bakerstreet | The First Time Meme

The First Time Meme

THE ❝FIRST TIME❞ MEME

RULES!
♥ Leave a comment with your character's name and fandom.
♥ When replying, RNG for a number between 1 and 7. The number you get corresponds with the kind of "first time" sex you're having
♥ Go from there! The sky's the limit.

THE LIST!
01] Romantic | You waited and waited and waited for the right moment to take this final step with your partner, and it really paid off; neither of you can imagine this night (or day!) to be any better than it is right now.

02] The Only Time | You know somewhere in your heart that you won't be getting a second chance for this. The relationship is forbidden, or they're moving away, or you're moving away, or something is tearing this relationship apart, and that may be the last thing you want.

03] Set-Up | ... Oh. Well. Someone nudged you and this other person together, the one that you may have loved or hated or been friends with your entire life. It isn't completely by choice, but it doesn't sound like that bad of an idea... Or maybe it does. Who knows?

04] Experience Difference | One of you knows exactly what to do, and the other doesn't! Maybe they're just a natural at this kind of thing... or maybe there's a thing or two they haven't told you yet.

05] Hesitant | One (or both) of you aren't quite sure if you're ready for this next big step... at the same time, you want this to happen, though the thought makes butterflies flutter around in the pit of your stomach.

06] Awkward | It feels like everything that can go wrong does go wrong. Relax? You can't relax! This is s-s-s-s-sex-- oh, boy, there's another mistake.

07] Wildcard | This is the "other" option. Choose any of the above or create your own!

[credit goes to

connikebox]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

[ooc: This is definitely OTA as much as it can be, but I may need to PM to figure out background to make it IC since he's...a tough nut to crack.]

[It was a business opportunity that brought her back to London, arriving under the radar and with no arrangements made for lodgings. Hardly necessary on a 36 hour stay. She planned to stay on her feet, killing any time after the meeting with a visit to a supposedly trendy all-night eatery.

Plans are funny things.

Two glasses of wine and an overpriced apple crumble later, she's thoroughly bored. Still a little over ten hours left unless she wants to try for an earlier flight and even drinking the rest of the wine list wouldn't make this place bearable for more than one of them. That's how she ends up in a taxi to 221B.

Breaking in through the window is as simple as the first time and, for the moment at least, no one is home. For a while she amuses herself by poking around the flat. It's interesting to note the differences from last time — the new experiments in the fridge, the migration of clutter. Eventually though she ends up in Sherlock's room and, after perusing his book collection without much enthusiasm, selects a medical text that seems less dry than the others and settles down with it on the bed to wait.]

[She can hear him come in the front door, closing it quietly behind him with a click. It doesn't take long for it to become abundantly clear that it's him rather than John Watson because there's the clink of him moving around some glass beakers to check on an experiment--something John wouldn't touch--then the fridge opens and closes, and there's a yell of:]

John! We're out of milk!

[--as if it's purely John's job to shop. (Oh, he does sometimes but John still handles the bulk of it.)]

[Then there's silence as Sherlock looks around when John doesn't answer back, and the huff of annoyance when he finds the note saying John's out on a date tonight with *~Angelica~* (what kind of name is Angelica, anyway?) and that hopefully he won't be home until tomorrow and that Sherlock is fending for himself for dinner.]

[That's alright because it's late enough that Sherlock's already eaten something. He stole some of Lestrade's donuts right off his desk when he wasn't looking earlier.]

[Since he's planning on settling in for the night, he goes into the bathroom and the sink starts to run, and there's the sound of him brushing his teeth. He putters around while brushing his teeth, leaving the sink running (a habit that drives John crazy because it wastes water, but who cares when John's out with *~Angelica~*) so he's still brushing his teeth as he walks into his room to hunt for the pair of pyjamas he wants to wear.]

[When he sees Irene sitting on his bed, he stops, completely frozen in place, the toothbrush still in his mouth.]

[By the time he arrives home, she has both pillows stacked behind her to recline against and the book propped on her knees — a position that causes the shimmery black cocktail dress she has yet to change out of to ride up around her hips. Her shoes came off before she made the climb, but she carried them with her and they are now laid neatly by the side of the bed. All in all, she's made herself quite comfortable. At the sound of the door, she freezes, one hand resting on the page she was about to turn.

Keeping silent is a bit of a struggle, especially after he yells for John, but she bites her lip and stays still waiting to see if anything gives her presence away. She was careful to close the window this time and to put anything she touched exactly where she found it. Not that it matters since he'll find her eventually; it's just another game. But he doesn't come rushing in, and she allows herself to breathe shallowly as she listens to him moving about.

When he finally walks in, the anticipation has built almost to a peak — though any tension is immediately dissipated by the sight of the toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. Her stockinged feet whisper against the covers as she sets the book down and shifts sideways to face him better.]

Going to bed already?

[She says it so casually. As if this were perfectly normal, co-opting his flat as a crash space while she's in town.]

[He had noticed a few things moved around just slightly but generally, when that happens around the flat when he's not there, he just assumes it's John doing it or Mrs. Hudson tidying up.]

[There's a moment that he stands there, just looking at her, then he takes the toothbrush out of his mouth and gives her a quizzical look, as if to say 'What the hell are you doing here when you're pretending to be dead?' He looks like he might try to verbalize it, but then he holds up the finger of his free hand to say 'One moment' and turns around and stalks back to the bathroom.]

[Even though she's waiting there, he does finish brushing his teeth. A lady in his room in a cocktail dress isn't going to make him change his routine. Things like that never have.]

[The sink eventually stops running and then he comes back into his bedroom, leaning against the doorway with his hands in his pockets and the same quizzical expression on his face.]

It may not have looked like it but I put in an awful lot of effort to get you out of Karachi and into hiding you know.

[Not that he thinks John would give her up to Mycroft or anything, but being anywhere at all near his flat probably isn't the brightest idea.]

Edited 2012-02-22 22:45 (UTC)

[She waits patiently enough, hands folded and resting on her thighs.

That quizzical look is met with a tilt of the head and a raised brow, as if to say, "Yes, so?"]

Since I don't intend to stay in hiding for the rest of my life, I don't see how that matters.

[Not that she was ungrateful for the rescue at the time, but, well, he did sort of put her there in the first place. As far as her safety goes, he doesn't have room to talk. She stretches out one leg, continuing.]

The world turns, Mr. Holmes. I've been busy.

[As a little bee. She's not quite ready to return to the public eye under her own name; it takes years to build up the sort of political ammunition she once held. But she's been making contacts, playing games. Biding her time. There are deals in the works that ensure some small measure of security.

It isn't safe to be here, no, but she isn't worried either.]

Why are you here?

[Simple, to the point, and it's not at all surprising that he is.]

I had some time to kill.

[What, expecting a straight answer? To be honest, she herself doesn't have a clear-cut reason why she came to Baker Street rather than, well, anywhere else. She was tipsy when she called the cab and it seemed like a good idea.]

[He's still watching her, warily.]

And you decided to break into my flat for some light reading.

No, but you weren't home, so I had to occupy myself.

[Her tone suggests he should be grateful she chose the book and not one of the many more intrusive options.]

Now that I am home, I suppose you expect me to entertain you.

[The thought briefly occurs to her to say something about entertaining herself while he watches, but she resists the urge. Maybe that wine isn't fully out of her system, after all. That's what she gets for making it her first 'meal' of the day.]

Oh, no, by all means. Go about your evening as planned.

[He's entertaining just by being himself.]

[That's...difficult, as his evening is meant to consist of getting into pyjamas, putting on his dressing gown, reading for a bit, and then going to bed.]

[There's an odd little internal struggle that goes on as he stands there. One the one hand, she's in his bed, making it difficult to go about his routine. On the other hand, if he doesn't go about his routine, it's proof she's gotten under his skin, and he feels vaguely like it means he'd lose at this little game they're playing right now.]

[Ultimately, he opts to go over to his dresser and pull out a pair of pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt, then leaves to go to the bathroom. When he comes back, he's in said pyjamas, he grabs his dressing gown off the hook on the back of the door, shrugs it on, grabs the forensics journal he'd wanted to take a glance at before bed, and plops into the bed next to her. Kicking his legs up and crossing them, he starts reading, as if she's not even there.]

[You go ahead and sit there next to him with your cocktail dress up around your hips, Miss Adler. This article on Forensic DNA typing (biology, technology, and genetics of STR markers) is far, far more interesting.]

[And Irene will sit there and read over his shoulder. Subtly at first, out of the corner of her eye. Then leaning a little closer. Then practically resting her breasts on his arm.

What? Just because she doesn't want him to make any special accommodations on her part, it doesn't mean she plans to let him read in peace. That would be tragically dull.

Besides, as it so happens, it is an interesting article — even if some of the finer details are going over her head.]

Next page, when you're ready.

[That makes him just...look over at her. Then back at the article, as he tries to pretend she's not there and that her breasts aren't resting on his arm.]

[He is just...going to read the hell out of this article. You are not there, Irene, you are not being distracting. This is science. It is far more interesting than well-dressed women who utterly fascinate him.]

[He turns the page.]

[Under the pretense of getting a better look at one of the complex tables on the page, she wiggles further into his personal space. Now her hip is touching his hip, her knee is on his knee.

And all the while she's staring intently at the page and making little interested noises to herself under her breath because, really, this is just so fascinating. How Sherlock could possibly be distracted from it she will never know.]

[It's almost ridiculously domestic and yet there are undertones to it that are anything but tame. Eventually, he finishes the article--leaving each page open long enough for her to read first--and closes the journal.]

[There is a moment that he lays there with the journal on his chest and then he places it on his bedside table, edges away from her just slightly, and settles down in bed, head settling on his pillow, looking up at the ceiling. He doesn't climb under the comforter because she's pinning it down with her body, so he just wraps his robe around himself and closes his eyes.]

[There. Routine achieved. Nice try, Miss Adler, but you haven't managed to distract him or provoke any reaction in him whatsoever.]

Edited 2012-02-23 06:02 (UTC)

[Sometimes the games they play move as swiftly as checkers, other times they're more like Risk. Tonight is somewhere in the middle. Chess, maybe. It could go on for hours or end in a few decisive moves.]

It's awfully early.

[She props herself on her side, watching him.]

Are you that tired?

Completely exhausted.

[He's lying through his teeth.]

[Toying with the edge of the comforter idly,]

Well, now I'm disappointed. Someone's done my job for me.

[That makes him blink an eye open. He closes it again.]

Mmm, surely you can be more creative in your innuendo than that.

[He lays there, looking bored and utterly disinterested.]

Then again, it'll be difficult to top "dinner" as a euphemism.

[For once, just for once, he's trying to get a rise out of her.]

Edited 2012-02-23 06:55 (UTC)

[In fact, the very first time she'd texted him that, it really had just been an invitation to dinner. It was only later that she decided to turn it into a half-joking come-on with more and more outrageous statements preceding it. And eventually it reached the point where it wasn't a joke at all.]

It took you long enough to catch on.

[Her tone is mild, not rising to the bait yet. Come on, Sherlock. "I'm not hungry. Let's have dinner." She knows how obvious that was.]

You were...persistent.

[His breathing isn't as calm as it could be. For someone who's supposedly trying to fall asleep, he seems more agitated--or excited--then someone who's winding down for the night.]

It paid off.

[Whether she's referring to Karachi or something else is unclear. Still watching him from her position on her side, she pays special attention to the rise and fall of his chest. Uneven. Looks like a case of "I'm not sleepy, let's go to bed" from where she's sitting.

The hand that was playing with the comforter creeps over to touch the sleeve of his dressing gown.]

[He's quiet as she fiddles with his sleeve, eyes still closed, seemingly ignoring it.]

[At first.]

[Then, even though he keeps his eyes closed, his hand reaches out and his fingertips brush against hers.]

Sherlock Holmes | Sherlock [BBC] | OTA male or female

it was bound to happen

Lol yup

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

no subject

no subject