Mycroft's lips twitched up at the corners once more, as he took up his glass of wine, "Yes, I am well aware. As for the other times ... you look downright scruffy, in a way that rather makes me want to rub my cheek against your stubble. Something I will only admit to, now."

Then he falls silent, long fingers curved around the wine glass as Greg basically ... pours out the fact that he does not want a one-night stand, or a two-night stand, or even a few weeks of pleasant distraction. He is interested in the long term, whatever that means. He likes Mycroft, a great deal apparently, and he wants Mycroft to feature in domestic fantasies. Which will include candlelit dinners, the two of them alone after a long day together, and mixed in with that, the bright light of Gregory's life, Adalaide.

He wants Mycroft as part of his world, if Mycroft really wanted to go back to the fairy tale metaphor Gregory had started.

So, he exhaled, slowly, and cleared his throat as he rose, "One thing that I have always admired about you, Gregory, is your blatant honesty with me. I think, from the moment that you called Sherlock a 'wanker' that whatever you said, you meant." He arched an eyebrow, a quiet smile on his lips, "...So. If I ... and domestic bliss, is what you desire ...then I should probably get the security paperwork from the other room so you can officially become part of my life."