[Her hands rove, leaving a sensorial trail of warmth, and it feels good… Not even the ridge of an old scar beneath her palms, collected from old cases, from this version of Sholmes. He has not yet experienced them.
With greatest effort, he frees his arms. Tosses his shirt aside with minimal effort, and it ends up hanging off the edge of the chaise.]
There—
[Triumphant. She can now adore his frame, which is lithe and young and familiar to what she may remember.]
no subject
With greatest effort, he frees his arms. Tosses his shirt aside with minimal effort, and it ends up hanging off the edge of the chaise.]
There—
[Triumphant. She can now adore his frame, which is lithe and young and familiar to what she may remember.]