A Song for You
"Admit it." Straddling across Sherlock's waist, Joan had one hand on his chest, and the other hand around a more sensitive part of his anatomy. Sherlock's wrists were fastened to the headboard with a belt.
Sherlock struggled, but not that much. "No."
Joan tightened her grip a bit more, and moved her face closer to his. "Say it."
Sherlock turned his head from side to side, like a child not wanting to be fed. "I will not."
She gave him a fierce kiss on the mouth. "Say it."
Holding her mouth as long as she would let him, he finally released her. "I said no."
"Say it. Or I'll stop doing it," she threatened, her hand slowly moving up and down his shaft.
Sherlock tried in vain to resist thrusting his body in response to her gestures, digging his heels into the mattress to gain better leverage. "I said no," he grunted.
"Just once." Her voice softened as she moved to whisper in his ear. "Tell me. I've heard a little bit of it already anyway."
Sherlock quickly angled his head to get another taste of her mouth. "No." He rattled the headboard for emphasis.
Joan released her grip on Sherlock and sat up straight, crossing her arms across her bare chest. Time to take another tack. "Please….?"
"Joan…" Sherlock began to shift his body in silent encouragement for her to continue her attentions.
"Pretty please…?" Joan pouted.
"Joan…I haven't told anyone. Ever."
"With sugar on top?" Joan purred, slightly stirring on his torso. "Literally. I will put sugar on top." She drew out each word and feathered her fingertips across Sherlock's chest.
They spent a full thirty seconds in a silent stalemate. Joan's frame slightly rose and fell to the rhythm of Sherlock's breathing. Joan's desire ultimately betrayed her, however, as she couldn't resist reaching for Sherlock one more time. Sherlock's response evidenced a mutual lack of bodily fidelity.
"I'm waiting…," Joan lured. Her eyes silently pleaded with Sherlock to give in so that their encounter could continue in a different configuration.
Sherlock paused. "What about a show of good faith?"
Joan looked quizzically at Sherlock. "What do you mean?"
"A little quid pro quo. You do something for me, I'll do something for you."
"What do you want?" asked Joan, intrigued but wary.
"World peace. A dictionary to decode the Voynich Manuscript." Joan nudged Sherlock in the side with her knee. "Unbind my wrists."
"Uh uh uh," she said, wagging her index finger. "You'll overpower me and you'll never tell me what I want to hear."
"Trust is the cornerstone of every relationship," Sherlock said seductively. He didn't want to spoil the game by telling her that he could have overpowered her from the start, if he had so wished.
Joan paused for a moment, then reached up to unfasten the belt holding Sherlock's wrists to the headboard. Sherlock could almost lift his head to taste Joan's breast. Upon release, he quickly grasped Joan's head in his hands and assaulted her mouth.
"That was nice," gasped Joan, after she caught her breath. "But I'm still waiting. Are you or are you not a man of your word?"
Sherlock sat up on his elbows. Quickly rolling his eyes to the ceiling, he conceded. "Fine….When I'm alone in the brownstone….I sing…."
"All of it….," Joan insisted, stifling a giggle.
"Come on…," Sherlock grumbled, yet taking great satisfaction in the girlish expression on Joan's face.
"What do you sing?" Joan asked, moving to lift herself off of Sherlock's body as proof of her willingness to keep her word.
Sherlock grabbed her legs to keep him on top of her. "Do not make me say it."
"One last chance. You scratch my back….I'll let you do whatever you want with my front."
Sherlock lay back and raised his arms over his head in mock defeat. He elicited a deep sigh. "Okay. When I'm alone…..I sing…. to Clyde ….Celine Dion's 'My Heart Will Go On.'"
With that, Joan burst into laughter, collapsing against Sherlock's body. "Thank you! Thank you!"
"I hope you're happy," said Sherlock, grudgingly. "Neither Clyde nor I will ever be able to look you in the eye again."
"I am." Her laughter choked Joan's response. "I am. Your and Clyde's secret is safe with me." She nuzzled her face into Sherlock's neck. "You know what you are?"
"Don't…..," implored Sherlock. "Don't make me say it."
Joan reached down Sherlock's body and reminded Sherlock that he was no match for her powers of persuasion.
"Do you know what you are?" she repeated, lightly nibbling below his ear.
"I am king of the world," intoned Sherlock, trying to keep a tone of pleasure out of his voice. Soon, however, his laughing joined hers, and the peals of enjoyment echoed out of Joan's bedroom, down the stairs, over Clyde's tank, and out through the brownstone into the city beyond.