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A Matter of Experience

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“Three weeks to the day, Holmes.” Watson grins upside-down over the back of the sofa.

“That long already?” The detective stands up from where he had been sitting by the window and makes his way to Watson, his hand resting next to the other man's head, and leans in for a kiss which is no less enjoyable for the awkward angle. “I marvel that I've held your interest for so long – you do boast of three continents worth of experience, after all.”

“All of whom pale in comparison,” Watson continues to smile happily, and Holmes moves to sit next to him, “and I have managed to hold yours as well – tell me, what am I up against in your experience?” Hearing about Holmes' past partners should be something he'd want to avoid, but Watson has no intention of letting him go, so the opportunity to hear Holmes tell lascivious tales about his past is one too good to give up.

“I'm afraid you have the advantage of me there, as I've no basis for comparison.” The detective drops his head onto Watson's shoulder.

“No basis for comparison?” And then Holmes' meaning hits him – the man hasn't had any partners before him. In the first instant, Watson is ridiculously proud to have been the first person to interest Sherlock Holmes in that way, but in the second his mind supplies a detailed replay of the events of their first time – Holmes' first time ever, and that is suddenly a terrifying thought because it was not exactly the gentle, soft coming together it should have been for someone with no experience.

Good God, the doctor thinks as he goes over the frenzied boiling over of lust that had led to a rather hurried, rough coupling. Far too rough for a first time, he realises with flush of horror as he remembers perhaps thirty seconds of preparation for what couldn't have lasted more than five minutes, all told.

Holmes had been a virgin, and he damn well should have realised. All the signs were there – most notably, his general disdain for the vast majority of the human race, which was not particularly conducive to intimacy. But he had assumed that Holmes, like everyone else his age, had some sexual experience.

Like everyone else. That should have told him straight away. What a ridiculous assumption he had made, and now there was no way to fix his error. Holmes' first experience of sex had left him covered in bruises and scratches, and very likely sore for days. No wonder he'd been hesitant for the first week or so afterwards.

Hesitant, Watson reminded himself, but not unwilling. Perhaps there was hope of remedying his mistake after all.

Realising that he had allowed a silence to form, Watson spoke up again. “Oh, Holmes, why didn't you tell me it was your first time?”

“I thought, with your vast experience, you wouldn't be interested in someone so naïve.” The surety with which the detective spoke sent another knife of guilt straight to Watson's gut.

“I knew that what you were giving me was a precious gift, Holmes – I just didn't realise how precious until now.”

“From a woman, that might be the case, however-”

“It is just as much the case coming from you,” the doctor interrupted, “– more so, even, since you waited all this time when you didn't have to.”

“I simply never got around to it. Really, Watson, it's of no importance-”

“It is of the utmost importance, and I intend to remedy my blunder, if you'll allow me to. I can't go back and give you the first time you should have had, but we can do your fourth-”

“Fifth,” Holmes corrected.

“Your fifth time properly. Please, Holmes, I want to make it right for you.”

“It is by no means necessary, Watson. I am a grown man and perfectly capable of handling what happened – I did come back for more, didn't I?”

“I know. But I also realise now that I frightened you – even though you'll never admit it, and I want to make that up to you. Please. For my sake if not for yours.”

“Very well, then. Now?” Holmes moved his head from Watson's shoulder to look at him directly.

“No. Not now,” Watson smiled indulgently, and darted forward for a quick kiss before drawing away, “later. Tonight. I have errands to run, first.”



Dinner was a surprisingly normal affair, under the circumstances. Holmes had never been on the receiving end of a seduction before – at least, not one that was going to succeed – but this didn't quite seem to be one. The extra glass of wine after dinner might have been, though.

The fact that there wasn't an inch of space between them as they sat together on the settee probably was.

But it wasn't until Watson turned and kissed him so thoroughly and sweetly that he felt a tight little ball of happiness which was just on the pleasurable side of pain build in his chest that he could be sure Watson had not forgotten entirely about his earlier promise. Holmes had practically vibrated with anticipation since then, irrationally nervous now when he hadn't been three weeks ago. He supposed it was because it had just happened then, whereas now he had been left waiting for it. He would tell Watson later that this genuinely felt like a first time – he was positive the doctor would like to hear that, despite the fact that he still maintained that such consideration was unwarranted.

With his forehead resting against Watson's, panting almost directly into his mouth and unable to look anywhere but straight into his eyes, Holmes felt himself smile as a warmth he was still getting used to spread in his belly.

“Shall we move this to a bed?” The question was little more than a whisper, but to Holmes it seemed to ring out and echo in the stillness of the room. He felt another thrill of anticipation course though him.

“Yours, or mine?” He suspected he knew the answer already.

“Mine. It's bigger. It's further away from Mrs. Hudson, bless her. Oh, and I set up in my room earlier.” Holmes could feel Watson smiling smugly – every bit the experienced partner this time. He dropped his gaze shyly.

“Hey, come on,” the doctor kissed him quickly and pulled back again, “let me take care of you, just this once – I promise you'll enjoy it.” He took Holmes' hand in his and stood up, urging the detective to follow. Curiosity got the better of the strange nervousness that was pooling alongside the heat, and he stood and followed, forcing himself to remember that he knew Watson was most certainly not going to hurt him – that being the entire point of the exercise, after all.

The bedroom door shut behind them with a solid thud, and Holmes saw Watson flick the lock closed in one smooth movement. They stood for a few seconds simply looking at each other, and Holmes felt that irrational nervousness building up again. Perhaps it showed on his face, because just then, Watson took a step forward and lifted a hand to Holmes' neck, letting his fingers play with the short hair there.

“All right?” He asked quietly.

Holmes breathed out for what might have been the first time since the door had closed. “Of course!” he scoffed, and then deciding that honest would be better for everyone concerned - “why am I nervous now? We've done this before.”

“Because I didn't know before, there was no build-up at all, you didn't have time to be nervous. And you don't need to be now – you know I'd never hurt you.” Watson whispered softly.

“I know.” Sick of waiting for something to happen, Holmes surged forward and claimed Watson's mouth, effectively ending what had become far too emotional a conversation. The doctor seemed happy enough to comply, and Holmes soon found himself being pressed onto the bed.

“Don't move,” Watson instructed as he began working on the button's of Holmes' waistcoat, and then his shirt, running his fingers teasingly over newly-exposed skin until they were both completely open. He batted Holmes' hands away when the detective tried to replicate the gesture.

“We're going to take it slowly. If you let me have my way, this will take hours.” Watson explained calmly before dropping his head to Holmes' neck, mouthing gently at the sensitive skin there. He proceeded as far along his right shoulder as the shirt Holmes was still wearing would allow, and then switched over and traced the same tortuously slow path on the opposite side.

Holmes could feel his (dubious, at best) sanity being slowly stripped away as Watson mapped every inch of skin he could get at, first with lips and then tongue. He had given up not moaning aloud some time ago and had since descended into making breathy little noises, interspersed with the occasional high-pitched whining sound when the doctor alighted on a particularly sensitive spot. Just as he was beginning to think that he was incapable of withstanding any more, Watson sat back up. He breathed something between a sigh of relief and a disappointed whimper.

“God, you're beautiful.” Holmes was glad to note that Watson seemed out of breath as well, and he couldn't help but grin delightedly at the compliment. That was certainly something he'd never been called before, and if he was being honest, he thought it unlikely that anyone else would think it of him.

Eventually, the doctor broke out of his reverie and stood up. “Hop up, I want you out of those clothes.”

Holmes didn't hesitate in complying, getting slightly shaky legs under him in record time to stand with the mattress pressing against the back of his knees. He moved to pull his shirt off, but was again stopped, this time by a firm grip on his wrist.

“That,” Watson practically purred, “is my privilege.” He smiled slyly and set about removing Holmes' clothing with great care and attention, going so far as to fold each garment and set them all neatly on top of the chest of drawers behind him. It was a slow process, but eventually Holmes found himself completely naked. While Watson was still fully clothed, save for the jacket which he had discarded while they were downstairs. His hands moved once more to Watson's shirt, intent in removing it this time, but he was once more stopped.

“No. Relax. There is no work for you to do this time – all I want you to do is enjoy it.”

“I'd enjoy it a lot more if I wasn't the only one naked,” a small shiver of cold ran through the detective as he said it.

Watson leaned forward to press a brief kiss to Holmes' lips. “Get under the covers before you freeze. I'll be with you in a second.”

Holmes stared openly as his friend stripped methodically. He had the fleeting thought that Watson had been wrong about which one of them was beautiful, but this didn't feel like the moment to express it. Before long, Watson was sliding into the bed beside him.


Holmes nodded, and Watson smiled brightly before bringing their mouths together for a deep kiss that left them panting again like the one on the sofa.

“We don't have to do anything, you know,” Watson moved his hand to thread through Holmes' hair, brushing it back and rubbing his scalp soothingly, “we can just stay like this, enjoy each other's company.”

Holmes was not entirely sure if this offer was meant seriously, or if it was a part of Watson being stuck on the notion of giving him a “proper” first time. Either way, Holmes had made his decision before the doctor had finished asking.

“Presumably, we can still do that after we do this?” He lifted his arm to run his fingertips down the middle of Watson's chest, pausing just below his navel. Watson chuckled deeply and kissed him again before foregoing the preamble and curling his fingers around Holmes' cock.

“I suppose we can,” a few lazy strokes, “if that's what you want,” a line of kisses from the dip between collarbones to the place where Holmes had stopped his hand.

“God yes,” Holmes choked out, and felt Watson smile against his belly before continuing down and licking a broad stroke up the underside of his cock. The detective gasped and grabbed Watson's head with both hands, gripping a little too tightly at first but remembering himself quickly. The doctor's hum of approval was well worth the little exercise of self-control.

Watson continued to kiss and lick along Holmes' length – this was something he had already learned to love and he had difficulty holding himself back from pressing forward. This was overcome, thankfully, when Watson grabbed his hip firmly with one hand. In the next second, though, the doctor wrapped his lips around the head of Holmes' erection, and the detective was forced to bite his hand so as not to shout too loudly. He felt the vibrations of a laugh spread from where Watson's mouth was now firmly fastened around his cock, which didn't help in his endeavour not to shout, but was enjoyable nonetheless.

Watson continued to suck and lick his way up and down Holmes' length, and Holmes continued to whimper and moan as the tension built, and then pushed urgently at Watson's shoulder when he realised he was about to come. His warnings, however, were ignored. If anything, Watson became more determined and moments later Holmes was spurting his release down the doctor's throat.

“I tried to warn you...” the detective started sheepishly as Watson wriggled back up the bed to meet him.

“I know you did, but that, my dear Holmes, was merely foreplay.” Watson smiled broadly and went in for a gentle, deep kiss, and Holmes could taste what he could only imagine was his own release on the doctor's tongue.

“Contrary to my public image, Watson,” Holmes began breathlessly as they broke off for air, “I am not actually a machine. I cannot perform on command.”

Watson chuckled at that. “Oh, I think you'll find that you can, when provided with the right stimulus,” he smiled broadly, “and lucky for you, I know just what I'm doing.” He turned over and took something from the night stand, which turned out to be a little bottle filled with a faintly amber-hued liquid. Whilst he didn't recognise it exactly, he could recognise what it was for.

“Have you fallen out with the manufacturers of Vaseline?”

“Not at all. It remains an excellent, low-cost, general-purpose lubricant. This,” he shook the bottle gently, “is something a little bit different. Special formula.” He unscrewed the cap and the faint scent of roses wafted from the vessel.

“Special formula?” Holmes raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“You don't think you're the only chemist I've ever made the acquaintance of, do you?” Holmes felt a ridiculous surge of jealousy at that statement, “don't look at me like that. I wouldn't dream of doing to him what I'm about to do to you.”

Pacified for the time being, though having made a mental note to find out more about Watson's other chemist, Holmes leaned in for a brief kiss. “Would you mind terribly getting on with it, then?”

“Patience, darling. Good things come to those who wait.”

“Patience is only a virtue when it is required. Waiting for the sake of waiting is illogical.”

Holmes saw Watson roll his eyes, “the part that annoys me, you know,” the doctor began to coat his fingers in the liquid, “is that you know you're going to get your way in the end.”

Holmes grinned broadly, “Watson, if my fundamental nature annoyed you, you wouldn't...mmph.” He was cut off by the insertion of a finger into his back end.

“You're not still sore from last time, are you?” The genuine concern in the doctor's eyes made Holmes smile.

“No, not at all. 'Last time' was two days ago, Watson, and contrary to what you seem to be thinking, you have never done me any real damage.” To help drive his point home, he shifted his hips so as to force the finger deeper inside. They both groaned, and Holmes felt Watson relax minutely.

“Good.” He brought their mouths together again and used his tongue to forces his way into Holmes' mouth. This was a different sort of kiss to the ones they had shared up until now – it was more forceful, more deliberate. Specifically meant to arouse, Holmes thought, as he realised that that was a definite possibility.

Watson had apparently taken the opportunity to insinuate his finger further while Holmes had been distracted, since he broke off just as he touched on the spot inside that, after their first time, Holmes had discovered was his prostate. He had begun soon after to think of it as one of his favourite body parts, though before now he had already been raring to go and had thought it merely became more sensitive during arousal. This was apparently not the case, he realised as Watson begun what he could only describe as a massage of his insides. Not the case at all.

“Don't stop.” He managed a strangled moan as he felt Watson begin to withdraw his finger. The other man chuckled and continued on, only to thrust back in with a second finger. Holmes ignored the slight burn in favour of wriggling down onto them so that Watson would get back to what he was doing. He noticed, then, that whatever had been in that bottle was considerably different to the Vaseline they had been using before. It seemed to be naturally warmer, and of a finer consistency. It still worked just as well to ease the friction, but it was less unpleasantly sticky. Probably a light plant oil, his brain supplied, and then shut off as Watson pressed his fingers to either side of the little internal gland, and Holmes saw stars. He couldn't contain a deep moan at that, and Watson smiled triumphantly.

“Told you I know what I'm doing – I take it you're starting to believe me?”

“Oh, yes.” Very much beginning to believe it, as he could feel the first stirrings of renewed interest in his cock.

“You have no idea how amazing it is to know that I'm the first one who's ever done this for you,” Watson, Holmes noticed, was becoming breathless, “I only wish I'd known before.”

Holmes moved the hand he had been resting on Watson's arm, feeling the muscles work, up to the other man's face, where he let his fingertips rest against his cheek. “It could only ever have been you, and I'm glad it was.” He smiled gently and moved forward for a kiss, just as he felt Watson's fingers curl around his slowly-hardening length.

By the time they pulled apart again, Watson had added a third finger, and Holmes was pushing down against them and just about to beg for more. It was at that moment that Watson carefully removed his fingers. Holmes knew what came next, and rolled onto his belly in anticipation.

“No.” Watson spoke softly, and for a moment Holmes didn't quite register what he'd said.

“No?” Why not? Had he finally managed to offend Watson?

“Turn back over. I want to watch you.”

Holmes gasped at that, shocked by how erotic he found the idea of doing this face-to-face. He turned back over without hesitation and was promptly encouraged to lift his hips, whereupon Watson shoved a pillow under them.

Watson moved up between Holmes' legs and positioned himself as close as he could get. Holmes automatically wrapped one leg around the doctor's waist, trying to push him forward further. Watson held fast, but shifted himself so that the head of his cock pressed lightly against the entrance to Holmes' body. He then leaned forward to drape himself along the other man, and Holmes moaned at the fuller contact, and tried again to push down, but Watson was having none of it. He placed one Hand on Holmes shoulder, not gripping, but just holding – almost reassuringly – the detective thought.


“Get on with it, please!” Holmes decided he was not beyond begging.

Watson chuckled and, finally, pushed forward in one slow, even movement until he was fully seated in Holmes' body. The detective sighed happily and pulled Watson down for a kiss. The doctor rubbed soothing circles on Holmes' belly, and then leaned back again.

“I'd hate to rush you, Watson, but were you intending to move any time soon?”

“Will you quit nagging?”

“Unlikel- Ah. Oh.” Holmes was interrupted as Watson drew back and slammed back in once hard.

“Now,” Watson leaned in again, “will you shut up and let me make this special for you?”

“It already is.” Holmes whispered, and Watson dove forward to kiss him again before starting up a slow, deliberate rhythm that soon had Holmes thrusting up to meet him. Then Watson shifted so that he hit Holmes' prostate full on with every thrust, and Holmes found himself clinging onto the other man's back like his life depended on it. He wanted desperately to take himself into his hand, but he couldn't manage to let go to do so.

As if reading his mind (or perhaps, Holmes thought rationally for a second, reading his body and gauging from experience what he wanted) Watson took a firm hold of his cock moments later, and began stroking and squeezing in time with his thrusts.

Holmes gave up trying to actively control anything at that point, allowing his hips to thrust out of time and taking in great gulps of air to stop himself from passing out.

“Holmes, look at me,” Watson practically growled the instruction, and the detective was helpless to do anything but follow it. Watson was looking at him, Holmes felt, as though he was the most interesting thing in the world, like his existence was, for that moment, that most important thing in the world to the doctor, and with that thought he tumbled over the precipice with a cry that was meant to be “Watson” but probably didn't sound like it.

He floated in the space between consciousness and unconscious for a few moments, obliquely aware of Watson making a last few thrusts and then collapsing on top of him. He came back to awareness as he was pulled close to a solid body, both of them still panting heavily and coming down slowly.

“Thank you.” Watson was the first to break the silence.

“What on Earth for?”

“For just now,” he kissed Holmes' neck, “for three weeks ago,” jaw, “for every time in between,” lips.

Holmes smiled, slow and sincere. “You're welcome.”

A comfortable silence fell, until Holmes remembered a question he had meant to ask earlier, “roses, Watson?”

“You like roses. And I could hardly get you a bouquet.”