i_favour_you

Entry tags:

AU

Follows this.

It wasn't until he found the beach that he realized they had made it to Cape May. Of all of New Jersey, this was possibly his least favorite place. It was so nice here. Cosy shops, happy people, and homes that cost far too much money.

Also, art supply stores. Sherlock purchases the needle, thread, alcohol, and some glue. Can't look too obvious, even with the blood under his fingernails and the tears in his tee-shirt. Not long after, he parks the stolen car in front of a chain hotel and goes in as calmly as possible to book them a room. His body is vibrating with panic. He can't remain this calm for much longer. Watson is bleeding. She's injured. He has to smile and wait in line and be bloody calm.

He pulls a coat out of the bag of clothes to put over Watson's shoulders once he gets back to the car.

"There's a vending machine and room service," he tells her. "We can get you orange juice and water for the blood loss."

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He half-rolls over to grab for the bag on the floor. The box is easily found within, but the little foil packet is, as always, annoying as all hell to open.

He tears it open with his teeth and produces the latex rubber.

She takes it from him, leans down again, and in one smooth motion runs the tip of her tongue along the underside of his cock. Then she smooths the latex over him, and crawls up to kiss his lips.

The sudden sensation of her mouth on the underside of him regains any loss the erection may have suffered prior to putting on the condom. Protection, while generally rather irritating, is far too important when it comes to Watson. He's not about to have her catch something because of his negligence.

He wraps an arm around her waist as she crawls up to kiss him. He pulls her close, focusing on the feel of her body next to him, the taste of her mouth.

She knows it's necessary, that there's just too much risk considering Sherlock's history. And if they ever have the time for that long holiday she's going to make sure they have the proper condoms for her to pleasure him with her mouth.

She lingers in that kiss, taking the time to enjoy it, even though they don't have much time. Then she breaks the kiss and moves to sit, straddling his hips. She holds a hand out to him.

"Sit up with me."

The kiss is sweet, and he focuses on it, on memorizing exactly how it feels before she breaks it. He'd almost say he would sooner continue kissing her than worry about making love---but he's a realist, not a romantic.

He follows instruction without question, taking her hand and sitting up, locking his eyes with hers. His gaze is curious, questioning.

She smiles faintly at that expression.

"I want to hold you while we do this."

She rises slightly on her knees, lowers her eyes, and reaches between them, guiding him to her entrance. She looks up again, locks eyes, and lowers herself, sighing as he slides inside her.

He, conversely, gasps at the sensation of her around him. He keeps one arm around her waist, holding her closely. Her eyes are dark, a ring of brown around large, dilated pupils. He wants to tell her he loves her as he lifts his hips up. He doesn't, of course. But he wants to.

"Oh, Watson," he murmurs.

"Sherlock," she murmurs back, verging on a moan. She wraps her arms around him, holding her tight to him, gazing into those beautiful eyes. Her own are much the same, of course, dark with pupils wide.

She wants to tell him. Wants to tell him she loves him. She can't because she knows he won't take it well. The words burn inside her, though, even if she can't give them voice.

She starts to move against him. This is not a position of a quick shag, for hard thrusting and fast climaxes. This is a position for holding each other and letting the pleasure build until it overtakes them.

They have no time. But this is their first time, and who knows if or when they'll be another. She wants to do it right.

She moves against him, and he lifts his hips up to meet each motion. She's tight and warm and god it feels amazing. He gasps again, and leans up to press his mouth to her throat, to taste her as well as feel her against him.

His Watson.

He moves against her, inside her, and god, it's perfect, tangled up together, joined together. His mouth goes to her throat, and she moans, dropping her head back and moving one hand up to cradle the back of his head.

He nips gently against her throat and lifts up his hips to move deeper inside of her. It's amazing, the two of them tightly bound together, as though hidden in a bubble away from the terror outside of the hotel room.

"Watson," he moans, gripping her tighter by the waist.

"Sherlock," she gasps, tightening her own embrace, moving against him a little harder, a little faster. There's just this, only this, only their arms, their bodies, their breath. Sharing this, this moment, this pleasure, each other, hearts beating together. It's beautiful, and it's perfect, and for the moment it's all there is. For the moment nothing else can touch them.

He digs his nails into her side and gasps again.

He thrusts and presses his mouth to her clavicle. His body is desperate for release, but he wants desperately to stay connected to her. To keep this going. He'd be quite happy to remain like this for days.

She gasps his name, this time in pain at his nails in her side, and responds by digging her own nails into his shoulder. She wants this to last, knows if she keeps the pace steady, it will.

But time. They don't have time. They have to run.

So she moves, still harder, still faster, pushing both of them toward release.

"Watson," he gasps again, lifting his hips up faster. He thrusts harder up into her and holds on tight, trying to keep himself from going over the edge.

"I---I love---"

The digging of her nails into his shoulder pushes him closer to the edge.

She cries out as he thrusts into her, and tightens her hand in his hair, turning her head, pressing her cheek to his.

"Yes," she gasps, affirmation and permission, to say the words, to come inside her.

It's embarrassing to be so close so quickly. He used to be a man of substantial stamina, but drug use ruined his abilities, and the sensation of her tight around him pushes him quickly towards climax. He moves one hand to her clitoris, to help bring her to the orgasm he knows he's about to experience, while his other hand holds her close.

He cries out her name as he comes, his orgasm sharp and intense.

He touches her, and comes, pulsing inside her. She moans, rocking hard against him, against his fingers, twice before gasping out his name as she comes.

She releases his hair, and tilts his face to hers, kissing him deeply.

He returns the kiss fully, holding onto her tightly. He loves her. He does. Painfully, desperately. He'll die before he lets anything happen to her.

He moves his hand up to take hers, his fingers clinging to hers. When he breaks the kiss, he brings them up to kiss her fingertips.

When their lips part, she keep close, keeps her forehead pressed to his, her arm tight around him. He kisses her fingertips, and she presses her lips to his hand.

He was so close. So close to saying the words, he might as well have.

"I love you," she whispers against his skin.

He wants to tell her she shouldn't. She shouldn't love him. Loving him will get her killed. He won't have her die for him.

"My dear Watson," he murmurs against her fingers, kissing them again. He lifts his chin to kiss her mouth again.

If he had tried to argue, she would have made sure his mouth was too busy to get very far. As it is, she kisses him, slowly, lovingly.

"My Sherlock," she whispers against his lips, and touches his cheek.

He lets out a good-natured sigh.

"Now, though," he says. "Why now? Couldn't we have worked out our mutual affection back when we had the whole Brownstone and time to spare?"

"Time to spare," she answers quietly. "We thought we could afford not to act because we had time to spare. We don't know if we have that anymore. Might as well be together if we might not have much time. Do what we've wanted to."

She finds his hand, threads her fingers through his.

"Say what we've needed to."

"Be with you," he says. "Watson, I never imagined I'd be anywhere else."

He holds her hand and looks up at her adoringly.

"I imagined...we'd grow old together."

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