"So there was actually a Giant Dog?" Mycroft grunted a little and adjusted his hips.
"Yes. Bloody ugly thing. Rottweiler-Mastiff cross. Oh God, you are so tight. Relax a bit will you?" Greg pushed in a little further against the resisting ring of muscle.
"And John Watson shot it? Yes just there. That's it. Harder."
"Yeah. Twice. Cool as you like. NNNNGGG."
"Hmm. I do wonder about Doctor Watson sometimes. Do you think him and Sherlock are...?" Mycroft made a gesture indicating their current position.
"John and your brother? Oh good God no!" Greg stopped his thrusting in order to laugh.
"Don't stop!"
"Sorry. No. Really no. John is very straight. Just completely useless with women. And I don't suppose Sherlock helps."
"No. He never does." A flicker of sadness clouded Mycroft's eyes as he looked up at Greg. "He has been a complication his entire life. His continual attention seeking. Tantrums. Outrageous behaviour and complete disregard for the rules. He drives me insane!"
"But he's still your brother."
"Exactly. Now can we please stop talking about Sherlock whilst you are inside me?"
"Your wish is my command." Greg pushed hard into the plush depths of Mycroft, feeling the heat building around him. Hearing Mycroft's soft, breathy moan as the first sticky drops of ejaculate were spread between them. Wondering if they really could stay like this forever. It worried Greg. Worried him deeply. Mycroft pretended not to care. Caring is not an advantage, he said it like a mantra. It would fool the rest of the world. But not Greg. He knew exactly how much Mycroft cared. He could feel his pain as if it was his own. He could feel his passion. He could feel everything.
And right then he could feel the tension and pent up frustration coiled deep within Mycroft's body. Sherlock was easy to blame, but Greg could not help but think it was his fault as well. Mycroft's life had been complicated enough before Greg took away the one tiny shred of comfort Mycroft held on to through all of his little brother's outrages. The simple fact that life wasn't forever. Everything ended. Only now it didn't.
Greg looked into the earnest face of his partner in eternity. Eyes narrowed, mouth slightly open. He looked so very young. And so very beautiful. His hair damp with sweat, pale skin glowing ethereally in the darkened room. Greg felt the burning pain flooding through his body. He saw the tears forming in the corners of Mycroft's near closed eyes.
"Come for me my love." Greg whispered into the younger man's ear and held him tightly as he felt Mycroft begin to spasm beneath him.
They lay very still. Almost as still as the corpses they should by rights have been. The soft scent of Chocolate filled up the space between them. But Greg could sense something was wrong.
"I'm worried about James Moriarty. I think he's going to try and kill Sherlock. And I'm worried that my brother is just stupid enough to let him." Mycroft inched closer and rested his head on Greg's chest as though he was trying to listen to the ghost of a heartbeat. Greg said nothing. He just held on tightly.