A/N: I am becoming a sap. Oh, well it's not like it's a bad thing.
Beta:OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles
The twenty second change showed Mycroft how wonderful it could be to have an impromptu celebration…
Celebration
Mycroft felt his breath catch in his throat. He ignored the feeling, concentrating on his breathing pattern and on keeping his mind on track lest he say something embarrassing. His thoughts, disorganized and leading their own life separate from his brain whirled, caught by a whirlpool of emotions. He composed his thoughts in time to stop his right hand from lifting up to touch, to ensure the image was real; instead he concentrated on the coolness of the polished mahogany under his palm – the ever present umbrella. He breathed in deeply through half opened lips, prolonging it so that it wouldn't come out as a gasp. It certainly could have.
"So?" Lestrade asked expectantly with only a little dose of worry creeping into his tone as he waited for his lover's verdict.
"Very good," Mycroft said stiffly, voice almost devoid of emotion as his throat constricted with another breath, with another glance. Seeing how Lestrade's eyes clouded with uncertainty as he avoided Mycroft's gaze, probably rethinking his decision, getting closer to regretting it with every passing second of silence. "Honestly. You look…wonderful."
Those words made Lestrade relax; his spine straightened with newly acquired confidence, his eyes got back their glint. It made Mycroft even more uncomfortable but he let it show, didn't avert his eyes this time, not wanting the other man to misunderstand his reaction.
In all honesty, Lestrade looked dashing in a tailored three piece suit. Made specifically for him, it fit the DI's figure perfectly, making him look elegant in a way he had never been before, taking 'handsome' to a whole new level. In addition the suit made him look smart, better showing off his intelligence than the rumpled pale shirt and dark trousers he was used to wearing. It was easy to mistake him for at least a Superintendent or a Chief Superintendent without a uniform, and Mycroft had seen his fair share of men in power, you can trust him in that. Detective Inspector was too low for a man like this, Mycroft decided from his subjective point of view. He might have done something to change that unfortunate mistake, but Lestrade wouldn't appreciate such interference in his life; meddling with personal life was fine, appreciated in fact since Mycroft was an important part of that life, but with work – that would not be accepted with enthusiasm, if it'd be accepted at all. That's why Mycroft tried to stay away from Lestrade's business affairs, unless they involved Sherlock.
"Mycroft?" Lestrade called out tentatively, bringing the other man back from his thoughts to the reality before him. And Mycroft was doing such a good job at ignoring 'the man in the suit'
"Everything alright?" He asked at Mycroft's prolonged silence.
"Yes. I'm just…taking it all in." He admitted, controlling the slight turmoil in his voice.
His eyes traveled the length of the other man's body again, following the pattern of thin white stripes on the dark blue cloth. Lestrade wore a dark shirt underneath, without a tie – still rebelling against constrictions – three top buttons undone, easily adding the 'flirtatious' to his 'smart'. It was, for the lack of better word, hot. Mycroft cringed internally at his own vocabulary. On the outside he smiled.
"I wish I could see you in a good suit more often. It certainly suits you," he complimented.
"Oh, good then. I was starting to panic." Lestrade joked, but the relief in his voice betrayed his nervousness.
Instead of voicing his reassurance Mycroft stepped to him, standing close so they were mere inches from touching. Mindful not to crease the fine fabric he ran his hands up and down the lapels, smoothing and caressing; led by a notion that actions speak louder than words. His hands traveled back upwards, circling the collar and meeting at the back of Lestrade's neck. His eyes never strayed from his lover's, gazing softly, allowing only a hint of his passion to be conveyed.
Lestrade smirked at that, darkly, dirtily, understanding far more than Mycroft wanted to let on. It was frustrating, but pleasing at the same time; here was a man who learned to read him, who knew him so well he could see the whole specter of Mycroft's emotions even when he attempted to conceal them.
"I'm so glad," Lestrade leered, staring into his lover's eyes with intensity. Mycroft felt his breath catch in his throat for the second time that evening, probably not the last, his heart stuttered and his body grew warmer.
"Shall we go?" Mycroft asked, voice an octave lower. He recovered quickly enough, having found the most subtle way out of the intense situation. He put a hand on the offered elbow, circling his fingers over Lestrade's forearm gently in a familiar gesture.
They decided to spend the evening in a restaurant, a small high-class place where no one would disturb them. The owner was a friend of Mycroft's, a class mate from the private school they attended, who did well in the entertainment area and not long ago opened a place, more like a private club actually, that was aristocratic and expensive. It took some persuasion to get Lestrade's agreement to come here, especially since it was obvious to both that Mycroft would be the one to pay for the evening which bothered his lover the most, but after some negotiations Lestrade agreed. Of course Mycroft had to make concessions, he accepted humbly that he'd finally have to go to the movies with his lover and visit other 'common' places. But that was an equal exchange for the evening in each other's company in a place where they wouldn't be noticed; no one would stare at a couple of men there, no one would bother Mycroft with work related issues.
That was perfect for their small celebration; because even though neither of them said anything they both acknowledged it as a celebration. A celebration of everything and nothing in particular; them just been together, their peace and their love.
They took their table, securely a short distance away from the dance floor; though to give the establishment the needed credit it should be said that every table provided some level of privacy. This place was all about relaxing in a comfortable atmosphere where no one cares about the person sitting a table away from you.
"This place is nice," Lestrade commented as they settled.
"I'm glad you like it," Mycroft admitted truthfully, he was a little worried about his lover's reaction.
They spent time talking and enjoying the food, the conversation easy and every dish delicious. The previous tension still lingered in the air, every time Mycroft looked at the man across from him he couldn't help but admire the way the suit subtly accented how absolutely gorgeous Lestrade was; because for Mycroft there was no man he desired more. Sometime during the second course he finally managed to relax and hold a more intelligent conversation, bringing up things that bothered him at work but not specifying anything. It felt nice to be able to discuss all that with someone without a threat of betrayal.
As they finished with one theme to their conversation and Mycroft was ready to move to another, a question about Lestrade's last case on the tip of his tongue, the other man stood up from the table. Lestrade earned a curious glance for the action as he moved around the table to stand close to his sitting partner.
"Gregory?" Mycroft asked tentatively, his gaze dropping from the man's face to his outstretched hand.
"Would you care for a dance?" Lestrade asked softly.
Pleasantly surprised Mycroft took the hand without hesitation and let his lover lead him to the dance floor. Soft music that previously had been only a background to their conversation was louder there, and a few couples were swaying slowly. With his eyes only Lestrade conveyed a question that worried him 'Is this alright?' but Mycroft reassured him with a small smile. It was true Mycroft wasn't prone to PDA but this he didn't consider as such. This was a private moment between two lovers and no one was going to intrude on it.
They stopped for a moment to stand into a right position. Lestrade didn't let go of his hand but readjusted his hold. His other hand settled on Mycroft's waist, thereby leaving Mycroft to be the one led and so he put his hand on the DI's shoulder. A step brought them closer to each other and they started the movement, synchronized as they swayed lightly at first, then took a step, moving as one, another step and they fell into a simple pattern, music leading them.
Mycroft let his eyes drift closed, breathing in slowly, contentedly. He rarely let someone lead, even in a dance, but with Gregory it was so easy to trust the man completely.
And so they danced, without any care of the world around them, completely lost in each other. With his eyes closed Mycroft moved, his other senses sharpened by the willing loss. Lestrade's strong hand on his waist was holding him firmly but with gentleness, sliding slowly under the fabric of Mycroft's jacket and drawing circles on the small of his back. He could feel his lover's breath on the side of his face, inhales and exhales tickling his skin and providing a feeling of comfort. Lestrade started humming softly to the music; it was so quiet Mycroft wouldn't be able to hear it if the other man's lips were not inches apart from his ear.
Mycroft let out a sigh and tilted his head so his temple touched Lestrade's. There were not many moments in his life when Mycroft felt this content, this happy. With Gregory Lestrade they happened more often. For that he was eternally grateful to this man. They didn't know how long this would last and, frankly, Mycroft didn't believe in such things as 'forever', but dancing slowly in the dimly lit room with this man he was ready to try, to hope. This felt perfect – this celebration of love.
A/N: And one more chapter left. I'm kind of sad to be finishing this story…but, anyway, please review:)