Mystrade - You don't know how lovely you are

by sona007

This is a collection of random Mystrade drabbles and ficlets. They're not related to one another, so start anywhere you'd like. :) For more Mystrade stuff, find me on Tumblr where I masquerade as iwritemystrade. Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade

13. Snowstorm

Mycroft kissed the top of Greg's head. He brushed his fingers through the silver locks and traced a fingertip down the back of his husband's neck.

Greg shifted in his sleep and threw his leg over Mycroft's hip, a low groan escaping his lips.

Mycroft chuckled softly. Mornings like these were rare. It was not every day that they woke up together, limbs entangled, peeking at each other with half lidded eyes, stealing soft, grazing kisses before surrendering to sleep yet again. It was an unspoken promise that neither would sneak out of bed without the other. Not that Mycroft wished to.

He turned his head towards the window, to the heavy skies. Outside, snowflakes had begun to fall. The howling wind caught them mid-descent and whipped them into a translucent flurry. He could barely see anything beyond a foot from the glass, and soon a thin sheet of powder had plastered itself to the fine metal screening.

Mycroft's leg twitched. Inside their warm cocoon, Greg's lips pressed against his neck. Mycroft bit his lower lip. As Greg's fingers slid under his night shirt, Mycroft's blood ran south. The soothing weight on his chest where Greg had deposited himself now made him restless. Mycroft's chest shook with silent laughter as Greg began snoring again. He attempted to pry his shoulder out from under his husband, but to no avail.

Mycroft's skin broke into gooseflesh as he smelled Greg's hair. He moaned low in his throat. "Gregory". Mycroft called him in a strangled whisper. His eager fingers explored Greg's back, the flat of his palm kneading into the lower back, just how Greg liked it.

"Don't wanna get out of bed", Greg mumbled and slithered to settle on top of Mycroft.

Mycroft smiled and kissed Greg's temple. His nails dug into Greg's sides and he rocked his hips upwards in a strategic move that shook Greg out of his slumber. The chocolate brown eyes widened before they crinkled around the edges. Mycroft's words nearly evaporated into thin air, so radiant was Greg's smile. He paused to commit every minute detail to memory, from how Greg's eyelashes settled on his cheekbones to the rough glide of Greg's stubble against his own cheek.

"Neither do I", he murmured and dipped his fingers under the waistband of Greg's shorts. "Ever".