"Here, review these and let me know what you think."
John blinked a couple of times as he read the inked-on title of the CD Sherlock had just thrust into his hands. "'Songs to Let Molly Know I'm In the Mood'?" He snorted. "Subtle, that."
"I'm not trying for subtle, John, subtle hasn't been working for the past two weeks so now I'm going for blatantly obvious. Do you think it'll work?"
John bit back a grin at the desperation in his friend's voice; it was kind of fun, having Sherlock act like any other bloke who wanted to take the next step with his girlfriend…and didn't know how exactly to do it. "Dunno. What are the songs?"
"Marvin Gaye, of course. 'Sexual Healing'. And George Michael, 'I Want Your Sex'. Three songs by Luther Vandross. And then there's…"
"Stop." John held up his hand to reinforce his word. He then shoved the disk back at Sherlock, who took it with a confused expression. "I'm pretty sure she'll get the idea if you play these for her, but Sherlock, might I suggest just telling her how you feel?"
The panicked expression in Sherlock's eyes spoke volumes well before he opened his mouth. "No, no, I can't do that! It was hard enough telling her I meant it when I said what I said when we were on Sherrinford. And then I had to tell her again so she understood that I meant it - do you have any idea how hard that was?"
John didn't bother hiding his grin as Sherlock whirled around, tugging agitatedly at his dark curls as he began pacing the flat. "And then I had to tell her I wanted more, for us to be in a…you know. A thing." He spun one hand in the air in a vague gesture.
"A relationship?" John supplied helpfully.
Sherlock turned a glare on him that John interpreted to mean that no, he actually wasn't being helpful and they both knew it. "Yes, John, a relationship," Sherlock bit out sarcastically. "Which, as you know, has been going much better than I deserve, considering - well, everything. I don't deserve her and I still don't understand why she'd want to even be my friend, let alone sleep with me."
"If you'd just ask me, I could answer all your questions."
Molly's amused voice came from the vicinity of the doorway. John gave her an uncomfortable grin while Sherlock simply froze in place, not even turning around to look, staring down at the cluttered surface of the desk as if it were the most fascinating object in the world.
"Uh, yeah, well, that's my cue," John muttered as the silence continued. "Gotta pick up Rosie from nursery, write up the latest case…" His voice trailed off into silence as he hurried (without trying to look like he was hurrying) toward the door. He paused only to give Molly a quick kiss on the cheek and mutter, "Good luck."
She patted him rather distractedly on the arm, her gaze on Sherlock's back, and John made sure to pull the door firmly shut behind him - and warn Mrs. Hudson not to go ambling upstairs with biscuits and tea anytime soon.
oOo
"Looking for advice from John, were you?" Molly's tone was light, playful even, but Sherlock hunched his shoulders and continued to not look at her. Not because he was embarrassed or shy or anything ridiculous like that, but because…because…
The soft touch of her hand on his shoulder was all the warning he had that she'd approached him. How had he missed her coming up the stairs, and then crossing the sitting room to stand just behind him? Because he'd been too lost in his own concerns to notice, of course. Another reason sentiment should be avoided at all costs…no. No, absolutely not, he chastised himself mentally. That way lies madness and you damn well know it.
Instead of falling back into old, terrible habits, he drew a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and turned to face her. Molly Hooper. The woman he loved and wanted to spend the rest of his life with…and have sex with.
Even though he'd repeatedly warned her that it would likely be months if not years before he would be ready to take that step.
"Sherlock?"
Molly sounded uncertain now, and he absolutely hated it when she sounded uncertain because of him. So he forced himself to face her, to try on a bit of a reassuring smile which wasn't at all reassuring if her expression was anything to go by. "Sorry," he said, not quite sure what he was apologizing for. Well, mostly for making her sound that way. And partly for not telling her he was ready for that next big step. But not really for talking to John, because wasn't that what people did, talk to their best mates about…
He only realized he was saying all of this aloud when Molly stopped the flow of desperate words by kissing him.
And not just any old kiss; not a soft 'hi-I've-missed-you' kiss or a warm 'have-I-told-you- lately-that-I-love-you' kiss. No, this was a firm, exciting, amazingly hot kiss with tongues and full body contact and her hands tugging delightfully at his curls and her perky little breasts squashed up against his chest and her groin grinding lightly (and then not so lightly) against his burgeoning erection.
At some point he'd wrapped his hands around her body, with one arm at her waist and the other wrapped around her shoulders. At some other, barely noticed point, he'd lifted her in his arms (dropping the CD onto the floor and 'accidentally' treading on it) and carried her to his bedroom. She was giggling in between hungry kisses and he nearly dropped her as he toed off his shoes somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen but at last they reached their destination: his virgin (as in, never been used for sex with a partner) bed.
Thank God, he thought distractedly, that it was the only virgin out of the three of them, or things could have been very awkward indeed. Not that he was some sort of sex god, being well out of practice at this point in his life, but he had never wanted to please a partner more than he did Molly Hooper, whereas in the past he'd been concerned with his own needs first and his partner's needs a distant second.
Not tonight. No, he was going to take very good care of his Molly. Very good care indeed.
With that thought firmly in mind, he made sure to turn up the smoulder as he gazed down at her. She lay sprawled across his duvet, a smile playing about her lips, while he stood over her. Her eyes widened beautifully as he shrugged out of his camel-colored dressing gown and began to unbutton his shirt, cuffs first, then the rest. Molly made a very appreciative sound as his chest was revealed, even going so far as to kneel up and tug the bottom free of his bespoke black trousers - no belt needed and a damn good thing too as far as he was concerned, since it was one less bloody nuisance slowing them down.
'Them' as in, Molly was also removing her own clothing, far more gracefully than he was managing. And with one hand adroitly undoing the zip on his trousers to boot! All that experience in undressing corpses and exes, he supposed distractedly, the thought drizzling into nothingness as soon as that remarkably, wonderfully strong little hand wrapped around his cock.
After that he had no idea how the rest of their clothing came off. In fact, he pretty much lost track of everything until suddenly he was the one lying sprawled out on his bed with a very, very VERY enthusiastic pathologist-cum-girlfriend kneeling above him, her fingers twisting in his hair as they shared breath-stealing kiss after breath-stealing kiss.
She sat back and they both panted for air, beaming at one another. With one hand she reached back and tugged off the elastic holding her hair up, shaking it free to tumble around her shoulders. She playfully slapped his hand away when he reached for it, then gave him a very naughty look, lower lip caught between her teeth, and slid her hands down his chest.
He sucked in a breath as her hands reached their destination, his brain completely short-circuiting at the sensation. When she cupped his balls with her other hand he made a noise that likely most closely resembled that of some sort of dying livestock and he didn't. Bloody. CARE.
Not so long as she kept doing what she was doing with those strong, remarkably clever hands - oh, she was using one finger to tickle the slick head of his cock, absolute bliss! He dropped his head back, eyes slamming shut as she continued to tease and stimulate him until suddenly he realized he was about to...
"Stop," he gasped, or something close to that - it sounded more like 'sturmpf' or something vaguely Germanic to his own ears - but luckily Molly understood him. She let go of him and sat back on her heels.
"Problem?" she asked innocently, but the sparkle in her eyes gave her away.
Oh, so THAT was how it was going to be, was it? Not on his watch! With a growl he surged upwards and tackled her - gently - so that she lay on her back beneath him. The sparkle was still there and her lips were parted in laughter and that was all the invitation he needed. He kissed her senseless, with plenty of tongue, fingers carding not-so-gently through her hair. Her hands had wrapped themselves around the back of his neck and soon moved into his unkempt curls - he hadn't gotten around to completing his usual grooming regime when John had stopped by earlier - and he grunted in approval as she began to tug at the dark strands.
She'd told him once how much she'd fantasized about running her fingers through his hair, and he'd confessed to an equal obsession with her own cinnamon-coloured locks - and admitted his enjoyment of having his hair pulled. This was the first time she'd indulged in such antics and he was more than delighted as the last of the sexual barriers between them came crashing down.
Barriers that he had constructed and she had respected and now all he could do was berate himself for constructing them in the first place. And if she'd been just a bit less respectful...but no. That wasn't his Molly. Once permission was given, clearly it was no-holds-barred, but until then she was the epitome of patience.
Not so much now, judging by the way she was squirming beneath him as their lips parted. "Sherlock," she moaned out - and oh my, how glorious his name sounded when she did that! "Sherlock, please…"
He kissed her again, being sure to grind his pelvis against hers, then pulled his lips away from her delectable mouth and began kissing his way down her body. He made sure to spend ample time on her breasts, worshipping them with his mouth, the same mouth that had once implied that Molly felt the need to compensate for their size. He paid his penance dutifully, willingly, happily, nipping and suckling and making very contented noises as he did so.
He left her breasts with a great deal of reluctance and only because they were but a pitstop on the way to his true destination - a destination she clearly wasn't expecting him to head for, judging by her very surprised (and, he hoped, pleased) exclamation once his head was between her legs. "Ohhhh! Sh…"
Presumably she'd been about to say his name; presumably the first swipe of his tongue against her clit was what silenced her. He peeked up quickly, just to make sure, and smugly returned to his ministrations once he saw that her eyes were screwed tightly shut, her lips were half-parted, and a very becoming flush was sheeting over her pale, perfect, sweat-glazed body.
Women, he mused as he flicked his tongue over her clit rapidly, were incredibly lucky; they could sustain multiple orgasms in a far shorter period of time than men could. And he would count this first encounter an utter failure if he wasn't able to make Molly come with both his mouth AND his cock (possibly assisted by her finger on her clit for the second orgasm, he had no idea if she normally came via penetrative intercourse without manual stimulation but oh he was looking forward to finding out!).
Luckily his wandering thoughts didn't translate to wandering anything else; Molly was moaning and gasping enthusiastically, bucking her hips and digging her hands into his hair as he continued to flick his tongue over her clit, with occasional dips southward. She tasted divine, and he made a mental note to tell her so just as soon as he'd completed his self-imposed task of turning her into a writhing, moaning mess.
A task, he thought smugly, he was very close to accomplishing.
It wasn't long before Molly was thrashing beneath him, thrusting her hips up in time with his mouth. He gripped her buttocks, squeezing gently as he thrust his tongue deep inside her multiple times before returning his attention to her clit. She was wet and slippery and hot and musky and perfect; he mumbled those praises against her skin, sucked her clit into his mouth, and thought Bingo! as she let loose with a wail worthy of a banshee.
When Molly finally collapsed her body back onto the bed, Sherlock crawled up and laid himself next to her. She reached over with shaky fingers and stroked his cheek. "That was so fucking good, Sherlock, my God, you have no idea how amazing that was. And even if you do," she added when he started to puff up his chest, "now isn't the time to tell me. Now is the time for basking...and gearing yourself up for your turn."
The gleam in her eye was one he'd term 'wicked' if pressed. And if further pressed...he'd be forced to admit that he liked both it and her implied promise very, very much.
Speaking of pressing, Molly had knelt up beside him and was currently pressing him onto his back, kissing him enthusiastically and without apparent care for the taste of her own juices on his lips and tongue. She shifted her hold on him, raised on knee and ended up straddling him with a huge grin on her face. Mm, he definitely enjoyed both the sight and feel of her against his body! He bucked up a bit, his erection sliding against the cleft of her ass, and she kissed him again with a soft groan.
He gave a little, high-pitched whine of disappointment when she lifted herself up and scooted down so that she was kneeling over his thighs. The whine became a groan as she bent down and sucked the head of his cock between her lips. Not the lips he was gasping for, but a more than adequate (temporary) replacement.
The feel of Molly's mouth on his cock was exquisite, and the sounds she made as she sucked him off only served to increase his arousal. Soon he was groaning and writhing beneath her, loving the way she stroked his balls and teased her finger along his perineum. Even knowing how much she enjoyed sex (hard to miss when she boasted about having 'quite a lot of it' with Meat Dagger), he was pleasantly surprised at how fearless she was with him. He'd always imagined their first time would be slow and sensual, even anticipated some hesitancy on either side, but as always Molly managed to surprise and delight him.
He didn't need to ask (beg) her to stop before he came; after only a few long, sucking pulls she sat back on her heels, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. "Guess you're ready for me now," she announced, and all Sherlock could do was nod rapid agreement. Yes, God, he was more than ready for her and if she didn't let him fuck her soon he might very well go mad with lust. More proof that he was definitely not exactly the cold, rational being he'd once believed himself to be.
As she sank onto his cock (finally!), he gasped out her name, his hands holding her hips as she adjusted to his girth. "Mmm, such a big boy," she purred, leaning down for a leisurely kiss.
He groaned and slid his hands up her body to cup her breasts. "God, Molly, are you trying to kill me?" he panted.
She giggled and sat up, arching her back to encourage further exploration of her nipples. He pinched them obligingly. "Nope," she said, popping the p (why did John think that was obnoxious, it was absolutely adorable when Molly did it!). "Unless you're talking la petite mort, mon amour."
Molly's voice had always been pleasing; Molly speaking French affected him like the characters on that American show his parents used to watch. The one where the husband went into a frenzy of lust every time his wife spoke even a single word in French. He gabbled something out along those lines and dug his fingers into Molly's hips as she finally began moving. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the exquisite sensation of her riding him, his cock sheathed in her pussy - le minou, it sounded so much more delicious in French - and her hands planted firmly on his chest.
They moved together slowly at first, a rocking rhythm that soon elevated to hard thrusts accompanied by moans and grunts, the unlovely sounds of lovemaking that nevertheless fell like music on his ears. He felt Molly clenching tightly around his cock, her slick internal muscles rippling with the beginnings of her orgasm, and he knew he wouldn't be far behind her.
Correction: he came with her, groaning out his completion as she leaned down and sucked hard at the pulse point at the base of his throat.
She more or less flopped onto his chest as they came down from their mutual highs; he could feel her panting breaths against his neck, and curled his arms around her. "I waited way too long for this," he mumbled against her skin.
She let out a soft huff of laughter. "Honestly, Sherlock, all you had to do was say you were ready for the next step. I promise I would have gotten the hint."
He rolled them so they lay facing each other, his arms still holding her close. "You didn't get any of my other hints," he grumbled. "Which is why I was asking John's opinion."
Molly's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Hints? What hints?"
"The cuddling on the sofa at mine. The bed-sharing at yours," he said. "The coffee at Barts."
"You thought those were hints?" Molly had the gall to giggle. "Those are things you do for me all the time, Sherlock!"
"I made sure to add the creamer you like, not the bargain basement brand the hospital supplies," he said, somewhat defensively. Surely she'd noticed?
Apparently not, because she was shaking her head, her lips still curved in a smile. "Maybe next time let me know, I don't always pay attention if I'm busy at work." She reached up and brushed the sweaty fall of curls from his forehead. "Sorry I missed your hints. Not that I'm complaining, mind, but what brought about the sudden change of heart?"
Sherlock gave in to the urge to kiss the tip of her nose before answering. "Not a change of heart, just a change in scheduling."
Molly's lips twitched as she fought a smile. "Scheduling? Yeah, I'd say so," she agreed. "So what happened to 'months maybe years'?"
"That," he allowed, "was a bit of a miscalculation on my part. I didn't want you to have expectations I wasn't sure I could meet."
She giggled again, then snuggled closer in his arms. "Sounds like a performance review when you put it that way. In which case, Mr. Holmes, I'd have to say you're firmly in the 'exceeds expectations' column."
"In that case, Dr. Hooper," he drawled as he pulled her close for another kiss, " I must say that I'm glad I didn't take too long to realize I wasn't as unready as I thought."