Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

Fruit Punch ((Final) Part 7) (EXPLICIT)

Sherlock revels in Y/N's minutes of curious exploration, tendrils of sensation fanning out below her touch.

Her palms push his shirt off his shoulders, tentative fingers pawing at the muscles in his arms, and a smug smile curves his lips.

He's still kissing her, unable to help it, distracted little sucks and nips at the smooth skin of her neck, the hard bone of her jaw.

Her fingertips skim over the firm hills of his pectorals, entranced, and Sherlock's breath catches as they touch to the unprotected plain of his stomach.

"That feels good," he says softly, his nose nestled in the little hollow behind her ear. He nips the shell of it between rocky teeth, his toes curling a little as she traces an outline around his abdominals.

He's surprised when he feels her other hand unfurl itself from his hair and slide down to join the other at his hips.

Her fingers hesitate over the buckle of his belt. "Is...is this okay?"

Bringing himself back to face her, Sherlock nods, his nose bumping hers. They're so close, their shared breath humid in the small space between their mouths. "Absolutely."

Their kiss turns sloppy and disorganised as they shuffle to remove their clothes, pausing every now and again to sneak a look at each other and grin bashfully.

Lips slick and wet, they break for air, Sherlock's gaze raking up and down Y/N's body in a way that visibly sets her trembling.

Her knickers are all that remains, the waistband gliding below Sherlock's thumb as he drags a heavy hand over her belly.

He feels Y/N's fingers tighten in his hair and, encouraged, dips down an inch, giving the humid cotton between her thighs a small rub.

Y/N gasps, clutching him---

---but she doesn't stop him; just waits to see what he'll do next, her eyes wide with an exhilarated curiosity.

He rubs again, Y/N's arousal obvious through the humid cotton, and Sherlock's teeth grit as a small sound breaks in her chest.

He's made her like this, he thinks distractedly with a smug smirk. It's his voice that makes her tremble, his touch that brings her soft skin up in prickly goosebumps. She's here, pinned below him---

He's the only person to have seen her like this. To know what she sounds like with her voice all breathy, to know which parts of her are ticklish, sensitive, make her moan.

Getting below the cotton, the strength of his fingers touch to the warm sweetness at her centre.

He feels Y/N narrow to him, hears her barely auditable little whimper.

Experimentally, he strokes a small circle onto her folds.

It must feel good because her hips buck almost frantically against his hand. "S-Sherlock...that's---"

Smirking with new found confidence, he drags the pad of his finger around again, capturing her lips so he can swallow her mewls and whines.

When he eventually passed languidly over that electrified bundle of nerves, Y/N sobs into his mouth, all of her shaking like a taught spring.

Groaning, Sherlock makes himself draw his hand away.

Y/N gives a disappointed cry of protest, peeling her eyes open to looks up at him pleadingly.

Kissing her forehead, Sherlock drags her knickers down around her ankles, and, with a large hand, guides her legs wider.

Taking a moment to savour the sight spread out before him: