Chapter Text
Traveling to Scotland on Christmas Eve was like one of those dreams where one was trying to get somewhere but was constantly thwarted. He had them the night before each new term at uni and before every mission. The torment of being expected and then appearing tardy and scattered would wake him in a cold sweat.
Still Greg might not be waiting. There was Charley now; a fresh start with someone less needy and of his own class, a working man, sturdy with muscles rippling as he brought down his sledge hammer on solid rock. Charley would be even younger with a doting family like the Lestrades, and the love and care of his family would mean that he was never needy or smothering with Greg.
When the plane finally departed and the seat belt sign was off, the attendant came to his seat and put her hand on his shoulder, “Sir, you can’t make it go any faster.”
Sheepishly, he leaned back in his seat. He hadn’t even realized that he was leaning forward with his jaw thrust out. All his work had got done somehow, and he’s gone from frenzied multitasking to full stop. He had brought a book, but the words didn’t make any sense. Even though he needed it, sleep would bring nightmares and he didn’t want to scream on a plane, even in first class.
He tried the village. The only scene he could picture was Michael and Graham sleeping peacefully in each other’s arms. He had carried them to a safe place and didn’t want to disturb them, not at Christmas. Besides, they were ever connected with Greg now. Their future difficulties didn’t interest him anymore.
Finally, he pawed through his well worn memories of patient, gentle Greg. They would always be there even after the divorce. He remembered how overwhelmed he had been to have a beautiful man in his bed every night, a constant presence so that he could not let his guard down. Sex was the only way he knew how to interact in the beginning. He was constantly worried at how his ritual would be perceived by Greg’s observant eyes. He thought that he was always being scanned and found lacking.
Then Greg helped him start over from the beginning by planning a first date. After the disaster of that ridiculous restaurant, they had shared beer and pizza like mates. Greg had become his best friend, something he had never had. But Greg has also been his tender lover. He recalled the feeling of the staged first kiss by the kitchen door, the icy air blowing down the back of his neck as Greg’s chapped lips brushed his.
Greg had undressed him in the library and prompted him repeatedly until he had learned the lesson that in Greg’s eyes, he was beautiful. Under Greg’s tutelage, he had learned to hug and hold hands. He had become a better lover instead of only focusing on getting to a climax. He was spoiled for any other kind of sex.
Greg had nursed him when he was injured, washing him and warming him with his own body. Then finally, Greg had healed his mind, releasing a life time of grief with the sweet gift of a wee stuffed rabbit. Mycroft could never have imagined trusting someone enough to cry in front of them, but Greg had been the calm center in his hurricane of anxiety. For a little while, Mycroft had felt safe.
Greg had showed him how to play, something that he didn’t even know he needed. They had private jokes and games that were fun and eased the pressure of work. He could laugh with Greg and know that there were no hidden barbs in their humor. They had played with the train set like children. Now it would have to be torn down and installed wherever he settled with his new lover.
A new, more well-adjusted partner could heal Greg the way that Greg had healed Mycroft. And if he could let Greg end the marriage easily with a parting of mutual respect, then perhaps with time, he and Greg could become friends again and sometimes he might get a hug or kind word. Love meant letting go so the other person could be happy.
Greg had taken the first step by asking for his ring back. He would expedite the rest of it. He wouldn’t have had the courage before, but now he loved Greg enough to put him first even if it meant permanent isolation. He would never be able to find another partner that could tolerate his parasitism. Morris was going to move in with Tuppy and Mycroft suspected that he would start a catering business. Tuppy was enjoying a lucrative career in private security. Even if Morris wanted to keep running Mycroft’s household, the sight of his happiness would be a constant reminder of losing Greg.
As they prepared to land, he organized the papers Anthea had given him. He had a Land Rover waiting and would have to go through the same process as anyone to rent it. In some circles, he could bypass the ridiculous paperwork, but eventually even royalty might run into the same snags as the common man. Anthea had argued with him that he needed a car and driver, not for convenience but for safety. He was exhausted and would be on unfamiliar and remote roads. But he hadn’t wanted to take someone from his family at Christmas anymore than he had wanted to have a companion for several hours as his dread built. The dissolution of his marriage was painful enough without having an audience. Even though he was weary, he felt better for having his own means of escape at the ready. Once Greg had dispensed with him, he would be able to scream and cry in the privacy of his car as he drove back.
The delay made him itch, but h e took the time to fill the tank and purchase and fill a large auxiliary can. He brought sandwiches and biscuits and a thermos of hot coffee. Prices near the airport were shocking even to him but he bought an audio book, a biography because those always compelled him to see the subject safely into the present day.
It might as well have been white noise for what he retained of it. His thoughts were still with Greg and scenes of how he might be cuddled with his new lover Charley. He cast Charley first as blond then raven haired but couldn’t bear to make him a ginger. At first he imagined the man touching and kissing Greg’s body in the way that aroused him best before it occurred to him that Greg might not like that at all. Mycroft couldn’t assume that he knew anything about the way Greg liked to be touched.
He tried to block out the clips of that last night where Greg had brought him off without any realization of how ashamed Mycroft was or how his body needed and repelled touch at the same time. He blinked until the burning in his eyes stopped. Some of his memories were too dangerous to peruse while driving.
He took a few bites of the sandwich but the bread was like glue and stuck in his craw. The coffee was easier to swallow, but after drinking it all, his bladder nearly exploded, and he lost time stopping by the side of the road to piss, the frigid wind shriveling him and making it nearly impossible to force out a stream like yellow tears.
Finally, he was turning on the road to the inn, the Land Rover lurching in the ruts of hard packed snow. He began to see an odd flickering and after rubbing at his eyes, it remained. He couldn’t risk going any faster. What had happened? Were they emergency flares?
As he drew closer, he realized that the road was lined with luminaries. Perhaps there was a holiday tradition. Then he saw between the rows of candles, a familiar figure in a tuxedo, evening coat and scarf. Mycroft stopped the car and turned off the engine. He had come to the crossroads; now Greg would choose their path. When Greg didn’t come closer, he got out on shaking legs and went to meet his fate.
There was a rug on the ground. Greg knelt down. Mycroft tried to read his face in the flickering candlelight, but he couldn’t deduce a thing. Greg reached out for his hand. “Mycroft Holmes, with all the stars above as witnesses, will you take this ring and be my husband?”
His mind tried to catch up. They weren’t over at all. Greg wanted them to stay married and was asking of his own free will. Braced for the worst case scenario, Mycroft didn’t know how to process an outcome better than his fondest hope.
“Baby? You’re making me nervous. Will you stay married to me?”
“Yes, please.”
Greg had his ring and went to put it on but was stopped by the substitute. “Did you find someone else in the past few days?”
“I couldn’t bear the empty finger.” Mycroft moved the faux ring to his other hand. “I’m sorry, love. All better now.”
Greg kissed the ring, restored to its proper place. “Help me up. I’m going to kiss you.”
Greg kissed him until he couldn’t breathe, his insistent tongue delving deep. When they broke for air, a wail escaped Mycroft’s lips. He put a hand over his mouth to block the ugly sound but it was beyond stopping. He had to stop or it would ruin everything. Greg would take back the proposal. He must never be needy. Gasping out an apology, he gritted his teeth and turned away, but the grief was too big.
Greg grabbed hold and held on. “Let it all go, My. You’ve been brave long enough. I’m back now. You can let go.”
Mycroft cried, savoring the feeling of surrender. Greg was in charge. Finally he was done and feeling embarrassed at the outburst with his head on Greg’s shoulder. “I’m truly sorry. I know how you hate it when I cry.”
“I hate it when you’re sad and it’s my fault and I don’t know how to fix it.”
“I’m feeling better,” he said, hating the quaver in his voice.
“I think I’ll get up and walk around a bit.” Greg made it alright with a Python quote.
Then he wanted to kiss Greg without second guessing himself. As he cupped Greg’s face, his hands met wet beard. Greg had cried too and rather a lot. He rubbed his lips in it and tasted salt. In a land where the wind never stopped, it was still. In the distance, they heard church bells. “Merry Christmas, love, and happy anniversary. Let’s go home before we freeze.”
Greg drove, his black gloved hand easy and competent on the gear shift. Mycroft wondered what would happen next as he filled tissue after tissue and dabbed at his eyes. He didn’t really want to see anyone. “I’m underdressed for a party.”
“You’re overdressed for what I have in mind.”
A thrill went through Mycroft at the lust in Greg’s voice. He hoped that this time they would both be naked, but it didn’t matter because they were going to stay married. They could keep on trying.
They stumbled into the lobby, thoughtfully empty, and locked themselves in their room. “We need to be naked immediately.”
“I concur.”
Greg laughed, cheeky and sure. “I love you, My, and I want you.”
“Me too.” Whatever Greg could give would be enough, but oh how Mycroft wished that they would find release together. Greg was toeing off his shoes while his fingers flew over his buttons. All Mycroft could do was tremble, his arms too weak to lift.
“Shall I help?”
He nodded and looked his fill of Greg’s bare torso while being undressed. Greg got their trousers and pants off by pulling them straight down around their ankles. They didn’t make it past the pile of discarded clothing. Greg took them both in hand right there.
Greg’s eyes were closed. He was panting with an open mouth as their cocks rubbed together. Mycroft’s toes curled until he thought he might cut the soles of his feet. Nevertheless, he had to know. “Greg, look at me.”
Greg could barely get his eyes open they were so heavy lidded. “What?”
“Do you want this?”
“Hell, yes.” His eyes were glassy with need. “You take over, My. Your fingers are longer.”
Mycroft would always remember the feel of Greg’s cock slippery and growing in his hand. He would not take it for granted again. He used all of his best moves and somehow, held himself back until Greg came. He heard the familiar grunt, saw his body stiffen, and a little trickle of drool seep out of his mouth. It was real. Only when Greg’s whole body was quivering, did he let himself go over. He was still holding them both when he came to.
“Damn, I’m sticky.”
Mycroft felt around on the floor until he found his shirt. “Here, use this. I wore it on the plane. I’m going to burn it later.”
“I don’t want to stay on the floor, but I’m not sure I can walk.”
Mycroft moved his legs but they seemed to be bound together. “I think I still have my shoes on.”
“If I strip you starkers, do you think you can roll over?”
Greg managed to get Mycroft’s shoes off so that his trousers and pants would slide off. Once Mycroft rolled over, he could push with his legs and help Greg. Holding each other up, they made it to the bed. Mycroft desperately wanted to hang on to Greg, afraid it hadn’t been real or that Greg would change his mind. “Spatula.” He didn’t even know if Greg remembered their code word, but he did and climbed on top of Mycroft, the sweet weight pressing down as lethargy took them both.
When Mycroft woke, he was perspiring from hard sleep and confused about where he was. Location didn’t really matter because Greg was there. He did all the things that he had been denied, rubbing his hand down Greg’s spine to cup his arse, rubbing a finger tip lightly in the cleft.
“If you keep doing that, I might be able to go again. Christ, it’s been a long time.”
“So it really happened? I’m not dreaming?”
“It really happened. I made an honest man of you and then seduced you.”
Mycroft held his hand up for the firelight to catch his ring. Then he put his nose against Greg’s neck and sniffed in all of Greg’s scent that he could hold which was quite a lot with his giant beak. He had hard again from it, his cock swelling uncomfortably between them.
“Seriously, My? It’s only been an hour.”
“I’m sorry.” He tried to roll over to escape but Greg’s weight pinned him.
Greg raised himself up on his elbows so they could make eye contact. “Don’t apologize for wanting me, baby. I’m glad you still can after what I’ve put you through. And I’m impressed. We’re not kids anymore.”
“Just because it’s there doesn’t mean we have to address it. I’m content, Greg, as long as I can look at you and touch you.” His stomach growled between them.
“Let’s feed you up and then see what happens. I forgot all about the midnight feast that Cordelia put out for us.”
Greg took care of him, and he allowed it, resting in bed until the food was laid out before the fire. He ate two bowls of soup without looking up. Greg supplied him with buttered bread and slices of fruit and cheese until finally sated, he leaned back against the couch.
Only one thorn niggled in his paradise. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather make a fresh start with Charley? Because I was prepared to give you up if you had a better offer.”
Greg looked stern as he put the last of the dishes back in the basket. “Charley is short for ‘Charlotte,’ a happily married, seventy year old lesbian.”
He took Mycroft’s hand and eased the ring off. “I had an inscription put in this. “All my heart.” He passed the ring to Mycroft who couldn’t see a thing but could feel that something was etched there.
“All of me, My, for the rest of our lives. I would never cheat on you. You are all the man I want or need.”
He had fished for reassurance and received it. All of his worries were unfounded. They kissed, savoring the last hints of cheddar and Satsuma on each other’s tongues. Greg’s hand wandered into the V of Mycroft’s dressing gown, and he obligingly untied the belt so that Greg could have free rein. Greg straddled him and ran his fingers over hair and nipples with his full attention. As he watched his hands stroking Mycroft’s chest, he asked, “Did you like my letter? You never said.”
“Letter?”
“We were having trouble getting a signal for a proper conversation so I emailed you a love letter.”
Mycroft was embarrassed as if the technical difficulties were his fault. “I checked my messages incessantly the entire time I was gone. Nothing from you, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I would have responded.”
“No wonder you were gobsmacked when I proposed. I made a paper copy. Would you like to hear it now?”
“Of course.”
Greg kissed Mycroft’s chest before levering himself up to dig through the papers on the desk. He came back with reading glasses in place, looking criminally lovely.
He cleared his throat but his voice was still husky as he read:
Dear My,
Near the beginning of our lives together, you wrote me a letter, sharing your deepest hopes and fears. Your vulnerability was the greatest act of courage I’ve ever seen and that letter is my most prized possession. It’s bloody well past time for me to return the favor.
I love you, My, with everything that is in me. You are brilliant, a genius, highly skilled at your job but what you bring to your life together is an open and generous heart. You are kind, even to those who return that kindness with cruelty, myself included.
You kept the faith for our marriage when I lost myself. You carried me when all hope was gone. You were so brave. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, baby.
I’m chuffed to see how amazing you are, and how hard you’ve worked to grow and change for us. You are my inspiration.
The paper shook as a tear rolled down Greg’s cheek. “I couldn’t make the words say what I felt. I’m not a writer like you, My.”
“You’re doing fine, love.” Mycroft had thought he might cry but instead he felt powerful.
You are my beautiful English rose with your soft fair skin and your blushes. When you come to me, I want to kiss every inch of you.
You are a gifted writer and I hope you will finish your village story and share it with the world.
I have so little to offer you in return but you can have it all. I will work hard for you every day, I promise.
It’s time for our anniversary, and if you had any sense, you would leave me. Would you consider it for your own sake, please? I am so flawed and I will fuck it up gain no matter how hard I try. If any part of you—
Greg stopped to wipe his eyes. Mycroft wondered if he should offer to read the rest himself but he thought this was something Greg needed to do. He handed him a tissue.
Greg took a shaky breath and continued.
If any part of you wants freedom from all of the pain that I have caused, I will do my best to let you go in friendship. But in my selfishness, I hope you will stay. I know we can have an easier time of it in our second year. We have been through so much, but we have also learned so much. I want to build this marriage into something that we can both be proud of.
You proposed the first time. God, again you are so brave. But I want you to have the experience of being asked, and knowing that you are loved and desired. Give it some thought, love, and do what is best for your battered heart. When I see you next, I will go down on my knees with the question. If you answer is no, then I will receive the rejection I deserve. But if you accept me, I’ll never ask for anything else. Either way, I will always love you.
All my heart,
Greg
Greg buried his face in Mycroft’s chest. Mycroft kissed the top of his fuzzy head and rubbed his back. “It was a beautiful letter, sweetheart. Thank you.”
“I do love you, My. I swear it. So much, God, you have no idea how much.” Greg hugged him tight. “I know how much I’ve hurt you over and over since the shooting, but I am sorry. Say you believe me, baby. Please?”
“I believe you. It’s alright. We don’t have to keep going over it.” Mycroft realized how much Greg had risked. He’d had days alone to plan the proposal and fret over the answer with no response via mobile or email. His body shook with what Mycroft hoped was relief.
Finally he lay still, one hand resting against Mycroft’s heart. “Did I do the right thing? Did you feel wanted and loved?”
“Yes, I did.” Mycroft still felt the flood of surprise that Greg had chosen him. “Thank you for asking. I needed it.”
“Thank you for saying yes.”
The room had grown chilly so they moved back to the bed. They kissed and touched under the duvet until weariness overtook Mycroft. As he drifted to sleep, he could feel Greg’s hands still caressing him. He woke to Greg’s kisses on his shoulder.
Already knowing the answer, he enjoyed asking the question. “Is there anywhere we have to go today?”
“No. We don’t have to move out of this bed.” Greg slipped the covers down to kiss along Mycroft’s spine.
“Is there anyone we should phone?”
“It’s no one but us today. We have the entire inn to ourselves.”
Mycroft sighed. For one day he would give himself grace and forego hypervigilance. Greg was better; it was time to accept him as healed. From the window, open just a crack, the smell of the sea and peat wafted over him as well as a stiff(no pun intended, he chuckled) breeze that hardened his nipples and did nothing to flag an impressive erection.
“We can take this day as it comes,” Greg said, licking a stripe across Mycroft’s left buttock.
“Or I can take you as you come.” Then Mycroft was flipped over and straddled.
He blinked up at Greg. “Good morning, Mr. Top.”
“I’m going to storm you tower.” Greg took him all the way in.
At first he was aware of being spread out like DaVinci’s Vitruvian Man, then he was falling through the bed as Greg sucked his cock relentlessly. A spit slicked finger entered him, and he meant to tell Greg to get off before the volcano erupted. What if it broke Greg’s palate? What if it shot through the top of Greg’s skull? He came to in the recovery position with Greg’s arms around him. Greg was trembling and he felt anxious until he heard a suppressed giggle.
“What?”
“You shouted “There she blows.’”
“Bloody hell. Do you think anyone heard?”
“I don’t know, cap’n. Should I scan the horizon or batten down the hatches?”
Images of Greg as a sailor, shirtless and darkly tanned, sent his cock into aftershocks. “Is the building still empty?”
“As far as I know. Tom took Moire back yesterday. Cordelia said they would all be on the farm unless we rang them. We’re invited for Christmas dinner with them but she also left things that we could heat up.” Greg hopped up and pulled on his dressing gown, tiptoeing over to open the door. He returned with a large basket, steaming in the chilly room. “Whoever delivered this got an earful.”
Greg laughed. Then he fell down on the bed, kicking his legs and laughed some more. “It’s the great white willie, Moby Dick.”
Mycroft wasn’t quite as sure that he wanted Greg’s sense of humor back, but he was too mellowed by his explosive orgasm to think it through.
“Do you need a cuddle before breakfast, baby?”
“After, I think. I’m hungry.”
They fell to without much chit chat. They ate mini quiches and cranberry walnut scones and croissant dripping with herbed butter washed down with several mugs of tea. Somehow they made room for mince pies because it wouldn’t be Christmas without them.
When Greg was licking the butter from Mycroft’s fingers, he became quite sleepy. “I’m relieving you of your duty, Cap’n. Time for a lie down below decks.”
“How long are the naval jokes going to continue?”
“Thursday week.”
“Carry on then.” Mycroft snuggled under the duvet, enjoying the soft weight of it settling on his bare arse so long since they had slept naked. He stretched, wincing as the movement pulled on his full stomach. “I ate too much.”
A cool breeze ran up his spine as Greg lifted the duvet and pressed against his back. “You need me to rub your belly.”
“I’m not a spaniel puppy,” he said, a mock protest because he wanted Greg’s hands on him more than anything in the world.
After a nap, they had a quick wash and went for a walk. The day was frigid but sunny, and they moved briskly to warm themselves, gloved hands clasped. Greg led the way, eyes sparkling, taking them past the ruined croft. “We’ll stop on the way back.”
At the cliff, there was a rough wooden bench. “This is temporary, of course, to get a sense of scale. As you walk toward the cliff, you’ll see a proper cairn but come around and the circle of stones will shelter a stone bench. I’ll either design it with an indentation for a wooden inlay or see if we can start some kind of moss for a pad. Stone lasts forever but it’s hard on the arse.”
Mycroft shivered as the wind blew against his back, trying to push him out to sea, but the view was amazing. It would be a fine spot for writing. Greg came and stood behind him, blocking the wind. “I’ve finally decided what to put on the plaque.”
He was silent then Mycroft turned to find him fighting tears. “For the broken, the fallen, and those lost at sea.”
Mycroft hugged him, rocking them back and forth.
Greg gave a great sniff and continued, “That includes everybody, even the shell shocked, blokes like me, and the fallen could be soldiers who died or men like Rich who fell from grace.”
“It’s perfect, love. You’ve put so much careful thought into it.”
“I like this sort of work, a mix of mental and physical labor with a visible result. I’ve felt satisfied at the end of the day.”
Mycroft hoped that there would be a career change in Greg’s future. His career had taken a heavy toll on his spirit. What if he could find something that fulfilled him and come home happy at the end of the day? He was wasted on the dead when he was so gregarious. Mycroft wasn’t certain he had ever seen Greg this passionate and tamped down the disappointment that he wasn’t the source.
They fought the seaward wind all the way back to the croft. Within the rough L of the two remaining sides was another rough bench which they were glad to collapse on, slightly out of the wind if not the cold. The shelter that they had built together was still there but without the fire, it was less a haven.
“I’ve gathered all the loose stones nearby and stacked them up, but they’ve been worn or cracked by weather. We’ll have to wait on a permit from the planning commission before we take it further but I’m enjoying the process.
“Even as it is, with a proper bench like the one at the cairn, it will be delightful.” He felt sad that his enthusiasm didn’t match Greg’s but he was trying.
Greg paced between the walls. “If I could just dig, I know there are more stones and even artifacts here. In such an isolated place, there must be all sorts of treasures. Time enough for that in the spring. You’ll come with me, won’t you?”
“We’ll come back as often as you like.” Mycroft gingerly rubbed the tip of his nose which appeared to be frost bitten. If it blackened and fell off, it could only improve.
“This is a croft. A croft has so many meanings, a word that encompasses so much.” Greg sat down on the bench and made a circle with his hands. “It’s a building but also a home and a farm.”
Mycroft nodded. They had spoken of it when Greg was first inspired by the ruins but Mycroft preferred discussions on etymology to be conducted inside.
“Your name is Mycroft.”
He nodded, wondering if Greg was having a reaction to his new medication.
“You are Mycroft.”
“Yes, I am.” He bit back a snide response. That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.
“You’re not seeing it.” Greg stood up and removed his gloves. He took Mycroft’s face in his hands, the warmth stinging the wind burned skin. “You are my croft. My home, my shelter, my work, and my future.”
Then they kissed with a passion so deep that Mycroft was glad of stone walls which could not catch fire.
When the shops were open, they took Greg’s ring to have it engraved. It read ‘All My Forever.’ The double meaning pleased them.
The End