Lestrade heaved a (slightly exaggerated) sigh as his phone sounded for the eighth time in the last seven minutes. Probably another text from Sherlock enquiring about a seemingly trivial detail of the gardener's fingernails or something else to do with the case he had consulted him about.

Pulling his mobile from his pocket, Greg mentally reminded himself that everything Sherlock asked had a purpose, as annoying as he might be about the way he asked.

Case solved, meet me at your office in 10.

-SH

Letting out a sound of relief, Greg was about to hit reply when his mobile started vibrating in his hand and the name 'Mycroft Holmes' popped up on the screen. Torn between smiling at Mycroft finally deciding that they should talk again and frowning at how obnoxious Sherlock was going to be if he was late, Greg answered the call.

"I need to debrief you," came the voice of the elder Holmes immediately. No waiting for Greg's 'hello,' no 'how have you been, Gregory, I've missed you since we last came to the conclusion that anything between was too dangerous to even consider.' Okay, so Greg obviously knew better than to expect the latter greeting and he even knew that the former was not a very realistic occurrence either. He started for the door, knowing that Mycroft would have a car waiting to bring him to wherever he was meant to go.

"Debrief me? But my current case has nothing to do with you. Besides, Sherlock says that he's figur-"

"You misunderstand me," Mycroft cut him off, not wishing to hear at the moment about his little brother's antics.

"Then explain." Greg prompted, adding another item to the list of Ways the Holmes Brothers Can Imply One is Stupid in Four Words or Less. This one barely made the cut for word count. Mycroft heard the exasperation hidden beneath the patience only years of working with Sherlock could generate, so he made a conscious effort to soften his words.

"I only meant that I wasn't using the word 'debrief' in the conventional sense," here he paused, trying to let his need to see the DI come through as something other than a harsh edge to his words. "I think we should reconsider our…relationship."

"Or lack thereof?" Greg added a hint of petulance to his question, trying to guilt Mycroft ever so slightly about stopping what they barely begun. But he knew that Mycroft would know he was in no way saying no to a revision of their current arrangement, no amount of petulance could cover up how he truly felt.

"Yes. Meet me in the car?" Mycroft sounded hopeful but unsure, and Greg couldn't keep him in suspense. He also couldn't help the smile that was forming on his face knowing that Mycroft has deemed him, and their situation, important enough to leave the office. Even if he still had no idea what an 'unconventional' sense of debriefing could be.

"Open the door."

Greg let a full minute of silence pass after he had slid onto the seat next to Mycroft. During that time he let himself breathe deeply the scent of leather and of Mycroft's very presence. He would never admit it (okay, maybe if someone asked very, very politely) but he had missed just being around the man who sat next to him. Silly waistcoats and all. But after patiently counting to 60, sight and smell were not enough. Time to hear his voice without the aid of a telephone.

"So," he ventured, turning more towards Mycroft, "what's all this 'debriefing' nonsense?"

He was very tempted to draw air quotations with his fingers, but thought better of it.

Mycroft shifted slightly in his seat and then let it all tumble out (Greg thought it was rather like a slower, more structured version of Sherlock rattling off deductions, but figured it would be wiser to never say that).

"I was wrong about our situation. It seems that even when we aren't in a relationship you have the capability to take over the greater portion of my brain. I think it would be better if we were together and I could actual spend time with you than have all of my time spent on the thought of you. And as for Sherlock figuring it out, does it really matter? He refuses to be civil to me on most occasions already and I doubt he would lose any of the respect for you that has built over the years, regardless of if he pretends to. I also think we- I- should stop denying that fact that we both, if you'll allow me to quote you, "need a good shag, preferably from each other." While I'm not sure that's exactly how I would phrase it, I will admit that I would not be averse to being physically intimate with you, and as soon as is feasible."

Mycroft had been keeping eye contact with Greg through his whole spiel and now took the time to observe the rest of the man beside him. It didn't seem as if any of his thoughts about them had been taken badly, but there was an odd smirk playing at the corner of Gregory's lips.

Across from him, Greg seized the respite in the speech to reply, knowing that Mycroft could read his response but wanting to say it nonetheless.

"Okay. I'll agree to that. I think both of our jobs would benefit from our not being caught up on not being able to actually admit that we want one another in our lives. However," the smirk stopped playing and came out in full sight, "I still think you could use a great deal of shagging."

Mycroft ignored the continued use of the base language (okay, who are we kidding, Mycroft would be a bit disappointed if he hadn't used the word "shag") and let a small, wicked smile take over his face.

"Hence our need for this 'debriefing.'"

Greg couldn't stop the grin that took the place of his smirk, he didn't even try, as he crossed the short distance between them and pulled Mycroft closer by his pristine tie.

"We best get going then, it sounds important."

As far as first kisses go, Lestrade and Mycroft's had been very soft, almost chaste. Luckily, they had gotten that kiss out of the way three weeks ago when this whole thing began. It was directly after that first kiss that Mycroft had, very logically, explained why any more kisses between them was a bad idea.

"In fact," he had said, trying to ignore the sound of his heart and the look of Gregory's slightly flushed face, "I believe it would be best if we only thought of each other in a professional sense. No need to put off the inevitable."

The inevitable being that they would either not work out together or would take up too much of the other's valuable time. And that was without the mention of how Sherlock might react if he knew how they each felt. But that was then.

And as far as second kisses go, this might break the world record for steamiest. Certainly the back windows of the car thought so. After Greg had pulled Mycroft towards him, he had proceeded to do his best in wiping the wicked smile off of Mycroft's face. There was no softness this time, no space in the backseat for gentleness of any kind.

At the first touch of their lips Greg could feel himself melting into the man in front of him. About a week after Mycroft had decided for the both of them that they couldn't work, Greg had let himself think about the kiss. And think he had. But no amount of thoughts could've prepared him for the pure, white-hot lust leaking through Mycroft mouth to breech his own. 'Ice Man, my arse,' he thought, 'this mouth could boil a glacier.'

So Greg was left with no alternative but to give it as good as he got. Using the tie (carefully) to pull himself up, he swung one leg over to straddle Mycroft, not giving a damn if his suit wrinkled. If he had to go face someone who would know exactly what he had been up to, he could at least make it more obvious for the people Mycroft would be facing afterwards. With Mycroft firmly situated beneath him, Greg let his tongue slip between his lips to brush teasingly against Mycroft's. From below him Greg felt more than heard the gasp that escaped from the other man's mouth. Greg flicked the tip of his tongue again over Mycroft's lips and quickly that gasp morphed into a growl. When Greg's tongue ventured out a third time Mycroft nipped at it, no longer willingly just sit and play. It was time to get down to business. And no one did business better than Mycroft Holmes.

Sliding his hands, which had automatically placed themselves on Gregory's calves when he had changed position, up in an agonisingly slow manner, Mycroft carefully paid attention to any spots along his legs that might be easy targets. Sure, they would have the chance to better explore at a later time, but why not get a baseline of sensitivities? Pausing slightly to massage gently behind Gregory's knees, clearly a weak- not, not weak…responsive- spot, the hands continued their gradual ascent.

As those hands, 'those maddening hands' as Greg would later name them affectionately, paused at his knees, Greg couldn't help the soft whimper that made itself known in the middle of their kiss. He had known that Mycroft would find all of his pleasure spots without problem, and he couldn't wait until he had the time to return the favour. After all, the body beneath his deserved to be worshiped until every last inch of it had been mapped. And Greg was all for people getting what they deserved, why else would he have joined the police? If that meant having to spend hours upon hours learning what made Mycroft tick, well he wasn't going to complain.

But back to the kiss. After Greg made the noise that assured Mycroft that, yes, knees were going to be fun later, he began to let his own hands explore. Ghosting his fingertips down Mycroft's temples, Greg pressed harder into the kiss. And after cradling the back of his skull in gentle but firm hands, Greg pulled back and held him in place as his lips and teeth pulled at Mycroft's bottom lip. Not enough to truly hurt, but vexing enough that Mycroft couldn't stop himself from pulling away from the hands, needing more than just a few nips connecting him to the man on his lap. Greg was having none of that. Tightening his grip a miniscule amount, Greg pulled back all the way and tilted Mycroft's face up faintly.

"Did I say you could go back to kissing me?" he rasped, breaths too shallow with lust to speak properly.

"N-no," Mycroft let his eyes drift shut, ignoring the fact that he had just stuttered. He was more interested in what Gregory was doing to his neck. Soft, thorough lips made their way down the pale line of his throat, pausing every so often to administer a lick or a gentle whisper of teeth.

Suddenly remembering that they had business to attend to, Mycroft's hands once again went to their task of making a path up the thighs on either side of Mycroft's own. Once they reached the hips, they squeezed gently once, and went their merry way to the arse attached. And then, his arms deciding the hands weren't only ones able to play havoc with Gregory, Mycroft pulled him closer, sadly forcing Gregory's mouth from the spot of contact it had just above Mycroft's collar.

What was less sad was the contact then created in a lower area. The men groaned in tandem and they simultaneously gave up on the teasing. In a whirl of hands and fingers, Greg pulled off Mycroft's tie and began unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt and Mycroft reached between their hips to pull apart the opening of the trousers keeping him from the whole point of this meeting. Then their hands switched tasks and Greg found that Mycroft's hands, although not labourer's hands, were just as strong as they look. And more agile than that. In two seconds, Mycroft had somehow taken off Greg's shirt while Greg had only barely managed to flick open the fly of Mycroft's suit trousers (Greg would later blame the fact that Mycroft's clothes were all so posh and pressed, and so they were harder to manoeuvre). Giving Gregory no chance to catch up, Mycroft's nimble hands went back to the mission of de-briefing. Feeling a gentle press to his hips, Greg took the hint and knelt up, taking advantage of his height and pressing kisses to Mycroft's upturned face all the while.

Mycroft, eagerly soaking up the kisses, pushed down Gregory's trousers and pants to his knees in one fell swoop. Greg moaned as Mycroft took him in hand and stroked slowly.

"N-not fair…" Greg panted against Mycroft's cheek, his hips rocking softly into the fist Mycroft had formed around his length.

"And why is that?" Mycroft tightened his one hand and used the other to encourage Gregory to speed up.

"Never, oh god, never s-said anything about de…debriefing you."

Mycroft chuckled softly and caught Gregory's mouth in a deep kiss.

"Go ahead then." He gently spread Gregory's knees farther apart and guided his hand to feel the straining erection still trapped beneath its cotton cage.

Smiling into the kiss that was still half pressed against his lips, Greg caressed Mycroft through his pants before pulling back the elastic and freeing him. Taking him in hand, Greg started to match the tempo Mycroft had created, twisting his wrist at the top of his stroke and greatly enjoying the noise of ecstasy that broke loose from Mycroft's throat.

Closer and closer to the edge they pulled each other and soon their mouths were no longer kissing as much as pressed close as they whispered praises and moaned their growing delights.

"G-Gregory…can't…"

Greg shuddered gently at the use of his full name, erotic in the way Mycroft's mouth seemed to hang onto the syllables forever.

"Let go," he assured back, "let go, I'm here."

And with another kiss, sweeter this time unlike the one that started this debriefing, and with one last drag of Gregory's hand, Mycroft felt his release take him. Greg watched his face as he came and followed him over the edge as Mycroft softly cried out his name.

Slowly, leisurely they rocked through their orgasms, holding each other close and pressing increasingly sweet kisses to the other's mouth. All too soon it had to end.

But not before they agreed that a more in-depth debriefing was in order.

"Where is Lestrade?" Sherlock whirled around the DI's office, hands gesturing wildly as he tried to keep his mind from exploding. John stayed out of his way as he paced back and forth, trying to be patient with both Sherlock for being himself and the missing man for making them wait. Through the office window he finally caught a glimpse of a flushed Lestrade hurrying in.

"Sorry, got caught up at a debriefing, what you have got?"

Sherlock started spewing out his deductions, but suddenly stopped and stared at Greg.

"Where were you?"

Greg shifted slightly and didn't meet Sherlock's eye, pretending to study a file about the case instead.

"At a debriefing," he restated, still not looking up. Sherlock started smirking, which caused John to interrupt, tired after all of the casework.

"Sherlock, what? So he had to get some information, big deal. What were you saying about lipstick?"

"Wrong kind of 'debriefing', John. Very clever choice of wording, though. Did you come up with it or did sh..." Sherlock paused in the middle of looking for clues as to who else had been present at this tryst. "Oh please tell me I'm mistaken."

Lestrade was becoming increasingly more flustered under Sherlock's visual examination and he coughed slightly after Sherlock had deduced who he been with.

"Yeah, well. Not much gets by you," the DI finally met Sherlock's gaze, shoulders set back, ready for anything Sherlock could throw at him, "We knew that when we first considered it."

"What are you two on about?" John asked, looking between them, confused as to what this "it" was.

"Lestrade was at a de-briefing," Sherlock explained as he tried to keep the smirk off his face- tried being the main word. "With Mycroft. As in, their meeting had no requirement of briefs or any other article of clothing."

"Oh."

A/N: So...Mystrade. That's new for me. :)

Let me know any thoughts or suggestions. Much love.