A/N: Here it is, darlings, the update as promised. This story's not quite behaving the way I thought it would, but I'm liking it anyway, so that's fine. I hope that if you read it, you'll like it. There is smut coming, and you will see it pretty soon. Enjoy!


The inside of the coffee shop was brightly lit, but Gregory and Mycroft settled at a little café table outside, wanting a bit of privacy for their conversation. The night was a warm one, and there was a soft glow coming from the street lamps that fought the omnipresent smog of the city, transforming the street and making it appear as it might have a hundred years ago or longer.

In the strange lighting, Lestrade looked younger, darker, edible… Mycroft's mind froze for a moment then rebooted, wondering just where that thought had come from. Had he ever considered a human being edible before? Had he ever wanted to devour another person in long, slow licks, delicate nips, and the occasional harder marking bite? He couldn't think of a moment in his life when those thoughts had occurred to him, but now here they were, so late to emerge he wondered that they could exist at all.

It was with only half his mind that Mycroft answered Greg's questions, his voice low and soothing. He was very good at his job, the politician knew, far better than Sherlock gave him credit for. He knew how to talk to people, how to figure them out and make them feel at ease, a skill which Sherlock admired in his John Watson and missed entirely in everyone else. But the DI had made Mycroft feel comfortable from their very first interaction, a nearly impossible feat. Perhaps that was why his heart was still a little fast from their motorcycle ride earlier.

"I really like this little café. They're always nice in here. I guess I've been a regular since the divorce, but even so, they certainly know how to keep customers coming back. And the coffee here is certainly better than the sludge back at the Yard."

Mycroft, who'd gotten tea, couldn't comment on the state of their coffee, but offered a small smile in acknowledgment. He'd often considered arranging for this man to get a promotion, but had resisted the impulse for two reasons. The first, which had almost instantly put the brakes to the thought, was that Sherlock worked poorly with everyone else, but actually almost liked Gregory. That made it easier to keep him on cases and off of drugs. The second reason, which had only occurred to him later but definitely reinforced his decision, was that Greg truly loved his job. He wouldn't really want to be behind a desk.

There was something about adrenaline junkies that attracted those with the last name Holmes, Mycroft thought with amusement as the DI continued to ask him questions and fill out the report, interspersing personal commentary through them occasionally just so Mycroft wouldn't get bored or impatient. He fielded the questions easily, even asked one or two of his own, earning a confused but pleased smile from the cop when he wished him a happy early birthday.

"It has been surprisingly nice, spending time with you in person. I must say, you're not at all like your brother would paint you." Greg's comment drew Mycroft's attention firmly back to the conversation, and more, earned a chuckle that even surprised him. It had been a long time since he'd felt any sort of genuine amusement that merited more than a small smile, and that only increased his loneliness at the realization that when Gregory took him home, he would be alone again, all night long. And it sounded as if that moment was coming shortly.

"Sherlock and I have an interesting relationship, but I wouldn't let it color your perception of me, Gregory. Though I wouldn't necessarily trust my own observations were I you, either."

"And why's that?" Greg's head was tilted to the side and his eyes gleaming with silent laughter, as if Mycroft was funny, instead of terrifying. Somehow, that was not people's usual reaction around him, and he wanted more of this.

"Because, Gregory, I am an excellent liar, even to myself. I am the only man left alive on this earth who could fool my brother, and that makes me very, very dangerous. Unlike him, I have no John Watson to hold me in check." It was the simple truth, but Greg smiled slowly, like spring spreading slowly over the landscape of his face and thawing and melting away winter.

"Well then, perhaps you need to find yourself one. Shouldn't be too hard for you, all things considered." There was an innuendo in Greg's voice that Mycroft wasn't sure how to interpret, but since his tone bordered on flirtatious now, and he had mentioned the fact that he was divorced casually earlier in their conversation…

"What things should be considered, then, Gregory?" Mycroft all but purred his name this time, and was pleased, and astounded, to notice that his pupils dilated a little at his tone, before that smile grew even wider as he leaned in a little more.

"Well, have you looked at yourself lately? And even beside that, you just carry this… aura of power about you that's damn near irresistible to anyone who's into that sort of thing."

"And where would I find someone who's 'into that sort of thing,' do you think?" Playing along both because it amused him and because it stirred something in him that he'd never known existed before, Mycroft watched the DI closely, unaware of the sparkle in his own eyes.

"I wouldn't think you'd have to look too terribly far. Might be as close as your own back yard." With that, Lestrade winked and stood, taking both their empty cups back inside and leaving Mycroft to consider his words for the few brief moments he had while the cop made small talk with the barista.

He'd obviously been making a reference to New Scotland Yard, as well as the fact that Mycroft's powerful position—disguised as a minor one, though everyone who was anyone knew better—meant that he had the entire police force essentially at his command. That, and about a dozen other little signs throughout the evening as well as a few more significant ones, indicated that he was interested in Mycroft as more than just a friend.

And who was he to argue? The man had technically saved his life that very night, after all, and Mycroft was both amused by that and a little in awe of it. Gregory was no Special Forces man, yet he'd been every bit as fearless as one of the droves Mycroft had at his command, making him wonder at the simple courage that he possessed, courage that was every bit as appealing as it was impressive.

Mycroft was no damsel in distress, but as Gregory returned and casually swung on his motorbike, waiting patiently for Mycroft before firing up the engine, he thought that he might just have to find some way to reward his hero after all.

He murmured directions low in Greg's ear, taking it turn by turn so that he could have the pleasure of feeling the man he was more or less wrapped around tense up a little every time his lips casually brushed against his ear. Mycroft had to resist the temptation to nip at the lobe, deciding that if he was going to seduce this man, he would make sure that Greg was with him every step of the way, and could escape if he chose to. His victory would be all the more rewarding then. Still, it was fun to tease, and to toy with the idea of simply taking what he'd never before even considered wanting.

When they arrived at the building where he stayed while in London, Greg actually got off the motorcycle to walk Mycroft to his door, instead of simply waiting and then driving off when he got there. That told the politician all he needed to know, so when they reached the doorstep, he put his key in the lock, then very deliberately turned around to find the DI practically breathing the same air he was.

Greg's eyes were wide and luminous, reflecting the streetlight and turning his chocolate brown eyes strangely silver as his pupils dilated even more in anticipation. When his tongue flicked out and licked his lips, Mycroft held his position, barely daring to breathe as he leaned in at a torturously slow pace until finally, their lips met perfectly.

There were no exploding fireworks, at the gentle brush of lips to lips, but there was a definite spark that smoldered even as he took a step back, satisfied to see that Gregory looked bereft, as if he wanted more. But Mycroft wanted the sense of expectation, wanted to draw this out as it was the first time he'd ever attempted a seduction, let alone been involved in one.

Yes, there was a desire to invite the cop in, only fed by the knowledge that he wouldn't say no. It could be over all at once, quick as a snap of his fingers, a fast brush fire that eroded and consumed everything in its path. And that could be satisfying. But Mycroft wanted more, and unless he was mistaken, the DI wasn't any more interested in a one-off than he was.

"Goodnight, Gregory. Perhaps you will let me take you out soon as thanks for having rescued me. It isn't every day that I require rescuing, but I am quite pleased that it was you who freed me." And indeed, he had. It was more than physically; he'd unlocked a flame inside Mycroft with his heroics, a flame that burned a little brighter now after their brief, teasing kiss. He looked forward to claiming more of them, but was going to make certain that the cop wanted it every bit as much as he did.

More than pride, it was an impulse to for once be on the same wavelength as another human being. Not twelve steps ahead, and not in opposition as was the case with his brother, but for once to be in step with someone sounded… irresistibly appealing.

And for Mycroft, who was used to taking what he wanted, it was nice to know that for once, it was being given. He didn't just want the DI's cooperation; he wanted his surrender. Not because he was technically his superior, and not because it might make things more pleasant, or unpleasant, when working with Sherlock. Mycroft wanted Gregory to be interested in him as a person, and maybe lose a little sleep over him. And for once, it wouldn't be fear, but intrigue, that inspired that reaction.

"I… That would be good. Thanks. I trust you'll let me know when?" Greg had recovered from his astonishment and was now smiling in amusement, though there was still a little confusion in his eyes. Mycroft supposed that was understandable. It wasn't just anyone who received a kiss, let alone a date, from the Iceman. Still, he seemed pleased by that, as he accepted Mycroft's nod, got on his motorcycle, and drove off only after the door was closed.

Mycroft smiled wickedly into the darkness, reminding himself a bit of some kind of predator. He'd been compared to a shark more than once, and decided it had been an apt comparison. Well now, he thought to himself as he walked through the flat he knew so well even in the dark, it appeared that Gregory was prepared to swim with the sharks, as the saying went. He could already taste the blood in the water, and if he whistled to himself as he walked through the dark rooms, the tune a little eerie and remote, even the slightest bit threatening… well, Mycroft had never pretended to be anything but.