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A Gentleman's Wager
By Taleya
"Distracting yourself can only lead to ruin, Holmes. There are times when you
mind needs to be focused on a single task. It's not a failing, it's merely a
fact."
"That does not apply to me." Holmes shook out the paper and began reading. My
mind functions on many levels, Watson. To deny it natural operation would be a
crime in and of itself."
Watson watched him for a moment, finger stroking the side of his lips. "I bet
you sixpence I can prove you wrong."
"Bet is such a common word."
"A wager then. I wager that I can distract you from..." his eyes cast about.
"Playing the violin. Entirely."
Holmes tsked, never looking up from his paper. "Come now. I thought your betting
days were behind you now."
"Far behind me. With my pocketbook snuggled so tightly in your...drawer."
Holmes turned a page, ignoring the twitch from his groin. "Crude innuendo does
not become you, Watson. Especially if you have no intention of following up on
it."
"Fine then. A gentlemen's wager?"
Holmes tilted his paper slightly, eyes twinkling at the other man over the top.
"My dear Watson, for there to *be* a gentlemen's wager, one would first have to
make the utterly heinous assumption that gentlemen were in fact, involved."
"Point taken. A most ungentlemanly wager, then?"
"My favourite kind." Holmes sprang to his feet and shook his arms out
theatrically, before taking violin and bow in hand. Watson disappeared somewhere
behind him, no doubt in a ploy to add to the anticipation.
"No peeking."
Holmes pulled a face and nestled the violin a little more firmly under his chin.
"Of course not. That would be cheating," he sniffed. He considered a moment,
then struck up a challenging beat, horsehair sliding over strings in a jaunty
tune.
After a few moments, Watson placed the tune and grinned despite himself. "Nice
choice."
"I'm so glad you approve."
There was a small whisper of noise from the figure behind him, then the
unmistakable sound of fabric falling to the floor.
It was, Holmes had to admit, utterly fascinating. The effort required in keeping
his mind on two tracks at once was nothing new, however the very air was charged
with a familiar edge that made the normal quite...taxing.
C D minor suspenders slide from Shoulders, right first, D minor D
minor mostly shrugged from the left, slight unevenness in body movement C
D minor sound of metal, soft chink, whisper of leather, belt...
Whack-fol-lol-de-ra....
Susurration, sliding through fingers D minor C D minor C D minor C D minor C
shift to D minor F D minor F snap of air from a suddenly flexed and
straightened material - is that a threat or a promise? D minor F D minor D
minor F D minor F D minor C
"I'm afraid you'll have to do better than that, dear Watson. I'll have you know
my tutor used to hurl the finest of London produce at me when my performance was
deemed unsatisfactory." He pushed his backside towards the other man and gave it
a little wriggle, flourishing with the violin in accompaniment.
Of course the belt did not fall on his buttocks in response. Far too obvious a
gambit for a trained military mind. Instead, arms slid around his waist, a warm
presence at back.
Holmes jerked a little in response to the fingers sliding across his skin,
souring a note and scowled. "Tickling does not count," he remonstrated
sharply. "An autonomic response is not a mental distraction from the task at
hand."
"I'm not going to tickle you, you great quakebottom." Watson huffed in his ear.
The hands crept lower, and Holmes kept his focus on the violin, ever ready
for a wayward elbow to accidentally disrupt his playing. His eyebrows
rose slightly at the sudden twang of released suspenders, and he suddenly
became very interested in the violin, breathing slightly through his nose.
D minor F D minor F D minor D minor F D minor F D minor C shift fingers,
pay attention Holmes, you are an Englishman and must, above all,
forebear. Even with your trousers falling around your ankles.
And now Watson was kneeling in front of him, somewhat awkwardly,
steadying himself against Holmes' hips, looking up at him and all of a sudden
from nowhere, he had a slightly deranged mental image of Watson biting
him in a very uncomfortable place. It helped sharpen his mental acuity
considerably - unfortunately in the wrong direction.
"If you're intending to use some sort of sharp implement, may I suggest thin
slices, starting from the sensitive glans at the tip?" D minor F D minor F D
minor F D minor D minor F D minor F
Watson rocked back on his heels and stared at him in utter disbelief. "I don't
even want to know where that thought came from."
"Whack-fol-lol-de-ra, my dear Watson." D minor C D minor C D minor C D minor
C
Holmes tilted his head and turned back to the music, feeling the vibration of
catgut reverberate sweetly across the wood and through his skin and using the
time regain his equilibrium. Watson seemed more than a little gobstruck at the
recent turn of conversation, but he would rally soon enough. Holmes himself was
approaching the end of the song, and thus the winning of the bet, but there was
far too much promise in their current positions to bring things to an end at
this point.
Besides it would completely ruin the spirit of the wager.
Slight scratch of nails on his hips, fingers slipping inside the waistband of
his underclothes, pulling slowly, lovingly concentrate and ah god yes,
here it comes concentrate. warm, wet, tongue, moustache. Concentrate
Don't jerk. Keep playing. It's a matter of principle, after all. Concentrate
D minor F D minor F D minor C
He nearly missed the bridge entirely, almost poking himself in the ear;
recovered in a split second, eyes closed and mind reeling from two sensations at
once as Watson did his best to distract. The first vibration along his penis
made him bite the inside of his cheeks, breath catching in his lungs and he
realised that Watson was humming. Along with the tune.
A little deliriously, Holmes sped up the tempo slightly. After a few beats
Watson caught along, speeding when he did, slowing when the strokes lessoned to
something almost akin a dirge. Fascinating. The use of musical theory to prompt
one's sexual partner. It made sense, he supposed, after all there were several
(appropriately Scottish) songs designed to accompany tasks such as waulking and
DEAR GOD if that was the end result the song needed far more whack-fol-lol-de-ras.
He worked his way through another verse, the first or the last he was no longer
sure, body trembling with both the effort of control and the result of a rather
phenomenal piece of fellatio and cut to the chorus once more, the high notes
very nearly undoing him entirely. He cut quickly to the end, feeling the tension
building at the base of his testicles and held the note, white knuckled with the
force of controlling the trembling in his fingers. Watson held the note as well,
long, harder, until Holmes' entire body was as taut as a fiddle string. He felt
his knees begin to buckle, mind exploding from the input and barely had enough
sanity of mind to pull the bow away, hoping the note could be considered a final
flourish before the world went white.
When he awoke, he was sprawled on the floor in an utterly undignified
position, warm and relaxed, and Watson was perched on the settee, reading a
newspaper.
The bounder.
A corner of the paper flicked down. "Sleeping beauty awakes, I see."
Holmes dragged himself half-upright and crawled over to sprawl in front of the
couch, pants still dangling carelessly about his ankles as he began reading the
backside of Watson's paper. "And awakes triumphant."
"Triumphant? You lost!"
He reached up and turned a page. "I did no such thing."
"Two notes, malformed, the result of a distracted mind. Your mind was
distracted. By me. Hence proving my point, and hence losing you the wager."
Watson shook his paper once, and settled back like a disgruntled chicken.
Holmes curled two fingers over the paper and tilted it down slightly to peer at
the other man. "My dear Watson, considering you had my arbor vitae firmly
lodged in your mouth at the time I can hardly consider that a fair exploration
of my skills. After all, that's hardly something that will occur in a life or
death situation. And I only missed one note. The other was myself,
uttering a highly undignified squeak. "
"That was you? I don't believe it. Your voice doesn't go that high."
"I assure you Watson, indeed, it was I. Hence on missed note, in a jaunty tune,
written for another instrument entirely, played at varying tempos. Quite a
difficult piece in and of itself, I may have missed the note without your
interference. My reputation thus stands unmarred."
Ahh, sweet Victorian semaphore. Watson's moustache was performing all manner of
bristly gymnastics, each of them clear as day to one trained in their meaning.
This one was settling on number 27 - Vague Annoyance. "You did not make
that noise."
"Ahh so you concede? That noise was not made by me - neither by a vocalisation
from my throat, nor an error in my skilled work with bow on string."
Number 42, accompanied by a clear desire to beat him with the paper. Annoyance,
mixed with amusement at the pedantic wordplay. "You did not squeak that
pitch. No man can. At least not one in full possession of his testicles. Which,
by the way, as your doctor I happen to know you are."
Holmes leaned forward and lightly perched the tented fingers of both hands on
Watson's knees, spreading them delicately apart. "Allow me to demonstrate the
possibility."
"Gentleman's wager?"
"Just this once."
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