DISCLAIMER: The entire Detective Conan series belong to Gosho Aoyama. This is a non-profit fanwork.

Bed weather

Lately, the weather has been getting cooler. It started off as chilly nights, then evenings, then mornings. Eventually, even noon will follow and, like every year, thick blankets of white snow will cover the streets as a host of coated figures walk past bright shop windows and street lights. Christmas, holidays, whatever they want to call it.

But not yet. For the time being, noon is bearable without a coat. And, more importantly, Sherry's bed is warm. Especially when Gin is in it.

The duvet rustles as she stirs beneath the soft winter sheets. He opens his eyes besides her. She knew perfectly well he was not asleep – not yet.

Her body presses against his, to which he responds by resting his arms across her waist and pushing her closer. His mouth opens doubtfully, asking for the permission to go on. She brings her head forward and their lips and tongues meet.

Sherry throws her arms onto his shoulders and drags him on top of her. The long, ash-blond hair cascades at her side. His mouth starts drawing a path of wet, warm marks along her jaw and neck. She groans.

Gin's hands feel hot, even feverish (nearly as much as her skin) as they slide delicately under the top of her pajamas. The pressure of his slender fingers on and around her breasts is just as much as he knows she likes – firm but soft, strong but gentle. Her own hands run down to clutch his buttocks. He groans.

Her knees bend. Gin's eyes quickly meet hers, asking a silent question. She answers just as quietly.

Gin's left hand parts with her chest and reaches for the bedside table. He's so used to it, in his apartment as well as hers, that he hardly needs to peep once or twice. Sherry's hands leave his buttocks momentarily to help him out by rolling down his pants and underpants. The erect shaft burns against her palms and fingers as she holds it tightly. He moans. Sherry teases him, refusing to let go when his left hand returns from its brief escapade. Gin laughs and looks her in the eye, arching an eyebrow. She grins and lets go. Hidden under the linens, she pictures the thin latex unfolding down the pale skin. Her grin widens in anticipation.

She knows he's finished when his hands roll her pants down to her knees. Her panties soon follow, pushed by Sherry's own hands, which then hurry to guide the hard length into her body.

Both moan when Gin enters her. Which of the two is enjoying it more, Sherry could never tell. Before he can go on, she tenses her muscles to give his shaft a welcome squeeze; the loud groan he lets out poses the best indicator of her success. His gaze, which had been focused on the point at which their bodies join, turns to her roguishly smiling face. He smirks. She bites her lip, knowing what comes next.

Sherry's head falls backwards onto the pillow at the following thrust. Her hands seize Gin's buttocks again, internally begging him to go on. Unsurprisingly for the time he has known her, he understands, and does not hesitate to do what she asked for.

Her legs spread wider to accommodate Gin's body between them. His left hand, settled at her hip, helps raise them with a gentle push until her knees rest on his shoulders, her thighs sandwiched between his torso and hers, their bodies firmly intertwined. She knows enough of human anatomy to be aware of why that position makes the electric waves of pleasure run faster along her nerves – but it is not science that her mind is most centered on at the moment. And she has for sure that the same can be said for Gin. She crosses her legs at the ankles. Her and Gin's loud moans and pants harmonize with the sound of the repetitive clash of their hips. Gin moves in and out with ease, a warm, robust pressure against the hug of her hot, drenched insides. She shoves his body down, closer to hers. His skin presses against hers, their noses brush. Their lips meet repeteadely, even if not for long – the harder and quicker-paced the thrusts become, the less time Gin and Sherry can hold their breath. His right hand leaves her chest and moves along to stroke her pubis, inevitably raising the volume of her moans.

When she reaches the familiar, eagerly desired peak, Sherry's nails dig involuntarily into Gin's firm buttocks, to which he only smirks, recognizing the sign. His right hand joins his left, one at each side of her hips, and his thrusts speed up to the point that a part of Sherry starts fearing they will get friction burns. Nevertheless, her hands push his body even closer to hers, rejoicing in the strong waves of electricity dashing along her nerves.

A high-pitched cry, as if he were in pain, flies from Gin's lips when he finally reaches the peak of his pleasure. His eyes close, only to open again once the cry fades out. Sherry's gaze meets his. Their foreheads press together. They smile.

A minute later, both lie back in bed as before, clothes pulled up, a new warmth running in their blood. Gin's cheeks remain flushed, of a bright red, whilst Sherry's only retain a soft pink – or so could she distinguish before turning the lights off. In the dark, it is hard to tell more than a shadow with the general shape of one or the other's body.

The duvet rustles as Gin stirs beneath the soft winter sheets. Sherry opens her eyes. His body presses gently against hers, to which she responds by resting her arms around his waist. In the silence of the night, the two soon fall sound asleep.

Lately, the weather has been getting cooler. But Sherry does not mind.


As a little experiemtn, I decided to use absolutely no dialogue and no foul language in this fic. How do you like it?

Thanks for reading!