retroductions | reverie overflow.

[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?

[ a look of surprise flashes over her features when he comments on it—she hadn't even realized the automatic nature of moving to that same motel room as always. ]

...No. Well. It is just my room.

[Oh, even more curious — in the sense that he might be able to take a gander about her room, at some point, like the very nosy detective he is.]

And what secrets lie in wait for me there, I wonder.

Oh. You misunderstand. My room before I took to Basilisk.

[ and, indeed, when she stops them in front of room 7 and opens the door, it looks pretty much like any other room. ]

[WELL there could still be secrets here. Perhaps.

—but that does not seem to be the case, even if his eyes seek out anything of interest as he steps into the room.]

Ah, so I have built up my anticipation for nothing.

[He kids; he is obviously not wholly disappointed. It at least reconciles the wonderment of why her room would be outside the confines of her team’s dorm — simply, that it isn’t.

Sholmes begins to shrug off his letterman’s jacket, idly.]

Before Basilisk, though…?

[ at most, maybe there's some extra toiletries in the washroom, or some extra clothes in the drawers. she watches him shed the jacket from the corner of her vision ]

We were early into this dream. I did not want any part in it.

[He tosses the jacket aside, uncaring where it lands. Takes care of the "remove a piece of clothing" square from his card, at least.]

And only a middling more of a part in it now, I assume.

[Only where newfound friends and connections come in. There is little else enticing about this prison. The last game still has left a sour, lingering note, even if this one feels far more whimsical to make up for it.]

Well, no need to linger on such a dour subject right now. Close the door and- [He extends a hand, beckoning her closer.] -come.

[ only then. he's precisely right. she wants the people who have gone and to keep the people who are still here, and she wants the vast amounts of knowledge that she could wring from Reverie if there only weren't constant trials shoved down their throats.

she scoffs gently at that turn of phrase, nudges the door shut with her heel. and sure, moves into his space, which makes the glaring difference in their heights even more apparent ]

Not on command, I'm afraid.

But certainly with a little encouragement we can manage it.

[-he retorts, his tone indicative of biting back a laugh due to her rather licentious wordplay. When Sprezzatura nears, his extended hand loops around to the small of her back, slipping beneath her jacket, drawing her close enough that their bodies touch. His fingers quest beneath the fabric of her sweater, seeking skin.]

Now, as I recall--during our graveyard encounter--you complained about me not being able to reach certain areas of your body. Might we ply a solution to that problem now?

[ he'll feel the finest fanning of goosebumps up her spine, and also her tailtwitch. with a slow, measured exhale, she sets her jaw and lifts her chin so she can look him in the eye. ]

We might.

What does our great detective deem suitable?

[His fingertips brush up and down her skin, teasing at the faint texture of those goosebumps. The feel of a twitch of her tail registers slightly — he wonders just how revealing of a tell it will be, by the time all is said and done.]

I think the swift removal of your garments might do the trick.

[Or at least that jacket and jumper, ma’am.]

Elementary. [ is she teasing him back or just being sarcastic? hard to tell with her diction. after a moment, she lifts her hands to shrug out of her jacket and toss it next to his. the sweater is clingy enough that, to a keen eye, it's clear she is not wearing anything else beneath it, so... not fully era-accurate. ] Mind your step.

[ as she settles her hands flat to his belly, next—

and begins to walk him backwards towards the wall ]

[It's not as though he has a trademark on the word, but elementary feels like some kind of teasing. Maybe more so when he finds himself pushed backwards, step by step, until his back jostles faintly against the wall. In the process, yes, he does note how very close her sweater clings to the curve of her body. Not leaving very much left to the imagination, is she?]

Oh, is it my turn now?

[To be pushed up against a wall. Cheeky bastard. (At least it isn't a grave.)

In the meanwhile, Sholmes allows his other hand to slip beneath the front of her sweater, trailing upwards to her chest.]

It is on my card. [ a lofty tone, considering she can't reach his mouth to kiss him, or hike his legs around her hips and pin him in place like a butterfly. not at her height. ] And you wish to help me with my card.

[ what she can do is geeeeently slip her tail around them both, looping it about his waist like a sash. her heart is beating harder, faster... should he choose to palm over it ]

I do.

[He looks down at her, frustratingly making it no easier to kiss him, nor much of anything else. Only watching her expression with a keen sort of curiosity, taking in the heat of her body -- stopping to palm at the curve of her breast.

Though his eyes do flick downwards to observe how her tail winds around them both, tantalizingly deft.]

Though at some point, surely the pretense of bingo will be dropped altogether.

[ yes. that's exactly where she wanted his hand this whole time. stands a little straighter—shoulders drawing back on a soft inhale. it feels very much like she's the one who's been pinned by his gaze. she feels naked, utterly open-book.

since he called it out for the pretense that it is, though... she rolls the sweater's hem up above her chest, gifting him a pleasant view. paying such close attention to his reaction—to feed her own ego ]

I suppose. If I must.

[His reaction is a pleased one, the sort of look that graces a man's expression whose delight hinges on discovery. The swell of her breasts, now free from the restriction of her sweater, garners the full breadth of the detective's attention, enough to finally draw him in -- leaning forward, ducking his head down low to draw his tongue lightly across a nipple, while forefinger and thumb begin to tease at the other.

And then, drawing back a few inches, his breath purposefully fans against the slicked part of her skin.]

And is this where you'd like for me to engage my attentions?

[ he licks her and pinches her, and two things happen at pretty much the exact same time: her tail jerks where it hangs at his hips (an incredibly blatant tell, it turns out), and her entire upper body erupts in goosebumps. she hears the catch of her breath like a thread on a nail and reaches down without thinking to grip at her own thighs, hard.

voice deep, low, ] Mammon. Yes.

[ alright, so she's basically handing him the win on this one, but what do you want a girl to do? ]

[Oh yes, that tail of hers is quite the tell, indeed. His eyes flick up to her face, curious to learn what sort of expression pairs with it, but his hand does not stop its tweaking. He pinches just a little harder for good measure.

Sholmes' lips brush against the supple curve of her opposite breast as he encourages, cheekily-]

Yes? More?

[-before he simply takes the bud of her nipple into the warmth of his mouth, teasing with his teeth.]

[ what he'll feel next is her hands at the back of his neck, cradling him close to those lovely breasts of hers. this is a terrible angle. he's much too tall, and she's in desperate need of something to cuddle, which she can't have at the same time that he's bending forward. she drapes one arm over his shoulder and begins to apply pressure to the centre of his back; downward pressure. ]

Why— [ a fullbody shiver, that pinching making quick work of her composure ] —don't you kneel for me first, detective. Give yourself terrible crick in your neck.

[Their height difference does add another layer of challenge to their little tryst, but one easily overcome if the detective himself made an effort to ease that same difference between them. The pressure applied to his back is a clear request before she even says it aloud; he lingers for a moment longer, though, attending to her breasts with mouth, tongue, and fingers, before his knees bend and he sinks, slowly, into a kneel.

His ministrations temporarily ceded, he just looks up at her from below for once. For now, he appears as unflappable as ever, even if there is the smallest tint of pink at his cheekbones.]

Is it really my neck you're concerned about, Ms Vaux?

[ oh, that's much better. automatically begins to pet the hair at his nape, a compulsive gesture, it would seem--and she both notes and admires that faint faint blush. what will it take to deepen it? ]

You are too tall. Enjoy my breasts without discomfort, Herlock. [ there's colour all her own spreading across her sternum, though on her it's indigo, not pink ] They are, after all, exquisite. You may find yourself lingering here for some time.

[What a uniquely appealing color, he thinks, noting the swath of darker indigo spreading subtly across the contours of her sternum. He pins these details with his eyes; commits them to memory for however long they will stay nestled in his mind. For the length of this particular encounter, he will make a note to see just how far the shade will spread.

Even kneeling, the fullness of her breasts is still well within his capacity to give them the attention she requests, and both hands reach to fondle them appropriately. Kneads them in his ever inspecting fingers, thumbs stroking at her nipples. Sholmes' gaze remains observant of her face.]

If that is what you want.

[All that much easier to please her.]

[ he's really quite gentle. she's grateful for the tenderness as much as his curiosity; it adds an unexpected thrill, to feel him forming these tactile hypotheses. cupped in his palm, her heart beats a steady rhythm—and she's warm, and very, very soft. in fact, everything about Sprezzatura seems less painfully taut than is her usual, as though the key to her relaxing was, all this time, as simple as stroking her chest. as he works her nipples stiff, she meets his gaze with admirable ease.

he looks good. ]

It is. [ it's practically a sigh ] What you are doing now is... one of my favourite things. Why do you think that might be, Detective?

[ he said so himself, he wants to unravel the mystery. she might as well play to the theme. but despite the playful nature of her words, she's also nudging at his knees with the toe of her shoe, urging them to spread wide enough to stand between ]

[She doesn’t have to urge him much more; Sholmes understands the request, spreading his knees further apart so that she can draw even closer.

His hands do not cease their movements, thumbs lingering a little longer on her stiffening nipples, yet his look shines with the spark of the analytical. He does like to put the pieces of a puzzle together.]

Beyond the obvious physical stimulations, I do wonder… [He hums, considering.] If it simply has to do with having pride in one of your more striking features. To have someone linger in their appreciation of your body, and in turn, you.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject