Mycroft so enjoyed his Saturday mornings as of late. It had come to his attention that Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade enjoyed to take his team out and all play football in a park near the Yard. In his curiosity, the politician drove by one day and became entranced.

He had, a while ago, accepted his attraction for the older man that his younger brother pestered so frequently. Watching him play football, however… It became something he came to watch more and more often. He never made his presence known, of course, because he imagined that would be rather embarrassing.

Today, unfortunately, he no longer had to imagine. As usual, he sat near the edge of the field in the back of one of his black vehicles, admiring the way he saw Gregory bending and stretching in between plays. It really was sinful watching the way his legs bent in those shorts, or when he bent over… Mycroft didn't usually pause and admire an individual's backside, but Gregory Lestrade's definitely deserved admiring. When the man straightened and poured water over his face, though, Mycroft's mouth gaped.

"Good lord…" he muttered to himself, eyes widening at the sight. How was such a simple act so utterly arousing? He cleared his throat, resting his elbow on the window, and glanced away momentarily. As he looked back up, however, he noticed Gregory looking… right over at him. Staring and grinning. And walking over. Mycroft immediately felt mortified. The two of them had known each other long enough that he could recognize Mycroft's forms of transportation, and here he was, walking across the field and over to him. He considered telling the driver to leave immediately. However, his window of opportunity passed. So, accepting his fate, he sighed and stepped out onto the grass.

"Mycroft Holmes, to what do I owe the pleasure this morning?" Gregory asked, jogging over and stopping in front of him. He was breathless from the intense physical activities he'd just been participating in, and there was a sheen of sweat along his forehead and neck. Mycroft stared. His eyes flicked to the heaving of his chest, and immediately his mind took them to a different location. A more intimate location, with both of them wearing far less clothing. Oh dear. This was not an ideal situation at all.

"Just… checking in on the results of your case," Mycroft managed to get out; a complete lie, of course. What was it about the Detective Inspector that put his mind on a blank slate? He eyed the man again, observing the way his hands rested on his hips, and found himself longing to replace those hands with his own. He cleared his throat and managed a tight smile. Gregory looked at him in a way that led him to believe the older man wasn't buying that whatsoever.

"Ah. And you… Didn't just swing by the office?" he asked, his grin widening. He had to know. Mycroft was usually so good at not giving himself away, but it seemed that it was not working to his favor today. He was feeling more and more mortified as the seconds ticked away.

"Yes, well. I, um," Mycroft found himself stammering. He did not stammer, he needed to get a hold of himself. Whatever train of thought he was attempting to come up with, however, was cut short as he heard a shout on the field behind them.

"Hey, heads up!" Phillip Anderson shouted. Mycroft turned to look and see what was going on, and happened to see a ball flying through the air. Right. At. Him. He didn't have time to react before a body collided with him, pushing him to the side as the ball whipped past. He could feel the brush of wind in his face where it just barely missed him, and let out a surprised noise as it bounced to the ground.

Only then did he realize how he got out of the way. Gregory was suddenly much closer to him. Closer as in their bodies were pressed against each other. He could feel the warmth of the older man's body sinking into him, and could actually feel the way his panting chest pressed against his own. A mixture of scents surrounded his nose: deodorant, cologne, and sweat… It was an unspeakably Gregory smell. Again his mind went to his more intimate location, and he had to try his hardest not to let out a groan in the back of his throat. Their eyes connected, and Mycroft could practically feel his heart leap up into his throat.

It was Gregory who stepped back first, squeezing Mycroft's bicep gently and exhaling.

"That was close," he commented, running a hand through his hair, which caused the silvery strands to spike up a bit. "Sorry, Mycroft. Anderson is absolute rubbish at football. He can't kick it straight to save his life."

"It's…alright," Mycroft commented, clearing his throat again. He gripped his umbrella a little tighter than normal, attempting to curb the intense heat flooding through him now. This was embarrassing.

"Listen," Gregory continued after a moment. "How about we meet up for lunch, okay? We can talk about the…case then. I'm sure you've got a lot to do, being the British Government and all."

With that, the Detective Inspector jogged over to grab the stray ball and started to make his way back to the field, turning his head to look at Mycroft and grin. And wink. Mycroft could definitely feel himself blushing at that. He nodded, trying to keep himself composed as he climbed back into his car to try and avoid the fact that he was crawling back to privacy. Once the door was shut, he let out a sigh mixed with a groan mixed with a whimper. That was ridiculous. He couldn't remember the last time his mind had gone straight to sex so intensely. Never mind the fact that he already fantasized about the two of them doing very inappropriate things together. This latest encounter was sure to heighten those fantasies.

Lunch would be interesting. There was no case for them to really discuss. His most recent one had been of no significance to his position. Which meant…

Lunch would definitely be interesting.