My Love

The papers of Greg Lestrade's latest case landed with a messy flump as he dropped them down onto his desk, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. It had been a fortnight and they were no nearer an answer, even with Sherlock's help for the last three days.

Greg glanced at the clock blinking away on his phone, and sighed heavily as he saw it was heading for 11:30 pm. He scoffed at the memory of when someone actually cared if he worked this late, pushing the thought aside as quickly as it formed.

He looked up as he heard the door to the main office shut, knowing he was the only one still here he expected an eager cleaner to come into view, gasping when someone very different did. Mycroft Holmes, the one and only, appeared to be walking jovially towards his office, he grinned when he spotted Lestrade through the windows, then promptly walked into a filing cabinet.

Greg stood quickly as Mycroft reached his door, absently rubbing at his shoulder as he entered the room. "Ah! Inspector Lestrade!" "Holmes...?" Mycroft smiled widely at him, "I'm sure we can do away with such formalities, dear inspector." Dear? Oh... "Holm...Mycroft, are you drunk?" Mycroft's smile didn't waver as he tapped his umbrella on the floor, leaning heavily on it as he silently watched Lestrade.

Greg fidgeted uneasily, watching with a raised eyebrow as Mycroft swayed upright, tossing his umbrella into the corner with a flourish before advancing, however unsteadily, towards the desk. Greg slowly moved around to the front of his desk, not exactly sure how he was supposed to handle one of the most in control men he'd ever met, (second only to Sherlock), grinning and falling over himself like a child.

"Mycroft...don't you think you should go home?" Mycroft stopped dead, and stared up at him, as if he was only capable of one action at a time. "What are you talking about it's all completely fine. I am fine. Plus it's early. Why would I want to go home yet?" "Because you're trollied." Greg muttered quietly, "You do know where you are, don't you?"

Mycroft gazed around them for a moment, then frowned, then narrowed his eyes, widening again as he looked back at Greg. "Your office?" "Well done. And, why exactly?"

Greg flinched as Mycroft advanced on him again, wishing he'd never stepped out from behind his desk. Mycroft crowded into Greg's personal space, making him huddle back against the desk. "Is it so very bad that I just wanted to see you?" Greg frowned, Mycroft settling so close to him that Greg only had to glance sideways to meet his eyes.
"Why would you want to see me?"
Mycroft stared at him for a moment, a sway rocked through him and Greg almost moved out a hand to steady him. Mycroft frowned an utterly adorable frown at Greg, "I don't seem to be able to stand," "That would be the amount of alcohol in you." Mycroft smiled widely, swaying close to Greg's face. This time Greg did hold out a hand, gripping Mycroft's upper arm solidly in support. Mycroft seemed to lean into the touch, before focusing back on Greg's face.

"Because it's you."

"Sorry?"
"You asked me why I wanted to see you, because it is you. You're my favourite."
Greg's face twisted in confusion, "Sorry to repeat you here but, I'm your favourite?" Mycroft nodded quite decidedly, "Yes. My favourite."
"Of what, exactly?"
"Of all the people like you. The police."
Greg snorted, "I'm your favourite of all The Police?"
Another nod, "Yes."
"And do you often come visit people of authority when you're smashed?" Mycroft blinked, and then grinned, "Only if they're my favourite."

Greg laughed despite himself, eyes closing briefly as he tried in vain to comprehend his current situation. Mycroft Holmes, the human embodiment of the British Government, Sherlock's brother, for pete's sake!,was stood in his office at 11:45pm, pissed as the proverbial fart, and was that...

Yes. He was nuzzling Greg Lestrade's neck.

Greg moved his arms to grip Mycroft's shoulders, giving a firm shove when Mycroft refused to budge. He fought against the action, pushing himself up against Greg's side, "My head feels funny, I don't like it." "Yeah, that usually happens when you down a whole mini bar...just keep still for a minute," Greg regretted the words instantly, Mycroft settled against Greg's chest, a happy sound escaped him as he snuffled up against the collar of Greg's shirt.

Greg just sighed, sliding one hand round to rub awkwardly over Mycroft's back, coming up to rest at the base of his neck.

"You're so gay when you're drunk."
"I am not gay."
"You are drunk though," Mycroft just smiled, and curled further into Greg, "I'm just affectionate."
"Drunkenly affectionate."
"Lovingly."
"Annoyingly! You're like a frigging cat."
"You like cats." "Not when they're trying to bloody get off with me, I don't." Greg frowned, "And how the hell do you know I like cats?" Mycroft just chuckled, "I have my ways."
"You know I could have you done for bugging my house?" "You won't though, plus you can't prove it, plus I can get out of anything."

Greg rolled his eyes, knowing it was true. "Will you stop nuzzling my neck like that?" Mycroft didn't, instead pushing his face firmly against Greg's skin whilst letting loose with a full body stretch that rubbed up against Greg's own. Rather cat-like actually, bastard.

"You know when you said I like cats, that I'm not actually bloody attracted to them don't you? Acting like one won't get you anywhere." Mycroft raised his head, resisting the urge to shake his vision back into focus, highly unattractive, he instead narrowed his eyes for a moment until Greg's rather lovely face came back into view.

"And where, exactly, do you believe me to be intending to go?" Greg paused, Mycroft watching him steadily, he swallowed hard as he realised he was trapped; and a smirk pulled at Mycroft's lips as he watched Greg's throat dip. "I don't know," Greg said finally, and the smirk made itself firmly at home on Mycroft's face. "Well okay, I'll rephrase it then. My dear inspector, where would you likeme to be trying to get to?"

Greg swallowed again as a suddenly apparently quite sober Mycroft dropped his eyes, shamelessly dragging them up the length of Greg's body before slowly and purposefully flicking them back to hold Greg's gaze. Greg's breath hitched unhelpfully in his throat, coming out as a sort of tangled whine that did nothing to help his desperate last attempts to refuse what was happening. "Greg..." he held back a flinch as a long finger trailed slowly along his hip, dropping his arms to the desk as Mycroft's hands slid around his waist.

"Are you sad Greg?" "What?" "Are you lonely? You seem it, to me. You seem lonely." "I'm fine." "Hmm. Is that why you're working late, again?" "The case needs," "The case. Greg, you know full well Sherlock would happily stay up till all hours poring over whatever you gave him, but yet here you are, in your dark office all alone." Greg's eyes fell to the floor, "Don't you want to go home, Greg? Is it no better then here?" Greg stared defiantly at the ground, refusing to meet Mycroft's eyes though he knew Mycroft could read him, and everyone else, like a book. Mycroft's fingers kneaded his hips, pulling lightly at his shirt.

"Why are you doing this?" "What?" Greg lifted his head, an utterly dejected look on his face. "Why are you even here, Mycroft? Go home." Mycroft pressed harder at Greg's hips, thumbs rubbing comforting circles on his tummy. "I want to be here." "Well I want to go home." "You need me here." "Mycroft..." "You need someone, Greg." Greg's stomach gave an awful twinge, and he slumped down on the desk. "Mycroft, leave me alone. I'm tired, and you're...well I don't know what exactly is going on with you but you should leave."

"Why are you trying to shut me out?" "I'm not," "I'm afraid you are," Greg sighed, "Please don't do this now." "What do you want Greg? Right now, really?" Greg shrugged, though he knew what he'd love, "Three, no four beers, my sofa and the telly, then my bed and..." here he stopped the thought, blaming the flush that started to flicker on his cheeks on Mycroft's intense gaze and not where his mind was leading. Mycroft gave his hip a squeeze, "and what?" Greg sighed again, "And a warm body in it."

"I could probably stretch to the beers?" Mycroft said jokingly, but his hands continued with their silent support on Greg's hips. Greg laughed, "Thanks, but I think you've had enough." Mycroft smiled, noticing but not mentioning how Greg had never bothered to move his hands, and slowly started to pull Greg's shirt out from where it was tucked in his trousers.

Greg shuddered, and looked down, "Mycroft...seriously?" "I've just thought, I might be able to sort out more then just the beer..." He pulled Greg's shirt free, and slid his hands up inside, delighting in the tiny shiver that rumbled through Greg's body at the touch. "Mycroft..." "Don't deny me now, Greg. You've already made it more then clear you're not against this." Greg sighed deeply as Mycroft's fingers ghosted up over his ribs, shirt rumpling up against Mycroft's arms, "You might as well, ah, try and enjoy yourself." Greg tried to glare at Mycroft, but then Mycroft was leaning closer, and all Greg could think about was that mouth. That beautiful eloquent mouth that spoke words so perfectly, that spun lines that drew you in and tied you up and made you spill every part of yourself. That perfect mouth, that was moving closer, and pushing up against his own. Greg was hit by a wave of lust as his lips readily parted against Mycroft's, a truly sinful tongue sliding boldly into his mouth, like it belonged there. Maybe it did, wondered Greg, as his hands moved to clutch at Mycroft's shoulders once more.

The kiss soon got heavier and before Greg really knew it he was sitting on the edge of his desk, Mycroft pushing up between his legs and the majority of his shirt buttons were open. Mycroft had one hand on the back of Greg's head, tilting him sideways to gain an even deeper entry to his mouth, dropping his other to Greg's waist. He dipped it even lower to run a concentrated pattern over him, drawing out groans from his movements on Greg's groin only to swallow them up with his tongue. "Mm...Croft," "Croft? Is that what you're calling me now?" Greg smirked, looking stunning with his head tipped back and pupils widening with every stroke of Mycroft's hand.

"How about Croftsy?" "How about we never mention that again?" Greg laughed, and Mycroft delighted in the sound, snuffling into the ticklish spot on Greg's neck just to try and draw it out of him again. His hands returned to Greg's chest, running up and down his ribs as Greg sought out his mouth, kissing him deeply. Mycroft groaned as Greg shifted against him, feeling the rewards of his effects pressing deftly through Greg's trousers. He reluctantly pulled away from Greg's mouth, hands pressing flat over his chest.

"Don't suppose you fancy taking this elsewhere?" Greg stared up at him for a minute, brain trying to process both the words leaving Mycroft's mouth and why exactly it had left his own. He finally managed to get out, "What?" then frowned at his own incoherency. Mycroft simply smiled, "I do believe you had a list. A list that seemed to revolve rather largely around your flat." Greg took a deep breath, "You want to come back to mine?" Mycroft smirked, "Well, if you're offering?" Greg closed his eyes with a grin, "I walked right into that, didn't I?" "Afraid so, dear, but shall we go?" Greg hesitated for a moment, and Mycroft moved close to him, buttoning up Greg's shirt.

"We don't have to do anything that wasn't on your list..." he mumbled into Greg's ear, dropping a kiss below it before pulling back into view. Greg nodded slightly, and Mycroft moved back so he could slip down off the desk. "We can take my car," Greg blinked at him, "Your car is here?" "Of course. How do you think I got here?" "You mean your car, and driver, has been here this whole time." Mycroft merely shrugged, "and?" Greg grinned, "you really don't live in our world at all, do you?" Mycroft smirked, "only when it suits me." He drifted near Greg and ran a hand over his arse, Greg stepped away, unable to keep the smile off his face. "Come on then," Mycroft scooped up Greg's jacket from it's haphazard existence on a chair and ushered Greg from the room, only to swing back through the door a second later, "Sorry, my darling..." he muttered as he grabbed his umbrella, and followed Greg out of the building.