retroductions | reverie overflow.

[ her insight is in the negatives; she does not and will not realize the selfishness for what it is until much, much later. if at all. what she hears is that she has enticed him. "slowly and methodically"... he'll feel her shiver, because her tail is still wrapped around his arm ]

Take off stupid wig.

[That shiver may as well have run through his own arm, in turn. He takes it as an acceptance of said challenge, and while she slips down a little lower when he frees up a hand to rescue his head from the confines of a silly wig—fisting into it with his fingers and pulling it away—he manages, somehow, to keep them both standing.

His already normally-poofy hair is extra poofy now, falling across his eyes.]

Doppelganger no more.

[ one hand does drop to brace against the dirt wall of their shared grave. it's not that she doesn't trust him to keep her up, but she also doesn't feel like coming out of this with bruises. she waits until he's discarded the wig before picking through his hair. even manages to smooth a bit of it down! ]

Oh. Who is this man, hm? I thought I was caught up in affair with ravishing woman.

[He huffs, a little breathy.]

Little did you know that you were tangled up in an affair with a famous consulting detective instead!

[Somehow, she manages to tame his hair into something manageable, even if Sholmes hardly cares for the state of it. He is far more interested in following through with his established challenge, and how he might approach this with both of his hands committed to keeping her held semi-aloft.]

Now, let’s see. Ms Vaux, will you crane your head upwards and look towards the sky?

[ whatever shall the papers say... she rolls her eyes at herself. how corny. and indeed, yes, she bares her throat for him without seeming to think about it, though the subtle violet flash of her gaze may indicate for him that she's actually thinking about it very much.

everything, really. does this still count for a doubles square? if nothing else, it should count for being handsy in an open grave. but should they migrate to the bottom, could she check a possible third box off? only—she knows where she will invariably lead them once they're both on the ground. and out here, where anyone could see—! she wishes this were just a little more ... sane-feeling. she feels half out of her mind.

but she still cranes her neck. yep. the desire to be the centre of attention is too strong, even now. at least it's better than "kiss of solitary" fear...? ]

I take it your experiments begin now.

Naturally.

[—he replies, already dipping his head lower to nearly brush his lips close to where the pulse in her neck would beat. Carotid artery, supplies his brain, though is it much the same in a tiefling?

When he speaks again, his breath gently splays across the exposed tract of her skin. The rest of him feels for reaction, sensitivity, even impatience.]

Unless you would like to protest?

[A moot question and they both know it. It is hard to tell if Sholmes is this blithely frustrating on purpose or if he is just Like That.]

[ she really can't figure him out. her brow knits when he dips close without actually touching—a note of frustration, certainly. she knows this trick, is the thing, though. she's used this trick before. and if he's really paying attention, he'll be able to see her pulse as it beats. and she knows this.

still. a token effort: ] No. Don't. I would hate for this to happen.

[He is certainly paying enough attention to note the tempo of her pulse just beneath her skin, yet it tells him nothing that he couldn't glean for himself otherwise. Her laughable effort of a retort has him raising his shoulders in a held-back laugh; Sholmes has no quip to fling right back this time, a miracle unto itself!

Instead, he kisses her properly, just along the exposed side of her neck. His "experiment" does not start off sheepishly -- it is just open enough for her to feel the slightest scrape of teeth.]

[ a hint of sharpness to get her heart really going. in turn, he'll feel the bob of her throat as she swallows, and the edges of her nails slipping over his skin as she wanders her hand, beginning to thoughtlessly caress it up and down his nape. ]

There we are. [ her voice is turning husky, low; she doesn't particularly want them to be overheard ] Good boy, Detective.

[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.

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