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[theonewhocounted]

The Bright Spot Meme


(Was there every a more suitable meme for dear Molly?)

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[theonewhocounted]

Molly is clearly also a very forgiving woman who believes in second (and third) chances. Someone who sees beyond what a person tries to make the world think they are.

If anyone else told her she was 'fascinating' as a compliment, she might worry that it was in place of outright calling her weird. But for him to call her fascinating is just about the best compliment she's ever received.

"Actually, I feel rather normal and dull most of the time," she says as she slides her hands through his hair. "Except recently, when I see you looking at me. I feel fascinating then." And in no way did she ever expect Sherlock to find her such. Interesting, at the very most. Fascinating was reserved for curious cases and bits of unearthed history or complicated symphonies or a locked door murder. People didn't seem to fascinate Sherlock unless they were dead. Until now anyway.

[punchmeitssubtext]

He tilts his head into her touch, like a pleased cat, turning a little so he can kiss the inside of her wrist. It's strange, to hear that soft confession--when they'd first met he would have reflexively (a reflex born partly out of fear) rejected it offhand as something trite and sentimental born of fleeting sexual attraction. Now he understands what it means, on a level that goes beyond the words, beyond even the fact that they're naked in bed together and both halfway aroused.

He leans in to kiss the base of her throat, lingering and slow.

"Good thing you can always see me," he whispers, a soft wet breath against her skin.

[theonewhocounted]

Sometimes you need to see yourself through someone else's eyes to appreciate things about yourself or see something new. It's why relationships can be important in helping you grow as a person. Right now what's reflected in his face is good, but sometimes it won't be. She'll do or say something untoward and he'll need to reflect that back at her too so she can be better than the day before.

When he kisses her throat she hums and closes her eyes.

"Always," she says in return as her fingers continue sliding through his hair.

[punchmeitssubtext]

She's already been helping him correct his way forward for years, showing him that there are things about the self he's tried to be that he doesn't actually like, as much as John has. And there will, he knows, be mistakes, and problems, and frustrations. But they have this to start with, this understanding that in some way they are the same and they've found one another, this intimacy.

His lips move lower, leaving a slow trail of heat in the wake of his kisses.

"Last night," he admits, barely more than a breath. "I meant what I said. Not just because we were having sex."

[theonewhocounted]

Molly sighs and shifts as his kisses start to heat up her body. She's happy they don't have clothes to worry about right now. Unwrapping each other can be fun, but it's nice not to have to worry about it either.

"I know," she says, her eyes opening to look down at him. "You've told me before."

She assumes he means saying 'I love you.' They've both said it a few times now outside of emotionally charged situations like sex or bomb threats.

[punchmeitssubtext]

He glances up at her, that intense blue-green gaze meeting hers for a moment. The playfulness between them is starting to melt into heat, and as it does he's less becoming less reserved about saying certain things. Softer things, things that he's never been comfortable with outside of this bed.

"You might not remember," he purrs, "but while we were having intercourse I said you were beautiful."

And just to punctuate the statement, he lowers his head to sweep his tongue across one of her hardening nipples.

[theonewhocounted]

It's that look that makes her feel fascinating and beautiful.

"I do remember," she says and gives him a small smile, although it takes him reminding her for her to actually recall the moment. Her brain was otherwise occupied at the time, but she heard him. "Thank you."

Another sigh leaves her mouth as he licks her nipple and she feels a rush of wetness to her core.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"You're welcome."

The soft rush of breath that leaves her warms him, encourages him. He sucks at her nipple briefly before trailing a series of sucking kisses to her other breast, taking his time as he speaks.

"Although if I'm honest--" and he pitches his voice low and rumbling against her skin-- "--and while we are on the subject of sex, I was also not exaggerating when I said I'd been wanting to give you oral for days. Counting our phone session yesterday I've masturbated to orgasm three times imagining the scenario since Saturday."

Well, it's clinical dirty talk. But he knows she likes talking during sex, and this is, in its way, an experiment. The woman he's with isn't, but that doesn't mean he can't apply the scientific method to figuring out how to develop sexual competence.

[theonewhocounted]

Molly hums and her hand tangles in his hair as continued encouragement and also just because she enjoys the feel. Her nails scratch gently against his scalp when the vibrations of his voice start against her skin.

"Christ, Sherlock," she says a bit breathy at his admission. The thought of him wanking as he thought about going down on her is an incredible turn on, and him telling her about it, even more so. Her center aches and she shifts a bit out of need.

[punchmeitssubtext]

As her fingernails rake gently against his scalp, Sherlock feels a long shiver of arousal crawl down his spine, and by way of response he fits his mouth over her other nipple and sucks hard before letting it go with a faint wet pop.

She seems to like his particular brand of dirty talk, if the way she squirms and shifts her thighs further apart is any indication, so he decides to keep going.

"You've thrown off my average, you know." He nips at the underside of her breast, sliding down her body, paying attention to the spots that make her fingers tighten in his curls. "For the past six years I've masturbated, on average, less than fifteen times per year. This year I'll likely double that number before the end of next week."

[theonewhocounted]

Molly whimpers as he sucks hard on her nipple, her hips shifting again. It's torturous in the good way but she's impatient for his mouth to slide slower.

A couple things run through her mind as he tells her about his mastubatory history. One is that Sherlock knows the average number of times he masturbates in a year (of course he does) and two, Sherlock is actively telling her about it to turn her on. This is Sherlock Holmes doing dirty talk and it's wonderfully still him, not forced or something he heard in a porn. And it's working.

"What is it the kids say 'sorry, not sorry'?" she jokes, in between breathy pants. "You know, generally when you become involved with a sexual partner, you end up masturbating less."

Although she supposes that doesn't take into consideration having to be aware from your partner for any length of time.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Mm, generally." He pauses to suck a red mark into a tender spot along her ribcage before beginning to kiss the hollow of one hip. "The average will naturally go down during times I'm not on business trips." Sherlock trails his tongue from the top of her thigh to the gentle swell of her mons, a smile curving his mouth. "How many times did you masturbate while I was in Cardiff, Molly? I was there two days, and I had to make myself come five separate times to keep the edge off."

[theonewhocounted]

Molly continues to squirm against his ministrations. Her body is flushed and terribly aroused and he's still not quite where she wants him yet. She lets out a somewhat frustrated noise as his tongue stops where it does. She has trouble counting the times she touched herself over the weekend.

"Uh...hmm...Sunday morning before work, Sunday night after work," she starts, it's hard to think right now. "Monday morning in the shower before work, Monday during work, and then with you on the phone Tuesday."

It didn't seem like that much at the time, but she's got five too. Count the fact that they both got off twice together on Saturday and she got off twice Tuesday night, then she's about to break her own records too probably.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Pretty much matches up with mine." His smile turns wicked. "Tell me about them, Molly. Tell me how you brought yourself to orgasm Sunday morning before work..."

He presses a kiss slightly lower, just above the hood of her clitoris.

"...Sunday night after work..."

Another kiss, warm and lingering against her labia.

"...Monday morning in the shower before work..."

Now he runs the tip of his tongue upwards, as if he's licking into her mouth to kiss her.

"...and Monday during work. And feel free to linger on that last one."

And as if to encourage her to begin, he takes a slow, sweeping taste of her clit.

[theonewhocounted]

Oh god, he's going to kill her. She's going to die with Sherlock's face buried in her quim. That would be fine to write in her obituary too.

"Umm..." she says and the thoughtful noise turns into a moan as he starts licking her. And when he reaches her clit, her hips buck off the bed. She's not sure how he expects her to talk much less think right now.

"Alright...uh...Sunday was...quick...fingers...in bed when I woke." Her bed smelled like him still and that was all she needed. It didn't take long. "Mmm...Sunday....ah night. Right. I...um...used...a toy...soon as I got home. Came twice."

[punchmeitssubtext]

(Molly Hooper, pathologist. Cause of death: next-level oral sex.)

"Mmhmm?" It's a low, rumbling noise of curiosity--he's intrigued, and he rewards her for the information by working the middle finger of his right hand inside her. He knows she can come without being penetrated, but he likes being able to feel the shivering and tremors when she nears orgasm.

The look on her face right now, as she struggles to keep talking and process the things his mouth is doing to her, is... exquisite seems like a cliche, but it's pretty goddamn spectacular.

[theonewhocounted]

There is definitely face scrunching going on and a level of concentration she usually reserves for autopsies. When his finger enters her, she whimpers and her legs open wider. It takes a moment, but she realizes that he's waiting for her to continue.

She lets out a breath, ragged and with just an edge of frustration.

"Monday....Monday...uh...the shower. Sure you've...ah...noticed...detachable shower head..." she trails off because he can come to his own obvious conclusions about that and talking is hard. Her hips roll towards him, seeking more contact.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Mm." He has indeed noticed--and was thankful for it, as most people's showers are a bit too short for him to wash his hair without hunching up like a gargoyle (including the one at John's place). The thought of Molly on her feet in the shower, knees trembling and the shower head between her legs, is a mental image he'll likely revisit very soon.

His tongue flicks against her clit, teasing and promising, and she's so wet he can easily slide his index finger into her as well. The tip of his ring finger rests just next to her entrance, providing a little extra pressure as the other two fingers fuck her slowly.

[theonewhocounted]

Molly moans in response to the additional finger and how he's paying attention to her clit. Her hand is still in his hair, holding on tight and without realizing it she presses his head toward her more as her hips do another roll in time with the slow slide of his fingers inside of her.

"Sherlock..." she whines out, forgetting all about story time for the moment.

[punchmeitssubtext]

He pulls his mouth off of her to flash her a lascivious grin.

"Monday during work," he prompts, licking the taste of her off his lower lip. "I want to hear it."

And then, because he's Sherlock and he's an utter bastard, he lets his parted lips rest just over her clit--not licking, or even kissing. Just breathing steadily, waiting for her to speak.

[theonewhocounted]

Molly gives a frustrated groan as he stops to talk and then doesn't go back to it when he finishes talking.

She looks down at him and can see he knows he's a shit. Another frustrated sound comes out as her head drops back to the bed and she then takes a breath.

"Monday at work...too distracted to run labs..." she breathes out. "Kept thinking about you showing up to fuck me over the counter..."

The thought brings her back to the fantasy. It's certainly not a new one but before Saturday it had only been a fantasy with little hope in it. Monday she realized now it could be real (not that she necessarily would let him, security cameras and all).

"Had to visit the loo so I could concentrate again."

[punchmeitssubtext]

Fucking her over the counter. That's one he hasn't actually considered yet, although now that he thinks about it, he's absolutely going to angle for that at some point.

"Text me next time," he says around her clit.

And then he tightens his lips over it and begins to suckle, fingers speeding up, that third finger dipping in and out of her entrance with each deep stroke.

[theonewhocounted]

She's about to tell him she didn't want to distract him during a case, but it never reaches her lips because suddenly his are on her clit and she bucking off the bed.

Molly whines and her hand tightens in his hair more. After all the teasing, her orgasm is speeding at her quickly now and it's not going to take much longer. He'll already feel her walls starting to tense up.

[punchmeitssubtext]

Her muscles are beginning to tighten around his fingers, and his free hand comes up to press into one of her hips, just holding her steady. This time he wants to see if he can make her scream, so he sucks her clit hard and fast, rolling it on his tongue, never letting up the pressure for a second. He's faintly aware he must be making obscene noises, but he's too focused on making her come to give a damn.

[theonewhocounted]

The sudden intensified onslaught on her clit takes Molly by surprise and she moans and writhes as much as she can with him pinning her down. It's almost too much and she makes constant whimpering noises that rise in intensity until she's not sure she can take it another moment and that's when she comes with a loud cry - one filled with pleasure and relief. Her hips buck off the bed uncontrollably as her legs flail out, toes curling hard.