Awakening, by chibiness87
Rating: M. There be humping involved. 'Nuff said.
Spoilers: Takes place after 4.03.
Disclaimer: I own Jack. (This is a lie. I don't own nor have I ever owned anything called Jack. Oh. And I also don't own Sherlock.)
A/N: I'm supposed to be on holiday. I'm supposed to be sleeping in until mid-morning. Taking it easy. Possibly taking a trip out into the heart of Suffolk for a gentle walk in the countryside. I'm not supposed to be woken up at 2.30am by my newly revived smut muse with half a story already formed, begging to be written.
Stay right here with your hand on my heart
See how often you cause it to skip
Get Here – The Beautiful South
Molly wakes to the feel of Sherlock's body cocooning hers in his warmth, his chest pressed tightly against her back. At some point during the night one of his strong thighs has nestled its way between hers, pressing firmly at her apex, and she can feel his breath against her nape with every exhale. His arm is curled around her, holding her to him. His hand has somehow made its way up under her nightshirt, and his palm is now cupping her breast gently, his long fingers pressed over her nipple.
It is, she acknowledges, a not unpleasant way to wake up.
And then her brain kicks in, and she remembers.
Oh, does she remember.
She freezes.
Unsure, for the first time she has awoken to find he has made his way into her bed, what exactly he wants from her.
Is this like every other time, simply a friend seeking out another friend, needing another person's presence during the night to keep the demons at bay?
Or does it mean something else, something more, now those three forbidden words have been exchanged?
Because she may have been in love with him longer than he has been in love with her, but she has always been able to tell when he is lying to her, charming her for favours.
In the beginning, she liked the attention, liked pretending she was special. Later, as they got to know each other better and he trusted her more, she liked knowing she mattered to someone, and so had always capitulated to his desires. Until one day, he came to her, fear and despair falling off him in waves, and had asked for her help. She had been able to tell the difference between his honesty and his cajoling in an instant, and it is a skill she has never lost.
So when Sherlock Holmes calls her out of the blue and asks, no, begs, her to tell him she loves him, she thinks it's only fair she gets something out of this too. Because she thought they had an understanding where he would never use her feelings for him against her. If he gets to break the rules, then so does she. The first time he says the words it is because he is doing what she's told him, asked of him; this she knows. But the second time? Oh, the second time he said it she could hear the shock, the awe in his tone. The bewilderment as he speaks a truth he has never known.
Sherlock Holmes loves Molly Hooper.
This she now knows for sure.
It still doesn't explain what he's currently doing in her bed, however.
After the phone had gone dead in her hand, she had stared at it in wonder for a long minute, sure that he would call her back and explain.
Only, he hadn't.
Instead, at some point after she had gone to bed, he had evidently decided to let himself in, don the pyjamas he keeps here for these types of occasions, and join her.
Except this time, instead of him keeping to what she secretly likes to call his side of the bed, he had crept across the centre, and encased her in his arms. While not unwanted, the position is definitely new. She doesn't know what any of it means.
"Stop thinking."
His voice is a guttural growl, the normal deep baritone dropping at least an octave lower, and it makes her insides throb. She feels the nipple he has started fondling harden slightly, and cannot hold back a slight gasp when he takes a second to roll it firmly between finger and thumb. She would be embarrassed, but then she feels his lips as they press a gentle caress over the sensitive skin of her neck, and cannot hold back her shiver at the move.
"Sherlock…" She means to be firm, to have them come to an understanding about just what the hell the past 24 hours have been about. Instead, his name comes out on a moan. It is all she is capable of when she feels him press more firmly against her, letting her feel him.
He is hard.
Oh lord is he hard.
Everywhere.
His hand lets go of her breast, and Molly lets out a soft cry. She feels him press a kiss to her nape, even as his hand traces down her side, before hitching her leg up, making room. He nestles his hips further against hers, pulling her back against his hot length with a grunt.
Molly lets out another gasp, her own hips tilting back against him on instinct. She is certain he is about to leave her, get up and pretend the last few minutes never happened, when he surprises her. Instead of pushing away, he drags her closer; something she though impossible mere moments ago.
Tracing up her leg to her hip, he traces over the hem of her nightwear. After a moment, his hand slips beneath her sleep shorts, and she moans.
He stills, his hand just beneath the elastic. Huffing slightly, he whispers, "Is this…? Can I…?"
Molly can only nod against him in answer. She feels him press another kiss to her nape, before his hands descend further. She had forgone underwear after her shower the previous evening, and his long finger parts the seam of her lower lips easily, sliding through the wetness already pooling there. His traces over her clit, sending a bolt of lightning though her entire being, and she cannot help the soft mewl that escapes.
She feels him pause behind her for a heavy moment, before his hand starts moving again, his lips pressed hard against the skin of her neck. His hips have begun thrusting against her again, in counterpoint to the soft brush of his fingers, and she is caught between pressing back into his hard, hot length, or forward into his hand. Every nerve ending is alight in sensation, and she feels herself begin to climb towards a peak unlike any she has known before.
Reaching behind her, fumbling slightly, she manages to grasp his cock in her hand through his own pyjama bottoms. He lets out a gasp at that, his hips bucking into her more quickly for a moment, and she feels his finger slip lower, tracing her opening before slipping inside.
They have turned so she is more on her front that her side now, and she feels him shift, lying more of his weight on her, pressing her tighter against his gently thrusting finger. The angle is awkward for her to keep hold of his hot prick, twisting as she is behind her to be able to reach, and she lets him go, only to grunt when he takes the opportunity to start pumping against her lower back once more.
She feels him lean over her more, his lips now able to caress the skin of her cheek, her neck. Twisting back towards him slightly, she sighs when he takes the unspoken invitation to finally press his mouth to hers. She feels his tongue against the seam of her lips, seeking entry, and she opens eagerly, crying out into his mouth when he presses another finger into her channel, almost as a reward.
He pulls his mouth away, both of them gasping for air, before he husks in her ear, "Can I make you come like this? With my fingers pumping inside you and the feel of my hard cock against your arse?"
Molly lets out another mewl at his words, bucking into him. The question no longer if she will come but when. She can feel it building, her inner muscles beginning to flutter around his ever thrusting fingers. Her clit is pounding, desperate for some attention, and she slides her own hand down, wanting to ease the ache.
He spots what she's doing, and uses his own thumb to swipe against the bundle of nerves before she can reach her target. "This? Like this? Is this what you need?"
She lets out a cry, nodding quickly, her small hand instead resting on his wrist, feeling the subtle movement of the tendons and ligament of his hand and fingers as he continues to move them within her. His lips land on her neck again, and she feels his teeth nibble the flesh there. Idly, she wonders if he will bite her firmly enough to mark her, and the thought sends another rush of desire through her.
He turns them both so she has more range of motion, and she begins to buck her hips back into his, her leg sliding up and over his to keep her open, to keep his access clear. His breath is hot in her ear as he continues to push her closer to the edge. "That's it, Molly. I can feel you twitching. You're almost there."
"Sherlock." Her eyes are rolling back in her head now, his name the only thought in her mind. Dimly, though the thick haze that has begun to fall over her, she hears him moan against her skin, his fingers increasing their pace.
"Come on Molly. Let go. Show me." He presses his lips to hers for a moment, his thumb brushing firmly against her clit again. Whispering, his deep voice begs, "Show me how beautiful you are when you come."
Actions follow words, and she gasps. Wails. Presses his hand tight against her mound, even as sparks ignite in her clit, and then she is in freefall. Moaning and gasping and her inner muscles clutching at his fingers even as they continue to move gently inside her, before upping the pace once again, coaxing another orgasm from her before she has even gotten over the first.
She feels him moan, and press his erection tight against her backside. She is gasping for air, still bucking slightly against his hand, riding the aftershocks. And then he lets out an agonised groan, thrusting against her quickly once, twice, and then she feels him tremble behind her.
The sound of their panting in interrupted with his harsh, "Fuck."
She feels him hastily move, hand sliding from between her legs quickly, and she groans. The cold waft of air that hits her overheated skin as he leaves the bed makes her blink, and she reaches for him, her heart stuttering. Surely he is not about to pull away from her now?
"Sherlock?"
Before she can say more, he is back, pressing her into the mattress. His lips are harsh and desperate against her own, tongue demanding entry to twist and stroke her own. Molly finds she is helpless to do anything but return his ardent kiss until she needs to pull back to be able to breathe.
He gives her such a look of lust and sin personified, that her most of her fears are immediately alleviated. Taking her hand, he presses another kiss into her palm, teeth nipping at the flesh for a moment. With a rueful look, he glances down where an obvious wet spot is developing on his pyjamas. Molly follows his gaze with her eyes, a blush forming when her sluggish brain finally works out what the problem is.
"Oh."
"Quite." Again he shakes his head. "Next time, I promise to make it to the second act."
Her heart stutters. "Next time?"
He shoots her a startled look. "Well, I mean, unless you don't…?"
"No!" She sees his eyes shut down, and realises her dismissal has been taken completely the wrong way. Reaching for him before he can step away, she brings his hand to her lips, noticing for the first time their abrasive appearance. There is a story there, she knows, and wonders if it was the reason he found his way into her bed this time.
"I mean, yes. Next time." She smiles, pulling his hand up to inspect the damage. Pressing a kiss to his skin, never one to press him for details, she moves his hand so it is pressed against her heart, watching as a calmness falls over his face as he measures its steady thrum. Tenderly, he intertwines her fingers with his, before bringing their joint hands to his own chest. Laying her hand on top of his own chest, she feels his own heartbeat, mirroring her own.
She smiles, knowing what he means, but still wanting to hear the words. "Tell me."
"I love you." He closes his eyes for a moment, before opening them, startling clear. "I do. I love you."
Molly smiles. "Well that's good. Because I love you too."
Thoughts?