❛Maria Magdalena❜ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
treks) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2012-02-19 08:55 am
treks) wrote in bakerstreet2012-02-19 08:55 am
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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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.]
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[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.]
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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.]
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[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.]
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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.]
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[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?]
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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.]
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[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.]
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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.]
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[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.]
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As if reading his mind,]
You can touch them, Sherlock. They're only breasts.
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[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.]
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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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[The tricky thing here is his inexperience. He doesn't want this to be gentle, but going in full force when you have no idea what you're doing seems the sort of thing that would lead to awkwardness and discomfort.]
[But it's awkward as it is, isn't it.]
I don't--hmm.
[He looks distinctly embarrassed now.]
My knowledge base is...limited in regards to this.
[It may seem like he's backing off again, but that's not the case.]
If anything I try doesn't work for you, tell me what to do instead.
[And with that, he finally abandons the last of those inhibitions, he clamps his mouth firmly around her nipple, and now there's teeth. He doesn't bite down too hard, but there's definitely some nibbling going on.]
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However embarrassed he might be, he's not that much of a lost cause yet.]
Don't worry, I'll be vocal-
[-Oh, now that's better. She's very quick to act on her promise as the sensation of teeth draws a little gasp out of her. Combined with the way she arches against him, that ought to be a sign he's on the right track.
Both for something to do (she detests just laying there even when allowing the other person to take an active role) and a means of control if necessary, she slides her fingers through his hair and—loosely, for the moment—makes a fist.]
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[His thigh parts her legs and settles there between them--though he doesn't do much with it yet--and she can likely feel his erection poking into her hip. For now, he focuses on using his mouth to lavish her with attention, working his tongue over her nipple, kissing and sucking on her breast before moving over to the other to do the same.]
[His hands continue to rove up and down her sides, his right hand briefly curling at her hip, nails digging slightly into her skin where it isn't covered by the lace of her knickers and garter belt. Then it traces its way back up her body where he caresses her breast, thumbing at her nipple, while moving up to nip at her collarbone with his mouth.]
[Apparently Sherlock also enjoys biting, maybe because he's hoping to feel her teeth on his skin himself.]
[In any case, he's something close to wanton now, finally letting conscious thought give way to instinct, rubbing himself against her hip just slightly, his own hips twitching. The end result is that his thigh finally starts to do something, rubbing between her legs in a way that's hopefully pleasant.]
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It's all registering on the pleasurable side of the scale so far and, while by no means theatrical, she's making sure to voice her appreciation with little 'mm's and 'ah's, providing feedback, positive reinforcement. For those hints of tooth and nail, especially. She doesn't crave pain the way so many of her former clients did, but a taste of it here and there serves to intensify.
The friction has her squirming for a better angle, pulling her leg up on the opposite side to give her more leverage to grind back. Her fingers, which had been flexing leisurely in his hair, tighten in order to tug him to her mouth for a forceful kiss.]
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[She should get used to the noise, as it won't be the last one of the evening.]
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She kisses him a while longer, teasing with the occasional bite, and finally abandoning her propped-up pose to make use of her other hand drawing sharp designs across his upper back with those blood-red nails, then, at last, pulls back.]
A minor adjustment, if you don't mind?
[She'd prefer to have both legs wrapped around him, you see.]
Back from vacation!
/confetti and streamers
With a coy smile, she withdraws her hand and slides back into position—this time with both legs hooked firmly around behind him. In a bizarre juxtaposition of the dainty and the indecorous, she even manages to cross her ankles.]
Now, where were we?
[It's said more out of habit than as a question that really needs answering—she's always been a bit talky in bed during the spaces when her mouth isn't occupied with less coherent noises (or just plain occupied). It helps her to stay rooted in the moment. Otherwise, her mind is apt to wander.]
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.]
pfft don't worry about it
Because here's the thing: She wasn't lying or exaggerating that day when she told John she was gay. It's how she's always identified, seeing as, apart from acknowledging some men as superficially attractive, she's never been terribly interested. A bout of experimentation in her teenage years had seemed to shut the door pretty conclusively on that and, though she's become very comfortable viewing and handling male bodies in certain contexts through her work as a pro domme, it was never sexual for her. The domination itself was at times arousing, wielding that much power and control—and stealing secrets had been doubly so—but it had nothing to do with the men in question. Meanwhile, she has loved women and fucked women (and loved fucking women, God, does she ever) for years without the slightest uncertainty. To her, the question of her sexuality was cut and dried. At least, until somewhere in the middle of her long game with Sherlock Holmes.
How alien it had felt then, when the lie meant to serve as nothing more than a means to an end had become, in part, her truth. Respect, admiration, fascination, all still there, but tangled with desire and what Sherlock himself had so scathingly referred to as 'sentiment,' though she would never define it as love. And even after she had reconciled those feelings with her previous understanding of herself, accepted the exception for what it was as best she could, there was a part of her that doubted.
As is probably obvious by now, that part of her was wrong. Proven so by that very first tease of a kiss meant to rile her up, clumsy as it was, and proven again by the way she isn't thinking about any of these things at the moment. She is focused entirely on the desperate, bruising kisses—someone learned well—and the feel of muscle under skin as she runs her hands over his body, and the way he can't help but grind against her—knowing what she does to him is unbelievably sexy—and how, if she lifts her hips at just the right time, she can prolong the sensations. How it almost feels like there's nothing between them at all with how damp that lace is getting. It's all positively delicious.]
totally cribbing wording from a moffat interview here, lol
Though he rarely cares--or at least had learned not to care--altogether too much that he's something different, something other than most people in the world, it still rankles on occasion. Despite the efforts he's undertaken most of his life to be living proof to the contrary, a man can't be an island. Meeting John Watson had made him realize that, but John is still exceedingly normal and while some of the loneliness-he-hadn't-realized-was-there had abated after they'd become friends, he still hadn't had someone he'd felt was if not his equal (John is more than his equal in many ways) at least like him.
Then he met Moriarty and he hadn't been standing alone on his island any longer. That of course, is what makes his antagonistic relationship with his archenemy so complicated--completely admiring the mind of a man and the elegance of everything it does, while utterly despising him for choosing to do what he does with it, for being Sherlock's own dark reflection. Moriarty is the man he could have been--and the man he could possibly be if he took a darker turn.
What he and Irene have is no less complicated but there is one wrinkle that isn't in the way of all that sentiment--which is the fact that though she's conniving and ruthless, she isn't a complete psychotic. Her interest in him somehow didn't lead to mutually-assured destruction, it's instead led to mutual admiration. They had both entered a room and found another strange creature like themselves, and realized, "At last, there's another of me."
The two of them being alike--and in being so, different from the rest of the world--means that it's all the more significant they've made such exceptions for each other, and at the same time explains why they have.
He wants to be owned by her, dominated, consumed, driven to discomfort and made to want it. He wants to thrill in her arousal and pleasure and for her to thrill in his. The drive for that is overwhelming and he is quite certain that, at least for himself, that it would have been there regardless of her sex or gender. In the face of not actually being sexually compatible in their orientations, their bodies are both just transport, tools to cause other pleasure.
And he does want to cause her pleasure. This isn't just about seeking his own, because while he can be utterly selfish at times, this is a shared experience, this is something where reciprocation leads to a better experience for both parties involved. While he doesn't exactly know the best ways to please her because of his inexperience, there's a great deal that can be surmised through logic alone and through her body's reactions to what he does. He knows, for instance, that there are erogenous zones on the body, and though he doesn't know altogether too much about them (not really relevant information when the only naked bodies you see are corpses) he's been discovering them on his own. He knows that the clitoris is the primary cause of female sexual pleasure, and that his tongue would be particularly effective at stimulating it. And he knows that she's a domme, that she derives pleasure from having power and control over others, and that she enjoys it even more so when it's him.
Pulling all of that knowledge together makes him realize there is something in particular that he can do for her.
This is why he breaks away from practically being attached to her mouth and starts to kiss his way down her body, briefly taking her nipple into his mouth as he creeps his way south. The flick of his tongue against it is a preview and a promise of what's to come. Pressing several kisses to the skin of her inner thighs leaves him feeling as if his lips have been burned after.
When he retreats to kneel there between her legs, he doesn't make a move for her knickers, even though his current intentions are likely somewhat clear given his body language. Instead he crawls away from her and gets off the bed. For a moment, it looks like he may have suddenly withdrawn, that it may have all been too much, that he has to stop, but then he kneels next to the bed and tugs on the leg closest to him to get her to follow him.
While he knows his legs are going to get sore before long from kneeling there, he figures this will put him at an easier angle for what he plans to do than laying on his stomach on the bed where his neck will probably get sore, but that's not the primary reason for it. The primary reason for it is that he knows she'll enjoy having driven him to his knees.]
haha, nicely done
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