drwhitly | Closed to statuethief

Closed to statuethief

Martin was out cold for a lot longer than he would have anticipated. Of course, he woke up without much concept of time until he fully was lucid for a few days. He was set up in quite a nice flat. This Irene Adler really held up her end of the deal and he knew he had struck a deal with the devil, but he was loving it.

So on his second week in London, actually capable of moving about, he got himself a haircut and a shave. He now had the funds so he was able to buy a suit and look quite presentable. Nothing like his incarcerated self.

Then he found the guinea pig cafe.

She had to know that he had 'passed' since it was in the news, causing him to wait a while before coming out of hiding. Still, Martin grinned as he approached the tiny cafe, seeing that it was a bit different than what he had imagined from her description of it. He casually walked inside as if he were anyone else.

"Do I just take a seat anywhere or..."

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Her eyes fall shut and she sighs, they aren't going to make it past his entryway at this rate.

"Is that so? I've not had anyone since I last saw you." She admits, and that was well over a month ago.

“No?” He was somewhat surprised. Then again he also figured anyone with freedom should just be having a run at it. “Were you purposely holding out for me? Or was it just a dry spell of a month?”

His fingers were shameless going up her skirt, brushing along the outside of her panties, teasing her pussy beneath.

"It's hard to find anyone that compares to you." She hasn't felt the desire to bring home anyone.

She keeps her legs pretty closed, she's trying to not be absolutely shameless in this cab.

"Have you waited for me?" She chuckles even asking it.

Martin grinned talking pride in knowing that he had set the bar high for her. He truly believed himself to be a very experienced and praised lover.

Even if her legs are closed, his hand isn’t going anywhere and his fingers still tease and tempt by simply rubbing.

“I have.” In regard to what timeline, he wasn’t really sure. He had been dead, taken advantage of some situations after coming back from the dead but before that, sure he hadn’t had any visitors of that sort.

He is fantastic in bed. Kinky and dominant but he always makes sure she comes; a lot.

"I don't know if I believe you." She chuckles, leaving a little kiss on his neck. "What neighborhood is your place in?"

Her flexibility to do just about anything he's into got her a solid spot on his list of favorites.

"You're always doubting me about that," He observed. "I do have other women visitors, yes, but not all come to be for a shag." He leaned into her. "And it was your cafe that I just sought out, isn't it?"

“Just north of Camden Town, I believe.” He's still learning his way properly around London.

She is game for just about anything really. And besides the top notch sex, they do end up just chatting a lot.

"I was a bit far away there." It's more that she understands how easy it is for him to lie. He doesn't get twinges of guilt about it. "You did come find me, yes."

"Well you won't be any longer." And she was right to be wary that he did lie easily and without showing a sign of it. "And that, my dear, would imply that you are special, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, I'm definitely special." She laughs, "just ask my therapist."

She's a bit of a mess, one that is romantically involved with a killer. Who she is snuggling in a cab.

Martin perked up at the mention of a therapist, “And what is her take on me? Or me in your life. Or does she not know?” Oh, he just loves the silly analysis of therapists.

"Well, she thinks I've got an unhealthy fixation on death as a start."

She's mentioned Martin, but only parts of it.

"I believe the politically correct term is 'true crime'." He added. "It's pretty normal in America." he pauses with a wink. "Or so I've read."

"Yeah, America makes all the documentaries, after all. And most of the serial killers in them." Theres's probably a lot to be said about it.

"Indeed." he agreed, nodding. "Ever wonder what is wrong with the Yanks that they can't seem to manage their serial killer problem? Why they all seem to pop up over there?" He looked to her curiously. "Because it can't be the guns."

"I think it's all the narcissists." She gives him a knowing little smirk.

"They do tend to avoid guns, don't they?"

“Well guns are boring,” and now she will have gotten him on a serial killer tangent. “Where is the art in simply shooting someone? There’s nothing poetic and meaningful about it!

“Although I supposed the Son of Sam was different in that arena, but I never really held him to a very high regard.”

Martin nodded, knowing what people called him and he fell under that category as well. “And what’s more attractive than a narcissist?”

She snorts a laugh. "Guns are predictable."

Hardly the sort of passion someone like Martin puts into his work. Not everyone can stomach the more personal approach.

"To a narcissist? Themselves I imagine." She's not going to give in so easily to saying he's attractive. It's not the narcissism that gets her going.

"They're cheap," He added. "No real effort involved. Anyone could do it. Doesn't make you sophisticated at all." And he prided himself on at least being sophisticated if nothing else.

"Well, you're not wrong." He laughed. So long as she knew what she was dealing with, which by this point, she very well should.

"We'll be coming up on the flat, right up here-" He pointed, for her and for the driver.

She knows very little she gets from Martin is genuine, but he does show her a fondness if nothing else.

"I'm usually not wrong." She playfully nudges him.

It's a nice street, better than hers by far.

When the taxi pulls up, Martin hands him cash without another word after "Cheers." and they exit the cab.

"This way," He leads her, even offering his arm to her. The building was bland but it was quite nice; meant just to blend in with the rest. Inside they took the lift up to the top floor, reaching a penthouse that had 2 levels.

"Home sweet home." He announced as he opened the door to show her. "I know it's not much, but it'll have to do." Always with the jokes.

She slips her hand into his arm. Of course there is a lift, classy fucker.

"Oh, yeah, its shite. This giant fucking mansion here." She is admiring the view, ignoring him for a moment.

“Absolute shite,” he repeated with the accent before dropping it. He locked the door behind them before walking up to her. “Not bad for waking up from the dead.” He looked over at some massive bookshelves that were only beginning to be filled.

“Have to start my drawing from scratch but what else do I have to do outside of work?” Which he did in another part of the building. Very secluded and secure. “And fucking your brains out.” He came up behind her and kissed her neck gently, hands going to her ass. “I’ve missed this ass.”

She leans against him when he steps behind her.

"I'm a bit jealous, my flat is nothing like this. But then again, my work isn't quite as... demanding"

She wiggles her ass against his hands before turning to face him.

"Is that all you missed, Dr. Whitly?"

He laughed at her comment, "I mean I did have to go to prison and die to get here, but worth it." Minus that his ex was loaded and he had a pretty sweet lifestyle before going to prison.

When she turned to face him, his arms slid around her waist. "I missed quite a lot of you," He kissed her, pulling her in to feel his cock starting to harden. "And I want to become very re-acquainted with it all." Nodding to the side, he glanced towards some stairs that led up to the bedroom. "Let's get on with the tour then." That would end after the first stop.

"I don't know, I've heard about your life before prison; this seems pretty inline."

The way her body fits against his is familiar and yet she's been missing it.

"Does this place have a sex dungeon?" She laughs.

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