theonewhocounted | (no subject)

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."

Molly's smile changes to something softer before she leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Take as long as you need," she says as she presses her nose to his cheek and wraps her arm around him.

She's glad he doesn't ask the question on his mind, but he doesn't have to worry about Moriarty. She wasn't lying when she said they'd only gone out a couple times. And, in spite of the past few days, Molly doesn't usually have sex on the first couple dates.

Edited 2017-03-04 23:37 (UTC)

(He'll be relieved when he eventually learns that, though honestly if either of them runs into Tom any time soon she'll be in for some top-tier jealousy-fueled sex.)

His mouth twitches into a smile, and he relaxes against her, fingers stirring in her hair as the trembling subsides. Molly could probably ask anything of him right now, anything at all, and he'd do it gladly. Anything to gain the promise of another long moment like this, with her sheltering and warming him.

That thought should probably alarm him somewhat. He'll deal with that later.

When his heart rate slows to something more reasonable, he finds himself chuckling quietly up at the ceiling.

"Okay. Wow. Thought receiving would be less interesting, but that's that theory out the window. Well done."

(And she'll be very happy when she learns that.)

She smiles again at his statement.

"Always happy to prove the great Sherlock Holmes wrong," she teases before kissing him again. She loves this so much, all of it. "Especially about this."

This time he tips his head, catching the corner of her mouth with his lips. And he knows it's sentimental, and dangerous, and potentially it might make him look foolish, but there really only seems to be one proper response to what she says.

"Coming round on being proven wrong, too." His voice drops to a low murmur. "Especially about this."

Not just the sex, but, well... about her. About them.

She smiles and looks at him adoringly because she knows how much he hates to be wrong and how much it takes him to admit being such. And she can't read his mind to know he means about all of it, but she knows he means more than just about the oral sex.

Her only response to that is to kiss him again.

He sighs faintly into the kiss, tasting traces of himself on her tongue and idly observing how they meld with the last lingering taste of her in his own mouth.

The quiet contact, the soft press of her body against his own, gently steer his thoughts towards calm. In a while, he knows, there'll be things like breakfast and showers and hopefully another round of intercourse, but right now she's keeping him from getting lost in his own head so he can be entirely present in this moment.

When the kiss ends, she leans away so she's just looking at him nose to nose, her head sharing his pillow (that's is really hers since they're in her bed). A small smile plays at her lips. He's not disappeared far into his own head since they started this, something she didn't quite expect. She thought he would need more to process all of these changes and new information so far outside of his comfort zone. She expected more trips to his mind palace, more space needed between them. All of it is surprising. But she expects at some point this could get overwhelming and he'll retreat a little but she's prepared for that. Or at least she thinks she is.

For now, she'll just keep letting him surprise her.

Though he won't know or acknowledge it for several years yet, in a way Eurus has sort of given him a gift. The cleanup and rebuilding effort ensures he has to spend time away from Molly, which gives him an opportunity to be alone with his thoughts but not so deeply that he starts leaning towards self-destructive behavior. There will be moments, going forward, when he has to back off and process just how far they've come and how he's begun, in small ways, to become more like the man his younger self might have been if his sister had never murdered his best friend.

But as terrifying and strange as all of this is, he's with someone he trusts absolutely.

He smiles back at her, contentment warming him with every breath.

And then his body, which has had a run of good luck lately with getting its various needs met for once, decides to assert itself yet again. His stomach growls loudly into the intimate quiet between them.

Which is so ridiculous he can't keep himself from giggling.

Molly huffs out a surprised noise before she also starts to laugh with him. Add that to the list of new things about Sherlock - his stomach does actually make noise when he's hungry, like a normal person.

"Sounds like I should let you out the bed to feed you," she jokes. Molly is hungry too but not yet quite that hungry. "If I must."

She leans in to press her lips to his one last time.

"I hope eggs and sausage are alright."

"More than," he says fondly, still laughing, "as I'm sort of a crap cook."

Sure, cooking is chemistry and he's great at chemistry, but he's also fairly easily distracted and driven to experiment in a way that's innovative for science and possibly disastrous for meals. Not that he couldn't bang out something impressive if the circumstances called for it, because he's a showy bastard, but most of the time he doesn't really bother.

He starts to sit up, running a hand through his rumpled hair and stretching unselfconsciously like a pleased cat.

"Remind me to show you where the good crepe trucks are sometime. There's one that's round Bart's every Thursday, but most of the staff don't seem to know about it, which is a shame."

Molly is surprised that Sherlock even knows what kind of cook he might be, since the only thing she's ever seen in his kitchen are science experiments and drugs paraphernalia. She'll leave that second one in the back of her mind where it belongs when they're having such a lovely morning.

She can't help but watch him stretching and preening a bit. Although, she only gives herself a moment, for fear they will never eat anything but each other again.

"Mm, I love crepes," she says as she stretches herself and then sits up. "I could make those instead. They're easy enough. I'm thinking I might want to shower first though. Between last night and this morning, I'm more than due."

So is he. Not that his scent is bothering her. She's been around when he's smelled far worse.

"You first this time, then."

He grins at her. A brief break will give him time to wake up a little more, to make them both some coffee (and possibly remind himself where Toby's food is so a hungry cat doesn't shred his Belstaff in revenge for being forgotten about) and make sure there hasn't been any sort of emergency with Rosie. He's a bit more protective of that little girl than he's willing to let on.

He hasn't bothered to bring pajamas with him, so he slings one of the sheets around himself casually. If she complains, he figures, he can always offer to do the laundry or just take the sheet off again.

"Alright," she says and kisses him before getting off the bed and pulling on her dressing gown. "Don't get too hungry and burn the place down. My security deposit on this place is a fortune."

She smiles at him and finds the toga he's making out of her sheet amusing.

"And don't light yourself on fire either."

She puts her feet in her slippers and then makes her way out to the bathroom to shower. She'll be sad to wash him off her skin, but it'll just give her an excuse to wrap herself around him again later. As with the last time, she's not sure what his plans are for the day, when he plans on heading back to John's. She's not going to worry about it though and just let the day unfold however it does. Thursday it'll be back to work again and she has an overnight shift on the weekend, so she doesn't know when she'll see him again after today (unless he has to come into Bart's for something).

"Thanks for letting me know your priorities are in order," he calls after her, still grinning.

For a second after she's shut the bathroom door, he lets himself breathe in the scent that lingers after her, of warm skin and sex. Even though they're not touching, it's still a form of contact, of bringing her in close to him. Which is a bit disorienting but also quite pleasant, and which he decides he likes quite a bit.

He also decides he'll nick a pillowcase before he leaves. Her work schedule after today won't leave them much time to be alone together for a few days--days he can spend on case work and in his mind palace--and while he knows there's a distinct pleasure in reunions, he also doesn't have as many reminders of her in his own space as he'd like. Particularly not since the explosion at 221B.

After a properly lazy moment, though, he slings himself out of bed and pads into the kitchen. Toby makes his way in from the living room, well aware that movement means food. And Sherlock, not wanting any interruptions any time soon, finds Toby's canned food and the treats Molly's stashed in the same cabinet.

It doesn't even occur to him yet to check his mobile or go look for a newspaper or anything. He's content to observe--to really take in, for the first time, in this wonderfully new context--what kinds of things Molly fills her space with, what sorts of books she has and which ones she obviously likes best.