Tag Archives: but it was there

Secret Admirer

thenameislahey:

iamthefirechild:

Summer shook her head, slowly. “No. I go to the college. I’m a sophomore.” A little smile, secretive, curved her mouth. “You’ve never seen me before. Not to notice.”

He tasted of nerves, now, and confusion, still sweetened with that hope underneath. She thought maybe he wasn’t sure what to do with her. “Ask me anything,” she said, turning her hands palm up to him. “I know you don’t trust me yet.”

     ”Oh, cool.” Now she was hot and older — what did he do and how can he repeat it? “Um,” it went against his better judgement but he could tell she wasn’t lying else her heart would’ve skipped. She seemed genuine which worried him a bit. There had to be a catch.

     ”Did you want to come in? To talk, I mean,” he stepped aside to allow room for her to walk across the threshold of the house. “Do you want something to drink or—?” He trailed off and shoved his hands into his jean pockets to keep them from fidgeting. He had never actually had a girl over before because of whatever reason so he wasn’t entirely sure how it was supposed to work.

Summer slipped into the house, stepping carefully so she didn’t brush him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what she would sense if they touched. Not yet. “Thank you.” She wanted a little of the mystery she’d created for him to remain for both of them, right now.

It was hard not to know certain things, though, now that she had opened up. Hard not to sense his unease, and understand that it wasn’t her specifically.

“A soda would be really nice.” It would give her hands something to do, so she didn’t fidget. Maybe. Already one hand was behind her back, fingers sliding through her hair. Summer put the other hand back there, too, and stepped into the living room. A couch beckoned, and she perched on the edge.

M!A Sherlock needs sex and gets turned on every time you say his name

illcomeholmesforchristmas:

iamthefirechild:

She slid her hands up his chest, body bent in a bow the centre of whose arc was his hands. When their lips met, his urgency infected her even more, and she threw herself into the kiss, already nipping at his mouth. Not real, a fading voice whispered at the back of her mind, and she shoved it away. Didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was Sherlock’s hands on her body and her mouth on his.

Sherlock’s hips ground against her slightly and his hands wandered on the redhead’s back. His tongue snaked out to part her lips and when they did, he plunged his tongue into hers. His body was flush against hers and he found himself pulling on her shirt.

/His/ shirt had buttons, which she busied her hands opening. It took a long time, in the midst of deepening kisses, maddening kisses, for her to even become aware that he was all but yanking on her shirt. She took advantage of a need to breathe to yank her shirt off over her head and abandon it, then part the sides of his and slide her hands underneath to meet as his back, fingernails striping marks. One leg hitched around his, and she threw her head back, baring her throat to him. “Please, Sherlock, god, please,” she panted.