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The ropes dig into his arms and thighs, almost too tight, just barely on the gentle side of pain and discomfort. His arms are twisted behind his back, his thighs bound so he is forced to remain in a kneeling position. He is partly clothed, or his skin would have been rubbed raw by now as he has struggled against the bonds until the chafing grew too great to continue. Now he simply waits, trembling with the overwhelming need to empty his bladder.
"Please Watson!"
"Don't even think about pissing on the rug, Holmes. Even Gladstone knows better."
Watson's footsteps crinkle on the newspapers laid out on the rugs, on which Holmes is kneeling, barefoot in nothing but his trousers. Holmes feels sweat trickle down the back of his neck as he strains to maintain control, but the ache in his bladder is heavy and insistent.
"I don't think I can make it--"
"Soil yourself here and I will rub your nose in it!" Watson snaps, and Holmes shakes with a helpless whine. He isn't going to make it; even if Watson untied him now the very act if standing would be too much. He is going to wet himself and there is nothing he can do to stop it.
Slowly Watson makes his way back around to Holmes’ front. He kneels and takes Holmes’ chin in between his thumb and forefinger.
“Are you going to be a good boy for five more minutes?”
Holmes tries to nod, though he can’t imagine himself making it that long. His deep brown eyes are glazed over with exertion, and for a moment he doesn’t realise Watson has moved until his lips are pressing over his own, ardent and loving. Watson kisses him deeply and slowly, moustache scratching against his upper lip as his tongue slides hotly into his mouth. Holmes loses track of time as they kiss, and when Watson draws away he tries to follow.
“Two minutes left,” Watson taunts, running his hands down Holmes’ chest. Holmes recoils from the touch, because it makes his stomach shudder and clench. Watson’s fingers skip over the thick ropes and trickle down sensitive skin. They trace over Holmes’ groin, and he chokes on a moan. He feels a dreaded spot of wetness suddenly spreading between his thighs, and barely cuts it off with a high-pitched cry. Watson feels it too, and strokes Holmes through his damp trousers even as he continues to mewl.
“Oh God please don’t,” Holmes begs, but he knows he’s fighting a losing battle with his own body. Watson doesn’t stop stroking him, and if he did not have to go so badly he is sure he would be hardening beneath the gentle touch.
“Can you not even control yourself for five minutes?” Watson asks, disgusting tinging his voice. He lifts his hand from Holmes’ groin and traces a damp finger over Holmes’ lips. Holmes whimpers. “You’re going to make a mess, aren’t you. You’re going to be such a disappointment to me.” Watson tuts. “Should I make you lick it all up when you’re done?”
As if cued, Holmes flicks out his tongue and licks Watson’s finger. Watson smirks, and slips several of his fingers into Holmes’ mouth. He sucks on them, tasting the bitterness.
“Now that’s how a good boy should behave,” Watson says approvingly. Holmes sucks and licks until Watson withdraws his fingers, and looks back down at his pocketwatch. “Why what do you know? Your five minutes are up. But I daresay you wouldn’t make it to the bathroom in this state, would you?”
Holmes shakes his head miserably, and Watson pulls him forward, letting Holmes’ forehead rest on his shoulder comfortingly.
“It’s alright my pet.” Watson trails his fingers down Holmes’ tense stomach, stopping above his bladder. “You can let go. You’ve earned it.”
Holmes shivers against Watson, barely able to breathe without the pressure becoming unbearable. Watson’s fingers press against his lower abdomen and he whimpers again, too ashamed to let go. Watson lets his fingers drift downward again, stroking Holmes’ soft length before drifting back up to bear down even more insistently against his bladder, until Holmes cries out and loses control.
Holmes tries to fight at first, his release coming in short spurts, but at last he lets go completely and warmth spreads between his legs, soaking his trousers. Cool sweat trickles down his stomach as he wheezes in relief. Watson doesn’t move his hand, continuing to stroke Holmes through his saturated trousers until he’s finally finished.
Breathlessly, Watson lifts Holmes’ chin with his free hand and kisses him again, this time more hungrily. Holmes pants, trying to catch his breath as Watson’s tongue invades his mouth. Watson’s hand continues stroking him through the now sodden trousers, and he can feel himself starting to grow hard at last.
“Ah- Watson-”
“Shh,” Watson soothes him, pressing his fingers to Holmes’ mouth as his other hand works at removing Holmes’ belt and opening his saturated trousers. Holmes strains against the ropes holding his thighs tightly bound to his calves, because tied like this he can’t even thrust into Watson’s hand. All he can do is roll his hips in tiny circuits and beg for more.
Eventually he is freed, and Watson slides into Holmes’ lap, his own trousers open too. He presses their lengths together and takes them into his damp hand, the other curling around the back of Holmes’ neck to pull him close for another kiss. Watson can thrust, and stroke, and Holmes cries out as pleasure truly starts to grow. Watson bites and sucks at Holmes’ slack lips.
“John,” Holmes says hoarsely, completely at the man’s mercy to deliver him relief. Watson buries his kisses in Holmes’ thick, unruly brown hair as need quickly takes control of him too, and soon they are both moaning together, Watson’s fingers knotting tightly in Holmes’ hair.
“So close - oh God John don’t stop-” Words fail Holmes and he falls silent as orgasm rips through him, until he’s quaking and bucking and sobbing with relief. His pulse throbs in his ears as he comes back down, and he feels Watson’s hips snapping sharply in his lap, and the heat of the doctor’s release on his stomach. Watson pants, stilling and holding Holmes close for a long moment as his breath returns.
Slowly Watson pulls himself away from Holmes and begins cleaning him up, starting with shifting behind him to undo the ropes tying his arms behind his back. Watson gently lets his arms go, preventing the muscles from cramping up from sudden release. When Holmes can move his arms again Watson carefully lays him down onto his back, and removes the ropes around his thighs.
Watson cannot resist stealing a kiss here and there as he works, and Holmes doesn’t mind at all. The meeting of their lips is sweet and tender and comforting, and soon he is completely free from the ropes. Next Watson pulls off the soiled trousers, and leaves them on the floor.
With the same care he helps Holmes to the bathroom and settles him down into the hot water. Then Watson leaves for a few minutes to clean up the sitting room. When he returns he removes his clothes, and together they bathe, cleansing themselves more thoroughly that was likely necessary. They share more tender kisses until the water grows tepid and they are forced to get out. Watson guides Holmes into their bed, and lays him down beneath the covers. Watson slips into bed next to him, and cradles him in his arms.
“Is everything well?” Watson asks softly, and Holmes nods.
“Quite perfect,” Holmes replies, and Watson smiles, kissing him on the forehead. Together they fall asleep, safe in one another’s arms.