Christmas With Sherlock: Gay Romance: MM Erotica

by Lou Watton

  CHRISTMAS WITH SHERLOCK

  by Lou Watton and Brad Tanner

  (c) 2016 Lou Watton and Brad Tanner

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

  Part 1.

  Full Moon

  The sky still had a shy shade of pink on the horizon. The horizon was no more than a mist at the imaginary end of this winding suburban road. Two walls on either side were drawing the boundary between common and private, between open and hidden. The trees were in abundance behind those walls, but already bare, and the streaks of their branches were clearly etched on the yellowish sky.

  It was chilly and quiet. This dusk was cosy and inviting. I looked towards a woman walking in front of me and slowly disappearing in the mist. I felt safe, but it wasn’t giving me that usual sense of calm and comfort. I had an acute feeling of safety, which was exciting me rather than anything else. I looked at the lit windows of the house behind the wall on my right. This gleeful light was pouring into the stillness of the winter evening and I couldn’t help a wide smile. I felt happy. The only thing that was missing was the snow. I imagined the snowflakes slowly making their way down to the pavement, fluttering in the invisible air currents.

  ‘Would you like to come in?’ I heard very close and flinched, probably gasping.

  I looked at the intruder with my eyes wide open. It was a young man dressed in a coat and a long scarf. He had a pair of elegant glasses over his nose. The stubble on his cheeks accentuated the regular oval of his face without concealing its fine lines.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled.

  ‘You’ve been staring into my house with a lot of vigour. You might as well come in and see it close up.’

  ‘Oh…’ I sighed passing my hand over my face. ‘It’s your house. I didn’t actually stare inside. I didn’t see anything inside… I was staring at…’ I stumbled. ‘The light?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ he chuckled. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Coffee…’ slipped of my lips.

  He paused for a moment with his mouth opening, but then burst out and said:

  ‘Coffee it is. And make sure you feel at home.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said rather hesitantly, since I still couldn’t quite muster what was happening to me.

  I followed him to the door in the wall, which he opened without a key. We stepped into the garden and he shut the door. Here we found ourselves almost in complete darkness if not for the lights coming from his living room. I looked around. It wasn’t really a garden. It was a patch of woods, almost pristine, as the nature had first created.

  ‘This way,’ he said making his way towards the front door.

  I stopped and looked at the house. Its neo-gothic silhouette shaped a perfect shadow on the evening sky. A full moon was rising directly above it. The night was taking hold of the sky and its pink and yellow shades had all but disappeared.

  ‘Are you coming?’ I heard his voice. I looked towards him and saw he was already inside the house. I followed him.

  He invited me to take my coat off in the hallway. There was no cloak stand and I left it on the chairs. It was dark and he didn’t switch the lights on, but instead beckoned me straight into the next room, which was brightly lit. I suspected it was all the same living room. I wasn’t wrong.

  The room was spacious and culminated in a spectacular arched ceiling. A large fire place dominated the interior, with the fire trembling and crackling inside. Two armchairs were in front of it with a table in-between. The room was decorated with green garlands adorned with mistletoes and baubles. A tall, lavish Christmas tree was in the corner next to the window. I looked through the window, but could see almost nothing.

  ‘Would you like a glass of Champagne?’ he asked.

  I looked at him and said nothing. I just continued staring at him, right into his eyes, as I had been staring into his living room earlier on, seeing almost nothing… but the light. His look was pensive and deep. It was so even when he smiled and laughed. I couldn’t look in there without feeling some thrill. What a pair of eyes! You could just immerse in them. Or maybe they didn’t have such a quality. It was all to do with how far in he was willing to invite me.

  ‘I take it you don’t want to drink,’ he said with a surprising vulnerability in his voice, so that I somehow felt sorry for him.

  ‘No, no, I do,’ I hastened to say. ‘Thank you very much. Sorry, I may still be slightly disorientated, but it’s only because I don’t believe I’m in your house. Some fifteen minutes ago, I was a stranger outside, staring at your living room, not knowing about your existence.’

  ‘As soon as I saw you, I thought it was wrong to leave without you learning about my existence. I thought you wanted to enter.’

  ‘I didn’t… see anything inside. I didn’t expect to get an invitation. What’s your name?’

  ‘Peter.’

  ‘I’m John.’

  ‘It’s nice to know,’ he smiled. ‘I’ll get Champagne. Don’t worry, coffee’s still on the menu. I haven’t forgotten.’

  I looked at the fire when he left. Its flames were joyfully quivering, animating the entire place. The red dots of the baubles and mistletoes were sending your mind on a journey, igniting your senses, forbidding you to rest.

  ‘Here we are,’ he said entering the room.

  He had a large tray in his hands, which he placed on the table. It had a bottle of Champagne with two flute glasses, a winter cake, some snacks, and a decorated candle, which was lit. It was a masterpiece… as his living room… as himself. A feast with me as the only guest.

  I was looking at him when he was opening the bottle and pouring the bubbly liquid into the glasses. His trim athletic torso was also surprisingly supple, all his movements were graceful. Once again I felt that strange vulnerability in all he did, and with that the desire to assist, maybe even to protect, if I’m to be completely honest.

  I received a glass from him. His hand came closer to me than ever before, and I had to battle that desire to squeeze his fingers, to delay their departure. I shouldn’t have battled it, because it overwhelmed me rather more, and the next thing I did was not even half as subtle. I reached for his free hand. I clasped it and brought to my lips.

  His skin was so gentle. It made me lightheaded and my lips embarked on a journey. Instead of a kiss, I produced a trail of strokes. I felt his lips over my head at the end of it and I whispered:

  ‘I’m sorry. We were going to have a drink.’

  ‘Come here,’ he said quietly, pulling the glass out of my weakened hand and wrapping his arm around my torso.

  I leaned on him and he took me to one of the armchairs. I looked at the chair next to it and realised how far it was. I looked at him.

  ‘I can’t have you so far now,’ I uttered.

  He shook his head and reached for the zip of my trousers. My hips slid down, towards the edge of the armchair. He drew my trousers down, and I felt the warm air from the fire caressing my skin. He slipped them off my legs, and I stretched out arching my back. He took off his shirt and I caught a glimpse of his rounded shoulders and a taught stomach before my eyes rolled from anticipation. My eyes were closed when I felt his lips on the tip of my penis. I shuddered in two surging waves. He pressed his lips to my foreskin and li
ghtly pushed it up. This was how I met his tongue. It bumped into my flesh and gave in, letting my hardening penis to sink in it and leave an imprint. I moaned and my body quivered one more time. He heaved a loud sigh and took my penis in, almost all the way down its base, responding with his entire body, moving it to the tune. He was closing over me like a wave. His mouth started to pulsate in rhythmic motion and his chest began to produce guttural sounds, both of which were overwhelming beyond what I could possibly take and almost purging the spirit out of my body. His passion and his mesmerising touch made me cry and gasp for air. I came fiercely, my penis erupting with an insane force, as though it was the first ejaculation in my life. He clung to me wrapping his arms around me and pressing his face to my chest. My penis was jammed between my tummy and his chest and I could feel his heavy breathing and the furious throbbing of his heart.

  He pulled up and placed his hand on my stomach, which was wet with my sperm. He passed his hand over my skin spreading the moisture. His hand glided in circles, my stomach caving in from excitement. He stood up and I saw that his own trousers had a large wet stain on them. He smiled to me and took them off. This is how I saw him for the first time, and by God, it was perfect.

  I could never understand before or after how one man could be both graceful and athletic, but in him it seemed to co-exist effortlessly, forming that sublime whole. He leaned over and the curve of his body took my breath away. I couldn’t help drawing my hand over it. He smiled stretching out his hand towards me.

  ‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘Let me wash you.’

  I placed my hand in his and he pulled me up. I thought we were going into one of the bedrooms upstairs. I really wanted it. Wanted to go deeper, to see more… But I was wrong. This particular bathroom was on the ground floor at the rear of the house.

  When Peter switched the light on, I saw with satisfaction that the bathroom was very much in harmony with the rest of the house. It was grand and sumptuous. It was clad in marble almost in its entirety. Large mirrors in golden frames hung on the walls. A cast iron bath proudly stood in the corner on its lion’s legs.

  He ushered me into the bath and invited me to sit down. I ended up between his legs with my back towards him. I felt his genitals on my lower back and my stomach kept on flexing from this sensation to the point of aching. His hand stroked my shoulders and my chest. His arm would wrap around me when he was washing my front. I began to drift with my head tipping sideway. He kissed my neck.

  ‘So, tell me, do you like Christmas?’ he asked.

  My eyes opened wide. I didn’t expect this question.

  ‘I love Christmas,’ I smiled wide.

  ‘What do you love most about it?’

  ‘You,’ I chuckled.

  He laughed quietly pressing his forehead to my neck.

  ‘Do you like my Christmas tree?’

  ‘Oh, it’s gorgeous!’

  ‘Is it what you were you staring at?’

  ‘No… I was just staring at the light. It looked so cosy in that winter evening. I honestly felt like painting it.’

  ‘Do you paint?’

  ‘No,’ I shook my head laughing. I did appreciate the irony. ‘I felt wholly inadequate. Do you paint?’

  ‘No, I play the violin.’

  ‘Wow! I do want to hear that.’ I made an attempt to look back at him.

  ‘Why not? I don’t usually play for anybody, but with you it’s different. I do want you to hear it. Perhaps, at coffee.’

  ‘Ah, we’re still going to have that coffee.’

  ‘Only if you liked my Champagne.’

  ‘My Champagne.’

  We guffawed.

  ‘But I opened it,’ he said.

  He squeezed me and I hung my head. I was so happy… In a childish, unhindered way.

  We left the bath and Peter suggested we should wear bathrobes. We left our clothes on the floor in the bath.

  When we entered the living room, Peter added some logs to the fire. Then he turned round and smiled to me. He was squatting in front of the fire. His face was lit by the trembling flames, and his eyes were lit by something else. He was looking at me with so much affection that my head went spinning. I felt not only welcome here, I was an inalienable part of it. Of this man, this house, and this Christmas. I knew I should never go. I had found my own. I had found myself.

  I sat down in the armchair with my eyes still fixed on him.

  ‘I might as well try that Champagne,’ I said taking my glass from the coffee table. ‘Before the second course arrives. I expect a treat — coffee and violin.’

  ‘This is only a part of the course,’ he said.

  He came close to me and opened the halves of my gown. I saw him reaching for something on the tray. I smiled, realising what it was, and appreciating his humour of putting this part of the course on the same tray. My smile disappeared when I saw his hand over his cock, lubricating it generously, and seemingly arousing himself, as his heavy gaze was fastened on my crotch and his eyelids slipped down halfway.

  He wrapped his arms around my knees and lifted my legs. My hand hung over the coffee table replacing the glass. I threw my arms over my head and locked them. I wanted to give him full reign. I wanted to be totally in his control. I wanted to surrender. These thoughts alone overwhelmed me. When I felt his lips between my butt-cheeks I was already moaning and gasping.

  He came at me with great energy, eating at my rim fiercely and greedily. I thought I opened up completely with only two strokes, but he continued clasping my flesh, dipping his tongue in my butt hole and wiggling it mercilessly so that my desperate howls soon turned into a beastly wheeze. I was passing out from this extreme, unadulterated pleasure.

  With a loud scream of his own he hooked me at my knees and pulled me up. He tried to find my anus with his cock alone, but it was quite impossible. I reached for it and pointed to my hole, then edged forward with my butt, swallowing his penis with my orifice. He pushed in and we both gasped. He did it again and my arms fell over the arms of the armchair. I grabbed them hard, as his movements were becoming ever more vigorous and his breath still more erratic. I thought we both lost our wits as his hips were hammering my butt and his dick was burrowing through my contracting passage. We ran out of breath just before we both came, and he collapsed on me from exhaustion. He had come tidily inside me, but my bottle had erupted once again, this time shooting fountains of cum all over us.

  I drifted off for a while. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was the fire. I took time absorbing this crackling sound and admiring yet again these playful flames. Peter was still over me. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his head. He looked up and smiled.

  ‘I’m feeling awfully wasted,’ he said and we both burst out. ‘How about the violin tomorrow?’

  ‘Suits me. We can have coffee tomorrow morning too.’

  I was all excited once again. I could see he wanted me to stay. I was looking forward to sleeping with Peter in one of those bedrooms. Well, I assumed there was more than one here.

  ‘We can have it now, if you want.’

  ‘I only feel like water tonight.’

  ‘Help yourself.’

  Peter stood up and left the room. I poured myself some water. I drank it in one go and needed another one. When I finally quenched my thirst and looked at myself, I couldn’t see too much mess on my body. I looked around. It should be somewhere, but I couldn’t see anything from here. I stopped the search. I took a tissue and wiped all there was to wipe on myself and the immediate vicinity.

  Peter came in. He had a large duvet in his hands and two pillows.

  ‘Here! We can sleep by the fire tonight!’ he smiled wide. ‘How about that? This sheep skin is very soft and warm.’

  I looked at the floor space in front of the fire. It indeed bore a sheep skin, which I hadn’t paid attention to until now. Hmm… It was almost certain that he didn’t want me to go upstairs. I looked at him and said:

  ‘I think it’s a wonderful idea.�
��

  We got under the duvet, wrapped our arms around each other, and clung close. This feeling of skin-to-skin contact all along the body was the most wonderful thing of all. It made me lightheaded. I felt more than just attached. It was as if I penetrated him, as if we merged. It was better than sex, or at least it delivered so much more. What I didn’t expect at all was to fall asleep like this, but I did, and the next time I opened my eyes was the following morning.

  Our playful fire had been reduced to only a thin thread of smoke stretching out of a pile of ashes. I looked out of the window and saw snowflakes. Finally… On Christmas Eve the heaven burst of Christmas. The flakes were large and they were falling with an elegant sluggishness, making sure we had time to admire them before they disappeared out of the view.

  Peter moved in my arms and opened his eyes.

  ‘I have very good news for you,’ I said. ‘Winter has arrived.’

  He looked towards the window.

  ‘We’re going to have a white Christmas after all,’ he said, turning back to me.

  ‘Don’t push our luck. Let’s see how long it lasts and how well it settles.’

  ‘I think it’s time for coffee.’

  ‘Thank you for remembering it for so long.’

  ‘I’ll also fetch us something for breakfast.’

  He threw the duvet aside and stood up. He ended up right over me, giving me another angle of his hairy balls and his prominent cock. I couldn’t control myself. I pulled up and buried my face in his genitals, coming at them from below. I opened my mouth and drew my lips over his shapes. He laughed and we detached. He hung his head shaking it. I looked up at him over my forehead. He smiled and said:

  ‘I’ll be back in five minutes.’

  ‘Can I take a shower?’ I asked just before he left.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Feel at home.’

  Hmm… To what extent, I thought recalling that I had never been invited upstairs. I stood up and robed. This is when my eyes were drawn to a strange object on a mantelpiece. I approached and saw that it was a test-tube attached to a metal extension, the sort of a thing you would see in a medical lab. In fact, traces of some white residue were clearly visible at the bottom of it. Was he a chemist?