Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Characters: John Watson, D.I. Greg Lestrade
A/N: Sorry for the delay - but I think once you've read this part you won't be annoyed at me for the wait. You'll be annoyed at me for completely different reasons.
Before that, I have to mention the two utterly gorgeous fanarts that the phenomenal geniusbee drew for this fic as a birthday present for me. Click through for the full size awesomeness then go leave her a message to tell her how talented she is!
Summary: March 28th, 2010, How is Lestrade going to react to John's offer?
First Chapter: ( Chapter One )
Previous Chapter: ( Chapter Seven )
March 28th, 2010
March 28th, 2010
Lestrade's hand shot out and grabbed John's wrist in a vice-like grip.
For one horrible moment, John thought he'd pushed too far - until he looked up.
Lestrade's pupils were blown wide with arousal, there was a light sheen of sweat on his skin and his breath was coming in short pants. "Not here," he croaked.
John took in their surroundings. He'd been so focused on Lestrade he'd not considered their location. They were standing in the brightly lit hallway he'd seen into so clearly earlier. Now that would give the neighbours something to talk about. John nodded and slowly stepped backwards into the lounge, keeping Lestrade's eyes locked on his.
Lestrade followed after him, clinging to John's wrist like an anchor, letting himself be led like a child.
John moved to the end of the couch and sat on the arm, pulling Lestrade so he stood between John's legs.
Lestrade relinquished his hold on John's wrist and John reached up and started to unbutton Lestrade's shirt. "Can't believe you've never done this with anyone else. Can't believe you're letting me."
For all his wide experience with both sexes, John had never been another man's first before but he figured the general principles were the same. Don't rush, don't mock, don't pressure; nice and easy does it.
John pushed aside the thin cotton, leaned forward and started planting small kisses on the top of Lestrade's stomach and his chest. "God - you are so gorgeous." He placed his hands on Lestrade's waist as he continued to explore with his lips. Lestrade's skin was deliciously warm and he had - to John's mind - just the right amount of chest hair. Enough to enjoy but not so much that it got in the way.
Lestrade seemed unsure of what to do with his hands. He reached out with one and pushed his fingers through John's hair.
John looked up at him and smiled. "Mmm. That feels good." He closed his eyes and went back to his task, enjoying the petting while he kissed his way toward Lestrade's nipple. He flicked his tongue over the small hard nub as his lips covered it.
"Christ!" Lestrade gasped and his fingers tightened in John's hair.
John grinned and made a note to come back and pay more attention to that particular area later. He kissed his way downwards again while he unbuckled Lestrade's belt and popped open the button of his trousers.
Lestrade grabbed for John's hand again. "John..."
"Too fast?" John asked. "Sorry. Just... let me know what you want. Or don't."
"I... don't know."
"OK.. well, why don't I at least catch up with you in the clothes stakes?" John pressed against Lestrade's hips and got him to take a step back, then he stood up and reached for his collar.
Lestrade got there first. "Can I--?"
John smiled. "Course you can."
They kissed again as Lestrade finished unbuttoning John's shirt. Their hands wandered as the kissing grew more passionate and Lestrade had to resume his task several times before he finished. He tugged John's shirt free of his trousers at the front then reached round him and untucked the back as well.
John took the chance to get two good handfuls of Lestrade's backside and grind himself against Lestrade's body. God, he was so hard - they both were.
Lestrade's hand slipped inside John's shirt, pushed it back off his left shoulder - and froze in mid-air.
John leaned back. "Greg?"
Lestrade's eyes were locked on the scar on John's shoulder.
Ah. "It's alright. It looks pretty bad, but it doesn't hurt."
Lestrade kept staring and said nothing.
John had long ago stopped feeling self-conscious about his scar but it was getting to be an awkwardly long silence. "Greg? Hello?" John ducked his head to try and meet Lestrade's eyes and waved his hand in front of Lestrade's face.
"I've been shot too - twice," Lestrade said. His voice was a monotone; flat and emotionless.
"Oh?" John glanced down at Lestrade's torso. "Where?"
"Been stabbed over a dozen times," Lestrade continued. "Couple of nasty burns. Had a splinter of wood go right through my side once."
"Some little git in Hounslow carved his initials into my arm - 'something to remember me by'. Couldn't tell you his name now."
"They all healed- like they were never there - and every time I had to say I was fine, it was just a scratch, no matter how bad it hurt. I couldn't let on because then someone would have noticed how quickly I heal."
John let his eyes roam over Lestrade's body again. Sure enough, there wasn't a single mark on him.
"The other guys think I'm just lucky - or I somehow manage to not get in the way of anything dangerous. They all show off their latest scars and then look at me like I'm not trying hard enough or something. I remember when Dimmock took his first cut from a blade, just a nick really, but he rolled his sleeves up and showed it off proud as punch when we took him down the pub, trying to impress the ladies with it."
Lestrade reached out and put his fingertips gently on John's scar. "I'm not natural, John. One day my luck'll run out and they'll find out and God knows what'll happen then, but I'd hate it if anybody thought that you knew and anything happened to you because of that."
"That's not going to--"
Before John could protest further Lestrade had reached round him, grabbed John's coat from the sofa and propelled him down the hall, through the front door and outside onto the garden path.
John stood paralysed with surprise until he heard the door slam shut behind him. He whirled round and started banging furiously on it.
"Greg!...Let me in, Greg!"
The light in the hallway went out, followed by the one in the lounge, leaving the house in darkness.
"Greg! Fucking..." John pounded with flat of his hand against the door. "Don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare... GREG!"
A dog started barking somewhere further up the street and, as John turned towards the noise, he saw the lights come on in a few of the other houses.
He let his hand drop and leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the door. "Greg... Please. Just let me in so we can talk."
John waited for a few minutes. He slowly buttoned up his shirt but refused to put his jacket on despite the cold.
"He's not in."
"What?" John turned to see an old man in a Mackintosh and flat cap standing at Lestrade's gate. He had a Jack Russell on a leash who looked keen to be elsewhere.
"I said he's not in. The bloke who lives there. I just passed him. He was heading for the park - going for a jog by the looks of it." The man jerked his head towards the end of the road.
"He...?" John took a deep breath before he blew his top completely. "Right. Thank you."
"Odd time of night to go running but he's in and out at all hours that one."
John shrugged his jacket on. The man gave the impression he wasn't for moving until John did.
"Right. I'll just... " John opened the gate stepped through and closed it behind him. He looked up and down the road. "Right." He could head for the Tube but it was only a few miles walk, pretty much straight down Camden Road, and he really needed the fresh air.
He set off at a brisk pace and ignored the prickly sensation on the back of his neck while the old man watched him until he turned the corner...
( Chapter Nine )