Silhouettes Chapter 11

A few random details: I picked Sussex because the canon indicates that's where Doyle had Sherlock retiring, and I thought it would be nice to get out of London for a bit.

At the moment I am currently working on chapter 17. I think we might end up at a nice, round 20. Hopefully. Initially I'd meant this to be a one shot…then about 15 chapters…and here we are.

Quick note on updates: As I start work next week I'm going to try to A) wrap this up, and B) start posting more frequently. Look for a new chapter as soon as Saturday.

-XXX-

I'm standing before the foyer mirror, arranging my hair, when Dad stops me. For the first time in ages I've done a sort of bun-thing. It's tricky look, and I'm making sure everything is in place before I go out for the day. Pinning bits and smoothing, and so on. He lingers in the threshold, watching me for several moments, then, remembering himself, asks, "Are you going down to you friend's?"

"You mean Ben's?"

Dad visibly winces. "Yes."

I frown at my reflection. "I really can't see why you don't like him, Dad. You've barely met him."

"I've heard enough about him," my father mutters. "He's an odd duck, that one, and I'd prefer if my daughter didn't associate with him. Despite is weirdness, he is a good deal older than you, Viola, and that tends to worry a fathers heart."

"Worry no longer, as I've said before, I'm not seeing him," I say dryly, emphasizing lowly. "So what if he's a bit different? I like that. He's not like everyone else around here."

"That's what worries me."

I turn to Dad. "He's a good person. Interesting, too."

He sighs. "He takes my little girl away from me all hours of the day. Is that enough for you."

"No." I cross to kiss him on the cheek. "Sorry."

Squeezing me gently, my father gives a half-hearted smile, though he still looks pretty unhappy. Satisfied enough, I head for the door, stooping for my shoes and Hugo's leash. But I am delayed.

"Oh, I'd forgotten." Dad moves to the office, popping back out with a few letters. "This came for Holly yesterday. I always forget he doesn't pick up his mail, you know."

"Yes, I know." I take the letters, flipping through. I know all too well.

"It's not nice to look at people's mail Viola Carters!" Dad scolds. "Friends or not!"

I ignore him. There are two letters and a post card. This is odd – Ben's never received anything more than letters, all bland white envelopes address in that girly hand. This dark card is from the British Museum, and features a skull. Intrigued, I flip it over. The address is written in a formal, yet painfully masculine hand. But there is nothing written, no "Enjoyed our London holiday, hope you're doing well, Love Aunt Bev," or anything of the sort. It's simply blank.

"Curious."

The sudden impression that this is a very, very important card falls upon me.

"I've got to go," I say abruptly. "He'll want this."

Hugo is left behind. I take my time about crossing the hills, however, trying not to get too excited. It is probably nothing. Yet, a tightness in my chest makes me think otherwise.

I knock. Ben doesn't answer, so I let myself in. He's dressed today, properly in a suit and shoes. He glances up from the computer swiftly. Something flickers in his gaze. "Viola."

I haven't seen him since he came by and insisted I play the piano. Three days, or so.

"Hello." I shrug off my jacket. It's July, and I'm still carrying around a coat everywhere. "Are you busy?"

The laptop is instantly pushed back. "No," he says automatically.

The question was asked out of courtesy. He's always busy.

"Oh, that's…good. I didn't want to bother me."

"I've tolerated your bother before."

He's in a good mood, then. Though, perhaps a little on-edge. I move from the door into the parlor. Ben rises quickly. Stopping just at the armchair, I finger one of the wing's seams, peering about the room. It's just the same as always – a little messy, but cozy and plain. Ben seems to follow my gaze until it trails back to him.

"What's do I have the pleasure of owing this visit to?" His words are oddly…nice. Not at all Ben.

"I…ah. Letters." I pull the envelopes and postcard from my back pocket.

"Thank you." He accepts, putting them on the table without even glancing at them. Instead, he's still looking at me. In the transfer of mail, his fingers brushed mine, and I now find them being held, tentatively.

He has thanked me again. I'd be concerned for his health – it's a very un-Ben-like thing to thank me from delivering mail – except he seems fine. At the moment he's got a very intent look on his face, very similar to the expressions he makes when in the midst of a particularly thrilling experiment.

Just as he had awkwardly moved my hair and brushed my ear from our last encounter, I feel my stomach and chest warm. I find myself being drawn closer towards him, the hand holding his moving of it's own will. Our fingers combined move to rest against the center of his chest.

I have not been this close to Benjamin Holly for such an extended period of time, ever. We have always maintained a respectable distance. Closeness like this is utterly foreign. From this distance I can smell his cologne, pick out notes of bergamot and lemon and something spicy. My throat catches as I met his eyes. They're strangely bright. I feel lightheaded -

A hand has my chin, and I'm suddenly pressed against Ben, my lips on his. I gasp into him as his lips move against mine. It's a gentle kiss – not especially demanding (as I would've expected from him), or passionate (which I would have never predicted). The warmth in my stomach swells wonderfully. His chest is against mine, the friction of our shirts making soft rustling sounds. The hand at my chin moves down to my waist, serving to pull me closer. I squeak at the motion. It's as if Ben wishes to press me into him, to completely engulf himself in me. He tastes of peppermint and coffee. I inhale.

He pulls back, a little dazed. I'm sure I am reflecting a similar expression. One hand goes to my hair. "Why have you got this bun-thing?" He says this like it's the silliest thing in the world. Like, why ever would I impede his ability to put his hands through my hair with such a style?

Of course Ben would ask. "I don't know –"

The pins are soon removed, and he is running fingers through my locks, inhaling. Presented with the opportunity, I occupy myself with his neck and the space around his jaw. Too soon, he's lifting my head again, lips pressed to mine once more. The kiss is more fervent this time. My response has reassured him – funny, as Ben has never struck me as the type to require reassurance. He works my mouth open, deepening the kiss. I am still shocked, but I respond enthusiastically. This sends Ben into a feverous state. He twists us around so that I am the one with my back to the desk. My bum is pressed against the edge. Around me, he shuts the laptop, then lifts to set me onto the top of the desk. My legs go 'round his waist. His lower lip is between my teeth. Ben tears away to give my collarbone attention.

I've had my share of kisses. But this beats them all. It's as though Ben is predicting what my wants are, what I shall do next, what turns me. He's a perfectly coordinated partner, nothing like the blundering schoolboy kisses I'd had in my youth, or the commandeering attacks of college boys. This is something new and a terribly wonderful. It feels more adult than anything I've experienced before.

Cool hands run the length of my sides. I press into him further. Several of the top buttons of his shirt are undone, and I explore the length of chest before pulling his shirt from his trousers so that I might skim the surface of his abs. His hips buck slightly. A warm hardness presses into me, inviting. It's driving me positively mad. His pelvis grinds into me again, only this time it isn't any brief thrust but an extended relish of motion, something to make me sink weakly against his chest. I make a sound in the back of my throat, something between a cry and a moan.

Ben lifts his head, pausing from his kisses to look at me. He's wearing something of a half-smirk, though it is too gentle to be smarmy. Cupping my face, he strokes my cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. A soft sigh-like sound of pleasure escapes me. Though his pace is too measure for my liking the teasing, slowness of everything brings such a high rise within me. I shift upwards to capture him again, biting his lower lip. The feel of him against me is intoxicating. I want more.

"Ben," I murmur against his lips, smiling into him. "Ben, you're bloody fantastic."

He doesn't respond. At least, not in words. He kisses my jawline slowly, teasing. I curl my fingers in his hair, tilting my head back and arching my back. We're getting carried away. My skin is blazing. Painfully aroused, I am inches from letting my hands wander – wander to where they might give us both relief. I'm scared to go much further. With great hesitation, I pull back. His grey-blue-grey eyes, darker than I've ever seen them, flicker over my face once we've created some distance. Satisfied with what he sees, he allows the space to lie.

I am certain the sight of me hot, bothered, and dying for a release is delightful to him. I can just imagine my kiss-swollen lips and mussed hair. Definitely a pleasing sight for Ben – especially seeing as he put me here. "Arse."

Both of my hands rest on his chest. I straighten the fabric, feeling my skin cool. I can't look him in the eye, but I feel his are intently on my, gaging my emotion.

Something needs to be said. It feels silly to discuss what has just occurred – there really isn't anything to say. You can't thank a person for kissing you. And I've never concerned myself with those post-make-out cuddles. I would wait for him, but knowing Ben –

"Mail!" I blurt, my head shooting up so quickly I almost knock his skull. Despite the added height of the desk, Ben still towers over me. I feel back for the envelopes and postcard, drawing them up. "You haven't – you haven't read your letters! You usually always do, right away."

He casts me a "I-was-a-tad-distracted" look before plucking up the postage. But he simply sets it back on the desk, and leans into me. I have to crane my neck to look at him. Fingers ghost my neck. Evidently he wishes for more distraction. He still looks smug.

I have to all but lock myself to the top of the desk to prevent action on the urge to launch myself at him. I colour. "It could be something important," I say.

"Are you so desperate to send me away?" he asks, lowering lips to my neck. I gasp as a charge is sent through me.

"No. But Ben –" I mouth wordlessly when he nips at the spot where the neck meets the shoulders. The pressure I'd felt against me is there again, tantalizing, teasing. Pressing in just the right way as to make me shift closer, allowing more access. "Oh, Ben, God, -" Another slow grind against me. He's merciless. Manipulative bastard. "We – are going very fast."

"Viola," he murmurs seriously against my skin (how someone can impart such a serious tone while partaking of such behavior is beyond me, but Benjamin Holly manages). "In approximately one month you will be returning to university. Based on the average length of time we spend together in a week that gives us eighty-four hours in one another's company over that month. I would much prefer it doing this –" He assaults my mouth with his in a kiss that makes me weak enough to sink against him in support. "—that reading letters. So do us a favor and shut up."

I open my mouth to protest, to say that we're getting caught up, that I need to talk, that we're going too fast. But he seals his mouth over mine. Soon I'm holding onto him with no intention of letting go. My chest hurts with pleasure. Things are just getting heated when he pulls away, moving towards the stairs, I am left, very confused, on the desk. At the first step he turns back, brows furrowed.

"Coming?"

He doesn't need to ask twice.

-XXX-

WOOOOOOOO, SEXY TIME!

Betcha didn't expect that, eh? Eh?

Okay, so my make-out scenes may not be the best. Sorry my loves. Just in case, anyways, we're gonna put the rating up to M. Though, I'm sad to say there won't be anything steamy in the chapter following this one. Sorry, dearies.

Whatcha think? Questions, comments, concerns, critiques, I take 'em all!