Irresistible Pull

It was not his fault, he could not help it. He knew it was rude to look, but he couldn't tear his gaze away.

But they were in the kitchen, in his kitchen, and he had been dying for a cup of coffee. He had tried shouting at John to make him one, but he hadn't answered.

He had assumed they had gone out for dinner.

He had been wrong.

There they still were, in his kitchen, in their kitchen.

John had Lestrade pushed against the kitchen cabinets, one hand in his hair, the other on his chest, and Lestrade had his wrapped around John's torso, hugging him and keeping him close.

They were both fully dressed, and they were merely exchanging kisses. Sweet and playful kisses, brushing each other's lips, with the occasional flick of a tongue and giggle.

So why did he feel so guilty spying on them?