Prompt : Spanking
Rating : PG-13 (it's quite fluffy and romantic, really)
Written to launch my own Spanksgiving Fest on LiveJournal. This is a 221B, a text composed of 221 words (if Word's Statistics can be trusted). The final word begins with a b.
Aubade
In the winter, when dawn breaks late and mild, it finds them undercover – a lazy sum of one, duveted and close.
Lestrade wakes when Sherlock is still a long way from deducing eyelids. Good sleep leaves him more tender; more slack to roll over in the narrow bed (bought in a fit of pique after she got custody of the faux Frenchy Super King, and the sofa, and the 60's records) and tell rest and Greg apart.
Lestrade loves him for it, gives him a break. Then, when eleven strikes a remembrance of eggs past, a hand. Slow fingertips, loitering on the back of Sherlock's neck, down the runnel of his back, blossoming into a firmer touch when Lestrade reaches further down, then up again.
He lifts his hand and drops it on Sherlock's tenderhearted bottom. A ripple of pats along curves, thighs and the coveted secret crack, putting the minimum leverage to warm use. Soon, Sherlock is moaning himself alert and Lestrade is smiling against his ear.
He begins to quiz Sherlock, varying the pitch and pattern of spanks according to answers. Sherlock thinks context and goes for cheeky, but Lestrade holds back until "Who was Eleanor Roosevelt?". Then the duvet takes a plunge and Lestrade's hand flails up and down to Sherlock's delighted squeals.
"...Song by the Beat-les?"