[ what if it is a dream? oh, then she doesn't want to wake yet. the pain from earlier has nearly fully faded into the backdrop of quiet gramophone, the scent of opium, the scent of tobacco on Sholmes' clothes and in his hair, and sex. Mammon, with him it all feels new again.
he grinds on her, she grinds on him. symbiotic, ha. but for him to speak means his mouth has come away from her breast—she can't have that.
cupping herself, she puts her other hand to his cheek and with a firm but not painful grip urges his jaw to open. she feeds her breast into his mouth. ]
Perhaps, then, my milk does come.
[ it won't. this isn't really a dream, no matter how dreamy it makes her feel. she wriggles on his fingers to chase the gorgeous full feeling they impart. with his erectipm so firm against her thigh, she's starting to imagine it in... other... places. ]
no subject
he grinds on her, she grinds on him. symbiotic, ha. but for him to speak means his mouth has come away from her breast—she can't have that.
cupping herself, she puts her other hand to his cheek and with a firm but not painful grip urges his jaw to open. she feeds her breast into his mouth. ]
Perhaps, then, my milk does come.
[ it won't. this isn't really a dream, no matter how dreamy it makes her feel. she wriggles on his fingers to chase the gorgeous full feeling they impart. with his erectipm so firm against her thigh, she's starting to imagine it in... other... places. ]