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John led the way into Baker Street. What a difference two days made. He glanced back at the mad detective, wondering about how much faith the man had placed in him.

That trust went both ways. John climbed two stairs and stopped, turning around to meet Sherlock’s eyes. He studied John’s face, searching. John licked his lips slowly. Leaning forward, Sherlock cupped his face and kissed him cautiously.

John kissed him back, moaning softly. This all felt as inevitable as thunder after lightning. Or perhaps Spring after Winter would be more apt. In the depths of February, Spring always seemed impossibly far.

But here was Spring, thawing warmth that eased the ache in his bones. Perhaps he was having the same affect on Sherlock. The man pulled back to look into the depth of John’s eyes, hands dropping to his waist.

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January 22, 2014

After last nights bit of rough Sam/Jack, asked for some bottom Sam:

After Midnight – Sometimes after a hunt, the hunter just needs to feel alive.

teaser after the cut

Jack unlocked the motel room door. It was past midnight, but not near enough dawn. At least the hunt had gone well and the beast had been taken care of. They both should probably shower, but weary bones had them barely kicking off shoes, pants and over shirts before crawling into the bed, limbs tangling around each other. Comfort, safety.

Waking up only a few hours later, their lips met in the dark. Jack ran a hand through Sam’s sweat-damp hair. He moaned against Jack’s kiss before settling onto his back and pushing down his boxers.

It had been a rough hunt, and Jack understood the need to feel alive. The desire for connection, for heartbeat and sweat. For the taste of a lover on your tongue and a body moving hot against your own. He raised up on one elbow and cupped Sam’s scruffy cheek, kissing him slowly, parting his mouth to revel in the sweet-dark taste of his lover.

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January 21, 2014

I may have just referred to myself as “tossing around PWP like candy at a parade”

January 20, 2014

gomezwantsmullerinhisbed:

dylanolinski:

I hate it when you’re reading smut and you can’t figure out what position they’re in.

sometimes it just ends up being something like

and this is why I try to be mindful when I write it.

January 15, 2014

I’ve been wanting to write something like this since I noticed Mycroft’s office has a full length mirror.

Through the Glass – Mycroft through the eyes of his lover. Or, office sex in front of the mirror.

teaser below the cut

Adjusting his tie, Mycroft watched as Greg came into the office. He openly admired the reflection in the mirror until Mycroft rolled his eyes and turned to face him. “Really, Gregory?”

Greg smiled and stepped to him. “I can’t admire the view?”

Mycroft shook his head and started to turn away. Greg caught his chin and kissed him. “You are a good looking man, you know. I’m here for a few reasons.”

“You’re here because I asked you to meet me before dinner,” Mycroft looked away as if not trusting himself to meet Greg’s eyes.

“You daft git,” smiled Greg, turning him back around towards the mirror and running his hands down his chest. Mycroft shivered, watching Greg’s hands. Unbuttoning the suit coat he carefully took it off his shoulders and lay it across the back of a chair. “You always look amazing,” said Greg softly, leaning up to kiss his barely exposed neck. His fingers found the buttons of the waistcoat, watching Mycroft’s face.

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November 23, 2013

And the other thing I did today was write a Mystrade fic. First time, virgin Mycroft…

The Seduction of Mycroft Holmes – Now that the divorce is taken care of, Greg can move on to what he really wants.

teaser below the cut

Greg Lestrade dropped his phone on the coffee table and looked around his flat. Still pretty bare; he’d left most everything behind in the divorce. The couch was his however, dark, comfortable, worn leather. Sometimes it seemed he slept there more than in the brand-new bed.

Today he hoped to put that bed to a better use. While he was married he’d been completely faithful, which hadn’t gone unnoticed by the court. Now, though, he was a free man. And he’d made his choice.

The knock on the door was polite. Greg smiled and went to answer it.

Mycroft looked as cold and imperious as ever. He wore a stunning greatcoat in a shade of grey-blue that set off his eyes perfectly. For a moment Greg’s breath was stolen. Mycroft shifted the umbrella in his hands.

“Come in, please.” Greg stepped back so he could enter. Mycroft stayed quiet as he helped him shrug off his coat and hang it. The umbrella stayed in his hands as he scanned the room before looking down at Greg. “I understand you wished to speak with me?”

It felt like Mycroft was reading him like a book. And he probably was. “I did. Have a seat, please.”

He perched on the edge of the couch, looking at it. “This is the only furniture you brought from your old home.”

Of course Mycroft knew. Damn Holmes. He sat on the adjacent armchair. “I’m a free man, now.”

Mycroft watched him. “Hence your reason for inviting me here tonight.”

“Yes.” Greg had no reason to lie.