retroductions | reverie overflow.

[ 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.

[ she plays with the tip of him for a few long moments, stroking and circling, before she touches her finger to her lips to taste. bitter. next she reaches to hold his hand. ]

You could sodomize me. [ it isn't as though she's brought contraceptives to this tryst of theirs, but this is her old room; unless someone else has been through lifting things, she knows she'll find jojoba oil in the shower. ] But... Herlock... I would like to kiss you again. Join me in bed.

[God, she might drive him mad. With her small, experimental touches and the mental images she’s crafting in his head. You could sodomize me.

And yet, in stark contrast to that, the way she takes his hand feels gentle; the request that truly moves to the forefront is that of a kiss, and for some reason, that warms him beyond the aching need of his body. Sholmes dips down to catch her lips against his—just a brief thing—before responding.]

You may kiss me as many times and you like, and I may return the favor.

[Still holding onto her hand, he steps aside and tugs her gently, almost playfully, in the direction of the bed.]

[ learning a lot about this woman, aren't you? she does not take much urging to follow him—again her tail makes a wonderfully convenient third limb, helping her to kick off her boots along the way, so that she barely has to slow down.
(though she does, still, lag a little bit, for the express purpose of getting a proper look at that tail, sir) ]

As much as I want, hm? We may never stop.

[ the thing is. the thing is, she overwhelmingly desires to feel safe. and Sholmes feels safe. even more importantly, she cares about him for reasons that extend past this room and what they're doing now, and that, in the end, makes what they're doing now all the more compelling.

as friends, you know. ]

Sit.

[Learning many things, indeed. Some which compliment, some which contradict. But all of which Sholmes wishes he could fulfill -- for as much as Sprezzatura might want to feel safe, the detective wants to provide. It is as much for the sake of his own ego as it is something far simpler: a fondness born of friendship, the good-hearted nature to tend to another’s needs. In the end, he really is little more than a softie at heart.

For now, though, as per instruction, he crosses over to the edge of the bed and sits, his hand still clasped against hers. Another gentle tug so that she steps closer.]

I hardly see how that would be so bad.

[That they might never stop. What’s so wrong with the self-indulgence of wanting pleasant things to linger?]

[ she wants to kiss him. she wants to cover him in love bites. he would look so nice covered in love bites. ]

Well, you would get very little else done. [ as she moves obligingly as close as she can while still standing--guiding his hands hands once more to her backside. specifically, the button that closes the slit for her tail. ] You were asking about scent of sex, hm? Undress me. You will know it then.

[He takes in the sight of her, as though he has not been doing so this whole time, when she draws closer. Her hands guide his own, snaking around to where he can feel the round edges of a button clasped closed -- around the base of her tail, which he thumbs a little out of curiosity, the constant need for stimulation taking all forms, even if it is just a brush against a fingertip.

Blessedly, he does not linger. He can work at it with one hand, undo that button with his forefinger and thumb with ease. Tugs at the waistband of the material once it gives a little, clear encouragement.]

Will I? On my tongue?

[ he touches her tail, her stomach muscles twitch; beyond that, she manages to make stripping away the last pieces of clothing on her remarkably comfortable, not at all like undressing for someone for the first time. she bunches everything down her hips, down her thighs, and it falls to her ankles, and she quietly toes it all to the side.

for his inquisitive gaze: she has no scarring, anywhere. not at all like him. on her breasts and low on her belly are a scattering of beauty marks—all mostly on the right side of her body—and there are some faint, long stretch marks down the sides of her thighs and buttocks. which is hilarious, because she is very much not a tall woman. ]

Are you so parched, Herlock? [ she slips her tail between her thighs, glides it between her folds and over her clit, then brings it around her hip to lift his chin—just gently on its slickened curve ] Kiss these lips first. Please.

[No scarring at all. Perhaps the only real oddties are the stretch marks that grace where they would normally be found on a much taller woman, and even that is not nearly as distracting as everything else about her complexion -- such a strange and lovely hue, sometimes patterned with beauty marks. So contrasted to the pale tones of a British man who goes on misadventures on the almost-daily.

Her tail is so sinuous, he thinks, attention drawn to how it slides between his legs, only to find its way to his chin, tilting his gaze up to look at her again. That is a tease; Sholmes is so very hyperaware of that warm touch of slickness against his skin.

But he complies, all the same.]

Since you asked so kindly...

[A hand rises to slip around the nape of her neck, drawing her closer for another kiss, opened-mouthed and eager.]

[ yes. yes. finally. the woman who had been so reluctant to kiss him even once now sighs happily against his mouth as he nudges closer—bringing both hands up to cradle his face. she'll worry about everything later. for now, she wants to enjoy the slow warmth of someone she likes quite a lot kissing her.

the eagerness is not quite as intense coming from her, but that's because of the tusks jutting behind her lips. doesn't want to cut him. instead, she lets her interest come out in the longer-than-normal tongue that slips between and strokes beneath his. it's—that's tiefling, alright. or oni? hard to tell. ]

[Oh, the tongue is-- surprising. Is the oni, or is it the quality of a tiefling? He cannot hope to know, and it certainly does not matter in this moment. It adds only a strangely sensual quality to their exchanged kiss, a sensation entangling itself with his own tongue in a way he's not experienced before.

That in itself is a delight. He moans into her mouth, faint. Leans forward slightly, her tusks prickling at his skin.]

[ that he doesn't wrench away while exclaiming does her some good. emotionally. humming an answering laugh into his mouth, she brings a knee up to slide onto the bed, and then the other—bracketing his hips, perching. her free hand drapes over his shoulder and caresses up and down near the top of his spine, as far as she can reach. ]

Mmn.

[ they are skin-to-skin, chest-to-chest, kissing slowly. all of it has an oddly dreamlike quality, for her. but please don't make her make you bleed, Sholmes. ]

[What's a little prickling of blood amid a pleasurable kiss? Nothing at all. Thankfully, her tusks do not quite pierce the surface of his skin, and even if they did, it's unlikely he would care too terribly about a small scrape. Not like this; not when she's drawn closer, her knees bracing him against both sides, pressing them together in a remarkably wonderful way.

And in other ways, remarkably frustrating, given that she undoubtedly brushes against the length of his cock via nearness alone. He must busy his hands now, as though seeking stimulation elsewhere -- his free one glides down her backside, squeezing her ass, not unlike their time spent in the grave together.]

[ oh, undoubtedly she does, but he has more power over her than he thinks. she feels him take a palmful and start to squeeze, and her whole body gets so hot that it's practically dizzying. breaks the kiss to nod feverishly against him, murmur— ]

Like that...

[ when she fits their mouths together again, still softer than you'd expect, this time her tail slips between their bellies. it loops gently around his cock, begins to stroke him in its coils. the touch is deft enough you have to imagine she's done this sort of thing before. ]

[He would have been keen to follow her approval, to glide his other hand down to grope at the other side of her ass, even before the sensation of her tail loops around his cock, stroking it in dizzying coils. But that— that nearly causes him to break their kiss with a sharp inhale of air. The only thing keeping him pressed against her lips, then, is indeed the very hasty way he hastens to grip her bottom, squeezing, and anchoring himself just enough so he can lift his hips up, rutting against her.]

[ oh! she did not expect this kind of hunger from Herlock Sholmes of all people. her surprise comes out as a giddy little laugh as he ruts up between her spread thighs ]

I could bring you off just like this, you know.

[ rubbing fond circles beneath his jaw with a thumb. he would look so pretty, and she would make it feel so good for him ]

Would you like that?

[It is supremely difficult for him not to chase self-indulgence, to not follow pleasurable impulses; ask anyone who's known the detective over the years, for good or ill, and they would agree. Yet he has not loosed all of his self-control. Her laughter is bright in his ears, and he looks up at her with a flushed face, gaze hazy with want, but echoes an airy laugh right back.]

And undo our grand plans for a few hurried moments of bliss?

[He grinds against her again, cheeky.]

Surely you're in no such hurry.

[ bliss, he says, but also, you. that makes her laugh again, sable this time; she reaches between, slips her fingertips through the wetness beading at the tip of him ]

I would take my time. [ there's warmth there, in her tone, but also an affectation of poutiness. her fingers slip up again, now to smear his lips with his own precome... if he allows it. ] But precisely what grand plans are you thinking?

[ it would be its own pleasure, she's sure, for him to detail it. she likes hearing him talk. ]

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