theonewhocounted | (no subject)

He realizes his window of focus is about to start narrowing dangerously.

"We should put away the nutella, at least," he says--after all, even if he and Toby don't exactly get along, that cat is very dear to Molly and he'd hate to be responsible for Toby getting sick off food that shouldn't be out. "But. Yes. I am serious."

Molly huffs out a laugh because the whole thing is still so absurd to her in some ways. Sherlock and her just sitting at her kitchen counter discussing which food to put away before having a shag. Totally normal.

"If you can wait until I can get the perishables back into the fridge, then I can," she suggests. There are a lot of leftover crepes, which is good because neither of them have eaten nearly enough and they'll be hungry again after this round for sure. "I'll be quick."

"Then I'll go get the scarf."

Which won't take nearly as long, but he can get a few other things out of the way while she's tidying up, he thinks.

As casually as he can manage (which is not very, thanks to the fact that he's already half hard), he pushes out of his seat and heads into the hall to grab his scarf. He also snags the variety pack of condoms, in case she wants to try something a little different--personally he's a bit curious as to whether the textured ones make any sort of noticeable difference, but ultimately it's her decision.

By the time she gets back into the bedroom, he's plugged in his phone (still silenced, which is how he plans to keep it for most of the day), found one of Toby's catnip toys and put it out in the living room to encourage him not to interrupt, and stripped back down to nothing. After all, if her hands are going to be tied, it's probably best to be naked before they get started.

Molly busies herself with putting the food away but can't help but notice Sherlock coming into the living room and throwing a cat down out for Toby. She laughs to herself. How thoughtful. Even if she knows he's only doing it so they won't be disturbed.

Barely five minutes later she's done and heads to the bedroom.

She's surprised (and delighted) to find Sherlock buck naked already and she can't help the laugh that bubbles up.

"I wouldn't mind this view every time I enter my bedroom," she comments as she leans against the door jam and her eyes sweep over him unabashedly. She hasn't really had this good a look at him naked yet, in daylight and all. He's too thin right now, a bit pale, and there are various scars peppering his skin, but he's still a work of art.

"I could get a poster done," he teases, and turns to give her a full-on view of how hard he already is for her. "However, we're a bit unbalanced, and that's hardly fair. And you did tell me to be nicer to your tits, which I can't do adequately if I can't see them."

He's got one end of the scarf wrapped loosely around his right hand, and he plays with the other end, fingers worrying the soft fabric of it suggestively.

"How about a cardboard cutout," she teases right back and bites her lip at the sight of him already so turned on for her. She's been low-grade aroused since he mentioned the slight bondage but she can feel her knickers getting wetter now. Her eyes move to the scarf in his hands and then back up to his face.

"Do you want to take your shirt off me or do you want to watch me do it myself?"

Her arousal and the hungry way he's looking at her makes her bold.

"I think I'd like to watch you do it, this time," he purrs, spurred on by her boldness. "Knickers too. And then come sit on the bed by me."

Molly likes that he's getting more comfortable with this already. And, well, having her tied up will give him plenty of time to get even more comfortable with asserting himself.

"Alright," she says and her hands move to the top button. Her eyes don't leave him as she undoes each button on his dress shirt until the end. She then takes both sides and pulls it open before shrugging it off her shoulders. The knickers come next and she turns slightly so he can get a good view of her ass as she slides them off her hips and down her legs.

She steps out of them and then does as he says, smiling at him as she walks over and sits on the bed.

He watches her hungrily--showing off, he realizes, putting herself on display for him even though she knows how harsh his opinions can be. That confidence excites him, and he's still so surprised that he could have missed deducing what a capacity she has for it. But then, he's only just let himself get close enough to see her properly.

When she sits, he turns towards her a bit, brings the end of the scarf down to trail over the warm bare skin of her thigh. It's incredibly soft, like rabbit fur or silk, and he enjoys watching her skin prick up as the scarf ghosts over it.

"Much better," he says, and leans in to kiss the corner of her mouth.

What he may not realize is he's actually some of the source of her confidence. The more she can tell he's interested, the more he tries so very hard to please her, the more reverent and loving his looks, the more confident she feels. Which is really a win-win all around. She knows no man is turned on by someone lacking confidence. Well, unless he's the type who likes to abuse and control. But that's not Sherlock.

"Mm," she agrees and feels a shiver slide up her spine at the soft feel of his scarf. That scarf he is almost never without in the cooler months, that is as much a part of his facade as the coat (or the hat, if you believe the press). After the first kiss, she turns her head to press her lips to his. It's soft and rather chaste.

He returns that kiss slowly, warmly, the two of them almost melting into one another for a moment. His free hand comes up to brush at her cheek, a silent reassurance that she can trust him.

After a long, long taste of her, he makes himself pull back, at least enough to whisper against her mouth.

"I'll stop if you need me to. As soon as you say. All right?"

Molly's hands slide behind his neck and she sighs into his mouth as they kiss. Her body is heating up even more and she's anticipating what's to come. His voice and words send a particular thrill through her body. She's going to give all control over to Sherlock and that is incredibly arousing and exciting.

"I trust you," she says as she opens her eyes to look right into his. She trusts him explicitly. He's shown an immense amount of trust in her just by allowing himself to love her, letting himself be vulnerable and try things he's spent years denying himself. She wants to return the favour by showing her trust in him.

He smiles, just slightly, lips curving against her mouth. That word trust sinks into him deeply, just as deeply as the heat of a good long shower, causing tension to release by inches in his shoulders and back and fingers.

"Then lie back," he says softly, pressing a small warm kiss to her throat. "Hands above your head."

Molly can almost feel the relief in him when she says that and it pleases her. So do his next words.

Silently she complies with him again, her body flushing with the simple act of putting her hands up and waiting for him to bind her. She looks up at him and waits.

Slow, careful, he moves to lean down over her as she eases herself back.

He's subdued enough criminals--and tied himself to enough posts, for various reasons--that he knows his way around knots. He makes sure her wrists are secure but that the scarf isn't tight enough to cut off her circulation, and loops it efficiently around one of the slats in her headboard. Not too tightly, just enough to keep her from worming loose by accident.

"All right?" he asks, once she's bound, watching her eyes carefully.

Molly watches him as he ties the knots around her wrists. It shouldn't surprise her that he's knowledgeable in this area. She's not sure of an area he's not knowledgeable in (well, aside from things having to do with emotions and love and sex, but he's doing pretty well with those so far too).

After he attaches her to the headboard she tests the bindings and finds that they're firm but not uncomfortable. The scarf is soft and she thinks much better for this than handcuffs anyway.

"All right," she says with a nod. Her pupils are dilated with her arousal, cheeks rosy and her breathing is a bit elevated and they haven't even done anything.

He runs a fingertip down her cheek, acknowledging her consent, and then bends to press his lips against her throat. His hand strays down from her face to her breast, cupping it gently, thumb rubbing over her already-hard nipple.

Instead of leaving marks, this time, he simply explores the soft expanse of her neck. He traces over the long curves of muscle, searching for the spots that make her gasp and squirm, devoting the same careful attention to her that he would to a newly-discovered artifact, or to some strange new chemical reaction.

Except somehow she's better than either of those things, because she's alive and reactive and even though she can hold her own against him she's given him permission to... well, have his way with her.

He rumbles quietly, wordlessly against her skin, thumb circling her nipple.

Gasp and squirm she does. HIs mouth and hands on her skin start a slow, intense burn inside of her. Her eyes close so she can just focus on the feel of him, breathing deeply to stay relaxed and not get too worked up right away. She knows he's in this for the long game this time.

She hums and her body relaxes into the bed even as he makes all of her sense come alive.

Taking his time, lingering to drag his tongue over the spots that earn him the strongest reactions, he makes his way slowly down to her collarbone. He shifts his weight so he's kneeling, propped up on one hand, palm sliding against and almost weighing her breast before his fingers curl to trace a spiral over her hardened nipple.

And then, very softly, he begins to speak against her skin.

"You like talking during sex," he says. "Largely to give positive feedback and inform your partner that you're approaching orgasm, but you like getting feedback as well. And given that, it's not a difficult leap to assume you'd enjoy this more if I talk to you. However, as you're restrained, it seems only fair to let you decide what you'd like me to start talking about."

His teeth scrape over the ridge of her collarbone, midway between her throat and her shoulder.

Molly is burning up from his touches. It's deliciously torturous how thorough he's being and she's so wet and throbbing for him already.

And then he starts to speak and she whimpers. God, his voice. It doesn't matter what he says, really.

"Anything," she says immediately in answer to him. "Well...maybe not chemistry or murders."

Those topics are ones she would normally enjoy but not in the bedroom. Not much sexy about them. Her brain isn't firing on all cylinders right now either, so coming up with an answer is hard.

(And, of course, he immediately resolves that he's going to figure out how to dirty-talk her with chemistry. Or murders. Later.)

"That's awfully broad, Molly." His lips curve in a smile. "There are so many directions this could take."

As he speaks, he drops little nibbling kisses a little further down, just over the tops of her breasts--close, teasing.

"I could continue our theme from earlier and tell you about the times I made myself come, after I left here on Saturday. Or I could elaborate on that thing you said earlier and discuss how I would fuck you over the counter at work. And of course I could try to deduce one of your other sexual fantasies, or possibly create one. The possibilities are endless, really."

She whimpers again and shifts, the bindings keeping her putting her hands into his hair. Her fingers flex and unflex with the urge.

"They all...sound...good," she breathes out and it's the truth. Anything coming out his mouth is good, him talking dirty to her is even better. It might put her into cardiac arrest, but it'll be worth it.

He thinks about it for a moment, mulling over his options, until he realizes he pretty much already knows what the best option is.

"Then I'm going to deduce you."

His tongue sweeps along her skin, bare inches from one nipple while his fingers continue slowly teasing the other.

"You like the idea of power games in bed, but not enough to define yourself as a dominant or a submissive, simply as someone a bit kinky." He glances up at her, something wicked but not mocking in his eyes. "You like mild restraints, obviously, and I'm going to estimate it's about eighty-five percent likely you've fantasized about being blindfolded but not done it."

Molly knows that she said any of them, but to be honest, she gets a little nervous when he says he's going to deduce her. That's never worked out well for her in the past. Hopefully, he knows better by now though.

Before she can think on it anymore though, he's started and his mouth is so close to her nipple it's hard to pay full attention anyway.

"Y...yes," she confirms and feels relieved that he's not deducing her number of sexual partners or something like that. The idea of being blindfolded during something like this does appeal to her and she trusts Sherlock enough to let him do it too.

He's not interested in diving into her sexual past. Only the things she likes, the things she fantasizes about, the things they can try together. In an odd way, and on a level too deep for him to acknowledge, this is partly driven by a current of jealousy at having been reminded of Tom earlier. Living well is the best revenge, after all, and in this case that means learning how to fuck Molly Hooper with a degree of expertise and enthusiasm that puts Tom to shame.

He does feel her relax, though, and he kisses her nipple at last, his tongue flicking back and forth over the little knot of flesh before he speaks again.

"Sensation play as well," he remarks. "Hot candle wax--" another extravagant kiss to her nipple-- "ice cubes--" and another-- "feathers..."