The First Time Meme

[treks]

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]

Comments

[whatyoulike]

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.]

[on_your_nerves]

[He's still watching her, warily.]

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

[whatyoulike]

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.]

[on_your_nerves]

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

[whatyoulike]

[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.]

[on_your_nerves]

[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.]

[whatyoulike]

[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.

[on_your_nerves]

[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.]

[whatyoulike]

[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.]

[on_your_nerves]

[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.]

[whatyoulike]

[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?

[on_your_nerves]

Completely exhausted.

[He's lying through his teeth.]

[whatyoulike]

[Toying with the edge of the comforter idly,]

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

[on_your_nerves]

[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.]

[whatyoulike]

[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.]

[on_your_nerves]

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.]

[whatyoulike]

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.]

[on_your_nerves]

[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.]

[whatyoulike]

[First contact, not counting her earlier attempts to distract. He was ignoring her then. Tolerating. This is a reaction, an actual response, and somehow it's made all the more significant by how fleeting it is. Internally she adds a captured pawn to her side of the board.

Her hand stills momentarily, fingers poised just above the fabric, then moves to rest on top of his.]

[on_your_nerves]

[Sherlock's eyes stay closed for a little while, and then he seems to come to some sort of decision and they flutter open. He turns on his side, still grasping her hand between them and looks at her, just lays there really looking at her.]

[whatyoulike]

[She doesn't blink, doesn't move except to stroke the back of his hand with her thumb.

Wisps of hair are coming loose from her elaborate up-do as a result of laying against the pillow, and her dress is still bunched up a good 4 or 5 inches higher than the actual hemline. It's a casual sort of disarray, born of comfort. She looks perfectly at home reclining there on her side.

Of course, she's not quite as calm as she looks. Her pulse sped up when he turned to look at her, and her mind is racing even faster as she tries to determine his intentions.]

[on_your_nerves]

[Now his other hand moves to her face, and the backs of his fingers brush gently against her cheek. It's a furtive gesture, almost shy. His fingers move to gently brush at those loose wisps of hair.]

[His actions might not be betraying what his intentions are, but she can probably see it in his eyes.]

[whatyoulike]

[There are things she'd like to do to him that aren't nearly so gentle, but the way he hesitates is strangely endearing and she decides to see how this plays out. She can be delicate when the occasion calls for it or, more rarely, the mood strikes. This might be a bit of both.

She wonders if moving closer will spook him and does it anyway.]

[on_your_nerves]

[It doesn't, but it does present an awkward situation in that their arms are crammed between them, and he's not sure what to do about it. It's not as if he's ever lounged around with someone else in the same bed before.]

[whatyoulike]

[Irene has significantly more knowledge regarding the logistics of these things, so, upon realizing Sherlock isn't going to do anything, she pulls on his hand to drape his arm over her waist. Her own arm slips around him in a similar fashion.

There. All better.]