A/N: This is second tale in the universe I've been writing, so if you want to know what is happening here, read 'Joy Bringer' first. Or if you enjoy the confusion, then have at it. I always liked a bit of mystery myself. ;)

This is rated MA, so read responsibly. And enjoy!

~Lilly Among Thorns~

Today, as with most mornings, Abby awoke to the sensation of lips pressed against her heated flesh.

The first time, he had muttered "Experiment," not bothering to pause long enough to explain more than that, before retuning his face to delve into her sex. She couldn't protest much beyond that, or be bothered to think, for that matter. It only took a few minutes of his tongue slipping inside her then up to her sensitive bud before she fell apart, shaking beneath his self-satisfied expression, while he licked his lips. She had blinked hazily, still drowsy and now weak-limbed, trying to force her eyes to focus on her… boyfriend? Partner? Lover? Sherlock Holmes. "What was that?" she had croaked, voice unused to speaking so early. He had kissed her in earnest then, his lips pressing firmly to her own and stealing her breath away.

When he seemed more content (for a moment at least), he deigned to answer. "I have a hypothesis that the natural lubricant your body produces has subtle differences in flavor according to the time of day. I can taste it," he trailed off and proceeded to thoroughly snog her breathless. He had gripped his own hard length before turning his attention to her breasts while simultaneously slipping inside her. Abby, feeling overwhelmed enough to climax again in a matter of minutes, could only gasp and moan his name.

She loved his scientific mind quite a bit more at this moment, as she began to benefit heavily from his increased interest in human sexual arousal and stimulation. 'Let the studies continue', she thought wryly, in a corner of her brain that considered itself a sex goddess. It was, admittedly, a rather small corner.

The next morning he had claimed he believed the alterations (noticeable only to his refined palate) to be due to fluctuating hormone levels as evidenced in her moods, perhaps stimulated by dreams. She decided on that particular morning that his dedication to the scientific method was positively inspirational. The morning after that he had claimed it was due to her diet. He had stopped offering explanations on any subsequent encounters (not that she minded) but she understood that, while yes, he was curious about the biology of it; his deeper intentions were purely desire. It made him feel needy and exposed so Abby didn't press the issue but came to enjoy the unique alarm clock, even if at times, he left her feeling completely consumed.

Oh, not that he wasn't a generous lover, quite the contrary in fact; she had had to absolutely insist she be allowed to use her own mouth on him (claiming it in the name of science and her education, to which he had eventually caved). It was hard for Abby to even put her finger on exactly what about Sherlock as a lover that would leave her feeling almost besieged. No, it was the way he could use his incredible brain, which was far more brilliant than everyone even realized, to focus all of his formidable mental capacities at one thing: devouring her. He seemed, in those heated moments shared between the lovers, to find it was not enough to breathe his own breath, but he must inhale what she'd exhaled, that he must find and explore every sensitive spot, know every fantasy, have it all and be all to her.

It was rather bewitching.

So, upon this chilly November morning, Abigail awoke, threading her fingers through Sherlock's hair and groaning her appreciation for his absolutely brilliant work (could she call it artistry?). This time, however, he was slow, languid even, almost seemingly disinterested, had she not seen the hungry gleam roaring in his eyes. They took in her pretty pink quim as a thirsty man drinks water, juxtaposed by fingers teasing and playing. Sherlock then allowed his head to dip and lick and suck at her, as though there were nothing else he would ever be doing. It almost gave Abigail pause, or would have, had she been able to think clearly at all. After she fell apart, he rolled over, taking a condom from the bedside table and availed himself of it, still, slowly, as she watched and he watched her watching him. Heated words were exchanged in silence as they burned and took in the sight of one another. Coming back to herself, Abby sat up, pushing him backwards, and rolled herself on top of him, slipping onto (in her opinion at least) the most delightful prick in existence.

It was a contented sigh that escaped her lips at the filling contact, trying to balance and focus on the task but it was rather hard when her post-climactic floppy limbs were only half listening to her instructions. She gripped his hands, using his strength to support herself while she found a rhythm. Once they could begin in earnest, his hands gripped at her waist, pulling her up and down easily. Something caught her attention, which was the digital clock on the dresser she faced. It read 3:13, and as it was dark out still, the only light in the room was from streetlamps filtering into the window, she was surprised.

"Sher—lock—" she hiccupped as he touched her cervix for a second. His thickness was rather deep this way. His eyes were roaming over her body, taking in every sight, action, but raised to hers in question.

"Why are we making love in the middle of the night?" she continued, each word breathy as she slowly slid over him, running her hands over his abdomen and chest.

"It isn't the middle of the night," he said, annoying and correct, if only technically. His statement was punctuated by a groan as she dropped back down abruptly, responding to his frustrating answer. They worked at one another for a moment again, before—

"Oh God—" she moaned as she added a little twist on her way down, still trying to talk but too caught up in it all to care properly. He raised his knees slightly and then pumped his hips into her, short circuiting her brain for a few minutes, making her forget what she had been saying. It was several more minutes until she could think again and by that time they had moved into another position after yet another orgasm had rocked her and she was too weak from sleep and pleasure to go on rising and falling over him.

With her knees bent up high, he worked them both deftly, but she could see the clock again, glowing the time over their moving shapes. "Why did you wake me up early today?" she wondered, running the words together in hopes of getting them all out before she lost focus.

He kissed her deeply then, and sped up, so she let him, knowing that he would talk after. It wasn't long behind that, and he climaxed, sighing and convulsing, eyes wide in pleasure and she felt delighted all over again to have him here in her bed.

"I couldn't wait until day light," he finally said, head resting in the crook of her neck, his breath making her shiver happily. "I… missed you." He sounded almost ashamed.

She wrapped her arms around him. "I don't mind. I like how you wake me." Kissing his head through his hair, she continued, "I was dreaming about you, I think." Abby pondered for a moment, trying to piece together the fragments in her mind.

"Was it perhaps an erotic dream?" he questioned shifting, pulling out of her carefully as strength returned. A pondering humming sound arose from her chest, as he disposed of the used condom in the en suite. Abby watched Sherlock walk back to the bed, admiring his form, smiling slightly. "I think it was a more adult dream, yes," she admitted, looking over at him, feeling the need for sleep beginning to pull at her. His arms slipped around her waist, tugging her close, comfortable next to one another.

"I could tell," he whispered into her hair, "you were moaning… and… I could smell you." Abigail pulled back her head. "Smell me? What do you mean?" His gaze met hers for an intense moment before responding, perhaps hesitantly, "I smelled the changes in your body chemistry indicating you were ready for copulation." Blinking slowly, Abby took in his admission. "It woke me, actually."

"You smelled my body becoming… aroused?"

He nodded and kissed her again, settling back into their previous, rather comfortable, position. "Wow," was all she could say. Closing her eyes, ready to let sleep grip her again, and the room was silent for a few moments. "What were you dreaming?" he wanted to know, eyes closed. She leaned forward and kissed his chest, words slurring together a bit as she fell back asleep. "Can't remember; too bad. Sounds like it was fun."

A/N: of course I don't own these timeless characters, but I do mine and this plot. All for fun! What I also don't own is the title, which I stole from the Last Bison song, which I was listening to when I had the idea for this story and chapter titles. Those are from the Song of Solomon, but I don't think there's a need to use a disclaimer in that case. Mostly just an interesting fact. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and there will be more to come soonly. :) -Gal