theonewhocounted | (no subject)

Molly whimpers as he sucks hard on her nipple, her hips shifting again. It's torturous in the good way but she's impatient for his mouth to slide slower.

A couple things run through her mind as he tells her about his mastubatory history. One is that Sherlock knows the average number of times he masturbates in a year (of course he does) and two, Sherlock is actively telling her about it to turn her on. This is Sherlock Holmes doing dirty talk and it's wonderfully still him, not forced or something he heard in a porn. And it's working.

"What is it the kids say 'sorry, not sorry'?" she jokes, in between breathy pants. "You know, generally when you become involved with a sexual partner, you end up masturbating less."

Although she supposes that doesn't take into consideration having to be aware from your partner for any length of time.

"Mm, generally." He pauses to suck a red mark into a tender spot along her ribcage before beginning to kiss the hollow of one hip. "The average will naturally go down during times I'm not on business trips." Sherlock trails his tongue from the top of her thigh to the gentle swell of her mons, a smile curving his mouth. "How many times did you masturbate while I was in Cardiff, Molly? I was there two days, and I had to make myself come five separate times to keep the edge off."

Molly continues to squirm against his ministrations. Her body is flushed and terribly aroused and he's still not quite where she wants him yet. She lets out a somewhat frustrated noise as his tongue stops where it does. She has trouble counting the times she touched herself over the weekend.

"Uh...hmm...Sunday morning before work, Sunday night after work," she starts, it's hard to think right now. "Monday morning in the shower before work, Monday during work, and then with you on the phone Tuesday."

It didn't seem like that much at the time, but she's got five too. Count the fact that they both got off twice together on Saturday and she got off twice Tuesday night, then she's about to break her own records too probably.

"Pretty much matches up with mine." His smile turns wicked. "Tell me about them, Molly. Tell me how you brought yourself to orgasm Sunday morning before work..."

He presses a kiss slightly lower, just above the hood of her clitoris.

"...Sunday night after work..."

Another kiss, warm and lingering against her labia.

"...Monday morning in the shower before work..."

Now he runs the tip of his tongue upwards, as if he's licking into her mouth to kiss her.

"...and Monday during work. And feel free to linger on that last one."

And as if to encourage her to begin, he takes a slow, sweeping taste of her clit.

Oh god, he's going to kill her. She's going to die with Sherlock's face buried in her quim. That would be fine to write in her obituary too.

"Umm..." she says and the thoughtful noise turns into a moan as he starts licking her. And when he reaches her clit, her hips buck off the bed. She's not sure how he expects her to talk much less think right now.

"Alright...uh...Sunday was...quick...fingers...in bed when I woke." Her bed smelled like him still and that was all she needed. It didn't take long. "Mmm...Sunday....ah night. Right. I...um...used...a toy...soon as I got home. Came twice."

(Molly Hooper, pathologist. Cause of death: next-level oral sex.)

"Mmhmm?" It's a low, rumbling noise of curiosity--he's intrigued, and he rewards her for the information by working the middle finger of his right hand inside her. He knows she can come without being penetrated, but he likes being able to feel the shivering and tremors when she nears orgasm.

The look on her face right now, as she struggles to keep talking and process the things his mouth is doing to her, is... exquisite seems like a cliche, but it's pretty goddamn spectacular.

There is definitely face scrunching going on and a level of concentration she usually reserves for autopsies. When his finger enters her, she whimpers and her legs open wider. It takes a moment, but she realizes that he's waiting for her to continue.

She lets out a breath, ragged and with just an edge of frustration.

"Monday....Monday...uh...the shower. Sure you've...ah...noticed...detachable shower head..." she trails off because he can come to his own obvious conclusions about that and talking is hard. Her hips roll towards him, seeking more contact.

"Mm." He has indeed noticed--and was thankful for it, as most people's showers are a bit too short for him to wash his hair without hunching up like a gargoyle (including the one at John's place). The thought of Molly on her feet in the shower, knees trembling and the shower head between her legs, is a mental image he'll likely revisit very soon.

His tongue flicks against her clit, teasing and promising, and she's so wet he can easily slide his index finger into her as well. The tip of his ring finger rests just next to her entrance, providing a little extra pressure as the other two fingers fuck her slowly.

Molly moans in response to the additional finger and how he's paying attention to her clit. Her hand is still in his hair, holding on tight and without realizing it she presses his head toward her more as her hips do another roll in time with the slow slide of his fingers inside of her.

"Sherlock..." she whines out, forgetting all about story time for the moment.

He pulls his mouth off of her to flash her a lascivious grin.

"Monday during work," he prompts, licking the taste of her off his lower lip. "I want to hear it."

And then, because he's Sherlock and he's an utter bastard, he lets his parted lips rest just over her clit--not licking, or even kissing. Just breathing steadily, waiting for her to speak.

Molly gives a frustrated groan as he stops to talk and then doesn't go back to it when he finishes talking.

She looks down at him and can see he knows he's a shit. Another frustrated sound comes out as her head drops back to the bed and she then takes a breath.

"Monday at work...too distracted to run labs..." she breathes out. "Kept thinking about you showing up to fuck me over the counter..."

The thought brings her back to the fantasy. It's certainly not a new one but before Saturday it had only been a fantasy with little hope in it. Monday she realized now it could be real (not that she necessarily would let him, security cameras and all).

"Had to visit the loo so I could concentrate again."

Fucking her over the counter. That's one he hasn't actually considered yet, although now that he thinks about it, he's absolutely going to angle for that at some point.

"Text me next time," he says around her clit.

And then he tightens his lips over it and begins to suckle, fingers speeding up, that third finger dipping in and out of her entrance with each deep stroke.

She's about to tell him she didn't want to distract him during a case, but it never reaches her lips because suddenly his are on her clit and she bucking off the bed.

Molly whines and her hand tightens in his hair more. After all the teasing, her orgasm is speeding at her quickly now and it's not going to take much longer. He'll already feel her walls starting to tense up.

Her muscles are beginning to tighten around his fingers, and his free hand comes up to press into one of her hips, just holding her steady. This time he wants to see if he can make her scream, so he sucks her clit hard and fast, rolling it on his tongue, never letting up the pressure for a second. He's faintly aware he must be making obscene noises, but he's too focused on making her come to give a damn.

The sudden intensified onslaught on her clit takes Molly by surprise and she moans and writhes as much as she can with him pinning her down. It's almost too much and she makes constant whimpering noises that rise in intensity until she's not sure she can take it another moment and that's when she comes with a loud cry - one filled with pleasure and relief. Her hips buck off the bed uncontrollably as her legs flail out, toes curling hard.

He's going to need to spend some time in one of his bolt-holes, before the cleanup at 221 is done, composing a piece for his violin that has the same urgent rising cadence as Molly Hooper fucking his mouth to climax. Because he wants some sort of concrete record, outside of his own memory, of how captivating she is as she ascends.

She makes one of those impossibly sweet sounds, and then he feels the orgasm surge through her entire body, feels her thighs jerk and shudder and the bedsheets under them tense as her toes dig into them. He nearly purrs against her clit as he coaxes her through it, slowing gradually, letting her ride the wave of heat as long as possible.

"Fuck, fuck," she whines with each pulse, feeling him continue to urge her on. Her body twitches with the aftershocks and it takes a while until she can take in a deep breath and let it out, relaxing into the bed. She's still panting a bit as her eyes open and try to focus down at him.

"Think I need to pen a thank you note to the creators of those amateur lesbian sex videos."

From the shortness of breath and the airy tone he can tell she's still somewhat dizzy from the orgasm. Which somehow makes her comment so funny, so something-he-refuses-to-call-adorable, that he can't help the warm laugh that tumbles out of him as he eases his fingers out of her.

"If a thing's worth doing," he manages, between giggles, shifting to spread out next to her on the mattress again.

Molly doesn't have the breath to laugh properly right now, but she gives him a blissful sort of grin as he sprawls next to her and blinks slowly. The world is starting to come back to her and he is the center of it right now.

"Glad I'm worth doing," she jokes. She's full of them this morning. Sex makes her (think she's) funny.

She's happy right now. It's written all over her, even in the little lingering tremors from her overstimulated nerves and in her rumpled hair. Sherlock, who'd never thought he would have a friend in his life, is within arm's reach of someone who is happy because of him.

That thought pulls him into free fall for a moment. The world outside of this space they're sharing may be unfair and endlessly noisy and full of morons, but he can make Molly Hooper happy.

He leans in to kiss her, still smiling.

Molly kisses him back, feeling a shift in him from playful to thoughtful in an instant. But it feels like good thoughtful, not 'get out of your head, Sherlock' thoughtful. She can taste herself on his lips and it amazes her the shades of him she's able to see in mere minutes - from a bloody frustrating sexual prodigy one moment to a friend she can joke with the next, and on to a tender lover in the next. She thinks it's exactly what it should be like - this comfort level. It makes the next question easy and not awkward to ask.

"You have some choices to make here," she leads with as her hand searches and easily finds his erection between them, circling around it. "We can either have intercourse - you on top this time if you'd like - or I can perform fellatio. Or whatever you like, really....Well....within reason."

She's not sure how far his research has gone yet and if he's discovered any sorts of kinks. She imagines Sherlock will have kinks. He seems the type. Molly has a couple herself.

Molly is, he somehow has the capacity to note, a very fast learner. Though that thought has to be shoved aside for later as her fingers brush and curl around his erection. He draws a hot, shuddering breath, hips tilting forward slightly.

"You wanted to begin with fellatio last night," he says, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. "And I'm--ah--still curious about it. Though I do want to have intercourse again after breakfast..."

That last word comes out somewhat higher than the rest as her fingers slide over his hot skin in a particularly distracting way.

It's Molly's turn to grin deviously.

"Horny school boy," she tuts fondly as she strokes him, revels in the uneven breathing she's already managed to cause in him. She then kisses his lips one more long, slow time before she gently pushes him onto his back so she can start to explore his body the way he'd done to her.

There is something to be said for him being a virgin until just last night - he seems to have the libido of a guy in his early 20s and if Saturday was any indication, the refractory period of a younger man too. It hits her then that she's taken Sherlock's virginity. It's juvenile, but she can't help but feel bloody proud of that.

He's been keeping a lot bottled up for a very long time, has been denying himself without admitting it, and now that she's opened up this part of him there's years' worth of energy and curiosity that needs to be let out. Which he knows should frighten him somewhat, or at least alarm him--but she likes this, she wants him every bit as fiercely as he wants her, and she's completely trustworthy.

Sherlock allows her to roll him to his back, smoothly and gracefully, sighing out a long breath into their kiss. The same sort of warm shiver he'd felt when she pulled his hair a bit earlier runs down his chest now, and he brings a hand up to curve around the back of her neck, just to have one more point of contact between them.

She kisses him a moment longer before she starts trailing her kisses down his jaw and neck, spending some time licking and scraping her teeth gently over collar bones until she gets to his chest. Her hands slide over his ribcage and she feels his heart strong and hammering away. He's still not in the best health, but he's alive and she's going to do everything to help him stay that way. (Her psychiatrist would say she's a 'fixer' - feels the need to fix broken people. Molly knows this only really applies to one person.)

"Did any of your porn viewing include videos of blow jobs?" she asks him in between sucking and licking on his skin and nicpples.