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ukthxbye · 1 month

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All That Glitters and Gleams

So it has been over a year since I writer Sherlolly. Thought I might be done because of my focus on my two books and trying to get an agent... life is funny.

When this photo showed up in the sherlolly discord,

the wheels started spinning and 24 hours later, you're welcome.

cw: semi-public sex, fingering, light dom/sub, begging

Glittering.

Gold and silver statues and everything shiny draped dramatic fabric in this room normally spare dingy blue white.

And he hated it.

But impressed all the same. The banquet hall of St. Barts transformed to another age. Sherlock scoffed when Molly asked him to this 1920s fundraiser, rattling facts about all the false opulence for what.

"It's fun to pretend," she'd said in the wry, sad resignation he knew like a drug. Nearly as unpredictable. She might tell him to forget it and go with someone else. She might let him rattle off facts as they walk in and still pull him along, suffering the embarrassment.

She blessed him with the latter.

He couldn't refuse anymore what she asked for. His life depended on her happiness… like a new addiction.

But he'd denied her the one thing she craved. She denied herself more.

"They shouldn't have spent so much money, you were right," she said at his side. "You've every right to hate this. It's dancing and talking to higher ups. We can go home."

"Well, at least the champagne is cheap," he said glancing at woman walking by with two green bottles in had. But home, where is the adventure in that? Can't critique and complain until we have the facts," he said, slipping off his long wool coat, handing it to the hired coat clerk… no wait, it was a boy from the cafe.

"Gerald, they roped you into this?" Sherlock frowned at him.

"Ticket sir, you try to have a good time, eh?" the boy said, coats piling up on his right.

"Yes…yes." Sherlock offered him a cocked tightlipped smile.

In instinct he turned to Molly, and without interrupting her conversation with a heart surgeon he disliked, his hands reached around her shoulders, grasping the lapels on her equally long coat.

The lights, low in the room but travelling across a mirror ball, landed at her back as he slid the dark fabric down like a curtain.

Glittering.

But he liked it.

He vibrated, her scapula bones meeting like wings of an angel as she dropped the coat off her arms.

She'd not let him look at the dress until now. Beadwork in a line down the straps, down and across her waist. Shadow and bones and gold. Champagne dripped down her frame, soon like on her tongue.

She matched the room and enhanced it to a mind numbing quality.

"Come on, there's Stamford," she said with a half grin, and grabbed his hand.

Like fire on a golden pyre.

He accepted her lead, lost in the light playing off her skin. He'd mapped it before. He mapped everything. But why does it look different here?

Do her nerves jump when his hand drifted up to her elbow, gripping like a secret, waiting? Lost to the bunching pale satin, but… she responded each time, ending the conversation.

She let him hold her hand absently as she tugged him from one corner to the next. Satin gloves threaded in his fingers, robbing him of hers.

But her back, exposed, and his touch strayed there often to catch her attention, drawing her into him so he could mutter in her ear some amusing observation he'd about someone she chatted with.

Her skin cooled like a glass of cold milk. He craved it the same. But he feared his hand gave him away, warming more with every risked caress.

She flinched the first time, her wings shrugging him away.

But now she let it lay there, even as he chased a shadow up the nape with his finger.

Her shiver is not from the room now.

He smiled to himself, but the oncologist next to him took it as an opportunity to speak. I can do two things at once. Sherlock kept his fingers near her scalp, his fingernail grazing along the hairline until she quivered, and fanned herself with her purse.

They made many more rounds, each one more exhausting. The satin under his hands, the hand on her lower back enticing. Every man who tried to insult her field of study with backhanded compliments boiled his blood.

His mask slipped, and he half insulted the last surgeon they spoke to.

"You're getting rude," she said, dragging him down by his collar to her ear.

Oh, don’t do that…

The tug switched on a part of his brain he'd kept safe from her. They'd both been so good since his sister nearly destroyed everything.

Such respectable friends, open with their emotions except for…

I'm going to ruin that now.

“Sherlock, are you listening to me?” She searched his face for understanding in the dark.

“I thought you said all surgeons are like footballers, egotistical and overpaid,” he sniffed.

She leaned back and frowned. "You said that."

“Hmm…” he matched her frown, then smiled, running his tongue along his teeth. “Oh, yes… I did. But you might have agreed.”

He gasped. She snatched his collar again, with a curl twisted in it now, setting a delightful tingle across his scalp.

“Why is it so hard for you to behave…”

He turned enough so she could meet his stare. "You like me when I don't… why change that now?" His tongue strayed across his lips, letting his gaze drop to hers.

In the dark and flashing light of the room, it hit perfect timing for the scarlet of her lips to show. Her teeth parted and her tongue licked her own lips as well.

“Come with me,” she said, low, releasing him when someone glanced their way.

They reached the bathroom on the front left corner of the room, with no one around. “You know what? Wait here for a moment and then we'll talk.” She stepped in and his hand caught the door as she pushed close it.

Wide-eyed, she let him push it back and close it behind him, meeting her stare.

"Sherlock, what are you—"

His finger to his lips and she clamped her mouth shut. His lips lifted into a sly smile.

"Is there something wrong?" She moved to him and glanced at the door, his hand going back behind him and clicking the lock.

“No, I wanted to talk… privately.”

She sighed out in relief. “We could have gone outside.”

“Then I couldn’t look at you in that dress.”

The bathroom decorated for the theme, feather arrangement, lights low. The cream walls normally boring matched her antique faded gold satin. He soaked in the room along with her.

One last look before you leap…

"Oh, don't be silly…" she chuckled, crossing her arms, and his eyes dropped to the cleavage.

He remained wordless, a hand in his pocket, waiting for her to catch up.

She squinted, shaking her head as she whispered, "Oh… no."

"Molly."

She ran a hand through her short cropped hair. How soon might I do the same?

“Are you really going to do this here? This dance for… god I thought we'd settled this,” she said, the plead in her tone only urged him on more.

“Oh, my sweet Molly, like ice cream on my tongue, freezing every word… until this dress.” he shifted near to her, and she stepped back near the sink.

"I'm not sweet," she said with folded arms, looking down at the cleavage, realising the effect and moving her arms, bracing on the sink basin. “We should go… before you say something you shouldn't.”

"I'll be the judge of that."

She turned toward the mirror with a scoff. “Your judgement is terrible. I don't trust it. But yes…you always thought me too sweet… is that all compassion is to you?” Her gaze went down as she said it and he counted the vertebrae in her neck, concentrating.

How did I get here? How do I get out of it?

But he was bored with ignoring the chemicals running under his skin when she was near.

He closed the distance behind her, and she stiffened. His eyes travelled from the hollow of her throat, slowly following the pink path each capillary displayed with the pump of her heart. Those lips, red and not yet swollen as he'd make them.

His gaze lifted from there up as he spoke his stare meeting hers in the mirror. "My mistake then… I do confess to the two mistakes you accused. But then I recall less gentleness when your hand stuck hard," he raised his hand, tenderly tracing his thumb along her cheekbone, and licked his lips when she shivered. “Do I deserve it again?”

The beadwork, gold and silver sparkling in the low light, entranced him. He traced down with a finger, following along its path, ending in a v, breast swelling with her heightened breath. Her heartbeat was so strong the pulse beat a rhythm under his fingertips. But he never broke his stare, and she held it, her eyes dark and shining.

Gleaming.

And he loved it.

Would she imagine him closing the gap, a canyon between what they've been… and what they will be? Never letting his lips touch, but he assured his breath and its heat performed the same duty as he spoke into her ear… and then her jaw.

"But tell me… did you know how I fought every urge and when it changed… how many times we've almost. When we considered all the possibilities and said no…was it not because you were so principled?" He said with a smirking grin.

Crack.

She’d spun around to face him and struck his left cheek. She gulped hard, and he sighed, waiting for her words to catch up with her hand.

“If this is a game… It's very cruel. You can read what I want without touching. You know every ache, every want… you…” She drew a deep breath through her nose. “Always did. Question is… will you be too high minded … or will you…” She squinted as she spoke, but the tremble he expected was absent.

But this was the Molly he'd fallen for all along, in her own power and never under his. Quite the opposite. Her lips parted, her eyes on his lips as well.

Her breath matched his, and his lungs ached for them to share the same air.

“Which one of us will break… that delicious thick tension we’d spun for years… but…” he tipped his nose against hers and with his hands on either side of her on the washbasin, holding on to the porcelain for dear life, he said near her lips, “It was always yours to take… stop asking for permission.”

Come on now, my Molly.

He let her kiss him, and answered the swell in his chest deepening until his entire mouth encompassed hers, his tongue licking the champagne sugars off hers.

“You kiss like you want me, Sherlock Holmes.” She sighed into his throat, breathless. She'd pressed her body against him when the kiss deepened. He couldn't dare put his arms around her… I might never let go.

He swallowed hard. "The easiest thing I've ever done. You'd be correct… you always were."

“Oh, yes… too sweet. Then…” she said with a huff, leaning back, robbing him of her nearness, and he missed it.

He met her knowing stare.

“You're correct… you always were.” Honesty at last. But he couldn't see if it would help or harm the mood.

She shook her head slightly. “Don't be like that. I don't know what to do with that. It can't fuck me properly.”

“Then tell me what you want. As in to say… I'm done thinking for now. It bores me.” He spoke into her neck, “Tell me the fantasy… I can only read so much from your breath and skin singing under my touch… instruct me to see how to get you there. New memories.”

"Beg me. On your knees. And make sure you say please.”

He sighed. “Now Molly… I wanted to tease you more before I have use of my knees… have you lost patience—”

Her hand covered his mouth, and she pushed him down until her knee dug into his shoulder hard, on his knees in front of her.

“Beg… it's the least you can do if you want me so much… wanted me so long. We're both ignoring our principles now…” she said, each word strong ringing in his mind. “So beg.”

Her mouth is so pretty when she says…

"So beg."

He quieted his mind, a singular focus now. Every sense dialled in to her rich floral perfume, her touch and heartbeat.

The light played on the satin before him, transfixing. “Please,” he said low, running his hands lightly along the golden sleek cloth, seeking her bones underneath like a lost road. “Teach me, tell me what to do.”

“I don’t want to ruin this beautiful dress… put your jacket next to the basin.”

He lingered his hand fascinated with the precise folds of the skirt, shining and shadowing, like the folds he’d soon… he trailed a finger along one close to her hip.

“Now will you be a good boy…and do what I asked or do I…?”

He looked up into her eyes, so far above him like a goddess’ blessing. He held her stare as he snatched the coat off and handed it to her to arrange.

“Now set me—oh!”

As he stood, taking her with him as he grabbed her hips and arse, fingers digging the slippery dress and sat her on the counter so hard she bounced.

He smiled sly as irritation on her skin coloured the same as her blush. I like both too much.

He held his hands up in false surrender.

She huffed out, “Are you going to take instruction or are you gonna improvise your own here?”

“I’ve matured, I like collaboration.” He shrugged a shoulder, leaning over and snatching an ostrich feather out of the full vase next to her. How perfect for the theme this evening. The sheen on the feathers caught the light golden as her dress. He twirled it between his fingers, waiting.

“Nothing else unless I say so,” she said. He didn't miss the gravel and struggle to breathe. Her stare unblinking on the feather.

“Then…” he held the feather out in front of her and lowered it, leaning in meeting her half lidded gaze. “Tell me what to do.”

“I think you guessed I like a tease.”

He nodded, “Oh do I ever…we've done years… little kisses on the cheek like friends,” he let the end of the feather fall across her face, moving it in time to watch the colour rise deep scarlet. “But since we remedied that… … but what's a little more?” He lowered the feather across her neck and she turned her head, opening up and he imagined her nerves jumping.

That neck was like cream he wanted to lick and bruise with his teeth.

Ah, there is the demon I've always feared.

He teased with the feather down between her breasts, and she shuddered with her sigh. Her eyes closed, and he trailed the feather up again, teasing her clavicle, the bones showing their angles in shadow and he wanted to add his own shadow there as well.

She leaned back, head against the mirror. “More,” she whispered out.

The feather up her throat, and he trembled, the tip of it caressing her lips. Now I'm jealous of a feather. He wanted to kiss her again but now bound by the agreement. She'd broken so many rules for him. I can keep this one.

Her breath shuddered as she leaned back over and looked up into his eyes.

“That's enough. Kiss me… kiss me so hard I might bleed.”

He shook his head, and squinted, “Don't ask me to do that. I'll do anything you ask… it is what you deserve, but… those demons don't need to come out yet.”

She gritted her teeth under her lips, “Then kiss me like you love me.”

I'm gonna ignore those tears. They're not here to stay.

He kissed her so tenderly he thought they both might break.

She stopped for a breath, and spoke into his ear, “I love you too… Now that's out of the way, kiss me however you want… but I want your hands to move this skirt out of the way.”

He lifted her and shoved it out of the way behind her, and she helped gather the top. He hates the skirt now. Should have encouraged her for a short flapper dress, one with a delightful fringe he could have twirled in his fingers near her knee.

No matter. The music kicked up loud outside the bathroom, the low beat thumping under his hand resetting just beside her thigh like a heartbeat.

“Tell me what you want… my touch or my tongue.” He licked his lips, drying from his breath increased as much as hers. Oh, to find out how sweet she really is.

“Touch… I think that's all I can stand for now,” she said with an unsteady voice. “Talk to me. Tell what you want… tell me what you will do… your voice is the only sound I want in my head.”

His thumbs strayed to her thighs, bare and like silk. Circles and caresses, and he leaned into her ear, “Can you please…” he caressed over her knees. "lean back to the wall, my love, I don't want you to hurt that pretty head."

“Yes… more,” she said, exposing that creamy throat again.

“Can I kiss your neck… please?”

“Yes… god yes, but… I need your fingers,” she reached a trembling hand and grasped his, setting it on inner thigh. "I need them inside me." The fire like heat pulsed against his palm. She's so wet for me…

But first, he raised his fingers up to his mouth, letting her observe him wet them, meeting her stare.

He tugged her soaked knickers aside. Two fingers found her folds. So ready for him, his knees nearly buckled. He turned his fingers and met her clit with his thumb, gently as she was so hard. She pulled and tugged on his fingers, whimpering, calling him like a siren's song.

She's always been the rock I'd dash myself on.

His lips on her throat, and she burrowed her nails in his curls and scalp. Those low moans barely reached his ears, but they vibrated under his tongue, the salt of her skin mouthwatering.

Bang bang.

The lock jiggled.

They both glanced at the lock, wide-eyed, but it held.

Oh, that will not do.

Her movement on his fingers wavered, but he pressed further, finding the spot that nearly made her cry out and he grinned into the hollow of her throat and flicked it with his tongue.

Her moan louder, but he clamped his hand tight over her mouth, every knock urging him on, his thumb playing with clit, soaking wet dripping down as his fingers curled. Her panicked peeks at the door replaced as she closed her eyes and smiled into his hand, her sigh hot and panted.

He turned her face and leaned into her ear, nipping as he spoke. “Is that adding to the effect? There'll be no mistake what I did to you when we leave together… they’ll know… shame they can’t hear the crying moan I want to hear… A shame for me. Tell me. Harder or softer… how long do you want them to wait?”

She panted into his hand. "Harder… oh god… I'm so close. Don't stop that or I'll hit you again."

The brat in him wanted to tease her. But this wasn't the time.

But his deep voice, he knew its effect, and he spoke, meeting her lidded stare with his own.

"They love our brilliant brains, don't you think? But they don't see us as humans. Never will, but we can see and feel it now. It's our little secret how human we can both be."

She whimpered and tightened but… no it's not quite there.

“Can you come for me… please?”

“Kiss me one more time… I… oh…” she said with a shudder, her legs tightening on his hand.

And kiss her he did, so hard she might bleed and she cried out into his mouth and shuddered down into her orgasm, pulsing so deliciously around his finger he almost came himself.

She slumped, and he stared, pulling out.

When she met his gaze, she whispered, “You can taste the results… and think about when we get home.”

He sucked his fingers clean, not blinking and her smile, slight, ended with a shivered whimper.

Much too sweet… I can't wait for more.

#ukthxbye is ficcing #sherlolly #molly hooper #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #angst and smut #feels #angst is their kink and they've sorted that out

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