He’d always observed a kiss on cases to see if anything was slipped between them via their mouths, he’d been exposed to dramatic embraces and passionate displays in films… but the truth was that kissing didn’t feel at all the way it looked.
This wasn’t how he’d… imagined it (not that he’d spent an excessive amount of time on it). It looked more rigid. Sadji’s lips were cool but his own… were very, very warm. He felt warm all over in fact and shifted under her as much as he could manage without disturbing her. For some reason, he was hyper-vigilant about his movements with her in his lap, under her scrutiny like this, the giggle, the smirks, the fact that he was very much at her mercy.
When she grabbed his wrist and she spoke, his eyes fluttered a bit and narrowed at her as she spoke. ‘Poor beautiful alien’… it was almost sweet, no one had ever inferred he was beautiful or anything of the sort. Her intonation and yet he felt it as a bit of a slap across the face as well that pushed him into a reaction instead of gaping at her like he had been the last couple of minutes. She pitied him and there was little more in the world he hated than pity. He tried to twist his wrist from her grasp but only managed to nearly inure the tendons and muscle there, as if perhaps, her strength had been nothing but an illusion and now the limits of the human body would suddenly pertain. It was as real, as steady as a boat on still water and he just looked weary as he realized that his life was not his own right now. It was hers. His body was no longer under his own control.
He felt the press of her lips against his wrist and watched, slightly fascinated despite his despair about the situation, as if he could garner a bit of meaning from the gesture. Cool but soft pressure against his sensitive wrist. Why? Why did she kiss him like this? The ‘poor beautiful alien’ that he was?
Then he felt a piercing sensation at his wrist, sharp but as harmless as a butterfly needle, however, if she was slipping a needle or two into him, he’d demand to know what it was. But he didn’t get that far. His lips had parted in protest, but now, stayed as such in a wave of pleasure that washed over his whole body. It was warm and he felt nearly cradled by a soft, peaceful aura around him. A delightful shiver ran down his back and his eyes slipped shut. It was like morphine, he thought, a soft sound leaving his throat from deep inside of it, somewhere between the sound of a large cat purring and a moan. Sherlock’s body was completely rested against the couch, but. his torso surged a little and he took deep, steady breaths, unlike his panicked shallow pants earlier. I haven’t had a goddamn good hit in ages. he thought, his mind melting… pleasurably. The one fear he harbored the most was losing control of his mind but something, he didn’t know what was running through his veins right now and if Sadji had bottled it and sold it, he’d be her best customer. He wanted to test it. Find the structure of the molecule. Know exactly what caused this feeling and how to recapture it.
It wasn’t quite erotic, though it might have seemed so to anyone privy to their meeting now. In fact, they might have sworn on it. Sherlock could only call this sensual ravishment. He needed with his whole body, not just his cock, wherever people usually felt the greatest desire. Sadji’s mouth warmed and he could feel it against his skin… his other hand weakly rose to grab her other forearm to hold onto her, ground himself and her skin was softer, also warm. He ran his thumb down the inside of her arm, noting how soft it was. How stupid, he thought, of course it was soft.
When she pulled herself from his wrist, Sherlock made a perturbed little groan as if waking up from a beautiful dream, but he didn’t quite snap awake. Nothing had made him feel this way in years. He slowly cracked his eyes open, looking in her direction, head resting against the wall and took in the sight of her, He wondered what he should say… only the most mild panic ran through him at his blood staining her mouth and teeth. His heart picked up a bit, but didn’t pound, it was softer, more subdued.Then he took in the two small scabs forming on his wrist and slowly lifted his heavy head up.