The chime of his phone ringing interrupted the only sound in the room of the keyboard and Mycroft paused. It had been an exceptionally quiet day, all things considered. Part of him sighed and hoped this wouldn't be another situation, because he would like to go home that night. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, only for his eyebrows to draw together in concern as he saw who it was that was calling him.

"Good afternoon, Detective Inspector," he greeted smoothly. "To what do I owe this call?"

There was a brief silence on the other end and Mycroft could practically see the detective shifting. In the background, he heard a car drive by. So he was outside then. "I heard you kidnapped John Watson a few days ago."

Though Lestrade was desperately trying to sound casual, Mycroft knew this was anything but. Every thought froze briefly and he knew instantly what it was about. The memory was never far from him and like a well-used book, he had gone over that so many times he had memorized his memorization.

Four years ago

Mycroft watched as the cautious man exited the car. He hadn't been sure before this point whether it was necessary to speak to the detective that had been working with his brother, but it had been made abundantly clear over the past month that he wasn't going anywhere. He noted more details than his reports could tell him, eyes landing briefly on the ring on his finger. Married, but not happily so. The bags under his eyes suggested he hadn't gotten home until late the night before. Ink stains on his shirt said he had been taking a break from paperwork. A thought he was trying to ignore invaded; really, the man was far more attractive in person than in pictures.

"So what the hell is this about?" the man asked, but he seemed honestly more confused than afraid or angry. Interesting. "You can't just kidnap a cop."

"I believe I can and did," he said with a small grin that was partially fake and usually unnerved people. This was new. Most that he had a 'chat' with were terrified and after being brought to his usual locations of abandoned warehouses, they left. Perhaps this one would be different.

Mycroft reached into the pocket of his suit coat and pulled out his small notebook, looking at it just to unnerve the man because he knew everything that was in it. "Sergeant Gregory Lestrade, your reputation and skills are impressive."

"What is this about?"

At the serious question, he glanced up through his lashes and put his notebook away, idly walking forward and swinging his umbrella, as if he had all the time in the world. "In the past month, you have taken in a stray 'cat' if you will, by the name of Sherlock Holmes."

An almost resigned look came across his face, there and then gone. "What's he done now? You don't strike me as one of his drug dealers, so he must have done something else."

He watched the man and liked what he saw. There was no hint that he was about to abandon Sherlock; in fact, his resignation merely seemed to mirror Mycroft's: they had to get out of a mess with Sherlock, but not that they wouldn't do it. "Oh, no trouble at all, I assure you. At least not today."

"Then you want to cut to the chase? I'm late."

"Ah, yes, your anniversary today, isn't it? You were attempting to clear your desk of paperwork early so you could take your wife out to dinner."

Brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How do you know that?"

"No matter. I've come here with a proposition for you, Sergeant." He finally stopped his slow approach near the man, trying not to raise his eyebrow at the interesting effect it had on him. While Lestrade didn't step back, his breathing hitched just a little as he was close enough to smell Mycroft's cologne. His pupils seemed to grow a bit larger and it was then that he realized what it was: Lestrade was attracted to him.

Well, well, well. How interesting. Now that he had noted the interest in the sergeant, the thought would not dislodge from his mind. It had been awhile since he had been with anyone and there was just something about the man that drew him. Trying not to smile, he stepped a little closer until there was very little space between them.

"I'm not interested in any proposition."

"But you haven't even heard it yet," he purred and watched with delight the shiver his voice caused. "For just a little bit of information to me on a consistent basis about Sherlock, I'm willing to give you almost anything you want."

"You don't have anything I want."

Oh, now that was a precious lie. Mycroft smirked and reached out, pulling the man close to him and giving him a soft kiss on stunned lips. "I don't?" he whispered, this time feeling that shiver and it was almost intoxicating. This time when he leaned in to kiss him, Lestrade was kissing back fiercely, hungrily. Clearly the sergeant's marriage was worse off than even he had deduced, if he reacted so strongly to physical touch or pleasure.

Without even realizing what he was doing, just wanting to deepen the kiss and taste the inside of that wonderful mouth, Mycroft had bent the man back, resting lightly against the boot of the car. The stubble on the man's face was scratchy and clearly he had been hoping to get home to shave before the dinner. As he leaned in just a little more, that mouth opening under his tongue's command, he felt something hard pressing against his thigh. Oh, delightful! His fingers immediately eased down to his belt and opened it, taking his time to work the button out and lower the zipper. His fingers lightly rubbed the bulge through his underwear—

Then suddenly he was pushed back a few steps and Mycroft struggled to control his shallow pants. Lestrade was having even less success at that, a red flush on his cheeks that contrasted remarkably with the angry look in his eyes. Angry both at himself and Mycroft, perhaps? "Look, I'm not…interested. I'm not going to spy on Sherlock for you. And who the hell are you and why are you even asking?" A hand grabbed his pants, holding them closed, but he couldn't help raise an eyebrow as he noticed that he didn't actually button himself up. Perhaps he was distracted…but he certainly wasn't complaining. That meant his advances were not entirely unwelcome.

Mycroft was a man that got what he wanted and he wanted Lestrade right then with a surprising passion. He lifted his umbrella, lightly rubbing against the bulge in the sergeant's trousers. The man shifted, as if to move away from it, but didn't. He seemed desperately trying to ignore it, as if to acknowledge it would mean acknowledging that it made him uncomfortable, which was so amusingly cute. "I suppose it would be proper to introduce myself, but you singularly distracted me." He stared obviously at the man's lips and enjoyed the flush that reinforced the blush he already had. "Mycroft Holmes."

"…Holmes. Don't tell me…"

"I'm afraid so," he said with a small, amused smile.

"You're Sherlock's…brother?"

"Yes. You can see why I asked you to come here; I worry about my baby brother terribly."

For some reason, the knowledge of who he was seemed to relax Lestrade, as if the idea of a worried brother excused what had happened. How interesting that he had dropped his guard completely upon learning of his relationship with Sherlock. "As much as I feel for you, I'm still not going spy on him for you. You can just pick up the phone and call him or go see him yourself."

"My brother and I have a…contentious relationship," he murmured, rubbing a bit harder with the umbrella that the detective seemed to be failing to ignore, if his shifting was any indication.

Lestrade let out a soft shuddering breath and Mycroft stepped forward again, unable to stop himself. He was through playing and his arm wrapped around the sergeant again. It was clear what they both wanted. "Sorry to hear that, but I've known Sherlock long enough to know that any trust would be shattered if I spied on him for anyone." The squirming the man did only turned Mycroft on more and he began to tug them to the backseat. "I need you to…back up. You know—"

His blue eyes flashed in desire as he closed the door behind them, leaning over the detective that was now sprawled on the backseat. "Sergeant, do you believe my brother is smart?"

"He's probably a genius, even with a shitty personality."

His smile was predatory as he leaned in. "There is one person that surpasses Sherlock in intellect. Care to guess who might that be?"

He watched Lestrade's adam's apple bob as he gulped. "…You?"

"Correct. I'm well aware of your unhappy marital status, and what today is." He leaned down, capturing protesting lips. "I'm willing to give you almost anything, Sergeant, even your most sinful desires." His murmuring voice seemed to be the key, like he was a magician with a spell, and he left a kiss amid that stubble on his jaw as his hand slowly eased down to teasingly rub at his groin. "I can make you feel like a god and a beggar at once."

"I'm…really…not…" was the weak protest before it trailed off. "Your driver…"

"Will say nothing. My people are the soul of discretion, Sergeant. Right here, it's just me, willing to give you what you're craving. You have but to ask."

For a moment, a dizzying and terrifying moment for Mycroft, he thought Lestrade would say no. That he was wrong in his deductions and this would stop. Then he smirked at the silent nod. "Good. So good, Sergeant. Now, given the confines we are in, I would suggest you on your stomach. It will make this easier on both of us."

It took some contorting, but to Mycroft it might as well have been a striptease for how exciting it was. His control shook a bit as Lestrade unintentionally rubbed himself along his crotch and Mycroft was reminded that he was really, almost painfully hard. Blessing he'd managed to get somewhere earlier, he tugged down the pants and let them pool at Lestrade's knees.

"I'm afraid I came rather unprepared, as I was not expecting this, so we'll have to make due," he murmured and brought his fingers to the detective's mouth. "If you would."

There was a moment of hesitation, but then Lestrade's mouth was opening and he felt that wet heat wrap around his digits. It was all Mycroft could do to remain even vaguely calm and his hand fumbled, actually fumbled, on his own trousers. Did this man not even realize how sexy he was? What woman did he marry that was so foolish to step out on him time after time? Clearly their married sex life had been on hiatus for some time and it only reinforced his opinion that the majority of the populous was stupid indeed.

He pulled his fingers back and gently nudged that ring of muscles with one, sliding it in gently. "Have you ever been with a man, Sergeant?"

"Not…like this," he muttered.

Mycroft leaned down and lightly bit at Lestrade's ear as he slid his second finger in after the first. "Your wife is truly a fool. Were I married to you, I would never let you go." Unable to resist the urge, he tugged at the detective's collar, pulling his shirt and coat back enough that he lightly bit and sucked a bruise on the back juncture of his neck and shoulder. He had to leave a mark even though he could hear the protest of the man himself. Later, he knew, Lestrade would feel guilt ridden that he had 'strayed' despite the fact that his wife had been cheating on him for a year. Well that just meant Mycroft had to work twice as hard to keep him, because this was too good for a one-time in the backseat of his car.

By the shout and whole body shudder beneath him, he knew he had found Lestrade's prostate and he gently stroked along it, massaging it, and enjoying just watching the writhing man beneath him. His head was brushing against the roof of the car, but he didn't care. As he slid out his fingers, he asked, "Are you ready, Sergeant?"

"Yes!"

The begging tone killed any hope of self-control. It was not a feeling that Mycroft was used to, just bound by his more primitive desires. He shoved his pants down to his knees and lined himself up, managing just barely to ease in gently despite the urge to just take the man roughly and satiate their passion. He fought back a moan, letting it out in as a breathy sigh instead as he nudged inexorably in.

"F-Fuck…H-Holmes… Shit…"

"Please, call me Mycroft," he muttered, leaning over the man's back. "A problem?"

"Y-Yes!" There was a soft shout as he was finally encased completely, tip nudging against his prostate. "You're too big!"

He smiled, a genuine one. "Thank you for the compliment," he purred. "Let me know when you're ready for me to move."

Lestrade looked over his shoulder at that and Mycroft stole an exceedingly gentle kiss. He promised that this man would feel like he was in heaven, and he would do anything to fulfill his promises. His hand slid sensually up his bare rear to underneath his shirt, stroking along his back. He enjoyed the way those eyes fluttered almost closed, seeming to revel in the touch of their lips, how their tongues came out to softly caress each other. Clearly being catered to, paid attention to, was not something that the man was used to anymore.

"R-Ready," he muttered, barely making a whisper.

Mycroft nodded and he pulled out, only to thrust back in slowly, working his way from almost torturously slow to something more passionate. He wasn't honestly surprised to find that the sergeant's natural state seemed to be cursing and noise, but he was trying to keep them quiet. When he saw him bite his lip, he reached out with his fingers and pulled that bottom lip from his teeth. "Please, let out your voice if you want. It's just us here." Which was not entirely accurate; his driver had politely left the car and closed the door, standing next to it, and Anthea was somewhere near him, but as he had assured the man, they were exceedingly loyal and wouldn't mention that they had heard or saw anything. For all intents and purposes, they were completely alone.

Each little cry, whimper, or curse went down his spine like lightning and Mycroft moaned in delight. "Ohh, Gregory, you're so tight," he whispered heatedly. "You'll forever spoil me now. I'll need you, this, again."

He loved that flush going up the man's neck and desperately bit another mark just below the other one that he had given. "M-Mycroft!"

The sound of his name from those delightful lips sealed his fate. He knew he had to have this again, have Gregory Lestrade again, in his life. The man was so honest and so sexy that he couldn't imagine having sex with anyone again if it wasn't with him. The noises he made were embedded in his mind, the feeling of his amazing heat, the sheer tightness, were catalogued especially, a folder in his mind just for this and this alone.

"F-Fuck, I'm…"

"It's all right, let it go." He could always clean the upholstery later.

That left him in a bit of a quandary. He wanted to be polite and pull out when he released, but that would entail ruining both their suits because he had no condom. On the other hand, it seemed far too intimate to remain inside. Mycroft knew he was nearing the end and chose the least evil of all, in consideration of his partner and his future plans that day. As Lestrade shouted his climax, he clenched around Mycroft, who grunted and buried himself inside, pumping out his seed.

As they merely panted in the aftermath, he muttered, "My apologies, but we both do still have work and it would be best not to have stains on our suits."

There was only a hum from the cop, and by the sound, he honestly hadn't paid a bit of attention to what Mycroft had said. Rather than annoying, it was almost endearing and he slid out slowly before politely fixing both their clothes. He pulled the still panting man into his lap as he settled on the area that wasn't sticky. "The Yard, if you please, James," he said, nuzzling into the man's neck. Those eyes were slipping closed and he had to wonder just when the last time the man had slept well was. "Rest. I'll wake you when we arrive at the precinct."

"Mmm," was the only response and when he was sure the sergeant had fallen asleep, he said, "James."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't hurry."

"Shall we take the long route?" Anthea asked from the passenger side of the front.

"Yes, I think that would be an excellent idea."

Since then, in the past four years, he'd tried everything, but Lestrade had avoided even once alluding to the incident. He remained ever faithful to his unfaithful wife and had resisted being alone with Mycroft whenever he could, even when it was a simple congratulation over his promotion. Mycroft could see in his eyes that he didn't have confidence enough in himself to say no if the tall man made to seduce him when they were alone. It didn't help that what had started out entirely lust-based had turned, for Mycroft, into something more. He wanted those smiles for himself, be the one that he turned to when he had a rough day, and the one who woke up next to in the morning. Yet the damn feelings that he rather wished he hadn't formed had prevented him from deliberately seducing Lestrade again as he had when they first met.

Yet even after the divorce, when he'd increased his attempts, nothing would move the detective. No matter what he gave him, no matter what he said, it was as if it didn't happen. Mycroft was not known for giving up, or for not getting what he wanted, but he had considered stopping even trying five months ago. It had never seemed to move the man, so why continue?

Yet here Lestrade was, calling him about his 'kidnapping' of John Watson a few days ago. He had paid attention, of course, noted the conclusion of case and even enjoyed reading about it on the ex-soldier's blog. Lestrade and he rarely spoke about anything other than Sherlock and this didn't seem to be about him. Hope flared again and he said instead, "Where are you now, Gregory?"

Even over the phone, he could see the man shiver. He had managed, through no actual intent of his own, to make the man's first name have a hidden meaning. He'd spent four years speaking in that low voice that drove the man up the wall with his first name, but it had been the only discernible effect his pursuit had seemed to have.

"What?" the man asked in surprise. "Outside the Yard, why?"

"Stay there. I'll be there in five minutes."

"Wait, Mycroft—"

He hung up and swept out of his office immediately. When his PA made to stand, he waved her back down. "I will return shortly. Hold all calls and meetings until I say otherwise."

"Yes, sir."

Mycroft slid into the backseat of his car and looked down at his phone, scrolling through his email. "James, to the Yard. As soon as Gregory is in, return to the office." He barely heard the affirmative as he tried to calm his racing heart. Was it possible that Gregory hadn't been entirely unaffected by his pursuit? That he was jealous?

The man himself was fidgeting nervously in front of the steps to the building as the car drew closer and he reached out, opening the door from the inside. "Get in, Gregory."

Lestrade leaned over, peering in. "What's going on, Mycroft?"

He growled a little, reaching out to grab his hand. "Get in."

The man stumbled in, barely getting a chance to close the door before James pulled back out into traffic. Mycroft wasted no time, pulling him into his lap with a fierce kiss. Oh, it tasted as good, if not better, than before. He was through playing, through chasing and waiting. Was it his imagination that his partner kissed back with as much fervor, tinged with relief? Had he been waiting all this time for Mycroft to just move?

"Gregory," he whispered, voice humming in his throat when the kiss ended. He took a deep breath, trying to center himself, before he looked into those brown eyes and frowned, trying to remember why he was there. "You called me about my first meeting with John Watson."

The name seemed to remind the man why he was there and he tried to shift away, but the tall man's hands gripped those hips tightly to prevent him. "You can't just kidnap people, Mycroft."

"That's not why you called," he said flatly, seeing it plain as day. As if anyone could hide anything from a Holmes! Lestrade in particular was an open book. "You were jealous. You thought, feared, that what happened with our first 'visit' happened with him."

Greg glared at him. "Fine, okay? Yes, I thought that!"

He almost rolled his eyes. "Doctor Watson is not my type, nor in my interest. Secondly, Sherlock would probably attempt to poison me if I did. He has become very attached to his new fan in such a short amount of time and John to him. We merely spoke, Gregory. Did he say otherwise?"

"No, of course not. I just know how you work, Mycroft."

"No, you really don't," he purred. "You really don't, dear Gregory. I pamper you. You have never felt the full force of my 'meetings' or what I'm capable of."

"Bullshit."

"Truly," he argued. "Sherlock and I express our…attachments in different ways. I have taken care of you, protected you from the shadows, and have deliberately always chosen items or places that you would feel comfortable with. I do not seek to 'intimidate' or 'impress' you. I have rearranged my schedule often in the past four years just to make sure that we 'accidentally' meet and offer you a ride home, or to have dinner with you. Do you believe for one moment that I have done that for anyone other than Sherlock, who singularly refuses to let me? No, Gregory. You…are special." He could see the rapt attention on the detective's face, the way that he had driven him to speechlessness. It sent a rush through his blood the same way that he assumed Sherlock had when John complimented him.

"I will, however, forgive you for not seeing it."

"…Why?" Greg asked suspiciously.

"You will not have seen it before. A Holmes' way of showing their love is singularly unique."

They arrived at his office just as the man's eyes widened and Mycroft nudged him out. Before he could stutter out the word that he knew was on his partner's lips, he touched them with one finger for silence. "Not until my office."

Lestrade followed behind him and Mycroft nodded at Anthea, who took one look at the detective and nodded back before focusing on her computer again. Mycroft, the gentleman that he was, opened the door for the man before closing and locking it again. "No one is observing here. You may speak."

Greg ran his hand through salt-and-pepper hair that did nothing to age him. "I…really don't know where to start. Are you really that paranoid about someone finding out? Is there an 'us'? What's really going on here? Are you serious about 'love'? Is your definition of the word that same as the rest of the world's?"

Mycroft half sat on the edge of his desk and tried not to smirk at how it caused the detective's eyes to drop briefly to his crotch before looking back up. There was heat in his gaze, as if he liked the picture the man in the three-piece suit made. "I'm merely making sure that if you wanted no one to know about this, that you should wait until we were in my office. There is an 'us' if you want it. I believe I have made my interest quite clear in the past four years. When I say love, Gregory, I mean love."

At his gesture to the chair, the detective dropped into it, looking a bit shell-shocked. "Why have you resisted? Our first meeting was beyond words, but you refused."

"Mycroft, I just got divorced a year ago! So of those four years, you were asking me while I was still married. I cheated on her once and while I…enjoyed it, I wasn't going to do the same things she was." His eyes flickered up. "I guess I have you to thank that her divorce attorney didn't find out about it and use that against me in court."

He leaned over and stroked Lestrade's cheek. "Of course. I told you that those I work with are beyond discreet. I would never allow anyone or anything to hurt you. It does not explain, however, why you refused after you were divorced."

"I wanted to take you up on it," he admitted, shifting again in his seat, but his head remained tilted to the hand Mycroft left on his face. "But I didn't want anything with you to be a 'rebound' kind of relationship. I wanted to say yes, but I wasn't sure if the reason was because I was feeling raw after what happened or because I really wanted to. I didn't want to do that to you, Mycroft. You deserve better than that."

"And now? Have you determined what you feel, now that you've called me?"

There was a faint smile that Mycroft memorized on his lips. "Yeah. Figured it out when John told me about it and I grew jealous, thinking that maybe you sleep with everyone you kidnap." Their eyes met and that smile grew. "So…dinner?"

He lifted the detective's hand in one of his and kissed his knuckles, enjoying the blush that went across the man's cheeks. "I couldn't agree more, but I insist that I will handle the arrangements. It is the least I could do for causing you so much concern."

"You causing me concern? I kept you dangling, didn't even explain any of this to you, for years! I should be the one to treat you!"

Mycroft tugged the man to his feet and closer to him until they were sharing the same breath. "Gregory Lestrade, have you ever known me not to have my way no matter how long it takes?"

"…No."

"Then do you suppose I will not have my way here, treating and pampering you as I have always done?"

There was a heavy half-annoyed and half-resigned sigh. "Not really."

"Good. Tomorrow night then, at seven. I will pick you up at your flat."

Mycroft always got what he wanted, he thought as they began to kiss, even if it took four years.