011. Red
He's all over Mycroft in an instant, pushing him against the wall. His tongue plunders the taller man's mouth, seeking solace and comfort, gets his jeans undone, pants pushed down, and huffs when Mycroft's trousers are not as easily overcome. He pulls back, and yanks at them, and sends them cascading down his lover's legs, and finally, hips fitted together, he can grab their cocks, both groaning, and rub them together, spit lubricating the powerful tugging and pulling. It doesn't take long to bring them to orgasm, shouting Mycroft's name, so fucking pleased he's home. Oh, how he's missed this.

012. Orange
They curled in front of the roaring fire, Mycroft resting his head on Greg's stomach. "Mycroft," Greg starts, fingertips dragging in his lover's hair, "I think we should get married. These last six months have been hell, not knowing where you've been. I can't keep worrying like this. If you say no, I won't be offended. Please say yes. I promise you'll be the happiest man alive." The fire kept roaring, while Mycroft sat up and pinned him down, bringing his lips so close to whisper, "yes, Gregory. A million times, yes," and proceeded to kiss his fiancée with gusto.

013. Yellow
Greg woke first that morning, that first precious morning that Mycroft was finally back home where he belonged instead of some godforsaken Paraguayan prison, being held for ransom. He woke to a warm body that he knew, loved, and would do anything to protect, Mycroft's arms wrapped neatly around his torso, head pillowed on his arm. Greg couldn't help but be giddy, especially after last night. He laid a gentle kiss to the top of Mycroft's head, and snuggled closer, intent on having a long lie-in that morning, and showing Mycroft just how happy he was to have him home.

014. Green
Mycroft is being fitted for new clothes, and he can feel the waves of jealousy radiating off of Greg about the close proximity of the tailor. None of his clothes fit after returning from Paraguay. He's lost too much weight, and they're not alterable. The tailor's hand goes up Mycroft's inseam with a tape measure, and his Greg-senses can tell that he is becoming more outraged as this goes on. It's understandable - he's been back less than a week, and Greg would like him to himself. Unfortunately, he is due to return to work, and the fitting cannot wait.

015. Blue
It's the first clear day in almost a week when Mycroft returns to work, and Greg, unsurprisingly, wished the cheerful sky didn't contradict his mood, so he could go outside and enjoy it. But, no, he wanted to stay inside, and lay on the couch, ignoring the wintry blue sky. His first real day off, without having to catch up on paperwork or be called in to work, and he's missing out on enjoying it, because it's a Monday, and Mycroft has gone. He sighs, and rolls over for a nap on the sofa, wishing it could be evening already.

016. Purple
Gregory had a shirt, a wonderful shirt, the name of the color was Byzantium, and he absolutely loved it when he wore it. Though, he'd only worn it twice: once when they had dinner at The Cascade after he'd been gone out of the country for two weeks, and once at his own request during a particularly lengthy bout of sex. Tonight, apparently, the shirt had reappeared as Gregory was in the kitchen, hovering over the stove, music blaring, shirt unbuttoned and untucked. He entered the kitchen silently, and slid his hands under that lovely shirt, kissing his neck. "Hello."

017. Brown
Greg's favorite color on Mycroft was brown. He had this lovely rich chocolate brown suit that was always worn with that Byzantium tie, the one that matched his own shirt, the one Mycroft bought on purpose to get him to wear that shirt more often. This suit hugged Mycroft's bottom quite nicely, pressed pleats extending to just under the curve of it. He loved that arse - loved to grope it when they were home, to taste it when they were having sex, the way it looked in clothes and out of them. The mere thought was making him hard.

018. Black
He looked perfect. "Ready for this, then?" Mycroft smiles, "of course." They stepped into the small room together. It was a small ceremony, the official documentation having been signed days ago, but for the benefit of their relatives and close friends. John clapped him on the back, congratulating him, while Sherlock sulked in the corner. He genuinely looked bothered that Mycroft looked so happy. Mycroft kept letting his smile come across his face, unintentionally for sure, which he could only take to mean that he was genuinely happy. He only hoped that he could keep his wonderful husband happy eternally.

019. White
It was a lovely cake. They had swiped the top layer, to freeze and eat on their anniversary. The white frosting of the cake contrasted lovely with the blue of the decorations that Mummy had insisted on. He couldn't resist swiping a finger down the side of his slice of cake into the frosting, and tasted it - heaven on a plate. He sent a text to Anthea, to get in contact with the baker and get more immediately. He had plans for that tonight. He hadn't had cake in over two years, and he was planning on indulging tonight.

020. Colourless
They flew on a private jet, sipping champagne, over the open ocean, down to Curacao. Mycroft knew of a lovely beach house that they could use to enjoy their week together. He also knew that as soon as they arrived, everything would already be prepared for them, groceries stocked, the house open to the crashing of the waves and the clear blue water. The deck outside faced west, and made for spectacular sunsets. Or so he had heard. He relaxed back into his seat, sipping more of that clear sweet champagne, and just held his husband's hand, enjoying the trip.