Mycroft's tongue swirled carefully around the head of the spoon. He was determined to clean every last trace of the fluffy buttercream icing before slipping the sterling silver from his lips. As he lowered it back into the waiting slice of cake on his plate, he hummed contentedly, watching the moist chocolate come apart for him one morsel at a time.

Gregory's birthday cake had been a surprise snack meant much more for himself than the detective inspector. However, they'd barely had time to cut into it before his lover was called back to the Yard, ending their already-short celebration.

The look on Mycroft's face must've been an open book of disappointment at being denied his treat. Gregory had pecked him on the lips and told him he'd make it quick.

"You won't even know I've left," he'd promised. "I'll threaten to call Sherlock and they'll send me back here right quick." That had been nearly 20 minutes ago, so Mycroft had decided to sneak in just a taste in his lover's absence.

The second and third bites of the baked good were just as delectable as the first, and the bit of flower petal he caught on the down swipe of his spoon was a pleasant surprise to his tongue. And maybe when he finished that piece three bites later, he moved on to a second. What did it matter? There was enough to go around. Gregory would certainly have leftovers after Mycroft left that evening.

He couldn't deny the enticing corner piece that stared up at him with its tempting frosted flower on top. The whole bit of it fit into his mouth in one go and he nearly moaned aloud, closing his eyes and working his tongue under the sugary confection to spread the cream around his mouth.

There was still a small sampling of icing in the corners and crevices of his mouth when he brought up the next bite. Moist cake settled over his tongue and he pressed the spoon down as he drew it from his lips, dragging it with the perfect amount of pressure. It made a quiet pop as it came out.

"Fuck." The voice from the doorway was breathless, but it was far from displeased.

Mycroft's eyes popped open immediately and he set the spoon down with a clatter.

"Gregory. You're... back." The situation should have struck him as a touch more than mildly mortifying, but the look in the detective's eyes stirred something low in Mycroft's belly that was the opposite of humiliation.

"Should I leave the two of you alone?" Gregory asked without a hint of irony. He shucked his coat quickly and approached. The coat dropped to the ground-though it appeared that Gregory's intention had been to drape it over a kitchen chair-and his lover stood only inches away, observing.

"I-"

"No, I don't think I will. It's my birthday, after all." He grinned mischievously and picked up his own plate. The plump slice he'd cut himself before he'd been called away was still in tact. Two steps later, he was even closer to Mycroft, holding the cake between them.

Mycroft's heart hastened as Gregory's dexterous fingers wrapped around the spoon, never breaking eye contact.

The younger man was held in place by that gaze until he let his eyes flutter shut with a pleasant exhale, opening his mouth to the spoon that was pressed against his lips. A bit of frosting caught on his philtrum and once he had properly chewed and swallowed and savored everything that the small bite had had to offer, he let his tongue dart out to clean his lips.

"Fuck, Mycroft." Gregory's voice was deeper, his body inching closer, and when the next spoonful was introduced to his lips, Mycroft accepted it willingly. His lips parted and he purposely, teasingly snaked out his tongue to caress the bottom of the spoon. The flash of pink was wholly intended to ensure his captive audience remained such.

"I think that's the hottest thing I've seen this decade," Gregory rasped.

Mycroft smirked around his mouthful and swallowed. He made a show of the pleasured sigh he released just before taking the next bite offered to him. The plate was starting to dig into his torso where Gregory was straining to get their bodies closer while still maintaining the perfect view. It wasn't hard to imagine how this would look to an outside observer-two men, standing in a kitchen in full suits slowly getting soiled with chocolate crumbs. It was mad.

And staggeringly arousing.

He watched with interest as his partner cut into the slice again with the edge of the spoon. When he held Gregory's gaze, tentatively licking at the frosting on this scoop, the detective bit his own lip and his eyes fluttered. It was only a few short moments and perhaps one more teasing flicker of his tongue before Mycroft found himself being pushed into a sitting position on the rickety kitchen table with Gregory pressed between his legs.

The moan that escaped him when their groins made contact had a distinct chocolate flavor. His eyes fell shut and he licked his lips before biting down on the bottom and pressing his hips forward in the same instance.

"I was wrong." It was more of a wheeze than a coherent sentence, but Mycroft understood Gregory's bed-voice as well as any. "Thatwas the hottest thing I've seen this decade."

There was only one bite left on the plate when Mycroft opened his eyes again moments later. This time, Gregory locked eyes with him and raised the spoon to his own mouth. Finally, finally Mycroft could understand the appeal-it was a gorgeous sight to see his lover's lips wrap around the chocolaty end of the spoon before slipping it further into his mouth until the whole bite was engulfed. Their hips were rutting together unconsciously, forgotten almost entirely outside of the immediate pleasure the friction brought. Mycroft's right leg wrapped itself around Gregory's hip, pressing the heel of his dress shoe harshly into the other man's buttock.

As the detective pulled the spoon from his lips, Mycroft's own parted in a breathy invitation. Almost too quickly, Gregory's mouth was on his, pressing his buttercream-and-chocolate laced tongue into his mouth and seeking an identical flavor. Their lips were sticky and smooth at the same time; hot and moist like a fresh treat.

There was a distinct clatter as Gregory dropped the dish and spoon onto the table. A heartbeat later, he had grabbed two handfuls of his lover's arse and pulled him forward. Neither of them had ever been particularly pushy for dominance, but it was clear in this instance that Gregory wanted to lead.

Mycroft was certainly going to let him, and he made this fact perfectly clear by wrapping his other leg around Gregory, slotting their bodies even more closely together.

"Fuck, Mycroft," Gregory gasped before sealing their lips together once more.

Mycroft arched his back and found the unsteady rhythm in his partner's dry thrusts. The table rocked with them, but his weight collapsing the thing never once crossed his mind as a serious worry. His concern was entirely about keeping a grip on Gregory's hips and shoulders, getting him closer, pulling him in as if he could bring the man through two layers of cloth, straight into his own heated skin.

The friction of his trousers and pants very nearly threatened to be too much, bordering on uncomfortable as their frotting continued. Their mutually labored breathing, though, indicated that this would likely be over soon. They were both too close to stop and fumble with belt buckles and waistbands. Couldn't be bothered. It was immediate release they were after-there was time for the rest later.

"Fuck," Gregory bit out. Neither of them cared that this seemed to be the only word in his vocabulary. His lips were rougher now and his teeth kept grazing Mycroft's lower lip, but the heat of their kisses was simply fueling their tryst further. The thrusting of his hips lost any focus they'd had before. Both of them were on the edge, and when Gregory let his head fall back to fight for air, Mycroft took the opportunity to lean forward and warmly, lovingly sink his teeth into the cream-colored flesh of his lover's neck.

That was apparently all either of them needed, one right after the other. Neither knew who went first. All that mattered was that their open mouths were crushed together again, barely apart long enough to pant through the tremors wracking both their bodies.

When their breathing started to regulate moments later, the pair untangled themselves and surveyed the situation with light amusement.

"I never thought I'd want to be a slice of birthday cake," Gregory said, rubbing at his neck and adjusting his trousers at the waist. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Mycroft's, sharing his unsteady breaths.

"Oh, I don't know that I'd enjoy you if you were," Mycroft replied. He put his hands on the other man's shoulders and eased him back so he could push off the table.

The silver-haired birthday boy cocked an eyebrow at him.

"You can really only enjoy a slice of cake once," he reasoned, reaching and slowly unfastening Gregory's tie with practiced fingers. "However, I can take you down the hall and enjoy you whenever I please." He gave the silk a slight tug and it slithered away into his hand.

Gregory's eyes darkened and he licked his lips. He could still taste the lingering chocolate on his tongue. "Can't argue with Holmesian logic." He smirked. "Though I'm certain I'm never going to let you eat anything in this flat from anything but a spoon ever again."

Mycroft's mouth curled innocently before he turned toward the bedroom. He had silently wrapped the tie around one of his wrists and it dangled teasingly from the sleeve of his suit jacket as he walked away.

Gregory decided to bring the spoon and a fat slice of cake-the one with the largest sugar flower-just in case.