#alpha greg

[writingfanficsfan]

Wip. Alpha Greg/ Omega Sherlock

“I don't think I’ve ever seen you smile. ❜ Greg says suddenly, meeting Sherlock’s eyes across the table and it takes a second for Sherlock to realise that he’s serious. Sherlock blinks his eyes, open and closing his mouth before shaking his head and waving a dismissive hand his direction. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lestrade. I smile.” Sherlock mumbles, closing his eyes for a second when the laughter from two tables down seems to assault his ears. Greg takes a sip if his lukewarm coffee, eyes resting on Sherlock’s black curls, again wondering if they are as soft as he thinks they are. 

“Not when you’re around me, you don’t.” Greg says when Sherlock looks up from his work, taking another sip when Sherlock frowns. Somehow he always looks adorable when he frowns. 

“Then you haven’t been paying attention because I do smile around you.” Sherlock states, crossing his arms, his eyes now fully on Greg and it send a little shiver down Greg’s spine. It always does when Sherlock has his full attention on him. It makes Greg want to sit up straighter and push his chest out to look bigger. It makes him want to preen like a peacock and it’s maybe a little unsettling, how he wants to please this brilliant and gorgeous Omega. 

“Oh, trust me. I pay attention to you.” Greg says now, his voice maybe a little too rough for the conversation they are having and Greg clears his throat, eyes scanning the room. Some of the other Alpha’s are looking their way briefly and it takes all of Greg’s self control to not growl at them. Maybe that is also a little unsettling, that typical display of Alpha behavior. Wanting to show the other Alpha’s in the room that Sherlock is his. 

Which is insane, because Sherlock isn’t his. But part of him always seems to forget that, wanting to snap and growl at every Alpha they come across. 

“That- you sound like a serial killer.” Sherlock states, squinting his eyes as he looks at Greg, tilting his head and Greg bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from drooling at the sight before him. Sherlock’s neck is long and pale, a few freckles showing from underneath his shirt collar in this position. Greg shifts on his chair, letting out a breath to try and calm his traitorous body. 

“Oi!” 

“I mean, if that is how you seduce people then I’m starting to understand why you are still single.” Sherlock says, grabbing his own cup of coffee and drinking it.

“And I’m starting to understand why you are.” Greg retorts, keeping his focus on the conversation between them and not on seduction. Seducing Sherlock, and how good it would feel to finally hold him in his arms, or to touch him for more than 5 seconds. 

“I don’t want a relationship, Lestrade. They are too much work, too much emotion.” 

“You say emotion like a serial killer would.” Greg says, a smile on his face when Sherlock rolls his eyes. 

“Maybe I am. Half of the idiots in class seem to think so.” Sherlock shrugs a shoulder before looking down at his homework again. It twists something inside Greg’s stomach, wanting to punch all the idiots in their class and outside of it. Everyone who’s ever made Sherlock feel sad or angry. Greg wants to punch them all. 

“You are weird. But not evil like a serial killer.” Greg says after a moment, not even pretending to work on his assignment anymore. They’ve been here for almost two hours and all the words on Greg’s papers and textbook are starting to swim into each other. He sighs, rubbing his eyes and closing his books, making Sherlock look up, reading to protest when Greg cuts him off. 

“You could smile more, though.”

@chained-to-the-mirror A little snippet for you. The first 639 words of the currently 3970 I have.

[lapuslazulli]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sherlock (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade/John Watson Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade, John Watson Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Christmas, Christmas Smut, Omega Verse, Alpha Greg Lestrade, Alpha John Watson, Omega Sherlock, Threesome - M/M/M, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Lingerie, Rimming, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut Summary:

John and Greg wake up on Christmas morning to find Sherlock waiting for them under the tree.

[starrysummer-nights]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

“- and I really do not know what I will do with myself the next three months with the two of you gone.” Queen Holmes smiled at her sons over the rim of her teacup as servants unobtrusively moved around them, setting steaming breakfast dishes on the table, pouring out more tea, and refreshing the bowl of fruit sat in the middle. A pitcher of cream was placed at Mycroft’s elbow for his oatmeal, and thick, black coffee, along with pretty and perfectly square cubes of sugar. He nodded his thanks and then turned all his attention to his food, looking everywhere but across the table where his little brother sat.

Sherlock, for his part, did the same thing. He fiddled uneasily with his napkin before Mummy gently told him to stop; then he reached for an orange, peeling it with slow, precise movements and arranging the scraps artfully beside his plate. An orange and white sunburst of sweet-smelling zest. Mycroft stirred sugar into his coffee. He watched the liquid swirl in the cup as if it held the secrets of the universe.

“You’re leaving the day after tomorrow.” Mummy seemed unaware of the tension between her sons or how they were studiously avoiding each other. As of yet, neither had said a word to the other but as she was chattering away enough for all of them, it went unnoticed. “And while I wish you every happiness possible, I shall miss you terribly. My days will be so empty, the evenings joyless.” She opined. “We won’t have breakfasts like this again until the autumn.”

“I suppose that gives us something to look forward to, ma’am.” Mycroft said weakly, playing with his food, heaping the creamy oatmeal into a central mound in his bowl. He hadn’t taken a bite since he sat down, and with the food growing cold, and his stomach all in knots, it didn’t seem likely to happen any time soon.

“You’re absolutely right, poppet! Every day that you’re gone I will use that as a balm- until I get my darlings back again.”

“We’ll miss you too, Mummy.” Sherlock mumbled to his orange, looking so unhappy that she tutted, sitting her cup down on its saucer with a delicate clink and reaching across the table to cup Sherlock’s cheek.

“My poor little dear. You’re nervous about this Tour. Aren’t you? I can tell. It’s easy for a mother to recognize these things about her children.” She smiled with a sympathy that was entirely misplaced. “And it’s natural that you’d be upset- after all, it’s the first time you will be away from home for such a long time, isn’t it?”

Sherlock nodded. It was true. Besides his annual trip to Bernicia and Deira to view his Seat and be seen by the people in his province which, by virtue of being the Crown Prince, he hypothetically ruled, he didn’t often leave the capitol. Touring around Northumbria for the next three months would be the longest time he’d ever been away.

But that wasn’t why he was upset. He wasn’t upset about the Tour.

Read the rest here...

[starrysummer-nights]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Gregory had been visiting Omegas in the city.

Mycroft sank down onto the side of his bed and stared blankly across the room, oblivious of his surroundings. He didn’t feel the cool breeze which eased through the open window, nor was he aware of the brightness from the setting sun which caused his eyes to smart from the glare. His thoughts were miles away, down in the city, imagining-

A dark and cramped room, sparsely furnished, in a dirty part of the city where Things Like That were done.

A slim male Omega with heavy-lidded eyes and a sultry, come-hither smile. Face skillfully painted up so as to entice.

Scantily dressed, their tunic barely covering their genitals. Or maybe they greeted Gregory naked, already prepared for their coupling.

They’d open their arms to Gregory, excited at the prospect of having sex with him because this wasn’t their first time together. The Omega knew what to expect and that Gregory was a generous lover.

And Gregory would move over them, settling between their thighs, giving them the same smile he always gave Mycroft. As he thrust, they would kiss-

Mycroft hunched forward as if that could somehow minimize the pain which spiked through his chest, stealing his breath away, because somehow that- the idea of Gregory kissing someone else- hurt worse than thinking of him actually having sex with them.

Which was irrational. Wasn’t it a worse betrayal for him to fuck them, engaging in such an intimate act? Physically joining their bodies together?

Mycroft gave a bitter laugh which sounded choked, too close to a sob, and he pressed a hand over his mouth, trying to get control of himself. He’d been struggling to do so for hours.

It was worse, so so so much worse, for him to think of Gregory kissing someone else. Mycroft would rather he’d just fucked them. He was ill-informed about many sexual matters, but Mycroft knew people could and often did fuck each other without engaging in softer displays of affection. If Gregory had sought sexual release in the arms of another Omega, that was one thing. Mycroft was hurt, but he could justify it since he knew his own performance was subpar at best. But for Gregory to kiss them…

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[starrysummer-nights]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

As a boy, he’d sneaked into the library once to look at them, feeling deliciously naughty because Mummy had told him Those Books were forbidden. He was too young to read them, she’d said, and he didn’t need to know the information contained in the silken spines regardless of his age. It was dirty, and not proper knowledge for an Omega (even one who was masquerading as a Beta).

Mycroft, with all the wisdom of a seven-year-old, had disregarded his mother’s warnings, sneaking into the library one morning like a diminutive, chubby thief with a halo of twisty red curls. It’d taken quite a while to find Those Books, but Mycroft had been determined, and when he finally did, he plucked one from the shelf and opened it, expecting to find…he didn’t know what.

Something.

But Mycroft had been disappointed. Thwarted and frustrated. Because none of the illustrations in the book made any sense. The people in the pictures were all jumbled up, their bodies going this way and that, with no rhyme or reason as to what was taking place. There was no accompanying text. Just pages and pages and pages of the bizarre drawings.

Tilting his head from side to side, squinting at the drawings, Mycroft was flummoxed. And annoyed. He’d gone to all the trouble of sneaking into the library, searching for Those Books, and finding them…only to discover they weren’t anything special. He didn’t know what Mummy had been going on about. These books were stupid. What was even the point of Those Books, Mycroft had fumed, if they were so confusing? Who would want to read them? Who even could? There weren’t any words!

He’d thumbed through a few more, just to be sure, but they were all the same. None held his interest, and he stuck them back where they came from, shrugged, and put Those Books and their bewildering contents out of his head. He hadn’t thought of them in more than 10 years…but last night he had, and Mycroft still knew where they were.

They were near the very back of the library, their lewd contents kept far from the tomes of Socrates and Aristotle and other scholarly works. Hidden on a top shelf, their jewel-bright spines winked like alluring will-o-wisps, much more captivating than the bland and boring treatises.

Mycroft stared at Those Books for a while, tracing over the spines curiously, before taking a deep breath and tugging one off the shelf. He let it fall open, not knowing what to expect, and his eyes zipped over the page, eager to know what they contained-

He gasped, blushing hotly when he realized what he was looking at, and snapped the book closed.

Oh. Gods.

Mycroft stared blankly at the shelf of books in front of him, fully absorbing what he had just seen. That had been very unexpected. Quite shocking, in fact. Because they were…the people in the illustrations had been…

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[starrysummer-nights]

A series of events between Mycroft and Greg in the lead-up to the Royal Tour.

(I had A LOT of problems posting this to AO3 so if you see any problems with formatting, please let me know!)

A gentle breeze ruffled through his hair and Mycroft closed his eyes to fully enjoy it, tipping his face up to the sun while he listened to the shouts and laughter of his little brother as he and John swam in the nearby river.

It was so peaceful near the banks of the Rhone River, all green grass and wildflowers under a clear blue sky with lots of white clouds scattered across. The place held lots of good memories. It’d been a favorite of his and Sherlock’s when they were younger, and many an afternoon had been spent there, the two of them playing and swimming or competing against each other in lawn games. But when more demands were made of Mycroft, and he was tasked with finding a suitable Alpha for Sherlock, their visits to the Rhone drastically tapered off. Mycroft just hadn’t had the time. They hadn’t visited the place together in years.

So when Sherlock sprinted into Mycroft’s study earlier that morning, pink-cheeked and excited, and announced that he and John and Mrs. Hudson were all going on a picnic that afternoon and would Mycroft like to come along…he hadn’t needed much persuasion.

Mycroft didn’t really have time for things like outings to the banks of a river so one could have a picnic and enjoy nature…but he’d stared out the window of his study, papers neatly stacked on his desk, pen already dipped in ink and poised over a tedious document, and thought it was such a pretty day. Staring out of windows while he had work to do was a waste of his time, but as he squinted his eyes against the brilliant sunlight, Mycroft realized that he didn’t want to stay indoors. In dark rooms. All the rest of the day. He craved fresh air. Longed for cool breezes. Green, earthy scents. The smell and taste and texture of the cold meats which he knew would be packed for their picnic, along with chilled sweet wine, small wedges of cheese, and crunchy, freshly baked bread.

Of course, at first he’d refused, letting Sherlock twist his arm a little just for dignity’s sake, but it didn’t take much and soon Mycroft was hurrying back to his room to change clothes into something that would be cooler in the warm weather, but still obscure the wax patches covering his scent glands and damper any traces which happened to leak out.

There wasn’t much to choose from. Mycroft wasn’t in the habit of going on outings, but he found a few things shoved in the back of his wardrobe which were thin enough that he wouldn’t be stifled but not revealing, covering him from neck to wrist. The end result was…not too terrible. Mycroft studied himself in the mirror. The full white shirt looked odd without a tunic laced over it, and his trousers were looser than normal, and plain brown without the usual ties or ornamentation. The overall effect made him appear rather…roughshod. He wouldn’t look out of place on the streets in the lower city, he thought critically.

Ah well. It didn’t matter. Mycroft shrugged at his reflection, then made a face. He was going on an outing to the Rhone, not meeting foreign dignitaries.

Read the rest here...

[starrysummer-nights]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

“Well. It’s as I said earlier.” He stepped forward, offering Mycroft a small smile, the warmth of which he felt all the way down his body. “I wanted to speak with you about what happened in the conservatory. Between us.”

Gregory was here for an assignation.

Mycroft was thankful that he was still leaned against the door, otherwise he would have sunk to the carpet as his knees went weak with the realization. And what an embarrassment that would have been. Especially now, when Gregory was here, standing in front of him, about to…to…

“Of course.” Mycroft did his best to act calm, shamming knowledgeable sophistication as well as he could. His palms were slick with sweat. “I expected that. You. To be here. About that.”

“You did?”

Mycroft nodded, wetting his lips nervously and Gregory’s eyes dropped to watch. No doubt he was remembering their kisses from earlier. Mycroft certainly was. His heart skipped another beat.

“Yes, I did.” He breathed and suddenly he was genuinely glad that Gregory was here wanting to have sex with him. Desiring him, even if it was only for sexual gratification. “I needed to see you as well.”

At that, he expected Gregory to move forward and kiss him as he’d done earlier. It was a very obvious invitation. Mycroft had basically told the Alpha he was ready for copulation.

But he slowly realized, from Gregory’s expectant look and pointed silence, his eyes searching Mycroft’s, waiting…that he was expected to do something.

Mycroft faltered.

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[starrysummer-nights]

Excerpt from Chapter 8 of Ornamental Joy

Mycroft drew up short, the sight of the Alpha completely unexpected- then quickly stepped inside his room and locked the door behind him. His heart hammered and he could taste the pulse of it in his mouth. Captain Lestrade stood across from him, still in his ceremonial outfit, hands clasped behind his back and at military attention. Mycroft’s entrance had clearly surprised him and, as Mycroft leaned against the door, needing the solid strength of it to steady himself, the Captain flushed a ruddy red.

“I’m sorry. I…Maybe I shouldn’t have-…” He stumbled over his words, looking very discomfited for a person who had knowingly snuck into someone else’s bedroom.  “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful coming here. Especially since I wasn’t…you didn’t tell me...I can leave if that’s what you’d prefer…”

It felt incredibly intimate to have Captain Lestrade in his bedroom. Mycroft had never had a man in his bedroom before. A strange man, that is. One who wasn’t family. This was his private area, the place where he dressed and undressed and bathed and slept.

His bed was right there.