trashchildren | For Joan

Joan is falling apart in front of him, her self control dissolving in pleasure and need. She cries out as his fingers slide inside her, and near sobs as he strokes her g-spot. She remembers promising that she'll warn him when she's about to come, and it's not long at all before her body is trembling.

"Ted..." she moans. "I'm..."

He almost feels bad. Almost.

He watches her closely, completely focused on her reactions as he slows down, like he did earlier, for a tantalizing moment, and then pulls back completely.

He strokes gently at her thighs and leans up to kiss her stomach, just to continue to give her some affection and closeness. To soothe the frustration just a little.

She groans again as he pulls back, the frustration acute, and whimpers a little as he kisses her stomach. She's so worked up it's almost painful, and his touches are sizzling along her nerves.

"Please," she whispers.

He moves up to be face to face to her, leaning down so his body presses against her, but remaining still enough so that the only way she would get any real stimulation would be to actively rub herself against him, and even then it probably wouldn't be enough.

Ted strokes her hair, and kisses her cheek lovingly, smiling down at her. "Please what?" he asks quietly. She did want to beg.

Joan moans desperately, her hips reflexively rising to press against him, move against him, seeking out sensation and not finding what she needs. She groans softly in frustration.

"Please," she whispers, looking up at him. Joan isn't one to beg, which is exactly what makes this so powerful. Her eyes lock on his, pleading quite in spite of herself. "Please let me come."

"Alright," he answers softly, smiling, stroking her hair. "You've been so patient," he says approvingly, lovingly.

He's so impressed that she could be so desperate and still not touch herself, trusting and waiting for him to do it. And he hopes she's enjoying this, no matter how frustrated and desperate she is. That the torment is worth it.

"I'm gonna take care of you," he promises, and kisses her.

She has been so tempted to touch herself, but she's refrained because she wants to do this with Ted. She wants to give him this, putting herself and her pleasure entirely in his hands. Not because she thinks he wants the power, because he clearly doesn't, and if he did she wouldn't give it to him. He wants to take care of her, and she's letting him.

She kisses him back, making a soft sound of need, her body arching up to press against him again.

He kisses her lovingly, slowly, taking a moment to make sure Joan is no longer right on the edge - although he knows she'll he close no matter what.

Then he shifts, kissing his way down her upper body, kissing her breasts and pinching her nipple a little, and then her stomach, making sure not to dawdle too terribly long, not to be too cruel.

And then once he's back down between her legs, he gently lifts them to hook around his back, so she can hold onto him with both her hands and her legs if she wants. He's not planning on going anywhere.

And then he picks back up where he left off, slipping two fingers inside her and starting to lick her, slow at first then a bit faster, massaging that sweet spot inside.

Once he thinks she's right on the brink, whether she manages to warn him or not, he slows, even pulling back a little, making her think he's going to stop, just to give her that final moment of desperation.

And then instead he redoubles his efforts, holding onto her leg with one arm, fucking her with his fingers and sucking her clit, pushing her over the edge.

Every touch, every kiss, is ecstatic torture. She cries out when he pinches her nipple, the nub hard and sensitive like the rest of her body, pulsing with arousal. When he hooks her legs around his back she is more than happy to take what he is offering, wrapping her legs around him and burying both hands in his hair. He begins pleasuring her again, and she can't help but ride his face, her hips rocking against his mouth, crying out wantonly with every breath as he works her closer and closer...

And then.he slows and stops.

"No," she all but sobs, her legs tightening around him, her hands fisting in his hair...

Then the sensation is back, and stronger, and too much, her body shaking in the agony of need...

She screams as she comes, hard, her body arching off the bed, all rational thought and awareness completely destroyed in the blinding supernova of her devastating climax.

It's amazing, the way she can barely control her body as she bucks against his mouth, the sounds she's making, just how much she must be feeling right now.

He's very glad they're alone in the apartment now. And not really because of the potential embarrassment of anyone hearing that, but because that scream is just for him, just for the two of them. He feels an immense pride at making her scream and tense and writhe like that, completely lost in the pleasure. And he's so excited and grateful to be able to do it for her.

He holds onto her, and he doesn't stop, doesn't slow, even as it must be too much for her, not until she herself unwraps her legs and pushes him away. Seeing how much her overcome body can bear, before the intensity of him continuing to stimulate her is stronger than the loss of control of the orgasm.

It doesn't take long before the overload of sensation cuts through the bliss of the orgasm, her body twitching uncontrollably with every suck and every stroke. She unwraps her legs and pushes him away, panting hard as she does so. "Too much," she gasps.

He's easy enough to push away the second she tries to. He gives her a moment without touching her at all, backing off and sitting up, letting her come down from the overload. Making sure she knows he's not going push her any more.

Then he starts gently stroking her legs and her stomach, soft soothing touches, reassuring and loving. He's sure she's pretty spent after the intensity of all that, and not just physically, and he wants to make sure she's alright and that she knows he's here for her, to take care of her.

"I love you so much, Joan," he says quietly, a gentle smile in his voice. "It's okay, you can relax now.."

It takes a moment for the sensation to ebb, but by the time Ted begins to touch her legs and her stomach she's able to tolerate it without twitching. She gives him a smile.

"I love you too," she answers quietly. Then she closes her eyes and lets her body relax in the warm post-coital glow.

Ted wipes off his hand with some tissue paper, then crawls over to lie down next to her, gently putting his arm around her. He doesn't want to crowd her if she's still feeling exhausted, but she can snuggle up as close as she wants.

She rolls over without opening her eyes and snuggles close to him, wanting to be in his arms, feeling his warmth and smelling his scent.

"Thank you," she murmurs. "That was incredible."

Ted smiles and kisses her shoulder, gently hugging her close. He loves seeing her happy and relaxed, and seeking closeness with him. It just fills his heart.

"I'm so glad," he answers quietly, reaching up to brush back her hair a little bit. He has no intention of getting up for a while. They can just stay here until they either need to eat or use the bathroom, whichever comes first. Nothing else seems important.

It's a good thing that Ted doesn't intend to get up for a while, because after all of that Joan isn't sure she'd be able to get up. He has exhausted her pretty thoroughly, and she's warm and comfortable and safe in his arms. She's even starting to drift off a little.

Ted also is feeling pretty comfortably sleepy. And now at last there's no reason why they can't just fall asleep together. He's missed the comfort and the privacy of the two of them dozing off, skin against skin.

It's amazing that such a day that contained such an emotionally draining task of dealing with funeral arrangements, can still be such a wonderful day because he started and ended it with her. Because the two of them are so determined to make each other happy and safe and content.

He kisses her hair and closes his eyes, dozing off soon after her.

It's only a few hours before an alarm on his phone wakes him though, reminding them that Joan needs to take her meds. He reaches over to turn it off, then checks to see if Joan is awake, and if not, to gently stir her awake.

Even with everything they've been going through, Joan is so happy whenever they're together. She knows without a doubt that they belong together, just by how happy they make each other and how much strength they draw from each other. And things are getting better. Both of them are healing and getting stronger, and being able to fall asleep together like this without an audience and without worrying about Joan's safety is a wonderful return to a comfortable normal.

When the alarm goes off it takes a moment for her to wake, and she blinks her eyes open as he stirs her. She smiles, so happy just to see his face.

"Hey."

"Hey," he answers softly, and the smile on her face fills him with such joy and comfort.

"You need to take your meds," he says, inclining his head towards the nightstand. He's very glad he had the forethought to make sure they had it as well as water ahead of time.

"Mmm," she hums, yawning and stretching a little. "Right." She looks over at the nightstand, smiling to see her medicine there next to her water bottle. She pushes herself up to sitting and picks up the pill bottle. "Do you think Beard has gone home?" she asks as she carefully navigates the childproof cap.

Ted remains lying down, looking up at her with a soft smile.

"Who knows, I wouldn't put it past them to be playing long into the night," he answers with a chuckle. He's glad they seemed to be getting along though. Even though their style of getting along is rather different than most.

The cap comes off with not too terribly much effort, and Joan shakes the pill into her palm, still not quite trusting her fingers to hold onto something that small.

"Wouldn't put it past them at all," she says with a smile, setting the pills aside and taking up her water bottle. "I'm really glad they're hitting it off. I thought they would."

She opens the water bottle and gulps down her pill.

"Well yeah, they're both great people who can communicate entirely through stares and obscure academic references," he answers, amused.

He reaches out to gently stroke her side with his knuckles, just wanting to be touching her. No matter that they've barely been doing anything else for the past few hours.

She laughs softly at his assessment of Beard and Sherlock. "Pretty much," she agrees. She smiles at him as he strokes her side, her heart so warmed by his simple, gentle affection. She reaches over to gently brush his hair back from his forehead.

"I'm glad they get along," she says softly. "I know Sherlock could use some friends here."

Most of the people in London know the old, acerbic Sherlock, and it's been hard for him to have the same sort of friendships that were so hard-won in New York.

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