theonewhocounted | (no subject)

It's like it's all happening at once, the 'snick' of the door setting in place, his hands on her shoulders and his mouth on hers. Her body melts into his and she's just able to curl her hands into the lapels of his coat to keep herself upright as she kisses him back with as much relief as she feels in his voice.

She meets him with a hunger that matches his own, and Sherlock pulls her in tight, hands sliding under her coat to pull her close to him by her hips. For a few seconds all he can focus on is the urgent need to refamiliarize himself with the feel of her tongue against his and the press of her body flush against his own.

God, but he's missed her.

She'd missed him too and if things had been different, this is how she would have greeted him upon his return to London. While the hours they've spent together before this were wonderful, this is what she craves the most. His hands holding her close, his mouth exploring hers. She sighs in between kisses. Swoons, might be the better word. Sherlock Holmes makes her swoon.

Her hands come up to cup his chin to keep him as close as possible.

Molly practically molds herself against him, sighing out delicious little breaths against his lips in the moments he's not kissing her, and every faint breathless sound she makes breaks over him like a high unfolding through his veins.

He could drown himself in this, in the sensation of her hands curving around his face, in her hungry kisses. Sherlock won't fully grasp it for some time yet, but he's been starving himself all his life in a number of ways and this is one of them. Molly is an absolute feast.

He's not really sure how, but suddenly one of his hands is trailing through the soft hair at the nape of her neck. The bun comes loose easily, spilling all that long hair over his fingers, and he moans again.

Molly didn't necessarily expect Sherlock to be so wonderfully vocal in this capacity - moaning and signing with little care. It fuels her desire even more to hear how much he's enjoying himself. By the time he's pulling her hair down from its not at her neck, she is warm and itching - her coat and clothing suddenly feeling confining in the worst way. Part of her wants him to take her right here in her entryway and the other part wants this to last. As she continues kissing him, her desires are currently battling themselves and while also trying to figure out what he wants too.

Really, they win either way.

It's several long moments before the need to kiss her dies down into something less frantic, something that allows him to pull back just far enough to whisper against her skin.

"Been wanting to do that for hours." His voice is low and hot; his hands start to move to the lapels of her coat to push it away from her shoulders. "And unless you have any objections I want to start with cunnilingus, because I've been wanting to do that for days."

"Me too," she agrees, breathless from their kisses. She lets him push her coat off her shoulders and her arms go to her side so it drops to the floor in a pile. She doesn't care.

And if she was breathless before, what he says next very well knocks the wind right out of her. When that word falls from his mouth, somehow both clinical and obscene at once, it's like the oxygen has been sucked from the room and she feels dizzy as all the blood in her body moves southward suddenly.

"Oh..." is all she can manage at first. A sound of delighted surprise. "Yes...that would be....yes, alright..."

Her brain is too filled with the images of him between her legs, in order to form coherent thoughts.

"Brilliant. Come on."

Somehow he manages to grab her hand, tug her through the darkened flat to her bedroom, get the door shut behind them--and then, because the thought strikes him, he dives for the lamp on her bedside table. He wants enough light to be able to see her face while they're having sex.

While he's got his arms free, he drops his overnight bag at the side of the bed, shrugs out of his coat and suit jacket just as carelessly as he did on Saturday morning and kicks off his shoes as quickly as he possibly can. And as soon as he's done, he turns back to her, blue-green gaze intense and hungry.

"Turn around," he nearly whispers, indicating the zipper at the back of her dress.

It's good one of them can still function and make rational choices, because her brain is still back in her hallway where he told her he was going to perform oral sex on her. She watches him take off his coat and suit jacket and shoes and by the time she realizes that maybe she should be doing the same, he's got his eyes on her again and she swallows dryly before doing as he says. She almost can't remember what lingerie she put on under her dress earlier that evening, but recalls it was a black lace bra and thong set. Molly didn't wear thongs much but she'd had to with the dress.

Somehow his want is so focused and so heated that his fingers don't tremble at all as he tucks her hair over one shoulder and slides the zipper down smoothly. His hands slide over her hot skin as he pushes the fabric of her dress away. The thong catches his attention immediately, as the dress slips down past her hips.

For a moment he's distracted by the sudden need to run his hands down her back, to fit each palm over one of her arse cheeks and squeeze gently.

Molly can't help the shiver that goes through her body as his hand push her dress off (and it's not because she's cold).

The dress pools at her feet where her heels are still on but she doesn't move to step out of it yet, waiting for his next move instead. She's barely breathing in anticipation of him touching more of her., but she is patient. She wants to give him control to do what he likes right now.

His hands skate over her hips, flattening against her belly and then sweeping upwards to trace her ribcage... and then cup her breasts, still half hidden under crisp lace. He leans down to press his face into the side of her bare throat, mouth fastening over soft skin, his tongue flickering against her neck like a promise of what he intends to do to her.

She lets out a shuddering breath as he wraps himself around her from behind. Her head tilts to expose her neck more and she moans at the feel of his mouth on her. Saturday's marks are only just starting to fade.

She'll likely have fresh ones after tonight--that moan only encourages him, hits that little switch in his brain marked Game On. Sherlock makes a breathless sound in response, sucking harder at the spot, fingers curling over her nipples to pinch and press them through the fabric.

Molly whimpers and her body leans back against his more. Her eyes close as she just focuses on how he's making her feel. She can feel a surge of wetness between her thighs and she squeezes them together to relieve a little of the pressure building there.

He feels her thighs contract a little--creating and releasing pressure on her clitoris, he realizes, and suddenly it's much easier to drag his mouth from her neck.

Again he manages the bra one-handed, though this time the gloating takes a backseat to the stronger, hotter pull of desire. As if he were guiding her into another lift, his hands move to turn her towards him, his weight already leaning to guide her in the direction of the bed.

Molly is more than pliant in his hands, letting him lead this dance. When she's facing him again though, she can't help but lean up to press her mouth to his again. He can guide them toward the bed, but he'll have to do it while her hot tongue presses into his mouth and her hands fist in his shirt.

Once again her confidence and assertiveness takes him by surprise. But his body and his heart know how to respond to her before his brain's caught up, and he kisses her back hard and slow.

Somehow, between long and urgent tastes of her mouth, he manages to rumble out two words.

"Lie back."

If he told her to jump off the roof of Bart's right, now she realizes that she would probably do it. Which should be terrifying, except for the fact that she knows he would never tell her to do something that would purposely cause her harm. And while he's, himself, hurt her in the past, she knows they were unintentional slights and they are hopefully a shade beyond that now.

So when he tells her her 'lie back' she pulls her mouth from his (somewhat reluctantly) and sits herself on her bed. She looks up at him and a moment later scoots back and lays against the pillows. Her hair is fanned out, her lips are red from their kisses, and her nipples are hard peaks. She feels laid out for him like a meal and then she flushes when she realizes that's exactly what she is to be.

(He will, occasionally, still have trouble remembering to say 'please'. But along with his love, she's also won his respect--and going forward, he wants to make sure that when he asks something of her it's fair, or meant to please her.)

She's vastly more appealing than any dessert--or any naked woman, in porn or otherwise--he's ever seen. Drawn like a magnet, Sherlock moves to sit on the mattress, so he can lean down and take one of her nipples between his lips. He breathes out, hot and damp, against her breast, and there's a whisper of sound in that breath that might be her name before his tongue sweeps over the hard nub of flesh.

Molly hums and her eyes slip shut. Her hands automatically slide into his curls. God, she loves his hair. It's as soft and silky as she always imagined when she fantasized about just this scenario. Although, the reality of the scenario is better than her imagination could come up with. He's turning out to be an infinitely more selfless lover than she ever expected, for one.

Strangely, Sherlock wouldn't qualify himself as selfless: he's simply cataloguing her pleasure, teaching himself what her body looks and feels and tastes like and how it responds to him, and at the same time finally giving rein to a hunger he's been denying for far too long.

He takes that soft humming sound she makes as an encouragement, and shifts further over her so he can begin to slide down her body, to explore her ribcage briefly with a line of hot kisses before he's drawn back up to her other nipple to taste it as well.

Whatever he's doing, whether truly selfless or not, is working for Molly. She sighs as his body covers hers more and she is suddenly reminded where this is headed. Her need for him surges back (not that it ever really went away, it was just simmering for a moment) and she arches into his mouth. The mouth that he plans on using in other locations soon.

Her hands tighten in his hair, and somehow that just makes him all the more greedy for her. When she arches into him, a clear message of what she wants, he sucks at her nipple briefly before shifting again so he can kneel on the mattress between her legs.

Later, he promises himself, he'll devote time to every millimeter of her skin, find every shade of pleasure he can draw from her. But they'll have time. They'll have at least until the end of ballet season. Right now he needs to taste her.

He drops one soft kiss just below her breasts, one on the curve of her stomach... and then one over the damp fabric that covers her clit, inhaling her scent deeply as he does.

Molly's hands fall away from him as he moves downward and she opens her eyes to watch him. Her breath hitches as he kisses her through her wet knickers and her legs part further to accommodate him between them.

He looks hungry, and knowing that it's her he is hungry for makes her squirm slightly in anticipation.