A/N: I'm sorry this took so long! I can't guarantee when the next update will be. Probably going to be another month, unfortunately - graduate school is being insane. You can find me on my tumblr (same username) to keep updated on what I'm up to!

Greg clicked away from the article he had skimmed, somewhat disgusted. Why anyone felt the need to speculate on his sex life was beyond him. He couldn't shake the faint edge of worry he felt, too. It'd been a week since he'd seen Mycroft, and four days since Sally had sent him the link to the article that had blown up on his fan page. He rolled his eyes. If there was anything he hated, it was publicity. Yet publicity seemed to cling to him no matter what he did.

He pulled out his mobile, staring at it for a few seconds before he set it back on the table next to his laptop. He'd been writing on and off all morning. This was the hardest part about being a writer - writing to a deadline. There were advantages to his chosen profession, though - he could wrote more some days and less others. Being able to control his schedule allowed him more freedom in when he could meet up with Mycroft. Allowed him to have more time for dates if he felt like it. However, if the person he wanted to date was halfway across the world - well, that did put a damper in Greg's plans.

'Where are you? Any chance of dinner tonight? GL'

'Unfortunately not. My apologies, Gregory. Little bit of a situation, nothing to worry about. I should be in town tomorrow. MH'

Greg sighed and flipped his phone closed. At least it was tomorrow instead of next week. He got a bit lonely sometimes. It was almost enough to make him consider going back to acting. Almost. The schedule was hectic, the travel even more so, but Greg loved it. The downside was the publicity. Although it was bad as a novelist, it was scads better than it had been when he was an actor. He opened his phone again. 'Text me when you can drop by? I'll cook again. GL'

Apparently that wasn't the plan. Greg was typing away the next day, completely absorbed by what he was doing. He nearly fell off of his chair when his phone rang. "Hello?"

"Gregory, it is nice to hear your voice," Mycroft said smoothly. "I am inviting you out for an evening in which we shall partake at a small local restaurant - it is discreet enough for our tastes, I assure you, so you need not worry about being recognised."

"I - what?" Greg said dumbly.

"Seven PM, Gregory," Mycroft said, amusement in his voice. Then the line went silent.

Being able to lounge about in one's pyjamas was one of Greg's favorite parts of being a writer. Although they weren't exactly pyjamas, he justified. They were outlining clothes. Or writing clothes. Something of the sort. There were disadvantages to maintaining such a wardrobe, however. Such as when one's posh boyfriend invited one out to a probably posh sort of club. Then it caused a bit of a panic in terms of wardrobe choices. Thankfully, Sally had dragged Greg out shopping one time to make sure he got a bunch of nice suits for publicity tours. Going over his choices, he settled on a steel gray suit that he thought accentuated his body rather flatteringly.

Sunglasses looked rather ridiculous with a suit, although he wore them anyways. A hat, pulled low over his forehead, completed his rather odd-looking ensemble. As long as it got him to Mycroft's secret club without being recognized, he didn't care. He pulled out his phone.

'Meet me at the back entrance. GL'
'Or the park. GL'
'Or wherever, really. GL'

He was nervous, and he wasn't sure why. Figuring a walk would do him some good, he snuck out of his house the back way, ensuring that there was no one following him. Sighing in relief, he strode towards the park, his hands tucked in his jacket pockets. He was likely an odd sight, walking in the evening by himself in a suit jacket and freshly pressed trousers, but he didn't really care. Smiling as the park came into view, he made for his favorite part, a bridge. It was not far from where he had ran into Mycroft the last time, before the dinner invitation. He grinned at the thought.

He leaned over the railing, watching the fish swim by underneath. A slight smile danced on his lips at the tranquility - it was quiet and peaceful. He ran a hand through his silvering hair, his face solemn despite the languid atmosphere. It would be tonight. It was imperative to have that talk with him, imperative to let Mycroft know what he was getting into if he wanted to have a relationship with Greg.

"Gregory?" Mycroft's voice was quiet. Greg smiled, turning away from the railing towards the auburn-haired man who was looking quizzically at him.

"Ready to go?" he asked, walking over to him.

"Of course," Mycroft said, blinking slightly. "Are you alright?"

"Of course," Greg mimicked Mycroft, winking. "I'm quite fine. Where are we going to dinner?" He slipped his arm through Mycroft's, linking them as they walked to where Anthea was waiting in the car. "Hullo, Anthea," Greg said conversationally. She nodded his direction, her attention on Mycroft. Some more secret eyebrow conversation ensued and Greg watched. Someday he would learn the ancient Holmesian art of the magical eyebrow conversation. Either that, or he'd make Mycroft translate. The car slid effortlessly into gear.

Greg sat comfortably next to Mycroft, watching out the window as various buildings slipped by. He took in some of the scenery as well. Mycroft must have sensed his curiosity, for he would rattle off names, dates, and any sort of event that may have happened at the place that he thought Greg might find interesting. He was like a walking encyclopedia, something Greg thoroughly enjoyed.

The car slid to a stop in front of a fancy-looking restaurant. Greg paused, looking around, attempting to get his bearings. Realizing they weren't too far from the Diogenes, he took off his glasses and his hat and left them in the car. Mycroft looked at him, and Greg shrugged. "Publicity's a bitch," he said. "I have enough trouble trying to go places without the press finding me. This place seems like it's close to the Diogenes, though, and the press rarely go there. I think I'm safe." Mycroft nodded and pressed forward, Greg by his side.

Greg listened, amused, as Mycroft conversed briefly with the waiter in French and they were sat at a small, private table in the back. It was set so that both men could see all of the patrons, but the patrons were unable to see either of them. Greg grinned at Mycroft, who smiled thinly in return. Picking up the menu, Greg raised his eyebrows. This wasn't something he'd anticipated. "It's in French," he said pointedly.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow expectantly. "You spent quite a bit of time in France."

"Going through my travel records, were we?" Greg asked, browsing through the menu. Mycroft smiled noncommittally, watching Greg carefully for a reaction. "While yes, I did, I also don't remember much of the language, and I certainly wasn't served fare like this." He smiled at Mycroft, inviting him to share his amusement. "Oh c'mon, Mycroft, it's funny."

Mycroft carefully dusted off his lapels. "I don't know about funny, Gregory," he started, "But if you tell me what you like, I can certainly order for you." He paused again. "If that's alright, of course." Greg cocked his head to the side, charmed.

"Of course. Order me whatever you think I might like." He set aside the menu, watching Mycroft now. "No, it's not a test, Mycroft. I promise." Mycroft made a face at him, then sat the menu down. The waiter came over and Mycroft ordered in fluent French without even glancing at the menu. Greg could barely stifle a chuckle.

"How was work?" Greg asked conversationally, absently playing with one of the many sets of silverware decorating the various napkins. How someone was supposed to use it all in one meal, he had no idea.

"The usual," Mycroft said. "Hardly worth the trouble I spent on it." He smiled slightly, just a slight lift of the corner of his lips. It was endearing and made Greg want to kiss him. Refraining - they were in public, after all - he took a moment to look over the other patrons. He recognized a handful of them. Other wealthy figures, some actors, some actresses, some attempting to drop out of the spotlight like himself. It was a difficult, almost impossible task. Greg envied those who had managed it.

Their food came before too long, and Greg grinned. Mycroft had ordered him some fancy chicken dish and it looked delicious. The politician had something Greg couldn't even identify, but from the way he dug into it, Greg made note to find out so he could make it in the future. "We should talk," Greg said between bites. He watched, mildly amused, as Mycroft froze with a bite halfway to his mouth. "Nothing like that, Mycroft."

If Mycroft had been less dignified, Greg figured he would've stuck his tongue out at him. But he wasn't. So Greg did it for him. Mycroft eyed him carefully, and Greg chuckled. "Did I do something wrong, Gregory?"

"Of course not," Greg said, waving about the whole restaurant. "This whole thing is fantastic, actually. But I know you like to be all secret. That's hard with me." He took a deep breath. "Look, I'm stalked by paparazzi nearly twenty four seven. I'm not sure how you've managed all the traffic blocks and all, but eventually the paps are going to figure out that something's going on. It's kind of conspicuous."

"What traffic blocks?" Mycroft blinked slightly, but his expression was just a bit too innocent. Greg hid a smile.

"Oh, I know you know what I'm talking about. It's only a matter of time before they catch a picture of you, no matter how secretive you're being." Greg said, flipping a fork around on the table. It was a nervous habit, to play with anything he got his hands on, especially when he was having this kind of conversation.

"A picture?" Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "Of me?"

"Yes." Greg's chocolate brown eyes met Mycroft's ice-blue ones, serious. "Do you think they'd be able to identify you?"

"I'm not in any databases," Mycroft mused. "Why do they want pictures of me, anyways? You're much more handsome."

"Thanks for that," Greg said, winking at Mycroft, who seemed startled by the words that had emerged from his mouth. "They want pictures of you because you're tied to me somehow, and some people on the internet won't stop until they have every detail of my personal life. Why, I have no idea." He shrugged. "And you're quite handsome too."

Mycroft waved a hand in the air, and Greg could see metaphorical cogs turning in that big brain of his. It was oddly striking and Greg hid a grin under his hand. "I'll have Anthea check the internet, and do some damage control," he said finally, his mobile already in his hand. Texting rapidly, Mycroft closed his eyes briefly before setting the phone to the side of their mostly empty plates.

Greg watched him in silence. He wasn't sure what to think - was Mycroft willing to take the chance? Was Greg worth it? The other man's face was so closed off that he wasn't sure what he was thinking. This was Serious Mycroft - the one who ran a whole government from his brain and his tiny mobile phone. This wasn't the shy, adorable man that Greg had had in his bed. This was the one who would weigh the pros and the cons and do whatever was logically prudent. The thought terrified Greg.

He knew, deep down, that he was not the logical choice. The logical choice, for Mycroft, would have been to get the hell away from such a blatant security risk. A popular, paparazzi-stalked novelist was about as far away from a proper mate as you could get. Super serious government types didn't get involved with security risks like him. However, Mycroft had. Greg focused intently on his fork, ignoring the hair that prickled on the back of his neck. Mycroft was watching him.

Greg felt a hand on the back of his neck. "Hey - mphf!" His protest was silenced by Mycroft's lips as the other man kissed him. It wasn't a quick kiss, nor was it particularly passionate, but he lingered, and Greg could feel Mycroft's hand twine in his hair. Slowly, reluctantly the fingers removed themselves and Mycroft settled back. He was embarrassed - public displays of affection were very unlikely to be something Mycroft ever thought of doing often - but he was watching Greg in a sort of anxious way that Greg found adorable. He was so screwed if Mycroft decided it wasn't worth it later.

"What was that for?" Greg asked, a bit breathless. Mycroft adjusted his napkin, prim and proper. Yet Greg could see the faint blush decorating his cheeks from the kiss, and Greg tilted his head, cheeky.

"You were having doubts," Mycroft said simply. His eyes were solemn, and they bored into Greg's like an anvil. "Don't." He said the words like they were so simple. They were a balm to Greg's soul, in a way - it was what he needed to hear, and he was thankful for that. Greg smiled at Mycroft, who frowned, just a bit. "I don't know if that was socially acceptable…" he trailed off as Greg shook his head.

"It's fine," he assured Mycroft. "I'd thank you properly, but we're in public, and I doubt you'd appreciate it." Greg took the last bite of his chicken, allowing the fork to linger against his tongue. Not surprisingly, Mycroft stared at the contrast of steel-gray silverware and light pink tongue. Greg smirked. "See something you like?" Mycroft gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing in his pale throat.

"Can we…" Mycroft trailed off uncertainly. "You could come to my place tonight."

Greg chuckled, leaning forwards. Mycroft blushed, just a bit, as Greg got closer to him. "There a reason for that?"

Mycroft's face flickered, just for a second. "There's more security, and it's less likely that someone will be watching you there." He met Greg's chocolate eyes with his blue ones. Greg leaned back in his chair now, watching Mycroft curiously.

"Well, that is some good logic," he admitted. "Your place it is."

"Anthea will take you home in the morning." Mycroft paused. "I already have some pyjamas for you at my place." Greg raised his eyebrows and Mycroft's gaze stuttered down to the napkins. "It was a simple matter of noting the circumference and matching them up with…" he trailed off, too embarrassed to finish.

"Mycroftian for 'Been checking you out'," Greg teased. "I'll take it." Mycroft's cheeks got redder and Greg laughed. Leaning forward, he pressed a brief kiss to Mycroft's mouth. "Lead on, then."

Cheeks red, Mycroft stood up and grabbed Greg's hands, twining the fingers together as the men walked out of the restaurant and swiftly into the waiting black car. "There was no one there," Mycroft assured Greg, squeezing his hands reassuringly. "My security team performed a sweep."

"Did you check the bushes?" Greg asked. "They're pretty sneaky - mmph!" Mycroft had figured out pretty quickly how to shut Greg up, shifting so that he was straddling the author and covering Greg's mouth with his own. It was a somewhat awkward position but Greg shifted quickly, wrapping his arms around Mycroft's hips and tilting his head. Mycroft gasped slightly and Greg took advantage of his parted lips, slipping his tongue in easily to explore Mycroft's mouth. He took a few moments to nibble on Mycroft's bottom lip, enjoying the other man's reaction. Mycroft's face continued to heat up and he grasped the sides of Greg's jacket, searching for somewhere to place his hands.

"Ahem," Anthea's voice interrupted. The car had stopped and neither of them had noticed. Greg merely threw a smirk in her direction while Mycroft brushed down his suit in an attempt to look composed, the blush high and long-lasting on his cheeks. "Sir," she said, nodding to Mycroft as he exited the car. Greg noted with mild interest that no matter Mycroft's composure, he couldn't exactly hide the bulge in his well-fitting trousers.

"Anthea," he said in response, nodding to her as he pulled Gregory out of the car. Glancing carefully about him, he walked up the narrow walkway and into the building. "Hit the three," he told Greg, still trying to fuss with his suit.

"Three what?" Greg asked, his hand poised over the button.

"No three what," Mycroft said, still distracted. "Three. The third floor's mine."

"Oh," Greg said, as if that explained everything. Of course Mycroft would own an entire floor. He couldn't settle for half of a floor, like Greg did. The thought amused him. What would Greg do with an entire floor? He barely had enough to fill the half of the floor that he did live in. Realizing he still hadn't hit the button for the lift, he pushed it with his finger. They walked in once the doors open, and Greg jolted when the lift started to lift up. Mycroft had his mobile out and was texting rapidly, a slight frown on his face. "Emergency somewhere?" Greg asked conversationally. Mycroft murmured something noncommittally, walking forward to slot a key into the lock and push open the door to his flat.

Greg stood and stared for a few long seconds. It was probably the most interesting flat Greg had ever remembered seeing. Not that he could see much of it from where they were standing - there was a small living space and then a single hallway leading farther into what had to be the rest of the flat. There were a few paintings - mostly fruit, Greg noted with interest. Small bookshelves lined the tiny living area, the trim was a dark cherry with the wood stained dark brown. "I have to make a phone call, Gregory." Mycroft's voice was apologetic and tense at the same time. "If you would follow me…" Obediently Greg trailed after him, stopping when Mycroft did in front of a dark door. There's an entertainment center through this doorway. Please, feel free to do whatever you wish." He turned his back towards Greg and walked through another door.

Well, that was a new development, Greg thought. He walked down a small set of stairs, stopping when he hit the bottom. There was a massive TV decorating one of the walls of Mycroft's entertainment center, surrounded by stereo speakers. He stared. Never would he have imagined Mycroft having such a large TV, nor an entertainment system at all. Wandering over to the small collection of DVDs, he stopped and stared again. Hidden at the bottom was a collection of not only the show he was most known for, but of all the movies and shows that Greg had been in, dating back to the beginning of his acting career. Greg blinked a few times before choosing an older show that he didn't recognize.

After fiddling with the knobs, he got the DVD playing. It was an old American comedian, and he recognised the name, although not the style. He made himself comfortable on the plush couch, occasionally laughing at the antics or the jokes on the telly when the show called for it. Eventually the sound of the show faded to the background as his thoughts rose to the surface, and he couldn't help a snort. Here he was, sitting in Mycroft's flat - the British Government's flat - watching a comedy show while Queen and Country apparently had an urgent situation that Mycroft was tackling via his mobile.

Eventually everything faded and it wasn't until Mycroft's voice cut through Greg's sleep-fogged mind that he realized he must have fallen asleep. "Gregory?" Mycroft's voice was deeply apologetic, and the author stretched lazily on the couch. Rubbing one of his eyes, he searched for a clock - how long had he been down there? "My apologies - I didn't expect that call to take so long." A brief pause. "You've been asleep about an hour, give or take."

"Mm, Mycroft." Greg stretched on the couch again, enjoying the loose feelings in his limbs as he forced his mind back awake. The DVD was still going and he focused on it briefly. "You like this stuff?" He jerked his thumb towards the TV, his eyes turning back to the politician, curious.

"Yes, I do." Greg could hear Mycroft's smile in his voice. It wasn't much, just a bit of a lilt, but it was enough to prompt a smile in return. Greg gestured Mycroft to come closer, reaching up with an arm to drag Mycroft down to where Greg could capture his lips for a kiss.

When they parted, Mycroft's cheeks were just a bit pink and Greg was more awake. Or parts of him were, anyways. He shifted uncomfortably, aware of his cock twitching in his trousers. "We can go back upstairs, if you want," Mycroft murmured against his lips, brushing them together in a motion that sent shivers down Greg's spine.

Greg kissed him briefly, lingering for a few moments. "I want to see where you sleep," he said, his voice low and throaty.

"I doubt it's going to be quite up to your imaginings, Gregory," Mycroft admonished, the flush spreading down to his neck. He had removed his suit jacket and waistcoat, leaving him in a button-down top, the cuff links still in the cuffs. Leading Gregory back up the stairs, he gave him a quick tour, pointing out the kitchen and the bathroom as they made their way through a small maze of hallways.

"You don't make it easy to get to your bedroom, do you?" Greg asked conversationally, amused at the same time.

"Have to dissuade assassins and the like," Mycroft said casually. He reached out and gently took Greg's hand, leading him as they walked. Greg stared at him for a few seconds, waiting to be let in on a joke. No joke was forthcoming.

"Seriously?" he asked.

"Yes," Mycroft said absently, arriving at one of the last few doors. He typed in a code rapidly on the keypad, smiling as it opened and he tugged Greg in.

"Only you would have codes to get into your bedroom," Greg muttered. Mycroft tsked as he walked over to the drawers, pulling out a pair of silk pyjamas. What was it with silk? Greg wondered. He didn't think there was much fantastic about it, really, although it could most definitely be used in various ways in bed.

"Gregory?" Mycroft inquired. Greg was startled to realize he'd been staring at Mycroft's pyjamas, pondering exactly what he could do to the man once he was wearing them. He forced his gaze back to Mycroft's face, raising his eyebrows in response. Mycroft sat the silk pyjamas down on the bed, briefly rummaging around for another set. These were cotton, and faded - if Greg didn't know better, he would've guessed they were ones from his apartment. "These should fit well." Mycroft waited for Greg's acknowledgment before he picked up his own pyjamas and disappeared into the elaborate bathroom.

Greg eyed the cotton boxers on the bottom of the pile. Of course he would know his underwear size. Greg considered the possibility that Mycroft had done some snooping while Greg was asleep back at his flat. Probably. Or he had his assistant do it. Or both. He shook his head in fond amusement as he put on his clean pyjamas, although the shirt remained in his hands. The simplicity of the room caught his attention, and absently he put the shirt on the large bed and wandered around.

It was clean and simple, with an understated elegance that mirrored its owner. The king-sized four-poster bed had gossamer silk draping between each post, curtaining the deep blue sheets and the slightly lighter pillow cases. Blue seemed like such an odd colour compared to the dark tan and cherry of the rest of the wood and room, but to each their own. He took in the drawers and the low row of bookcases, noting with interest that the spines had been custom made.

The bathroom door opened and Greg crouched down, staring at the contents of the bookcases. The spines were quiet and nondescript, a symbolic code that Greg didn't recognise. He glanced back, only to notice Mycroft staring at him. Standing up, he scratched the back of his head. "Sorry, just figured I'd have a look around."

Mycroft was quiet, and Greg realized he had left the shirt on the bed and was bare chested. He glanced down at himself and shrugged. "I can put the shirt on, if you want," he said. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, his gaze firmly on Greg's chest. "Or not," he added, amused. Greg walked over to Mycroft, inherently curious as to the politician's reaction. Mycroft finally tore his gaze from Greg's abs to his face, a light flush on his cheeks. "It's sexy, you know, watching you stare at me." Greg was rewarded when Mycroft blushed just a bit more.

"Oh is it," Mycroft murmured, lifting a hand yet hesitating to put it on Greg's chest. Greg slid forward just a bit more, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth as Mycroft's hands seemed to take on a life of their own. The slightly tentative hands slid over Greg's pectoral muscles, tweaking his nipples lightly as they did so, down to his ribs and then his abdominal muscles, exploring the unfamiliar skin as they did so.

"Mm, damn sexy." Greg slid farther forward, wrapping his arms around Mycroft's shoulders and capturing the man's lips in a kiss. Mycroft's slight gasp opened his mouth enough for Greg to nibble tantalizingly on his upper lip, daring Mycroft to reciprocate. Greg was pleasantly surprised when Mycroft moved his hands lower, to hook in the waistband of Greg's pyjama pants, and then Mycroft was kissing him back, all eager tongue and moving lips. "Bed?"

"Bed," Mycroft confirmed breathily, maneuvering so that Greg's knees were lined up with the dark-sheeted bed.

"I think we need to do something about this." One of Greg's hands plucked lightly at Mycroft's waistband. He paused, a slight frown creasing his face, as Mycroft tensed underneath him. Putting his hands on Mycroft, he shifted the two so that Mycroft was on the bottom. Mycroft laid back on the bed, watching Greg intently, hungry yet wary at the same time. Setting his hands on either side of Mycroft's body, Greg leaned down to capture Mycroft's mouth with his own. Mycroft tentatively mimicked Greg's motions, growing more and more confident until he was in control of the kiss. That was definitely an advantage to kissing a Holmes, even an inexperienced one - they were quick learners.

Greg settled his body against Mycroft's, grinding their hips together and eliciting a surprised moan from the auburn-haired man underneath him. Greg's mouth drifted to his ear, nibbling briefly at his earlobe. Mycroft gasped and writhed under Greg, causing their erections to rub together. Greg moaned, trailing his kisses from Mycroft's ear to his neck, tonguing the hollow of his pale neck and loving how Mycroft flinched underneath him. "So responsive," he murmured, his nose in the hollow of Mycroft's neck. "You're wearing far too many clothes…" Mycroft tensed under him, and Greg licked the hollow of his throat again, lingering. "We'll go a little bit at a time, okay?"

Mycroft nodded underneath him, fingers working swiftly to undo the top button. Greg nosed downwards as soon as he was done, nuzzling the skin he could reach. He trailed down the silk, tonguing his nipples through the rapidly dampening fabric, rolling the nipple his mouth wasn't on with his fingers as he worked. Greg smiled as he elicited a surprised moan from the man below him.

Greg oomphed as Mycroft seized his shoulders and flipped him over. Definitely a quick learner, Greg thought, as Mycroft's lips mouthed their way down his neck and onto his chest. Greg could feel Mycroft's confidence grow as his motions became surer, and the author moaned appreciatively when Mycroft tongued a circle around his nipple. Shivering under Mycroft's touch, he felt Mycroft smirk as he went lower, nuzzling the trail of hair that led down below Greg's waistband. Mycroft pulled back, staring thoughtfully at Greg's cloth-covered erection. Greg reached down and gently pulled Mycroft up to his level, claiming his mouth with his own. He used the change in positions to flip them over and regained control again.

Slipping a hand down to their waists, he cupped Mycroft's cock and testicles through the silk fabric. Mycroft moaned into Greg's mouth, his hands clenching briefly in the band of Greg's pyjamas. "Yes?" Greg asked, stroking the wet patch forming at the front of Mycroft's bottoms with his thumb. Mycroft nodded vigorously and Greg laughed, capturing his mouth again. He slid his hand into Mycroft's bottoms, carefully stroking the hard, pulsing flesh in his hand. It wasn't long before he could feel Mycroft trembling underneath him, his orgasm approaching rapidly. Greg panted against his shoulder, his own cock aching in his pyjamas. A few more strokes and Mycroft moaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he came all over his silk-covered abdomen. Greg couldn't wait any longer, and he shoved his hand down his own bottoms. He was already quite hard - it had been more arousing than he had anticipated to bring the politician to orgasm, to destroy his careful, quiet control. "God - oh god, Mycroft…" Greg shuddered and came, the viscuous fluid mingling with Mycroft's on the taller man's silk top.

It fell quiet between them, both men fighting to get their breathing under control. Slowly Mycroft's eyes opened and focused back on the author, who was watching him with a faint, anxious look. Mycroft's eyes flickered between Greg and the wall, as if he wasn't certain if it was okay to look.

"I have a lack of knowledge in this department, Gregory," Mycroft murmured, shifting slightly as Greg slipped himself back into his bottoms and settled next to him, looking around for a cloth to wipe Mycroft off with..

"God you're wordy." Greg leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, still basking in the glow of his orgasm.

"You could say that," Mycroft said quietly. Carefully he got up, staring distastefully at the drying fluid on his silk shirt. He carefully gathered another set of pyjamas before he disappearing into the bathroom. "There's a second set for you in the draw," he called out through the door. Greg got up and rummaged through it, pulling out an identical set of clothing to what he had wore prior to his debauchment. He changed rapidly, careful to place the dirty clothes in a laundry hamper.

Greg stretched out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. That had gone better than he had expected - and farther, too. A smile quirked up the edge of his lips and he glanced over to see Mycroft open the bathroom door. He had changed completely - couldn't have mismatching pyjamas, apparently.

Mycroft crawled into the bed without any prompting, briefly staring at Greg's crotch before he settled down next to the slightly shorter man. Greg watched him curiously. There was the slightest fidget to Mycroft's fingers, something anxious in the way he plucked at the cuffs of his pyjama top. "Thank you, Gregory," Mycroft said simply. He leaned forward, although he hesitated briefly, and pressed a kiss to Greg's lips.

"No problem," he said. "Although I'm not sure why you're thanking me." He looked Mycroft over, enjoying the view and assessing the politician's state of mind. Mycroft was scrolling rapidly through a message on his mobile, a more serious expression on his face.

He paused, a slight frown on his face. "Isn't that the proper thing to do?"

"Oh, c'mere, you." Greg pulled the mobile out of Mycroft's hand, settling it on the nightstand before pulling Mycroft snug up against him, nuzzling his hair, amused and affectionate. "You're adorable."

Mycroft made an undignified noise. "I'm not adorable." He paused. "I'm a Holmes. We're not supposed to be adorable."

Greg pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, shifting so that Mycroft was laying half on him, an arm over Greg's middle and his head on Greg's chest. "You're very adorable." Mycroft murmured a protest this time, settling against Greg as he did so. He shifted again, and again, to the point that Greg looked down at him, amused.

"Could we…" Mycroft paused. "I liked it the other way." Greg grinned down at him, shifting so that his back was offered to the taller man. Mycroft moved so that he was pressed against Greg's back, his lips worrying the nape of Greg's neck. He slipped an arm possessively about Greg's waist. "Thank you."

"Adorable," Greg teased, snuggling closer to his - he paused. "So."

"Mm?" Mycroft asked, absentmindedly stroking Greg's abdomen with his long fingers, cautious and exploring.

"What are you, anyways?" It wasn't a discussion he'd normally had to have - normally he was with those that were more established in their sexuality and in what they were looking for in a relationship - but this was Mycroft, and Mycroft did things differently. "To me, I mean," he added, correctly interpreting Mycroft's raised eyebrow. "Boyfriend? Lover?"

Mycroft's fingertips were slowly drawing designs on Greg's abdomen now, although Greg didn't think he was intentionally attempting to distract him. He was somewhat glad they'd ended up the way they did, hoping that Mycroft not having to face him when they talked would allow him to talk more freely. Sometimes it was disconcerting to face someone when one was discussing something that had certain - connotations. "I like the first one," he admitted shyly. Greg caught his doodling hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissing it briefly.

"Boyfriend it is, then." A finger lingered on Greg's lips, and he playfully licked and nibbled at it, grinning when Mycroft stiffled a startled squeak and withdrew the hand. Mycroft's hand fluttered, as if he wasn't certain where to place it. "I won't bite, promise," Greg told him, not at all apologetic.

"I do have to be up early," he said regretfully, putting the arm back around Greg's abdomen, fingers loosely tracing the faintly defined muscles of his stomach.

"I'm an early riser," Greg answered with a shrug. The pair lapsed into a comfortable silence, and it was less than a minute before Greg was asleep, held carefully and tenderly by the auburn-haired politician.

"Gregory." Greg made a small noise when his name chimed in his ear, attempting to roll over before realizing he was attempting to roll onto of another human being and while that was always lovely, it was much more lovely if he was coherent while doing so. He forced his eyes open, realizing he was partially on top of a rather amused Mycroft. "Good morning."

"'Morning," Greg muttered, rubbing one of his eyes as he blinked a few times to bring the world into clear focus. Mycroft smiled and kissed the tip of his nose before he slid out from underneath him. Greg made a noise of protest, making grabby hands mid-air to try and get Mycroft to come back.

"I have to get ready, Gregory," Mycroft admonished, fussing and adjusting his pyjamas. Greg watched with sleepy amusement. Only Mycroft would make sure his pyjamas were neat before taking them off. There was almost a giddy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he watched the auburn-haired man, intensifying whenever Mycroft caught him watching and smiled shyly.

Mycroft opened his wardrobe and Greg watched him select what he wanted to wear for the day. "Wear the dark gray one. It makes your arse look fantastic." Mycroft's hand stopped on the suit Greg had been talking about, a mingled expression of surprise, confusion, and mild doubt lingering on his face. Greg propped his head up on his hand, laying on his side, facing Mycroft. "It does. Promise."

"I'm not exactly certain that I should encourage the other politicians to look at my arse," Mycroft said doubtfully, glancing at Greg before looking back at the suit. Appearing to make up his mind, Mycroft took the suit and disappeared into the bathroom. Moments later, Greg heard the shower turn on, and he smiled. He wondered what Mycroft would do if he walked in there. Probably freak out. Politely, of course. Rolling onto his back, he closed his eyes, dozing in and out while Mycroft was in the shower. The door cracked open, jolting him out of his light doze, and Mycroft walked out. He had the trousers on and his shirt, although the cuffs were rolled up to his elbows, the cuff links making distinctive shapes in one of Mycroft's pockets.

Mycroft looked intently through his ties, and Greg couldn't help the way the corner of his lips curled up in a half-smile. He never dressed himself with that much concentration, and it was oddly fascinating to watch Mycroft. Mycroft glanced over at the last pieces of his suit hanging in the wardrobe, carefully pulling a tie down and slipping it about his neck. He tied it easily, adjusting it slightly before walking over to slip on his waistcoat.

Greg was delighting in just watching the man get dressed. He hadn't even seen Mycroft naked, yet watching him pick out his clothes for the day was surprisingly sexy. It was then that it hit him that he didn't have any day clothes for him. "Fuck," he muttered. Mycroft merely glanced at him, nodding his head towards the dresser that had contained Greg's pyjamas the night before.

"You don't have to use such vulgar language, Gregory," Mycroft admonished.

"I'll say it if I want to," Greg muttered, crawling out of bed and walking over to the dresser. "Fuckity fuck fuck fuck."

"Gregory," Mycroft said sternly, carefully rolling down his sleeves and pulling his cufflinks out of his pocket and placing them in their spots.

"Fuck," Greg retorted, surprised to see more of a variety in the dresser than he had seen the night before. "Where'd this stuff come from?" Mycroft walked over to peer in at what Greg was looking at.

"Anthea," Mycroft mused, slipping on his suit jacket. Greg rolled his eyes, turning to his boyfriend.

"You're going to fuss yourself to death, you silly git," he chided, tugging briefly on the jacket to finish adjusting it and standing back. "You look amazing." He spun a tolerant Mycroft to the side, looking up and down. "And your arse looks fantastic." Mycroft allowed a smile to slide across his face, and Greg winked.

"That's physically impossible, Gregory." Mycroft smoothed his lapels one last time, ignoring a long-suffering sigh from the dark-haired man next to him. Greg was back to staring at the variety of clothes in the draws. He didn't even want to think about how Anthea apparently knew quite so much about him and the clothes he liked to wear. Even the pants were scarily accurate, very similar to ones he had about his flat.

"Do I want to know how she knew what kind of pants I liked?" he thought out loud, fingering the cotton of the pair he had decided on before setting it on top of the drawer. Mycroft coughed and Greg looked up at him, eyebrows raised in slight suspicion. "Or did you have a hand in all of this?"

Mycroft adjusted his tie, studiously avoiding Greg's gaze. It didn't work as well as he would have liked, as there was a light blush dusting his cheeks. "She's quite perceptive."

"That's not an answer," Greg pointed out, settling on a pair of jeans and a loose, comfortable shirt that would serve well when paired with Greg's favorite cotton pyjama bottoms. He didn't exactly fancy facing the paparazzi in pyjamas, so jeans would have to do.

"There's a jacket by the door, in case you want that." Mycroft peered past the bedroom door, ignoring Greg's skeptical look.

"There's no bloody way you can see all the way to the front door, Mycroft. Don't you try to pull one over on me," Greg said with a snort. He slid off his pyjama trousers and then his pants, noticing with amusement as Mycroft stared. It was never a bad feeling, Greg decided, pulling on the clean pair of pants before slipping on the jeans and then the shirt. Mycroft's gaze made its way to Greg's face. Greg smirked, enjoying the blush that rose high on Mycroft's cheeks when he did so.

This Mycroft - the Mycroft in this hidden room, in the bed - was so vastly different than the one that Greg had first met. The one that had tried to intimidate him into submission, who handled (presumably) secret business matters with ease. They were like two vastly different people, and Greg was absolutely tickled to have a chance to get the latter into his bed. Well, he mused, technically he'd gone into Mycroft's bed this time, but that was semantics and who the fuck really cared whose bed was used. Greg certainly wasn't about to squabble. A bed was a bed, as long as Mycroft was in it.

"Gregory?" Mycroft tilted his head slightly towards the door, and Greg sighed in an exaggerated fashion.

"If we must," he said. Leaning forward, he planted a kiss on Mycroft's slightly parted lips before poking his head out of the bedroom door. Debating briefly, he strode off to the left, hoping it was the right direction. A slight, amused cough behind him had him doing a 180 degree turn and walking the other way. Greg ignored Mycroft's amused look as he walked by. "I meant to do that." He tweaked Mycroft's nose and continued leading him through the maze, allowing himself to slow and get distracted when he saw things that particularly interested him.

"You have quite the collection of paintings," Greg murmured, his eyes lingering on a waterfall painting he found rather attractive. It was simple yet elegant, the mossy rocks parted by the flow of the water, pouring into a wide, shallow pool at the base of the rock formation.

"Quite." Mycroft inclined his head, looking over the painting that Greg was examining. "This is one of my favorites."

"Any particular reason why?" Greg inquired. His gaze flickered to Mycroft and then back to the painting, trying to absorb as much detail as he could about the surroundings. It looked oddly familiar, like it was a place he had seen a picture of before but never visited.

"I commissioned it," Mycroft said softly. His eyes were warm and wistful in a way that Greg had never seen before, and he shifted closer. "It was a place that was - was very dear to me as a child."

"So you've been there?" Greg couldn't help the thread of envy that crept into his voice as he peered closer at the painting. "It looks fantastic. Gorgeous and peaceful."

"It was," Mycroft said shortly. Something flickered over his face, something Greg couldn't catch, and something about the politician's demeanour shifted. He started walking again, not waiting for Greg to catch up to him. "Are you coming?"

"You git," Greg muttered, lengthening his strides just a bit to catch up with the slightly taller man. "Two bloody inches and you think you're Superman." Mycroft paused to look at him, clearly confused. "Superman. You know - the comic character?" Mycroft lifted an eyebrow. "You have got to see some old TV shows." Greg shook his head in disbelief. He took advantage of Mycroft's surprise to dart ahead. "They're classics, Mycroft."

Mycroft humoured him by allowing him to keep the lead for a few more strides. "Of course, Gregory." As a retort Greg stopped. Mycroft apparently didn't notice, for he walked straight into Greg, nearly tipping the two of them over. "Gregory?" he asked, a tremour in his voice betraying his uncertainty.

Greg turned around, his eyes wide. Mycroft frowned slightly, apparently bewildered by Greg's complete change in demeanour. Perfect. Then his eyes flickered behind Greg, as if attempting to determine if something had stopped him. While he was staring intently behind Greg, Greg took the moment to wind his arms around Mycroft's neck and plant a kiss on the auburn-haired man's lips. Mycroft took a slight step back in surprise before slipping an arm about Greg's shoulders in return, relaxing into the kiss.

Eventually they separated. Mycroft's eyes kept flickering to the area behind Greg, still skeptical. Greg chuckled. "There's not anything there, Mycroft."

Mycroft frowned, about to object, when understanding showed in his gaze. "You were distracting me," he said. Greg grinned as Mycroft narrowed his eyes, and kissed him again before practically skipping the rest of the way down the hall. There was a new addition to the coat rack. It seemed like it would fit him rather well. He slipped on the snug coat and zipped it up. It fit quite nicely, and Greg checked himself out in a mirror in the entry way. Greg turned to notice Mycroft watching him with an amused smile. He snorted and stuck his tongue out at Mycroft before he paused at the door.

"After you," Greg said cheekily, bowing. He wasn't quite sure why he felt so oddly playful, but he did. Mycroft stared quizzically at him for a few seconds - like Greg was an odd bug under his microscope, and it was oddly reminiscent of their first meeting and that made Greg smile - before he continued through the door towards the unmarked black car loitering at the front of the building.

Greg followed him, a slight bounce to his step as he slid into the car next to Mycroft. It was probably the sleep deprivation making him go crazy, he decided. Anthea was sitting in the seat opposite them, typing rapidly on the keyboard of her phone. She said nothing to Mycroft and Mycroft said nothing back, yet she nodded and settled back against the car seat. Greg frowned. He had watched Mycroft carefully, and Anthea as well, yet no eyebrow movements this time. Had they noticed Greg watching and used some other secret method of communication? He decided this deserved further study. Hiding a grin, he sat back next to Mycroft, who turned to stare at him curiously.

"You can drop me off at the park," Greg offered. Mycroft raised an eyebrow before nodding sharply. Anthea's fingers danced about on the phone for a few brief seconds before nodding in return. "That way it's not quite so conspicuous, and you're less likely to be seen." The car fell quiet and Greg looked out the window, watching the coloured rays dance about the sky as the sun rose. "It's quite pretty, early in the morning."

"Why, Gregory," Mycroft remarked, "You're starting to sound like a poet." Greg snorted in the seat next to him, pressing his leg against Mycroft's in an attempt to rebuke what he said. Soon they lapsed back into silence, with Greg's hand on Mycroft's leg and Mycroft's fingers twined in with Greg's. It was a comfortable silence, and Greg basked in it. Although it was punctuated occasionally by Anthea's frustrated (yet composedly so) noises at the phone and the hum of the car they were in.

"We're here." Anthea's voice was quiet, although it shattered the quiet, companiable atmosphere. Mycroft looked at Greg and Greg smiled slightly, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Text me when you have some free time?" Greg tilted his head, grinning at Mycroft.

Mycroft grimaced and it was enough to send Greg's heart tumbling. "I will do my best, Gregory," he promised. "I'm not wholly certain how often I will be in England."

"Well, just don't destroy my phone bill," Greg mumbled. Mycroft pressed another kiss to his lips, apologetic and sweet and it just made Greg want to melt and not let go of him, made him want to demand that Mycroft came up to his flat with him and - something. Mycroft was Mycroft - there was no denying that - but he was also sweet and charismatic and quite fine to look at on top of it. Squeezing his hand one last time, Greg cracked open the door and stepped out into the sunshine, a slight smile on his face. He moved swiftly away from the car, although he twisted his head back in an attempt to catch sight of Mycroft beneath the heavy tint of the windows. Slowly, reluctantly the car drove away. Greg fancied it was so Mycroft could get good glimpse of him standing there.

With a sigh, he turned around. Time to get back to reality. Thrusting his shoulders back, Greg started the short walk to his apartment. He felt a bit naked, without his normal paparazzi disguise, and he realized he must have left them at Mycroft's. He grinned. More incentive to go back, and the sooner the better.