[He moves, rocking his hips. How can he not when she's positioned that way, when her legs are wrapped around him like that, when the smooth skin of her thighs--pale in the bare gap between her knickers and her stockings--is rubbing against his skin? The skin there is hot against his, and underneath the lace of her knickers, he can feel where the heat is radiating out from. He feels driven to seek it out, feels as if he's being drawn inexorably in towards it, crotch-first.]
[This is almost too much, which isn't exactly promising for the rest of their encounter. It's not too much in that he won't have enough endurance for the rest of it, because his rigid emotional control means he actually might have more difficulties letting go. No, this is almost too much for him mentally. Too much sensation--too much to notice and process all at once. Too much sentiment all wound up in it--more than he's used to, more than he can usually handle. He's exposed himself to her in so many ways already, and this is one of the last, the way he hasn't exposed himself to anyone else before, the way he's never let himself be vulnerable to anyone.]
[Sherlock Holmes has always dismissed sex as pointless to engage in, a distraction, a fixation others waste their time with, but the truth of the matter is that no one denies something's importance that much to themselves unless it does actually mean something to them. There are those out there that truly lack interest and he'd almost had himself convinced he was one of them. There are also some that find the very idea of sex uncomfortable, and he still is one of those people, even as finds pleasure in what they're doing. For him, intimacy in any form has always been nearly agonizing and he's found even the smallest inklings of it almost too brutal to handle.]
[That's why this is ultimately brutal in its nature. It's going to be nearly unbearable anyway after all, and at the same time, he knows he's going to thrilling in all its roughness and crudity, even as it cuts him to the bone with discomfort, even as he damns himself by giving her so much he's held back. The way he rocks against her, breath ragged, firmness against softness, is as rough as the way he kisses her. Less rough is the thin barrier of lace between them that isn't going to separate him from perdition for long.]
sorry for the edits
[He moves, rocking his hips. How can he not when she's positioned that way, when her legs are wrapped around him like that, when the smooth skin of her thighs--pale in the bare gap between her knickers and her stockings--is rubbing against his skin? The skin there is hot against his, and underneath the lace of her knickers, he can feel where the heat is radiating out from. He feels driven to seek it out, feels as if he's being drawn inexorably in towards it, crotch-first.]
[This is almost too much, which isn't exactly promising for the rest of their encounter. It's not too much in that he won't have enough endurance for the rest of it, because his rigid emotional control means he actually might have more difficulties letting go. No, this is almost too much for him mentally. Too much sensation--too much to notice and process all at once. Too much sentiment all wound up in it--more than he's used to, more than he can usually handle. He's exposed himself to her in so many ways already, and this is one of the last, the way he hasn't exposed himself to anyone else before, the way he's never let himself be vulnerable to anyone.]
[Sherlock Holmes has always dismissed sex as pointless to engage in, a distraction, a fixation others waste their time with, but the truth of the matter is that no one denies something's importance that much to themselves unless it does actually mean something to them. There are those out there that truly lack interest and he'd almost had himself convinced he was one of them. There are also some that find the very idea of sex uncomfortable, and he still is one of those people, even as finds pleasure in what they're doing. For him, intimacy in any form has always been nearly agonizing and he's found even the smallest inklings of it almost too brutal to handle.]
[That's why this is ultimately brutal in its nature. It's going to be nearly unbearable anyway after all, and at the same time, he knows he's going to thrilling in all its roughness and crudity, even as it cuts him to the bone with discomfort, even as he damns himself by giving her so much he's held back. The way he rocks against her, breath ragged, firmness against softness, is as rough as the way he kisses her. Less rough is the thin barrier of lace between them that isn't going to separate him from perdition for long.]