A/N: Set two nights later. Next piece will be set a couple years in the future. ;) Looking at four or five more parts to this piece. Going to be relatively short (for me, anyways)! Hope you enjoy!

Two nights later Greg sat on his bed, staring at his mobile and the thin business card sitting next to it. He was trying to work up the nerve to call. Work and studying had kept him busy for the past couple of days. The card was simple yet elegant, with the name 'Mycroft Holmes' sprawled across it in some fancy script and a number delicately printed underneath it. No job title, not even University student. Greg dialed the number with tentative pushes of his finger against the keys, hesitating before he let his thumb press the 'send' button. He thumped his head back into his pillow, staring up at the ceiling as the phone started to ring. "Hello?" Greg nearly fell off of his bed when someone picked up on the second ring. The voice was confident and assertive.

"Uh, I'm looking for Mycroft?" he asked hesitantly. Greg had assumed it was a direct line, but now he wasn't so certain. What if it was some random person? He had been tricked? Given a false number?

"Ah, Gregory." It was most definitely Mycroft, and Greg felt his body relax.

"You know only my Gran calls me that. Or my Mum, when I'm in trouble," Greg pointed out.

"I find that Gregory flows much more decadently off my tongue than Greg." Mycroft was careful to emphasize the syllables in Greg's full name, and Greg felt something clench and pool low in his belly. A few seconds passed before he realized that Mycroft was waiting for him to say something.

"Oh." Rapidly Greg searched his mind for something interesting to say. "Oh! Did your Mum pick the flowers she wanted?" The silence dragged on for a full minute and Greg was certain he had made a horrible mistake. What if that wasn't his Mum? What if she wasn't getting married? Oh god, what if he had screwed this - whatever it was - up before it had even began?

"Gregory, I can hear you panicking from here." Mycroft's voice was soft, amused and concerned at the same time. "Yes, that was my mother. And yes, she was satisfied by the variety available and has picked several for her upcoming marriage."

"Good." Greg was aware that it wasn't a wholly sufficient answer, but for some reason, his ability to sound witty and flirtatious had gone straight out the window the moment Mycroft answered the phone.

"I intimidate you?" Mycroft inquired, his voice teasing.

"A bit," Greg answered honestly. "You're...kind of intimidating," he finished lamely. God, at this rate Mycroft wouldn't even want to talk to him again, much less want to go out to dinner or do - other things. He blushed, remembering the way that Mycroft had kissed him and touched him and - oh god no. If Mycroft could hear him panicking, he was most definitely going hear Greg blushing like a schoolgirl. The night was just getting better and better..

"I have certain other effects as well, apparently," Mycroft murmured, low and throaty. Greg gulped. "I would like to see you. May I?" Greg's mind ran to places it shouldn't, wondering exactly what Mycroft meant. See him for dinner? Clothed? Not clothed? Naked dinner? Greg slapped himself in the face. "Bloody hell, I'm was acting like a teenage girl."

There was a horrified pause when Greg realized he had said that out loud. He could practically hear Mycroft blink on the other side of the phone. "Oh god." Tipping himself over, Greg flopped onto the bed face-first, hoping it would devour him before he made an even bigger fool out of himself. That happened in movies, right?

"I do not think a deity would take much interest in this matter," Mycroft said, chuckling. "I do apologise, Gregory. I will try to tone down my behavior, as it seems I have made you quite flustered."

"Just a bit."

"Mhm," Mycroft agreed. "I meant what I said. Are you able to, perhaps, spare an hour or two? I am aware of the lateness of the hour, so if you are unable to do so, I understand."

"Uh, I guess. What would we be doing?" Greg's eyes flickered to the clock. Half nine. He could easily spare an hour or two. Or three. Or all night. Whatever.

"I have something I would like to show you," Mycroft answered simply. "I think you would appreciate it. May my driver and I come collect you in, say, twenty minutes?"

"You have - oh, of course you have a driver." Greg snorted and shook his head. "Do you need my address?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Would it make you more comfortable if I said yes?" Mycroft sounded hesitant, almost apologetic. Greg lifted an eyebrow at the phone. "I do apologise, Gregory. I have access to certain resources that tend to unsettle others."

"So why give me your card, then?"

"We will discuss this when we meet, if you would like. Have you any other questions, Gregory?"

"Nope."

"Twenty minutes. Be outside." The line went dead and Greg just stared at his mobile. That was unexpected. In a good way. Obediently keeping track of the time, he started to gather the basics to leave the house. He changed out of his pyjamas and into more appropriate clothes (jeans and a shirt) and stuffed things he might need in his pockets. His mobile definitely. Wallet, keys (just in case). The basics. Once that was done, Greg laid on the bed for fifteen minutes and stared at the ceiling, attempting to not think about what was going to happen.

It was more difficult to avoid thinking about something when he had no idea what he was getting himself into, or what was going to happen when he was picked up in a few minutes. Greg had never gone on a date where he had been picked up by anyone but the date. Much less gone on a date where the date had a driver. His mind was sidetracked by that train of thought. Was this a date? Should it be a date? Did Mycroft - did posh people date? Finally he headed outdoors, enjoying the brisk breeze and pleased that it distracted him from his thoughts.

A black car slid into view from around the corner and Greg watched as the door opened. He stared blankly at it for a few moments before Mycroft's amused chuckle floated into the air. "Do get in, Gregory."

Greg walked over and poked his head into the car, a bit hesitant. For all that he was twenty years of age and nearly done with University, Mycroft unnerved him. The younger man exuded confidence, and power dripped from his pores. It was exciting and terrifying all at once, and made Greg feel like a teenager going on his first date behind his parent's back.

Mycroft looked much like he had earlier in the day, dressed in a sharply cut, dark gray three-piece suit with an umbrella held clasped in his hands. Greg slid in next to him, painfully aware of the shabbiness of his jeans and the pedestrian origins of his shirt. He swallowed, not certain what was going to happen next. Mycroft smiled at him - it was a shy smile, the warm, tender one that Greg had seen when Mycroft had left. "You're up late," Greg mused out loud and then inwardly groaned. Someday he was going to figure out what was running his brain so he could kill it. Painfully.

"I do not require as much sleep as most people," Mycroft answered smoothly. "I do apologise for the lateness of the hour, however." Greg made a dismissive noise and shrugged.

"I'm normally up later myself. Although I do require some sleep." He grinned at Mycroft, pleased at being able to answer coherently. "So where are we going?"

"It is not far," Mycroft said with a sly look that made something flip in Greg's stomach. Greg fidgeted with his hands, suddenly uncertain about what to do with them. "Fifteen, twenty minutes or so. It is something that I think you will appreciate."

Without allowing himself to think too much about it, Greg pulled the umbrella out of Mycroft's grasp and set it on the bench seat across from them. Mycroft lifted an eyebrow before Greg straddled his lap. "Hi," Greg murmured, examining Mycroft's face for any variation in emotion. Some tension, some surprise - pleasure mingled with the slightest hint of fear. That surprised Greg, the thought that Mycroft might be afraid of anything. "Someone gave me a favor I think might be good manners to return." He leaned forward until his mouth was a centimetre away from Mycroft's, their breaths mingling nudged Mycroft's nose with his own. "That okay?"

"I daresay it might be so," Mycroft murmured. Greg snorted.

"Such big words," Greg chuckled and punctuated each word with a shift of his hips. He wrapped his arms about Mycroft's shoulders and felt Mycroft's hands flutter until they settled on Greg's ribs. Not grasping, just resting. Oh, Greg would change that. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Mycroft's, once, twice, thrice. The next kisses were to the sides of Mycroft's mouth, gentle, feather-light. Mycroft's hands twitched on Greg's ribs and he shifted under Greg's touch. This time Greg parted his lips slightly, his tongue sliding slowly across Mycroft's lips. The auburn-haired man gasped and his mouth fell open.

Taking it as a cue to go ahead, Greg licked his way into Mycroft's mouth and explored the wet cavern, licking Mycroft's teeth as his tongue passed them. Mycroft whimpered underneath him, his fingers finally twining their way into the fabric of Greg's shirt. Victory! Greg's subconscious crowed. He caved! Then things shifted and suddenly Greg had to fight for what he wanted, fight for his dominance. Tongues parried and battled and Mycroft thrust up and Greg ground down and he groaned and Mycroft was pulling him closer, so close. Gasping, Greg pulled back, gulping for air. "You bastard," he laughed out between breaths. Mycroft cocked an eyebrow, panting. His formerly immaculate suit was rumpled, from the snogging and the gyrations of their hips. His lips were pink and swollen, his cheeks tinged red.

"Although I am not overly familiar with what one says after this kind of - situation, I assume that calling one's partner in snogging a bastard is not a positive sign," Mycroft said wryly.

"It's a good kind of bastard," Greg told him fondly. "Thought you couldn't kiss and then you blindsided me." He shook his head, amused. "You know, Mycroft, you can just say what you want. In English. With less than 15 words in a sentence." Greg lifted an eyebrow.

"I do enjoy being verbose." Mycroft tugged him closer, claiming his lips. The kiss was more heated than the one they had shared prior, teeth and tongues clashing as Mycroft attempted to assert his dominance. Greg fought, parrying where Mycroft thrust, licking and wiggling his tongue until Mycroft whimpered beneath him. They were as evenly matched as they could be. When Greg shifted slightly, accommodating the hard-on in his trousers, he felt Mycroft's sharp intake of breath against his cheek as he broke away from the kiss. The flush on his cheeks was darker now, and Greg could feel an answering hardness beneath him.

Greg moved his mouth towards Mycroft's ear, breaths puffing over the soft, curved shell. "Eventually we can see how verbose you are after I've pounded you into the mattress, yeah?" Mycroft shuddered underneath Greg at the sound of his words.

"While we may add that to the list of future experiments to be performed, I am afraid we have arrived at our destination," Mycroft murmured, his breath shaky. Greg lifted his head, surprised to realize that the car had stopped.

"Oh." He got out of Mycroft's lap, grimacing slightly at the discomfort his erection caused. It helped to see that Mycroft was obviously fighting the same problem, throwing a fond scowl in Greg's direction as he got out of the car. Greg looked up as they got out of the vehicle, focusing on their surroundings and ignoring Mycroft talking quietly to the driver. They were inside some kind of estate, greenery surrounding them in every direction. Greg blinked, wondering what they were doing there, much less this late into the evening.

"Gregory?" Mycroft inquired mildly, coming up next to him. "Are you satisfactory?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Greg scrubbed a hand through his hair. "What are we doing here?"

"May I?" Mycroft extended a hand towards Greg, his palm upwards. Greg blinked.

"I guess." He reached out and clasped Mycroft's hand with his own. It wasn't a bad sensation, merely different. He had not held hands with anyone in ages. Much less someone he had spent fifteen minutes snogging and dry-humping in the back of a mysterious black car. Efficiently Mycroft twined the fingers together before tugging on the clasped hands. They set off on one of the cobblestone paths. Greg took the time to alternate his looks between Mycroft and the greenery surrounding them. There was such diversity, every plant and tree wonderfully taken care of. Greg also appreciated looking back at the man pulling him along. Mycroft was proving to be a puzzle by himself, all commanding in some areas and polite and respectful in others. It was an odd conundrum, but it sent thrums of arousal pounding through Greg's body.

"This is my great-aunt's estate," Mycroft said with a wistful smile, walking quietly with Greg's hand in his. Greg looked at him, listening intently. For all that they had known each other for two days and only met twice, there was a contentment there. Greg was feeling less and less like a teenage girl and more like himself again. Maybe he would eventually become immune to Mycroft's attitude. He could only hope. "She has greenhouses here."

"Greenhouses?" Greg perked up, stopping and staring at Mycroft. "Like genuine greenhouses?"

"Glass ones, yes." Mycroft chuckled at the wide-eyed expression on Greg's face. "I fear your eyes are going to pop out of your head at this rate."

"I've never seen fancy greenhouses before," Greg admitted. "We have something similar at the shop, but on a far smaller scale. Bloody hell," he gasped, the slightly opaque glass building coming into view. "It's massive!"

"This is one of many, but I think we shall start here." Mycroft used a small keycard to open the door. "There should not be anyone around. There may still be a few gardeners tending to the plants, but they will not bother us." Greg nodded, walking eagerly into the familiar humidity that characterized a greenhouse. He froze. It was massive, at least two hundred meters long and another hundred and fifty meters wide. Spread out throughout the middle were ponds of various shapes and sizes.

The diversity of the water plants was indescribable and Greg found he could barely name half of them even with a strong botanical background. "My Great-Aunt was an avid botanist in her younger days," Mycroft said quietly, watching Greg's eyes dart around. "She is getting along in her years." He smiled when Greg's eyes lit up at the sight of a particularly rare lily. "She does keep several greenhouses to remember her earlier days, however. In addition she grows all of her food here, but that is in a different greenhouse. The gardeners that tend to the plants were all hand-selected by her." Greg reached out and tentatively touched the fronds of one of the cattails. "I would suggest being careful, but I am certain you already know that."

"Mycroft this is - this is gorgeous," Greg breathed. Mycroft chuckled, releasing Greg's hand and following the slightly shorter man as he wandered around the ponds. Greg's mind was whirling rapidly, identifying the plants by names when he could and asking Mycroft when he couldn't. Mycroft's eyes would occasionally glaze over when he was thinking, but he would always come back and smile the same, shy smile that had made Greg melt at the shop.

"Are you done?" Mycroft asked, watching Greg with a certain fondness in his eyes. It made Greg's stomach feel all warm and fuzzy and sent pleasant tingles down his spine. "We can always return, you know," he added.

Greg grabbed Mycroft and hugged him. "This place is fantastic," he murmured, grateful.

"This is only the first of many. I will show you the others at another time, but there is something I would like to show you." Mycroft extended his hand and Greg took it without having to think about it, letting the teenager lead him. Greg followed Mycroft to a smaller room not far from the back of the greenhouse. "This is my favorite room."

There were shelves and shelves of small, delicate trees in wide, shallow pots. Each was perfectly formed into some of the different shapes favored for bonsai. Greg didn't know the names of them - he hadn't really seen any, the shop didn't carry them - but he recognized them from books he had looked through for his classes. "These are your favorites?" Greg asked, looking over a particularly small willow.

Mycroft nodded and then realized that Greg couldn't see him. "Yes," he confirmed. "I like all greenery, but these especially are special to me." Mycroft was examining a birch tree not far from where he was standing. "The gardeners here are extraordinary, particularly those who tend to the bonsai. This room contains one of the best collections in the country."

"I can tell." Greg continued looking over the small plants. He was startled about twenty minutes later to realize he was yawning.

"It is late," Mycroft said, amused. "We can come back again, Gregory."

"I'll hold you to that, you know," Greg told him, standing up straight and attempting to smooth some of the kinks out of his back. "And you didn't tell me about the card. I'll get that out of you, too."

"I would expect nothing less," Mycroft answered honestly. He took Greg's hand again and led him quickly out of the maze through the ponds. It was far quicker than Greg could have managed, and Greg took the time and the easy walk to take another look at the plants surrounding him. Far too quickly they were by the door to the greenhouse and then enshrouded in the car.

This time, before Greg could initiate anything, Mycroft had settled on his lap. Greg was more than fine with that, especially if it meant that Mycroft could continue snogging like a madman. The two kissed the entire car ride home, hands running over bodies and reveling in each other's warmth. They broke apart not long before the car rolled to a stop, panting. "I feel like a teenager," Greg said between breaths, staring into Mycroft's flushed face.

"I still am a teenager," Mycroft chuckled. He leaned forward and nipped at Greg's earlobe, caressing the flesh with his tongue and drawing a sharp gasp and then a moan from the man underneath him. The car pulled to a stop and Mycroft scowled.

"I take it you're as disappointed as I am that this is over?" Greg ran his hands up and down Mycroft's ribs, enjoying the feeling of his waistcoat underneath his fingers. Mycroft had ripped off his suit jacket while they snogged and it was sitting somewhere inconsequential.

"Indeed," Mycroft murmured. "I shall walk you to your door."

"How old-fashioned of you," Greg teased, prompting a snort from Mycroft. Regardless the two got out and lingered in front of Greg's door, trading lazy, sensuous kisses. "We'll have more time for this later," Greg whispered into Mycroft's lips.

"I miss you already," Mycroft said honestly.

"We're moving really fast, aren't we?" Greg kissed him again, their bodies flush against each other's.

"We fit," Mycroft said with a shrug, nibbling on Greg's lower lip. And that was that. They did fit, like jigsaw puzzles. Greg had no doubt that as a pair they could weather whatever faced them.

"We do," Greg agreed, and then he kissed Mycroft one last time. "We can see each other tomorrow, yeah?" He was hopeful.

Mycroft nodded. "Call me." He kissed Greg, chaste and sweet, and sauntered off to his car, leaving Greg watching him until he disappeared.

Greg pressed fingers to his lips, smiled, and walked into the house.