First ever M-rated story, guys. So be gentle with me? I wanted to write it without getting too graphic since I think that can get tiring after a while. Inspired by the phrase: "After all, he did say he liked it when she shouted." Since I think it would take a spark of pure passion (ie a shouting match) to get our favorite consulting detective and our favorite medical examiner into bed together for the first time.
"If you think we're done here Holmes, you are even more daft than you let on!" Molly roared, storming after him into his bedroom.
He stood pensively at the foot of his bed that trademark shit eating smirk on his face. Molly drew another breath to continue her tirade and quick as a wink he was across the room, shutting the door with a snap and leaning against it.
"Holmes, you are by far the most-" her heated words were silenced as the man himself advanced on her, backing her into the wall, "What are you on about?"
"I think, Hooper," he drawled, mocking her use of his last name, "That I rather like it when you shout."
Outrage colored her face once more but as she opened her mouth to retort he captured her lips, crushing her body against the wall with his own. Her lips parted in surprise, and he took advantage, swooping his talented tongue inside as his hands moved to cup her face. Molly moaned low in her throat and deftly untucked the detective's shirt, popping a few buttons in her haste to uncover as much alabaster skin as possible.
Sherlock growled as she ran her short nails down his chest and abdomen and hiked her further up the wall, sliding his hands under her bottom and coaxing her legs to hook round his hips. He broke the kiss when she was securely in his arms, crossing the room to his bed as she sucked and bit the tender flesh between his shoulder and neck. He sat at the edge with Molly straddling his lap, shrugging his shirt the rest of the way off as she tugged her tank over her head, revealing lacy lingerie that made Sherlock growl once more before burying his face in her chest, nipping the sensitive skin between her breasts and delighting in her pants and moans. One hand supported her back as the other drew down the zipper of her skirt, long agile fingers finding their way into her knickers to the spot that made her gasp his name in such a way he reckoned he'd never hear it the same way again.
Sherlock turned them so she lay across the duvet and tugged her poor excuses for panties down her legs. He spread her knees, settling on his stomach between them and let out a long breath that ghosted over her, setting her awash with gooseflesh. Molly propped herself up to look at him questioningly.
He met her eyes with a smirk before lowering his mouth to her sex. Molly let her head fall back with a strangled moan and fisted her hands in his curls. Sherlock listened carefully to her keens and moans and when they reached fever pitch, he abruptly pulled away, crawling up her body to place a kiss on her lips.
She used his distraction to pin him to the bed and set about removing his belt and trousers. He groaned as her fingers brushed over him, hands fisting the sheets as she worshipped him with her mouth and hands. When she felt he was near the brink she pulled back with a devilish smirk, straddling his hips and positioning him at her entrance before slowly sinking down onto him, eyes falling closed in bliss.
She'd always suspected he'd be brilliant in bed, and she spared a moment to relish the fact that she was very right. It seemed like every move he made, every kiss and nip he placed on her skin was perfectly designed for her pleasure. In reality, he probably did have some formula worked out for the female orgasm and if she ever asked him about it, he'd explain it in an insufferably unromantic way that would ruin the whole thing. Molly decided to settle for showing her appreciation by becoming a trembling, begging, keening mess above him. After all, he did say he liked it when she shouted.