Mycroft hummed in the back of his throat, pleased by those clever fingers starting on the waistcoat. They had gotten rather far the last time before Gregory had to stop for a footstep on a creaky floorboard.

Not tonight. Save World War III, Mycroft Holmes was going to have this delicious man, one way or another. He pushed his hands up to get Gregory out of his jacket, pushing the hands away from him for a moment before letting Gregory work on the buttons once more. His mouth parted, willingly, around that delicate press of tongue against his teeth.