A/N: hello, sweeties! Part two is here at last! Reviews are loved! I'm sherlolly on Tumblr, feel free to follow me. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I hope this was worth waiting for.
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Molly slid her hands down to the buttons of his purple shirt, an action that quickly made it difficult to focus on anything other than what she was doing. He watched her slim fingers tug open the first button, and the next, and the next…
"Molly," he said.
"Hush," she replied.
"No, listen to me. Are you sure?"
Her answer was to undo the final button and peel the shirt away from his chest. She smoothed aside the layers of material, her dark eyes drinking in the sight of his exposed skin. She ran the palms of her hands down his muscles to the flat plane of his stomach and back up again, watching the expressions that crossed his face. It was obvious that he wasn't used to being touched: every inch her fingers slid along his flesh caused him to twitch. She smiled. "Does that answer your question?" she asked.
"Quite," Sherlock gasped.
She gently pressed him down on the bed until he was stretched out on his back with her straddling him. She continued to caress his bare chest with her fingertips a bit longer before she leaned over him and licked his left nipple. His eyes closed and a low sigh escaped him. She flicked her tongue over the sensitive nub again, then took it into her mouth and very gently sucked on it. He twitched and moaned.
She continued her assault on the other side, then brushed each thumb over a nipple as she trailed her mouth in damp circles from his collarbone to the waistband of his trousers. He was twisting beneath her, breath coming out in small pants. She grinned. He was a babe in the woods, a babe who was about to meet a wolf.
He opened his eyes as he felt her unzipping his trousers, raised his head slightly to watch and discovered that she was staring at him intently. Her eyes never leaving his, she slid them down and off his body. He laid back and shut his eyes again, enjoying the feeling of her touch.
Her hands were hot and soft against his skin as she slipped his boxers down his hips and off his legs, leaving him bare to her gaze. Molly felt a fierce stabbing ache as she sat looking at him, seeing him, all of him, so beautiful like a marble statue that she'd kissed and brought to life.
She curved one hand around his shaft and stroked him slowly and firmly.
Sherlock gazed up at her through half-lidded eyes, full red lips parting to whisper her name. "Molly."
He was about to say more, but she stroked him again, a smooth quick slide of her hand. The words caught in his throat and were replaced by a moan. She bent over him, capturing his mouth with hers at the exact same moment that she caressed him once more. Her tongue slid past his parted lips, explored the inside of his mouth as her hands explored the length of his shaft.
She traveled down his body and back up again, caressing him, getting to know the textures and tastes and sight of him, from sweet and spiced to where he had a tiny patch of freckles on his left shoulder blade. Her hands and lips and teeth and tongue traced the angles of his arms, the clean lines of his legs, the dark curls of hair on his stomach. She stroked his elbows, his eyebrows, his feet. Gently, she wound him into a state of relaxed desire, not stopping her attentions until he was trembling beneath her.
"Molly."
His voice was so dark, so deep it made her shiver. Her hands skimmed down him until they came to rest at the junction of his thighs. She felt him tremble again as she settled her hands on his hips. There seemed to be a questioning in his eyes, something he wanted to say, or to hear her say…
"Sherlock? What's wrong?" She asked.
He glanced away for a second.
"I was… I just…" his voice trailed off uncertainly.
"You want to know if I… if I find you attractive?" Molly hazarded a guess.
He shrugged, a casual gesture, but the casualness was belied by his words. "I've never asked anyone. It never mattered before."
"Oh, Sherlock," Molly said. She kissed him, and taking his face in her hands, looked deeply into his eyes, and said: "I think you're the most gorgeous man in the world, Sherlock."
Her reply stunned him, she could tell. He half looked as if he thought she was pulling his leg. She continued. "You know, when I look at you, I don't just see what you look like. I see the person you are. All that's part of who you are to me. And it just makes you all the brighter in my eyes."
Sherlock's slightly wary expression melted into a warm smile. "Thank you, Molly."
She didn't have time to reply: with a swift catlike movement he neatly flipped them over so that she was on her back beneath him. "What are you playing at?" she laughed.
"It just occurred to me that this arrangement is rather unbalanced," he informed her.
"Oh? How's that?"
Sherlock licked his lips and grinned. "One of us has entirely too many clothes on."
"Too many clothes on, eh?" Molly said with an answering grin. "I guess that would be me, then."
"Well you ARE the only other person in this room, and seeing as how I'm in the altogether, I believe that's a very good deduction on your part," Sherlock said.
She watched as he slid his hands up her body, then down underneath her to unzip her dress, slowly pulling it down to reveal her bra. He raised his eyebrows slightly at the color, but didn't comment except to smile. He leaned back on his heels to consider her. Her breasts were small, firm: he could see the outline of her nipples pressing against the lacy blue cloth. Molly closed her eyes and arched invitingly. And waited. And waited…
After a moment she opened her eyes to look up at him. "Sherlock?"
He sighed. "I'm sorry, Molly. I'm making a complete mess of this, aren't I?"
"What? Why are you saying that!" she sat up and frowned at him.
He plucked at her arms, then dropped his hands to his sides. "I'm not experienced with this."
She smiled and gently brushed a tangle of curls away from his face. "Sherlock… that's not important."
He jerked his head up. "It's not?"
"No. What's important to me is that you're trying; you're sharing yourself with me. I'm not an expert myself, you know."
"You'd never have convinced me of that," he replied.
Molly looked down, turning slightly pink. "Well, I'm a doctor. Research is my specialty." She looked up again when he laughed.
"I see." Sherlock kissed her. "Perhaps I should conduct some research of my own, then."
"Such as?"
He eased her back down on the bed. "Such as, what it feels like for you when I do this…"
He lowered his head and kissed her breasts through the thin material of the bra, causing her to gasp and sigh. He raised his head, a look of pleasure of his face mirroring the expression on hers. "Well, that seems to have been a success."
"It was." Oh, dear heavens, it was.
Sherlock smiled before returning his attention to her breasts, gently kissing and licking them until she thought she would go mad. Just as she thought she could stand no more, he reached under her and she felt his hands at the clasp of her bra. He made a soft sound that was part annoyed, part curious. A few seconds later the bra unclasped and he slowly slid it off her, baring her from the waist up.
Now it was Molly's turn to wonder… how did she look to him?
"You're beautiful."
She looked up almost shyly. "Deducing me?"
"You deduced me too."
Molly nodded. "Thank you," she said with a smile.
He reached down and touched her cheek, slowly trained his fingers from her face to her breasts and followed his fingers with his mouth. He stroked, nuzzled, kneaded and kissed, not worrying as to whether he was doing a good job, simply letting her responses guide him.
"Sherlock…" his name was a caress.
The more she sighed, whispered, and moved against him, the bolder he became. He moved from her breasts to her arms, then her hands and fingers, kissing them, taking the digits into his mouth one by one to suck on them, all the while studying and cataloging her responses. Molly turned her head and pressed his face to her neck. He planted kisses and gentle bites along the soft skin there and was rewarded by a soft cry of pleasure. His lips and hands teased and trailed their way down to her stomach.
She felt his fingers hesitate here as his eyes met hers. Wordlessly she rose up slightly, and he slowly drew her dress down and slipped it off her, followed by her knickers. She lay back on the bed, hands at her sides, watching Sherlock look at her naked form.
He took his time, wanting to savor it: his first moment of seeing her entire body bare before him. The slight slope to her hips, the tiny mole near her navel, the tangled triangle of dark curls between her legs. He wanted to know all of her, every nook and curve, wanted to etch it into his brain so deeply it would leave no room for him to think about anything else.
Nothing else mattered at that moment.
