The Lion's Den (post The Sign of Four - original story)
by Clonesgirl
As I awaken the first thing I become aware of is a marvellous feeling of warmth and comfort. Next I realise that I am lying at an odd angle, my head seems to be resting on something considerably harder than a pillow and, of all things, there is a warm body in the bed right next to me.
Upon opening my eyes, I observe through grey morning light a man's neck and jaw no more than three inches away.
Watson! Good Lord, I am in Watson's bed, my head is on his shoulder and he is sound asleep. I fell asleep in his bed last night after... after...
Dear God, we made love! How we made love - and more than once! We made love downstairs - and upstairs!
I will never forget climbing the stairs to my dear friend's room in such a state of nerves as I had not felt since that business with the snake at Stoke Moran. However, his smile of welcome assuaged my fears to the point that I seriously thought for a moment that I might collapse, hence I joined him in bed with considerable alacrity.
How warmly he welcomed me to his bed - and how I savoured it! Ah, the sweet delights of his body! And such kisses I partook of! When we finally kissed goodnight I could not get enough of him even after all the other times that our lips had met.
My dear John was so generous, even insisting that I take him. Of course, I had earlier insisted that he take me. At the time I am quite sure that he truly believed me to be a complete innocent and, of course, that is what I wished him to think. However, fool that I am, I failed to take his generous nature into account else I should have realised that he would wish to reciprocate.
Hah! Me innocent? But he was, at least with men. I trust that I did not damage him in any way, and he at least seemed to enjoy it, even begging me for more. At least I made it as comfortable as I could for him by stretching him and deliberately stimulating him, thereby distracting him from any pain. Of course, if the discomfort had been extreme, even the physical stimulation would not have been enough to mask the pain. Also, truth be told, it would have been difficult in the extreme for me to cease and desist though I made much of offering to do that very thing should he have asked. Thank God I he did not! I wonder if his very attractive rear will prove to be sore today. Hm, I believe my own is still a little tender.
Turning my head a little, I look toward the window listening to the sounds of the traffic outside. It is growing brighter, though still very grey. Even as I listen I hear the wind rise and the first drops of rain patter on the window panes. No doubt it is to be a cold, wet day. However, it is still early and, as I lie here, so warm and so comfortable in my dear friend's bed, I allow my mind to drift, remembering my own first time...
He was a fellow student at Oxford, though not from the same college as myself. Indeed my good Watson already knows that Victor Trevor and I were friends and has written up the singular events that befell Trevor's father for publication. What Watson does not know was that Victor Trevor, besides bringing me what was to become my very first case, and therefore deciding my career, was also my first lover.
Poor Trevor! He was so mortified by his bull-terrier biting me on the ankle - and quite badly for it became infected - that he was most solicitous of my welfare and often came to see me. At first it was only a minute's chat, but soon his visits lengthened. I, of course, being laid up with my ankle for ten days, could do little but lie about and hobble around my room. All that I was capable of was reading and I naturally became most bored.
Trevor, a hearty, robust sort of fellow, was far different from me, though we were the same in one respect in that he was as friendless as I. I had not thought to make friends at Oxford as I was inclined to stay in my room a good deal of the time. In addition, my line of study was so far removed from that of my fellows that I really had very little contact with them - bar fencing, boxing and archery, all of which I excelled at. Alas these abilities, far from improving my popularity, merely created jealousy amongst my fellow students, and so my existence was a solitary one. I was therefore quite unprepared for Trevor's friendship.
During the time I was laid up I began to anticipate Trevor's daily visits with some considerable pleasure. I enjoyed his company and our talks covered an extensive range of subjects. As the days wore on I even began to wish that my ankle would not heal too fast as it would mean an end to his visits. I was quite convinced that he was only coming to see me because he felt sorry for my being laid up as I was and was most contrite over my unfortunate predicament, desiring to make amends in any way that he could.
As time wore on and my ankle healed I was gratified that Trevor still kept company with me. When the summer holidays came I was most pleased when he invited me to spend them at his father's estate at Donnithorpe in Norfolk. Naturally I accepted, though only for the first month of the long summer holiday, and it was during my time there that the singular events of the ‘Gloria Scott' came to light. After these revelations and the subsequent sudden death of Trevor's father I sensed that Trevor needed my support. One night, precisely three nights after his father had died, he came to my room after midnight. He was somewhat the worse for drink and I think he probably just needed someone to talk to. Be that as it may, he spent the night in my bed.
It was the first time I had ever shared my bed with anyone and Trevor was quite a handsome fellow. He was most upset by his father's death, a feeling which, unfortunately, I was quite unable to relate to, although I reasoned that if my own father had been more like Mr Trevor, who had surely been close to his son, I, too, might have been grief-stricken when my own father had died. However, at that time I had no experience of profound loss - or, for that matter, of profound desire.
Yes, I had looked at fellow students and wondered, and perhaps some had looked at me and wondered. However, inexperienced as I was, I did not know how to approach anyone. Also, from the perspective of time, I realise now that I wear about me a somewhat unapproachable air, and did so even then, unconscious though it is most of the time. I have no doubt therefore that this, too, contributed to my solitary existence.
Since I was ten-and-four I had known that I was attracted to boys, though I knew not why. Boys of my own age all seemed to be enamoured of girls and this I fear also left me isolated for I desired only the company of the male sex. As far as girls were concerned, yes, I knew some, had met them on social occasions and even danced with them, but the only girl I was ever fond of deserted me for a hero of the football field. I thereupon decided that the female sex was far too treacherous to be trusted and resolved to lead a solitary life of observing - though probably not touching - men. How wrong I was!
After listening to Trevor talk about his childhood for well over an hour I had insisted upon his resting on my bed. After all, there was plenty of room for the bed could easily have accommodated three people in comfort. Eventually he had fallen asleep and I had taken the liberty of removing his dressing gown and covering him up. However, I could not sleep and lay there beside him, gazing on his handsome features for quite some time, longing as I had at no other time in my life to hold his handsome body against my own slender one and perhaps, if he was amenable, press my lips to his own. More than that I did not dare to imagine.
Eventually, with such wicked thoughts as these in my head, I drifted to sleep, my hand resting on his upper arm. However, my sleep was to be a short one for I was awoken some two hours later to find that Trevor had moved much closer and, in fact, had thrown both an arm and a leg about me. I felt the warm weight of his limbs restricting my movement as I went to turn over. At that point I remained still, listening to his breathing to ascertain that he really was asleep. It was apparent that he was and I lay still, absorbing the remarkable feel of having another person share my bed in so intimate a manner.
Pondering what was best to do, I lay quietly. In his present vulnerable state little did poor Trevor know that lying with me was not entirely safe. Also, I did not wish to take advantage of his present melancholia to gratify my own curiosity.
In spite of my best efforts to lie still, the need to embrace him was so all-consuming that I was powerless to resist. After a while I simply stopped fighting it.
My mind made up, I decided to see what would happen if I just put my arms around my handsome companion. With much hesitation and delicate manoeuvring I managed to do so without disturbing him - or so I thought.Trevor's reaction to my light touch was immediate. He moved even closer to me and rested his head on my shoulder whilst emitting a long, drawn-out sigh of contentment. His groin was now pressed against my hip in most intimate manner.
It was evident to me, even in my naivete, that my presence in the bed with him was affording him the comfort he sought, and for that I could not blame him.
Trevor sighed again and this time he whispered my name and I felt the touch of warm lips on my neck.
Almost in shock, I froze, waiting to see if he would repeat the action. Of course, I knew the touch of my own hand, but not another's touch, and I reasoned that it might be an interesting experience for both of us, for I was sure from our earlier conversations that Trevor, like myself, was truly virgin with both sexes.
From the rate of his breathing I could tell that Trevor was no longer asleep, and I lay there with my heart pounding, wondering what he would make of the intimate touching of our bodies and praying that he would not withdraw in embarrassment. However, much to my relief, he did not move a muscle and simply lay there as we shared the silence of the room, a silence that was now fraught with anticipation - at least on my part.
In the end it was logic that got the better of me as I realised that life in all its variety had presented me with an opportunity for physical intimacy with a fellow male, if only I were bold enough to take it.
Pondering that he who hesitates is lost, I turned my head slightly and deliberately touched my lips to Trevor's forehead and held my breath, waiting for his reaction, half terrified that he would freeze and push away from me. However, he merely sighed again, moved even closer, if that were possible and, no longer pretending to be asleep, proceeded to deposit a second kiss on my neck.
Closing my eyes, I savoured the touch of another's lips on my neck for the second time in one night. In fact, I believe I probably smiled. Trevor thereupon pressed his lips several more times to my neck, which felt remarkably good.
Forcing my eyes to open, I turned my head a little and gazed on Trevor in the light of a single candle burning by the bed just as he opened his eyes. He had declared his hand in a manner that was exceeding bold; could I do less?
As our gazes met I touched his cheek, granting my consent to whatever he wished to do. In all frankness I believe that he was amazed by my acquiescence and he smiled at me as he leaned closer and touched his lips to mine in most shy manner.
Oh, I will never forget that first soft kiss of Trevor's! We shared many more kisses before that singular night was over, but the memory of that first kiss, as hesitant and light as the wings of a moth, will be with me to the end of my days.
Inexperienced though we both were, the night was a most pleasurable one for both of us; so much so that that singular night with Victor Trevor changed my life forever for I knew then that to experience not just desire but also affection in another man's arms was indeed exquisite.
Afterwards he fell asleep in my embrace. The feel of another man sleeping in my arms was beyond my ken, and so pleasing to the senses that I found myself observing him with utmost affection. Of course, the extraordinarily intimate knowledge that I had gained of him - and he of me - was something that I would always recollect with fondness. I also realised that my friendship with Victor Trevor could not last - we were too different, our goals too dissimilar. I therefore resolved to guard my heart as best I could for I knew with certainty that my relationship with him would, of necessity, be of short duration.
I remained with Trevor at his family home for the whole of the summer holiday and long before the first week of our new-found intimacy was over I was remarkably pleased to be able to state that I was no longer virgin with men - and neither was he. We both knew that it would end soon though and deliberately kept a reign on our feelings, though even so we were most fond of each other.
Unfortunately for Trevor, his father's sudden and untimely death meant that he would have to take over the running of the estate and he was therefore unable to return to Oxford with me. Our parting, I realised, would have to be final, but it was most amicable, and I sincerely wished him well. Of course, he wanted me to come and stay at Donnithorpe with him whenever I could but I felt it best to decline for, thanks to his father's unique history, I had finally decided what my own profession would be and even though our sexual pleasures had been most convivial, I made up my mind that, from then on, I would devote myself with single-mindedness to my career - and a sexual relationship with another man, as delightful as I had now realised that it could be, was much too distracting.
Victor Trevor and I were never to meet again and my future sexual forays consisted of couplings in the dark of night with anonymous strangers whom I would not so much as kiss. Never again did I find that certain combination of friendship and sex which could be so comfortable - and so remarkably pleasurable - until now.
In the years that my good Watson has shared these rooms with me I have been so obsessed with acquiring knowledge for my career that I did not stop to question his motives for always keeping company with me. I simply accepted that he was a ladies man and sought relief elsewhere, though I lay uncounted nights in my cold bed, longing for his company to warm my heart. Of course, each time he displayed any attraction to the fair sex I was forced to contemplate losing him to a woman. How this thought has tortured me for years!
No more.
Now my good Watson is sleeping next to me, and what I once felt for Victor Trevor seems but a pale shadow in comparison to the heart-felt affection I feel for my dearest friend. I must have slept with my head on his shoulder for most of the night. I fear that I could get used to this.
Fear? What is there to fear? Emotional ties? Yes, they do require consideration, but I know that my Watson cares for me - witness his sacrificing his innocence to me last night! He would only have contemplated such an act with a most trusted friend, and yet I still wonder if one day he would leave me for another...
No! No, if he were truly of such a mind he would surely have left me for the attractive and ladylike Miss Mary Morstan - but he did not. He stayed and, dear God, my first night with Victor Trevor, not to mention my other encounters, simply pale in comparison. In fact, there is no comparison to the joy I knew last night in my dear friend's arms, our bodies joined in the most delightful - and the most profound - merging of the senses that I have ever known.
Watson is still sleeping, his breathing light and even. Reaching out my hand, I run it over his firm biceps through the thin material of his night-shirt. Lightly I feel the muscles there, my fingers caressing his shoulder as he sighs a little.
My dear, how glad I am that you are male, that you are delightfully strong. It is not that I abhor femininity - indeed at certain times it is most attractive - but there is in some men a powerful and masculine beauty that is absent in women, and your presence is most pleasing to the eye.
Alas I fear that I may need more time to recover after our exertions - our wonderful, sensual exertions! - of last night. However, recover I shall, and tonight... ah, tonight, my dearest Watson, shall be another memorable night - barring a new client, of course... But now...
Desiring to wake my Watson in a gentle, not to mention pleasurable manner, I touch my lips to his cheek in a soft kiss. He jerks his head slightly and opens sleepy hazel eyes. Observing him keenly, I see his reaction as he rapidly takes in his situation, eyes widening as he remembers the erotic events of last night.
He closes his eyes for a moment before smiling at me and I bid him good morning, returning his smile. I know that he can perceive the affection in my voice, not to mention my actions.
"And a very good morning it is, my dearest Holmes," he whispers most fondly.
"Oh, indeed, my dear Watson, indeed!" I agree, making room for him as he stretches. In the single bed we have little room to manoeuvre but we both get comfortable once more, lying on our sides facing one another. I inquire if he has any regrets, but he shakes his head.
"No." He gazes into my eyes as though searching them, seeking for my true feelings. "Holmes, I want you to know that I realise that things will not always be easy. However, I believe that if we preserve our privacy at all times, are prudent in our manner and, of course, considerate of each other's wishes and feelings, then if you wish this to continue, it could be most beneficial for both of us, that is - assuming, of course, that you wish to continue..." he touches the place over his heart, then my own, "as we are."
He is choosing his words carefully, deliberately not mentioning the word love, perhaps because he thinks my tongue ran away with me last night. It did, but none the less I meant every word of it.
"My dear fellow, I agree with you one hundred percent, but for one thing."
I deliberately gaze on him in a languid, teasing manner so that he remains unconcerned by my words. "What thing?" he dutifully asks, running his fingers through my unruly hair which is falling onto my forehead.
"You forgot to mention the most important thing - love," I murmur.
He immediately looks contrite. "Forgive me, Holmes. It is not that I forgot, I just..." Words fail him and he pauses before continuing. "Even though you bared your heart to me last night I... find the word ‘love' difficult to associate with the great Sherlock Holmes, unofficial consulting detective."
His voice is endearingly hesitant and it is obvious that he is endeavouring not to let emotion run away with his tongue.
"Quite understandable," I agree.
"Never the less, you are quite right," he agrees. "Love is not to be neglected..." he leans forward and touches his lips to mine, "and never to be ignored."
"Crime not withstanding?" I inquire.
"Crime not withstanding!" he proclaims.
My arms around him, I press us closer together, our legs entwined, and cover his lightly stubbled cheeks with grateful kisses.
How agreeable it is to embrace him, to cherish this handsome man in whose bed I so comfortably - and so sensually - lie. Noting the way our bodies seem to fit together with such ease, I remember how we truly ‘fitted' last night!
Rolling over, I move a little closer to him and lie on my back, pulling him over to lie on top of me. Now I can feel his ribs, belly and groin pressing delightfully hard against my own. I allow my hands to run down the long muscles of his back until they reach his buttocks, feeling their firmness through his night-shirt. My mind drifts as I imagine my fully-engorged prick resting between their lush warmth right up against his tender entrance before pushing gently and deeply inside him.
As though reading my thoughts my dear one raises himself a little in order to pull up his night-shirt as I pull up my own before pushing his delightfully swelling sex back down against my own burgeoning one, murmuring his pleasure at the touch.
Ah, the remarkable feel of bare skin in intimate congress with bare skin as, now naked from the waist down, we move together.
Briefly, I wonder how it is that I can want him again so soon. However, I can not seem to get enough of him, nor, it would seem, he of me. What a delightful development!
My dear one reaches down between us and grasps my member in his warm hand, encircling me with his fingers as he begins to stroke slowly and gently. Oh, lovely! My body feels as though it is glowing, a warm and delicious burning as I reach for his own sweetly swollen appendage to stroke, to caress, to touch in tender reverence as my dear one is now touching me.
Forcing my eyes to stay open, I observe his pleasure, watching it build on his face as he allows it to happen; granting me mastery over him as, with the touch of my hand, I overpower him completely. Helpless, a slave to his own pleasure, I see him grit his teeth in ecstasy, hear his short whimper as I grant him release from his delicious torment. I feel the proof of his rapture soak my hand as he moans in delight and his musky scent invades my nostrils, inflaming me with a delicious madness.
Barely has he finished when I rub my heavy prick in the moisture lying wetly on his belly, rubbing my wet hand all over it before I force his hand to move on me once more - and it is my turn to be enslaved, his fingers teasing me, owning me as I strive not to make a sound. His fingers are magic as they fondle me, stroking from base to tip as I push into his hand, circling my hips, wanting only more and still more until... finally... I am consumed.
Lost to everything but my own burning, I come so hard as he grips me, aware that I am soaking his hand, the moisture spilling onto my belly in throbbing, delicious jolts of rapture. Yes, I am his slave - and it feels so good. So wonderfully, blissfully good. Oh, I think - no, I know - that I will never get enough of this extraordinary and matchless perfection.
Drifting for a while, I am not sure how long, I eventually open my eyes to see my dear one gazing at me most solicitously. The scent of our passion is thick in the air as he murmurs, "All right now?"
"God, yes!" I answer with feeling. Allowing my actions to speak for me, I pull him down for a long, grateful kiss, probing deeply into his lovely mouth to caress his tongue. So good to share a kiss with him, even first thing in the morning when neither one of us is fresh as a daisy. However, we are rudely interrupted by a loud growl from his stomach. Worse still, as he is apologising my own stomach gives an answering growl of hunger and, helpless in the face of such mundane bodily needs, we burst out laughing.
Over breakfast we read the papers and sip our coffee as per our normal routine but I find that I am aware of his presence across the table from me much more so than usual. The papers, however, are dull and contain nothing of interest to a man of my particular specialities and after a while I dispose of them, instead contemplating my handsome Watson as he continues to browse through them.
He shortly notices my scrutiny and looks up to see what I want, but as our gazes meet in most candid fashion I dismiss the notion that I require anything of him other than his presence across the table from me.
After our good Mrs Hudson has removed the breakfast things we rise simultaneously as I announce that I will be spending the day in research at the library. For a moment he looks disappointed, but he understands that my work will always take precedence over emotional considerations, new though the latter might be. However, I am unsure of the correct etiquette in the circumstances and in somewhat hesitant manner I touch his hand. He, however, has no such reservations and boldly grasps my hand as he steps closer, releasing it only to enfold me in his arms and press our bodies together in most intimate fashion.
Surprised, I realise that it only takes a small, intimate gesture such as an embrace for me to want to tell him that I love him, but words catch in my throat. I want to kiss him, but my lips too are frozen.
It is as though my dear friend sees through my awkwardness and he smiles at me before leaning closer until once more I taste his lips - now flavoured with coffee - in a kiss that bespeaks intimate knowledge and very great affection.
Somewhat breathlessly I manage to murmur, "Until later, dear friend," and escape down the stairs to the wet and windy street.
*
