A quick ficlet to get my post-move brain back into fic writing. Update to because i love you)last night coming soon!
"Gregory?"
"In here, My!"
Mycroft followed his partner's voice to the kitchen. Greg's arms were covered in bubbles to his elbows and he had a bit on his cheek, too. A pile of soapy dishes sat in one side of the sink.
"Why are you doing that?"
Greg didn't bother turning around to respond. He knew exactly what expression Mycroft would have on his face. That one that was open curiosity almost hidden by a layer of patronising humour. Instead, he continued his chore. He had intended to do the dishes earlier, but he had lost track of time. A fair number of dishes accumulated over the course of the day. He had off work, so there were plates and forks and cups from breakfast and lunch and a snack and a teapot and some mugs and spoons and a few pans. The sink and the area around it was the only thing marring an otherwise spotless home.
"What kind of question is that? Everyone washes dishes! Well, normal people wash dishes."
Mycroft sighed loudly. Gregory was constantly accusing him of not doing the sorts of things normal people do. Like spilling his crisps and both of their beers while watching an exciting football match or wearing jeans or wanking in the shower. More often than not, it turned out that Mycroft did do all these things (although it was tea and digestives, not beer and crisps, and a news programme, not sport).
"You have seen me wash dishes, Gregory."
"Right. So the question…"
"Should have been, 'Why are you washing dishes now? We are going out tonight'."
"We are? I thought you had some important… something to be at."
"I sent Johnson in my stead. I have higher priorities."
Greg grinned down at the dishes. "Okay, I'm almost done here."
"Can I help?"
Greg rinsed his hands and grabbed for a towel to give Mycroft. Mycroft accepted it, and waited to be handed something to dry. After the last glass was handed over, Greg turned off the tap and turned to watch Mycroft carefully dry it and replace it on the shelf next to its mates.
"Thank you, Mycroft."
Greg was sure that Mycroft would understand that he was being thanked both for drying the dishes and for choosing him tonight. He was also sure that Mycroft was not going to be very pleased at being hugged by wet, soapy arms. That did not stop him from pulling Mycroft against him, hands and arms still dripping.
"Gregory! My shir—"
Greg cut him off with a kiss. Mycroft briefly considered pulling away to grumbled about being interrupted and now needing to change before they left, but the pair of hands on his back made their way down to his bum and his lower lip was being nibbled just so and he couldn't be bothered to care about his clothes. Or anything else, for that matter, that would force him to stop snogging the man he loved. He had his priorities, after all. Greg was always at the top of the list, and kissing Greg was higher than grumbling at him.