"Christ yes," Greg groaned, his eyes closing for just a moment ad the absolute rightness of it all. Slowly, they opened and he was gazing into blue eyes the color of glaciers.

With a shaky hand Greg stroked Mycroft's cheek, feeling light stubble and wondering for a brief moment what he would look like with a beard.

Then he was gone and Greg missed the weight on him. Not heavy just...firm, comforting. It spoke of promise.

He drug a shaking hand through his hair and sat up. Looking up, he saw a bare chested Mycroft with his hand held out to him. The image was glorious.

Taking the hand, he stood up.