Chapter Text
Four days later, Greg finds himself sitting on his couch, staring at his mobile, his other mobile. It's his usual night to get a call from Mr. Gorgeous, and Greg is 100% convinced it's Mycroft. Of course, Mycroft never called back the other night or reached out to him, but Greg just knows. He might not have the "Holmes" brain, but he didn't get to his position as DI for being unable to connect the dots. Big, prominent, bright neon dots. Greg can't help but bounce his knee as he chews on his thumbnail in apprehension. It's nerve-wracking.
If Mycroft calls, that means he might have a shot, but if he doesn't, then... Greg doesn't want to think about the implication of him blowing his chance. Not that he thought he had a chance to begin with, but now that the cards are on the table...fuck. Greg stands up and starts to pace in his small flat. He feels like he's a teen again waiting to find out if his crush likes him back. Check yes or no. Only this time, he's passing the note to the most powerful man in the British Government. Bloody hell, this isn't going to end well. Mycroft is going to check no.
When his second mobile finally goes off, Greg trips over his feet to grab it. He clutches it so hard in his hand for a moment he fears he's going to crack the plastic. Greg hesitates to answer. He can do this, he has to do this. He can feel his whole body shaking, and an overwhelming sense of uncertainty creeps down his neck.
Taking a deep inhale, he answers and gushes out in a rushed breath, far from the slow, sultry tone he usually uses. "Hi, my name is Gary, who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"
There's a short heavy silence on the other line before- "Gregory."
Greg feels like he has just swallowed ice, and it settles painful and heavy in his stomach, "M-Mycroft," he replies hesitantly.
A short nervous chuckle comes through, "I must admit while I was quite confident, I feared I might have miscalculated for once."
Greg hears the sound of a car door closing and footsteps on asphalt; he feels his heart drop. Of course, this wasn't going to be their usual phone call, he didn't expect it after his blunder, but Mycroft out in public was a pretty good indicator this would be an "it was nice while it lasted, but no thanks" call and less than an intimate "let's move forward with us" call.
Greg decides at that moment to just dive in and get the rejection over with, "Mycroft," he begins.
"I am so, so sorry. I didn't know. I had hoped- I mean, I had thought about it," Greg sighs, he's already six feet under, he might as well finish the job. "I always wished it was you, but I wasn't sure. I never imagined... I started doing this for fun. I was going to stop, but then you started to call regularly, and I just..." Greg pauses and runs his hand down his face and pinches his lower lip with his thumb and pointer finger, tugging before letting it go. "To be honest, I put a screening filter that only accepts calls from you... only you, Mycroft. Fuck, I..."
Greg lets out a small hysterical laugh and collapses into the worn cushions of his couch. He leans his head back and runs his free hand through his hair, staring at his ceiling, "I don't know how to explain or continue with this. I want you, have wanted you, and the other night I know I fucked up and made you uncomfortable - so for that, I apologize. I-"
"Gregory," Mycroft's smooth voice interrupts, "If you are going to apologize, then I must as well. I do not wish for you to believe that you have somehow...deceived me. After much reflection, I realized you would come to this conclusion, so I want to rectify this misunderstanding." Greg hears a deep inhale followed by a shaky exhale, "Please answer your door."
Greg shoots a wary glance at his door, "Is it Anthea with some NDA?"
The surprised laugh Mycroft lets out is marvelous and intoxicating. Greg's stomach swoops with delight; even if this is the end, at least he got this pleasure. "No, Gregory, although I'm sure she's preparing similar paperwork but not for the reason you think. Please, answer your door."
Greg glances down at his threadbare white sleepshirt and loose navy flannel bottoms. The t-shirt is snug on him, and he knows it clings obscenely to his body, but the cotton is soft and comfortable. For a moment, he thinks about getting his dressing gown, but since it's probably one of Mycroft's assistants telling him to fuck off, he doesn't feel inclined to. Reluctantly he stands and goes to his front door. Opening it, he chuckles nervously, "I'm not going to get kidnapped or anything right-"
Greg momentarily stops breathing as he takes in the sight of Mycroft standing on his doorstep in a beautiful sharkskin suit, mobile held to his ear. Greg thinks his tie is navy, or it could be a dark purple; to be honest, Greg's focus is on Mycroft's face, trying to gauge the other man's purpose - is he here to personally end things or to…oh.
He takes in Mycroft's classically handsome features; smooth jawline, regal nose, and thin lips that are starting to curve into a slow, secret smile. In the shadows of the hallway, Mycroft's eyes are the deep ash of a smoldering fire, and Greg can feel their heat flicker along his exposed skin. Greg has had appreciative looks thrown his way, hell he was married once, but no one has ever looked at Greg like this before. He feels intimately displayed and devoured all at once. His heart flutters, and warmth starts to coil low in his abdomen.
Mycroft looks powerful in his perfectly polished veneer, eyes kindling with desire, and Greg wants so bad it hurts. Greg knows Mycroft is studying him right now, taking in his appearance and cataloging his level of hunger and arousal. There is no way to misinterpret the heavy tension that is slowly intensifying between them. Mycroft pulls his mobile away with his elegant, long fingers and disconnects the call, not once taking his eyes off Greg, sliding it into his jacket's pocket.
"Gregory," Mycroft purrs low and smooth, and Greg feels his body tingle, "I believe we have mutual interests and aspirations."
Before he can stop himself, Greg is blindly tossing his mobile on the small table next to the door and reaching out for Mycroft, pulling him by the lapels of his expensive suit and into the flat. Mycroft closes the door behind them with the heel of his foot, and Greg is pushing up on his bare toes to press his lips against Mycroft's before the door is even fully closed. He leans his body into the taller man, and they both moan into the kiss. It's desperate and needy, the slide of lips and tongues, hints of teeth.
Greg knows they should stop and talk, but that can come later; in his mind, they have only talked. It's time for action.
Greg brings his hands to cup Mycroft's jaw softly, thumbs running reverently along his cheekbones, and he slows the kiss down, deepening it.
***
Mycroft's thoughts flicker in and out like lousy reception over a radio due to the current sensory overload. There's so much new data to taste, smell, and feel. His mind wants to analyze it all at once, but his senses threaten to drown him. His mind switches over to collecting data instead; later, he can examine the experience in detail. He indexes mentally how the solid, cold surface against his back feels compared to Greg's warm, firm body on his front. He documents how it feels to melt their bodies together from hips to shoulders, feeling Greg's heart thudding against his own where their chests meet. Mycroft catalogs the contradiction of the soft hardness of Greg's lips against his and how the stroke of his tongue sends electricity down his spine. Greg's large rough hands frame his face gently, and Mycroft lets him control the kiss, sinking into the demand of Greg's wanting mouth.
Greg pulls back just enough to speak, his lips brushing against Mycroft's, "Fuck - if you need me to stop-" Greg's hips twitch, and Mycroft feels his growing arousal press against him.
Mycroft looks down into Greg's hooded eyes; large dark pupils swallow up the rich chocolate brown. He leans his body into Greg's, letting the other man feel his interest, and watches Greg's eyes flutter shut, dark lashes casting shadows on bronzed cheeks. A small whine escapes Greg's throat as Mycroft nips his upper lip.
"Do continue, Gregory," he sighs, soothing the sting of his teeth with a delicate lick, "In fact, I would very much like you to fuck me."
Greg shudders as he inhales, and his mouth is back on Mycroft's, leaving him breathless. Mycroft pulls Greg's hip with one hand, and his other hand slides up the back of Greg's neck to the short salt and pepper hairs at his nape, before grasping the longer strands higher up. Mycroft moans as Greg tugs on his bottom lip, his teeth scraping deliciously against his sensitive flesh. Good Lord.
Greg pulls him further into the flat, still holding Mycroft's face and devouring his mouth. Mycroft is forced to follow, awkwardly hunched forward, but he doesn't want to lose the heat of Greg's hands. "You, Gorgeous, are wearing too many layers." Greg breathes and punctuates each word with a lick or kiss along Mycroft's jawline.
Mycroft tries to ignore the involuntary flush on his face from the nickname. He pulls back enough to take his thumb and runs it along Greg's satisfyingly red and bitten lower lip, spreading saliva along his swollen flesh. A goldfish could deduce the look on Greg's expressive face, but Mycroft's brian can't stop from analyzing further. Discovering all the desires and hopes mapped out on the most attractive man he has ever known. Mycroft's heart thunders in his chest, knowing that all of Greg's passion is directed towards him. This is not a position he usually finds himself in, and the uncharted territory makes him feel exposed.
He attempts what he hopes is a sly smile to hide his nerves. "I seem to remember you expressing your desire to debauch me in my many layers." His breath catches at the wicked grin Greg displays, right before he licks up the side of Mycroft's thumb, his tongue curling under the digit before he sucks it into his mouth.
***
They stumble their way to Greg's small bedroom, and somehow Mycroft loses his jacket and shoes. Greg gives himself a mental high-five that he recently tidied up and turns on a small lamp, enough to provide the room with a soft glow. Greg hooks his fingers into Mycroft's gold sleeve garters, pulling him towards his bed. "One day," he growls," I'm going to leave you in your armor as I ruin you, but today I need it all off."
Mycroft's body gives a full shudder against his, and Greg sucks on his bottom aLip. He hears the breathy, "oh God," stutter its way out of Mycroft's mouth.
The back of Greg's knees hits the mattress, and he stops. His fingers slide up the silky back of Mycroft's waistcoat, mapping the landscape. He's never felt this sense of urgency before, and at the same time, he wants to stop time and savor everything. The need to consume is so profoundly potent. He wants to finally see Mycroft without his layers, to taste and feel his skin. He has survived this long on flashes of pale wrists and the alluring sight of creamy smooth skin exposed by a few buttons and a loosened tie. One time he got a peek of lithe forearms dusted with light auburn hair and was half hard the entire day because of it.
It's surreal that he has Mycroft here and now, letting Greg pet him with his clumsy fingers. If he's dreaming, he doesn't want to wake up. His hands trail to Mycroft's sides and then to the front of his waistcoat.
He looks up at Mycroft and flashes his teeth in what he knows is a hungry smile, "Let me unwrap you, Darlin'."
He hopes Mycroft doesn't notice the nervous trembling in his fingers as he undoes the buttons and removes the grey waistcoat. He groans at the sight of the onyx loop bracers. Greg removes Mycroft's gold cuff links and sets them on his bedside table. Next are the sleeve garters, and he shamelessly gropes Mycroft's forearms as he slips them off. Greg skims his hands teasingly to Mycroft's shoulders and slides the bracers off, so they fall to his sides.
They are kissing again, and this time it's Mycroft's turn to lick down Greg's exposed neck, giving open mouth kisses with hints of teeth along his heated skin. He feels Mycroft's long fingers sliding down the thin fabric over his chest, and his thumbs run roughly over Greg's nipples. Abruptly, Mycroft stills, his breathing harsh and uneven against the dip between Greg's neck and shoulder. Greg whines and presses his body up into Mycroft's mouth, willing him to continue. Mycroft rubs his left thumb back over Greg's nipple slowly, an exploratory questioning move, and Greg smirks.
"Went through a phase during Uni," he rasps out thickly and moans as Mycroft's thumb presses in harder, pushing down onto the small metal barbell piercing.
There's an answering moan of appreciation, and he feels the sharp, sweet sting of Mycroft's teeth, his mouth worrying a bruise on his skin.
"Oh fuck me," Greg breathes, and this time his knees do give out, and he falls back against the bed. He immediately regrets the loss of contact, but the view he gets in return is worth it. Greg leans back on his elbows as he looks up at Mycroft and licks his bruised lips.
Mycroft is staring down at him with wild unguarded heat; he feels splayed out under those winter grey eyes. Greg's cock thickens, and he feels precome dribble out the tip and wet the front of his PJ bottoms. Mycroft's eyes flicker down to his crotch, the fabric doing nothing to hide Greg's arousal.
"If you like..." Mycroft says cooly, one corner of his mouth curling, and Greg can't help that his cock twitches some more. He knows it's a Pavlovian response to Mycroft's voice at this point. "But, I still request that you fuck me."
Greg swallows hard as Mycroft's deft fingers undo his tie and the buttons of his shirtsleeves, leaving him only in his white vest and trousers, bracers hanging at his sides. His mouth goes dry at the dark ginger hair peeking out from the collar of the vest and the dusting of it down his lean but strong arms. Even now, with the posh outer shell discarded, Mycroft still looks powerful, seductive, and dangerous. Greg suddenly gets the image of a punk Mycroft with smudged dark eyeliner and wild messed up curls, a cigarette hanging out his mouth... or maybe a mafia boss and fuck me up, ain't that a picture?
Mycroft's hungry gaze concentrates on Greg's chest with purpose. Leaning his tall body forward and over Greg's, he licks Greg's pierced nipple through his thin t-shirt. Greg gasps at the hot wet heat soaking through the fabric and arches into it. Mycroft does the same thing to his right nipple while pulling on the barbell with his fingers. One of Mycroft's legs slides between his, and Greg thrusts up, rubbing his clothed erection against the solid thigh.
"My...Myc," Greg stutters as Mycroft moves back to give attention to his pierced nipple. "Didn't didn't know you would like that so much."
Mycroft breathes hotly against his chest, "I appreciate everything about you, Gregory."
Greg moans and arches his back, pressing up into Mycroft's mouth, "You can appreciate it more if I'm naked."
A sharp bite and tug has Greg keening, "Is that so?" Mycroft asks.
"F-fuuuuck."
There's a blur of movement as they both remove the rest of their clothing hastily, and Mycroft echoes Greg's huff of laughter as they topple and shift together until they are both on the bed. Greg's body settles on top of Mycroft, skin rubbing against his skin. Greg's calloused hands run over Mycroft's shoulders in wide circles mapping freckles; Mycroft answers back with his fingers digging into Greg's biceps and trailing down to his muscular forearms and back up again.
"I never thought," Greg says and leaves Mycroft's mouth burning with fire, as his lips seared a path down Mycroft's neck, "that I could," a kiss to a shoulder, "have this," a lick along his chest, "with you," a light bite to his nipple.
Mycroft's hands tangle in Greg's thick hair, and he gasps, "Gregory-"
"Jesus," Greg moans into Mycroft's navel, scalp tingling, "I love how you say my name." He nuzzles the trimmed auburn hair right above Mycroft's straining cock, the head brushing under Greg's chin and smearing precome. He breathes in the clean spicy musk, "you have no idea how much I've wanted this..."
Mycroft swallows hard and breathes out, "I- I have some idea."
Greg rubs his lips and stubbled chin along Mycroft's sensitive skin, marking it. "Do you?"
Mycroft's answer is lost in a groan as Greg licks the tip of his cock, his warm hand wrapping around the base. Greg teases with a few more licks before he runs his tongue lightly down the underside of Mycroft's cock to his balls and back up with more pressure, ending with a light suckle against his frenulum. The noise Mycroft makes spurs Greg's confidence, and he swirls his tongue on Mycroft's cockhead, dipping the tip of his tongue against the salty slit before swallowing him down. It has been a while since he's been with another bloke, let alone do this. Greg relaxes his throat and takes as much as he can, covering up the rest of Mycroft's length with his hand.
Mycroft's hips spasm, forcing Greg to take him deeper, and his hands tighten in Greg's hair. Mycroft chokes out an apology, but Greg moans and squeezes the other man's hip encouragingly. Mycroft takes the initiative and thrusts shallowly into Greg's warm mouth. Greg continues to let Mycroft work his mouth, losing himself in the sensation of feeling used and full, his jaw blissfully aching until Mycroft is left panting, and his movements faltering.
"G-Gregory... we-we need to stop or-" Mycroft stutters out, his thighs trembling with restraint.
Greg pulls off Mycroft's dick slowly and looks up. There is a sheen of sweat along Mycroft's alabaster body as his chest glistens in the faint light, rising and falling with unsteady breaths. Mycroft's hair is in disarray from his regulated, controlled style and starting to curl from perspiration. A flush spreads down from Mycroft's face, where his pupils are blown wide, to his shoulders, and halfway down his chest. The blush makes the constellation of freckles stand out along his skin, and Greg makes a promise to himself to forever explore the universe that is Mycroft Holmes.
Greg kisses his way back up Mycroft's body, tasting the salt on his skin, his lips tease a pink nipple before grazing his teeth along his collarbones, "Do you want me to fill you up Gorgeous? Take you apart? Fuck you?"
"Fuck," Mycroft moans, "Please."
Greg's mouth swoops down to capture Mycroft's in a slow drugging kiss, their cocks sliding together, slick with spit and precome. His hands pull at Mycroft's body, "Rollover for me, Sweetheart."
***
Mycroft moves onto his front, feeling Greg's hard body settle atop his, and it sends pleasant jolts through him. He can feel the other man's sweat-slick chest press along his back and the small sensation of cold metal from Greg's piercing. Mycroft prides himself on his perception of other people, but that particular unexpected discovery arouses and entices him more than he wants to admit.
Mycroft feels Greg's lips brush against the shell of his right ear, and his hot breath has goosebumps forming on Mycroft's arms as Greg drawls in a low purr, "I'm going to tease you with my fingers until you can't stand it and then I'm going to slowly fill you up with my cock. I've thought of fucking into you deep and slow so many times. I want you to lose control and beg me, Gorgeous. I want all your attention on my dick thrusting in and out of your tight hole."
Mycroft moans, and abruptly, his back feels cold with the loss of Greg's body heat as the man reaches over to his bedside table. Mycroft hears the telltale signs of a drawer opening, followed by the crinkle of plastic and the feel of a bottle of lube dropping next to his thigh.
Mycroft holds back a whine as Greg's hands move down the length of his back, and his skin quivers as Greg's thumbs press into the concave hollow of his spine.
"I... I'm clean." Mycroft breathes out, suddenly wanting nothing more to feel Greg's hot flesh against him sans latex barrier. "Forgive the infraction, but I know you were tested months ago and if you haven't engaged -"
Greg laughs luckily, grabs Mycroft's arse and spreads his cheeks, cold air settling against his hole. "I should be angry about the lack of privacy, but since I'm used to the Holmes way of thinking, I know I should be flattered." Greg presses one of his thumbs against Mycroft, not dipping in but just applying gratifying pressure, "Have you thought about this a lot, Gorgeous? My fat cock fucking into your tight hole? I'm surprised you didn't arrange for the whole Yard to have some random health screening so that you could make sure I would be able to come deep in your arse and fill you up."
Mycroft lets out a hiccuped laugh, "Y-you would be surprised."
"Oh, would I?" Greg asks, there's a sound of a cap opening, and a slick finger starts to rub circles around Mycroft's arsehole slowly.
"L-Lestrade-" Mycroft chokes out, spreading his legs wider.
"Lestrade, eh?" Mycroft can hear the humor in Greg's voice, "What happened to Gregory? Are you getting impatient, Darlin?"
Blood surges from Mycroft's fingertips to his toes, and he keens, arching his back and presses up against Greg's fingers. His breath catches as a hand moves to Small of his back, forcing him to be still, while Greg's other hand slowly teases his entrance.
"Now, now," Greg scolds, voice hoarse, "If you want me to fuck you, you have to let me do it right."
Mycroft gives a long surrendering moan, and his heart flutters wildly in his chest. After what feels like hours of teasing, Greg's finger slowly enters his body, touching him to his core with tantalizing possessiveness. A calculated press follows every third or fourth thrust of Greg's finger on his prostate. Mycroft feels heat starting to inch through his veins. He wails unconsciously into the bedsheets as a second, and later, a third finger is added to the slow onslaught.
"Gregory - please," Mycroft begs.
The fingers withdraw, and Mycroft almost cries at the loss of pressure; his body feels achingly empty. He can feel the slick, thick head of Greg's cock sliding against him, holding back and just waiting, teasing with hidden promises. Greg's fingertips caress up his damp rib cage like fleeting whispers.
"Are you sure you want this Gorgeous?" Greg's voice is velvety and dark, "Do you want me to fuck you deep and slow? Have my cock milk you? What if I just fill you up and refuse to move, so you have to squirm on my dick as you try to get off? Can you come without my hands, Sunshine? Do you want to get off on just my cock alone?"
"Fuck, Yes, Fuck me, Please," Mycroft arches his arse up, trying to drive Greg's cock into him. "Now, Gregory."
"Fuck me up," Greg pants, "you are such a bossy bottom. I love it."
Mycroft's huff of laughter turns into a sob and catches in his throat as Greg slowly presses down, filling him up. At first, there is resistance, but then his body opens and melts into Greg's. The initial burn is quickly replaced by overwhelming satisfaction, and Mycroft is lost in the sensations of it all.
In the past, when Mycroft had allowed physical attention, it had always remained just that - physical. With Gregory, it's terrifyingly and remarkably different. Mycroft knows his carefully built walls are crumbling, and he's letting them fall for Gregory alone. His mind allowing Greg to tear apart his soul and rebuilt it as he sees fit. For the first time in his life, Mycroft accepts the precarious intrusion. There is no going back.
Mycroft feels himself shattering piece by piece with each slow drag of Greg's cock deep inside him, only to be renewed, again and again with each earth-shattering thrust. Greg's powerful fingers dig deliciously into his hips, and Mycroft hopes they leave bruises to remind him of this moment. Of his rebirth into something else, into someone else. It's ridiculous he thinks that sex can lead to such a life-altering moment, but here they are. Greg is permeating him, consuming him.
Mycroft's pleasure-tormented body feels as if it is half ice and half flame; the sensory overload is intense. His cock is being dragged and pushed against the sheets of Greg's bed. It's a lower thread count than he's used to, and he makes a mental note to rectify that, but at this point, the slide gives a gratifying texture against his leaking cock.
Greg's palms slide up from Mycroft's hips to his ribs, and then to his shoulders where he grips at the muscle there. His lips open, and he pants harshly against Mycroft's ear as he increases the speed of his thrusts. "Fuck. I am so close. Your arse is so fucking tight, love. I want my cock to pulse deep inside you and fill you up so that my come drips out of your hole while I still fuck into you. I want you to clench that arse on my dick and take your pleasure from me. It's only for you beautiful - fuck, only you."
It's too much, and enough all at once. The slide of Greg's cock against his prostate, combined with the rough stimulation of the cloth below him, is enough to tip him over the edge. Mycroft feels himself shatter like a supernova, particles flying out into the expanse of space before collapsing violently onto himself in a haze of pleasure.
Greg lets out a loud, stuttered moan, hips thrusting hard and deep. Mycroft feels Greg’s cock throb, and a burning wet heat fills him up from inside.
He comes to moments later to Greg's lips layering kisses along his shoulder blades, his muscles liquid, and he gives a soft hum of appreciation. Greg's softened cock slips out of him, and Mycroft feels the slick that follows. Greg shifts to the side and pulls Mycroft with him, so he's laying with his back pressed against Greg's steady chest. He should be worried about cleaning up, but at the moment, he simply cannot find the energy to care.
One of Greg's hands slides up his front to his neck, fingers pressing against his still rapidly beating pulse. Greg's lips kiss along his ear and to his temple. "You are amazing."
Mycroft is glad his embarrassingly huge smile is hidden from Greg's view, "as are you," he responds.
"Please tell me this wasn't a one-time thing," Greg pleads. "I'll respect your decision, but I wasn't lying when I said I wanted you, Mycroft. I don't think I can stop wanting you."
Mycroft rolls over in Greg's embrace, so they are facing each other. "I worry the intensity of my feelings for you will frighten you," he confesses, voice soft. His fingers curl against Greg's damp chest, brushing against the silver hair. "I am not an easy man to be with, Gregory. I have many traits that some might consider deficiencies. We will most certainly have disagreements at times and get frustrated.” Mycroft licks his lips, ”I am not... proficient in the ways of maintaining a successful relationship, but I will endeavor to try and be worthy of you."
Greg smiles tenderly. "You are more than worthy, Gorgeous." Mycroft close his eyes as Greg pushes back a wayward curl from his forehead, "And we will learn together."
***
Eventually, they untangle their limbs and wash off, pressing against each other, giggling in Greg's small shower while they trade sweet kisses. Mycroft sleeps over but reluctantly has to leave early the next morning due to work, and it's a struggle to pull himself away from Greg's warm embrace.
"I hope I can get this matter resolved quickly," Mycroft sighs as he headed out the door, smoothing down his jacket. He gives Greg one last lingering kiss before he pulls back, knowing Anthea will come to fetch him if he takes much longer. "I will let you know once I am free."
Greg winks and smiles broadly, "Call me."