Author's Note: The smut as promised. For those of you who stuck with me, you have my eternal thanks.
Hours later (how many he really couldn't tell), Mycroft drifted awake to the feel of a warm body wrapped around his. Greg pressed lazy, open-mouthed kisses along his shoulders and neck, nuzzling at the sensitive spot behind his ear.
Greg's voice was husky from sleep. "Hi. Sleep well?"
Mycroft turned over to look into his eyes, heavy-lidded with contentment, his face slack with relaxation. He smiled softly. "I did. You?"
"You bet." A grin appeared. "I could get used to waking up like this. With you in my arms."
"I admit this is nice. Infinitely better than waking up alone," Mycroft confessed with a blush.
"Well, perhaps we should make this a regular occurrence."
Mycroft pressed a gentle kiss to Greg's lips, pleased to feel him lean into the embrace. "I think that could be a definite possibility."
"You don't think that's a little presumptive, considering we haven't really had sex yet? Properly, I mean." The glimmer in Greg's eyes caused something to swell in his chest, something that made this feel so very right. Natural. Effortless. Something that made him think that they were both exactly where they belonged.
He reached out to stroke Greg's cheek, trailing his fingers along his skin, tracing every line and feature, committing them to memory. "I think that there's something about you, Gregory Lestrade, which makes me feel wonderful. I like that feeling, and I want it for as long as possible. And I want very much to explore all the possibilities of this relationship." Greg blinked and focused.
"You mean that?"
"I do. I want to be with you. I want to learn all about you. I have discovered a deep and abiding affection for you. One that I don't think will dissipate over time. I want to see where this takes us. If you're willing, that is."
Greg's breath caught and his lashes fluttered, and the vulnerable flash that danced across his face made him smile. He was so beautiful. So heartbreakingly beautiful.
"You romantic," Greg said breathlessly, kissing him tenderly. "When you put it like that, how can I refuse?"
"Well, you could say no," Mycroft laughed, "But then there's always Newcastle."
Greg bit back a sharp laugh of his own. "I see you're not above using threats to get your way. I should have expected nothing less from the man behind the curtain."
He pulled Greg close and kissed him again, savoring the taste of him. "We have our ways. Everyone has their trigger," he said huskily, his hand creeping down to grasp Greg's prominent erection. "The trick is knowing where to apply the most pressure."
His hand curled experimentally and Greg moaned loudly.
Mycroft pulled back with a start. "I'm sorry—"
"Don't." A finger shushed him and Greg's eyes narrowed. "Don't ever be sorry. Don't ever feel like you can't touch me. I want you to. You can touch me however you like. Don't ever feel like you can't explore my body." His hands reached for Mycroft beneath the sheets. "I plan on doing some extensive exploring of my own now that I've got you right where I want you."
"And where is that?"
"Naked. In bed. With me." His hand came up to curl around his neck and bring him down to Greg's lips.
Greg sucked in a breath at the soft sound of his name. "I'm at my absolute limit, Mycroft, with the way you say my name, and unless you've changed your mind, I should let you know that I intend to have my wicked way with you."
The possessive strength in that voice went straight to Mycroft's groin, making him shudder from head to toe.
And before he even had a chance to respond, he felt Greg's teeth nibbling at his earlobe. Good Lord, how exactly does the man seem to know every single one of his sensitive spots when even he wasn't aware of them all? Another moan escaped him and he involuntarily bucked his hips. Mycroft moved again to gain more friction, but a firm hand to his hip stilled him.
"Oh, no, Mycroft, not yet," Greg's voice purred in his ear. "This is not going to be a quick round of 'King of the Mountain'. I want to take my time. I want to explore every single inch of your body and find all the places that will break you. I want you speechless with desire, completely unraveled with need and watch you come apart in my arms."
Mycroft wanted to mumble that if he kept talking like that, they wouldn't even get to 'King of the Mountain', but he lost his voice as a hot, wet tongue left a trail of small, quick licks from the oh-God-yes spot behind his ear all the way down to where neck met shoulder. It proceeded to swirl around with dizzying little circles, accompanied by sucking lips.
He moaned softly, arching into the caress, and Greg's hands moved to roam lightly over his body. Feathery touches of the pads of his fingers slid knowingly over his skin, squeezing and kneading, working the flesh, slowly awakening every nerve ending they passed. His body began to hum as the blood rushed through his limbs, thrumming in a cadence that echoed in his ears. It was as if he came to life and then was slowly being drugged, this alternation of heady feeling.
Greg's mouth followed his hands, descending on a delicious downward spiral of lips and tongue, finding the hard nubs of nipples, exploiting them and the needy, keening sound that escaped him. The desperate gasps sounded wanton to his ears and he flushed pink and turned his face away.
Greg chuckled against his chest. "Don't be embarrassed. I want to hear you. I love the sound of your voice." He punctuated the statement with a long swipe of the tongue down the middle of his chest, moving dangerously lower to territory that was alive and aching with want. The moist slide of heat stopped only to cover his navel in a loud, erotic kiss, and Greg latched on with a hard pull of his mouth. The sensation made Mycroft shout in a half-wail, half-moan as Greg sucked, darting his tongue in a wicked parody of sex that made his eyes roll back and see stars.
There was so much he wanted to say, to express. Words, beautifully formed, to let Greg know exactly what he was feeling, what he wanted. The haze that crept into his brain took over as Greg worked his body, and all he could manage was a string of unintelligible sounds, broken words, and ragged sighs. Greg took it all in stride, cooing softly, murmuring words of encouragement, or endearment, it was difficult to say, since his mind was mostly occupied with the feel of Greg's pointed tongue and the knowledge that it was about to go lower at any moment. Lower was good. Lower was very, very good.
He couldn't help but stifle the groan that burst forth, biting down hard on his knuckles to muffle the sound, as Greg's hand reached for his erection.
"No," Greg whispered roughly, his grip firm on the base of Mycroft's cock, breath playing at the tip, moist and hot, and so damned close, but not close enough. "I told you, I want to hear you. I want to hear how I make you moan, make you scream. I want to hear my name fall from your lips. When all you can think is 'Greg' as you come in my mouth."
Mycroft's hand fell away from his face, dropping lightly onto Greg's head. Fingers curled into the short, silver locks and Greg moaned in rapt approval. Hot, wet heat surrounded him and he threw his head back, the deep growl erupting from his throat for Greg's ears alone.
Nothing could have prepared him for the onslaught of sensory information that coursed through his body. The feeling started at his cock and cascaded outward like the rolling tide, covering every part of him, the ebb and flow of pleasure so relentless, it broke upon him like waves against the breakers. Greg's tongue swirled and licked slowly, taking his time, moving carelessly over his flesh as if it weren't, in fact, driving him completely mad. Greg grunted and shifted, uncomfortable, and he let go and moved from the bed.
Mycroft bit back a small, confused cry and opened his eyes to see his lover, focused and fearsome, panting heavily.
"Not good," he said between breaths. "Fucks up my back like that. Not as young as I used to be." Greg's strong hand grabbed for his ankle and yanked, pulling Mycroft to the edge of the bed in one swift move. The surprised yelp was cut off and replaced with a deep moan as Greg dropped to his knees and forced Mycroft's thighs open wide with hands like steel, swallowing him in one long pass.
Mycroft nearly came off the bed as his hips bucked into Greg's hot mouth and his hands curled into the sheets, digging in for all he was worth. He could see Greg's talented lips curve into a smile around the length of his cock. Gorgeous. The man was bloody gorgeous. Greg's fingers tightened as they gripped harder, holding him still while his mouth bobbed up and down, the slow, heated slide making every muscle clench in reaction. He gasped as Greg's mouth popped off his cock and he buried his face in the juncture of his thighs, nuzzling the base and mouthing his balls with lazy interest.
"Oh, God, Greg!" he moaned, his head falling back against the mattress.
Greg's hot breath stuttered on his flesh as he chuckled. "Much better this way." He rolled his tongue around Mycroft's sac, sucking and nibbling gently. "Now I can get to every part of you." He pushed Mycroft's thighs further apart and drew in a forceful breath before diving in again. "Fuck, Mycroft, I could spend the rest of my life between your legs and die a happy man."
"That makes two of us," Mycroft panted. "Don't stop, Greg." His bottom lip caught between his teeth and all sense of self-control vanished. "Please don't stop. Please," he whined, suddenly not caring how desperate it sounded. All he knew was that he wanted Greg's mouth on his cock again and for those fingers to clutch harder, to leave marks that would still be there by morning. Marks that would remind him of just how much he needed this.
Thank God Greg was obliging, because his mouth returned its attention to Mycroft's cock, enveloping him in the satiny heat, the tiny flicks of his tongue over the head driving him to distraction. He felt the strong grip of Greg's hand join in, twisting and stroking along the length, providing more friction than he thought he could take.
Greg's mouth was hot as sin as he licked at the slit and then back around the entire head of Mycroft's cock. He had to reach for Greg's other hand, now on his stomach, and clasp it in a white-knuckled grip as the tip of Greg's tongue danced over the spot just beneath and the head. Greg returned the squeeze.
Lick, stroke, suck, twist. Lick, stroke, suck, twist. It was a maddening rhythm, one designed to draw out every moan and gasp he had. It worked to perfection. Mouth and fingers working together pressing all the right keys, plucking all the right strings. God, Greg was playing him like an instrument and Mycroft forgot to breathe.
"Greg!" was all he could choke out. He was inches away from orgasm. He could taste it.
The hand on Mycroft's stomach was soothing even his skin prickled with heat beneath it. "I want to hear you, Mycroft," Greg said with a firm stroke of his cock from root to tip. "I want to watch you come hard, and I want to hear you through every moment of it."
"Oh, please! Christ, Greg! Fuck! Yes! Fuck, Greg!" Mycroft let all the words and grunts and pants and groans that had been circling his brain finally fall out of his mouth just like Greg wanted. Greg's mouth and hand moved quicker and tighter around his cock in response, that sinful tongue undulating like a snake along the underside. Greg hummed low and satisfied along the length and he shattered.
Mycroft felt his body curve in on itself, every muscle in his body contracting en masse. He was still holding Greg's hand in a death grip, screaming. Flashes of light and color danced behind his eyes illuminating the black. He gasped Greg's name once more and erupted into Greg's mouth.
He was still twitching as Greg licked him clean, a deep purr rumbling from his lips. Mycroft felt Greg stand and climb back onto the bed next to him, moving up and over to press warm, wet, lazy kisses (that were mostly tongue) all over Mycroft's still quaking torso.
"Th-that was amazing," Mycroft stammered, looking down at Greg. "I've never-"
"Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground," Greg breathed into Mycroft's belly.
"13th century Persian love poems? You Renaissance man. And here you said I was the romantic," Mycroft smiled as he let his head flop back with a huff.
Greg stared at him with mock seriousness. "I am a man of many talents." He licked his lips, overtly dragging his tongue across his mouth with lascivious intent. "And I do read, you know. I happen to enjoy Rumi. There is an eloquence and romanticism to his words that I find most appealing."
"That doesn't surprise me. You are a very passionate man."
Greg flipped Mycroft over onto his stomach and straddled his hips, pressing into his back. "You're about to discover how passionate," Greg chuckled.
Greg started low on his back, lips and tongue meeting first the dip of his lower back and then each of his hips in succession. With just the tip of his tongue, Greg traced the line of Mycroft's spine up to the space between his shoulder blades. He felt Greg move, repositioning his knees on either side of his thighs. He settled down onto the back of his legs, and he had the first sensation of how Greg was affected. The heavy, pleasing weight of Greg's cock rested along the length of his arse. It was hard and hot, and when Mycroft raised his hips experimentally, he could feel a trickle of pre-come smear along his right cheek. Greg emitted a dark hiss at the movement and Mycroft ground his pelvis back down into the mattress.
Greg's hands were back on his hips, stilling them with a "Not yet. Slow. Remember?"
Mycroft felt himself groan involuntarily in response. This was slow?
"It's too soon for penetration. Let's work our way to that," Greg explained with a low breath. "I'm going to come between your thighs."
Mycroft's mouth went dry and he swallowed a nervous moan. Jesus, that sounded so…so good. Hands smoothed their way up along the muscles on either side of his spine and down. The gesture was repeated with a detour to his sides this time. The third time Greg paused longer to grasp the flesh and knead it in his hands. By the fourth pass of those delectable hands on his body, Mycroft was panting again. He felt Greg lean forward onto his knees and bring his hands beneath his arms on either side. The mouth was back, this time tasting his shoulder blades. He waited for the inevitable nipping. He wasn't disappointed.
"You're awfully mouthy," Mycroft mumbled into the crook of his own arm.
"Only when there's something worth tasting." Even though the words had been teasing, they sounded constricted by desire.
"You do like to use those teeth of yours, don't you? I might be concerned that you'll devour me in my sleep. Seems like a heavenly way to go."
"I want to swallow you whole," Greg answered into the nape of his neck with a sharp bite, and Mycroft was suddenly sparked with a stab of lust.
At that moment, all he wanted was that sweet sensation of skin on skin again, and he lifted his hips until he was almost on his knees, seeking the feel of Greg's stomach and cock against him. When he reached Greg, the man barked out an "Oh, fuck," before pulling an arm around Mycroft's waist to hold him close before lowering him back to the bed. Greg laid himself out, holding himself up on his elbows and letting the weight of his lower torso and pelvis sink into him. Greg remained motionless for a long moment before beginning a slow thrust that rolled against his entire body and ended against his upper back. He repeated the thrust and Mycroft groaned throughout the motion as it brought a delicious friction to his own cock against the bed underneath him. On the third thrust, Greg ended by lowering his weight completely onto him. He could feel Greg's breathing, feverish and labored in his ear.
"Fuck," was Mycroft's only response, because this fire was burning hot enough to melt him whole. He wasn't sure if Greg would take that as a "please," so he decided for the more direct route and pushed himself back until Greg's cock slid into place. Arms moved to bracket his, up under his shoulders, and Greg settled above him with his thighs just outside of Mycroft's. He could feel tremors moving through Greg's arms and legs as he began the first slow thrust against him. On instinct, he pulled his thighs closer together and clenched around Greg's cock.
"Feels so good," Greg ground out, his body stuttering violently. "Love that I have you swearing."
He continued thrusting in a deliberately drawn-out pace, rocking and bucking, and Mycroft was amazed at how he could feel every inch of Greg with a heightened level of detail along the hypersensitive skin of his thighs and crotch. Greg felt like pulsing, burning velvet sliding down his perineum to push at his balls and up into the base of his own cock. "You have no idea what you do to me," he panted. "God, your body. I just want to defile myself upon it." Mycroft decided he was perfectly happy to let him. For as long as he wanted.
Greg didn't keep the unhurried pace for long, and soon he was pushing fast and hard with a mixture of grunts, moans, and bitten off exclamations of "Fuck!" and "Mycroft!" and "Christ!" Mycroft only half-registered the steady babble, because his whole awareness had narrowed to the points of contact between him and Greg. He tried to catalogue every searing impact of Greg's sweat-slicked pelvis against his ass, every push the tip of his cock made against his balls, every time the base ground into his perineum and Greg's balls landed heavy against the back of his thighs. In all honesty, it felt a little dirty. And absolutely perfect.
"Close," was all the warning he had before Greg shouted at a shockingly loud volume into the room and shook apart against him. He felt it, the spurt of wetness between his legs, but Greg still moved between them, stroking himself through his orgasm, and any other thought was lost among the sweat and the scent.
Greg collapsed and then rolled to the side, an arm flung across his face. Mycroft turned, and Greg reached out, pulling him into the crook of his shoulder. Greg's head fell back as he placed soft kisses along his collarbone, stretching up to meet his jaw. Greg moved his head to meet his lips and they kissed, long and sweet, with mingled tongues and rasps of lips. Mycroft let out a small shudder as he tasted himself in the corners of Greg's mouth. It was slightly bitter, but the satiny feel and spicy taste of Greg somehow made it all the more intoxicating. Greg pulled back and rested his head, and Mycroft nestled snugly in the security of Greg's arms.
"I swear, Mycroft, you'll be the death of me."
"And you me."
"At least we'll be together."
"Thank God for that," he chuckled. Greg's other arm curled lazily around him, hugging him tightly to his chest.
"I cuddle," Greg blurted.
"I noticed. Not complaining."
"I'm also messy, disorganized, and I have a thing for Jaffa cakes."
"Well, who doesn't? You wouldn't be English if you didn't."
"I'm just trying to let you know what you're in for."
"If that was a sample, then I'm all in, love."
Greg looked down at him with bright, shining eyes, pupils still blown from release. "Endearments? No, you're definitely the romantic." He tugged Mycroft closer for a moment before pulling back. "Here, let me get you a warm flannel. You've got to be sticky."
Mycroft snuggled in, refusing to let go. "It's fine. I have a feeling I'm going to have to get used to your kind of messes. I can be flexible, you know."
"Flexible?" Greg repeated with a laugh. "Good God, if that's the case darling, you really are going to kill me." He dropped a light kiss along Mycroft's brow.
"Good. That was my plan. Death by sex. Government sponsored and everything."
Greg leaned down and captured his mouth again in a hot, slow press of lips. He murmured, "Praise God for the Empire."