Rating: M. Like, proper M now.
A/N: Yeah, IDK… This was supposed to be a one-shot. But well, then this just sort of …happened. It's been about 8 YEARS since I wrote anything close to this amount of detailed naughtiness, and it turned into a 3600+ word monster. *Le sigh.* Here be smut, people.
By the time they get back to Baker Street, the nerves have returned full force. For her, if the way she no longer is meeting his gaze is anything to go by, but also for him. It has, after all, been years since he's even thought of indulging in anything close to sentiment, to sex, and never with someone he has loved.
Because, yes, he realises it now, he does indeed love Molly Hooper. It appears the idiom of first time for everything rings true, even for him.
The front door closes behind them with a quiet snick, and they manage to get halfway up the stairs before the shrill voice of his landlady-cum-housekeeper coos up to him from her own flat. "Sherlock? Is that you dear?"
Sherlock rolls his eyes, squeezing the hand he still has clasped in his briefly. He has yet to let go of her, thinking back on the evening's events, since he grabbed it and they hightailed it out of his brothers club. The sound of Mycroft's irate voice had echoed loudly in Sherlock's ears, even as he rushed them both out the door and into the cab that appeared the moment he set foot on the pavement.
Sometimes, having half the cabbies of London on retainer is really quite useful.
Mrs Hudson has made it to her own door now, and stares up at the two of them. Her eyes fixate on the hand he still has clasped in his own, and Sherlock again squeezes it in reassurance.
"Yes, Mrs Hudson. Evening."
"Oh, Molly. Sherlock didn't say you would be coming over. I would have gotten some biscuits in had I known. God knows there's never any in his flat." Turning her head slightly, she speaks more directly to him now. "Do you want me to bring up some tea dear? I could make a fresh pot for you?"
Another time, he would have accepted. But at his landlady's words Molly has ducked her head, and a slight blush has risen to her cheeks, and Sherlock is suddenly filled with a desire to know just how low said blush dips down under her collar.
Starting up the stairs to his flat once more, all but dragging Molly with him, he calls over his shoulder, "Not at this time, Mrs Hudson. Should we be in need of anything, you will be the first to know. Please don't let us keep you from your herbal soothers. Goodnight."
He shuts the door before anything more can be said, locking it just to be on the safe side. Dropping Molly's hand at last, he gives her a small, sheepish grin. "She still has a tendency to barge in unannounced."
Molly just looks at him, and he sighs. Ducks his head. Sure, suddenly, that he has already managed to completely cock up this whole evening. Turning his back on her, he shrugs out of his coat and pulls off his scarf, his hand coming up to rub over his nape. He knows the movement gives away his nerves, but if he cannot be himself with Molly, there really is no one he can be himself with.
He is so lost in his own thoughts he doesn't hear her come up behind him. When he feels her rest her hand against his back, he jumps. Instantly, the contact goes, the creak of the floorboard informing him of her slight retreat, and he hears her stutter, "Sorry. Sorry, I just…"
Before she can finish, he has turned around. She is biting her lower lip again, and it sends blood southwards towards his cock once more. With a barely concealed growl, Sherlock crosses the small distance she had created when she dropped her hand from his back, and sweeps her up against him. Before he can breathe, before he can think, his mouth descends hotly against hers, demanding entrance, and he moans when she parts her lips for him once more.
Not willing to break contact, not even for a second, he guides them back slowly through his living area until he feels the sofa against the back of his legs. Dropping down, he pulls her with him, settling her so she is straddling him across his lap even as his lips, tongue and teeth continue to feast at her mouth. No longer needing to guide her, his hands slip from her wrist to her back, pulling her closer, firmer, against the hot bulge feeling ever more confined in his trousers.
His earlier thought of having Molly ride him flashes through his mind, and he groans.
"Molly…" He breaks the kiss, moving his lips down the column of her throat to her clavicle, before nibbling on the bone there. Pressing his forehead to her shoulder, he shudders. "God, Molly, I want…"
He pauses, trying to regain some semblance of control. A feat which is completely shattered when she pushes herself back slightly, and her eyes latch on his. He can see the desire in her gaze, the dilation of her pupils having nothing to do with the slight darkness they find themselves encased in. Neither of them had thought to turn on the light as they entered, and he's not about to let her up now to go and fumble with the switch.
Her hands have returned to his hair, his curls in complete disarray, and he really does not give a fuck about that. Especially when, desire soaking her tone, she husks, "What Sherlock? What do you want?"
Capturing her mouth once more, he nibbles on her lip for a moment, before tearing himself away. "You."
To emphasise his point, he pulls her sharply up against him, his hips thrusting up slightly to press his erection against her centre. He is rewarded by the sweetest mewl he has ever heard, and is suddenly determined to makes her make that sound again.
All night, if he has anything to say about it.
Her hand guides his head back down to hers for another breathless kiss, the need to breathe the only thing that manages to eventually separate them, minutes or hours later. Panting against where her neck meets her shoulders, he slides his hand round to her back, before sliding them down to the hem of her jumper.
He glances at her for a moment, pleased when she gives a small nod of her head, before letting his hand sneak under the soft wool. He feels the cotton of her shirt, and slips his hand under that too, searching for skin. The moment both layers move out of the way and his hand meets the softness of her back, he lets out another groan.
"Want to see you." He punctuates the words with soft nibbles on the tendon of her neck, pleased when she lets out another mewl at the movement.
With renewed effort, he slides his hands around to her front, pulling both layers away from her body as he does so. Once free from her jeans, he moves his hands to her slides, sliding them and both layers of material up her torso as he does so.
His hands come in contact with the lower border of her bra, and he stills. Pulling back slightly so he can catch her gaze, he asks timidly, "Is this ok?"
Molly nods, eyes screwed shut, and he stills. The lack of movement catches her attention, and she opens one eye slightly. "Why'd you stop?"
Serious now, he lets his hands stroke the soft skin of her sides, teasing the edge of her bra. "You know you're beautiful, right?"
Her eyes open wide, almost comically, at this, and he sighs. Closing his own eyes for a moment, he opens them once more and fixes his gaze on hers. "You have always been beautiful."
"Oh."
One of his hands slips from beneath her clothing to trace over the contour of her cheekbone. A tendril of hair has fallen over her eyes, and he reverently tucks it back behind her ear. Leaning forwards, he catches her mouth with his again, only this time the kiss is tender. Gentle. Loving. He pours all the emotions, all the feeling, all the sentiment he has always felt but been unable to vocalise into that one kiss, and hopes she gets the message he is trying to tell her.
The way she slides her hands up to cradle his cheek in her palm, he thinks he might just be doing something right for once when it comes to her.
She pulls away first, a shy smile on her face. He watches as her lower lip once more gets caught between her teeth, and he groans. Pulling her forwards slightly once more, the next kiss he bestows on her is altogether less chaste. Lips gives way to teeth and tongues, and then he is gasping, pulling her against his aching cock once more, desperate for friction.
Molly gasps in return, pressing herself against him firmer than he was pulling her, and they both let out a lust filled moan at the contact.
"Want you."
"Need you."
The words are spoken simultaneously, and then there is just a mass fumble as they both try to disrobe each other. He has managed to push her jumper and shirt up, exposing her bra to his gaze, while she has managed to get most of the buttons on his dress shirt undone. Her hands slip into the opening of his shirt, her hands brushing over his sensitive nipples, and he draws her own nipple into his mouth in retaliation, not even bothering to move the fabric of her bra out of the way before he does so.
She keens at the move, her hand snaking around to his nape and pressing his mouth firmer against her breast, and he uses his teeth to nip at her covered flesh. While one hand keeps her steady, the other reaches behind her to fumble with her bra clasp. Growing frustrated when it remains stubbornly closed, something that never seems to happen in any of the movies, porn or otherwise, John has stored on his laptop, he tries to move his head so he can see what the heck is causing a problem. Before he can do more than release her nipple however, Molly's small hands are there, pushing his own away, and then he feels when the clasp gives way, the cup of her bra becoming lax against her breast.
With a soft kiss to the swell of her chest, he pulls the now unwanted material away, before sucking her rosy tip into his mouth once more. His other hand comes up to caress and tease her other nipple in tandem, and, only when she is gasping against his hair, her hips gyrating against his groin, does he switch.
Molly lets out another mewl at that, and he cannot help the wicked grin he shoots her at the sound.
"Git."
Her gasp is music to his ears, and he latches onto her neck once more, lapping up the faint taste of salt from her sweat. "Mmmm."
"Fuck, Sherlock, don't stop."
He pulls back slightly, ignoring her whine of protest, to look at her. Hair flung back over her shoulder, eyes nothing more than deep pools of desire, nipples pointed and rosy from his ministrations, she is nothing more than his every wet dream come to life.
But still, he has some standards. And while he had been prepared to fuck her against his brother's desk about an hour ago, now that he has her here he's not about to let go of his control on the sodding couch.
He waits until she manages to stop panting against his skin, moving back to meet his gaze with hers. Letting his hand trace down her spine, smiling when she arches her back at the move, he rasps, "Bedroom?"
"Oh god, yes please."
He grins, a deep, dark desire laden look, before pulling her more firmly against her. It takes him a couple of tries, but then he stands with her still encased in his arms, her hot centre still positioned directly over his dick, and her exposed chest pressed up against his.
He starts to move towards his bedroom, only to falter slightly at the sensation of her teeth at his neck. Turning, he presses her against the wall, ducking down to take possession of her mouth once more. She bucks her hips into his, and he lets out a feral growl at the spike of need the motions elicits in him.
Her hand traces down against his skin, scorching him with her touch, and he bucks against her once more. "Fuck, Molly."
She grins wickedly at the curse, and then his eyes roll backwards and it is all he can do to stay upright when her hand reaches down and strokes him through his trousers.
He needs her naked.
Now.
With a groan, he pushes away from the wall, striding with intent towards his bedroom. Molly makes this task at least three times harder, no pun intended, by continuing to stroke any part of him she can reach with any part of her she desires.
By the time he has managed the scant few yards from his sofa to his bed, his trousers are undone, his shirt pushed down his arms as far as it will go, and her small hand is making very good friends with his pulsing cock.
Depositing her on the bed, all finesse and style lost in the waves of lust, he shucks the cumbersome material from his body, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his socks as he does so. Molly is not idle, and by the time he is left in just his briefs, she is lying naked, panting at him.
Sherlock stops, eyes tracing over her perfect form, a spike of need shooting through his veins like a drug. Jesus, but she is beautiful. Crouching down between her legs, pleased when she parts them further without prompting, he inhales, the scent of Molly drowning all other senses.
He needs to taste her.
Parting her folds gently with his finger, he swipes his thumb through her wetness, loving the growl the move provokes until he realises the noise came from his own throat. Molly groans, and he shoot her a small smile, brushing his thumb against her clit lightly again, relishing in the noises she makes. Bending his head, he lets his tongue follow the path of his thumb, feeling more than hearing her keen as she presses his mouth firmer against her sopping opening.
Darting his tongue out, gathering more of her exquisite taste, he slowly pushes one finger into her channel, feeling her inner muscles grab at the intruding digit. Withdrawing slowly, he gathers some more of her moisture and returns to her centre, using two fingers to push into her this time.
Molly wails, the harsh cry falling from her lips even as he takes her clit into his mouth and gives it a gentle suck. Pulling away for a moment, he takes in the sight of her, spread lewd across his mattress. His cock gives an answering throb at the pull of her internal muscles, and it takes everything in him not to rut into the mattress until he comes. God, he has never been this hard in all his life.
Renewing his efforts, he again plunges his fingers into her, curling them slightly to brush against her walls. Molly wails, his name interspersed with guttural cries and moans, and he is sure this sight is one that will never leave him. He can already feel a new wing forming in his mind palace, cataloguing each and every reaction into its own room.
"Close." Molly's gasp makes him smirk, and he presses another finger home, stretching her further in preparation for his cock.
Her eyes are screwed shut, hips riding the rhythm his hand has set. "Fuck, Sherlock, I need to come."
"What do you need?" His voice is a desire filled rasp, eyes darting over her body constantly, drinking in each reaction she has to his every move.
"My clit. Suck. I need…"
Sherlock wastes no time, drawing the small bundle of nerves back into his mouth, even as he quickens the pace of his fingers within her. Using his teeth, he grazes over the tip of her clit, and, with one final deep push and one final curl of his fingers, he feels her come.
His name is a soft whine, her thighs trapping his head against her flesh, keeping him there even as he hears her throws her head back against his pillows. Gentling his movement, he continues to thrust his fingers in her hot channel, drawing the sensations out for her as long as possible.
Eventually, she relaxes, her legs falling away, and he pulls back. Sliding his hand out of her, he idly licks her essence from his fingers, letting out a soft moan as the taste of her fills his mouth. Chancing a glance down, he sees her watching him intently, eyes black with lust.
Quirking his brow, he offers her his mostly licked clean hand, and groans when her tongue darts out. Her hand reaches up and pulls his fingers to her mouth, and he can only watch in awe as she finishes cleaning his digits for him.
"Christ, Molly."
She moans, reaching for his now pounding dick. Her hand feels cool against the raging heat of his cock, now blushing a deep purple with the extra blood flow, pre come dripping from his slit. Sherlock can only watch in a lust filled haze and she swipes her thumb against him, smearing a pearl of his own essence across the digit, before licking it clean.
Twice more she repeats the process, her hand encompassing him more on each pass, until her fist circles the head of his cock and she squeezes him just so.
"Molly…"
Her name is the limit of his vocabulary, and he pants into her shoulder.
He feels her push back against him, and he rises above her, concern in his eyes. Concern that fades away when she gives him a sin drenched smile, and asks, "Condom?"
He groans, pushing back from her slightly to be able to reach his bedside drawer. Pulling it open, he lets out a cry of success when his hand closes over the desired box he had bought after the whole Sheringford incident. Just in case. Pulling a foil packet free, he tosses the box back and slams the drawer closed.
With the smallest amount of fumbling he can manage, he dons the latex sheath, before running the tip of his prick through her heat. Molly gasps as he brushes over her clit, and he does it again, pleased when this time it makes her mewl once more.
Taking a breath, he guides his tip to her entrance, pausing there once he's aligned. Gently slipping his fingers through one of her hands, he whispers, "Are you sure?"
"Huh?" She blinks owlishly at him, tilting her hips and making the tip of him slip inside.
He draws back, gasping at the sensation. Needing to give her this one final chance, knowing he will be lost after this, he moans, "We can still stop, if you need to."
But Molly just shakes her head. Pulls him closer. "Fuck, Sherlock, if you stop now I swear to god I'll kill you." When he still hesitates, she moans. "Please. Fuck me. I need you inside me."
He groans. Slipping just the first few inches of himself inside, he feels her muscles ripple and clutch at his shaft before he completely withdraws. He does this for five or more times, pulling himself fully out of her on each thrust, before pushing himself in once more.
The sensations are drowning him, filling his senses, and all he can see, all he can feel is Molly. And then she reaches down, and on his next thrust in she tilts her hips and pushes against his butt and he is embedded in her to the end of his length with no warning, pushing against the end of her walls. They both let out a grunt, and he stills for a moment, desperately trying to draw breath.
"Move. God, please, Sherlock. You have to move." Her words are moaned on a cry, and he is helpless to do anything but obey. Drawing back slowly, he pushes back in at the same speed, feeling her muscles ripple and swell against him. He gasps, sucking in air harshly, before repeating the move.
Molly, for her part, is not idle. He can feel her hands trace over his spine, through his hair, pulling him closer to her, urging him on. Her hand brushes against his balls, making him surge in that much quicker, and she lets out a huff at the move. "Christ, yes. More."
Her lips land on his neck, and he feels her suck against his skin. And then it is too much, and he loses control. Thrusting into her, hard and deep, making them both moan and cry out as he bottoms out on each thrust. His mouth bends down, latching on any part of her skin he can reach, knowing he is marking her but unable to care.
Dimly, he is aware of her hand sneaking between their bodies, brushing against her own clit, calling his name as she does so. Her inner muscles continue to grasp at his length, until, after a particularly deep thrust, he feels them ripple uncontrollably. Molly lets out a small scream, before his mouth covers hers, swallowing her wail of passion.
It only takes him another few thrusts, and then his balls draw up tight, and pleasure unlike any he has ever known fills him, and his mind falls finally, blessedly, quiet.
Thoughts?