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It was an ordinary London summer day. Mycroft was just at home at that moment, as it was the weekend. He hadn't seen his father, mother and sister for quite some time. Enough to marvel at how a 10 year old girl with the vigour of a monkey climbs trees every now and then and does not spare her dress, does not spare her dressmaker's work.
Mycroft wanted to see someone else this weekend. Someone to whom his heart had been not indifferent for a long time. He goes down to the ground floor and, after sneaking past the butler and the housekeepers, goes out the back door. Then he takes in a lot of air, a lot of air.
This is the long-awaited summer, a time of warmth and light freshness. Mycroft looked towards the stable, which was just outside the garden, where his parents often spent evenings together, looking at the stars. Yes, and where Mycroft himself had looked at the stars a year ago. But he didn't need the stars at that moment. Because his life had changed quite a lot.
Now Mycroft is even more stately than he was then. But in his soul still splashes that stormy cocktail of adventurism and a kind of rebellion. But he's rebellious in his own way.
He comes down from the porch, walks past the garden, looking at the flowers as if he doesn't know where he's going. But he does, he knows WHERE and WHOM.
His parents were lucky enough to go to Covent Garden that day, so they couldn't disrupt their son's whole operation. And besides, the servants were too busy doing their own things, and little Sherlynn was sitting in her room reading a book. So the timing couldn't have been more perfect.
As he approaches the stables, Mycroft opens the door as if at a leisurely pace, and peeks inside to make sure the stable boy is there. He looks around and notices a man he knows coming out of one of the stalls with an empty bucket. Mycroft is instantly pleased and walks inside with confidence as Sebastian continues to work.
"Hello, Moran. It's been a long time since I've been here," Mycroft says easily, causing the stableboy to turn towards him.
"Hello, young master. Yes, what's true is true... You seem to have matured in a year. Or am I mistaken?"
Of course he sees the confusion on Sebastian's face. And he always refused to be the first to act. Always had to take the initiative in everything. But now Mycroft is old enough, though he seems to have overestimated his own abilities.
Moran persists and bites his lip. He wants to, he really wants to kiss Mycroft right here. If it were up to him, he'd even lay him down on that pile of hay and kiss him for as long as he was even capable of. But it was noon now, and he still wanted to keep his distance. He shouldn't, he had no right.
"How can I? You, young master, should find someone more worthy. And besides, we might be seen together. I wouldn't want you to get in trouble for me later."
Mycroft was getting impatient. Yes, Sebastian was always so stubborn when it came to feelings. But it wasn't quite clear why Moran thought he was being used. Well, he would prove him otherwise in that case. Especially since he wasn't the impatient boy who didn't even know how to kiss.
"I still love you. Nothing has changed. It could be two years, three years, a century! I've said so many times that I don't need anyone but you. Haven't I?"
Mycroft moves closer, while Moran takes a step backwards and doesn't realise he's leaning against a post in the middle of the stable. He just stares in surprise and swallows, realising he's trapped himself there.
Mycroft smells so much of that light summer scent. And his face is so close. Moran tries to move away carefully, but he doesn't manage to, as Holmes makes the first step forward to him and just embraces him. And he has no choice but to surrender. He is completely unarmed against this technique.
He himself doesn't even know what the reason is. Why is he just afraid to reciprocate these feelings? Especially when Mycroft, out of all the people in the world, fell in love with him specifically. And now that he's finally home for the weekend, Moran is the one pretending that everything that happened between them last time was just a game.
Moran smiles kindly, his black eyes expressing a joyful calmness. But for some reason, my heart is in a mess. Maybe it's the thought of what happened a year ago, or maybe it's the thought that a whole year has already passed, and Mycroft has grown enough to be almost the same height as him. It's not for nothing, after all, they say, "Other people's children grow up faster."
Mycroft laughs lightly and comes closer. Afterwards he says softly: "I thought we agreed not to have you call me that, didn't we?"
Moran blushed slightly, looking into Holmes' sly eyes. Though even, as mature as he looked, it was obvious that he was still a boy. That didn't make Sebastian himself feel any better.
Moran sighed and looked around, but decided to keep his distance or he'd go crazy. He'd already lost his mind a year ago, though he was sure it was only temporary. Mycroft had complained to him more than once about how much he was sick of his parents' hints about marriage. It had seemed to him then that Mycroft was just trying to resist, just playing around. And it still seems that way to Moran. He should never fall in love with an aristocrat, especially one like Holmes. He's only a stable boy, he can't give him anything.
Mycroft sighs, and then, relaxing, goes on saying: "Forget this nonsense, please. And kiss me like a human being."
His heart was pounding like crazy, but when Sebastian sent his doubts and unnecessary thoughts to hell, it calmed down. He can now clearly feel Mycroft's heartbeat too, whereupon he strokes his head gently and says: "Myсkey, lift your head up."
There is so much tenderness and love in his voice that Mycroft just can't refuse him. Not only when he asks in such a way that everything inside shrinks and grows at the same time, filling all possible emptiness. And the hands Mycroft feels on his face feel more desirable than ever. And even hotter than the fire itself.
Then he feels the warmth of Moran's lips on his own and, pressing as close as he can, clutching the other man's shirt just as he did a year ago, but much harder, he responds with all the ardour he can muster and wraps his arms around his neck. He's missed this embrace, this embrace he can drown in, missed this smell that no French perfume can beat. And he doesn't need it to go away. Mycroft just can't afford it.
Pulling back to take a breath of air, Moran himself feels a herd of goosebumps rolling through his body. It's getting so easy. He loves it when Mycroft looks so dishevelled, and he opens his mouth to say something. But Mycroft kisses him with even more greedy intensity, and Sebastian accepts the kiss and responds just as he does, feeling the heat surging inside with unbearable exhaustion.
And when Mycroft pulls away a second time, he himself breathes heavily and says slyly: "You're not getting away from me so easily this time," then looks over to the same corner with the pile of soft hay where Moran himself had been looking earlier.
"How about we continue our ardent conversation there? We seem to think alike, don't we?"
And Sebastian hums and takes Mycroft in his arms bridal style. It's so light and peaceful in their hearts that it all seems like an impossible dream. But they both know it's real. And now, as he hovered over his lover, who was impatient enough, he finally spoke:
"Welcome home, my love. I missed you so much."
"Yes, I'm finally back. And now I want you to make me forget myself in love with you."
Then Moran started pulling off Mycroft's clothes and kissing him in all the places he couldn't reach before. He was really losing his mind with each new movement. And squeezed his palm so tightly in his own that he couldn't let go.
And yet, both of them never noticed that a very curious pair of blue girl's eyes had been watching their rather intense feelings all this time.