kendrapendragon said (about "Stranded"): I so love this!
…but I will forever be mad that you didn't go smutty! ;)
And since I don't want her to be forever mad, I wrote this alternate ending. It's rated very much M and is, um, slightly domme!Molly.
They made it back to their makeshift home without tearing one another's clothes off…but only barely, and only because Molly was being extra careful of Sherlock's broken arm. "It's fine, it's healing, for God's sake, Molly, stop babying me!"
She ignored his grouchy words, knowing that they stemmed from the same sexual frustration and eagerness to end said frustration that she was currently feeling. "Sit down," she ordered, indicating the pile of blankets spread over a mat of woven palm-fronds that made up their bed. His eyes widened a bit at the tone of command in her voice, but she was too busy fussing over his arm to notice.
She gave an approving nod when he did as she'd ordered; with deft, gentle hands she helped him remove his clothing - trousers and pants and a short-sleeved uniform shirt found in the captain's carry-on bag and loose enough to go over the makeshift splint she'd cobbled together - and helped him lie back, smoothing a hand over his messy curls as she did so. "Good boy," she murmured, meaning to tease a bit, but feeling a jolt of pleased surprise down her spine at the way his half-erect cock twitched and swelled. His cheeks flushed an even darker red and she decided to experiment a bit. "Put your free arm behind your head," she ordered, putting a bit of snap into her voice.
He obeyed with every sign of eagerness, his eyes wide and his mouth partially opened. "Now watch," she said, then pulled her own clothes off with deliberate slowness: her colorful blouse with the sleeves hacked off above the elbows, her khaki trousers, her sandals, and finally her bra and knickers. Sherlock tracked her every move, unmoving, unspeaking, becoming obviously more and more aroused with each revelation of her flesh. She knew she must look a sight, with her blistered hands and farmer's tan and blotches of sunburn; her hair was a messy braid and the freckles on her nose must be positively running amok - but he looked at her as if she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and she quietly reveled in the sensation.
He, naturally enough, was as pale and elegant as an Elgin marble; even the broken arm and the abdominal scar from his bullet wound could do nothing to mar his perfection in her eyes, and she was quick to let him know it.
"You really are a sweet boy when you want to be," she sighed as she leaned down to nip at his throat. She lowered her body and slid her pussy along his cock, coating it with her juices and loving the soft moan he let out at the sensation. "Why can't you be like this all the time?"
"Because then you wouldn't have any reason to punish me," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "And there are times, Molly Hooper, when I very much require punishment for my actions."
"Mmm, yes, but not today," she replied, reaching between them and giving his cock a squeeze. He moaned even louder that time and gave his hips a little thrust. "Today you deserve a reward. I hope you're not disappointed?"
"Not in the least," he rushed to assure her as she finally turned her head to kiss him. His mouth was warm and tasted slightly of banana, and their tongues danced a sultry tango as she continued to work him with her hand. When she felt the precum beading at the tip, she smeared it across her fingers, then sat up and held his gaze she deliberately took those same fingers and slipped them along her folds. She was already more than ready for him, but wanted to see his reaction.
She wasn't disappointed; his eyes widened and his tongue darted out to touch his lips as she then allowed her fingers to glide wantonly up her body until she was teasing her breasts. He made another one of those delicious hip movements and gave a strangled groan, the arm behind his head twitching as if he longed to reach out for her. She took pity on him, leaning back down so that her breasts were just above his face. He lifted his head and eagerly began to suckle at each nipple in turn, and while he was thus occupied Molly lifted her hips and then lowered herself onto his straining cock.
They both let out deeply satisfied sighs at the sensation, Sherlock's tongue vibrating against her nipple in an immensely pleasurable way. She began to rock against him, gasping and cooing as his mouth continued to do some very wicked things to her breasts. "You can touch me now," she said, lowering herself a bit in order to get a better angle against her clit. "Anywhere you like, sweet boy."
"Oh thank God," he gasped, moving his mouth up to take hers in a sloppy kiss as he reached between their bodies and slid his thumb over her clit. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this to you, Molly Hooper. No idea at all."
"Mm, probably not as long as I've wanted to do this to you," she bit out, feeling her breath start to catch as she neared her completion. "No offense, Sherlock, but right now I think I'd just like you to fuck me and save the talking for after."
"Yes ma'am," he replied smartly, and just like that she fell completely apart, howling her pleasure to the four winds. Sherlock's orgasm wasn't far behind hers, and his strangled cry was nearly as loud as hers.
Or, as a very embarrassed Greg Lestrade and John Watson would later tell them, so it sounded from their vantage point down the beach. "Bloody awful timing on our part," John would grumble, his face turning pink at the memory. "Next time you two get stranded on a desert island, Mycroft can sodding well come and fetch you back himself!"