(because I'm a tease and a whore for feedback)
Somewhere between the idea of another installment of my ficlet series and writing a Riechenbach Epic, the porn bunnies jumped me and sensible writing was abandoned for PWP. I will not apologise.
“Now, every time I look at your mouth, I think,” Sherlock broke off, eyes traveling to my lips, (which I accidentally-subsequently licked), and staying fixedly there. I had a wonderful handful of seconds between that sentence and the next into which fantasies flooded of what might be said next.
“That I’ve violated some principle of myself that I’ve held my entire life.”
He held the silence for a bit, and all fantasy was gone. In the empty space, any notion that what had happened was in any way ‘good’ was obliterated.
His eyes hardened, perhaps noting my reaction, he followed up with: “I would do it again.”
My eyes snapped back up from the shame that had glued them to the floor.
As if he couldn’t stress the point, he added, “And again,” his voice rumbled, his hand kept steady on the countertop. “It’s fascinating - this, this - confliction I have between preserving what I know of myself and becoming something new.”
“If you’re afraid, Sherlock, then perhaps it’s best we forget,” I suggested, feeling ridiculously cliché.
“What?” he asked as though surprised, as if the thought had never occurred to him and was thus beneath his notice.
“Delete it from your mind.”
If possible, his gaze sharpened. He stalked forward, his hand leaving a sweat-print on the countertop. I watched as it slowly evaporated in lieu of Sherlock’s inquisitive prowl. I already knew the roll of his gait could do damning things to me. “Could you?”