#i’ll get some pics of it in natural light tomorrow and a better scan of it someday lmao

[paledeep]

your friends are your best birthday gift

(happy 23rd birthday ryuki)

[savvyblunders]

Soft Smut Sunday {Stamstrade}

Holding open the door for a group of youngish women dressed in seasonally-inappropriate, flimsy dresses, towering heels and banging into one another in their tipsy mirth, Mike Stamford smiled sympathetically. He remembered those days. Going out with mates, on the pull, hopping from club to club, seeking excitement and a connection. Suppressing a regretful sigh--his days of easy sex were far behind him, never mind a connection--Mike stepped inside and scanned the room.

Greg had been texting him for a while, begging Mike to come out. Keep me company, mate, pleeeeease? I'm at least 25 years older than anyone in here. Keep us from looking like an old creeper.

Mike had held out against Greg's pleading until Greg finally sent him a gloomily lit selfie. His brown eyes were tragic, lower lip thrust out in a pout and Mike had laughed and texted that he was on his way. It wasn't so much the pic, although Greg was adorable, but the texts had become increasingly melancholy and misspelled. It was obvious Greg was absolutely squiffy.

This was a hard time of year for him. Mike had been his friend long enough to know. It had been nine years ago in another cold March that Greg's criminally stupid ex had been unmasked as a serial cheater. Almost exactly a year later they finally called it quits; all of it, the therapy, the endless fights, the guilt and the paranoia and the sham marriage.

Through it all Mike had been there, a steadfast rock for the man he'd long ago lost his heart to. He would never, ever in his life understand how Kelly Lestrade had had a chance at happiness with Greg and had chosen to throw it away with both hands. The heartbreak of listening to Greg ramble on about the destruction of his marriage, and the eroding of his self-confidence had nearly done Mike in. So many times he had longed to put his arms around his best friend and assure him that no, of course he wasn't unlovable. To tell him just how very loved he was.

But that wouldn't have been the action of an honourable man, nor a good friend. Greg was vulnerable, needy, and he didn't need or want an unsolicited advance from the one person he thought he could depend on. Besides, he was straight, and Mike had been down that hopeless road too many times in the past. No, he wasn't desperate for love, but he was desperate to hang onto the best friend he'd ever had. A little of Greg was better than no Greg at all.

So it had come as a complete shock nearly two years after Greg's divorce decree became final when Mike found out that not only was Greg in a relationship, but it was with a man. That was about all he did know. Greg kept it on the extreme down-low. Not so much because he'd wanted to avoid shocked reactions or possible negative effects.

No, the reason was that "he" was some sort of posh, secretive, high mucky-muck who didn't want anyone knowing about his private life. Mike had feared that Greg's mystery boyfriend was hiding their affair from his spouse, but it appeared that the reason was due more to his career than anything.

Mike supposed he couldn't speculate on the reason another bloke flew under the radar, but if Greg had been his, Mike would have shouted it from the rooftops. Who wouldn't brag about having won the love of Greg Lestrade?

In the end Mike figured that he was one of the very few people who even knew that Greg had had an on-again-off-again affair with the mysterious "he" for nearly five years. He'd been the sole person (that he knew of) allowed into the inner sanctum of Greg's delirious, devastating rollercoaster of a relationship. Mike had had front row seats for the fallout every time Greg's fella had suddenly cut him off. Putting a comradely arm around Greg's shaking shoulders, Mike had schooled his face into an uninvested sympathetic look as Greg cried out his anguish.

He'd summoned enthusiasm when a glowing Greg would show up for their weekly "beer and bitch" fests with a sparkle back in his eyes, and an ebullient chuckle underlining his voice because once more the thick-headed bastard who jerked him about had showed up in "one of his posh cars" outside the Met, or Greg's local, or Greg's flat. Every time Greg would get sucked back in, swearing that this time it would be different.

"You don't know him like I do, Mike," Greg had defended hotly the one time Mike had summoned the courage to give him a piece of his mind over the unhealthiness of Greg's situation. "He's...private. But he loves me, I know he does." He sounded stubborn, as if he was convincing himself as much as Mike. "I haven't felt like I mattered to anyone like this in...years." A shadow had crossed his face as he thought of Kelly's unfaithfulness.

You matter to me, Mike had wanted to howl. I'd never treat you like this, make you doubt yourself every time I got scared or bored or whatever this bloke gets when he tosses you over.

That was all over now though. Mr Posh Cars and Posh Suits had finally hurt Greg enough that he hadn't been willing to go back. All Mike knew was that Greg had been crushed. Pale and chain-smoking, sleepless nights and too much coffee. And always, always Mike there to pick up the pieces.

Sometimes over the years Mike's sister Bev would rail at him for being a masochist. "Tell him how you feel or walk away, Mike! You're eating your heart up over him and it's sick... I can't stand seeing you hurt like this."

Mike just couldn't though. Greg meant too much to him.

Any road, this was a dangerous time of year for Greg, who had ended things with Mr Mystery just over a year ago. His drinking took on a depressed edge, and his thoughts would twist inwards. Mike normally tried to keep him busy, keep him cheerful, but this year he was fighting his own demons. Bev had succumbed to late-stage cervical cancer a few months back.

Now Mike was all alone in the world, the last of his family who had been willing to acknowledge him gone. In his darkest moments he'd thought bitterly that now Bev was gone there was no one in the world who loved him.

People still cared for him, though, Mike was reminded, when he walked toward Greg's small table and saw his best mate's face light up. Raising a hand in greeting, Mike gestured towards the bar and mimes getting a drink. Pint in hand he worked his way politely through the crowd until he reached Greg's side. Greg got to his feet with eagerness, if not grace, and flung happy arms around him.

"Mi compadre," he joked joyfully, giving Mike a squeeze and tugging him down to sit on the tiny curved bench with him. Mike had been going to sit on the stool next to the table, but Greg wasn't bothered about keeping a careful distance. Of course he didn't have anything to hide.

"M'glad you came," Greg said, eyes shining. He patted Mike's arm happily, smiling at him. "Those louts were eyeing my booth but I gave 'em a proper fuck off look and wouldn't budge."

"Better drink up fast then," Mike laughed, unzipping his jacket. It was too warm in the pub with the heat on and the close press of the animated crowd. He pushed a tall water in front of Greg, "For you."

"I've a pint," Greg said gravely, indicating his mostly empty glass.

"Have to stay hydrated," Mike informed him, "if you want to avoid a hangover. Doctor's orders."

Greg blinked absurdly long eyelashes at him almost flirtatiously, "Yes, doctor."

Mike sipped his pint and looked out at the pub. It wasn't safe to gaze too long at Greg, in case he noticed Mike's eyes lingering wistfully on him. Inebriated though he might be, Greg was still an excellent detective.

Polishing off his pint, Greg sipped at his water, rolling his eyes with a good-natured smirk at Mike's look. Pretending to be very cowed, he gulped at it. "Better?"

"Ta," Mike said, smiling. "Much better...dont want to hear any whinging about your old arse feeling like shit tomorrow because you didn't practice sufficient self-care."

"If I feel crap you can come take care of me," Greg said, tracing a finger through the condensation on his glass. Glancing up at Mike he said in a low voice, "We can play doctor."

"What?!" Mike choked a little. He couldn't have heard Greg right. It was noisy and he was fanciful.

"Your order," announced the server, popping up next to them with a tray. She put a coffee cup down, filled it with steaming brew and then placed two baskets of chicken and chips on the table.

Reaching for the brown sauce, Mike concentrated on dressing his forbidden food. Unfortunately when he got depressed he ate. And right now he felt like he could eat both baskets. Nudging the other towards Greg, he pushed the ketchup closer, "Eat, you'll feel better in the morning if you get something in your stomach. And get that coffee in you."

"You're so good to me," Greg sighed, putting an ungodly amount of tomato sauce on both his chips and his chicken. Mike thought it was disgusting, but somehow still adorable. Oh yeah, petal, he heard his sister's wry voice in his head, you've got it bad.

Companionably they ploughed though their meal, exchanging occasional comments about the prospects for the Premiere League, eyes on the telly over the bar. An old World Cup match was showing, and the two of them were football enthusiasts enough that they watched it as though they'd never seen it. Though in fact they'd watched it when it first aired, sprawled out on Greg's sofa, shouting at the screen and tossing back too many cans of lager.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Greg not wanting to be alone, and Mike being unwilling to trust him to a cab at that time of night and in his still slightly loopy condition, ended up back at Mike's. "I'll just put fresh sheets on the guest bed," he told Greg, who trailed behind him. Greg tried to help, which was for some reason terribly funny to them both, mostly because Greg was just tight enough to be all thumbs.

"Here, give over, pet," Mike finally chuckled, nudging him aside and bending over to stretch across the mattress and wrangle the fitted sheet into place.

"Love it when you call me pet," Greg sighed, hand brushing Mike's hip. Suddenly his hand was back, lightly rubbing Mike's back, "Mmm, you feel good...so strong and so, so warm..."

Greg's name was strangled on Mike's lips. He stared desperately at the mattress, fingers tightening painfully so as not to turn and pull Greg down on top of him.

Greg's voice was husky, strained, "Fuck, you're sexy, Mike." He sort of sighed, wistfully, "Look at you bent over like that...how's a man to resist?"

"You need to stop," Mike managed, closing his eyes and begging an unfeeling universe for strength. "Y-you've been drinking, mate, you're--you're just lonely and right now a-anyone--"

Greg shushed him, and then suddenly they were both down on the bed, Greg half straddling him, Mike rolled awkwardly onto his side. "Not anyone, Mike," Greg breathed, eyes huge and dark, fixed on Mike with wanting, with longing. He licked his lips, bit on them as if hungry. "You, Mike, you."

"We should..."

"Say no if you don't want me," Greg husked, lowering his face towards Mike's. He licked his lips again, intent evident. "Tell me no, Mike and I won't kiss you..."

Unable to resist the fantasy within his reach, Mike put up one shaking hand and stroked Greg's cheek, "Who could say no to a dream?" he whispered, and pulled Greg down into his arms.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The curtains over the guest bedroom had never been pulled the night prior and a weak shaft of morning light woke Greg. He groaned softly, squinting his eyes closed against the intrusion. Turning his face into the pillow, he startled when he realized he wasn't alone. The night before rushed back to him when his eyes met Mike's.

Mike was next to him under the tangled duvet, eyes strangely vulnerable without the defense of his glasses. His normally affable face struggled to be inscrutable. Greg felt a leap of uncertainty followed by a wave of love when he remembered Mike calling him a dream the night before. Shivered when he recalled the hungry way Mike had dragged him into an embrace, the deep, sweet, exhilarating strength of his kisses.

Never knew I could feel so safe and so free all at once, Greg thought. Being with Mike had been like, like sailing a damaged ship into safe harbour. Knowing you were within reach of rescue.

"You have the look of a man about to politely kick me out of his bed and out of his flat," Greg said, gnawing on his lower lip. He didn't really think Mike was regretting their passionate revelry, but a lifetime of being second choice made Greg's stomach drop like a stone into a well. Idiot! Greg railed at himself, when will you learn not to ruin a good thing?

As Mike's mouth opened, hesitating before he spoke, Greg's heart sank to join his stomach in that bottomless well. If life with Kelly and with--with him, had taught him anything, it was not to expect too much. Not to get too attached, to want too much, ask for too much time, too much regard.

Fuck that with a bag of dicks, Greg suddenly told himself fiercely. Mike wasn't anyone else. He wasn't some taker, wasn't going to use Greg, to take advantage of his neediness, his hunger for a settled, domestic life. Dangling it like a possibility to keep him biddable, eager, passive. This was Mike. Mike, his best friend, the best friend he'd ever had. The man who had propped him up every time life had kicked him in the bollocks. The man who had held him while he cried, made sure he ate, looked after himself, showed up for work when his heart was being broken time and again.

An abrupt, wild sense of courage overtook him, and Greg put his hand up to cup Mike's jaw in his palm. "Please tell me I'm not the only one who's wanted this to happen for a long time? Tell me you don't regret it, sunshine, please?"

Mike's blue eyes went glossy, and with a rough breath he reached for Greg, crushing him to the plush strength of his body. "Greg," he said, that was all, but it said everything. Gratefully, joyfully, Greg buried his face against the virile, musky forest of hair on Mike's chest and smiled ear to ear at the sound of the heart that beat for him.

"Is it too soon to say I love you?" Mike whispered a long time later, nudging Greg's face up so he could regard him seriously. "Gotta tell you that this isn't some whim for me...I've been gone on you for years."

"Y-yeah?" Greg managed, throat tightening as tears threatened. How long had it been since he'd wanted to cry from happiness? "Dunno when it started, for me. I've just...well, you've always been there. My best friend, Mike, the one I could always depend on to be there. You were--you are--the person I run to with good news, and when I'm happy, or when life's kicking my arse. Think I've loved you for ages, but I only realized it over the last year." He closed his eyes, shaking his head, bitter regret rising in him like acid. "I've taken you so for granted. God, how can you still love me?"

"Easy," Mike whispered, kissing him sweetly. He pressed his forehead to Greg's, looked deeply into his eyes, "You're so easy to love, Greg."

"Christ," Greg finally gasped, once he'd manged to not completely humiliate himself by bawling. He blinked, which only made the tears spill over. "Christ, Mike, you sweetheart."

Wiping his face hastily with the sheet, he kissed Mike with eagerness, trying to impart how overwhelmed with adoration he was. It wasn't about lust, but he was reacting to the nearness of Mike's irresistible body, to the power of the attraction between them, the rising heat of their kisses. But most of all to the palpable love emanating from Mike like a heady dose of oxygen. Greg was a drowning man, desperate for air, and Mike had all he needed and more.

With relief and elation he felt Mike's answering hardness against his belly. "You made me feel so good last night," Greg whispered, sliding his lips down Mike's jaw to his neck. He hummed hungrily against his throat, "Wanna make you feel like that."

Mike shuddered, "You don't have to--"

"Want to," he corrected, and kissed his way down Mike's chest, hands sliding over the rise of his belly, around to grip his hips as he lingered at the crease of his hip. The gasp Mike gave, the curl of his toes against Greg's legs, the flex of his hips made Greg feel powerful, desirable.

Smoothing his palms around Mike's arse cheeks, he kissed the silky, hot crown of Mike's cock. Tiny licks and moist, open kisses drew groans out of the man writhing beneath him. "Let me in," Greg sighed, and Mike spread his legs, shaking. They hadn't gotten that far the night before, neither of them going so far as to try penetration, and Greg wasn't aiming for it now.

He just wanted to get as close as possible. He needed to get as close as possible. Brushing his left hand up the inside of Mike's thigh, Greg trailed his fingers lightly over Mike's balls, stroked his perineum. Relaxing his throat, he deepened the stroke of his mouth down Mike's shaft. Humming drew a deep groan from his lover, and Greg responded with enthusiasm.

Hands, lips, tongue led an assault on Mike's composure, and as Mike's bollocks drew tight, his breath sawing desperately, his hands pressed to his face. Greg glanced up and saw him muffling his sounds with his fists. "No," he breathed, pulling off and reaching up. Snagging one of Mike's arms he brought his hand down, rested it on his head, "Give me your pleasure, Mike, please." He let his eyes flash with his most alluring glint, "Let me hear you, let me feel you take what you want."

Tentative fingers tangled in his hair, and Greg moaned encouragingly around the hot length in his mouth. With each courteous caress from Mike's hands, Greg groaned luxuriously. Soon Mike had grown bold, although still chivalrous, and his hands were so busy directing Greg's head, his mind so hazy with the pleasure he was receiving that he'd forgotten to stifle his cries.

When he stammered out a warning, heels pressing into the bed, Greg took him deep, tongue curling, and felt dizzy with desire as Mike came in short bursts inside his mouth. Swallowing him down, he gasped for breath, a little lightheaded with lust and with his briefly obstructed breathing. Mike looked stunned, flat on his back, face flushed and hair wild.

"Come here you," he manged, reaching for Greg, who happily crawled up his sprawled form. Mike pulled him tightly to him, as they exchanged deep kisses. "God, Greg...that was..."

"I'm glad," Greg murmured, brushing his nose tenderly over Mike's cheek. He smiled, his own erection momentarily shelved in the interests of soaking up Mike's enchanting, sated lassitude. Languidly he rolled his hips against Mike's softening cock.

"What do we have here, my fine fellow?" Mike whispered, taking him in hand. He tumbled Greg lightly onto his side, one hand on his lower back, the other wrapped around his straining prick. He kissed Greg luxuriously, all tongue and heat and need. "Want my mouth, love?"

"Can't wait," Greg admitted, thrusting into the hot grasp of Mike's encircling hand. "Just hold me...kiss me."

Gladly, Mike complied, arms strong and comforting around him. Greg clung to him, shaking mouth slanted across Mike's, gasping helplessly into his mouth as he chased his pleasure. So ramped up was his need that he came within bare minutes, arching into Mike's grip, lips damp and open against the other man's jaw.

Minutes, or maybe hours, later, Greg raised his head from where it had been cradled on Mike's shoulder. Meeting Mike's fond eyes, Greg felt his face blush hotly; his smile was bashful and proud, "I love you." He kissed him, putting his whole heart behind it, the way he'd never felt safe enough to do before. "I love you so much, sunshine." His arms shook with the fervor of his desperation, "Please don't leave me, Mike...I couldn't bear it if I lost you."

Mike's embrace was crushing, his voice vibrated with conviction, "Just try and shake me, pet. Just try and shake me now."

- - - - - - - - - -

There was a definite spring in Mike's step as he wound his way through the morning foot traffic a few blocks away from Bart's. Normally he greeted Mondays with about as much enthusiasm as anyone. Not today. Today he was in an exceptionally fantastic mood, as he had been all weekend.

With the joy of a man in love--and loved in return--Mike was looking forward to whatever the day brought. One of which things was lunch with his new boyfriend, if said boyfriend could get away from his desk long enough. "Fingers crossed no one steals anything or murders anyone," he'd joked with typical black, cop humor. Straightening Mike's tie he kissed him on the nose, then on the mouth, "Do I have to let you go to work?"

"Someone has to keep my cat in canned salmon," Mike joked, and grinned when Greg laughed, delighted. They were so happy in the first flush of requited love that everything they said delighted the other.

Thinking on it now, he smiled, not realizing he was beaming ear to ear until he received a startled smile from several people in return. Chuckling, he supposed his students would immediately divine that he'd gotten laid that weekend.

It's more than that though, Mike thought with smug happiness, taking the kerb with a bounce. It was love. Whole, happy, requited love.

Just as he became aware of a dark vehicle idling along beside him, the near-silent sound of a motor-powered window reached his ears. To be followed shortly by a smooth voice which made the hairs on his neck rise. Turning in alarm, he found Sherlock's older brother regarding him from inside one of his chauffeured cars.

They had only met once or twice, many years before. The first time had been intended to intimidate him. But Mike had been in drama in school. He recognized theatrics when he saw them. After all, the man had been looking out for his drug-addicted brother. Mike understood family loyalty and the protective instincts of an elder brother.

"Mr Holmes," he said warily, stopping in his tracks but not moving closer. He wasn't particularly fond of the man, and he had no desire to be late to work.

The man regarded him coolly, eyes hooded. He should have looked inscrutable, intimidating. Instead he looked...weary. They regarded one another silently for a long moment and Mike's mind moved at lightening speed. Just as it became clear that Mycroft Holmes might never speak, Mike raised his chin. "He won't be back, you know."

A quick flicker of surprise, smoothed away, leaving a Mycroft Holmes who looked faintly impressed. His mouth moved wryly, and he finally spoke. "Be...good to him. He deserves so much more than he's ever gotten."

"I don't need your advice," Mike said evenly, hands fisting at his sides.

"No," Holmes finally said, almost regretful, "I see that you don't." the window purred up and he was gone, car pulling into traffic and carrying him away.

Breathing deep, Mike struggled to bring back his previous feeling of invincibility. As if on cue his mobile pinged. Grateful for the distraction, Mike pulled it out of his bag, glancing at the screen. A warm smile bloomed, and he gazed fondly at his phone.

Miss you already, sunshine. Have a great day... I'll see you in a few hours. <3

- - - - - - - - - -

Less than a mile away, a sleek, midnight black Jaguar glided through traffic. The man inside held a thoughtful finger over his lips, eyes on his laptop. On the screen was a live CCTV feed, the display crisp enough to show the smile that dimpled the face of the man still standing on the pavement.

Tapping out a message, the man tucked away his phone and strode towards the bulk of the hospital. His steps were light, his face bright, the face of a man in love.

Closing the lid, Mycroft wearily pressed the button for the intercom. "Paul," he said, courteous as always, "I've changed my mind, take me to the office."

Paul was too well trained to show surprise, but his voice was cautious. "I thought you weren't feeling well, sir."

"One must carry on, Paul," Mycroft said softly. "Sometimes duty is a cruel mistress."

"Sorry sir? I couldn't hear you."

"To work, Paul." Mycroft closed his eyes briefly, massaged the headache he could feel building. He had only himself to blame. Work at least, was always there.

Tagging those I think might be interested: @bryntwedge @redgreyandpurple @lilynevin @paialovespie @egmon73