gothikmaus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gothikmaus) wrote2018-08-14 04:40 pm
gothikmaus) wrote2018-08-14 04:40 pm
Entry tags:
Mycroft/Lestrade 221B drabble: Summer on a solitary beach
Here's the ficlet I mentioned the other day. I really didn't think I would post it so soon but, hey, I'm not complaining.
Title: Summer on a solitary beach
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Pairing: Mycroft/Lestrade
Rating: PG
Summary: Barely three days into their holiday and he had already developed a nice tan, whereas all Mycroft got was a smattering of freckles over his shoulders. It was unfair, really.
A/N: Title from a Franco Battiato's song
Also posted on AO3.
"Budge up."
Mycroft looked up from his book to find Greg standing next to his sun lounger, grinning and wet from his swim. Barely three days into their holiday and he had already developed a nice tan, whereas all Mycroft got was a smattering of freckles over his shoulders. It was unfair, really.
"You have your own lounger, and I'm sure it's just as comfortable as mine."
"I know."
Greg's grin was unrepentant.
Mycroft sighed, but closed his book and made room for him. Greg sat down and leaned in for a kiss.
"Greg!" Mycroft gasped, going instantly rigid.
"Relax, love," Greg reassured him. "There's not a single soul in sight. What's the use of renting a secluded villa complete with private beach if I can't even kiss my boyfriend whenever I want?"
Mycroft was about to reproach him – again – for using such a juvenile term, but Greg shut him up with another kiss.
"Yeah, I know. But we're on holiday, allow me to be silly."
Mycroft didn't feel like arguing for once.
"Go take a shower. Seawater will ruin your skin."
"Join me?" Greg asked as he got up, reaching out a hand.
'Why not?' Mycroft thought as he took Greg's hand and got to his feet. 'We're on holiday.' He might even overcome his long-lasting distaste for the beach.
Title: Summer on a solitary beach
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Pairing: Mycroft/Lestrade
Rating: PG
Summary: Barely three days into their holiday and he had already developed a nice tan, whereas all Mycroft got was a smattering of freckles over his shoulders. It was unfair, really.
A/N: Title from a Franco Battiato's song
Also posted on AO3.
"Budge up."
Mycroft looked up from his book to find Greg standing next to his sun lounger, grinning and wet from his swim. Barely three days into their holiday and he had already developed a nice tan, whereas all Mycroft got was a smattering of freckles over his shoulders. It was unfair, really.
"You have your own lounger, and I'm sure it's just as comfortable as mine."
"I know."
Greg's grin was unrepentant.
Mycroft sighed, but closed his book and made room for him. Greg sat down and leaned in for a kiss.
"Greg!" Mycroft gasped, going instantly rigid.
"Relax, love," Greg reassured him. "There's not a single soul in sight. What's the use of renting a secluded villa complete with private beach if I can't even kiss my boyfriend whenever I want?"
Mycroft was about to reproach him – again – for using such a juvenile term, but Greg shut him up with another kiss.
"Yeah, I know. But we're on holiday, allow me to be silly."
Mycroft didn't feel like arguing for once.
"Go take a shower. Seawater will ruin your skin."
"Join me?" Greg asked as he got up, reaching out a hand.
'Why not?' Mycroft thought as he took Greg's hand and got to his feet. 'We're on holiday.' He might even overcome his long-lasting distaste for the beach.