It was an unusually hot day in London. It was uncomfortable enough that Greg was wearing a tanktop, and even Mycroft wasn't dressed in his normal three-piece suits. He was still dressed much more properly than the majority of the other people they'd seen throughout the day, clad in black trousers and a button up dress shirt. Though, as they'd gone out, he had since rolled the sleeves of the shirt up to his elbows.
Currently, they were in a small pastry shoppe near their house, sitting at one of the smaller tables over in the corner. It was usually a lot less busy than it was today, though, along with pastries, they also sold ice cream, so he supposed it made sense. It was the reason they were here as well. They'd had to run a couple of errands and get some shopping done, so he had suggested swinging by as they made their way back. Mycroft had agreed fairly easily.
Greg had decided to go with a milkshake, while his partner had chosen the traditional ice cream cone. They sat in general, comfortable silence, though partially because Greg was a bit too distracted for much conversation.
The way Mycroft was eating that cone was utterly sinful. Watching his tongue slipping out and sliding along the curve of the ice cream was sending an all too familiar heat through the older man's gut. It was slow, moving from one side to the other, before retreating back into his mouth. Occasionally, some of the treat would get on his lips, requiring his tongue to slip back out and run along his lips to clean it up. Greg shivered.
"Gregory, did you hear me?" Mycroft asked, arching an eyebrow curiously. Greg blinked and forced his eyes up to meet his partner's.
"Huh?" he said, a bit stupidly. He could feel a blush creeping into his cheeks slowly.
"I was asking when dear Elizabeth was going to come stay with us again?" Mycroft repeated, looking amused.
"Ah, yes," Greg nodded, clearing his throat. His daughter was young enough to still deal with custody switching visits between himself and his ex-wife. "Probably next weekend."
Brown eyes slid back to the younger man's mouth as he ate more of his ice cream cone. Where it had started to melt, some of the residue melted onto his fingers. Mycroft switched hands and proceeded to lick it off. Greg groaned.
"Gregory?" he asked, raising both eyebrows now.
"You are driving me crazy, Myc," he sighed, trying to focus on his milkshake and not his growing erection. Mycroft started smirking.
"Is that so?" he asked silkily. Turning back to his ice cream, he consumed it again, even more slowly than before. Okay, now he was being deliberate. It was cruel. Reaching out over the table, Greg grabbed the hand in question and tugged it over. Brown eyes darkened in color as his pupils widened, letting his own tongue dart out to lick vanilla-flavored ice cream off him. Pale eyes widened across the table, his mouth parting a bit. It was Greg's turn to smirk, taking the entire digit into his mouth and sucking on it gently. As his tongue moved to drag across the pad of his finger, a soft noise escaped Mycroft.
"Let's go home," Greg whispered huskily, releasing his partner's hand and sitting back. Mycroft cleared his throat and nodded curtly.
"Yes. Let's."