Holmes moans and rounds his back, his head falling forward, forehead pressing against the sheets as his body rocks, hungrily. He burns in Watson's eyes, the luminous pale skin flushed and gleaming with sweat, most of his back obscured by the large form of their borrowed hound, but what he can see is marred with long bloodied marks, more curving down his ribs, smeared outlines of scratches. The dog is panting heavily, each breath heating Holmes' skin, causing him to shudder as the air hits the damp patches of drool, heating and then cooling them in the next instant. Clear drops of saliva drip from the dog's open mouth to Holmes' back, shining faintly in the gaslight.
The dog whines, and Watson gives voice to a moan of his own.
Holmes pants, as loudly as the dog, and then speaks, his voice a stuttering shadow of its usual self, broken and halting and needy. "Watson, Watson, take him in hand. Don't- ah! - don't let him…" his voice trails off as he turns his face into the sheets once more, biting back a curse, but Watson knows what he means, knows what he's trying to command. Don't let the dog's knot enter him, don't let Holmes be stretched unnaturally by it, don't let Holmes become trapped and helpless until the dog is utterly finished with him.
To hell with that.
"Of course, Holmes," he says, his own voice barely recognizable, all husky and heated and wanting. He moves forward, until he is close enough to touch the dog's violently colored cock; he stares, fascinated as it slides in and out of Holmes' ass. Touches it, tentatively; runs his finger along the line where Holmes' hole tightens around it, and stifles a groan. He can see the knot, bulging, and it rams Holmes' hole, stops; another thrust, and Holmes' ass stretches around it, oh god, he's never seen anything like this; Holmes makes a sudden sharp noise, and it's in. Watson can't help himself; he gasps and drops his hand to his cock, stroking it without any finesse, straining after release to this sight, the sight of Holmes so debased and filthy and squirming, whining for more.
The dog beats him by mere seconds, and he forces his eyes open to watch as it whines and thrusts violently, rocking Holmes forward until he can go no further; Holmes answers with a whine of his own, hips still rocking as the dog stills, still hard and leaking, without release. The dog rests limply on Holmes for a moment; Watson thinks he knows how it feels.
Then it shifts, starts to move, to turn, and Holmes tightens underneath it, gasping sharply. Watson abandons his afterglow and lunges forward, holding the dog in place. It shifts uneasily, uncertain, but stills after a moment, seemingly content to remain as it is. Holmes lets out a long breath that is not quite a sob, shivering violently. Watson runs a hand down his shaking side, brings it back smeared with blood and saliva.
Holmes is whimpering quietly, his legs trembling as he bears the weight of the dog, but his cock is undiminished, still swollen and wet, achingly hard. "Watson," he whispers, "you promised…"
"Holmes," Watson says, almost silently, a breath of sound. "Reach back." Holmes shakes his head fractionally. "I know, Holmes." He reaches forward himself, presses Holmes' shoulders down, forcing his head to tilt at an uncomfortable angle. "But it's not supposed to be comfortable. Grab his legs, Holmes."
Holmes draws a shuddering breath, and eases his arms out from under him, moving slowly, carefully. He grabs the dog's front legs in an awkward hold; "Hold on, no matter what," Watson tells him, and leans back.
He takes a moment to stare at them, and his mouth dries; if he were capable of it quite yet, he's sure his cock would be stirring again. Holmes is exquisitely torn, his usual control lost between desire and terror and shame; needing release, yet fearful, invaded and hating it, even as his body responds favorably.
Watson shifts forward, until he is lying on his side, lips teasingly close to Holmes' cock, the bulk of the dog casting a shadow over his body. He presses a kiss to Holmes' jutting hip bone; Holmes sucks in a harsh breath. "Don't move," Watson tells him, and Holmes almost nods before he remembers himself. Watson smiles into his skin.
"Tell me," he demands, his lips brushing against skin, closer to Holmes' cock with every word, "what it feels like, to have him in you. To be that full, to be stuck together, to be so fearful. Tell me, Holmes."
Holmes breath is coming quickly, small half stifled sounds escaping his throat as he struggles to obey. "It's like- oh, god, it's like nothing, nothing ever, nothing I've ever felt, I-" he bites off his words, can't stop himself from a single sharp jerk of his hips as Watson takes him into his mouth; Watson pulls off with a wet pop, licks the leaking tip.
"Tell me, Holmes."
"Watson…" he whines, and then, "I'm so full, so much, I can't even, I can barely stand it, god, I don't, I don't know if I want it, which I want more, if I want it in or out, it's, it's so hot, so much, too much, tight…" Watson listens to Holmes ramble on, incoherent and breathy and broken, like Watson never thought he'd hear him, and feels himself stirring as he swipes lazy licks and kisses and soft lips over Holmes' cock, slow, relishing each tiny quiver and jerk and helpless plea inserted into Holmes' litany of description. The dog is still, resting on Holmes' back, its chin settled on Holmes' shoulder blade, watching them with calm eyes.
Holmes is still just shy of coming when Watson pulls away, rolls away; he's been reduced to no more than two words, Watson and please, over and over and over. "Shh," Watson breathes into the hollow under Holmes' ribs, "shhh," but Holmes isn't even capable of obeying.
"Watson, Watson, Watson," he begs, near tears. "Please, oh- please, please, please, please…"
Watson is too busy to respond; the dog's cock has softened, slipping out of Holmes. Holmes moans at the loss, a shudder passing convulsively over him. Streaks of pale, watery semen slide down Holmes' spread thighs, and Watson's breath stills at the sight; he pushes the dog off Holmes, strokes himself once and bends his own body over Holmes', sliding in easy.
Holmes jerks, cries out, stunned. Watson can feel the overabundance of thin canine semen leaking out around his cock, each thrust pushing more out to spatter on his belly, to ooze down the insides of Holmes' legs, sticky and wet, cooling rapidly on heated skin, coating them both. Holmes is shaking himself apart under Watson, and Watson spares a hand long enough to slide his fingers up the underside of Holmes' cock, once, twice, before he circles it completely with fingers and palm, strokes it hard and fast; Holmes keens and thrusts into his hand, body twisting wildly as he comes, cries half silenced by the pillow.
His ass clenches around Watson, sending even more weak semen to coat skin. Watson swallows his moan, brings his wetly covered hand up to grasp at Holmes' hip and comes, his head falling forward as he thrust into Holmes mindlessly, eyes closing, fingers curling, clawing at Holmes' sides. Holmes has collapsed, the only thing holding him up Watson; when Watson's orgasm ends, leaving him curiously blank, they both fall limply to the sheets, tangled and silent aside from the harsh sound of their breaths.
Watson is on the verge of falling asleep, although he knows he'll pay for it in the morning if he doesn't clean up, or at least move a little, when he feels something that – if he weren't so utterly exhausted – would otherwise send him scrambling up. As it is, he merely starts and then groans wordlessly as he glances behind him.
The dog is up on the bed again, sitting between their spread legs, head bowed forward as it licks at the underside of Watson's cock, cleaning off the mix of its own come and Watson's. He whimpers at the gentle sensation, completely unable to become aroused again, but not unwilling; the dog's tongue is warm and damp and ever so slightly soft, furry almost, rather soothing. He laughs breathlessly and rolls over, off Holmes; the dog shifts its attention to Holmes' abused hole. Holmes shifts bonelessly, incapable of moving away, and sighs as the tongue presses into him slightly, covers his ass cheeks with warm strokes, seeks out every drop of translucent come staining his thighs.
Watson turns, settling his side against Holmes. Lets his arm drape over Holmes faintly bleeding back, careful not to disturb the dog. Holmes turns his head, slowly, sluggishly, until he can almost meet Watson's eyes. "I-" he starts, and Watson cuts him off with a kiss, slow and sloppy and tired.
"Don't try to tell me you didn't enjoy it," he says as he pulls back, and Holmes can only blush and grin sleepily.
The dog finishes its self imposed task and flops down to the bed with a sigh, over both Holmes' and Watson's legs, head pillowed on Watson's knee. They both crane their necks to look at it; it closes its eyes and begins to wheeze.
"I suppose we have to give him back," Watson says. Holmes snorts into the pillow.