Everything had been going fine until the afternoon games session. St Christopher's had a strong reputation for its sports teams and they had PE or games almost every afternoon. Greg had been quite looking forward to a game of touch rugby, the usual first day back sport of choice. But he hadn't reckoned on the presence of one Mycroft Holmes.

Greg had almost forgotten about Mycroft during the course of a morning of History. Mycroft had not been in the dining hall at lunch and Greg had found himself relaxing and enjoying the company of his friends. And then he'd walked into the sports hall and was confronted by all six foot whatever of Mycroft in shorts and a rugby shirt. Andy Dimmock nudged Paul Bradstreet in the ribs and whispered something that cracked them both up. Obviously something at Mycroft's expense. Paul leaned in to Greg's ear.

"Do you think he's ever played sports before?"

"I guess he must have done at Harrow." Greg hissed back at him. He didn't want to get into a discussion that might end with him revealing exactly how athletic his roommate was and how Greg knew this from extremely personal experience.

"Yeah, but he's not played with us before. I think we need to send Mikey-boy a message. Before he gets any ideas." Paul was not as tall as Mycroft, in fact he was several inches shorter than Greg, but he was extremely proud of his muscles, having spent a great deal of time and pain "bodybuilding" since the age of fourteen.

"Just don't do anything stupid. He's all right."

"Greg, have you seen the way he looks at you? I was right first time, he's a queer. He admitted it. "

"Paul, this isn't the fifties. Lots of people are. It's me who's got to share a room with him, just leave it." Greg had a feeling this was not going to end well.

"Greg I'm just looking out for you mate." And Paul winked at him. Paul who he had been at school with for six years and who obviously knew nothing about Greg at all.

The game went well for the first ten minutes or so. Predictably Mycroft was as uninvolved as possible, touching the ball perhaps once. Rather skilfully, Mycroft managed to make it look as though it was simply a case of the ball not being passed to him rather than a deliberate attempt to avoid playing the game. Greg was enjoying himself, he was athletic and quick and loved the fast pace of the game.

And then Paul started his campaign to teach Mycroft a lesson. A couple of well placed elbows, an accidental on purpose tripping up, pushing him in the back, getting in his way. It was all designed to make Mycroft lose his temper. But he didn't. He just regarded Paul with a cold indifference. Which ironically made Paul mad.

No one quite saw what happened, Paul had taken a long run, and had deliberately crashed into Mycroft. The intention was probably to knock him off his feet. Only it didn't work. Paul discovered that running in to Mycroft was like running in to a brick wall. Paul was dumped on to the floor and everyone laughed.

Greg thought that would be the end of it. But of course it was only the start. Once they got into the changing rooms, Greg doing his usual trick of looking at no one and nothing until he was showered and dressed, the trouble started. Paul was all right, but he really could be a twat sometimes.

"Hey what are you looking at?" Without looking up Greg knew it was Paul trying to start an argument with Mycroft. There was a response Greg couldn't quite hear, spoken in Mycroft's soft, silky tones.

"You what fat boy? What did you say, Gaycroft?" Greg thought that was low blow, especially as he had firsthand knowledge that the only thing about Mycroft that was fat was his cock. Greg looked over. Paul stood a couple of feet away from Mycroft, who was wearing nothing but a towel and drying his feet with complete disregard for the bristling figure in front of him. "You were looking at my dick, you fucking dirty pervert. I saw you."

Everyone was watching now. Mycroft looked up at him.

"You started weightlifting when you were fourteen. Just after your voice broke. It's not advisable to begin that sort of exercise until you are older as it can cause problems with the body's development in other areas." Mycroft stood so he towered above Paul, who for all his muscle suddenly looked rather small. "And I really don't know what your problem with homosexuals is, other than your own rather confused sexuality, but if you are going to call me names I suggest it might have more impact if you stopped shaving your legs." Mycroft turned his back on Paul and began to pull on his shirt. And Paul snapped.

He pushed Mycroft hard and the bigger boy fell forward, hitting his head on the peg his clothes were hanging on. Paul smacked a couple of rabbit punches into Mycroft's kidneys and Greg was just about to step in and stop it when Mycroft turned swiftly, grabbing Paul's wrist as he went and forcing him to the floor.

"If you struggle I will snap your arm in three places." Mycroft meant it, you could tell. He had a nasty cut above his right eye and a few drops of blood fell onto Paul's shoulder. "Now apologise."

They continued changing in silence.

When he saw him next, in their room, Mycroft had a neat steri-strip above his eye and the beginnings of a bruise. He was seated at his desk, studying a book on international law; a large bag of coconut mushrooms was half empty next to him.

"Are you okay?" Greg threw his bag down onto his bed. Mycroft nodded. "Paul can be a tit sometimes. He's a good bloke but he just gets these stupid ideas in his head. Sorry."

Mycroft put his book down and sighed. He turned so he was facing Greg.

"That's quite all right. I'm used to it." He looked Greg up and down.

"About last night." Greg was determined to evict the Elephant.

"Last night?" There was genuine confusion in Mycroft's face.

"Yeah. In the shower?"

"What about the shower?" And Greg realised it must have been a dream. A fucked up dream and he was making a complete idiot of himself.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it. Sorry." Greg turned his attention to unpacking his books. And then he felt a large, warm arm snake around his waist and the silky voice whisper in his ear.

"It wasn't a dream Gregory." Mycroft's fingers began to undo Greg's shirt, the long elegant digits dancing over the taught muscles of Greg's stomach and chest, the tip of one finger gently flicking his left nipple.

"Mycroft, I've not ever...I mean last night was the first time...I don't know..." Not that he hadn't got an idea how awkward first times were supposed to be, but he wasn't sure this was quite how he had imagined it.

"I'll be very gentle." Mycroft was pushing against his back now, the hardness in his trousers obvious. He paused. "Don't you like me?"

"Of course I do, but we've only just met, I hardly know you and you're older than me and have got more experience and everything." Greg knew he was stalling.

"How old do you think I am?"

"Well, you're nineteen aren't you?" Greg remembered Mycroft saying he'd already done his A-Levels.

"I'm sixteen." Greg quickly did the maths.

"You're two years younger than me! Almost." Greg was eighteen in three weeks time.

"I was allowed to take my A-levels two years early, but I can't go to Cambridge until I'm seventeen." They were facing each other now, Greg's shirt was undone and somehow so was Mycroft's, and somehow Greg was playing with the hair on Mycroft's chest.

"So how come you're so... well developed." He was trying to be polite, but he was burning with curiosity.

"My voice broke when I was nine. It seems to run in the family, although not with Sherlock."

"Sixteen? But you're not a virgin?" Greg's hands had moved lower to Mycroft's belt. Looking into Mycroft's' face, once you knew, you could tell how young he was. Greg was even thinking how the flesh on Mycroft's belly was probably puppy fat.

"No. Either way. And before you ask that includes girls."

"You've had sex with a girl?" Now Greg was impressed and confused. Everyone at school always talked about how they'd had sex but it was an unspoken understanding that no one really had.

"Yes. With my second cousin Felicity. At a wedding last year. I'd had rather too much champagne and she wouldn't take no for an answer. She's twenty three. It was enjoyable I suppose, but I know what I prefer."

"And what would that be?" Greg had eased Mycroft's erection out of his boxer shorts and was working on freeing his own from his too tight trousers.

"I like cock."

"Do you like to be sucked?"

"Yes. Have you done that before?"

"Well no. But I've seen a very instructional DVD." Greg bent his head down to take Mycroft in his mouth. He took a deep breath and swallowed the first four inches, discovered he couldn't breathe and choked. "Fuck, too big!" he said it apologetically as he gagged. Mycroft lay back on the bed, shucking off his trousers and boxer shorts and Greg found himself being pulled on top of him, feeling Mycroft slip between his legs like he had done in the shower the previous night. Feeling the probing cock as it brushed against the crack of his arse. Greg felt himself dribbling pre-cum on to Mycroft's chest and sighed. He felt Mycroft push in between his cheeks and for a horrible moment thought he was going to end up taking all of Mycroft into him with no preparation and no lube. But good as his word, Mycroft was gentle, moving slowly between his legs so that his shaft brushed against Greg's balls. Greg felt himself rapidly approaching orgasm when the door of the room burst open.

In their haste they had forgotten to lock it.

Sherlock stood there for a moment looking at both half naked boys.

"Oh. Well that explains everything!" Was all the green eyed boy said before sitting down in a chair to watch what his brother was doing.