I've decided to do the John / Molly fic
It happened. I took a nap, browsed tumblr, browsed the Sherlock kinkmeme and my fingers had to write down the words.
I have it outlined and planned and I might already have a sequel planned - hahahaha, yeah, I haven't finished the first part yet and I already have a sequel planned, talk about ambitious (stupid) -
John and Molly are going to be fluffy and angsty and I'm excited to find out how much of what's in my head is going to end up in the final story.
So here's the prologue:
She kissed him, to keep the secret from spilling from her lips.
His eyes had been so sad, so unbearably sad and her already bruised heart felt the pain.
There was an eon of a second where he just stood there, motionless. Her lips on his.
She felt her words of apology vibrating in her chest but then he moved. Cupping her head, kissing her back.
It wasn’t tender or delicate. It was sucking the breath out of her. Sucking the life out of her. Her heart thundered and to keep herself from buckling - when had her knees gone weak? - she grabbed fistfuls of his jumper to anchor her to him.
He kissed her with a force and desperation, that made her feel wanted, made her want to shout out “John, John, we’re alive. You’re alive. He’s alive.” But his hands slipped under her blouse, touching her flesh, and the jolt was enough to keep her in this universe they were creating.
If she had any doubt, any fear, any hesitation at all, it vanished when he cupped one of her breasts and whispered “Molly, I...” against her lips.
“Shhh, it’s alright, John,” she replied, tugging at the jumper to get it off him. The desire and the surprise in his eyes made her feel bolder and she guided his hands to take her top off too. The rest of their clothes followed very quickly.
He kissed her again and manoeuvred her to the couch. He was hot and hard and she wanted to touch him everywhere.
The sex was frenzied and urgent but even so there was a gentleness there. The way he slid a palm up her arm, to lock with her hands. Her fingers and his intertwined, as they moved in the same rhythm. The way he looked at her when she came undone, the way he tightened his fingers around hers when he followed.
The way he whispered her name, over and over again. “Molly, Molly, Molly...”
Suddenly, everything was too much. As he laid there, next to her, drowsy and spent, her only thought was escape.
She hastily got up, dressed and ignoring John’s confused “Molly?”, left the flat.
By the time she hailed a taxi, John had come down, was calling her name again.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she whispered quietly as she got into the waiting car.
She couldn’t resist looking back at John’s figure standing in the street, the picture of abandonment and confusion.
What had she done? What had she done?
___
It took him less than a day to show up at her flat. All his calls and texts had been left unanswered. But he was standing right there, outside her flat and she no longer could ignore that. Ignore him.
“Hi,” she said shyly. He looked tired and drawn - he’d looked that way for months - and it was breaking her heart all over again. She wasn’t going to kiss him this time.
“Can I come in?” he asked. She remembered the sensation of that voice rumbling in his chest, vibrating through hers. Her body tingled at the memory.
She stepped aside to let him in.
I have it outlined and planned and I might already have a sequel planned - hahahaha, yeah, I haven't finished the first part yet and I already have a sequel planned, talk about ambitious (stupid) -
John and Molly are going to be fluffy and angsty and I'm excited to find out how much of what's in my head is going to end up in the final story.
So here's the prologue:
She kissed him, to keep the secret from spilling from her lips.
His eyes had been so sad, so unbearably sad and her already bruised heart felt the pain.
There was an eon of a second where he just stood there, motionless. Her lips on his.
She felt her words of apology vibrating in her chest but then he moved. Cupping her head, kissing her back.
It wasn’t tender or delicate. It was sucking the breath out of her. Sucking the life out of her. Her heart thundered and to keep herself from buckling - when had her knees gone weak? - she grabbed fistfuls of his jumper to anchor her to him.
He kissed her with a force and desperation, that made her feel wanted, made her want to shout out “John, John, we’re alive. You’re alive. He’s alive.” But his hands slipped under her blouse, touching her flesh, and the jolt was enough to keep her in this universe they were creating.
If she had any doubt, any fear, any hesitation at all, it vanished when he cupped one of her breasts and whispered “Molly, I...” against her lips.
“Shhh, it’s alright, John,” she replied, tugging at the jumper to get it off him. The desire and the surprise in his eyes made her feel bolder and she guided his hands to take her top off too. The rest of their clothes followed very quickly.
He kissed her again and manoeuvred her to the couch. He was hot and hard and she wanted to touch him everywhere.
The sex was frenzied and urgent but even so there was a gentleness there. The way he slid a palm up her arm, to lock with her hands. Her fingers and his intertwined, as they moved in the same rhythm. The way he looked at her when she came undone, the way he tightened his fingers around hers when he followed.
The way he whispered her name, over and over again. “Molly, Molly, Molly...”
Suddenly, everything was too much. As he laid there, next to her, drowsy and spent, her only thought was escape.
She hastily got up, dressed and ignoring John’s confused “Molly?”, left the flat.
By the time she hailed a taxi, John had come down, was calling her name again.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she whispered quietly as she got into the waiting car.
She couldn’t resist looking back at John’s figure standing in the street, the picture of abandonment and confusion.
What had she done? What had she done?
___
It took him less than a day to show up at her flat. All his calls and texts had been left unanswered. But he was standing right there, outside her flat and she no longer could ignore that. Ignore him.
“Hi,” she said shyly. He looked tired and drawn - he’d looked that way for months - and it was breaking her heart all over again. She wasn’t going to kiss him this time.
“Can I come in?” he asked. She remembered the sensation of that voice rumbling in his chest, vibrating through hers. Her body tingled at the memory.
She stepped aside to let him in.