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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.

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Okay, so. I got the latest Salt In the Wounds chapter up. That means I’ve posted 4 things tonight. Productive evening is productive:

September 1936: As Europe heats up, Hamish makes important decisions about his future

Then this is the other fics I posted tonight:

Resonance: Sherlock wakes John from a nightmare and comforts him in the only way he knows how.

Sherlock’s Surprise: Uh, yeah, I wrote a johnlock tentacle fic, yup.

Red Lace and Heels: Red Pants Monday fic. Sherlock doesn’t want John to go to work, and he has a clever little plan to distract him.

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So, I got bit my a mystrade plot bunny. It’s going to be multiple chapters, but here’s chapter 1. Might even be done tonight if the muse is kind. It’s smut/angst/emotional comfort:

Who Picks Up the Pieces – Six months after Sherlock’s suicide, Greg takes Mycroft for a weekend away to try to get him to deal with the loss of his brother.

teaser below the cut

Greg Lestrade heard the car driving up. He poured the wine, waiting by the fireplace with a glass in his hand. This was no quaint cabin; nothing but the best for Mycroft Holmes. A fine rug covered most of the floor with two leather chairs facing the fireplace. Through one door was a bedroom with a king sized, four poster bed made up with only the best linens. Through another door was a well-stocked kitchen. There was no reason for either of them to need to leave this entire weekend, assuming Mycroft didn’t turn and walk out the minute he realized what Greg was planning.

The door opened, but Greg kept his back to it. He heard Mycroft shaking off the cold and hanging up his coat before stepping into the room. Greg could feel him looking him over, taking in the setting. He wondered if Mycroft would be silent; he often was, even before everything had happened. It had only been a few months since Sherlock’s death, but then again, that was the point of this weekend. Try to make Mycroft stop running away and face what he’d lost.

Mycroft picked up the other glass of wine and joined him by the fireplace. Greg let the comfortable silence stretch between them as Mycroft sipped his wine. Watching him, Greg could see the way that unborne grief weighed on him. There were more lines on his face these days, perhaps a touch of gray to his hair. He’d often felt self-conscious about his weight, but he’d clearly gained, not that Greg minded it.

“I was told to come here for an important meeting,” said Mycroft as he finished his glass, still watching the fire.

Greg moved closer to him, resting one hand on Mycroft’s back, feeling him stiffen. “This is an important meeting,” he said softly.

Mycroft turned and faced Greg. Placing one hand on his chest, Greg leaned up and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. The man watched him, still holding his glass and keeping himself firmly distant from his lover.

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merindab:

Stichnick gave me a prompt the other day of John and Sherlock trapped in a cold car, so here’s what I came up with:

Body Heat – Trapped in a car without any heat, John and Sherlock find themselves in a compromising situation.

Teaser below the cut

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I’m just going to reblog this for the day people.

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Stichnick gave me a prompt the other day of John and Sherlock trapped in a cold car, so here’s what I came up with:

Body Heat – Trapped in a car without any heat, John and Sherlock find themselves in a compromising situation.

Teaser below the cut

“Well this is bloody brilliant,” grumbled John, turning the key again to no avail.

“When the temperature drops to a certain point…” Sherlock started.

“Shut up,” grunted John. He wrapped his coat tighter around himself. Outside the snow was blowing hard enough to make it nearly impossible to see. A gust of frozen wind rocked the car. Of course they were in the middle of nowhere for a case, of course they were stuck in a blizzard, and of course the car had decided to die on them.

John blew on his hands as the air grew colder. He was wearing a jumper, but not a heavy coat and already he was starting to shiver. “Still no signal?” he asked Sherlock, peering at his phone.

“No.”

“Fantastic.” John cast his eyes heavenward and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Sherlock turned around in his seat and started rooting around in the back seat. They’d borrowed this car from the local mayor and the back seat was filled with odds and ends. Really the whole car was a heap of junk, which was probably why he didn’t mind loaning it out. After a few minutes Sherlock came up with a stained blanket that smelled a bit too much like grass and horses in the small space.

“I think I would rather freeze,” grumbled John.

Sherlock settled back in the passenger seat, then suddenly reached over and hooked a long arm around John, dragging him into his lap. “What the hell are you doing?” John hissed.

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I worte a thing for Red Pants Monday!

The Magic of Red Pants – When Sherlock is bored, John’s red pants provide an excellent distraction.

teaser below the cut

“Bored.” Sherlock lay stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. This was the fifth time he’d announced his boredom in the last thirty minutes and John wasn’t about to suggest Cluedo again. Taking two deep breaths he finished his tea while watching Sherlock. The man was staring at the ceiling, fingers steepled at his chest, hair wild and uncombed. John was certain he hadn’t left the flat for days. His dressing gown was open, t-shirt rumpled and riding up, exposing a bit of pale bare stomach above his pyjama bottoms.

John finished the sentence and saved the document before getting up and heading for the couch. It was warm today and was wearing just a t-shirt and jeans himself. He could see Sherlock watching him as he climbed onto the couch and straddled Sherlock, hips slotting together as he leaned forward and settled on Sherlock’s narrow chest. A smile quirked across John’s lips.

Sherlock moaned softly, dropping his arms to his side. He rocked up against John. “You are wearing too many clothes,” he muttered.

“Am I?” John thrust against him once, twice, feeling Sherlock growing harder underneath him. “And I’m wearing something I thought you’d like.”

Pushing John up, Sherlock went for his belt. He moaned again as he got John’s flies open. “Red?”

Grinning now, John got up just long enough to peel off his jeans, revealing the red pants he was wearing underneath. It was worth it for the look of naked lust on Sherlock’s face

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Allright, the next chapter of my superwood rodeo AU is up. This one is Jack/Castiel. I really didn’t mean to make nothing but smut. lol.

All Tied Up – Jack knew Castiel was a damn good looking man. He didn’t expect him to also be a dom. But maybe Cas knows just what he needs.

teaser below the cut

Jack adjusted himself in the saddle, feeling the heaving beast quivering beneath him. He took a deep breath, steadying himself before signaling his readiness.

The gate flew open and it was all Jack could do to hold on as the bull arched and twisted, trying to throw off the rider. Jack’s world narrowed to the sounds of the bull, his grip on the rope and the creature beneath him. His heart thumped against his chest as adrenaline pumped in his veins. Faintly, he heard the buzzer sound just as he lost his grip, thrown violently to the ground.

The clowns rushed in and he picked himself up slowly, raising a hand to the crowd before moving slowly of the arena. Castiel helped him out and Jack met his eyes briefly, startled by the deep blue universe he saw there.

Then Castiel was gone as quickly as he’d come. Jack shook his head.  Castiel was tight with the Winchesters. He knew they’d pulled out of this rodeo, and he still didn’t know what was between him and Sam, if anything, but probably tangling with Castiel was a bad idea.

Still, a little while later, when he was in the bar, he found himself watching the man. He moved with an unusual grace, making his way around the bar, talking to nearly everyone. He leaned over to grab something and Jack stared at the way his Wranglers perfectly framed his ass, desire beginning to curl in his stomach. He swallowed and got his second beer as Castiel leaned in to speak with another cowboy. Jack could imagine the hot breath on his ear and shivered. Straightening again, Castiel moved away. Jack could see the tight control. He wondered what it would be like to watch Castiel lose that control, to give himself over. He adjusted the growing erection in his pants.

Castiel was suddenly by his elbow. “Hello, Jack.”

 

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Oh look, I wrote another johnlock fic. This one is another first time fic:

Falling Out of Orbit – When John came home early from visiting family, the last thing he expected was to find Sherlock thinking of him this way.

It’s smut and then fluff. Teaser below the cut:

John sighed as he let himself into the flat. He was supposed to be gone all weekend, but a day with Harry was plenty. The comforting smells of Baker Street and the familiar steps eased the flare up in his knee as he made his way up to the flat, moving quietly as it was late and he didn’t want to wake Mrs. Hudson. His thoughts were on his own bed and he stifled a yawn as he opened the door to the flat. It was dark save the light from the street casting eerie shadows on the furniture. He shrugged out of his coat and hung it up, noticing Sherlock’s coat was in its place. Maybe Sherlock was asleep for once.

Turning down the hall, John headed for the bathroom, noticing Sherlock’s door open a crack. He put hand on the bathroom door handle when a low noise caught his attention. Frowning and knowing he was probably violating Sherlock’s privacy, John moved towards the door as quietly as he could. Not like Sherlock respected his privacy that much. Pushing the door just a bit wider, John stared at the sight before him.

Sherlock lay naked on his back, pale skin glowing faintly in the moonlight. His head tossed against the pillows, eyes screwed shut. One elegant hand was wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly. The other hand moved between the cleft of his cheeks. John blushed bright red and started backing up.

“John,” Sherlock moaned, freezing him in place.

Heart thumping against his chest, John closed his eyes and considered his options. He was home early, after all; no doubt Sherlock expected him back tomorrow. He could go on up to bed and pretend this never happened. He could hear Sherlock in the bedroom, shifting against the sheets and moaning quietly above the slick sounds his fingers were producing. The other choice, of course, was to go in and do something about the raging erection pressing against his jeans. There might be regret in the morning, but John had never been one to back down from a challenge.

continue on AO3

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HERE is the second Chapter of the rodeo fic! This one basically is just PWP. Nothing but smut. lol

Another Bad Idea – Yeah, this one’s pretty much just sex. Jack and Sam.

teaser below the cut

The stands were only half full since the skies threatened rain. Jack stood with arms crossed watching Dean prepare to ride a bronc. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Sam standing a few feet away, watching Dean shift in the saddle. Sam stood very still, tension evident in his flexing hands and straight back. Dean gave a nod and the gate opened.

The horse came flying out, bucking hard and twisting underneath Dean. The experienced rider followed its movements as it dropped and bucked again. There was a sudden twist and Dean left the saddle, hitting the ground with a dull thud long seconds before the buzzer sounded. Jack winced in sympathy while Sam shook his head.

“He’ll be drunk in an hour,” said Sam, walking over to Jack and adjusting his hat.

“Probably shouldn’t be talking to me.” Jack didn’t look at him. “Brother won’t be happy.”

Sam snorted as Castiel helped Dean up. “He’ll be fine.”

Jack glanced at Sam. “Not riding tonight?”

“Naw, think I twisted my wrist last night. Dean doesn’t want me to hurt it worse.”

Jack smiled, maybe with a touch of sadness. “He takes good care of you.”

“Sometimes. You aren’t riding tonight either.”

Jack swallowed, remembering. “No, not this rodeo. Next one I’m already signed up for, though.”

“Why are you here then?” asked Sam. “Scoping out the competition?”

Jack looked at him, all easy smile. “Maybe so.” Sam met his eyes with a small smile of his own, tongue darting out to lick his lips as his brown eyes took in Jack’s body with more than a hint desire. Heart skipping a beat, Jack smiled a bit broader, uncrossed  his arms and leaned back against the rail, giving Sam a better view. “Want to get a drink?” he asked.