asteraceaeblue said: I would be honored if you would pepper me with some Molliarty, number 16 things you said with no space between us.
Here you go! Rated M and my first Molliarty fic.
"It was just a sort of test, Molls." His hand is on her back, fingers splayed; the other one reaches up, brushes against her cheek as he crowds against her. "You talk about him so much...I guess I was a bit jealous." He gives an awkward laugh. "So I just wanted to see if he was as good as you said he was, at the deducing thing."
The fingers at the small of her back are moving, gliding down, resting on the curve of her ass, and her heart is suddenly pounding in her chest in a way Jim's never got it to beat before. His smile, usually so goofy and sweet, suddenly has an edge to it she's never noticed, a darkness that sends a chill up her spine - but not of fear.
Of excitement.
He must read something in her expression, because his eyes drop to her lips and the hand on her face tightens, moves to her neck and draws her face closer to his. "I didn't give him my phone number so he'd call me for a date, Molly," Jim breathes against her lips. "I just wanted to be able to tell him that I'd fooled him, the clever Sherlock Holmes, made him see what I wanted him to see instead of the truth."
"And what is the truth?" Molly asks, because it sure as hell isn't 'Jim from IT' who's holding her so closely, his body now pressed to hers in the confined space of her office.
He smiles at her, a dangerous curl of the lips that makes her catch her breath. "You'll know soon enough," he says. "But for now, the only truth you need to hear, luv, is how very much I want to fuck you."
He kisses her, or she kisses him; she's not sure who closes that small distance between them, but his mouth is hot and demanding, his tongue invading with confidence and his teeth nipping at her lips until she's utterly lost the ability to think. If she could, she'd know this was a horrible idea; sex at work, in her office? During the day, when anyone could walk in?
Sex with a man she's only been dating for a month? A man she's not remotely in love with? A man who clearly isn't who she thought he was?
A man who wants her. A man whose heated erection is burning against her midriff. A man who's eager hands have opened her blouse, undone her bra, are massaging her breasts and pulling moan after moan from her lips.
She undoes his trousers, impatiently pushing them and the awful green pants he's wearing underneath down past his narrow hips. Her trousers are next, as Jim impatiently thrusts his fingers into her knickers, kissing her relentlessly as he shuffles forward and backs her against her desk. Her knees buckle and she collapses onto the cluttered surface, uncaring of the papers and pens and paperclips she feels against her back, through the thin cushioning of her lab coat, cardigan and blouse.
Jim's kneeling now, tugging her trousers off but not bothering with her knickers; he simply pushes them aside as his tongue slides, wet and hot, against her center. She's got one arm raised to cover the cries and groans escaping her lips, and comes almost immediately when he flicks his tongue over her clit.
Before she's even begun to come down from that high he's back on her, his body tight to hers, his cock pressing deep inside her. He kisses her and she tastes herself as his tongue plunges between her lips: musky, raw, intoxicating. Her hands claw at his back as he ruts against her, deep, penetrating thrusts, grunts escaping his lips as he sucks hard at her throat. She'll have to wear high collars for a few days but can't bring herself to care. She hasn't had sex this intense in years, not since Phillip from uni, the rugby player who counted every orgasm he gave her as a win.
Jim releases his grip on her waist, his hand moving down between their joined bodies, his thumb coming to rest on her clit, pressing hard against the sensitive nub. Molly bites down on her forearm in order to keep from screaming as she comes for the second time, leaving a neat circle of indents to ponder after he leaves her.
Minutes later he's reaching his own peak, ramming himself into her, holding her hips tightly enough to leave bruises. He's marked her in just about every way possible, and Molly can't see it as anything but a deliberate set of choices judging by the triumphant look he gives her when he finally pulls out of her.
She stares up at him, lowering her arm and breathing hard, sweat glistening on her brow, her breasts, mingling with his cum on her thighs as he quickly redresses himself. "That was just for you," he says with a crooked smile as he drapes himself over her body and kisses her, a softer kiss than any of the others they've traded today. "Had nothing to do with anyone else. Just remember that, later."
He kisses her again, brushing her sweat-dampened hair from her face before backing away from her. She's still splayed wantonly on her desk, half-clothed and thoroughly shagged, knowing that she needs to get herself together but unable to move just yet.
Jim walks to the door, opens it just a crack, glances out, then looks back at her. "Just for you, remember. Bye, Molls."
Then he squeezes through the narrow opening and is gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
The next time she sees him is on the news: Jim Moriarty, criminal mastermind, wearing the crown jewels and smirking like he owns the world and everyone in it. She feels sick, knowing he was using her as an excuse to get close to Sherlock, then the memory of their last encounter rises up, and she has to fight down a smile. Dating her had been about Sherlock, but the sex...he'd said it had been just for her.
Stupid as it might be, she continues to believe him.