A/N: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, Sgt. Sally Donovan or Inspector Gregory Lestrade; they belong to the late Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the BBC, Rupert Graves, Vinette Robinson and Mark Gattis. The plot, however, is mine.

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Mycroft stands by the window, thinking about the unexpected turn his life has taken with Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade when he came over to complain about his younger brother...

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My first Mystrade fic! I started writing it yesterday and finished it today! WUHOO! :)

I've only recently gotten into this ship-about three or four days or so ago-so I'm rather nervous, though excited about going into a new venue, writing for them! I also must thank RedPassion's amazing Mystrade video, For you-Mycroft + Lestrade [Mystrade Teen AU] for being the catalyst for my really beginning to like this ship! My interest had been piqued before this in Mystrade-I ship John x Sherlock-but RedPassion's video really put it over the top and I dove headfirst right into it so I have another ship! :D THANKS! :)

I had intended this piece to be a tragedy/angst type of fic-which is my specialty and the majority of fanfiction that I usually write as those who have read my Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney pieces are aware of-but I suppose the boys, in cahoots with my very odd Muses, had other ideas! The result is this fluffy piece! :)

I hope that you enjoy this little fic. Comments and suggestions are definitely welcome and appreciated, particularly from the more experienced in this ship than I am! I probably have made quite a few mistakes and they're probably OOC, too, so any direction that might be needed will be also appreciated and very welcome, as well! [I'm really a romantic at heart and this always shows up in my writing.]

They haven't met yet onscreen although I hope they do one day. In this story, I have them meet at New Scotland Yard when Mycroft was there to discuss some official business with the Deputy Commissioner three years earlier and they have met occasionally since then. Also, I've called Mycroft the "Great Manipulator" which, so far as I know, isn't the appellation he's referred to as; I've heard him called "The Ice Man" although I think that the "Great Manipulator" suits him. Who knows how many pies he has, or has had, his fingers in? :)

Thanks to my readers and all those who have favourited, reviewed, story alerted, favourite author or author alerted me. I appreciate it more than I can say!

Special thanks to my beloved husband, DezoPenguin, for all his help, support, advice, nagging (when necessary) and encouragement! I appreciate it more than I can say! Love you!

Thank you also to my beta, Pearls1990, for her comments, suggestions, critique and research into voices! I really appreciate it!

I would also like to thank the following for their wonderful videos on YouTube that, after watching them over-and over and over-the course of an afternoon, provided the inspiration for this fic: RedPassion, duchesscloverly, Amy Rickman, MOP191992, selinabln and solrosans. I would also like to thank the artists on dA that I have favourited for their wonderfully amazing Mystrade art and I hope that you all will continue to produce more!

Mycroft's memory of what happened between himself and Lestrade is in italics.

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December 15th
10 P.M.

Mycroft stood by the second floor foyer window of his home in silence, the rich ruby red of his dressing gown providing an interesting colour contrast as he watched the snow fall gently to the ground, a soft layer of white sparkling like diamonds in the moonlight on the sidewalk below. The fingers of his right hand rested lightly on the windowsill while, in the other, he held a snifter of brandy, the amber liquid dark in the dim overhead light.

He stood by here often whenever he had some kind of problem to contemplate or he just wanted to mull something over; in his notable experience, introspection usually provided guidance although he found, more often than not as of late, that his wandering thoughts were turning more and more to Detective Inspector Lestrade. While this wasn't troubling to him-far from it, truth be told-he did wonder what it was about the good detective inspector that he found so damnably... fascinating.

He closed his eyes, his fingers ghosting softly over his lips. And attractive, as well.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he lifted the snifter to his mouth, taking a long sip. He knew that his brother and Lestrade had had somewhat of a contentious relationship-and that was putting it mildly, to say the least-but, deep down, he knew that the two men did care about and respect the other. He had sensed this the very first time that he met Detective Inspector Lestrade at New Scotland Yard on some official business with the Deputy Commissioner three years earlier. Sherlock had been there as well that day and had introduced them before proceeding to tell Lestrade what he and John had found out about a suspect in a case that they were currently working jointly on.

Mycroft had been very impressed with the good detective inspector when they met, noting his manner, demeanor and professional air and the firm, yet subtle and calloused, grip of his hand as he shook it. Even though they frequently butted heads many times in the past, he knew that Lestrade trusted his brother implicitly, a respect that had been, as he understood it, hard won.

Sherlock has always been like that, he thought with amusement, a low chuckle rumbling deep in his throat. He's a pain in the neck but people trust him, as they should. He grinned wolfishly. I know that Lestrade certainly does although his methods at times leave something to be desired but I suppose that one can't quibble about the results.

He gave his head a slight shake, bringing back his wandering thoughts back to the encounter he'd had with Lestrade. It had, he admitted, been a very... pleasurable... excursion with the good detective inspector that he found to be both quite surprising but irresistible at the same time. Surprising because he found that he was quite attracted to the handsome Yarder-although he was still uncertain about just when the transition from first meeting politeness to genuine attraction had occurred since he had never truly fallen in love with someone before-and irresistible because he simply couldn't pass up the opportunity when it had presented itself.

A soft smile quirked at the corners of his mouth as he remembered what had happened three weeks earlier when Lestrade had come to see him at his office, in essence, to complain about Sherlock. Again. They had met intermittently over the years after their introduction and it pleased Mycroft that Lestrade felt comfortable enough to come to his office even if it was to gripe about his younger brother. It never failed to amuse him how his brother could get on Lestrade's nerves so often and yet be trusted by him, particularly since Sgt. Sally Donovan certainly made no secret of her obvious loathing of him.

Mycroft remembered how Lestrade had thrown himself down on the leather couch in his office that day, his eyes narrowing in undisguised pleasure as he did so that Lestrade failed to notice as he launched into his latest diatribe on the topic of his younger brother. He'd listened in polite silence for awhile until some time later when Lestrade had finally finished the newest litany of complaints. Somehow, it made him look all the more attractive: his silver salt and pepper hair seemed to positively glow in the overhead light, his mouth looking kissably attractive even though it appeared, at the present, as petulant as a child's in the midst of a tantrum.

It really didn't matter to Mycroft at the moment as he looked at the good detective inspector with a smouldering gaze that could hardly have been mistaken for anything else; he noticed the surprised look on Lestrade's face before he abruptly stood, a very curious expression flickering over his features as he turned in the direction of the door. Mycroft didn't hesitate as his hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, ignoring the inspector's muffled gasp of surprise as he pulled him forward with a savage tug, his heart beating madly in his chest, his lips parted slightly, his eyes glittering with two years of suppressed emotion.

Lestrade's eyes widened in astonishment as he took two stumbling steps toward him and Mycroft took a deep breath as he stared out the window, remembering the shocked look on his face as he stepped forward and took him into his arms, pulling him close and pressing his mouth hard against his. Lestrade's eyes had popped open once again, his body stiffening at the unexpected assault, muffled exclamations of surprise buzzing pleasantly against Mycroft's lips.

He could feel the inspector's hands fluttering up and down his sleeves as he weakly tried to push him away but Mycroft simply held him tighter, his mouth literally devouring Lestrade's own. He wasn't exactly certain what had prompted him to do that in the first place but he hadn't been unhappy with the ultimate result. Far from it. It seemed to him that it was a battle of wills and, Mycroft smugly noted, he would ultimately prove to be the victor since he had no intention of letting Gregory Lestrade get away; he wanted the detective inspector and, if necessary, would take him by force but he would prefer Lestrade to surrender to him of his own free will.

Besides, he thought with a mixture of chagrin and amusement, taking another sip, I already tried that and it didn't work.

The corners of his mouth twitched as he remembered. In September of the previous year, he had tried to engage Lestrade to do a certain task for him and had been curtly, though politely, refused. He even had gone so far as to say "Don't make me order you" but that hadn't worked, either, for that damnably impertinent man had completely ignored him which was something that he hadn't encountered very often in his career.

Usually, if he said something or ordered something to be done, it was carried out promptly but Lestrade was a different case altogether. Perhaps that had been the one of the many reasons he had been attracted to him in the first place, that wild, independent streak that made him stand out. It was then that Mycroft had decided to bide his time and let it unwind as it would with time, hoping that his patience would ultimately be rewarded.

He drummed his fingertips on the windowsill. He wasn't, at that point, exactly certain how Lestrade felt but he'd noticed a subtle change whenever the good detective inspector looked at him over the past month and a silly, but remarkably endearing, little smile appeared on his lips when he thought that Mycroft wasn't looking. He'd also noticed Lestrade was coming to visit much more often than he had in the past and his excuses for doing so sounded very hollow. How, he'd wondered, could Sherlock be lifting Lestrade's favourite chocolate from his desk? It was ridiculously transparent but Mycroft didn't let on, accepting it at face value which brought a look of relief to the good detective inspector's face and the visits, which Mycroft readily enjoyed, proceeded as usual.

I never knew Gregory was such a passionate and delectable man. He smiled as he took another sip of brandy, enjoying its smooth taste as it slid pleasantly down his throat. He certainly doesn't give that impression outwardly so I guess we both learned something about not judging by appearances.

There hadn't been any gentleness in the kiss at all, he noted with wry, and ironic, amusement, at least not at first. Mycroft was firmly in control and took what he'd long wanted from Lestrade; after some time had passed and the initial shock of his advance had worn off, much to his surprise but evident delight as well, Lestrade soon responded with enthusiasm, wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing him back just as hard, if not more so.

Mycroft's fingers traced soft patterns on Lestrade's cheek as he proceeded to nudge him over to the couch by the window, their lips still glued together and working hard against each other. Lestrade had gone happily, eagerly, even, and tossing their clothes aside, tumbled on to the couch, losing themselves in each other...

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Touching, tasting, stroking, feeling that wonderful skin underneath his greedy, questing hands, Lestrade was moaning under Mycroft's soft touch as his hungry mouth devoured his, his fingers tangling in his lover's hair. Lestrade's body was hot, his skin deliciously wet and slick with sweat, the silver in his salt-and-pepper locks glistening in the soft fluorescent light above their heads as they continued their passionate embrace.

His greedy fingers touched every part of Lestrade's slim, well chiseled body that he could reach, his heart beating faster as the man underneath him moaned in pleasure, spurring him on with animal cries and nips. In their heated rolling about, Mycroft ended up on top of Lestrade's back but that suited his purpose all the better; he'd teased the inspector until he was literally begging him to take him and, on this, Mycroft eagerly obliged.

When they had joined together at last, it was pure heaven, their hot, sweaty bodies scraping together as they drove each other on. Mycroft grabbed on to the leather covered arm of the couch to enable him to penetrate him more deeply until, with loud, gutteral screams, the men came together, Mycroft collapsing on top of Lestrade's back, both men breathing heavily.

"Bloody... hell..." he heard Lestrade murmur after some moments of silence and he couldn't help chuckling at the chagrined surprise in the Detective Inspector's voice as he slid out of him, moaning softly as Mycroft planted a delicate kiss on the back of his neck.

"I trust that your issues with my brother have been... resolved, shall we say?" Mycroft asked in a mock teasing tone, his hands beginning their tender explorations once again, paying particular attention to certain areas on his back.

"Oh, god, yes..." Lestrade moaned in reply, his breath hitching, the fingers of his right hand opening and closing convulsively.

"Good." Mycroft reached under Lestrade's arms and, with an exclamation of surprise from his startled partner, pulled him onto his knees, and then up, pressing his back against his chest and biting him as hard as he could on the back of the neck. He thrilled to the prompt response of the inspector's overheated, and lusty, body. "Because," he continued, whispering into Lestrade's ear, licking the outside shell while the inspector moaned and shivered, his head lolling haltingly from side to side, his eyes closed, "I have a much better idea of what I would like to be doing now other than talking about my younger brother..."

Lestrade stiffened as Mycroft pushed into him once again, screaming in animalistic pleasure. He leaned back against him, lifting his arms to reach behind him, his hands curving around Mycroft's sides, holding him as they made wild, passionate love until the early morning hours.

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Mycroft grinned at the memory as he finished what was left of the brandy and chuckled softly. I wonder what the cleaning staff thought of the disarray in my office later on that day for its daily cleaning. He chuckled. I would have liked to have heard the conversation that followed once they'd come in!

Mycroft had enjoyed their encounter immensely and, to his great relief, so had Lestrade. They got together every chance they could away from their various duties, admittedly not as much as either of them would have liked; when one was a police officer and the other a British bureaucrat, more often than not both men were very busy with work. Regardless, you had to deal with the hand that you had been dealt and they made the most of their intermittent opportunities.

His thoughts were interrupted by coarse fingertips sliding seductively over bare skin that wasn't covered by the dressing gown and he half turned to see Lestrade standing there behind him, clad only in pajama bottoms. Mycroft's bluish-grey eyes darted appreciatively over his partner's bare chest as Lestrade leaned forward, planting a soft kiss on his lips that he immediately returned, equally soft and tender.

It was pleasant, he noted as he leaned back, to be able to surrender oneself to the person they loved; he thrilled to Lestrade's taking control of the situation. After all, he could allow himself to be persuaded to give up control once in awhile and to allow himself to be touched.

"You're awake, I see."

Lestrade nodded, stepping closer to him, his arms slowly sliding around his waist, nuzzling the back of Mycroft's neck with the tip of his nose.

"Good evening." Lestrade hummed contentedly as he planted a wet kiss on his jawbone. "You weren't there when I woke up so I came out to see where you were." His gravelly, tenor voice was thick with amusement. "What are you doing out here?"

Mycroft turned to look out the window once more, the softly falling snow beginning to accumulate on the window frame outside, setting the now empty snifter down on the table near the window with a soft click.

"I was thinking," he said at last after a few moments of silence, thrilling in the closeness of Lestrade's body, his hands slowly coming up to cover his and squeezing gently.

"About...?"

"Things," he said noncommittally and with perfect truth which surprised him a little. He had been called the "Great Manipulator" more than once in the past and he reflected on the curious thought of how good it felt to be open and honest, without having any hidden meaning, for a change.

Gregory is rubbing off on me, I see... He smiled softly. I suppose there are worse things for one to be a catalyst for..

He could feel Lestrade's lips curve into an amused smile against the back of his neck and he shivered slightly, thrilling at the sensation that raced through him at his closeness.

"I would rather that you think of me." Lestrade's voice was teasing, his breath hot on his ear, using his teeth to tug aside the collar of his dressing gown and gently nibbling his exposed collarbone with sharp, little bites. "And what we could be doing right now..."

Releasing his hands, Mycroft turned around to face him, a mischievous grin spreading over his face as he tilted his head to the right.

"And what, my dear Detective Inspector, did you have in mind?"

Lestrade smiled as he leaned forward, capturing Mycroft's mouth in a kiss so passionate that he felt weak in the knees.

"Come and see," was all that Lestrade said as his fingers slid down his arms, catching his hands in his own and pulling him toward the bedroom, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief and passion.

Mycroft willingly followed his lover's lead, thrilling to Lestrade's rough, quick kisses. He couldn't help but to admire the way Lestrade's hands were deftly removing his dressing gown as quickly as he could without ripping it off of him until, at last, he touched bare skin. He quickly removed his pajama bottoms, tossing them aside where they landed beside the discarded dressing gown before turning his attention back to Mycroft.

He traced patterns on Mycroft's heated flesh, delighting in the way that his body responded, soft moans bubbling from between his tightly pressed lips. Lestrade's lips teased his with short, sharp kisses until he pressed them against his hungrily, forcing open his mouth, raw, animal passion taking over as he kissed him deeply.

"I love you," Lestrade whispered huskily when they parted briefly, turning Mycroft around and pushing him onto his back on the bed, following to lie on top of him.

"I love you, too," was all that he had time to hoarsely reply before Lestrade pressed his mouth hard against his once again, his tongue pushing past his lips to twine with his own that he eagerly encouraged.

I do like the way you think, Inspector, he reflected with amusement, and it seems that younger brothers can be quite useful, after all... He moaned as Lestrade continued his onslaught, his hands touching every part of Mycroft he could. I must remember to thank Sherlock...

That was the last coherent thought he had before everything was swept away as they joined together in a timeless dance, their bodies and hearts entwining as they soared to the heights of pleasure.

The snow continued to fall outside throughout that long night.

~Fin~