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The Artist and the Model

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Mycroft stepped into the classroom. A dozen people sat at their easels, waiting for him. Right. Do something out of his comfort zone had been the homework. And, never one to do things halfway, he’d signed up for this. His therapist hadn’t tried to talk him out of it, unfortunately, so here he was.

Taking a breath he moved to the center of the room. The art teacher came over and gave him a smile. “We’re just going to have you do a few poses.”

“Of course,” said Mycroft, hoping his anxiety wasn’t showing.

“Standing, to start with, if that’s alright? Just get in a comfortable position as you’ll be holding it for a bit.”

“Of course,” said Mycroft. He took one more breath and loosened the tie on his robe.

“I know you haven’t done this before. If you’re anxious or need a break, please just let me know.”

Far too late for not being anxious. Mycroft gave them a tight smile, then let his robe drop. He looked down, hoping he wasn’t blushing too much, and found a comfortable position.

His nervousness faded as class began. It was a bit meditative, listening to the sound of the artists working around him. There were no comments to be made, which was a relief, a simple respectful silence as they all got to work. Almost before he knew it, the teacher was asking him to change to a sitting position.

By the time they got to the last position Mycroft was feeling comfortable enough to look around a bit. A few of the artists looked familiar; perhaps he shared classes with some of them. That thought made him blush all over again. Would they be thinking of this the next time they saw him? He looked down again and focused on breathing slowly.

Finally, they were done. Mycroft pulled on the robe, thinking to hurry out. The students were talking amongst themselves now as the instructor walked around.

“An hour with a model and that’s what you focus on, Lestrade?” Mycroft looked up, seeing the instructor standing by the easel of one of the students he’d recognized from earlier.

Lestrade shrugged. “He’s got nice hands.”

Mycroft looked down at his hands for a moment, then followed his first instinct and hurried out, going straight back to where he could put his clothes on.

As he finished dressing he heard the students passing by in the hall, slightly more rambunctious now that they were free of the classroom, though mercifully they didn’t seem to be talking about him.

Mycroft shouldered his backpack and walked out of the room, colliding with Lestrade and making him drop his papers.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” said Mycroft, crouching down to help him gather them.

Lestrade chuckled. “I feel like I should make a joke about fancy running into you here.”

“I think I did the running,” said Mycroft. He picked up a piece of paper and saw it was a drawing of his hands.

“Ah, yeah,” said Lestrade. “The instructor said I should have drawn more of your body, but your hands are just beautiful.”

Mycroft blushed and handed the paper back. “I know the rest of my body isn't what anyone would describe as beautiful.”

Lestrade made a noise. “Then they’d have to be blind. You’re in Mister Henderson’s class, aren’t you?”

“Economics, yes. Mycroft Holmes,” They stood up together.

Lestrade offered his hand. “Greg Lestrade.”

“Pleased to meet you properly, then.” Greg’s smile was warm and his grip sure. If anyone should be sketched out on paper, it should surely be Greg and that smile.

Greg held his hand perhaps a minute too long. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“No, I haven’t.” Mycroft shifted his bag, wondering why he was even considering this.

“Care to join me? There’s a great little café down the street. Have you been to Kino’s?”

“Can’t say that I have,” said Mycroft. “And sure.” Maybe stepping out of his comfort zone was turning into a good thing.

“Great,” said Greg, shuffling his papers in his arms and leading the way out. He made small talk as they walked, for which Mycroft was grateful as it had never been his forte. But something about Greg made it easy to talk to him.

Greg got the door and soon enough they were settled in a booth. To Mycroft’s surprise the conversation continued through dinner, long after he would have thought Greg would be bored with him.

“Listen,” said Greg as they finished their dinner. “You’re wicked smart. Are you any good at chemistry?”

“Quite,” said Mycroft.

“I know it’s getting a bit late, but do you think you could help me with some concepts? If you don’t mind coming back to my flat.”

Greg looked relieved. He took the bill before Mycroft could see it and quickly paid it. “Promise it’s not just because I want to keep spending time with you, though there is that, too.”

There was that warm smile again. It was probably good he hadn’t smiled at Mycroft like that during the modeling session.

“I don’t know how good of company I am, but I’d be delighted to help you with your homework.”

“You’re amazing company,” said Greg, getting to his feet. “I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?”

“Not at all. Afraid my usual evening in is just some takeaway and perhaps a bit of telly. Don’t tell anyone I rarely study.”

Greg chuckled. “Wicked smart, like I said. My flat is close by.”

Mycroft walked closer to Greg’s side than perhaps was strictly proper for two blokes, but Greg didn’t seem to mind. And, if Mycroft was correct, which he generally was, Greg swung either way.

“Pardon me if this is forward,” said Mycroft, taking a breath, perhaps emboldened by the evening. “But are you seeing anyone?”

Greg shook his head. “Not at the moment, no.” He looked Mycroft up and down. “I could be, though.”

Mycroft shivered and it wasn’t the breeze. “Now who is being forward.”

“I think you started it,” said Greg, leading Mycroft up the stairs and unlocking his door. “Roommate is out of town right now.”

“How convenient,” said Mycroft, following Greg into the slightly messy flat.

“Hey, I didn’t know I was going to be meeting a dreamy model tonight,” said Greg, making his way through the flat and disappearing into his room. “Make yourself at home,” he called.

Mycroft put down his bag by the door and wandered into the tiny kitchen. He filled up the kettle and turned it on, then sat down on the sofa.

“Ooh, tea,” said Greg, spotting the kettle as he came back out of his room with his chemistry book. He handed it to Mycroft. “How do you like yours?”

Mycroft told him, flipping open the book. He’d taken this same class last year. “Mrs. Glower’s class?” he asked.

“She’s the one,” said Greg.

“That’s who I had, too. I can definitely help you.”

“Good, cause I need to pass.” Greg sat down next to him and handed Mycroft a mug with a cat on it.

“Show me where you’re having trouble,” said Mycroft.

Greg nodded and opened his notebook. They quickly fell into discussion, heads close together as Mycroft explained things. Greg took notes and the tea went cold as they talked and worked together.

Finally Greg yawned and looked at the clock. “Shit. It’s really late. I’m sorry.”

Mycroft blinked and followed his gaze. “It is. Well, it’s Friday, I have nowhere to be. It’s fine.” He gave Greg what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

“Still, I didn’t mean to keep you so long.”

“It’s fine,” repeated Mycroft, finding himself reluctant to leave.

Greg must have felt the same way. He ran his hand through his hair. “Do you have plans for tomorrow night?”

Mycroft glanced at the clock. “That’s tonight now. And no, I don’t”

“Want to go to a club with me?” asked Greg. “I can pick you up.”

Mycroft nodded and picked up Greg’s notebook, flipping to a clean piece of paper and writing down his address.

“I’d like that very much,” said Mycroft. “What time should I expect you?”

“Seven? Can get some dinner beforehand?”

“Alright. Seven. I’ll be ready for you.” Mycroft stood and, in one last fit of boldness, leaned down and kissed Greg’s forehead.

Greg smiled at him. “I could take you home.”

“You’re tired. I’ll catch a cab. See you tomorrow, Greg.”

He started to turn away only for Greg to catch his hand. Greg kissed the back of it. “You do have amazing hands,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Mycroft nodded and picked up his backpack, stepping out before he could change his mind.



After a fitful night of sleep, Mycroft could barely get anything done. He managed to tidy his flat and made an effort to start a paper. In the late afternoon he took a nap, uncertain how late they’d be up. By six he was deep in his closet, trying to figure out what to wear. Greg hadn’t said exactly what kind of club it was, but he could deduce based on what he’d seen in Greg’s flat.

By ten til seven he was dressed in jeans and a button-up, but something comfortable and not too formal. He smiled as he heard a motorcycle pull up in front of his building. He pulled on a jacket and headed out, locking his door.

Greg smiled at him. “Good evening.”

“Hello,” said Mycroft, openly admiring the view of Greg in a leather jacket.

Greg chuckled and offered him a helmet. “Come on. You can see more later.”

Mycroft wondered if that was a promise. He pushed those thoughts away and got settled behind Greg, putting his hands on his waist. “Ready.”

Greg revved the engine and looked over his shoulder, carefully merging into traffic. Mycroft appreciated that he was a cautious driver, clearly mindful of traffic and delivering them safely to a small restaurant. He parked the bike and collected Mycroft’s helmet, locking it in one of the side bags.

Smiling, Greg ran a hand through his hair. Mycroft noticed he had in an earring, something he didn’t seem to wear during his normal school days. But tonight was special. He could feel it in his bones. Or perhaps that was other parts of his anatomy.

Greg led the way inside. They were soon seated at a booth, feet tangled together under the table. Again, the conversation felt natural. They talked about their future plans and Greg revealed that was planning on becoming a police officer. Mycroft was sure it would be a good fit for him.

“I like the art, but I don’t think I’m good enough for it to be my day job. And besides, I want to help people.”

“You’re quite noble,” said Mycroft, sitting back as his dinner was deposited in front of him.

Greg gave him a wink. “I can be a rogue when I want to be.”

Mycroft tried not to be obvious about adjusting his trousers. This might end up being a long night.

Mycroft got the bill, over Greg’s protest. They made their way out to the street, once again walking too close together. To Mycroft’s surprise, Greg turned down an alley. “Come on, it’s a small club, but I think you’ll like it.”

Mycroft could hardly argue. They went halfway down the alley and then down a flight of stairs, the thump of music growing louder with every step. Greg smiled at the bouncer, then reached over and took Mycroft’s hand, tugging him inside.

The place was nearly all men. A band was playing something loud and fast. The men on the dance floor moved close together. Despite himself, Mycroft blushed.

“Never been to this kind of place, have you,” said Greg in his ear to be heard over the music.

“I’m afraid I don’t usually go to clubs at all,” admitted Mycroft.

“Just relax,” said Greg, putting an arm around his waist and guiding him towards the bar.

Mycroft took a breath and did so. Greg was clearly in his element, and he would keep him safe. Greg got two drinks and handed one to Mycroft, leading him over to a slightly quieter corner where they could watch the dancers and be out of the way.

It was too loud to talk, so Mycroft simply leaned against Greg and sipped his drink while Greg held him gently against his side. Greg’s arm around his waist felt good and right. He bopped his head to the music a bit, but had no desire to go to the floor.

Greg turned and smiled at him. Mycroft met his gaze, then glanced at his lips. His eyes closed as Greg leaned in to kiss him, just as gentle and perfect as the rest of the night had been.

Smiling into the kiss, Greg hooked his fingers in Mycroft’s belt loop, drawing him closer. Mycroft sighed and wrapped his arms around Greg’s neck. For the moment everything else receded. Greg was a damn good kisser and Mycroft opened his mouth to him.

He lost track of time, but eventually Greg pulled back. He tilted his forehead against Mycroft, breathing heavily. “Want to get out of here?”

Mycroft leaned into his ear. “Come back to mine, I don’t have any roommates to worry about.” He nipped Greg’s lobe as he pulled back again.

Greg grinned at him and took his hand, pulling him towards the exit.

They let go as they got outside, and hurried down the street. It seemed like only moments before Mycroft back on Greg’s bike, holding him a little tighter than he had the first time. His heart beat fast in his chest as his mind raced with anticipation.

Finally they were back in front of Mycroft’s place. This time it was Mycroft who took Greg’s hand and pulled him up the stairs to his flat. He managed to unlock the door without dropping the keys and led the way inside.

Greg pulled him close and kissed him as soon as the door shut behind them. Mycroft moaned softly, running his fingers through Greg’s hair. He stepped towards the sofa, tugging Greg along until they tumbled onto it, Greg landing on top of him.

Mycroft rolled his hips on instinct, Greg’s weight delicious against him.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” panted Greg between kisses.

“You are,” answered Mycroft, anything else cut off by Greg sliding his tongue into his mouth.

Greg’s hands slid down Mycroft’s arms, shifting to get at his belt

Mycroft put his hands over Greg’s. “Wait.”

Greg stopped immediately. Mycroft looked up at him, seeing the flush on his cheeks and the way his hair fell into his eyes. “I’m…” he managed, than faltered. Had he been leading Greg on?

Smiling gently, Greg raised his hand to cup Mycroft’s cheeks. “We don’t have to,” he promised and kissed him.

“I want to, but I’ve never and… this is only our second date. If you count dinner yesterday.”

“I count it if you do.” Greg’s kisses turned gentler. “This okay?”

“Yes,” breathed Mycroft.

Greg smiled and resumed his kisses, sitting up and pulling Mycroft into his lap, keeping the kisses slower, though the passion was tempered.

Mycroft finally pulled away. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Greg grinned at him. “Don’t be. I had a wonderful evening. When can I see you again?”

“Tuesday evening?” asked Mycroft.

“Excellent. Come over to mine? You can meet my roommate and I’ll fix dinner.”

Mycroft smiled back. “Alright.” He unsteadily got to his feet. “Thank you.”

Greg gallantly kissed his hand. “Anytime. And I think, thanks to you, I’ll pass my chemistry test.”

“Excellent.” Mycroft walked him to the door and watched him head down to his bike. Only after Greg drove off did he close it, then lean against it.

He did want. And, hopefully with time, he’d be able to give.


Tuesday night went well. Greg’s roommate made a few jokes, but generally left them alone. After dinner he went into his room, letting Greg and Mycroft have the sofa to watch a film.

They went on another date on Thursday, and then Saturday again. Mycroft was surprised as how comfortable he was with Greg. For his part, Greg didn’t try to push any boundaries, seemingly perfectly happy to stick with kisses and holding Mycroft close.

Almost a month after that first date, Mycroft finally felt ready. He told Greg to come over for dinner and bring his sketchbook. When Greg knocked he was dressed in nothing but a robe.

Greg raised an eyebrow as he opened the door. “Well, good evening,” he said.

Mycroft leaned in and kissed him. “Come on in.”

Greg did so, looking Mycroft over. “Is that why you wanted me to bring my sketchbook?”

“I thought you might like a bit more practice drawing more than my hands.” Mycroft smiled and stepped back, loosening the tie on his robe.

“I won’t complain,” said Greg, voice gone a bit rough.

Mycroft pulled the robe loose and let it fall from his shoulders. “How do you want me?”

Greg visibly shivered. He walked over to a chair and took a seat. “Just like that is perfect.”

Mycroft smiled gently and got into a comfortable standing pose, the robe draping off his wrists.

Greg worked quickly, looking up at Mycroft and back to his paper, tongue stuck to the corner of his mouth.

“Okay,” he said after a bit. “Maybe sitting?”

Mycroft left the robe on the floor and sat in the opposite chair, arranging his legs and getting comfortable. “Alright?”

Greg nodded and picked up his pencil again. This almost felt more intimate than the kissing had been, to sit here under Greg’s gaze, just the two of them.

Finally Greg put his notebook aside. He licked his lips and got to his feet, crossing the room and kneeling next to the chair Mycroft was in. “Beautiful,” he said, leaning in to kiss him.

Mycroft smiled into the kiss. “Touch me,” he whispered.

“Really?” asked Greg.

Mycroft nodded. “I want you to.”

“God,” muttered Greg, putting an arm around Mycroft and kissing him again, his free hand roaming across Mycroft’s chest.

Mycroft moaned softly, wanting more, though the chair might not be the most comfortable place for a tryst.

Greg knelt back and picked up Mycroft’s legs, shifting him around until they were on either side of his shoulders. Mycroft blushed at the position, finding himself open and vulnerable.

“If it’s too much, tell me,” said Greg, kissing the inside of his thigh, then kneeling up, warm breath ghosting over Mycroft’s cock. “Have you done this?”

Mycroft shook his head. “I haven’t done anything with anyone but myself.”

“Then it’s my honor to be the first,” said Greg softly.

Mycroft stopped breathing as Greg ran his tongue up his cock. He groaned, head falling back as Greg took him in his mouth. Surely nothing had ever felt this good.

Greg moaned softly, clearly loving what he was doing. If Mycroft had thought his tongue was talented before, well this was a whole other level. Surely Greg must be an incubus in disguise.

Mycroft gripped the arms of the chair, not sure what else he should be doing, his hips moving with every bob of Greg’s head, rapidly hurtling towards climax.

“Greg,” he gasped, the only warning he could give before he came with a shout. He quickly clapped a hand over his own mouth, trying to quiet his noises as Greg worked him through.

Finally, Greg pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he grinned at Mycroft. “You don’t have to keep quiet,” he said, leaning over Mycroft and kissing him gently. “Just us here.”

Mycroft ran his hands down Greg’s back. “You’re wearing too many clothes if you want me to return the favor.

“Only if you want to,” said Greg, kneeling back and pulling his jumper over his head. “Tell you what, can I have your hands?”

Mycroft nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

Greg stripped out of the rest of his clothes. “It’s what got my attention in the first place.” He sat down on the sofa, parting his legs a bit and gesturing Mycroft over.

Mycroft found his legs didn’t quite want to work, and stumbled ungracefully into Greg’s lap.

Greg chuckled and kissed him, settling him by his side. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Amazing,” said Mycroft, kissing him back, blindly taking Greg in hand.

Greg moaned at the touch. “Yeah, baby. Like that.”

Mycroft smiled and kissed Greg’s neck, exploring his body with his mouth as he stroked him off. He felt Greg tense and arch under his touch, swearing as he came, before collapsing back against the sofa.

Grinning, Mycroft raised his head and kissed him. “Good?”

“Christ, Mycroft, of course it was.” Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft and flipped him onto his back, setting over him.

“You’re sticky,” grumbled Mycroft without malice.

Greg kissed his throat. “Want to take a shower?”

“I’m not sure my legs will work yet. Can way lay here for a few?”

Greg smiled and nuzzled him a moment longer before settling in on his chest. Mycroft held him close, eyes closed. He was warm and comfortable as they lay together skin to skin.

The decision to pose might have been made to get him out of his comfort zone, but it had brought him more joy than he’d ever thought possible.