Thank you all for the reviews, faves and follows. Here's the second chapter; one more on the way. Big thanks to MizJoley for betaing this for me.
Chapter 2 - Vicissitudes -
(vicissitudes: successive, alternating, or changing phases or conditions, as of life or fortune; ups and downs)
She heard him moving through the flat, which was odd, he usually moved without sound. Listening intently, Molly tried to determine what he was doing. It sounded as if he had brought in something heavy. Then he was in the kitchen, opening the fridge door, for some reason. At 5.57 he entered their room.
"Molly…" The way he said her name always caused the same reaction: instant want.
"Hello," she said, sitting up, putting her bare feet on the floor. Nerves were suddenly fluttering in her stomach. "All finished with your errands?"
"Of course." He removed his suit jacket and tossed it in the corner of the room.
All her work… As he toed off his shoes, he unbuttoned his cuffs and she suddenly didn't care about the state of the flat.
"You've had a busy day," he said, his hands traveling to his fly.
Molly watched with rapt attention, eager to see him bare himself for her. He didn't remove his trousers, though. Instead, he untucked his white shirt as he crossed over to her.
Tracing her jaw with his index finger, he tilted her face up to him. "You have something to tell me, don't you?" There was actually a tinge of hesitation in his voice. Did he doubt her? Did he think that she'd changed her mind in the year that had passed? Or was that awful night still playing in his mind? She could see it on occasion, his doubt- his fear. When those memories crept into his conscious Molly always did her best to make him forget, at least for the moment.
"I do," she said.
His finger traveled down her throat, tracing her carotid artery. "We should talk first. We've avoided certain... aspects." He looked regretful. "I should have done this months ago, however, I found myself enjoying you far too much to ruin things with talk of regrets and unfulfilled dreams."
Reaching up, she gripped his hips. "I've made my decision."
"I know. But we must discuss one very important element, Molly."
"Sherlock…"
Quick as lightning, he picked her up, sitting on the bed with her on his lap. Burying his head in her neck, he mumbled, "God, woman, you smell magnificent."
"I'm ready."
"No, you're not. Not even close. But that's another discussion." Pulling back, he looked into her eyes, they'd already changed to a deep, inviting purple. "You want children, my love. If I Turn you, that will be an impossibility."
"You don't think I know that?"
"I don't think you've considered exactly what that means, Molly."
She slid off of his lap onto the floor between his knees. Running her hands up the well-defined muscles of his thighs, Molly looked up at him beseechingly. "I'd love to have a child with you, Sherlock. I'd love to feel them growing in my belly, raise them, teach them, guide them. But I can't. I cannot bring a child into this world and let you watch them die, watch me die. It's simply too selfish. As it is, we'll have to watch all of our family and friends wither and expire. I won't put you through that. And besides, I want to spend eternity with you."
One side of his mouth lifted. "We won't live forever, as it turns out, just a very, very, very long time."
God, that smirk! "Please, Sherlock," she softly begged. "I'm already yours. Make me like you."
His violet eyes softened as he brushed her robe away from her collarbone. "You could never be like me, Molly. You are far too pure." Pushing the fabric further down her shoulder, he said, "You will be the most pristinely perfect vampiric creature ever known and I will worship you. I will devote myself to you- to your pleasure."
Molly moaned at his words, arousal slicking her thighs.
"I am your loyal subject, my dear lady. We have many lifetimes ahead of us and I intend to spend a great deal of that time worshiping at your altar."
"Please," she whispered, desperate for some relief. She'd been in a state of near constant arousal all day. His words, sounding almost disturbingly religious and sexual at the same time, had her ready to knock him on his back and mount him.
"You don't have to beg, though I do love the sound of it. Tonight, my love, I fear I'll be the one begging before you're through with me."
She wrinkled her brow in confusion.
Sherlock chuckled. "You'll see."
What the hell does that mean?
"Move back just a bit?" he asked and she complied, scooting back a few inches. He slid off of the bed onto the floor. It shouldn't have been sexy, but it was. "Turn around."
With less grace than she would have liked, Molly turned, facing away from him, her gown tangling under her knees. After righting the fabric, she waited… impatiently.
He ran his hands down her satin covered hips, drawing her closer until his lips grazed her ear. "I've done extensive research as to how to make your Turning less… traumatic than mine."
This part had worried her. She remembered Sherlock's state when she found him after being attacked. He was barely… no, he wasn't alive at all, was he? His throat had been ripped opened, his mouth covered in blood. Her blood, as it turned out. Miss Adler's. That wretched bitch who had started this whole thing.
It rankled Molly more than she'd like to admit that Irene Adler's blood was actually the first that Sherlock had ingested.
After spurning her advances once again, the Dominatrix had drawn him out with a series of murders, knowing that Sherlock couldn't resist a puzzle. Thankfully, Molly had been with him that evening, though in another part of the abandoned warehouse, examining a body. Adler confronted him and when he refused her she'd taken her revenge and his life. Evidently, even a psychopathic vampire can have a bout of consciousness (that or she hoped in Turning him she'd finally win his now slow beating heart), because moments later she opened her wrist and fed him her own blood. None of this was known until two months ago when Adler was finally found and a confession was wrenched from her unwilling mouth. Sherlock had very little memory of the evening.
Mycroft had come over with a full report of the interrogation, informing them of everything he and his agents had discovered. Sherlock listened stoically, taking it all in, asking only pertinent questions with no hint of emotion.
"She's being held for an indeterminate amount of time, brother," the older man said, sounding regretful and on the verge of violence at the same time. "But in honesty, she'll never be free again."
"Thank you, Mycroft," Sherlock replied without looking up.
The man appeared shocked at his brother's appreciation and Molly wondered if it wasn't the first time he'd ever heard the words.
"Ah, yes, well…" He turned towards Molly. "Dr. Hooper," he said with a nod, then saw himself out.
Sherlock stood abruptly and ran for the loo. Seconds later she heard the sounds of retching coming from the room. Unfortunately, he had fed not a half hour before his brother's arrival. By the time Molly reached him Sherlock was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, blood and bile dripping down his chin onto his shirt.
"Sorry," he croaked. "I… suspected, but…"
Cleaning his mouth with a warm, wet flannel, Molly shook her head. "Don't. Just let me take care of you."
Even though she remembered the evening he was Turned with trepidation, Molly couldn't help but feel excited at the prospect of taking this step with the man she loved.
Stroking her stomach through her dressing gown, he whispered against her throat. "I love you, and I refuse to hurt you."
It always hurt, a little, but she loved the slide of his fangs into her flesh. "I trust you, Sherlock."
"I know. I can't tell you how much that means to me." Drawing her bottom to his crotch, he ground his erection into the crack of her arse.
She bit her bottom lip, trying to contain herself. "Can we… will we be able to drink from each other?"
"Indeed. It won't offer as much nourishment, I'm afraid. That means more blood bags, but the euphoric aspect will remain." He turned her face so that they were looking at each other. "Actually, from speaking to others, it seems that in most cases, that element increases… immensely," he said, a wicked gleam in his eyes.
"Now, Sherlock!"
Standing, he said, "As my queen wishes." He effortlessly picked her up and kissed her breathless or just shy of breathless; he had gotten better at remembering that Molly needed oxygen.
Not for long, she thought as he spun her around and sat her feet on the floor.
He untied her dressing gown, which was barely hanging on, and pushed it to the floor. "I want you one more time, Molly, like this. Is that acceptable?"
Anything, she thought, though she only nodded in response.
"I've been thinking about this evening for a year." His lips descended on her neck, licking, sucking, worrying her flesh between his teeth, no doubt leaving his mark. He always marked her, in many, many ways. "After we make love, I'll drain you, then feed you my own blood. I've prepared for this. It will be unpleasant to die, I cannot lie to you. It…" His eyes filled with tears.
Molly put her hands on either side of his face. "I know, my love."
Tears spilled. "I have to kill you. Oh, God, Molly…" He pulled her to him, holding her so tightly it hurt, burying his face in her hair. "I'm sorry. So, so sorry," he sobbed.
"Shhh. It's okay. I want this. Shhh," she cooed, as she threaded her fingers through his hair. "I knew what I was asking of you, Sherlock. And I'm sorry you have to do it, but…"
He nodded against her neck. "I know… I know…" Suddenly, he pulled back and wiped his tears with his sleeves. She didn't even know he could cry.
Stroking his damp cheeks with her thumbs, Molly said, "Just remember that this is a gift you're giving me. A gift I asked for."
"A gift you're giving me," he said reverently. "Lie down."
She lay on the bed, watching as Sherlock took a step back and turned around. She supposed that he needed a moment to collect himself. That was the most emotion he had shown since he'd come home to her after his blood lust incident. When he faced her once again, he was busy unbuttoning his Oxford. The fear and pain seemingly gone.
"Touch yourself for me, Molly. Make yourself wet for me."
"God, Sherlock, how do you suppose that I'm not already wet?"
He chuckled, a low, filthy sound as he tossed the shirt to the side. "Let me watch you. You know I love it."
Slowly, Molly slipped two fingers past her wet lips. Sherlock growled, quickly palming himself through his trousers before yanking them down. As per usual, he wore nothing underneath. She bypassed her aching clit and slid her fingers into her quim, bucking up to meet her own hand. "Want you," she moaned, as he kicked away the garment whilst holding his hard cock, stroking it methodically.
Crawling onto the bed, Sherlock insinuated himself between her knees. Molly spread her legs wide to accommodate him. "Keep going," he instructed, his voice even lower and more gravelly than usual, as he sat back on his heels, working his shaft.
"I'm gonna come!"
Just before she reached her peak, he pulled her hand free, shoving her fingers into his mouth and humming around the digits. After she'd been completely cleaned of her juices, he lowered his head and sucked her clit into his mouth.
She came within seconds, bucking wildly against his face, unable to form words to praise him for the pleasure she was experiencing. The growl that came from between her thighs was almost enough to send her into another orgasm, but he instantly let go, looking up at her with a satisfied grin. His face was obscenely wet with her arousal.
"I never tire of the taste of your cunt, Molly. It's second only to your blood in my mouth when you're coming around my cock!" Then he was back again, lapping at her lips, sucking them into his mouth, fucking her with his tongue.
His tongue was soon replaced by his fingers and Molly was hurtling toward another orgasm. This time she managed to call out his name as she came around his fingers.
But still, he didn't let up. It seemed he was hell bent on wringing her dry before he even took his first sip of her blood.
As she felt his tongue snake lower, skimming her perineum, she knew he was just getting started. How much more can I take? she asked herself as she felt his thumb enter her back passage.
"Get that look off your face, Molly. I told you earlier that you weren't nearly ready and I meant it," Sherlock said, his head resting on her hip. "Besides, you love it when I play with this naughty bottom."
Somehow, she felt her face heat up even more at his filthy words. But he was right, he knew how to use her entire body. He'd yet to touch her in a way that didn't have her begging for more.
She was just on the brink of another orgasm when he pulled away, leaving her whimpering as his mouth and fingers left her feeling empty.
He moved over her, dragging his cock through her folds. "Are you ready for this?"
"God yes! Sherlock, please!"
He moved forward, plunging himself into her completely. "Perfect," he whispered, his eyes closed, looking completely at peace.
When he opened his eyes seconds later, they locked with hers, now an even more vibrant shade of purple. He didn't blink as he pulled out only to thrust back in hard and deep. It felt as if he were penetrating her with his stare as deeply as he was with his manhood.
"So... fucking... perfect," he grunted, punctuating each word with a thrust.
"More! I want more!" Molly begged.
"You'll have it all, my goddess." He picked up speed, now slamming almost violently into her. Lowering his head to her neck, he whispered, "I'll give you everything."
Molly felt his teeth enter her throat and she was completely lost. He was engulfing her, drinking her essence and pushing her higher than she had ever been before. Ecstasy coursed through her entire body. For a moment she thought she could feel the ends of her hair as the most intense orgasm flared from her core, touching every point of her being.
She waited for it to abate, but it simply didn't. The more he drank, the more she came. Whether it was one orgasm or a series of several, she didn't know. But it didn't stop. Not until…
She felt it again, the feeling of pins and needles. Starting in her fingertips and toes, her ears and the end of her noes. Then her lips. Shortly after, the ecstasy started to fade. It was replaced with a slow dawning.
Oddly, there was no pain as she'd anticipated and as Sherlock had feared. Only peaceful near-nothingness. Near because she could still feel her lover's body on top of hers, still feel his cock inside her. She could still feel his fangs drawing her blood, his lips suctioned to her throat.
There was no sound, however, and no smell. She couldn't manage to open her eyes and her voice seemed to have stopped working. But that didn't stop her from trying to call out to him, to tell him that she was fine… It's okay, my love. I'll see you soon.
Well... she's halfway there, I suppose. The next chapter is from Sherlock's POV. And Molly's a bit... different. Thanks so much for reading. Leave a review and make my day! ~Lil~