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]

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[That tug unbalances her, so it's less than graceful when she complies and tumbles into his lap. All of this is rather clumsy, really. But it's sweet and she finds that she doesn't entirely mind.

Her fingers curl and uncurl in his hair as she adjusts her position. There, that's a little less knees-and-elbows. Her other hand comes to rest for the moment on his shoulder.]

[There's a reason he'd wrapped his robe around himself a bit more tightly and now that she's in his lap she can likely feel it. Shame that he's an awful kisser, though. His tongue darts in tentatively as he tries to work out how the whole thing...works, and with how clumsily he does it, it's abundantly clear that he has no idea what he's doing and is trying to feel it out as he goes. Observation only gets you so far.]

[He breaks off to look at her, looking oddly self-conscious.]

If I'm doing this wrong, just...

[Just tell him? Shove him away because he's awful at it? Show him how to do it right? He leaves that sentence unfinished because he's too embarrassed to finish it.]

I've picked up countless useless skills for the sake of disguises, but kissing was never one one of them because of the physical contact involved.

[He drops the next bit very casually.]

Stripping, on the other hand...

[It is not the very worst kiss she's ever had — that dubious honor belongs to a middle-aged man in a pub when she was 16 who had more or less slobbered on her before she stomped on his foot. In stiletto-heeled boots, natch. But it is awkward and not all that enjoyable, and it reminds her somewhat of secondary school fumblings. Endearing, perhaps, but not sexy.

He definitely needs a lesson or two and she's relieved when he pulls away first because that means she doesn't have to come up with a tactful way to suggest it. The laugh his throwaway comment about stripping produces is really more of a quiet snort.]

Stripping.

[She sounds a touch incredulous.]

You'll have to show me your moves.

[Her snort had been the whole point of mentioning it. He likes to surprise her and he likes to amuse her.]

It was for a case. I needed unfettered access to the dressing room of a male strip club that was being used as a front for the illegal operations of a crime syndicate.

[So he learned how to strip from instructional videos on the internet, picked out some costumes from his vast closet of disguises (he'd already had the fireman, policeman, and doctor thing covered), picked some songs, auditioned, and got himself a job there. One night of snooping around the dressing room in between sets had allowed him to solve two murders and put several members of the syndicate in prison.]

[And he'd walked away with £213 in tips.]

[John must never know.]

[He considers her request. He really, actually considers it. On the one hand, he felt ridiculous when he'd done it, and he's fairly certain he'll feel ridiculous doing it now. On the other hand, he can hear the incredulity in her voice, and he has an almost compulsive need to prove he can do everything he says he can do. Always. It's difficult to turn down a challenge.]

But how can I be certain that you'll still respect me afterward?

[The corner of his mouth twitches.]

Edited 2012-02-28 06:01 (UTC)

[The thought of Sherlock gyrating stiffly on a stage somewhere while drunk women having a hen's night hoot and holler and stuff banknotes in his waistband is almost too much, and she laughs again, a real one this time, shaking a little with the force of it.

Head tilted, clearly teasing,]

I respected you after that terrible vicar impression, didn't I?

[There's the laugh he really wanted. He files the memory of it under the little file folder labeled the /TheWoman in his mental hard drive, along with the scent of her perfume and the shade of her lipstick and every other little detail he's gathered up in there like a squirrel protectively hoarding nuts for winter.]

Up. I can't do this with you in my lap.

[Technically, he's supposed to do it in hers, but he doesn't plan on it going that far.]

No, that would be the other way around.

[Grinning with anticipation, she disentangles herself and scoots sideways to sit with her legs hanging over the side of the bed and her hands folded primly in her lap. The very picture of an attentive audience.]

Go on, then.

[Sherlock gets up off the bed, one hand briefly pressing down on the bed next to her and finds out that after everything they've been through together, after all their games and dances around each other, he's actually hardly self-conscious about this at all. Showing up in Karachi had left him completely naked before her, even though he'd been covered head to toe. In comparison to that, this is nothing.]

[This is just idle amusement, actually, this is showing off, because yes he is that good. Yes, he can be anyone he needs to be to get wherever he needs to go to figure out anything he needs--or wants--to figure out. After she saw right through the vicar disguise, it's almost a point of pride to try to convince her he's not always so transparent.]

[Standing there in front of her in the space in front of his bed, he adjusts his dressing gown.]

Before I do this, I do want to make a minor note of the fact that not all disguises are self-portraits.

[Then he becomes a different person, just like that, and this one he does a fair amount better than he did the vicar. One moment he's Sherlock Holmes and the very next moment he's Richard Brimble, outgoing, sensitive, friendly Richard Brimble, who's trying to work his way through college to become a math teacher, stripping under the stage name "Rip Hardrocket."]

[What's impressive is that apparently, even years after having done this case, he still remembers the song, beat for beat, like he's playing it in his head. ("Sex Bomb" by Tom Jones for reference.)]

[What's even more impressive is he still apparently remembers the choreography. Years later. There's no way he's improvising this, so apparently, he hadn't deleted it. His reasoning had been that after taking the time to learn it, he may as well keep it so if he ever had to fake being a stripper again, he'd have something already prepared. It's always good, as far as he's concerned, to keep little bits of knowledge about various professions in case he ever has to fake that he's working them.]

[What's most impressive is that, far from being gawky or stiff, he actually has rhythm when he feels like it, but then he's a very coordinated man. It's the only reason he'd managed to get the gig because even though he'd been a bit more fit back then (he'd been a few years younger) he'd still been a little on the skinny side. But he'd made an impression with his dancing and showmanship.]

[So yes, enjoy your well-choreographed, well-coordinated striptease, Miss Adler, complete with him pretending that he's some well-meaning, friendly guy who is turn pretending to be a hunk-covered hunk with hunky filling. Apparently, he isn't just blowing smoke about this stuff.]

[He is just. That. Dedicated.]

[It's amusing to watch, just not for the reason she thought it would be. Because he's not bad at all. Not awkward, or clumsy, or—near as she can tell without actually hearing the music—off-beat. No, quite the opposite. He's good.

Sexy, even, if you're into that sort of thing.

Which, as a general rule, she isn't, but it's Sherlock and he gets to be the exception for a lot of those. Anyway, it isn't the moves themselves she's turned on by, but rather the proof that he is just as capable as he says he is and, extrapolating from that, the implication that he could turn out to be quite good at the physical stuff. With a little coaching, of course, but the potential is there. He isn't hopeless.

If he's paying attention to her face at all, he can probably see the shift from amused-but-not-expecting-much to surprise and finally settling on something akin to delight. Also, she starts jokingly cat-calling him midway through. So there's that.

When he's finished, she holds up her hands in mock surrender,]

All right, all right. You've made a believer of me.

[Just like that, it's over. He picks up his dressing gown and slips it back on over his naked body like absolutely nothing happened, wrapping himself up in it, and sits down next to her on the bed in his usual restrained manner, looking for all the world like he's still entirely in possession of his dignity.]

I am, for the most part, able to impersonate individuals of most professions, at least temporarily.

[There came a certain point with impersonation where you needed the specialized knowledge to keep up the ruse, but he rarely ever had to go that far.]

Edited 2012-02-29 04:38 (UTC)

[She nods in agreement—with a different disguise and no forewarning, he might easily have fooled her—but can't resist ribbing him a little more.]

You're quite convincing, provided you're the only one getting undressed.

[And there they are back to his being awkward. Funny how he can strip in front of her without the tiniest bit of self-consciousness, but one sentence referring to actual sex and he goes back into awkward mode.]

[When the retort she was waiting for doesn't come, she gets exasperated.]

Oh, for goodness' sake.

[Abruptly she stands and, with a bit of wriggling, manages to tug down the zipper on her dress and shrug out of the sleeves so it falls to pool around her feet. Her stockings turn out to be thigh-high, held up by a sheer lace garter belt that overlays matching knickers. No bra because the dress had a sort of built-in one, and she's happy to go without.

And then she just stares at him.

This isn't about intimidation as it was when they first met. Rather, she stands there half-dressed with a hand on her hip and a look that says Well? Get over it.]

[There is a moment that he just sits there staring at her, and it becomes entirely clear that it's possible he can't get over his discomfort, that maybe even though the desire is there, the almost compulsive need for self-restraint and the awkwardness are too much for him to overcome. There is definitely a nasty little conflict going on in his head as his eyes rove over her body.]

[It feels like a challenge, though, like she's just issued a challenge, like it's a game--and that doesn't diminish its significance because the games they play with each other mean something to the two of them. She's challenging him and she's always challenged him, and that's what he draws on to figure out how to deal with this.]

[She fooled him. Twice. Twice. When he was in her house and she got away with the camera phone and when she tricked him into deciphering the email. She got under his skin, she said she'd have him on a leash, and sure enough in the end she had--it was a strong enough leash that it had dragged him all the way to Karachi. And him having to save her did nothing at all to diminish his respect for her--she had wanted protection, after all. She'd wanted to slip through the cracks--and in the end, she'd gotten it. In the end, he'd repaid his debt by saving her life, when a well-placed phone call of hers had saved his. Knowing that she used him in so many ways to get so many things she wanted is far from a mood-killer--it impresses him.]

[But is that enough?]

[Sherlock stands up slowly, robe still wrapped around himself--and walks past her, like he's leaving the room, like this is too much for him to handle--but when he gets to the door, he shuts it, and locks it, and looks over at her.]

[John might come home early and Sherlock's not exactly keen on him walking in right in the middle.]

Edited 2012-02-29 07:57 (UTC)

[When he goes to the door, she turns her head to follow him with her eyes, expression carefully neutral though her pulse has kicked it up a notch. There's a breathless moment just before he reaches it where she thinks he really is going to walk out. And what would she do if he did? Keep at it? Get dressed and return to games of the purely intellectual sort? Tell him "nevermind" and spend the rest of the night at the airport, reading by the gate?

Luckily she doesn't have to make that decision.

She feels an odd rush of relief at that and masks it with a twist of her lips and a flippant suggestion.]

Let's enhance your skillset.

[As she speaks, she's turning to face him fully and beckon him back.]

[Sherlock walks back over to her, and as he gets closer to, he slips the robe off again. It's far more shy this time than it was when he was stripping earlier, but as he takes the last few steps towards her, there's a twitch of his shoulders like he's shaking off the last few bits of apprehension--and then very suddenly, he rushes towards her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her with far more passion than the awkward liplock earlier.]

[He's still not very good at it, but even now, a little bit later, he's already a little better at it, like he'd learned quite a bit just from the first few tries. He just needs a bit of training up.]

[Passion helps. As does the feel of skin on skin. She presses against him, seeking maximum contact.

Whereas before she had given him more rein to test and explore, this time she makes a point of being aggressive. It's easier now that he isn't completely floundering for her to take control and guide the kiss. With any luck, she'll force him into a rhythm of reacting and he won't have the time to overthink it. There are other ways she could teach this, but they'd require stopping, using words, slowing the pace. For now she prefers the sink-or-swim method.]

[The skin contact is... sensual. That's really the only word that can be used. It's gratifying to the senses, and his sense of touch is just as acute as all the others. As they kiss, he makes no move for the bed yet, opting to stand there first, his hands roving along her sides and up her back, along the gentle slope of her stomach, down to the curve of her rear, where the lace feels coarse against his fingertips. He's exploring. Aside from being new ground for the two of them, it's new ground to cover for him in general, and he intends to map it out with all his usual attention to detail.]

[And the way he's doing it isn't mindless groping, either, he's not just pawing at her; it's as if he's cataloging every attribute, as if he's delighting in the sheer aesthetics of it, like someone would appreciate a work of art or the night sky. Of course, it's not her body alone that's art, his interest in her body is only really incidental. The only reason he can appreciate this is because of the whole of her. The delight he takes in it has less to do with sex itself and more to do with the fact that every time he touches her, he knows the neural receptors in her skin are zinging those sensations along to that magnificent mind of hers, just as his are doing to the same to his own brain. Sherlock wonders what it would look like mapped out with all the rest of their flesh and bone invisible, what a sight it would be if it was possible to see two complex nets of nerves running with electrical impulses cascading along and spreading out from every point of contact. Picturing it, knowing that his mind is connected to hers that way every time they touch fills him with a heady feeling.]

[Every moment that he can, he makes sure that his chest is pressed against hers and she can likely feel his heart pounding away, his pulse racing.]

[Her aggression helps. She's right in that he doesn't have time to think and she's right in that it makes him just react. Of course, that's what she's always done to him in general--made him react. It's just as fitting now as it's always been.]

[Where the kissing is concerned, he swims rather than sinks. It's no surprise at all that he learns very, very quickly, is it?]

[Her own heart is beating so hard that at first she doesn't notice his. Gradually, she becomes aware of the other rhythm, just slightly out of sync. For the sake of certainty, she slides a hand from where it curled around his shoulder over and up his neck to press two fingers just under his jaw, and sure enough. It's immensely gratifying, having this tangible proof of how she affects him.

Of course, he's having an effect on her too. The kissing gets easier, more natural, as he lets go, which enables her to get into it properly. She's beginning to enjoy herself for reasons other than the novelty or the challenge.

The way he runs his hands over her figure is not only pleasant, it's uniquely him. It feels like he's memorizing her, down to the last detail, but with a good deal more delicacy than he would a crime scene. His hands leave a trail of residual warmth wherever they touch and, when it fades, she feels their absence very keenly. She wraps her other arm around his waist to tug him even closer.

At the same time, she nips at his lower lip, pulling at it just a little between her teeth.]

[There's a deep rumbling noise in his throat in response to that and the shudder that runs through his body can likely be felt. Apparently, he likes when she uses her teeth in general. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he has the mental image of those pearly whites clamped down on a vicar's collar permanently branded into his memory.]

[It seems to ignite something in him just a bit because when her teeth let go his kissing strays from her mouth to the line of her jaw, and then down to her neck where he starts to kiss her rather ardently, maneuvering them both towards the bed.]

[He'd been a little hard earlier, but his arousal had nearly gone away with all talk of stripping and his showing off for her--that had all been more for her benefit than his. Now his...interest in what they're doing is making itself physically known again.]

[Just as she's adding biting to the shortlist of things-that-work-on-Sherlock-Holmes, his lips find a particularly sensitive area of flesh and she loses her train of thought. The sound she makes is a bit breathier than the text alert she left him, definitely less staged, and she tips her head back to give him more room. Another quiet gasp. Fancy that, he seems to have found something he's good at without need for training.

They don't have far to go. When the back of her legs hit the bedframe, she sinks down onto it, pulling him with her.]

[It's a good thing they're on the bed now, because his whole body is shaking as he kneels there. Part of it is being unused to this and having a small degree of nervous jitters because of it. Part of it's just that it's completely overwhelming for someone with his degree of self-control starting to...not have it.]

[He's not used to wanting. He's not used to physical urges being this powerful.]

[Sherlock kisses his way down to her chest and then looks almost perplexed, as if he's only just discovered there are breasts there, despite seeing them before. Mostly, he's just figuring out what he thinks of them. As nice-looking as they are (he likes the symmetry), he's not sure he understands the overwhelming appeal.]

[He's also not quite sure what to do with them, one of the hazards of being a virgin and not having watched any porn. (That's more John's thing.) Is there groping involved? Should he kiss them? Kissing her lips, kissing her neck, that's all well and good, that's easy but they're working their way towards bits that are somewhat more complicated.]

[When he stops, she makes a soft, disappointed noise and raises her head to see what's causing the hold-up. Thankfully, it seems less like he's having second thoughts and more that they've just reached another action for which he has no point of reference. That's fine. She has no problem issuing instructions.

As if reading his mind,]

You can touch them, Sherlock. They're only breasts.

[He shoots her a mildly irritated look that says 'I know what they are,' without his actually saying it. The whole thing is embarrassing and yet it isn't. He doesn't care much for social norms and expectations, so his status as a virgin has never really bothered him all that much, but he does care about not knowing things and then having knowledge of them suddenly become necessary and relevant.]

[Reaching out slowly, he cups her breast in his hand, as if testing the weight and fullness of it, as if he's seeing how the sensation compares to the measurements in his head. Then with great delicacy and purpose, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to her nipple.]

[If it feels like a line's been crossed, it's because it has. Somehow the simple action is far more overtly and brazenly sexual than the stripping had been earlier.]

[Well, Sherlock, if you're going to stare at them like they exist for the sole purpose of being confusing, it's best to start with the basics. Besides, there's an affectionate undertone to any teasing she may dish out. She knows this is all new — which is why she's trying her very hardest not to get impatient and reverse their positions.

She continues to watch him, propping herself up a little more firmly with an elbow.]

Yes. That's good.

[He likely felt the slight hitch in her breath.]

—Though you can be less gentle, if you'd like.

[Her tone indicates that's something she might prefer. Not that she doesn't appreciate the care he's taking, but she's hardly fragile.]

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