Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or their worlds.

This fic was written for LizzieCarlton on AO3, who inspired me with a lovely Torchwood GIF while I was thinking of Mycroft and Greg.

It was becoming more difficult by the second for Greg Lestrade to pull his eyes away from Mycroft's new suit, or more accurately the body it concealed. He knew that his... Boyfriend? No, that wasn't quite... His Mycroft had requested his presence at the tailor's hoping to get Greg some new clothes.

He had known that was the secret goal since Anthea had smirked at him from the black car that had silently pulled up in front of the hotel that morning. She went from smirking at him to raising a critical eyebrow at his free hotel drip coffee while she smirked at him. They stood, smirking and frowning respectively, in silence for a moment before Anthea reached out, maintaining eye contact, snatched his coffee, and slowly poured it out on to the pavement between them. When Greg's frown turned into more of a slightly murderous scowl, she huffed out a laugh and handed him a plain white re-usable ceramic version of a paper coffee cup wrapped with a cloth coffee sleeve covered in tiny umbrellas. He made a truly indecent sound deep in his throat after sipping the lovely espresso, then sighed.

"Where?"

"Tailor."

They both smirked.

Mycroft assured him that he had urgent business there, and that Greg was there in a professional capacity, but that hadn't stopped them from sharing a hotel suite, or waking up blissfully naked together that morning before Mycroft scuttled off presumedly to save the universe. Greg couldn't even remember the night before. Business trip, indeed! Only Mycroft Holmes would go clear to Cardiff for a trip to the tailor.

Now here he sat, after tuning out while the other men discussed pocket squares, watching Mycroft turn this way and that in his new suit with an increasingly dry mouth.

Remembering and taking a sip of his espresso, Greg turned to the mirror, trying to imagine what Mycroft saw in it, how the man saw himself. Oh.

The dark-haired young man standing by a display of ties broke the eye contact they had accidentally made in the mirror, his hand brushing a red tie. He looked back at Greg, glanced at Mycroft, and offered Greg a small, almost shy smile.

Greg had a flash of something in his mind, an image of this young man chasing after a billowing coat. Shaking his head, he put his focus back on Mycroft, figuring that his mind was just filling in Sherlock where the man didn't belong.
A fond, content smile made its way onto Greg's face as he coveted the government's bum.

Ianto slipped into the SUV and looked at Jack. He hoped that if he stuck to talking about the matter at hand, Jack wouldn't ask him about his father, the 'master tailor' or the 'friend of his father's' who was currently tending to Mr. Holmes. The man had been the inspiration for Ianto's fictional father. He remembered the first time they'd met, Ianto running into the tailor's shop to escape some boys who were giving him a hard time...

"Everything's fine, Jack. Retcon looks like its holding, and DI Lestrade doesn't seem to be favoring his ankle, so I think that thing we picked up last week actually does heal broken bones."

"That thing we picked up? Oh, Ianto, that just won't do. It needs a name, something snappy. What do you think?"

Ianto placed his hand lightly on Jack's thigh.

"I'll think about it."