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darnedchild) wrote2019-10-22 07:58 pm
darnedchild) wrote2019-10-22 07:58 pm
Everything that Kills Me - Part 2
Summary: Dreams. Fevered, erotic, all consuming. A woman whose beauty takes his breath away. Sherlock doesn’t ever want to wake up.
Rating: M
Everything that Kills Me
Part 2
“I was beginning to think you didn’t want to see me again.” Molly’s voice wrapped around him like a sheet made of the softest silk.
He slowly opened his eyes, fully expecting to see the lab at Barts where he’d spent the afternoon bent over a s microscope. Molly had checked in with him off and on while he’d worked. Had he become lost in his thoughts waiting for her to return?
However, it wasn’t the lab he saw. Instead, it was the tiny room he’d discovered while exploring the old horse tunnels near the Stables Market, not far from the Camden Lockes. He’d left an electric lantern on when he’d lain down on the cheap mattress that some of his people had smuggled down more than a year ago.
Clearly, he must have fallen asleep at some point, because there was no feasible way that Molly Hooper would be standing in front of him. She was wearing the same thing she’d been in when she’d said good night as he left the lab. There was no mistaking her current favourite jumper. Mustard yellow and at least a size too large, it hung nearly to her thighs and completely obscured her firm breasts and tiny waist.
He shook his head and promised himself, once again, that he would be deleting the memory of Molly in that little black dress from his mind very, very soon. There was no reason to continue to remember what her body looked like under her bulky, over-sized clothing.
“You’re not Molly.” Sherlock was positive of that. Wasn’t he?
“Ah, but what if you’re wrong?” she countered with a hint of laughter in her voice.
“Why would Molly be lurking around here in the middle of the night? Or back in that shed at the cemetery? She has a house with a very comfortable bed. I know, I’ve slept in it.” It occurred to him that, perhaps, he should have left that last bit about the comfort of Molly’s bed out of his argument.
“And you have Baker Street.” She gestured around the nearly empty room. “Yet here we both are.”
He studied her for a long moment and she calmly let him, without a hint of unease in her expression. “What are you?”
“I could have sworn we worked this all-out last time. I’m a figment of your exhausted mind. Merely a dream. You really do push yourself far too hard, Sherlock.”
He almost believed she was actually concerned about him.
“If this is all a dream, then it won’t matter if I wake myself up.” He watched her face to see how she reacted to that.
“If that’s what you want.” She pointed to mattress he was still curled upon. “May I?”
After a moment Sherlock nodded and sat up to make room for her. The low-quality mattress shifted under her added weight, sagging in the middle and tilting them close enough that their shoulders touched. He quickly pulled away from the contact and tried to cover the action with a sarcastic verbal jab meant to distract her. “No plans to throw yourself into my lap this time?”
“You didn’t seem to like it.” Her mischievous smile told him that she knew what he’d done, but she was willing to let him get away with it for now. “Have you changed your mind?”
He was quick to reply with an indignant, “Of course not.” Seconds later, he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Wouldn’t you have already known that, without needing to ask? You acted as if you could practically read my mind before.”
She shrugged. “You didn’t seem to like that, either.”
When he thought about it, her earlier knowledge made a strange sort of sense. Of course, his dreaming mind would know what he was thinking. Matter settled. Perfectly logical explanation. Nothing to worry about.
Except something still felt off.
“Is that important, doing things I like?”
“Mmmhmm,” she hummed. “It’s very important.” She leaned toward him and practically purred, “I want you to like me.”
Sherlock caught himself watching the way her lips moved and hated himself for it. He forced himself to look into her eyes instead. “But I don’t. Won’t. I can’t. Not while you’re wearing Molly’s face.”
“I don’t need to read your mind tonight to know that’s not true.”
He pulled himself off the mattress with an indignant huff, and began to pace.
She let him circle the room twice before she spoke again. “This is just a dream, Sherlock. You don’t have to lie to yourself here. I certainly won’t tell.”
His scoff echoed against the stone walls, but he reluctantly turned to listen to her.
“Anything can happen in your dreams. Anything, anywhere … with anyone.” She held out her hand to beckon him closer. “With me.”
“But you are not Molly!” He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled at the strands, hoping to force himself awake. It didn’t work.
“I am. I’m your Molly, if you want me to be.” She spoke softly, as if she were trying to sooth an agitated beast. “You can talk to me, hold me, love me without worrying about the consequences in the morning.” She extended her hand just a little bit further. “Sit with me, just a little while. Please.”
Sherlock took a deep breath and hesitantly took her hand. She slowly pulled him closer, wordlessly urging him to settle beside her. This time, when the mattress dipped, he didn’t pull away.
She leaned her head against his shoulder and whispered, “Thank you.”
Almost on instinct, he put his arm around her when she released his hand and burrowed closer to his side.
He’d always know that Molly was petite, but he hadn’t quite understood what that would feel like if they were ever this close, this intimate. How strong and dominate it would make him feel to curl around her small body.
The first soft brush of her lips against his neck made his skin prickle. He couldn’t contain his sharp inhale of surprise.
Somehow, impossibly, she even smelled like Molly.
“I-This isn’t-“ He stumbled over his words as her lips trailed upward along his jaw.
His eyes fluttered closed and he moaned when her teeth gently nipped his earlobe. Her voice was husky when she reassured him that nothing would happen that he didn’t want.
She flicked her tongue against the curve of his jaw. “Do you want to stop?”
It took less than a second consider it. He shook his head.
“I need to hear you say it, Sherlock.” She pressed a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Tell me what you want.”
He brought his hand up to her cheek and nudged her back so he could see her face. “I don’t want to stop.”
Her eyes flashed that golden brown that he remembered from before. He wondered what it meant, what his subconscious mind could be trying to tell him. Then she smiled and said, “So kiss me,” and he could think of nothing else but her.
The taste of her.
The delicious sound she made the first time he parted her lips with his tongue.
The softness of her skin when his hand slipped beneath that awful yellow jumper.
His groaned “Molly” was barely audible; but, somehow, she heard it.
She shuddered in response. “Yes, love. I’m right here.” Then she leaned her weight into him, and he allowed himself to be pushed down onto the mattress.
He felt her teeth pull at his lower lip as she settled over him. He protested when she sat up to begin tugging at the buttons of his shirt, but the way she ground her arse against his rapidly hardening cock took his breath away and cut off anything else he would have said. She flicked his shirt open and licked her lips at the sight. The scratch of her nails against his chest was electric. His back arched as she teased the skin just below his navel, so close to where he craved her touch the most.
When she finally pressed her palm against his clothed cock, he growled.
As much as he wanted this, wanted her, he had to make a half-hearted attempt to stop her when she slid between his legs and reached for his fly. “You shouldn’t-“
She looked up at him with those odd golden brown eyes, silently asking for permission to continue. He swallowed and gave her one more chance to back out. “If you’re sure?”
Her answer was impossible to misread as slipped the head of his cock into her mouth.
“Fuck!” He’d received and given oral sex before, but this was nothing like he remembered. It was more. So much more. Almost overwhelming. He curled his hands into fists and dug his nails into his palms in a vain effort to temper the urge to beg or to thrust his hips up every time she swirled her tongue against his glans.
At some point she pulled away with an obscenely wet sound and he ground his teeth together to muffle his whimper of protest.
“Don’t hold back. I want everything you can give me, my love. Everything. I want to drain you dry.” She took him back into her mouth and he willingly gave up his tenuous hold on his control.
He took her at her word and trusted that she would let him know if he was too rough.
Sherlock sunk his hands into her hair and urged her to take him a little deeper. “That’s it, just like that.” He let her set the pace for a while, until he felt the first familiar tingle at the base of his spine. “Gonna come soon,” he panted. “And you’re going to swallow every drop like a good girl. Aren’t you, Molly?”
She moaned her very enthusiastic consent around his cock and somehow managed to take him even deeper until he was certain that he was touching the back of her throat. “Fuck. Christ. So good.”
He gripped her head and held her still as he used her mouth to chase the orgasm that was just out of reach. “Use your tongue. Don’t stop. Don’t. Stop. Don’t. Molly!”
Sherlock came so hard that his vision whited out. He tried to reach for her, perhaps to offer to reciprocate, but his hands grasped at empty air. “Molly? What about you?“
“Shush.” He felt her hand brush a sweat dampened curl off his forehead. “Next time. You’re tired now. Sleep.” She kissed him, soft and gentle. “Dream of me, love.”
Eventually he opened his eyes again to find that he was sprawled out on the mattress. All of his clothes were still in place, properly buttoned and zipped. There was a small, still sticky patch of drying semen in his boxers; a humiliating reminder that he must have come in his sleep like a hormonal adolescent.
Part 1 / Part 3
Rating: M
Everything that Kills Me
Part 2
“I was beginning to think you didn’t want to see me again.” Molly’s voice wrapped around him like a sheet made of the softest silk.
He slowly opened his eyes, fully expecting to see the lab at Barts where he’d spent the afternoon bent over a s microscope. Molly had checked in with him off and on while he’d worked. Had he become lost in his thoughts waiting for her to return?
However, it wasn’t the lab he saw. Instead, it was the tiny room he’d discovered while exploring the old horse tunnels near the Stables Market, not far from the Camden Lockes. He’d left an electric lantern on when he’d lain down on the cheap mattress that some of his people had smuggled down more than a year ago.
Clearly, he must have fallen asleep at some point, because there was no feasible way that Molly Hooper would be standing in front of him. She was wearing the same thing she’d been in when she’d said good night as he left the lab. There was no mistaking her current favourite jumper. Mustard yellow and at least a size too large, it hung nearly to her thighs and completely obscured her firm breasts and tiny waist.
He shook his head and promised himself, once again, that he would be deleting the memory of Molly in that little black dress from his mind very, very soon. There was no reason to continue to remember what her body looked like under her bulky, over-sized clothing.
“You’re not Molly.” Sherlock was positive of that. Wasn’t he?
“Ah, but what if you’re wrong?” she countered with a hint of laughter in her voice.
“Why would Molly be lurking around here in the middle of the night? Or back in that shed at the cemetery? She has a house with a very comfortable bed. I know, I’ve slept in it.” It occurred to him that, perhaps, he should have left that last bit about the comfort of Molly’s bed out of his argument.
“And you have Baker Street.” She gestured around the nearly empty room. “Yet here we both are.”
He studied her for a long moment and she calmly let him, without a hint of unease in her expression. “What are you?”
“I could have sworn we worked this all-out last time. I’m a figment of your exhausted mind. Merely a dream. You really do push yourself far too hard, Sherlock.”
He almost believed she was actually concerned about him.
“If this is all a dream, then it won’t matter if I wake myself up.” He watched her face to see how she reacted to that.
“If that’s what you want.” She pointed to mattress he was still curled upon. “May I?”
After a moment Sherlock nodded and sat up to make room for her. The low-quality mattress shifted under her added weight, sagging in the middle and tilting them close enough that their shoulders touched. He quickly pulled away from the contact and tried to cover the action with a sarcastic verbal jab meant to distract her. “No plans to throw yourself into my lap this time?”
“You didn’t seem to like it.” Her mischievous smile told him that she knew what he’d done, but she was willing to let him get away with it for now. “Have you changed your mind?”
He was quick to reply with an indignant, “Of course not.” Seconds later, he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Wouldn’t you have already known that, without needing to ask? You acted as if you could practically read my mind before.”
She shrugged. “You didn’t seem to like that, either.”
When he thought about it, her earlier knowledge made a strange sort of sense. Of course, his dreaming mind would know what he was thinking. Matter settled. Perfectly logical explanation. Nothing to worry about.
Except something still felt off.
“Is that important, doing things I like?”
“Mmmhmm,” she hummed. “It’s very important.” She leaned toward him and practically purred, “I want you to like me.”
Sherlock caught himself watching the way her lips moved and hated himself for it. He forced himself to look into her eyes instead. “But I don’t. Won’t. I can’t. Not while you’re wearing Molly’s face.”
“I don’t need to read your mind tonight to know that’s not true.”
He pulled himself off the mattress with an indignant huff, and began to pace.
She let him circle the room twice before she spoke again. “This is just a dream, Sherlock. You don’t have to lie to yourself here. I certainly won’t tell.”
His scoff echoed against the stone walls, but he reluctantly turned to listen to her.
“Anything can happen in your dreams. Anything, anywhere … with anyone.” She held out her hand to beckon him closer. “With me.”
“But you are not Molly!” He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled at the strands, hoping to force himself awake. It didn’t work.
“I am. I’m your Molly, if you want me to be.” She spoke softly, as if she were trying to sooth an agitated beast. “You can talk to me, hold me, love me without worrying about the consequences in the morning.” She extended her hand just a little bit further. “Sit with me, just a little while. Please.”
Sherlock took a deep breath and hesitantly took her hand. She slowly pulled him closer, wordlessly urging him to settle beside her. This time, when the mattress dipped, he didn’t pull away.
She leaned her head against his shoulder and whispered, “Thank you.”
Almost on instinct, he put his arm around her when she released his hand and burrowed closer to his side.
He’d always know that Molly was petite, but he hadn’t quite understood what that would feel like if they were ever this close, this intimate. How strong and dominate it would make him feel to curl around her small body.
The first soft brush of her lips against his neck made his skin prickle. He couldn’t contain his sharp inhale of surprise.
Somehow, impossibly, she even smelled like Molly.
“I-This isn’t-“ He stumbled over his words as her lips trailed upward along his jaw.
His eyes fluttered closed and he moaned when her teeth gently nipped his earlobe. Her voice was husky when she reassured him that nothing would happen that he didn’t want.
She flicked her tongue against the curve of his jaw. “Do you want to stop?”
It took less than a second consider it. He shook his head.
“I need to hear you say it, Sherlock.” She pressed a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Tell me what you want.”
He brought his hand up to her cheek and nudged her back so he could see her face. “I don’t want to stop.”
Her eyes flashed that golden brown that he remembered from before. He wondered what it meant, what his subconscious mind could be trying to tell him. Then she smiled and said, “So kiss me,” and he could think of nothing else but her.
The taste of her.
The delicious sound she made the first time he parted her lips with his tongue.
The softness of her skin when his hand slipped beneath that awful yellow jumper.
His groaned “Molly” was barely audible; but, somehow, she heard it.
She shuddered in response. “Yes, love. I’m right here.” Then she leaned her weight into him, and he allowed himself to be pushed down onto the mattress.
He felt her teeth pull at his lower lip as she settled over him. He protested when she sat up to begin tugging at the buttons of his shirt, but the way she ground her arse against his rapidly hardening cock took his breath away and cut off anything else he would have said. She flicked his shirt open and licked her lips at the sight. The scratch of her nails against his chest was electric. His back arched as she teased the skin just below his navel, so close to where he craved her touch the most.
When she finally pressed her palm against his clothed cock, he growled.
As much as he wanted this, wanted her, he had to make a half-hearted attempt to stop her when she slid between his legs and reached for his fly. “You shouldn’t-“
She looked up at him with those odd golden brown eyes, silently asking for permission to continue. He swallowed and gave her one more chance to back out. “If you’re sure?”
Her answer was impossible to misread as slipped the head of his cock into her mouth.
“Fuck!” He’d received and given oral sex before, but this was nothing like he remembered. It was more. So much more. Almost overwhelming. He curled his hands into fists and dug his nails into his palms in a vain effort to temper the urge to beg or to thrust his hips up every time she swirled her tongue against his glans.
At some point she pulled away with an obscenely wet sound and he ground his teeth together to muffle his whimper of protest.
“Don’t hold back. I want everything you can give me, my love. Everything. I want to drain you dry.” She took him back into her mouth and he willingly gave up his tenuous hold on his control.
He took her at her word and trusted that she would let him know if he was too rough.
Sherlock sunk his hands into her hair and urged her to take him a little deeper. “That’s it, just like that.” He let her set the pace for a while, until he felt the first familiar tingle at the base of his spine. “Gonna come soon,” he panted. “And you’re going to swallow every drop like a good girl. Aren’t you, Molly?”
She moaned her very enthusiastic consent around his cock and somehow managed to take him even deeper until he was certain that he was touching the back of her throat. “Fuck. Christ. So good.”
He gripped her head and held her still as he used her mouth to chase the orgasm that was just out of reach. “Use your tongue. Don’t stop. Don’t. Stop. Don’t. Molly!”
Sherlock came so hard that his vision whited out. He tried to reach for her, perhaps to offer to reciprocate, but his hands grasped at empty air. “Molly? What about you?“
“Shush.” He felt her hand brush a sweat dampened curl off his forehead. “Next time. You’re tired now. Sleep.” She kissed him, soft and gentle. “Dream of me, love.”
Eventually he opened his eyes again to find that he was sprawled out on the mattress. All of his clothes were still in place, properly buttoned and zipped. There was a small, still sticky patch of drying semen in his boxers; a humiliating reminder that he must have come in his sleep like a hormonal adolescent.
Part 1 / Part 3