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Greg couldn’t believe his life. By midday Saturday, the first full day of his weekend away with Mycroft, he was so comfortable that it almost made him circle back around to dis comfort, unsure of whether he was imagining the ease he felt. He wasn’t imagining it. It was just… easy. Calm. Warm. 

He had spent a content hour and a half writing through the early morning, in the conservatory of a bloody manor house, only stopping when a gorgeous man appeared at the door. That Mycroft had looked unsure of his welcome was… so far beyond unacceptable. Greg hoped to continue his quest to murder every last shred of insecurity in the man, in lieu of murdering whoever had put it there.

They showered together, not bothering to try and start something then and there, but content to share the space and hot water, hands sliding over soapy skin and teasing out reactions without following up on them just yet. They made breakfast together in Mycroft’s large, but surprisingly home-y kitchen. Slipping around each other for soap and shampoo was natural, and so was passing utensils and dishes back and forth, like they’d done it every weekend for years. 

When Mycroft asked Greg if he’d like to walk around the grounds with him after breakfast, the awkward solicitousness he’d been carrying in his voice since they’d arrived the night before seemed to have fully fallen away; Greg agreed, and out they went. Mycroft wore chinos , grey ones, instead of his usual wool trousers, and the same soft sweater he’d worn to that first dinner at Greg’s flat, under a wax jacket. He looked utterly transformed out here, with the countryside melting from late winter to early spring behind him. 

Greg thought nothing of backing him against an ancient garden wall for a chilly snog, and Mycroft responded beautifully, hauling Greg in like he’d been ready for it, and just waiting. 

“There’s no one around for miles, is there?” Greg wondered when they parted, panting. “If it wasn’t cold as all hell, I could do all sorts of naughty things to you in this field.”

Mycroft laughed. “There is periodic aerial surveillance when I am in residence.”

Greg shrugged. “Eh. Let ‘em watch, then.”

Mycroft laughed again, a beautiful sight that Greg knew was a rare thing for anyone else to have the pleasure of seeing. Greg caught it with his lips. 




He landed in the conservatory again after lunch, and Mycroft stepped into his office to check in with Anthea. Greg was content to settle in with his laptop and a cup of tea. He wasn’t usually very good at finding his focus in the later parts of the day, but attempting to write something was particularly pointless today. His fingers kept going still on the keys while his mind wandered. 

It wasn’t lost on Greg that he was trying to write his way through a love scene. 

It was just… he’d said he’d do naughty things to Mycroft, right? And he meant it. But he couldn’t get his head around what he’d do. Him and Mycroft, they seemed to be bumping along on instinct, and that was fine. It was more than fine, it was bloody fantastic. But it made Greg nervous, not knowing what he ought to be doing, what sort of attention would be welcome. Mycroft liked casual touch. Loved kissing. Gave maestro-like blowjobs, and obviously didn’t mind having the favor returned. Greg had a pretty strong feeling that Mycroft might like to take a little control once in awhile, but didn’t know how to tell him he should; didn’t know how to say you can do whatever you want to me and I’ll probably really like it without sounding a bit trashy. 

Would Mycroft like him dirty? He hadn’t seemed to mind Greg’s comments the night before in his little mini-theatre (Greg couldn’t even get started on the fact that the man had a small cinema in his house). Did Mycroft like things messy, the way they had gotten that first time? If he did, would he let Greg come all over the freckles on his chest? Did he like penetrative sex? Did he prefer it one way or another, or did he switch, like Greg? 

Greg’s brain went briefly offline at the thought of bottoming for Mycroft. He hadn’t done that in… well over a decade? Maybe? Dana had gone through a brief but exciting toy phase early in their marriage. That was the last time. 

He’d never taken anything as thick as Mycroft’s cock. He shivered at the idea. 


Greg’s eyes were drawn to the sound of Mycroft’s voice in the doorway, but it took him an extra beat to focus on him. 

“God, you look great,” he found himself blurting out. He blinked, and for the umpteenth time wondered at his own ineptitude when it came to simply not sounding like a complete tit in Mycroft’s presence. But then, what he’d said was true. Mycroft looked amazing. That sweater just begged for Greg to touch it, to slip his hands under it. Mycroft had let his hair do what it wanted which, unsurprisingly considering his brother’s mop, resulted in a wavy sort of flop over. The part Mycroft had trained into his hair held steady, but the length of it, usually slicked down with product, fluffed and gently curled in its absence. Greg would need to put his fingers through that again, soon.

Mycroft, to Greg’s intense delight, flushed. “Thank you,” he said awkwardly, but with a tilt to his mouth. A little half-smile that transformed his face; sweetened it. “You seemed deep in thought.”

Greg’s turn to redden. He could feel the blood pound straight to his cheeks. This was the problem. Everything seemed to be going fine, yes. But Greg’s race-ahead thoughts were killing him, and he was shit at hiding it. 

“Ah,” he managed, then cleared his throat. “Yeah. Well.”

Mycroft, still hovering in the doorway, raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Come in here,” Greg said, setting the laptop, still open to a blinking cursor next to the word suck , on the side table. “Let me be embarrassed next to you, at least, and not shouting across this cavern.”

“The conservatory is of average size,” Mycroft protested, but he did cross over to sit beside Greg on the sofa. He submitted easily to Greg’s tugging hands, and Greg was able to get him settled in close, Greg’s arm around his shoulders. Mycroft reached up to hold Greg’s hand, which was lovely, so Greg put the other one on his knee and tilted in to kiss him. 

“It’s practically a ballroom,” he said when he was done nipping at Mycroft’s bottom lip. “I like it. I really like your house.” 

Mycroft made a face. “I don’t, particularly.”

“No kidding!” Greg laughed. “Couldn’t tell from all these looks you keep getting.” He tapped his finger to the wrinkling of Mycroft’s nose. 

“You weren’t thinking about the house,” Mycroft said, and Greg had to hand it to him— he wasn’t easily deterred. 

“I wasn’t,” Greg admitted. “I was thinking about...well. Sex.”

“Writing about it?”

“Failing spectacularly at writing about it, actually.”

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow. “Do you normally find it difficult? One can’t tell from the copious explicit scenes in your books.”

Greg sighed and nudged him. “As a matter of fact, I don’t normally have trouble, no.” He resisted the urge to deflect again, maybe this time with more kissing, though the temptation was very much there, leaning comfortably into his side. He needed to lay his cards on the table. He told himself firmly to focus. “It’s not like I can’t come up with ideas or anything, more that all my current ideas are meant for real-life...application.”

“Mm.” Mycroft’s fingers played idly with Greg’s, belying the nervousness given away by that little hum. “And what sort of ideas did you come up with?”

“All of them,” Greg laughed. “Every single idea, all at once. That’s the problem. I’m… not used to this. It’s been years since I’ve had to get to know what a person likes. I’ve spent some of those years just writing down some of my favorites. Then when I ran out of those, looking up other things and writing those down, too. The options are bloody limitless, until you factor in another person. Well, and sometimes physics.” 


“I’m not as flexible as I once was,” Greg said cheekily, though he was pretty much dead serious. Some positions, while fun to write, were never going to happen. Not with his knees. 

Mycroft blushed gorgeously darker. Greg gave in to temptation and pressed his lips gently to the sweep of red across the nearest cheekbone. 

“I hope you’re not uncomfortable,” he said. “We don’t have to talk about this now.”

“No,” Mycroft replied, though he didn’t seem ready to make eye contact again. “Not uncomfortable. Overwhelmed.”

“Me, too.” Greg sighed and leaned in, drawing Mycroft into an embrace rather than a sideways snuggle, so he could press his own burning face to Mycroft’s neck and breathe in his scent. “Everything we’ve done has been… Honestly, sweetheart, it’s so good it terrifies me. Suppose I just don’t want to do anything to break the streak. I want so much with you and I just…”

“Don’t know where to begin?”

“Yeah.” Greg sagged with relief, letting more of his weight rest against Mycroft’s shoulder. Even that felt amazing. He pressed his lips to the crook of Mycroft’s neck, gentle and quick, breathing in the smell of him - no cologne out here in the country, just clean, warm skin. Greg’s entire body may as well have been full of butterflies. 

Mycroft cleared his throat. “I… have a stack of paperbacks and an e-reader in this house that would serve as a veritable encyclopedia of gay sex acts.”

Greg couldn’t help but laugh, tucking it into Mycroft’s neck and breathing slowly again. “Yeah, but—”

“I’m not saying that all of the things in them are to my tastes, or even to yours,” Mycroft interrupted. “Only… I may have a fairly comprehensive highlighting system on my tablet, and perhaps the blue and green categories would serve as a starting-point of sorts.” 

Greg sighed, practically melting into Mycroft’s side. Perfect, he thought. God, you’re so perfect. He swallowed a delighted giggle and drew back to look at Mycroft, stroking his hands down the man’s arms and bunching the softness of his sweater between his fingers like he’d wanted to do all day. “Are you saying we should go through your favorite bits of my filthy, secret books, and make a list of ways to fuck?”

Mycroft blinked, possibly only now cottoning on to what he had just suggested.

“You’re a genius,” Greg said, pressing the declaration against Mycroft’s lips, kissing him gently before giving him a nudge. “Go get your tablet.”


“Why not now?” 

Mycroft wet his lips, obviously nervous. Greg was helpless in the face of it, and had to kiss him again. 

“Don’t be nervous,” he murmured. “It’ll be lovely. Fun. I promise. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Alright,” Mycroft said, swallowing, nodding. “Yes, I’ll… retrieve it.”

“Okay. Want me to come with? We could talk in the bedroom, if you like. Close the curtains and turn the lights down?”

Mycroft seemed to sag in relief. “Please.”

Greg grinned, happy to have been right in his guess that closer quarters and dimmed light would set Mycroft at ease. “Lovely. Let’s—”

His laptop chimed. 

“Oh,” Mycroft started. 

“Shit,” Greg sighed. “That’ll be my sister, making sure you didn’t bring me out here to kill me.”

Mycroft’s eyebrows raised. “ Oh?”

“Kidding,” Greg assured him. “She probably wants a peek at you, though. Or at the very least, your fancy house in the Cotswolds. Mind if I say hello and satisfy her curiosity? You don’t have to stay, I’ll just—”

The Skype tone stopped. 

“She won’t give up so easily,” Greg warned. 

“I would not mind meeting your sister,” Mycroft said carefully. The laptop began to ring again. “But I understand if you feel it’s too… much.” 

Greg opened his mouth to say no, no of course it wasn’t - because it wasn’t - and to ask Mycroft if he was sure, and then brought himself up short. Don’t slow down.

“Stay, then,” he said. “Come on, let’s sit. She’ll just keep ringing ‘til I pick up, and she’ll probably make a dirty joke if we delay too long.”

Mycroft joined Greg back on the sofa. Greg leaned forward, tilted the laptop to show only himself in the frame for the time being, and clicked the button to answer the call. 

Laura appeared, her familiar voice coming through before the picture cleared up to show her grinning face. “Whoop! He’s dressed and everything!”

Greg rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a dick,” he grumbled. “You look great, love the hair.”

Laura ran fingers through her freshly shorn pixie cut, dark with streaks of early grey just like Greg’s. “Lush, isn’t it? Told you I’d rock it. Holy shit, look at the room behind you! You weren’t fucking kidding, he is well flush!” 

Greg sighed. “Christ, Laura. He’s sitting next to me.”


Mycroft shook with a silent laugh at Greg’s side, and Greg glanced up to see his amused face tilted down toward Greg’s, fond and sparkly-round-the-eyes. Greg grinned back, breathless. 

“Sorry about her,” he said, and tilted the laptop to the side so he could include Mycroft in the frame. “Meet Laura. Laura, this is—” 

“The bratty detective’s big bro, hmmm, introductions are boring,” Laura drawled in a passable impression of Sherlock. 

Mycroft laughed, surprised. “Have you met Sherlock?”

“The once,” Laura said. “In passing. Seen him on the telly a bit, too. He’s a looker. Must run in the family.”

“Don’t flirt with him,” Greg protested, outraged. “Laura, come on.”

“He likes it,” Laura laughed. “Don’t you, Mycroft?”

“I’m flattered,” Mycroft said smoothly, a little touch of his butter-wouldn’t-melt persona coming over him like a veil. “And very glad to meet you. Greg speaks so fondly, and highly, of you and his nieces. I have seen photos. You have beautiful children, Laura.”

“Well,” she tittered, eyes flicking between the two of them, her dismay at his perfect manners clear as day. “I… that’s very kind of you to say.”

Greg slipped his hand over onto Mycroft’s knee and gave it a squeeze: You’re doing beautifully. 

“Is your curiosity satisfied, Miss Cat?” He asked. “You’re interrupting my holiday.”

“I just bet I am,” she teased with a wink. “Yeah, well, he doesn't look like an axe murderer.”

Mycroft huffed one of his silent laughs. Greg squeezed him again. 

“Who’s not a murderer?”

Laura’s gaze shifted to a space just above her camera. “Uncle Greg’s… boy...friend?” She glanced back toward them with a wince and a mouthed sorry.

Greg looked away to check in on Mycroft, who looked pleased and fascinated, his eyes no doubt cataloging all sorts of information from Laura’s makeup and glasses, her outfit and the bookshelf behind her. 

“Can I say hi?”

Laura glanced at Greg and raised her eyebrows. 

“Of course she can,” Mycroft answered for him, and his hand dropped on top of Greg’s, his turn to squeeze reassuringly. 

Lucy’s curly hair appeared first, dyed a brilliant green for the moment, and then her face eclipsed her mother’s as she leaned further into frame. “Uncle Greg! You’ve got a boyfriend and you didn’t tell me?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything, you’re a baby,” he said, earning a glare. 

“I’m sixteen,” Lucy grouched, then to her mother: “Mum, budge over, I wanna see.”

“This is Mycroft,” Greg continued, not bothering to wait for mother and daughter to stop scuffling for position in front of the computer. “Please be polite to him.”

“Oooh, hello,” Lucy cooed, leaning forward. “I’m the favorite niece.”

Laura’s fingers dug into Lucy’s ribs, prompting a squawk. “He doesn't have a favorite.”

Greg smiled and shook his head. It was true, he didn’t have a favorite, but there was no denying that Luce was his little duckling. Always had been. He had been there for her birth, and acted as stand-in father for most of her life. Laura alternated between complaining that Lucy was a miniature Greg, and expressing her extreme relief that she had his sort of personality and not her biological dad’s, or even Laura’s. 

“I’m the best one, though,” Lucy insisted, throwing in a little wink. 

Mycroft made a small, amused sound at Greg’s side. “I reserve judgment,” he said. “Since I’ve yet to meet your younger sister. It’s wonderful to meet you. You are as lovely as your uncle has claimed you to be.”

“Go on,” Lucy laughed. Laura’s grin had grown wider. 

“He’ll sit here and compliment you all day,” Greg cut in. “And I don’t want to spend my holiday being teased by the likes of you and your mum. You’ve seen him, you’ve said hello. That’s enough for now.”

“You’re no fun,” Lucy pouted. “But I get it. Sex holiday and everything.”

Laura made a sound of utter outrage and Greg himself couldn’t help but demand: “And you would know about sex holidays how?”

“Oh, unclench,” Lucy teased. “I’m only messing with you. God.” She addressed Mycroft, “Do something about him, will you? He needs to relax.”

Greg felt himself blush. Mycroft’s fingers spasmed around Greg’s. Lucy looked thrilled, mouth open to say something horrendous, no doubt. 

“Annnnd, that’s enough,” Laura interrupted, hip checking Lucy to the side and nearly off the chair she’d squashed herself into. “Inappropriate.”

“Uncle Greg,” Lucy cried, literally on the edge of her seat and trying not to fall over. “Are we still on for the driving next week?”

“Of course,” he said. “Come ready to pass a readiness check. Study your manual.”

“Sir, yessir!” She saluted, then tumbled to the floor in a pile of giggles, disappearing from view. Her hand rose back into frame and waved, bracelets clinking on her wrist around the leather cuff Greg had gifted her from his own box of fashion choices past. “Bye!”

“She’s literally rolling away on the floor,” Laura said, gazing off-camera in consternation. “She’s a disaster.”

“She’s the best,” Greg corrected.

“Yeah,” Laura agreed, then zeroed back in on the screen. “Hey, thanks for letting me interrupt. Sorry we’re so… this way. Lovely to meet you, Mycroft.”

“It was my pleasure,” Mycroft said, and Greg saw that he meant it. It might not be evident to just anyone, but Greg was learning to interpret Mycroft’s subtle shifts in expression by now. It was all in the eyes, in the shoulders. He looked relaxed, now. Amused. A bit smitten, even. 

Wow, Greg thought, and turned to the laptop again. I need to kiss him some more now.  

“We’ve got to go,” he told Laura, not even bothering to feign regret. “Love you, babe, I’ll see you, alright?”

Laura was grinning, biting her lip, as she nodded. “Sure, sure. Have fun, boys.”

“Mmhm, yep,” Greg called, and slapped the laptop shut on her winking face. “Gonna kiss you now.”


Mycroft gave a little half laugh before Greg pulled him close and kissed him thoroughly, hands clutching at his narrow waist to tug him closer, closer. 

“You liked them,” Greg said when they parted. “You really did.”

“They are so much like you,” Mycroft replied. “And they love you. Very much.”


“And you obviously live for them,” Mycroft continued. He pressed a gentle kiss first to Greg’s cheekbone and then to his mouth. “It’s… A precious thing. It is a privilege that you introduced them to me. Thank you.”

Greg wanted to crawl into his lap. “I forget sometimes that you can read these things. I don’t need to explain… It isn’t easy—  wasn’t easy, I mean, in the past. Dating. Even with Dana. It’s difficult to explain how Laura’s not just my sister, the girls aren’t just my nieces. They’re… not my responsibility, or my obligation. They’re…”

“An extension of your right arm? Connected to your vital organs? A mirror of your heart and soul?” Mycroft’s hands were gentle on Greg’s arms. “Believe me when I say that I understand.” 

“I know you do,” Greg said. “Big brothers, eh?” 

“But you,” Mycroft continued. “You are very good at being one. It… you are such a good man, Greg.”

“So are you, sweetheart.” Greg murmured, reaching up to trace Mycroft’s small, sweet smile with his fingertips. “We’ll convince you of it, yet.”

Mycroft smiled wider. “Perhaps,” he said. 

“Come on,” Greg said softly, pulling away enough to gather Mycroft’s hands and tug. “Let’s find that tablet. Come curl up with me in the dark.” 

Mycroft followed easily, let Greg lead him by the hand, and even paused, briefly, on the landing just to press a kiss to the back of Greg’s neck. 

With every step toward the second floor and Mycroft’s bedroom, Greg felt himself filling up with anticipation and affection and, more than anything else, with adoration. 


Greg pulled the curtains closed. Mycroft lit the antique lamp that stood on top of his dresser. Greg made a cursory effort at straightening the bedclothes - neither of them had bothered to make up the bed that morning. Mycroft retrieved his tablet from the valise on the chair by the door, and then allowed Greg to situate him comfortably against the pile of pillows at the head of the bed. 

Greg joined him, but rather than slide in next to him, insinuated himself between Mycroft’s thighs, leaning back against his chest and holding up a hand for the tablet. “Could I? No government secrets on there?” 

He felt the warm exhalation of air that meant Mycroft had done one of his little huffing laughs; his body was jostled gently by the rise and fall of Mycroft’s chest. This position was a good call. It would do both of them the favor of being able to keep faces hidden while they talked about potentially embarrassing topics, and would let Greg read Mycroft’s feelings in the little changes in the tension of his body. Or at least, he hoped. 

“No government secrets,” Mycroft said, a teasing note in his voice. “Only my own very personal ones. Color coded.”

“Hmmm, blue and green you said?”


“What do those colors mean?”

Mycroft hummed, low in his chest, and Greg shivered at the way it felt to be so close to him that the hum reverberated through Greg’s own ribs. “That would be telling. Suffice to say, I found those passages… inspiring.”

“Fair enough,” Greg murmured, then tipped his head back onto Mycroft’s shoulder. It was a bit awkward, and their faces were too close to really look at one another, but he could reach up and guide Mycroft’s face to the side to kiss him, nice and soft and slow. 

Mycroft handed him the tablet. 

Greg couldn’t help but giggle a bit helplessly when the array of covers filled the screen. Almost all of them were his. “Good god,” he said. “I’s not that I didn’t believe that you had read them. But.”

“Mm.” Mycroft’s hands reached around, his arms holding Greg a little shyly, so he could press his finger to the screen and work his way down the list. “This one is a favorite of mine.”

Greg nearly choked. “This one, you say.” 

“Is that—”

“It’s my favorite, too,” Greg interrupted, not wanting Mycroft to feel awkward or judged, not even for a second. “You… what did you like about it?”

Mycroft’s finger hovered over the thumbnail image of Bit of Rough ’s cover. He cleared his throat. “Well.” 

Greg felt a grin tug at one side of his mouth and had to bite down to keep from smiling so hard he couldn’t speak. “Sweetheart,” he ventured, “d’you have a type?”

“I—” Mycroft’s breath caught and Greg could feel it, feel the moment of tension and embarrassment, but then just as quickly—  and Greg would swear he could also hear the wheels of Mycroft’s gorgeous brain spinning from this close-up— Mycroft relaxed. His voice went sly. “I can’t say,” he said. “I’ve never tested any theories, but if that is your favorite of the books you have written, then I must ask. Do you have a type?”

“Ha!” Greg tipped his head back again, this time to turn his face and smother his laughter in the join of Mycroft’s neck and shoulder. He was thrilled when Mycroft responded by leaning down to nuzzle his nose in Greg’s hair. “You’ve caught me out,” he said, muffled. “Too smart for me.” 

“Let us not dwell on types,” Mycroft said. 

“Eager to get to the good stuff?” Greg teased, turning back to the tablet and clicking on the book cover. “If I remember correctly, this book features extensive portrayals of certain...oral activities.”

“I think we can establish that we are both enthusiastic about that category,” said Mycroft drily. “Don’t you?”

“Undoubtedly,” Greg murmured, clicking through to the highlights and sorting by color. Mycroft only used three: blue, green, yellow. He wouldn’t pry about their meanings again, but he did wonder. “Alright, here we are. Hmm…”

Mycroft’s throat cleared gently against his back, and he reached for the screen again, hesitating there for a moment. 

“Go on,” Greg said softly, pleased that Mycroft felt comfortable taking point, so to speak. 

Was this weird? Greg hadn’t thought it was, but now he wondered if he had talked Mycroft into this. That maybe it was just weird and clinical, not sexy at all. 

Then, Mycroft scrolled a short way down the list of highlighted passages, and tapped on one. “This,” he said, and his voice had dropped lower into his chest so that Greg could really feel it when he spoke. “I… may have fixated on this small passage here. For a while.” 

Greg had to work to focus on the text in front of him. His doubts began to drain away. Mycroft’s voice was doing things for him, and the fact that it had lowered like that, Greg was beginning to learn, meant that things were working for Mycroft too. Already. 

Greg read the highlighted paragraphs to himself and smiled. 

Jeremy pressed against Killian, held him against the closed office door with one hand at his hip. “What d’you want?”

“Nothing,” Killian stammered. “Nothing, this is… so inappropriate. I can’t do this, I’m at work—” 

“So?” Jeremy let his hand slide over to the zip of Killian’s trousers, fiddling with the pull. “What if I kept it all very…” he traced a finger up the shiny buttons of Killian’s shirt front, “ neat ?”

“What does that mean?” Killian asked, breath coming quicker as Jeremy’s finger trailed back down, down, down, until he could cup the hard line of Killian’s cock through the expensive fabric of his trousers. 

“Means what it means,” Jeremy teased, gently rolling the heel of his hand back and forth over Killian’s erection. “I could just leave. Leave you like this.”

“No,” Killian gasped. “No, please—” 

Greg hummed. “Yeah, I like this too. What d’you like about it?”

Mycroft’s hands rested on Greg’s shoulders, stroking up and down his biceps gently and easily. “You can’t guess?”

“I could,” Greg said. “Want you to tell me.”

Mycroft was quiet, maybe building up the nerve to be honest, maybe seeing if he could wait Greg out and force him into guessing. Maybe both. But he did eventually speak. “The clothing.”

“Thought so,” Greg sighed happily, loving the way Mycroft’s hands just kept moving over his arms and shoulders, squeezing a little and pushing out knots Greg hadn’t realized were there in his muscles. “What about the office bit?”

Mycroft huffed. “Maybe as a fantasy. Sadly, the reality would be fairly impossible, taking security clearance into consideration.”

Greg laughed. “Fair enough. But then, you do have that posh club of yours. And an office there?”

Greg felt Mycroft’s breath catch. “An interesting idea.” 

“Putting a pin in that,” Greg murmured. Instead of using the back button to return to the highlights list, he swiped quickly through book pages until another green passage caught his attention. “Here we go,” he said. “Oh!” He wanted to sing. This scene. Oh, this scene. “God, this one,” he sighed. 

Possibly by accident, Mycroft’s massaging fingers found their way to a pressure point at the knob at the top of Greg’s spine and pushed. Greg groaned, partially from the sudden delicious pleasure spreading through that muscle, and partly because this scene involved one of Greg’s absolute favorite things to do from either side of the equation. 

“Who would you rather be,” he wondered out loud, slurring a little as Mycroft’s thumbs kneaded at his shoulders. “Say we’re replicating this scene. Acting it out. Tell me.”

“I…” Mycroft’s voice came close to Greg’s ear, his breath ghosting softly there and sending shivers along Greg’s skin. “It’s not so much a matter of being penetrated,” he said. “Or doing the penetrating. It’s…”

“Can I guess this time?” Greg asked, letting himself melt backward, stopping Mycroft’s impromptu massage and prompting him to slip his arms round Greg’s chest in a loose embrace. 

“Yes,” Mycroft breathed against his lips. 

“You want to be in charge,” Greg said. “Maybe not all the time; I know you like being held, like it when I keep you still. But you would want to be Killian, here.” 

“Yes,” Mycroft said again, and they fell into a hot, slow kiss as easy as breathing. Mycroft moaned into it, arms tightening as Greg hooked a hand up behind him to hold Mycroft where he wanted him, pulling him even closer. 

“God,” Greg groaned. “Two scenes down.”

“We’re absolutely not getting through this book today, I hope you realize,” Mycroft said, still a breath away from Greg’s lips. 

“I’m not done with you just yet,” Greg said, then kissed him again. “Take a deep breath. Get yourself under control.”

Mycroft scoffed and slipped one hand down to the hard line of Greg’s cock, trapped in his chinos. “Take your own advice.”

Greg arched, pressing his back more tightly to Mycroft’s chest. “Fuuuuck,” he sighed, and weakly lifted the tablet up so he could read again. “Behave,” he said, and smacked Mycroft’s hand away. 

He focused on the highlighted sentences again. “So, that didn’t answer the question I was hoping it would, but I can’t really complain.” 

“What question was that?”

“Which way you like best - top? Bottom? Either-or?”

To Greg’s surprise, Mycroft went noticeably tense against his back. He wanted to turn his head, look at him again, but knew that might make things more awkward for him, so he forced himself to face forward and wait. He waited a long series of beats, but Mycroft stayed still and silent. Greg sat up and shifted halfway around, a hand already moving to cup Mycroft’s cheek. 

“Hey,” he said, gently as he could manage, keeping his touch light. “Sorry, was that—?” 

“No,” Mycroft said on a sigh. “No, not at all. I just… The problem is that I’ve only done things… one way. I’m afraid my level of experience is. That is, I—” 

Oh. Greg nearly sagged with relief. Oh, darling man. “That’s alright,” he murmured. “I know the books are um… detailed seems like a good word. But honestly, Mycroft, I’m not some gay sex expert. I’m no authority. I haven’t done a fair number of things I’ve written about, and the things I have were a lifetime ago. I thought I made that clear. ‘m sorry if I didn’t and freaked you out.”

“No,” Mycroft shook his head. “It isn’t that. It just seems such an odd thing to admit, at my age. That I’m so limited that I’m not sure what I actually prefer versus what I’ve done. And frankly, what I’ve done was so far in the past I’ve begun to wonder.. .”

Greg practically flailed in his hurry to turn the rest of the way around, shifting his entire body into Mycroft’s lap, achy knees and protesting lumbar spine be damned. “Sweetheart,” he breathed, tipping their foreheads together. “I absolutely get it. There’s nothing to feel badly about, I promise.”

Mycroft’s shoulders were already relaxing, lowering from around his ears, under the gentle pressure of Greg’s hands. 

Greg kissed his forehead. “I want to do so many things with you,” he said. “But only what you’re interested in doing. I… I seriously don’t care what way we do it, so long as I get to be with you.” 

Mycroft’s eyes were startled and soft before he hid them against Greg’s shoulder. His voice was muffled when he murmured, “God. I don’t have the faintest idea how I got here, but I’m so grateful.”

Greg closed his eyes and stroked a soothing hand over Mycroft’s hair. “Me, too. Seriously. I can’t believe my own luck.”

Mycroft drew back and let Greg take his face in his hands, tilting up sweetly in anticipation of a long, slow kiss. 

Greg poured his desperate gratitude and love into it, fingertips as delicate against Mycroft’s jaw as they would be handling fine china.

“What way have you done it, then?” Greg whispered when they pulled away. “And did you like it?”

“I liked it,” Mycroft said. “I loved it. I was the, ah… receiving party.”

Greg pressed his smile into another kiss. “Okay,” he said. “But you would be interested in trying the other way around?”

Mycroft groaned into yet another kiss, and shuddered. “Yes.”

“Great,” Greg said, already planning ahead for extra lube and possibly hours of stretching. It would take some preparation, him taking Mycroft, but god did he want to. “So back to the book— “

Mycroft sighed. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Greg laughed, leaning back to grab the tablet from where he’d dropped it. “Come on, Holmes, focus.”

Mycroft gazed up at him from where he leaned back against the headboard, amused and soft in the low light. “I am focused.”

“We’ll get to that later,” Greg said, faux-sternly. “I mean focus on the material.”

“Apologies,” Mycroft said. 

Greg settled his weight onto Mycroft’s thighs, glad that they had progressed to doing this face-to-face, despite Mycroft’s moment of distress. He held the tablet in one hand and kept the other pressed to the center of Mycroft’s chest as he scanned the highlighted bits. “I think, from this, I can draw a reasonable conclusion.”

“Do go on.” 

Greg licked his lips. “You want to fuck me,” he said, eyes flicking to Mycroft’s and then away again. “Or you’d like me to fuck you. But either way, you want to direct things. Slower, harder, move here, look there. Speak, don’t speak. In the scene, Jeremy’s technically the top. And in most of the book, he’s called the shots, hasn’t he? But even though he’s the one inside Killian, it’s Killian who has the upperhand this time. Am I right?”

When he took his eyes away from the tablet screen, Greg was nearly bowled over by the naked desire in Mycroft’s expression. 

“Am I?” Greg repeated with a grin. 

“Yes,” Mycroft said, and that delicious low note was back, coloring his refined voice in ways that went straight to Greg’s gut. 

“Noted,” Greg murmured. “And just so we’re clear?” He leaned in, stopping just shy of kissing Mycroft’s open mouth, but certainly close enough to feel his shortened breaths. “I would love to ride you, and the thought of you on top of me like that? Taking my cock? Mycroft, that’s heaven.” 

Mycroft sucked in a breath as he hauled Greg that last inch to crush their lips together, his mouth already opening, inviting Greg in, and then sucking filthily at Greg’s tongue the second he took the invitation. 

Greg reached for Mycroft’s hands, dragging them up into his own hair. He pulled out of the kiss gasping. “I don’t have the patience for lube right now,” he said. It was true. Greg had been hard basically from the moment they’d slipped into the bed. It had been easy to set aside until now. Now, he desperately needed to get out of his clothes and do something about it, and things like lube and condoms and gentle preparation were completely off the table. “But I want you to put me where you want me. I want to come with you, and I want to get there however you see fit. Can you try that for me, sweetheart?”

Mycroft nodded frantically, then dragged Greg forward with just a tiny, delicious bit of roughness, to kiss him again. He kept one hand gripped tight in Greg’s hair, the other sliding quickly down his body to squeeze at Greg’s arse, an echo of a move from the night before. He squeezed and pulled and shifted, settling Greg more into his lap than across his thighs, with the fantastic side effect of bringing the hard lines of their erections together.

“You’re amazing,” Greg murmured the next time he managed to tear his mouth from Mycroft’s. “So good, darling, I want you so much. You can do whatever you want with me.” It felt so good to say out loud. “I’ll love every second of it.”


“I want you to take me,” Greg gasped, body twitching as Mycroft thrust up against him and used his grip on Greg’s backside to direct him down at the same time. “Use me. Tell me.” 

“I don’t know if I can.” 

“Why can’t you?”

“I don’t know how.”

“Yes, you do,” Greg sighed, raining kisses down the column of Mycroft’s neck. “You do, baby, you really do. You’re so strong and powerful, and that doesn't change depending on who’s fucking who.”

And that hit the nail directly on the head; it must have done, because Mycroft shuddered and let out a sound of relief like a sob before he used the hand in Greg’s hair to yank him back up and into a searing, perfect kiss. 

From there, it was almost a blur. Greg went pliant in Mycroft’s hands, hoping it would encourage him, and it did. Mycroft tipped him backward onto the mattress, pausing only to yank off his jumper and vest, and to strip Greg’s trousers and pants down his legs. He got his own trousers unfastened, revealing the shape of his cock and a wet spot of precome at the front of his briefs,  but didn’t bother further than that. He simply shoved Greg’s t-shirt out of the way and set himself to the task of nibbling Greg’s nipples until they were both tight and pink, shiny with saliva. Mycroft pressed his fingers against them, circled them, teased them, and Greg twitched helplessly under his hands, moaning and sighing as his hips jerked in search of friction that wasn’t there. 

“Would you—” Mycroft hesitated. Greg nodded in silent encouragement. “Talk to me?” Mycroft finished. “Your voice… I love your voice.”

Greg wanted to sob. Wanted to haul Mycroft in. He didn’t; he really did want Mycroft to try his hand at running this show - like he had at Greg’s flat, telling him plainly: I’m not finished. But he wanted it to be on purpose this time. Greg wanted to know what that felt like.

“Anything you want,” Greg said. “Anything.” 

Mycroft knelt up and shoved his own trousers and pants down his thighs, his cock springing free of its confines, long and hard and slippery at the head. 

Greg’s mouth watered. 

Mycroft sat back to wrestle himself out of the trousers. “Come here,” he said urgently, beckoning to Greg with one hand. 

Greg found himself crawling back up into Mycroft’s lap, the fleeting sensation of their cocks brushing together making him want to shove down, take them both in hand, slide them together over and over. Mycroft stripped Greg out of his shirt and sucked a faint mark into his left pectoral before tracing his fingers around it, studying it with what looked like satisfaction. 

“Talk to me,” he prompted. 

“Oh, god,” Greg whimpered. “It’s harder than it looks.” 

Mycroft smirked up at him, eyes bright. “I shan’t make the obvious joke.”

Greg groaned, tipping his forehead onto Mycroft’s shoulder. “Stop,” he muttered. “You’ve done this to me. Made words hard to find. I’m so wound up because of you. ‘m dying to come.”

“Are you?” Mycroft’s hands were everywhere. “Interesting, so am I.”

“I’d love for you to come all over me,” Greg said, grasping for all the filthy, shivery thoughts he’d had since the first time but hadn’t had the chance to voice. “Just. Everywhere.”

Mycroft’s elegant hand took Greg’s cock in a loose grip. “That sounds…” He squeezed and Greg bucked into his hand with a gasp. “Very good.”

“It would be good,” Greg said. “Would you—  I want to feel your cock on mine.” 

“God,” Mycroft uttered under his breath, immediately aligning them together, wrapping those gorgeous fingers around the both of them. 

Greg watched and panted, tried not to move too much, even as the head of Mycroft’s cock, slick with precome, caught and rubbed against the head of Greg’s. Mycroft stroked, and Greg could only hang on to his shoulders and shake. 

“It’s good?” Mycroft checked.

“So good,” Greg sighed. “Everything you do to me is good. Everything about you, sweetheart. I’m gonna have you fuck me like this. Tomorrow. Tonight. Soon.”

“Give me your hand,” Mycroft commanded softly, and Greg obeyed because yes, that was a fantastic idea. Mycroft licked a wet streak over Greg’s palm, and Greg felt that in his bones. Their fingers slid and locked together, a shared grip. “Move,” Mycroft told him. Greg did, shifting his hips in little circular thrusts, sliding his cock through the snugness of their hands, feeling the velvet smooth slide of Mycroft’s shaft against his own. “Faster,” Mycroft whispered, out of breath. 

“Gonna make me come,” Greg warned him. 

“Good,” Mycroft replied, and tightened his hand. Greg quickened the thrust of his hips and moaned helplessly, watching the tips of their cocks disappear and reappear into Mycroft’s fist entwined with his own. It was moments before he felt his balls begin to tighten. Mycroft tilted Greg’s face to his own for a kiss, then he whispered, brokenly, into Greg’s ear: “Kiss me, please, when you come.”

“Mycroft,” Greg cried, already careening over the edge. “Now, now, it’s now, kiss me—”

And Mycroft shuddered hard between Greg’s trembling thighs and against his heaving chest, their mouths meeting messily and breathlessly as Greg’s orgasm ripped through him like a current. Mycroft followed soon after, just as the movements of his hand over the two of them had begun to border on too much for Greg’s sensitive nerves. Greg came down from his high, twitching and gasping with aftershocks, as Mycroft’s own release dripped over them both.

Greg had needed to let go in the middle, his wet hand slapping a print onto the gleaming hardwood of the headboard. He stared at that, his fingers slipping in the sweat and come, and laughed, breathless and delighted. 

“I can’t—” Mycroft panted. “Imagine what’s so—  funny.”

“Not funny,” Greg said, sliding his lips over Mycroft’s sweaty cheekbone to nibble at his earlobe. “Just fantastic,” he breathed, and laughed some more as the huff of air over Mycroft’s ear set off a full body shiver that seemed to trigger a little bit of post-orgasm overload. 

“Fuck,” said Mycroft succinctly. 

Greg giggled madly, and let himself go boneless, draped all over this wonderful man in this big, soft bed in the middle of the day. I love you, he thought. And for once in my life I think I’ve gotten very lucky. And you might love me, too.