finalflight | OPEN POST; [ HERLOCK SHOLMES / TGAA ]

[ 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.]

[ he could sag on her completely and he wouldn't crush her. but, like this, she can gently cuddle into him, still hugging her legs around his hips, and kiss with equal gentleness at his ear. good. good. wonderful. she's quiet at first, as the soothing hum of afterglow suffuses through her. ]

So you are saying we could go again.

[ that's a joke. ]

[He releases a breathy laugh, and his shoulders shake in tandem with it.]

Oh, you think highly of me, indeed.

[Were he but a teenager again (who still did not care about sex), maybe that'd be possible. But there is still the issue of minutes being eaten up by silly yet mandatory things first and foremost. Like getting dressed.]

[ APPARENTLY A VERY SERIOUS TEENAGER, NO LESS... ]

Hmm. [ yes, she does think highly. but realistically... mmn. this was perfect enough as-is. before she answers, Sprezzatura curves one finger along his jaw, up his cheek, and tucks a wayward lock of hair back into place. ] At least let us lay here for few minutes more, then.

[HE GREW OUT OF THAT!!!

The gentleness of her touch makes him shiver lightly, and hums in agreement. Plants a kiss on the corner of her mouth. Mwah.]

We can spare that much.

[Again, this is not a bed for two people, but they both seem cozy as-is, and Sholmes tries to pivot onto his side to lay beside her. This does mean, though, that he'll slide out from between her unhooked legs in the process. A mess they can clean up later, surely.]

Would you like to share a pipe?

[ a lewd sound, and that emptiness which is always so difficult to re-acclimate to after. she shivers once, tucks her tail over her hip and against her own belly in an affectation of modesty, and... smiles. ]

I would very much.

[His grin widens, and though he still feels utterly lazy, Sholmes arranges himself to droop an arm down the side of the bed and reaaaaachhh—]

Ahh… I know I’ve an extra somewhere—

[Rustle. Rustle. Rustle.]

Aha!

[He unearths a leather case, then sits up and sets it between them. Up goes the lid to reveal a pipe and a small tin of shag tobacco. Sholmes begins the practiced habit of packing it into the pipe itself.]

No doubt you’ve missed the scent, hm?

[(It’s cheap tobacco. She can probably smell it clinging to everything in his room already.)]

[ she will, naturally, remain strewn across his bed and what newspapers are left that haven't been utterly crumpled, ripped, or... stained...

eyes drop down to the packing of the pipe. ]

I have. [ and that's sincere. she isn't so lofty. ] I have tried Prestidigitating mine to smelling similar, but it is never right.

[Bah, all a mess that can be cleaned up later. Stains and all! (By crumpling up the pages and tossing them in a wastebasket.)

He packs it in tightly, then fusses around the nearby end table’s drawer for a match. Soon, a little dancing flame is struck and he puffs at the pipe to get it started, match held towards its end.]

Oh? You may take as much as you like with you to Waterdeep when that day comes. I have plenty to spare.

[ cheap though it may be, she relishes the scent. pulls her tail up her belly, languid. ]

I smoke more when you are away from me. And you smoke after sex.

Then you will undoubtedly have more use for it than I when you do return.

[Not entirely true. Sholmes smokes like a chimney on a case, or out wandering the dreary London streets, or in his room. But the fact remains that he hopes the day of her departure is very far from now, indeed.

Smoke begins to drift from the pipe and, satisfied, he offers the item to her.]

Ages from now, I hope.

[ parting her lips for him to set the mouthpiece between ]

Ages?

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