Fic: "Reassurance" Part I

[wave_of_sorrow]

Title: Reassurance, Part I
Author: wave_of_sorrow
Beta: the fabulous ladylovelace
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Holmes/Watson
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,918 for this part (3,682 total)
Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't claim. No money being made.
Summary: Watson is self-conscious of his scars, Holmes reassures him.
Spoilers/Warnings: None
A/N: Fill for a prompt at shkinkmeme

 

It’s not that Watson feels inadequate, precisely. It’s just that next to Holmes with his feline grace that seems to come so naturally, Watson sometimes feels a bit out of place with his limp and the cane he needs for support. He’s learned to live with the pain and the stiffness, even with his inability to simply get up from his chair on a bad day. What he once saw as craters, disgusting holes in his flesh, his muscle, his skin, ugly and shameful, have become to him simply that which they are; scars.

 

He no longer feels the need to cover himself or hide his body from Holmes. He feels comfortable in his own skin and he enjoys simply being naked with Holmes, much more than he used to. The burning shame and sickening embarrassment have vanished. Holmes made sure of it. With gentle, unhesitant touches and soft kisses to marred flesh he slowly, gradually convinced Watson that his body really didn’t disgust him, that he loved every inch of it.

 

It almost seemed as if Holmes had developed an affinity for the scarred patches of skin, not in spite of, but because he knew how much Watson hated being touched there. And even though they never spoke of it and Holmes never once so much as tried to tell Watson that he has no reason to be ashamed, they both know what Holmes was doing during those first months of their physical relationship.

 

Looking back, Watson almost has to laugh at their admittedly awkward first time together. He was so busy being embarrassed of his own body, blushing as Holmes looked him up and down, touched him everywhere he could reach and made the most lascivious sounds as Watson tentatively touched him back, that the initial penetration came almost as a surprise. It was easier after that, though. With Holmes on his hands and knees, trembling and clutching at the sheets, gasping and keening low in his throat as he clenched convulsively around Watson’s cock, Watson didn’t feel quite so ashamed.

 

There had been no struggle for power, no conscious decision about who would penetrate whom. It just happened. For some reason it seemed natural for Holmes to end up on his back, legs wrapped around Watson’s waist, rubbing their straining cocks together, and neither of them questioned it when Holmes begged Watson to take him. Watson had been no blushing virgin, but Holmes was the first person he was intimate with after coming back from Afghanistan and he couldn’t deny that he was feeling somewhat insecure and embarrassed.

 

As it was, Holmes couldn’t see how ugly his body was after he had been flipped over and ordered to get onto his hands and knees and that made Watson a little bolder; thrusting harder into Holmes’ tightness, biting at the glistening, salty skin of his back and shoulders, reaching around to tweak and pinch Holmes’ nipples or briefly rub the swollen head of his cock. Under him Holmes was twisting and moaning, pushing back onto Watson’s cock, urging him to go faster, harder, sweaty and out of his mind with pleasure. Watson admired Holmes for being able to let go like that, surrendering himself so completely to Watson.

 

Despite having sex with Holmes, Watson was not ready to succumb to his feelings for the man. He could lose himself in Holmes for a while, pounding into him relentlessly until Holmes shuddered and came with a shout, tightening around Watson and coaxing his own climax from him. But he could not let go.

 

As they lay on Holmes’ bed together, breathing hard and the post coital haze started to clear Watson become acutely aware of how very naked, how very exposed he was. The burning shame, the embarrassment and disgust he felt for his own crippled body came back in a rush and settled in his stomach, threatening to make bile rise in his throat. Holmes, completely unaware of Watson’s inner turmoil, made a content little noise and rolled over to drape himself over Watson, rubbing the sole of his foot against Watson’s naked calf.

 

Immediately Watson’s entire body stiffened, every muscle, tendon and sinew coiled tight, poised to spring. Watson willed his breathing to be calm and even, but his heart kept pounding in his chest and his body would not relax. Holmes looked up at him questioningly, frowning slightly. Under Holmes’ worried, questioning, and just a tad hurt, gaze, Watson could feel his face and neck flush, skin burning with shame and resentment for himself.

 

Just as he could feel angry tears well up in his eyes Holmes pressed a dry kiss to his lips, jumped up and left the room. But before Watson could properly hate himself for chasing Holmes out of his own bed, the very man was back at his side, wearing Watson’s trousers and holding a pair of pyjamas. His smile was gentle, loving and, above all, understanding as he pretended to be busy finding his own sleeping garments so Watson could dress in privacy.

 

When Watson had laid down again Holmes climbed into bed next to him, now dressed in his pyjamas as well. He settled against Watson again, head on Watson’s bad shoulder, one leg thrown over Watson’s, foot absently rubbing against Watson’s calf, shifting fabric over skin. Watson wrapped arms around his body as Holmes propped himself up on his elbow to kiss Watson, slowly, gently, tongue slipping into his mouth almost as an afterthought.

 

“Holmes,” Watson mumbled as their lips parted, “I…”

 

“Shh,” Holmes shushed him with another kiss, “Don’t say anything.”

 

So Watson didn’t say anything. Not even as Holmes kissed the scar on his shoulder through his shirt before lying back down and tucking his head under Watson’s chin

 

Despite this new turn of events, sleep took them quickly and even the expected awkwardness wasn’t there when they woke up with Watson’s morning erection pressed against the curve of Holmes’ arse. No awkwardness as Watson kissed Holmes’ sleep warm neck and Holmes hummed drowsily and rolled his hips. No awkwardness as Watson rubbed his cock against Holmes, the fabric of his nightclothes creating a deliciously burning friction against his sensitive skin. No awkwardness as he palmed Holmes through his trousers, before slipping his hand inside and fisting Holmes’ cock. No awkwardness as their breathy, sleepy moans filled the room and they soiled their pyjamas.

 

Afterwards Holmes curled up with a pillow and waited for Watson to finish cleaning himself up in the bathroom and dress, before getting up and doing the same. Watson tried not to make too much of simple courtesy.

 

They established a kind of routine after that; they would have sex and after catching his breath Holmes would get up and retrieve some clothing and they would dress in separate rooms or with their backs to each other before curling up in one of their beds together. Even when Holmes went down on Watson he only ever opened his flies enough to pull out Watson’s erection and occasionally enough to be able to reach down to fondle his balls. Often Holmes would be naked or at least mostly undressed when he was on his knees before Watson, groaning with Watson’s cock buried deep in his throat as he squeezed and tugged at his own cock.

 

When Watson sucked Holmes’ cock, however, Watson was always fully dressed, not even the collar of his shirt undone, while Holmes had his shirt unbuttoned, hanging open and his trousers pooling around his ankles, flushed and sweat soaked and spreading his legs like a whore as Watson thrust a finger into his tight hole to stroke his prostate. More often than not Watson would palm himself through his trousers or desperately rut against Holmes’ leg instead of opening his trousers.

 

For almost two weeks this went on, until one night Holmes only brought him his pyjama bottoms and didn’t turn around as they both put on their trousers. Watson knew he was blushing as he awkwardly climbed into bed next to Holmes, leaving a few inches of space between them. He was burning with humiliation, flinching as Holmes rolled over and took his customary position, half draped over Watson’s body.

 

Closing his eyes and taking deep breaths through his nose didn’t help to calm his pounding heart. With his head resting on Watson’s chest, Holmes was sure to have heard it, but he only pressed a kissed to Watson’s skin and in a matter of minutes had fallen asleep. Watson quickly followed, despite his discomfort.

 

After a few days of sleeping shirtless Watson had become somewhat less uncomfortable. Holmes eyes didn’t linger on the angry red lines any more than on any other part of Watson’s body, maybe even less, so with newfound confidence, Watson took off his shirt the next time he gave Holmes a blowjob.

 

He didn’t dare look up as he knelt down in front of Holmes, with his scars exposed like that, a part of him expecting to find Holmes flaccid as he pulled him from his trousers, so he missed the proud, affectionate smile on Holmes’ lips as he looked down at Watson.

 

It was not until a week later that he let Holmes remove his shirt before he got onto his knees in front of Watson and another three days later until Watson no longer felt the need to check for signs of disgust on Holmes’ face when he was shirtless. Holmes must have noticed the change in Watson, because that very night when they lay in bed together, he put his palm onto Watson's chest, just below the scar on his shoulder and waited for Watson’s heart to stop beating itself into a frenzy.

When Holmes felt Watson had calmed somewhat, he moved his thumb over the smooth ridges and lines of the scarred tissue. Watson twitched and shuddered and went rigid under Holmes fingers, clenching his eyes shut as his face and upper body flushed red and tears of embarrassment filled his eyes.

 

Holmes kissed his cheek and cooed nonsense into his ear as he continued to map out every millimetre of that marred skin. Watson drew in a shuddering breath and exhaled shakily, hating himself as hot tears slipped from the corners of his eyes and rolled down his temples, where Holmes kissed them away. Watson’s body shook ever so slightly as Holmes took his mouth in an achingly gentle manner before leaning down to press his lips against Watson’s scar.

 

That night it was Holmes who held Watson as he curled up against Holmes’, burying his face in the crook of Holmes’ neck, shaking and shivering as Holmes rocked him gently until sleep came.

 

Again, the expected awkwardness didn’t come the next morning and except for some sheepishness on Watson’s part, it was a perfectly normal day. And when Watson didn’t shudder and flinch quite as much as Holmes rubbed his thumb over his bad shoulder they both got bolder and braver.

 

From then on Holmes pushed Watson just a little further every day, gently forcing lines and boundaries to shift and blur until Watson threw his head back in abandon as Holmes ran his warm, wet tongue over the scar on the inside of Watson’s thigh. Until, on the bad days, Holmes was allowed to knead and rub the stiff, aching leg and the throbbing shoulder until he had coaxed all the tension from the abused muscles and tendons and Watson had relaxed into his touch.



On to the next part.