theonewhocounted | (no subject)

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..."

Molly doesn't know it, but her slip up with mentioning Tom is probably the best thing she did for herself all day.

She moans in relief when he finally presses his mouth to her nipple, her back arching a little.

"Mm, yes..." she says again. "You...what about...you?"

She wants to hear about his fantasies. He's so new to all this. She wonders what he's curious about trying, what he's fantasized about before.

That throws him for a loop momentarily, and he smiles. She keeps surprising him, without even meaning to.

"Well. I'll have to experiment to know what I really like in practice instead of in theory. But there are some things I've been considering."

He lifts his head, surveys her gorgeous flushed face for a moment, then shifts so he can begin to treat her other nipple with the same rapt attention, tasting and teasing her between words.

"I want to try things with you, Molly. I want to write music you masturbate to."

The image becomes clearer as he narrates it, and the edge of a growl enters his voice.

"I want to play the violin for you, while you sit in my chair. And while I play I want to watch you."

Talk about surprising. Molly's breath catches at what he says to her. Leave it to Sherlock, who only recently lost his virginity, to paint her one of the most erotic pictures she's ever imagined in her bloody life. It tops any of the fantasies she's concocted with this man in the starring role.

"Christ," she says, the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding releasing. "Jesus, Sherlock."

She doesn't even know what to say to that.

"That's...wow. I mean...yes."

She's almost panting, the barest edge of a whimper in her voice, which gives him an unexpected surge of confidence. It's an unusual fantasy, he knows, but the fact that she responds to it with exactly the enthusiasm he's fantasized about is a sort of small, heated victory.

"Then I'll write it for you," he whispers. His hand starts to trail down, down from her breast, tracing over her ribcage and into the soft hollow of her hip. "Something slow to start, I think. A rising theme. Legato, at first, though not strictly in tempo, to allow for more expressive interpretation."

Molly's mind imagines what it will be like to touch herself for him while he plays. She will probably be a little timid at first but it won't take long for her to get lost in the music and her pleasure. The idea of it is all very appealing. She loves to hear him play.

"I'm sure it will be gorgeous," she breathes out, sighing as his hands move lower. "Will you fuck me in your chair after?"

Another fantasy of hers.

His capacity to think about music, at least in technical terms, temporarily powers down when she mentions the next part of the fantasy. Which, he realizes, would be a perfect follow-up to what he's been describing.

He gives her nipple one last wet kiss before pulling back, so he can look her in the eye.

"Yes. And I'll show you exactly how."

"Please do," she whispers and her center throbs with a need for him that he can probably hear in her voice. She's getting desperate for him now, a sweat breaking out on her skin. If she wasn't otherwise incapacitated she would be grabbing his face to bring him up for a kiss. The desire to do so is strong.

He takes a moment to watch her squirm, engraving the sight into his memory, before twisting to grab the textured condom he's picked out. Sherlock manages to be faintly proud of not ripping the thing in half when he tears the packet open, and though it feels a little strange going on he doesn't muck that part up either.

When he's done, he moves to settle between her legs, his hands smoothing up and down her inner thighs appreciatively. He dips forward to taste the sweat gathering at the base of her throat, and slowly, deliberately, slides the head of his covered cock against her clit. The movement makes his own breath stutter, but he's eager to hear and feel her reaction.

Molly watches him, her mouth going dry as he rolls the condom on himself. It's different the ones in her bedside table and she realizes he must have brought his own. This one looks textured and her lips tilt up slightly. She imagines he researched the different types before going to the store, but she still likes to imagine him standing in the aisle reading all the packages to try to deduce which will be the best ones.

When he settles between her legs, she looks back up at him, eyes dark with want. The first time she took all the control and she enjoys being on top, but having him in control and being the one to fuck her, is what she really wants.

She grunts as he presses his cock against her clit. Her body spasms a little. It's the first time he's touched her there since this started and she's so wound up she feels like she might combust on the spot.

"Sherlock," she whimpers and her hips press up against his body. So needy.

That little smile encourages him, but the way her whole body arches and shivers when he presses against her draws a low, pleased growl from him. Keeping up his slow pace, he just rubs against her, grinding himself lower and closer to her entrance each time his weight bears down into hers.

"Right here," he whispers, leaning down to speak the words against her lips. "And I'm going to take my time with you."

Molly moans as she grinds her body back against his. It's scratching the itch a little but it's not enough. She wants him inside of her. When his lips get close enough to hers, she leans up and captures his mouth hungrily while she has the chance.

Her teeth just barely scrape his lower lip as she surges up to kiss him, and the little shiver of almost-pain makes his prick twitch against her.

Someday, he tells himself, someday he'll be able to resist those sweet sounds she makes when she's desperate for him. Someday he'll be able to tease her for hours. He'll work up to it.

Right now, though, he reaches down between them, guiding his cock into the heat of her quim. He still has the presence of mind to be slow, even though at this angle the way her body closes around him is so different that his brain sparks and fizzes for a second.

That is exactly the reaction she hoped the kiss would elicit - him giving her exactly what she wants. She sighs against his lips as he enters her and it sounds far more like a moan than anything else. Her legs open wider so he can press into her as deeply as possible and when he's buried to the hilt she opens her eyes to look at him. It's that strong feeling of things locking into place again. It's all that two people in one and missing puzzle pieces rubbish. She has some romance novel writers and poets to apologize to.

He's propped up on one arm over her, his other hand catching at her hip and kneading it briefly, eyelids heavy with the sudden pull of desire between them.

There's nothing like this. Nothing better than this, or at least not that he can call to mind while he's inside her and she's looking up at him with those heated honey brown eyes. And there's nothing more fascinating or worthy of study to him, right now, than watching what her face does as he fucks her the way he's fantasized about.

His hips begin to grind against hers, in small and deliberate circles.

When he starts to move, her breath catches and her eyes roll closed in pleasure. The fact that he doesn't just go straight for pumping in and out like most men (and most porn) but starts doing that with his hips instead is surprising and good. Really, really good. Her hips start to move with his and her eyes open back up because she needs to look at him.