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Greg tapped the well chewed plastic of his pen against his lower lip, concentrating. A four letter word for muted, surely that was within his capabilities? He glanced across the table at his partner, who was making short work of the cryptic crossword, words flowing effortlessly from his sleek silver fountain pen. Of course, Greg realised, it had to be soft. Not the first word that most people would associate with the older Holmes brother, but Greg wasn’t most people. Mycroft was the opposite of soft on the outside; starched shirts, hair ruthlessly tamed, sharp suits and a lethally spiked umbrella all acting like the defensive mechanisms of some exotic fruit. It still took Greg’s breath away that he, the world’s most ordinary bloke, got to see beneath that exterior to the lush deliciousness beneath. Lushness such as his exquisite moans during their intimate moments, the delicate finery of the hairs at the nape of his neck, the slight plushness of his belly that Greg found utterly adorable… suddenly Greg realised that the silver fountain pen had stilled, and the holder of said pen was regarding him with open curiosity, one eyebrow arched in enquiry. Greg smiled. “I was just thinking how s… how smart you look in those glasses, love”