Enough For Now (Peter) -FIN-

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Lestrade woke up at almost eight o'clock sharp. Being a man who was trained to remember things immediately after waking up (seriously, they trained you to do that), he knew exactly who was in all likeliness still napping in the next room over at this very moment. He remembered Peter drinking and shuddering against his shoulder, and the taste of his mouth, sweet with alcohol.

Oh, Peter.

"Well," Lestrade sighed to no one, and got out of bed. He scratched his head lazily, not bothering to fix his messy hair. Peter wouldn't care, and he didn't care if Peter saw. Oh, right. Peter would probably care about other things though. Like being hungover from drinking a full bottle of whiskey by himself in record time for someone who "didn't drink." Yeah, he probably cared about that.

Lestrade picked up the phone off the stand next to his bed and dialed work. He was off today, seeing as it was Thursday, but he was pretty sure Peter wasn't so he called Peter in sick. He told Martin to tell whoever was down on that floor, and that if anyone asked, it was personal stuff and to fuck off. Martin seemed a bit flustered at the order but hey, he couldn't really doing anything seeing as he was Lestrade's subordinate, so Lestrade hung up on him halfway through his protest of "But that's so rude!" He was being a bit rude, but that was okay. Martin would forgive him. He liked Martin.

With that, he got up and walked down the hallway, peeking in on Peter as he passed the open doorway. The kid looked fine. Well, good.

He walked through the living room to the kitchen, and looked in the fridge to see if there was anything good. Lestrade decided on eggs and french toast because they were extremely easy to make, especially together since you had to dip the toast in eggs anyway. He hoped Peter liked eggs. Well, he was eating them whether he liked them or not, so.

So.

He wished Peter would wake up. It was lonely being in a house with someone else, but not being with them. Well, that was his opinion. Not that he'd done much about it when he could have. With Lena. But that was different, because he'd loved her. He just didn't know how to.

He missed his daughter. He missed having a second chance.

Lestrade hummed softly under his breath as he cooked, and soon the smell of butter frying and eggs solidifying. He wasn't a good singer by any lengths really, but he could keep a tune well enough. He wasn't really sure why he was singing Billy Joel, but hey, whatever works, right?

Right. Whatever works.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

OOC: Gabby, it's LONG. Sorry!

Waking up somewhere unfamiliar was almost familiar. At least it wasn’t startling to Peter anymore. He didn’t often stay the night with the people he slept with, but he did it enough. Except when he spent the night with people, he generally woke up beside that person. He was pretty sure he was alone this morning, and it was kind of disconcerting.

Groaning, he rubbed his nose in the pillow, wondering where he was. It didn’t smell like perfume, but it didn’t smell like cologne, either. In fact, the bed smelled like it was a spare bed that didn’t get a lot of action beyond having the sheets changed every so often. Whoever he came home with clearly didn’t think he was good bedroom company. That was another fuzzy point. He couldn’t remember going home with anyone. The last thing he remembered was going to the bar with Lestrade, drinking something pretty strong. He groaned to himself again. He sure hoped he’d bothered to clean up before he went home with whoever he went home with. Sal probably wouldn’t have minded the mess, because Peter really couldn’t remember being all that messy, but it was a matter of pride. He never left the bar a mess before he went home.

He was interrupted from his musings when something hot and wet panted against his left hand. Before he could react, he felt teeth gnawing gently at his fingers. Well, at least wherever here was, Baze was there, too.

“Ngh, alright. I’m up,” he muttered after a particularly hard nip.

He knew the drill. Baze hadn’t been out this morning and he was less than patient. Whoever their host was clearly hadn’t been Baze’s first choice for that lovely chore if he was pulling Peter from bed. He cracked an eye open, glancing around the room to see if there was a clock anywhere. His phone was in his coat, and he didn’t wear a watch. Catching some of the light from the window, he would judge it as around eight-ish, maybe nine. Well past time to be up.

He shoved himself up, nearly falling back into the bed when his arm gave a twinge. It was obviously still cold and wet out. Add on the way he’d been sleeping on it and it was going to be a great day...

Baze whined again and Peter finally made it to his feet, finding that he wasn’t wearing shoes. He’d had slippers on at the bar. He wondered if his host had been kind enough to get them off, too. Baze was pawing at the ground as he danced. Yeah, the potty dance for dogs...

“Alright. Show me where the door is.”

Baze loped out the door, practically bouncing off the wall in his hurry. Peter just shook his head, following. He thanked god there were no stairs. In all likelihood, he would have tripped down them in his haste to keep up with the mutt. When they got to the door, he unbolted it and let the dog dart outside. He disappeared into a bush a couple houses down and Peter leaned against the door jam, waiting. He didn’t have to wait long before Baze was back, rubbing his head against Peter’s thigh. Peter bent down, taking a full minute to scratch his ears before closing the door and taking a look around.

The house was simple. It kind of reminded him of Don’s place. Clearly a woman didn’t live there, but whoever did was past the messy college bachelor days. Baze seemed more at home than he did, trotting along into the kitchen. Peter was about to follow when he caught sight of his jacket. He dug through the pockets, easily finding his phone. It was 8:10 am. Good to know. He had a few missed texts from his sister about her date with his old school buddy, Tom Morris. Tom was a good guy, better than the last five Angelique had been out with. It was nice to have her check in and he was glad there was nothing serious. He supposed everyone just phoning his desk if they needed to talk to him about work related things...

Oh fuck...

His fingers flew over the keys until he had Gerry’s number sent. It rang twice before the other man picked up with a cheery greeting.

“Gerr, sorry, I just got up and I have no idea where I am, but I’m only twenty-five minutes late and I can be there in another half an hour, I think –” he paused as Gerry managed to get through his babble. “Someone called me in for a personal day? Who?” He listened again. “Lestrade? No, no...that explains a lot. Call me if you need me.”

He hung up, panic abated. So Lestrade had brought him home. That was...really nice of him. Peter would have to say thank you instead of nickering for Baze and leaving without a word, like he was planning on. He could smell something cooking and figured that was where Baze was. The dog usually demanded food right after being let out. He followed his nose, catching sight of Lestrade at the stove, singing Billy Joel. He was in clothing Peter assumed passed for pjs and he felt self-conscious wearing what he’d had on yesterday. Still, Lestrade had seen him drunk off his rocker, so he imagined at least being sober was a step up, rumpled clothing or not.

He was not thinking about why he had been drinking. There was no reason to ever think about it again. He’d just bury it away and go on with life because he couldn’t afford another night like that. He wanted to do it again, and if he did he’d never climb out of the bottle. He just had to get through this morning and life could go back to normal.

“Lestrade,” he greeted, hanging out by the doorway so he was well out of the way. “Thanks for letting me spend the night. We should get going, but I really appreciate it.”

There. They'd be good now...he hoped.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Lestrade could tell Peter must have woken up, because he heard Peter mumble something to his dog - oh, he'd forgotten about the beast - and let him out to presumably go to the bathroom. Well, at least he hadn't gone in the guest room, because Lestrade was pretty sure he would have killed Peter for that. A minute later, Baze trotted into the kitchen, looking pleased with himself. Lestrade glared at him for about a second before his expression softened. He might not like dogs all that much, but Baze was... kind of cute. Handsome. Yeah.

Lestrade listened as he could hear Peter somewhere near his front door, calling work. He sounded incredulous when he said, 'Lestrade?'. Lestrade huffed, shaking his head at Baze. "We just can't win, can we you big lug?" He asked, amused as Baze just sat down at looked at Lestrade hopefully. "Okay, okay," Lestrade said, patting the dog's head and ripping of the corner of a piece of french toast he'd finished making and tossing it on the ground in front of Baze. "There you go, you greedy mut." Baze just wagged his tail excitedly and ate the small piece of toast like it was the best thing he had ever received. Lestrade chuckled and resumed humming.

A minute later, Peter walked into the kitchen. Lestrade neither turned nor stopped humming until Peter spoke. It was better to let Peter control what he wanted to do this morning; Lestrade had kind of forced him to drink last night, and so it was in his best interest not to let Peter get any angrier at him than he might excusably be already. “Lestrade," Peter said, sounding awkward. "Thanks for letting me spend the night. We should get going, but I really appreciate it.”

Lestrade turned to look at Peter, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, good morning Peter. I'm Greg again now, am I?" Lestrade asked, not at all serious, but he realized a second too late how rude he sounded. "Er, sorry," he added quickly, and put two pieces of french toast and some scrambled eggs on a plate, placing it on the small kitchen table and motioning to the chair in front of it. "Come on Peter, no need to lay off just yet. Have something to eat." He gave Peter a small smile before going back to flip the piece of toast that was currently sizzling on the stove.

OOC: This is getting kind of confusing because I think we have different ideas of what Lestrade's house looks like. Um. Something like this I had in mind^^'.

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[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"Oh, good morning Peter. I'm Greg again now, am I?"

Peter ducked his head a little. Oh, so it was going to be one of those mornings. He supposed he must have done something to deserve it. He just reverted to last names because of his own uneasiness about the situation, not because Greg had done anything.

"Er, sorry. Come on Peter, no need to lay off just yet. Have something to eat."

He set a plate of food down on the table, gesturing at it. Peter wanted to decline. He already felt like enough of a thorn about the whole situation. But he was reminded by his clenching stomach that he hadn’t had anything to eat in roughly thirty or so hours. There was hot food ready and he was hungry. Lestrade gave Peter a small smile of encouragement and he finally nodded, making his way over to the small table.

“Thanks. It looks good...Greg,” he offered, sitting down.

Baze was by his side immediately. Yeah, the dog knew how it went. Peter ignored him, prodding at the eggs for a moment before popping some in his mouth. They were good. Of course, anything anyone else cooked was good in his mind. At least Lestrade probably hadn’t given him food poisoning.

He studied Lestrade’s back from where he was cooking at the stove, pieces of the night before sliding back into place. Just like he was a college kid again, he’d let someone else put alcohol down his throat, even though he’d poured it and held the glass. Then they’d talked and he’d done what he always did when he was drunk – he’d looked for affection in all the wrong ways with the wrong person, his friend. He’d broken three of his rules. It was going to come back around to bite him.

Baze huffed a bit and Peter sighed, cutting a piece of toast with his fork, then holding it out to the dog. It was gently taken from his fingers and he wiped them on the side of his pants before forking another bite of eggs into his mouth.

“Uh...Thanks for calling me in,” he offered when the quiet between them got too oppressive.

Gerry appreciated knowing, but he also had been of the opinion that Peter needed a day off. Peter had never just taken a day off before. He was raised to just work until the job was done. He put in extra hours until he had cases solved and paper work done because he couldn’t stand to leave it sitting. He had a pile of sick days and vacation time, so he supposed he was finally using it.

OOC: Thanks for the visual! It lines up with what I wrote well enough .

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Peter seemed to hesitate a moment, and Lestrade worried he'd already scared Peter off. But the younger man finally said, “Thanks. It looks good...Greg,” and sat down. A slightly tense silence began as Lestrade cooked and Peter ate. He was thankful that the toast sizzling on butter at least made a bit of noise. In all truth, Lestrade would have been just as happy with the quiet, but when he glanced back at Peter he could tell it was making the kid feel more awkward than anything.

“Uh...Thanks for calling me in,” Peter said after a moment, and Lestrade hummed as a your welcome. The second two pieces of toast were done, so he plopped them onto a plate for himself along with some of the scrambled eggs and say down with the plate in front of him across from Peter the small kitchen table. The house was meant for two, really, maybe even three, but the size of the furniture Lestrade owned was definitely for two at the most.

Lestrade cut his own toast into fairly even pieces (yeah, he still did that, shut up) before forking a bite. He made a face a second after. Too much butter. Blah. Lestrade stood and reached into one of the wall cabinets, procuring a shaker full of powdered sugar. He gave Peter a grin before he sat back down and poured far too much sugar to be normal for a man of his age onto his pieces of toast. "That's better," Lestrade said, satisfied. "You like sugar? Makes it much better." Lestrade didn't really seem the type, but he had a huge sweet tooth. He didn't like fatty stuff, and wasn't a huge fan of fried things either, but sugar, he loved. Chocolate too. Mm, delicious.

Lestrade took a bite more of his toast before he realized he should probably offer Peter things. "Uh, sorry, you want something to drink?" He asked. "Or, um, syrup? Or catsup?" He knew some people liked that sort of thing: catsup in eggs. Or toast. Ugh. Disgusting. But he supposed, whatever floats your boat...

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

When the second batch of toast was done, Lestrade plated himself up and joined him at the small table. Baze shifted so he was sitting between them – perfect mooching position. He watched as Lestrade cut his toast up neatly, only tasting the meal after he had finished his task. He made a face and Peter looked back at his own meal, wondering what he didn’t like about it. He cut a corner off his toast, carefully forking it into his mouth. It tasted just fine to him. Lestrade reached for powdered sugar, sprinkling his toast liberally.

"That's better. You like sugar? Makes it much better."

Peter nodded, reaching for the sugar and sprinkling a little on his own toast. He was a closet sugar addict. He loved sweet things, but he didn’t indulge often. He took another bite of the toast, thinking it was alright with the sugar.

“Uh, sorry, you want something to drink? Or, um, syrup? Or catsup?"

“Coffee, if you have it,” he replied. “If not, I’m alright.”

His last cup had been at the office yesterday afternoon. He could use a dose of caffeine. He cut another piece of toast, passing it over to Baze. After they were done here, he’d have to take him home and feed him something proper. But just the thought of walking back into the building where it had happened...Maybe he’d use Don’s apartment for a while. He was working undercover and wasn’t expected to be home for another few months, if not a year. He was the only one with a key and he didn’t abuse that privilege, but Don would understand.

“I uh...I wanted to apologise for last night.” He drug his fork through his eggs. “You can see why I gave up drinking a long time ago.”

He’d made an ass of himself last night. Leaning all over Lestrade, kissing him...Life would be much easier if he were the kind of drunk who forgot everything the next morning. Instead, he’d remember, and if he remembered, Lestrade definitely did. He wondered how this was going to affect how they worked together. Yeah, he’d really screwed up.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

“Coffee, if you have it. If not, I’m alright," Peter said. Oh, right. Coffee. Obviously. Peter did drink a considerable amount more than the pint Lestrade had been planning of dragging the kid to last night so yeah, coffee would be good. He had, out of habit, not made any coffee, because it was Thursday and on Thursdays he slept in and didn't drink caffeine because it was bad for one's oral health. There was no need for the extra boost when he didn't need to go to work.

"Yeah, sure," Lestrade said apologetically, felling a bit silly for not offering it sooner. He stood and turned the coffee maker on. Automatic things made life so much easier. Lestrade poured himself a glass of water and sat back down to continue eating his breakfast.

“I uh...I wanted to apologise for last night," Peter said, sounding bashful. "You can see why I gave up drinking a long time ago.”

"No, not really," Lestrade answered automatically. Why anybody would give up the drink was beyond him; he was pretty sure he wouldn't have made it through secondary school without it. He was of the opinion that while the plus-twenty-one law in the US was in everyone's best interest overall, he was sure glad he hadn't grown up with the ban.

Lestrade knew exactly what Peter was alluding to; the way he had acted towards Lestrade specifically. But Lestrade hadn't much minded. Peter held things in too much, he thought. He was so nice, but he never really talked about himself. He'd talk about Montana and his siblings sometimes, growing up, but it seemed more clinical than emotionally invested when he spoke about it. Like he was recounting, but not remembering; reciting.

He was jealous of the talent.

"You needed a drink. Nothing to be sorry for." Lestrade looked up from his toast, subconsciously tilting his head in that idiotic manner he had as he added thoughtfully, "I wouldn't mind doing it again either." Peter was smart enough to figure out that Lestrade meant more than the drinking itself, he was sure.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

"Yeah, sure." Lestrade sounded apologetic, but he got up to start the coffee. Peter could feel his brain react just to the smell. He was a bit more alert, aware of the fact it was brewing and he wanted it. He licked his lips a little, almost able to taste it.

You knew you were an addict when...

Lestrade sat back down and Peter had continued on the conversation, surprised when Lestrade didn’t seem to agree with him.

"No, not really."

No? He didn’t see why someone in law enforcement would want to stop looking like an idiot every time he got alcohol in him? There were enough things said behind his back without adding that to the list. He could ignore most of it, but being accused of being a drunk was one he couldn’t live with. Maybe Lestrade was just excusing the whole thing.

"You needed a drink. Nothing to be sorry for."

Yep, he was excusing the whole thing. That made a bit more sense. But there was plenty to be sorry for. He would have been fine without a drink. He would have slept in the file room after working himself into a corner, which also would have been fine. But breakfast was a nice touch, so maybe it hadn’t all been too bad. He didn’t usually get breakfast. He was rarely hungry before he’d been up for a couple hours. He’d pop a piece of gum until lunch or eat whatever Louise sent for him, but that was about it. Having something waiting was really nice.

Lestrade looked up from his toast, tilting his head a bit, kind of like a puppy. Peter half smiled at the look. It wasn’t one he’d ever seen Lestrade use before.

"I wouldn't mind doing it again either."

Peter bit his lip a little, setting his fork down. That was a loaded statement. He wasn’t talking about going out and getting him drunk again. He wasn’t talking about letting him sleep over, either. To tell the honest truth, Peter was torn. He’d broken his own rules by kissing Lestrade. He’d wanted the comfort and he’d gotten it, and it had been better because Lestrade kissed back, and he could kiss well. Now, he just didn’t know. He didn’t want to screw up this friendship, but he was starting to realise that having a life that revolved around other people’s children wasn’t as easy as he thought it would be. Maybe it was time to change the rules.

“I wouldn’t mind that so much, either,” he finally replied. "As long as I'm sober, that is."

He grinned a little, shifting on his chair so he could curl up on it more. His mother used to smack him for that, claiming he couldn't sit properly, even if the Pope was eating dinner with them. He pushed the memory aside, looking back down at his breakfast, noting his eggs were gone, but he was only part way through his first piece of toast. He was getting full, but made a goal of finishing that piece of toast if he could. It would be rude not to, after all.

"Believe me, I'm much better company that way."

He hoped Greg caught the underlying meaning there. He was not getting drunk with him again. It wasn't who he was and he didn't just kiss him because he was drunk. It had been a big part of it, but he never went after people he thought were unattractive or bad people when he was drunk. Lestrade was a good person, and Peter would only regret kissing him if their friendship had ended.

Glancing at his breakfast again, Peter was pretty sure they were still friends.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

There was a long moment when Peter didn't say anything, just stopped eating his food and starting eating his lips instead, and Lestrade worried that he really shouldn't have said that. Well, that was okay. He'd set himself up for all sorts of rejection by forcing Peter to get drunk and letting him fall all over him anyways. He was lucky that Peter was actually still here, really. He'd always been that wicked type to sneak out after sleeping over at someone's house before they were awake. Then again, the circumstances of those instances were a bit more... intimate than this, but still. At least Peter was still trying to be his friend. He was pretty sure.

“I wouldn’t mind that so much, either,” Peter finally said, and Lestrade let out a relieved little huff, quite happy that Peter hadn't decided to simply get up and out with Baze like Lestrade had imagined there was a possibility of Peter doing.

"As long as I'm sober, that is," Peter added, and Lestrade was once more relieved to see him grin, even if the relief was twined with mild guilt. He hoped it was a real smile. "Believe me, I'm much better company that way."

"Yeah, uh, yeah," Lestrade said unintelligibly. He hadn't really meant to sound so timid, especially considering Peter had seen him at his worst the first time they'd met, and therefore probably wasn't intimidated all that much by Lestrade's sort-of asking Peter out. Where did his stupid confidence from about five seconds go? Oh right, honesty. That sort of tended to undo him. "But... sorry. I mean, I'm not that sorry, for last night, but I'm sorry for making you drink. It was wrong," he admitted. He cringed inwardly at the formalities he was taking as he apologized, but he was one of those people who simply couldn't take serious things seriously when outwardly expressing regrets or anger without sounding either completely practiced or completely, uncontrollably emotional. It was probably better to go with the more calculated sounding apology, really.

"But I'd like it. Going out again. With you." More awkward words. He really had to work on his people skills. There was a large part of himself that wished he could always be a police officer because you really only had to say things you wanted to say then, and then you could say them like you were making a speech all the time. People might call him weird for the formal tone he pretty much always spoke in while at work, but really, if they knew how awkward he spoke when not on duty, they'd probably laugh their heads off. Considering a good chunk of the guys in his department didn't like him anyway, if was understandably in his best interests to stick with the whole 'always-making-a-speech' thing.

"Look," Lestrade started again, mildly frustrated at his inability to talk like a normal human being. He liked to blame it on his slightly secluded childhood, but in truth he had been a lot better at talking as a kid. Whatever, he could pretend. "I really like you Peter. So... Yeah. I'd like it too." Lestrade realized seeing as he had suggested it in the first place, he probably hadn't needed to reiterate the point about three times over. Stupid. He thought of making a bad joke to sound like less of an idiot, and then quickly decided against that. Yeah, he really needed more work in the whole social area. He wished it was far from necessary. And he'd thought he was over the whole stage in his friendship with Peter where he stuttered and sounded like an idiot every other word.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

OOC: This post has been driving me crazy for four days! I hope it works, haha. If not, gotta love the modify button
---

Peter watched as Lestrade seemed to lose whatever confidence he had when he’d suggested they should make out again some time. He frowned a bit, wondering why. Had he only been brave because he expected Peter to tell him off? Peter inwardly shook his head, thinking that he wasn’t likely to do that to anyone. The only person he’d ever told off in his life for something like that was Damon (many, many, many times) and he’d deserved it (every single time). He remembered enjoying kissing Greg and he hoped he’d get over his nervousness.

"Yeah, uh, yeah. But... sorry. I mean, I'm not that sorry, for last night, but I'm sorry for making you drink. It was wrong."

Oh...Well. He was glad Lestrade got the point, but he couldn’t let him think that was entirely his fault. That wouldn’t be fair, even if it would be easy. He had only put the bottle in his path, insisting he drink. He hadn’t pried his jaws open and forced it down his throat. Peter was a grown man. He could have said no. He should have said no. And yet, here they were. He was weak, Lestrade had seemed strong, and they’d made a dumb decision. Together.

“Les–Greg’ry,” he corrected, vaguely remembering he’d been asked to call him that last night. “You didn’t make me drink anything. I could have refused. It was just a bad response to a bad situation.”

In all honesty, he’d thought it would have made him feel better. Instead it made him act like an ass. Lestrade had been trying to help. It just wasn’t in a way Peter should ever handle problems, and he was going to avoid doing that in the future, but it was the thought that counted. Lestrade really had been doing what he thought was best.

"But I'd like it. Going out again. With you. Look...I really like you Peter. So...Yeah. I'd like it too."

Wait, he really liked him? He rarely heard that said earnestly. Usually people liked things about him – his eyes, his ass, his smile. The whole package was too much baggage to ever like him as a person. But Lestrade sounded like that was what he was saying. And it also sounded like he was asking him out. Peter’d been asked enough to know. Where he was on board for kissing Lestrade again, he wasn’t so sure he could date him. He’d only been on one date before, last week with Guy. It had been awkward, but alright. It was nice because neither of them knew what they were doing. Lestrade had been married. He probably knew how to date inside out and backwards and Peter really didn’t want him to think less of him because he was clueless. Still, maybe trying a date with someone more experienced wouldn’t be so bad. He’d enjoyed it with Guy, so maybe it could be good.

He looked over at Greg, biting his lip again, feeling guilty. Lestrade “really liked” him. He...really shouldn’t.

“I’ve Gotta be honest with you – I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before, especially after seeing me the way I was yesterday. I’m really flattered.”

He paused, figuring out what he wanted to say and wondering if he was pushing things, but he supposed he really didn’t have anything to lose and Lestrade needed to know about him before he did anything more. Honestly, did no one share gossip with this guy?

“And I’m really happy you feel that way, but you have to know I’ve...well, I’ve never gone out with someone before. Well, once,” he corrected, using his fork to cut up his toast, appetite gone completely now. “But even so...I’ve never lacked...company.”

He stopped cutting at the toast and bent so he could set his plate on the floor for Baze. He really hoped he wasn’t going to have to come right out and tell Lestrade he was literally called a slut when people thought he was out of hearing range. Sure, he slept around, and he enjoyed it, not caring what people said. It had never bothered him before, but no one had ever told him they really liked him before. He did a lot to be a good person, but when it came to affections, he was no good for anyone.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

_{OOC: That's fine! It was a great reply as always. Also, I love the "crackpot inspector," thing from Zander XD.}

Peter dismissed Lestrade's apology, and Lestrade cringed inwardly, simply because, well. He almost wanted Peter to blame him, at least a little. Peter was too nice, and his over-kindness made Lestrade uncomfortable. Made him feel like he was possibly taking advantage of Peter, and not even noticing it. Perhaps that was presumptuous, a little self-centered, but mostly, it was insecurity, and the knowledge that he didn't have the best record when it came to reliability.

Peter looked at Lestrade worriedly - almost... guiltily? What did Peter have to feel guilty about? - and started biting his lip again. The random part of his brain that provided him with absolutely useless thoughts wondered if Peter's lip might bleed.

“I’ve gotta be honest with you – I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before, especially after seeing me the way I was yesterday. I’m really flattered," Peter finally said, and honestly, Lestrade was surprised. Nobody ever told Peter they liked him? Now how was that possible? Peter was amazing, such a great guy. He had fun with underprivileged kids in his free time. There was no way people didn't tell him all the time he was wonderful. Well, most people weren't usually that outward, but surely Peter knew he was amazing. He had to, didn't he?

“And I’m really happy you feel that way, but you have to know I’ve...well, I’ve never gone out with someone before. Well, once,” Peter corrected himself, and once again, Lestrade was surprised. Perhaps Peter simply wasn't the dating type. Well. That'd be alright. It would.

Lestrade suddenly wondered how old Peter actually was, because he now looked ridiculously young, just woken up and acting all shy. It was kind of cute, but equally worrisome. Lestrade was forty-two after all. Wasn't that too old to still not be married again? His mother would hate him right now, if she didn't already. Peter looked about twenty sometimes, and Lestrade knew that statistically, since he knew Peter had gone to college, he had to be older than that. But still. Maybe not much. Lestrade knew that Peter was one of the babies of the department. Age had never really bothered him - not at all really - but for some reason it mattered today. Fucking matter.

“...But even so..." Peter finally finished, "I’ve never lacked...company.” Oh. Was that all? Lestrade watched as Peter leaned down and set his plate down on the ground for Baze to finish. Lestrade managed not to role his eyes; he hadn't cooked for the dog, he'd cooked for Peter.

"That's fine," Lestrade said, and then quickly added, as to correct what he think might have sounded a little desperate, "I mean, really, monogamy doesn't really bother me, I promise. It's not like I'm asking you to marry me." Lestrade managed not to think about how it was actually legal now, and how somehow, that made dating a guy equally as terrifying as dating a girl like it hadn't been before. He'd meant it as a light joke, but it hadn't been a good one. Still, he really couldn't blame Peter; he'd be a hypocrite to do so. After all, he was the one who spent his first night in America with some older man in the bar he'd gone to who bought him chips and a drink and then brought him home. And he was the one who'd spent a week in Castro admittedly having the time of his life.

"I just want to... have fun with you. No, that came out wrong, I mean-" Lestrade huffed, annoyed at his own inability to not sound either awkward or creepy, "I - I just want to go out on a date with you. It can just be as friends, I promise. I'm actually fine with just friends. You're just... fun to be with, okay?" Lestrade would have smacked himself if it wouldn't have made him look stupider than he already felt. Fun really? Could his considerable vocabulary really not come up with anything better than fun? Christ.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Peter waited for Lestrade’s response, catching the brief flash of annoyance when he’d set his plate down for Baze. It was probably rude, but Peter had been raised not to throw away food. His own father had gone hungry far too many times to see it go to waste. He wasn’t going to apologise, though. If he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

"That's fine. I mean, really, monogamy doesn't really bother me, I promise. It's not like I'm asking you to marry me."

Peter couldn’t help but swallow. Marriage...he couldn’t even handle a steady relationship or even dating. No, marriage would have been terrible for him. And now that it was legal for two men to marry, he had the other half of the world to worry about.

But clearly Lestrade didn’t get it. He wasn’t trying to tell Lestrade that he was going to sleep with other people, so don’t expect monogamy. He just...didn’t know how to date, even if he had the carnal relations down pat. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do on a date, what Lestrade expected or wanted...

"I just want to... have fun with you. No, that came out wrong, I mean, I - I just want to go out on a date with you. It can just be as friends, I promise. I'm actually fine with just friends. You're just... fun to be with, okay?"

Peter nodded, supposing that wasn’t all that bad. He wasn’t all that fun, but he could try. Baze, finished with Peter’s toast, took the opportunity to put his head on Peter’s leg, as if sensing he needed the support. He ran his hand through his soft fur, wondering if the dog was psychic.

“I can do that,” Peter replied. “I don’t mind us just having fun. I just don’t have a clue what I’m doing as soon as the word ‘date’ gets tossed around. So if you could keep that in mind for when I do something dumb, I’d appreciate it.”

Because undoubtedly, trying something new would have him screwing up all sorts of social protocols. He supposed he was saved from trying to explain further when the coffee pot beeped and his full attention was on the pot.

“Coffee’s ready.”

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Peter nodded, but he still looked nervous. Lestrade knew he was breaking lines for both of them here, probably, even having tried to sound as casual as possible. A part of him said it'd have been better to ignore everything from the start. After all, Peter was the one had kissed him last night, and he'd been drunk, and that could have made it easy. But Lestrade had kissed back, hadn't complained - the opposite, actually - so he couldn't shake it off, or really ignore it easily.

“I can do that,” Peter said, “I don’t mind us just having fun. I just don’t have a clue what I’m doing as soon as the word ‘date’ gets tossed around. So if you could keep that in mind for when I do something dumb, I’d appreciate it.”

Lestrade chuckled quickly, and would have made a comment about the chance of him doing stupid things was probably far greater than Peter's - he'd screwed up his own perfect marriage, after all - but the coffee maker beeped and Peter was quick to say, “Coffee’s ready.”

Lestrade got out of his chair and leaned down to take the now empty plate Baze was simply licking away and place it on the sink, sighing. He wondered what the hell he thought he was doing. He was glad Baze gave him an excuse to do so without Peter asking questions, really. Even if the dog slobber over something he was predictably going to eat off of again in the near future kind of disgusted him, still. He took a little white mug - standard, cheep, unimportant - off one of the hooks he had on the wall under the cupboard and poured Peter a cup. He decided not to have one himself.

He walked back to the little table and placed it in front of Peter, turning to put the bowl of sugar he had on the table too, wondering if Peter would ask for cream if he wanted any. He didn't sit down yet, though, pausing next to where Peter was sitting. He was, admittedly, kind of staring at Peter.

"So can I kiss you again now?" He asked, and immediately regretted it, because he hadn't meant to say that. He'd meant to ask about sugar and cream and Baze or work or anything, but not that. Being direct wasn't him. But... well, he had been thinking it. He hadn't actually realized he'd been thinking it, but he had been, obviously. So it wasn't so much he regretted asking the question as how he asked. Might as well take advantage of his mistakes, though. If he could. He smirked nervously at Peter, a questioning look on his face.

[DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS]

Peter watched as Lestrade jumped up to get him a cup of coffee, grabbing the plate from the floor at the same time. Peter heard the sigh and couldn’t help the small smile of amusement. Dog saliva was cleaner than human saliva, but he could see how the uptight man would be a bit put off by it. He rubbed Baze’s head gently.

“Thanks,” he offered when the white mug was set in front of him. He cupped his hands around the cup, ignoring the sugar.

He took a long sip, letting the caffeine flood his system. It took him a moment to realise that Lestrade was still standing there.

"So can I kiss you again now?"

Lestrade looked surprised for a moment before smiling nervously. Peter watched him from over the rim of his cup, thinking. Lestrade had been warned that he was getting into trouble by wanting things like that from him.

Ah, hell. What did he have to lose?

“I won’t stop you.”

He licked the last bit of coffee off of his lips and set his cup down, wondering what Lestrade would do now that he had permission. Baze huffed against his leg, then craned his head up to look at Lestrade. Peter nudged him with his foot, hoping the dog would get the hint. He was the kind of animal who was underfoot whenever Peter had something important going on, so he wouldn’t be surprised if this was no different than every other time.

“I just hope you are as good a kisser now that I’m sober as you were when I was drunk.”

It was a fair comment. He remembered everything, but his judgement had clearly been terrible. He just hoped he hadn’t misjudged him on this.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Peter's expression went from surprised to nervous to practically blank all in a few seconds, and Lestrade wasn't really sure what to read that as besides Peter had been expecting him to say that only as much as he had.

“I won’t stop you.” Peter put down his coffee, licking his lips and looking up at Lestrade. “I just hope you are as good a kisser now that I’m sober as you were when I was drunk.”

Oh. Well, if that was how it was.

Lestrade felt an incredible sense of guilt creep up on him as Peter spoke, though he was sure it didn't show on his face. 'I won't stop you.' That was more resigned than anything. Peter's next comment had been a bit more cocky, could have been funny really, but Lestrade just felt like he was making Peter uncomfortable now. That wasn't something he wanted to do on any accounts, and seeing as Peter had just warned him he'd really never been in a relationship before, he probably was pushing it a bit too much.

Lestrade huffed a smile out before leaning down, and kissed Peter lightly on the edge of the man's lips, slow, but not hard at all, before he pulled away, still smiling. The edge of Peter's lips had faintly tasted of coffee, french toast, and a small, lingering flavor of alcohol. All mixed with, of course, Peter himself. But it wasn't so much of a taste as a feeling, or the smell Peter being so close masking as taste. Lestrade decided it was nicer when he wasn't drunk though, even if they hadn't really kissed at all, just now.

"On second though," Lestrade said gently, straightening up, "It's probably better to take it slow." He tried as hard as he could to convey that It's fine, it's fine, it's all fine, really' into his smile, along with 'I'm sorry, but I don't want to ruin this already.' He let out small laugh, mostly nervous and apologetic and a tad disbelieving, and the smallest bit relieved. He hoped that hadn't all come out audibly. "Though you know," he said in a louder voice, but not raising the tone at all, "I am a fantastic kisser regardless."