retroductions | reverie overflow.

[Oh, that danger becomes so very apparent, the pressure of her foot sliding upwards all too slowly and purposefully. Sholmes is very aware of the growing heat that pulses at his groin, knows that should she venture higher, more boldly, it will be impossible not to note the bulge beginning to press against the fabric of his trousers.

He exhales, breath against her skin, as she tugs at his hair.]

Oh, is it the visual stimulation that titillates you just as much? Tell me, what else would you like to observe me doing to you?

[ "titillates"—she swears she made that joke herself, once before. so her lips curve slightly. ]

You are detective here, Herlock. Deduce. [ with pure selfishness, she cups a breast and lowers herself so she can brush its nipple across his lips. little tingle of pleasure while her foot trails deeper towards the joining of his thighs. ] I give you some clues, mm? At home, I hanged mirror... at foot of bed.

[ impossibly high, that pressure comes.... so close to touching, and just. skips over his groin to continue its path down the opposite thigh. it is very incredibly on purpose ]

[Oh, she's a tease, and perhaps there is some part of his deductive brain that tells him ahead of time that pressure will not meet the part of him that desires it the most. It nearly blunts the disappointment that follows when she skips over to the other thigh. Nearly.

He makes a noise at the back of his throat, almost a low exhale, but redirects that little spark of unsated sensation towards her breast -- taking her bud gently between his teeth, then sucking slowly.

And then, finally:]

Very lascivious, indeed. I can think of a myriad of ways to utilize a mirror placed so strategically. A first guess: you would like the "pretty" sight of my head between your legs.

[ he makes that sound and her brows jump, nigh-imperceptible, in the subtlest expression of satisfaction. she's quite successfully unravelling him, too, she thinks. from where she's standing, the upper hand is all hers. ]

Of course. I would like that... very much. [ husky-voiced. her cheeks are turning the same indigo colour he's been sucking into her. very few others have ever lavished her with quite this amount of patience and attention. Sholmes is doing everything right. she takes his chin and tips his face up, urging him to look at her ] Tell me how badly you wish to "tip Ms. Vaux's velvet".

[ she eases her foot forward, so that the vamp slides firmly against his groin, seaming him to that smooth curve. honesty will be rewarded! ]

[At this rate, they may fall into a mounting feedback loop of wanting to please and wanting to be pleased. Unravel one to unravel the other — it would certainly not be so bad, and Sholmes is more than willing to comply, all inquisitiveness and curious eagerness in his eyes. A look so very easily noted when her fingertip eases his chin upwards. His face is a little more flushed than just minutes prior.]

Very— [He starts, but that pressure right between his legs has his words hitching ever so slightly. He is warm there, and hard.

He swallows the failed attempt back down, smiling, and continues.] —much so. I would love to hear you moan for me, Ms Vaux. To feel your fingers twisting in my hair. Your own pleasure would run so wonderfully parallel with mine.

I know, Herlock.

[ her own gaze is stern, but fond, as she thumbs his cheek. seeing him smile when his voice hitches, rather than try to disguise it, makes her entire body flare with a pleasant warmth, and she rewards him in kind with the gentle rolling friction of her boot, encouraging Sholmes to move himself against it in turn. ]

And should you earn it, I will gladly have you drink deep.

[ her voice is far from unaffected--she hears it waver slightly, thick with desire. ]

So what have you now, Detective?

[Her encouragement trends his hips forward. It's a slow and languorous grind, seeking friction as though to defy the growing strain in his trousers. The action makes him lean forward, the side of his face pressed against her warm bosom, one arm snaking up her back to keep him rooted there, if just temporarily.]

Mmn. [-is his only real reply at first. Fingers press into her back, the faintest sting of blunted nails. What now, indeed. The distraction of his pulsing groin would be so easy to direct all of his attention to, but he can sharpen his focus just enough to slip his other hand between her inner thigh, trailing up between her legs.]

Might I return the favor?

[ Sprezzatura is more than happy to hold him; she cradles him close, goosebumps erupting afresh as he pushes himself into her shoe and her shin. there are muscles in her back that work and jump and twitch, and he will be able to feel it. there is simply no way for her to hide what all this has been doing to her. her face is hot and her heart is thumping a steady beat. and now he's drifting his hand towards the ache of her cunt, and she very quickly scraps the idea of making him (making her) wait for it. ]

Go on. Touch. Tell me what you think.

[ he'll feel the brush of her tail coming to coil around his wrist, just to hold. and the gentle movement of Sprezzatura widening her stance for him ]

[He feels the rhythm of her heart thudding in her chest, the muscles quivering along her lower back like a plucked string. Data, data, all of it; but also the fine satisfaction wrought from being the one to cause such a reaction, twined with his own physical desires. Sholmes arches slightly against her again, still slow and purposeful. His trousers really are very constricting now, but he is a patient man when he chooses to be. When he knows the reward for doing so is worth the wait.

He lifts his head to look at her face -- her permission is ample encouragement, and he runs two fingers along that little tract right between her legs, applying just enough pressure to feel notable through the fabric of her trousers.]

Are you aching for my fingers? [Eventually, his tongue. For now, his fingers slide back... and then forth again.] You're delightfully warm. And dare I say the scent of sex is already present?

[ musician's fingers... fuck.

he'll see another muscle work in the underside of her jaw as he moves his fingers and moves his hips. and, far more apparent--her tail clenches at his wrist. the desire to do unholy things to him is fast reaching a boiling point; spurred forward, breakneck, by precisely how metered they both are being. you want it worse when you wait for it. and oh, it feels like they're waiting for it.

she manages a scoff, or maybe it's a sigh. "already present", as though they haven't been slowly teasing each other on for ages now. her exhale shudders, either way. lightly. ]

Is this wishful thinking, or are your faculties so impressive? Perhaps you ought to work little bit harder. See for certain.

[Musician’s fingers, indeed. Quite deft ones, too, though their dexterity cannot be fully appreciated as they are — sensation and pressure stifled by the extra layer of fabric. His motions are slow, perhaps purposefully torturous, and though he had promised himself a degree of patience, Sholmes’ mind is already weighing other options at her behest. The tautness of her tail around his wrist seems to cinch the idea; and while how very wonderful it would be to grind against her again, the detective chooses instead to rise to his feet, unbidden.

The height difference between them makes itself known again. But it is easier, this way, to slip his hand down the waist of her trousers, beneath any undergarments, and seek both the warmth and wetness of her cunt with questing fingers.]

How is this for verification, Ms Vaux?

[ the self-satisfied curl of her mouth momentarily falters; forming a soft "oh", at first. he'll find her soft and humid to the touch, and very, very warm. easy to glide those clever fingers between her lips, easy to get a tactile feel for how deeply Sprezzatura has been enjoying their game. suddenly the only thoughts in her brain are damn him and yes, more ]

Daring, Mister Sholmes. It's ... ah. Daring.

[ a breathy murmur, and definitely not a reprimand. she lifts her chin and holds his gaze, snaking her own hand down, covering his from the outside. and him still nearly perfectly put-together, no longer even on his knees...

she likes the look of him like this, too, though. ]

Mammon.

[She's warm, and her slickness makes it easy to slide between her folds, mimicking the motion he had performed before he slipped his hand down her trousers. Now, he can feel her in earnest; he can tease the whole length of a finger, dragging across the nub of her clit. And then again.

His voice, often lilted and somewhat airy, has taken on its own husky timbre. Sholmes swallows thickly.]

But you seem to like it well enough.

Mmh.

[ she's biting her lip, she's biting her lip so her pointed teeth leave little divots. now Sprezzatura is aching for his fingers, his tongue, his kiss—whatever she can get away with demanding. the tender friction he eases back and forth sends an electric thrill up her spine, jumpstarts her heart, pulls all her blood downward in a deliriously sickening swoop. ]

This is elementary. [ thready inhale ] After all, you are doing so very well. [ she wonders: does he have a praise kink to take advantage of? ] Do you feel my heart beating against your fingertips? Do we throb in like time? Hm?

[ he must be terribly stiff, she thinks. not so above acts carnal, the great detective Herlock Sholmes. the thought is just another log on the fire, already blazing ]

[So terribly stiff, so easily noticeable if either bothered to glance down at the bulge between his legs. His finger continues to try to draw a reaction out of her, more than the interest that her body is already clearly signaling, but even that feels insubstantial in these very restricting clothes.

As for a praise kink, well. Even outside of empty motel room trysts, his ego is so very easily inflated by a wayward compliment; it would not be such a stretch to think this inclination is far more amplified now.

Sholmes angles his head down, voice in her ear.]

Yes. [Breathy.] I should think so. Perhaps you would like to confirm it yourself, as well.

[ it's all in her tail. she has it so tightly wound around his wrist that he may well wake up in the morning with a coiling bruise. he draws near and she turns her face to kiss him, exhaling a trembling sigh into his mouth.

whispers against him, with every ounce of affectionate cruelty she can muster, ] Oh. I believe you.

[ and instead of touching him, she begins to unfasten her trousers from around his hand ]

[It will be a strange bruise. He will note its shape and the development of its darkening color around his wrist as the days pass, as well as how it fades. But right now, the pressure is a footnote in his mind — more encouragement, more sensation when his body aches for it. (Though admittedly in far warmer, far more throbbing places.)

He huffs a little when they part from their kiss, low and vacillating somewhere between bemused and impatient. She does not touch him—no tension to be released there anytime soon—but instead loosens the fabric around his hand, giving him more clearance.]

You torture me.

[Hardly a complaint, though. If he’s been granted more space, then is he not obligated to quest further, dive in deeper?

Sholmes presses closer, and in that some motion, slips a finger into her.]

[ she actually gasps, very softly—his daring rewarded by an instinctive clench. paradoxically, it's his hand that feels so very warm. a satisfying, achy heat. ]

...Herlock. [ she reaches up and reels him in by the nape, close enough to hear her breath shuddering and see the sweat speckling on her brow. some of her imperious affectation has faded when she says: ] Will you undress for me?

[What a shame it would be, to abandon the sensation of her warmth clenching around him so soon. This hesitation, born of self-indulgence, makes itself known in the pause between question and answer. His heart pulses in his ears, which is strange, given how he's certain all of his blood has rushed definitively elsewhere.

But, eventually, he offers in a single breath-]

Of course.

[Removing his hand from between her legs, his fingers glisten a little from her wetness, and he steps back just enough to give them room. (She will have to remove her tail from his wrist, of course.) Sholmes has already removed the jacket of this university student ensemble, which leaves the sweater, which he pulls up and over his head. As one might expect, his frame is plaint but vaguely toned, his skin marred with various undertakings over the years -- a few old faded scars here and there, oddly shaped and long-faded; save for one, which is fresher than the others, but completely healed.

He allows the garment to land uselessly at his feet. Like this, he reveals how flushed he is around the lower neck and curve of his collarbones to his shoulders now.]

[ yes, her tail slithers away--wending around her own thigh, where it begins to squeeze as if to soothe her in the absence of his touch. that hesitation did not escape her notice.

he's a very attractive man. she takes in the apparent flush with a gaze so heavy as to be a touch all its own... and mimics him, pulling her own sweater finally the remainder of the way off. onto the floor, with his. even the flush on their chests matches. it's... satisfying. she wants very badly to kiss all along it, and lower, and tease his chest as he had hers.

soon. ]

And now...

[ she slides her own hands to the waistband of her open trousers and waits, her gaze now locked on his face. it's not a very subtle hint. ]

[His detective's gaze rakes across her topless form in earnest, his constantly whirring mind hungry for every detail. The angle of symmetrical curves, if she possesses any scars or the notable lack of them, the shape of where her skin has darkened in a flush, mimicking the shape of his own.]

A foregone conclusion.

[He did not need the hint, smiling lopsidedly; Sholmes bends down to tug off his shoes and socks, first, letting them thunk to the floor with as much care as his jacket and sweater. And then he works on the button and fly of his trousers with deft fingers, sliding both these and his pants free.

They pool at his ankles. It leaves him naked before her, his cock hard, swollen, and aching -- such glaring evidence of his arousal. Uselessly, his mind notes the chill of the motel's room, now that he is completely bare to it.]

[ notably? she has no visible scarring at all—only a smattering of beauty marks and that cracked, broken thumbnail on her right hand. the mystery of that imperfection is not even a difficult one, because right away she's setting that thumb between her teeth to bite down on as he bares himself.

he's precisely the physique she enjoys in a man—and his persistent smile is doing well to keep the remnants of unease at bay. ]

Mmn. [ her tail ripples conspicuously around her thigh, belying how much she likes the sight of Herlock Sholmes nude and erect. what's a little nudity between friends? ] There you are, Detective.

[ as she reaches out and gently trails one clawed fingertip up the underside of his cock. Mammon, it was only supposed to be a little kissing. ]

[Her tail really does give so much away, but he barely has time to register its tightening coil around herself before her touch sends an electrical thrill up and down his spine. The attention was expected—it was the only logical place this was going to go—but he cannot stop his body’s instinctive reaction. He would not want to. Sholmes sucks in a breath, muscles in his stomach growing taut in response.

There is pride in knowing that she enjoys what she sees; it would register more brightly if his mind wasn’t hazy with the want of more stimulation than just a finger gliding up the underside of his cock. The tip of it beads with precome, and they’ve barely done more than touch each other.]

Satisfactory to you, Sprezzatura?

In every way, Herlock. [ she turns her hand and just barely rubs her ring finger through the beading precome, working it gently back into his slit. with honesty, ] I am having lovely time with you.

[ finding him so eager is an ego-boost for her, as well. she takes her time looking him over—a gaze equally analytical to his. the scars, the lean muscle. the way his belly tightens up from such a fleeting touch, starved for relief as he must be. she wonders what he wants, now that he's no longer kneeling and rutting into her shoe, at her mercy to receive any stimulation at all. everything has been so very focused on her, up until now. ]

Will you slip this inside me, before we are done? Or have you other plans?

[Her touch threatens to send another jolt down his spine, the head of his cock already particularly sensitive for attention. Air escapes him at that question, a lightly amused scoff.]

The sensation of you clenched around me would be exquisite.

[A no-brainer at this point. But they have not been focusing on him, and that is quite all right, when he knows that one way or another, he will find release, even if it has to be by his own hand.]

Having you writhe atop or beneath me. But only if you desire it. I am satisfied if I am able to touch you, and taste you, you beautiful thing.

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