Fic - Cryptic (Sherlock/Lestrade)
Title: Cryptic
Pairings: Sherlock/Lestrade
Rating: NC17 (briefly)
Wordcount: 830
Summary: Sherlock's not interested in sex. Lestrade is. A solution is agreed upon.
AN: For serriadh.
AN2: There's now a 5-part prequel here: A Case Of Identity
--
Lestrade closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of the body underneath him. Resting his forehead against angular shoulderblades, he ran his hands down pale smooth skin, above all savouring the sensuous heat of the man as he moved inside him, faster now, harder as he neared his climax, pressing open mouthed kisses to the warm flesh, breathing harsh, skin slippery with sweat.
Beneath him, Sherlock was propped on his elbows, tapping the end of a pen against his lips, peering at the Times crossword laid out on the pillow. He lowered a hand to fill in a clue, and raised a tolerant eyebrow as the exertions of the man currently astride him caused him to score an inadvertent dark line across the grid.
Finally, Lestrade subsided, gasping, to the sheets next to him.
Sherlock pushed the crossword away and folded him into his arms. He might not be a particularly active participant, but he was willing enough to be pleasant. It hadn't been that taxing a crossword, anyway.
He rested his head against Lestrade's damp hair and felt rather than heard the muffled sigh against his neck.
"Thank you."
"You're very welcome," Sherlock murmured.
Lestrade looked up at him. "Are you sure I can't...?" he ran his hand down Sherlock's side, lightly brushing his not-quite-half-hard cock.
Sherlock shook his head, but smiled. "No, really, I'm fine." He captured Lestrade's hand in his own, mostly to stop him exploring. "Thank you, though," he added.
Lestrade laughed resignedly and shifted up in the bed, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder.
"You're not natural, you know that?"
Sherlock made a face. "I don't see why the fact it does nothing for me should bother you. I don't begrudge you do I?"
Lestrade sighed. "Are you sure you don't mind?"
"You enjoy it. Why should the occasional discomfort prevent me from letting you take pleasure?"
"Sherlock!"
Sherlock tutted. "Why can't you simply take what I say at face value?"
"I do. I wouldn't be here else would I, you mad bastard." Lestrade pressed a kiss to Sherlock's jaw, and he turned into it, allowing the full kiss.
When they broke off, he looked pensive.
"You wouldn't want me to fake it - ?"
"No!" Lestrade's reply was immediate and indignant.
Sherlock held his gaze for a second and relaxed, smiled slightly. "Good."
"I love you, you know," Lestrade sighed reluctantly, after a pause.
"I know," Sherlock replied, and Lestrade gave a bark of laughter.
"Yeah. Yeah, you would."
Sherlock sniffed. "I hope you don't expect me to reciprocate? At best it clouds one's thinking and at worst it's a dangerous distraction."
"Remind me again what I'm doing here?" Lestrade rolled onto his back with a groan.
Sherlock looked down at him, gave a smirk.
"I believe the colloquial phrase is 'getting your rocks off'."
Lestrade spluttered with laughter, and rolled off the bed shaking his head. "I have to get back to work."
Sherlock reached out, wrapped strong fingers around his wrist.
"I am - fond of you, you know," he said quietly. "There isn't - anyone else."
Lestrade sat down again, slowly. Leaned over and kissed him. "I know," he whispered against Sherlock's lips, making him laugh.
--
Sherlock followed him out to the living room, wrapped in his dressing gown, and flung himself on the sofa. Lestrade nodded sheepishly to John who was sitting with a pile of medical journals at the table.
John nodded back, awkwardly. Looked from one to the other before addressing Sherlock with barely concealed curiosity. "I thought you were supposed to be married to your job?"
Sherlock looked up from the by now rather crumpled crossword. "Well - half the time Lestrade is my job."
"That's not a - I thought you weren't interested in sex," John persisted, unable to resist.
"I'm not." Sherlock continued to frown at the crossword, and John glanced up at Lestrade, embarrassed on his behalf. But the Inspector just shrugged.
"He's not," he confirmed, and Sherlock grinned without looking up.
"But - you were - " John realised this was rather giving away the fact he'd been listening, but then the walls were rather thin.
"I was. He was doing the crossword."
John gaped as Lestrade finally located his jacket on the back of the kitchen chair and pulled it on. "Right. I'm off. See you John."
"What? Oh, yes, bye."
Across the room Sherlock lifted a hand and waggled his fingers in a gesture of farewell, without taking his eyes off the paper.
Once the door had closed behind Lestrade, John sat back and glared at the oblivious figure on the couch. "Oh, I get it."
"Do you? I very much doubt it."
"It's a wind up."
"Is it? How very Machiavellian of us." Sherlock yawned. "I think I need a shower." He jumped off the sofa and strode towards the bathroom with John shouting after him.
"Isn't it? Sherlock? Sherlock! Stop being so bloody cryptic!"
--
Pairings: Sherlock/Lestrade
Rating: NC17 (briefly)
Wordcount: 830
Summary: Sherlock's not interested in sex. Lestrade is. A solution is agreed upon.
AN: For serriadh.
AN2: There's now a 5-part prequel here: A Case Of Identity
--
Lestrade closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of the body underneath him. Resting his forehead against angular shoulderblades, he ran his hands down pale smooth skin, above all savouring the sensuous heat of the man as he moved inside him, faster now, harder as he neared his climax, pressing open mouthed kisses to the warm flesh, breathing harsh, skin slippery with sweat.
Beneath him, Sherlock was propped on his elbows, tapping the end of a pen against his lips, peering at the Times crossword laid out on the pillow. He lowered a hand to fill in a clue, and raised a tolerant eyebrow as the exertions of the man currently astride him caused him to score an inadvertent dark line across the grid.
Finally, Lestrade subsided, gasping, to the sheets next to him.
Sherlock pushed the crossword away and folded him into his arms. He might not be a particularly active participant, but he was willing enough to be pleasant. It hadn't been that taxing a crossword, anyway.
He rested his head against Lestrade's damp hair and felt rather than heard the muffled sigh against his neck.
"Thank you."
"You're very welcome," Sherlock murmured.
Lestrade looked up at him. "Are you sure I can't...?" he ran his hand down Sherlock's side, lightly brushing his not-quite-half-hard cock.
Sherlock shook his head, but smiled. "No, really, I'm fine." He captured Lestrade's hand in his own, mostly to stop him exploring. "Thank you, though," he added.
Lestrade laughed resignedly and shifted up in the bed, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder.
"You're not natural, you know that?"
Sherlock made a face. "I don't see why the fact it does nothing for me should bother you. I don't begrudge you do I?"
Lestrade sighed. "Are you sure you don't mind?"
"You enjoy it. Why should the occasional discomfort prevent me from letting you take pleasure?"
"Sherlock!"
Sherlock tutted. "Why can't you simply take what I say at face value?"
"I do. I wouldn't be here else would I, you mad bastard." Lestrade pressed a kiss to Sherlock's jaw, and he turned into it, allowing the full kiss.
When they broke off, he looked pensive.
"You wouldn't want me to fake it - ?"
"No!" Lestrade's reply was immediate and indignant.
Sherlock held his gaze for a second and relaxed, smiled slightly. "Good."
"I love you, you know," Lestrade sighed reluctantly, after a pause.
"I know," Sherlock replied, and Lestrade gave a bark of laughter.
"Yeah. Yeah, you would."
Sherlock sniffed. "I hope you don't expect me to reciprocate? At best it clouds one's thinking and at worst it's a dangerous distraction."
"Remind me again what I'm doing here?" Lestrade rolled onto his back with a groan.
Sherlock looked down at him, gave a smirk.
"I believe the colloquial phrase is 'getting your rocks off'."
Lestrade spluttered with laughter, and rolled off the bed shaking his head. "I have to get back to work."
Sherlock reached out, wrapped strong fingers around his wrist.
"I am - fond of you, you know," he said quietly. "There isn't - anyone else."
Lestrade sat down again, slowly. Leaned over and kissed him. "I know," he whispered against Sherlock's lips, making him laugh.
--
Sherlock followed him out to the living room, wrapped in his dressing gown, and flung himself on the sofa. Lestrade nodded sheepishly to John who was sitting with a pile of medical journals at the table.
John nodded back, awkwardly. Looked from one to the other before addressing Sherlock with barely concealed curiosity. "I thought you were supposed to be married to your job?"
Sherlock looked up from the by now rather crumpled crossword. "Well - half the time Lestrade is my job."
"That's not a - I thought you weren't interested in sex," John persisted, unable to resist.
"I'm not." Sherlock continued to frown at the crossword, and John glanced up at Lestrade, embarrassed on his behalf. But the Inspector just shrugged.
"He's not," he confirmed, and Sherlock grinned without looking up.
"But - you were - " John realised this was rather giving away the fact he'd been listening, but then the walls were rather thin.
"I was. He was doing the crossword."
John gaped as Lestrade finally located his jacket on the back of the kitchen chair and pulled it on. "Right. I'm off. See you John."
"What? Oh, yes, bye."
Across the room Sherlock lifted a hand and waggled his fingers in a gesture of farewell, without taking his eyes off the paper.
Once the door had closed behind Lestrade, John sat back and glared at the oblivious figure on the couch. "Oh, I get it."
"Do you? I very much doubt it."
"It's a wind up."
"Is it? How very Machiavellian of us." Sherlock yawned. "I think I need a shower." He jumped off the sofa and strode towards the bathroom with John shouting after him.
"Isn't it? Sherlock? Sherlock! Stop being so bloody cryptic!"
--