Colored Lineart commission for tinseltowncloud. Thank you, lovely!
An illustration from The Progress of Sherlock Holmes.
He pulls back from me a little, his hand still on my back. Hesitating. I smile. Make a decision in a flash: don’t let myself think it through. I lean forward and kiss him. Let my tongue run along the edge of his upper lip. (Wine. Roast. Gravy. Almonds. The milkiness that is him.) He’s a little started by it, but slightly drunk; his reaction times are slower, his defences are down. Unrestrained. He’s unwound and trusting. (Even with me; maybe especially with me. Why not with me?) Lightly sucks my bottom lip. Grips my back. Hand slides up to my neck. His tongue. In my mouth. Odd texture against my own. Passion. My veins are all on fire. Lips. Wet. A clatter of utensils in the kitchen; water runs. (A reminder.) We let go. His hand slides off my neck. We stare at each other. Panting slightly (him; also, I notice a moment later, me).