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Sherlock Holmes, the Pirate

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“… so then I see it out of the corner of my eye, this flash of red on the coach floor,” Sherlock said in Natasha’s ear, using the pads of his fingers to massage her scalp. “I walk over, crouch for a look… and it’s a hair tie.”

“A hair tie,” she repeated breathily, tipping her head back into his hands. Then she paused and peeked at him over her shoulder, all pink cheeks from the heat of the water, and bright green eyes lit up with realization. “A hair ring.”

Sherlock swooped in to kiss her cheek. “Clever wolf, yes, a red hair ring,” he said. “Or to Masterson, a red herring.” He leaned back in the huge marble tub to finish lathering up her hair. “He made a good show of implicating his ex-wife and it was an intriguing case while it lasted, but in the end, it was one pun too many.”

Natasha laughed, falling back against his chest. “So for John’s title, should I be expecting a masterclass in puns?”

“No, I think he’s had enough of them for the moment.” Sherlock smiled slightly to himself at the thought. “He’ll be titling it ‘The Conundrum of Coach 13’. Dull but effective, considering.” Sliding a soapy hand down her neck, he ducked his head to nip her ear. “And you’re all done.”

“Such excellent service,” she teased, turning her head to steal a kiss. She had that look in her eyes like he was the single most important thing in the world right then and it made his heart expand to twice its size. “I really should tip you,” she added.

“Mm, you really should,” he rumbled in agreement. He nuzzled her back with his nose and lips, wrapping her up in his arms.

She smiled and touched a hand to his cheek. “Five seconds,” she promised, “then I’ll make it worth your while.”

Sherlock pretended to consider it, then released her with an overdramatic sigh. “Fine, if you must. Five seconds only. I’ll be waiting.”

Stealing one last kiss, Natasha smiled and ducked under the water to rinse her hair. The red, swirling mass of it tickled Sherlock’s chest and abdomen as she ran her fingers through it, making his muscles twitch. Absently, he reached to twirl the ends of it around his fingers, re-cataloguing the silky smooth texture of it against his skin. She’d colored it blonde and brown and black, but for reasons that defied logic, he’d always preferred it long and red and wavy as it was now.

As if in a trance, he unlocked another door of his Mind Palace.

Memories of Natasha pushing him into his soft leather chair in the living room of 221B flooded swiftly to the forefront of his conscious mind. Of her raking her hands over his trouser-clad thighs while she took him in her mouth, of soft waves of glossy red hair spilled across his lap. Strands of it tangled around his hands, his fingers, his wrists, tickling her cheek as she wrapped her full pink lips around his length, peeked up at him with dark eyes, and...

Sherlock expelled a sharp, unsteady breath and shut the door. Like a fucking teenager he was with her. He was hard already beneath the warm and soapy water, any more of that and he’d embarrass himself.

Natasha emerged from the water in something like a rippling waterfall. She raked her hair back with her fingers, slid up the front of him with a smile. She might as well have been a siren from one of his old pirate books, with her berry-pink lips, pale white skin, and luminous green eyes. Come to drag him down to Davy Jones’s locker with a kiss.

“Come here, you.” She took his face in her hands and gently molded her lips to his.

With a sound from deep in his chest, Sherlock cupped her head, closed his eyes, and surrendered. She tasted of honey, tea, strawberries, and her. He drew her closer with a hand splayed on the small of her back. Soft and warm and dripping wet against him, she was better than any hormonal dreams of mermaids and pirates and forbidden trysts on sandy shores that even his young, gifted mind could’ve put together.

She slid a hand into his hair, pausing against his lips. “You’re smiling,” she whispered.

Warmth flooded his cheeks and he all but stopped breathing. “Smiling? I’m not smiling, I’m… snogging.”

“The snogging is how I know you’re smiling, lyubimiy. I can feel it.” She broke away despite his groan of protest, eyeing him up close with that mix of amusement, affection, and calculation only she was capable of. “You’re so red, too…” Her fingertips grazed his cheek, her own smile widening curiously as she met his eyes. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I was inappropriately fantasizing about having your lips wrapped around cock, shame on me,” he was quick to lie

Liar,” she laughed without missing a beat. “You’ve had my lips wrapped around your cock too many times now to be embarrassed. And there’s nothing inappropriate in fantasizing about it when you’re off a case. I do it too.” His eyes flashed with heat and she lifted a brow in bemusement. “You want me to keep talking about my dirty fantasies, you need to share.” When he groaned again and sunk a little more below water, she exhaled another laugh. “It can’t be that bad. We’ve done a lot of kinky things already, milaya, I’m sure it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Sherlock turned his head to kiss her palm, holding it there while he breathed her in. She was right. They’d done a lot of kinky things, and they’d always welcomed them with both personal and scientific curiosity. Telling her she was his every hormonal teenage fantasy come to life should be nothing at all, no matter how embarrassing it was.

He was safe with her. He’d always been with her.

After a silent beat, he quietly cleared his throat. “It’s not… kinky, so to speak,” he said. “It was just a thought as you came out of the water. That you looked…” He cast a quick sideways glance at her, but her gaze was warm as Caribbean waters. His embarrassment eased a little. “That you looked… a lot like a... mermaid. Or what I’d have imagined a mermaid would look like back in my younger years.”

“A mermaid,” she repeated. Her lips tugging into a smile even as her eyes growing several shades darker, the way they did when he’d done or said something... arousing. Oh. With the tiniest ripple of water, she pressed in close enough to pin him to the side of the tub. Her breath was hot on his lips, the tip of her nose just about brushing against his. “And… if I’m a mermaid, does that make you my pirate?”

Sherlock’s heart sped up in his chest. God, he was so in love with her. Between them his rock hard erection twitched with interest. “Your pirate, yes…” His voice was husky and low, his hands smoothing tentatively over her soft, wet skin. Their breaths mingled between their lips for a silent second. “You’ve got me now. What will you do with me, Natalia?”

She kissed him slow and hard in reply, sliding her tongue against his with a teasing flick, then pulling away with a gentle bite. “I think I’ll keep you for myself,” she breathed, straddling him with easy grace. “Swim up to your ship in the middle of the night, wrap myself around you right there on the empty deck where just about anyone could catch us...” She wrapped her arms around him as she said the words, rolling her hips so the hard ridge of his erection slid against the wet heat of her. Sherlock’s moan vibrated against her lips even as she went on, “Steal your breath with my kiss instead of my siren song.”

His hands grazed the sides of her breasts, her waist, her hips. Until he reached the perfect curve of her arse and squeezed. “You are a dangerous creature,” he said with a little smirk. “What will I do with you?”

“Touch me… kiss me, bite me, fill me…” Her body shivered against his chest and she rolled her hips again, swallowing his moan with another kiss. “Surrender to me,” she added against his lips. “Make me yours.”

Sherlock shook out a breath, squeezing her arse again with one hand while the other snaked between them. He circled the wet, hot button of her clitoris with his fingertips once, twice, three times, then pressed his fingers slow and deep into the tight channel of her sex.

She arched in his arms with a breathy moan that had his hips jutting up in search of friction.

“I need to be in you,” he said huskily, readying her with two, then three of his fingers for the larger thickness of his own member. His forehead fell against her collarbone. “God, you’re so wet already.”

“Wet for you, pirate,” she breathed in his ear. Her voice thin and raspy with arousal and he moaned against her skin. She stroked her hand over the back of his neck, biting wolfishly on the shell of his ear. “Get inside me… now, I… need to feel you. All of you, in me.”

Sherlock growled between his teeth. “Can’t resist you.”

With a last stroke of his fingers, he eased them from her body and reached between them, grasping his almost painfully hard length. He guided himself into her body with a shaky breath. Pressing into her inch by hard, flushed, sensitive inch, until he was buried in her to the hilt.

They both sucked in a harsh breath. As many times as they’d done this now, that first moment of joining was still every bit as intense and overwhelming as it had been the very first time.

Natasha’s fingers curled into the back of his neck, his own teeth grazed her skin in a sharp bite. They’d leave a mark, but they couldn’t help it and they didn’t care. They’d always been more than a little possessive with each other, the marks prompting only sly little smiles between them when they caught sight of them in public and heated kisses when in private.

Mine,” Natasha breathed below his ear.

Mine,” Sherlock murmured back. He licked the bite he’d left on her skin and tipped his head back to claim her lips. Hard and hot and hungry, he buried a hand in her hair and gripped the wet strands, ravishing her like the pirate he was.

Her moan of surrender set his blood on fire, but it was nothing compared to the heat of her finally moving around his length. She pressed him back against the side of the tub, rocking her hips to draw him out of her body, then sliding down, down, down to take all of him in again. Their moans filled the air, their breaths coming heavier and quicker.

Thrusting his hips up to meet her, Sherlock slid his free hand over her skin to palm her breast. His thumb grazed the tightened peak, circling, pinching, over and over, making her whimper into his mouth. The sound of it alone was enough to tighten his grip on her and make him groan with want.

Slowly at first, then quicker and quicker as the heat built and built and built between them, they moved together. Water rippled and splashed from the tub to the floor below, the sounds of their pleasure growing louder and louder until they bounced off the walls.

“Nat, ’m… close,” he panted against her lips, heat tingling down his abdomen. “Gonna come… soon.”

“Me too.” Natasha arched against his hand on her breast, still moving over him with the sinuous grace of ocean waves. “Hold onto me, I’ll make it… good.” She waited until he’d wrapped his arms around her, then switched their positions with an easy twist of her body. Another splash drenched the floors, but neither one of them could be bothered to care. She dragged him back to her lips with a hand behind his neck, speaking into the kiss. “Don’t hold back,” she said, shakily. “I’ve got you.”

With a low moan against her lips, Sherlock thrust up into her body as deep as he could go. She cried out and he did it again… and again and again and again. Over and over, quicker and quicker. Their breaths grew hard and ragged with the effort, with the relentless, repetitive surge of his body pressing her up against the side of the tub.

One, two, three more thrusts, and Sherlock came hard inside her body. He groaned low and long into her mouth, thrusting so hard and deep into her pulsing heat they both fumbled to brace themselves against the side of the tub. Clenched hot and wet around his twitching cock,  Natasha moaned against his lips so loud and long and dirty, the whole of his frame shivered with aftershocks.

They didn’t move for long seconds in the aftermath. Breathing hard and clinging to each other while they came down from their high, they stayed there, spent and sated. Her arms had wrapped around his neck somewhere along the way, her thighs pressing in on either side of his hips.

Sherlock tipped his head forward to press his face into the soft curve of her heaving breast with a quiet, wolfish rumble. When her fingers carded gently through the curls at the nape of his neck, he parted his lips and brushed a breathy, tender kiss to her skin.

“We’re going…” she panted, moving only so she could nuzzle the top of his head. “To have so much fun with this,” she ended in a whisper. Burying her nose in his damp curls, she smiled, though he couldn’t see.

Sherlock’s chuckle was warm on her skin. “Ideas?”

Natasha exhaled a quiet chuckle of her own. “Several already, actually.”

3 Months Later

John climbed the steps to 221B two at a time, using the banister for help. “Sherlock! Come on, we’ve got a case.”

And a good one if he knew his friend at all. Lestrade had called him when he’d received no answer from Sherlock, in itself something of an oddity.

Reaching the top of the stairs, John swerved for the kitchen, darted down the hallway, and banged on the closed door. It didn’t occur to him until the third bang what the closed door meant. They’d set rules when Sherlock had started… doing whatever he was doing with Natasha. The living room, kitchen, stairs, the front door (which should’ve gone without saying, but John had come to discover that Sherlock and Natasha had no sense of propriety whatsoever) were off limits to sexual activity. They were both confined to their rooms, and doors had to be closed at all times.

Sherlock only ever closed the door when he was with Natasha.

John paused, scratched the side of his face and stepped back. “Sherlock? Can you step out here, please.”

There was a thump, some whispers, then Sherlock’s unmistakable baritone through the door. “I’m busy. Go away.”

John smiled, trying not to laugh. “It’s a case, mate. Unless there’s been a rule change, you said if it was a ten or higher I should—”

The door swung open before he finished what he was saying, revealing an obviously disheveled Natasha in undergarments straight out of… Game of Thrones? Lord of the Rings? And a glittering silver tiara half falling from her hair. Her face gave nothing away, but the flush of arousal on her cheeks said it all.

Then she smiled, and despite himself, John still found it as terrifying as the first time. “He’ll be out in a second, he’s putting his trousers on.” She caught her tiara before it could fall off her hair completely, sparing a glance over her shoulder. “His other trousers on.”

John was not very successful in suppressing his laugh. He folded his arms over his chest, pinning her with a knowing stare. “And what were you doing?”

She cast a bemused look his way. “Thee Continents Watson,” she countered. “You don’t need me to explain.”

Sherlock appeared behind her a second later, looking hastily dressed. His shirt was only halfway buttoned, but he was tucking it in his trousers and zipping them up. He might’ve looked like he did on any other morning… except for his ears. Which were very, very pointy and peeking out above his curls on either side of his head.

John reached up to flick one as Sherlock nudged past Natasha. “Are those elf ears? I wasn’t sure between Lord of the Rings or Game of Thrones, really should’ve known you’d go for the one with elves.”

“What? Oh.” Sherlock removed them hastily, handing them over to Natasha with his cheeks all red. She took them, but caught hold of his wrist and tugged him close for a kiss goodbye. John didn’t bother turning his eyes away, it was a tiny bit fascinating to see the way Sherlock just melted for her every single time.

“Don’t get shot,” she told him as he pulled away, and John noted with some curiosity (and a secret smile to himself) the way she’d softened for him too. “Or stabbed. Mycroft doesn’t like it when I kill people without permission.”

Sherlock smiled and winked, straightening back up. “I’ll try not to.”

She glanced at John once Sherlock had turned away. “You too, don’t get shot,” she repeated. “Or stabbed.”

John backed away. “You’re still terrifying, you know that?”

She smiled her terrifying smile again. “I know.”

She closed the door without another word, and John hustled to follow Sherlock down the stairs. He’d put on his coat and scarf in record time, and had his nose glued to his phone already.

John side-eyed him while they hailed a cab. “So… roleplaying?”

“Shut up,” Sherlock countered swiftly. “Double murder, should be a fun one.”

“Oh, have you done cops and robbers already? You have the cuffs.”

Sherlock stepped away from him, moving to open the cab door and lithely folding himself inside. John didn’t bother hiding his laugh on the way in, wiping the corners eyes after a beat.

When it finally died down, Sherlock delivered his reply without looking up from his phone, and with the slightest smirk on his lips. “Cops and robbers… excellent idea.”