theonewhocounted | (no subject)

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.

Subconsciously, the emotional priorities of this relationship shift slightly for him as she explores his throat and chest with those burning touches and kisses. He knows he was wrong, completely and idiotically wrong about her mouth, and at some point he's going to make sure she knows it.

The question makes its way through a haze of pleasure. God, he loves that she's so specific, that she owns her self-knowledge and is unafraid to let him know how much of it she has for his benefit.

"A few," he admits, hoarsely. "Admittedly it wasn't the centre of my focus as I was researching."

"Mm, " she hums against his skin as she moves lower, mouth nipping down to his hips bones. She shifts so she's between his legs. Her hands slide up and down his thighs. As with the night before, her focus is is on his cock but she's not yet touching it.

She looks up his body sprawled out for her again and stops to appreciate that he is all hers.

He shivers, knowing this time there's no imminent expectation other than her mouth finally closing over him. And the hungry, possessive way she looks at his bare body only intensifies the heat that's shutting down enormous blocks of his higher brain function. This exploration, this experience, belongs entirely to her and she knows it. He's at her mercy. Logically he knows that should register as something dangerous, something he should run from, but it's impossible to justify any of those thoughts while her clever hands sweep down his sides and along his thighs.

Instead, somehow--because he's Sherlock and if Sherlock can do any one thing well it's talk--he sort of keeps rattling on.

"And I mostly--fast forwarded through the blowjobs. Didn't think I could learn any--hah--anything useful if I wasn't experiencing it firsthand..."

"You could just watch to enjoy it," she points out as her hands slide closer to their target. "Could imagine it's you they're blowing. I think that's what guys do."

Her hand curls around the base of his shaft and strokes up slowly as she continues to watch him.

"I could, but that mmh..." Something in his brain fizzles briefly, like a failing electrical connection, when her hand wraps around him. Thankfully it burns away any capacity he has to be ashamed that he's just whimpered at her touch. "...that... hasn't actually... worked."

"Maybe because you haven't experienced it before," she says as she strokes him again. "You can't know what it's like."

Something that's about to change. Without any warning she leans down and presses the flat of her tongue against his shaft and licks upward. Once at the top she swirls it around his tip. She manages to keep her eyes on his face to see his reaction.

Edited 2017-03-04 03:33 (UTC)

Whatever reply he might have come up with abruptly blurs and warps into a breathless "oh god" as she drags her tongue up the length of his cock. Sherlock tries to stay focused on her, to maintain eye contact, but then she begins to slide the tip of her tongue around the head of his prick and his eyes slip shut for a second out of some sheer primal instinct to concentrate on how this feels.

One of his hands lifts to touch her, fingers threading through her rumpled hair.

The look on his face is pure bliss and it gives her her own jolt of pleasure. Her tongue laps at him again as her hand strokes him in between. His hand in her hair makes her hum, something she knows he'll also appreciate.

Her free hand keeps massaging at the crease of his hip.

Her voice actually vibrates against his cock, sends a soft hot wave of breath over sensitive skin, and even though rationally he knows his spine can't actually be dissolving that's what his nerves are telling him is happening as she puts her clever mouth and hands to work on him. His fingers flex in her hair, and he opens his eyes to look down at her again, to watch how she's going to take him apart for as long as he can manage.

Molly feels him looking at her so she lifts her eyes to meet his just as her mouth closes over the head of his cock and sucks gently. Her hand works the rest of his shaft and she hums again. He tastes salty and sweet, and god, she is sucking Sherlock's cock. She can feel herself getting wet again.

With her mouth sealed over the head of his cock, that hum registers even more deeply in his nerves, a wonderfully agonizing tingling that makes his hips tilt into her touch. What's somehow more astonishing, though, is that he can tell--from the flush on her cheeks, her red lips, her impossibly soft eyes--that she's aroused by this. Getting him off is turning her on.

"More," he hears himself breathe.

She hums in agreement before she pops him out of her mouth and laps at him in succession and with enthusiasm.. It's like he's the best lollipop she's ever tasted. And while she'll never think a penis tastes especially good, it doesn't matter when she can make him feel like that; can give him such intense pleasure. She just wants him to lose his mind over it. She wants to see him completely unravel because of the hat she's doing.

After some more licking, she slides him into her mouth again, taking more of him down. Her hand continues to stroke in time with the movement of her mouth bobbing up and down. Molly can't deep throat but she's found that hardly matters to most men. She glances up at him again to gague his reaction.

It's not that much deeper than before, but her pulling him just that little bit further into her mouth draws a harsh gasp from him. His head drops back for a moment as she looks up at him, and he moans, one of those long low rumbling sounds he can't seem to control.

He shifts a bit, squirming to shift his legs wider apart, head lifting again so he can keep watching her. Again his fingers curl and uncurl in her hair. His mouth opens and closes several times as he searches for something to say and can only fish up more wordless noises of approval.

Distantly he knows this won't take long at all. Sherlock might be more self-conscious about that if Molly wasn't sucking all his higher brain functions out of him through his cock right now.

This is what she wants, him speechless and moaning and gasping. It is music to her ears and causes her to try pulling more of them from him. After a quick break where she pops him out of her mouth and kisses the head a few times, she then takes him in even further. Her head bobs and she's totally focused on getting him off. The hand that was massaging his thigh moves to tug on his balls gently and she hums, knowing he enjoys the vibrations.

Christ, he's never really understood the upside of those things but now her long fingers are playing with them and suddenly he has to grab at the bedsheets with the hand that's not tangled in her hair. His thighs are taut, his breathing taking on a rasping edge. Her voice thrums through his cock again and the language centers in his brain somehow find just enough power to let her know she's dragging him under.

"Molly," he says, helpless, almost a whimper.

Yes, she thinks when his body starts to tense. Yes, yes, yes. She can't talk at the moment, but she moans around his cock and her movements seed up just a fraction, knowing he's close. It also shows him that this is what she wants. Don't hold back. Her hand tugs a bit more insistently on his balls. She looks up one last time to try to watch him get there. He's looking wrecked as it is and it is gorgeous.

Her gaze meets his, her mouth and hands never stopping for a second, and it's too much. The sound he makes is strangled and breathless and hot; his spine curves as the shuddering overtakes him.

For a long, long moment it's like all Sherlock's body knows how to do is come, pleasure crashing through him in hard bright bursts.

Molly watches the ecstasy overtake him before her eyes slip shut and she swallows down each pulse of his release. Her head stills but her hand strokes him through the orgasm and when he seems spent she slides her mouth off of him and licks the rest off with her tongue before sitting back. He is flushed from head to toe and his chest is rising and falling quickly. Her hands resume sliding over his thighs, this time In a soothing manner.

Just like the previous times she's brought him to orgasm, he feels as if he's just run several city blocks on a mind-bending high. He's gasping for air, shaking, each unsteady breath carrying a soft sound he can neither hear nor process.

Slowly, though, the first wave fades into a deep and satisfying warmth. His trembling fingers slowly uncurl from her hair as his breathing begins to even. Dazed, he blinks down the length of his body at her. Molly looks pleased, even a little sly, her pink tongue darting out to swipe a drop of his semen off of her lower lip.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he manages, ragged.

Edited 2017-03-04 22:27 (UTC)

If Molly didn't look pleased before, she definitely would be after he says that. He looks and sounds totally wrecked in the best way possible. She grins and crawls up to lay next to him.

"You okay?" she asks even though she can tell that he's definitely fine. It hits her once again that she is the first person to ever do that and she hopes to be the only. Except that is not something she should be thinking about right now when they've been together less than a week. She halts the thought right there.

"Yeah, I... yeah." His head lolls to one side so he can look at her, can take in how her grin has changed and how subtly different her skin feels while his whole body is still humming with the explosive force of his release.

For half a second he's tempted to ask how she got so fucking good at that. But he knows the answer--as with any skill, one gets good by practicing--and some small part of his psyche that's dedicated to not ruining good moments immediately and smoothly diverts his train of thought away from a track that might take him back to Jim from IT.

So his mind is blissfully clear, for the moment, of everything but Molly and the incredible thing she's just done with her mouth.

"Just. One minute."