The Adventure at Baskerville Hall & Other Cases

and, by the time I had finished rummaging around and returned to the settee, he had stripped himself and was waiting for me, the firelight playing on all the dearly familiar planes and angles of him. I would have gone down on my knees and taken him in my mouth as I opened him with my fingers, but before I could do so he pulled me down to sit on the settee and climbed into my lap again, sitting astride my legs. He leaned in to press random kisses on my face, murmuring, "Like this," against my jaw before his mouth found mine.
    As in all things, I ceded to his request, and found it deeply erotic to feel the hitch in his breathing as I teased him with slick fingers, ghosting my touch lightly where he wanted firm pressure and feeling him writhe and groan softly against my mouth.
    Eventually I had two fingers sunk deeply inside him, watching greedily as he gasped and rocked back against my hand. His cock was hard and already wet at the tip, leaving damp smears on my stomach when he leaned forward to kiss me and tuck his face against my neck.
    I reached down to touch his cock, wanting to watch his face under the dual stimulation, but he pulled my hand away after only a few brief strokes, gasping, "No, don't. It's too much."
    Lacing our fingers together, he squirmed forward in my lap, nuzzling open-mouthed kisses against my throat and beginning to thrust against me in a steady rhythm that I recognised.
    "Wait."
    I put a hand on his hip to still him, and he sat up and said, " Now, " reaching for the small jar that sat next to us on the settee. Digging his fingers into it, he gripped my erection and then it was my turn to gasp and bury my face against his neck as he stroked me.
    The next instant he was canting his hips forward and sinking down and we both groaned aloud as I pressed slowly inside him. Usually, I would give him a moment, to let him adjust to the intrusion, but this time he began to rock against me almost before I was ready.
    "My God," I groaned, grabbing at his narrow hips as he moved, "what in the world has got into you? It's enough to make one think that you've not ... when was the last time you got yourself off?"
    "Not since I left Baker Street," he moaned, eyes fluttering closed as one hand gripped my shoulder and the other reached down between our bodies to take himself in hand.
    "Not since you left–"
    "John, I have been living in a hut , remember. Decidedly not conducive to such self-indulgence."
    His reply to my incredulous exclamation sounded like his usual impatient tone, and my affectionate chuckle was abruptly cut off when he rocked down, pushing me further inside him, and moaned softly as he quivered with pleasure.
    "Easy," I whispered into his hair, "easy now, I've got you."
    "John ... oh God, John... "
    His knuckles were already wet where they rubbed against my stomach, such was his desire, and in reply I gritted my teeth and thrust up into him, feeling him already begin to tighten around me and tilting my hips to nudge the spot inside him that would make him–
    " God ." He was shaking against me, his rhythm starting to falter as his muscles tensed. "I can't ... I'm nearly..."
    "Yes," I groaned unsteadily, "go on, I want you to."
    Reaching down between us I covered his hand with my own, squeezing his fingers tighter and encouraging him wordlessly, and it was all he needed.
    With a heartbreaking moan that was stifled against my shoulder, he tensed as he came, pulsing over our twined fingers. I gritted my teeth, conscious that I was moments away from my own finish but forcibly willing myself to wait, to hold on and keep driving into him at the same angle until he gasped and went limp against my chest.
    Then, and only then, did I let myself seize his hips and push up into him, feeling the tight heat around my cock and the last fading ripples of his orgasm, and I leaned forwards, blindly seeking his mouth. I could only manage one brief, clumsy kiss before my climax overtook me and I gasped out my pleasure, mouth open against his shoulder and tasting the faint perspiration on his skin.
    My memories of the rest of the night are vague and hazy-edged, attributable partly to the exhaustion that was overcoming me and partly to blissful contentment. Some moments later I stirred and found that Holmes seemed to be all but asleep on top of me, his head heavy against my shoulder. This was tremendously unlike him, especially given that he was currently engaged upon a case, but all the more endearing for that,