The twelfth change only involved senses…
Beta:OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles
Senses
Sight
It's always a pleasure for Mycroft to see Gregory Lestrade. When, sitting in their usual café to which they at some point in time started referring to as 'their place', Mycroft looks out of the window and notices the figure of his lover, still far away across the street. It's impossible for him to hide his smile.
Lestrade's posture is hunched, just a little bit, because he's off work, away from the publicity and all those reporters with their cameras and endless questions, so he can let himself relax and just be an ordinary citizen. His coat is almost falling from his shoulders with the way he throws it back, because it's spring and it's getting warmer every day; soon he'll probably disregard it completely. That's good, Mycroft decides. He likes how Lestrade looks in a suit, especially with the way the DI wears it – all careless but still official, with wrinkles and dust on the sleeves. In Holmes' vocabulary it's called 'inappropriate'. But, oh how well 'inappropriate' suits Lestrade.
Lestrade lifts his gaze as soon as he crosses the road and his eyes lock on Mycroft through the window. Mycroft likes those hazel eyes. Always intelligent and sharp, but so calm. And when there is that warmth in them and a smile, there is no way of stopping Mycroft from smiling himself. The sight of Gregory Lestrade always does it to him.
Hearing
"Morning," Lestrade murmurs as he sits down across from Mycroft. The round table is small in diameter and he moves his chair so that they are not sitting exactly opposite each other but instead are almost side by side. It's easy to make a quiet conversation that way, discuss confidential information or flirt reservedly without being overheard.
Mycroft likes how Lestrade's voice sounds when he's speaking so quiet, the tone any softer and it'd be a whisper. The timbre of his voice is beautiful, slightly husky from years of smoking – a habit Lestrade still is trying to get rid of with varied success. The best part is when Lestrade leans in, putting one hand on the armrest of his partner's chair and whispering an offer which Mycroft is unable to refuse. A minute later they leave, walking not hurriedly but not at a regular pace either, no more words exchanged between them until they reach the DI's flat, securely hidden behind the closed door.
Those are the moments when Mycroft loves his lover's voice the most.
Smell
Sometimes he smells of nicotine; a barely traceable smell on the days when stress from the case become too much and nicotine patches are not enough. But those occasions are only few and far between, so Mycroft can't get used to it – every time it's something new and interesting, and he isn't sure if he likes it or not.
Sometimes he smells of gunpowder. More often than Mycroft would like. But even though Mycroft knows that it means that his partner had got into a firefight that day, was shot and shot back, his life was in danger, one day he realizes that he likes that smell on Lestrade. It brings a certain edge to their encounters, makes every emotion tenfold stronger and every feeling sharper.
Sometimes he smells of coffee and dust – on the days when there is only paperwork for the DI. This smell is boring, Mycroft thinks, and Lestrade unknowingly wholeheartedly agrees. But even this smell has its own allure, even if it is mixed strongly with the too-insistent perfume of Sergeant Donavan, because they've spent the whole day in a closed office, dealing with the official side of police work.
Most of the time he just smells like Lestrade, that dizzying mix of nicotine, coffee and gunpowder – all masked under his favorite cologne, always the same one. When Lestrade moves closer, one hand on the small of his partner's back, this smell envelops Mycroft. Mycroft loves those moments.
Touch
The warm palm of Lestrade's hand on the small of his back as the other man steers him away from the café is very distracting. They are still talking about something, but Mycroft lets his mind wander. He anticipates running his fingers through Lestrade's greying hair, tugging slightly just because he can.
They walk to the car but in his mind Mycroft is already sliding his partner's jacket from his shoulders, palms of his hands pressed to Lestrade's chest. Cool white cloth and warm flesh underneath.
The couple settle on the backseat of Mycroft's car and the DI's hand naturally finds its way onto the other man's knee. Unable to do anything more, the driver in the front willfully keeping his eyes on the road, Lestrade slides his fingers over the material of Mycroft's trousers, gentle but yearning for more.
Finally the door of Lestrade's apartment is slammed closed behind them, the surveillance is off as well as Mycroft's jacket. His tie is on his way to the floor as they enter the hall. And finally he can fully revel in his lover's touch. It starts as careful and gentle and then grows more confident, bold. As soon as Lestrade's jacket is thrown away in the general direction of the couch, they forget about prudence, every touch feverish and powerful with a need to get closer than possible. At that moment there is nothing Mycroft desires more than his lover's touch.
Taste
Coffee. It is the first thing that Mycroft tastes as he grabs Lestrade's shoulders and kisses him as soon as the sound of the door locking resonates through the DI's apartment. He's not really fond of coffee, but this variation is very enjoyable. It's only a first impression though, and soon the taste changes. From this moment everything escalates, gets more heated; hands gripping and tugging, and pulling, eyes closed to block out distractions and only hear the soft sighs and small moans, smell the dizzying mixture of their colognes and just feel. Tenderness and passion is in every move. At times like these, in Lestrade's arms Mycroft can let go of his rigor and self-discipline, forget rules and stamp on his insecurities. At times like these Mycroft is grateful to his senses for letting him feel all this.
A/N: I was a little worried with a little response to later chapters, but then I got so many wonderful reviews for Luck, I was very happy with such a reaction. I guess an author needs sometime to pout and ask for reviews. I'd like to thank you, dear readers, especially those who I can't thank personally. Getting reviews is always exciting and inspiring:)