finalflight | OPEN POST; [ HERLOCK SHOLMES / TGAA ]

[He's lost for a moment in the sensation of two fingers hilted inside of her—as though it's all that different from one—but her movement is notable enough amid their generally useless bodies that he gives attention to her effort, despite it.

Sholmes might feel about as boneless as she, but he thinks he can make this request and follow through, able to summon up enough energy to do so. Probably.]

Mmn. Why don't we switch positions?

[ all of her energy has gone to holding that thigh aloft. after a moment, she lets it fall again, curling up closer against him. it hugs his fingers inside her wonderfully. ]

Aren't you wanting to see?

[And her curled up against him like this could be nice, too. Comfy. Even with the sensation of his fingers inside of her, were his body not so keyed up (yet paradoxically lazy), it'd be a comfort.

But he says, with as much confidence a man in his state can muster-]

I'd still be able to observe.

[ she's cuddling up very close now. cat in a sunbeam. ]

I do not think you could.

[Physically, he doesn’t resist. Of course he doesn’t.]

Mm, are you sure it’s not simply because you don’t wish to move…?

[ everything she wants would require moving. perhaps if she turned herself around she might feel the touch of his gaze on her cunt. she could ask him to kiss it, or her hole, or to take his pick of both. she could sit up and nurse him on her aching nipples. she could make him sit and bury her face in his lap.

... he would be so incredibly cute if she...

and if she wants her pipe, another languid pull... that needs moving, too.

Sprezzatura remains so still she can feel her own heartbeat thumping around his fingers.

what he wants—she wants to know that, too. but the thought of being anything less than seamed together?... ]

Suck on my nipples.

[ she's settled on the first. guess what this requires? getting her nightgown above or below her breasts. moving. ]

[Flushes anew, a pretty pink color, but there's no stammering and stuttering or wide eyes this time. The request is no less wanton than what he's already doing between her legs, after all.

Immediately, his eyes trail to her chest — or try to, anyway, difficult as it is with her leaning against him.]

Sit up, then, my dear girl.

[His free hand comes up to brace at her side, as though to help her.]

[ "sit up"... if it were only so easy. she has to summon herself to hook a leg over and straddle his hips again, and this time hold herself above him.

though she murmurs wordless assent, it's several moments more before she moves at all. her knee gently rises and begins to creep across him, and the spread of her legs opens her around his fingers. then Sprezzatura gathers all her not-insignificant will: now. you must do this, girl. up, over.

she inhales and holds it and pushes onto her elbow, wobbling. then her weight pulls to one side and she sits on him heavily. the gauzy folds of her nightgown fall around his wrist. maybe she kisses around his fingers for a little as her just reward for momentous effort. ]

You have always loved my breasts, Herlock. [ almost... thoughtfully. she puts one palm flat to his chest, both to hope him down and hold herself up, while the other goes to her throat where the top button of her gown lays gleaming. ] Perhaps even... envied them...

[ she has no way of knowing that. ]

[Her valiant effort is admirable; and he feels like the one rewarded for it, her soft walls moving around her fingers ever so slightly as her body adjusts. As her legs spread and her thighs bracket him, and she props herself up just to look down at him like that. Sholmes is held down easily, no extra effort other than gravity and her weight required. She needn’t even that, like she has him under some manner of spell — and why wouldn’t he believe every word under such a lovely thrall?]

Do I…?

[He watches her hand, his brain torn between finding context for that statement and… observing.]

For… some manner of costume, I imagine. Disguise? Yes, perhaps so. To have a chest like yours would be a boon. Full and… and—

[Mind stalling out, falling back into dumb statements he can only guess at (for now.)]

—soft and appealing. Easily filling out a dress.

[ the first button fumbles loose, revealing the first slope of heavy curves. he could note the beauty mark upon her breast; the collar is already low. she thumps around his fingers. her heartbeat right there. his heartbeat right there, stiffness she can angle her hips and press down against; her cunt into his hand, her clit rubbing against his cock still trapped beneath his clothes.

little gasp. it feels good. ]

For Ms Adler.

[ button number two. this one is harder for how badly her fingers shake. ]

[Oh, yes, it does feel good. So intimate in every way, pressed against each other warmly and uselessly. The swell of her chest already left little to the imagination when she was adorned in just a nightgown, but now he doesn’t even have to imagine. The peek of her bosom as the first button gives way fills in all the little details he never considered; the exact contours of her shape, or maybe the complexion of her skin in this area — but that beauty mark? He’d pointed it out before, but it seems all the more profound when it’s purposefully revealed to him. His heart hammers, in time with hers.]

Ms… Adler?

[The name of a future disguise? He likes the name. A woman… the woman of charm and refinement and beauty, who can tread in circles and situations that a man could not hope to. Yes, he’s thought of something like it before, though he’s never given it life by admitting to it aloud to anyone just yet.

His free hand rises to help her with that button, fingers brushing against hers.]

You’ve met her?

[ the second button falling free. she can hear her own pulse in her ears, feel it thumping in her breast so that it rises and falls slightly. she moves to the fourth so that he might work the third.

she is... busty. ]

I have met her. [ pleasure in her voice, knowing that even now, then, at this age, a part of Sholmes was already developing her. ] She is so beautiful woman.

[That she is. Instinctively, and in a way that surprises even himself, his fingers seem as deft as ever. Perhaps that is merely the blessing of a musician, or a future detective, to always have a delicate yet precise touch when needed.

The third button is dealt with. He waits for the fourth, though it's nearly a moot point by now.]

And yet...

[She will receive no more help with her buttons because that touch of his is now slipping beneath the open layers of her garment, to cup and feel. She's more than a handful.]

...you're correct. I would be jealous.

[She is so, so busty.]

[ without having touched a woman before, he may have been able to deduce how a woman's breasts feel; their softness, the squish, the surprising weight of them and their malleability... but does deduction really compare to actual touch?

in response, a soft sound, a deep breath. her body is all in goosebumps, and this makes her nipples taut. ]

Ohh.

[ the fourth button opens, and she drops her hands to brace on the arm of the sofa above his head. ]

[Oh, what a predicament to be in — to be so very compelled to touch and grope with both hands when he only has the freedom of one. After all, he certainly isn't slipping the one seated inside her out, not anytime soon.

So one hand will have to make do, cupping and squeezing, adjusting so that his palm feels the peak of her nipple rub against it, hard and stimulated.]

Yes. Very jealous.

[For what would a stuffed bodice be in comparison to this? Soft, weighted, warm, malleable, indeed. There are times when deductions either bolster or fall short of reality, and this is decidedly the former.

He cups again, firmly, her left breast. And pushes... up. He hasn't forgotten her request for kisses, but he is momentarily mesmerized.]

[ at every angle she is cupped and squeezed and held and filled. she thinks briefly of her luggage, lost in time, judiciously packed with a few choice items she would love to have inside her right now.

but more than that... the hat. what laughter there would be if she could only give this boy that hat. to watch him dream up Irene Adler in real time, in true flesh and bone. she sucks a breath and her wrists strain as she sinks lower to push down as he pushes up. fat melds, creates the deep shadow of cleavage, and she wriggles atop him again, onto his fingers and into his groin. ]

Suck on it, Herlock... and harder than you might be thinking. As though you are trying to bring forth my milk.

[ mumbly and perhaps a little strange, strange to say it that way. it is so hard to think... ]

[this white boy can't turn any redder at this rate]

You have quite a way with words, you know.

[Oh, yes, she paints a picture. Indeed, the heft of her chest—what he can manage to manipulate with just one hand—is compelling. The deep valley of cleavage only entices him to do more than just touch, and her subtle wiggling stokes the currently neglected desire in his own cock, drawing out impatience despite their languid demeanors.]

Should not a gentleman be exactly that? Gentle.

[She knows him well enough to realize that Sholmes only cares about propriety in very specific circumstances, and certainly not now. So, then, he's teasing a little, and clearly so — as he finally draws closer to bring his lips to her breast, it is only as a soft, experimental kiss. Lips parted just enough so he can press the flat of his tongue against her hardened nipple, testing.]

It will not hurt.

[ she wants to encourage him, but it's true. the kissing and tugging could, at worst, be overwhelming. but not when she is this honed in on him, this needy, this drugged out.

when he finally touches her, she stiffens, jumps. no, it doesn't hurt—how could it when his kiss is so light? but in its own way, that makes it much keener. ]

Da. Like that...

[Ridiculously, he thinks he needs more hands to hold her. Feel the way her muscles in her sides and back ripple when his mouth makes contact in that light, experimental kiss. Every action of hers worthy of note and archival in his brain (which holds onto data like a sieve, thanks to the opium), to be referenced later.

As it is, he just wiggles his fingers still in her cunt, kneads her breast to lift it even incrementally higher, and hums pleasantly. Leans in further, his kiss all roving tongue for a moment... and then, with her encouragement, he sucks.

Not hard to start. He doesn't need that much effort to feel the pull and tug that follows, his tongue still swirling in gentle circles the entire time.]

[ instantaneously: she goes limp, makes a sound like purring or moaning, thumps her tail against the front of the chaise. she loves... this feeling. Sholmes hardly needs even to lean; she's melting down over him. soon, he'll be pleasantly squished between the cushions and her bosom.

the nipple is stiff in his mouth. she feels it tense even as he tongues at it, sucks it stiffer. with a clumsy hand, she cups his hand cupping her. ]

That's right... good.

[ and she lifts on her knees, just a little. trying very selfishly (though who cares?) to open her cunt to his fingers even more. maybe he's the wrong twink but she wouldn't hate his entire hand inside her. not right now. ]

Oh, such good boy you are.

[As soon as she loses the ability to remain somewhat upright, Sholmes leans farther back into the cushions, until he is very much just pressed lovingly between it and her body. His hand still cups her breast, leaving it there despite how unnecessary it is, refusing to deprive himself of touch. She’s stiff in his mouth; perhaps more so with each passing second, it seems.

As she rises up incrementally, he sucks harder. Parts his lips a little wider to well and truly take her in, though her other desire is not completely lost to him — her cunt spreads around his fingers, suddenly not quite as snug as before, and he takes that as an invitation to push up and bury them as deep as he can. Harder. Wondering, perhaps, if another finger is overdue—

His kiss ends with a wet pop, and he can’t pull back enough to earn any real space, but it doesn’t matter. His breath his hot against her, and his lips practically smear saliva against that same nipple in reply.]

You have a way of encouraging me to be good to you, my dear.

[His fingers wiggle inside of her, sliding out minutely only to settle back in, collecting her wetness at his knuckles. It all feels so obscene, but wonderfully so.]

Oh, I want you to be.

[ nonsensically murmured as she curls into his mouth and his hands: so low that he can't get any space from her at all. the sounds between her legs are not for polite company. ]

Put your hand in from underneath.

[ a clumsy touch to his wrist. underneath, so she can feel his palm over her clit. as nice as his hand on her backside is... it just can't get deep enough.

with a thoughtful little wriggle she nudges her knee between his thighs. ]

[He's already sucking at her again by the time she instructs him to rearrange the angle of his hand, so all Sprezzatura will hear is a murmured affirmation that vibrates up his throat and in his mouth; diligently, he follows instruction the best he can, though the result is a little clumsy, a little groping, when they're so closely snug together.

His fingers, they slide out, a sound not suited for polite company, indeed. He moves his hand around to the front of her, slipping down, fingers nudging through her folds to insert them again. Even without her saying so, he realizes why this is preferred — he can reach in more deeply. He can cup her... more fully, which he does, raising his hand up at an angle so his palm smears against her, so he sinks in deeply.]

Mmn?

[Better?]

[ from the front, the soft damp curls and the cling of her folds welcoming him. Sprezzatura's weight drops into his palm; she rolls her hips like that. together at once, that twisting ache in her breast and Sholmes' gentle fingering—she exhales like she's never exhaled before. stuttering, nearly whimpering.

nails in the upholstery: pop... pop... pop!

it just comes out: ] Mmmh—yes. Yes. Herlock. I love you so much.

[ she pushes her knee snug between his legs. the heat of his groin on her still-clothed thigh. ]

[Somehow, bafflingly, this angle seems even more intimate. His fingers buried in deeper, curled gently within. The way her hips move to rub against his erection, which throbs in time with his heartbeat.

And the sounds she makes — by god, he wonders if he should be so lucky to always win those noises in the far flung future. And Sholmes certainly isn’t the type to give true mind to the upholstery, even in normal circumstances, so he can’t be bothered to care right now about something so mundane, with the exception that this must please her enough to ruin (exaggeration) his chaise.

His heart catches in his throat, still beating fast. The idea of her love feels so, so poignant, and yet this version of himself has not yet earned it. This is a sentiment reserved for his future, but maybe he can be selfish enough to appreciate it now, all the same.]

I— ahh.

[Heavens, her thigh. More attention to his cock that craves it so much, he can’t help but fumble his sentence in an inelegant way.]

I— I can see how I would grow to feel the same for someone such as yourself… God, this feels like a dream.

[It’s his turn to hitch his hips up — rubbing against her thigh, and pressing in completely with his fingers inside of her.]

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