Christmas Roast by stonepicnicking_okapi
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newyearcntdownTitle Christmas Roast
Author/Artiststonepicnicking_okapi
Length/Size of work 1000
Summary Alone on Christmas Eve, Watson gets a free meal and more.
Rating Explicit
Warnings Oral sex. Anonymous sex.
Other content notes Prompt: roast
Fandom (optional) Sherlock Holmes (ACD)
Pairing (optional Watson/Unknown
Beta (optional) None.
Disclaimer (mandatory only if not original work) I do no own Sherlock Holmes. This is for entertainment purposes only.
Watson wiped his moustache carefully with the proffered napkin and marveled to himself what a difference a full belly made!
It was Christmas Eve, and he was alone. And not just alone, abandoned. Mary and Holmes had gone where he could not, would not, follow. Yet. And with all and sundry hurrying to be reunited with loved ones; with mothers and fathers and grandmother and grandfathers, too, picking out gifts for little ones; with aunts and uncles buying fatted geese and bags of sweets, well, it was easy to be reminded of what he didn’t have, what he, more than likely, would never have.
Watson had felt himself in grave danger of slipping into frank despair when a rumbling in his gut told him there were needs more primitive unmet.
Watson was hungry, very hungry, in fact. He had this revelation as he was taking his normal route between his surgery and his bedsit. He found himself passing a public house which he had always eschewed because it was too crowded and noisy.
He glanced in the window and discovered it wasn’t so crowded and noisy on Christmas Eve.
He sat the bar, and the pub house proprietor had greeted him warmly.
Watson had done justice to the meal placed before him by the proprietor. The food was excellent, the meat especially. The roast, tender and juicy, reminded him, and not without a pang, of Mrs. Hudson’s. The potatoes, the vegetables, everything, were exceptionally savoury, and Watson washed it all down the two pints in quick succession.
And then he was full, and life did not seem as bleak as before, even Christmas Eve alone and lonely.
When Watson could no longer justify remaining, he reached for his purse, but the proprietor told him the cost was taken care of.
“That is very generous of you.”
“I’d like to take credit,” said the man, “but truthfully, it was another patron. He saw you sitting here and offered to pay for your meal.”
I looked about; the pub was almost empty.
“Is he—?”
“No, he left already.”
“Well, may Providence shine on him, and you.”
The man smiled, and Watson took his leave, wishing him the compliments of the season.
What a difference a full belly made!
As he continued on his way, Watson saw the world with a certain detached benevolence and not a little amusement.
But just before he reached his address, he paused.
He could make an early night of it and go back to his room, but he remembered years ago the Marylebone baths stayed open for servicemen on Christmas Eve. He decided to see if the practice was still upheld.
It was.
Watson didn’t know any of the other patrons personally, but he knew many of them were, like him, men without families or ties, men who didn’t have anywhere to go on Christmas Eve. A few of them, of course, were men who had ties and families and places to go on Christmas Eve, but for reasons noble and selfish, elected to spend the holiday in the company of strangers.
Watson settled himself on a bench in a corner of the wet sauna. The wood creaked as he shifted his weight, and he let out the obligatory sigh as he leaned back against the wall and let the pervasive heat do its work.
His thoughts wandered, and at one point, he amused himself by considering that if he spent too long in the steam bath, he would himself be as tender and juicy as his Christmas roast.
Watson woke from his reverie when he felt a hand on his ankle. He opened his eyes, but the steam was so thick he could see very little. The hand gave a tentative caress.
Watson gave the matter a cursory consideration, oh, why not, it was Christmas, then spread his legs wider by way of invitation.
The caress moved up his leg to his inner thigh.
There was a hand, and then there was a tongue.
Watson lifted his hips a little and moved forward, readjusting himself on the bench to give the mouth more access, access which the mouth took advantage of.
Watson bit back a groan. He looked down but all he saw was a damp towel and the outline of a round head.
The mouth was rapidly licking him to hardness, and Watson softly grunted his appreciation. When the mouth took his cock in its entirety, Watson sighed.
Warm, wet, tight. Perfect.
The mouth knew what it was doing, and Watson had no doubt he could come to crisis as things were, but he wanted…wanted…something else.
Maybe it was the full belly that had him feeling confident, forward, even, unafraid to ask for what he wanted.
Watson rested a hand gently atop the towel and the head.
The mouth halted, then in understanding, pulled off a little and halted again. Hands were gripping Watson’s thighs gently and firmly.
A moment passed, then Watson bucked his hips.
He felt a vibration of satisfaction and sighed again.
Then he began to thrust in earnest. The mouth held steady, and Watson used it for his own pleasure.
God, it felt good. Thrusting again and again and again into the warm, wet, heat.
“Close,” he mumbled. He felt a series of taps on his foot and spend into the mouth, which was swallowing his bitter spend with gusto.
“Thank you,” whispered Watson as he slumped back against the wall and closed his eyes, enjoying the rolling pleasure and thinking of all the manners in which he might reciprocate.
But when he opened his eyes again, he was alone in the little alcove.
Watson blinked.
Had it been a dream?
Watson eventually got to his feet and made his way out, moving slowly and looking curiously, waiting for someone to make themselves known in some way.
No one did.
Watson returned to his room, pondering the invisible forces which were keeping his appetites sated on this lonely Christmas Eve.
Author/Artist
stonepicnicking_okapiLength/Size of work 1000
Summary Alone on Christmas Eve, Watson gets a free meal and more.
Rating Explicit
Warnings Oral sex. Anonymous sex.
Other content notes Prompt: roast
Fandom (optional) Sherlock Holmes (ACD)
Pairing (optional Watson/Unknown
Beta (optional) None.
Disclaimer (mandatory only if not original work) I do no own Sherlock Holmes. This is for entertainment purposes only.
Watson wiped his moustache carefully with the proffered napkin and marveled to himself what a difference a full belly made!
It was Christmas Eve, and he was alone. And not just alone, abandoned. Mary and Holmes had gone where he could not, would not, follow. Yet. And with all and sundry hurrying to be reunited with loved ones; with mothers and fathers and grandmother and grandfathers, too, picking out gifts for little ones; with aunts and uncles buying fatted geese and bags of sweets, well, it was easy to be reminded of what he didn’t have, what he, more than likely, would never have.
Watson had felt himself in grave danger of slipping into frank despair when a rumbling in his gut told him there were needs more primitive unmet.
Watson was hungry, very hungry, in fact. He had this revelation as he was taking his normal route between his surgery and his bedsit. He found himself passing a public house which he had always eschewed because it was too crowded and noisy.
He glanced in the window and discovered it wasn’t so crowded and noisy on Christmas Eve.
He sat the bar, and the pub house proprietor had greeted him warmly.
Watson had done justice to the meal placed before him by the proprietor. The food was excellent, the meat especially. The roast, tender and juicy, reminded him, and not without a pang, of Mrs. Hudson’s. The potatoes, the vegetables, everything, were exceptionally savoury, and Watson washed it all down the two pints in quick succession.
And then he was full, and life did not seem as bleak as before, even Christmas Eve alone and lonely.
When Watson could no longer justify remaining, he reached for his purse, but the proprietor told him the cost was taken care of.
“That is very generous of you.”
“I’d like to take credit,” said the man, “but truthfully, it was another patron. He saw you sitting here and offered to pay for your meal.”
I looked about; the pub was almost empty.
“Is he—?”
“No, he left already.”
“Well, may Providence shine on him, and you.”
The man smiled, and Watson took his leave, wishing him the compliments of the season.
What a difference a full belly made!
As he continued on his way, Watson saw the world with a certain detached benevolence and not a little amusement.
But just before he reached his address, he paused.
He could make an early night of it and go back to his room, but he remembered years ago the Marylebone baths stayed open for servicemen on Christmas Eve. He decided to see if the practice was still upheld.
It was.
Watson didn’t know any of the other patrons personally, but he knew many of them were, like him, men without families or ties, men who didn’t have anywhere to go on Christmas Eve. A few of them, of course, were men who had ties and families and places to go on Christmas Eve, but for reasons noble and selfish, elected to spend the holiday in the company of strangers.
Watson settled himself on a bench in a corner of the wet sauna. The wood creaked as he shifted his weight, and he let out the obligatory sigh as he leaned back against the wall and let the pervasive heat do its work.
His thoughts wandered, and at one point, he amused himself by considering that if he spent too long in the steam bath, he would himself be as tender and juicy as his Christmas roast.
Watson woke from his reverie when he felt a hand on his ankle. He opened his eyes, but the steam was so thick he could see very little. The hand gave a tentative caress.
Watson gave the matter a cursory consideration, oh, why not, it was Christmas, then spread his legs wider by way of invitation.
The caress moved up his leg to his inner thigh.
There was a hand, and then there was a tongue.
Watson lifted his hips a little and moved forward, readjusting himself on the bench to give the mouth more access, access which the mouth took advantage of.
Watson bit back a groan. He looked down but all he saw was a damp towel and the outline of a round head.
The mouth was rapidly licking him to hardness, and Watson softly grunted his appreciation. When the mouth took his cock in its entirety, Watson sighed.
Warm, wet, tight. Perfect.
The mouth knew what it was doing, and Watson had no doubt he could come to crisis as things were, but he wanted…wanted…something else.
Maybe it was the full belly that had him feeling confident, forward, even, unafraid to ask for what he wanted.
Watson rested a hand gently atop the towel and the head.
The mouth halted, then in understanding, pulled off a little and halted again. Hands were gripping Watson’s thighs gently and firmly.
A moment passed, then Watson bucked his hips.
He felt a vibration of satisfaction and sighed again.
Then he began to thrust in earnest. The mouth held steady, and Watson used it for his own pleasure.
God, it felt good. Thrusting again and again and again into the warm, wet, heat.
“Close,” he mumbled. He felt a series of taps on his foot and spend into the mouth, which was swallowing his bitter spend with gusto.
“Thank you,” whispered Watson as he slumped back against the wall and closed his eyes, enjoying the rolling pleasure and thinking of all the manners in which he might reciprocate.
But when he opened his eyes again, he was alone in the little alcove.
Watson blinked.
Had it been a dream?
Watson eventually got to his feet and made his way out, moving slowly and looking curiously, waiting for someone to make themselves known in some way.
No one did.
Watson returned to his room, pondering the invisible forces which were keeping his appetites sated on this lonely Christmas Eve.
