retroductions | reverie overflow.

[Sholmes’ sense of decency exists on a sliding scale. He does not mind if they are overheard if it just involves a bit of kissing, a bit of touching — anything more than that and, well. They’ll cross that bridge when they get there.

But her reaction is promising. Her nails slide against the nape of his neck, leaving a tingling trail. Sholmes’ mouth lingers in its spot, but eventually his kiss moves down, canines pricking at skin. He cannot exactly reach the curve between neck and shoulder, hidden beneath fabric, but he can get as close as possible.]

[ she lives in a dorm full of teenagers, Sholmes. she cannot get caught making out in a grave. if literally even one of them catches wind of this, she may literally never hear the end of it

though she's not so quiet herself, now that he's trending downwards--she hisses, arches herself into him, because oh, good. that's lovely. her tail ripples and clenches around his forearm. even her thighs tense where they hook over his hips. she does not appear to be adept at obfuscating her reactions. ]

You won't be able to reach...

[Wouldn’t the teenagers be HAPPY for you! Gosh.

She is quite literally an open book, though. From her tail cording around his arm, to her legs clenching more tightly around his middle, Sholmes can draw the blatantly obvious conclusion: pointed sensations are welcome. Bolder actions, too, likely fall into the same category. Being too delicate may simply lead to impatience, but one has to consider how much she is willing to “experiment” in an open grave.

Still, a hand traverses a little lower to brace the curve of her backside, offering support as he hitches her up to press into the grave wall with a bit more enthusiasm. He leans back to gauge her reaction, and says—]

There is an easy solution to that.

[ Mammon. Mammon, is this happening? she hears herself purring softly as his hand travels--she likes that, but being ground into the dirt wall less so. yes, it's meant to be sexy, and it is in the abstract, but it's still a grave, and she's still pretty prissy, and her hair really will need to be brushed once this is over with.

whatever "this" is going to be...

oh, Mammon.

she's tearing her gaze from the overcast sky, trying to murmur warm against his cheek, ] It isn't that you are looking at me as problem to be solved, is it, Herlock...

[Dirt from a grave is no more gritty than pressing one’s back to a sullied alleyway in London’s east end. He has done the latter, and while the former is new, they are near enough that he can toss them in the same category without fussing about it.

Then again, he isn’t the one with his back against the soil. So, you know. Probably invalid, either way.

He shoulders shrug. She can probably feel the movement, lifting.]

Everyone has a mystery to be prised out of them. But I would not call this a problem; only an exercise in getting to know you a little better.

Slow and methodical, as you say. [ her lashes brush his skin; she's content to sit and think for a moment, scrunching and unscrunching the back of his jacket between her claws and her palm. every inch of her is throbby and hot, but she's smart enough to understand that they aren't wooing one another ] Will it please you to find out?

[ she punctuate with a little kiss on his earlobe; pulling it slowly between her lips, letting go ]

I would like to please you. As your esteemed friend.

[He tilts his head towards her mouth, a contented noise emanating from his throat, yet still lilted with amusement. Heavens, she is warm; and so is he, and he cannot completely attribute that to their sharing so close a space, even if he approaches all of this with an air of clinical levity.]

I think it would please me greatly.

[It would please many parts of him — his mind, always aching to unravel something. His fondness for her, as a friend. His ego, always in need of inflating. And yes, even his body. Sholmes is an eccentric man, but he is no automaton.]

Of course, that leads us to the inevitable question. [He gives her backside a little squeeze, simply because he can. Never any idle hands with this one. His lips quirk.] How comfortable are you conducting such investigations in an open grave?

[ that squeeze goes riiiight between her legs, and also zips up her spine like an electric current. her shoulders buckle together, giving her away yet again. she really likes that.

on second thought, maybe it wouldn't be so terrible to be an enigma that Sholmes wants to puzzle out. she doesn't anticipate passion, but it may well be intense in its own way. and now that she's kissed him a little, the idea of stopping just to check off a box doesn't particularly appeal ]

I would... much prefer... private consultation.

[Something about her wording must absolutely tickle him, because Sholmes practically barks out a laugh.]

Private consultation, indeed!

[Well, then. He shifts his weight, and though he had more than noticed her pleasurable reaction to his busied hands prior, his current usage of them skews more practical: with an effort, he does his best to heft her up. As high as he can lift.]

Then out of the grave with you, Ms Vaux.

[She will have to twist a little in his hold (and unhook her legs, what a shame) to reach the lip of the grave itself, but it's doable. It'll just take a climb.]

[ her face—which he's likely to notice with a little distance has begun to take on an indigo flush—blanks out in total befuddlement as he unceremoniously lifts her. she's a small woman, and fairly light, but no matter what, this is not gonna be graceful. really not gonna be one for the record-books.

after that first unsteady beat, wherein she just kind of perches uncomfortably in his hold and digs her claws into the dirt wall, the overwhelming desire to just get the hell out of this hole has her risking a wobbly twist to hook and elbow over the lip of the grave. it's... exactly as elegant a process as you would expect climbing out of a grave to be.

you want to know the kicker? she can Spider Climb. ]

[Oh. Oh boy. Well, it's not as though he can judge terribly, though perhaps Sholmes could make more of an effort to help once she's trying to clamber free out of the grave. But how is he supposed to aid her, exactly, without awkwardly trying to push her out via her legs, or her butt?

No, he waits patiently, a hand on a hip. If and when she makes it out, he cups his hands near his mouth--even though it isn't that far up--and calls out.]

Did you manage it?

[Herlock Sholmes, a very helpful detective.]

And if so, might you lend me a hand up?

[ POKES HER HEAD OVER THE EDGE OF THE HOLE ]

You will pull me back in. No. One moment.

[ he may be excited to hear her begin to murmur in that unknowable language, one hand swishing gently through the air, then the other...

and a perfectly circular disc, as if of a perfectly smooth, flat stone, suddenly appears in the grave with him, floating about three feet off the ground ]

[He is excited to hear it; all of her magical mumblings are a rarity in that he feels they remain beyond his understanding, and therefore all the more enticing. Sholmes waits for something to happen. That something takes the shape of a flat stone, floating a few feet above the soil beside him.

A most convenient step!]

Ah.

[He moves to stand on it! Is that what he's supposed to do? Will this LAUNCH HIM UPWARDS? Or is it merely a convenient platform to put him closer to the climbing point? Regardless-]

Fling me out!

[he always opts for the more exciting option, not always wisely]

It only floats.

[ well. there's your disappointing answer, Sholmes. it only floats. ]

[ …

Well, damn.]

That is not even-

[Fine. With his long limbs, and with a boosted height courtesy of a magic stone, Sholmes latches onto the lip of the grave and hoists himself up. Up and over.]

-half as exciting as I had hoped it would be. But thank you, all the same.

[ tempting to cease concentration and let him find his way out on his own, but she's not quite that petty, this time. because he was making out with her two minutes ago. ]

Oh, did I disappoint you with useful assistance? I apologize for practical magic.

[Straightening almost as soon as his feet touch solid ground. He has dirt on his trousers’ knees, and on the elbows of his jacket.]

I did say thank you, didn’t I? Now then, where to?

[ boy, imagine what her ENTIRE BACK looks like. this is going to be such an obvious walk of shame. oh Mammon. ]

...Motel?

[Come now, it can’t possibly be the worst walk of shame this place has ever seen.]

Motel it is. In the meanwhile, let us not forget where we left off.

[He gestures with his hand in the direction of the motel, a little flourish of the wrist. Ladies first, but he will fall into step with her on the way.]

[ she has a brisk, prim gait. and, because she is a cheater, she Prestidigitates herself clean on the way. :) her ponytail is still lopsided, though. ]

Where we left off? You mean your hands on my rear?

[Here is a fun fact: Sholmes often lives in a messy state, and does not mind when such a mess is smeared across his clothes out of necessity. But beyond those instances, he is almost contradictorily clean -- fastidious, precise in his presentation.

So it is cheating, yes, that she can clean herself off so easily, while he is left simply patting off the dirt accumulated at his elbows. And then the dirt from that from his palms!!]

And my mouth on your neck.

[ you could always ask politely! because it does not appear that she thinks to offer, as she huffs a laugh and arches her brow at him ]

Are you having fun, sir? One might almost think this is not only about boxes on card anymore.

[Oh, he’s fine dusting himself off without the use of magic. Old habits, and all. Sholmes just grins at her while they walk, as if the answer should be obvious.]

Of course. I do not pursue that which I do not find at least a little intriguing. Beyond that, your company has always been pleasant — I hope you can say much the same in return.

[Yes, he’s having fun.]

[ well, what's wrong with a little weirdly-timed sincerity? if she doesn't say it, she'll never say it, and if he's wrong and he does end up in solitary, wouldn't that just eat her alive to have not said it? ] Certainly. I am glad to know you.

You are bright spot in my days here.

[ it seems like she's leading them towards one motel room in particular, once they're there. hm. ]

And I am eager to instruct you, should you have any talent for magic.

[A bright spot? He is glad to hear it; it warms him a little, needles itself right into that sentimental gooey middle that he harbors beneath all of his performative displays, his analytical assessments.]

...And even if I do not, I can at least promise that I will be one of the more interesting students you have ever taught.

[Quite an understatement, that.

The motel is upon them, and yes, it does appear that they are winding their way to a very specific room. She could have just picked any old empty one, after all.]

Aiming for somewhere in particular?

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