thefamewolf started following you
temporarylestrade started following you
Hello hello!~
Hullo. Detective Inspector Lestrade, though that’s just for now. I’ll be back to Jim Moriarty by the morning. And you are…?
Ooh, Detective Inspector? Sounds fancy.~ Name’s Hero. It’s a pleasure, Detective Inspector. [He winks and grins]
*raises eyebrow* Pleasure to meet you… Hero, was it? And believe me, the job isn’t “fancy”.
Hello hello!~
Hullo. Detective Inspector Lestrade, though that’s just for now. I’ll be back to Jim Moriarty by the morning. And you are…?
Greg nodded, resting his chin on Mycroft’s shoulder. “I know, luv. I forgive you.” He vaguely wondered if he would have put up with this six months ago, a year ago, when the wounds of his divorce were still fresh. Luckily that didn’t much matter. He and Mycroft were…
With a shrug Greg glanced around for a clock. It was barely seven o’clock.
“‘S about seven-ish, give or take,” he replied, sighing. It was far, far too early for how emotionally exhausted he was. “D’you wanna just watch a film and get to bed?” He smiled happily into Mycroft’s shoulder, chuckling lightly. “You still owe me a night of Hot Fuzz and Shaun of the Dead after that surprise business meeting with the president.”
Mycroft laughed once, twining his arms around the other man and allowing himself a smile for the first time since he had come home. He should have known he would never get away with avoiding those films forever. And really, he did owe it to Greg. That and so much more.
“Alright, then,” he conceded with a somewhat watery smile. “So long as you don’t expect me to love them.”
Greg pulled back with a grin, giving his lover a quick poke to the chest. “It is Simon Pegg and Nick bloody Frost. I am 100 percent positive you’re going to at least like them.”
He stood up slowly, ignoring how his muscles protested. “I’ll pop in Hot Fuzz and you grab those fat-free, blah blah blah pretzel things you bought. They aren’t actually half bad.” He gave the younger man another quick kiss and went off to figure out where he’d set the DVD.
An hour or two later, the two of them sat curled together on the couch, Mycroft paying more attention to watching Lestrade’s reactions than the actual movie. The tension from earlier had largely dissipated, and only a trace of it still hung between them as the movie’s events played out. Some of the humor was rather lost on Mycroft, though he wasn’t entirely unhappy with the circumstances. After all, Lestrade had forgiven him, and that was more than he could have asked for. He could put up with a few hours of childish jokes.
Greg snickered quietly at the movie, curling in more to his lover. He knew he was more enduring the film, probably only putting up with it as some sort of further apology. He couldn’t help but feel guilty about that somehow, even if it wasn’t his fault that Mycroft had… done what he’d done.
Still, he tried to push that away for a bit and enjoy himself. Enjoy a quiet time with his partner and a good movie.
“This film,” he noted, putting on a layer of sarcasm. “Is extremely heterosexual.”
((OOC: Have you seen Hot Fuzz? If you have you know what I’m talking about. Even the cast viewed it as one giant slash fic without actually showing the slash - even wrote ficlets. XD))
Greg nodded, resting his chin on Mycroft’s shoulder. “I know, luv. I forgive you.” He vaguely wondered if he would have put up with this six months ago, a year ago, when the wounds of his divorce were still fresh. Luckily that didn’t much matter. He and Mycroft were…
With a shrug Greg glanced around for a clock. It was barely seven o’clock.
“‘S about seven-ish, give or take,” he replied, sighing. It was far, far too early for how emotionally exhausted he was. “D’you wanna just watch a film and get to bed?” He smiled happily into Mycroft’s shoulder, chuckling lightly. “You still owe me a night of Hot Fuzz and Shaun of the Dead after that surprise business meeting with the president.”
Mycroft laughed once, twining his arms around the other man and allowing himself a smile for the first time since he had come home. He should have known he would never get away with avoiding those films forever. And really, he did owe it to Greg. That and so much more.
“Alright, then,” he conceded with a somewhat watery smile. “So long as you don’t expect me to love them.”
Greg pulled back with a grin, giving his lover a quick poke to the chest. “It is Simon Pegg and Nick bloody Frost. I am 100 percent positive you’re going to at least like them.”
He stood up slowly, ignoring how his muscles protested. “I’ll pop in Hot Fuzz and you grab those fat-free, blah blah blah pretzel things you bought. They aren’t actually half bad.” He gave the younger man another quick kiss and went off to figure out where he’d set the DVD.
Greg nodded, resting his chin on Mycroft’s shoulder. “I know, luv. I forgive you.” He vaguely wondered if he would have put up with this six months ago, a year ago, when the wounds of his divorce were still fresh. Luckily that didn’t much matter. He and Mycroft were…
With a shrug Greg glanced around for a clock. It was barely seven o’clock.
“‘S about seven-ish, give or take,” he replied, sighing. It was far, far too early for how emotionally exhausted he was. “D’you wanna just watch a film and get to bed?” He smiled happily into Mycroft’s shoulder, chuckling lightly. “You still owe me a night of Hot Fuzz and Shaun of the Dead after that surprise business meeting with the president.”
Greg nodded, resting his chin on Mycroft’s shoulder. “I know, luv. I forgive you.” He vaguely wondered if he would have put up with this six months ago, a year ago, when the wounds of his divorce were still fresh. Luckily that didn’t much matter. He and Mycroft were getting through this and that was all that mattered.
“What now?” He mumbled into the material of Mycroft’s suit, taking in the scent of cologne with hints of chocolate.
(Stupid having to continue here because I’m out of asks…)
*Jim’s eyes widen slightly* Oh God… Th-that’s you title, r-r-right? I mean, you-you have a PhD in s-something… right?
Ah..Sort of. /He scratches his head, Biting the inside of his lip/
Oh my… *Jim gulps, taking a half-step back* You… you aren’t r-real!
(Stupid having to continue here because I’m out of asks…)
*Jim’s eyes widen slightly* Oh God… Th-that’s you title, r-r-right? I mean, you-you have a PhD in s-something… right?
But I saw the blue man group.
It was funny as fuck.
And David still has orgasms for a hour.
(OOC: I’m out of asks and I can’t really re-blog any of our posts… Putting a reply up on here.)
Anonymous
Wh-what? Are these honestly the kind of questions you people a-are interested in me answering?
