Re: Nocturne - John/girl!Sherlock pt 3
anonymous
October 24 2010, 04:46:52 UTC
She lets herself tip back onto the bed. The robe's a lost cause now, spread across the bed beneath her. She is, indeed, naked beneath it. Gloriously, perfectly naked and he's staring. Staring at her without a thought in his head beyond incoherent lust.
"That's cheating," he manages.
Her look of innocence is well practised, but not enough. He doesn't buy it for a second. Knows her too well to believe it.
"Not if you know why I'm doing it," she says, fingers tapping out time on her thigh. He lets himself watch those fingers, amazed he can do so all things considered, and they shift from tapping to a slow, lazy circle. One that widens with every rotation, sliding ever closer to dark curls.
"Oh, even then."
She huffs a laugh. "Fine, if I tell you, then will you promise to demonstrate cunnilingus?"
"You mystify me," he says, laughing. "You're trading sex for an honest answer?"
"If it will work," Sherlock nods firmly, "yes." And means it.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. "All right, then, deal."
"You surprise me," she says, and she's honest. "Do you know how rare that is? No one surprises me, really."
"Not even Moriarty?" he asks, remembering the enthralled look on her face at St. Bart's. That moment in the lab when she'd put it together and the name Carl Powers had crossed her lips. Moriarty had fascinated her.
"No, especially not," she says, waving her hand. "There are so few differences between he and I. Clever to be sure, but no, not a surprise. You surprise me."
"I surprise you?" he echoes. "Really?"
"Really. There's always one thing, John. Always." A faint grin of wonder tips up the edges of her mouth. "With everyone else. There's always that one thing I miss or misread. With you? There are a thousand, a million, and I never quite know. Quite maddening, really, but that would be typically you, wouldn't it?"
He doesn't quite laugh. Not quite. Instead, he crawls onto the bed with her. He's not sure he has a choice in the matter. Not with the way her eyes seem to be drawing him in. "We're not done, you know," he says. It's as much token protest as anything, but he feels the need to say it.
"No, John," she says, spreading her legs for him. For him.
"You know it doesn't matter, right?"
She scowls. "Of course it doesn't, John. As if the opinions of those two simpletons could ever mean anything." As maddening as it is that she does this, there are moments like this when John loves it all the same. Half-spoken conversations conducted in fragmented sentences and sideways glances. There's something wonderfully insular about it. In all the world, he's the only one who gets to do this, who's allowed to do this. He's been let behind the wall and the power of that's a heady thing. Makes his head swim.
No, no, that's Sherlock's mouth on his doing that. She has made a proper study of it. There's no hesitation in it, not in the way she catches his face between her hands, drawing him down atop her with the same movement.
"Experiment, my arse," he mutters into the kiss.
"Well," she laughs, voice rough, "it very nearly worked." She presses a quick, lighter kiss to his mouth, then his jaw, heading for his ear. "I'd all sorts of scenarios worked out."
That she's been plotting doesn't surprise him in the least. That she's been plotting this absolutely astonishes.
"And what were the others?"
She gives a grin, pushing him downward. "Be a very good boy about this, John, and you might find out."
"That's cheating," he manages.
Her look of innocence is well practised, but not enough. He doesn't buy it for a second. Knows her too well to believe it.
"Not if you know why I'm doing it," she says, fingers tapping out time on her thigh. He lets himself watch those fingers, amazed he can do so all things considered, and they shift from tapping to a slow, lazy circle. One that widens with every rotation, sliding ever closer to dark curls.
"Oh, even then."
She huffs a laugh. "Fine, if I tell you, then will you promise to demonstrate cunnilingus?"
"You mystify me," he says, laughing. "You're trading sex for an honest answer?"
"If it will work," Sherlock nods firmly, "yes." And means it.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. "All right, then, deal."
"You surprise me," she says, and she's honest. "Do you know how rare that is? No one surprises me, really."
"Not even Moriarty?" he asks, remembering the enthralled look on her face at St. Bart's. That moment in the lab when she'd put it together and the name Carl Powers had crossed her lips. Moriarty had fascinated her.
"No, especially not," she says, waving her hand. "There are so few differences between he and I. Clever to be sure, but no, not a surprise. You surprise me."
"I surprise you?" he echoes. "Really?"
"Really. There's always one thing, John. Always." A faint grin of wonder tips up the edges of her mouth. "With everyone else. There's always that one thing I miss or misread. With you? There are a thousand, a million, and I never quite know. Quite maddening, really, but that would be typically you, wouldn't it?"
He doesn't quite laugh. Not quite. Instead, he crawls onto the bed with her. He's not sure he has a choice in the matter. Not with the way her eyes seem to be drawing him in. "We're not done, you know," he says. It's as much token protest as anything, but he feels the need to say it.
"No, John," she says, spreading her legs for him. For him.
"You know it doesn't matter, right?"
She scowls. "Of course it doesn't, John. As if the opinions of those two simpletons could ever mean anything." As maddening as it is that she does this, there are moments like this when John loves it all the same. Half-spoken conversations conducted in fragmented sentences and sideways glances. There's something wonderfully insular about it. In all the world, he's the only one who gets to do this, who's allowed to do this. He's been let behind the wall and the power of that's a heady thing. Makes his head swim.
No, no, that's Sherlock's mouth on his doing that. She has made a proper study of it. There's no hesitation in it, not in the way she catches his face between her hands, drawing him down atop her with the same movement.
"Experiment, my arse," he mutters into the kiss.
"Well," she laughs, voice rough, "it very nearly worked." She presses a quick, lighter kiss to his mouth, then his jaw, heading for his ear. "I'd all sorts of scenarios worked out."
That she's been plotting doesn't surprise him in the least. That she's been plotting this absolutely astonishes.
"And what were the others?"
She gives a grin, pushing him downward. "Be a very good boy about this, John, and you might find out."
Reply
No arguments here if you want to go on but I think it's brilliant as is. <333
Reply
Reply
Reply
*blinks at Captcha: Harrison ofirwat
Reply
Leave a comment