finalflight | OPEN POST; [ HERLOCK SHOLMES / TGAA ]

[She does feel deliciously wet, and for as clever as Sholmes can be (when he so chooses), his brain already cannot comprehend how it feels as though he sinks in even deeper.

He slides his fingers through her hair; up, then down again.]

Nearly so. [Encroaching actual perfection once she...] Will you ride me now, my dearest?

[ a small nod, forehead-to-forehead. if she braces her knees a little wider, it is nothing short of blissful to arch her back and lift up just so, and then a little more, and even more, until she can feel the ridge of the head of his cock stretching her just inside. a pleasant moment, hanging in the balance where he is on the very verge of slipping out of her—

and then, relief. a sigh. she sinks down onto him again. ]

[It is one extraordinary tease when she lifts up just slowly enough to suggest at removing herself completely — no, he doubts she would, but wouldn’t that drive him mad? To be hugged by her after so long of being deprived, only to be without again?

He’d have to beg her to continue. He would, too, his pride hardly an issue. In fact, the thought might be a bit exciting—

But then she slips back down, and Sholmes can’t help but raise his hips again to meet her, to sink in completely with not a millimeter wasted. God, that warm, slick friction, his cockhead rubbing against her walls the entire journey… Maybe she’ll drive him mad, all the same. He murmurs against her, low- ]

Oh, you are divine.

[ in response, she tightens the hug of her arms around his shoulders. ]

Yes... [ the gentle alignment of their bodies. hearts beating together, one into the other into the first. with her eyes closed, she can focus on his firmness inside her, and how nicely it pushes on her the entire long slide back in. ] Slowly.

[ up, slick and slow, as she said. the head just inside her cunt, then a steady, all-engulfing sink. repeat. repeat. repeat. each time a little wetter than the last. ]

You feel just as I remember.

Slowly?

[Ahh, she may be taking it slow, but his nerves are on fire, a conflagration growing with each lift and descent. How could he have lived without her for more than a few days at a time? He's such a fool, truly, and his own grip tightens around her for a moment, before clumsily slipping both hands between them—even if it's a tight squeeze—to fondle her breasts.]

Slowly is torture, my love. [Not a complaint. He can feel her getting wetter and wetter, and he can only imagine how his cock twitches with nearly every upstroke now. No, he doesn't need to imagine it. It is.]

But it is feeling so nice...

[ there is plenty to fondle, and for him, she'll rise up onto her elbows somewhat to give him the space for it, presses down on his hands laced with hers. flushed and warm, her hair falling in a curtain to one side. when she glances down between them, she sees the goosebumps rising on both of their bodies. ]

Change our tempo whenever you please.

[Handfuls to fondle, to squeeze and to feel how the generous fat adjusts to his wandering touch. The way her hair falls seems to frame them, to make this moment even more private and secret than it is, already hidden away behind locked doors.]

Oh, but I wonder if I should take it as a challenge to endure ["endure"] the pace you're setting for me now? A great detective never shies away from one.

[...He says this as he, naturally, as he arches himself up and into her, twice in succession and quickly the wonderful feeling of really sinking in deeply as she bounces atop him like little fireworks along his nerve endings.]

Then again, I am often called impulsive by others...

[ oop! she bounces atop him with as much grace as can be expected—which is to say, nearly none, but she smiles widely and spreads her knees wide to brace herself so she can follow the ups and downs of his thrusting...

only twice? ]

Hmm? So, what do you think?

[Only twice, because...]

I think...

[Okay, thrusts his hips up a couple more times, like he's lingering in the sensation of sinking into her fully against and again from this angle, before his hands grip at her sides and he makes an attempt to flip them over!

...She's stronger than him, and he's just a noodly twink, but if he succeeds, his body presses against hers, instead.]

I can't make up my mind.

[ strength has no bearing when she likes the idea of being turned on her back. and indeed she does—so much so that she kicks her ankles high in the air on either side of his hips, nearly flushed from the pleasure of his depth.

a lithe man, but still a man. his weight presses his length into her. it's inexorable. like being outfitted with the most realistic daydream. ah. ]

I make it up for you. [ breathy ] Defy those expectations of your peers who cannot fathom their Great Consulting Detective, Herlock Sholmes, in this way.

[Sheathed completely, the only space between them created via his elbows, propped up on them, yet still very close. Here, like this, she can see there, concurrent with his usual spark of energy, exists proof of his lust — pupils blown wide.]

Mm, maybe so. Those who think I've not a romantic bone in my body.

[Or is so uninterested in sexual matters that they never ping on his radar, minus the times where they're relevant to a case at hand — and usually only because they're someone else's folly. But no, that could not be farther from the truth. At least, it certainly became the truth itself not terribly long after he met her in Reverie.

Sholmes thrusts into her without preamble, their bodies still hewn closely together. For now, this closeness is enough, and the warm pleasure that rolls through his body is incalculable.]

Those who believe that I've not an eye for any woman, no matter how beautiful she may be.

[Those who would not ever believe that the great detective Herlock Sholmes is married.]

[ he looks lust-drunk, and so does she. she stretches and reaches her arms above her head, splaying fingertips against the headboard. his thrusts are warm and wet, pleasantly lewd to the ear, and she doesn't answer right away in her preference to listen. ]

Mhhh. You are very romantic.

[Stretched out like that, it simply gives him more to look at. She's a tiny woman, but the line of her is still impossibly sensual when they're seamed together like this. Her claws clack gently against the headboard.

This is clearly not a bed that is made for more than one person, with more papers sliding off and landing on the floor, shuffling inches with every thrust into her. Sholmes steadies himself in a rhythm, all the same, uncaring.]

Mm, only after having met the right person.

[ right now, like this, they are one person. she pulls her lower lip between her teeth in a smothered smile as his hips rock her. the rustling of fallen papers only adds to the sensuality. hha. it is no secret that Sprezzatura Vaux loves to feel singular—and singularly special. ]

Mmhm. [ she! is the right person!! it's her!!! ] This feels so good, Herlock.

[ as her tail loops gently around the back of one of his thighs, the way a hand would cup him there. ]

[That he's bedding anyone at all is proof of her uniqueness; that he's married to her transcends it into a singularity. The specialness she so loves is no mere imagining when Herlock Sholmes can call himself a husband.

His lips still possess the tilt of a smile that he so often wears, but where he might usually chuckle, the sound he makes is husky, proof of his effort and pleasure.]

Did you miss it, my love? Did you dream about a reunion much like this one?

[The tender squeeze around his thigh — it just encourages him further, the tottering headboard moving.]

I dreamed it into being.

[ headboard-rattling, mattress-shaking sex. smiles wider, turns her face into the curve of her arm, just letting herself sway. for the first time in months, all the tension has drained from her, leaving nothing else but him.

in her fantasies, they had longer than half an hour. how long has it been?

no, don't think about it yet.

just feel. ]

You can go little bit faster.

[Don't think about it. Do not doubt that Sholmes' brain is ticking down the seconds in the backdrop so she doesn't have to. Were it any less important, he'd not bother, of course — but the very notion of Iris dropping in on them unexpected, whilst in the middle of things that a young girl should not see, door locked or otherwise, is something that should be avoided at all costs.

But they've time. Time enough to indulge for a long enough to sate them both, ideally, and most especially if she requests for him to up the pace.]

Impatient, my darling?

[Eager? Enthused? Yes to all, at least on his part, and he moves faster. The outstroke shorter than the instroke, because he wants to be sure to push in deep until he's sure they can both feel the degree in which they try to melt into each other.]

Ah... ha...

[And with such momentum that his (already mussed) hair falls in little strands across his forehead, beyond salvation.]

Nnnno... [ as she tosses her head back on the coverlet. she speaks low, throaty, just in case the walls are as thin as they seem. there's a smile on her face, though, and she does her best to sneak glances through narrowed eyes at how handsome he looks. the sun is hitting him just right, breaking through the heavy clouds as if to immortalize this moment for her. ] When you are moving in and out, it feels so much better. There is tugging, and pushing, and fullness—

[ she squeezes down on him to demonstrate. a devilish grin. ]

[The walls aren't the most insulated in ye olde Victorian England, but the neighbors are used to all manner of noises coming from 221B — admittedly, these sort of sounds are likely a first ever, so maybe her low intonation isn't misplaced.

But as often is this case: Sholmes rarely cares what other people think, and even less so in a shared moment between himself and someone he loves, and loves so dearly. To prove this point, he lets out a long, low moan the moment she squeezes around him, followed by a half-sputtering laugh.]

And the pride in knowing that I might make you feel as good as I do? Ah, Sprezzatura...

[He's not going to waste the opportunity to hitch his hips into her, faster, with more fervent force, than before; not when she's squeezing so delightfully. The difference is stark, warm pleasure and tension alike pooling in him faster for it. The warm hue of sunlight let in through the single window highlighting his growing flush.]

This is perfect. Just like this.

[ he's right: it is perfect. hearing him moan like that is electric after so long away, and all the trials that had stood between her and being here now. she laughs in answer and curls her arms around his shoulders. best to bring in him in to kiss, and lip at his mouth and chin, messy but earnest, exhaling every warm breath into the space between them.

home. home. she's home. this could be a painting. his cries, a symphony. ]

Mmm! [ at this rate, they will feed off one another entirely. moaning in reply to moaning, louder and louder, and more exultant. ] Herlock! Herlock, please, please—

[ one of her hands has found its way to her clit. ]

[At this rate, they are feeding into one another. It's easy to do, having been deprived of each other's presence and bodies for so long. Sholmes' hasn't enough pride (rather, his pride hinges upon other things) to halt the sounds coming from him, heavy breaths and low moans. Mostly inarticulate murmurs, professing what he's told her on repeat, She's perfect, this is perfect, she feels wonderful.

The fact that he's aware of her hand moving as his pleasure builds is only because he cannot turn off a detective's innate perception, though he doesn't change his rhythm. Only wonders if he can hold out long enough for her to come, and maybe he might feel her clench around him tightly before he spills, too, but—

He's not entirely sure if he can.]

Ahh, please what, my love? Should I spill... all of me, inside of you? Tell me all that you want.

[ she's perfect, this is perfect, she's perfect, this is perfect, oh, it's perfect, it really is perfect—

he needn't wonder for long. it won't take her long. her fingers fly across her clit, the sound slick and soft; the hug around him pulses in a steady build, a rhythm not unlike but not quite matched to his.

mouths at his ear, panting. ]

You will seep out of me for rest of this evening.

[What an absolutely bawdy thing to say... and Sholmes delights in it. And he'd laugh—his smile bright and wide and very much him—if his climax wasn't already upon him. The humor, for now, sits bright in the corner of his mind, and his body informs the rest of everything else. That quickened build, all tightening tension before the release, arching his back and his weight pushed down on his elbows as if that might make his last few thrusts deeper. Make him feel her so very thoroughly.

His orgasm hits him hard, shakes through him, and Sholmes lowers his head into the crook of her neck like it might steady his entire world. Breathes out, letting it all unravel through him as he spills into her.]

[ bawdy?? her???

it doesn't matter. he's at his climax, and as those precious few seconds spend where he is tense and shivering and twitching against her in such a lovely way, so is she. it's a rare thing. it feels better than she remembers. she hugs her thighs to him and bucks wild and uncontrolled. pleasure. overwhelm. pleasure overwhelm. her skin too loose on her body. her heart too big for her chest. every breath stutters and ends on a whimper. ]

Hahah... hhaah. Hahhh. Mmmn...

[Practically incomprehensible noises from him, too, pulled from his throat anew when she spasms against him. He shifts his hips forward once more to feel that drag of tight, soft friction, and it wrings through his body an almost too-sensitive billow of pleasure. Pleasure overwhelm, yes.

His cock trembles inside of her less frequently by the time Sholmes lets out a sigh—still against her shoulder—and allows his body to become noodle-like and boneless. Every limb turned to jelly, he at least leans most of his weight to one elbow so he doesn't smush her, but he makes no effort to peel himself away.

Finally, murmurs low and warm:]

Eleven minutes.

[...remaining until Iris' likely return.]

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WHERE DID MY NOTIF GO

SADCAT

ratshakes

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