Mycroft felt little self-conscious every time Greg held his hand under the table. Them dating wasn't a secret in the least, but they hadn't exactly been shouting it from the rooftops either. Two boys; one of them the kind and carefree captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, the other a high-born Slytherin, top of his class and aspiring government official? People were bound to talk.

Greg held Mycroft's hand under the table either way, and Mycroft's fingers intertwined with his every time.

Small kisses on the cheek were exchanged too, and noses rubbed and arms touched briefly when walking along each other, but everything between Greg and Mycroft was so public, it seemed even talking had been banned from them.

Neither had mentioned Mycroft's weight since the talk they had on the field. Mycroft still contained himself at every meal, looking for any sign of disapproval on his partner's eyes. So many years of dieting had taken their toll.

-Would you stop?

They had been studying the entire morning, exams were near and the pressure had started to build up. Always turning to food for comfort, Mycroft had ordered breakfast, and a massive one by some standards, but kept moving the food around, taking a bite every now and then, looking at it with half concealed yearning.

-I'm not doing anything.

-Exactly. Your food is getting cold, why aren't you eating?

Mycroft pursed his lips in scorn.

-Do you really have to ask, Gregory?

-Well, if you ordered it I'm guessing it was because you were hungry, so, yes, I'll ask again: why aren't you eating?

Greg interpreted Mycroft's silence as a sign to keep talking.

-Look, we've been over this. You are healthy, believe it or not. Your mood has improved tons since you are off that god-awful diet, and, if you'd allow me to say, well… you look bloody fantastic!

Mycroft's head actually cocked in surprise.

-If you really need to know, you look more than fantastic, Mycroft.

He eyed his partner with masked but unmistakable hunger in his eyes.

Mycroft realized. The red on Greg's cheeks, the general language of his body was saying more than he had in fact dared; he wasn't just attracted by Mycroft, he was attracted to Mycroft's body type. Mycroft's lips curved into an amused smile. He had never noticed before, how curious. Many things started to fall into place at that sudden revelation.

-I didn't know you felt so strongly about my physique. Very strongly indeed, if I'm not mistaken.

Greg exhaled, exasperated. He ran a swift hand through his hair.

-Fine, fine! You and your marvelous deductive skills will never let me be, huh?

-I just assumed you went more for the athletic type. Silly me.

Greg took a deep breath as Mycroft simply stared inquisitively.

-I never said anything before because, well… we weren't dating and it could have been weird; one does not tell their friends they think they're hot, right?

Mycroft mentally reviewed the times he had wished to tell Greg exactly that. No, one keeps those words inside, deep inside one's chest, hoping one day they'd magically disappear.

-And also because I knew it was a touchy subject for you. Look, the last thing I wanted to do was hurt your feelings. If what you wanted was to lose weight, hey, anything to make you happy.

-And right now?

-Right now I want whatever you want. I'll always will.

Mycroft rolled his eyes too dramatically, even for him.

-You've been reading too much poetry again. What is it that you really want, Gregory?

Mycroft's seemed to have emphasized each single word of his question. His gaze was so intense, Greg wasn't so sure he was asking for comforting words anymore. He wanted the truth, and when Mycroft wanted the truth, God helped the poor fool who didn't comply.

Fine, if that's what he wanted.

Greg didn't even look around. He didn't care who saw. His lips all but collided with the ones of a very surprised Mycroft Holmes. The kiss was by far the most intense they had shared so far.

Both his hands found their way to Mycroft's middle before he was able to protest. Not that he would. Greg's whispered in his ear.

-I want you to be able to eat whatever you want, to savor every meal, to enjoy every bite. I want to see that smile on your face again when you know something delicious is coming your way. And I want…

His fingers had managed to introduce themselves in the tight space between Mycroft's trousers and his spilling belly. He squeezed the soft fat gently.

-I want you to embrace every pound that brings. I know I will.

A second later Greg was his calm and gentle Hufflepuff self all over again. He sat back on his seat, crossed his arms around his chest, and stared at Mycroft as if nothing had happened. Mycroft was breathing in huffs.

He had always known he enjoyed food in a special way; more than his parents, more than Sherlock, more that every single kid he had met in school. A little too much, according to no one who mattered. He ate because it was the most sensuous bliss he could possibly imagine. Yes, eating had always been an unearthly pleasure for him, but having Gregory spell it out in his ears in such a way was a whole different experience. The proposal all but pleased him; being able to eat whatever he wanted, feeling full all the time, and all that knowing his partner was enjoying it as much as he was. No judgment, no worries about his weight. He had never felt such a rush; his whole body ached for it.

Mycroft composed himself, shifting in his seat to ease the pressure in his trousers. He smiled. Under Greg's astonished stare, he finished his breakfast to the last bite. He then proceeded to focus his attention back on his books.

- Greg, would you call the elves? It's going to be a long morning and we don't have any more food.

With an unusually big smile, Greg complied.