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[theonewhocounted]

The Bright Spot Meme


(Was there every a more suitable meme for dear Molly?)

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[punchmeitssubtext]

This time watching her come knocks the breath out of him. Because she's also squeezing his fingers in throbbing pulses, shivering uncontrollably, her hand going loose and nerveless around his hard cock as she shakes apart. He tries to memorize as much of it as possible, to etch it into his mind somehow, because it's extraordinary and fucking gorgeous and he's doing that to her.

Again he slows as her orgasm ebbs, and when the pulsing stops he draws his fingers out of her gently. He kisses her once, brief and light, and then brings his hand to his own mouth so he can suck the wetness away from his own skin.

(The taste of her almost turns him mindless again. It's like sweat and bitter caramel. If his test results are back by Tuesday, he's absolutely having her for dessert after the ballet.)

[theonewhocounted]

Molly sighs as he pulls his fingers out. Her body starts to relax into the bed and she opens her eyes when he kisses her. She then lays there transfixed as she watches him lick his fingers clean of her juices.

"Christ," she says, her voice having a sort of awe quality about it. She's still catching her breath and she thinks it speeds back up again when he does that. She blushes and can't look away. He looks like he's enjoying her so much. Her clit throbs again as she imagines his mouth in other locations.

[punchmeitssubtext]

Sherlock relishes her stare, drinks it in. Because he suddenly understands something without having actually deduced it: she's feeling the exact same surprise and delight at discovering things about him she didn't expect that he feels about her.

Which is both an emotional lift and, somehow, a turn-on.

He licks the last slick taste of her off his thumb, lets his hand drop slowly so that his palm rests against her shoulder. They're probably both going to need another shower later.

"Amazing," he says quietly, and means it.

[theonewhocounted]

There is so much she's learning about Sherlock since he showed up at her door last night. An unbelieveable amount. He keeps continuing to take her breath away with his surprises.

"You are," she says, and means it. She leans in and kisses him deep and slow, tasting herself on his lips. Her hand slides over his hip and wraps itself around his cock again.

[punchmeitssubtext]

In the space of half a second he can feel something melting, something giving, the erotic thrill of her curiosity and assertiveness combining for a powerful moment with the emotional warmth that's been building in him at an accelerated rate over the past few years.

And then her mouth fits over his and her fingers curl around his cock, and that strange melting sends a hot sigh bubbling out of him. His hips twitch forwards involuntarily, a silent plea for more.

[theonewhocounted]

Molly hears that plea in the way he sighs, the way he moves, and she gives him what he wants. Her hand squeezes more precum out of his tip and spreads it over his cock before she starts to stroke him firmly and surely. She doesn't go too quickly at first so there's some build up, but her movements have more intent behind them than previously.

He is hot and hard in her hand and what she notices most is that he will fill her perfectly. She tries to tell him that in the way her kiss intensifies. I want you inside me, it says.

[punchmeitssubtext]

There's a message in that kiss and in those firm, steady movements, one his body interprets clearly even as his brain fuzzes and sparks. Somehow one of his hands tangles in her hair and the other curls around her hip, holding on as he begins to thrust up into her fist.

[theonewhocounted]

"That's it, Sherlock," she says into his mouth, not that she thinks he needs any encouragement. She just likes to talk during it sometimes (when she's able). Her hand strokes him in time with his thrusts, changing the tightness of her hand around him to see what he likes best.

[punchmeitssubtext]

Some fragment of his brain is still active enough to realize she's experimenting on him, which makes him whine into their kiss. It's just a brief burst of sound, one he's not even aware of making--just as he's not aware of the louder, more insistent noise she draws out of him a moment later.

She's just done something really inventive with her wrist, somehow, and she's gripping him exactly as hard as he needs it, and this time he can sense the imminent shutdown.

"Molly," he manages, because it's somehow important that she knows how close he is to the edge.

[theonewhocounted]

The noises he's making are incredible. She's never heard him sound like that - so needy and emotional and uninhibited. She could get addicted to those sounds.

It's the loudest ones though that catch her attention and tell her what he likes. She hears the difference and keeps doing exactly what he was responding to the most except that she speeds up even more, knowing he's close.

"Come Sherlock," she says in response to him. "Come for me. Right now."

Her eyes are open and watching his face. It's already got the most beautiful look of pleasure and pain on it.

[punchmeitssubtext]

On some deep human level he hasn't yet learned to recognize, he understands the sound of her voice as a cue that means he's safe.

His back arches. His whole body shudders violently. The orgasm overloads him, overwhelms him, and he can't be sure if his eyes are open or closed because all he can see is brilliance anyways as sticky heat spills between her fingers and over her belly in short thick bursts.

The breathless sound that escapes him is almost a sob of release.

[theonewhocounted]

Molly watches him - the sight and sound and feel of him twitching in her hand are almost too much for her too. He is obscenely gorgeous as he falls apart. It's like he's been saving this up all those years, just for her to witness. She assumes he's pleasured himself before, but she knows it's always different when someone else is doing it. It once again hits her that she's the only one who has ever touched him like that, has seen that look on his face.

Her hand continues to pump him slowly as he rides out his orgasm but stops as soon as he seems spent. She leans in to press a soft kiss to his jaw as he comes down from the high. She is sticky and will need to get a tissue to clean them up soon, but she just wants to live this moment with him first.

[punchmeitssubtext]

Gasping, shaken, he shifts towards her so they can lean on one another. His whole body feels loose. He's trembling, and too lost in her to know or care. For several long moments, he simply lies undone and spent in her arms.

But gradually the lights in his mind start to flicker back on, and he turns his head slightly, lips brushing over her forehead.

"Oh," he says at last, very softly, much the same sort of 'oh' as she'd let out not half an hour before when he'd shown her the fishdive. She's knocked the breath out of him, dragged him down out of his brain and into his heart and body.

[theonewhocounted]

Molly can feel him shaking and hangs on to him, unsure for the moment if this is good or if he's overwhelmed. She does worry a bit that he'll suddenly realize that his emotions are too much to deal with, that it was simpler not to feel. She's certainly had times like that, but she's never been good with denying what she feels.

She sighs happily when he kisses her forehead, taking that as a good sign.

"Why do I feel like a new door just opened in your mind palace," she teases quietly when she hears his soft exclamation. It makes her feel a bit proud that she's knocked all the big words out of Sherlock Holmes' big brain.

[punchmeitssubtext]

(She's not wrong--there's an entire new wing now, dedicated solely to the things he's learning from Molly's hands and body and clever mouth. It's not the least bit organized yet, but that hardly matters.)

His mouth quirks into a helpless smile. Words are still difficult, but at least he has her as a lifeline to keep him steady while he makes his way back to coherent thought.

"Molly Hooper, hidden talents of." He's slightly hoarse; he tips his head down so he can press his nose into her cheek.

[theonewhocounted]

They have all the time he needs. Her only the plan for the day had been to do laundry, but screw laundry. She'll just buy a new wardrobe, if if means spending all her waking, non-work hours just like this.

She smiles at the new category he's created for her in his mind.

"I've always wondered if I have a space up there," she says quietly. She assumed if she did it was a tiny little corner filled with pilfered body parts and ugly jumpers.

She turns her head a bit to nuzzle his nose with her own and look into his eyes.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"You do."

This moment right now is already being recorded for that space: Molly looking at him without fear or hurt, hair tousled and face flushed, fascinating.

It's an image he never expected to see, much less enjoy. And somehow he thinks he's better for having the chance.

As the shaking subsides, he lifts a hand to brush her hair back from her cheek, away from her marked throat. Even if the words themselves don't come at the moment, there's a clear I love you in that touch, and behind his eyes.

[theonewhocounted]

"Does it have loads of cats in it and Hobnobs?" she jokes but her smile turns softer and sober as he looks at her like that. She understands it, her eyes say she does. They also say and you know how I feel.

She files this moment away into her own mental file. It's not a palace, but her most important memories are there to be recalled when triggered or when she needs them. She knows the memory of this day will be called on frequently.

[punchmeitssubtext]

His smile stretches a little, not wide but far warmer than he's ever let anyone see.

"It's got the yellow dress and your excellent passé form," he admits. "Just the one cat, though."

He drapes his arm over her languidly. Because it seems wrong, somehow, not to be keeping her as close as possible.

[theonewhocounted]

"The yellow dress, really?" she says, surprised. "I wouldn't have guessed."

She smiles in return but when he drapes his arm over her she realizes that she still hasn't cleaned up.

"One second."

She leans in to give him a quick kiss before she gets up to grab a tissue for them.

[punchmeitssubtext]

Sherlock watches her, the shift of muscles under her skin as she moves. He's never thought to imagine how her bare shoulderblade might look when she stretches for something, or how a patch of sunlight might fall over the barely-visible ridges of her vertebrae, but now that he's seeing it he wants to write it into a line of music.

That is, after all, usually the best way he can think of to say things that are difficult for him to sort out into neat, clever words.

He sits up a little, watching her intently. Already he's resolved that if she tries to put on any clothes yet he'll voice an objection immediately.

[theonewhocounted]

Molly sits up puts her feet on the floor before she reaches for the tissue box on the night stand. She grabs a couple and starts to clean his release off of her stomach. It's only when she's in the middle of it does she feel how he's watching her.

She looks over her shoulder at him and blushes, looking a bit shy before she puts the tissues into the rubbish bin. The final tissue she brings over to clean him up a bit before also throwing that one away.

"Do you want any water or anything while I'm up?" she asks him.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"What I want is for you to finish being up and get back in bed."

That falls out before he can stop it, and because he's Sherlock and possibly a little insecure, he fumbles for a joke to follow up on something so sentimental.

"But if getting a glass of water is some kind of post-coital etiquette I don't know about..."

[theonewhocounted]

Your lame joke is too late, Sherlock Holmes, Molly is already beaming at you and hears nothing after "get back in bed."

"It sounds like someone wants to cuddle," she teases him as she slides herself back into bed and proceeds to tangle herself up with him again, pulling the duvet over them both. "For lack of a better word which you have yet to provide."

She grins and kisses the side of his mouth. Sherlock Holmes is a post-coital cuddler. Who would have though?

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Shut up," he says, but it's fond and not at all sharp.

He does enjoy lying here like this with her, the way they did when he woke up this morning: him on his back, her weight pressing gently along his side and chest, arms draped around one another. It's easier to recover and process everything going through his head with her tucked against him, a reminder that being human isn't so terrible after all.

His head lolls to one side, so he can look her in the eye again. The smile really does do wonders for her mouth.