CHAPTER SEVEN

A/N: spoilers, warnings etc. in Chapter One. Mature themes in this one, folks. Be warned.

Mycroft resisted the urge to sigh. He was stuck in the Cabinet Office attempting to debrief the Prime Minister on the time he had spent in China. The tiresome man was being deliberately obtuse he was sure. He couldn't have made himself any plainer. Mycroft sneaked a glance at his pocket watch. Damn. He hoped it wasn't going to take much longer. Greg was waiting for him and the thought made Mycroft tingle with anticipation.

"I'm sorry, Mr Holmes. Am I keeping you from something?"

Mycroft gritted his teeth. Busted.

"Actually, I have a dinner engagement and I really don't want to be late for it." The PM looked surprised.

"Shall we press on?" urged Mycroft.

It took another half an hour before the PM called a halt, deciding to reconvene the next day. Mycroft was out of the office like a shot.

On the drive over Mycroft realised he was nervous, though he was sure he had no need to be. He knew that Greg had held back and had been infinitely patient with Mycroft's inexperience. He had learned a lot and hoped he would never stop learning.

Greg answered the door to his knock, put his arms around Mycroft and kissed him warmly.

"Welcome back," he said as he closed the front door behind them.

"I missed you so much," admitted Mycroft. Any doubts he had had about this melted away as he held Greg close to him. All he felt was security, warmth and, oh yes, desire. It flowered slowly as Greg kissed him again.

"Diner will be ruined," he felt bound to mention.

"Good point," said Greg, smiling." Go and sit in the living room, it'll be ready in five minutes."

Mycroft slipped off his coat and hung it on the rack as Greg disappeared into the kitchen. Mycroft had never been in Greg's living room before and he was curious. It was tastefully decorated in navy and cream with a matching carpet. Mycroft sat on a lumpy sofa admiring the art on the walls. Some were framed reproductions but there was a small cluster of pencil sketches on the far wall that were stunning in their execution.

Mycroft got up for a closer look and was surprised to see himself looking at, well, himself. Though he was quite sure he wasn't that handsome in real life. Next to him was a study of Sherlock and John so perfect it looked like they had been frozen in time, another showed Molly Hooper looking impossibly glamorous and a few of other people Mycroft didn't recognise. He was captivated. He turned to find Greg watching him, looking a bit shame-faced, his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"You drew these?" asked Mycroft.

"Yes, it's just a hobby."

"They're wonderful. Is there no end to your talents?"

"Maybe. Depends how you like my cooking. Dinner's ready."

They ate in the kitchen, sitting on mismatched chairs at a table covered in scratches but Mycroft couldn't have cared less. The food was lovely and the wine Greg had chosen complemented it perfectly.

They talked as they ate, the intimacy of the situation heightened Mycroft's awareness of being seduced.

Greg held his hand on the table as they finished the last of the wine, his strong fingers caressing the soft skin on the inside of Mycroft's wrist. Mycroft could feel himself blushing, hating the fair skin that made it so obvious.

"I want you," said Greg softly.

"Then let's not waste any more time," answered Mycroft, standing up and letting Greg lead the way.

Greg kissed him on every stair on the way to the bedroom and again, once inside, his hands busy unfastening and unbuttoning, exposing Mycroft's naked skin, laying him down on the bed while Greg slid out of his own clothes and climbed in beside him.

Greg propped himself up on one elbow as he surveyed Mycroft's lean frame and his creamy freckled skin flushed with his arousal.

"You're fucking beautiful," he sighed as he took Mycroft in his arms.

Mycroft hadn't known what to expect but his most fevered imaginings couldn't hold a candle to what he was seeing and feeling now, Greg's hands and mouth mapping every inch of his body, making him groan shamelessly at every newly-discovered erogenous zone.

Greg in his turn encouraging Mycroft to explore him, Mycroft taking pride at every evoked sigh and stifled moan.

Then Greg found their perfect rhythm, clenched hands and glistening skin, whispered obscenities and perfect friction which seems to last both a heartbeat and an eternity until Mycroft's hips lifted from the mattress as he climaxed.

"Oh, love," he cried. That was more than enough to fly Greg off the edge of the world, both of them breathless and sweat-soaked as they collapsed onto the pillows.

Greg pulled the duvet over them both as Mycroft settled into his arms as though they had been sharing a bed for years.

"You were incredible," he said to Greg. "I never dreamt it could be like that."

Greg just smiled and held him closer. "Will you stay?" asked Greg.

"Yes, of course. There isn't anywhere else I'd rather be."

Greg closed his eyes, already half-asleep but Mycroft lay awake, reliving every second of what had just happened between them.

Time moved on, carrying them with it but as long as he was awake, it was still tonight, here, in this bed, and that was enough.

TBC