brotherthine | For Mousie - Anticipation of Pleasure

For Mousie - Anticipation of Pleasure

Mycroft had arranged entire countries over the course of a few days, but he never felt the thrill of pleasure and anticipation that came from clearing his Tuesday evening to meet with Gregory Lestrade. He had done a solid eight hours of work on Sunday, going through emails, red-lettering reports, writing five of his own. Monday he went in and told Anthea precisely what he needed over the next forty-eight hours, and like the miracle that she was, she made sure his schedule ran like clock-work.

With sandwiches, salad, tea and a review on the Government's policy for romantic engagements and privacy disclaimers, no less. Not to mention not one, but two cigarette breaks.

He bought her a new holster for her slinky-dress .22, and made sure she had tickets to the ballet that she had been dying to see. It was the very least he could do considering he was getting precisely what he wanted.

...well, mostly what he wanted. Tuesday night was rolling around towards 8 pm, and he was slowly considering calling in favors to have President Donald Trump and his entire staff of idiots bombed out of existence by some very disgruntled Canadians. Instead, he checked the timer on his lasagna, made sure that his salad was freshly cut, and then proceeded to give a Trump a blistering review of his entire life than left everyone in the Oval Office silent for some time, before someone croaked, 'You can't possibly know all that -'

Which was the point that Mycroft sucked in a breath, heard the ring of the doorbell and went to pull open the door and gesture Gregory inside without a backwards glance. It was unfortunate, but all of his focus now had to go into the next two minutes so he could finish this deal and have the rest of his evening.

"I could so possibly. I could possibly ruin every last one of you sniveling idiots with a stroke of my pen and my whisper in the ear of any of the many, many American publications. I know it all, gentlemen and ladies. I know about the bought sex. I know about the wire transfers. I most definitely know about the abortions that would politically cripple all of you within your own party. I also know that the last time a fascist leader tried to pull this sort of threat to the British Government, the British Government did not budge an inch. Neither, gentlemen, will I. Sign the agreement. Smile for the cameras. Or be prepared to be on the front of every newspaper in the world, and in jail within the next eighteen months. Good. Night."

He clicked off his phone, and exhaled, rubbing one hand over his face. "My apologies - the new American President is unfortunately as thick as a post. I also meant to go and put my suit coat back on from the kitchen but that did not occur either."

So here he was in his favorite dark grey suit - or at least most of it. Comfortable trousers, deep blue tie, and he had at least shaven today. Otherwise, he knew he still had his persona of the British Government up and running, so he took another breath so he could finally look properly at Gregory, and soak in the other man's charm and warmth, as well as peer to see what the other man was flaunting with his broad shoulders.

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"You could show me around the rest of this...castle." He looked around the kitchen, his hand tightening around Mycroft's before turning back to him with a smile.

"Show me your favorite rooms."

Suddenly his eyes widened and he grimaced a little.

"I, uh, hope you don't think this presumptuous, but I might have an overnight bag in the car. I didn't want to bring it in in case you thought I was being cocky, but seeing dessert is possibly on the menu, should I...bring it in?"

"It is hardly a 'castle', Gregory." Mycroft admonished with a faint smirk, as he took Gregory's hand in his. Squeezed his fingers, and then let out a laugh at Gregory's confession.

"Yes, I think it would be appropriate, considering the fact that I am going to take you to bed and not let you leave until tomorrow morning." He smirked, ice-blue eyes glinting. "Shall we walk out together? Enjoy the evening air?"

Greg smiled at the small squeeze of hands, grinned wider at tonight's plans.

"Sounds good." He dug into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. "I parked just by the front door, if that's all right."

He followed Mycroft outside, looking up at the night sky and how clear it was as they walked over to his car.

"You can see for miles out here." he said, opening his back seat and pulling out an overnight bag. "Not like Town where the lights block out all of the stars. It gorgeous."

Shouldering the bag, he locked up the door and leaned against Mycroft, his shoulder bumping his. "Your place really is great Mycroft. I see why you like it out here."

"Perfectly acceptable." It would be easier for the agents on patrol to keep an eye on it, after all. Breathed in the night air, felt it cleanse his mind, body, and soul. The solitude was wondrous for him, and he was pleased Gregory liked it.

He tangled their hands back together, probably to the amusement of his security detail, his lips curving at the corners. "I'm pleased you like it. I hope you and Adalaide will find many occasions to visit me out here. I would rather like to teach her, and you, more about astronomy."

"Addy would love it out here." Greg mused. "Large open space to run around, the woods over there to hide in and dig around."

He smiled, squeezing Mycroft's hand. "She would live outdoors if her Mum and I let her. Rebekah not so much because, she's a girl and apparently that means she needs to be clean and tidy at all times. I let her run but my garden out back is tiny so there's not much place to run."

He looked up at the sky again, tracing the stars with his gaze.
"Enough," he seemed to say to himself. When he looked back to Mycroft, his expression was clear of the previous melancholy.

"Want to keep walking of do we want to head back into the house." he asked with a little waggle of his eyebrows.

He could see that, so clearly. Adalaide running around in this large, grassy slope, just letting herself go wild chasing fireflies in the late evening. He was determined to make that a reality. Just to chase the pensive look out of Gregory's eyes and to stick something to Rebekah.

"Back in the house." He said immediately, before he smirked and tugged Gregory behind him with the bag.

Greg followed behind him with a smile, quietly walking back into the house, a little amused that Mycroft was tugging him along like an errant child. As if he wouldn't happily follow wherever Mycroft led tonight.

"So," he asked, as he hitched the bag a little as they walked back into the house and Mycroft re-engaged the security settings. "Which favorite room are you going to show me first?"

Well honestly, he wanted to get inside where the security cameras and people would not be quietly grinning behind their cups of espresso. He wanted this time, this rare moment of solitude ... to be just the man he had decided he wanted to be in his life, and himself. It was exceedingly rare, when Mycroft was selfish. He was going to soak it for every bit that he could get.

"Ah, that is quite easy." He smiled, and now his gait slowed, he enjoyed Gregory's fingers around his, as theyw walked down the black and white marble hallway to the library. Here, he had his digital projector set up for movies, along with his desk, and thousands upon thousands of books lined up on shelves. There was the giant fireplace he liked to sit at, sipping his scotch and just letting his mind wander, or reading something with a cup of tea.

It was clear that unlike the kitchen, this is where Mycroft spent most of his time when he was here.

"Holy..."

Dropping his bag by the side of the door, Greg stepped in, his grip on Mycroft's hand loosening as he walked to the middle of the large room to look around.

"This is amazing! Is this an actual theater and library?"

Looking his fill at the projector, the movies, the books, he finally turned and looked back at Mycroft.

"Okay, I know why this is your favorite room. It's amazing."
He pointed towards a couch by the large fireplace.

"In the winter, just letting you know right now, that's where you'll probably find me. Sprawled out, probably watching the match on my mobile." He grinned. "Or a book. Books are good too."

Mycroft's lips curved up around the corners as Gregory looked around with absolute glee and happiness. He nodded his head slowly at statement. "Also my office, when I want to do work at home."

His smile curving up on the sides.

"Thank you. I have put a lot of time and love into this particular room." He paused, then let his lips curve up on the corners. "As long as you are willing to share the space with me."

He walked to the couch and dropped down into it.

"Oh my God, is this leather? Just leave me here, I'm want to merge with this couch."

Sprawling out on it, he kicked off his shoes and put his feet up.
With a grin, he sat up and leaned over the back of the couch, grinning towards Mycroft.

"Yep, just enough room. You prefer my head in your lap or my feet?"

Mycroft's smile widened as Gregory dropped on the sofa, and he felt himself pulled towards it, like a piece of metal towards a magnet.

"It is absolutely leather, and if I am going to have a choice, I would much rather your head in my lap." He thinks about it, "Unless you need a foot massage, and I believe I can make an agreement to that."

"I would never ask for a foot massage. Nobody should be subject to my feet after a busy day. Half the time I feel sorry got the tub when I soak them."

Grinning, he sat up and patted the seat of the couch beside him.

"Come on over and we can figure out how this is going to work. Although, I can't guarantee quiet if you're reading, especially if Chelsea scores."

"Well, then we shall sort ourselves out appropriately so your feet are out of the proverbial equation."

Mycroft came over to the sofa and dropped himself into the seat right next to Gregory with grace.

"I have survived Sherlock - I have faith I can survive Chelsea as well."

The couch was large enough that a man could lie on it comfortably. Two, if they were close.

Greg turned, his knee on the couch, facing towards Mycroft, his arm resting over the back of the couch, openly issuing a silent invitation.

"Possibly, but you don't get rewarded with kisses if Sherlock scores."

Mycroft tipped his head to the side, before he slipped closer to the other man, into the curve of that arm on the back of the couch.

"That is true - which makes it even more irresistible to hear you yelling about a win."

He leaned across the distance, lowering his voice. "So tell me, how did Chelsea do this week?"

Chelsea did horribly this week, Straight zero score and this weekend's game against Liverpool wasn't shaping up to be a good one either. All of this Mycroft would know after three keystrokes to his phone.
Not that he was going to say any of that. He wasn't stupid.

"Smashing actually," he answered instead, leaning closer to Mycroft, his own voice lowering. "Wins all around. Celebrations are definitely in order."

His mouth met Mycroft's finally and he relaxed into the kiss. this is what he'd been waiting for since Mycroft had left his flat two days ago. The continuation of this.

No interruptions,

No unforeseen issues,

Just them.

Mycroft hummed with pleasure - he had his doubts that Chelsea had done so well with the slight hitch in Gregory's gaze - but if the other man was going to use it as an excuse to kiss him? Then Mycroft would gladly take the bait. He pressed his mouth back against Gregory's, sweeping his hand up to trace Gregory's jaw, then slide to his shoulder to pull the other man in.

Doors locked, security taken care of, bag inside and papers signed. Mycroft felt like he had earned himself this this evening. Feeding the craving that was Gregory Lestrade.

This was just...

He couldn't help but sigh in contentment when he first felt Mycroft reciprocate, a sign that quickly turned into a soft moan when Mycroft's hand slid across his jaw and down to his shoulder. Then he was being pulled closer.

Greg's mind went blissfully blank. A hand went immediately down to that waist coat once more, that piece of fabric that tormented him, mocked his this past weekend.

Once more starting from the bottom buttons, he used both hands this time to unbutton that cursed waistcoat. He tilted his head, angling the kiss so he could go deeper, have better access to slide his tongue across his lips, asking for entry.

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.

He was more than happy to shed his jacket easier movement, and it was one less thing hindering the ultimate goal tonight.

Waistcoat unbuttoned, Greg slid his palms underneath, against the warm cotton button down to slip the waistcoat from his shoulders, letting it fall just behind him.

Mycroft's mouth opened to his and he plunged boldly, taking liberties, chasing and retreating, tasting. His hands reached for the tie, carefully loosening the knot, his groans muffled as he felt hands tugging his shirt from his trousers, then warm palms on his skin.

He wanted more, so close to that point of no return they almost reached blindly two days prior.

He could spend hours kissing this man. Would happily too, but not tonight.
Tonight he wanted more.

Tugging at Mycroft's loosened and askew tie, he leaned back, lowering himself on the couch and pulling Mycroft with him, keeping him close so he didn't have to leave that mouth that was driving him mad. Wanted the weight, the realness of them together right now. A confirmation that they were here, that this was on.

Mycroft would have liked to say he had better control of himself than he did at that moment, but Gregory undid him the moment he wrapped his fingers around that tie and started to pull Mycroft atop him. He didn't protest, simply let his face flush, a noise rather like a moam groan low in his throat, and he shifted his position so he was more or less straddling the other man.

Long fingers started around to Gregory's front, to that solid chest so buttons, all the buttons, could be loosened, freed from buttonholes so he could return to where he was all that time ago. To bare skin on bare skin, while he let Gregory have his way with his mouth, taking only sweet revenge by sucking Gregory's tongue back inside of his own mouth anew.

The weight of him felt amazing. Greg sighed into his mouth, his hands finally succeeding in unbuttoning the last of the buttons on his shirt, sliding his hand up and over now bare flesh, pulling the shirt off as his palms slid over warm skin.

He was never so glad that Mycroft hadn't rebuttoned his cuffs, making it easier to slide the shirt completely from his body.

Breaking from their kiss, he gasped out a breath before pressing his lips to Mycroft's neck, his tongue slipping out to lap at him as he rand his hands back up his back.

"Christ," he whispered into his neck. "You feel so damn good."

Receptive, is the first word that comes to Mycroft's mind, as Gregory moves his hands greedily over Mycroft's bared skin, moaning into his parted mouth. He just managed to get Gregory out of his shirt before they were both lying on the sofa, Mycroft holding himself just up by his elbows.

That particular comment gets Mycroft to lift his hips slightly, so he can press his leg between Gregory's, a reward for being so very, very charming.

He nipped at Gregory's chin, a purr rolling out, "I must return the compliment. You are absolutely divine."

His hips cant upward at the pressure of Mycroft's leg between his own, his own pressure in his trousers was growing, the desperation to relieve a bit of it.

He knew how he was, emotions and need reigned over his sexual encounters and soon talking wouldn't be enough, messing about on the couch wouldn't be enough, not when he understood that was a very real and definite end to this dance they were doing.

His mouth trailed a line down to the part where his neck met his shoulders, nipping gently and sucking. Hands slid back up his bare chest, thumbs brushing up his ribs.

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