Hello, reader! Glad to know that you are reading my story! I don't know how this one will go, but my brain said, "You did a Johnlock story, so now you need to do a Mystrade." And of course, because the brain controls everything, here I am! Please tell me what you think. There is no update schedule. It'll get done when it does. There's also no beta. I'm trying to keep everything a bit more British sounding, so help by PM or review would be appreciated!

Kick back, relax, enjoy some Mystrade, and review so I know how badly I did.

The DI pulled the finished cigarette from his mouth, dropping it on the ground and crushing it with his shoe. He pulled out a cigarette package and took another, lighting up. This was just a casual meeting, he reminded himself, his hands shaking.

Why was he so nervous? It was just Sherlock's older brother. Just Sherlock's brother who happened to have a gorgeous body, including an arse that was a work of art worthy of Michelangelo. Greg cursed.

A long black car drove up, parking next to the curb. The back door opened, letting a tall red-haired man out. Greg walked over to him.

"Mycroft."

"Lestrade." Greg rolled his eyes at that and huffed out, "The name's Greg, Mycroft, use it."

The taller man smiled. "Fine, Gregory." Smirking, Mycroft slid back into the car, beckoning Greg to follow. The silver-haired DI took one more long drag, then dropped the cig and crushed it. He got into the car and closed the door.

"So, Myc, where are we going? Not another warehouse, are we?" The shorter man broke the silence first. The British government smiled, a real smile, remembering when the two had just met.

*flashback*

Greg's phone rang as soon as he got off work. Groaning, he lifted it and answered, not bothering to check the number.

"Donovan, I'm off work and need some sleep. Tell me about it tomorrow, okay?"

There was a pause before a male voice answered, a hint of amusement.

"I'm sorry, Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm not your assistant. I do however wish to speak with you. If you would be so kind as to step into the car?" A dark car slid smoothly to the curb as the man spoke. Greg frowned.

"Why?"

"As I said, I wish to speak with you. I am not available to come to your work and prefer a more private location for this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?" Greg inquired, genuine curiosity and suspicion mixing in his voice.

The person on the other end of the line sighed. "You'll know when you get there. Now, please, Detective Inspector, get in the car." With that the line disconnected.

Greg was still suspicious, but got in the car anyways. He could get no information from the driver. Eventually they stopped in front of an old warehouse. Senses on high alert, he walked inside to find a beautiful man in a suit waiting for him, leaning on an umbrella.

*end flashback*

They had mostly talked about Sherlock that first meeting, but Mycroft and Greg had texted back and forth several times. They had become close friends. Now they met up at least once a week for a meal unless Mycroft was gone for work. Texts and calls were exchanged in the meantime. Greg found the 'Iceman' as many called him, to be a lot less uptight and chilly than originally thought. If he had to guess, he would say most people were scared off by that and never tried to get to the man underneath.

For some reason, Mycroft had let Greg try. Maybe it was because he needed the DI to inform him about Sherlock, or maybe it was because the government official was lonely. Either way, the two now knew a whole lot about each other and would often tease back and forth for a long time, until one or both of them were laughing loudly. Other times, they would just sit in silence, communicating only through their eyes and body language.

"No, no warehouse this time," Mycroft finally answered, breaking into Greg's train of thought. The man was chuckling as he added, "but I'm still not telling you."

Greg grinned mischievously. "Not even if I tickle it out of you?" Mycroft squished himself into the car side, laughing and trying to get away from Greg's outstretched hands. Greg followed, tickling all of Mycroft's soft spots. They were both laughing, the sound reaching the driver and causing him to smile too.

Suddenly, Mycroft flipped Greg over onto his back and landed on top of him in one smooth move. Greg's breath caught. He was too out of breath to try to control his desire. He reached up and pulled Mycroft's face down to his, brushing their lips together.

Mycroft's surprise made its presence known as a gasp, which allowed Greg to slip his tongue into the redhead's mouth. That got him a moan, and Mycroft started to get into the snog, teasing Greg's tongue with his own and pressing closer and closer. His hands moved to the silver strands of hair, tugging to earn a moan of his own. Greg's hands slipped to Mycroft's waist, pulling him closer still before snaking under the waistband of his pants.

They continued snogging for quite a long time, it seemed. Eventually the car stopped, of course, it always did. Greg pulled back from Mycroft's mouth reluctantly. The government official looked thoroughly shagged, his lips swollen from snogging, his hair mussed, his eyes half-closed in pleasure. The driver had the good sense to not come around to open the door.

Greg peeked out the window, surprised to see that they were back at New Scotland Yard. Realizing his lunch break was over and that he had spent it doing the one thing he had thought he'd never do, the silver-haired man grinned, leaned down, and pecked Mycroft's cheek.

"Until next time, Mycroft darling."

So, what did you think? Please review, give me ideas for later chapters, correct something. I don't care what you say, so long as I know you're reading this.

Loves! See you next time!