This would always be Mycroft's favourite time; after. Before Greg arrived in his life like this, there had been sex of course, on his terms. Nameless perfunctory fucking, serving a purpose akin to sending his suits to the dry cleaner's. He's never had anyone who feels like Greg. If he's honest, he still can't quite comprehend it. This notion of having someone who sticks around once the show is over and snuggles in close, touching him gently like he's precious.
Greg settles bodily against him, exhaling softly, spent and utterly boneless. He's beautiful like this, all mussed hair and sated glances. Greg looks at Mycroft after they're done making love (and he's starting to believe that might be what they're doing) like he has nowhere else in the world he'd rather be. There are cuddles, too. Mycroft had never cuddled before. Not in bed, or out, if he's truly honest. Greg is a cuddler, all in, no half measures. Wraps himself around you like a cat in need of a warm knee to rest awhile, whispering nonsense that's nothing and everything.
Mycroft begrudgingly tests his limbs, knowing he'll have to move soon. He's still slick between his thighs from a delicious while spent utterly lost under the attentions of Greg's tongue. Not to mention his stomach, sticky with their combined release from when things shifted from languid to frantic and chasing. Greg had taken them both in hand and transformed the glittering bursts of pleasure into a full-blown display of fireworks. Mycroft's sure his face is turning an unbecoming shade at the memory. His cock, however, is beginning to stir again at the realisation that he wants to reciprocate in kind.
Next time, he thinks, curling his toes at the utter depravity of this particular train of thought. Next time he'll find the courage to try something new. To put his mouth to Greg's skin for something more than desperate kisses. In all their weeks together, Greg has never once complained. He's always easy and generous with his attentions, coaxing with his gentle words. Mycroft has been more than happy to be swept along in the ebb and flow of his skilled and worshipful touches. He's quite taken aback by how much he wants to be the one to singlehandedly make Greg fall apart.
"Shower, gorgeous?" Greg's already shifting, eyes towards the ensuite, and Mycroft suspects that next time might be very soon indeed.
"A shower sounds wonderful, Gregory."