![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seren_ccdTitle: Got my Vamp
Fandom: BBC's Sherlock
Ship: Fem! Mycroft Holmes/DI Lestrade
Word Count: 2,544
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Some bad language and sex. Genderswapped Mycroft Holmes.
Disclaimer: They are not mine. The title comes from Lady Gaga's Show me Your Teeth.
A/N: Well, I've done it again. This answers a prompt in which Fem!Mycroft gets herself undone by our good inspector. I’ve mentally cast a slightly taller Julianne Moore as Mycroft. Check out this photoshoot, if you’re curious.
Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fringedweller for the beta and the suggestions!
Do let me know what you think!
The first time Mycroft sees Detective Inspector Lestrade, she doesn’t take much notice. It was only briefly at a function honouring the police force.
After all, the first lesson Mummy drilled into her was that it is truly a man’s world and DI Lestrade was simply another man.
A handsome man, to be sure, but still... Just a man.
The second time she meets him, she had been the one who ‘requested his presence’ due to his relationship with Sherlock.
The inspector listened to Mycroft’s offer and very politely, yet firmly, told Mycroft exactly what she could do with her ‘bribe’ and would she kindly let him return to the Yard, because unlike some, he had a job to do. Mycroft wasn’t insulted. She was relieved that the inspector was a man of principle and believed he would be very beneficial to Sherlock.
She was also struck by an odd feeling whenever the man spoke and when he gave her legs a surreptitious (or so he thought) ogle.
Upon reflection, she was surprised to realise the feeling had been respect mixed with at least an ounce of lust.
But, a ‘situation’ arose in Kyrgistan that needed her immediate attention, so the feeling was suppressed and locked away.
Mycroft and the inspector met a few more times, in both official and unofficial capacities. She was pleased to see that the inspector was both as principled and honest as he had first appeared. In her line of work, it was only a select few that managed to maintain their honour and not succumb to the jadedness that nipped at their heels.
It also didn’t hurt that he was pleasant to talk to and never once fawned on her. He wasn’t afraid to tell her where to get off and if the way she occasionally caught him looking at her legs or her chest sent little tremors of want through her body, well... That was also pleasant.
Mycroft was well aware that she was of a ‘certain age’ and truthfully, she had no time for a ‘relationship’. If she wanted physical stimulation, ‘Andy’, her assistant was very discreet. However, that was often far more trouble than it was worth and Mycroft was a modern woman and was most capable of handling her own orgasm, thank you.
That, however, does not even begin to explain her current state in which the good inspector is kneeling in front of her with his oh, so very warm and wet mouth on the inside of her knee, his hands trailing lines of heat as they trace circles on her calves.
The precursor to her present situation was most likely the conversation they had the week prior. Mycroft had summoned the inspector to her office to discuss a case that had no bearing on Sherlock, but needed the inspector to look the other way while it was resolved by others.
He responded in much the way Mycroft expected.
“It’s my bloody case!” he said harshly, his eyes dark and intense. “Two women are dead and I’m supposed to just look the other way?”
“I give you my word that the person responsible will be taken care of,” Mycroft said calmly, re-crossing her legs. “However, said person has in his possession several pieces of information that are of national importance.”
Lestrade snorted and shook his head. “Bloody spooks. You all think you know what’s best for this world. But, letting a killer go free because of a few dirty secrets is no way to do things.”
Mycroft raised her chin. “Inspector, I can assure you, he will not be going free as you put it. In fact, I’d wager our methods of dealing with him will be far more satisfactory than yours could ever be.”
He studied her and gave a dark chuckle. “What do I tell the women’s families?”
“We’ll take care of that,” Mycroft said.
“No, it’s my case,” Lestrade said. “I’ll take care of it.”
Mycroft inclined her head. “We’ll make sure you have the appropriate story. Thank you, inspector.”
“Don’t bloody thank me, Holmes,” he said. “I’m hardly happy about this.”
“No one is happy about this,” she replied softly, remembering just what had been done to the women before they were killed.
‘Andy’ chose that moment to enter with tea and coffee. Lestrade attempted to reign in his displeasure and took a seat. He nodded his thanks and sipped his coffee. Black, one sugar.
Mycroft could feel his eyes on her as she poured the milk into her tea and stirred. She had just taken a sip when he said, “You look tired, Mycroft.”
It was a credit to her vast years of subterfuge that she didn’t choke on her tea at his comment. Instead, she merely set her teacup down a trifle loudly and said, “I beg your pardon?”
The infernal man smirked and said, “I said ‘you look tired’. Which you’re allowed to do, by the way.
“No, I’m not,” she said before she could stop herself. His eyes narrowed and Mycroft fought the urge to look away.
“You should take it easy, you know,” he said. “Before you do yourself in. Relax. It might do you some good.”
Suddenly, every comment made by some smug man in the past came swirling into her head and Mycroft stiffened.
“If that is your plebeian way of saying that all I need is a ‘good seeing to’-” she started to say.
“I wouldn’t dream of being that presumptuous, Holmes,” he said quickly, sounding defensive and possibly insulted.
Mycroft relaxed and opened her mouth to apologize, when Lestrade’s expression changed. He deliberately gave her a once over with his eyes, even going so far as to duck his head slightly to get a glimpse of her legs under her desk.
Then he said thoughtfully, “Although, now that you mention it...”
She truly didn’t know whether to fillet him with her umbrella or see if he tasted as good as he smelled.
Which brings us back to Mycroft in her current state of being honest-to-goodness ravished by Lestrade.
In all fairness, she started it.
Mycroft found herself thinking about the inspector in odd moments during the week. While discussing a trade agreement, in the middle of a conference call with the CIA, even when berating her brother for once again forgetting to call Mummy.
She finally came to the conclusion that she would be better off taking action, rather than thinking things to death as was her usual wont.
Which explained why when the good inspector arrived home from work, she was sitting in his favorite armchair. Fully clothed, mind you. She wasn’t a complete hedonist.
To his credit, the only thing Lestrade said upon seeing her in his chair, her legs crossed primly at the ankles was, “I hope you brought dinner. I could eat a horse.”
To which she replied, “There is an adequate biryani in your kitchen.”
“Thanks.” Then he disappeared into the kitchen. There was the sound of the refrigerator opening, then a drawer, then two caps being taken off of bottle. He came back out with his dinner, two beers and a fork. He handed one of the beers to Mycroft, who took it with a small smile, and then he tucked into his dinner.
“Would you like some?” he offered.
“I’ve already eaten, thank you,” she said. She caught him smirking as she studied her beer. Meeting his eyes, she raised the bottle to her lips and never once breaking her gaze, proceeded to drink a hefty portion of the bottle’s contents.
Lestrade outright grinned. “Is this you taking my advice and relaxing or is there another reason for your visit?”
“Well, I am always curious to see how Sherlock is coping,” she said. “But, in this case, I honestly wanted to spend some time in your company.”
He nodded and continued to eat. Mycroft let him finish his dinner while she drank the rest of her beer. Lestrade reached for the empty bottle and let his fingers brush against hers. She didn’t bother to hide her shiver and know he noticed. He took his bowl and their empty bottles to the kitchen. Then he came back and took a seat on his sofa, he pulled a roll of mints from his pocket and with a placid expression offered her one.
She shook her head silently in a negative.
They watched each other for several minutes. For Mycroft, simply watching him as his jaw worked the mint was proving to be quite the stimulus. She could feel nerves that hadn’t bothered to fire in the past, suddenly take notice.
Finally, he spoke. “Why me?”
“Why not?” she said.
A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Because I’m hardly your type.”
She allowed a smile. “And what exactly is my type, inspector? One of the people I work with? Not practical. An unknown person that I would exchange money with? Again, not practical and not worth the potential risk.”
“So, what?” he said. “You’d rather a more working-class man with a rubbish pension and habit of dealing with your wayward brother?”
“More like a man that I actually trust and respect,” she said softly. He cocked his head to the side and really looked at her. Mycroft smirked and looked away. “Besides, your pension is hardly what I’d call rubbish.”
Lestrade actually laughed. “Are you quite sure you know what you’re getting into here? I mean, once this gets going, I’m not likely to want to stop. It’ll be far less refined than what you might be used to.”
Mycroft leaned back in his armchair and crossed her legs, relishing the way his eyes followed the movement. “Inspector, in my experience, men are often all talk. I have yet to meet a man who could live up to his own lofty image of himself.”
“Is that a posh way of telling me to put my money where my mouth is?” he asked.
“Yes, inspector,” Mycroft said. “It most definitely is.”
Lestrade studied her a minute longer. Then he stood up and removed his suit jacket.
He walked over to her and knelt in front of her. Not taking his eyes away from hers, he reached up and cleverly undid her bun. Mycroft’s fine, ginger hair fell down around her face. Lestrade sifted his fingers through her long hair. She felt her lips part. His hands came to cradle her face and he pulled her forward. His lips brushed against hers, once, twice and on the third brush, he parted them and his tongue lightly flicked against her lips. Mycroft opened her mouth and let his tongue take possession. The sharp taste of mint tingled in her mouth. Her hands came up to rest on his chest as they kissed. His mouth moved away from hers as he trailed kisses down her neck. Together, they pushed her own suit jacket off and he undid the buttons on her blouse one by one.
Once undone, Lestrade parted the blouse and traced the edge of her bra with his tongue. His hands smoothed down her sides to slip under her skirt. He froze. Pulling back, he met her eyes with brows raised in surprise.
Lestrade looked down and inch by inch, he pushed up her simple black pencil skirt to reveal black suspenders holding up her silk stockings.
He let out a gusty breath and sat back on his haunches, just staring at her. Mycroft watched him and battled the urge to bite her lip in consternation.
After several seconds of him just staring at her, she said, “Is something wrong, inspector?”
“Hmm?” he said absently. “Oh, no. Nothing’s wrong. I’m honestly just wondering if I should undo my trousers and fuck you now or go down on you.”
Mycroft lost the battle with herself and bit her lip. Then she said, “I assure you, inspector, that both options will be met with equal enthusiasm from myself.”
Lestrade finally raised his head and looked her in the eyes. He swiftly leaned forward and took her mouth in a bruising kiss. Pulling back only an inch, he said, “I’m about to make you come using my mouth. It’s Greg, if you don’t mind.”
And now we arrive to the place we started with, where Detective Inspector Lestrade, pardon, Greg, was slowly working his mouth up the length of Mycroft’s leg. He spent a great amount of time licking and nipping at the top of her stockings. Then moving to the inside of her thigh, he proceeded to suck and kiss at the very sensitive skin. His stubble created a delicious burn and Mycroft had to close her eyes and her head fell back to rest against the back of the armchair.
She let out a cry as a finger was dragged down the seam of her knickers. Another cry escaped when the finger was replaced with his tongue.
After several minutes of teasing in which Mycroft’s hands moved from clenching the arms of the chair to being buried in Greg’s deceptively soft hair, he finally held her knickers to the side and licked into her. Mycroft’s hips moved with each stroke of his tongue. At one point she felt she should tell the woman saying all those naughty things in such a breathy voice to do be quiet. It came as something of a shock when she realised it was her.
Her orgasm came as even more of a shock, when Greg’s tongue and fingers found a section inside her that she had no idea existed. Her back arched and her nipples tightened as she cried out when the first wave of her orgasm washed over her. Then it was all Mycroft could do to just hold on and ride out the sparks of intense pleasure that took over her body.
When sense was finally restoring itself to her, Mycroft opened her eyes (she couldn’t quite place when exactly they had closed) to find Greg looking at her with an expression of hunger that immediately made her want to start all over again.
“Would you like to fuck me here or shall we retire to your bedroom?” Mycroft asked in a very unsteady voice.
“Bed, I should think,” he said, his voice equally unsteady. “I can’t vouch for the state of the sheets.”
Mycroft cleared her throat and said, “I took the liberty of putting clean sheets on when I arrived.”
“Did you?” he asked. “Or did one of your minions do it?”
“I can assure you, inspec- Greg, I am most capable of making a bed,” she said.
He grinned and stood up. Taking her hand he pulled her up, where she swayed into his body. “Tell me, are you just as capable of unmaking a bed?” he asked, ducking his head down to nip at her throat.
“Take me to yours and let’s find out,” she replied trailing her hand down his chest.
It turns out, as with most everything Mycroft sets her mind to, she is extremely capable of unmaking a bed.
Fandom: BBC's Sherlock
Ship: Fem! Mycroft Holmes/DI Lestrade
Word Count: 2,544
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Some bad language and sex. Genderswapped Mycroft Holmes.
Disclaimer: They are not mine. The title comes from Lady Gaga's Show me Your Teeth.
A/N: Well, I've done it again. This answers a prompt in which Fem!Mycroft gets herself undone by our good inspector. I’ve mentally cast a slightly taller Julianne Moore as Mycroft. Check out this photoshoot, if you’re curious.
Thank you to
fringedweller for the beta and the suggestions!Do let me know what you think!
The first time Mycroft sees Detective Inspector Lestrade, she doesn’t take much notice. It was only briefly at a function honouring the police force.
After all, the first lesson Mummy drilled into her was that it is truly a man’s world and DI Lestrade was simply another man.
A handsome man, to be sure, but still... Just a man.
The second time she meets him, she had been the one who ‘requested his presence’ due to his relationship with Sherlock.
The inspector listened to Mycroft’s offer and very politely, yet firmly, told Mycroft exactly what she could do with her ‘bribe’ and would she kindly let him return to the Yard, because unlike some, he had a job to do. Mycroft wasn’t insulted. She was relieved that the inspector was a man of principle and believed he would be very beneficial to Sherlock.
She was also struck by an odd feeling whenever the man spoke and when he gave her legs a surreptitious (or so he thought) ogle.
Upon reflection, she was surprised to realise the feeling had been respect mixed with at least an ounce of lust.
But, a ‘situation’ arose in Kyrgistan that needed her immediate attention, so the feeling was suppressed and locked away.
Mycroft and the inspector met a few more times, in both official and unofficial capacities. She was pleased to see that the inspector was both as principled and honest as he had first appeared. In her line of work, it was only a select few that managed to maintain their honour and not succumb to the jadedness that nipped at their heels.
It also didn’t hurt that he was pleasant to talk to and never once fawned on her. He wasn’t afraid to tell her where to get off and if the way she occasionally caught him looking at her legs or her chest sent little tremors of want through her body, well... That was also pleasant.
Mycroft was well aware that she was of a ‘certain age’ and truthfully, she had no time for a ‘relationship’. If she wanted physical stimulation, ‘Andy’, her assistant was very discreet. However, that was often far more trouble than it was worth and Mycroft was a modern woman and was most capable of handling her own orgasm, thank you.
That, however, does not even begin to explain her current state in which the good inspector is kneeling in front of her with his oh, so very warm and wet mouth on the inside of her knee, his hands trailing lines of heat as they trace circles on her calves.
The precursor to her present situation was most likely the conversation they had the week prior. Mycroft had summoned the inspector to her office to discuss a case that had no bearing on Sherlock, but needed the inspector to look the other way while it was resolved by others.
He responded in much the way Mycroft expected.
“It’s my bloody case!” he said harshly, his eyes dark and intense. “Two women are dead and I’m supposed to just look the other way?”
“I give you my word that the person responsible will be taken care of,” Mycroft said calmly, re-crossing her legs. “However, said person has in his possession several pieces of information that are of national importance.”
Lestrade snorted and shook his head. “Bloody spooks. You all think you know what’s best for this world. But, letting a killer go free because of a few dirty secrets is no way to do things.”
Mycroft raised her chin. “Inspector, I can assure you, he will not be going free as you put it. In fact, I’d wager our methods of dealing with him will be far more satisfactory than yours could ever be.”
He studied her and gave a dark chuckle. “What do I tell the women’s families?”
“We’ll take care of that,” Mycroft said.
“No, it’s my case,” Lestrade said. “I’ll take care of it.”
Mycroft inclined her head. “We’ll make sure you have the appropriate story. Thank you, inspector.”
“Don’t bloody thank me, Holmes,” he said. “I’m hardly happy about this.”
“No one is happy about this,” she replied softly, remembering just what had been done to the women before they were killed.
‘Andy’ chose that moment to enter with tea and coffee. Lestrade attempted to reign in his displeasure and took a seat. He nodded his thanks and sipped his coffee. Black, one sugar.
Mycroft could feel his eyes on her as she poured the milk into her tea and stirred. She had just taken a sip when he said, “You look tired, Mycroft.”
It was a credit to her vast years of subterfuge that she didn’t choke on her tea at his comment. Instead, she merely set her teacup down a trifle loudly and said, “I beg your pardon?”
The infernal man smirked and said, “I said ‘you look tired’. Which you’re allowed to do, by the way.
“No, I’m not,” she said before she could stop herself. His eyes narrowed and Mycroft fought the urge to look away.
“You should take it easy, you know,” he said. “Before you do yourself in. Relax. It might do you some good.”
Suddenly, every comment made by some smug man in the past came swirling into her head and Mycroft stiffened.
“If that is your plebeian way of saying that all I need is a ‘good seeing to’-” she started to say.
“I wouldn’t dream of being that presumptuous, Holmes,” he said quickly, sounding defensive and possibly insulted.
Mycroft relaxed and opened her mouth to apologize, when Lestrade’s expression changed. He deliberately gave her a once over with his eyes, even going so far as to duck his head slightly to get a glimpse of her legs under her desk.
Then he said thoughtfully, “Although, now that you mention it...”
She truly didn’t know whether to fillet him with her umbrella or see if he tasted as good as he smelled.
Which brings us back to Mycroft in her current state of being honest-to-goodness ravished by Lestrade.
In all fairness, she started it.
Mycroft found herself thinking about the inspector in odd moments during the week. While discussing a trade agreement, in the middle of a conference call with the CIA, even when berating her brother for once again forgetting to call Mummy.
She finally came to the conclusion that she would be better off taking action, rather than thinking things to death as was her usual wont.
Which explained why when the good inspector arrived home from work, she was sitting in his favorite armchair. Fully clothed, mind you. She wasn’t a complete hedonist.
To his credit, the only thing Lestrade said upon seeing her in his chair, her legs crossed primly at the ankles was, “I hope you brought dinner. I could eat a horse.”
To which she replied, “There is an adequate biryani in your kitchen.”
“Thanks.” Then he disappeared into the kitchen. There was the sound of the refrigerator opening, then a drawer, then two caps being taken off of bottle. He came back out with his dinner, two beers and a fork. He handed one of the beers to Mycroft, who took it with a small smile, and then he tucked into his dinner.
“Would you like some?” he offered.
“I’ve already eaten, thank you,” she said. She caught him smirking as she studied her beer. Meeting his eyes, she raised the bottle to her lips and never once breaking her gaze, proceeded to drink a hefty portion of the bottle’s contents.
Lestrade outright grinned. “Is this you taking my advice and relaxing or is there another reason for your visit?”
“Well, I am always curious to see how Sherlock is coping,” she said. “But, in this case, I honestly wanted to spend some time in your company.”
He nodded and continued to eat. Mycroft let him finish his dinner while she drank the rest of her beer. Lestrade reached for the empty bottle and let his fingers brush against hers. She didn’t bother to hide her shiver and know he noticed. He took his bowl and their empty bottles to the kitchen. Then he came back and took a seat on his sofa, he pulled a roll of mints from his pocket and with a placid expression offered her one.
She shook her head silently in a negative.
They watched each other for several minutes. For Mycroft, simply watching him as his jaw worked the mint was proving to be quite the stimulus. She could feel nerves that hadn’t bothered to fire in the past, suddenly take notice.
Finally, he spoke. “Why me?”
“Why not?” she said.
A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Because I’m hardly your type.”
She allowed a smile. “And what exactly is my type, inspector? One of the people I work with? Not practical. An unknown person that I would exchange money with? Again, not practical and not worth the potential risk.”
“So, what?” he said. “You’d rather a more working-class man with a rubbish pension and habit of dealing with your wayward brother?”
“More like a man that I actually trust and respect,” she said softly. He cocked his head to the side and really looked at her. Mycroft smirked and looked away. “Besides, your pension is hardly what I’d call rubbish.”
Lestrade actually laughed. “Are you quite sure you know what you’re getting into here? I mean, once this gets going, I’m not likely to want to stop. It’ll be far less refined than what you might be used to.”
Mycroft leaned back in his armchair and crossed her legs, relishing the way his eyes followed the movement. “Inspector, in my experience, men are often all talk. I have yet to meet a man who could live up to his own lofty image of himself.”
“Is that a posh way of telling me to put my money where my mouth is?” he asked.
“Yes, inspector,” Mycroft said. “It most definitely is.”
Lestrade studied her a minute longer. Then he stood up and removed his suit jacket.
He walked over to her and knelt in front of her. Not taking his eyes away from hers, he reached up and cleverly undid her bun. Mycroft’s fine, ginger hair fell down around her face. Lestrade sifted his fingers through her long hair. She felt her lips part. His hands came to cradle her face and he pulled her forward. His lips brushed against hers, once, twice and on the third brush, he parted them and his tongue lightly flicked against her lips. Mycroft opened her mouth and let his tongue take possession. The sharp taste of mint tingled in her mouth. Her hands came up to rest on his chest as they kissed. His mouth moved away from hers as he trailed kisses down her neck. Together, they pushed her own suit jacket off and he undid the buttons on her blouse one by one.
Once undone, Lestrade parted the blouse and traced the edge of her bra with his tongue. His hands smoothed down her sides to slip under her skirt. He froze. Pulling back, he met her eyes with brows raised in surprise.
Lestrade looked down and inch by inch, he pushed up her simple black pencil skirt to reveal black suspenders holding up her silk stockings.
He let out a gusty breath and sat back on his haunches, just staring at her. Mycroft watched him and battled the urge to bite her lip in consternation.
After several seconds of him just staring at her, she said, “Is something wrong, inspector?”
“Hmm?” he said absently. “Oh, no. Nothing’s wrong. I’m honestly just wondering if I should undo my trousers and fuck you now or go down on you.”
Mycroft lost the battle with herself and bit her lip. Then she said, “I assure you, inspector, that both options will be met with equal enthusiasm from myself.”
Lestrade finally raised his head and looked her in the eyes. He swiftly leaned forward and took her mouth in a bruising kiss. Pulling back only an inch, he said, “I’m about to make you come using my mouth. It’s Greg, if you don’t mind.”
And now we arrive to the place we started with, where Detective Inspector Lestrade, pardon, Greg, was slowly working his mouth up the length of Mycroft’s leg. He spent a great amount of time licking and nipping at the top of her stockings. Then moving to the inside of her thigh, he proceeded to suck and kiss at the very sensitive skin. His stubble created a delicious burn and Mycroft had to close her eyes and her head fell back to rest against the back of the armchair.
She let out a cry as a finger was dragged down the seam of her knickers. Another cry escaped when the finger was replaced with his tongue.
After several minutes of teasing in which Mycroft’s hands moved from clenching the arms of the chair to being buried in Greg’s deceptively soft hair, he finally held her knickers to the side and licked into her. Mycroft’s hips moved with each stroke of his tongue. At one point she felt she should tell the woman saying all those naughty things in such a breathy voice to do be quiet. It came as something of a shock when she realised it was her.
Her orgasm came as even more of a shock, when Greg’s tongue and fingers found a section inside her that she had no idea existed. Her back arched and her nipples tightened as she cried out when the first wave of her orgasm washed over her. Then it was all Mycroft could do to just hold on and ride out the sparks of intense pleasure that took over her body.
When sense was finally restoring itself to her, Mycroft opened her eyes (she couldn’t quite place when exactly they had closed) to find Greg looking at her with an expression of hunger that immediately made her want to start all over again.
“Would you like to fuck me here or shall we retire to your bedroom?” Mycroft asked in a very unsteady voice.
“Bed, I should think,” he said, his voice equally unsteady. “I can’t vouch for the state of the sheets.”
Mycroft cleared her throat and said, “I took the liberty of putting clean sheets on when I arrived.”
“Did you?” he asked. “Or did one of your minions do it?”
“I can assure you, inspec- Greg, I am most capable of making a bed,” she said.
He grinned and stood up. Taking her hand he pulled her up, where she swayed into his body. “Tell me, are you just as capable of unmaking a bed?” he asked, ducking his head down to nip at her throat.
“Take me to yours and let’s find out,” she replied trailing her hand down his chest.
It turns out, as with most everything Mycroft sets her mind to, she is extremely capable of unmaking a bed.
