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Surprise Company

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Sally had had a long day - the heels that had seemed like a good idea to wear that morning turned out to be torture during the endless hours she’d spent on her feet taking statements. Everywhere she’d turned frustration had met her. She’d planned to meet some friend for drinks and dinner but cancelled her plans, took a long bath and turned in early. Sleep had come immediately.

In the wee hours of the morning, Sally jerked awake with a gasp. A noise, quite but out of place in her tidy flat, had alerted her copper’s instincts. She lay still, listening intently. Before she could even raise up to an elbow, she felt the covers behind her being raised and a warm body sliding into bed behind her.

“Don’t worry, it’s just me,” said a soft baritone voice behind her.

“What the hell, Sherlock. You nearly gave me a heart attack! How the hell did you get in here?” Sally didn’t even bother to open her eyes as she spoke. She was exhausted and hoped that she could shoo Sherlock away and get back to sleep quickly.

A big hand slid around Sally’s waist, pushing the light cotton tank top she slept in up to bare her midriff. The hand stilled, holding her firmly against the body behind her, as the deep voice continued. “Your locks are childishly easy to pick, Sergeant Donovan. One would think a police detective would invest in better hardware.”

Eyes still closed, Sally shook her head slightly. “Building manager won’t allow tenants to install our own locks.” The hand that had lain still over her ribs traveled upward to cup her breast and brush the nipple with a thumb. Sally shifted slightly and made an impatient sound. “It’s not like I invited you over. Door was locked, you know.”

She felt lips brush the side of her neck then felt the rumble of Sherlock’s voice against her back.” I can leave, if that’s what you want.” He stroked her hardened nipped softly. “Do you?” Another soft brush of lips, this time against her nape. “Want me to leave?”

With a groan, Sally half turned toward the warm, solid form behind her. She slung an arm around Sherlock’s neck and pulled him into a harsh kiss. Sherlock met her, giving back as much violence as she gave. It was as much a grappling of mouths as it was a kiss until Sherlock pulled back slightly. His silhouette hovered just above her - the dim light through the heavy blinds showed her no details of his face.

“Was that yes, or no?” Sherlock murmured.

Her other hand came up to grip Sherlock’s hair as Sally spoke. “You’re already here. I’d say you were pretty confident of your reception, since you already shied off your clothes.” She brought his head back down for another deep kiss before she finished, “Might as well stay.”

Sherlock chuckled, the sound once again resonating through Sally’s rib cage. He settled behind her in the dark, unwinding her arm from his neck, and pushed Sally’s tank top up to her underarms. With both breasts bared, Sherlock’s hand roamed from one to the other, squeezing, caressing, pinching lightly, weighing their ample girth in his hand.

Sally squirmed, settling more of her weight against him, and realized that Sherlock was already responding to fondling her breasts. His hardening penis fit against the crevice between her buttocks and he began to rock against her lightly. She pressed her arse against him, rocking back to meet his soft thrusts. Sweat broke out on both their bodies, pressed together tightly in the warm night air, slicking their frotting and making both moan.

Wet kisses pressed against Sally’s neck and made her glad she’d tied up her hair in an elastic before she retired for the night. She shivered as Sherlock trailed kisses as far down her upper back as he could reach without disentangling his hips from her arse. His hand left her breasts and gripped her waist to pull her more firmly against him.

“Your skin,” Sherlock breathed into Sally’s neck, his breath cooling the light train of saliva his lips had left. “It’s the most pleasing human skin I’ve encountered. Thus far, that is.”

Sally’s shoulders shook in barely suppressed giggles. “Thanks, I guess.”

“It is a compliment, Sally. I’ve encountered quite a bit of skin in my work. Most of it dead, but some still living. Yours is … nice.”

Sally rolled her eyes in the dark. She knew he meant it as a compliment - his delivery was just a tad off. And when his hand slipped from her waist, over her belly to cup her sex through her pajama trousers, she forgot all about Sherlock’s social awkwardness. She arched her neck, pressing her skin more firmly into Sherlock’s lips as he pressed the heel of his hand against her clitorus. God, this man sure knew his anatomy. Squirming against his large hand, Sally sighed and pressed her back into his warm, firm body.

She knew it was unconventional: a man she wasn’t even especially fond of, picking the locks on both her building and her flat in the middle of the night, striping naked and crawling into her bed, waking her up from a deep sleep by pressing his erection against her backside - but it worked for them. She’d never been especially conventional or she’d never have been the first black woman to make Detective Sergeant at the Met. And Sherlock - he didn’t give a flying fuck about social conventions. They gave each other pleasure and took it from each other in equal measure. That was all it was.

And it was fine with her.

“Like that,” Sally gasped and pressed her mons forward into the heel of Sherlock’s hand.

“Don’t tell me you can actually come like this?” Sherlock sounded incredulous.

“I could if you’d shut up and press harder,” Sally muttered.

Sherlock did. Soon Sally held her breath and shuddered against him, let out a soft squeak and covered Sherlock’s hand with her own. After several long seconds of tension, her body relaxed against Sherlock’s.

She took a deep breath. “That was good. It’s like you can read my mind,” Sally said.

“I don’t read minds. I simply take action, observe your reaction and adjust my actions accordingly.” Sherlock sounded very pleased with himself. “Your respiration increased when I pressed my hand onto your genitals. Thus, I pressed harder…”

Sally groaned and buried her face in the pillow. “Don’t ruin a good orgasm by talking about it. Or talking at all. Just…” She turned her head toward him again.

Happy to oblige when he deduced that she wanted a kiss, Sherlock rose up on his elbow, fitted his mouth against Sally’s and resumed stroking her breasts and midriff, eliciting little ‘ahs’ and ‘ohs’ from Sally as she moaned around his tongue. His hand wandered to the waistband of her pajamas, lingered to stroke her skin briefly then slipped inside. His large, warm hand caressed her firm stomach before moving to her hip then soft buttock.

Sally squirmed against him and made a frustrated sound as she pulled away from the kiss. “Jesus, Sherlock. You could find my vag a minute ago. What the hell are you doing now?”

“Enjoying your skin. I thought I made it clear. I like your skin.” Sherlock sounded slightly hurt.

Sally huffed and turned her head, once again facing away from Sherlock. She tucked her hand under the pillow and settled onto it. “Okay. Enjoy yourself.”

Sherlock did, caressing his way from her breasts to her thighs. When he could reach no further, he pushed her pajama bottoms out of his way, using his toes to pull them down over her feet for Sally to kick away. Resuming his attentions, Sherlock stroked the inside of Sally’s thighs before he hooked a hand under her upper knee and lifted her leg to drape back over his thighs.

Planted more firmly against his body, Sally could feel the unmistakable ridge of his erection even more pronounced against her arse. A little frisson of alarm caused her to shiver, but Sherlock calmed her fears by rolling his hips back then slipping his penis between her legs to rub along her dripping cunt. He rolled his hips again and again and spread her wetness along his length.

“God, Sherlock, just get it on,” Sally groaned. Her leg slipped as Sherlock rolled backwards to reach for a condom in the drawer of her bedside table. His aim was unerring, even in the dark, and Sally felt him shuffle back a little further a the condom package crinkled. In less than a minute he lifted her knee again and returned it to its former position over his thighs. Sally reached between her legs and held his latex-clad cock firmly against her sex as he resumed their former position. After a pause, Sally grasped it and slipped it inside herself. Sherlock’s breath hitched and he slipped his elbow under Sally’s knee, lifting her leg higher as he rocked his hips to thrust from behind.

Heavy breathing, sighs, grunts and wet squishing sounds filled the room. Sound seemed magnified in the near-perfect darkness, where sensation was magnified by sensory deprivation. Sally leveraged her body against the bed to meet Sherlock, rolling her hips forward as he withdrew then slamming back to meet his thrusts. A light sheen of sweat broke out on her skin as the exertion of maintaining their position, without allowing Sherlock’s cock to slip out, began to wear on her. But she’d be goddamned if she’d turn over to face him. She hadn’t invited him over for sex and she planned on going right back to sleep afterward. She relaxed, letting Sherlock take over the burden of their intercourse. It was his idea, after all, and she’d already come once. She’d be quite happy to enjoy the sex and go back to sleep without reaching a second orgasm.

It didn’t take long before Sherlock gripped her knee tightly with his elbow, huffing like a steam engine has he snapped his hips again and again. Just as Sally started to feel the tingle of a second orgasm begin to take hold, Sherlock buried his face in Sally’s nape and groaned as his hips stuttered through a few strokes. He stilled, panting hot against Sally’s skin, and held her tightly.

Sally closed her eyes and began to drift back towards sleep. It felt good to have a warm, firm body behind her to hold her close. She could almost fool herself into believing that that the arms holding her belonged to someone who cherished her, and whom she cherished in return - until Sherlock spoke as he held the condom and withdrew.

His voice jarred her out of her romantic half-dream.

“I’ll be going now.”

Sally reached behind her to hold him in place. “You can stay if you’d like.”

She could almost hear the gears in his head working. When she neither received a reply nor heard the spent condom hit the bin beside the bed, Sally realized that Sherlock had gone into one of his blinky absence seizures.

“Calm down Sherlock. I’m not expecting you to sleep over. But you don’t have to jump right up and rush out.” Sally tried to keep the irritation she felt out of her voice. Was it too much to ask that the tit hold her for a few minutes after a good fuck? “It’s not like we’re dating.”

Sherlock’s arm reached over Sally’s torso as he binned the condom. He settled into his former position against her back and draped his arm over her body. “I’m happy to fulfill your need for post coitial cuddling, Sally. Let me know when you’ve had your fill.”

Sally settled her head more firmly into the pillow. She grasped Sherlock’s hand and tucked it under her ribs to pull his arm tighter around her body. “You’ll know when I start snoring,” she murmured.