finalflight | OPEN POST; [ HERLOCK SHOLMES / TGAA ]

[ she leans towards him again. magnetized, and, yes, eager. curious. she has memorized every scar, the curves of muscle over bone, and definitely what lay between his thighs.

with each button that slips the buttonhole, she... feels her stomach clench. there's little as handsome as a man slowly undressing.

kneads her nightgown, the chaise cushions. like an animal. ]

[It's flattering that she can look so eager while so drugged, and maybe that hastens Sholmes' touch, undoing the few buttons that keep his waistcoat snug against him. The garment loosens, and he tries to shrug it off with the same energy as a man whose arms were made of overcooked noodles. It certainly feels that way.]

You are so limp all over.

[ downward... glance... ]

Nearly all over.

[He'd be self-conscious about that remark if they weren't well, well beyond that point. Instead, it just earns her a puffed out "ha!", and with one final grand effort, he manages to wiggle out of his waistcoat.

It falls behind him, crumpling, discarded.]

I've hardly smoked enough to override... all of my faculties.

[Is he referring to his arousal? His keen ability to... remove his clothing? Yes.]

[ just like that, he seems nude to her already. a man without his waistcoat... she leans forward again, placing her mouth close enough to kiss at his jaw. which she does. pay no attention to how she fumbles on the cushions and nearly topples off, first. ]

You are so beautiful. [ kiss. kiss. nonsensical murmuring. kiss. kiss. her heart is going so sickeningly fast. ] Such good... clever... giving... man. I am so glad you do not throw me away. You believe me... Want me...

[He will absolutely pay attention to how she nearly tumbles off first, thank you. Mostly in the way that he does his best to fling an arm out and around her to keep her steady - ultimately, it would have been too late, anyway, but it ends with him embracing her as she nears and kisses him. Murmuring pretty things to him all the while.]

Thrown you away...? [Because of how she looks, she must mean.] I'm no... no cad.

[ no. he's not. he never would have captured her interest if he were.

she clings to him, that embrace, while her body aches and hums blearily. he smells good. still. ]

Ohh.

[ how can she show her thanks? by shrugging the nightgown off her shoulders, surely. that's step one. all the fabric pools at her hips, but her skin is otherwise bared. beauty marks and heavy curves. ]

[More of her skin exposed, more curves and complexions and, yes, beauty marks to memorize. Funnily enough, his eyes take in the parts of her that were mostly covered: the hill of her shoulders, and a hand slides up to rove over that same curve.]

You're a pretty blue.

[What a dumb thing to say, and we will blame the opium for it.]

[ she pulls back and looks at him like this ]

Yes. [ kind of... softly. ] I think so, too.

[He thinks that must mean the compliment sticks, even if it is sincerely his observation.]

There’s more to you than just your… hue, clearly, but it makes for a striking first impression.

And... second.

[ she truly is so weak to him. even young, even apathetic, he can say this for her, feel this for her. she wants to cement it in his psyche: she is lovely, she is striking, she brings him only the best news of his future life. and there is more to her than meets the eye.

Sprezzatura struggles to her feet, grasping at his shoulder and the arm of the chaise. the nightgown falls. after a moment of fiddling, her drawers do, too. ]

[He is not as apathetic as he seems, and certainly not as unaffected as he'd like to be. But such thoughts are very far away, long tossed aside — he looks at her entire form, finally and freely. Barely any clothing to halt the imagination of how her naked body may appear, even if there was not much left to it at all.

One hand cannot help but hover beneath her forearm bracing herself against the chaise, as though she might topple over at any moment he should steady her if she does. But his eyes trail down between her legs, where he's left her wet and slightly swollen, filling in the mental details when he could only guess at them with what he could feel with his fingers and palm.

Sholmes swallows hard, blinking.]

And... third.

[Was he the one supposed to be undressing? He's forgotten about that.]

[ no shyness, just wobble. dark, damp curls, violin hips, a soft belly. yes, he has made her wet. and yes, as she stands here nude while he regards her, still in dressed, she can feel the thump of desire between her legs. ]

Third?

[He doesn't know what he's saying at this point. Words are secondary to the vision that is her body — her flushed and wet arousal, yes, but also just... the rest of her.]

...Yes. However many more impressions you may give me for the rest of this day.

[And in the future, no doubt, several more. His hand at her shoulder travels down, no hesitation as it roves past the full curve of a breast and down farther, farther still. Beyond torso and the hitch of her hip and sinking down lower to cup her between her legs. Again.]

Enciting as they are... somehow, you've found yourself the one fully undressed, Ms Vaux.

[ stretch marks, moles, claws, and all. when he cups her, she closes her eyes and sways a little. if he's paying closer attention, her heartbeat greets his fingertips. Sprezzatura just focuses on their warmth. ]

Mmh. [ eyes open again, now in mock surprise ] Have I?

[The sharp edges of his usual awareness might be temporary dulled right now, but he’s still observant by default — as much as his senses will allow. And keyed in as he is to her, how can he not notice?

Her arousal pulses with her heart, just like his own. Straining and currently neglected. Still, easily ignored for now as he slides the long length of a finger through her folds.]

I think so. [Quirks a brow at her mock surprise.] However did that happen?

[ she feigns a naked curtsy, holding aloft invisible skirts. wobbles. those fingers of his... she would not mind humping them. who said that? ]

My mistake, sir.

[With a motion like that, she nearly does. He can feel the slide of her cunt against his palm, warm and slick. It's tempting to just slip a finger inside of her again, though he miraculously keeps on track with his original intent, smiling a little lopsidedly.]

Will you be kind enough to help me remove my shirt, then, dear girl?

Da.

[ she falls upon him eagerly, with hands far less skilled than his own. clumsily fumbling buttons while her tail wends around between her legs and begins to coil about his wrist. ]

[He's more than willing to be patient and allow her all the time she needs to fumble his shirt open. It gives him leeway to lean back against the back of the chaise again—a satisfied exhale upon doing so—while still keeping his hand cupped between her legs, just to feel. No reason other than that, beyond the fact that she appears to encourage it with the winding of her tail around his wrist.]

Thank you...

[And yet, given the opportunity, he can't help himself: he pushes up a little with his palm, a gentle rub.]

[ to see him recline like that is erotic in its way; she likes to see him relax, she likes the way he sounds so pleased, and yet he's unable to want, even to ask, to draw his hand... away...

ahh. she spreads both hands on his sternum and widens her stance. just a little. ]

You make it difficult to undress you.

[Likely she'll never see him as relaxed as he is now, that's for certain. Sholmes is always full of energy, and even when he's moping there's still a sharp edge of awareness to him. Now? He might as well be a useless blob lying on the chaise, and one that presses his back into the cushions with equal ease as she pushes against his chest.]

Hm. Do you want me to stop?

[Touching her. He very much doubts it, and the tiniest curve to his lips suggests it.]

[ hers is not a voice suited to giggling, but that is what she does, and slips forward to straddle his lap.

his clothes are abandoned. she's tired of standing. ]

You are very smug young man.

[The press of her is warm and welcome, the nearness strangely exciting even if it’s not the first time she’s been so close. Also, he’s still not making the effort to move his hand unless urged otherwise, even if that means it’s now sandwiched between both of their bodies.]

Not at all.

[Sometimes.]

Am I not being accommodating enough?

[ one hand, nearly impish, toys with his nipple through the fabric of his half-opened blouse. ]

Truly accommodating man would be on his hands and knees begging to taste what you cannot stop touching.

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