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.
Even though he's only seen it twice, now, Sherlock thinks he may never get tired of watching the way her expression melts when her eyes roll back in her head. It's incredibly erotic, and it sends a warm shiver trickling down his back.
(This, incidentally, is why he likes amateur porn best. He's been able to pick out authentic reactions when he watches two people who like one another and have decided to film themselves, and the majority of clips he's seen have informed him that the average heterosexual woman prefers not to be sexually pummeled right away if she hasn't explicitly asked for it.)
Bit by bit, as she moves with him, those slow circles become gentle rocking thrusts. And when she looks up at him, cheeks flushed and lips red, his breath catches slightly.
Because he realizes, suddenly, this isn't fucking. This may not even be having sex.
Molly can't move her arms to tangle her hands in her hair, so instead she wraps her legs around his hips as he moves in her. And when he looks at her, it knocks the wind right out of her. This isn't fucking. Not by a long shot. She knows it too and he can see it in her eyes. This is so much deeper than that. So much more meaningful. Molly is his. She trusts him enough to tie her up. She gives him her body to do what he likes. Her hips move in time with his thrusts and she is lost to him and the pleasure he's giving her.
All the emotion that's been building in him, little by little, over the months and years he's known this woman, seems to be building up under his skin as they move together. Sherlock can't look away from her eyes, now, because he can see just how much she trusts him, how vulnerable she's willing to be with him.
What he doesn't know, what he can't know, is that right now all that vulnerability and trust is mirrored on his own face. Molly may be his, but he's also hers. It shows every time his fingers tighten against the mattress or her skin so he can concentrate on letting her pleasure heighten before his own, and every time his lips shape her name.
They're moving in rhythm with one another, now, rising at roughly the same pace, the bed creaking slightly under their joined bodies in time with their lovemaking.
Molly can see him, can see the trust and vulnerability and love on his face and it's just extraordinary to her that he feels the way about her that she feels about him.
Her breath comes out in labored pants and when she can't handle the level of input and pleasure anymore, her eyes slip shut as she feels their bodies come together over and over.
"Sherlock," she moans as her hips press to his tightly. Her arms pull at the restraints but they hold fast. God, she wants to touch him so badly. To wrap her arms around him and dig her nails into his back as he presses into her.
He can feel her shivering and knows she's close. And he can't help the low, hot whisper that slips out of him in response to the gorgeous, desperate way she says his name.
"Come for me."
It's not a command--it's almost closer to a plea, because he's so close himself and he needs to see and feel her fall apart before he can let go.
At his words, Molly whimpers and her legs tightened around his waist. She opens her eyes once again to look at him as her hips roll against his with every thrust. She wants him to see her. She wants to watch him watch her. Soon her breath catches and she let's out a stuttered whine as she comes. Her body spasms against his as her heels press firmly into his back.
She digs her heels in, bucks and whimpers and strains against the scarf, and then the expression on her face tips over into utter bliss and the climax seems to jolt through her entire body. He moans, quiet and wordless, when the frantic squeezing around his cock reaches its peak, gripping him so hard he sees stars.
As her orgasm ebbs, his surges up and takes him almost by surprise, so fast he barely has time to gasp her name before the pleasure rolls over him in waves and his hips shudder and grind down against hers.
Molly may be all but lost to her own climax, but she's not too far gone to hear him gasp her name like that before he comes. Her eyes open just in time to catch the look on his face. He appears almost startled by it before letting it sweep over him. Her legs tighten around him again as hips press into her hard. She knows she's going to be sore tomorrow. She hasn't had this much sex in a short period of time since Tom and her muscles will protest, but she looks forward to it. It's the very best kind of sore she can think of.
As Sherlock rides out his orgasm, his face now pressed into her neck, she once again wishes she could wrap her arms around him and slide her hands over feverish flesh as he comes back to himself. The most she can do is turn her head to kiss the top of his through his mop of curls.
He's trembling as he comes down from the high, face pushed into her throat to anchor himself, breath hot and ragged against her skin. As open and vulnerable as he is right now, Molly's whisper goes straight into his chest, resonates through his whole body like an aftershock of the orgasm, and he tips his own head to breathe in her ear.
"Love you."
Sherlock moves a shaking hand to rest on her bound wrists. He's not quite up to the fine motor skills required to get the knot undone, but somehow the contact seems important.
The sound of those words coming from his mouth so easy and free still takes her by surprise. Love, for her, has always come some time after she's already started sleeping with someone. It's a thing that grows in a relationship and is often a point of anxiety when it shows up - that the other person is not there yet and will be taken aback by any confession.
She realizes now that there are definitely some benefits of love coming before sex. For one, the sex is noticeably better from the start. Having that deep, emotional bond is like its own aphrodisiac. The intensity of it continues to stun her.
Tears prick at her eyes as the cocktail of brain chemicals wash through her and she presses her nose into his hair, breathing deeply as he trembles against her. Her hands flex as she feels his come up to rest against her bindings, but she can be patient.
Sherlock, himself, has up until now mostly thought of both love and sex as something that happens to other people and not him. Which means he's been fairly dismissive of how passionate, how lost people can become in their relationships. But now, twined close and caught up in something that's a mixture of deeper trust and acceptance and compassion than he's ever experienced... now it's starting to make sense, why John needled at him so much before Sherrinford about finding someone.
He feels human with Molly, and for once that isn't a liability.
Carefully he tugs the knot loose, his fingers sliding over the back of one of her hands as she's freed. Even as he feels her lowering her arms, he relaxes, slumping to catch his breath.
Molly hums as her hands are freed and her arms can finally relax fully. She rolls her wrists around to release some of the tension from being bound, but it doesn't take long for her arms to wrap around Sherlock's body where it lays over hers. A sigh of relief leaves her as her hands make contact with his warm, slightly damp skin and slide up and down his back. She enjoyed being completely at his mercy, but missed this part.
He sighs, a long warm sound of contentment, and presses his lips to her still-hammering pulse. When he inhales he takes in the smell of her hair, of their body chemistry after sex, and it's almost better than a cigarette. Her hands smoothing over his back ease some of the little random shivers still running through him.
Now, he thinks, he gets why people take honeymoons. A sex holiday is a great idea. He's not sure why he didn't see it sooner.
Carefully he shifts, slipping out of her with a quiet groan, and rolls to his side so he's not completely on top of her.
He smiles back, a bit dazed, a breathless chuckle at the edge of his words.
"How does a Monet compare to a Rembrandt?" he asks, reaching over to brush a lock of her hair back from her face. "But to answer your implied question, it was brilliant, thanks."
He might have to invest in another scarf just for bedroom purposes. So the one he wears every day doesn't get worn out or so strongly associated with sex that he gets hot and bothered every time he wears it.
"I wasn't fishing for a compliment," she says. "This is just all new for you and it's interesting to find out what you like and...well, how you're feeling about all of it I guess."
She leans in to press a kiss to his nose, hoping he doesn't feel like a sociology experiment or something. Not that he doesn't love experiments.
"I'm glad it was brilliant though. It was for me too."
"Good." The word is practically a purr, just this side of smug. And because she's used the word interesting, somehow he feels more inclined to answer her sincerely, rather than brushing her off with a joke.
"It's... not what I thought it would be," he says slowly. "In a good way. I assumed it might be sort of a logistical nightmare, what with positioning and contraception and actual decisions on which kind of sex you want to have, but it's been--fun."
"Well, it can be awkward," she admits. "Especially in the beginning. But I think we're doing pretty well. No one's got an elbow to the face or anything."
Molly reaches out and wraps an arm around his waist so she can pull herself closer to him. This is fun.
"And I think the fact that we've known each other for ages and are comfortable with each other helps too."
"Mm." He's not sure how long he's really been comfortable with her--like the rest of his feelings for her, it's been building in him gradually for years. But no matter what the exact timeline might be, he knows she's right.
She's not afraid of him. She's not afraid of the chaos of his life, or the bizarre thorny tangle of his emotions. Not because she's confident that she can conquer it all, but because she knows him.
"And--if I'm honest, it helps that you're so frank about things like that. I mean, I've learned what my biochemistry is doing, it's the rest of me that needs explaining."
Molly may excite him, may drive him to distraction at times, but he's not afraid of her, either. And he knows she'll tell him the truth. She always does.
"Glad I can teach the great Sherlock Holmes something," she teases, her thumb running over his cheek before her face softens. "God, you're so bloody gorgeous."
His eyes are sparkling and brilliant in the midday light of her room, his hair a complete wreck, and the smile on his lips transforming his face into something younger, less troubled.
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zvi
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Date: 2017-03-18 02:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-03-18 02:52 am (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-18 03:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-03-18 03:20 am (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-18 03:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-03-18 03:44 pm (UTC)(This, incidentally, is why he likes amateur porn best. He's been able to pick out authentic reactions when he watches two people who like one another and have decided to film themselves, and the majority of clips he's seen have informed him that the average heterosexual woman prefers not to be sexually pummeled right away if she hasn't explicitly asked for it.)
Bit by bit, as she moves with him, those slow circles become gentle rocking thrusts. And when she looks up at him, cheeks flushed and lips red, his breath catches slightly.
Because he realizes, suddenly, this isn't fucking. This may not even be having sex.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-19 01:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-03-19 01:39 am (UTC)What he doesn't know, what he can't know, is that right now all that vulnerability and trust is mirrored on his own face. Molly may be his, but he's also hers. It shows every time his fingers tighten against the mattress or her skin so he can concentrate on letting her pleasure heighten before his own, and every time his lips shape her name.
They're moving in rhythm with one another, now, rising at roughly the same pace, the bed creaking slightly under their joined bodies in time with their lovemaking.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-19 02:16 am (UTC)Her breath comes out in labored pants and when she can't handle the level of input and pleasure anymore, her eyes slip shut as she feels their bodies come together over and over.
"Sherlock," she moans as her hips press to his tightly. Her arms pull at the restraints but they hold fast. God, she wants to touch him so badly. To wrap her arms around him and dig her nails into his back as he presses into her.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-19 02:35 am (UTC)"Come for me."
It's not a command--it's almost closer to a plea, because he's so close himself and he needs to see and feel her fall apart before he can let go.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-19 02:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-03-19 03:09 am (UTC)As her orgasm ebbs, his surges up and takes him almost by surprise, so fast he barely has time to gasp her name before the pleasure rolls over him in waves and his hips shudder and grind down against hers.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-19 04:02 pm (UTC)As Sherlock rides out his orgasm, his face now pressed into her neck, she once again wishes she could wrap her arms around him and slide her hands over feverish flesh as he comes back to himself. The most she can do is turn her head to kiss the top of his through his mop of curls.
"Love you," she whispers.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-19 05:52 pm (UTC)"Love you."
Sherlock moves a shaking hand to rest on her bound wrists. He's not quite up to the fine motor skills required to get the knot undone, but somehow the contact seems important.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-19 06:11 pm (UTC)She realizes now that there are definitely some benefits of love coming before sex. For one, the sex is noticeably better from the start. Having that deep, emotional bond is like its own aphrodisiac. The intensity of it continues to stun her.
Tears prick at her eyes as the cocktail of brain chemicals wash through her and she presses her nose into his hair, breathing deeply as he trembles against her. Her hands flex as she feels his come up to rest against her bindings, but she can be patient.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-19 06:44 pm (UTC)He feels human with Molly, and for once that isn't a liability.
Carefully he tugs the knot loose, his fingers sliding over the back of one of her hands as she's freed. Even as he feels her lowering her arms, he relaxes, slumping to catch his breath.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-19 06:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-03-20 12:32 am (UTC)Now, he thinks, he gets why people take honeymoons. A sex holiday is a great idea. He's not sure why he didn't see it sooner.
Carefully he shifts, slipping out of her with a quiet groan, and rolls to his side so he's not completely on top of her.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-20 01:35 am (UTC)She smiles, looking content and enamored.
"How did that compare to the first time?"
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Date: 2017-03-20 09:48 pm (UTC)"How does a Monet compare to a Rembrandt?" he asks, reaching over to brush a lock of her hair back from her face. "But to answer your implied question, it was brilliant, thanks."
He might have to invest in another scarf just for bedroom purposes. So the one he wears every day doesn't get worn out or so strongly associated with sex that he gets hot and bothered every time he wears it.
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Date: 2017-03-20 10:35 pm (UTC)"I wasn't fishing for a compliment," she says. "This is just all new for you and it's interesting to find out what you like and...well, how you're feeling about all of it I guess."
She leans in to press a kiss to his nose, hoping he doesn't feel like a sociology experiment or something. Not that he doesn't love experiments.
"I'm glad it was brilliant though. It was for me too."
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Date: 2017-03-21 12:09 am (UTC)"It's... not what I thought it would be," he says slowly. "In a good way. I assumed it might be sort of a logistical nightmare, what with positioning and contraception and actual decisions on which kind of sex you want to have, but it's been--fun."
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Date: 2017-03-21 12:19 am (UTC)"Well, it can be awkward," she admits. "Especially in the beginning. But I think we're doing pretty well. No one's got an elbow to the face or anything."
Molly reaches out and wraps an arm around his waist so she can pull herself closer to him. This is fun.
"And I think the fact that we've known each other for ages and are comfortable with each other helps too."
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Date: 2017-03-21 02:20 am (UTC)She's not afraid of him. She's not afraid of the chaos of his life, or the bizarre thorny tangle of his emotions. Not because she's confident that she can conquer it all, but because she knows him.
"And--if I'm honest, it helps that you're so frank about things like that. I mean, I've learned what my biochemistry is doing, it's the rest of me that needs explaining."
Molly may excite him, may drive him to distraction at times, but he's not afraid of her, either. And he knows she'll tell him the truth. She always does.
no subject
Date: 2017-03-21 02:41 am (UTC)"Glad I can teach the great Sherlock Holmes something," she teases, her thumb running over his cheek before her face softens. "God, you're so bloody gorgeous."
His eyes are sparkling and brilliant in the midday light of her room, his hair a complete wreck, and the smile on his lips transforming his face into something younger, less troubled.
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