A/N: Okay, so this is my first Sherlock fic eva! I haven't written a lemon in ages since I've been busy with school and my other Iron Man story, Daddy's Little Girl, so I hope I'm not too rusty! I've had his idea since the summer and have now finally banged it out (no pun intended). Without further ado…
Sherlock Homes ascended the steps of 296 Pennington Street, located in the destitute East End of London, an ideal location for the aristocratic clients who visited the resident of the spot because even in broad daylight like it was currently, no one they knew, co-workers, friends of their wives, etc. would ever encounter them in the squalor that existed there. The detective was visiting Genevieve Beauregard, a renowned courtesan amongst the British bourgeoisie for her youth, beauty, and ability to satisfy the men who possessed the pricey sum for her services.
Sherlock, however, had known her since she was Bess Merton, a penniless orphan begging for sustenance and shelter on the streets. Ten years ago, she had been instrumental in solving a case of his and Watson's. She had witnessed the robbery of the jewel they were attempting to recover, leading him straight to Irene Adler. Due to her assistance in the case, she had received a cut of the reward money, allowing her to purchase 296 Pennington Street and provide for herself. Sherlock realized that her means of income wasn't exactly moral, but she had come a long way from the raggedy, dirty, desperate urchin he had collaborated with a decade ago. She now resided in the lap of luxury.
He tapped on the door, awaiting Genevieve's landlady and assistant, Mrs. Oswald to answer. The elderly woman did so promptly.
"Ah, Mr. 'olmes, what a surprise! Do come in! Mizz Genevieve'll be 'appy to see ya, just wait 'ere in the parlor. She'll just be a moment," she greeted him in her Cockney accent as she ushered him inside the ornately decorated abode.
"Thank you, Mrs. Oswald," he replied, casually seating himself on a plush red armchair. "And if you don't mind me adding, Mrs. Oswald, I would suggest hiring someone more qualified for heavy lifting in Miss Beauregard's household."
Ms. Oswald stared at him dumbfounded for a few moments, surprised that he had noted her worsening posture, but soon thanked him and climbed up the staircase to inform Genevieve of her guest's arrival.
Genevieve was lounging in her boudoir, reading a Jane Austen novel, when Mrs. Oswald notified her that Sherlock Holmes was waiting downstairs. She had used a percentage of her funds to pay for a tutor years ago when she first started to make a pretty penny exploiting the animalistic nature of men. Considering her literacy a gift and a privilege, Genevieve read whenever she could, a bit paranoid that if she did not do so regularly, she would lose the skill. But upon learning that Sherlock had called, she swiftly closed the book and set it down, not bothering to remember what page number she was on, and sprung up from the chaise lounge.
"Sherlock?" she repeated, a bit breathless. "Do send him up Mrs. Oswald, just allow me to—" she dashed over to her vanity to check her appearance. She released her chocolate brown ringlets from the pins holding them up so they cascaded over her shoulders and then moved onto to applying another layer of powder to her porcelain complexion, a ring of kohl around her blue eyes, and rouge to her full lips. Genevieve then straightened up to examine her attire, which consisted of a champagne colored corset with a black lace overlay, matching underwear, stockings, and a long sweeping robe of black lace. Her garments actually coordinated quite well with the crème, black, and red décor of her room. She spun around once and adjusted her cleavage before responding to Mrs. Oswald "— bring him up please."
Her servant disappeared from the doorway and Genevieve bustled around her quarters, tidying up little for her caller as her heartbeat spluttered uncontrollably. Although she knew she shouldn't harbor affections for anyone, Genevieve had a weak spot for Holmes. The combination of his devilish and disheveled good looks, his unmatchable intelligence and wit, plus the past kindness he had shown to her made him irresistible to the young courtesan. There also the fact that he was the only man that had given her a—
"Genevieve," her thought was interrupted by an all too familiar masculine voice saying her name.
"Sherlock!" she exclaimed in excitement as she sauntered over from the bay window to the doorway to greet her companion with a peck on the lips. "Do come in darling, I don't have to tell you to make yourself comfortable."
"Very well," agreed the detective as he stepped into her boudoir. He watched Genevieve as she turned around and retreated towards the back of the room, seemingly to retrieve something, her scent lingering. It was crisp and clean, yet somehow intoxicating simultaneously.
Genevieve continued to address him in her customary breezy manner, "I am so glad that you've come to see me! I've been meaning to congratulate you on your apprehending of Lord Blackwood, but I haven't gotten the chance to sneak all the way over to Paddington lately."
"Yes, well, I'm sure business has kept you busy," replied Sherlock, his tone guarded and slightly uncomfortable. This certainly wasn't the first time he and Genevieve had engaged in such behavior, but whenever they did he always initially experienced uneasiness and a bit of guilt before Genevieve coaxed him into feeling more relaxed.
The youth returned with a bottle of champagne with two glasses.
"I wonder what that could be for," Sherlock pretended to muse.
"We need to celebrate!" she laughed. Genevieve popped the cork off the bottle and poured them each a glass before meeting Holmes at where he sat on her chaise lounge.
"To Sherlock Holmes, may your victories be endless," she toasted and clanked her class with his before taking a generous sip of the beverage.
"Thank you," he responded, cautiously drinking after Genevieve had, an action the young woman noticed.
"Really, Sherlock, I am offended. Why on earth would I have any intention of poisoning you whatsoever?" she demanded insulted.
So many potential answers flooded Holmes' mind he had difficulty picking just one. "Well, my dear Genevieve, perhaps you wanted to drug me so to steal the contents of my person or to you were enlisted to capture me."
Genevieve remained silent for a moment before responding, "First of all Mr. Holmes, the Earl of Doncaster is a patron of mine, so if I was to rob a client, it would most certainly not be you. Secondly, I would rather die than betray a close friend of mine such as yourself. And lastly, you are acting ridiculously paranoid, which means you have recently received a visit from Irene Adler. What did she do this time, besides serve you tainted alcohol?"
"You're making many assumptions, Miss Beauregard,' Holmes warned her, even if they were correct.
"Yet I am confident in them. I've known since I was ten, Sherlock, and during those years you have taught me to be observant," Genevieve replied, a triumphant grin tugging at the corner of her painted lips. She took another swig from the champagne flute.
"I am impressed you've been paying attention," Sherlock replied, his voice genuinely a bit surprised.
"Are you going to tell me what happened between you two?"
"The usual," was Sherlock's curt reply before gulping down the contents of his beverage.
Genevieve nodded her head in comprehension. "I see. If you ask me, she's a twit for playing with your affections. If she only knew what she was missing…"
Before Sherlock could react, Genevieve lip's collided with his. This is what made his relationship with her ideal, they could engage in conversation and banter, as well as other things, but there was never any courting and delicate feelings involved like in all of Sherlock's other relationships with women. He and Genevieve shared a unique directness that Sherlock cherished.
Sherlock deftly procured her glass and placed it along with his on a nearby end table. Genevieve mumbled a thank you between kisses as Sherlock reached back to her hips and pulled her into his lap, an action that elicited an appreciative moan from both of them. The couple continued to kiss feverishly as Genevieve began to grind herself into Sherlock's crotch, aiding the stiffening occurring there. The sensation had been dearly missed by Sherlock, it had been too long since he had been intimate with a woman, and his head fell back as he enjoyed it.
Wasting no time, Genevieve shifted her kisses from Sherlock's mouth to his neck, suckling and gently biting the skin there. His hands began to explore her body, moving from each side of her hips to her bottom, then to right below her bosom to untie the sash of her robe and slide it off her shoulders.
Genevieve's small, soft hands then dropped from Sherlock's shoulders and travelled south, on the way down, she unbuttoned his waistcoat as well as his trousers and slipped her hands into his underwear to grip his already rigid member, extracting a hearty moan from Holmes. Genevieve smirked at his reaction and began to stroke him, as she did, she was reminded just how well endowed the Empire's premiere detective was. Irene Adler was an idiot.
Genevieve alternated the speed of her strokes in accordance to feedback she was receiving from Sherlock. As a result of being with more men than she would like to admit, Genevieve had learned a great deal about the fragility of the male ego, and pushing Sherlock over the edge too soon would definitely bruise his. Eventually, she hoisted herself out of Sherlock's lap and lowered herself down to the room's carpet, where she pulled down all that was clothing his lower half as well as disposing of his shoes.
Holmes sat up and glanced down at Genevieve, catching her eyes. She simply bit her lip mischievously before her wet, pink tongue poked out and licked the length Sherlock's manhood.
"D-d-dear God, Genevieve," he stammered. Genevieve glanced up at him fleetingly, her eyes full of deviousness and seduction. It was a slightly disquieting shift from her normal enthusiastic and bubbly demeanor. The glare only lasted a fraction of a second, and then Genevieve was back swirling her tongue around and sucking Sherlock as he groaned nearly helplessly. She took an almost sadistic type of pleasure in teasing Sherlock like this, and when she decided he'd had enough she took all of him into her mouth as well as cupped his sensitive sack and he erupted very soon after, spouting curses as he did so.
Genevieve Beauregard was not some cheap prostitute. She did not walk the streets. She did not negotiate prices. She had rules, one which was no exchange of bodily fluids. But this was Sherlock, so exceptions were made as she swallowed the byproduct of his climax all too eagerly.
Once she had, she breathed a quick sigh of content accomplishment and rose to join Sherlock on the chaise lounge, reduced to a panting, slightly sweaty mess.
"I am afraid I am no longer of use to you, Gen."
Genevieve let a quick giggle escape before addressing her partner. "Please Sherlock, I am more than confident than I can get you hard as marble again before the afternoon is out."
Her statement was met with a shocked expression from Sherlock due to her choice of language.
"I never said I was a lady," she defended, "I just act like one."
"And that, I am infinitely thankful for," replied Sherlock as he loomed closer to her and whispered in a raspy tone, "I need to touch you."
"Then by all means," she whispered back, her lips millimeters from his.
Sherlock pulled the courtesan on top him again so he could nimbly untie and loosen her corset from her hourglass physique. Once the garment was discarded from her body Sherlock didn't hesitate to cup both of her breasts, causing Genevieve to cry out in pleasure. Her breathing grew progressively frantic as he kneaded her breasts and then used his mouth to tease her nipples. She encouraged his efforts with pronounced moans and sighs.
Sherlock guided her to lay back on the chaise lounge as her hovered over semi-clothed body, examining her buxom figure and deducing 'still too much clothing', although all that was left was the small scrap of silk covering her most private parts and her black thigh-high stockings. He made quick work of her panties, tossing them across the room once he removed them (he decided to keep to stockings though), and then settling himself between her slender thighs. Genevieve was breathless with anticipation, Sherlock was the only man of her vast clientele that bothered to reciprocate, and reciprocate well he did.
He began by licking the separation of her folds, bringing forth a strangled moan of pleasure from Genevieve's lips. He kissed and then started to heatedly lap at her wetness. Another cry from Genevieve was heard and she gripped the sides of the lounge chair to keep sane.
"Oh yes…Sherlock…yes!" she praised her tone high pitched and breathy.
Sherlock firmly prevented her hips from bucking in pleasure by restraining them with his hands and continued his assault by encircling his around her sensitive bundle of nerves before proceeding to suck on it until Genevieve screamed out in ecstasy and her juices poured out. Being ever the gentlemen, he cleaned her up before climbing back up her body and meeting her face to face. Her complexion was flushed and there were a few stray brunette strands of hair matted to her face as evidence of Sherlock's handiwork.
"You must receive countless complaints from your neighbors," remarked Sherlock as he began to nibble her ear.
Genevieve laughed. "This is Poplar, Sherlock, not Paddington; there is absolutely no decency expected between neighbors. And besides, usually I do not scream."
"You are aware how dangerous a statement such as that is to my ego," he admonished her, ceasing his ministrations on her ear to look her in the eye.
"A risk I am more than willing to take," she informed him as-a-matter-of-factly, not breaking his gaze.
Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. "Well then, let us continue."
Their lips met again hungrily. Genevieve's tongue sought entrance into Sherlock's in a matter of seconds and in no time they were engaged in a duel for dominance. She had also taken up rubbing herself against Sherlock again, once again hardening his already semi-stiff organ. Genevieve ran her hands down Sherlock's muscled back, giving his derriere a quick squeeze before tugging the hem of his shirt over his head, taking his waistcoat along with it. Now he was completely naked, a fact that brought a wicked grin to Genevieve's lips.
Soon their coitus became too unbearable to defer, Sherlock was aroused to the point of aching and Genevieve's arousal dripped down her thighs.
"How do you want me?" she exhaled.
"This is fine to start," he huffed in reply.
In preparation, Genevieve spread her legs apart further and Sherlock positioned himself to enter her. She peeked down at his erection and added, "Told you so."
"I was foolish to doubt you," he admitted.
"Next time you shou-uggghhhnn" Genevieve's quip was reduced to unintelligible syllables as Sherlock plunged inside of her.
At first, his thrusts are deliciously slow and languid; Genevieve's eyes rolled back into her head as her hips lifted off the surface of the chaise to meet every thrust. Neither of them was in a rush and they allowed their pace to build slowly.
"Ugh…yes…yessssssss" hissed Genevieve as Sherlock shifted his angle of penetration as he drove into her.
"More," Sherlock panted, "I need more."
Genevieve wordlessly answered his request by agilely pushing Sherlock back and pulling herself on top so she was now straddling him. She began to bounce on top of him vehemently.
Sherlock couldn't help but drink in the splendid view before him. The ridiculously beautiful Genevieve Beauregard, clothed only in sheer black stockings, was riding him in all her erotic glory. The sight nearly caused him to lose all control right then and there, but he felt her sheath begin to contract and release uncontrollably around him, signaling her climax was near.
Genevieve's moans had escalated to discordant shrieks, "Oh…oh….oh my….Sherlock! Yes, Sherlock! God, please right there! Ah…AH…"
Sherlock labored to propel himself up into Genevieve as hard as he could, it only took a few more thrusts until Genevieve milked him with her orgasm, which was naturally accompanied by an operatic high note.
"Come on darling," Genevieve encouraged a few moments later after she'd recovered somewhat, Sherlock still inside of her thrusting, her vision still compromised by the stars she was seeing."Come for me, Sherlock."
All it took was those four words for the white fire of his peak to surge throughout his body and take control. He managed to cry out a warning to Genevieve so she could remove herself by the time the stream of hot liquid left his system.
Several minutes passed before either one could move. They lay together, a little awkwardly, on the chaise lounge reveling in the events of the past hour.
Genevieve was the first to recover. She turned to Sherlock, placed a quick kiss on his cheek, and murmured "That was divine." She rose from the chaise disappeared behind her dressing screen temporarily, emerging still clad in her stockings and a red silk oriental-style robe with a damp washcloth in her hand.
When she set her eyes on Sherlock, he was pulling on his trousers. She retrieved his shirt and waistcoat from the lamp they had landed on and brought them over to him.
"Agreed," he said.
"Beg your pardon?" she questioned.
"This was divine," Sherlock clarified as she handed him his shirt and waistcoat.
She merely smiled and began to clean him up with the cloth. Silence permeated the room, but it wasn't entirely uncomfortable.
Once Sherlock was dressed and ready to be on his way, he began to search for his wallet among his person, "I suppose I should reimburse you for—"
"Sherlock," Genevieve disrupted his speech.
"Yes."
"When have I ever permitted you to pay me?"
They exchanged an intense stare. Her blue irises bore into his brown ones.
"Right, then," he replied, ceasing her search for his money.
Genevieve stepped toward him, enclosing the space separating their bodies. Although Sherlock was not the tallest man in all of London, Genevieve still had to direct her gaze upward to meet his.
"Take care, Sherlock. You know where to find me if you need anything," she told him, her voice steady and sincere.
"Yes, Genevieve, now I must—"
"And not just your sexual needs," she added and then instantly regretted doing so, but decided to continue on nonetheless. "I mean anything, Sherlock. You saved my life. I will never forget that, no matter how much cocaine you defile that brilliant mind of yours with."
"Noted, Miss Beauregard," Sherlock assured her and placed a light kiss on her lips.
"Until next time, Mr. Holmes."
A/N: You like? Please feel free to send me feedback (ahem, reviews). This could become a full fledged story with a plot and everything…so let me know if you'd like to see that happen! The power is in your hands people!
-youngandobsessed