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And one more Mystrade tonight. Also there may be plans for another one as well. But it’s 1am, so, have some smut,I’m going to bed

Make You Beg – Coming home Greg is surprised in his flat. But it’s the best kind of surprise.

teaser below the cut

Greg Lestrade unlocked the door to his flat, tired after another long day. At least Sherlock and John were on this case; might even be solved by morning. He stepped inside, but before he could turn on the light, a hand landed on his shoulder. He turned but the gun was knocked from his hand before he could aim. A strong hand grabbed his arm and twisted, shoving him face first into the wall with a grunt.

“You have become slow,” said a familiar voice in his ear.

“One of these days I am going to shoot you,” grumbled Greg. “Aren’t you getting too old for this game?”

“On the contrary. It is a refreshing change of pace from the verbal dente.” He leaned in and nibbled Greg’s ear in a way that sent shivers down his spine and stirred the interest of his cock.

Greg pushed back, but he had a firm grip. “The polite thing to do is to ask.”

“You always do give in regardless,” his breath was warm on his ear. “Shall I take you against this wall, Gregory?”

Greg panted at the promise in his tone. That voice knew him too well, could pick him apart with just words. A hand dropped to his zip and stopped, waiting with infinite patience.

“Yes,” he groaned. “Please.” He swallowed hard. “Mycroft.”

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Oh looksie, I wrote another Mystrade thing:

Never Just Filling Space – Now that Sherlock has returned, what will it mean for Mycroft and Greg?

Teaser below the cut

Greg stepped into the room. Mycroft stood by the window, staring out at the city. After the chaos of the last few days, with Sherlock stepping back into the world of the living, the room was strangely silent and still.

He was still reeling himself. He and Mycroft had grown closer over the last few years and he honestly had no idea what Sherlock’s return would mean for them. Not that he ever had or would begrudge Mycroft his little brother. Quietly he stepped to Mycroft’s side, taking in the view himself. The city was cloudy and gray, the window keeping even the sound of traffic at bay.

Mycroft’s hand brushed his own.

Greg took his hand, wrapping a warm palm around his cool hand and squeezing gently. A soft sigh escaped Mycroft’s lips. Tugging him from the window, he pulled him to the couch and set him down, never letting go of his hand as he sat next to him.

They stayed like that, silence stretching out. Greg cradled his hand. Occasionally Mycroft would squeeze, as if assuring himself of Greg’s presence. For his part Greg’s mind played over the last few days. The shock, the anger. Not for himself so much as for John and Mycroft and the perdition they’d been through over the last few years. He hoped like hell Sherlock wouldn’t wreck things between John and Mary; the man deserved some happiness. Yes, Sherlock had good reason, but the world was still settling around his factual presence.