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The sound of careful movement and the smell of Mycroft’s shower products roused Greg from his much needed sleep. Move day had arrived after a week of frantic organising, packing, and eventually unpacking, and it had been just after midnight when he and Mycroft had finally tumbled into bed, intent on celebrating the first night in their new home. A dull ache in his thighs and arse lingered as a testament to just how rigorous their celebrations had been, and Greg revelled in it. He rolled onto his back, unable to suppress a groan when the movement pulled in all the right places. “Wha’ time is it?” he asked groggily, eyes closed against the early morning light.
“Five forty five. I was trying not to wake you,” Mycroft replied, the rough edge to his voice triggering a live action replay of Mycroft dropping to his knees and making a spirited attempt at sucking Greg dry as soon as their bedroom door had closed. “Anthea called: I’m afraid I’m needed at the office, but I should be back for lunch.”
“Hmm,” Greg replied, slowly opening his eyes. Light was filtering into the room through a chink in the curtains, enveloping Mycroft - who was standing before a full length mirror in just his briefs, socks, and an open shirt - in a warm glow. Not ready to see Mycroft buttoned up in a traditional three piece suit so soon after doing battle with innumerable fiddly little buttons to strip him out of one, Greg folded the duvet back and propped himself up on an elbow. Every bit as naked as he had been when he fell asleep in Mycroft’s arms little more than two hours previously, Greg displayed himself shamelessly. “You sure they can’t cope without you? Bed’s not the same without you in it.”
Mycroft glanced over his shoulder and gave Greg an appraising look. “Don’t tempt me, Greg,” he replied even as his fingers worked efficiently on his shirt buttons.
“They’re probably doing us a favour, thinking about it. We wouldn’t want to chafe something,” Greg replied, absently tracing the edges of a bite mark on his left thigh.
Mycroft laughed softly as he reached for the trousers draped carefully at the foot of the bed and Greg felt a small flare of pride. Mycroft was not a man who laughed often or easily, and each time Greg caused it felt like a win. “I’ll be sure to give the Home Secretary your thanks.”
“Make sure you tell him why, too,” Greg said around a yawn, watching sleepily as Mycroft’s dexterous fingers made quick work of fastening the small buttons that comprised his flies. “Text me when you can escape and I’ll get lunch on. I’m itching to put that kitchen through its paces.”
“I will,” Mycroft promised. He tucked in his shirt and shrugged into his waistcoat and then jacket, leaving only his tie - deep purple with small white polka dots - in need of attention. Greg was sure that only he, probably Sherlock, and a succession of drivers knew that Mycroft Holmes, a man so traditional in his sartorial tastes that he still occasionally wore sleeve garters, detested wearing a tie and generally only tied them once his car pulled up at his office. “Get some sleep, Greg.”
“Not until you’ve given me a goodbye kiss,” Greg protested, lazily fluttering his eyelashes at his fiance.
Mycroft smiled softly as he approached, his footsteps almost silent as he crossed to Greg’s side of their bed. “My apologies. How rude of me.”
“Very rude,” Greg agreed. He reached for Mycroft’s hand and used it to reel the other man in. “I think I’ll need another kiss to make up for it.”
Using his free hand, Mycroft cupped Greg’s cheek and tilted his head back, until he had the perfect angle. Their lips met in a lingering, tender kiss, but any hope Greg harboured that it might tempt Mycroft to tell the Home Secretary to fuck off was shattered by the sound of gravel crunching under tyres drifting through the open bedroom window. Mycroft pressed a final kiss to Greg’s lips and stepped back. “I’m sorry. This isn’t how I wanted us to spend our first morning in our new home.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s been me getting the call at arse o’clock often enough,” Greg murmured, fighting the pull of sleep.
“Sleep, Greg,” Mycroft instructed. Greg felt Mycroft fold the duvet back over his body, and, warm and comfortable, Greg was asleep before the front door closed behind Mycroft.