finalflight | OPEN POST; [ HERLOCK SHOLMES / TGAA ]

[ 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.]

[ straight to the thigh? someone is daring! she inhales sharp through her nose—thinks she does, but the drug has made even that slower—and smiles until their kissing can only part. ]

Aren't you forward?...

[F-forward??

…only then does he realize where he’s placed his hand, and he quickly (slowly) retracts it.]

Forgive me.

Hmmm...

[ absolutely darling. with a low laugh, just one note, Sprezzatura draws her up, up, up behind him, until her thighs practically press to his back, and he is squeezed forward into the bend of her body, where his groin seams to her stomach and he rests higher up her own body than she does. ]

No.

[IS SHE

TRYING TO DESTROY HIM

Eyes widening, but his body has lost all ability to act surprised at this point, his muscles like molasses, and all he really does is lean into her more. The line of heat at his crotch is now something he’s keenly aware of, for how it… presses up against her.

This… feels like a segue into more than just a bit of passionate kissing. He’s red in the face; she’ll never see an older him flush quite like this.]

Ms Sapione…?

[ksjsha his hand back on her thigh since it’s ironically the easiest place to anchor himself]

[ :)

she can feel him, hot and stiffening, poking into her. there's no mistaking that sensation. lower, her own belly boils. it would feel so good to take one more pull on the pipe, breathe the smoke into his mouth, and roll them both curled up on this chaise to wriggle and kiss.

but she's also trapped herself underneath him now. and he's heavy and warm and her head falls back on her shoulders and lays against the backrest.

Sholmes' bracing hand rucks at her nightgown. pulls the fabric taut. ]

For me?

[ tucks her own hand down into the vee of his spread legs. she can't help it. she wants to feel it. and if he's never felt someone else's hand cup him through his trousers, here's the first. ]

[Does she think a man who is reacting in this manner, having been kissed and now pulled very close, has ever been cupped between his legs in this way? He might have flown out of his own skin in surprise if the drug wasn't in his system, so likely the opium is doing them both favors right now.

He worries at his bottom lip, hissing out through his teeth in both stupefaction and pleasure; his back arches on instinct, pressing in his erection just a bit harder into her palm.]

For...

[And then he slumps forward again, just burying his face in the crook of her neck.]

...no one else, I think.

[Like. Ever. She really has appeared in a time in his life where sexual encounters are nil.]

[ oh, a man who squirms and arches. who makes those soft little pleasured sounds... Herlock Sholmes has never disappointed.

just as he had in that motel room in Reverie, he sinks in against her. the heel of her palm works him in slow pulses. is he twitching, or does she merely want him to be?... can't tell. all of her blood feels honey-thick.

Sprezzatura leans her head back again, relishing the nuzzle of his face in her neck, and smiles at the ceiling. ]

Surely there has been woman who has aroused you once or twice before.

[The material between his cock and her palm might be thick, but not thick enough to hide how stiff he’s grown, nor the pulse and twitch she earns when she presses against him just right. No, that’s certainly not just her imagination.]

Wonderings at most.

[When his thoughts would wander to less than virtuous curiosities, they never felt like this. Never so warm, never so strident or all-encompassing. In many ways, she’s become rather singular — whether it’s due to displacement through time, or her claim as his future wife, or her inhuman features, or the opium, or something else he simply cannot say. Maybe it’s everything or it’s nothing or it’s just fate, playing its part. He can’t rationalize it away like this.]

You’re special. I married you.

[ oh, and how Sprezzatura Vaux loves to be told she is special. for a moment all she does is linger in that. she does not tell him that there are others—that his heart belongs to more than her. she wants it to belong only to her in this moment. ]

Herlock...

[ she brings her hand away to instead wrap her arms around him again, nuzzling down into his own neck. she kisses him there. ]

[In this moment, his whole universe is her. She needn't worry about that.

She's so small, yet it feels as though she envelops him. The embrace, the way they both nuzzle into each other, what a strange feeling, something flickering amid all the heated want and self-awareness wrought from self-consciousness. It feels a bit like safety and familiarity — god, how is such a thing possible when they've just met today?]

Where... else do you like to be touched?

[ she wants to stay just like this. forever. ]

Will you not become great detective? Deduce it.

[Oh, that sounds like a challenge. And Herlock Sholmes rises to every challenge with unmatched vim and vigor...!

Except now, in which he tries to lazily straighten to put just a few inches of space between them. This has the pleasurable side effect of slowly rutting against her as he adjusts, and he tilts his head, scanning her face, a flicker of the look he often wears when presented with a new mystery.

Cheeks still impossibly red, he still manages to say with a little bit of his teenage sass, though tinged with a fleck of humor-]

Is this not a ploy to get me to touch you all over, dear girl?

[ oya? somehow she manages to look arch ]

I would simply order you to touch me all once. I want you to deduce without touching first.

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