Mycroft Holmes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
brotherthine) wrote2018-09-04 11:40 pm
brotherthine) wrote2018-09-04 11:40 pm
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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When Gregory released his mouth, and murmured those words, Mycroft felt his own knees give a twitch. "... well I do have a rather nice silk one. With striped pajamas, I think we could have a respectable sleep-over."
A pleased hum left his lips, and he cupped Gregory's cheek. "You are utterly extraordinary yourself, you know." He kissed Gregory once more, before pulling away reluctantly. "We shall need pajamas before I embarrass myself by falling asleep on my feet before you."
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Greg let him go, following him back out into the bedroom.
"Is it okay if I just wear my briefs to bed?" he asked as he walked over to where he trousers and pants were laying on the floor.
"I'm not much of a pajama guy. Most I wear is sleep pants, usually because Addie might come in. I hate to say but when she's not in the house, I tend not to sleep in anything."
Shaking out the briefs, he pulled the towel off and tugged on the pants. Folding the towel back, he put it on one of the chairs to put up in the morning.
Exhaustion finally setting in, Greg crossed the room, climbing back into the nice soft bed, sighing in contentment as his head hit the pillow. Turning slightly, he watched Mycroft pull on his pajama shirt.
He couldn't believe how lucky he was. He didn't think he'd ever find anyone who was compatible with him. After all, a middle aged man who worked long, odd hours and had a quirky four year old that was his life, wasn't really relationship material.
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He himself went to his closet, picked out his softest pajamas, and then took his own towel back to the bathroom to hang up to dry. Lights went off as he went, and he resisted the urge to check his work phone. Instead, he stood at the foot of the bed, giving Gregory a long and thoughtful look, before coming up to his side. Crawling under the covers, he spooned Gregory from behind.
"I have decided that you are the little spoon, and I am the big spoon."
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Mycroft's arm slipped over his waist, and he caught it, linking his fingers with Mycroft's and tugging them upwards. He pressed soft kisses on each digit before tugging their joined hands back down to his chest.
"I am perfectly fine being a little spoon," he joked, a yawn cutting off anything else he wanted to say.
He wasn't sure if cuddly was a word that would be apt in this situation but he was feeling rather cuddly.
Greg sucked in a deep breath and released it, his eyes drooping shut. A small smirk twitched his lips upward as he wiggled his hips against Mycroft's crotch a bit, just to play.
"I think I could get used to this, love." he mumbled sleepily as he dropped off, the exhaustion of the day and the warmth and comfort of the moment overcoming him.