It was crazy – mad in the purest sense of the word. Molly's entire life had been wrenched away from her, turned upside down, and yet all she wanted at the moment was for Sherlock to keep kissing her. Yes, this was something they were both being forced into doing, but frankly her life had been such a boring routine before today – and Sherlock was so incredibly sexy and different to what she'd expected from a vampire – that she could find it in her heart to temporarily put aside how this moment had come to pass, and simply focus on the moment itself. The way his lips felt, so soft and warm against hers. The sensation of his tongue gliding against hers. The sharp prick of his fangs as they slid further from their sheathes, drawing tiny drops of blood from her tongue that he sucked eagerly into his own mouth. The way he moaned softly as he pulled her closer to his body, cooler than her own yet rapidly gaining heat from a combination of shared contact and sexual desire.

He pressed her down on the bed, covering her smaller form with his, the warmth of his arousal blatant even through their clothing. Without speaking, Sherlock slid his hand along the back of her dress, tugging on the zipper as his tongue continued to plunder her mouth. Molly fumbled the buttons to his crisp white dress shirt, but managed to undo them all while he divested her of her borrowed finery.

"You'll only wear this dress for me in the future," Sherlock whispered in her ear, as if divining her thoughts. He tossed it carelessly to the floor as Molly worked his platinum cuff links free. "Promise me, Molly. Only for me."

"I promise," she whispered in return, distracted by the problem of what to do with the cuff links now that she'd removed them. Sherlock solved that problem by taking them from her and dropping them on the nightstand as he rose to his knees. She watched, entranced, as he finished removing the remainder of his clothing, while she remained clad only in a pair of the sheerest black knickers she'd ever worn.

There was a distinct damp spot on those knickers as well, she was embarrassed to noticed, but judging by the heat in Sherlock's eyes, he approved.

She yelped in surprise as he darted forward and lowered his mouth to that damp patch and what lay beneath it. Molly felt his tongue gliding along the sheer fabric. She gasped and found the courage to tangle her fingers in his glorious dark curls, reveling in the sensation, and in the guttural moan her tugs were dragging out of him as he continued to mouth her barely-covered pussy. She wiggled beneath him, giving a moan of her own as he languorously teased her clit and rubbed his thumbs along the edges of the knickers, never quite putting them where she most wanted them to be.

Just as she was about to beg him for the pressure she needed, he lifted his mouth away from her, grabbed the sheer fabric of her knickers and ripped them apart, leaving nothing but black scraps while she watched, open-mouthed. He hadn't even looked as if he was putting any real effort into it, and although the fabric was delicate, she knew what kind of strength it took to shred the elastic like that. It should have frightened her, that deliberate demonstration of power, but all it did was turn her on even more.

His nostrils flared as he knelt over her, and Molly knew he could scent her arousal as easily as if still had his face buried between her thighs. He licked his lips, and she watched, fascinated, as his fangs once again extended into feeding mode. He remained kneeling above her, allowing her to drink in her fill of his pale, sculpted form, although she found it hard to tear her eyes away from the proud erection he was now sporting. It was a mouthwatering sight, and she wanted nothing more than to scramble to her knees and take him deep inside her mouth.

Sherlock chuckled, and her eyes flew up to meet his, cheeks reddening as she realized he knew exactly what she'd been thinking. But when she made to raise herself up onto her elbows, he shook his head. "Not yet, Molly," he said, his voice husky and just the slightest bit strained. He spoke as clearly with his fangs extended as he did when they were fully sheathed; the medical professional in her noted that with interest – she'd never heard a vampire speaking with fangs extended and knew of no one else who had, either – but the extremely turned on woman was more interested in what he planned to do to her next.

That question was answered as Sherlock moved, a blur of motion Molly could barely follow; one minute he was kneeling above her, the next he was again between her legs, his mouth on her pussy and his tongue thrusting into her in an urgent rhythm that soon had her keening his name. If his fangs were piercing her flesh she was too lost in pleasure to notice, especially after he pressed his thumb against her throbbing clit, stroking it in a languorous counterpoint to his tongue's insistent pressure.

Then, just as she felt herself on the cusp of orgasm, he pulled away. She let out an incoherent moan of protest that turned to a gasp as he turned his head and sank his fangs deep into her femoral artery, only inches away from where his mouth had just been.

The orgasm she'd been straining toward burst over her in a white-hot sheet of ecstasy. Although she wasn't normally a screamer, her throat was raw by the time she came back to herself – wait, had she passed out? She looked around vaguely as she realized Sherlock was no longer between her legs, wondering if her vocal enthusiasm had driven him away; vampires were known to have sensitive hearing, although no one had been able to find the mythical frequency that would supposedly drive them away. Before she could do more than sit up, he reappeared, opening and closing the door behind him and making his way to the bed with a large glass of what looked like orange juice in his hand.

He made her drink the entire thing; when she tried to protest that her throat would be fine (blushing in embarrassment at how loud she'd been), he gave her a scowl and replied, "It isn't just your throat I'm concerned about, Molly, it's the amount of blood I drank." His scowl deepened, but she could tell it was self-directed, and obediently downed the remainder of the juice. "I should have stopped sooner, but my God, you tasted so good, I didn't want to stop, and when you orgasmed…" He fell silent and looked at her with an expression of awe. "It was…incredible."

"Even more incredible being on the receiving end," Molly replied, smiling as she handed the empty glass to him. Sherlock took it, placed it on the side table, and immediately covered her body with his.

"Well, then," he murmured, his voice husky with desire, "let's see if we can duplicate the results without me taking blood from you, shall we?" It was only then that she realized his fangs were once again sheathed, looking like slightly elongated canines rather than the elegant killing weapons they were. Of course, now she understood completely why some people willingly gave themselves over to vampires, let themselves be bitten over and over again even if immortality wasn't the end result.

Sherlock's lips on her throat, one hand stroking her breasts while the other caressed its way down her body, brought her back into the moment in the most pleasurable manner. She sighed and slid her hands up his arms, running her fingers through the crisp dark curls that framed his face so beautifully. He murmured appreciatively against her throat, then moved his head in order to mouth her collarbones and then lower, until finally his mouth made contact with her left breast. She gasped with continued pleasure as he tongued her hardening nub, suckling softly and then harder as her fingers clenched and tugged inadvertently at his hair. He groaned and nipped the tender flesh; she keened and stuttered his name as he lavished the same attention on her right breast.

She hadn't realized she'd opened her legs until she felt one large hand grasping her right thigh – the unbitten one – and tugging it over his hip as he slid his cock against her wet center. God, she was so ready for him, impatient to feel him inside her, and knew he felt the same even if he wasn't whispering those very words into her ear. She reached down between them and grasped his cock, loving the way it felt against her flesh but needing it inside her now. She positioned him, raised her hips, and moved her hand to press against his firm arse, gasping out, "Oh, yessss," as he slid deep into her.

oOo

It had been literally decades since Sherlock had indulged himself sexually with anyone other than another vampire; he'd nearly forgotten how intensely humans reacted to being bitten under such intimate circumstances, but the sight of Molly's plump thigh, so invitingly close, with the blood pulsing through her femoral artery, had been too tempting to resist.

Her reaction had fueled his growing lust, and the taste of her blood had nearly been his undoing…and hers. He gulped it down, far more than he should have during this first encounter between the two of them, and only the cool, slightly amused voice of his brother in the back of his mind had caused him to withdraw his fangs and lick the puncture marks to stop the bleeding. /Really, brother, such enthusiasm is commendable, but do you really wish to drain her dry without having even fucked her first?/

Her screams had helped to bring him back to reality, but even in his semi-feral state he'd recognized them as screams of pleasure rather than pain, and that primal part of himself had exulted in the sounds, harsh as they were. But his intellect was back in control, and he'd left the room at top speed, not bothering to cover himself as he knew Mycroft would have removed everyone from Sherlock's wing of the estate. Even if the servants had been around, he wouldn't have cared; modesty had never been something he'd been very concerned about. Thankfully for the tender sensibilities of the kitchen staff, however, he'd found that room deserted, poured out a generous tumbler of orange juice laced (liberally laced with vodka), and made it back to his bedroom (their bedroom, now) just as she was finally coming down from her orgasmic high.

She argued with him a bit over the orange juice, but drank it all once he'd impatiently explained the need…and offered her as close to an apology as he'd ever made to anyone in his life.

Now he was buried deep inside her, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, her sweet body moving beneath his while she moaned out her continuing pleasure, and it was all he could do to hold onto his control and keep from once again sinking his fangs into her body. The pulse in her neck was a siren call tempting him, but if he bit her again he might not be able to stop himself this time. No, he was going to have to learn impulse control all over again with this woman…but it was a lesson he was very, very willing to relearn.

Then Molly did something with her hips that wrenched a heavy groan from his throat. She giggled at his reaction, did it again, and Sherlock knew that if he didn't do something – quickly – that slipping self-control would vanish. Her pale throat with its throbbing pulse was becoming too much of a temptation as he came closer to his orgasm; before he could talk himself out of it, he pulled away from her, ignoring her protesting cries and the way she reached for him as he expertly flipped her onto her stomach and tugged her up to her knees. "You're testing me, Molly Hooper," he growled as she realized his intent and stopped fighting him, letting loose another of those appealing giggles as she widened her stance in order to give him enough room to reenter her. He reached around and grabbed her hair, fisting it and giving a light tug. She responded with a moan and he pressed back into her, quickly refinding the rhythm he'd interrupted.

He remained on his knees, still fisting her hair with one hand, the other gripping her hip as he pounded into her. She keened and arched her neck, once again exposing her throat as she approached her second orgasm; Sherlock responded by dropping his hold on her hair, grasping her other hip in his hand and watching hungrily as she lowered her head, hiding her face in the swatches of chestnut-colored hair he'd freed. He reached around and rubbed his thumb against her clit, feeling his fangs sliding free of their sheathes in spite of his intentions otherwise, and as she wailed out her orgasm he joined her with a throaty roar, hips stilling as he spilled into her.

Before collapsing onto the bed next to her, he once again fought to control the urge to bite her, to drink her blood, to possibly even mark her neck and show the world that she was his property. But he was above all that, he had always disdained those of his kind who couldn't seem to understand the value that humans had other than as a convenient food and breeding source. After reminding himself of that truth more than once he was finally able to push the primitive urges back into the darkest portion of his mind.

Something of his struggle must have shown in his face, because Molly was studying him, looking…not quite frightened, but certainly concerned. But when he lay down next to her and pulled her into his embrace, she went willingly, and he both hear and feel her heartbeat slowing to normal as they rested together.

Later he would explain to her the powerful urges she'd awoken in him, and start them both on a regimen of sex and biting in order to inoculate himself against temptation. He looked forward to it with much more enthusiasm than his brother would believe, were he to share his feelings with his elder sibling.

He snorted quietly at the thought. No, the only one who would be privy to his private thoughts, his feelings and desires, was the woman lying next to him.

He and Molly would not have the futures they'd each envisioned for themselves, but the one they would now share might turn out to be exactly what they needed.