finalflight | OPEN POST; [ HERLOCK SHOLMES / TGAA ]

[Even so, the suggestion of her tail so very, very high up his thigh makes him simply more aware of how close it is to between his legs proper. Which, in turn, makes heat flush down to that exact area — what isn't already accosting his face, anyway.

Pulled in close, practically a hug. His hands experimentally find themselves resting on her sides, uncertain of himself. Bones feel limp, muscles, too, but his eyes are wide, his face buried against her neck.

She smells like his chemistry sets and experimentations, depending on the day. Sulfuric, burning. A strange comfort, given its associations.]

I... You flatter me. You are the one with features worthy of... note. Aplenty.

[ he must be fascinated. most human lovers would be—have been. he was.

she closes her eyes, exhales softly and unsteadily down his collar, and rubs the side of her face up the side of his. long, slow, skin smooth on skin. all her usual grace and sensuality has been dissolved in the opium high; motions now clumsy, but heartfelt. ]

Would you like to touch them?

[Ohh, feels good. That point of contact, enhanced by the opium. Wiggles a bit against her as she smooths against his face, just as languid and graceless as she. Fingers flexing into her sides.]

Yes. [Breathed out, easily. Of course he's fascinated by them. All of them.] If you'd like that. Your horns, your tail, your...

[Trails off. Everything.]

[ his wiggling sends skiffs of pleasure up and down her back, makes her face warm. without thought, she brings her knees up slightly; tucks him closer to her body; cages him between her thighs and her chest, with that wonderful growing stiffness up against her. she pretends not to notice it. ]

I love my horns to be touched. And my tail.

[ the way she's mashed herself into the corner of the back and arm of the chaise means he cannot get at the place she likes best, right where it joins to her body, but... maybe later. for now, she and he both need the support.

draws her nails up to his nape, nice and slow so that goosebumps will rise, and turns her face right behind his ear, where his hair is so carefully done. inhales slow and deep and scents him. ]

Mmmmmm.

[She may note that, besides the slightly stronger scent of pomade to keep his hair so much neater than in the future and the now-present tinge of opium, he smells exactly as she’ll remember.

He’s probably never not going to be flushed, but he does relax by small degrees the longer he remains draped against her, tension flooding out slowly — maybe awkwardness will be soon to follow but not. Quite yet.]

Your tail…

[Of course he goes for the tail first; but in this case, it’s not just because all my blond twins love her tail. The excess effort to sit up is slightly more difficult than simply reaching out to where her tail moves next to them, fingers curing close to its soft tuft.]

How dexterous is it?

[Maybe he already has the answer, what with it curled around his thigh.]

[ in that case, a small moan of relief, nearly subvocal—nearly. she strangles it down, and tries to keep it inside, but nevertheless it sounds, and when he touches her tail, Sprezzatura sucks in her breath.

eyes closing, she smiles. ]

For me—and this is not always so—it is... another hand. With... all those same sensitivities.

[He hears it; she wasn’t lying when she said she liked it.

And, with a response that can only be blamed on a drug-addled mind, he says as he rubs the pad of his thumb up and down that part of her tail-]

It’s as though we’re holding hands right now.

Da. [ breathy exhale, breathy inhale. drug-addled, perhaps, but correct. ] If you had tail, also, we would wind them together. As with fingers laced...

[…He uses his other hand to… seek her own hand.

As if to make up for the suddenly frustrating notion that he has no tail.]

[ too sweet. sentiment like that... why does he seem so convinced he lacks a way with others? in answer, a warm squeeze. and around his thigh, as well, the ripple of strong muscle, as if to say that his gesture has affected her. it has. ]

Lapochka... [ again, nuzzling her face against the side of his, though now her mouth is so much closer to his. she wants... to kiss him... ] You're shaking.

[ even if he's not. ]

What? Surely not.

[Shudders out a warmth breath. Shakily.]

It’s merely anticipation.

[This logic makes sense to him in his head right now, and he shifts even closer—if it’s even possible—as he feels her tail ripple. Gives the part he’s touching a little squeeze, then slips it upwards to feel the tuft. He finally turns his face to look at her, eyes darkened slightly, but ever searching.]

[ all he's doing by moving in her lap now is pressing his burgeoning erection into the softness of her belly. which... she likes. she likes it a lot. makes her tight between her legs. ]

Ohh.

[ still, she's clumsy and opium-heavy. her head lists back on the chaise, granting them both the fragile space in between to breathe, she gazes up at him those few inches.

smiles. ]

Have you kissed women before?

[He isn’t aware of the growing stiffness between his legs pressing into her, though he very well should. But all of him feels so molten; a current of anticipatory electricity pulsing through every nerve.

What a question. She’s so close, it feels like answering it might end in an accidental kiss, anyway.]

Nothing… nothing like this, no. Playground tomfoolery hardly counts.

[ she's ♥️ the first ♥️ ]

In that case... [ lifts her chin just a little more—a peck on the tip of his nose. mwah! ] Hahaha...

[Wow she really did finagle her way into being the first via timewarp—

It’s just a little kiss. Innocent by all counts were they both not in such compromising positions.

But oh, how his back straightens and how he flushes even a deeper hue of red. His heart beats all the way up his ears.]

…

Again.

[ and this is why it is so satisfying to be the older woman. she puts her free hand to the side of his neck, cupping the flittering pulse, and glances a second kiss off the cut of his jaw, nearly the cheek.

like this? ]

Let me taste you.

[Everywhere she touches us like fire and electricity. His heart is pounding; his pulse is going insane.]

You have permission to taste… wherever you like.

[And yet the trail of heat her lips leave beckon instead of satisfy. Sholmes might be half frozen in his fluster, but he is rarely the kind that waits overlong. Madness and curiosity and want overtakes him all at once, and he dips in to chance a real kiss with her.

“Real.” It’s still the kiss of a novice, a little clumsy, a little halting, but it’s a kiss.]

[ do you think she, so out of her head that only the chaise itself is keeping her upright, cares if the kiss is clumsy? it's a kiss. she nearly jumps out of her own skin when their mouths touch, but shivers hard all the same, immediately dropping her hand to cover their hands with fingers laced. like she's afraid of that going away.

the curve of her smile keeps it clumsy: he's so true to himself. and suddenly she's remembering kissing Herlock Sholmes at the bottom of an open grave while he gripped at her bottom and kissed at her neck.

whispers, ] Open your mouth...

[That was a far bolder Sholmes than the one who exists now, in certain ways. This is one who is committing every millisecond of this moment to foggy memory, wondering why it feels so salacious when she is, in fact, his wife.

Isn’t this what husbands do with their wives behind closed doors? Kiss and touch and more? He squeezes gently at their entwined hands — and at her tail, still.]

Mmn.

[He diligently parts his lips for her.]

[ sometimes, they sit

like
this ]

Now... [ she sounds gaspy to her own ears, exhaling the word into his mouth as she adjusts the angle and dips back in. a kiss. another kiss, slightly firmer. one more. her knees feel like they're shaking behind him. ] Tongue...

[are you going to show him that too

Another kiss, and another, and does his confidence grow? Not particularly, he's still abuzz to the point where it feels as though he might fly into pieces if she touches him just-so, kisses him just-so, but every one becomes firmer in turn. Perhaps he's just following her lead — he must, after all. This is uncharted territory for this version of Sholmes.

A murmur as he opens his mouth with enough room to slip his tongue forward, sneaking in observations first-]

Your hands shake.

[ yes. ]

Nonsense.

[ as though to further deny this fact, she tightens her hold on his hand on hers. his mouth now open to her, warm and wet. the touch of his tongue sends lightning down her spine to live in her belly, and she shudders a sigh into his mouth, brows furrowed. ]

[No room to argue, literally. No will to, either. His tongue nudges in, and by the very principle of the thing, the kiss deepens as he tilts his head to slot themselves more perfectly together.

She tastes nice. Perhaps he's going mad, thinking that. Maybe the opium really has smudged his senses into an all-encompassing daub of sensation, but he can't deny a bright and unyielding truth ricocheting in his mind: she tastes nice, feels nice, all of this is very, very nice and yet bafflingly becomes not enough.

His tongue glides in a little deeper, seeking to sidle along hers in an attempt to seek exactly that: more.]

[ oh, Mammon... this is exactly what she needed. the opium, the music gentle at the periphery of her awareness, and Herlock Sholmes' tongue in her mouth. this will calm her down.

a soft noise to indicate her pleasure, and the warm exhale to accompany. she curls her tongue against his, only the barest tease, before pulling back and turning the angle of the kiss the other way. again, a slow lick beneath and over, and adjusting the fit of their mouths together. ]

[And a low noise to echo her own; approval, and the satisfaction of knowing it pleases her.

What’s he to do, really, other than let the kiss play out? Her tongue feels inhuman in a way that surprises him, but also entices equally — long and alive in a way that his cannot hope to be. Every lick across his own tongue makes him feel clumsy in turn.

But even so. Neither seems to mind, only desperate to linger in this kiss. He squeezes her hand; his other moves from her tail to her thigh, squeezing there too.]

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