"The Fear You Won't Fall" ~ Joshua Radin
Fifteen years had been an absurd amount of time to go suppressing any sexual urges he had. It was not helping the matter that Molly was not just any woman, there to satisfy some physical need and then be cast away. She was pulling out the feelings he had spent years loudly proclaiming he did not possess like a parlour trick, swatches of emotional fabric tumbling from him in an unbelievable manner, one right after the other. She turned them over and over in her hands, giving him no choice but to trust her and allow them to continue spilling forth.
Her lips … how could he have ever told her there was anything wrong with her mouth, ever? Soft and warm and perfectly suited to him, that small part of her anatomy was enough to make Sherlock think he might lose control just from kissing her. In a mind that was hypersensitive and pleasure deprived, the sensations were threatening to become overpowering. He began to separate and catalogue each new thrill as it came: her hands sliding over his shoulders, one finding purchase in his hair and the other gripping at his shirt, the soft whimper in the back of her throat as he pulled her closer, the way her mouth opened to him and her tongue teased along his lower lip…
The processing effort quickly lost ground when Molly lifted herself onto one knee and swung her other leg over him, leaning him back against the sofa and settling in his lap. The effort to remember how to breathe properly took up most of his brain activity. There was no hiding his reaction to her this time as she kissed him into oblivion, her hips rocking exquisitely against his groin. He groaned into her mouth, hands mapping her body as he lost himself to the sensation of skin, lips, tongue, everything Molly.
Sherlock practically growled when she pulled away from him, her breathing uneven and her hands sliding from his shoulders to his neck without coordination. She couldn't seem to find a place to let them settle. Feeling his own hands pulling at her waist, he realized he was not in much better shape.
"I, I… this is," Molly stammered, taking a deep breath and shaking her head with a lopsided smile, unable to find the words. She pulled her fingers along his jaw, her eyes searching his. He watched her face drift through about five emotions. She bit her lip and stared at him from beneath her lashes. "Do you want … I mean, do you want to stop?"
His chemical flooded brain struggled to keep up with her train of thought. Stop? Why in hell would he want to stop? He could feel the heat radiating from her body, her skin impossibly soft as he slid his hands around her waist again. He began to wonder if her neck would feel just as soft under his lips.
"Why would we stop?" he murmured as he lowered his mouth to investigate her neck. If the shiver that went through her body was any indication, he had discovered a sweet spot.
"I wasn't … wasn't sure what you were comf – oh god – comfortable with," she gasped, much to the benefit of his ego. "Quite frankly, your experience is a bit of an enigma."
"I can assure you I'm not as inexperienced as some people would like to believe," he purred against her skin, letting his fingers trail up to the hooks of her bra and deftly undoing them to prove his point. "Though it has been far longer for me than it has been for you."
"Oh how could you possibly know how long - "
"Three years, seven months."
Molly let out a yelp as he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and stood up, walking the short distance to the bed and lowering them down onto the unmade pile of bedding. If she had any response to his deduction, she didn't vocalize it. She simply stared up at him with more adoration than anyone ever had. He swallowed at the wave of affection he felt, his fingers brushing along the side of her face before following the line of her neck and her shoulder, catching the strap of her bra to lower it down her arm.
She lifted her arms, shedding the bra quickly and tossing it to the side. If he had regrets about the comments on her mouth, he downright wanted to slap himself for the comments on her breasts. Small, yes. Repellant? Not in a million years. Her hands slid down his chest and her fingers worked their way through the buttons on his shirt. He sat back briefly to shrug out of the clothing before lowering himself once again, eager to feel her skin against his. His hips pressed deliciously against hers and she only encouraged it, gripping his lower back with her hands, legs wrapping possessively over his.
He wanted to say something. Felt like he should say something.
"Stay with me, Molly," he whispered against her cheek, not even sure he was making sense. "Stay mine."
"I'll stay."
Her hand rose quickly, wrapping around the back of his neck to hold him in place as she brought her mouth to his in a searing kiss.
It hurt, how much he wanted her.
His mind shut off to everything but Molly. Molly nearly stealing his breath with the intensity of her mouth. Molly dragging her fingers along the waistline of his trousers, leaving a fire in the path of the skin she touched. Molly burying her hand in his hair… did he like having his hair tugged? Oh yes, apparently he did, very much.
It took stunningly little time for him to understand why, beyond his ever-convenient reasoning that sentiment was a weakness, his last attempt at this part of life had been disappointing. The woman had been a temporary distraction in the mind numbingly dull year after Uni, practically an experiment. It was the result of a desperate attempt at match making from his mother, a scramble to see him paired with someone of their stature in society. As with most girls with too much privilege and too little brains, she had been boring, nearly listless, and he had felt nothing of the fuss he heard from his classmates and the pop songs they seemed to cling to.
Molly was none of that. She was more.
Her head fell back as he moved his mouth to the soft skin of her neck, lingering to enjoy the scent and feel of her. Reaching up, he gently palmed her breast, watching her body for signs that his ministrations were pleasing. It was the first time he had truly cared about the pleasure of the person lying with him. He was determined to get it right. The desperate whimper and the squirm of her hips as he lowered his mouth to her flesh seemed to indicate he was on the right track.
She was practically writhing when he finally reached down to unbutton her trousers, sitting back again to discard her shoes and tugging off the offending piece of clothing. He gave her an appreciative smile at the matching burgundy knickers, slipping his fingers under the elastic to help them join the rest of her clothing.
Barely having the chance to fully take in the vision of her lying unclothed before him, he clenched his jaw for some semblance of control as she pushed herself up and reached for his own trousers. Shoes, trousers, and pants were discarded in a flurry and she was pulling him back down on top of her, the heat from her body making him shudder and ache with need.
Forcing some sense into his head, he flung open the drawer on the bedside table and pulled out a small foil packet. Molly raised an eyebrow.
In a flood of adrenaline and an absurd amount of 'what if's' floating through his mind, he had bought them along with the cigarettes. He told her as much.
"I know you're on contraceptives, but I figured…"
He had merely been trying to be prepared, never assuming anything, but for a moment he was afraid she would be outraged at his apparent presumption that he would get her into bed. He was immensely relieved when she smiled gratefully and leaned up to kiss him deeply. His hands trembled a bit from being out of practice, but it was a fortunately simple concept.
He braced his weight on his forearms, watching her for any signs that she had changed her mind. He was throbbing, overcome with the desire to bury himself in her, but if she had said the word, he would have stopped. Instead, his eyes slid shut momentarily as she reached between them and guided him towards her.
Sherlock had never seen anything like the look of bliss on her face as he slid into her. Pulling her tight, he buried his face in her shoulder, feeling nothing but warmth, the clench of her muscles, her heart hammering against his chest.
The world faded away and all that existed was the feeling of Molly's body and the fire building in his belly, threatening to explode. He could feel her tensing, hear her gasping his name. He claimed her lips and thrust deeper into her, bringing a hand to brush against her hardened nipple. Moments later, her nails dug into his back and she cried into his kiss, hips grinding against his. His vision erupted with stars at the feeling of her orgasm, fire shooting through him as his body rocked uncontrollably into hers. He groaned her name over and over into the curve of her neck, holding onto her like his life depended on it.
Minutes later, he still felt his body shaking, her hand tracing a soothing path up and down his back.
"You okay?" she asked, placing a kiss on his temple. He chuckled, the sound low and strong in the quiet of the room.
"Immensely," he replied, pulling back to look at her flushed face, her hair pushed out at odd angles from beneath her head. He could only imagine what his looked like given the attention it had been receiving from her hands.
"Good," she said, smiling as she reached up to trace a line along his face.
"You?"
"Wonderfully okay."
"Good…"
He allowed her to drag him into the shower with her, exploring languidly as they soaped away the sweat and sex from their bodies. Idly, he checked to make sure they had not upset her bandage. When he tried to broach the topic of maintaining her safety and not letting anything lower her defenses, she shushed him.
"We can worry about that in the morning," she told him, nuzzling against his chest. "Just let me have this moment."
Between missing dinner and the various activities of the evening, even Sherlock admitted to hunger. Molly rummaged around in the kitchen for several minutes, coming up with some cheese, apples, and a loaf of bread from the food that had been stocked for them.
"Sheppard's dinner," she grinned as she sliced and Sherlock plated. "That's what my dad used to call it. Personally, I think it was a way to glorify his inability to cook when my mum went on trips and left us two alone."
Sherlock tucked away the information, adding it to the room he was rebuilding for her.
They ate in bed, with Sherlock wrapping the bed sheet about his waist and Molly slipping into his shirt - a sight he did not think he would get tired of seeing. She told him about the inventive meals her father used to prepare and asked if he ever had to suffer a similar fate as a child.
"We had a cook," he confessed, pushing an apple slice around the plate with his finger. "I can't recall either of my parents ever preparing a meal."
"Hm," Molly contemplated his words. "No noodles and frankfurters for the Holmes boys, then?"
"No, thank god," he said, giving her a lopsided smile.
She tucked right against him when they settled in bed, her eyelids already drooping and her nose pressed into his chest. Sherlock held her close, resting his chin on the top of her head and rubbing his thumb against the skin on her back. Claiming to be too hot, she had shed his shirt, much to his chagrin. He was probably the only man in the world to choose nudity second to wearing his clothes, but he was not terribly concerned about convention when it came to those things.
He felt sublimely calm.
There had always been an assumption in the back of his mind that if he ever experienced sex again it would leave him peevish and disheveled.
Instead, he felt … centered. And he knew it was owing to Molly.
He closed his eyes and forced his mind to fall in line with her attitude. They could deal with everything else in the morning – he wanted this moment.