- Touch –

He could have stayed inside at the party and let her walk away from the pub without a word. She could have caught the train back to Leadworth, and they would have never seen each other again. He could have got a cab back to his place on his own and left her alone at the restaurant. She could have called Rory and apologised and asked him to please come get her, she wanted to come home. He could have kicked her out when she found his cocaine, or she could have left. He could have let her storm off in a huff when he insulted her, not chased after her. She could have ran off, as fast as her long legs could carry her, screaming for help.

But they hadn't.

They had continued their game of cat and mouse, taunting and teasing and challenging, laying bait and waiting for the other to bite. Playing on weaknesses and revelling in the satisfaction of every minor victory, but never able to quit while ahead. Because they had chemistry, and it was explosive.

She knew she had him when she felt his hands curl around her hips. The touch, when it finally came, was not at all tentative, as she had expected his grip to be, but secure, strong and certain as he pulled her down and forward, closer to him. And just like that, Amy Pond had beaten Sherlock Holmes – again.

His lips parted and his tongue demanded entrance to her mouth, and she gladly granted it. They kissed ferociously, tasting of tea and tobacco and unrestrained lust. Their hands roamed, Amy's running along Holmes' broad shoulders, pushing his shirt off to reveal toned muscles that tensed beneath her touch. Holmes ran his hands up her sides and into her hair, bunching the soft, red strands between his fingers and tugging ever so gently until her head was tilted back and her throat exposed. With a predatory glint in his eye he leant forward to nip at the base of her neck, coaxing a delighted hum from the back of Amy's throat. As his mouth moved along her collarbone she wound her hands into his dark curls, and the sensation of her polished nails scraping lightly along his scalp sent Holmes spiralling to the point where denying her contact would have proved impossible.

This was wrong, a part of Amy knew, but that knowledge didn't stop her from whipping her head forward and capturing his lips with hers again, sucking firmly on his tongue and delighting in the heat flooding her body – because it just felt so fucking good.

"I knew you wanted this," she growled against Holmes' lips as her own curled up in a smirk.

He didn't answer, continuing to silently kiss along her jawline until he got to her earlobe, which he tugged gently down with his teeth. She groaned as the action sent shivers up her spine, rolling her head back and letting her eyes flutter shut. When she felt his hands sliding up her thighs, however, her eyes flew open. He was massaging gently, fingers running in circles against the soft skin of her inner thigh, getting closer and closer and -

He stopped suddenly and leant back in the armchair, and Amy felt an ache at the loss of contact. She looked down at him, flushed and breathing heavily, eyebrows raised questioningly.

"Are you okay?" She asked breathlessly, searching him for any signs of distress.

His blue eyes were slightly glazed, and it was an odd sight to see on the man who usually appeared so composed. He rubbed his hands against the top of the arms of the chair, ran his tongue across his lips and swallowed before answering, "Protection."

"What?" Tactlessly, Amy spoke before she'd given herself a chance to process what she'd heard. Thankfully she understood before Holmes could speak again, hurriedly amending, "Oh! Protection, of course, yeah…"

Well. Amy was never one to be caught unprepared, but she was grateful that Holmes had remembered, because she had been getting quite caught up in the moment. Ignoring how shaky she felt, she swung her leg over Holmes' lap and darted off to her wallet, perched on top of a low pile of books beside the couch. She bent forward to search through it, fumbling through lip glosses and crumpled up receipts, until finally she found a condom in a side pocket. She straightened up and spun around, holding it up between two fingers as she did so.

"All sorted," she said with a smile, which only spread when she saw that Holmes was standing, shirtless, in the middle of the room. She took a moment to admire his slim physique, and as she did so he walked towards her, eyes ice blue and piercing.

He stopped right in front of her, and for a moment he seemed hesitant to touch her again. Amy tucked the condom into the pocket of her dress and slowly reached out to him, skimming her fingertips along his smooth, hard abdomen, climbing up to his ribcage and coming to rest on his shoulders. He snaked his hands around her waist, pulling her forward, and in seconds they went from barely any contact to being pressed flat together, her arms wound around his neck and his hands moving up and down her spine. She inhaled sharply as he hit a tender spot on her back and jumped forward into him, curving her spine away from the pressure of his touch as pain cut through the haze of pleasure.

When she reopened her eyes she found herself under a scrutinising gaze, and before she could protest Sherlock was spinning her around so that her back was to him, and then suddenly her police vest was on the floor and her white shirt was being pushed up her back.

"You've injured yourself," Holmes stated, and Amy felt a feather-light touch near the base of her spine, fingertips fluttering around the edges of what felt like a big bruise.

"From earlier, when you pushed me out of the way of the car," she mused.

This earned a scoff from the consulting detective, and a derisive, "Obviously. Unless you've been doing any other rough activities that involve you lying on your back -"

"Oi, shut up!" Amy wrenched her shirt down and spun around instantly, shooting daggers at him. Her expression softened, however, when she saw that Holmes wasn't smirking at her, but instead looked almost apologetic.

"I'm -" He began to speak, but then stopped to clear his throat, looking utterly lost and slightly disgusted with himself. For a few seconds his mouth worked silently as he tried to articulate what he wanted to say, but eventually he just repeated the fact, "You're hurt. You should ice that."

"I'm fine," Amy insisted, clutching desperately at the few remaining shreds of intimacy hanging in the air between them, because, damn it, she still wanted him. Badly. "Really, I am." Holmes still looked dubious, so she added in a sultry voice, "Why don't you help take my mind off it?"

"If it's not bothering you why would you need me to distract you from it?"

Wondering how he could be such a stupid, clueless, male, Amy rolled her eyes and sarcastically inquired, "You have done it before, haven't you?"

Holmes quirked a brow. "Done what?"

Amy felt as though a bucket of cold water had just been poured over her head. "Oh, my god," she breathed, stepping back without realising what she was doing. "You're a – Oh, god. That's why you kept saying no, that's – I'm so sorry..."

"What are you talking abou-" She watched his eyes flash once, and then Holmes' face become a perfectly impassive mask as he realised what it was she was saying. There was a heavy silence that hung in the air, almost stifling in its awkwardness, and –oh, ow - now that she'd noticed it Amy's entire body was aching. "You think I -"

"It's not a bad thing!" Amy blurted out, feeling the need to rectify her admittedly horrified reaction. "Really, it's no big deal, I just wasn't expecting it, I thought you, you know, being as old as you are and so good looking, I thought…" Her words, all completely honest and well-intentioned, trailed off under his withering stare.

"There's no need," Holmes said sharply, turning and sweeping into the kitchen.

Amy remained in the lounge, her cheeks flushed and her bottom lip trembling slightly with embarrassment and the after effects of faded arousal. She stared at the space Holmes had occupied seconds before and silently berated herself for being such a big-mouthed, stupid little girl.

"Here, put this against your back."

It was Holmes, holding a white tea-towel in his right hand. From the bag poking out one end of the folded towel, she could see that a bag of frozen peas was wrapped inside it. Humbled, she stepped forward and took the bag from him, trying her very best to muster a grateful smile and ignore the fact that he was still shirtless.

"Thanks," she mumbled as she took the cold package and awkwardly pressed it to her spine.

She flinched from the cold, and instantly Holmes' hands were overlapping her own, taking the home-made ice-pack from her and holding it at a much more effective angle over the bruise as he guided her to the two-person couch pushed up against the far wall. Baffled by his sudden gentle caring, Amy allowed herself to sink down into the cushions, noting how his right hand kept the ice-pack steady against her spine the entire time. They sat in silence, her eyes fixed on the stars visible through the window, until eventually she couldn't stand the unease and twisted around to look at him.

"I'm really sorry -" She began, but then his hand was on her shoulder, forcing her to turn away again.

His voice was flat when he explained, "It's better for you to face that way. You'll heal faster."

"Thank you, Doctor Holmes," she replied, trying to sound bright. He didn't respond, and so she tried to apologise again, "About before, I -"

"There's no need, Amy," he cut her off brusquely. A pause, and then, softer, "It's a common misconception."

"Misconception?" She hedged carefully.

She heard him sigh, and then the cold of the ice-pack disappeared. She twisted around to see him laying it on the arm of the couch, his expression blank.

"You should put that back on in ten minutes," he instructed, not quite meeting her gaze.

He went to stand up, but Amy grabbed for his hands and held him in place. He blinked at her, clearly startled by the sudden contact, and she forced herself to say the words while she had him stunned into a moment of silence. "Thank you. And I'm sorry, I really am, Sherlock. I shouldn't have been so persistent before, it's just, I mean, you invited me to stay the night and you just saved my life, and you're so bloody attractive -"

"That's the second time you've mentioned my physical attractiveness; should I put my shirt back on?" Holmes inquired dryly.

She rolled her eyes, the smallest of smiles tugging her lips up, and then she elaborated, "No, that's not what I mean. Well, okay, yeah, it kinda is, but it's not just that." Oh, why was she so getting so flustered? "You're attractive because you're different. You're so smart, and you don't care what other people think about you. You just see the world differently, yeah? And I – I see the world differently, too."

She searched his face for a reaction, and was rewarded after a few moments with a hand slowly, cautiously, rising to lift her chin, two of Holmes' fingers coming to rest against the pulse beating steadily in her neck.

"By that definition, you're quite attractive, too, Amy Pond," he finally responded.

"Only by that definition?" She teased, letting her flirtiness return.

The corners of his lips twitched up in a smirk, and Amy was certain that he was going to insult her again. But then he moved his hand back to cradle her head as his mouth moved forward to kiss right atop her pulse. Before she could even properly register the kiss he'd lifted her hands up to his lips and kissed each pulse at her wrists, too – each one gentle, delicate, appreciative.

She wanted to ask what he was doing but found that her mouth had gone dry. So when he returned her hands to her lap and sat back on the couch, Amy merely unabashedly stared at him until a few minutes later, when he made a soft noise of remembrance and grabbed the ice-pack off the arm of the couch.

"You should reapply this," Holmes said, holding it out towards her.

And suddenly she was reanimated. She slowly, deliberately seductively, began unbuttoning her white shirt to reveal the black bra underneath. She decided to throw in a double entendre for fun, saying in a slightly husky voice, "Wouldn't direct contact be better?"

His eyes were instantly devouring her, watching every miniscule movement of her fingers with an intensity that brought a flood of heat back into her cheeks. Once the shirt was fully unbuttoned, Amy ran her hands up her naval, skimming across her breasts and pushing it off her shoulders, pulling it slowly off each arm. She had time to bat her eyelashes at him only once, and then he was kissing her, running his hands and his lips all over her newly exposed skin, exploring every inch of her, mentally cataloguing every reaction she made to each individual touch. He unhooked her bra with ease, massaging her breasts with just the right amount of pressure as she captured his mouth with hers in a desperate, panting kiss.

She pushed against him as he tried to get her to lie down, the two of them still battling for dominance even as their hormones screamed at them. Amy perched herself on Holmes' lap, her calves folded back underneath her thighs, and splayed her palms against his chest. His hands cupped her arse as she began to slowly grind against his erection, still constrained by his trousers, his fingers clenching and unclenching in time with her movements. They held eye contact, staring at each other as though willing the other to make the next move. It was Holmes who did it. He lifted his leg up slightly - just enough to hit the spot – and suddenly Amy's eyes were squeezed shut, her hips moving not with practiced grace but with an urgent need, now, grinding against him through the thin material separating them as the fire built in her core. As she began to lose herself in the sensational friction between her legs, throwing her head back in delight, Holmes abruptly stood, his hands still beneath her. Her eyes flew open and she promptly curled her legs around his waist to keep herself up as he began staggering towards his bedroom.

They didn't make it that far.

Amy needed him, now, and she couldn't resist squirming in his arms, trying desperately to get as much contact as possible. Her shifting weight made him swerve into the hall wall, and she gasped in surprise and pleasure as she fell directly into his hand. Seemingly instinctually, his fingers began to move in slow, debilitating circles against the cloth of her knickers, expertly drawing primal moans from the back of her throat. One of her shoes fell off her foot as her leg spasmed, and she stifled a scream by biting his collarbone.

The move stilled his hand for a moment, and she reached down to unzip his fly – again – her long fingers fumbling around the button on his trousers before she finally got it undone. Even more awkwardly than before, with his trousers slowly falling down his legs, Holmes stumbled with her in his arms down the hallway and into his bedroom.

Amy kicked her remaining shoe off just outside the door, continuously kissing Holmes' shoulders and neck and jawline as he carried her over to his bed. They collapsed onto the soft mattress and she stretched out beneath him, licking her lips as she watched him straighten up and slip off his own shoes. She sat up and tugged his trousers down to his ankles, but when she moved to do the same with his pants he gently took her hand in his and shook his head.

Taking the cue, Amy sank back onto the bed and allowed him to reach up and slowly roll her stockings down her legs before running his fingers back up the inside of her thighs. He slid her knickers down over her knees, leaving her completely exposed and wanting. His eyes roamed over her, glancing up to meet her gaze, and she saw the hunger in them. She lifted her leg and slid her undergarments off completely, arching her back in a clear invitation that he couldn't ignore. He traced his fingertips up the inside of her thigh, scraped them through her neatly trimmed curls, dragged them torturously slowly along her folds, and then, just when she was beginning to whimper, he slipped one finger carefully inside and pulled a satisfied moan from the back of her throat. His fingers moved so gracefully inside her that every little touch sent ripples of pleasure rolling up her body, and she wasn't surprised when she spotted a violin sitting in its open case in the corner of the room behind Holmes; he was that skilled with his fingers, of course he was a musician. She lifted her hips and pointed her toes, signalling for him to come closer, to go deeper, to give her more than his fingers, but if he noticed - of course he noticed, Holmes noticed everything – he ignored it, continuing to move his fingers in careful ministrations that were bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

Just as the knot that Holmes was tying in her core got to the point of being unbearable, just when she was certain that she was about to unravel around him – He stopped. Amy groaned with frustration, biting her bottom lip and throwing herself forward on the bed. She propped herself up on her elbows and watched as he took off his pants. Eager for more, she grabbed the condom out of her pocket and then wiggled out of her hitched up skirt, the only piece of clothing she had left on.

And there they were, Sherlock Holmes and Amy Pond, stark naked and gorgeous as ever.

Amy practically lunged for him, propelling herself forward to grip his shoulders and pull him down on top of her. Holmes met her lips with a crash, a bruising kiss that felt more like pleasure than pain under the circumstances. Her nails clawed at his back and his breath was hot against her skin, his hands winding around her ribs but still avoiding the bruise that had bloomed on her spine. She bit his chest, purple marks flowering beneath her teeth as she tried to muffle her own moans. With a strength that Holmes hadn't been expecting, Amy flipped them over so that she was perched on top of his stomach, her red hair tumbling down around her shoulders and her fingers resting on his pecs.

She grabbed the condom from where she'd flung it onto the bedside table and ripped it open with her teeth. She gave him a flirty smile before sliding backwards, rolling lightly over the top of him so that he could feel the heat radiating from within her. She unrolled the latex sheath over his tip and down his shaft carefully, gripping him tightly in the palm of her hand and massaging as she did so. His hands knotted around the sheets as she gave a light squeeze, and when he felt her warm breath encapsulating him entirely he clenched the soft fabric so tightly it was at risk of ripping. She ran her tongue down the length of him, planting a kiss at the base of the shaft and then working her way back up to the tip, which she flicked lightly with her tongue. He made a strange, strangled sort of noise at that, and felt the warm exhale of her breath as she laughed. Her lips closed around him once again and she began to move her head, sliding up and down in an ecstatic pattern, all the while flicking her tongue against his most sensitive spots until he felt the glorious release building in the pit of his stomach. He opened his mouth to warn her, tried to tell her to stop, to wait, to no, don't stop, keep going, do not stop - But what came out instead of any of that was a hurried gasp, because Holmes had been so focused on the experience Amy Pond was giving him that he'd forgotten to breathe.

The sudden intake of oxygen cleared his head a bit, and as soon as he'd regained the slightest bit of control over his own body, Holmes hooked his hands under Amy's arms and pulled her up so that she was sitting on top of him once again. She had a mere second to blink at him confusedly, and then he'd rolled them both over and was hovering above her, holding both of her slender wrists above her head with one of his strong hands. His other hand travelled over the protruding bone of her hip and slipped down to her entrance once again, but this time he barely made contact, teasing her. She writhed beneath him, bucking her hips up and tossing her head as she tried to breach the minute distance between them. When it became apparent that Holmes was having far too much fun teasing her, however, Amy decided to retake control of the situation.

She lifted her legs up and curled them around Holmes' waist once again, hooking them together at the ankles, and with surprising ease guided herself onto him. Instantaneously Holmes went from mercilessly teasing her to being at her mercy. He might have been on top, but from this angle Amy could control the depth and speed of his thrusts, and she had decided to start off slow. After a few mismatched thrusts Holmes figured this out, and from the way he was kissing her she didn't think he minded too much about having to follow her lead. They fell into a steady rhythm, him pushing down and her rising up to meet him, slathering each other in opened mouthed kisses and hushed declarations of pleasure.

Amy curled her fingers into Holmes' dark, sweat-dampened hair and pulled his head down so that his ear was beside her swollen lips. "Faster," she moaned, almost demanding.

Obviously glad to oblige, Holmes stepped up the pace. She could feel her blood pumping through her veins, feel her muscles clenching tighter and tighter, winding up as she climbed towards that peak again –

"Deeper!" She moaned, not bothering with whispering this time.

She was clawing at his back so fiercely there was no doubt she was leaving scratch marks, and as she straightened her legs out to allow him to enter at a slightly different angle, so that he hit her just there, ohgodyes, right there she couldn't stop the scream that tumbled past her lips. Holmes kissed her, sloppily, almost frantic with his thrusts now, and she somehow managed to kiss him back before her breath constricted to the point where she felt as though she'd stopped breathing.

"Amy," he moaned in that deep and throaty baritone that she'd been wanting to hear all night, "Amy, Amy…"

And with that she was done. She tipped right over the edge, spiralling down into her orgasm as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her. She tensed underneath him, muscles tightening rapidly, clenching around him and pulling him over the edge with her. They bucked against each other, fitfully now, as they rode out the climax together.

When Amy next inhaled, it seemed like the sweetest breath she'd ever taken. The air was humid, stinking of sweat and sex, and her skin was sticking to the sheets – but, fuck, that was amazing.

Holmes rolled off the top of her and lay on his back beside her on the bed, one arm flung over the side and his left foot resting against her right one. She gathered up the energy to roll onto her side and looked across at him, eyes closed and chest moving as he tried to catch his breath.

"Thank you," Amy breathed.

His eyes opened and he turned his head to look at her, pupils dilated and lips red from increased blood flow.

"You're welcome," he responded in typical Holmes fashion.

She closed her eyes with a content smile, but almost immediately the mattress shifted beneath her. She looked up to see Holmes standing beside the bed, running his hands through his mussed hair.

"Going somewhere?" She inquired lazily, trying not to show how intrigued she was.

"You didn't want to cuddle afterwards, did you?" Holmes replied scornfully, and the tone made Amy reach for the tangled bed sheet. She pulled it up to her chin and stared up at him with wide eyes as he walked around to her side of the bed and slipped his trousers back on.

"No," she said defensively, curling her legs up slightly beneath the thin cover, "But it's the middle of the night, surely you can just laze about in bed for a bit, yeah?"

"I don't sleep often," he replied as he headed for the door.

"I didn't mean sleep -" Amy began, but by then Holmes had already left the room without looking back.

a.n. There you are, you saucy little minxes! You all asked for it, and I hope you're happy with it. Please review and tell me what you think! The reason it's a couple of days late is because I'm so paranoid about this chapter that I went back and edited and re-edited and urgh. I tried to keep everyone in character, as always, but please keep in mind when judging that aspect that they're both younger here (a lot younger in the case of Sherlock) than they are when we see them on the shows, so I imagine them being a bit more reckless at this stage in their lives. As always, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed the update!