Greg wasn't used to the feeling of sheets and air rubbing across his bare skin. He had always been too modest or too fastidious to sleep naked. But now, with another long, leanly naked body stretched out next to him, he was enjoying the sensation.
He rolled onto his side so his front was flush with Mycroft's back. He curled his body around his lover, pressing skin against skin. He wrapped his left arm around Mycroft's waist, pulling him even closer, running his hands along his stomach, feeling the scars and curves that made this the stomach of the man he loved.
He breathed into the skin on Mycroft's back, running his tongue over his lips as they traced each constellation of freckles. He knew in that moment that if he could wake up every morning to those freckles and this man, every day would start perfectly.
Mycroft had opened his eyes when Greg wrapped his arm around his waist and ran his fingers over his stomach. It wasn't ticklish, it was the lightest and most careful of caresses. Mycroft loved the way his lover memorized each mark and blemish, even the ones he was ashamed of, as if they were strokes of paint by one of the great masters. It made him feel, for the first time in his life, that his body was something to be cherished, not rejected or abused.
And he loved the way his body reacted as he felt a breath ghost across his back, lips tracing skin. His hair started to stand on end as he closed his eyes and put his hands over Greg's and leaned his head back.
He rolled over to face his lover, eyes half closed and breath warm from hours of sleep, and placed his hand on his cheek. Greg's eyes shut the rest of the way as Mycroft pulled their heads together and kissed him. The kiss was soft and comforting, one among many with nothing to recommend it above any other. It was lips pressed together, it was hands on cheeks and waists. It was just another morning waking up to the love of your life.