Fic: Coffee Break
Title: Coffee Break
Characters/Pairing: DI Lestrade/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Sergeant Donovan
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: One instance of language
Word Count: 455
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Summary: Sherlock and Donovan stumble across an unexpected sight.
Notes: Yet another pesky plot bunny I needed to write out of my head. Also, a failed attempt at a "221b"-style fic. They just didn't want to stop making out.
“All I need is a look at the file,” Sherlock said heatedly. Donovan snorted, turned her back on him, and started off down the corridor. He caught up with her in two quick strides. “It won’t be leaving the building!”
“Well, we’ll just have to see what Lestrade has to say about that, won’t we?” Donovan retorted. It was quarter after ten; the DI would be in the break room, seeking out his third cup of coffee. She approached the door with Sherlock stepping on her heels and pushed it open with a brisk, “Inspector -” that died on her lips, only to be replaced by an undignified squeak as she froze on the threshold. Sherlock slammed into her with an indignant oomph before going stock-still himself at the sight that greeted them.
John was pressed up against the counter in the far corner of the room, pinned there by Lestrade, whose silvering hair he was currently threading frantic fingers through while the older man, it appeared, tried to devour his mouth. Not that John seemed to mind - every now and then he let out a breathy chuckle or tightened his grip, hauling the DI even closer. His shirt had been bunched up to reveal a smooth track of pale skin, seldom touched by the sun, which Lestrade caressed with the pads of his thumbs while his fingers dug into John’s hips.
They broke apart for a moment, gasping, muttering half-formed and senseless phrases - don’t...idiot...I can’t...fuck...look at me - into the shared air between them before Lestrade’s arms went around John’s waist and the doctor wound his arms around his partner’s neck and they met with again with a furious exhalation of breath. Lestrade straightened and John came with him, balancing precariously on the ends of his toes, and they looked for all the world as though they were trying to meld themselves into one being.
Sherlock and Donovan gaped for a moment before she backed them out of the room and shut the door with an abrupt click.
“Tea?” she breathed, eyes wide.
“Please,” Sherlock said briskly.
Characters/Pairing: DI Lestrade/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Sergeant Donovan
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: One instance of language
Word Count: 455
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Summary: Sherlock and Donovan stumble across an unexpected sight.
Notes: Yet another pesky plot bunny I needed to write out of my head. Also, a failed attempt at a "221b"-style fic. They just didn't want to stop making out.
“All I need is a look at the file,” Sherlock said heatedly. Donovan snorted, turned her back on him, and started off down the corridor. He caught up with her in two quick strides. “It won’t be leaving the building!”
“Well, we’ll just have to see what Lestrade has to say about that, won’t we?” Donovan retorted. It was quarter after ten; the DI would be in the break room, seeking out his third cup of coffee. She approached the door with Sherlock stepping on her heels and pushed it open with a brisk, “Inspector -” that died on her lips, only to be replaced by an undignified squeak as she froze on the threshold. Sherlock slammed into her with an indignant oomph before going stock-still himself at the sight that greeted them.
John was pressed up against the counter in the far corner of the room, pinned there by Lestrade, whose silvering hair he was currently threading frantic fingers through while the older man, it appeared, tried to devour his mouth. Not that John seemed to mind - every now and then he let out a breathy chuckle or tightened his grip, hauling the DI even closer. His shirt had been bunched up to reveal a smooth track of pale skin, seldom touched by the sun, which Lestrade caressed with the pads of his thumbs while his fingers dug into John’s hips.
They broke apart for a moment, gasping, muttering half-formed and senseless phrases - don’t...idiot...I can’t...fuck...look at me - into the shared air between them before Lestrade’s arms went around John’s waist and the doctor wound his arms around his partner’s neck and they met with again with a furious exhalation of breath. Lestrade straightened and John came with him, balancing precariously on the ends of his toes, and they looked for all the world as though they were trying to meld themselves into one being.
Sherlock and Donovan gaped for a moment before she backed them out of the room and shut the door with an abrupt click.
“Tea?” she breathed, eyes wide.
“Please,” Sherlock said briskly.