Behind Closed Doors

Author's note: Only my second Sherlock/Irene fic so please be gentle.

Holmes struggled against the gag in his mouth. He struggled against the cuffs that bound him to the pillar. He didn't struggle against the blindfold. There was no sense in that. His other senses had heightened, and every sound and every smell came to him like there was a target painted on his face. He heard footsteps.

He smelled pear blossoms.

He felt a single finger trail down his cheek.

"Poor baby..." was cooed into his ear before a tongue replaced it, making him arch forward abruptly.

"Mama's right here." The blindfold was removed first, and Holmes' vision quickly readjusted. Beautiful chocolate eyes stared back at him.

The gag was the next binding to go, and Holmes said nothing. He simply made a smacking sound, running his sore tongue over his bottom lip. He stared back at the one holding the scarf-Irene Adler. She kissed the silk scarf before tossing it down beside the other. She straddled herself over Holmes' knees, his legs beneath them. His breathing became more shallow, faster. He looked away from her. She kissed his cheek and muttered softly, "Don't turn away from me."

He faced her again, averting his gaze. She brought her lips to his, her kiss hot and slippery. Holmes pressed his body closer, as close as he could with his hands bound anyway. Irene moved her own back slightly. She continued to puzzle his mouth, one hand brushing his face, the other elsewhere. Holmes arched again at her touch-fingers gingerly tapping against the crotch of his trousers.

"I'm going to release you now," Irene said, pulling away completely. "We're going to go to my bed, and you're going to do exactly as I say."

Holmes nodded, panting. He was disheveled and his eyes were feverish. Irene stood up, her fingers delicately tracing the curves of her black corset.

"Say it," she said, her voice suddenly sharp.

"Yes," Holmes sputtered quietly.

"Yes what, Sherlock?" She bent over, her palms on her thighs.

"Yes...yes..." His gaze fell to the place between her head and stomach.

"Yes, Ma'am." Irene moved away from him.

"Yes, Ma'am," Holmes repeated, struggling against the cuffs, trying to follow her on his knees.

"Stay," she ordered, moving acorss the room. She glanced up thoughtfully. "Oh, wait." She grinned at him. "Nevermind."

"Irene..." Holmes closed his eyes. "This is childish. Just release me and-"

"Be quiet!" Irene stormed back over and knelt down. She slapped him across the face. "You don't argue with me, remember?"

"I'm not arguing," Holmes said through gritted teeth. He closed his eyes and muttered something.

"What was that?" Irene raised her eyebrows. "Speak up, Darling."

"Strike me again." It was amazing to see red creep onto his face, and not from impact.

Irene slapped him again and Holmes groaned and hissed at the same time. "Again."

"I have a better idea," Irene said quietly, her angelic tone returning. She fished a small key from the bust of her corset and straddled herself atop him once more. She pressed against him, reaching her arms around the pillar, fiddling with the cuffs. As she did so, she grinded her lower body against his lower abdomen. He pressed his face to her neck, groaning.

A satisfying click made her pull back once more, and Holmes hands were free. He immediately clawed at her, her arms to be precise, and she let out a yelp. Holmes grinned as he pinned her to the ground, his teeth immediately sinking into the soft spot between her shoulder and collar bone. Irene turned her head, moaning slightly, but it was short-lived. She bit the hand that pinned her, hard. Holmes inhaled sharply and pulled back, brining the aching hand to his lips. He scowled at Irene, who grinned back at him.

"To the bed," she said, running her hands along her body. "Bed?"

"Bed..." Holmes leaned down and kissed her. "Bed..." He stopped. "Wait..."

"What's wrong?" Irene continued to kiss him as he pondered. She moved from his lips to his neck to his torso. "Sherlock, what's wrong?"

"Not the bed..." he muttered.

"Come again?" Irene slid her hand into his trousers.

Sherlock closed his eyes, beginning to thrust into her hand. He quickly shook his head and then lowered it, growling.

"You're a whore." Irene grinned. "A no good, dirty, rotten, whore." She wrapped one leg around his bent ones, and in one swift motion, took them out from under him. He collapsed on top of her with an 'oomph'.

"Do you want me to talk naughty to you?" Irene whispered in his ear, picking up rhythm.

"Yes..." Holmes said, breathing hard.

"You're so close," Irene said, her tone becoming dark and raspy. She increased her own breathing. "Oh, I can feel it. I can feel it." She took his other hand and placed it between her legs. "Can you feel it?"

Holmes said nothing. He stiffened, his fingers involuntarily digging into the tight fabric of Irene's corset. She closed her eyes, trying not to flinch herself. She slowed down on her stroking and arched her own back. With his free hand, Holmes clawed at the carpet.

"Tell me you're a whore!" Irene growled.

"No..." Holmes opened his eyes, though they were feral and glossy.

Irene sat up, bringing her hand out of his pants. She stared at it, wet and sticky. Holmes watched as she brought her tongue to each of her fingers. He let his head roll back and his own hand went to his pants. Irene kicked him, knocking him flat on his back.

"Don't touch yourself!" She ordered, lowering herself, removing his trousers completely. Underwear and all. "Now tell me you're a whore."

"I won't." Holmes looked her in the eyes. "I won't."

Irene smiled sweetly, tucking some curls behind her ear. She went down on him immediately, and Holmes wasn't sure if there was another human being alive that could give a blow job like Irene Adler. There was never a build-up. From the start, it always felt like the few seconds before orgasm.

"I'm a whore!" He gasped, smashing the back of his head into the carpet. "I'm a filthy whore!"

Irene continued with her work, and Holmes squirmed and kicked arond her. He arched his back and Irene pulled off. Holmes stared at her.

"And I love you for it." She slithered up his torso and kissed his lips. She then manuevered herself so that she was sitting on top of him, her back facing his head. She brought her hands up to her messy bun/ponytail.

"Undress me," she ordered.

Holmes fingers immediately began to dance with the fastening of her corset. He began to raise up as the fabric came down, and kissed her back. Irene stood up and Holmes got to his knees, tugging the gorgeous attire down her perfect waist.

Once she was completely naked, Irene went back to the floor, and the two of them became tangled limbs. Holmes was dying to do more than just eat away at each other's flesh, but Irene called the shots. She bit him over and over, leaving tiny red marks all over him. He pulled at her hair, and licked sweat from her milky skin. He rolled them over so that he was on top once again. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, placing her finger to his nose.

"It's your turn," she said in a sugary sweet voice.

"Tell me you're my whore," Holmes said, his voice low. He dipped down, kissing the spot just below her navel.

"Not even 'a' whore?" Irene smirked.

"My whore," Holmes said, making her gasp as his tongue moved somewhere unexpected and quickly.

"I'm your whore," she said, closing her eyes. "I'm your whore, Sherlock!" She raised herself up on her elbows. "Slap me. "

Holmes complied and Irene cried out in a high-pitched voice. "Again!" She growled. "Strike me again!"

He shook his head and cralwed behind her, wrapping his arms around her. He bit down on her neck. Irene nuzzled her cheek against his. "Enough of this," she panted.

"Indeed." Holmes gently laid her on the floor. He kissed her, and then bit her bottom lip gently.

"Not like this." Irene rolled over onto her stomach and got to her hands and knees. She looked over her shoulder. "I'm not asking, Sherlock."

Holmes blinked and nodded quickly. Irene grinned as his hands gripped her hips. He kissed the tail of her spine. Irene moaned and closed her eyes. Holmes kissed her back again, dragging his teeth along her flesh. Irene panted. Holmes panted harder.

"Do you want me to scream?" Irene asked quietly, her voice raspy.

"Scream for me," Holmes grunted.

"I don't think so." Even through sweat and gritted teeth, she smirked.

She knew he was closer than she was, so she began to cry out. "Oh, God, Sherlock! Yes! Yes! I'm such a dirty whore!" She glanced at him again. His look was purely animalistic.

She continued. "Spank me! Spank me, Sherlock! Now!" She looked over her shoulder. "God damn you, DO IT!"

He did it. Irene cried out. She clawed at the floor. "Again! Do it again!"

Before he could say or do anything, he jerked and emitted a low groan, finally halting. Irene came right after, and they both collapsed to the floor. Holmes pulled out and rolled over onto his back, his fingers weakly wrapped around Irene's wrist. He panted heavily, trying to catch his breath.

"Who do you belong to?" Irene asked softly, brushing some hair away from his eyes.

"You..." Holmes whispered.

Irene kissed him. "Good boy..."

-------

"We're so glad you could join us for dinner," Mary said as Watson pulled her chair out for her. She mouthed a thank you and sat down.

"Oh, us too." Irene smiled. Holmes started to pull her chair out and she did it herself, giving him an odd smirk.

Watson and Holmes sat. Holmes noted the bruise under Watson's right eye and the chaffed skin peeking under his sleeves. Watson noted the red marks on Holmes' neck and the irritated skin near his mouth. They smiled polietly at each other, but there was a knowing exchange in their expression.

A waiter came by and took their drink orders. The women ordered for the men, and the waiter's brows furrowed slightly. The two couples began to chatter about work and the weather and what wonderful food the Royale had...just another double date, like several going on in the restaurant.

"So..." Mary cleared her throat. "John tells me we should have a dinner party sometime..." she glanced at Watson who shifted slightly. "In our home."

"Your home?" Irene repeated, glancing at Sherlock.

"Yes..." Mary smiled at Watson. "Dinner becomes so dull once in a while." She touched her husband's arm. "Not that John doesn't make a lovely meal-so exotic and..." she rolled her eyes and laughed a little. "Don't look at me that way, Dear."

"I rather enjoyed lunch," Watson said. "I never knew you were aware of so many...recipes."

"We just think it might be exciting if the four of us get together," Mary said to Irene and Holmes.

"What do you think, Dear?" Holmes asked his girlfriend. "I mean-" he shrugged. "It wouldn't be so bad to eat luch with the Watsons once in a while."

"Of course." Irene smiled sweetly, looking at Mary and Watson, squinting skeptically. She licked her lips. "I'd really like that." She turned back to Holmes. "But you know, and I know what you're thinking-"

"Excuse me?" Mary chuckled softly, her brows furrowed in confusion. She looked at Watson for help, but he was pretending to be interested in his wine glass.

"If Mary and I cook together," Irene said, moving her gaze between Holmes and Watson. "Then you and the doctor have to do the same."

"I'd like that," Holmes said, grinning at Watson. "The old doctor and I were once wizards in the kitchen." He leaned back in his chair and Watson blushed.

"Oh!" Realization crossed Mary's face and she turned red as well. She took a big gulp of her wine. "You know? Our schedules are terribly erratic. Why don't we just have our dessert at home? Irene and Sherlock, I insist you join us."

Holmes opened his mouth to say something but Irene held up a finger to shush him. She smiled at Mary. "We'd be delighted to."

"I was going to say that," Holmes said, his brows furrowed.

"Well, this is me saying it," Irene told him. "Do you understand, Dear?"

"Yes," Holmes said.

"Yes what?" Irene spoke to Sherlock, but stared at Mary and Watson, who were both close to fanning themselves.

"Yes, Ma'am."

The End...

Author's note: Woo! My second Sherlock/Irene fic. I hope you guys enjoyed!