Chapter XII

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The New Acquisition

It has been a month now since my dear friend, Sherlock Holmes, re-entered my life, turning my drab existence upside down and filling me once more with the joy of living.

It seemed that the whole of London was agog at his miraculous return from the dead.  Everywhere we went he was feted by perfect strangers who were simply glad to hear that the great detective was alive to help them once more.  Of course, loathing any kind of publicity as he did, Holmes abhorred the whole business to the depths of his bohemian soul and could not wait for the fuss to die down so that life could get back to normal for us.  I would assure him that, as grateful as those people were to have him back, they would never know the gladness, the sheer unadulterated happiness and pleasure that I felt at his return and he would laugh and hug me.

In the six months that we were apart, in despair, Holmes had returned to his old bad habits of taking cocaine and morphine.  I know that it has not been easy for him giving them up again and I often catch him looking longingly at the drawer where he kept his syringe and phials of cocaine even though they are no longer there, for on our second day back in our old lodgings he bade me accompany him to the river and made a great show of throwing the syringe far out into the murky water of the Thames and pouring the cocaine in as well.  However, I am happy to say that he sleeps soundly in my arms now every night and the puncture marks from the syringe are fast fading.

A week after our return to Baker Street I ventured out one day for a long walk while Holmes was engaged in a particularly malodorous chemical analysis.  The varying smells coming thick and heavy from heated retorts never seemed to bother him in the least but, in spite of sitting beside an open window, I found the combined stench almost overpowering.  At length I decided to visit my old club where many people greeted me like a long-lost brother and I was most touched by the warmth of their welcome as I had ceased to go there after returning from Europe.  I passed a most convivial couple of hours there before returning to Baker Street in good spirits.  However, nothing could have prepared me for the change that had taken place whilst I was away.

As I entered my bedroom to change for dinner I stopped dead, transfixed by the extraordinary sight that greeted me.  In place of my small single bed there stood an elegant and most commodious mahogany four-poster.  On its surface gleamed a deep blue satin quilt falling in heavy folds to the floor and I could see that there were two pillows under it.

Two? I wondered.  This could only be the work of Holmes, I reasoned.

"Oh, my dearest Holmes, what have you done?" I moaned.  "This is hardly discreet!"

"No, it isn't, is it!" remarked a droll voice from the direction of my door.

Whirling in the direction of the door, I came face to face with my lover who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and looking at me in a most indulgent manner, a quizzical smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

"Do you like your little surprise?"

"‘Little'?  Oh, Holmes, it's... it's most handsome!  Just gorgeous in fact!  I don't know what to say!"

I held out my arms to him and, after checking to make sure that Mrs. Hudson was not on her way upstairs, he literally swept me into his arms, hugging me unmercifully and kissing my cheeks.

"I am so glad that you approve of my little surprise, my love."

"Oh, my dear, dear Holmes, thank you so much!"

"I informed Mrs. Hudson yesterday of my intention to purchase a gift to welcome you home, however, I do not believe that she expected anything quite so large!  I knew that if I performed some experiments this morning you would leave, hopefully for a few hours, as I had already arranged delivery."

This was typical of his devious mind, I thought, loving him all the more for his generous gesture.

Large, dark eyes followed my every movement in most indulgent manner as I sat down on the bed and ran my hand over the thick, soft quilt before turning it down to expose new linen pillowcases with matching snow-white sheets and pale blue woollen blankets.

Holmes's kindness had me literally shaking my head in disbelief, not withstanding that it would benefit both of us.  "Oh, my darling, thank you!  Thank you so much!  It's just beautiful!"

Up until that moment I had not noticed the floor as I had been too engrossed with the new bed, but now that I became aware of it, it seemed to feel strangely soft and springy beneath my feet.  Seeking the cause, I looked down to find that I was standing on a thick Persian rug in shades of dark blue, grey, black and cream.  No wonder the floor had felt so soft!

"Do you like it?"

I walked over to the door in order to see the design better.  "Oh, Holmes, it is most handsome and will certainly warm our feet on chilly winter mornings, but it is not my birthday, nor is it Christmas."

"No, but I think you will agree that we do need a more commodious bed and your room is just large enough to accommodate a four-poster.  As for the rug, the old one was worn thin and did not match the new quilt."

Turning back to the bed once more, I really noticed its design, especially the gentle upward curve of the thick, horizontal metal bar that joined the wooden bedposts and the vertical bars that supported it.  As I reached out to run my hand along the bar, Holmes leaned over and whispered in my ear, "It has possibilities, does it not, my dear?" in most seductive manner.

It seems almost in an instant that my heart quickened and blood began to rush to my manhood.  Embarrassed at my impetuous response, I endeavoured to control myself, but Holmes saw my difficulty - saw it and understood.

"Oh, my dearest Watson, I see that you have taken my words to heart!" he murmured in his teasing manner, pulling me back against him so that he was pressed against my back.  Startled, I felt his own beginning arousal, the bulge at his groin pressing against the crease of my buttocks through our clothing.  I could not help imagining myself on my hands and knees, gripping the long horizontal bar of the bed-head as my lover pushed his deliciously engorged prick all the way inside me until I was completely filled by him, impaled on the hard, thick rod of his shaft and loving every moment of every wonderful thrust, begging for more and more as I pushed eagerly back against him, love our only purpose, desire our only goal...

However, at that moment my darling Holmes sighed deeply.  "It is too close to dinner, my love."

He sounded as regretful as I felt.  "Then tonight I shall thank you properly and we shall investigate ‘possibilities'!" I declared.

"Mm, yes, I shall look forward to that, my sweet!" he whispered in his delightfully wicked way.

Later when Mrs. Hudson brought up our dinner I endeavoured not to blush when she remarked how handsome my new bed was.

"I told Mr. Holmes it was a fine purchase and you deserved a good, comfortable bed what with your war wound."

After she had gone I wondered if she might possibly suspect that Holmes and I were more than just friends and ventured to say as much.  His reply left me astounded.

"Oh, indeed I am quite certain that our good landlady knows all about us!" he blithely remarked.

I stared at him in some alarm.  "Oh, Holmes, surely not!  Why would she even suspect?  After all, we have been careful to use both your bed and mine so that she would not come to doubt our sleeping arrangements."

"True, but, alas, in spite of our most prudent efforts the evidence is frequently on the sheets and even a blind person could not fail to notice the scent of our loving in spite of our best attempts to air the room.  You will recall, my dear, that only yesterday morning you wakened me in most delightful fashion," he gazed at me slyly from under his long lashes, "and which, by the way, I thoroughly appreciated, and we had no sooner come down to breakfast than Mrs. Hudson was up in your room changing the sheets."

"But I opened the window before we came downstairs," I protested.

"Yes, you did, however, there was little or no breeze that morning. As well, the evidence of our pleasure would have been fresh on the sheets and she could not have failed to notice it."  He sighed.  "Of course, not having lived here for some six months we both overlooked the fact that Wednesday is her day to do the laundry."

I felt thoroughly embarrassed for both of us.  "Then... then surely she must know!"

"Of course," he said matter-of-factly.  "Her attitude toward us and her approval of your new bed which, by the way, I am sure she has deduced we will both be using, testifies to the fact that she not only knows but also approves of our physical intimacy."

Trying hard not to blush, I swallowed.  Here was I thinking that we had been so careful!  Other disturbing thoughts began to occur to me.

"Holmes, how long do you suppose Mrs. Hudson has known about us?"

"Oh, I have no doubt that she would have known since shortly after we became lovers."

Chagrined as I felt, I realised that it made sense.  "Holmes, if Mrs. Hudson has known about us for the last eighteen months, then it seems obvious that she was protecting our reputations on our first morning back here.  You did not see her brandishing a wet mop at any member of the press who dared get too close to the door.  I had assumed she was indignant at the thought of the house being invaded by a mob of rabid reporters hot on the scent of a story, but now...  Now I realise she was protecting us, our reputations.  After all, it was a quarter to seven in the a.m., she would have realised that we would still be in bed - and most likely together."

"Quite so.  I am sure she realised that I was most likely up in your room, as indeed I was.  We are truly blessed, my dear John, are we not?"

"Truly!" I agreed.

Curious as to why Mrs. Hudson would approve of our relationship, I ventured to ask Holmes his opinion on the matter.

He sipped pensively from his coffee cup.  "I have never told you this but, as you now know when we first moved here I was still developing my skills in my chosen profession and I decided to undertake a little research into Mrs. Hudson's background."

To say that I felt not a little dismay would be understatement indeed.  To me, it seemed devious indeed to check into the background of our loyal landlady.  Unfortunately, to Holmes, my face was an open book.

"Don't look at me like that, Watson!" he reproved.  "It was necessary."

"Sorry, Holmes.  I was just surprised that you would investigate Mrs. Hudson of all people."

"No doubt you think it deceitful and underhanded of me, not to mention an invasion of the lady's privacy, and I agree with you - it was all of those things.  However, I reasoned that I needed someone reliable, honest, cautious and preferably not much given to gossip. In the course of my brief investigation I found out that she and her husband had shared what by all accounts was a happy marriage and had four children.  Alas, her husband had been unwise in his investments and on his death some fourteen years ago she was left virtually in penury and forced to rent out these rooms.  Of her four children, all are still living with the exception of the youngest, a son named Andrew James Hudson.  I checked old death notices and church records and it seems he died some two months short of his twentieth year. Upon making further inquiries I was fortunate to find someone who had known him around the time of his death.  He informed me that Andrew had been a troubled young man, frequently given to over-indulgence in drink.  One day he purchased a revolver and shot himself."

The tragic waste of one so young is always a sad affair and my heart went out to the lady.  "Oh, Lord, the poor lady!  How sad for her!  And he was so young!  Were you able to find out why he took his life like that?"

He nodded.  "Indeed.  I was informed by his friend that Andy, as he called him, had engaged in a ferocious quarrel with his father the night before he died and, although he was not informed of the substance of the dispute, he believed it was over the fact that the boy was not unduly fond of the company of comely young women, instead preferring that of handsome young men.  As his friend expressed it, Andy was ‘one for the lads'.

"How tragic!"

"Indeed.  No doubt Mrs. Hudson has deeply regretted her son's untimely death ever since and perhaps feels that in some way she can make reparation to him by protecting our reputations."

"Oh, Holmes, I had no idea!"

"Of course you didn't, my friend, and I vowed that I would tell no one of my discoveries."

I sighed.  Sometimes life seemed so harsh.  "Holmes, do you ever wonder how many young men commit suicide because, against society's dictates - not to mention the current law - they find themselves attracted to their own kind?"

"Too many I fear, my friend.  Far too many.  I, myself, was fortunate that I had an elder brother who shared my taste.  Even so, I frequently became despondent after my night-time forays.  Mycroft was leading the existence of a monk until he and Harold became friends."

"Thank God you and I met!" I declared vehemently.

"Yes.  We met and you came to live here with me and I thought you quite the handsomest man that I had ever known."  He gazed at me affectionately.  "Little did I realise then that one day you would come to be so much more than merely a fellow lodger."

As I endeavoured not to blush he went back to reading his paper.

Thanks to our spacious new bed we now have much more room to stretch our limbs, however, in spite of all that extra space we still sleep close-held in each other's arms as we did in the old bed.  The fact that we can do this every night gives us satisfaction beyond measure and, more and more, the bleakness of my previous existence seems like another lifetime, like a nightmare that is finally over with.

Strange as it may seem I have come to believe that our six month separation has been beneficial to both of us and a most positive influence on Holmes.  He is far more considerate of my opinions and my feelings now.  His manners still occasionally lapse, but he does try. I can ask for no more.

We have also returned to many of our ways of old, for instance the litany of secret touches that we employed when in public view.  In a four-wheeler during the day we will sit facing each other and talking like two proper gentlemen, and yet our legs are entwined and touching intimately.  Whilst watching a play in a darkened theatre his hand will secretly rest against my thigh under cover of our clothing and, though outwardly my attention is fully on the events taking place on stage, inwardly I am aware of the warmth of his hand and a small thrill of delight will shiver through me at his daring.  In quiet corners of restaurants with generous tablecloths that hide our legs from view he will let his leg rest against mine and even caress my leg with his own.

Holmes would seem to find it titillating to engage in these small acts of intimacy while outwardly appearing perfectly normal, and I must confess that I, too, feel more than a thrill of excitement when engaged in these covert activities - conducted as they are in such public places.

Yesterday I sold my practice in Kensington for a considerable sum, indeed far more than I had expected to get for it, and took Holmes out to dinner to celebrate, thence to a concert.

In the restaurant we dined at our favourite table in a quiet corner.  We spoke only of food, wine and music, Holmes discoursing on one of his favourite subjects, Paganini.  Our legs were well out of sight of other diners and waiters and I let my foot slide forward until our legs were touching.

Holmes glanced around the restaurant at the other diners then, observing me demurely from under his long lashes, murmured provocatively, "Of course a meal is ten times more enjoyable when in the company of a stimulating companion!"  So saying he clasped my leg between both of his, pressing it delightfully whilst his fingers stroked the surface of the fine linen tablecloth in such a way as to suggest the most intimate touches to my fevered brain.  I stroked his long legs with my own and watched his so-expressive eyes.

After dinner we walked the short distance to the theatre where, beneath our clothing, he rested the back of his hand against my thigh. All through the concert I was aware of its warmth there and occasionally, as though by accident, I would let my fingers stroke up it through our clothing, feeling a small thrill of pleasure at the clandestine touch.

It was late when we returned home in a four-wheeler, sitting side-by-side and embracing comfortably in the darkness.  We had told Mrs. Hudson that we would be back late so that our rooms were cold and dark and after turning up the gas jets I quickly lit a fire whilst Holmes poured us a glass of cognac each.

"A toast!" he declared.  "To you, my dearest friend and most desirable partner, without whom I would be lost."

So precious was he to me in that moment that I was quite unable to speak, mesmerised as I was by his beautiful eyes.  "And to you, my dear Sherlock Holmes, my beloved companion, my priceless treasure."

For a moment his eyes closed, as though savouring my words.  As they slowly opened it seemed to me that he was most engrossed in the view before him as his gaze roamed my length, his concentration fixed totally on me as we touched glasses and drank.

Anticipation quickened my pulse as I took our glasses and deposited them on the mantelpiece.

"Oh, my dear, dear John, how handsome you are!" he murmured, his voice low and enticing to my ears, his fine hands resting on my shoulders and stroking lingeringly down my arms.  "If I do not say it enough, always know that I love you, dearest friend."

I pressed my finger to his lips.  "Hush, my heart.  I know of the feelings that you hide, the love that you give to no one else but me.  You have so much love in you.  It is there in your eyes when you look at me."  I touched his beautiful, spare face, admiring as always his exquisite grey eyes, now gazing on me with such singular longing in their dark depths.  "I feel it in the way you touch me with such tender ardour; and when we kiss your response is so swift, so ardent and so trusting that I am overwhelmed by your affectionate nature."  I was overcome with such sweet yearning that I cupped his face in my hands and whispered, "Oh, my dearest Holmes, you are so utterly desirable, and I do so adore you!"

As his arms embraced me he murmured, "My dearest!  My John!  Lord, but you ignite such a passion in me!"

Finally we shared the kiss that I had been anticipating all evening, and it was all the sweeter for the long expectation.  On our tongues was the rich taste of cognac and we feasted on each other like starving men, gorging ourselves until our heads reeled in delight and our increased respiratory rate and thundering hearts caused our bodies to vibrate in excited anticipation of pleasures to come.

As we parted I watched my dear one intently as his eyes opened in wonder, the dancing orange flames of firelight reflecting gold within their smoky depths.  His pink lips were soft and glistening from our kiss and he appeared utterly alluring and totally irresistible.

His sensitive musician's fingers stroked my face and neck with infinite gentleness.  Leaning over to leave soft, sucking kisses on my throat, he whispered, "Mm, John, you are a most enticing sight, my dear, and you taste delicious and, oh, but I need you so very much, my darling!"

All I could whisper was a vehement, "Yes!  Oh, yes, my dear, sweet Holmes!  But let us turn the lamps out, my love."

It seemed to me that this was accomplished in record time.  With the lamps now out and the rest of the sitting room in shadow, the firelight bathed us in flickering tongues of orange flame.

Prolonging the anticipation further proved impossible as my hands, seemingly with a will of their own, reached to undo his cravat.  Next I removed his frock-coat and waistcoat.  As I unbuttoned his shirt I let my fingers stroke down the smooth skin of his chest, over to his firm arms, petting freely as I slid it from his shoulders.  He now stood bare-chested before me and I allowed my hands free reign to wander where they would, his gaze fixated on me, avid eyes missing nothing.  His lips were parted slightly, his breathing most definitely elevated.

As I caressed and kneaded his firm pectorals, my mouth hungered for his small pink nipples.  Succumbing to my craving, I allowed my roving tongue to play with them, licking and sucking in most covetous manner on the small protrusions whilst my love sighed his delight.

Inevitably, my hands wandered to his trousers and I let them slide down his hips over the smoothness of material, feeling the warmth of his firm flesh beneath.  The firm roundness of his buttocks filled my hands as I moved closer, tempting me to cup and lingeringly caress them and tell him how truly handsome he was.

"As long as I please you, my sweet," he whispered.

Finally, the more-than-obvious bulge in his trousers, now pressing against my own matching hardness, was far too tempting a lure and I pulled back a little to stroke one finger down it, then up again, just once, watching his eyes close in helpless pleasure and listening intently to the catch in his breath.

Quickly, I unbuttoned his trousers and underpants, sliding them down his legs and he kicked his boots off and stepped out of them.

My darling Holmes now stood naked before me, the long, lean angles and spare musculature of his glowing form leaving me speechless at the sight of his beauty as he leaned one elbow on the mantelpiece and posed for me.  He knew that I was always captivated by the sight of him like this and as I feasted my eyes on his jutting and lovely penis my heart began to pound in my chest.  There are times when I am convinced that my lustful Holmes is the most wanton creature on God's earth - and this was definitely one of them.

He knelt down before me and opened my trousers, gently lifting out my swollen member and pressing his face to its throbbing hardness; rubbing his cheeks and ears against it and nuzzling it in most sensual fashion, crooning softly in delight whilst stroking my thighs and bestowing the most deliciously carnal caresses to my sensitive rear.

How I adored him!  I ran my fingers through his soft hair, stroking and caressing it and calling him my darling as he continued with his tender and erotic ministrations until I could stand not a moment more of his ardent attentions.  I pressed his face to my aching groin, begging him to cease lest I lose all control.

Thankfully my dear one had mercy on me and once again stood before me, his eyes now smouldering as he began to remove the rest of my clothing.  He, too, took his time removing each item, folding it and placing it on the settee.  He, too, took the liberty of stroking my skin tantalisingly as, bit by bit, it was revealed.

"Oh, but you are so handsome, my dear!" he proclaimed, standing back and admiring my unclothed form as I stood naked before him in the lamplight.  "Just gorgeous!"

Even though women seem to find me attractive enough, I have never considered myself handsome, let alone ‘gorgeous'.  My body has always seemed to me to be quite unremarkable, but Holmes has taught me to value myself so that, where once upon a time I would have felt embarrassment at my own nakedness, I now felt only freedom and a delicious arousal as his eyes gazed on me most lasciviously for long delightful moments of mouth-watering anticipation.

"Hm, I have decided that you are far too tempting.  Come to me!" he declared, holding out his arms in supplication.

Stepping forward, we were immediately in each other's arms, close-held and desiring.  Our needful members duelled for position and, as Holmes was slightly the taller, he parted his long legs so that my heavy prick could slip between them, the tip resting between the lower part of his buttocks, tantalisingly close to the entrance of his body whilst the base pushed up his testicles so that they rested gently on it and his own jutting member was pressed tight between our warm bellies.

So delectable to hold him like this!  To feel the smoothness of his skin and his hungry arousal and let it feed my own fire; to feel our senses so attuned that we were in perfect harmony; to know that he was as mad for me as I was for him was sheer ecstasy; and to say that we delighted in it would be understatement indeed!

"Holmes, my dearest!" I murmured breathlessly.  "Oh, my sweet!  Oh, Lord, to hold you like this... such ecstasy!  Mm..."

As I kissed the soft skin of his throat I ran my hands up and down the long muscles of his back and he, my deliciously sensual lover, threw his head back, begging for more.

"Oh, yes, yes!  Oh, my dear love, how I adore you!" he whispered.

Working my way down to his broad shoulders, my lips relished the clean taste of his skin.

"Watson, you are a feast for the senses and your manly beauty is a joy to behold," he boldly proclaimed.  "You turn the blood in my veins to fire and my loins to molten lava!  Dear God, how I need you!"

Swaying against him, I ground our groins together, gazing at him through a haze of lust.  Our hands grasped and pressed each other's buttocks as our mouths met in needful kisses, our tongues duelling deliciously, smothering our moans of pleasure.

"John, John, oh, your kisses!" he gasped, lips wandering all over my face.  "How did I ever survive without your sweet kisses to warm me!  Cocaine can not compete with you, my dear!"

At such times he could be both romantic and flattering - and I shamelessly revelled in it.  Also, I had learnt in the early days of our romantic liaison that the best way of encouraging my occasionally-reticent lover to voice his desires was simply to express my own in graphic detail.  This I did now, unabashedly extolling his virtues, knowing that he would play right along.

"Mm, your kisses melt my bones!" I murmured into his ear.

"Oh, yes!  Tell me more!" he murmured, warm lips all over my face.

"Your lips are so soft, so lovely.  I love to feel them on me, everywhere."

"More!"  His lips travelled from my brow to my cheeks.

"Your sweet lips are delectable and I love to kiss them!"  We kissed again.

"More!" he demanded.

"Your tongue makes me wild!" I whispered hoarsely.

"Oh, yes, yes!  I relish making you wild, my John!  Relish it!" he murmured, thrusting his long tongue into my mouth so that I could suck on it and stroke it with my own.  "I love it when you lose control!" he murmured between kisses.  "When your need is so great you are quite wild, my dear!"  He kissed me again, long and most deeply.  "Wild for me!" he whispered, lips wandering to my ear.

"Always wild for you, my love," I whispered.  "Always!  Love you so much!"

"Yes!  Oh, yes, love me!" he sighed, hands wandering everywhere he could reach.

"Your hands are so wonderful!" I gasped.  "I love to feel them on me!  Everywhere!  Oh, yes, yes, touch me!  Touch me everywhere!  Ohhh!"

"Oh, yes, yes, yes!" he sighed.  "I will touch you, my dear!  Touch you everywhere!  Touch all of you!  I love you so, my heart!"

Lightly kissing his ear, I whispered, "Sometimes I only have to look at you; at your long legs and your lean beauty, and my prick gets hard.  So... very... hard," I breathed, mouthing the lobe, my words deliberately provocative.

"Mm, my wicked Watson, what a wanton and delectable creature you are.  Why you're hard as a steel pipe!"  His teeth were nibbling my neck.

With slow deliberation I ran caressing fingers the length of his own lovely member, trapped as it was between us.

"And sometimes I think about burying my swollen prick in you whilst you writhe and moan in pleasure," I gasped.

"Ah, yes!" he sighed.  "The very feel of you inside me; so hot, so large and so hard inside me; thrusting so deeply within me...  Oh, Lord, it's so gloriously good!"  He leaned lower, lips finding my nipples and causing me to groan aloud as he sucked ardently on them until they were tiny stiff points of excited sensation.

"And sometimes I think about your lovely hard member in me," I murmured, kissing his neck and shoulders.  "I think about how you sigh when you enter me, as though you've come home."

He smiled.  "I have!"

I, too, smiled, knowing this to be true in more than one sense of the word.  "Mm, yes!  Home where you belong!  And I think about how it feels to have your gorgeous shaft inside me, stroking back and forth across my prostate."

His hands grasped and kneaded my buttocks.  "God, yes!"

"And how it feels when you're buried to the hilt in me, and we come... together... divinely... as one!  One glorious, exultant, undivided being, loving and being loved.  Oh, my dear, dear Holmes!"

"Darling John," he breathed in my ear, "there is more passion and romance in your soul than the greatest poet who ever lived.  You are poetry for my ears, splendour for my eyes and a feast for my senses!  Oh, let us go to bed so that I may worship you properly!"

We quickly gathered our clothing and secured the sitting room for the night before making our way up to my bedroom where we wasted no time climbing beneath the covers of our lovely new bed.

Holmes then began a most ardent assault on my person, showing me no mercy whatsoever.  When he took me in his mouth I was as defenceless as a babe in arms and wanted nothing more than to come there and then and pour myself down his accepting throat.

"Stop!  Oh Lord, stop, please!" I pleaded.  "Oh, please!  I don't want to finish yet.  Not just yet."

He withdrew slowly, allowing my heavy, glistening-wet member to slip gently from his mouth before kissing and mouthing his way up my belly, pausing to once more suck hard at my pinched nipples on his way to reaching my mouth again.

Plunging my tongue into him again and again in delirious joy, I relished the taste of my own arousal on his tongue.  "My dear, I am on fire!" I groaned.  "Let me have your dear body this instant or I shall go mad with wanting!"

"Calm yourself, dear boy," he soothed, stroking my face gently with his long fingers and watching me intently.  "I am yours, my love.  Always I am yours."

Even in the heat of the moment it was obvious that my dear one's passionate words referred to much more than merely physical passion.  At times like these he was as far removed from Holmes the commanding, keen-witted sleuth as it was possible to be and I marvelled at the contrast between that person and the hedonistic creature who now lay before me in all his naked glory, flaunting his blatant sexual arousal and smiling up at me, holding out his arms in welcome.

The candles cast flickering shadows on his bare flesh, turning it to bronze as I knelt between his legs.

"My God, what a glorious sight you are!" I gasped.  "Ah, sweet darling, I adore you so!"  I stroked my hands down his long legs from hip to ankle.  "You set my whole being aflame with longing!"  I leaned down to kiss his thighs, my hands stroking the firm flesh of the outside, my tongue leaving wet trails on the softness of the inner side.  "My dear and wonderful Holmes!  My sweet one, I worship you!"  His testicles were full and heavy and I hungered for them.  "Mm, lovely!"  I leaned down and sucked on them, loving the feel of their firm ripeness in my mouth, relishing my lover's every gasp and sigh of pleasure and hearing him call my name repeatedly whilst uttering the fondest of endearments.

Slightly calmer now, I leisurely mouthed him, moving lower until I reached the tight entrance to his sweet body.  Scrupulously clean as he always was, I had no hesitation in using my tongue to relax him, hearing him give a long blissful groan and feeling his body quiver in delight.  I knew from experience how very much he loved to have me do this for him, as indeed I enjoy it when he does it for me, so I took my time, lingering there whilst he thrashed and twisted about in unfettered extravagance, all the while imploring me to enter him.

Reaching for the oil, I coated myself quickly, on fire with longing to join with him so deeply that no one and nothing could sunder us.  Sliding a pillow under him, I positioned myself before slipping into his dear, accepting body as he pushed up against me, taking me deeply and calling my name over and over in soft, breathless gasps.  His hands gripped the bed's vertical bars whilst his legs encircled me in love, welcoming me into his heat and tightness as I was overwhelmed with the desire to be one with him in every possible way.

Savouring his keenness to receive me and the utter rapture of our joining, I watched him intently, for all the love in his heart was shining from the depths of his beautiful eyes.  Surely to be allowed to love him in this sweet manner was the nearest thing to heaven I would ever find in this life.  Dear God, but I adored him so!

To stay still was more than I could bear, and so I moved; withdrawing a little and gently pushing deeply back inside him again as his body contorted in his desperate craving for release.  With my oiled fingers I stroked his lovely manhood, watching with fascination as his hands twisted back and forth on the sturdy bars.

Ultimately overwhelmed, and in a state bordering on delirium, with my body drawn tight as the strings of his violin, I gasped out my love and adoration for him, my ardour so blissfully intense that I came close to passing out, feeling as though I poured my whole heart and soul into him.  Simultaneously his full and lovely member quivered and jerked as he came gloriously in my hands and we surrendered completely to the most divine madness that God ever invented.

After we had cleansed ourselves we lay quietly together, so warm and comfortable in our nice, big bed, whilst Holmes absently ran gentle fingers through my hair.  Lying there in the peace and quiet of my room, my lover in my arms, I could not help but think that I was the most fortunate man in England.

"Love you, my sweet," I whispered.

He leaned over to kiss me good-night.  "Adore you, my heart!"

*** * ***