"God. Molly." He lets out a short, stuttering sigh as he pushes the waistband of his pants down--and the breath he takes as he strokes his cock slowly, root to tip, is audibly shaky. "If I were there--mm--two fingers, in deep. And I'd use my tongue on you."
He's been fantasizing about that, too, since Saturday. He knows women can have multiple orgasms without the same extensive refractory period the male body needs, and he wants to know if he can make Molly come more than once tonight.
He's been fantasizing about that, too, since Saturday. He knows women can have multiple orgasms without the same extensive refractory period the male body needs, and he wants to know if he can make Molly come more than once tonight.
"You tasted good." His voice is nearing the lowest end of its register; he's almost whispering even though there's no one around to hear. But it gives him the opportunity to hear a tiny sound Molly makes, a sound that makes his fingers tighten a little on his cock.
Because now he can deduce that she's touching herself as he's talking.
His hand starts to move steadily, slowly, trying to replicate the way Molly's hand worked him on Saturday. "It made me--want to know what your clitoris feels like, on my tongue."
Because now he can deduce that she's touching herself as he's talking.
His hand starts to move steadily, slowly, trying to replicate the way Molly's hand worked him on Saturday. "It made me--want to know what your clitoris feels like, on my tongue."
That moan makes his head swim for a second. It's still a surprise to him, that Molly has this kind of self-knowledge and capacity for desire, and he loves that, finds that utterly fascinating.
"You can picture it, can't you?" He shifts a little on her mattress, hips rocking slightly. "Me, watching you from--ah--from between your thighs, learning... what you like."
"You can picture it, can't you?" He shifts a little on her mattress, hips rocking slightly. "Me, watching you from--ah--from between your thighs, learning... what you like."
Sherlock's mind is similarly occupied: he's imagining what kinds of surprise and arousal and pleasure will cross her face, what they'll look like when he's looking up at her from between her thighs, what her face must look like right now as she fingers her clit in his bed.
It's a damn good thing he's got a very strong case for his phone, because he's gripping it so hard his knuckles have gone white.
"I want to know what you taste like when you come," he almost growls.
It's a damn good thing he's got a very strong case for his phone, because he's gripping it so hard his knuckles have gone white.
"I want to know what you taste like when you come," he almost growls.
He can practically feel her hot breath brushing his ear, and the image and the sound are so powerful that it makes one of those urgent ripples of heat surge through him.
"Molly--I want..."
The word trails off as he thrusts up into his own fist, hard and fast, spurred on by her voice.
"Molly--I want..."
The word trails off as he thrusts up into his own fist, hard and fast, spurred on by her voice.
"Together," he manages, gasping. "Now--oh--"
And he can't hold back the sharp, surprised sound as he comes, heat spattering the back of his hand and his belly, fireworks going off behind his closed eyelids.
And he can't hold back the sharp, surprised sound as he comes, heat spattering the back of his hand and his belly, fireworks going off behind his closed eyelids.
The sound she makes goes through him like an extra jolt of electricity, propelling him even higher. His hips buck uselessly, reflexively, several times before the pleasure ebbs and softens.
His breathing is harsh, ragged, his skin tingling like he's getting more oxygen in his lungs somehow.
"Christ."
His breathing is harsh, ragged, his skin tingling like he's getting more oxygen in his lungs somehow.
"Christ."
Sherlock's laugh comes out breathless and low, almost a pleased purr.
"I could get a notebook at the gift shop," he huffs. "How scientific of you, Molly."
That last remark is all warmth. He may not know much about being affectionate or romantic, but he knows that it's safe to be genuine with her, even if it's still difficult.
"I could get a notebook at the gift shop," he huffs. "How scientific of you, Molly."
That last remark is all warmth. He may not know much about being affectionate or romantic, but he knows that it's safe to be genuine with her, even if it's still difficult.
This time he nearly wheezes, the laugh picking up volume and depth. (It actually spooks Toby out of his nap in the next room.)
"Wait, not like bingo, then? Line up any five and get a prize?"
"Wait, not like bingo, then? Line up any five and get a prize?"
"God, that sounds like something you'd see in a tabloid headline. Uni sex bingo parties."
There's something absurd and wonderful about lying in Molly's bed, half-naked and sticky and laughing at a terrible joke they're sharing even if she's halfway across the city from him. Because even though she keeps surprising him, he knows he can trust her, that if she's playful with him there's neither malice in it nor an attempt to sort of shame him into being a version of himself she'd prefer.
Plus this is every bit as fun as shadowing a suspect through a telling deviation in their daily routine.
There's something absurd and wonderful about lying in Molly's bed, half-naked and sticky and laughing at a terrible joke they're sharing even if she's halfway across the city from him. Because even though she keeps surprising him, he knows he can trust her, that if she's playful with him there's neither malice in it nor an attempt to sort of shame him into being a version of himself she'd prefer.
Plus this is every bit as fun as shadowing a suspect through a telling deviation in their daily routine.
Edited 2017-02-18 04:26 (UTC)
Sherlock rolls over to grab some tissues off of Molly's own bedside table--and though he's tempted to look in the drawer at what she may or may not have in the way of condoms (and other things), his lazy pleased mood relaxes the urge out of him. He can choose to let her surprise him again, and he wants that.
"Well, I was planning to see if you still had leftover curry in the fridge. But I can stop by in a bit, if you like, though I did want to get some stuff done between now and dinner so it doesn't distract me tomorrow."
"Well, I was planning to see if you still had leftover curry in the fridge. But I can stop by in a bit, if you like, though I did want to get some stuff done between now and dinner so it doesn't distract me tomorrow."
((ooc: looping the comment thread because haha what 350 comments))
(Well, for today, it's largely calling in favors and actually making sure that the clean-up will be able to run smoothly for at least the next forty-eight hours without him. Sherlock is capable of planning ahead, when it's important enough to him, and this is important enough that he doesn't want anything or anyone pulling him away from it.)
"Okay. I'll stop by. Go have lunch, I'll text you when I'm close."
*
It turns out that while Molly's phone was otherwise occupied, John's actually texted her.
To: Molly
From: John
12:40: Okay, one thing. Before I left you said he's been lovely. I just want you to know, we've talked about it a little and from what I can tell he really does want this to work. So I just want you to know, if he's lovely, it's because he means it. And good on you.
12:43: Anyway, see you later. :)
He's actually not the only one. One of her coworkers at Barts is, it turns out, too intrigued by the sudden change in her to keep quiet.
To: Molly
From: Sophie (Work)
12:38: Molls I can't help it, I'm dying of curiosity. Tell me about him!!
*
It's almost two and a half hours before her phone goes off with one of Sherlock's text alerts again.
To: Molly
From: Sherlock
3:34 PM: John gets upset when I pick his lock. Let me in, I come bearing gifts.
(Well, for today, it's largely calling in favors and actually making sure that the clean-up will be able to run smoothly for at least the next forty-eight hours without him. Sherlock is capable of planning ahead, when it's important enough to him, and this is important enough that he doesn't want anything or anyone pulling him away from it.)
"Okay. I'll stop by. Go have lunch, I'll text you when I'm close."
*
It turns out that while Molly's phone was otherwise occupied, John's actually texted her.
To: Molly
From: John
12:40: Okay, one thing. Before I left you said he's been lovely. I just want you to know, we've talked about it a little and from what I can tell he really does want this to work. So I just want you to know, if he's lovely, it's because he means it. And good on you.
12:43: Anyway, see you later. :)
He's actually not the only one. One of her coworkers at Barts is, it turns out, too intrigued by the sudden change in her to keep quiet.
To: Molly
From: Sophie (Work)
12:38: Molls I can't help it, I'm dying of curiosity. Tell me about him!!
*
It's almost two and a half hours before her phone goes off with one of Sherlock's text alerts again.
To: Molly
From: Sherlock
3:34 PM: John gets upset when I pick his lock. Let me in, I come bearing gifts.
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