Chapter 8: Bonus Chapter

'Dancing In Heat'

She doesn't quite remember getting home. The trip from the morgue is lost in a haze of taunting teasing touches, of wanting and not getting. It's difficult to remember the taxi beyond the tantalising mix of cologne and London air that clings to his skin. But she is suddenly standing on the pavement outside her place, staring up at the clear night sky with a bemused befuddled mind. But Sherlock does not seem one to take in the beauty of the night. Instead he helps her inside, cautious of her injured ankle.

There is a careful tension in him, a coolness that seems almost too perfect. It is a re-emergence of the careful mask he always wears, and for a few brief moments doubt begins to sink in. the journey from the taxi to her doorstep has given her mind enough time to wander, to doubt that this could possibly be real. She feels almost unbearably awkward as he opens her door, half convinced that it is all a mistake. That someone like him could ever want someone like her.

But those doubts and those fears are vanquished as her door swings shut. The coolness she had sensed from him, the careful restraint vanishes and his mouth locks with hers, desperate and controlling. Sensations, glorious and sparkling danced within her, drowning her in insensibility, drawing her fingers to clutch at him for some form of support.

The door holds her up, stops her shaky knees from letting her fall. The world seems to tremble around her, and it's a wonder that she can think at all. The touch of his mouth on hers is monumental, unbelievable. She'd never been one for kisses, found them nice but never exquisite. It turns out she just hadn't been kissing the right people.

Kissing him was exhilarating, a catch in her blood that makes her feel more alive than she's felt in a very long time. She wants to continue kissing him, finding out the different patterns and movements that make her blood sing. He seems just as eager to experiment, angling his head and kissing her with a deepness that is almost too much and just right at the same time. There is a hunger in him, a desperation she can feel in the tremble of his muscles. The need for oxygen is gradually intruding on her, but she cannot bring herself to break the decadence of this kiss. It is dearer to her than air, more quenching and satisfying than water ever could manage to be. She is poised on the edge of drowning in him, and there is nothing she wants more.

Finally, or perhaps far too soon, his mouth breaks from hers. Breathless and panting they freeze, still pressed against her door in a haze of sensation. She cannot help but be confused, the fire building in her belly demands concrete answers, but something must have shone in her eyes. He chuckles, albeit a bit breathlessly, "I have no intention of stopping molly. But you are injured, and it would not be seemly to fuck you against the door for our first time."

The casual way he mouths the obscenity has a terrible effect on her. her insides clench and her entire body feels warm. Her breath catches, and she knows that he noticed. It is a testament to the tempting nature of his kisses that the idea of remaining here, even injured, is not a terrible one. He chuckles again, "Maybe later, perhaps."

She cannot answer that smirk, that teasing cocky half smile that always seemed to make her heart thump. He wore it when things were going his way, when a case was all but solved and what was left was the grand unveiling. It was a confident look, one that promised all kinds of things. For the first time in quite a while, that smile didn't make her apprehensive.

He pulls her along, and her knees feel weak and shaky with the effort to stand. It feels unreal, a promise in a dream given shape and form. His hands are impossible warm against her skin, and her mind is already providing helpful suggestions on just how they would feel against other parts of her.

They stumble into her room, and she wishes briefly that her bed cover was not that tartan mauve she knew he disliked. But he makes no comment, instead stopping to kiss her again at the edge of her bed.

All thoughts of bedspreads and injuries vanish in a haze of sensation. His hands roaming against her skin, her fingers dancing along the once forbidden flesh of his form. Undressing should have been awkward, ungainly movements in a desperate need for something more. But it seems to take barely any time at all.

He is glorious, a creature formed of moonlight and shadows, of sea glass and stardust. The lights from her bedroom make him almost ethereal and the look in his eyes promises something she'd never expected. There is heat yes, raw and primal that turns his gaze molten and her insides into a quivering mess. But as he sinks inside her, that feeling of completeness, of being almost too full and sparkling fire, there is something more in his eyes.

A warmth that didn't reflect desire. But rather, something more. But before she can respond, before she can comment, he moves. A glorious ingress that makes her feel as if she may come apart before long. But he freezes, buried in her insides, and asks her with a soft smile if she is alright. But she's more than that, and yet not. She begs, whimpering for him to just move.

Chuckling he obeys, swift and sharp, filling up her insides in powerful strokes. It is a pleasure far greater than she expected, a shining shimmering sensation that seems almost too bright to be real. He feels like sunlight, impossibly warm, powerful and dominating in the darkness.

Every gasp she makes, every movement that makes her shake he catalogues and remembers, playing her body in a dark symphony that promised the ecstasy of destruction. Her mouth brushes against his neck, the pounding pulse and taste of sweat a brief distraction from the heat he builds inside her.

The sounds that she's making aren't conscious, in fact she's barely aware of anything but the glorious velvety feel of him within her, of his heart racing alongside hers and her blood singing out in exultation.

He draws her along, dominating and commanding, driving her towards a peak she wasn't sure that she'd survive. His groans and harsh breaths against her skin seem more desperate, a desperate dance of flesh and soul that drove them higher and higher.

Her world seems hazy and unreal, the way he dances with her seems almost too good to be real, too promising to be reality. His name drops from her lips a second before his mouth clashes with hers in a fiery kiss. His hips move and it is just that little bit more, that tiny bit deeper that she finally reaches that shining peak.

She shatters, crystalline fragments as pleasure pulses almost unbearably through her. His mouth breaks away, groaning out her name as he shatters alongside her.

It is a strange and silly thought that comes to her as she floats in a sea of warmth and sensation, the thought that she's not sure how she could possibly survive anything better than that. But she's certainly willing to try it.

...Maybe she could remind him about the door...

Authors Note: Hi there guys! thank you to those that have reviewed. As promised here's a little extra chapter for you :D

I do apologise about the delay, this thesis thing is really dragging me down. it's been a while since i've been able to write that wasnt academic in nature.

Anyway, if this is your first time reading, or if you are a returning reader, please take a few moments to let me know what you think :D it would go a long way to cheering me up after the week I've had.

Ta ta for now

~Madamred