Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

[EXPLICIT] A Cure For Insomnia (Part 5)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Back by popular demand! Sorry it's been literally years since I updated this one 😅 I just didn't know where I wanted to go with it and I'd rather not post at all than post something I'm not happy with. Anyway, here it is, I'm just gonna chuck you straight back in where we left off 😂 

I marked this 'explicit' coz, man, I really do throw you into the deep end here. You should probably go back and re-read the last chapter so this at least has context 😂

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Y/N nods and takes his wrist in one hand, pushing it straight down insistently, burrowing it below the fabric of her pyjamas.

Sherlock groans softly as the tips of his fingers touch to her waiting wetness. Gently, he gives an experimental rub, and, as if he'd pressed a button, Y/N's back curves into a delicate arch. 

Sherlock watches, fascinated. 

In that moment, he decides to spend the rest of his life trying to make her do that again.

"Sherlock," she gasps the word, a feeble breath, her hips rutting pleadingly. 

Gritting his teeth, Sherlock lets his forehead drop down to rest on Y/N's shoulder. Drowning in her scent, her warmth, he draws a slow circle.

She mutters his name again, the first syllable shuddering off her tongue.

It brings a smirk to his lips. His own arousal aches, straining against his pyjamas, but he isn't thinking about that right now. All he can think about is the way she gasps his name, her fingers clutching him, wanting him, needing him closer.

People have needed him before; to prove their innocence, catch a thief, solve a murder.

But not like this.

No one has ever needed him like this.

No one has ever wanted him.

"Thank God I came up here," he mutters thickly against the flushed skin of Y/N's chest. He's kissing it, drawing an invisible pendant about her neck. 

Y/N giggles, and it's breathy and overwhelmed and amazing. "You're an atheist."

He shakes his head. "That noise you make could change any man's religion." He draws that circle again with the wide, slightly rough pads of his fingers, and Y/N makes that noise again, no doubt amplifying it because she knows it drives him crazy.

Intoxicated, he tries something else. Gently, curiously, he dips a finger into her opening. 

She mewls, trying to ride his hand, and he grins at her, writhing and whimpering below him on the bed. 

'I've had dreams like this,' he muses, pressing another wet kiss to the sensitive column of her throat. "Good?" He asks, letting his teeth graze a rapidly flurrying pulse point.

Y/N's hair tickles his cheek as she nods, one hand anchored in his hair, the other gripping frantically at his shoulder blades. She balls the cotton up in a tightly clenched fist as Sherlock's index finger continues its slow, purposeful thrusts. "So good."

The sight of her below him, her flushed cheeks, the curve of her waist, her softness, the sounds she's making---

His hand working almost instinctively, Sherlock's lips roam over the shell of her ear, giving it little sucks and nips. He wants to drown her in sensations like she'd drowned him last night. He wants to be good at this.