Chapter 8: Brainy's The New Sexy
"Of course that's because you lingered too long down there," Sherlock said defensively a few minutes later, of his first ever sexual encounter in his bedroom.
"It's okay for it to be different each time," Rose said gently.
"I don't like surprises," Sherlock stated. He rose from the bed and disappeared into his bathroom for a minute.
Doesn't like surprises, Rose thought in reflection. He likes everything to be the same. How can I get to do anything more adventurous in bed then?
Sherlock returned to the bedroom wearing an old grey t-shirt and long stripey grey pyjama pants.
"Tea, biscuits?" he asked Rose, who was still lounging on his bed and picking something out of her fingernails.
"Um... yes?" answered Rose, thinking that ought to be the correct answer.
"Well, you'll have to cover yourself up a bit," Sherlock said, waving his hand at her and disappearing through his door.
"Oh... are we going out there?" asked Rose, but Sherlock had already gone.
Rose wrapped herself in her dressing gown again and made her way out into the kitchen where Sherlock was busying himself with making tea. Rose walked into the living area asking Sherlock about clients and how much he charged for the consultations.
"That's confidential," he said, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. He would've been happy to tell her the answer, but thought he'd remain as tight-lipped about financial transactions as she had been.
Rose shot him a look, then went to sit down in his grey leather armchair by the fire. Sherlock walked over to the chairs, carrying two tea cups and stopped short, glaring at Rose.
She noticed his expression and asked, "Your chair?"
"Yes," he replied, and stared at her until she moved over to John's overstuffed armchair. Sherlock placed a teacup on a side table next to Rose, and the other on a small table next to his chair.
"Biscuits?" he asked politely.
Rose furrowed her brow. "Biscuits?"
"Biscuits," Sherlock repeated distractedly. He turned and headed back to the kitchen. "I think John hid some somewhere," he stated pensively.
Rose was communicating on a different wavelength. "You mean real biscuits?"
"Yes, what did you think I meant?" Sherlock called back from the kitchen floor, where he was reaching into the bowels of a lower cupboard, quite confident that this was where John had hidden the biscuits.
"There you are," he murmured, when his fingers brushed the packet.
He triumphantly walked back into the living room with the biscuits. Rose was staring at him, with a look of amusement on her face.
"You really meant tea and biscuits, didn't you?"
Sherlock looked at Rose, searching her face. Had he gone mad?
"Tea and biscuits. Yes. Are you a savage? Have you not heard of this?"
Rose laughed. "I thought this was some sort of odd sex game."
"What kind of world do you live in?"
"A world where men pay me to have sex and dress up and indulge in all sorts of sexual fantasies. Yes, I thought tea and biscuits was a euphemism for something sexual," Rose concluded, shrugging. She was unapologetic in her explanation.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow in condemnation. "Well where I come from tea and biscuits is tea," he indicated Rose's cup, "and biscuits." He raised the packet and his other eyebrow shot up at the same time.
"I know. But you are paying me to be here."
Sherlock's face fell. "Don't you want tea?"
"Yes!" Rose picked up her tea cup. "Definitely. Not the biscuits though, thank you. I'm watching my weight."
"Oh," Sherlock commented, sitting down in his chair. "It looks like you've lost a couple of pounds since we first met. Mostly around your waist and your breasts," he said matter-of-factly, waving his hand at her as if she didn't know where her breasts were.
Rose stopped drinking mid-sip and smiled. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, sipping tea, with Sherlock drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair and occasionally shooting Rose questioning glances.
Eventually Rose noticed that Sherlock was wearing pyjamas and remarked that she thought he looked cute. Sherlock was horrified at her comment, thinking that the word cute should only be reserved for puppies and small children.
They went back to sipping their tea again with Rose asking Sherlock why he didn't date.
"It's not really my area," Sherlock replied wearily.
"Doesn't have to be an 'area'," Rose responded. "It just happens."
"I don't see the point. All that matters to me is my work. Physiological needs are secondary. Eating, sleeping," He waved his hand in the air in a vague gesture, "...sex."
Rose was coming to understand Sherlock the more time she spent chatting with him, and she was becoming concerned with his interpersonal skills. "I'm not talking about sex. I'm talking about relationships. It's a psychological need."
Sherlock had been through this before, numerous times, with numerous people, all worried about him being lonely. He didn't need...people. "The only mental stimulation I need is the work. The cases."
"But you enjoy our conversations, you said. And you have a flatmate who shares your cases with you. There must be something in that other than rent relief."
Sharing a flat and cases with John Watson did not constitute a relationship, Sherlock reasoned. He usually just ignored it when people made assumptions otherwise. Of course most people were idiots at best, so it was never an issue worth worrying over. To Rose he stated, "That's not the same as dating."
"It may be the same. It may be closer than you think. All that could be missing is the sex," Roses suggested, casually sipping her tea.
"With John?!" Sherlock asked, horrified.
"With anyone," she shrugged. "All I'm saying is, you're probably more capable of dating than you realise."
Sherlock looked away, his eyes scanning nothing in particular. Capability and willingness were two entirely different things. What a load of nonsense. He returned his gaze to Rose. He thought it was high time for a subject change.
"How about you?" he asked. "Do you date? Is it even possible in your line of work?"
It was Rose's turn to squirm uncomfortably. "That's a personal question."
"Oh, we're back to that," Sherlock remarked, flashing her a knowing look. "Well, I already know you're a student and your major is psychology. A mature age student so you've done other things in your life. Only three other people apart from me know you're both a student and a prostitute so I assume that would be Mark and Cynthia. They'd advertised in some underground spread for university students to make money 'modelling'. Highly likely you met them through that. And the third person is probably a flat mate. Perhaps she worked at the brothel first and encouraged you to do the same. You're moderately attractive, and slightly intelligent. I can see young men asking you out on dates quite frequently. Do you say 'yes' or are you sick of the sight of males lusting after you? Do you bat for the other team? Perhaps. You wanted to give me a freebie, so you must like sex for the sake of sex. Are you in a steady relationship? To answer that question I need to see the underwear you changed out of."
Rose sat in the armchair staring at Sherlock, her tea cup poised to take a sip from, although she hadn't during Sherlock's monologue.
"My underwear?" she repeated.
"Yes," Sherlock responded, eyebrows raised in expectation.
"I think that falls under the category of personal details." Rose returned her cup to it's saucer and glared at Sherlock, hoping that would suffice as a warning to cease and desist.
But Sherlock was in his element now. He had no intention of leaving it there. Narrowing his eyes in scrutiny, he commenced a new round. "The jacket you were wearing..."
"What about it?"
"It's covered in cat hair. You're a cat person. The hair doesn't bother you. You dump your jacket down wherever, your bed probably, and the cat lies on it. It likes your scent. You must be the one who looks after it, wherever you live, whomever you live with."
Rose's expression softened into a smile.
Sherlock continued, "The chain you wore around your neck when you came in—a pendant. Half a love heart. Who has the other half?" He frowned in mock concern. "Could be a former lover, not a current one. People tend to hang onto things. Sentiment. Your bag of books. With the keychain hanging off it. The kind you pick up when you buy of packet of cigarettes. But you don't smoke..."
"What's the point of all this?" Rose interrupted him, looking slightly amused.
"The point is...this is all from one visit from you. One glance into your personal life. You arrived here this morning, in all your private glory. You. Rose. Not Shelley. You didn't arrive naked on my doorstep. This is what I do for a living. A client shows up at my door, ready to dump all of their personal woes on me, and I've already read their profession in their demeanor, their health in their gait and their lies in their fidgeting fingers."
Rose stopped picking her nails in that instant.
"You asked me not to ask you personal questions, but you've just answered half of them by showing up."
Rose stood up, her eyes shining brightly. She unwrapped her robe, and let it fall open as she moved over and knelt down in front of Sherlock.
"That was amazing," she whispered. "Can you read me now?" she asked seductively, sliding her hand across Sherlock's thigh.
This wasn't the usual response to one of his deductions. He assumed the conversation as it was previously conducted was now over.
There was something oddly familiar about this scenario, Sherlock thought.
Irene Adler. The Woman.
The woman who'd called him a virgin. She wore a dressing gown, his dressing gown, although it wasn't open, as she asked him if he'd ever had anyone. She tried, delicately, to seduce him with an obscure invitation to dinner. And he wasn't turned on, not one bit. Was that because he had never had anyone? No experience to draw from? In contrast to this very moment, where he'd had Rose quite a few times now and her open robe was very revealing. The combination of visual stimuli and memories of their sexual encounters to draw on now, he was easily aroused by her.
Sherlock straightened up, and reached down to Rose's shoulder. He pulled at the dressing gown, letting it slip over her shoulder revealing more of her breasts. He just needed to look - obtain stimuli to assist him in remembering her writhing over him, underneath him, because they were particularly pleasant memories weren't they? Sherlock could feel the heat pooling between his legs and his heart rate increasing.
Rose had shrugged off the remainder of the gown, so that she knelt completely naked in front of Sherlock.
Rose's heart skipped a beat when Sherlock had touched her gown, his fingers lightly brushing her skin. This was the first time Sherlock had ever wanted to see more of her and had taken the initiative in order to do so.
Sherlock leant forward, and with one hand, gently caressed Rose's neck, entwining his fingers into the back of her hair. At this close proximity he could smell her perfume. She was never one to apply it by the bucket load as some women did. And for that he had always been grateful. It was very subtle and he found it mixed alluringly with her natural scent.
Rose didn't realise she was now holding her breath, as if the very act of breathing would interfere with every nerve ending in her body poised to receive Sherlock's touch. She felt like she was the recipient in this moment, instead of the instigator. But then she remembered to breathe and her hand recommenced its journey along Sherlock's thigh.
Sherlock stole his free hand to the one Rose was gliding over his leg, not quite all the way to his groin yet, but igniting small fires along the way. She was teasing him. Sherlock's fingers slid along her wrist as he lowered his face to hers.
Although Rose had peeled off the only item of clothing she wore, she had never felt as naked and exposed as she felt right now under Sherlock's gaze and scrutiny, and his face was coming perilously close to hers. She could almost feel his breath making tiny caresses on her neck.
No, don't kiss me, thought Rose, her breathing growing shallow. Yes, kiss me!
But Sherlock didn't. He brought his face closer to hers, then whispered triumphantly in her ear, "You're aroused."
Rose stopped what she was doing. His baritone voice whispering in her ear caused a sensation right through her body, and then she noted his actual words. She slowly stood up. Her face had fallen, she swallowed and turned, walking swiftly toward Sherlock's bedroom.
"Rose?"
He followed her into his room where he found she had grabbed her bag and had locked herself in his bathroom.
"Rose?" he called softly through the door.
"I have to leave. This is not acceptable," she called back, her voice clearly reflecting her emotional state.
Sherlock looked at his bedside clock. "We've got twenty-five minutes left."
Rose opened the bathroom door. She was in her underwear and a shirt that was still unbuttoned. She was flushed and her expression hardened.
"If I'm at any stage made to feel uncomfortable, you have to leave. And since you can't leave, then I have to."
"Uncomfortable?" Sherlock asked. He was confused. He thought he was learning to master this give and take thing. "You were far from uncomfortable. You were aroused. Isn't that a good thing?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly.
"You made me feel uncomfortable by pointing that out."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Aren't you responsible for your own feelings? I was simply stating a fact."
Rose tried to gather her thoughts just as Sherlock quickly scanned her.
"No boyfriend then," he remarked, eyeing her underwear.
"What?" Rose exclaimed, suddenly holding her shirt closed and feeling exposed.
"Now you're feeling modest?" he asked in amazement.
Rose stepped backward into the bathroom and shut the door again.
"Go away!" she yelled through it.
"I'm not paying for the full hour!" Sherlock yelled back.
There was silence, then she opened the door again. "You have to!"
"Where is that written?" he challenged.
"It's understood! You hired me for one hour minimum, so you have to pay me one hour minimum."
"Then you have to stay!"
"Not if you've upset me!" Rose retorted.
"Now you've upset me!" Sherlock shot back. "I have half an erection! Don't I get a refund? You haven't serviced your client! I don't get paid for solving half a case!"
"Now you're being a bully!" Rose stomped her foot as she said, "I knew there was a reason I didn't do call-outs!" She crossed her arms.
Sherlock grinned slightly as Rose's mini-tantrum.
Rose looked down at Sherlock's small, but visible bulge in his pyjamas, and suddenly burst into laughter. She covered her mouth with her hands and walked out of the bathroom.
"I'm sorry!" she said, while still laughing. "You still have a... sort of erection."
Sherlock put his hands on his hips and frowned at her. "That's your doing."
Rose paused and her expression remained bright. "Okay, I'll stay," she said smiling. "On one condition."
"What's that?" Sherlock asked, looking at Rose suspiciously.
"You have to undress me," she announced triumphantly.
Sherlock was suspicious of any idea that involved him doing things to Rose. There was always that new danger of her, heaven forbid, enjoying herself. He voiced his concerns and she advised him to kindly not point that out in future. She told him with a certain amount of encouragement that this would be good experience for him.
"You have to once in your life learn how to unhook a woman's bra. Learning how to do it with one hand is even better," she added.
Sherlock smiled slyly. He loved a challenge. Something he could perfect and be the best at.
"One handed, you say?"
"Again," Rose gasped as her bra popped open.
She reached back and fastened it again as Sherlock chuckled to himself. He had easily managed the one-handed bra unclasping challenge, his deft handiwork even impressing Rose.
"Now don't forget some bras fasten at the front, so if the strap feels smooth back there, then the clasp is most likely in the front. And if there's no clasp at all, then don't fuck her!"
"Why?" Sherlock asked, managing the task for the fifth time without effort.
"Because it means she's very practical and not worth the fuck."
Sherlock looked down at Rose's face as she smiled up at him. That statement meant nothing to him. And although he had met the challenge, he couldn't actually see how it would be useful to him at all. Just where was he going to meet all these women with bra fastener mystery locations that he would be interested in having sex with? Such a scenario was so not on the horizon for him.
"Now finish taking it off," Rose said.
Sherlock grasped both shoulder straps and pulled them downwards, slightly jerking Rose forward in the process.
"Ow, hey, slowly! Try that again."
"What's the problem?" Sherlock asked, bending down and picking up Rose's bra.
"Slowly and sensually."
Sherlock shrugged and raised his eyebrows, not understanding. He held out the bra as Rose put her arms through the straps, then fastened it at the back again.
"When you pulled my dressing gown off my shoulder earlier, why did you do that?"
"I wanted to see your breasts a bit better," he stated matter-of-factly.
"Why?"
"Because...they reminded me of having sex with you and just seeing only part of them got me aroused."
"Good," Rose responded, looking at Sherlock rather proudly. "Just a hint was enough to get you aroused. So, taking my bra off slowly is a bit like that. A hint at first, then more is revealed. It's a turn on for you. That's why at the beginning of our first ever session I started undressing slowly for you. Remember that?"
Sherlock thought for a moment. "Oh!" he exclaimed, enlightened at last. "A hint!" he added, his eyes sparkling. "The expectation. A promise of what's to come!"
Rose laughed. "Yes. A promise. Again? And this time let me take your t-shirt off next, okay?"
"Ready," said Sherlock, brow furrowed, waggling his fingers as if to warm them up.
Rose bit the inside of her cheeks to prevent herself from laughing.
Sherlock moved toward her again, hands extended.
"Wait!" Rose said suddenly.
"What now?"
"Just do it as you're embracing me. It kind of goes with making out...which we're not going to do, so just hug me."
Sherlock tutted and rolled his eyes. He moved closer to Rose, pulling her in for a hug as she put her arms around his neck. Rose found herself in the uncomfortable position of getting goosebumps with the unfamiliar feeling of Sherlock gently embracing her, caressing her back and breathing lightly onto her neck. One hand ran down sensually along her spine, as the other had effortlessly unclasped her bra. She hadn't instructed him to run his hand down her back like that? A quick huff from Sherlock told her that he had grinned in triumph.
"I distracted you with what my left hand was doing," he whispered in her ear, sending more shivers up and down her body.
Rose closed her eyes and thought, Get a grip, Rose, this is not about you! To Sherlock she whispered back, "Yes, I felt what you did there."
Slowly pulling out of the embrace, Sherlock gently glided his hands up to Rose's shoulder blades, then along her shoulders, slipping the straps off along with them. Rose dropped her arms from around Sherlock's neck so that her bra slid away from her and fell to the floor. Rose then slid her arms under Sherlock's t-shirt, edging it up, and caressing his torso then his back at the same time.
Rose knew her heart rate was going to increase the moment Sherlock returned his arms around her. He was copying what she was doing to him—caressing her bare back. And she could feel his breath on her neck again. She felt her legs weakening. God, that feels so good, she thought. Not the grabbing, rubbing demanding touch most of her clients had. Stop it Rose, stop enjoying him!
She quickly pulled Sherlock's shirt up, and he obediently raised his arms which meant they were no longer touching her back. Thank goodness, she thought, as she lifted the shirt over his head. Now his hair was all tousled. Her eyes roamed over it for a second, feeling small flutters of desire in her belly. My sweet Lord, thought Rose, immediately wanting to run her hands through his curls. What's wrong with me?
"Okay, excellent," she said, stepping back as if the cameras had stopped rolling and it was time to have a tea break. "Let's just finish this off okay? You're erect? Good. Let's just do this."
She reached into her bag and slapped a condom packet down onto Sherlock's bedside table. Then she pulled her knickers down and stepped out of them as Sherlock tilted his head slightly wondering why it had all ended so abruptly. He was really enjoying himself.
"What?"
Rose sat on the bed and moved to the middle, knees bent and looked at Sherlock expectantly.
"Come on, pants off," she said, then she patted the mattress beside her.
"Oh, I thought we were doing the slow and sensual thing," Sherlock commented, pulling his pj bottoms down.
"We were. Great job! Next week, we'll work on knickers and boxers!" she exclaimed with fake enthusiasm.
Sherlock eyed her suspiciously then got into bed next to her.
"Same again?" she said, smiling at him.
"No," he said. "Straight to phase three." He reached beside him and grabbed at the condom, passing it to her. At her puzzled look, he stated, "Phase one is you sucking me off, phase two is you on top, and phase three is me on top. I missed out earlier."
Rose smiled faintly, lay back, wrapped her legs around Sherlock as he positioned himself on top of her, then she expertly ripped opened the packet and rolled the condom over Sherlock's full erection while he'd tilted to the side.
"Um, shouldn't we...oh!" I guess he counts unclasping my bra half a dozen times as suitable foreplay, Rose thought as Sherlock entered her. Thank goodness for extra lube condoms.
Sherlock's breath was upon her neck again, and as she moved in time with him, gently pulling on his hips, she imagined, again, running her fingers through that perfectly tousled hair. And instead of his breath cooling her neck, she imagined his kisses, maybe little nibbles (no biting, remember!) and... what's he doing with his hand?
One of Sherlock's hands was positioned on her side, which he then ever so carefully slid upwards, stopping on the side of her breast. His thumb then gently caressed her there, lightly flicking over her nipple.
Rose's breathing grew shallower as she swore she felt Sherlock's lips brush her neck, not just his breath. Left feeling unsatisfied and without thinking too much at all, she tilted her pelvis into him, so that she could really feel him.
Just there - oh - you - wonderful, gorgeous - oh!
Rose's hands were suddenly in his hair. She pressed his head down so there would be no doubt in her mind that his lips were now on her neck. And his hand was now fully massaging her breast, as ripples of pleasure ran up and down her body. She found herself yielding to his touch.
It wasn't enough for Rose. She wanted to become lost in his embrace, his scent, his hands, fingertips and tongue; all finding small pleasure centres she had kept buried deep. She moved underneath Sherlock, encouraging him, pulling at him until he also began to moan.
Oh my God, thought Rose in a panic. What am I doing? She tilted her pelvis again so she was no longer in danger. Her hands ran along Sherlock's back to his hips and buttocks so she could help him climax. It couldn't be about her now. What a fucking idiot. Nearly lost it there.
With a final few thrusts, Sherlock had finished. Rose swallowed hard, her heart still beating wildly. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck as his body relaxed on top of her. She still cradled him with her thighs. Sherlock was still breathing into her neck as he whispered, "Rose, let go now."
"Sorry," she replied, unwinding her arms.
He rolled off and lay down next to her, still breathing hard.
"Excellent," he whispered.
.
UPDATE 13th Jan 2016: This chapter has been edited to be consistent with changes made to chapter 1.
