Inspector Geoff Lestrade's POV

The hotel is flash, really flash. I can just imagine my dad if we brought him somewhere like this. He'd be pulling faces and making jokes because, deep down, he'd feel he didn't belong in this world, with these people. I'm not sure I do either to be honest but it's where Art has booked us in and I'm going along with it. It's obvious these are the sort of circles Art is used to moving in. His polite but fairly dismissive way with the staff as they bustle about him is something to watch.

I find myself doing a lot of that these days, watching him. He's endlessly fascinating. His attention span is short but when it's focussed on you there's something that makes you feel like there's no one else in the world. Colours get warmer, rooms get smaller. I'd love to have that sort of charisma, I think, as I observe him charming the receptionist who is passing him the key fob to our room, tossing her hair and playing with her earring. If I had an ounce of that allure, a fraction of his magnetism, I'd be charming criminals out of the trees. I'd have the station bosses eating out of the palm of my hand and I'd have a bigger bloody office for a start.

I stand for another minute, looking at the lavish decor and listening vaguely to Art's manipulation of events until things are just how he wants them. He turns and smiles and the focus is back on me. It makes me sweat when he looks at me like that, under his lashes and that big smile.

"Room 217, like in 'The Shining!" he grins. I nod and wave my arm towards the lift. Once the doors he grabs my hand. He smiles at me and strokes my palm with his thumb. I have the, now familiar, warm feeling of happiness, this easy comfort I find in his presence. He squeezes my hand.

"What are you thinking?" He asks me this a lot, like he wants to be inside my head. It's refreshing that he asks me, doesn't try to second guess or anticipate like the girlfriends I've had in the past. It's straightforward and I appreciate it.

"Just thinking it's nice to have a holiday. It seems like ages since I've taken any time off." I rub my free hand over my face, I'm knackered, I could sleep for a week.

"We can go straight to bed now if you like?" I look at my watch and laugh.

"It's half twelve! We only just got here!" He grins and leans against my arm.

"We can go to bed, have a nap and see what time we want to get up. This is a 'no rules' holiday Geoff. If we want to spend the whole week in bed, sleeping, then we can. It's your time off." There's something so thoughtful, so bloody caring and caring about me, in his expression and his words, that I feel this huge emotion swelling inside me. I express it the best way I can. I pull him in close so I can kiss him. I feel a growl in my chest as I crush his lips with my mouth, prising them open with my tongue, tasting the unique flavour of Art Douglas.

I don't stop kissing him until the lift stops. By that time his hands are in my hair and mine are about his waist, holding him tightly to me.

"You're right Art, we should go to bed." I growl and he grins.

"Yes, officer." I smile.

We get inside the room, I let go of him just long enough to get the door open and I ignore all the fancy decorations, the opulence and the expense and I make for the bed. I fall back and pull him over me. For a while I let him kiss me, he pushes his hips down at me and he gasps as he feels how hard I am against his thigh. My breath is ragged and so is his. I love this, that animal, raw emotion we have, the urge to fuck and be fucked, no niceties, no messing about.

I roll him over and take off my shirt. His hands are on my chest rubbing my nipples and sending electricity shooting through me. I push them away and pull up his t shirt; I press my mouth to his chest and bite down. He groans and thrusts up from the bed. The fabric of my trousers, the feeling of his warm skin on my tongue flood me with sensations. I unfasten and pull down his trousers, his shorts. We are desperate, impatient. His golden blonde hair flattened to his forehead with the effort of our writhing bodies. He is so fucking edible, so perfect. That dimple chin, the full mouth open and gasping, moaning my name. His tanned skin, muscles in smooth curves beneath it. Like a model, or a statue. All sex and fire.

His erection springs free of his shorts as I pull them down.

"God, yes, Geoff," he pants looking down at me as I lick my lips and slide down his body. I flick my tongue against him, still marvelling at the complete ease with which I have adjusted to having sex with this man. Because yes, he's pretty, devastatingly so, but he's definitely a man.

I try to get the angle right to take him into my mouth; it's trickier than it looks. I shuffle my body along the bed a little, trying to swallow as much as I can of him. My hand takes up those last inches and I stroke in time with my lips, he starts to buck. I put my hand on his hip to hold him still and he moans. I allow myself a little smile. This is how I realised exactly what position Art liked to take in bed. That hand on his hip, originally to stop him thrusting too far, making me gag, just made him more turned on, more desperate. Now I use it mercilessly.

He's going to come; I can feel the tension in his body, the small erratic movements of his hips. He grabs my hair, strokes my head, mumbles and whispers my name.

"Oh Geoff, oh my goodness, oh, oh." He comes suddenly, slightly before I am ready, and I swallow quickly. Even though the taste of him is growing on me, it still surprises me. It's better than that awful latex taste of the condoms we used before John suggested we got ourselves tested.

I wait until he calms down. I move back up the bed and he curls into my arm.

"Oh my goodness? Art, you are such a toff!" I laugh, kissing him hungrily. He returns the kisses, shuddering with his come down. He sniggers.

"Sorry, I don't think very well when you do that." I nod and lie back on the pillow.

"Fair enough." I say, smiling at the ceiling.

"Do you want me to..?" He rubs his hand down my chest, stopping at my waistband. I lift my head and look at him; he looks tired, happy and drowsy. I kiss his forehead.

"Maybe later eh? No rules holiday remember? I'm enjoying the lying here." He closes his eyes and nods, cheek against my upper arm. I flick the duvet up with my foot and cover us both, semi dressed.

Dr. John Watson's POV

You know that phrase? 'Like child in a sweetshop'? I think I've just found the epitome of that phrase. It's over there behind the rack of riding crops, paddles and canes. His face is alight with excitement and he's picking things up and swishing them about dangerously, narrowly avoiding other customers. The enormous Viking looking bloke, dressed entirely in rubber, behind the counter is smiling at us both indulgently. It's a surreal situation at best.

This is where Sherlock has decided to spend his birthday vouchers. It turns out they are viable in a number of shops in Soho but this is the one he likes best. Not that he didn't drag me into all the others before he decided to spend them here.

We've been in seedy shops, yellow 70s decor and porno flicks on the top shelves. We've been in sleek, chrome and blue neon lighting 80's sex shops, obviously aimed at gay men with their array of lubes and porn featuring soldiers, sailors and hairy biker blokes. We even ventured past the door of a sex shop for women; it was pink and black, feather boas dangled next to pink leather harnesses and glittery dildos. The lady who asked us to leave was very nice about it; she even pointed us down the street to this shop.

'De Sade's' is off the main street and the outside is painted black and silver. Inside it's very Victorian gothic. I can see where Laura and Miss Brandon get their decor from or maybe this is just what these people are into. I'm on the long silver sofa; legs crossed watching Sherlock dash here and there, waving things, pressing buttons and frowning at the packaging. Beside me on the sofa are his decisions. New leg cuffs, wide leather straps with a dark purple band of suede running along the surface, ending in a shiny thick D ring. The other cuff has a large lobster clasp; they look pretty solid, more so than Lestrade's handcuffs, I might have to mention that to Geoff when he gets back from Edinburgh.

Next to the cuffs is a new large bottle of lube. Sherlock insisted on us both tasting all the different brands, something that I thought at first would be hideous. Turns out I was wrong, some of them were quite nice in a fruity, non chemical way and we've settled for a fruit oil one, the Viking says it's least likely to make anyone allergic.

But it's this current purchase, being test run by Sherlock on his palm, his calf muscles, that makes me the most nervous. The display of crops, canes and, what Sherlock assures me are paddles is extensive and a bit daunting. They are set out in order of intensity, again the Viking is only too glad to talk to Sherlock about it, I am beginning to get suspicious of his motives, and the two have spent about twenty minutes whacking things, commenting on the flexibility and the size of head or each of the weapons.

"You see," Sherlock explains to me, "these factors all effect the sting, the sensation. The less flexible, the more intense the pain. The wider the head..."

"The more dispersed the impact?" I ask mainly to point out to the invading Viking that Sherlock belongs to me actually, thank you very much. Sherlock nods excitedly.

I still haven't made my mind up about this but Sherlock seems to have made up his. Maybe it'll be like the other things we've tried, once I give it a go I'll be fine but I'm still unsure. I'm going to ask Mike if he's tried it. Not tonight though, because tonight Sherlock and I are babysitting.

It's part of the reason we're here, Sherlock can't believe we are going to look after Beth and Katy and he's sulked like a toddler a fair bit since I told him. But it's Mike's ex regimental dinner and they had no one to look after the girls so I said I'd do it. In the end I had to agree to come shopping with Sherlock to get him to stop moaning. I've got to admit it does add up to a rather unusual agenda for the weekend.

Finally he seems to have made a decision and he's happily carrying a long riding crop in black and purple to the counter, along with the leg cuffs and the lube.

"Matching. Nice," nods the Viking, ringing up the purchases. "Do you know we do the hand cuffs in this range too?" Sherlock looks at me. We hadn't planned to buy handcuffs. I shrug and he grins. The Viking produces the handcuffs from under the counter.

"Want to try them?" He asks and grabs Sherlock's wrist before anyone can answer.

"Yes, I do thanks." I take the cuff and Sherlock's hand from him and wrap the cuff around it tightly; locking the buckle and snapping the D ring to the lobster clasp. The Viking looks put out and Sherlock grins.

Inspector Geoff Lestrade's POV

When I wake up Art is on the phone in the bathroom. I smile at the thought of him going in there not to wake me. He obviously has no idea how loud he speaks.

"Yes Lo," so I know it's Laura on the other end. "I think I do. I know!" I grin at the sound of his excited laughter, "Mad right? But, well it's just great, comfy and no stress. Sex? Good." There is a pause and I sit up in bed to listen better. He's talking about me, about us. He hasn't had much chance to speak to Laura alone since we got together and I know he tells her everything so I'm not surprised he's speaking to her now but I am intrigued to hear what he thinks about our sex life.

If I'm honest it's something I'm a bit worried about. I mean, bloody hell, the passion's there all right but sometime the logistics let me down. Firstly I'm six years older than Art so I'm not as limber as I'd like to be and secondly, things take me a little while to recover, if you know what I mean?

It's obvious Art has a varied and healthy appetite for sex and it's a bit intimidating. If he wasn't so bloody nice to me and so obviously happy to be with me I'd be worried that my repertoire was a bit boring considering what he's used to getting up to. He assures me that there's time to work up to the other stuff but it's still a niggle in my head. I keep meaning to talk to John about it but I haven't had chance. So this part of his overheard conversation is interesting.

"No, it's good. It is. No, it's not like that. Well, I don't want to scare him and it's nice so far so... yes, you're right. I should, I will. Yes, I promise Laura, stop going on." There is a longer pause where I think about what he has just said. He doesn't want to scare me? Maybe I haven't really communicated how I'd like to give some things a try, I already reckon I could do a pretty good Dominant act. I am a police inspector after all. "Ha. Really? In 'De Sade's? Oooh, classy bondage chic. Ha ha. What were they buying? Were they? Did Stefan tell you that? Lucky John. Or lucky Sherlock! Right, yes, ok. Bye then sweetie, love you!"

He comes out of the bathroom and his face falls a little. "You're awake?" I frown.

"Try not to sound too disappointed Art; did you have something planned while I was asleep?"

"No, no. I just wanted you to have a rest. Laura rang and I went in there not to wake you. Sorry, was I too loud?" He comes and sits on the bed, his face wary. It's still early days and we're still testing the water, seeing what the other thinks about things. He's remarkably under confident underneath that swagger, I quite like it. It means that I'm seeing the real him and that, in turn, means I mean something to him. I'm not going to tell him I overheard the end of the conversation, it'll just be complicated. I shake my head.

"Just a bit, what's 'De Sade's'?" He sits next to me, tanned, athletic legs sticking out under his dressing gown.

"A sex shop. In Soho. Guess who was there today?" I frown, pretending although I already know the answer I also know he will love telling me so I let him have the fun. "Sherlock and John!" He grins and pulls a face of shock, hands held up next to his head in a good impression of camp. Art's camp is only ever put on for a joke. This boy used to row for his university, plays rugby and cricket and is possibly more butch than most of the lads at the station.

"Guess what they were buying?" he grins. I shake my head.

"Isn't this a bit personal?" he frowns and then pouts.

"Well, John's bound to tell you sooner or later so, no I don't think so. Anyway, it was a riding crop and cuffs!" he says the last words very quickly before I can stop him. I laugh.

"Maybe we should follow their example?" I ask, eyebrows raised. He looks at me very seriously.

"Really? Do you want to? You don't have to you know, not just because..." I silence him with a kiss. Our mouths speak far more eloquently like this. Neither of us are good at expressing our more profound feelings and I think that sometimes it's better when bodies take over.

The kiss deepens, his hands are under the duvet, running along my body, caressing and teasing. I arch my back as he touches me, that raw sexual energy amazing me again as he rouses my body with his fingers. I've never been very good at this, I think wryly as I shudder under his touch. If my past girlfriends could see how easily this posh twenty nine year old gets me hard and hungry I don't think they'd be very happy. Oh well eh?

One hand stroking along my length and one hand pinching my nipple he bends his head to the other nipple. Sharp stabs of pleasure rush through me. I am panting, clutching the bed sheets, growling and shuddering.

"Art, oh! Fucking hell, that is... oh god, fucking hell!" I come, arching my back and gripping the mattress for dear life. He rests his head on my chest, my heart hammering underneath those blonde curls. I look down at those curls contrasting with the dark hair that swirls over my nipples, noticing how the flecks of silver in mine highlight the gold in his. I don't know how this will end, what is going to happen but right now, I feel happy and I'm not going to question it too much. He glances up at me, kisses my chest.

"Was that ok?" I nod, raising an eyebrow to indicate I think he's mad for asking, I'm still a little out of breath. "Good. Do you want to order room service?" I run my hand through his hair; he smiles and closes his eyes like a cat.

"No, I want to show my fucking gorgeous boyfriend off in the hotel restaurant." I say. He grins.

"I love it when you talk like that." I wink at him.

"I know, that's why I do it darlin'." He giggles and swings his legs off the bed.

Thirty minutes later we're in the restaurant. I let Art order the wine and when it comes he tastes it and nods to the waiter. I always feel a prat doing that bit.

"Does anyone send it back?" I ask him.

"My dad does, he's a complete wanker though so..." he shrugs and I laugh. I've not met Art's dad and I'm not sure I want to either. From all accounts Art's assessment of him sounds pretty bloody accurate.

We are still eating when there's some kind of commotion at the door of the restaurant. We look over and there's young man, very drunk, arguing with the head waiter. As we watch he pushes past the man who nearly topples into the table behind him. He staggers and lurches over to us.

The young man has short wavy black hair. He's probably quite handsome when he's not pissed out of his skull, but it's hard to tell because that's exactly what he is. He's wearing a dinner suit with the tie undone. His jacket is buttoned up on the wrong buttons and his shirt tails are out. He's still clutching a bottle and his face looks a little green. Instinctively I stand up as he gets to our table.

"Who's this?" he slurs, pointing the bottom of the bottle at me. I look at Art, expression wary. Art sighs, shakes his head.

"Sebastian, this is Geoff, he's my boyfriend." Art shakes his head again at me and gives me a warning glance. "Geoff, this is Sebastian, my ex boyfriend from a long time ago. What do you want Seb?"

"I want you. I want you to just stop playing games Art, stop seeing all these other men and just come back to me, I know you want me..." With this he lunges at Art who shift back in his chair. I can see Sebastian is about to fall flat on his pretty face and I catch him with my hands under his armpits. He swings clumsily in my grip, bringing the bottle around with his limp arm and aiming for my head. I let go of him with one hand and block the bottle. He throws a weak punch which connects clumsily with my cheek. I flip him over, arm up his back and pin him across the table before I can think.

The head waiter rushes over, all apologies, and waves over two other men who haul Sebastian from the tangle of the table cloth and start to drag him away. Before they get him out of the door he screams in a bloodcurdling voice.

"Arthur Douglas! If you don't take me back I'll kill myself! I will! And it'll be your fault!"

Ok, wow. Complete departure from my normal approach and I feel tres nervous about it! Does this sound like Lestrade? God, am nervous about this but I guess that means I am stretching myself. Let me know what you think. If it's bad I can start the story again another way.

Thanks to the Baker Street Irregulars who have been with me so far. PrincessNala and Peachsilk (thanks for being an ace friend, critic and a bloody good writer yourself!)) Darmed (hope you get some time to read this soon) Clubba Bear, Tasty- Kate (how's Italy?), 2cajuman2, Tanya Zsa Zsa (are you reading them all again now?), Munchiees!, Aelfric's cat (still loving Hollinghurst), mrs winny, Despairandcupcakechild!, Mouserjb4, Tillif and Harpyquin and Jazzysatindoll (hope there's material to draw in here!), thegeekyprincess and Flabagash and new girls regrette rien, afrieal and Dead Air Space! You guys are truly wonderful, I don't deserve you.

Love you OHOB and Reggie Cx