If you do not stop getting orgasmic over food, I cannot be held responsible for my actions. Was Mycroft's wry, internal response. Still, he was pleased it had turned out well enough that Gregory was in fact excited about eating it. He paused as he handled the hot tray of lasagna out into the dining room -- feeling a touch of pink touch his ears at the comment.

Still, he couldn't help himself, as he drawled, "Oh really? Is this some sort of kink, Gregory? Should I be wearing an apron and pearls?" He smirked as he put the lasagna down where it could properly cool, and put himself into his chair. He hadn't bothered to put his suit coat back on. Might as well keep it from getting possibly splattered.

He glanced over the candlelight at Gregory, and decided some quid pro quo was probably in order. One ... embarrassingly honest statement for another. "You look very handsome, if I have not mentioned it. I rather like you, cleaned up."