The Longest Day
Summary: How can he stay when everything tells him to leave? Why should he stay when it's never going to change?
Pairing: DI Greg Lestrade/Mycroft Holmes; Mystrade
Rating: M+
Warning: Crude language, descriptive homosexual acts, fluff, and a good dose of angst for good measure.
Note: A million, billion thank you's to SaycheezeStudios from the facebook Mystrade page titled "The Detective Inspector and the British Government" for the song that sparked this idea. The title is "All I Need" by Blue.
PART I
All I need you give me
All I need you give me
Our foundation is built upon honesty
But now we're fighting, you're trying to walk away
How we gonna do this if we don't communicate
I'm trying to save what we have so don't walk away
Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade was furious! The insufferable git had promised! But no work was far more important to his lover than dinner with him. Sitting at the table he had set for two, romantic candle light and all, he fumed over Mycroft Holmes. He loved the man to the point of distraction but damn it to hell he was tired of this. It was the fifth time in as many weeks this had happened. It was so bad he couldn't remember the last time he'd had dinner with his boyfriend.
He had thought moving in with the oldest Holmes brother would make it easier but in reality it just made it harder. On the days he didn't work, which wasn't often, he sat at home surrounded by Mycroft's things and missing him. When he was at work he might actually see Mycroft in passing or arguing with Sherlock, which was more than he could say for when he went home at night. He had tried to visit him at his office once and though Mycroft hadn't said it he could tell he had been worried about what others would think of Lestrade's presence. He'd never attempted to visit his lover again.
'So the honeymoon phase is over,' he thought as he rose from his chair and began to pick up the mess and blow out the candles. He stopped in the doorway leading to the kitchen and stared back at the table. When they had first began this affair it had been so amazing, so breathtakingly wonderful. There had been stolen kisses in Lestrade's office, groping each other in the backseat of the official car that always seemed to be at Mycroft's back and even once in an alleyway when Mycroft had shown up to see Sherlock on a case. They had made time for dinners and the detective had even accompanied the older man to a play once, as his closest friend of course. Then there had been the sex.
'Well, love making,' Lestrade corrected himself. There was no just sex with Mycroft. The man was full passion and intensity. He dominated Lestrade in the physical expression of their affections and pushed him to his limits. And he'd loved every single sweaty, pleading moment of it. God how he missed the intimacy with his partner. How he missed the time spent cuddling beside Mycroft afterward in some posh hotel they had checked into for convenience or the little cottage by the lake that Mycroft had taken him to after he had closed his last big case, the laughing and talking, the connection. Now they were lucky to squeeze in enough time to just sleep together much less do anything else. He missed Mycroft.
'Just another meal,' he told himself with a shake of his head and continued on into the kitchen. 'Just like all the ones before it.'