finalflight | OPEN POST; [ HERLOCK SHOLMES / TGAA ]

[HE CAN STILL FEEL FOR WHERE IT BEGINS which is what he does, one hand stopping right at the rise of its base beneath the nightgown. Feeling curiously. Unabashedly, at this point, his shyness… present, but overtaken by so much else by now.]

Exploring.

[ so close. she exhales, shuddery, and lays her cheek down on his shoulder. ]

Good boy.

[ said like, good boy. more sigh than voice. she slips her own hand down to the outside of Sholmes' thigh, then creeps it inward. ]

[Praise from his hot older wife /////

He writhes not unpleasantly beneath her, very much aware of the direction her hand is heading: that is, towards his inner thigh, which is lurid enough merely because it edges so very close to his erection.]

How does it feel... here?

[Rubs over where the base of her tail would be, fingers tracing up and down. He wonders if there are more sensitive areas than others along the length of the appendage itself.]

[ his squirming!! it's such a delight. and how he has moved so low that his hands nearly rest on her backside, if only in pursuit of her tail. she smiles wider and plays with the muscle of his thigh. nails tingling on his skin through his trousers. ]

Like this.

[Ohhh MORE wiggling, even an attempt to bend that one leg up, bent at the knee. And yet, his hand at her tail mimics her motions.]

You like it, then.

[Same as he likes hers, despite his squirming.]

I like it.

[ all of it: his touches through her nightgown, his squirming underneath her, the quality of his voice changing the further this goes on... she glances down through her lashes at the rise of his thigh, and her fingers dipping towards the inside. there, the swell of desire between his legs. she wants to hold it. ]

[He really doesn’t even have to follow her gaze to know where she’s looking. What she might be thinking.]

…Touch for touch? My hand beneath your gown, and yours…

[Well. Wherever she wishes to put it, where she’s already so close.]

Haah...

[ the tension of anticipation has flooded her entire body. tips her face up, seeking his mouth, already fantasizing, needlessly, the sensation to come of Sholmes tugging her hemline above her hips. how the fabric gliding over the drawers beneath will feel. and once exposed to the room, the open crotch which makes them so comfortable for a tiefling to wear will be temptation again, and...

oh, please. Sprezzatura won't say it aloud, but she'll think it. please.

she touches their mouths together nearly chastely. one barely-there kiss to draw his focus to her lips while her hand sneaks up to his waistband and thumbs open the button. ]

[Drawn in and magnetized, it feels as though he will never be able to deny her silent request for a kiss, and he has absolutely no desire to. Their lips meet, his own parting for her even if she’s trying to be chaste, and Sholmes chooses to take this as silent permission. His fingertips spread to find the hem of her garment and slip beneath, skin on skin.

But then he feels her fussing at his trouser button, and those same fingertips curl in anticipation, stilling for a moment.]

Mmn.

[ heart racing, breath catching, she lifts her tail so that the nightgown's hemline skims up, pooling above her waist. the room cool on the slivers of skin now bared to it, beyond Sholmes' view.

into his mouth, ] I will be gentle.

[ the button gives easily. she's practiced this many times before. and she takes her time gently untucking his shirttails, drawing his trousers open. ]

[The warmth of her skin floods his fingertips, and she's even softer beneath the material of her nightgown than he ever would've imagined. But there is a new sensation to focus upon, one that drags his attention from his hands—which are simply feeling out the shape of her, idly; which also means he might just be cupping her backside, or close to it—and continues to halt his squirming.

He is, in fact, still and useless as she opens up the vee of his trousers, to reveal the unsurprising: the bulge of his erection now given more clearance, heat exuding, just beneath his underwear.]

You don't have to be.

[He doesn't know what he's saying. She needn't temper her usual proclivities for his sake, is what he wants to make clear, but. Brain like sludge.]

[ a low, lazy laugh, endeared by him. ]

I want to be.

[ he is so sweet and young, she can't help the desire to be a little nicer and sweeter in turn. she purses her lips in a kiss on the tender underside of his jaw. the swell of him is... tempting. feels good to feel wanted even by a man who does not frequently want.

she melts further beneath the comfortable cupping of his hands on her backside, only halfway covered by her drawers. if she just...

glides her palm up, then down... cupping him, too. ]

[He immediately arches into her through pure instinct, as though seeking out the shape of her hand and the friction it might grant him. A warm grasp she could gift him with. Spoiled by touch, of course Sholmes will seek out more, even if his body moves partly on its own.

He’s only dimly aware of how she’s now exposed to the room, simply because his own fingers—still unmoving, still only slightly kneading into her—also feel a breeze.]

Ah… god.

[ she nods into the crook of his neck, affirming, all while obligingly toying with his bulge. yes, god, her. she's like the gods.

a stupid murmur: ] I like how you are holding me.

[And... a stupid reply, thoughts all fragmented while she palms at him. Squirming.]

By your rear?

It is nice.

[ comforting, close. almost chaste how he simply holds her without squeezing or spreading or moving much at all. as though the closeness is enough. ]

Don't you think so?

[He does knead slightly, though. And even more, truly testing to see if his long fingers could possibly encompass the whole of her backside — but of course they can't. She's quite generous there, too.]

Very much so.

[Palms a little more vigorously.]

I rather like how you touch me, too, Ms Sapione.

[ well, she enjoyed the stillness while it lasted. she will enjoy this, too. in fact, she sighs—dangerously close to contented now that the drug and the desire have flooded her. ]

But you are wanting more.

[Squeezes and squeezes and cups again.]

Do you plan on withholding your affections now?

[That’s a yes, he wants more. He wants to know what she plans to do to him, lasciviously.]

[ it feels good. she squirms indolently down on the thigh she straddles, huffing out a warm breath. ]

No. But I want you to ask.

[ she creeps her fingers up, skating above his waistband, and then down... dipping just beneath. soft navel. so soft... ]

[And he squeezes again, but this time only with one hand — the other travels up to squeeze and play with the base of her tail.]

Ask— ah...

[Oh, soft skin beneath her hands, yes. But tickly there, too, and the muscle beneath ripples slightly.]

Will you touch me more?

[ as with all Victorian women's drawers, there is nothing beneath and through the open crotch besides... well. we shan't say. he can feel the taut muscle of her tail, and the dip of her tailbone turning into her buttocks. ]

I will touch you more.

[ practically a murmur. practically too low to hear. and she reaches deeper into the vee, underneath his underclothes, until her fingers touch—and then curl beneath—the heated arch of his cock. it's like the first time... every time. but for one of them, especially this time. ]

[He is rather familiar with the nature of women’s clothing and their undergarments, though certainly not because of any particularly… intimate reasons. But it just means he knows how to navigate without even looking, through touch alone. And it’s touch that he indulges in idly, particularly interested in the taut formation of muscle right at the base of her tail. She really is a well-built woman, he thinks — admittedly rather dumbly because the opium really doesn’t allow him to analyze much deeper than that.

Anyway. She’s touching him now. Really touching him, and Sholmes stutters a pleased and surprised noise both, arching straight into her hand. His cock twitches excitedly in response. He feels so warm that he might melt in the spot.]

And… with such deft hands, too…

[ wriggles her fingers—deftly. he fills her hand and then some, that open vee stuffed full now that her hand has joined him.

angles her face up to kiss clumsily at his neck. ]

Ahh-h. You are stiff like wood.

[ and all of her is languid, humid, hot. ]

[And he'd feel the same way—does feel the same way—if that sensual anticipation she keeps building up inside of him twist all that laziness up inside, making him both eager and useless at once.]

And whose fault is that, I wonder?

[Palms her again, greedily, fingers flexing in one hand while the other slip down her tail.]

no subject

no subject

I WROTE THIS IN THE MORNING AND FORGOT TO HIT SEND

HOW COULD YOU?

:sadcat:

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject