retroductions | reverie overflow.

[Oh, of course he does. Encouragement and praise are half of the motivation, half of what bolsters his own pleasure. Pleasing her becomes an echo chamber of that same pleasure reflected back.

He sucks at her nipple, making a sound of appreciation. Affirmation? Either. He only wishes to encourage her words, let them warm him and wash over him, and he runs his tongue in small circles, hoping to make her harden.]

Ohh. Yes. [ carding through his hair, both hands. her eyes fall shut with an exhale that's just a little bit of laughter, too ] I can feel that all through me.

[ a sort of pleasant twisting that shivers all the way down to her cunt. beneath his pressing tongue, her nipple stiffens; the areola pebbles with goosebumps ]

Yes, please...

[Her fingers through his hair send goosebumps sprawling across his arms, but it's not nearly as notable as the tone of her voice, asking for more. So of course he obliges. He nurses at her one hardening nipple until it swells slightly with his ministrations, then moves over to the other to grace it with the same attention. His tongue laves generously.]

Like this? Does this warm you, my dear?

[ the air on her dampened skin sends a cool bolt of pleasure through her; she fumbles to cup that breast and keep it warm in his absence. ]

Mmmm-hmmm. [ her voice trembles beautifully—shivering into a higher register than her usual. eyes still closed, but her smile is wide and joyful. ] Oh, perfect. I wish you could know how it feels...

[ for her, specifically. why she would happily sacrifice all other intimacy if it meant a lifetime of this. but she can't show him—at least, not yet—so she gathers her focus juuuust enough to drag her hand from his nape down his back... to his backside. ]

[It doesn't take a detective to glean that this is a preference of hers, having her breasts tended to in this way, kissed and fondled and worshipped. His mouth curls with a grin, his tongue moves in slower circles around the bud of her nipple, and he hums a sound of-

Oh. Vague surprise as her hand moves down to the curve of his backside, and he severs his kiss with a wet sound.]

I can do this for as long as you like. But with your hands wandering the way they are, you'll have to forgive me if I'll need to tend to myself partway through.

Oh, Herlock. I would love to see you handle yourself.

[ she wants to know, wants to witness the sight of the great detective indulging himself in the most intimate act of self-preservation. does he twist his wrist as he strokes himself into fullness? does he tease, or get straight to the point? how much does he make himself drip, with only his own palm and that vivid imagination...?

her other hand roves down to cup the other cheek. she feels shivery and too warm. ]

Perhaps we try spanking thing after all...

[Would she? With those musician's fingers of his, long and deft, no doubt he'd put on quite a show for her. He would take his time.

He teethes gently at her nipple again, returning the favor for her palming his opposite cheek. Sholmes' breath is cool when he speaks again.]

Putting you over my knee, hm? Or something like it.

[Rising up, drawing his hands to the waistband of her pants.]

On or off?

[ oh, so soon. she squeezes his bottom gently before he straightens too much to keep hold, pleasantly flushed from her cheeks down to her breasts, faintly swollen from his nursing. ]

Off.

[So soon, but he can tend to her a little beforehand. His hands unfasten the front of her leather pants, then back around to any fiddly bits to allow for her tail, and then Sholmes raises himself up on his knees so she has leeway beneath him to wiggle free -- with his assistance of pulling the article of clothing down, to peel it off like a second skin.

All the while, appreciating the view of more bared to him. Like unwrapping-]

Like unwrapping a gift.

[Sholmes.]

[ quite form-fitting, these trousers. they look just as good coming off as they do on, and she eagerly shimmies them down with his help.

her legs are slender and unscarred. she digs her heels against the bed to shed her loafers. ]

Like unwrapping delicious bonbon to eat.

[ Sprezzatura. ]

[Why are they like this. Don’t encourage him.

ENCOURAGED:]

Oh, would you like for me to do that first? Eat you up before your spanking?

[He’s nice enough to to set her trousers aside in not a messy crumple beside them both (the loafers, too!), leaning in to run his hands up the length of her thigh. Oh, the possibilities.]

[ this is a feedback loop of stupid and it's what they both deserve. she ... giggles, actually, a husky sound she feels guilty for but an instant later. ]

Dinner before your dessert, Herlock.

[Oh, but he has a sweet tooth, you know, made worse by a slightly addictive personality. Her giggle just seems to delight him.]

But dessert's my favorite bit, my dear.

[But also, who is he to tell her no?]

Still, I shall oblige you. How might you like to situate yourself?

[ her tail wriggles on the bedspread, belying her eagerness. there is something particularly rewarding about having someone who will banter back in bed--and as earnest as Sholmes is, she could ask for no better. in fact, she finds herself wanting to please him.

again.

just like before. ]

I want you to turn me over your knee. [ pushing her thigh up into his touch, eyes on him with a delirious little smile ] Tug my panties aside, lay me across your lap. Would you like that, Herlock?

[ keep the horrors at bay ]

[To keep the horrors at bay. To let the body unwind, if the mind cannot.]

I would like nothing more.

[Palming her with his hands, all too eager to touch her. At some point, he will have to shuffle aside just enough to situate him in the proper position to facilitate her request: namely, seated at the edge of the bed with his long legs hanging over the side.]

Come, my dear. Draw closer, just so.

[ the mind will follow the body. that's what she hopes. she is white-knuckling that hope, because even Sprezzatura Vaux can only exist in a state of constant anxiety and depression for so long before it burns her out. she doesn't thrive in such loathsome mindsets, no matter what she tells herself. ]

Coming, detective. [ just a touch breathy, and that is just a touch on purpose. still not on command, she thinks, but brings herself to her knees so she might crawl across the bed to meet him. once close enough to touch her lips to his cheek, she does. chu. ] You may manhandle me... little bit. If it suits you.

[Never a command, of course, but a request. He leans his head into that kiss; and that, paired with her comment about manhandling has his cheeks tinting a faint pink.]

Oh? [A hand to the small of her back, easing her closer.] If it suits me, you say, though I suspect that is a subtle request on your part, hm?

[And an uncommon one, he might guess.]

[ oh, is he blushing? how utterly charming. murmurs, against that warming skin ]

So rarely I would have men do such things to me.

[ it always felt like being overwritten, like being demeaned to, regardless of the true intent. she's certain none of her lovers ever meant it, but she felt that way every time. every time. Sholmes, though... he is no threat. whether her perspective has finally shifted, or he's simply too himself to count like so many others have counted—it likely doesn't matter.

another kiss, this one more open-mouthed, and another, and another, until finally it is less of a kiss and more the draw of that purple tongue up the flushed edge of his cheek ]

I am trusting you, Herlock.

[A flush blooming across his skin for certain, though less to do with embarrassment than the warmth of anticipation itself. The things she does to a man's imagination...

Her kisses become more generous, and when her tongue draws up his cheek, so close and so warm, he lets out a little noise of pleasure. Even still, his lips quirk.]

And you have no idea how flattering that is to hear. That I am one of the rare few. Even so... You will tell me if it is too much, hm? [A kiss for her, too, in return. Light, lingering, on the corner of her mouth.]

Yes...

[ murmured before he can draw away; there's a reference to this closeness. she cups beneath his jaw to turn the kiss towards her lips proper: here. kiss me here.

at the same time, she takes his wrist and guides his hand between her legs. the thin, damp fabric covering her does little to disguise the sensation of his fingers brushing her at her insistence. it feels wonderful. ]

You will know. I do not want to be hit as though in punishment. It should be... fun.

[Kissing her lips, hand guided between her legs. She needn't guide him for much more than that, his fingers already brushing along that damp cloth, applying gentle friction.]

Very well. Then drape yourself over my knee, Sprezzatura. That will be my last gentle ask for now.

["Fun" she says. He cannot claim that it would be otherwise; the possibilities already dance in his mind as his fingertips graze across her panties.]

[ her gaze falls unsubtly towards his lap, a mote of the performative igniting—is he hard? is she going to look pretty enough for him? will it be too naked, too human, not perfect enough once she's there? it actually takes a moment to move, even though his words—my last gentle ask—and his roaming fingers jumpstart her pulse.

a little exhale escapes her, against his lips ]

Ah. . . Whatever you say, Herlock.

[ she braces one hand on his knee, then reaches the other across him to rest on the bed and bear her weight. bit by bit, she crawls over his lap, then she takes a steadying breath and lowers herself down into it. doesn't come naturally for Sprezzatura to hand off the reins of control like this, and it's clear. her tail flickers by his ankles, like that of an uncertain cat. ]

There?

[ she probably needs to move up a little more, get his thigh in the crook of where her legs bend at the hip ]

[Of course he’s hard. He was already stiff when he was atop her, kneading the muscles in her back, with her tail teasing between his legs. Sholmes’ arousal certainly hasn’t gone anywhere, not with her crawling across him like this, the strange sense of vulnerability on her side having a similar effect — making his pulse hitch a little in his neck.

Still, his eagerness does not blunt his observational instinct. He can see that she’s still uncertain, at least to a small degree, her twitching tail giving away so much, as always.

But Sholmes trusts her to tell him the moment she’s truly uncomfortable, and so. What point is there in being reticent any longer?]

Higher, my dear.

[It sounds like a request, but it is coupled with a hand coming down hard—but not too hard, not yet—on her backside, palming and… scooting her up.]

We want you at the perfect angle, don’t we?

[ his hand comes down on her with a satisfying smack!, a sharp and unexpected sting, and she jumps, muffling a yelp. the first feeling that registers is affront: who do you think you are? and then embarrassment, colour rising both where Sholmes hit her and in her face.

finally, as he moves her into position, both feelings mellow and meld into... well, she isn't sure what it is yet. her brain hangs on the edge of a misfire: is this sexy, or has something gone so wrong?

...it could be sexy. the palming feels nice, and there is something thrilling to hearing his voice without seeing his face. to feeling his stiffness taut against her belly.

up a bit. he puts her scantily-clad backside at the perfect angle. ]

Herlock.

[He’s aware of every fraction of her reaction — the tone of her voice, the rising flush in her cheeks. No doubt she’s vacillating on the edge of uncertainty, given her predilection for control, but Sholmes thinks she might enjoy the attention, all the same. As long as it is applied not as punishment, like she said, but rather its own kind of reward.

He swallows, though, as she situates across him properly this time. Hard to ignore the warm press of her body against his erection straining in his trousers, but he will for now.

A thumb hooks at the fabric of her panties, dragging it down over the curve of her rear.]

Yes, Sprezzatura?

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