This came out of nowhere. Really, just...boom! Plot bunny kept my eyes open past midnight, insistent that I finish it. It's based partly from the idea that Molly isn't her most honest self in Sherlock's presence. Being in love with someone can turn you into a bumbling fool, unable to tap into the person you know yourself to be. Around Jim (who had a part in me writing this - really, he's only second to my affection for Sherlock), I like to think Molly was a bit different. Because she wasn't in love with him. I'll leave it at that. I apologize in advance for any OOC. I've learned that I have a difficult time passively writing a weak Molly. She's so much fun when she sticks up for herself. Or that might be because she's forced to in Jim's presence. Who might be a bit domestic in this, but one never knows with him. I also tried writing this where they only acknowledge each other or another person by name, through dialogue. Otherwise, it's a he-she affair that I hope doesn't get too confusing. Oh, and the T is mainly for language. I may have bended the rating system a bit, but it's not fully deserving of an M, I don't think. Anywho, enjoy!
Vicious Lust Theory
"Tonight, Molly, the safe word is 'don't stop'."
She blinked steadily - an attempt at masking her confusion.
"The point of having a safe word is so-."
"Of course I know the point, silly. But where's the danger if you know you can escape the situation by uttering some sort of mood killing term?"
It took five short seconds before she realized he was being serious.
But, that certainly didn't mean she couldn't offer up her own negotiations.
"You'll respond to whatever name I shout."
He lifted a brow, obviously pleased at her willingness to go along with their arrangement.
"We're not hinting at a certain consulting detective who's feelings we both know are unattainable, are we?"
She succeeded at a half smirk. It beat the frown her muscles were bent on displaying.
"Do I detect jealousy, Jim?"
"Not jealousy, dear. Satisfaction."
"You're satisfied by the fact that I'll be screaming another man's name while you shag me?"
His grin was unsettling and she faintly wondered if negotiations weren't just another endeavor she should otherwise not engage in.
"I'm delighted at the idea that you've accepted he will never return your affections. And that screaming his name – which I'll prevent quite easily, by the way – is your only true source of living out whatever dying fantasy you ever had of being with him. Because he may very well own your heart, Molly, my dear, but I own your body."
It was more of a struggle than she let on to reply with something civil. Especially when faced with that bloody, insufferable, self righteous smirk.
"Smugness doesn't suit you."
He plopped himself down on her mattress, eyes twinkling with an unsuppressed mix of mania and excitement.
"I have every reason in the world to be smug. Almost daily, I fuck you hard enough to alert everyone what you were doing the night before. Might be the bites that give it away. I do love giving you those. Then there's the shaking in your legs. Takes weeks for you to walk properly again. That is if we're feeling adventurous. More often than not, I've found it's the insomnia that gets me. How thrilling is it to be reminded that you've spent more hours fucking me than you have actually getting sleep?"
She swallowed, only to find her throat dry and tight.
This definitely wasn't going as well as she envisioned.
Then again, he was the one always thinking on his feet. Whenever she attempted the same task, she had a magnificent habit of stumbling.
"Scream his name all you want, Molly," came his languidly confident, nearly child-like response. "But it's trivial to do so when it will only dull your source of pleasure."
Impulsion ushered out her next hasty retort.
"I imagine it's him nearly every night we're together."
Only when his expression froze did she wonder if it was a good idea to have said this so spontaneously. In the world outside of her flat, they were still fierce rivals. It may not have been the smartest idea to turn her sex life into a means of competition between two of the most intelligent men in Britain.
Then again, she had to assert his meaning to her. He had to know that for a long while, her imagination proved to be a more fulfilling source of pleasure than reality.
"Since when is hurting my feelings a meaning of foreplay?"
It was a statement contrived of mockery, but if she replayed the question once more (she did), she could detect a spark of malice in his lazy tone.
Which should have urged her to take a bit of precaution. She didn't need much proof these days to know that when pushed hard enough, he could transform into a complete lunatic.
But he'd never lost his cool in her presence before; a means of control she believed he maintained so she never got the impression she was worth more than just sex to him.
Though, these days, it was becoming a nuisance to tell.
He'd promised initially, upon first coming to her in the aftermath of the Jim from IT debacle (she still called him by this name and he found it adorable enough not to correct her) that he only wanted one more night from her. After that, he'd leave and let her carry on with her lonely existence.
She must have been as mad as he to accept his word.
But, he'd been unbelievably practiced at shagging. And when they were still dating, the only way she could have possibly been warned about his true nature, was from his aggressive and dominating ministrations. Two traits she'd found herself embarrassingly aroused by.
One more night sounded like closure to a messy contract she'd unwillingly signed. And a possibility to salvage her dignity a bit so his dating her just to get closer to his enemy, seemed a little less impersonal. He'd come back even after everyone knew the truth about him. That counted for something, didn't it?
Eight months later and she hadn't a fucking clue just exactly what she was doing with him.
On the upside, however, her sex life was excellent. Beyond that, even. They were both adventurous by nature. The unknown did little to repel either of them when a new idea was breached. And as of yet, she couldn't remember an idea she regretted.
Though, you'd have to physically pull out every one of her teeth before she audibly admitted this.
"Knowing you, I doubt this is the worst foreplay you've had with a partner," she noted sternly, attempting to maintain a facade of nonchalance.
He didn't bother containing his laughter, smacking the edge of her mattress in response.
"You wouldn't believe what people are into these days," he acknowledged dramatically. "Though, the daddy kink with you may possibly make the top ten."
There was no on or off button for her blushes. They came and went with the frequency of an itch.
"It wasn't-that was...I wasn't going for that," she awkwardly defended, hands jerking to life - an effort at conveying her embarrassment.
"Relax, dear, before your cheeks burst into flames. Honestly, I don't think I've ever lasted so shortly after you indulged me with that bit of vocabulary. What was it you screamed...ah, yes 'oh, daddy. Been such a naughty girl. Please, don't stop fucking me'."
She released a shaky sigh, wondering when he'd ever let that incident go.
"I didn't know what I was saying."
"Wrong," he nearly sing-songed. "You knew I'm fond of that term. Out of experimentation, you wanted to see what would happen should you incorporate that language in bed. I'm touched, Molly, at your curiosity. And willingness to indulge. My body is aching to make up for that pleasure."
"Oh, shut up."
"A bit spirited tonight, aren't we? I'm certainly not complaining."
His smugness was getting to the point of suffocation.
And this time around, she decided to stop ignoring it.
"Take another step toward the door and I'll fuck you on your knees," he threatened, smile balanced evenly while his eyes decreased in hue.
She had enough sense to pause in place, but too much pride to remain silent.
"Stop bringing up the past, Jim. Most of it is a mistake."
"I would if it wasn't so memorable. Which is saying a lot, I think. Not many people hold such an enduring place in my mind. I've got to ask, though, not that I'm deliberately trying to burst your bubble, but you know even if his affections were yours, that he couldn't handle you?"
It was too much of a burden to disagree because there was no solid evidence to help her counteract his argument. In some ways, she imagined they could balance each other out with their calculating personalities. In other ways, there lay a strong possibility that their relationship would be on a course of self destruction from the get go.
"Disappointing, Molly. Really disappointing," he chided, tone reaching an irritating high pitchedness. "Sherlock's a virgin. He may observe and claim to know the biological workings of the female body, but he'd sooner know what to do with his cock than he'd apologize for hurting someone's feelings."
She resisted the unexpected urge to laugh. Hadn't he apologized to her for hurting her feelings at that Christmas party?
It was getting to be rather frightening that he could read her better than him.
"Sherlock is capable of an apology," she revealed, smiling wistfully. "And I'd be more than willing to help him figure out how to put his cock to work. Really, Jim, you're making it out to be rocket science when it's nothing more than a few meaningful thrusts."
Upon glancing at him, she noted the stormy expression clouding his face.
At this moment, her brain screamed out a warning to stop challenging him while her stomach - clenched with an apprehensively delicious desire - marveled at the fact that she could actually make him jealous.
"Safe word is 'don't stop'. But I get to call you by his name. Out loud. Scream it if I want to," she reminded, fighting back her building bundle of nerves.
"What will that accomplish?"
There was no word to describe his tone.
Better yet, she decided on ignoring it.
"I'll be less disgusted with myself afterward if I can, at least for a moment, convince myself it's him."
A grim muteness hung in the air, but Molly shrugged it off. She would never agree to such an outrageous safe word from him lest she was able to worm in her own condition. And at the end of the day, even if she hadn't quite yet accepted this as fact, she knew he wouldn't deny her. He had eight months to do so already. They both knew, against reason, he wouldn't be stopping anytime soon.
She kept shrugging his touch off her naked shoulder blade, but he was terribly insistent.
"You have no one to be angry at but yourself," he pointed out, scooting himself across the sheets until he was spooning her snugly, one arm slung over her waist, finger nails brushing over the skin of her sensitive tummy.
"I'm a smug bastard. You've given me more reason than usual to be."
It would be nice at times like these to have the confidence to bust open his nose with her elbow. He might brutally maim her as a result, but that moment of triumph would be worth it.
"I was right, wasn't I?" he continued, fingers engaged in a dangerous crawl to her breasts. "Your affections for him are receding."
"They are not."
"Only in your case, I've found being stubborn is getting to be quite the turn on."
"Have a bit of self control," she scolded, venting her anger at the incident having occurred seconds earlier. "You're not a schoolboy."
It took mere moments before the evidence of his lack in self control, made itself present.
She attempted to scoot closer to the edge of the bed, but his arm was wound firmly around her stomach. One inch forward suddenly became two inches back.
Directly into the evidence of his lack in self control.
In this brief power struggle, she took the time to wonder what it was he found so appealing about post-cordial cuddling.
Oh, if only her colleagues and friends and peers could see her now. The personal snuggle buddy of the most dangerous criminal in the world.
There wasn't nearly enough money in Britain to pay for the kind of therapy she needed.
"I should hope you're not kinky enough to envision me a schoolboy," he mumbled into her damp hair. "That might make my list."
"Why do you still spend the nights?" she countered, steering away from his statement.
"You let me."
"Wait...I had a decision in this?"
"No. But you're only minding it this time because I proved you right and it's difficult for your pride to accept a loss, much less that my name sounds naturally better coming from your lips than his does."
"Jim...please, stop talking."
"But isn't this every woman's fantasy? To have post lovemaking discussions while they snuggle?"
She stiffened at the words.
As did he. Well, at least a part of him.
"I'd consider this more as near rape than lovemaking, if anything. And with you, I'd rather you just left. It's bad enough that you won't leave matters alone, but you hog the blankets."
He was right. But his choice in the safe word of the evening, left much to be desired in the romance department.
And yet, she wondered if what scared her most was how easily she gave in to his request.
"And I'd be more than willing to share the blankets," he promised, momentarily nestling his face into her neck, "if you would stop being so willful and not sleep on the very edge of the mattress. Very childish of you, my dear."
"JIM!" she exclaimed, flinching in place. "Shut the hell up."
He snickered lowly, the sound nearly causing her to shiver in places that were all but spent and retired for the evening.
"This is the real you, Molly. Who you'd be if pining after the virgin didn't render you incapable of forming a sentence. And at the end of the day, no matter how you arrange it to appease your conscience, I get to see this part of you. Not him. Instinctively, even you know how unprepared he'd be to accept you as you are. At least with me, you never have to fake it."
It unnerved her how domestic he sounded. As if he was overly content with a role he was playing and decided to incorporate the proper lingo.
"Say another word and I'll start working graveyard shifts again."
"I have no objection against fucking you at the morgue. Enticing, now that I think it over. It'd be completely deserted, but we still wouldn't be alone."
She wanted to scoot away, but his body would only vacuum her back.
"When are you going to begin to accept that there is no getting rid of me?" he followed up, sounding a teensy bit more sober.
"Until I serve my purpose and you get bored? Yes, I've accepted that."
"You haven't come close to boring me in the past eight months, dear. And personally, I hope your purpose is never served. Though, I can't always be sure of these things. It's never smart to assume arrangements last forever."
These were the times where she had no right response to give because she couldn't figure out how sincere he was being. Or why she should trust that sincerity was even a conceivable trait he carried.
"After I kill Sherlock, and yes, I will kill him, you will become a permanent figure in my life. Daddy won't be so busy and you'll have his undivided attention. After that, I can't promise you anything. But I haven't these past eight months and here we still are."
"Why kill him?" she quickly asked, never losing the devotion of wanting to protect him even if she was quite literally, sleeping with his enemy. "You find him fun. A challenge."
He took a longer time to respond to this than she imagined, his lips managing to render her incoherent as they brushed repeatedly over the shell of her ear.
"Maybe," he suggested with an unnatural gentleness, "I already have a more engrossing challenge preoccupying my time."
She didn't understand at first. Which is why she battled on with her defenses.
"If you kill him, you'll lose someone equal in intelligence. With the amount of boring people in the world, can you really afford that? And really, you have countries at your finger tips. He can't follow you everywhere."
"I'm complimenting you. Don't try making this about him."
"Me? I'm hardly a challenge."
She hadn't intended to sound so down on herself, but now that she understood his implication, she couldn't help but feel a bold perplexment.
"It's more amusing because you don't even realize you are one."
"But like all challenges, you eventually get bored," she finished.
"True. But you aren't boring. So, I wonder what will happen when you cease to be a challenge and yet still retain the ability of surprising me? Something I'll welcome, naturally. I was never one for surprises, but you've made me appreciate them in a new way."
"You'll kill me."
She had no high handed belief that she'd make it out of this in one piece. Her death, whenever it would come (and it would), may very well be the result of her own decision making skills.
"You were always so optimistic when we were dating," he recalled. "I hope I haven't scared that side of you away."
"I've become quite the realist since we've begun this."
"Would it ease your mind if I promised not to kill you?"
"No. I'd be an idiot to trust anything you say."
"I might actually be telling the truth."
She knew it was better not to believe him than carry around a false hope. She still had time to figure a way out of her situation anyway.
"Say his name again and I will call one of my men and have them put a bullet through his head mid-pace. He does that a lot, I'm told. At his flat on 221 B Baker Street."
There was little playfulness in his voice and this served as the only sign of how much saying his name truthfully bothered him. She couldn't imagine what would have happened had she done so before climaxing.
"I'll do whatever I can to protect him."
"Not a smart idea to continuously care for him," he informed. "I may actually begin to believe I have competition."
"Competition? Didn't you say you were bored with him?" she questioned, still not fully understanding.
He pressed a wet kiss behind her ear before responding.
"I don't share, Molly. He's already worked out that you've been seeing me. And though you claim your affections may never be returned, he'll be equally determined to keep you...on his side. Whenever he makes his first move, I'll happily administer his execution."
She was convinced he felt the chill slide down her spine, but if he did, he made no comment.
"What an enlightening discussion," he remarked tiredly, pulling her further into his hold. "Perhaps you'll be this talkative tomorrow evening. I'll even let you select the safe word."
On the surface, it seemed like a kind gesture.
But the safe word established each night for months on end, had yet to be used between either of them. So, picking one out was more of a cruel joke at her expense. He was fully aware that she'd never use it because he not only knew her limits, but nearly every response her body could give.
At this point, it was better just to play along.
Though, their conversation wasn't one she'd be forgetting soon. Up to this point, his intentions had been so unclear that she nearly convinced herself he was doing this out of actual fondness for her.
Now, however, she knew Sherlock was undoubtedly in danger. And while the one man who claimed to own her body, may be intent on finally ending the game they'd started, the man who owned her heart, would be the one she stood with until the end.
What unnerved her was the fact that she didn't quite think the man currently keeping her in a possessive grip, was fully aware of that.
Then again, if she could be that addictive element of surprise he'd labeled her as, then more power to her.
Because she wasn't helpless. Or weak. Or insecure.
Something the man who owned her heart had yet to see.
But by some twisted irony, she was more of herself in the presence of the man who owned her body.
Why was that?
Thirty minutes later and she sprouted an idea regarding the safe word.
The point of it being 'don't stop' tonight was so that she'd accidentally say it and he actually would, knowing she mumbled the two worded phrase often during their nights together. More of teasing on his part so she'd be reduced to possibly begging him to continue.
Well, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to give him a taste of his own medicine.
"I'm placing the entire Irish Gaelic language as the safe word."
His fingers, in the process of a languid meander beneath her naval, froze in place.
"Will that be a problem?" she voiced, unable to keep the smile from forming on her lips.
She wasn't sure if he knew how often he reverted back to speaking the language leading up to their orgasms, but he did it enough that she was beginning to learn the language herself. It came naturally, she believed, for him to mutter as opposed to any of the other numerous ones he knew.
This would very well present a challenge to hold back. Lest he wished for her to stop.
"And I thought I was the cruel one in the relationship," he finally replied.
"You are," she assured. "I'm only learning it along the way."
"Clearly," he muttered, though she got the feeling he was more impressed than agitated. "I do hope this comes as further proof that you were never right for him. Not your fault, dear. His. But I hardly mind. It's entirely convenient that he ignores you. Allows me to have you all for myself."
Suddenly sensing her attempt at cleverness may not have been the wisest choice, she reminded, "Smugness isn't attractive, Jim."
"That may be," he agreed, chuckling lightly. "But don't I wear it like a fucking crown?"
Believe it or not, this will only be a one-shot. I wrote this to focus on the dialogue between them, not really thinking of furthering the hint of a plot I touched upon. There's too many other stories I'm working on and I know I wouldn't shower this with the proper attention. Just wanted to write the snarly affection at work between Jim and Molly, even if it seems to be one sided at times. It's sort of open ended and if you, by chance, actually enjoyed this, are more than welcome to fill in the blanks of what could possibly happen in the future. And if I didn't make it clear, Molly was angry at herself and Jim in the second portion of the story because she still ended up saying Jim's name as opposed to Sherlock's (like she promised him she would). Of course Jim's not going to let that little fact go. Let me know your thoughts in a review!