dial tone

[formoftherapy]

It's a Saturday, nothing special about it.

Kite, having done all of the homework she plans on doing and unable to settle on what to do next, grabs for her phone.

She calls Tony's house. (Nothing special about that, either.)

Comments

[formoftherapy]

Her fingers slide into his hair as she rocks back harder against him.

[toblameforit]

Half curse, half encouragement: "Oh fuck me."

[formoftherapy]

"Working on it, baby."

Hand still in his hair, she sits back up, sinking down hard with a yelp. "God, Tony--"

[toblameforit]

Now, Tony likes it when you say his name.

He doesn't like it like this, with a full-body shudder that's the next thing to terrified.

His hands tighten on her hips and he groans raggedly. Whatever that moment was, it passes.

[formoftherapy]

The moment may have passed, but it's burned on Kite's brain.

(That was wrong; it was wrong the way half a dozen other small things have been wrong and there is a very short list of explanations.

She doesn't let it show on her face.)

She lays a hand over his, moving faster.

[if_inconvenient]

As Tony would say, he sure fucked that one up.

Shuddering again, all pleasure this time, he rocks his hips in time with the rhythm of hers.

[formoftherapy]

"Mmm, fuck yeah."

Her nails scrape along his scalp.

[toblameforit]

"Yeah," he echoes breathlessly, "Kite, fuck."

[formoftherapy]

She drags her nails down his cheek, runs them over his lower lip.

"You wanna come for me?"

[toblameforit]

"Yessssss—"

[formoftherapy]

She hooks two fingers over his lip, slipping them just inside his mouth.

"I want you to, fuck do I want you to.

What do I have to do, Tony, what do you need me to do?"

[toblameforit]

He licks her fingertips, shaking a little.

"Faster," he gasps out, slurred by her fingers. "Ohfuckplease."

[formoftherapy]

She squeezes one of his hands on her hips. "Help me."

She shifts her weight, trying to move faster.

[toblameforit]

And he obeys, matching her rhythm with quick, shallow thrusts. His face is flushed, his eyes bright.

[formoftherapy]

"Oh fuck--"

She drags the pads of her fingers over his tongue.

"Oh fuck, that's it."

[if_inconvenient]

He wraps his lips around her fingers and moans helplessly.

Not long now.

[formoftherapy]

Kite moans in turn.

"Love your fucking mouth, run it all the goddamn time but it's so fucking sweet--"

[toblameforit]

Again that powerful shudder, not quite fear but close.

Not quite coming but close, he sucks her fingers into his mouth and runs his tongue up between them.

[formoftherapy]

Kite gasps.

"Want your fucking mouth after you come, please Tony, I want to feel it. I--"

She moves as fast as she can, rhythm breaking down in favor of speed.

[if_inconvenient]

Sherlock whimpers past her fingers—arches—tightens his hands on her hips—comes, gasping soundlessly.

[formoftherapy]

"Yes."

Kite rolls her hips. "That's it, honey."

She strokes her thumb along his jaw.

[if_inconvenient]

It takes him over and holds him for one long breath, then another; he shakes, digging his nails into her skin, utterly lost.

[formoftherapy]

She cries out, head falling back.

"Feel so fucking good, baby."

[if_inconvenient]

His breath huffs out all at once and his hands relax, sliding limply down her thighs to rest on the sheets.

[formoftherapy]

Kite lifts one of his hands to her mouth, kissing the palm and the tips of his fingers.

"How're you feeling?"