lifeofpineapple | (no subject)

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[It's not what he was expecting.

Which is the beauty of it, really.

He still wants his violin, has had the opening movement of a concerto seeping into the spaces of his mind all morning and needs to get it out. (Should be good, will help him think.)

But this (she) has his attention.

He stops in the doorway and stares. And stares and stares and stares.]

No time for the laundrette?

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[This too is honest. Had he been anyone else, or this scenario been anything but what it was, she'd have been putting on a show regardless of whether or not he'd earned it. But with him, she only responds when he does something she enjoys, volume rising a little unintentionally when he manages to do it particularly well.

She pulls back at the grin to return it, breath hitching at the need for air, fingers twisting in the belt loops of his pants rather than continuing in her quest to undo them. She steps back towards the bed, tugging him with her step for step, but rather than being concerned for where she's going, she's setting a trail down the sensitive skin along his jaw, all teeth and tongue on her way to a more thorough exploration]

[Doesn't matter anyway, he doesn't need to look to steer them in the right direction. Has this room, this flat, memorized from floor to ceiling, could traverse it all with his eyes closed. (And has, several times.) Always nice to find new applications for previous skills.

He trails after her, pressing back until her legs hit the edge of his mattress. He tilts his head to give her better access, one hand sliding lazily up her spine. But with his mouth free, it's only a matter of time before he starts talking again -- seven seconds, to be more precise. His voice is so deep it's almost more vibration than sound.]

Careful. You'll give me all the answers at this rate.

And you're letting me. [She gives a soft considering him, pausing in the press against his skin. He's given her further access, so he can't be too put out at being hand fed some of the answers, but the reminder isn't entirely a bad one. With him, it's easy to get lost in the moment, forget a little that the game is just as enticing as the promise of sexual release.

She slides a leg up to kneel at the foot of his bed, drawing back slightly to pop open the button on his pants and tease idly around the zipper, head cocking to the side] By all means, Sherlock, dig for them yourself.

[He watches her, taking the moment to kick his shoes off with remarkably little effort. (Doesn't like doing that without properly undoing the laces, but, well, desperate times.) His fingers skim the underside of her wrist, encouraging. Get it over with or he'll do it himself.

His gaze roves, but he spends as much time on her face as he does on the rest of her, and after a second or two he dips close, their lips barely a breath apart.]

Don't mind if I do.

[It's slower kiss this time, less urgent and more languid, like he's perfectly content to just do this for the rest of the afternoon. (He's not.) He leans into her, pressing her towards the mattress just to see how much she'll push back.]

[She makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, and she is perfectly content to do this for the rest of the afternoon, and maybe one day, she likes to think that she will. One day when he's getting tired of the woman, she'll show him exactly what they pay her for.

But for now, she only returns in kind, slowing her hands down, pulling the zipper neatly, and gives a little tug at this waist, until they slip far enough that gravity will do the rest.

She pushes back just enough to follow the same pattern with underwear, lips moving to grin into the kiss as she slides one hand into his hair, the other wraps around him in slowly, lazy strokes. Mostly to make a point. Did he really think he could just skip to the good part, without letting her play at all?]

[His breath stutters against her mouth. (Can't help it. Past experience notwithstanding, it's still been a long time.) There's a moment where he tries to fight it, to split his attention; let the sensation in and hold on to his focus at the same time.

It's nearly physically painful, definitely unpleasant, and it comes out as roughness. A drag of his teeth against her lower lip, the hard press of his fingers against her thigh.

(Doesn't make sense. Used to be so easy, separating the mental from the physical. Different, different, all of this is different.)]

[The hand in the hair moves to soothe him immediately, fingers rubbing deep circles into the base of his head, the roughness hardly deters her from the kiss, a pleasant little gasp releasing instead.

She wouldn't have pegged him for a man to do it. Her grip on him won't ease, however, keeping the same languid pace, but varying the pressure on every stroke. She's intending to draw this out, and keep him on his toes]

[Have to employ an alternate strategy, then. Streamline. Focus on something else, focus on--

Christ.

He pulls back just enough to speak against her lips.]

You're distracting me.

[Not really a request to stop, though.]

[She laughs softly, again, more smug amusement in the sound than anything else. Though a slight undercurrent of affection is there as well]

You didn't expect me to make it easy on you, did you? [Excellent, because she has no intention of stopping]

Hardly.

[But don't expect him to just sit back and take it. He's nothing if not adaptable, and for all his momentary discombobulation he still knows how to reassess and reorient.

His hips press into her touch more eagerly, and he focuses his attention on the spot where her jaw meets her neck. He mouths his way down, slowly, occasionally humming into her skin when she rubs him just the right way. He's leaning over her, heavy, encouraging her to lie back, fishing to tip control back in his favor.]

[She was hoping for the opposite, actually. Because he'd never been the sort of man to be content to be spoon fed, and she's almost sure that if he'd adopted a demeanour like that in bed, she'd have become disinterested enough to call a halt to things.

But the last thing she is, is disinterested or disappointed. She's curious enough about what he'd do with the allusion of control he'd receive by the action, that she'll allow him to topple her back onto the bed, hands skimming the areas of skin she has available as she goes. However, now that she's had him at such a close proximity, she's loathe to let him go and reaches up to pull him down to her]

[He uses it to drag it out, surprisingly enough.

The few number of times he'd done this before had been strictly scientific -- an examination of biology and chemistry in himself and psychology in his partners. Laboratory conditions (nearly). Controlled experimentation (sort of). They'd been some of the most boring experiments he'd ever done in his life.

But this -- this isn't boring. It's anything but, and he's not eager to just stick it in and get it over with. So he goes with her easily, pressing his mouth to the pulse point in her neck and skimming his hands down lower, lower. He's rapidly losing track of what he was supposed to be paying attention to in the first place, but it's fine. She's enough of a puzzle on her own.]

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