The shrill alarm pierced through the silent morning, and a groan was heard from beneath the jumble of blankets atop the double bed beside the alarm.
There was another groan before a long, tanned arm snaked from beneath the covers, a hand swiping at the plastic and sending it hurtling to the floor.
Gregory Lestrade cursed as he tried to untangle himself from his quilt, eventually going arse-over and smacking into the cold floorboards with a yelp. He swivelled about as he sat, looking for the bloody clock.
'I heard you the first fucking time,' the seventeen-year-old snarled at no-one in particular, flailing about as he pushed the crap lining his bedroom floor aside. He eventually found the bright blue alarm beneath a pair of jeans that'd been under his bed for way too long.
He wrinkled his nose and tugged the alarm forward, pulling the plug from the wall and shutting off the shrill beeping.
Greg groaned in relief and sprawled across the floor on his back, eyes closing against the annoying sunshine that had decided to bathe the room in a soft glow.
It was too early... and bright... and everything just felt so terrible. Of course it was just Greg feeling terrible; getting pissed and shagging some random bloke until 3am tended to leave one feeling achy and sick and generally like they were going to die.
Greg wanted to crawl back under the covers for at least a week, maybe two, unfortunately he'd just got comfortable when his mum ripped the door open.
'Rise and shine, Gregory!' she hollered.
Yeah, his mum had a sick sense of humour. While she hated Greg's drinking, and smoking, and... er, sluttish ways, there wasn't a whole heap she could do about it; you know, other then raid his room and take his smokes, his alcohol, and make sure he had a box of condoms at all times (real embarrassing conversation, that one).
'Muum!' Greg whined from somewhere beneath his bed.
'Yes, sweetie?' Maggie Lestrade smiled, pulling the curtains further open. She hummed, 'Oh, it's such a lovely morning.'
'Rise and shine, honey, it's time for school.'
'Ah, well you'd be perfectly fine if you weren't out all night galavanting on that bike of yours,' Maggie tisked.
'I wasn't galavanting,' Greg mumbled. 'Don't ride while intoxicated, isn't that what all the cool kids say?'
Maggie tutted and ripped the blankets from her son, who yelped and scrambled about. Maggie sighed and said, 'Look at you.'
Greg had no idea what she was talking about until he looked down. Ah... yes, well that was unfortunate.
Someone had drawn a giant cock on his stomach in permanent marker, with an arrow pointing down to his crotch and the words "objects are smaller than this fucker claims they are".
'When the hell-'
'Up, shower, now,' Maggie ordered, kicking the teenager in the thigh. 'Honestly, Greg, what are you doing with yourself?'
'Being gorgeous and charming?' Greg tried.
Maggie's eyes darkened and Greg knew he was about to be in serious trouble. His mum might have turned a semi-blind eye to his more illegal habits, but she'd made it her mission in life to put Greg on the straight and narrow. He could have his fun, but she expected him to work hard in school and eventually grow up.
So rather than face his mother's wrath this early in the morning- and with such an awful hangover- Greg darted from his room and down the hall to the bathroom.
Scrubbing at his stomach with his mum's loofah had provided the following; bright red skin that burned uncomfortably, a black mess across his stomach that still read "objects are smaller than this fucker claims they are", and Maggie's loofah stained black.
Greg yawned and shuffled about as he pulled on his school uniform, not bothering to look in the mirror as he left. Girls claimed the "just rolled out of bed look" suited Greg and made him look like a badboy, while the teachers, cops, and general public said it made him look like a hooligan. Greg didn't really care for their labels; he was him, he didn't care what he looked like, end of story.
Maggie had toast waiting and though it was cold, Greg knew better than to argue. His mum was bustling about fixing everything up and Greg watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he chewed on his breakfast.
When she grabbed her favourite china set from the cupboard, Greg swallowed his mouthful and said, 'Whatchya doin', Mum?'
'Meghan's coming over for tea at four, so you'd better be here, Gregory.'
Greg groaned even as his mum turned to scowl at him. 'Meghan Holmes?' he demanded.
'Yes, dear, Meghan Holmes,' Maggie said.
'But she's so annoying,' Greg grunted. 'Gregory, how are you? Gregory, are you doing well in school? Gregory, don't you know what a shower is?'
Maggie snorted as her son continued to mimic the older woman.
'Honestly, she's got a stick so far up her arse-'
'Gregory!' Maggie chided.
'Sorry, sorry,' Greg mumbled. 'But honestly, why do you put up with that woman?'
'Well between work at the hospital, and taking care of you...' she trailed off to squeeze Greg's cheek, the teenager glaring and swatting her hand away, '... I don't have a social life,' Maggie continued. 'So it's either tea with Meghan Holmes, or suffer the unbelievably boring women who make up your classmates' mothers.'
'Mrs Holmes is one of the unbelievably boring women who make up my classmates' mothers,' Greg reminded her.
'Yes, but she has interesting stories,' Maggie said. 'And her eldest is a charming young man.'
Greg didn't say anything to that. Maggie knew there was no love lost between her son and Meghan's. Mycroft Holmes was everything Greg hated; brilliant, charming, polite to a fault, and with absolutely no personality. Honestly, Greg found walls more stimulating then Mycroft Holmes, and that was only because they were a good place to snog a guy against.
'Gregory, please, I don't ask a lot of you,' Maggie said, Greg looking up at her. 'Just be here at four, okay? And be nice to Mycroft.'
She was giving him her very best wounded-puppy dog face, and Greg had never been able to fight it. Sure, he was a bit of a rebel, but his mum knew how to work him.
So he gave a loud, 'Fine,' and checked the time on his mobile as he stuffed the rest of his toast into his mouth. 'But 'M not talkin' 'bout 'omework,' he mumbled through his mouthful.
Maggie just beamed and kissed his cheek. 'Yes, yes; you be careful, okay?'
Greg nodded and gave her a hug before grabbing his helmet, keys, and leather jacket. He had his school blazer stuffed into his backpack, and pulled on and zipped up his leather jacket before shouldering it on. He climbed onto his jet-black bike- nothing fancy because he wasn't old enough to ride anything really powerful- and pulled his helmet on before starting the engine.
It roared to life and Greg let it warm up a bit before rolling down the driveway and zipping onto the road.
Greg sighed as he turned his bike off, sitting astride the machine for a few minutes as he pocketed his keys and checked his voicemail. The Ibuprofen he'd swallowed in the shower was finally kicking in, reducing his migrain to a small thump in his temples. Greg felt like it was going to be a long day as he finally climbed off his bike.
He'd barely left the carpark before he was slapped across the back of the head. Greg turned to see Dylan Saunders and Joe Wright, two of his best mates. Dylan was usually the one who hit him so Greg wrapped an arm around the other teenager's neck and squeezed tightly.
'Guh, lemme go!' Dylan shouted.
'Fuck you and fuck your requests,' Greg said, holding on tight as Dylan bucked. 'Give me one good reason, Saunders.'
'I'll... I'll... let you see me naked?' Dylan suggested.
Greg snorted. 'As if I'd wanna see your hairy-arsed body, you fucker.' He tripped Dylan over, the shorter boy ending up sprawled across the grass, as Joe snickered and clapped Greg's hand.
'Some-fucking-party,' Joe said, seperating each word and moving his hands further and further apart as he spoke. 'Sally Donovan let me touch her-'
'Guh, straight-germs!' Greg shouted and shoved Joe away. Greg had been openly gay for years, and no one cared. There were about six or so gay guys and girls throughout the high school, and thankfully there had never been any major problems apart from name-calling.
'Give us a kiss, Greggie, I'll make you see how sexy chicks are!' Joe said, rushing at Greg and trying to hug him.
'Fuck off, cunt,' Greg said, ducking and weaving. Thankfully Joe was heavier than him and tired out quicker, kicking a rock at Greg as Dylan swept grass from his uniform. 'Anyway,' Greg said, unzipping his jacket and tugging his school shirt up, 'which one of you fucking pricks did this?'
Dylan and Joe read the words still stencilled across Greg's stomach before howling with laughter. Greg scowled as his mates laughed, slapped their knees, and stared at Greg with teary-eyes.
'It isn't fucking funny,' Greg scowled, 'my mum saw this and-'
'Mummy still giving you baths?' Dylan cut in.
Greg chased after him and Dylan ran for all he was worth, Greg eventually giving up and trekking around the Boster Building. Dylan and Joe followed, the latter pulling out a cigarette with Greg.
'So you disappeared around midnight,' Joe commented as he sucked back on his ciggie.
'Mm, went off with... erm...' Greg frowned, trying to remember the bloke's name, as his mates snickered. 'Fuck it, he goes to St Mary's across town... er...'
'Boy slut,' Dylan commented.
'Fuck you and fuck your mother,' Greg said.
'Ooh, nasty boy slut,' Dylan grinned.
Greg rolled his eyes and puffed on his cigarette. They chatted about the party a bit more, Joe saying how he'd passed out in the sitting room only to be woken when his sister poured ice down his back, before the fourth member of the group arrived. Michael Dimmock- who kicked anyone who called him Michael- was Greg's only bisexual friend, and the two often swapped stories and spoke about what men they liked best. Of course Dimmock wasn't nearly as much of a... slut, as Greg, but they could still talk about it.
'Hear about that mystery guy who's apparently a good screw?' Dimmock said.
'Who?' Greg frowned.
'Some guy's apparently been goin' about shagging blokes and he's fucking amazing,' Dimmock told Greg. 'John texted me and said Andy got fucked real good by this guy, who was less than happy with Andy's performance.'
'Andy's a little shit, who cares?' Dylan sniffed.
Dimmock gave Dylan a half-hearted glare, but only because Andy was his girlfriend's cousin. He turned back to Greg and said, 'So yeah, there's some bloke out there who's a better shag than you.'
'No way,' Greg said.
Dimmock shrugged. 'That's what Andy said.'
'Well he's fucking lying, no one's better than me,' Greg said, though he was still scowling. He prided himself on giving his part-time shags the best sex of their life... who the fuck was Andy, making up shit about some other dude? 'He probably just wants another go,' Greg mumbled.
Dimmock and the others snorted.
'Seriously, I fuck him once and he wants to be my boyfriend,' Greg said, finishing off his second cigarette.
'Didn't he get the memo that you're a whore?' Joe asked.
'Apparently not,' Greg said. The morning bell rang loudly across the ground and Greg and the others all trooped to class.
Andy wasn't lying. At lunch he went into major detail about this guy- Mickey or Mikey or Matt, Andy couldn't remember- and what he did with his tongue, his fingers and hands, his cock and- anyway, this guy was good.
'Sorry, Greg,' Andy had blushed. 'I mean, you're definitely amazing in bed, but this guy... damn, he's just really fucking amazing.'
Greg glared at the younger boy before storming off, heading towards the un-official smokers area. It was the only party of the school that the teachers didn't look at and the students took the oppotunity to sneak cigarettes during the day.
Greg was so busy in thought that he didn't see him until it was too late- he collided heavily with someone and they both stumbled back, Greg hitting the concrete path and the other body stumbling into the wall.
'Jesus,' Greg snarled, rubbing his aching elbow. 'What the fuck?'
'I apologise, but you should have been looking where you were going.'
Greg groaned; he knew that voice. And sure enough, when he looked up, there stood Mycroft Holmes.
He was a tall boy, about three months younger than Greg if Greg remembered correctly, with short ginger-brown hair combed perfectly, ice-blue eyes, and pale skin. He wore his uniform immaculately, his school bag always buldging with books even while he carried a folder and more books under his arm.
Mycroft held a hand out politely but Greg ignored him, instead hopping to his feet and brushing dirt from his uniform. He was about to go- he really had no interest in speaking with Mycroft- when the younger boy said, 'It would be polite for you to apologise.'
Greg turned, a frown tugging at his face. 'S'cuse me?'
'You bumped into me because you weren't watching where you were going,' Mycroft said. 'I apologised to you, it's only polite to return the words.'
'Why the fuck should I?' Greg demanded.
Mycroft tilted his head and Greg scowled. There was something about Mycroft Holmes that really got under his skin; he was... too polite, too neat, too perfect. Everything he did and said felt like it was pre-rehersed, like Mycroft was just acting that way to please everyone else. Greg hated fakes, so he hated Mycroft.
'I see, you're going to continue to hate me, despire the fact that we don't really know each other, apart from the occassional teas with our mothers.'
'Don't say that outloud!' Greg hissed, head darting around. God help him if anyone heard that he was spending time outside of school with Mycroft Holmes.
'You care too much what people think,' Mycroft stated suddenly.
'Whatever, just get lost, Holmes,' Greg said.
'I'll see you this afternoon, Gregory,' was Mycroft's response.
Greg gritted his teeth as he stormed through the school. Like he needed a fucking reminder about that.