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BBC Sherlock fic: Pg-13 - Lestrade/Sherlock - "A Form of Art"
Just reposting to do a little bit of housekeeping, my contribution for the Secret Santa fest over at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
221b_slash_fest, my gift for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
unovis_lj, who in turn wrote me the most lovely Mystrade ever. Here if you're curious.
Rating: Pg-13
Pairing: Lestrade/Sherlock
Word Count: 1391
Warnings:
A/N: written in response tounovis_lj's Christmas request prompt. Betaed by crocodile_eat_u and contro-betaed by 2ndskin who did such a wonderful job of inspiring and analyzing that she inspired the ending (with which I had had a big loud fight). Thank you in the form of hugs or puppies - or anything of your choice, really - to follow.
Summary: A quiet night at Lestrade’s flat. The Inspector wants to watch TV and relax. Sherlock wants to run to the bedroom. They settle for an art lesson, with Lestrade as instructor.
Title: A Form of Art
Two days after Christmas, in the middle of the winter holidays, too late for the Christmas suicides and too early for the New Year’s ‘accidents’, it was a slack time for Scotland Yard, and detective inspector Lestrade wanted to take advantage of it to relax.
Sherlock and he were on Lestrade’s sofa, having just finished a lukewarm Chinese take away dinner, and they were not quite watching the action movie playing on the TV screen.
Lestrade had put an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders at the first explosion and, since Sherlock hadn’t complained or tried to swat it away, he had left it there. At the contact, Sherlock had turned to look briefly at Lestrade, had registered that he was still staring in front of him, watching the images flipping on the screen and so he had turned back to pretending to care about the film.
Before the second explosion Lestrade’s fingers started to stroke his shirt, moving slowly from his shoulder to his collar, starting to provide a pleasant distraction for Sherlock to focus on.
Lestrade’s index finger started to brush his neck, and Sherlock turned towards the inspector. “If you’re not watching, we can turn the telly off.”
Lestrade shook his head and continued to watch the screen. Sherlock leant closer to him, deciding he had had enough of sitting and pretending and started planting soft kisses on Lestrade’s neck.
“Why can’t you watch the film and leave me in peace for an evening?” Lestrade asked, only half serious.
Sherlock undid the first button of Lestrade’s shirt and smiled at the skin he just freed, his hands gently pulling open the two sides before he placed a chaste kiss on Lestrade’s collarbone. “You knew I wasn’t watching in the first place. And you started it.”
“I put a hand on your shoulder. It was to be nice.” Lestrade said, letting Sherlock continue to kiss his skin.
“Nice. Hundreds of thousands of adjectives in the English language and you describe your behaviour as ‘nice’.”
“I guess you should have given me one of those one-word-a-day calendars for Christmas.” Lestrade replied, undoing the second and third button of his own shirt, finally giving up on his film.
“I thought you already had a dictionary? And you have me around. You can consult me on more than just cases, you know?”
“I know you’re a bloody human encyclopaedia, and when I want to know how a rare poison can kill a man I’ll be sure to ask you. But for synonyms?”
Sherlock brushed his lips with his own. “There is so much more I can teach you,” he said, a naughty glint in his eyes, moving to straddle the inspector’s legs and kiss him passionately.
“Yet there is so much you can learn from me. Like patience.” Lestrade replied, and Sherlock snorted, grabbing his hair and tilting his head so he could kiss him again and push his tongue into Lestrade’s mouth.
Lestrade sighed; Sherlock was always running, eager to move forward, incapable of properly enjoying the moment. His hands snaked to Lestrade’s belt, trying to unbuckle it.
Lestrade stopped his hands, closing his fists around Sherlock’s slender wrists and pulling back. “Stop, Sherlock, slow down.”
The other man looked disgruntled, but relented.
“Now what?”
“Stop rushing. Can’t you enjoy kissing for awhile?”
“Boring.”
“Not when done properly. A kiss, Sherlock, is a form of art. Let me show you.”
Sherlock looked sceptical, but lowered his hands to his sides.
“Try not to pout. Pretend at least that you are looking forward to this.”
“I am looking forward to the sex, Greg. But you insist on smooching like a twelve-year-old.”
Lestrade caressed Sherlock’s cheeks and then brushed his lips. "Now shut up and let me do what I can do well."
Sherlock smirked. "Making incorrect assumptions?"
Lestrade narrowed his eyes "Quit it, Sherlock. Hush."
"Fine. Now what, do I close my eyes?"
Lestrade rolled his eyes. Why did he persist...oh well, the sex. The sex was amazing. Mind-blowing. But now they had to work on kisses.
“Yes, you annoying, obnoxious, impatient sociopath,” Lestrade retorted, thinking that clearly Sherlock was starting to rub off on him. “Close your eyes and part your lips.”
Sherlock did so and then huffed in impatience when nothing happened.
“Sherlock,” Lestrade said, gently, placing a hand on his cheek, letting his thumb brush against the corner of his mouth and then lightly over his lips. “Focus.”
Sherlock didn’t protest this time as Lestrade’s thumb traced the same path backwards, pressing a little more firmly on his lower lip, pulling a bit. He opened his eyes and stared at the inspector.
“I told you to close your eyes, Sherlock.”
Sherlock was tempted to answer that he had suggested that, and Lestrade had simply agreed, but he managed to resist the urge and stay silent, much to Lestrade’s appreciation.
Lestrade’s thumb stopped at the corner of Sherlock’s mouth and it felt odd, but he let it go. He felt Lestrade lean forward, close to him, sharing his breath, making him impatient.
Lestrade inched close enough to graze his lips with his own, placing the lightest of kisses on the opposite corner of his mouth. Sherlock sighed softly and Lestrade pressed their lips together another time, then pulled back and Sherlock tried to turn and follow him without even realising what he was doing.
Lestrade’s other hand went to Sherlock’s hair, threading through it, then stroking it, combing his curls gently out of the way. He moved forward and kissed Sherlock again, this time lingering a second against his lips.
Sherlock let out a frustrated moan, trying to catch the other man’s mouth before it left, but Lestrade held him in place and shushed him, then lightly brushed his lower lip with his tongue and Sherlock’s moan became more urgent, needier and more sensual.
Lestrade swiped the thumb across his lip and spread the moisture on it, then pushed it gently in his mouth.
Sherlock peeked from under his lashes and opened his mouth to nibble at his thumb. He could feel Lestrade’s breath against his cheek, hot and moist and it was all he could do not to turn his head and force his hand. He wanted more. He wanted that kiss, now. But he decided to give Lestrade a chance, if only for the sake of avoiding another lecture.
Lestrade then tilted Sherlock’s head just enough to kiss his chin, planting a few more kisses along his jaw, finally going back to his lips.
Lestrade touched his student’s lips softly, then moved away and repeated the gesture, teasing him again. He then finally pressed their lips together fully, and pushed his tongue past the line of Sherlock’s teeth.
Sherlock opened his mouth wider, inviting the tongue in, sucking on it.
Lestrade was satisfied. He pushed his tongue in Sherlock’s mouth and explored it as if it were the first time. Sherlock’s tongue came out to play and Lestrade chased it playfully for a little while, before pulling away, Sherlock protesting and reaching for the other man’s neck with one hand.
He groaned in frustration, but Lestrade shut him up effectively by kissing him again, this time insisting more, allowing Sherlock to battle for dominance, but refusing to let him win.
Sherlock held his breath and bit Lestrade’s tongue, then pulled back and licked his own lips. “I think I understand now.”
Lestrade shushed him. “I’m not done,” he whispered, then nibbled at his lower lip before tilting his head and kissing him with more fervour, and Sherlock moaned in his mouth, melting under his lips.
“Lestrade...” he whispered, and the inspector tutted at him, then kissed his neck and started all over from the beginning, with brushing kisses on his lips. Sherlock passed his other hand around Lestrade’s waist. “I don’t mind this,” he confessed. The other man smiled before resuming his kisses. Sherlock continued. “It’s...” he stopped to gasp when the inspector’s lips closed on his neck and sucked, “hm, nice?” he tried, and Lestrade knew he was never going to let Sherlock live that one down.
“Did you mean pleasant?” Lestrade offered, planting a kiss on his jaw, “arousing?” a playful kiss on the tip of his nose, “distracting? Enjoyable?”
“Any of that, just continue my lesson, Lestrade,” he replied, before catching his instructor’s lips with his own.
221b_slash_fest, my gift for unovis_lj, who in turn wrote me the most lovely Mystrade ever. Here if you're curious.Rating: Pg-13
Pairing: Lestrade/Sherlock
Word Count: 1391
Warnings:
A/N: written in response to
unovis_lj's Christmas request prompt. Betaed by crocodile_eat_u and contro-betaed by 2ndskin who did such a wonderful job of inspiring and analyzing that she inspired the ending (with which I had had a big loud fight). Thank you in the form of hugs or puppies - or anything of your choice, really - to follow.Summary: A quiet night at Lestrade’s flat. The Inspector wants to watch TV and relax. Sherlock wants to run to the bedroom. They settle for an art lesson, with Lestrade as instructor.
Title: A Form of Art
Two days after Christmas, in the middle of the winter holidays, too late for the Christmas suicides and too early for the New Year’s ‘accidents’, it was a slack time for Scotland Yard, and detective inspector Lestrade wanted to take advantage of it to relax.
Sherlock and he were on Lestrade’s sofa, having just finished a lukewarm Chinese take away dinner, and they were not quite watching the action movie playing on the TV screen.
Lestrade had put an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders at the first explosion and, since Sherlock hadn’t complained or tried to swat it away, he had left it there. At the contact, Sherlock had turned to look briefly at Lestrade, had registered that he was still staring in front of him, watching the images flipping on the screen and so he had turned back to pretending to care about the film.
Before the second explosion Lestrade’s fingers started to stroke his shirt, moving slowly from his shoulder to his collar, starting to provide a pleasant distraction for Sherlock to focus on.
Lestrade’s index finger started to brush his neck, and Sherlock turned towards the inspector. “If you’re not watching, we can turn the telly off.”
Lestrade shook his head and continued to watch the screen. Sherlock leant closer to him, deciding he had had enough of sitting and pretending and started planting soft kisses on Lestrade’s neck.
“Why can’t you watch the film and leave me in peace for an evening?” Lestrade asked, only half serious.
Sherlock undid the first button of Lestrade’s shirt and smiled at the skin he just freed, his hands gently pulling open the two sides before he placed a chaste kiss on Lestrade’s collarbone. “You knew I wasn’t watching in the first place. And you started it.”
“I put a hand on your shoulder. It was to be nice.” Lestrade said, letting Sherlock continue to kiss his skin.
“Nice. Hundreds of thousands of adjectives in the English language and you describe your behaviour as ‘nice’.”
“I guess you should have given me one of those one-word-a-day calendars for Christmas.” Lestrade replied, undoing the second and third button of his own shirt, finally giving up on his film.
“I thought you already had a dictionary? And you have me around. You can consult me on more than just cases, you know?”
“I know you’re a bloody human encyclopaedia, and when I want to know how a rare poison can kill a man I’ll be sure to ask you. But for synonyms?”
Sherlock brushed his lips with his own. “There is so much more I can teach you,” he said, a naughty glint in his eyes, moving to straddle the inspector’s legs and kiss him passionately.
“Yet there is so much you can learn from me. Like patience.” Lestrade replied, and Sherlock snorted, grabbing his hair and tilting his head so he could kiss him again and push his tongue into Lestrade’s mouth.
Lestrade sighed; Sherlock was always running, eager to move forward, incapable of properly enjoying the moment. His hands snaked to Lestrade’s belt, trying to unbuckle it.
Lestrade stopped his hands, closing his fists around Sherlock’s slender wrists and pulling back. “Stop, Sherlock, slow down.”
The other man looked disgruntled, but relented.
“Now what?”
“Stop rushing. Can’t you enjoy kissing for awhile?”
“Boring.”
“Not when done properly. A kiss, Sherlock, is a form of art. Let me show you.”
Sherlock looked sceptical, but lowered his hands to his sides.
“Try not to pout. Pretend at least that you are looking forward to this.”
“I am looking forward to the sex, Greg. But you insist on smooching like a twelve-year-old.”
Lestrade caressed Sherlock’s cheeks and then brushed his lips. "Now shut up and let me do what I can do well."
Sherlock smirked. "Making incorrect assumptions?"
Lestrade narrowed his eyes "Quit it, Sherlock. Hush."
"Fine. Now what, do I close my eyes?"
Lestrade rolled his eyes. Why did he persist...oh well, the sex. The sex was amazing. Mind-blowing. But now they had to work on kisses.
“Yes, you annoying, obnoxious, impatient sociopath,” Lestrade retorted, thinking that clearly Sherlock was starting to rub off on him. “Close your eyes and part your lips.”
Sherlock did so and then huffed in impatience when nothing happened.
“Sherlock,” Lestrade said, gently, placing a hand on his cheek, letting his thumb brush against the corner of his mouth and then lightly over his lips. “Focus.”
Sherlock didn’t protest this time as Lestrade’s thumb traced the same path backwards, pressing a little more firmly on his lower lip, pulling a bit. He opened his eyes and stared at the inspector.
“I told you to close your eyes, Sherlock.”
Sherlock was tempted to answer that he had suggested that, and Lestrade had simply agreed, but he managed to resist the urge and stay silent, much to Lestrade’s appreciation.
Lestrade’s thumb stopped at the corner of Sherlock’s mouth and it felt odd, but he let it go. He felt Lestrade lean forward, close to him, sharing his breath, making him impatient.
Lestrade inched close enough to graze his lips with his own, placing the lightest of kisses on the opposite corner of his mouth. Sherlock sighed softly and Lestrade pressed their lips together another time, then pulled back and Sherlock tried to turn and follow him without even realising what he was doing.
Lestrade’s other hand went to Sherlock’s hair, threading through it, then stroking it, combing his curls gently out of the way. He moved forward and kissed Sherlock again, this time lingering a second against his lips.
Sherlock let out a frustrated moan, trying to catch the other man’s mouth before it left, but Lestrade held him in place and shushed him, then lightly brushed his lower lip with his tongue and Sherlock’s moan became more urgent, needier and more sensual.
Lestrade swiped the thumb across his lip and spread the moisture on it, then pushed it gently in his mouth.
Sherlock peeked from under his lashes and opened his mouth to nibble at his thumb. He could feel Lestrade’s breath against his cheek, hot and moist and it was all he could do not to turn his head and force his hand. He wanted more. He wanted that kiss, now. But he decided to give Lestrade a chance, if only for the sake of avoiding another lecture.
Lestrade then tilted Sherlock’s head just enough to kiss his chin, planting a few more kisses along his jaw, finally going back to his lips.
Lestrade touched his student’s lips softly, then moved away and repeated the gesture, teasing him again. He then finally pressed their lips together fully, and pushed his tongue past the line of Sherlock’s teeth.
Sherlock opened his mouth wider, inviting the tongue in, sucking on it.
Lestrade was satisfied. He pushed his tongue in Sherlock’s mouth and explored it as if it were the first time. Sherlock’s tongue came out to play and Lestrade chased it playfully for a little while, before pulling away, Sherlock protesting and reaching for the other man’s neck with one hand.
He groaned in frustration, but Lestrade shut him up effectively by kissing him again, this time insisting more, allowing Sherlock to battle for dominance, but refusing to let him win.
Sherlock held his breath and bit Lestrade’s tongue, then pulled back and licked his own lips. “I think I understand now.”
Lestrade shushed him. “I’m not done,” he whispered, then nibbled at his lower lip before tilting his head and kissing him with more fervour, and Sherlock moaned in his mouth, melting under his lips.
“Lestrade...” he whispered, and the inspector tutted at him, then kissed his neck and started all over from the beginning, with brushing kisses on his lips. Sherlock passed his other hand around Lestrade’s waist. “I don’t mind this,” he confessed. The other man smiled before resuming his kisses. Sherlock continued. “It’s...” he stopped to gasp when the inspector’s lips closed on his neck and sucked, “hm, nice?” he tried, and Lestrade knew he was never going to let Sherlock live that one down.
“Did you mean pleasant?” Lestrade offered, planting a kiss on his jaw, “arousing?” a playful kiss on the tip of his nose, “distracting? Enjoyable?”
“Any of that, just continue my lesson, Lestrade,” he replied, before catching his instructor’s lips with his own.