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Greg walked up the steps of 221B. He felt about ready to drop. He'd just finished a 16 hour shift, and then had to battle his way through a packed Tesco Express to find some wine and a fancy box of chocolates last minute.
He had completely forgotten to buy Sherlock a poxy birthday present.
In all honesty, he really didn't see the point of John throwing 'a little celebration' (in his own words), because in all the years that Greg had known the man, Sherlock had grumbled about how pointless birthdays were.
He pushed the door to the sitting room open to be met with John and Sherlock kissing as though their lives depended on it.
Greg pointedly cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly.
What he wouldn't give for a shower and his bed.
"Greg, mate!" John's cheeks were right red, but Sherlock standing beside him looked incredibly self-satisfied.
"Yeah, hi." Greg muttered, “Oh, these are for you by the way." He held out the wine and chocolates to Sherlock, who gave them a quick glance of appraisal before taking them from Greg.
"Glaringly last minute, but they will suffice."
Greg could feel himself deflate, and half contemplated leaving right there.
John stood on Sherlock's foot, eliciting a pained gasp.
"What was that for?"
John pointedly glanced from the gifts to Greg and back again.
"Thanks Greg." Sherlock mumbled, much like a chastised child.
"Want a drink?" John asked casually.
"Gasping."Greg followed John into the kitchen, thinking about how many drinks he would need to survive this.
John poured out a generous amount of whiskey.
"Thanks." Greg took a sip straight away, relishing the burn. "So, who else is coming?"
John leant against the counter, "Mrs Hudson should be up soon. Molly's been invited, and I asked Mycroft too."
Greg felt his cheeks burn at the mention of Mycroft's name and John frowned.
"You're not still interested in him, are you?" The note of disapproval stung, and Greg took another mouthful of whiskey, shrugging indifferently.
"Haven't seen the man in at least two months." He chose not to mention how they had still been in contact with each other, despite not being able to meet in person.
"Didn't answer the question though." John was still frowning.
"Piss off John." Greg grumbled, "Anyway, why invite him? I've only ever been in the same room with Sherlock and Mycroft twice and bloody world war three nearly broke out."
John chuckled, "Well, he's still abroad so he won't be turning up."
Greg raised an eyebrow, "And if it turns out he isn't abroad, and turns up? What then?"
John frowned, "Didn't think that far ahead actually."
"Wonderful." The sarcasm cut through Greg's voice. He was half-tempted to remind John that he was off-duty, but another larger part of him was secretly wishing that he could finally set eyes on Mycroft again.
"Hey there Greg." The soft voice came from his right accompanied by a light touch to his arm. Greg glanced up from his phone to Molly's smiling face.
"Molly! How are you?"
"Good. Nice to see you minus the corpses for once."
Greg couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, makes a nice change."
"You look tired."
Greg shrugged it off, "16 hour shifts are a killer. I'm off tomorrow though."
"Remember what I said about looking after yourself?" She asked, eyebrow raised, concern showing through on her friendly face.
"Of course. I've even been cooking." Greg forced a smile.
Molly nodded and took a sip of wine, "Wasn't expecting this for Sherlock's birthday."
"Neither was I to be honest." Greg frowned.
"Molly?" John's voice carried in from the sitting room.
Molly smiled apologetically at Greg before leaving him alone as she went into the next room.
Greg was nearing the end of his whiskey and trying to find a way of getting out of Baker Street when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He knew those footsteps.
Despite himself, he could feel his heart jump, stomach nervous.
Mycroft walked into the kitchen, umbrella in hand, and Greg could feel an effortless smile bloom on his lips.
"Mycroft!"
Mycroft turned towards Greg, his eyes softening. "Gregory, lovely to see you."
"Long time no see."
"Hmm. Politics." Mycroft murmured darkly, glancing towards the sitting room where Molly, John, and Sherlock had their backs to them, crowded around a laptop.
"Drink?" Greg asked, gesturing towards the whiskey and wine on the counter.
Mycroft made a slight expression of distaste. "Whiskey, please."
Greg made himself busy with the drinks. "Probably not the quality you're used to."
"Not quite, no." Mycroft smiled when Greg handed him the glass.
Their fingers brushed against each other and they met gazes, Greg desperately wanting to close the space between them.
Maybe he would have, had Sherlock's voice not shocked them apart.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Mycroft stood up straighter, something Greg had come to recognise as his defensive stance. He noticed Mycroft's knuckles turn white from how tightly he was holding the glass. Greg was only inches away.
"I was invited, dear brother." Mycroft's voice was like ice, and Greg felt his own stomach churn with dread.
"Who on earth would invite you?"
Mycroft glanced over at John, who was scratching the back of his neck impishly, an uneasy smile on his face. "Yeah, that would be me actually."
"What the hell John?"
"In fairness, I thought he wasn't in the country."
Sherlock stared darkly at John, something wordless passing between them.
"As I am clearly not wanted here, I'll make my way out." Mycroft placed a perfectly wrapped gift on the kitchen table, his face a closed mask.
Before Greg realised what exactly he was doing, he had reached out to grasp Mycroft's arm.
"Pathetic." Sherlock murmured, shaking his head.
Mycroft glanced down at Greg's hand on his arm, but didn't move away.
"Lestrade, your obvious infatuation with my brother is sickening."
"Sherlock!" Molly's gasp broke the tense silence that had fallen over them.
Mycroft slowly pulled away out of Greg's grip, staring at some distant point across the room from them.
"Coo-wee!" Mrs Hudson's sing-song voice carried through the rooms as she appeared in the doorway to the sitting room with a huge iced cake on a tray in her hands, oblivious to the current chilly atmosphere of the room.
"Happy birthday dear." She smiled fondly at Sherlock, "Can't have a birthday without a cake."
"Thank you Mrs Hudson, you didn't have to." John's voice was quiet, and Sherlock's expression had softened a little.
"Of course I did!" She carried it into the kitchen and Greg noticed her frown when she saw Mycroft, but quickly turned to smile at Greg.
"Now that Fatcroft is here, we'll surely need two cakes."
Greg stared aghast at Sherlock, and noticed Mycroft freeze beside him.
His face had paled, and continued to pale as Sherlock laughed, followed by John. Molly was standing on her own biting her lip, a frown clear on her face, just as lost for words as Greg himself.
"You'll be glad to hear I am leaving then." Mycroft's voice was sharp as he pulled on his coat with an air of nonchalance that Greg knew was an act.
"Wonderful. Your absence is the best gift you could ever give me."
Mycroft nodded once, "I'm glad." Then he turned on his heel and was gone.
"What the fuck, Sherlock?" It was impossible to disguise the anger in Greg's voice. Greg grabbed his coat off the back of the chair as Sherlock stared at him with amusement.
"Go after him then Lestrade. Mycroft doesn't do emotion, so don't expect your little crush to come to anything." There was a sneer in his voice.
"Sherlock-" John's voice was low as he placed a warning hand on Sherlock's arm.
"I thought you were better than this." Greg glared. He slammed the kitchen door behind him, missing Sherlock's recoil.
Greg didn't care. He sprinted down the stairs and out onto the footpath.
Greg spotted Mycroft immediately, he was nearly at the end of Baker Street, back facing Greg.
When Greg shouted his name, Mycroft paused mid-step and turned.
"Wait!" Greg shouted again, breaking into a run.
"Gregory." Mycroft murmured as Greg reached him.
"Sherlock was completely out of line."
Mycroft's face was still set in a cold mask, "It was my error for turning up and believing things could be different."
"You were invited."
"As an oversight." Mycroft cleared his throat. "I should return home."
Greg could hear the dread in Mycroft's voice at the idea and he reached out, resting his hand on Mycroft's shoulder. "Come home with me."
The words spilled out before Greg could really think of how suggestive they sounded.
Mycroft stared at him in confusion.
"Just-" Greg struggled for words. "You don't have to be alone."
"You look exhausted, Gregory."His voice was no more than a whisper and Mycroft raised his arm and hesitated before caressing Greg's cheek. The touch sent an electricity through Greg's blood. "I don't want to be a burden."
"Mycroft," Greg breathed, stepping closer to the younger man, "You will never be a burden." Greg met Mycroft's eyes, "I'm not the only one who looks shattered. Come with me. Please." Greg was about to say that it's been so long since they’ve seen each other when Mycroft nodded in acceptance of Greg's offer.
A smile broke across Greg's face, "Let's get the tube then."
Greg was surprised when the carriage they stepped into was half-empty, meaning he could sit beside Mycroft. He sat closer than necessary, leaning in to Mycroft, as though trying to remind Mycroft that he was there.
"When was the last time you had a proper meal?" Greg asked quietly, noticing Mycroft's face fall as he refused to look towards Greg.
"That's not an issue." Greg almost shivered at the return of the sharpness in Mycroft's voice.
Greg placed a hand on Mycroft's arm. "I know you better than that."
"Gregory."
"Mycroft."
Mycroft shook his head, "Yesterday morning."
Mycroft's voice was so low that Greg nearly missed his answer.
Greg nodded, as though he was half expecting that answer. He pressed himself closer to Mycroft.
"How does chicken stir-fry sound?"
Mycroft raised an eyebrow.
Greg shrugged, "Home cooked; I've started prepping meals so I'm not just ordering a takeaway every night after work."
Mycroft looked impressed, "It's been a long time since you've cooked for me, Gregory."
"Nevermind that, it's been too long since I've seen you."
Mycroft's eyes snapped his own, meeting his gaze, stare intense as though he was trying to read Greg.
Greg hoped that Mycroft could see what he wanted him to.
While nothing had ever happened between Greg and Mycroft, they were closer than many people would have guessed.
Greg had known Mycroft for about six years at this point, and he would consider them friends. It was Greg that had received a call from Anthea very shortly into their friendship; Mycroft was in the hospital and wanted to see Greg.
Calls from hospitals were usually due to Sherlock, so Greg had rushed from work, concerned and confused. Anthea had met him outside the hospital, partially to calm him, partially to explain Mycroft's condition.
Greg had come to see Anthea as some sort of higher-functioning being, so when he noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes, he knew this was more serious than it seemed.
Relapse was a word that made Greg's blood run cold, but he honestly never would have associated the word with Mycroft.
Until of course he entered the private hospital room and saw Mycroft in a hospital gown, gaunt and pale, being fed through an IV.
The difference between the Mycroft he thought he knew and the Mycroft in front of him was startling. Mycroft devoid of a three piece suit, which Greg guessed had become some form of armour was unsettling. Actually being able to see skin that was always covered up, and seeing what the suits hid had taken Greg's breath away.
Mycroft's name fell from Greg's lips, as he rushed to the side of the bed. For a brief moment, Greg saw Mycroft regret choosing to let him in, but the look faded when Greg wrapped his warm hand around Mycroft's cold hand.
Mycroft seemed to have expected Greg to visibly recoil in disgust, but when Greg had done the opposite, tension had fallen from Mycroft's body. He even managed a smile of sorts.
When Mycroft told Greg that he had been present at the catalyst of this particular relapse, Greg was thrown back into that day.
It had been the first time he had been in a room with both Sherlock and Mycroft at the same time. He actually had to break them apart before a physical fight occurred. But in between, any insults thrown had been solely from Sherlock. Greg had noted at the time that all the most biting comments had been directed towards Mycroft's weight, which from what Greg could see, was perfectly fine and healthy.
Greg hadn't seen Mycroft in the two weeks since. It turned out that that had not been because Mycroft was abroad, but that he had fallen back into a hole of self-hatred.
Anthea had found Mycroft unconscious the day before; dehydrated and malnourished.
They had become closer then, meeting regularly for coffee or lunch, or even just a chat.
When Greg moved into his own apartment when his divorce started, he began to invite Mycroft over for dinner at regular intervals.
Sometimes, Mycroft reciprocated.
From then on, Greg had always been present in some form during Mycroft's relapses and difficult times.
That's why when he hadn't seen Mycroft in two months, he had been expecting the worst. Even though they had talked via phone or text continuously.
Falling absolutely head over heels for the man hadn't been intended either.
The noise of the tube settled around them, and Greg saw Mycroft open his mouth as if to say something, but then thought twice and didn't.
Greg hoped Mycroft would eventually say whatever he was thinking.
When they reached Greg's stop, they followed the crowd back up into the streets.
Greg continued to walk close to Mycroft as they headed for his apartment. Sherlock had unceremoniously and cruelly revealed that Greg was, in fact, in love with the man beside him. Mycroft hadn't left him yet and Greg hoped that this meant something.
"What made you start preparing meals?" Mycroft asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over them.
Greg chuckled, "Countless lectures from Molly."
Mycroft smiled, "Miss Hooper is very caring."
"And has a vendetta against fast food." Greg added, making Mycroft laugh and Greg absolutely cherished the sound.
He felt a warmth settle in his chest, the longing to take Mycroft's hand to hold was overwhelming, but Greg managed to resist.
He couldn't lose Mycroft now. Or ever, really.
When Greg unlocked his door, Mycroft followed him in. Hitting the light switch, Greg grimaced at his messy sitting room.
"Sorry for the mess." Greg murmured, embarrassed, "16 hour shifts don't give much time for cleaning or forward planning."
Mycroft's hand was warm on Greg's arm, "It's completely fine."
"Let me take your coat." Greg offered, helping Mycroft out of his heavy coat and hanging it beside his own. "Kitchen?"
"Certainly." Mycroft led the way into the pathetically small excuse for a kitchen.
Thankfully, it could pass as clean.
"Drink?" Greg asked, heading towards the fridge to take out the Tupperware container of their food.
Mycroft leant against the door frame, his gaze warm as he followed Greg's movements. "Tea would be lovely, please."
Greg glanced back at him eyebrow raised, "Tea?"
Mycroft nodded, "I find you make the best." A slight blush crept across Mycroft's cheeks, "It's been too long."
"Far too long, Myc." Greg smiled warmly at Mycroft, a deeper blush appearing on his cheeks at the name. The sight sent another wave of fondness through Greg
Greg flicked the switch to the kettle as he took out two plates from the cupboard above his head. "Your mug is in the press beside you, could you pass it to me?"
"My mug?" Mycroft asked, amusement clear in his voice, yet he went in search of it anyway.
Greg hummed, "Well it's your mug of choice any time you're here, so it's yours now."
"Thoughtful." Mycroft murmured, handing Greg the mug.
Their hands brushed against each other again, like earlier and the longing in Greg's chest was enough to take his breath away.
He noticed Mycroft bite his lip, before pulling away, almost hesitantly.
Greg chastised himself, it was wishful thinking.
"Your tea." Greg smiled as he placed the mug in front of Mycroft where he was sitting on one of the two stools at the island counter.
Mycroft's grateful smile in return was priceless.
Once Greg was sure that the stir fry was heated through, he separated it onto the two plates, before placing them on the table.
Greg placed two glasses of water in front of them too, noticing that Mycroft's tea was already half empty.
"I hope you like it." Greg said shyly, "It's from a recipe I found on the internet."
Mycroft moved the food around the plate, then looked across to Greg, who only nodded in encouragement.
Greg took his eyes off Mycroft and took a fork-full of his own dinner.
He was pleased to realise it still tasted pretty decent.
Mycroft was silent as Greg ate, taking small bites of food for himself.
After a few minutes, Mycroft cleared his throat. "Your culinary skills have definitely improved, Gregory."
Greg looked across at Mycroft, an expression of mock-insult on his face, "I've cooked nicer things for us."
"Yes, but nothing here is burnt." Mycroft's laughter filled the room, and made Greg giddy.
"Fine, you win." Greg snorted, "Nothing burnt is an improvement."
"One of the best, indeed."
After they finished eating, Greg washed the delph and Mycroft helped by drying.
The sheer domesticity of their actions was calming.
When Greg saw Mycroft glance at his watch, Greg mirrored him. Seeing it was almost midnight was a shock.
"I should leave, it's getting late." Mycroft's voice was quiet again, and Greg shook his head.
"If you want to stay, you're welcome to. I'm off tomorrow too." Greg blushed, it wouldn't be his first night sleeping on the sofa while Mycroft slept in his room.
"If you wouldn't mind?"
Greg reached out to Mycroft, "Never." He smiled, "You're always welcome here."
Mycroft stepped closer to him, now only barely inches away from him. "Gregory?"
Greg's hand was still on Mycroft's arm, Mycroft's sudden closeness had put some sort of spell over them. Greg only nodded, waiting for Mycroft to ask his question.
Mycroft's gaze was searching, "What Sherlock said-" He raised his hand to stop Greg from inevitably mentioning the comments regarding his weight. "-about you, you having feelings for me?" Mycroft paused awkwardly, trying to word the question.
Greg held his breath, the sound of his own heart was thumping in his ears. He was terrified of losing Mycroft, and this might be that moment.
Mycroft seemed to notice the terror in Greg's eyes, and slowly ran his hand up Greg's arm in what he hoped was a comforting motion.
"Why would he say that?" Mycroft's vulnerability was clear in the question and Greg felt his heart break at the idea that Mycroft felt he was so unworthy of love, that he hadn't somehow deduced the way Greg looked at him.
Mycroft was so close now that Greg could feel the younger man's breath on his face.
"Myc." Greg whispered, still terrified of losing the other man.
He gently cupped Mycroft's face in his hands, hearing Mycroft's breath hitch.
"He said that because he wanted to take that confession away from me in spite." Greg watched Mycroft stare at him with wide eyes.
Was that realisation?
"I love you, Mycroft." Greg breathed the words, "And it should have been something I had the chance to tell you myself."
Mycroft's mouth opened in shock, and before Greg could realise that he wasn't losing Mycroft, Mycroft closed the few centimetres between them and kissed him.
The kiss was gentle, hesitant, closed mouths, and softness.
Mycroft pulled away from Greg, brows furrowed and a worried expression on his face.
"Okay?" Greg asked, voice soft.
When Mycroft merely nodded, Greg leaned in, fingers threaded in Mycroft's hair and pressed his lips to Mycroft.
This time it was less gentle, Mycroft's lips moved against Greg's, his arms wrapping around Greg, so close they were chest to chest.
Greg followed Mycroft's lead, when Mycroft opened his mouth, Greg slid his tongue in.
As the kiss deepened, Greg could hear Mycroft's breathing quicken, and he smiled against Mycroft's lips.
The heat running through his body was electric, and when Mycroft's hands cupped his arse, bringing flush up against Mycroft's hardness they both moaned into the kiss.
This elicited a certain hunger and urgency in the kiss.
They shuffled almost drunkenly until Mycroft had pushed Greg against the wall, causing Greg a huff of breath as his back hit the cement.
Mycroft pressed himself up against Greg again, relishing the moan he made.
When they separated for air, Greg rested his forehead on Mycroft's, breathless.
Greg's hands loosened in Mycroft's hair, trailing them down Mycroft's neck and to rest on his shoulders. When Mycroft shivered, Greg caught his lips in another kiss; the only word that could describe it would be desperate.
Mycroft shifted, pressing his knee in between Greg's legs, wordlessly telling the other man to separate his legs, when Greg did so, Mycroft ground up against him.
Greg moaned into the kiss, breathless and aching.
It took them a few minutes to find a rhythm between them, their hips moving in unison, clothed erections brushing against each other.
There was a certain thrill to it, they were like teenagers.
Greg moved his hands up and down Mycroft's back, holding him close, caressing him; desperate to feel warm skin.
Mycroft seemed to realise this, and reluctantly pulling away from Greg, causing him to moan in disappointment, Mycroft leaned his head forward.
"Bedroom?" The word was shy, almost hesitant and Greg cupped his face in response, an attempt at comfort.
"Let me show you how beautiful you are."
The flush on Mycroft's cheeks deepened, eyes wide and he nodded slowly. Greg took him by the hand, and led him towards the bedroom, closing the door behind them.
They stood facing each other at the edge of the bed. Greg tempted to resume their previous activity, his cock begging for the friction.
However, he knew what he wanted to do, it was all for Mycroft.
So, as Mycroft watched him, Greg placed his fingers against Mycroft's pulse point in his neck, feeling Mycroft's heart beating rapidly, he leaned in for another kiss, while sliding his hands down Mycroft's chest, carefully pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders letting it fall to the floor.
Mycroft inhaled sharply, Greg pressed short kisses across to the edge of his lips, across his cheek, down his neck as his hands dutifully undone Mycroft's silk tie, letting that fall to the ground too.
Greg moaned at the unexpected return of Mycroft's lips to his.
Their arms tangled as they both tried to unbutton each other's shirts at the same time, and their kiss broke apart, laughter rippling around the room.
"Maybe we should-"
"Take turns?" Mycroft's amusement was clear in his voice and it made Greg's heart swell with adoration.
They both kicked off their shoes and Greg smirked as his hands reached the buttons of Mycroft's shirt first.
"C'mere." He murmured, voice husky as he pulled Mycroft into another kiss.
When Mycroft's shirt hit the floor, Greg pulled away from the kiss, running his fingers down Mycroft's warm skin, causing the other man to whimper.
"Lie down."
Mycroft only nodded, breathing rapidly. Greg followed, shrugging off his shirt and unbuckling his belt, hearing Mycroft's deep intake of breath.
"Gregory, please." It was the note of desperation in Mycroft's voice that put Greg to work.
Greg ran his hands down Mycroft's bare chest again, this time moving his hands towards Mycroft's trousers. He unbuckled the belt and dropped it to the floor, and Mycroft's eyes were wide and dark, and Greg felt arousal burn through his veins.
"Okay?" Greg asked as he slowly ran his hand over the bulge in Mycroft's trousers, Mycroft's urgent nod was answer enough.
Greg undid Mycroft's trousers and Mycroft lifted his hips to help Greg rid him of his trousers and underwear.
It was Greg's turn to moan, the sight of a naked Mycroft in front of him wrecked him, and they hadn't even started yet.
Mycroft reached up, touching Greg's forearm. "I want to see you too."
Greg nodded, getting off the bed, his hands shook as he unzipped his trousers and dropped them to the floor, before glancing up at Mycroft, embarrassed.
"Please." Mycroft whispered, voice husky and deep. Face and chest flushed.
Greg straddled Mycroft leaning down to kiss Mycroft, it was passionate and sent them both reeling.
God, Greg thought to himself, I'm not going to last.
Mycroft's hand pressing on Greg's lower back pushed them together, their cocks, already slick with precome sliding together, causing them both to moan. Greg ground his hips down against Mycroft again, sighing into the kiss.
Greg moved back, looking down at Mycroft, gently brushing Mycroft's sole curl away from his forehead, he began pressing kisses across Mycroft's face. "Gorgeous." Greg murmured, kissing every exposed piece of skin he could.
Greg was alternating between soft kisses and light bites to the base of Mycroft's neck when he felt Mycroft's hand slide from his back to in between them, taking both their cocks in hand.
Greg cried out at the new sensation, and Mycroft moaned as he began to stroke the both of them. Greg found himself bucking his hips, any attempt to create friction.
"Gregory." Mycroft's breathing was ragged, and he lifted his head when Greg moved away, "What-" When Greg trailed his hand down Mycroft's body, and took Mycroft's cock in hand, Mycroft shouted. "-Oh!"
Greg smiled up at Mycroft before taking his cock in his mouth, resulting in Mycroft's head falling back onto the mattress, a strangled sound coming from the back of his throat. The sound only sent another shock of arousal through Greg. His cock was aching as it strained against his stomach.
Greg groaned around Mycroft's cock when he felt Mycroft's fingers grip his hair, his name falling from the younger man's lips as he bobbed his head. Greg took Mycroft deeply, tongue laving around the head, twisting his hand on the base of Mycroft's cock.
Hearing his name fall from Mycroft's lips, breathless and moaned had him seeing stars. His own cock was begging for attention, desperate he used his spare hand to palm his cock, he knew he wouldn't last much longer.
Mycroft's fingers were pulling Greg's short hair, breath coming fast as he bucked his hips, setting up an urgent rhythm with Greg's mouth, fucking into that warmth, moaning at the sensation.
Greg heard it before he felt it, Mycroft's rapid breathing stopped, his whole body froze beneath Greg and it was the first time that Greg had heard the other man curse and it was glorious.
Mycroft's hands in his hair ached as he came, come spurting in to Greg's mouth, salty and warm.
Greg had to place his hands on Mycroft's thighs to help still his shakes, and when Mycroft's fingers loosened in Greg's hair, Greg sat back on his heels, swallowing as Mycroft watched him through heavy lids.
"Gregory." Mycroft's voice was dry, his breathing starting to return to normal. He patted the space next to him on the bed, and Greg raised an eyebrow in question. He could almost feel a stiffness in his muscles, the heat of his climax sitting tight in his lower abdomen, he had already started touching himself again, desperation running through his veins.
"Let me." Mycroft's eyes were dark and Greg found himself shifting to lie beside Mycroft. His heart was thudding in his ears.
Mycroft rolled onto his side, catching Greg's gaze with an intensity that made Greg moan.
Mycroft's warm, long fingers wrapped around Greg's cock made him jump at the contact. When Greg opened his eyes again, Mycroft was still watching him, a smirk on his lips that Greg found utterly sexy.
"Come for me." Greg could feel Mycroft's breath across his face, and he found himself almost whining in response to the other man's words.
He had started bucking his hips, an attempt to match the rhythm of Mycroft's hand moving up and down, but Greg knew he was already too far gone for that.
When Mycroft brought his thumb around the head of Greg's cock, he groaned at the strength of his orgasm, he felt an intense pleasure running through him and he felt Mycroft's hand still jerking him off, slower, only stopping when he was sure that Greg had finished coming.
Mycroft's hand was wet and sticky on Greg's stomach, but his thumb gently moved in circles as Greg stopped shaking, as he mentally returned to the room.
Greg exhaled, Mycroft's name on his lips.
Greg turned on his side to face Mycroft, not caring about the mess he was making. He caressed Mycroft's cheek, resting their foreheads together.
They stayed like that in a drowsy post-coital haze for an unknown amount of time. Mycroft's arm draped over Greg's waist, and Greg's hand resting on Mycroft's neck.
A few hours later, Greg stirred. He could feel his heart swell at the sight of a sleeping Mycroft only inches from him.
This close, he could see the freckles scattered across Mycroft's skin, an array of them across his cheeks.
Greg couldn't resist gently running his fingers over them. Mycroft stirred at Greg's touch and blinked a few times, his face softening when he met Greg's gaze.
"What on earth are you doing?" His voice was deep and scratchy from sleep, but it sent a spark through Greg's blood anyway.
"Y'know," Greg whispered, "I'm gonna trace every single freckle you have on your body. I'm going to worship every part of you." Greg stroked Mycroft's cheek and leaned forward to kiss him softly, adoration clear in his eyes. "I promise."
Greg noticed Mycroft's eyes glisten in the dim light, and he pulled him close, moving in to kiss him again, holding him. "I love you."
A tear slid down Mycroft's cheek, followed by another. "Gregory."
Greg brushed away the tears and kissed his cheek.
"I never thought-"
"Shh," Greg murmured as soon as he heard a crack in Mycroft's voice, pressing another soft kiss against Mycroft's lips, he smiled. "Don't doubt yourself so much."
Mycroft stared at Greg, unsure.
"You're the strongest, kindest man I know, Myc. Nothing is going to change that."
Mycroft placed his hand over Greg's heart, closing his eyes.
Greg watched him, saying nothing.
"I wouldn't be alive today if I had never met you." Mycroft's eyes remained closed, his mouth barely moved as he breathed the words, and Greg felt his chest constrict, the very idea of a world without this man seemed impossible, wrong.
"Then," Greg placed a kiss on the tip of Mycroft's nose, seeing a smile appear on the other man's face, despite his eyes still being closed. "I'm very glad you kidnapped me that day and forced me to stand in a flooded warehouse."
Mycroft chuckled, "Ah."
"My shoes smelt so badly of rotten fish I had to throw them out, you know?"
Mycroft snorted, "I bought you a nicer pair." He opened his eyes, grinning at Greg now, causing a warmth to spread through the other man.
"God, I love your smile." Greg murmured, "I love you."
This time Mycroft was the one who closed the space between them and kissed Greg deeply, running his hands through Greg's hair.
"I love you too, Gregory." Mycroft's voice was soft when they broke for breath, and Greg pulled Mycroft back into an embrace, smiling against the other man's lips.