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CHAPTER TEN: ANNUAL LEAVE
They have sex through most of the afternoon and into the night.
It's energetic. Sweaty. Satisfying.
When Molly wakes up the next morning it's bright outside, so early that the light's still tinted blue. So early there's barely any traffic.
It must be near dawn, she thinks.
She sighs when she sees it, shifts herself onto her side; At the movement Will's arm tightens unconsciously around her and he grumbles something, frowning in his sleep. She turns to him, leaning in. Brushing the hair from his face.
He's asking her not to go, she belatedly realises.
She smiles to see it, wonder at the sheer beauty of the man next to her, at the sheer beauty of the tiredness and satisfaction she can feel deep within her bones, making her grin brightly.
She feels almost giddy; the pleasure of last night, the freedom, it's unlike anything she's ever felt. She knows it probably doesn't speak well of her other relationships but she's genuinely never enjoyed herself that much before. Normally she dreads the morning after sex, dreads the hesitation in her, the disappointment in her partner. She always feels like she's walking on eggshells, waiting for them to illuminate the ways in which they think she's failed to match up and for that reason she knows she becomes quiet. Demure. Silent.
It had been a particular problem for she and Tom- Well, that and his fucking other people.
She hadn't wanted it to happen, hadn't wanted to turn into this stern, frowning, sour person but she hadn't known what else to do: The sense that she hadn't measured up had been inescapable. Constant.
She'd always been left feeling like she was somehow… wanting. At fault.
At that thought she frowns, sighs. She doesn't want to think about her ex fiancé (or any of her exes, for that matter) and yet how can she not? One look at Will and she practically hopped into his bed; In the last twenty four hours she's had more sex with an escort than she had during the last month of her engagement. She should be ashamed of herself, and yet-
Things hadn't been this good with Tom, she thinks.
Things hadn't been half this good.
Her stomach twists guiltily at the thought, the knowledge that she's only being honest making her feel worse.
She should feel something different for the man she was willing to marry.
But she can't help it, isn't willing to lie to herself. There hadn't been this degree of attraction with Tom for one thing, she thinks. There hadn't been this sense of freedom, for another. The very nature of her arrangement with Will makes it easier to say things, easier to ask for what she wants; She doesn't have to worry about a delicate male ego now, or hurting the feelings of someone she loves.
And that, she realises, is incredibly freeing.
No, all she has to do is ask for what she wants and he'll give it. If there's something he won't countenance then he's clearly more than happy to communicate that. At the thought Molly lets out a small, disbelieving laugh; It's hard to accept that she can have a more honest relationship with a prostitute than she did with the man she was going to marry-
And maybe that's why you leaving your engagement was actually a blessing in disguise, she tells herself.
Maybe all your so-called "issues," were just about you not having found the right partner.
She frowns at that, bites her lip, not comfortable with where her thoughts are heading. She's always told herself so staunchly that a man like Tom and the life he could give her were what she wanted that the thought she might have been mistaken gives her pause. But then Will murmurs something in his sleep. Twists his head sharply. His brows draw together and his body tautens, lips drawn back from his teeth in a fierce scowl.
He starts muttering, head shaking from side to side, murmuring about someone, someone called "Mikey,"-
Molly reaches for him, her own situation forgotten. She strokes her hands along his shoulders. His chest. Her fingers find their way to his hair and card through it even as she hums soothingly against his throat. "I'm here," she whispers gently. "It's all alright, I'm here."
When he doesn't answer she drapes her arms around his waist, pulling him into her.
For a moment he resists, trying to pull away and though she doesn't want to she pulls back, makes to let him move away from her-
Before she can though his eyes open, blue-green sharpness flashing to hers.
Within the space of second he has her on her back, her hands pressed into the bed at the side of her hips, his entire body on top of her and pushing her into the bed.
His expression is confused, as if he doesn't recognise her at all, or what he's doing here.
It doesn't hurt and she's not afraid but it doesn't feel very pleasant, his body on top of hers, it's making breathing a little difficult and his expression is so mystified-
And then she sees it, recognition moving through his features. Realisation.
He lets out a small, "oh," of understanding and releases her wrists, moves so that he's not on top of her.
He pulls the covers away and sits up, his head in his hands. His back to her on the bed.
Uncertain of where his mind has gone to- and yet confident in her ability to provide comfort- Molly sits up too. Gives him a moment to catch his breath. His shoulders are so tense they're almost shaking.
When his breathing has eased she hesitantly lays a hand on his back, the gesture questioning. Soft.
She doesn't want to pressure him.
For a moment he stiffens and she makes to take her hand away, but then he shakes his head. Huffs out a long breath.
He turns to her and his smile is wan. Wry.
"Sorry," he says quietly. "For the theatrics."
Molly smiles in return, relieved that he seems to be ok, and scooches closer to him on the bed. When she's near enough he reaches out and pulls her to him by her elbow, her chest colliding with his back until she wraps her arms around his torso, his arm squashed warmly against her breasts.
The gesture makes him sigh.
"Did I give you a fright?" he asks and she nods. Presses a kiss to his shoulder.
It feels… It feels almost like they might be a couple, the gesture comes so easily to them both.
"Nightmares," he murmurs, though she didn't ask. "Don't normally sleep over, so I don't normally have witnesses-"
Molly thinks she understands. "Bad for business?" she asks and he looks at her askance.
There's something a little… unwelcoming in his gaze.
"I thought we'd agreed what this is," he says and his voice is trying for even. It's not quite making it. "No customers, not in our universe-"
She cocks her head, confused. "Is this another universe?"
"Has to be." He nods. Takes her hand and presses a kiss to her palm. The rest is mumbled as he kisses his way up her arm. "The only way I'd be in bed with someone like you, being comforted by someone like you, is if we're in another universe…"
Molly opens her mouth, about to object- what on earth is she supposed to say to that?- but before she can he grins at her suddenly, diamond-sharp and surprising.
Without any warning he dives on her, rolling her so that once again she's on her back and he's on top of her, though this time there's no distress in his eyes.
"It's pretend, remember?" he says, voice low and rough and his words are so playful and so relieved that Molly can't help it. She smiles back at him. Nods. She can eel him getting hard again- where on Earth did he pick up that refractory period?- and the sensation warms her blood.
She's starting to get wet.
A sly, wanton grin splits his face and she realises he knows where her mind is going.
In fairness, she finds herself thinking, it's not really that much of a stretch.
For a moment he stares down at her, his nose to hers, his eyes mock-contrite. "What can I do, to get you back to sleep?" he asks innocently, that lower lip jutting out in a pout. "Now that I've gotten you so thoroughly awake?"
His hands are inching up her legs, fingers stroking. Kneading.
He doesn't pinch and he doesn't squeeze and Molly finds she likes that so much.
"I don't know," she says and it's embarrassing, how breathless her voice sounds. How ready. She doesn't think she's ever sounded so… eager as she does with him. "I don't know what you need to do-"
"Maybe I should try to relax you."
And he moves down to her breasts, his hands coming up to palm them. Knead them. His thumbs work the flesh, circling and tugging lightly at the nipples until Molly lets out a loud, low moan.
She sounds so… lewd to her own ears.
Will shifts, one knee pressing between her legs with surprising accuracy even as his mouth joins his fingers on her nipples, his lips and tongue suckling and licking and working her. Tasting her. Her breasts lift and shift with the weight of his attentions; One hand strokes down her body to find her mound, thumb teasing at her clit while his teeth nip lightly at her her breast's underside.
"Spread your thighs for me, darling," he mutters and mindless, breathless, Molly does just that.
He laughs low in his throat when she does and she stiffens, worry moving through her.
She doesn't like to be laughed at- she's been laughed at before- but when he looks down at her his expression is surprisingly soft. Understanding.
"You're good at this, do you know that?" he says coaxingly and she shakes her head, confused.
She's never been told such a thing before. She doesn't know why he's saying it.
"I'm not surprised," he murmurs softly. "You have such beautiful, perfect tits." He kisses them. "Such a perfect little swell of an arse." His hand comes up to gently knead her rump. "Such a lovely little mouth and such a sweet, clever brain and such a perfect willingness to give me what I need, it's all I can do to laugh at my good fortune…"
And he kisses her deeply, his lips effectively cutting off all her questions.
Within moments they're tangled so tightly together that Molly's astonished they can even breathe.
And just like she had earlier, she gives in to it. Lets the pleasure carry her away. Will works her with his lips and his tongue, mouth on hers. Hands all over her body. His fingers stroke down to find her cunt and when he presses the heel of his hand into her she gasps. Bucks against him. She lets out a long string of incoherent curse-words, each sentence more nonsensical than the last.
"Good girl," he murmurs against her lips and though she suspects she should feel patronised, her cheeks redden at his words. She smiles shyly.
Her grin must please him because he shoots her one that matches it.
And then he turns his attention back to her breasts. Her lips. When he has her mewling and pleading he leaves her upper torso, brings his mouth to that warm, wet, ready place between her thighs. He hooks one leg over his shoulder and then he eats her out, gaze fixed on hers, his jaw and tongue and lips working her until she's thrashing underneath him. Until her fingers are tangled in his hair and she's panting out his name.
"Will." It sounds like a litany. "Please, please, oh please, Will…"
Civility, politeness, cleverness- Everything abandons her. She works herself against his mouth. His tongue. His face.
She doesn't care about anything except the feel of what he's doing to her and what she can do to him.
The bed shakes with the force of them. It rocks. It creaks. She can feel herself climbing the precipice; There's a few moments of madness, of stillness, the eye of the storm reached and then… Then…
Orgasm overwhelms her. It's a wave of pleasure pulling her under. She's adrift in an ocean of it. Cut loose. Set free and floating.
Nothing, she finds herself thinking, (when she can think again), has ever felt this good.
It take her a moment to realise that she's tugged Will's head up to her own. That she's kissing him fiercely, that she can taste herself on his lips. His tongue. He laughs that low bass bark of his again and then he's pulling her to him, positioning himself with his back to the headboard.
He takes his thick, ready cock in his hand and strokes it, tugs it.
He's rough with himself in his arousal.
"Fuck me, darling," he says and at the profanity Molly's stomach tightens into knots. She's confused by her own reaction. And yet- "Fuck me like you want me," he says it again and his voice is breathless. Helpless. Aching.
It's the single most arousing thing Molly thinks anyone has ever said to her.
She hears her voice answer, apparently of its own volition. "Beg," she says and there's nothing soft or gentle in her tone now.
Where did that come from? she thinks.
Aren't I supposed to be boring, prudish Molly Hooper?
Will's head flicks up to hers, bliss flooding his expression he likes what he hears. "Please," he says, and his voice is taut. Earnest. "Please, darling. Please, fuck me."
And he shifts himself, pressing against her. Into her.
There's desperation in his gaze now. Neediness.
It's so bloody beautiful, Molly thinks.
Steadying herself with her hand on his shoulder, she lowers herself onto his prick. Takes him inside her. She's becoming used to him and though the stretch is a slight burn she hisses in pleasure at the feel of him. The fullness of it.
"You feel so bloody good," she murmurs and he nods.
He kisses her forehead.
"You feel bloody good too," he grins, his lip bitten fiercely.
His body is shaking with the pressure of holding himself still.
"Like this, please," he murmurs and his hands come up to her hips, his arms taking some of her weight as he pulls her slightly up. Then down. As he shows her how he wants her to move for him.
"Do you want me to ride you?" she asks and he nods. His pupils are dilated, expression dazed. Delicious.
"Fuck me until I can't remember my own name," he says and Molly nods fiercely. Does as he asks her. She grinds herself up and down on his cock, her breasts bouncing, her breath gasping. His arms tighten around her and he holds her too him. Squeezes her.
The sense of flesh against flesh, of body against body, is almost more than she can bear.
It doesn't take long, pressing and gasping together. His hips piston and hers match him and then orgasm rises in her a second time, washes through her. She's still gasping when Will's own climax comes, his head jerked back and his mouth open wide. She feels it, his hips bucking. His movements ragged and desperate. The heat and wetness of it floods into her, liquid trickling down her thighs as she holds him through the aftershocks. They seem to go on forever.
They're both shivering- shaken- by the time he's through.
His mouth finds hers, his arms going lax around her and she can feel it. The force of what they just did together. The sheer pole-axing power of it.
Perhaps for the first time in her life she realises why some people chase after this sensation so hard.
When they've both stopped shaking he kisses her. Pulls her close and cuddles her into him, just like he's really her boyfriend. Just like they're really together.
"Bareback," he murmurs and his voice is hoarse. Raspy. "Haven't done that in a while- Sorry." He presses a kiss to her crown. "I got a little carried away, there."
"Me too." Molly knows she should be worried- And she might be, if she wasn't on the pill, if she hadn't seen his medical records. If she didn't know how to get access to the morning after pill. Instead she sighs. Smiles. Cuddles closer to him. "Don't worry about it," she says, and again she thinks it: It's almost like she's just had sex with her boyfriend.
The boyfriend she actually wanted.
They fall back asleep, their arms around one another and a smile on their faces.
They seem to be so… at ease with one another, already and it doesn't occur to either of them what a problem that might be.
They awake later and order breakfast. Feed one another toast and coffee and scrambled eggs.
When they're sufficiently sated Sherlock introduces Molly to the joys of shower sex, an adventure which leaves both of them wet but not necessarily any cleaner.
He knows the thought of it is going to make him grin like an idiot the whole damn day.
When they've dried themselves and dressed he pulls out his phone. Looks up what's going on in London and asks what she might be interested in seeing.
After all, a good boyfriend brings his girlfriend out- It's about more than just sex.
Molly laughs when he tells her this, takes his smiling playfulness at face value. She even gives him some suggestions, the sort of things which Sherlock is surprised to realise he actually might enjoy. After all, there's the new Goya exhibit in the National Gallery. The retrospective on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in the Museum of London. And there's always the V&A, the Science Museum. Even the Hunterian probably has something new in…
When he says he's never been to that place before, Molly laughs and kisses him. Tells him she doesn't mind seeing it again, if that's what he wants.
She even knows which underground line they need to take to get there and well, that is pretty much that. Decision made. Off they go.
Arm in arm- except for the random moments when his hand sneaks down to rest on her arse- the two of them sign out of the Dorchester and make their way to Hyde Park Corner Tube station-
While several thousand miles away, in Kuala Lumpur, Irene Adler stares worriedly at her mobile and wonders why her friend Sherlock isn't answering.
She hasn't long to ponder, however, before her employer arrives and she hides the phone.
She's not letting him take this one away.