Title: Friends with benefits
Author: fanficwriter101
Pairing: Lestrade/Mycroft
Fandoms: Sherlock
Disclaimer: The characters from the show aren't mine, they belong to others. No copyright infringement intended. Any characters you don't recognize are mine. Feedback would be nice, positive feedback would be nicer. Enjoy!
Category: Sherlock (BBC 2010/12 version) Mystrade slash PWP ficlet
Rating: R to be safe
Characters: Mycroft and Greg
Series: No
Spoilers: None intended but anything from Seasons One and Two (including the unaired pilot) might get a mention.
Summary: Greg shops at a newly-opened Lush store. Well, they had some great offers on...
Archive: Just tell me where it's going
Additional 'stuff': It might help to read 'Scr-awl mine' first because this follows it directly but I think it's okay to read as a standalone. Lush products are my absolute favorite bath time treats. One of their massage bars is actually called that name. I hope they won't mind this fic ~fingers crossed~.


Mycroft had spent his adult life not trusting. Not trusting what people said. Not trusting what people said they did, or did not, do. Not trusting himself not to just eat and eat and eat until he burst.


So trusting someone enough to live with them had been a big step - he sometimes wondered if Greg knew just exactly *how* big a step it had been - and although he was mostly glad he had taken the decision, he sometimes wondered if he had done the right thing.


Today was one of those days. Until his assistant had pointed it out, he had gone through his working day with Greg's initials, a heart and his own initials written in black marker pen between his shoulder blades.


He had been embarrassed - at someone seeing it, even if it was his long-standing assistant - and more than a little angry with Greg. He spent the day considering how he was going to react when he saw Greg that evening. There was clearly little point in being angry - Greg's response to his earlier e-mailed picture of his ruined shirt which had picked up the inky pictogram had been a simple 'LOL'. But he knew he would have to make it *crystal* clear that such a thing was never ever to happen again.




Late evening...Pimlico


Greg had been nervous since the e-mail picture of Mycroft's back had arrived in his e-mail in box. He knew it had been a mistake but he had hoped Mycroft wouldn't be too angry. It hadn't worked out that way. Mycroft never e-mailed him at work. The first - and now probably last - ever e-mail from Mycroft had been preceded by an angry phone call warning him it was on its way.

He sipped a generous measure of whiskey and waited for the sound of the lift arriving at their floor, muttering his apology - which he had been rehearsing for almost an hour - to make certain it was as perfect as it could be.


At the sound of Mycroft's key in the lock Greg took a deep breath, let it out slowly, swallowed the last of the whiskey and stood in the kitchen doorway.


The first thing Mycroft noticed was Greg standing. That was unusual. When he arrived home late, Greg was usually sprawled in front of the TV. The second thing he noticed was the smell. Citrussy, sweet, not unpleasant just...different.


He took off his gloves, tucking them in his coat pockets then took his scarf and coat off, hung it up with his scarf and regarded Greg silently. To his credit, the object of his attention didn't flinch, squirm or babble.




The softly-spoken single-word apology reached his ears and anything he had been about to say went completely out of his mind. Instead, he sniffed, frowned and asked: "What is that smell?"


Greg smiled with relief and jerked his head towards the bedroom. "Wanna find out?"


Mycroft decided he wasn't as angry with Greg as he thought he would have been - there had, after all, been no real harm done by the childish prank - and he headed into the bedroom, pulling at his silk tie, unbuttoning his shirt.


Greg left Mycroft for what he knew was long enough for him to have undressed and didn't hear the shower running so he headed into the bedroom, passing Mycroft who was sitting on the bed pulling his socks off and walking into the adjoining bathroom, coming back out a minute later with a paper bag and a hand-towel over his arm.


Leaving the bag and towel on the top of the chest of drawers by the bedroom door, he pulled the curtains, flicked on several battery-powered candles he had placed around the room, dimmed the light above the bed and finally pulled his own shirt off.


"Face down." Greg said, making a twirling motion with his index finger.


Sitting on the bed, Mycroft eyed the bag warily.


"I know you don't, but, trust me."


Mycroft forced a small smile. Greg usually knew what he was thinking before he knew himself but this time it wasn't that difficult to guess.

He lay so that he could watch Greg prepare whatever he had planned, intrigued to know what was in the paper bag. 


Greg covered Mycroft's legs with a cashmere blanket which usually lived in the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers.




Mycroft nodded, crossing his arms under the pillow below his cheek. He watched as Greg tipped the contents of the paper bag into his hand, the scent suddenly much stronger. He waited silently as Greg rubbed the small oval between his palms, finally climbing awkwardly onto the bed, leaning over Mycroft, his hands gleaming.




"Mmm...yes, thank you."


Greg smiled at Mycroft's habitual politeness and reached up, resting both hands briefly on the pale freckled skin before moving his hands slowly upwards, fingertips pressing gently into Mycroft's tight muscles.

Mycroft groaned softly and shifted slightly.


"Too much?" Greg asked quickly, moving his hands back, lifting them slightly.


"What is that smell?"


Greg smiled and slid his fingers back towards Mycroft's glistening shoulders.


"Friends with benefits."