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[theonewhocounted]

The Bright Spot Meme


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

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[punchmeitssubtext]

For about twelve seconds longer the situation seems nearly perfect: he's tasting her, touching her, and she's got her fingers firmly twined through his hair and the flood of sensation is incredible. But then he registers the tremors in her knees, the shift in her breathing, and he knows something is going to have to change.

Barely suppressing a noise of disappointment, he pulls his mouth from her breast, leans back and straightens slightly. Without looking away from her face, he slides those two fingers under the crotch of her knickers and uses the wet fabric to tug her forward, even as he shifts his own weight further back onto the mattress. It takes incredible restraint not to simply stroke through the short curls that brush his fingers, but watching her eyes helps him stay focused.

[theonewhocounted]

In those twelve seconds Molly's whole body is on fire and she's lost most coherent thought. So while she starts to protest when he moves away, when she realizes why, she's relieved. It suddenly registers that her legs are turning to quickly to jelly. She's also stunned when she realizes how he's chosen to get her to move where he wants her. She's not sure any of her lovers have thought to pull her by her knickers. It's ridiculously hot.

"Christ, Sherlock," she breathes out, body flushed from head to toe, as she moves forward and straddles his lap. "I'm starting to doubt your assertion that you've not done this before."

She knows the last thing he needs is to be cocky about something else, but he's earning the right at this point.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"If I had," he purrs against the underside of her jaw, "you wouldn't still be able to remember the word 'assertion', but thank you."

(It's only half a joke to him. From what incredibly little Sherlock knows firsthand about sex and the unfortunately larger amount he knows secondhand, he's reasonably sure that a practiced or singularly talented lover should be able to knock the vocabulary right out of their partner's head.)

His other hand moves down to the small of her back, fingertips sliding along the waistband of her knickers. Carefully he starts trying to guide her down next to him, so they can both sprawl out. So he can see her better and touch her more.

[theonewhocounted]

Molly huffs out a laugh.

"Fair point," she concedes as she lets him guide her down to the bed.

"I have no doubt that you'll get there and I'll be happy to be the one who gets there with you."

More than happy, in fact.

Once she's settled next to him on her side, her hands go for the button on his trousers. He's far too overdressed and in the state he's in he's going to pop the zip pretty soon if they don't come off.

[punchmeitssubtext]

The blurred noise that falls out of Sherlock's throat might be some variation of 'oh thank god', but it's too breathy and choked to tell. His hips twitch forward, straining for more than the few light touches he's getting now. (And, weirdly, he's glad he only kept a spare pair of trousers here and not pants. One less layer to deal with.)

She's definitely ahead of him in the whole vocabulary-erasing area, and that's totally fine, because he can always go back and dissect her lessons later.

None too gracefully, he manages to use both hands to push her knickers down slightly past her hips, just enough so it's easier to slide one of those hands down into the heat between her legs.

[theonewhocounted]

Molly smirks as she hears that noise. She carefully pulls down the zip on his trousers and is surprised to find he's not wearing pants.

"Sherlock Holmes..." she says to start to tease him about it as she slides her hand between the parted fabric and palms his erection. His name is as far as she gets though before his own hand is sliding through her wetness and the thought is cut off by a whine.

[punchmeitssubtext]

All this time, he'd thought it wouldn't be any different to have someone else's hand on him. Why would it, when he could just do it himself? But Molly's hand finding his cock makes his heart pound and his skin burn. Because that's a hand he's seen make neat incisions; it's a hand that's slapped his face and covered his own to comfort him.

He makes a high, breathy sound.

And somehow through the fog he finds there's something else he needs, something more than her hand. His fingers slide back and forth, learning the textures that match the anatomical names.

Outer labia, parting easily as he spreads his fingers. He moves them higher, purposeful. Prepuce.

Clitoris.

"Molly," he whispers, craning his neck to kiss her.

[theonewhocounted]

His hand between her legs is a serious distraction (of the very best kind) but she's still got enough of a brain or maybe just caveman instincts to wrap her hand around his cock and...

Fuck.

His fingers slide over her extremely engorged clit and she grunts, her hips jerking towards his hand.

"Sherlock," she whimpers in return before she crashes her lips into his, her hand still tight around his cock.

[punchmeitssubtext]

Her grip on him tightens, stealing the breath from his lungs, and when she kisses him he feels like he's drowning for a moment, drunk on the way they're reacting to each other. Even as his own hips rock towards her, slightly, he uses the pads of his index and middle fingers to stroke her clit. Back and forth, back and forth, with a violinist's practiced ease.

[theonewhocounted]

Molly kisses him all teeth and tongue and breathless noises, but her knickers at her thighs are constricting her from opening her legs the way she wants. She tears herself away from the kiss to pull them down the rest of the way.

"Trousers, off," she commands to him breathlessly and then realizes his shirt is still on too. "And shirt."

She wants Sherlock naked. She has waited too long to get her hands on him. Also, they can't mess up that pair of trousers too.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Fuck. Yes."

He's not sure how he manages to struggle out of the trousers--every second they're not touching is a blur to him--and the shirt definitely ends up somewhere across the room with her camisole from last night. At least one of the cuff buttons might have popped and rolled under the bed. He has exactly zero fucks to give about how rumpled he's going to look when he eventually staggers back to John's place.

And as soon as all that heavy, unnecessary fabric is out of the way, he's shifting towards her on the bed, hand reaching between her thighs again. He needs to feel her clit pulse and slide under his fingertips like he needs to kiss her, like he needs her hand on him again.

[theonewhocounted]

It only takes seconds for Molly to kick off her knickers (also into some corner somewhere) and she's just as eager for him to get out of his clothes and back over to her. When he finally does, she reaches for him and brings their mouths together again. One of her legs slides over his so her thighs are open wide for him. The hand not hooked behind his neck slides down his body and wraps around his cock again, thumb sliding over the leaking tip before she gives him a slow stroke.

[punchmeitssubtext]

He moans into their kiss--oh god, this is nothing like how he'd do it himself and that's brilliant. Again his hips rock, a shiver of pleasure sweeping up his spine. And somehow the feeling of her thumb dragging over the wet tip of his cock... inspires him, in a way. Sherlock turns his wrist slightly, adjusting so he can fit his thumb against her clit and the tip of his index finger at her entrance.

[theonewhocounted]

Molly likes that noise, that reaction to what she's doing. So she does it again, squeezing the tip of his cock at the top and then stroking down and back up.

Her own breath hitches as she feels his finger at her entrance and she holds her breath as she waits for him to press inside. His fingers are larger and more calloused than hers and, god, it's been way too long since anyone has touched her there besides herself. If she had known during all those lonely nights that the person she was thinking of then would be the person who was touching her now, she would have come even quicker than she already did when thinking about him.

[punchmeitssubtext]

He feels her breath catch, and between that and her hand moving slowly on his cock his capacity to be patient begins to go up in flames. They're at each other's mercy right now, and if Molly doesn't have the patience to tease then neither does Sherlock.

His finger slides inside her easily.

It's nothing like he could have imagined. She's soft and tight and strong, inner muscles urging him deeper, until he's sunk in almost up to the knuckle. And while it takes an ungodly amount of concentration to curl and move that finger in time with the slow movement of Molly's hand on him, it's worth it to bring them into some kind of rhythm with one another.

[theonewhocounted]

There will be times for teasing and exploring each other thoroughly. Today is not that time. At this rate, it may not be tomorrow either. Her desire for this man feels like a bottomless pool right now.

When his finger slides into her, the breath she was holding comes out in a loud, stuttering rush. She's stopped kissing him and just rests her face against his, eyes closed as she just takes in the moment. It's not that his one finger has brought her so much pleasure, it's more about the fact that Sherlock Holmes is inside of her. No, it's not in the traditional intercourse sense, but a part of him is inside of her body, in the most intimate place. It feels momentous.

When his hand starts moving in time with her own, she's sharply brought back to the physical. Her hips join in the dance. Her breath comes out in puffs against his cheek.

[punchmeitssubtext]

She may be slightly blurry so close to him, but Sherlock finds he has to watch what Molly's face does when his finger presses up and in. It's a sight that makes it difficult for him to breathe. There's something close to genuine ecstasy in her expression for a second, there and gone, a glimpse of pleasure an order of magnitude greater than he's seen on another human being. And the sound she makes is gorgeously unrestrained, yet another surprise.

He had no idea anyone could do this to Molly.

He's glad he gets to find out how wrong he was.

(And he had no idea having sex could be this fascinating. He's glad she's showing him how wrong he was about that, too. Never let it be said Sherlock Holmes doesn't learn from his mistakes.)

Her hips push forward, into his hand. It's not easy following her movements while her hand is still on his cock, but he manages, thumb flicking over her clit, forefinger sinking deep.

[theonewhocounted]

The feel of him between her legs is lovely, the stroke of his thumb over her clit sending little shocks to her system, but she needs more. What her body really wants is the cock that's currently in her fist. She knows that's not an option so...

"Another," she requests instead in a breathy voice, as she opens her eyes. Molly usually uses at least three of her own fingers on herself (when she's not using one of the toys hiding in the back of her night stand), so she expects two of his will do the trick. "Ring and middle."

She knows what she likes.

[punchmeitssubtext]

It's little more than a whisper, but it makes his prick nearly jump in her hand. How is it, he thinks, that there are millions of people who are paid to have sex and none of them make it look anywhere near as powerful as Molly Hooper?

Unimportant, for now. She's all that matters. She holds his attention completely, captures his thoughts and rattles his heart.

Without breaking eye contact, he twists his wrist slightly, enough to let him work his middle finger into her as well. The change in angle also allows him to get both fingers in deeper, to press his thumb more firmly against her clit.

"Good," he rasps, an earnest question and a statement.

[theonewhocounted]

Molly bites her lip as he presses another finger into her, eyes closing for a moment at the feeling. The extra stretch and feeling of fullness is what she needed and she moans at the firmer press against her clit.

"Yeah...good," she says as she opens her eyes again to look at him. His face is earnest and inquiring. He is committed to making her feel good. It doesn't matter how inexperienced he is because that is the key to any fulfilling sexual encounter. Love doesn't hurt either.

Her lips crash into his again.

[punchmeitssubtext]

Her hand has slowed considerably on his cock and he doesn't care. Because Sherlock can tell from the unsteadiness in her voice and the way she kisses him hungrily that he's just done something very right, and when he's on the right track with anything and he knows it, he has to lean into it.

He settles into a slow rhythm, controlled at first, fingers curling slightly when they reach as deep as he can manage. (Technically he knows that the jury is still out on the existence of the G-spot, but every part of his brain that handles technical knowledge is dark right now, so the hell with it.) Her kiss is as hot and wet as her body is around his fingers, and he lets out a low, thoughtless groan as he squirms closer to get more of both.

[theonewhocounted]

As she kisses him, her hips find rhythm with his fingers and the leg hooked over his hip gives her a decent range of motion. It doesn't take long before the slow pace speeds up. She isn't sure who is driving it, but more than likely it's her. Under the power of his fingers, she's lost all coherent thought aside from "yes" and "good" and "more."

In fact, it's possible she's even saying those things out loud and doesn't even realize it.

HIs groan reverberates through her own body and she whimpers in return

[punchmeitssubtext]

She keeps breathing urgent praise into his mouth, and it's a rush that goes into him like pure oxygen, electrifying and hot. As she begins to speed up, he follows her lead, trying to tease more sound out of her. Molly uninhibited and chasing something she wants at full tilt is a creature he's never seen before, and the more he sees the more he wants.

Even as her hips rock into him faster, he can feel her clit stiffen and swell. His thumb is slippery by now, and he strokes her in small, hard bursts as if he's trying to coax a vibrato note from his violin.

[theonewhocounted]

"Sherlock...oh god," she breathes out and it sounds like a whine, almost like she's in pain but it's the best and most beautiful pain. She's not kissing him anymore, can't keep it up when she's so focused on his hands and her impending orgasm. The attention he's giving her clit pulls fervent moans from her that raise in pitch the closer her release gets.

"Close, close, close."

She whimpers it like a mantra until she finally grunts hard and her orgasm overtakes her. Her body freezes up and then spasms as a white light erases everything from her brain except the feeling rushing through her body.

[punchmeitssubtext]

This time watching her come knocks the breath out of him. Because she's also squeezing his fingers in throbbing pulses, shivering uncontrollably, her hand going loose and nerveless around his hard cock as she shakes apart. He tries to memorize as much of it as possible, to etch it into his mind somehow, because it's extraordinary and fucking gorgeous and he's doing that to her.

Again he slows as her orgasm ebbs, and when the pulsing stops he draws his fingers out of her gently. He kisses her once, brief and light, and then brings his hand to his own mouth so he can suck the wetness away from his own skin.

(The taste of her almost turns him mindless again. It's like sweat and bitter caramel. If his test results are back by Tuesday, he's absolutely having her for dessert after the ballet.)