In And In Between

Title: In And In Between
Characters/Pairing(s): Lestrade/John, past Sherlock/Lestrade
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 3131
Disclaimer: ‘Sherlock’ belongs to BBC et al. I make no profit from doing this.
A/N: Written for rusty_armour, the winning bidder to my offer at the help_pakistan auction on LiveJournal. Thank you for your donation.
I would also like to thank, with all my heart, the people who encouraged and helped me whip this beast into something presentable; ainsoph15, mamazano, abbyleaf101, cozibizzle, dragonmad and filthgoblin.

In And In Between


After Sarah had left the pub, bidding John good night with a quick peck on his cheek and not even the slightest insinuation that John would find a bunk at her flat for the night, John had been sitting at their table, staring into his pint for at least a half an hour. It couldn't be said that the connection between himself and Sarah had cooled all that much. The unfortunate truth John had come face to face was that there hadn't been much fire to begin with. Something that could hardly be blamed on anyone.

But the end was nigh, and it was up to John to finish it off. It was a man's duty, to put the beast out of its misery when the woman continued to feebly resuscitate something that hadn't been alive in the first place. Stubbornly, bravely holding onto the dregs of a romance that never was.

Unattached. It suited him well.

Especially when Sarah insisted on prattling on about going shopping, luring John to tag along, while John's mind traveled in wholly other spheres. Frankly, if John was honest with himself, contemplating the prospect of a nice little murder happening had become a much more fetching thought than even breakfast in bed (sofa, actually), to such an extent that he'd stopped listening when Sarah had started to enthuse about her new pair of shoes. A detail John had managed to miss entirely, in favour of using Sherlock's methods of observing everything else around him.

John wasn't too particular about the answers pouring from the bottom of the pint, but he suspected there should've been remorse or the stirring of any other sullen emotion.

But the thought of, more often than not, missing a date to follow Sherlock caused John remarkably little heartbreak. Instead of feelings, there were those previously established facts in their place. In a fleeting moment, John understood Sherlock precisely.


"Fancy meeting you here," a familiar voice called from behind John with a pat on his back, rousing him from his ponderings.

'Inspector Lestrade," John smiled brightly at the man, grateful for the distraction.

"What brings you here?" Lestrade ventured, a pint in his hand, taking a seat across John, when John invited him with a wave of his hand.

"Had a date, if it could be called that…"

"I've been stood up a few times myself in my time," Lestrade took a sip from his drink. "Not the end of the world, mate. Trust me."

"Actually," John grinned at Lestrade, growing comfortable with his amiable tone, both the men so obviously having arrived here to forget their daily duties. "Those were my thoughts precisely."

"The first time I was stood up by Sherlock," Lestrade said, continuing the conversation, and smirking, raised his beer as if in a toast. "I knew that was the end of that."

Confused, John eyed Lestrade warily, convinced that there was some sort of misunderstanding.

"Sherlock?" He tried hard to hide the thickness of his voice, to disperse the questions suddenly herding in his head.

"He hasn't told you?" Lestrade seemed genuinely surprised. "Usually he has no shame in these matters."

"Sorry? Told me about what?"

"About five years ago, when I first met him. Lust at first sight."

"But…you, so, you're…" John's voice trailed off as Lestrade's eyes fixed pointedly at him.

"Gay. Yes. Have been all my life," he took a casual sip of his beer, licking his lips before continuing. "I swear, two fingers no matter where, the day I was born, I looked back and decided it was the last time I'd care to return to one of those."

John couldn't restrain his giggles, shifting in his chair into a more comfortable posture and nursing his pint and nodding for Lestrade to continue.

"Not the easiest man to play games with. The madman always wins in the end…What's it like living with him these days?" Lestrade asked.

"Well…I'm never bored. He makes life-- worth living…"

"I remember that. Not that I'm pining after him, he added hastily. Those days are long past, but God knows I need him."

"I know what you mean," John said quietly, astonished deep within of how much he really meant it.

"But the sex with him was bind blowing. If someone can suck cock so it makes your toes curl, that'd be Sherlock Holmes."

John began to suspect Lestrade had already been to the depths of a bottle before arriving to the pub but the man's eyes were clear as ever, not blurred by drunkenness or shame.

Senses suddenly heightened, alert, John noticed his left hand trembling. He deposited his long forgotten drink on the table and grabbed the damned hand with his right to steady it, rubbing his fingers like a man who doesn't know where to put them. It would've been an understatement to say that John's interest was piqued.

"I thought you said I know him better than you do?" John asked.

"You do. We never really got past the physical stage, and by the time it could've been more, we were already both married to our work. You know how it goes. I never got to see the other side of him. To me, he remained an enigma that I've long since stopped trying to unravel." He took a long draw from his beer, his calculating eyes peering at John over the rim. "I hope you'll have better luck with that."

"But I'm not his--"

"I know," drawling the words, Lestrade smiled smugly. "But with Sherlock involved things tend to change. People find new perspectives," Lestrade waved away the rest of the sentence.

The men drank in silence, until John broke it in an attempt at nonchalance, the shift in the atmosphere tingling in the back of his neck and a familiar warmth coiling in the pit of his stomach...

"I- I really don't know much about affairs between men," blatant curiosity underlined clearly beneath the otherwise coy words.

The shock on Lestrade's face was almost comical. "But you're a doctor! John, surely you know men inside and out…"

"Keep you voice down, there's people here!" John shushed Lestrade, his grin betraying the lack of any real annoyance. It was peculiar how spectacularly easy it was to discuss such matters with Lestrade.

Lestrade narrowed his eyes over his drink and observed John for a good long while. "You mean to say that in between poking your patients' prostates, it has never occurred to you to try it on yourself?"

The reality of the situation seemed to thin and spread. This wasn't Dr. John Watson and DI Lestrade sharing a drink. These were two men with a mutual acquaintance, and the ease with which the conversation had started to take a wicked curve seemed only natural to John. Maybe it was the beer...

Or maybe it was the curiosity which had been eating John alive ever since he'd denied being Sherlock's date.

Never one to falter before a challenge, John drained his drink with determination. "Yes, the thought has crossed my mind. Once or twice. Never tried though, not alone, not with anyone else."

Lestrade leaned his elbows to the table. "So, 'interested', would be the term we could be using?" He drew to John, glancing to his right before holding John's gaze sternly, a hint of a smile adorning the corners of his mouth. "Now, Doctor Watson, the truth."

"Are you sure Sherlock hasn't been rubbing off on you?" John smirked.

"Oh, he has. He has indeed, in ways that would make a whore blush."

"Sorry, I meant--" John could feel the blush begin to creep along his chest and higher up to his throat, as uncalled for thoughts of those two men sweating and toiling on twisted sheets occupied his already heated mind.

"I know what you meant, and you know what I mean." Lestrade held John's gaze, leaning forward, waiting for the answer which hung in the air heavily, unmistakably adding tension John had never felt before.

"Yes," John worked out of his suddenly thickened throat. "I think I do."

"I take it your place is out of the question," Lestrade winked. "Shame really, for old time's sake."

"Yours, then?" Briefly wondering why he wasn't all that flustered, when by all rights he should be picking up his tab and heading towards the opposite direction… But this new, exhilarating side of Lestrade was too intriguing, too compelling for a mind open for new experiences to resist. Another thing he'd learned from Sherlock, for certain.

Lestrade stood, taking a step to help John from his seat and easing John's coat on him like a true gentleman.

His heart fluttering with newfound excitement, John smirked at Lestrade. "Shouldn't you at least buy me a dinner first?"

"I'll pick up the tab, how's that?" Lestrade smiled back, his eyes focused keenly on John's to highlight the fact the words spoken meant something entirely different.

Leaving their drinks behind the duo left the bar, collars raised against the autumn wind as they strolled along. John's mind was in disarrayed disbelief that he was actually doing this, but when Lestrade flung a casual arm around John's shoulders, all his concerns vanished.

The words Lestrade whispered into the chilling breeze, meant for John's ears only, spread thrilling sensations down his spine and straight to his cock. "I must warn you though, Doctor Watson. There might come a time when I won't take a 'no' for an answer." The tension between the two men found a new height when John wrapped his arm around Lestrade's waist. "We'll see about that when we get there."

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Lestrade's flat was dim when they arrived, Lestrade leading John straight into the bedroom and closing the door behind him to prevent the resident cat from appearing at a most inappropriate moment.

Unbuttoning his shirt, Lestrade strode familiarly to the night lamp, flicking it on. The light added a warm colour to the room, as well as shadowed on contours to the men's faces.

Throwing his shirt carelessly on the floor, Lestrade stepped back to John who stood at the door with his eyes transfixed to Lestrade's chest. His pulse picked up when Lestrade was close enough to reach John, Lestrade's cologne mixed with his manly scent creating a heady tonic John could not help but desire.

Lestrade's hands delved under John's jumper, palming his sides and smoothing slowly along John's skin. He raised the shirt over John's head, who complied with eagerness enough to surprise even himself.

The rest of their clothes slid off in silence, excepting the swearing and the following giggle when the buttons of John's jeans posed a struggle.

"I'd like to kiss you, John." The whole demeanour of the naked man spoke of tenderness, and John knew, at that moment, it was all fine.

John's hands were steady. "Then do it."

The way Lestrade's day-old stubble scratched John's chin only enhanced the delicacy of his tongue sliding into his mouth, John lost himself in the kiss, tongues tasting, sampling and familiarising with each other. Lestrade took John's hand and wrapped it around his waist, scooting closer, careful not to push on too fast and anxious of John's reaction to their cocks touching. Their chests pressed together as their kiss deepened into a luxurious mixture of the mingling, tantalizing sensations.

With a long, heated sigh, Lestrade broke the kiss and opened his eyes to see John's eyes closed, his lips swollen and wet, mouth open as if refusing to believe Lestrade was gone.

"That was…" John smiled blissfully, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging in the air, when Lestrade took his hand and guided him to the bed, laying next to John with his hand on John's hip.

Wordlessly, as if one whole, the men indulged in another sample from each other's mouths, hands moving along hot skin, growing fervent from the other's presence.

Panting, John met Lestrade's eyes, both their mouths curved into wicked grins.

It felt so right.

Reaching for the bedside table, Lestrade drew out a bottle of lube while John watched his each movement with growing need. Certainly, he'd seen naked men before, but never like this. Never with their cocks hard, their intentions gleaming in their eyes so vividly John could feel them.

Kissing John deeply, Lestrade tenderly persuaded John to turn on his stomach, languidly releasing John's lips to swallow hard.

"I must confess," he murmured, the sound and the huskiness of his voice making John's breath hitch and his cock twitch, "I've dreamt of this," Lestrade continued. "Never for a moment believing it would come true."

"Of me?" John stretched his back to feel Lestrade's touch harder.

Delicately, reassuringly, Lestrade brushed his thumb over the wisps of hair on John's back, a faint, languorous trail leading Lestrade's path down to the cleft of John's arse. His dry fingers moved roughly, testing him and sinking between John's buttocks to press the tip of one finger against John's arsehole.

"Of you. Of this."

John gasped and swallowed, taking a deep breath as Lestrade spread his legs wider.

Turning his head to meet Lestrade's eyes. "Get on with it already," John said, his mind blurred, yet, miraculously cleared by the velvet-soft, crimson lust and the luscious anticipation. John decided, for good, that this was what he wanted.

It was no longer an experiment. It had taken an unexpected turn toward reality, curved into certainty, and swayed into the realm of need.

Chuckling, caressing John's buttock with one hand, Lestrade manoeuvred the bottle open, slicking his fingers, letting the liquid reach body temperature before spreading John for a better view.

John was so tight around Lestrade's finger, he couldn't help but to imagine what it would be like to bury himself into that arse to the hilt, to fuck him slowly, to lick a trail up John's spine while his cock was trapped in that hot beautitude. Lestrade, beside himself, bent to lavish his tongue over John's back, mouth against John's skin as he added a second finger.

"Tell me how it feels," Lestrade urged with an evening dusk in his voice, deepened by his hand stroking his own cock slowly, cherishing the moment he'd spent nights fantasizing about.

"It's, ah, God…" Falling into incoherence, John let out a low moan and pushed back, fucking himself on Lestrade's fingers and swaying his hips so that each thrust met the spot that made his eyes close against the unbearable pleasure. "It's so fucking good, I'd never… Ahh, more."

Knowing that John wasn't ready for a third finger to stretch him, not without discomfort, Lestrade sped up his hand on his cock an bent over to swipe his tongue along his fingers.

Following the path, licking, flicking his tongue over John's stretched hole, Lestrade finally added the soft, slick, the so much needed pressure to the existing one.

The feeling of Lestrade's tongue inside him made John keen and mewl, his arsehole clenching around Lestrade's tongue in rhythm with the thrusts. When Lestrade groaned, lips around John's receptive flesh, John stopped breathing.

Hiding his face into a pillow, John let out a keening wail, staying completely still while his aching cock jerked violently, leaking with each additional sigh and moan Lestrade bestowed on his receptive skin.

With a long, drawn-out sigh, Lestrade raised his head, sucking John's taste on his lips, twisting his fingers inside John and fondling the cleft of John's arse with his thumb.

"I'm so sorry, John, I can't…" Lestrade's voice trailed off as he reached for the lube, splashing it liberally on his sweetly aching cock, and then coaxed John's thighs together.

He cradled John's hip in his palm, mouth open in admiration of the sight of John offering his arse higher. With regret clawing at his conscience, Lestrade pushed aside the yearning to fuck John, right there, right then…

"I can't just watch you like this. I, I won't--" Whatever more Lestrade was going to utter, it was lost in the moan when he pushed his rigid flesh between John's thighs. Each hair on John's body added to the sensation, the friction, the pressure with which John clenched his legs to offer more, understanding completely the pure, brilliant demand for touch.

Lestrade's fingers sliding, curving, pushing, caressing John's most delicate, most secreted places, caused John to slouch onto one elbow, his right hand frantically gripping his cock with the tormenting thought that he would not come only from Lestrade's touch. Another deep, intimate, unbearably gratifying fingering, and John reached behind his bollocks, meeting the tip of Lestrade's cock thrusting between his thighs.

Wordlessly urging, inviting with only his fingertips, John spread his legs a fraction, trembling under Lestrade's hands and guided Lestrade's cock to brush over his bollocks with each thrust.

Mind clouded, heedless of the surrounding world except for the frantic need, it all narrowed down to John's bollocks drawing up, the blissful rhythm he fucked himself onto Lestrade's fingers spreading, coiling, tightening, maddening the doctor into chanting with incoherence; 'So close, more, please…so close, I can't…I can't hold back!"

"Then come for me." The thick, throaty voice trembling through John's insides was the last thing he heard before the roar of blood in his ears deafened him, the last push of Lestrade's fingers blinded him, and Doctor John Watson came with a long, unbidden moan, his cock twitching his release as the almost unbearable spasms made his whole body tense.

Fucking himself between John's trembling thighs, Lestrade languidly slid his fingers in and out of John as if to calm him down, prolonging John's pleasure, until the sight and the sensations got the better of him. Before John could do more than bury his head into a pillow with a long, satisfied whimper, Lestrade ejaculated, the mere sounds of John's lingering pleasure tipping him over the edge, his semen forming an abstract pattern on the sheets mixing with John's.

Arms and legs shaking, Lestrade extracted himself from John, and smiled fondly, knowing the feeling exactly when John mewled at the loss of the fingers.

Careless of the wet spot beneath him, John straightened himself on the bed, lifting his head up to see Lestrade, who looked back with a simple, innocent question written all over his face.

"Yes," was the simple answer to the simple, unuttered question. "It was definitely worth the wait."

They lay contentedly side by side, leveling their breaths, when John began to laugh quietly.

"What?" Lestrade asked with a boyish grin, turning to wrap an arm around John's waist, delighted when John returned the gesture.

Giving a quick kiss onto Lestrade's lips, John finally managed through his amusement; "Nothing, nothing. It's just that--" John buried his snirtle into Lestrade's shoulder. "It's just that I really don't even know your name."

Fini
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