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fic: Quiet Storm

Title: Quiet Storm
Author: fengirl88
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/Lestrade
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Wordcount: ~1650
Disclaimer: They're still not mine.  Nor are the songs.
Summary: He's always known that Sherlock could talk him into anything. But it was a mistake to think he'd be safer in a situation where Sherlock couldn't talk at all.
A/N: written for the kissbingo prompt square "time: long". This one is for blooms84, who knows where to find me, and who requested Sherlock's silent seduction of Lestrade during a stakeout. Many thanks to kalypso_v for crucial beta suggestions, and to ginbitch for her encouragement; their assistance was invaluable in dealing with a fic that could give John Watson a masterclass in stubbornness.
Not part of the Busted Flush sequence; the next story for that will be along as soon as I can manage to write it...

Quiet Storm

He's always known that Sherlock could talk him into anything. But it was a mistake to think he'd be safer in a situation where Sherlock couldn't talk at all.

A surprisingly warm night for September. The air's heavy: feels like there could be a storm later. Lestrade hopes it holds off till this job is safely over. At which point he'll breathe a big fucking sigh of relief.

Being on a stakeout with Sherlock was never going to be a good idea in the first place. Next chance he gets, Lestrade's going to have words with John Watson about his choice of DVD rentals. He wishes that just once someone would make a film or a TV series that shows how arse-achingly dull most police work really is. If Sherlock and John had watched that instead of The Wire, he wouldn't be squeezed into a narrow doorway with Sherlock right now. Dominic West has a lot to answer for.

Probably wasn't a great idea having Dimmock and Donovan pretend to snog, either. Sherlock's clearly dying to point out that he and Lestrade could have made a much more convincing job of it.

Doesn't say anything, though; he'd sworn he wouldn't make a sound.

“You'd better not,” Lestrade had warned. “Because I will personally break your fucking neck if you do.”

Sherlock seemed unconvinced, but had gone a bit pale when Lestrade also threatened to bar him from crime scenes for a month.

“You wouldn't.”

“Wouldn't I?” Lestrade had said grimly. “Try it and see.”

It's barely half an hour into the stakeout, and Sherlock's already dangerously bored, grinding his teeth and huffing. Breathing heavily down the back of Lestrade's neck –

Correction: kissing the back of his neck. Shit.

Lestrade wants to tell the mad bastard to fuck off, but he daren't say anything in case it draws attention to them. Same goes for treading hard on Sherlock's toes or elbowing him in the stomach. He's trapped, and Sherlock knows it, oh god

Stop panicking, Lestrade, that's not going to help. Act calm, for fuck's sake. He pulls away from the kiss, shaking his head like a horse trying to get rid of flies.

Sherlock goes back to breathing heavily. Seems to have given up for the time being. But Lestrade can feel him sulking. Christ only knows what he'll take it into his head to do next. And if Dimmock and Donovan catch him arsing around like that –

Visions of a career in ruins, disciplinary proceedings, maybe even dismissal, flash before Lestrade's eyes. If Sherlock fucks up this stakeout...

He's not even going to let himself think about that. Just try to stay focused and hope to God they get the signal to move in before Sherlock decides to have another go.

The windows of the pub where their target's currently drinking are wide open, and music's pouring out into the warm evening air. 80s night. Brilliant. Nostalgia's the last thing Lestrade needs right now.

And then it suddenly gets much worse, because someone's put on Sade. Which takes him right back to the summer of '84, just before he moved to London to join the Met. Getting back in shape after he'd been laid up with a broken leg, stupid bloody accident, tripped over a low wall during a chase. Exercise class at the local polytechnic, most of them twice his age. Only other young one was the instructor, Mike. Tall, dark, skinny, with extraordinary pale eyes and sharp cheekbones -

Oh fuck.

He hasn't thought about Mike for years. Didn't even clock the resemblance when he first met Sherlock: too busy noticing Sherlock's drug habit and his eye-watering rudeness and the breathtaking way he'd solved that case.

Lestrade reminds himself of all the things he hated about the 80s. Dungarees. Mrs Thatcher. Criminal hairdos. Miami Vice, the first time around. Prats with early mobile phones the size of house bricks. City boys with red braces waving their wads of cash about. Clause 28.

It's all no good: the music's got him in its grip and he's back in the room doing stretches and dance moves with the older generation, getting sweaty and out of breath and trying not to be distracted by Mike's thighs and buttocks as he demonstrates the next exercise. Sade's voice pouring out of the big stereo cassette player, singing We move in space with minimum waste and maximum joy. Listen to the music, Mike would say, it's telling you what to do. Lestrade never felt he got there but it was fun trying.

Something in his response to the music now must be registering with Sherlock, because Sherlock's hand slides round him, long fingers moving lightly, teasingly to and fro just above Lestrade's waistband.

Lestrade breathes hard and grips Sherlock's wrist, wrenching his hand away.

Sherlock kisses Lestrade's neck again, a string of kisses along the side this time. Presses hopefully against Lestrade from behind.

Just ignore him, Lestrade tells himself, pulling away. He'll get bored and give up again if he doesn't get a response.

Not much chance of that. Sherlock's next move is a lingering kiss at the base of the neck, just above the collarbone, right on that spot that always makes Lestrade's knees want to give way and –

Fuck. The fingers of Sherlock's other hand slide tantalizingly along the curve of Lestrade's cock. Lestrade bites his lip and tries to pull that hand away too, but it's getting difficult to concentrate, especially with Sherlock squirming behind him. He tries not to think about the part of Sherlock that's currently pushing insistently against his arse, because that's really not helping.

He must be losing his grip, because Sherlock pulls both hands free and starts groping him again. One hand undoes the top buttons of Lestrade's shirt and pushes inside to pinch a nipple, the other strokes and squeezes Lestrade's now rather uncomfortable erection as Sherlock kisses him behind the ear.

Obviously a myth that men can't multitask, Lestrade thinks dizzily.

His knees are starting to buckle as another Sade song comes drifting out into the warm evening air: There's a quiet storm, and it never felt this hot before, giving me something that's taboo. Oh great. Whoever's providing the soundtrack to DI Lestrade's life this evening has a warped fucking sense of humour, that's for sure.

He turns round to glare at Sherlock, which is a mistake, because Sherlock grabs him by the shoulders and kisses him. It's clumsy at first, jarring lips and teeth against each other, and then Sherlock's tongue is pressing between his lips, and Lestrade's opening to him, can't stop himself. Sherlock pulls him closer and it feels like time has stopped and everything stands still, everything except Sherlock's mouth against his, Sherlock's tongue pushing and circling and licking and teasing, Sherlock's lips pulling and sucking at his lower lip, sucking his tongue greedily; the hard and soft, fast and slow pressures that build till he moans into Sherlock's mouth, a tiny sound, but he can feel Sherlock smirking at it, the bastard.

Which is, of course, the moment when it all kicks off with the stakeout. No thanks to Sherlock and Lestrade that the whole thing isn't a complete fuck-up. Lestrade's going to owe Donovan in particular a very big drink when this is over. But the luck is with them tonight. Which is more than can be said for the man they're after, who is flushed out of the pub looking distinctly unhappy in his Andrew Ridgeley-wannabe white suit.

Sherlock looks at the rolled-up jacket sleeves and string tie, the loafers worn with no socks; he tuts, pained. Lestrade reminds himself that Sherlock was still at primary school for much of the 80s, and if ever there was a thought guaranteed to reduce a stubborn erection it's that one.

Dimmock and Donovan take the Wham!-loving criminal away, and Lestrade glares at Sherlock.

“What?” Sherlock says indignantly. “I didn't make a sound.”

“You bastard,” Lestrade says. “I ought to break your fucking neck. Are you trying to get me thrown off the Force?”

Sherlock looks faintly abashed.

“You're barred,” Lestrade says. “I mean it, Sherlock.”

For a moment it looks like Sherlock's going to argue the toss. Then he brightens up, which is seriously unnerving.

“If we're not going to be working together for a month, we can have lots of sex and it won't get in the way,” he says.

Lestrade wonders if he's looking as gobsmacked as he feels. Probably.

“And then you can tell me all about the cases and I can solve them for you,” Sherlock says, beaming.

“Sherlock, I am not going to discuss cases with you in bed,” Lestrade says.

Sherlock gives him a look that says That's what you think.

“Let's go back to your flat,” he says. “That storm's about to break.”

Oh god. Can't remember the last time he had a fuck in a thunderstorm, and the idea of having one with Sherlock

“Come on then,” he says unsteadily. “Thank God the neighbours are away.”

I can be quiet,” Sherlock says, rather boastfully. “The question is, can you?”

“Oh yeah?” Lestrade says. “We'll see about that.”

At which point there's a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder. The storm's right overhead. No way they're going to make it back to Lestrade's.

Seems like thunderstorms have the same effect on Sherlock as they do on him, though, because he drags Lestrade back into the doorway and snogs the living daylights out of him. This time Lestrade doesn't try to resist. Not even when Sherlock unzips him and embarks on something Lestrade's pretty sure is pictured in the dictionary under “knee-trembler”. By the time Lestrade's finished with him, Sherlock can hardly stand up either.

It's not a quiet storm, by any stretch of the imagination. It's louder than both of them. But only just.


The Sade songs implicated in this fic are here and here.


( 57 comments — Leave a comment )
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(Deleted comment)
Jan. 22nd, 2011 01:00 pm (UTC)
thank you very much! *does happy dance*
(Deleted comment)
(no subject) - fengirl88 - Jan. 22nd, 2011 01:05 pm (UTC) - Expand
Jan. 22nd, 2011 01:52 pm (UTC)
WIN, of course, I want to hear Sade now, cos I know what it will make me think of. ;D
Jan. 22nd, 2011 03:52 pm (UTC)
thank you very much! I've added links for the songs now...
Jan. 22nd, 2011 02:05 pm (UTC)
Oh, 80s pop music references makes me love this fic.

And (on a more deeper than commending artist choices) I like how Sherlock seems incapable of separating work and play and that sex is the answer to boredom, no matter where they are. You write Sherlock and Lestrade so that they have believable chemistry. Well done :)
Jan. 22nd, 2011 03:55 pm (UTC)
thank you - very glad you enjoyed it, and them! also very glad you found the chemistry believable - I can believe that Sherlock would try it on no matter where they are, but I feel Lestrade would (rightly) have stern things to say about the idea that he could really be seduced in that situation...
Jan. 22nd, 2011 02:29 pm (UTC)
Well, hello, completely appropriate and very effective use of 80s music.
"Knee-trembler," indeed.

*digs out Sade CDs*

Jan. 22nd, 2011 03:56 pm (UTC)

thank you very much! glad you liked it. enjoy your Sade CDs. I only have vinyl (that's how far back I go) so had to refresh my memory via YouTube...
Jan. 22nd, 2011 02:44 pm (UTC)
Naughty Sherlock! No need for words to demonstrate his point.
Fun and hot and so full of 80s references...
Of course, I was just a baby then, but it feels real. :)
Jan. 22nd, 2011 03:57 pm (UTC)
you young people, I don't know...

*hugs you*

very glad you enjoyed it! thank you.
(no subject) - turante - Jan. 22nd, 2011 03:59 pm (UTC) - Expand
Jan. 22nd, 2011 02:46 pm (UTC)
Five bucks says Lestrade had a Flock of Seagulls haircut at least at some point in the 80s.

Oh great. Whoever's providing the soundtrack to DI Lestrade's life this evening has a warped fucking sense of humour, that's for sure.

Yeah, and it was absolutely hilarious. I was humming that Sade song the entire rest of the fic and it just put it up on a completely different level. Genius.
Jan. 22nd, 2011 04:03 pm (UTC)
now that's a thought to give you sleepless nights! I think it would have had to be before he joined the Met...

thank you very much - very glad you enjoyed the soundtrack and the fic!
Jan. 22nd, 2011 04:26 pm (UTC)
Love the thunderstorm at the end.
--but don't diss The Wire for glamorizing stakeouts! All that bitching and whining about duty on the roof, of sitting and monitoring the wires, seemed to convey the drudgery of policing very well. I've thought since Sherlock first aired (with the "you deductive motherfucker, you" scene well in mind) that The Wire was a complete opposite to the fantasy detective world Sherlock inhabits.
Jan. 22nd, 2011 04:40 pm (UTC)
thank you - very glad you enjoyed the thunderstorm.

and you're right, of course, it's not fair to The Wire at all...

(*points ruefully at icon*)
(Deleted comment)
Jan. 22nd, 2011 05:14 pm (UTC)
I said you'd like it!
(no subject) - fengirl88 - Jan. 22nd, 2011 05:53 pm (UTC) - Expand
(Deleted comment)
(no subject) - kalypso_v - Jan. 22nd, 2011 06:49 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - fengirl88 - Jan. 22nd, 2011 07:49 pm (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - fengirl88 - Jan. 22nd, 2011 05:51 pm (UTC) - Expand
Jan. 22nd, 2011 09:13 pm (UTC)
thank you for providing me with the awesomeness that is Sherlock/Lestrade fic on my birthday :D

very sexy indeed, loved it!
Jan. 22nd, 2011 09:20 pm (UTC)
happy birthday! I'm very glad this fic was so well timed and that you enjoyed it so much. *grins*
(no subject) - lizachief - Jan. 22nd, 2011 09:22 pm (UTC) - Expand
(Deleted comment)
Jan. 22nd, 2011 10:21 pm (UTC)
thank you very much! *beams*

your comment makes me happy - and so do the hugs!
(Deleted comment)
Jan. 22nd, 2011 10:25 pm (UTC)
thank you very much! *beams*

very pleased you liked it (despite the 80s nightmare...).

yes, thunderstorm!sex is definitely a good thing - and thanks to kalypso_v, they don't have to wait till they get back to Lestrade's flat for it!

Jan. 23rd, 2011 02:05 pm (UTC)

Yeah...not often kisses can send me running for my bunk but...

*unfs the unf of the dizzy fangirl*
Jan. 23rd, 2011 03:22 pm (UTC)
thank you very much - always delighted to get an unf from you!
Jan. 23rd, 2011 06:39 pm (UTC)
Wet!Lestrade and Wet!Sherlock doing filthy creative things to each other. GUH. Wham! loving criminal *giggles madly* For some reason I had an image of Ashes to Ashes!Gene when reading this.
Jan. 23rd, 2011 06:41 pm (UTC)
thank you very much! well, an image of Ashes to Ashes!Gene is always welcome... *grins*

glad you enjoyed it.
Jan. 23rd, 2011 07:31 pm (UTC)
Once again another great fic from you. I really love your Lestrade's voice in this, he's so funny but without being too obvious about it. And I too loved the 'Wham loving criminal' bit. And of course all the worderfully hot and furtive seducing in the darkness, no wonder they couldn't wait to get back to the flat - my knees were starting to tremble just from reading this stuff!! Thanks again for this.
Jan. 23rd, 2011 08:11 pm (UTC)
thank you very much - that's a very nice comment! glad you enjoyed it so much. *grins*
Jan. 23rd, 2011 09:40 pm (UTC)
LOL! Somehow, I can picture Sherlock getting bored during a police stakeout and taking his, uh, frustrations out on Lestrade. *g* And there's something rather hilarious about Lestrade's eighties flashback, especially as it's set off by Sade. And even when Lestrade tells Sherlock off afterwards, Sherlock is totally unrepentant and points out being barred from investigations means they'll have more time for sex and Lestrade can simply tell him about the cases in bed. *g*

BTW, the image of Sherlock and Lestrade having sex in a thunderstorm is seriously HOT.
Jan. 23rd, 2011 09:45 pm (UTC)
thank you very much! *grins*

yes, I don't think Sherlock is ever abashed for long - not this version of Sherlock, at any rate...

there was always going to be thunderstorm!sex, but thanks to kalypso_v's suggestion, they don't have to wait to get back to the flat for it.
(no subject) - kalypso_v - Jan. 23rd, 2011 10:13 pm (UTC) - Expand
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( 57 comments — Leave a comment )


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