This is not difficult. There is no issue, there is no discomfort. Just Sherlock and John.
Breathe in, breathe out.
He's seen them hundred of times with no problems.
Breathe in, slow. Breathe out, slow.
Sherlock and John. Just Sherlock and John.
In, slow, slow; and out, slowly, that's it.
Just Sherlock, slowly, oh so slowly, dragging a hand down John's chest as he-
God fucking damnit.
Lestrade beat his forehead into the door of 221 Baker Street hard. It was close enough to a knock that he heard thumps from upstairs that most definitely did not sound like a headboard knocking against a wall, stop it right now, as John roused himself from wherever he was lounging, limbs damp with sweat and spread wide, oh fucking hell please stop, to answer the door.
He opened the door bare chested, and Lestrade was obscenely jealous where he wasn't painfully beating back his arousal. Even looking at his suit jacket as he was leaving his office made him want to pass out from heat stroke; his antiperspirant was having plenty trouble as it was, with just the white button up on.
Of course, a half naked John Watson was enough to make him pass out all on his own. It was stupidly unfair, really, that Lestrade knew John for months before he even realized how fucking attractive the man was. He was surprisingly slim, under the bulky jumpers he favored all the way into late April, all lean muscle slightly softened with age, with golden body hair scatter lightly on his chest and trailing from his belly button downwards.
The current temperature had also given him a lovely sheen of sweat, and Lestrade felt the desperate urge to hold him down and lick it off his entire body as John smiled his stupidly adorable smile in greeting and then turned to lead the way upstairs.
"Thank god you're here," John said as he ascended, "Between the heat and the boredom, I think Sherlock might literally go mad."
John certainly did his arse no favors with the trousers Lestrade usually saw him in. Tight boxers, though... Lestrade made the mistake of looking up as he followed John, and was treated to his fabulous arse, right at eye level. It looked nice and firm, just like the rest of him. Lestrade twisted his hands in his trousers and stifled a whimper.
It was stifling in the flat and silent except for the whirring of fans, as Sherlock lay unmoving in his arm chair. He was in perfect profile to the door, with his head tilted back displaying that gorgeous pale neck of his, arms draped over the side with bare legs stretched before him. He must have finally traded those loose pajama pants for a pair of shorts, then, and it made Lestrade want to cry in desperation as he thought about those mile long legs posturing about.
"I see you've got a large package for us, Inspector."
Sherlock's sinfully low voice rumbled across the room, short circuiting Lestrade's brain before it caught up to the words and promptly short circuited again. Oh you fucking bet I've got a large package for you, you utter tease- his hand was halfway to his belt buckle before it encountered an obstacle, oh, right, the case folder. His hope crashing, he gave the file a mournful look as he held it out.
Sherlock sighed heavily before levering himself out of the chair with all the elegance of a badly manned marionette puppet. Of course, Lestrade was able to recognize how attractive Sherlock was immediately; he'd be an idiot not to notice. That knowledge was entirely unhelpful, though, when six feet of naked consulting detective is standing before you.
Decided to forgo the shorts, then. Lestrade felt a bit faint.
FILL: Bow-Chicka-Wow-Wow (1b/1)stickstockstoneJuly 8 2011, 21:41:10 UTC
Like John was surprisingly slim, Sherlock turned out to be surprisingly broad- at least, his shoulders were. Beautifully sculpted, and just as pale as the rest of him, watching Sherlock pace shirtless was like watching a pair of shoulders float along a horizontal, while the rest of his long, defined body dangled below.
Quite a bit of Sherlock was dangling today. Lestrade let out a low giggle that bordered on hysterical.
Sherlock blinked at him as he retrieved the file, "Are you quite alright, Lestrade? You look a little pale." His free hand was then placed on Lestrade's shoulder, which he used to steer him backwards, towards the kitchen. "Perhaps you should sit."
In an effort to not fall to the floor, Lestrade twisted his neck to see that he was being led; a kitchen chair, excellent idea. He flopped into it without ceremony, righting his head just in time to see that long fingered hand slide off his shirt. He could see himself sucking on those fingers, nibbling at that wrist; Lestrade shut his eyes and pinched his thigh instead.
"Must be the heat," he heard John sigh behind him, "Don't worry, Lestrade, I'll take good care of you."
And didn't that sound excellent. Oh God, yes, John, I've seen you licking your lips, and I know exactly what I'd love to put between them- something cool was pressed into his hand. Lestrade's eyes snapped open, and he resisted the urge to sob; a glass of ice water, then, and not a tube of lubricant. He took a sip, and wondered if it would be bad form to just pour the entire thing on his crotch.
John exited the kitchen with his own glass, before laying himself across the sofa, arms spread apart, with one leg trailing along the floor while the other rested on the back. Sherlock, meanwhile, took to sitting on the arm of the chair he had recently vacated, directly across from the kitchen, with his legs spread wide for balance as he flipped through the case file.
Lestrade sullenly drank his water and focused on a spot by the window while he tried to think on the bright side of things. At least it couldn't possibly get worse, right?
Just as that thought crossed his mind, music filtered in through the walls. A bass guitar, sounded like, trying to sound funky, but mostly it just seemed… cheesy. But at the same time, it was oddly familiar. Lestrade wracked his brain- he's heard it before, he must have.
Then there was a moan. An incredibly loud, incredibly fake moan that startled Lestrade into standing.
John shifted from his prostrate position on the sofa, "The neighbors are attempting to spice up their sex life."
And Lestrade automatically looked at him as he said this, but never got farther than John’s crotch and thighs when he realized how easy it would be to climb onto the couch, pull off his boxers, hike those legs over his shoulders, and-
"Sounds like a new release," Sherlock hummed, "Ah, yes, 'In and Out Again: The Tail of Dildo Daggins', tail as a euphemism for arse."
“Sounds like it ought to be a gang bang.”
“Of course it’s a gang bang film, John.”
"Of course," Lestrade mumbled, turning his head towards Sherlock and most definitely not thinking about how easy it would be to step between those spread legs, grab a handful of that absolutely luscious bum, and-
There was the sound of something snapping. Technically, it was a latex condom in the porn film, but Lestrade likes to think it was his self control. He slammed his empty water glass onto the table.
"That's it. I can't- I can't take this anymore. Either I'm fucking the both of you within the next couple hours, or you two need to put some fucking clothes on- lots of fucking clothes, or I can't be held responsible for my actions."
Which earned him two wide-eyed blue stares. He stared right back.
"Right," Said John, nodding as Sherlock closed the case file with a snap and a glare. "Right, well, let me just get these pants off and- Sherlock, don't start without me!"
End!
Ahhhh, I know this is short and unsatisfying and probably rife with errors, but I’m gone all weekend and wanted to fill this prompt so, so much. And I’m definitely looking forward to more fills!
Re: FILL: Bow-Chicka-Wow-Wow (1b/1)nejemJuly 8 2011, 22:33:16 UTC
In and Out Again: The Tail of Dildo Daggins Right, yeah, now it'll be REALLY hard to watch The Hobbit without thinking about this and laughing like crazy! XD
THIS WAS BRILLIANT AND HILARIOUS AND A LITTLE HOT AND YOU ARE AWESOME!
Look at my icon. Then multiply this smile by a 100. THIS FILL IS WONDERFUL. I just love your Lestrade. And "oh, right, the case folder" just made my day. :D
Lestrade allowed himself a series of slow, calming breaths as he stared at the brass numbers in front of him.
In through the nose, and out through the mouth.
It was Sherlock and John. Just Sherlock and John. He sees them at least once a week. He works with them often.
Inhale- one, two, three, four, five. Exhale- one, two, three, four, five.
This is not difficult. There is no issue, there is no discomfort. Just Sherlock and John.
Breathe in, breathe out.
He's seen them hundred of times with no problems.
Breathe in, slow. Breathe out, slow.
Sherlock and John. Just Sherlock and John.
In, slow, slow; and out, slowly, that's it.
Just Sherlock, slowly, oh so slowly, dragging a hand down John's chest as he-
God fucking damnit.
Lestrade beat his forehead into the door of 221 Baker Street hard. It was close enough to a knock that he heard thumps from upstairs that most definitely did not sound like a headboard knocking against a wall, stop it right now, as John roused himself from wherever he was lounging, limbs damp with sweat and spread wide, oh fucking hell please stop, to answer the door.
He opened the door bare chested, and Lestrade was obscenely jealous where he wasn't painfully beating back his arousal. Even looking at his suit jacket as he was leaving his office made him want to pass out from heat stroke; his antiperspirant was having plenty trouble as it was, with just the white button up on.
Of course, a half naked John Watson was enough to make him pass out all on his own. It was stupidly unfair, really, that Lestrade knew John for months before he even realized how fucking attractive the man was. He was surprisingly slim, under the bulky jumpers he favored all the way into late April, all lean muscle slightly softened with age, with golden body hair scatter lightly on his chest and trailing from his belly button downwards.
The current temperature had also given him a lovely sheen of sweat, and Lestrade felt the desperate urge to hold him down and lick it off his entire body as John smiled his stupidly adorable smile in greeting and then turned to lead the way upstairs.
"Thank god you're here," John said as he ascended, "Between the heat and the boredom, I think Sherlock might literally go mad."
John certainly did his arse no favors with the trousers Lestrade usually saw him in. Tight boxers, though... Lestrade made the mistake of looking up as he followed John, and was treated to his fabulous arse, right at eye level. It looked nice and firm, just like the rest of him. Lestrade twisted his hands in his trousers and stifled a whimper.
It was stifling in the flat and silent except for the whirring of fans, as Sherlock lay unmoving in his arm chair. He was in perfect profile to the door, with his head tilted back displaying that gorgeous pale neck of his, arms draped over the side with bare legs stretched before him. He must have finally traded those loose pajama pants for a pair of shorts, then, and it made Lestrade want to cry in desperation as he thought about those mile long legs posturing about.
"I see you've got a large package for us, Inspector."
Sherlock's sinfully low voice rumbled across the room, short circuiting Lestrade's brain before it caught up to the words and promptly short circuited again. Oh you fucking bet I've got a large package for you, you utter tease- his hand was halfway to his belt buckle before it encountered an obstacle, oh, right, the case folder. His hope crashing, he gave the file a mournful look as he held it out.
Sherlock sighed heavily before levering himself out of the chair with all the elegance of a badly manned marionette puppet. Of course, Lestrade was able to recognize how attractive Sherlock was immediately; he'd be an idiot not to notice. That knowledge was entirely unhelpful, though, when six feet of naked consulting detective is standing before you.
Decided to forgo the shorts, then. Lestrade felt a bit faint.
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Quite a bit of Sherlock was dangling today. Lestrade let out a low giggle that bordered on hysterical.
Sherlock blinked at him as he retrieved the file, "Are you quite alright, Lestrade? You look a little pale." His free hand was then placed on Lestrade's shoulder, which he used to steer him backwards, towards the kitchen. "Perhaps you should sit."
In an effort to not fall to the floor, Lestrade twisted his neck to see that he was being led; a kitchen chair, excellent idea. He flopped into it without ceremony, righting his head just in time to see that long fingered hand slide off his shirt. He could see himself sucking on those fingers, nibbling at that wrist; Lestrade shut his eyes and pinched his thigh instead.
"Must be the heat," he heard John sigh behind him, "Don't worry, Lestrade, I'll take good care of you."
And didn't that sound excellent. Oh God, yes, John, I've seen you licking your lips, and I know exactly what I'd love to put between them- something cool was pressed into his hand. Lestrade's eyes snapped open, and he resisted the urge to sob; a glass of ice water, then, and not a tube of lubricant. He took a sip, and wondered if it would be bad form to just pour the entire thing on his crotch.
John exited the kitchen with his own glass, before laying himself across the sofa, arms spread apart, with one leg trailing along the floor while the other rested on the back. Sherlock, meanwhile, took to sitting on the arm of the chair he had recently vacated, directly across from the kitchen, with his legs spread wide for balance as he flipped through the case file.
Lestrade sullenly drank his water and focused on a spot by the window while he tried to think on the bright side of things. At least it couldn't possibly get worse, right?
Just as that thought crossed his mind, music filtered in through the walls. A bass guitar, sounded like, trying to sound funky, but mostly it just seemed… cheesy. But at the same time, it was oddly familiar. Lestrade wracked his brain- he's heard it before, he must have.
Then there was a moan. An incredibly loud, incredibly fake moan that startled Lestrade into standing.
John shifted from his prostrate position on the sofa, "The neighbors are attempting to spice up their sex life."
And Lestrade automatically looked at him as he said this, but never got farther than John’s crotch and thighs when he realized how easy it would be to climb onto the couch, pull off his boxers, hike those legs over his shoulders, and-
"Sounds like a new release," Sherlock hummed, "Ah, yes, 'In and Out Again: The Tail of Dildo Daggins', tail as a euphemism for arse."
“Sounds like it ought to be a gang bang.”
“Of course it’s a gang bang film, John.”
"Of course," Lestrade mumbled, turning his head towards Sherlock and most definitely not thinking about how easy it would be to step between those spread legs, grab a handful of that absolutely luscious bum, and-
There was the sound of something snapping. Technically, it was a latex condom in the porn film, but Lestrade likes to think it was his self control. He slammed his empty water glass onto the table.
"That's it. I can't- I can't take this anymore. Either I'm fucking the both of you within the next couple hours, or you two need to put some fucking clothes on- lots of fucking clothes, or I can't be held responsible for my actions."
Which earned him two wide-eyed blue stares. He stared right back.
"Right," Said John, nodding as Sherlock closed the case file with a snap and a glare. "Right, well, let me just get these pants off and- Sherlock, don't start without me!"
End!
Ahhhh, I know this is short and unsatisfying and probably rife with errors, but I’m gone all weekend and wanted to fill this prompt so, so much. And I’m definitely looking forward to more fills!
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Right, yeah, now it'll be REALLY hard to watch The Hobbit without thinking about this and laughing like crazy! XD
THIS WAS BRILLIANT AND HILARIOUS AND A LITTLE HOT AND YOU ARE AWESOME!
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god help me, I'll never be able to watch the movie with a straight face.
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Thank you for the most wonderful fill. :D
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Brilliance!
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And this is possibly my most favourite title for a fill EVER.
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