come, my dear," Holmes placed his hands on Watson's cheeks, "the bedroom deserves our presence much more than this wall here." The smile on his lover's face was now quite evidently and he didn't try to deny it.
"You are... such a show-off, you know that? All those... words, after drinking so much. You know?"
"Of course I do, my dear Watson. And you love me just for this. Come, I'll show you which other words cross my mind when I'm drunk."
He entangled their fingers to lead the doctor to their bedroom.
Time step.
By now all their clothes bedecked the dark, wooden floor of their room, leaving their naked bodies entwined around each other on their bed.
Watson had lost control over most of his senses, reactions and thoughts, because Holmes was driving him crazy with his usual "when I'm drunk, I'm talking dirty"-babbling.
Yes, that was one of the parts which the doctor eagerly anticipated every time his friend got the whiskey out of the closet – but yet he went insane every elapsed second.
"I'm going to touch you in all the right places," he underscored the word "right" with a certain intensity that made Watson shiver, "you know, here," he caressed his chest, "and here," now he fondled with one of his nipples, "and most definitely here", a squeeze, much too short to be satisfying in any possible way, down at his most heated area.
Just a short moment later Holmes was exploring his lover's mouth again, playing with his tongue. The doctor's hands, slightly shaking, nestled down in the other man's hair, making it even messier than it already was.
Sensation built up deep in his body; once again he was experiencing an overwhelming desire for Holmes' touch, his caressing.
Watson was dying to extent this delicious time of beautiful fondling and nibbling, because these encounters were far too rare and irregular to be just a short pleasure.
So without further ado he turned the tables on the detective, who was now lying underneath him, looking rather surprised.
"I can talk dirty as well, my precious," Watson smirked widely, "even though it seems like you were fuddling me earlier."
Without thinking or waiting for an answer, he attacked Holmes' quite erected nibbles with his wet tongue. He licked the left one, then changing to the right, always attended by deep moans and occasional sighs.
He kissed his way down to the detective's most aroused centre. He was so fevered, Watson could feel it in each of his reactions.
Although the reel change had seemed to came unexpected for Holmes, he did enjoy his lover above him as much as the very adored to be the one in control.
Still, he didn't lose his ability to smirk in every single situation of his present life and eventually he found his voice. "Fuddling you, Watson? What are you..., oh," he groaned when the former soldier slightly bit the inside of his left thigh, "please old boy, please."
The doctor grinned absent-minded, again; it was a good sign when the detective forgot half the sentence while speaking.
(Minimal) Time step.
Holmes had lost any sense of time or surroundings.
In fact, the only thing he was well aware of was his beloved one down his crotch. He didn't know what made him last that long because Watson had pushed his arousal up against every endurable border.
At the same time he had shown him his ability to "talk dirty" and hell, yes, the words had flowed right out of that beautiful mouth with those swollen lips, just like a perfect shaped, torrential river in the centre of a primeval forest.
He had called him "his hidden persuader" who made him "hard in all the right places, to use your language" every single time he entered their rooms.
Even though Holmes melted under all these paraphrases, he wanted to hear so much more.
"Go on, Watson," he sighed, "tell me what I'm doing to you."
The man in control started smirking; he enjoyed this so very much himself.
"You make my cock twitch when you're looking at me," finally he touched Holmes' dick longer than just two seconds, "and then all I want is you, in every way that's possible."
The detective groaned loudly at the word "every", Watson was driving him crazy.
And as if he could read his lover's mind, his mouth enclosed the tip of his shaft, slowly sliding down to cover his full length.
Every second the doctor heard a new intensive moan from his soul mate, who was about to lose the very last bit of control he had saved until this moment. "Please, Watson,... ah," he entangled his fingers into the other man's short hair, "don't stop. I'm close."
Only moments later, he had reached the point of uninhibited desire, almost screaming Watson's name, calling him "an irresistible threat" and the doctor still wondered where the ability to use all those words during such an event came from; then remembering that he himself had used them earlier.
He licked the tip of Holmes' cock, tasting the pre-cum, while playing with his lover's perfect shaped balls.
One last acute squeeze and Holmes' fevered body tensed for another few seconds before he finally screamed Watson's name, having the most intense orgasm he ever experienced.
The former soldier stroke his lover's cock kindly until the very opened his eyes, blearily smiling, heavily breathing.
(Twenty seconds) Time step.
Positions had been switched again.
Watson's eyes were shut close; his face was fierce with lust and needy desire to come. The detective's hands were working intensively on his lover's erection.
While licking his balls, he discovered how close the man underneath him was to the point of no return.
As consequence, he first squeezed his cock gently, then he crawled up to Watson's right ear to whisper: "Next time we're at the "The Royale", I will undetectably slide under the table, crawl over to your crouch and give you the most amazing orgasm you'll ever discover in public."
While Holmes was driving his lover even more crazy with all those words, he fumbled on the doctor's dick, squeezing his balls over and over again.
The man underneath him was no longer capable of thinking or even speaking, so that the only response was an almost animalistic groan that made Holmes shiver.
An almost mischievous smile crossed his face when Watson was about to come; he adored his tensed look and the nervous biting on his lower lip.
To finally give him satisfaction he kissed him hard and demanding while stroking the doctor's erection intensively. Watson's nerve endings were vibrating and his muscles trembled in one line with his rushing heartbeat.
And then he came, moaning Holmes' name, calling him "good boy" and "lovely temptation". For moments his body was twitching and wincing and Holmes studied every little reaction, locked it safely away in his memory.
Minutes later, eyes still closed, Watson ran his hand over his soul mate's cheek, smiling highly pleased, and then pulling their foreheads together.
A soft kiss set the seal on their just shared pleasure and at the same time completed this perfection.
Yes, they really loved their evenings with that expensive whiskey, dirty talk and emotional outbursts. Even the headache the morning after was worth it, of course, and Watson did always have some kind of mixture to cure them of their suffering.
Sometimes however all they needed was a stolen kiss while Watson was waiting for his next patient or just a smirk from Holmes who tried to smooth his messy hair and making it even worse.
A few days after their last reunion, Watson entered their rooms finding nothing but an eye-catching note pinned onto the wall across of him. He started smiling, because somehow he already knew what he was about to read.
Holmes' handwriting was distinctive. "The Royale. Tonight. 8pm. No underwear."
The doctor smiled, because yes, he did see that happen, no surprise, he just hoped Mrs. Hudson hadn't seen the note before he had.