theonewhocounted | (no subject)

Her arms settle on top of his as he keeps her close. She closes her eyes and the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end when he whispers in her ear.

"John?" she asks, knowing that it's possible Sherlock doesn't consider John 'anyone else.' In Sherlock's mind, she thinks he probably sees John as more an extension of himself.

"Hasn't got a clue."

(Well, that might not be strictly true, but Sherlock knows his best friend hasn't guessed how much training he had before they met, or that he specializes in ballet. For all John knows, he has no rhythm whatsoever and is just a very fancy tit who likes to go to the theatre more than average.)

His lips graze the curve of her ear; he takes a long, deep breath of her.

"Oh," she says like a revelation. This is just for her, for them. She's the only one he wants to share this with. (Mycroft probably knows too because he knows everything, but he doesn't count.) It's better than any actual gift. He's trusting her with this information, that she won't run off and tell or make fun of him for it. It makes her feel special.

A shiver runs through her body at the feel of his lips and him breathing her in. It makes her feel desired.

She sighs out the word quietly, a low and surprised breath, and it's as great a triumph as a standing ovation. Maybe more so, because she's not pulling away and she hasn't made any kind of biting remark. Instead she's still warm and pliant and poised in his arms.

He's given her something, and she's accepted it in perfect trust.

Now that he thinks about it, she's always been reliable with his secrets.

His arm tightens around her slightly; his other hand, which supported her through the lift, flattens gently against her thigh. And he can't help himself--he has to kiss the exposed curve of her throat, soft and slow.

Molly lets out a shaky breath as her head tilts to the side to give him better access to her neck. The previous chill she felt is quickly replaced by a heat that radiates from where his lips touch her and travels into her cheeks and down her spine.

She holds on to his arm tighter.

With her leaning into him, her body warm and relaxing against his, he simultaneously feels a deep thrill of danger and a sense of thorough safety. The cynical part of his mind, the part of himself he assigns Mycroft's clipped voice, is pointing out that he's only giving her ammunition to use against him later. That he's essentially laying himself out on one of her tables and handing her all the tools to open him up and take out all the vital stuff inside.

But she loves him right now. Setting aside however her feelings have evolved over the years, Molly Hooper loves him right this minute, and presumably for at least the next ten minutes after, and no matter what else happens to him he will have the memory of her laughter and her body tucked against his own.

That is small and inadequate and pitifully human, and it's enough for a lifetime. It's more than Sherlock has ever thought he'd have of love.

He shifts to support her weight more surely, just as if she were leaning in for anther lift or an arabesque, and sucks lightly at the pale skin above the collar of her jumper.

Molly has loved Sherlock for as long as she can remember. She's loved him throughout bouts of careless words and drug overdoses, his own death and a two year absence. She loved him throughout her engagement to another man, through his killing of an unarmed man, and now through that terrible phone call. It's unlikely at this point there is something that would be the end of that love.

Love, however, does not guarantee a happy ending. There's still an awful lot of work and compromise that has to be done to nurture and maintain a relationship, even one rooted in such unerring devotion. It's not something she's sure Sherlock understands, but they will have to take it moment by moment and then day by day.

For now, this is enough. His body enveloping hers and his mouth at her neck are everything in this moment.

She lets out a quiet whimper as he sucks at the sensitive skin at the juncture of shoulder and neck. The feeling pools low in her belly.

There's going to be a red mark there later, one she'll have to cover with a shirt or a scarf. The thought of Molly in her lab coat, bending over a dish of organs, in a room full of people who don't know that she has marks on her neck that he's put there...

The sound she makes vibrates against his tongue, something he can taste and hear and feel all at once. Sherlock's head starts to spin.

He finds himself moving up a little, fixing his mouth on a spot that'll be more difficult to cover up. They'll know you've got someone. But this will be your secret and mine.

They'll know someone wants you and they'll never suspect it's me.

Molly whimpers louder this time. She knows what he's doing. He's marking her. He's saying "mine." And she knows that this mark will be hard to cover up and that it's wholly unprofessional to go into work with hickeys, but she can't find it in her to care right now. She'll do her best to mask it with cover up, but she knows she won't be that disappointed when it doesn't entirely do the job. All day, she'll keep touching it without realizing and think of him.

The sound she makes is sweeter than the last, warmer, nothing like a musical note but far more fascinating. Her skin is flushed now, her arousal fueling his own.

She knows what he's doing and she likes it. She likes that she'll have a reminder.

His hand slides further up her thigh. For a second his teeth press lightly into the soft skin of her throat, and then the pressure eases and he kisses the mark he's just left, blindly, his nose grazing her cheek.

When his nose slides across her cheek she turns her head and attempts to capture his lips with her own. She's held fast by his arms so she's not able to do much more than turn her head and chase after his mouth, but she needs to taste him. Her desire for him is overflowing at this point.

She turns and tips her head, finding his mouth with hers, and for a few seconds all Sherlock can do is kiss her. The first long taste of her leaves him stunned for a second, unable to do anything but process the sweep of her tongue against his own, the flavors that have nothing to do with what she's been eating and that are simply hers.

When they separate for a moment, as he loosens his grip enough to let her turn and face him, he manages a single word against her lips, a low moan and a request--

"Molly..."

--and then he can't help himself, he has to kiss her again, has to taste her answer before he hears it.

As soon as his arms loosen a fraction, she's turning to face him, her hands coming up to his cheeks as she attempts to devour him. The sound of her name on his lips and she can't help but to crush her body to his.

"What?" she breathes out in return even as they continue to kiss. She thinks she hears a question in the way he says her name. Chris, the way he says her name... It's an unreal sound. Her body is on fire for him immediately, between her legs already wet and ready even though her brain knows there's nothing to prepare for until he gets tested. She doesn't care. There's more to sex than intercourse as they've already proved earlier that day.

"It's not..." She's kissing him like she's trying to memorize him, intense and deep and searching, and areas of Sherlock's brain start to go dark again. "...not too early... to go back to bed. Is it?"

"Let's find out..." she manages to get in, in between kisses. Her hands fist in the front of his button down and she starts to walk backward in the direction of her bedroom even while she tries to keep her mouth on his and his body pressed to hers. This morning was for discovery, for them to get acquainted with each other in this way. Now is about pure heat and desire and emotion.

What was it she'd said earlier? The first time is never the best time? He absolutely gets what she means, now, because she's tugging him back into the bedroom and it's so different it's almost dizzying.

Once they're across the threshold he kicks the door shut behind them, pulls her in close again, slides one hand up and under the hem of her jumper to rest at the small of her back. And even though it's still relatively chaste as far as touching goes, it makes him almost uncomfortably hard.

Molly hums against his lips when he pulls her close and presses her body into the hardness she can feel straining his trousers again. Maybe she'll even get to take them off this time, she thinks. She aches to see him naked, to watch his face as she wraps her hand around him for the first time.

The thought leads her to begin unbuttoning his shirt, starting from the top.

The little noises she makes are so expressive. Even in this unsteady state he can't help but catalogue each one, taking them in almost greedily.

She's started on the front of his shirt again, and before he can think twice about it he's tugging the hem of her jumper upwards with both hands. They're both a bit slower with one another this time, touches lingering instead of frantic.

And this time Sherlock knows what he wants, has some idea of what this can be like. The conviction makes him lean down and almost purr in her ear once he's peeled her jumper off.

"Hands, this time."

Molly removes her hands from his shirt long enough for him to get the jumper over her head and off. Underneath is a pink, lace, demi-cup bra. She may have been banking on him getting to see it. She's glad she had the forethought.

Her hands return to the ends of his shirt to undo the final couple of buttons, but pause as he purrs in her ear.

"No question," she agrees breathily as she looks up at him and her fingers pop the final button open. She's thought about her touching him, but her brain finally registers that he will also be touching her. Those beautiful, large hands on her heated skin, between her legs. Her clit throbs painfully just thinking about it.

(Huh. Either this one is newer, more accurately fitted for her, or the shirts and bras she wears when he usually sees her have really thrown off his assumptions. The lace suits her, and there's something weirdly endearing about the fact that it's pink--that's a very Molly thing to do, he thinks, and that's exactly why he likes it.)

She makes quick work of his remaining buttons, slides her hands over his bare skin, and he nearly shivers. The few times other people have explored him in any way, as an adult, it's either been with piercing glances or with words and tools meant to leave scars. It's beyond new to be the one under the spotlight, being examined as thoroughly as a fascinating piece of evidence. It's dangerous and thrilling.

She turns dark, searching eyes up at him, and he has to kiss her again, breathing a quiet moan into her mouth.

She moans in return, her hands sliding up his back as she presses herself close to him again. They then slide back down and into the very top band of his trousers, just sitting there in the dip of his lower back as they kiss. The warm skin under her hands makes her want more skin to touch and taste.

"Tell me what you want," she says into his mouth.

Edited 2017-02-07 18:40 (UTC)

For half a second his thoughts run together, separate ideas colliding and fusing under the heat of her hands and her kiss. There are at least six different and correct ways he could answer this question. And though a deep breath does precious little to steady him--especially since it fills his lungs with Molly--it does simplify all those potential answers down to one.

"As much as possible."

(The simplest answer is, of course, you, but that encompasses more than just sex. And there's a more reckless answer in the mix, too, but he doubts she'll be wholeheartedly enthusiastic about him going down on her before he's tested. Especially since his research into the topic has been, up until now, incredibly limited.)

Molly huffs out a laugh at his answer. It's so very Sherlock in some ways. He's always all in, full speed ahead. But in the fact that they're talking about sex, it's also very not him. Or at least, not him prior to 4 hours ago.

"I think we can work on that," she says before she starts to push him back towards her bed. When the backs of his knees hit the mattress, she removes her hands from the back of his pants and gently pushes on his chest so he'll take a seat. She would love to go down on him right now, but that might skip a couple steps since she hasn't even laid eyes on his penis yet. Also, she remembers his rules and she won't break them.

Once he sits, she stands between his legs. It's nice to finally have the height advantage, as slight as it even is. She leans down and captures his lips again, her hands tangling in his hair.

He lets her direct him, lets her push him down. How long, he wonders, has she been so assertive with her lovers? Is this something she's kept hidden from him the whole time, or is this a Molly who's been dormant, who's only coming to life now that they're together? The more he sees of it, the more drawn he is to her, a beautiful and constantly evolving puzzle.

When she kisses him again, her still-damp hair falling around his face in a dark curtain, and he flattens both hands against her back to pull her close. Even with her quick breaths pressing against his palms, he still wants more.

He's never actually undone a bra that was on a living woman before, and despite the slight tremor in his hands he manages to think, for a moment, I don't see why people complain about this part so much. It's easy.

It took Molly some time to be comfortable in herself enough to get what she wants in the bedroom, but her assertiveness started before Sherlock Holmes. Her appetite for sex is a healthy one and she's not shy about it. She's learned over the years that men of any worth are turned on, not intimidated by this.

She doesn't, however, mind assertiveness on the part of her partner either. Being a bit submissive can also be a turn on when you trust the person you're with. Some days you feel like being in control more and some days you're happy to let the other person drive. And sometimes it's a shifting dance the whole way through.

She can feel his hand move to undo her bra and she wonders if he's going to succeed on the first go.