Fair warning: I wrote utterly disgusting fluff-smut because our boys have been through enough.
Greg's mobile rang, shattering the silence in Sherlock's flat. They'd fallen asleep with most of their clothes on, tucked under the duvet. Sherlock's back pressed against Greg's chest. Greg's arm had gone numb from Sherlock lying on top of it.
Slowly, carefully, Greg tried to untangle himself. But Sherlock followed him, sprawling out to lay his head on Greg's chest as the older man rolled onto his back.
Greg managed to grab for his mobile without actually getting out of bed.
"Hello?" He answered in a groggy voice.
"Lestrade. This is two days in a row, now. Where are you?" Sally asked gruffly. He knew what it sounded like when her temper wore thin, and she was far past that.
Greg thought about it for a minute. True, they still did have a serial killer to deal with. But the trial wouldn't be for weeks. They'd already collected all the evidence they could. At this point it was just about getting witness statements and filing paperwork.
They didn't need him. Not for this part.
"I'm sorry… I'm feeling a bit ill," Greg said carefully. "I'm not sure I'll be able to make it in today. Think you can manage without me?"
"For fuck's sake," Sally grumbled. Greg heard a door slam. Then Sally's voice came, low and dangerous. "You're with him aren't you?"
"What's it matter?"
"It matters if he's keeping you from doing your bloody job."
"Come on. What's the difference if I sign the paperwork today or tomorrow? I'm taking a sick day."
Sally remained silent for a few moments. "I hope you know what you're doing, Lestrade."
"I think I do, thanks."
"If we have any trouble, I'm going to call, and you'd better come in."
"Fine."
Sally rang off abruptly. Greg set his mobile back on the bedside table. Sherlock curled against him. Wrapping his long limbs around Greg's body. It was almost suffocating warm. Sherlock felt like a furnace under the duvet.
But Greg wouldn't move out of bed for anything, just then.
"Why aren't you going in?" Sherlock mumbled into Greg's shirt.
"Because you need me here."
"I don't… I like having you here. There's a difference."
"However you want to phrase it. Now go back to sleep." Greg kissed Sherlock on the top of the head before settling back.
After a nice long lie in, they dragged themselves out of bed. Sherlock didn't have any food in the house besides canned beans and toast. So that's what Greg fixed them for breakfast.
Sherlock tried to say he wasn't hungry, but Greg folded his arms and started him down until the younger man sighed and took a bite of toast. As it usually happened, Sherlock realized he was ravenous once he let himself start eating. He ended up finishing all of his breakfast, and part of Greg's too.
But even after eating something, the younger man still looked quite pale. He had dark circles under his eyes, and moved sluggishly. He probably had a wicked hangover. He swallowed a few headache pills, but they didn't seem to do much.
"Do you want to have a shower?" Greg asked as he washed their plates. "It might make you feel better."
"Are you coming with me?" The corners of Sherlock's mouth quirked upwards.
"If you want me to."
Sherlock slid off his chair and crowded up behind Greg. He leaned his chin on Greg's shoulder. Greg set the dishes on the drying rack, then turned around and pressed a small kiss against Sherlock's lips.
They meandered towards the bathroom, losing articles of clothing along the way. By the time they got to the shower, Sherlock was entirely naked and Greg just had to step out of his pants.
The glass-walled cubicle was rather small, but they both managed to fit without the shower knobs poking into anybody's back. The water warmed quickly.
Sherlock wet his hair, and allowed Greg to slowly work shampoo through it. He leaned into the touch. Sighing softly. After they rinsed out the shampoo, Greg picked up the soap, worked up a lather, and started washing the rest of him.
Greg was meticulous. He skimmed his fingers over every inch of Sherlock's wet, warm skin. He'd seen Sherlock naked plenty of times before. But somehow, this felt different. It wasn't so much about the rush of arousal. No. More just about taking care of somebody.
His cock still thickened. By the time Sherlock turned to face him, and pressed the lengths of their bodies together, he was half hard.
But Sherlock still looked blatantly exhausted. Even though he kissed Greg enthusiastically. The water splashed over their skin as their tongues slid against each other, slow and decadent. Sometimes, Greg felt like he could just kiss Sherlock forever.
He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's slender waist. Held him close. Solid. In between presses of lips he murmured, "I love you."
Sherlock tensed for a moment. Pulled back slightly. He looked at Greg with a strange expression before his gazed dropped to the tile floor.
"You don't like it when I say that?" Greg smoothed a hand up the musculature of Sherlock's back. Still holding him close.
"I guess I'm just not used to it."
Greg leaned forward, to whisper past Sherlock's ear. "I love you."
The younger man shivered. But he pressed against Greg more firmly. Clung to him. The seconds trickled by. Sherlock's mumbled something against Greg's shoulder.
"What was that?" The DI chuckled.
"Are you really going to make me say it again?"
"No."
"… I love you too." It came out as a hurried jumble of words. Barely intelligible.
Eventually, the water started to run cold. Greg turned off the tap and they stepped out into the comparatively chilled air of the room. They toweled off quickly. Sherlock shook his hair, like a wet dog, spraying Greg with water droplets. He grinned, and Greg found it hard to be cross with him.
They hurried across the flat, still naked, back to the warmth of the bed. They slid underneath the covers, crowding against each other to ward off the cold.
"I can't remember the last time that I stayed in bed all day," Sherlock yawned.
"Me either… might have been my honeymoon," Greg said absentmindedly.
"Is this our honeymoon, then?"
"I dunno," Greg chuckled, "sure. Though if you want a proper one, you'll probably have to marry me."
"Who says? We could just take a holiday and have a lot of sex and skip the marriage part."
"You're really gonna have to talk me into that one," Greg quipped sarcastically.
Sherlock nuzzled at his neck.
Greg felt Sherlock's body relax little by little. Watched as his eyelids fluttered, and then drifted closed. He was asleep within minutes. Face completely blank. He looked almost angelic. Lips slightly parted, curls sprawled across the pillow.
Greg wasn't especially tired. But he didn't mind lying there. It was probably good for Sherlock to sleep off the rest of his hangover.
Greg didn't fall into any sort of deep sleep. He woke whenever Sherlock shifted on the mattress, only to doze back off again. He felt so incredibly lazy, and warm, and comfortable. He knew he was screwing himself over. That he wouldn't be able to sleep through the night with this extended daytime snoozing. But with all they'd both been through in the last few days—he felt they deserved this much.
He woke fully when Sherlock's began to pepper wet little kisses along his jaw line. They shifted together in languid motions, until they were both on their sides. Greg felt Sherlock's erection, pressing against his hip.
"Feeling a bit better, are we?" the older man smiled.
Sherlock hummed in response. Pulled Greg in closer. Their cocks slid together tantalizingly. Greg was already half hard. The heat began to pool rapidly as Sherlock rocked against him.
The endless possibilities spread out before them. Greg thought about all the things they'd done together. Mad things. Wonderful things. Perhaps a bit more than any two people rightly should do.
But there was one thing they had yet to cross of the long, running list. Just the thought of it made Greg's stomach lurch in anticipation.
His heart beat wildly. Sherlock's prick was warm, and hard, and right there. Greg hadn't always strictly been a top. Back in Uni, he'd taken his fair share of cock. It had been years and years, but he still remembered the feeling. The verging painpleasure. The overwhelming wash of sensation. The strange helplessness and unexpected power of it all.
"I want you," he whispered. Husky. Mouth suddenly a bit dry.
Sherlock's breath hitched. His hands slid down Greg's back. They kissed. Still slow. But deeper. Full of intention and simmering heat.
"Do you want to fuck me?" He pulled Sherlock a little bit closer.
"Yes," Sherlock all but growled.
The next thing Greg knew, he was on his back, and Sherlock had sprawled on top of him. Part of him wanted to say something like take it easy, it's been a while. But Sherlock nipped at Greg's lips, and their erections rubbed against each other, and it was difficult to really hold onto a train of thought.
To Sherlock's credit, he was very good at keeping Greg distracted. The older man barely noticed when Sherlock opened the bedside table and grabbed the lube. Sherlock licked a line down Greg's body. Dragging his teeth across skin, and making Greg shudder, until Sherlock's tongue flicked out and lapped against the head of Greg's cock. The older man spread his legs to let Sherlock lie between them.
He heard the snick of a plastic cap opening and closing. Sherlock parted his lips and slid Greg's prick into his mouth, just as Greg felt a slick finger teasing at his arsehole. He took a deep breath and tried to relax. He focused on the wonderful, wet heat of Sherlock's mouth. On the expert movements of his tongue.
Sherlock's finger circled. Dragged across Greg's entrance, barely dipping down, before retreating. Then slowly, relentlessly, he pressed inward.
Greg gasped at the sensation. Not exactly pain. Just weird. A bit wrong, perhaps. Sherlock's finger slid deeper, then withdrew, before pressing in again. Greg got used to the slow rhythm of it. And then Sherlock brushed against something that made Greg see stars. His hips jerked involuntarily, shoving his cock further into Sherlock's mouth. The younger man pulled back slightly.
He slid another finger in alongside the first. It burned. But soon, Greg relaxed into it. After a few tries, Sherlock brushed against that same spot again, and Greg groaned.
"Shit… if you keep at that, I'm going to come," Greg said in a shaky voice.
Sherlock pulled back, giving Greg's cock a sloppy kiss before sitting up. He grinned, and continued to work his fingers in and out of Greg's body. And they were marvelous fingers—long, and clever, and wickedly precise.
By the time Sherlock slipped a third finger in, Greg was breathing a lot faster. His entire body felt flushed. He could hear his own heartbeat. The slow, lurching build of pleasure burned inside him. If he could just get a bit more… a bit deeper…
"Are you ready?" Sherlock quirked an eyebrow.
"As I'll ever be," Greg panted.
Sherlock withdrew his fingers slowly and slicked his cock with a bit more lube. Then he leaned over Greg, supporting himself with one arm, and he positioned his prick with the other. Greg felt the blunt press against his hole. He tried to relax. Breathe. There was still a moment of uncertainty. Where it seemed like maybe Sherlock wouldn't fit inside him.
But then something gave. Sherlock's cock slid forward, and Greg moaned.
The younger man paused. Dropped down so that he could plant delicate, almost tickling kisses on Greg's neck. It seemed natural, for Greg to wrap his legs around Sherlock's waist.
Sherlock began to rock into Greg unhurriedly, slipping deeper in small increments. Greg felt incredibly full. Stretched. Open. But the dull burn of discomfort slowly tapered away. Sherlock's abdomen rubbed against Greg's cock with teasing brushes of contact. The irregular jolts of pleasure had Greg gasping.
And then, Sherlock's prick glanced across Greg's prostate in exactly the right way. A rather undignified moan jumped from Greg's lips.
"Mmm…." Sherlock rumbled, "right there, is it?"
The younger man managed to replicate the motion. Greg bit his lip. His eyes closed. He drowned in it. The rippling drags of sensation, so wonderfully deep inside him.
Sherlock picked up speed gradually, until every powerful thrust seemed to force the air out of Greg's lungs. The sweetness of it morphed into raw passion. Sherlock bit down on Greg's neck. Stole savage kisses from his lips.
"You feel so good," the younger man groaned into Greg's mouth. "You're so tight and perfect. You were made for my cock."
Greg's skin prickled, dragging him deeper into the frantic arousal. Nobody had talked to him like that in a very long time. Sherlock nudged against Greg's prostate again, and it set off sparks behind his eyelids. The tension built inside him. Fast, and tremendous, and almost frightening.
Sherlock looked down at him with dark eyes, "I'm the only one that gets to have you like this."
"Yes," Greg found himself saying. It felt a bit like he was in free fall. The world had slid sideways. The only real thing in existence was Sherlock, thrusting into him, relentless, and all consuming.
Then Sherlock reached between them and wrapped his hand around Greg's prick. He stroked it slowly, in a strange counterpoint to his motions. Greg felt it deep inside him. The strange, helpless constriction.
"Fuck," Greg groaned.
"That's it," Sherlock whispered, "come on. I want to feel it."
A few tense moments dragged by. Then Greg crashed over the edge. He felt his muscles contract. The orgasm ripped through him. His ejaculate smeared between them. He could hardly breathe.
"Oh... oh Greg," Sherlock whimpered.
His thrusts became erratic. Then he shuddered. Collapsed. They lay there in silence for a few moments.
"Well, Jesus," Greg snorted.
"Indeed," Sherlock mumbled against his chest.
Hie withdrew, but he didn't roll off of Greg. He stayed sprawled. Close.
Perhaps the intense desire for physical intimacy was a reaction to Sherlock's fear of having emotions. After all, this was quite new territory for both of them. But Greg wasn't going to complain about any of it.
No. He doubted he'd mind if Sherlock wanted to stay pressed against him like this for the rest of their lives.
Shh. It's fine.
I think I've almost wandered into the end of this story. There will probably be another chapter or two. And I might do a couple of other one shots in this verse. I'm not sure.
But thanks to all of your for your continued readership and support. I'm not sure I say often enough how much you all mean to me.
I feel like we're all a happy little sherstrade family on the fringes of the fandom. This ship has stolen my heart, and I will continue to sail in it for a very long time.
Feel free to stalk me on tumblr (taylorpotato . tumblr . com). I'm trying to be better about responding to asks.