This is for miz-joely, a gift for her birthday. I hope you enjoy dearie, thanks for being such a wonderful friend. Inspired by a vamp!lock photoset on tumblr.
The hall was brightly lit with hundreds of candles affixed to ledge built high into the stone walls. Candelabras adorned the tables amidst thousands upon thousands of roses, gathered from every corner of the realm. The scent of the flowers lay thick in the air, dulling the senses to the mingled odors of alpha and omega, making even the keenest nose as dull as those of the beta guests.
The reason for it, and for the beta guards flanking the ornate raised dais, was the state of the omega bride. Tradition dictated that when a member of the royalty united in marriage, that the omega in the pairing be in heat, so the consummation of the bond could take place. It wasn't uncommon for the pair to be soul bonded before the wedding, especially if they had found each other during the annual Festival of the Omegas. However, it was near unbreakable ritual that the new addition to the royal family not be turned to a vampire until the marriage ceremony had taken place.
Sherlock snorted, gazing at the finery. Silks were draped about the room, crimsons, purples, golds and ivory were everywhere, both in the décor and on the revelers. Humans and vampires alike glided from table to table, sampling of both the foods and each other. The feasting would turn to fornication after the ceremony, though all were aware that no human was to be attacked or turned during the festivities.
All he wanted was his bride.
- A week earlier -
"Damn!" Sherlock collapsed into his chair with his head in his hands. Wiggins, one of the few human friends he had made over the years, had just left, after informing the detective that his enemy had slipped their net once again. It was a dangerous game to play with one of the most powerful vampires in existence, and Sherlock could not afford to let the man outwit him again.
He glanced up at the case wall angrily, trying to find the exact point where his plan had gone wrong. It was useless, as he knew it would be, and he reached for a set of throwing knives, hoping to relieve some tension by taking out his anger on the unfortunate wooden panel set along one wall. The stone walls of the castle were more likely to break the sharp points of the knives, as Sherlock had discovered the hard way centuries before, and so he'd had the panels put in around the castle as an outlet for his tension or, in many cases, boredom.
A voice froze him in his tracks just as he was about to toss the first knife.
"Sherlock, we talked about that."
Seconds later, her scent hit him, instantly calming his frayed nerves. Sherlock turned to the door where his mate stood, her hair slipping out of the elaborate style the servants had so painstakingly constructed for the feast the night before. Her face was flushed as she reacted to the spike in his scent that indicated his arousal and she bit her lip, looking at him slyly.
"Why Master Holmes, I thought you were angry. What is this sudden change in mood?"
Sherlock grinned, crossing the room with unnatural swiftness to take his omega into his arms.
"You know why. I haven't seen you in," he glanced to the window, examining the sun's rays with a critical eye, "eight hours or so. Whatever took you so long, my love?" He pulled her in the room, planting kisses on her lips until she laughingly pushed him away so she could reply.
Giving him a playful hit on the shoulder she affected a look of mock outrage. "I only went down to the village. Goodness my love, it's like you'd rather have me at home in bed at all times."
"Mmm," he hummed appreciatively, "there's an idea, Miss Hooper."
Sherlock leaned down to kiss her again, this time deepening it until they broke away from each other panting, with dilated pupils and flushed faces. He reached for her again but stopped short as another voice sounded from the doorway of his study.
"For God's sake, Sherlock! Stop this adolescent behavior, we have things to discuss!"
Sherlock growled, then sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes as he gave a playful wink at his soon-to-be bride. He kissed her once more on the forehead and turned to face his brother.
"Well Mycroft, what is it this time? More infallible plans to shove down my throat? Or have you come to invite us for tea and biscuits with the Queen?"
"I'm afraid that her highness, Queen Anthea is indisposed at the moment," Mycroft replied, his face impassive.
"By which you mean that she's out surveying the territories for you since none of the humans recognize her as your mate." Sherlock smirked as his brother's slight change in expression gave away the truth of his deduction. Molly hit him on his shoulder again and he chuckled softly as Mycroft glared at him with his usual ill-humor.
"Sherlock, you know as well as I do what happened last night, and I'd appreciate it if you would stop snogging your mate long enough to assist me in formulating a timely response to our mutual acquaintance."
"Oh spare me, Mycroft," Sherlock retorted, waving his arms about in an unconscious effort to shoo his brother away. "It isn't my fault that Moriarty up and decided to murder half the humans in the valley, any more than it's my fault you were both too late to stop him and can't prove that it was him at all. He's not going to stop my wedding to Molly no matter what he does."
Mycroft frowned and Sherlock felt a pinch in his side. He looked down to see his mate glaring at him and immediately regretted his words.
"Sorry," he muttered, looking away from her. He knew his omega had been down in the village, helping bring order to the chaos and carnage of Moriarty's brutal attacks on her former friends and neighbors. It had only been a little over two months since their bonding, and so she was still quite attached to the people she'd known in her former life. Especially since, as tradition dictated, they awaited her next heat to marry.
Her tiny fingers threaded into his curls and pulled him back to reality.
"Yes, love," she said, acknowledging his apology. She was the only one who got one from him without a drawn out fight about it and she appreciated the effort he made for her. Standing up onto her tiptoes, Molly pressed a kiss to the corner of Sherlock's mouth and sauntered towards the door, lightly patting Mycroft on the belly as she passed him.
"Looking good, Myc," she said as she slipped out the doorway into the hall, and Sherlock grinned at her impetuousness. His impish grin soon faded away though and Mycroft glared at him, and he cleared his throat.
"So? What new information do we have?" he asked, and moved to his desk as Mycroft produced several scrolls of informant's reports that would take most of the night to go over.
Sherlock shifted his weight on the dais, aware that many eyes were on him. His lip curled at he examined the guests roaming the great hall of the castle. Both vampires and humans were amongst the revelers, there to celebrate the prince's taking of a bride.
"Look at them all," Sherlock sneered, sinking further into the plush chair set for him, not taking his eyes from the many people below. John moved at his right side, glancing down at the people as well.
"Yes, Sherlock, what about the?" he asked, an exasperated sigh escaping him. He'd had to contend with Sherlock's ever growing foul mood throughout the day, and was nearly at the end of his patience.
"They can scarcely believe that I'm marrying. They all thought I'd take a consort, a means to scratch the itch of sexual urges. A toy," he spat. "As if Molly could ever be as lowly as that."
John chuckled good-naturedly. "What does it matter what they think Sherlock? They don't know anything about you and Molly. I mean, you love her, right?"
Sherlock finally turned his cold gaze on his best friend. "You know very well that I believe sentiment is a chem…"
"A chemical defect of the losing side, yeah yeah I've heard that shite before," John replied. He scooted forward on his chair, though careful to not let go of his own mate, Mary, who sat in his lap. "But between us, you do love her, don't you Sherlock? I mean really. Because it's obvious to anyone with eyes that she's head over heels for you. I know you're marrying her and all, but it's not… uncommon… for nobles, especially vampire royalty to take multiple consorts in addition to their wives. I mean, I know Mycroft hasn't, but I was just wondering…"
Sherlock was silent for a moment, staring at his friend. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I don't really have a basis for comparison. I care for you, and for Mary, Lestrade, and I suppose even for Mycroft. But I feel none of the things for you that I feel for Molly. I have no desire to have you in my bed, John."
They both chuckled, remembering the rumors of centuries past. Sherlock sobered quickly though, looking back out to the crowd.
"She'll be my wife," he murmured. "My mate, my omega, princess of the vampires, just as I am prince. Should something befall Mycroft, and should I see fit to challenge Anthea for the throne, she would be my queen. Does that answer your question?"
John was silent for a long moment before nodding slightly. "Yes, Sherlock. I believe it does."
"I know you're still awake Molly," Sherlock purred as he climbed into bed next to his mate. He wrapped his arms around her, cuddling her back as he buried his nose into her long honey-colored locks, inhaling deeply.
Her scent grounded him, made him feel safe and loved, something he'd never admit to missing for the majority of his long lifetime. He felt her move against him and loosened his grip so she could turn in his arms. Propping himself up in one elbow, he smiled down at her as she settled onto her back, sleepily yawning and blinking in the light. Tracing the light scars on her neck, remnants of the first time they had joined together, he felt a surge of protectiveness well up within him. She was his, and no one would take her from him.
It was why he'd turned her. He knew of the dangers of being attached to him. He knew he'd always have enemies.
"I was almost asleep, Sherlock," she chided gently before asking if he'd finished his business with Mycroft.
He nodded seriously and looked away for a brief moment.
She stayed silent waiting for him to continue as he laid his head down on her chest, lightly stroking the skin of her belly under the oversized shirt she wore for sleeping. Not for the first time he wished that she slept nude as he did. He ran a finger across the lacy hem of her knickers as he formulated the words to say to her.
"Molly my love? If I wasn't everything you think I am, everything I think I am, would you still love me?"
"Of course, Sherlock. I will always love you." She sat up, pulling him with her so she could cup his face in her hands.
She could see the fear he had. Sometimes it frightened him how well she could see into him, past the false exterior he put on to fool the most rest of the people he interacted with. Even when he could lie to John, even when he could fool his very best friend, Molly could see the truth. Part of it was their shared bond, obviously, but the rest? That was all the remarkable women he currently held in his arms.
Her words brought him back from his mind, where he so often wandered. "What do you need?" she asked, searching his eyes, pain written in her own.
He smiled sadly, and pulled one of her hands to his lips, kissing it lightly.
"You. Always you."
She nodded slightly, understanding him so well when he didn't even understand himself. Molly reached for him, placing a soft kiss on his lips until, with a groan, Sherlock snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her into his lap as she deepened the kiss desperately. If he followed through with his plan, he had no guarantee that he'd have her again like this, and couldn't leave for the weeklong separation they were to endure before the wedding without being with her one last time.
Molly seemed to pick up on his desperation and moaned encouragingly into his mouth as he parted her lips with his tongue, snogging the breath out of his omega. They parted, flushed and breathing heavily, and Sherlock's hands fell to her hips, grinding her down against his erection. Her knickers were wet against his cock and the scent of her sex was heady and intoxicating, pure omega, pure lust. Sherlock couldn't think of a more enticing sight than his mate on top of him, moaning as she rolled her hips against him, her nipples pebbled, visible through the thin material of her night shirt.
He smiled up at her and bunched the material in his hands, pulling it off of her when she lifted her arms to allow him. He caught her around the waist again and lowered his head to suckle at her breast, pulling the nipple into his mouth and releasing it with a loud smack. Molly giggled and he treated the other similarly eliciting a moan from her.
With a low growl, Sherlock picked Molly up, scooting to the edge of the bed. He stood with her in his arms and turned to deposit her back on the soft surface. Kneeling on the floor, he pulled his omega closer to him until he could bury his nose at the apex of her thighs. Her knickers were soaked, and he reveled in the scent of her before slipping his fingers under the lacy material and pulling them down her legs to toss to the floor somewhere behind him.
Sherlock nibbled on Molly's inner thigh, smiling at the groan of want that came from his little one as he sank his teeth into her thigh lightly. He moaned as the salty sweet taste of her blood filled his mouth, followed by the rich musk of her sex as he darted forward to taste her arousal. He catalogued away each sensation, praying that it would be enough to see him through the trials ahead of him.
His moans joined hers as he slipped a finger into her wet pussy, gently thrusting it into her. Molly was whispering under her breath as he lapped at her soft pink folds, spreading her apart with his fingers to better service her. He worked his fingers in her, adding a second, then third in preparation for his cock to enter her. Moving his attentions to her clit, Sherlock licked her lightly, chuckling at her groan of exasperation at the delicate touch. He sat up higher on his heels, feeling her tighten around his fingers, and closed his lips around her clit, sucking as she exploded, moaning his name in ecstasy as a fresh wave of moisture flooded his fingers, soaking his hand and the coverlet below her.
Sherlock sat back, wiping his mouth, as Molly reached for him. He smiled at her, a feral grin, before flipping her over with ease, pulling her to the edge of the bed, his favorite position to take her. She lay on her stomach, legs spread for him and he rubbed his cock along her wet slit, groaning in appreciation. His fingers were still wet with her fluids and he gently brought the pad of his index finger to swirl around her arse hole, smiling at the obscene noise of need that she made. He pushed into her slowly, using only one finger, as she writhed beneath him, cursing and gasping.
The alpha held her in place with his other hand and pushed his cock into her pussy, stilling when he was fully seated within her. Slowly, he began to thrust into her glorious wetness, reveling in her moans and sighs, working his finger in her arse, watching as his omega came apart beneath him. He sped up as he felt his orgasm nearing, knowing that his knot wouldn't form until they shared another heat.
He couldn't wait to take her after their wedding, to push his heavy knot into her and perhaps create a life within his mate. A child for them to cherish together. The wishful thoughts flooded Sherlock's already dazed mind with hormones, and he let go and thrust into her wildly. His roughness was just what the little omega needed; Molly stiffened and shrieked beneath him, and he froze as he joined her in orgasm, moaning out her name.
Sherlock collapsed onto the bed, next to Molly, panting in time to her own breaths. He held her close as the sweat cooled and kissed her lightly, running his hands over her pale, smooth skin. Finally, he sighed and sat up, looking back down at her.
"Now, my love, I have one more favor to ask of you."
"And where is Molly?" Mary asked, leaning over John to speak to Sherlock. Both men stiffened, darting a cautious look to each other. Mary looked back and forth between them. "Don't tell me you've gone and done something idiotic," she murmured.
Sherlock began to answer tartly that no, of course he hadn't, when the doors of the great hall burst open and James Moriarty appeared in the opening, his hands crackling with the energy of the spell exerted.
"Sherlock, I'm afraid, what is something goes wrong?"
"Nothing will go wrong my love, trust me. I will deal with this threat once and for all, and then you and I will be free from his shadow. I promise. Now go and hide. Wait for my word."
"Mary's going to kill you," John said, as casually as he could manage while he and Sherlock stood to meet James Moriarty as he sauntered up to the dais. He kept his gaze on the heavy hunting knife that Moriarty wore in his belt. Vampires were hardy, even immune to the sunlight in low doses, but not invincible, and John had to suppress a shudder thinking of the thick blade slicing through his flesh. Though, now that he knew Moriarty did indeed possess the dark magic that Sherlock had long sworn he did, John wasn't sure whether to worry more about a spell or the knife. Neither seemed like a good option.
"Oh, that would be highly ambitious of her," replied Sherlock cheekily as he turned to face the newcomer. "Hello, Moriarty," he added, in acknowledgement of his enemy.
He stepped down from the dais. So far, everything was going according to plan, but one could never be positive with a genius like James Moriarty as your opponent. He caught a glimpse of silver hair out of the corner of his eye and he congratulated himself again for anticipating the turn of events and seating the human peacekeeper Lestrade far from the center of the commotion. Of course, he'd have to contend with the man's anger at being kept in the dark later, but it was a small price to pay for his continued life. Sherlock had few friends and was loath to lose the ones he had.
"Oh Sherlock, I'm hurt. I wasn't invited," Moriarty said, his voice chillingly low pitched and so quiet that Sherlock had trouble hearing him, even with the enhanced senses of a vampire. "How rude."
"You aren't welcome here," John growled, taking up a position of defense on Sherlock's side. The taller vampire pushed the blond one back a bit though, shaking his head slightly.
"I doubt you've come to congratulate us," he said, his blue eyes icy. "I doubt you'd congratulate the man who bested you in a fight for an omega that you wanted. Ironic, isn't it?" Sherlock smiled mirthlessly. "You're always saying that we are one and the same. Obviously, desiring the same omega falls right into line with your feelings about us."
Moriarty growled, his dark eyes almost black with hate and rage. He didn't speak, however, which worried Sherlock ever so slightly. The prince shook his head and continued speaking.
"So, here we are. I suppose now you'll have me call off the wedding now, citing my well-known distaste for emotions. Leave a neat little place for you to erase my mark on Molly, since the Vampiric Laws state that bonding without marriage is subject to contention," he said casually, watching Moriarty's reaction to his words. The other alpha lit up, a smile gracing his countenance and laughed, pointing at Sherlock as he directed his words to the silent crowd who watched the altercation.
"Can you believe this one? He thinks he's so above everyone else, doesn't he?" Without waiting for a response, he whirled back around to face Sherlock. "But you're not!" He screamed, suddenly furious.
"You're boring," he taunted, grinning maniacally. "So very ordinary. You're on the side of the angels," he said, his tone almost sad, melancholy. "You fell in love, you let her get under your skin. It was never just a biological response to you, she was never just your bond mate. She's your soulmate, your heart. And I intend to burn that heart out of you. I intend for you to know that once I leave here with her, I'll take her for my own. I'll fuck her, and mark her and she'll be mine for all eternity, miserable, pining for you." Moriarty circled Sherlock like a predator teasing its prey, licking his lips in anticipation.
"What makes you think that I'll do what you want? What incentive do you have for me to deny my bond mate?" Sherlock asked. He was entirely focused on Moriarty now, hoping that they'd anticipated his move correctly. Sherlock expected for his enemy to challenge his directly, a fight to the death for the omega. It wasn't unheard of, though neither was it common.
"Simple, Sherlock," said Moriarty, clapping his hands together gleefully. "Where do you suppose my tiger is? Moran? I know you know about him. Where do you think he's gotten off to?" he asked, grinning at Sherlock, whose eyes narrowed.
"Where is he?" he inquired, his words clipped and precise.
"Why don't you ask your omega?" said Moriarty, his smile dropping. A collective gasp went through the crowd and Sherlock looked fearfully at the door as it banged open and the blue-eyed second-in-command to Moriarty stepped through, hauling a kicking Molly over his shoulder.
"Bitch hit me in the nose!" Moran exclaimed as he stalked over to his boss and dropped Molly to the ground, causing her to yelp in pain.
Sherlock felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. He couldn't breathe properly, he couldn't think. All he could see was Molly, all he could smell was the sweet scent of her heat, and all he could do was wonder why she hadn't hidden herself as he'd told her to do. Moriarty laughed as he crouched down, taking Molly's jaw between his fingers and squeezed, forcing her to look at him.
"Well, hello Miss Hooper! Not Lady Holmes yet, how sad," he laughed, smiling at the sight of her in her beautifully crafted wedding gown, now spotted with blood and torn by Moran's harsh treatment of her.
He nodded to Moran who hauled Molly up roughly, holding a knife to her throat. She shook, her body flushed, heat emanating from her small frame, so much so that Sherlock could feel it from several feet away. Her skin was reddening, both from her hormonal state and from Moran's abuse of her. Sherlock sucked in a breath, his blue eyes wide with fear as he watched Molly stiffen. His omega was watching him carefully, and Sherlock's alpha nature reared its head, demanding that he keep his omega safe at all costs.
To Sherlock's surprise though, Molly winked and opened her mouth slightly, giving Sherlock a glimpse of extended fangs. Quicker than he could blink, fast even for a vampire, Molly made her move, slipping out of Moran's grasp and catching his wrist, biting down with the newly revealed fangs. Moran yelped in surprise and tried to grab the petite woman, catching her hair in his large hand, making Molly scream in pain.
A clamor broke out in the crowd as they recognized Molly's state, a deliberate break with tradition, though Sherlock barely heard the uproar.
His eyes widened in horror and he tensed to spring into the altercation. Before he could move though, Moran suddenly slumped, grasping at his belly, eyes wide with surprise as a large knife protruded from his abdomen, slicing him nearly in two. Sherlock recognized it as Moran's own, and blinked, wondering how on earth Molly had gotten it from the much larger man without even Sherlock noticing. Granted, the wound wouldn't kill him, but he was incapacitated for the duration of the fight and for several days afterwards, if he was allowed to leave alive.
He quickly abandoned that thought though as Molly launched herself at Moriarty, hitting him squarely in the stomach with her head. Moriarty gasped and Sherlock leapt into action, sprinting to the struggling two people, kicking Moriarty away from Molly, and tackling him, landing punch after punch on his enemy. Molly had scampered over to him and was pulling at his arm, the heat of her skin setting fire to him. She was shouting at him, but Sherlock couldn't discern her words through the anger that surged through him knowing that the man below him had tried to harm his mate.
Then there were other, cooler hands on him, pulling him away from the limp body of Moriarty, and Sherlock looked up to see Lestrade and John. The former quickly dropped his hold on the irate vampire, backing away slightly, highly aware of his fragile humanity. Sherlock shot him a look, one he used many times on the peacekeeper, one that said 'how could you possibly be so stupid?'
Mycroft came ambling through the crowd shortly after, following several of his personal agents, who quickly secured Moriarty and confirmed Moran's injuries as being life-threatening, a phrase Sherlock took to mean that the blond assassin wouldn't last the night. Neither would Moriarty, if Mycroft's expressions were anything to go by. They might not be the best of brothers, but they would always be brothers. The Vampire King glared coolly at the still murmuring crowd, which lapsed back into silence at his stern gaze.
Last came Mary Watson, who smiled at Sherlock and Molly, with whom she'd become fast friends since the Festival of the Omegas when Sherlock had first laid eyes on his bride. Mary winked at Molly before hitting both Sherlock and John over the head for not letting them in on her scheme. She smiled as she scolded though, and Sherlock could see that she was immensely relieved that all had worked out in their favor.
Molly stood quietly watching as Mycroft's men cleaned up the scene. Sherlock stepped over the body of Moriarty, sedated now with a powerful drug that Mycroft refused to name. He held his hand out to his omega, and smiled at her, the points of his fangs receding slowly as the aggression left his body.
"Now, Miss Hooper, I believe we have something to do before I take you back to our chambers and shag you silly."
John and Lestrade both groaned behind the happy couple, as Molly flushed pink.
"Sherlock Holmes, Prince of the Northern Vampiric Realm, do you claim this woman for your wife, your bond mate, and your equal in marriage, for as long as the sun rises and sets, never claiming another to take her place at your side?"
Sherlock gazed down at the small woman next to him, her hand bound to his with silks of crimson, hair mussed, gown torn and spotted with the blood of their enemies. He grinned and nodded.
"Indeed."
"Do you furthermore, pledge your word to give her the gift of immortality, the gift of your bite?"
A ripple of laughter went through the crowd as Sherlock glared at the Priest, brows furrowed. "I believe it's obvious we've already done that part."
The Priest looked flustered, glancing to Mycroft for guidance. The Vampire King merely smiled thinly, and motioned for the presiding man to continue with the vows.
"All right then," he muttered, collecting himself. "And do you, Molly Anne Hooper, do you claim this man for your husband, your bond mate and your equal in marriage, for as long as the sun rises and sets, never leaving his side to take a place beside another?"
"I do," Molly's clear voice rang out.
"And do you accept the gift…"
"Oh I um, I think you can skip that part," she cut in softly, as the Priest began her side of the immortality vow. He coughed, once again out of sorts, but quickly regained his somewhat questionable regality.
"Then by my authority, granted by the Gods of the Sun and Moon and by the decree of his majesty, Mycroft Holmes, King of the Northern Vampiric Realm, I declare that you are one, and may no one, human nor vampire, seek to part you. May you be as one flesh, one life, one hear, until the ends of time."
Hearty cheers rang out from the crowd as Sherlock caught Molly around the waist with his free hand and ducked his head, his lips seeking hers for a passionate kiss.
He didn't let go until they were safely ensconced in the bridal suite. Even then, only for a moment, long enough to shred the dress from her, and pull his own clothes off, mostly intact but missing various buttons and with several new tears. It didn't matter, there was blood on most of the fabric and it would be taken away and discarded anyway. Sherlock had more on his mind then preserving clothes that were already destined for the trash heap.
Like his new bride.
He growled low in his throat as he moved up her body, covering her small frame with his own protectively. He caught her chin in his hand and turned her towards him, possessively holding her tightly to him.
"Never again, Molly," he scowled, his voice rough with anger. "Never again will you do something so foolish as to confront an enemy while in heat." He shook his head as her eyes narrowed. "No, don't argue. I could have…" His voice broke and Sherlock looked away from her. "I could have lost you," he finished in a whisper.
Molly reached up and gently cupped his chin, turning her back towards him. "Sherlock, I know you want to protect me. You're my alpha, it's in your nature. But no one, no look at me!" He had shaken his head, turning away from her yet again. Reluctantly, he met her steady gaze, moisture glistening in his eyes. "Sherlock, no one is going to separate us. I'd fight the devil himself if it meant that we'd be together. I love you, and nothing, no one, is going to keep us apart."
He nodded slowly and buried his nose in the cleft of her throat, nuzzling her mark, inhaling deeply of her comforting scent. She was his. His heart, his soul, his everything and he felt as if he would burst from the intensity of love he felt through their bond.
He carefully licked her neck, his tongue barely able to feel the slight raised skin of the scars he'd left on her during the marking. The sensation made his body take notice, and he hardened against her, his cock pressed between his body and her lower hip. Molly moaned softly, rolling her lower body against him, and Sherlock answered by pressing more insistently against her flesh. She parted her legs and he took the hint, settling himself quickly between her thighs, rubbing his cock over her swollen cunt. Her skin was hot against him, the heat that was simmering under the surface roaring into flame, her tiny body breaking out in a light sheen of sweat as she moaned her approval.
Sherlock ground his cock into the growing wetness of her cunt, sliding against her clit, ever faster, ever harder. They were both panting, Molly's nails running down Sherlock's shoulders, blood and sweat mingled as she tore the skin, causing Sherlock to growl and pull her closer by the thighs, pushing relentlessly against her. The constant stimulation of her clit was more than Molly could handle and she came hard, screaming his name as her body shook before sinking her teeth into his neck, biting down hard, drawing blood. Sherlock gave an animal noise of lust, running a hand through the liquid on his neck and painting her body with it, the sight of his blood on her breasts and belly driving him mad with desire. He leaned back and Molly sat up quickly, both of her petite hands grasping his cock, rhythmically stroking him. He thrust into her hands a couple times before she took a hand away, leaning back and bracing herself against the bed as she used the other to guide his cock to her dripping entrance.
Sherlock waiting for a split second before sheathing himself inside her, beginning a brutal pace immediately, slamming into his tiny omega, the scents of blood and sweat and sex and heat filling the room like a thick fog. He kept one hand busy, rubbing his blood into her skin, using the liquid to make his fingers slide across her pebbled nipples, enjoying the new and different sensation. Her back arched as he pounded into her, her pussy aching for his knot, the wetness between her thighs growing with every second. Sherlock thrust hard into her, his flesh slapping against hers, an erotic staccato filling the silence between their pants and groans of pleasure. He could feel the hard glands at the base of his cock beginning to inflate with cum, and his thrusts grew more frantic and more shallow, until he couldn't pull out of her at all. In a blinding flash of white hot ecstasy, he came hard, stars dancing before her eyes at the same time he leaned over her, tearing a new wound into the sensitive flesh of her neck.
Blood and cum ran freely, and Molly screamed as her own orgasm overtook her, the walls of her pussy gripping his cock tightly, milking his fluids from him. She reached up to her neck and mirrored his actions, rubbing her blood into the porcelain flesh of his chest, marking him just as he had marked her. Sherlock fell to the side, his body still joined with hers, and nuzzled her neck again, lapping lazily at the wound there, reveling in the taste of her sweat and blood.
They lay there for a long time, holding each other through the subsequent orgasms, idly painting the other with their blood, licking and sucking and marking, each glorying in the knowledge that the one they lay with belonged to them and that nothing would ever break the bond they shared.