AN:Hey there guys! Sorry this took so long, it's been a very busy month for me. I've managed to crack out another chapter though, so if it's riddled with mistakes my apologies, feel free to point them out and I'll correct them. I have a question about what you'd like for the next chapter, but more on that at the end. Please do feel free to tell me what you think of this chapter, and I hope you enjoy!
The next few hours of Mycroft's life proceeded exactly as you'd expect when in the presence of a group that mainly consisted of somewhat drunk, immature teenagers. It was wasted time, nothing productive came from it, there was no deep, meaning conversations; or anything meaningful at all really. He wouldn't take anything from it that would be beneficial later in his life. Despite that he couldn't say that he regretted it. Sure, it was time that he was never going to get back, but for those few hours he saw Sherlock sitting happily by John, was able to sit close to Greg, and for the first time in what felt like weeks he wasn't worried about his weight.
When Sally and Philip were locked in the cupboard under the stairs for seven minutes of Heaven – it was more like an hour of heaven, no one could tolerate the overly affectionate display for any longer – Mycroft wasn't thinking about visiting the tailors. When Dimmock drank one shot too many and nearly threw up on the carpet, Mycroft wasn't dreading about the talk with his parents. When Anthea's quiet humour made John choke on his beer he wasn't pulling to mind his reflection. Instead he had something better to think about. Something that was all too easy to let encompass his thoughts. And that something was currently passing him another beer.
Yes, Mycroft knew very well that it was cheesy, or corny, or whichever food related adjective that you chose to describe it with. But he couldn't deny that at this moment in time it was Greg that filled his usually constantly shifting mind. Were you to ask him the next day he'd blame it on the beer, claim that it had affected his brain and reduced him to the average intellect that he so despised. The truth was that despite being a little tipsy Mycroft still had more mental capacity than most, at a guess more that the top ninety percent of the population. He was just so relieved. Relieved that despite everything that he'd predicted Greg hadn't seemed disgusted. He hadn't pulled away from Mycroft or said anything. Instead he'd defended him. Tried to protect his feelings. Sitting next to Greg, thighs touching, he could just appreciate him. The button nose, soft hazel eyes, that grin…some people really were blessed with a beautiful body and a beautiful personality. Mycroft wasn't blessed by either –his blessing came in the form of his mind - but given the choice he'd take a relationship with such a beautiful person over being beautiful himself.
If that was selfish he really didn't care.
Mycroft found himself joining into the conversation more as the beer flowed, at some point Anthea pulled a bottle of rum out, and somehow convinced Greg to put Pirates Of The Caribbean on. Her charming ways were truly beyond him. Even with the alcohol there were some points that Mycroft simply fell quiet deciding silence was the best way to go. "Oh shit, I forgot, I'm ordering Pizza in…Any preferences?" Greg asked. There was a chorus of responses, ranging from Dimmock's excited yell of 'meat feast' to Anthea's insistence that at least one of the pizzas have olives on. Greg held up a hand in a fairly ineffective attempt to quiet the group before going round and asking people individual what they wanted. Sally and Philip decided on a simple pepperoni– additional comments were raised about anchovies and pineapple, both of which were promptly boycotted. Sherlock wanted a plain cheese, which John agreed to share. It wasn't likely that Sherlock would have more than one slice anyway.
Anthea and Irene settled on sharing an olive, pepper and chicken pizza. Dimmock – unsurprisingly – voted meat feast seconded by Greg so long as it was covered in jalapenos and as spicy as possible. Leaving Mycroft to decide what he wanted. He'd known this was coming. Despite the fact that everyone else was going to be eating pizza too there'd be a stigma when he ate. There'd be the sideway glances, the eye rolls and the almost too quiet to hear comments. You couldn't eat if you were fat without being judged for it. That was just how it was. "Mushrooms, olive and pepperoni, thanks." He said as soon as Greg's eyes turned to look questioningly at him. The order rolled easily from his tongue, a fact that no doubt Sherlock picked up on. Maybe he'd ordered a few too many pizzas to his room, but it was a bit late to change it now.
Greg slipped out of the room to place the order, dropping back into place by Mycroft and wrapping his arm around the others waist. Mycroft froze for a moment, and Greg took the hint. Mumbling a quiet apology before moving his arm around his boyfriend's shoulders instead. Having Greg's arms anywhere near his stomach or sides like that simply wasn't acceptable. No amount of baggy clothes would be able to hide any of the extra weight then. It just couldn't be allowed. He could barely stand for Greg to even see him at his current size, let alone be so close to his stomach. With the call made the group settled back into conversation, the pizzas were anxiously waited for, hoping to dull the effect of the alcohol and sate their hunger for greasy and absolutely necessary drunk food.
As usual the conversation flowed between multiple topics, ranging from the alien films – Greg's favourites – to the obscure and completely unrelated topics like the gestation periods of multiple animals. Mycroft could only tolerate hearing the group debate the last point for a limited time, eventually stepping in and reeling off the ones they'd been arguing over. It was useful in distracting from the fact that Greg's arm was still in fact wrapped around his shoulders. Contact wasn't Mycroft's strong suit at the best of times. With close friends, some family members and Greg he could accept. Willingly initiate it at times. But at his current size even the smallest, most innocent touches – to his torso especially – were more than a little disconcerting.
The clash of swords flowing from the television's speakers did wonders for filling the natural ebbs in conversation, gave the group some time to consider which topic of conversation they wished to initiate next. There were a few more energetic debates started. Irene battered contesting comments of with the lazy assurance of someone swatting a fly, Dimmock's strategy was to be as loud as he could, Greg never stopped grinning, and Mycroft only chimed in to say who was actually correct. It didn't feel like long until the doorbell was ringing, announcing the arrival of the pizza. Greg stood once again fishing in his pocket for his wallet as he walked towards the door. John also rose to his feet, offering to give him a hand as he followed. The silence was filled with apprehension. Excitement for the food from the others and simple wariness from Mycroft.
He hadn't eaten in front of such a large number of people for months. Even back at Eton Mycroft had rarely eaten in the canteen, when he had it certainly wasn't in the view of so many people. It'd be rude to turn down the pizza now though, and really he was pretty hungry. An apple and a slice of cake was hardly enough to get by on, it barely counted as a snack. Mycroft would make sure to reimburse Greg for the food and the beer that he'd bought. Greg probably wouldn't be best pleased if Mycroft forced the money on him, it was much easier just to slip small amounts where Greg would have left money anyway. The truth of the matter was that Mycroft had money, much more than he needed, and Greg…well, Greg didn't. If he ever noticed that the change left around his room increased when Mycroft was over he didn't comment on it.
John's laugh entered the room before the teen himself, a smug looking Greg following close behind. Clearly he was proud of whichever joke he'd made there. The pizza was handed out quickly and efficiently, prompting people to rearrange themselves slightly so they could reach the pizza they were sharing. Mycroft didn't have to move. He was the only one with a pizza to himself. Usually that'd be considered a good thing, something to brag about. Had he been thin that would have been acceptable, just not at his current weight. 'Just a number' really wasn't true was it?
The chorus of thanks, soon fell quiet as everyone tucked in, eyes fixed on the film. Pirates had never really been Mycroft's favourite. They were just so inaccurate. Pirates were thieves, they were dangerous and their morals were dubious at best. All the interpretations tried to romanticise them. Of course, he did have some fond memories of Sherlock's former passion for the characters. Sword fighting up the stairs, pillaging mummy's room for 'hidden' presents, sitting on the sofa and watching as many pirate films as Sherlock could get his hands on. He'd tolerate pirates only because of those memories.
Most people – Sherlock and Mycroft excluded – looked to be enjoying their pizza. Sherlock never really looked as if he was enjoying food though. Mycroft was pleased to see that he ate a slice and a half of the pizza before abandoning it at turning to give his full attention to the film. The pizza was wonderful. Truly there was no other place that made it quite as nicely as the local pizza place. Had he been at Eton there'd be no doubt that he'd finish the pizza off himself. Only here that wasn't going to happen. He ate slowly, almost painfully so, savouring the salty cheese and the tangy sauce. Sherlock's attention may have been on the television, but that didn't apply to everyone. It was Phillip this time that made Mycroft freeze. Somehow it wasn't surprising that Phillip hadn't yet realised that Mycroft could read his lips, or actually that whispering meant that you spoke very softly and quietly.
Thankfully for Phillip no one but Sally seemed to hear what he had said, and not wanting to start a scene Mycroft didn't comment either. Just shot him a warning look when he glanced over watching to see the 'show' that was evidently Mycroft eating the pizza. Some people's mental capabilities hadn't improved at all, still stuck at the same IQ as the Neanderthals. Phillip was the perfect example of such a person. The only sense he'd shown so far was looking away and keeping his mouth shut after the warning. Despite the fact that Greg had stood up for him, Mycroft was capable of looking after himself. He only ate two slices of the pizza before placing the box on the coffee table. A normal amount for Sherlock, a tiny amount for the rest of the people present. Truthfully he was still hungry, but he'd eaten enough to at least prevent his stomach from rumbling and allow him to think of something over than food.
Greg glanced over with a slight frown when Mycroft put the box down, giving him a questioning and slightly worried look. He felt Anthea do the same. Both knew better than to ask, so Mycroft assumed that he was in the safe for now. Anthea wouldn't bring it up in front of so many people, and she wouldn't comment any other time but today, so he doubted that she'd ever actually comment on it at all. Greg on the other hand would have the opportunity to question him on it later. Even so Mycroft assumed that he'd have forgotten by the time they were alone anyway. Not eating more of the pizza could easily be explained by saying he'd had something before he'd left. It wasn't like he could just explain that he was embarrassed to be eating in front of them, or that the stigma of it wasn't something he had the energy to face at the moment. He just wanted to enjoy the night.
And he did. With the pizza done with, the mostly empty boxes staked by the table, and the leftovers in the kitchen the relaxed chatter of the group began again, starting with a conversation between Anthea and Sherlock about rum and pirates. The resulting conversations were certainly amusing and even Mycroft couldn't suppress an odd chuckle at the witty exchange between the two.
It was almost eleven o'clock before Mycroft finally declared it was time for Sherlock to go home and called a taxi for him. He'd promised mummy that he'd be home before twelve, and he intended to keep that promise. Sherlock's grumbles and groans were sharply cut off when John insisted on seeing him home. Mycroft safely tucked that information away and shared a small smirk with Greg. They were all thinking the same thing anyway. John wasn't quiet, he had good friends both in and out of school, most of which would undoubtedly be better friends than Sherlock. After all most people's friends don't take blood samples for an experiment, and they don't behave anywhere near as appallingly as Sherlock could.
Yet despite that there was no competition to be his best friend. That position had been filled within hours of meeting Sherlock and no one could dispute it. Someone who could put up with Sherlock – an impressive feat that even Mycroft struggled with at times – had raised eyebrows from the start. It was obvious to everyone that knew them that there was something else there. The two still had to figure that out for themselves. The group at the party already had bets on how long it'd take for the penny to drop. It couldn't be long now.
With the youngest member of the group gone Irene declared that it was time for the true party games, swinging her legs over the arm of the chair as she spoke. "Well, juniors gone home, there's plenty of drinks left…it'd be such a shame to waste it all would it?" she asked, a smirk curling her lips. Irene was clearly up to something. As she was driving Philip and Sally home she'd avoided drinking much, still on the same glass of wine as when they'd entered. This was the perfect opportunity to learn what she could about people without claims of forcing them to admit anything. It must so be tiresome to have to wait for opportunities like this instead of just reading it from people like Mycroft did. "So, Mycroft, as the guest of honour you get to go first…Truth or dare?" she asked.
Mycroft didn't answer immediately; well aware of the fact that everyone's eyes were on him. Even Sally and Phillip were watching. Evidently the threat of being locked back in the cupboard was enough to reduce their display to little more than pecks and occupying the same spot on the sofa. Mycroft was now in a position that he didn't want to be in, Irene had picked him just because she knew he wouldn't want it, and she wanted to see how he reacted. It took no effort to keep his posture as relaxed as possible, his facial expression unchanging. He couldn't step away from the question… that would be backing down to Irene. He needed to make sure that she wasn't finding out how to get to him again. Both truth and dare ran an equal risk of humiliation; it was just trying to decide which would be the least memorable. With Dimmock and Irene present dares were incredibly risky, it was likely that truths were the safest bet. He had a feeling that he was going to regret it no matter which one he picked/ "If you insist on me taking part Irene, then I'd have to pick truth." He said voice not exactly cold but certainly not warm either.
"You know, when I said guest of honour I didn't mean it like that Irene, he doesn't have to go first." Greg mumbled quietly, more of an apology to Mycroft for putting him in that position rather than actually getting him out of it. It was too quiet to be heard clearly, and it certainly didn't stop Dimmock from asking Mycroft a truth.
"How'd you let yourself go like that?" Dimmock asked unsurprisingly. Greg tensed beside Mycroft, opening his mouth to say something before he was cut of by Irene.
"Shut up Dimmock." She said, smirk falling for a moment. She even managed to subtly hint at the inflections in Greg's accent. "I am curious though…how did you let yourself go?" she asked, with a smile that looked more like baring teeth than anything else.
"I forfeit the question." Mycroft all but snarled, letting a little of his irritation sneak past his barriers. Practically daring anyone to protest. Greg shuffled a little further away from Mycroft on the seat, correctly assuming that he'd want more space. Mycroft might have been concerned at how well Greg could read him, but there were more pressing things occurring.
Anthea tilted her head watching Mycroft. She was curious too. He could read that easily. She wouldn't ask though, certainly wouldn't force him to answer. "Alright, your forfeit is a dare." She declared confidently. "Because you're the 'guest of honour' I'll make it a nice one." She repeated Irene's words. She hadn't actually thought of a dare yet, but she was thinking. "I dare you to get us all a refill of our drinks. You'll need to get me a glass of Rosé from the kitchen and Irene will have a diet coke."
That was a nice one and Mycroft nodded his thanks to her before rising from his seat to get the drinks from the kitchen. It gave him time to calm himself again. Dimmock was fast wearing on his patience, another comment and he doubted that he'd be able to restrain from declaring everything he could deduce about the other. Even with the alcohol in his veins he could read enough to make sure that it wasn't an enjoyable experience for him at all. Of course, he knew that Anthea had not only removed him from the room to calm himself down and reconstruct the barricades that separated comments like that and his feeling, but also to give them time to have a word with the others.
He always questioned what it was exactly that explained why he had such loyal and kind friends. Mycroft wouldn't deny that when it came to the people that he liked and trusted he was defensive, but he wasn't the person to go to if you wanted a shoulder to cry on. He wasn't supportive emotionally most of the time. Mycroft was well aware of all the processes that he was supposed to go through to provide comfort, he knew all the theory behind it, yet putting it into practice was something that required great difficulty on his part.
How did he know that his friends were having a 'word' with the others about holding their tongue? It was because the room had fallen quiet. There was no chattering between the others, just the sound of the film in the background. He was half curious about what it was exactly they were saying, but then he wouldn't deduce it. Things like that were really better for everyone if he pretended that he didn't know they'd done anything at all. He waited another minute or two until the chatting started up again before bringing Irene and Anthea's drinks in. Dimmock, Sally and Phillip had the decency to look a little sheepish about whatever it was they'd said, but no one apologised. Fair enough. So long as they stopped he didn't need an apology.
"Who's next?" he asked, voice back to it's normal tone. There was a hum as Sally decided to call the shots for this one.
"Irene, you can go next." She decided after a moment. "Truth or dare." Now, Mycroft wasn't exactly fond of Sally. It was something to do with the fact that she'd called Sherlock a freak on multiple occasions. That being said she wasn't that much of an idiot, certainly still an idiot considering how she hadn't actually stopped the nickname she'd settled on for Sherlock, but enough that he could tolerate her being there at least. Sally had a backbone, and she stuck to her convictions, a trait that Mycroft thought too many people lacked. A few setbacks that would certainly need to be resolved if they were going to get along at all. Learning respect was one of those.
"Dare." Irene's response came swiftly, her certainty probably wasn't the wisest considering the nature of the game, but she pulled it off perfectly, just enough interest to prove she was invested in the game, but not enough to encroach on the distance she'd set up between herself and the alcohol tainted majority. She was collecting information, things she could use on the people present and anyone that came up n conversation. For Irene that was probably more interesting than any other game they could come up with – short of taunting other people that was.
"Take your shirt off." Dimmock grinned, sharp stopping that when Greg's hand thwacked against the back of his head.
"Don't be a pervert Dimmock." He chastised him. Obviously deciding that some ground rules applied. Not that Irene would have been uncomfortable, she'd merely shrugged at the suggestion. "Irene, your dare is to put lipstick on someone…without using your hands." He grinned quite clearly proud of his decision.
"Easy." She said with a smirk, digging into her bag and pulling out a tube of lipstick. It wasn't the same colour that she had on her own lips, which considering the boldness of the colour wasn't a bad thing. "Anthea, I'm putting it on your lips, It's more your colour than anyone else's." She explained. Mycroft scanned over her, figuring out if that was the true reason, and it was, Irene didn't seem to have any qualms other than that about who she was going to put the lipstick on. Anthea tilted her head slightly as he evaluated the colour.
"Alright then, don't get it all over my face mind, I don't have make-up remover on me." She warned, shuffling to make it a little easier on Irene. Irene positioned the lipstick between her teeth, leaning forwards and managing to get the lipstick looking exceptionally neat considering the circumstances. A slight clean up with one of Anthea's nails and it was as if it'd been applied by hand.
The rest of the game proceeded in a similar fashion. The truths weren't interesting to Mycroft considering he knew it all already, but he had to admit that the dares were fairly amusing, especially considering how Phillip and drank some hot sauce, and Dimmock had a taste of his own medicine when Sally picked the dare and he had to sit in nothing but his boxers for the next half hour. All in all the game fulfilled its goal. Everyone – including Mycroft – had laughed at least once. It was all good-natured too, no more sly truths designed to embarrass and humiliate Mycroft, so clearly whatever Greg and Anthea had said to the others had worked. A relief for Mycroft to say the least.
He had to admit that he was glad to go to the party. Seeing Greg again was exactly what he needed. And aside from a few blips with his weight it really hadn't been as terrible as he had expected. Everyone was just how he remembered them, and considering that Mycroft wasn't all too fond of change that was a good thing. It was a reminder that he was at home, and for the next month he'd be able to spend time with his friends – or for at least two weeks of the holiday, the others didn't break up from school for another week. Mycroft was looking forward to it, especially getting to be alone with Greg again. It'd been far too long since he'd just gotten to spend time with him, without the presence of an audience, and to actually talk to him in person rather than over the phone?
Yes, he was looking forwards to getting some time with Greg again. He could only hope that Greg had similar feelings.
AN: And there we go! I hope that was up to standard for you guys.
So, for the next chapter, I can either have them play a few more party games, get up to a little more mischief, or we can move it on to the others leaving and Mycroft and Greg finally getting some time together. I'd be more than happy to do either, so please drop your opinion in the comments on the boy's blog over at Feel free to ask them any questions you have too, it'll be a bit of fun!
So, I hope you enjoyed it, and thanks for reading!