The Progress of Sherlock Holmes

Pair Bonding in Moles

Nothing is tentative now. Did not realise the degree to which he has been tentative until now. Petting me while half-asleep, pressing little kisses against my lips, his hand idly stroking my ankle: all just shadows. All merely a (potential) prelude to this. His fingers gripping my hair as if to hold me still, his teeth press into my bottom lip, his (left) hand tugging at my shirt. Undoing buttons, fingers brushing against my stomach as he undoes each. Transforming me. Leaving a path burned into my skin.

I was wrong. I didn’t understand this. Not at all.

The collection of chemicals (me) shifts, tilts, fills to the brim. Becomes unstable. Feel the surge of norepinephrine and vasopressin joining the constant flush of dopamine his presence elicits: feel it in the rush of emotions that rise to the surface of me. Aching (desperate and unstoppable) love, lust, adoration. For him. Only for him. (Always.) Imagine the brain MRI of this moment (his left hand rubbing a pattern against my ribs, his lips sucking a mark into my neck); my thalamus, my posterior hippocampus, occipital cortex. Bright spots of lust and desperate need visible and obvious. Undeniable. His name carved there in oxytocin. Chemical mind games. The brain’s natural addictions. (I love you, I love you, I love you.)

His hand sliding down against my hip (which he cradles for a moment in the hot palm of his hand) to the small of my back. Hand against me, fingers stretched out, he presses; grinding me into him. Varied pressure; hard and then soft. His fingers draw lines alongside my spine. Shiver: the tracks of his fingers trace hot residue under my skin that spreads out over me, envelops me. Leaves me hypersensitive, burning, everywhere he’s touched me. Heartbeat pounds in my ears, thrums through my body: fast. Not enough air.

Bury my face in his neck. Breathe him in. The smell of him; all the usual factors: his shampoo, his laundry detergent, that pleasant milky smell of his skin. A smell I would recognize anywhere. Breathe in his inevitable androstenol; his pheromones surely heightening my (obvious, palpable and prodding) arousal response.

My hands fall against his waist. Tug at his jumper; fingers feel thick and useless. Hint of a tremor that starts at my hands and moves through my whole body. His (left) hand shifts across my lower back, fingertips sliding under the waistband of my trousers. My head falls backward as if he’s triggered an autonomic response. Gasp. The moan in my throat is caught in his mouth as his lips caress mine. Right hand cupping the back of my head, fingers tangled in my hair. The texture of tongues against one another; the taste of his Earl Grey tea. He sucks my tongue so hard it hurts.

Sound of non-words in the back of his throat, vibrating against my jaw as he kisses me there too, short fingernails digging into the skin under my shoulder blade. Hot breath on my ear. Lips on my earlobe. Teeth. Fingers on the button of my trousers; rapidly unfastened.

Panting; body’s need for oxygen rising. The world has become very small; it is contained within this room, within the space that holds me (him). World becomes even smaller as his hand wriggles into my trousers and makes contact with my over-eager erection. It might all be over in a moment; the heat of his hand on my (now damp) sensitive flesh; rush of sensation so intense my knees buckle a little. He catches me. His legs: perfectly strong, perfectly stable. I can feel him smile against my neck. Kisses me. Feel his eyelashes against my skin.

“Bed.” His voice is slightly hoarse. Takes my hand (his thumb stroking my palm). Takes me to my own bedroom. (Traditional location for such a tryst. He plays by the book.) It is hard to imagine that any other room (or any other place) exists. (The world consists of his thumb on my palm. Tiny movement, bit of friction. Volumes of words absent from any language.) I can’t stop staring at him. His lips are red and a little swollen. I can see my own teeth marks along his bottom lip (don’t recall biting him).