Tag: mystrade 30 day otp challenge

Predators and prey didn’t mix. This was common wisdom. A relationship between the two would only end in tears, if not worse. But Greg Lestrade, who’d been born of the wolf, had never met a more formidable rabbit then Mycroft Holmes. And Mycroft Holmes, with his stately ears standing tall, had never met a more gentle wolf then Gregory Lestrade.

Greg could tell by the turn of Mycroft’s ears that he was pleased. The day had gone well, then, the secret negotiations Greg knew nothing about. He watched his lover remove his suit coat and carefully roll up his sleeves as he came into the kitchen, eying the bubbling pot on the stove.

“Almost done, love.” Greg smiled. Wolves were not often known as good cooks either, but Mycroft had nothing but praise for him. After giving the pot a stir, he turned and kissed him.

Mycroft scratched just behind the silver ears, making Greg kick involuntarily. He chuckled as Greg pulled away.

“Oi, watch it or you won’t get any supper.” Greg waved the spoon at him.

Smiling, Mycroft fetched the wine and set the table for stew. Greg put the finishing touches and served it out, watching for the warm smile that would tell him Mycroft approved.

The rabbit took a few very proper tastes. “Excellent,” he said, favoring him with that smile.

Greg relaxed and started in on his own supper. Mycroft’s stew had a bit more veg and Greg’s had a bit more meat. But that was the way things were with them and if anyone were to question how these two were together, well, Mycroft would fix them with his withering glare and Greg would hold his arm and that would be all the answer they would get.

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It had been a very long day at work. Greg took a hot shower, lost in his thoughts. He should ring up Mycroft, have him come over, some takeaway, a movie… He finally shut the water off and stepped out, toweling off his hair. To his surprise, his clothes were gone from the counter, except for only a single button up shirt. Raising an eyebrow he picked it up and sniffed the collar. Mycroft. Of course.

Wondering what was up, he pulled it on and buttoned it most of the way up. Stepping into the front room, he froze in place.

Mycroft was adjusting the record player, wearing one of Greg’s rattiest old concert t-shirts. He turned and grinned at Greg as music that took him way back poured out of the speakers. Matching Mycroft’s grin, he grabbed the waistcoat from the back of the couch and pulled it on. It wouldn’t button, but that was okay as he went to his lover and pulled him into a fast dance, still knowing every word of the song.

To his surprise, Mycroft knew the words too and they soon flopped on the couch with cheap takeout and beer, talking about uni and younger days and when the sky had been the limit and the world at their feet.

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Greg loved all of Mycroft’s kisses. The minty kisses before bed, the sleepy morning kisses that never failed to start his day off right. There was the quick peck on the way out the door and slow kisses on the couch after a long day of work. And of course the passionate kisses with one pressing the other against the wall or the sofa or the bed.

Right now they were both in the kitchen making dinner on a lazy weekend afternoon with a bottle of wine. Mycroft handed Greg the spices and kissed his shoulder. Smiling, Greg added them in, checked the broth, and set the whole concoction to simmer before turning in his lover’s arms. “We’ve got about an hour for it to simmer.”

Mycroft didn’t respond, just cupped the back of his head and kissed him. Greg kissed back, tasting the wine on his soft lips as he backed him towards the table. He sat without breaking the kiss and pulled Mycroft down into his lap, wrapping his arms around his waist.

Humming softly, Mycroft parted his mouth further. Greg kissed him slowly, savoring, wondering if he could make the kisses last until the food was done.

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“Happy anniversary, love,” Greg offered the flowers to Mycroft as he answered the door.

“Thank you,” Mycroft said, taking them and pulling Greg inside to give him a short kiss. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call a car?” he asked as he took them into the kitchen to get them in a vase with water.

“I’m perfectly capable of driving us to a restaurant. Even was as fancy as you no doubt booked.” Greg leaned on the doorframe and watched him, smiling.

“You’ll love the food,” promised Mycroft, stealing another kiss before grabbing his umbrella on the way out the door.

They only got halfway there when a tire blew out. Cursing, Greg pulled the car to the side of the road and looked at the steady drizzle in the failing lite. Of course said fancy restaurant was out in the country and they hadn’t seen anyone on this road in miles.

“I’ll call…” started Mycroft, pulling out his mobile.

“Nope, I’m perfectly capable of changing a tyre,” said Greg, taking off his suit coat and getting out before Mycroft could argue. He opened the trunk as it started raining harder and pulled out the spare and the lift. As he crouched down the car door opened and closed and he looked up to find Mycroft standing over him with the open umbrella.

Greg gave him a small smile and got to work. It had been a while, but he was glad to know he remembered. It took a little longer than he would have liked, but it was changed and the blown was tossed in the trunk. When he got back in the driver’s seat, Mycroft was already on his mobile.

“No point calling, it’s already changed.” Greg started the car and turned up the heat, brushing wet hair from his eyes.

“Oh I know. I just cancelled the dinner reservation. There’s a rather nice bed and breakfast, and it’s closer.” Mycroft leaned in to kiss him again. “The restaurant wouldn’t let you in like that.”

Greg looked down and realized that not only was he more than a bit damp, but there was a dark streak of dirt and grease across the front of his white shirt. Mycroft reached over and pulled his tie free.

“We don’t have any spare clothes,” said Greg, then got a wicked grin on his face. “Don’t suppose that would be a problem though, would it?”

“I’d imagine not,” said Mycroft with a twinkle in his eyes. “I’ll give you the directions as we go.”

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Greg and Mycroft didn’t always share a bed. Work schedules and crazy hours and keeping up appearances meant that they were both glad for a few nights a week curled up in one another’s arms. On this particular night, Mycroft had come in late from a trip overseas and walked into Greg’s flat just as he was getting ready for bed.

 

After a kiss hello, Greg had handed him the spare pyjamas he kept for him and they went straight to bed. Holding him, Greg watched him fall asleep before closing his own eyes. But he slept lightly and in the wee hours he was awakened by a soft whimper. “Hey, it’s okay,” said Greg softly, kissing Mycroft’s forehead and soothing his hands down his back until finally the blue eyes opened cautiously.

 

He searched Greg’s face for a long moment, then they closed again with a sigh. Greg gathered him against his his chest and kissed the top of his head. Mycroft curled tightly around him. Of course the official couldn’t say anything, even if he wanted to. Greg simply held him, toying with the hairs at the nape of Mycroft’s neck until he felt the other man’s breathing start to slow again.

Greg kissed the top of his head and smiled against his skin, glad to be the safe place Mycroft Holmes could cling to.

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