The first thing that assaulted Greg the moment he woke up was an intense headache. He groaned, shutting his eyes tight even though he'd never opened them, and tried assessing the situation. He couldn't remember the last time he'd celebrated the New Year like last night. It had meant to be a simple office party, but they all got drunk way too fast. He was trying to gather himself, figure everything out, and…

The sheets he was laying in did not feel familiar. His brow furrowed, and finally he forced his eyes open to very unfamiliar surroundings. Oh shit, who the fuck had he ended up going home with? You would think he was a teenager again. He glanced down at his bare torso, and caught sight of his clothes strewn across the floor, and then the umbrella in the corner.

The…umbrella?

That was Mycroft Holmes' umbrella.

His brown eyes widened and his mouth dropped. He had invited Mycroft to the party, sure, and he had been insanely surprised when the posh man had actually shown up. He'd been having really attached, intimate thoughts of the politician for a while, but had been resigned that it would never get anywhere. Except, it seemed that it had. He'd gone home with Mycroft. How much had they both had?

He was startled out of his thoughts as the man in question walked into the bedroom, holding two steaming mugs. He was wearing a dark blue robe tied tightly around his waist, and his usual perfect hair was messy with sleep, and what Greg recalled other, more fun activities. His fine eyebrows raised as they made eye contact.

"Ah, Inspector," Mycroft started, his voice smooth and yet, uncertain. "Coffee?"

Greg sat up slowly, a grin sliding onto his face. He reached out to take the drink, and shifted over as he was joined back on the bed.

"I think we're past such formalities now, don't you?" he questioned. "Please. Greg."

"Fair enough, Gregory."

Greg rolled his eyes and chuckled. He took a few sips of his coffee before setting it aside and turning to face the younger man.

"So, last night…" he started, a bit awkwardly.

"Can be as much or as little as you prefer." Mycroft had taken on his normal, guarded tone. One he used when they discussed cases or Sherlock. He was almost noticeably rigid, and he wasn't looking at him.

"Yes," the older of the two said slowly, softly. His tone was enough to make Mycroft look at him, his eyes strangely curious. "As much as I'd prefer…"

Before Mycroft had the chance to say anything more, Greg leaned in and captured his thin lips in a gentle, passionate kiss that spoke volumes for them both.