Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

Fruit Punch (Part 6) (EXPLICIT)

His voice low against her tempting, innocent mouth. "What else do you want?"

She goes red again, her cheeks contrasting starkly against the pale bedsheets. "What do you want?"

He shakes his head, his freshly shaven chin grazing her jawline. "I want to please you." He feels her fingers tighten on him.

"Thank you," Y/N stutters, so endearingly and almost pitifully Sherlock finds his face softening with sympathy.

He understands.

He can't imagine someone wanting to please him either.

Dipping his head, he nudges his nose behind Y/N's ear, letting the smell of her shampoo sweetly surround his face. He could live here, he thinks, wrapped in her limbs, her heart thrumming against his chest. "How about I explore? And you can just tell me if you like what I'm doing."

He's working his way down her neck, pulling away to check her expression.

She doesn't stop him so he nudges his nose into the collar of her T-shirt, his palm sliding from her hip to her T-shirt-covered side.

"...I like that," Y/N stammers, the words breathy against Sherlock's hair.

Softly, his thumb wriggles under her shirt, rubbing a questioning circle onto the pointed bone of her hip.

It makes her wriggle.

"Okay?"

"Yes. Keep going."

Slowly, he inches the cotton up, exposing a narrow slither of vulnerable skin.

Y/N gasps a little as Sherlock's palm gravitates to the inviting softness of her stomach.

Lingering there, letting her acclimate to the foreign touch, her presses his mouth carefully against hers.

She melts onto the covers as he gives a lazy massage, slow circles becoming wider until the back of his hand graces the underside of her breast.

He expects her to tense, but she hums against his lips, her fingers clutching on tighter to his shirt. Experimentally, he lets that hand wander up, higher.

She makes a bitten-down sound as the pad of his thumb smoothes over the crest of a nipple.

Unable to help moaning into her mouth, he sweeps over the pert little bud again, feeling it harden excitedly below his touch.

Breaking the kiss to gasp, Sherlock finds Y/N's eyes closed, her body loose and pliant, and watches in fascination as hungry, unexpected little noises fall from her parted lips as he rubs soft, teasing circles.

She goes pink when her eyelids flutter open and she realizes he'd been watching her. She bites her lip, stifling a breathy gasp, and Sherlock shakes his head.

"Don't. I like to hear you."

Y/N giggles, her gaze flicking from his pale eyes to his muscled arm disappearing below the hem of her T-shirt. Quietly:

"You can take it off if you want." She sits up a little, lifting her arms.

In awe, like unwrapping a present at Christmas, Sherlock tugs her T-shirt up and over her head.

Her skin tightens as the night air greets it, and he feels a shiver of something exciting travel down his spine and pool in his toes.

He can't help it anymore, and leans down, letting his mouth connect with the soft skin of her breast.

They both hum, Y/N's skin prickling with goosebumps. 

She hitches when his nose nudges over a nipple, his wide lips tracing hot circles around the delicate areola.

Unable to help it, his jaw drops open, the wet heat of his tongue rolling the pert, deliciously responsive little bud.

Squirming under his assault, Y/N's weak moan rolls straight to Sherlock's hips.

His grin grazing roughly against her skin, he lifts his head to give the other equal attention.

He's running rough circles around the blushed nub of flesh when he realises Y/N has untucked his shirt, her hands scrabbling to get below the cotton. He pulls away, leaving both her breasts flushed and shining and Y/N gasps up at him.

"Sorry. I just---I wanted---" She's let go of his clothes, her fingers retreating, but Sherlock takes a slender wrist in one hand and guides them back.

"It's okay," he says, delivering a kiss to her lips through a smug smirk:

"Please. Do whatever you want to me."

Y/N's legs cling tighter about him as his low tone rumbles into her ear, and after a few moments, he feels her fingers tentatively return to the buttons of his shirt.

Her kiss addictive, he barely notices as the cool air greets him, but he finds himself tensing as her hand meets his chest.

The touch is new and warm and more than welcome.

"Relax," Y/N says, and it startles a nervous laugh out of him.

He's not relaxed, but he is enjoying himself. He's excited and painfully aroused and a little nervous.

What if he isn't what she'd been expecting?

What if he's not what she had wanted, for her first time?

What if he's too pale and angular and nothing like those big burly men she likes to watch in those superhero movies?

"Gorgeous," Y/N mutters, her fingers splayed over his beating heart. The tips of her ears go pink as if she hadn't meant to say it out loud.

"Thank you," Sherlock says, meaning it. "...People don't say that to me either."

"...I did. In my head. The first time I met you."