Kiss and Make Up

Mycroft sighed deeply before inserting his key into the front door. It had been a very long day at work and he was achingly tired. He glanced over his shoulder; now that his driver had pulled away from the kerb he afforded himself the luxury of loosening his stiff-backed posture, stooping his tall frame slightly and rolling tired shoulders. He must always appear commanding and infallible in front of the staff if nothing else.

As he opened the front door and stepped into the hallway he paused, confused for a mere moment. The lights were on. He never left the lights on. Mycroft glanced at a large black holdall sitting in his hallway. The zipper was open and it was evident items had already been removed and a pair of men’s dress shoes had been kicked off haphazardly beside it.

Mycroft closed the front door with his heel and inwardly sighed again. It would appear that Gregory was here. He had given the D.I a key to his home as their relationship had progressed; it had been only the logical thing to do. Greg often spent nights staying over and that way he could come and go as he pleased, especially since both of them often worked varied and unsociable hours. Plus, he mused, Gregory’s flat was just too cramped for his tastes.

The Government official had not once regretted the decision but it was…trying at times. Lestrade was much more laid back than himself and, if Mycroft admitted it, a bit of a slob. Now, now, his mind chagrined him: that was being ungenerous. He knew that he had an obsession with order, cleanliness and general neatness. Everything in his home had its place and he was only happy when it was just so. Unfortunately Gregory was more of a man to simply kick his shoes off and leave them lying in any old way-as shown by the offending items in question in his hallway. Mycroft reached down and straightened them, placing both shoes on the floor neatly and evenly beside the bag. Greg joked that he had OCD; Mycroft did not see any harm in that.

Over the last few months he had often bit back a retort at Lestrade’s coats casually flung over the back of chairs (instead of placed on a hanger to prevent creasing), used coffee cups lying in the sink unwashed (on the mantle, or the bedside table or the floor!). The older Holmes had come home one afternoon to open the front door and be accosted by the most god awful smell. After a quick inspection he discovered his lovers dirty football kit that he had been training in that morning lying scrunched in a bag in the kitchen. Mycroft had removed the offending garments outside to the garden. Gregory  had been most displeased when he came home from work to find his football boots ruined in the rain, insisting he was going to wash it but had been called to work without warning.

Their issues had unexpectedly come to a head last Saturday when Greg was invited as Mycroft’s plus one to a diplomatic function. Unfortunately he had become very intoxicated and tried to engage some of the upper echelons of foreign diplomacy in a round of karaoke. Needless to say Mycroft had been terribly embarrassed and Greg had been defensive; stating he did not want to go to such ‘stuck up’ occasions. Angry words flew all the way home in the car. Mycroft upset over Greg’s unwillingness to behave, take things seriously or act like an adult at times, and Greg accusing him of being an over-bearing snob.

Lestrade had ordered to be dropped at home and slammed the car door in Mycroft’s face before storming up his own front door steps. The government official retreated to his own home and the pair had not spoken. That was four days ago. Both far too stubborn to call each other, or even apologise or even make the first move.

Now he was here. Mycroft steeled himself for the ‘inevitable’ couples talk. The one he had heard many times, you know the ‘it’s not you it’s me’, ‘we are just not working’, or the ‘I think we should take some time apart.’ His stomach churned at the prospect, he found that he really would be upset to lose his partner.

Bracing himself for the worst, he hung his outer coat in the hall neatly on the coat stand, placed his umbrella beside it and went in search of Lestrade. He glanced into the living room, Gregory wasn’t there. Holmes couldn’t hear any movement above him so doubted he was upstairs and headed further back into the house, towards the kitchen. As he walked through the Kitchen door he paused, stunned in his tracks. The light was dimmed but Greg was sitting there on his kitchen worktop smiling at him, bare feet swinging just above the floor.

Mycroft swallowed. Whatever comment or fight he had been preparing for died in his throat. He didn’t mind Greg sitting on the work top, not at all. What stopped him was his appearance. The D.I didn’t really have much on, not much on at all. He stared at the bare feet before him, entranced by the pale slender digits, he let his gaze travel up long, lean legs, noting that Gregory was still wearing his usual pressed suit trousers from work, the belt was already undone and the top button opened exposing his navel and a small dusting of dark hair. He wasn’t wearing any shirt.

The Iceman licked his lips, definitely not feeling particular icy at the moment, heat was distinctly pooling in his groin. Greg was holding some sort of cake in his hands; a brightly coloured cupcake of some description and was making an obscene show of licking the icing off with his tongue. Holmes watched fascinated, as small dustings of powdery icing clung to his partner’s lips; a few drops had spilled down on his chest.

Lestrade gave him a shy smile as he noted the man entering the kitchen, ‘hey.’

Mycroft nodded in his direction, never taking his eyes off his mouth. His partner lowered the cupcake, holding it gently in one hand near his waist.

‘I, err, brought you a peace offering. Got a batch of those cakes you like from the bakery down the road. Thought you could have a break from your diet for one day…’

Too busy taking in the delicious sight before him, he hadn’t even noticed the equally delicious sight of a box with his favourite baker’s logo sitting, slightly to the side, on the table top. He drew his gaze back to the half-naked man before him. Greg’s head was downcast, despite the forced cheeriness in his voice, he wasn’t meeting Mycroft’s gaze.

Lestrade suddenly looked up, eyes unsure. He was making that damned puppy dog look that Mycroft found hard to resist. He wasn’t doing it on purpose; Mycroft just loved those soulful brown eyes but if he thought that would make everything ok, along with a box of cakes, well, it wasn’t going to cut it this time.

Exasperated, Greg ran a hand through his hair, Mycroft’s breath hitched. He couldn’t help it, he was attracted to the man, always had been, fighting was not going to change that. The older Holmes enjoyed watching the play of muscles in his arms and chest as his hand tousled that silver mane.

‘Mycroft?’

He startled. Evidently Greg had said something and he had not been listening. His mind mocked him for focusing on a pretty body and sex than the matter in hand. As a Holmes and a far more intelligent man than the general populous he was supposed to be above such trivial matters.

Focusing intently, Mycroft’s gaze wandered up to his lovers face. The Inspector looked a little confused. Mycroft couldn’t help blush as his cool grey eyes met dark brown ones; Greg looked down before back up at Holmes grinning. He now realised why he hadn’t heard him. He gave a small chucked and wiggled is eyebrows at him.

Holmes wasn’t amused. Yet again Gregory wasn’t taking this seriously. He folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. The culprit, now, at least, looked a little abashed and adopted a more sombre expression.

‘Listen, what-what I was saying is that I’m, you know, er, sorry about Saturday.’

Mycroft’s eyebrows rose even higher, if that were possible. He was getting an apology? This he hadn’t expected.

‘I over reacted, and , well, was a bit of an arse really,’ he flashed his charming smile, trying to be his old self but Mycroft noted that it didn’t hold its usual power, it faltered slightly and disappeared as Greg looked down, not meeting his gaze again. Something was wrong.

He waked further into the kitchen from the doorway, getting closer to the man on his breakfast table as Greg mumbled in the direction of the floor. ‘I’m not as-well, well- I don’t really fit in with your…groups, your work. You get along so well with the other government officials, the ambassadors, for god sake you even are on first name terms with some of the Royal family!’ He shrugged his shoulders a little dejectedly.

Mycroft was silent, his mind racing. Problems he was good at. Mysteries he could solve. Feelings and personal dilemmas panicked him. He opened his mouth to say something before closing it again, he really didn’t know what to do, and it must be a first! This level of emotional insecurity was not really his forte. He cleared his throat but his partner pressed on.

‘I just really want them to like me, for you, you know? What do you want me to do next time? Give me some tips, a few topics of conversation maybe and I should do ok.’

‘I don’t want you to do whatever I want.’ Mycroft blurted out. He hadn’t realised he was speaking until Greg looked up at him, eyes focusing on his for the first time since the start of their conversation. He really didn’t know where that had come from but he continued hoping he would make some semblance of sense.

‘I don’t want to order you around or tell you what to do, I don’t want you to change who you are just to fit in with me. I don’t care if they don’t like you, you are my partner, the man I am dating, don’t feel you have to be what they want you to be.’

Greg gave him a small smile, just a quirk of lips. ‘Yeah but you have this big important job and you are much smarter than me-‘

‘I am much smarter than everyone’ the older Holmes interjected, that earned him a non-impressed look. Mycroft rolled his eyes. ‘Oh come on, modesty is not a Holmes trait, you know that. You constantly comment that Sherlock is more intelligent that you and I am far more intelligent than my brother.’

He wasn’t boasting, Greg knew, there was certainly little modesty in the Holmes brothers. No doubt Mycroft thought he was simply stating facts and, unlike Sherlock, took no gloating pride in it.

He sighed exasperated, ‘Yeah but I’m not fucking Sherlock-‘

‘I should hope not-‘

‘I’m just not really on you, your level.’

‘No one is on my level. You are a Detective Inspector of the Metropolitan police, you have considerable skill, you are not an idiot.’

He skill looked a little forlorn, Mycroft was unsure how to fix this-whatever this was.

‘I like you just the way you are, Gregory.’

Greg’s smile looked a little brighter as his eyes met Mycroft’s. Mycroft was partly stunned. He realised that he was actually speaking the truth. The realisation had hit him unexpectedly. Despite all his grumblings about his messiness and attitude, he really did like him the way he was and that he wouldn’t want him to become one of those stuffed up, pompous, Etonian, Whitehall delegates. The Iceman had enough of that at work. So he told him.

‘I don’t want you to feel you have to be one of those pompous cretins I often work with.’

His lover raised a sarcastic eyebrow in his direction. Mycroft narrowed his eyes before admitting defeat-

‘Oh alright, I admit that I can be one of those pompous cretins at times but I trust you are happy to overlook that?’ tilting his head and giving him a distinctly ‘Holmesian’ stare.

Greg chuckled, he was looking much more playful now the mood was lightened and that they had established their relationship was not falling apart. He raised the cupcake between them.

‘I did bring cake.’

Mycroft smiled, genuinely, watching him take a big bite, crumbs falling across his chest before tumbling to the floor. He followed the crumbs down as they bounced lightly over tanned skin, noting the slight bunch of tummy muscle, the small smattering of dark chest hair that descended to Greg’s navel before plunging lower into his trousers.  Holmes shook his head, Greg may be insecure in the knowledge he was more intelligent but Mycroft’s own little insecurities knew that Lestrade was a much better looking man than he was. A dark voice at the back of his mind suggested that perhaps some of his pent up anger directed at him during the weekend was the jealous knowledge a number of men and women snuck covetous looks in the D.I’s direction anytime he appeared with him at a function. A drunken Greg was still a terribly good looking Greg and he always looked very dashing in his dinner suit in Mycroft’s opinion.

Mycroft’s inward thoughts were brought back to present as Greg trailed a bare foot up his clothed thigh, wiggling his toes slightly. Holmes glanced up at him, he was eating his cupcake and giving a wickedly salacious grin, one that he had often seen, even directed at others.

His face fell slightly.

‘What’s wrong, love?’

Mycroft shook his head slightly, ‘Nothing.’

Lestrade didn’t look convinced, abandoning his teasing with his cake. ‘No really, come on. Are you still mad at me?’

‘I was never really angry with you. We are fine.’

‘You don’t look entirely happy, what have I done now?’

‘You. Have done nothing. I was merely…thinking.’

After a pause, Mycroft tried to sound nonchalant, ‘you were, um, very cosy with Mrs Wainwright on Saturday night.’ He cursed inwardly, despite trying not to, he still sounded defensive. The man before him looked puzzled, a small frown appearing between his eyebrows.

‘Wainright-?’

‘Tall, Blonde, beautiful. Wearing a very expensive gold dress despite the minimum amount of fabric it contained. Wife of the chancellor of the exchequer.’ Oh dear, his tone really was icy. Mycroft gritted his teeth, hadn’t wanted it to sound such a big deal.

Greg’s eyes light up in confirmation, ‘Oh yeah, we had a right laugh. Only person there that didn't talk to me like I was 5 years old. She is much more fun than her stuffy husband; by the way do you know her hobby is skydiving? She had done it five, no-six times so far! She said she could recommend a good school if I ever wanted to try-' he cut off in his excitement, noticing the look on Mycroft’s face and realised what he was getting at. Oh.

He grinned, this was priceless. Mycroft Holmes, the British government, the Iceman, was actually showing a little petty emotion, ‘you are not jealous?!’

Mycroft turned his head away, not meeting Greg’s mocking charging. He scoffed; he had no reason to be jealous. He would never cheat on him. Lestrade knew the pain of a partner having an affair as had once been on the receiving end and vowed he would never do that to another person.

‘I have absolutely no interest in her at all. Or anyone else for that matter.’ He reached out a toe to prod Mycroft’s thigh, forcing him to turn his attention back to him since he was refusing to meet his eye.

‘Really. No. Interest. What-so-ever. If it is not you.’

Mycroft still looked doubtful.

‘Well, unless you want to talk your brother into joining us that it, he does wear some very interestingly tight shirts…’

His lover spluttered, causing Greg to cackle in laughter at the indignation on his face. He threw a tea towel at him. ‘I’m joking you great git. Your face was priceless though, I wish I had a camera.’

With a long stride Mycroft closed the distance to the countertop quickly reaching up to tangle fingers in Greg’s hair, the other going to his jaw. He knocked the remains of the cupcake clean out Lestrade's hands causing it to bounce to the kitchen floor half eaten.

‘Hey, I was enjoying tha-‘ Greg’s protest was cut short as Mycroft pressed his lips fervently against his, tongue invading his mouth, licking any remains of frosting from corners and the inside of his mouth, relishing the sticky sweetness.

Holmes kissed him fiercely, possessively, before drawing back and leaving them both breathless. He could taste the vanilla sugar from the cake and underneath Greg’s personal taste. The D.I’s eyes fluttered open and he gave Mycroft a naughty grin glancing down at the cake on the floor, ‘You don’t want any cake then?’

His lover  growled low in his throat before grabbing at him again, running hands over smooth skin, fingers tangling in the coarse hair of his chest then running along his sides to his waist. He felt Greg giggle against his mouth; he smiled into their kiss at Greg’s laughter. He was very ticklish, anytime Mycroft caressed his ribs or sides his partner tended to squirm away.

Greg’s hands slid over Mycroft’s shoulders, sliding his suit jacket off. He didn’t seem to mind mess in this situation as one of his most expensively tailored jacket fell to a pile of silk and tweed on the kitchen floor. His fingers next move to the buttons of his waistcoat deftly popping each one until he could discard it too, on the floor.

Greg opened his legs wider on the kitchen counter, making room for the man standing in front of him. He hooked a finger into the waistband of his trousers, dragging Mycroft closer between his thighs, pulling Mycroft’s shirt tails out from his trousers as he did so. Greg was eagerly undoing the as his lover continued to nibble at his jaw line and neck sending little tendrils of pleasure downwards.

Running hands along Mycroft’s pale chest, he helped him out his crisp white shirt which fell in a pile with the rest of his clothing. Holmes pulled away slightly, eyes hooded, as the D.I deftly flicked open his belt loosening it just enough to access the top button and fly.

Greg’s eyes locked with his, giving him a mischievous grin before sliding his hands down the front of the now open trousers, eager fingers enclosing around and ever increasing erection. Mycroft exhaled at the sensuous contact, bracing his hands against the edge of the table top, head bowed in pleasure as Greg wiggled his backside on the workbench getting a better angle to pump his hand around Holmes’ cock.

Mycroft’s mouth sought his again as Greg’s hand worked around him; he couldn’t help the low growl in his throat or biting his lover’s lip sharply. Holmes could not take much more of Greg’s teasing and this was about claiming back what his not the other way was around. He swatted Lestrade’s hand away, pushing him roughly backwards onto he kitchen counter.

Covering his body with his own, Mycroft attacked Greg’s neck and shoulders with his lips, nuzzling and gently biting along the smooth exposed skin. Nails racked down his back as he sucked on particularly sensitive spot or ran the pad of his tongue across a flat, male nipple. His hands wandered Greg’s body as his mouth explored, running long fingers gently up his calf before massaging his thigh through his clothing. The man under him was making small, eager noises for more in the back of this throat, Mycroft delighting that his lover was writhing under him, body bucking upwards to try and gain more contact of skin on skin.

Mycroft suddenly straightened, earning a small whimper of disappointment from the D.I at the loss of his lips and warm body. He roughly pulled Greg off the counter until he was standing toe to toe with him. Lips meeting, Greg suddenly found Mycroft’s hands on his hips turning him sharply in the opposite direction.

Placing a large hand in the middle of his back, Mycroft pushed Greg until he was bending over, leaning his elbows on the countertop. Lestrade experimentally wiggled his backside, rubbing it along Mycroft’s crotch. He grinned when it earned him a small noise from the usually composed man behind him; he was stunned to find a rather sharp smash on his arse, feeling the sting even through his suit trousers. He glanced over his shoulder Mycroft, a little shocked. Did the Iceman really just spank him on the backside?

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and grinned playfully, but his tone was all authority,

‘Enough of that for now, you have been…warned.’ His statement was followed by a few more sharp swats across his arse.

Greg bit his lip and turned away, hiding his chuckle. Mycroft hadn’t really used his domineering government personal during sex before, he was never particularly aggressive or overbearing but given that he was now currently being bent over and disciplined on the kitchen table then Greg thought  perhaps that may be rather…fun, on a later occasion.

His back arched as Mycroft’s soft lips trailed their way down his spin, placing gentle ghost-like kisses, leaving him shivering and squirming under his pleasurable assault. Greg gasped as once Mycroft reached the base of his spin, just above his belt; he ran his tongue all the way up to the base of his neck before sinking teeth gently into the soft flesh. Greg hissed in pleasure neck craning backwards demanding a kiss from the man behind him, who obediently complied, tongue sliding in to tangle with his own.

Mycroft hooked both hands into the waistband of Lestrade’s unbuckled trousers and tugged downwards, agonisingly slowly, sliding not only his trousers but any underwear he happened to have on. He only pulled them as far as his upper thighs, just enough to bare Greg’s arse to him.

Greg bucked as soft, warms hands rested against the cheeks of his arse, kneading slightly. He felt a warm breath trail across his skin before Mycroft kissed his right cheek. His spin bowed as the next sensation was Mycroft’s teeth gently sinking into the same spot had just kissed, tugging the flesh slightly. He did the same again, this time just under the cheek where it met the thigh, the deep breath that trailed out his nose blowing across Greg’s gentiles causing him to choke-

‘Please! Please stop teasing.’

Mycroft grinned, happy to oblige. He finished pulling the rest of his clothing off as Greg balance on one foot then the other, kicking his trousers and underwear away, leaving him completely, gloriously nude in front of him.

The older Holmes kneeled on the floor just behind his now naked lover, his nose nuzzled between Lestrades legs, brushing across the silken skin of his balls causing Greg to whimper and wiggle against him. Mycroft darted a tongue out to lick the round balls of flesh sucking one gently into his mouth, lavishing it with his tongue, before treating the other to the same.

Eager for more Lestrade pushed his body back automatically, demanding more contact. Holmes splayed fingers across his cheeks, cool and probing. His tongue trailed to his opening, running along the slightly puckered skin, rimming the D.I until his knuckled were white from their grip on the table top and he was demanding more.

Mycroft smiled at his reaction, pleased that he always seems so ready for him and so eager for sexual contact, he had had lovers who didn’t or eventually seemed to become bored with him. He dipped the tip of his tongue ever so slightly into him. Greg bucked

‘God, Mycroft, honey, stop teasing!’

He smiled, the egotistical part of his brain enjoying hearing him beg for him, knowing that Greg was his and would only respond like this for him, that he still loved him and still wanted him no matter what had happened earlier.

Still kneeling, Mycroft shifted his weight on knees that were becoming slightly painful from the cold kitchen floor. He reached on hand up between Lestrade’s legs to wrap cool fingers around the warmth of his erection. Greg made an incoherent noise in is throat, hips bucking around the hand caressing him. The fingers of Mycroft’s other hand trailed the same path his tongue had just minutes earlier. He wet his fingers with his mouth, affording them a slight lubrication before inserting one digit into the Inspector who clenched around him wonderfully. Mycroft inserted a second, long finger.

Lestrade was panting, sweat trickled down his back. Mycroft’s probing fingers were undoing him and the hand gently pumping his erection was doing nothing for any self-control. He couldn’t help the buck of his hips as he stretched impossibly on his tip toes, the front of his body splayed across the cool worktop as Mycroft’s hand pumped his cock while fingers gently probed his anal canal just enough to tease but not firm enough to actually make him come.

‘Ugh. Stop. T-teasing.’

Probing fingers continued their exploration as if he hadn’t heard him. Lestrade needed more. He wanted to feel the full length of Mycroft in him and the warm weight of him pushing against his body.

‘Fuck me!’

Holmes stilled his movements. Removing his hands carefully, he straightened before leaning his body across Greg’s. Mycroft kissed his back, shoulders and neck before Greg leaned back to steal a kiss.

‘Upstairs, the bedroom,’ he murmured against his mouth.

‘I don’t want to wait, do it here!’

Mycroft paused, ‘In the Kitchen? I think not, I eat from that table…’

The D.I gave him a withering look. Mycroft licked his lips; he supposed he could make…concessions, in this relationship. Greg braced against the work top, his hips angling back, purposely brushing against the man behind him, teasing him and encouraging him to see things his way.

‘You are positive you don’t want to do this in a bed-‘

‘Mycroft!’

‘We have no lubricant here.’

Greg sighed, exasperated. ‘I don’t care! I want you. Inside me. Now.’

Giving in, Mycroft grabbed Greg’s hips firmly, pulling him towards him. He pressed the head of his hardened cock against Greg’s opening and pushed forward without preamble. Well he had asked for it and right at this moment Mycroft was in the mood to dish out a little payback for earlier teasing.

His lover’s body was tight and resisted the large intrusion into it, the only easing had been the saliva from Mycroft’s mouth and the pre-cum smeared across the head of his cock. Greg hissed as Mycroft buried himself into his arse as deeply as he could.

Still, he was trying to be a little gentle. Pulling out slowly before sliding back in, equally as sluggishly, trying to make room for himself. His plans were spoiled however, as he pulled back, almost leaving Lestrade completely the inspector, suddenly impatient, thrust his hips back sharply, embedding the full length of Mycroft into him. Both men shuddered in pleasure and gasped.

‘Harder, you are not going to break me,’ Greg whispered from in front of him. Mycroft took the invitation, one hand resting on his back between his shoulder blades, the other wrapped around a tanned hip he picked up the pace, slamming into Lestrade with more force than he usually allowed himself.

Greg was moaning low in his throat, hips thrust forward, bumping painfully against the edge of the work top with each brutal thrust from the man behind him. He pressed his cheek against the cool work top, fingers gripping the edges as he voiced encouragement to him, loving his partner taking ownership of his body.

He was just beginning to enjoy the mixture of pleasure and pain when Holmes abruptly pulled away, the loss of his cock and warmth a shock. Greg murmured a protest until Mycroft grabbed his shoulders, pulling him up to a standing position in front of him. He leaned forward, lips crashing against his as he pushed Greg back until he bumped against the edge of the counter.

Mycroft eased him up onto the kitchen table until he was back sitting on it, much like earlier, with Holmes standing between his legs.  Greg lay backwards on the worktop, pulling his knees up and exposing his backside, crying out sharply as Mycroft entered him swiftly. The new angle was enticing, making his lover seem bigger and as if his cock was buried further inside him.

Mycroft grabbed Greg’s hips, pulling himself out before slamming back in, using his hold on the man to pull their bodies together with more force; the noise of their frenzied joining echoing around the room. After a few thrusts his hand came down to grasp Lestrades erection, pumping him in time with actions, eager to push him towards his own climax.

Lestrade threw his head back in pleasure, back arching and his legs quivering. Mycroft’s delicious fingers squeezing him at just the right pressure, pumping the foreskin up and over, pre-cum oozing from the head. He looked up. His lover’s eyes were closed in blissful concentration, chest rising and falling rapidly at his exertions, focusing on the movement of his hands in time with his hips.

With a deep growl Mycroft came, his body shaking as Greg felt the warmth of his come flood him. He leaned over, cool grey eyes focusing on Greg’s. He kissed him passionately, his hand still enclosed around his erection and now trapped between their bodies. Greg wrapped his arms around him, his softening cock still buried inside as Mycroft nibbled his lips and nipped at his neck. His hands increased their pace and pressure, urging Lestrade to his own orgasm, listening for the gasps in his ear as indication how close he was.

Greg buried his lips in Mycroft’s neck as he felt his abdominal muscles contract as he came around Holmes’ hand. After a kiss to his lips and forehead, Mycroft pulled back, releasing Lestrades cock from his grip and allowing his own to slide from his body, the evidence of Greg’s orgasm covering their stomachs and Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft made a face.

Greg laughed.

‘Oh love, your face! I know you hate getting messy but that was bloody fantastic!’

Mycroft gave him a small smile, still looking in dismay at the stickiness across their bodies and the table top. Greg eased himself up and off the counter with a slight flinch, he kissed him before pulling away and lacing his fingers with Mycroft’s. The older Holmes winced slightly at the squelch of fluids, causing Greg to chuckle more.

‘Come on, love, a shower I think then round two in bed.’

He visibly brightened at the idea of as shower, but raised his eyebrow at Greg who only laughed and winked at him.

‘Ok then, maybe round two in the shower. You might get lucky in bed later. If you’re not too tired, that is.’

Mycroft gave him a sly smile, tugging him rapidly to the hallway and ignoring the pile of clothes and mess in the kitchen just this once, ‘Oh I doubt I will be too tired.’