Where I take liberties about natural disasters. No towns were harmed in the making of this short fic.
For nixxie-fic on her birthday (albeit a bit late)
Gregory knew something was bothering Mycroft. He could see it in the lines in his face and his posture. He also knew that whatever it was- was probably above his paygrade and security clearance. He sighed inwardly as he watched as Mycroft cut up his meal up into smaller and smaller pieces and push it around his plate, never really eating any.
Finally, Gregory tired of the charade and stood up and picked up both their plates and carried them through to the kitchen. He scraped the remains of their dinner into the bin and loaded the dishes into the dishwasher. He gave the counters a cursory wipe, and headed back out to where Mycroft was still sitting, unmoving.
Mycroft looked up as Gregory entered the room and the inspector couldn’t help but notice how exhausted Mycroft looked.
“Take me to bed, Gregory,” Mycroft said quietly
Gregory tried not to let the surprise show on his face. He merely nodded and reached for Mycroft’s hand. As they went up the stairs to their bedroom, he thought how this used to bother him; from the not talking to Mycroft’s need to lose himself in the physicality of their relations when he had a trying day. But now he understood that Mycroft needed it; their coupling allowed him to reboot and either see whatever the problem was in a new light, or finally blissed him out enough to where he could get some much-needed rest. He loved Mycroft with all his heart and he knew above all else that Mycroft loved him. So if sometimes Mycroft needed to lose himself in their lovemaking, he would do all that he could to help.
When they got to the bedroom, Gregory gently removed Mycroft’s clothing, starting with his cufflinks and working all the way down to his socks. Mycroft never spoke, but occasionally his breath would catch when Gregory would stop to kiss his collarbone, lick a spot on the inside of his thigh, or whisper a touch down his side.
Finally, Mycroft was naked, and he climbed into their bed, wanting; the evidence of his need and arousal, long and hard against his stomach. Gregory quickly undressed and joined him, kissing him punishingly on the mouth, licking his lips and the inside of his mouth, tasting Earl Grey tea and the hint of scotch. Mycroft shuddered under the touch and wrapped his arms around Gregory’s neck, deepening the kiss, as if were trying to swallow him whole.
They could feel each other’s hard lengths, and Mycroft had already left a small damp patch on Gregory’s thigh as he pushed into it, seeking friction. Gregory wrapped a large hand around Mycroft’s rock hard cock and stroked, spreading pre-come all over his length.
Mycroft moaned and the sound went right to Gregory’s already hard member.
“Nnng. What do you want, love?” Gregory whispered in between kisses.
“You. Inside me. Now.” Mycroft gasped out, as Gregory’s hand moved faster.
Pausing a moment, Gregory reached over for the lube, spreading a generous amount over his fingers. He gently began to work his lover open, taking care, but working as quick as he dared. He crooked a finger, hitting the small bundle of nerves and Mycroft gasped out his name. Gregory smiled, and placed a kiss on his lover’s now damp forehead.
Mycroft continued to moan and writhe in pleasure under Gregory’s tender ministrations until he could take it no more. “Please, Gregory,” he whispered.
Gregory didn’t need to be told twice as he slipped inside Mycroft, slowly at first, but then built up to a frenetic pace. He moaned and murmured endearments, not even certain what he was saying, as he drove inside his lover again and again.
Mycroft hands roamed, touching Gregory’s tanned skin. Finally, he let one hand rest in his silver hair, and his other slipped down toward his aching, needy cock. Gregory saw this, and quickly pushed his hand away, resuming his fast, even strokes over Mycroft’s cock.
Mycroft went very, very still before he came hard all over Gregory’s hand and his stomach, spurts of white streaking them both. Gregory moaned again. “That was beautiful. You’re beautiful,” he whispered, as he chased his own orgasm, heat pooling heavy inside him before he was granted release.
After a few minutes that were needed to breath normally again, Gregory slowly extricated himself and looked up at Mycroft. He was lying against the pillows, hair mussed, an arm thrown across his face. Giving him a fond smile, Gregory got out of bed and carefully padded to the ensuite. He splashed his face with water and wet a flannel, which he brought into Mycroft.
Gregory froze when he looked down at his lover. Mycroft’s eyes were damp and there were tear tracks on his cheeks. “Oh, love,” Gregory whispered. He tenderly wiped away the tears with the soft cloth and then wiped away the remnants of their lovemaking from Mycroft’s stomach. He quickly returned the flannel to the ensuite and then slipped back into bed next to his lover.
Mycroft immediately curled up and burrowed into Gregory’s arms, almost like he was trying to get inside his skin. Gregory pressed a kiss into Mycroft’s soft hair. He wanted to tell Mycroft that whatever it was that it was ok; that he loved him and that was all that mattered. Instead, he said nothing, and just held Mycroft to him, stroking his back, until the younger man was fast asleep. Gregory stayed awake a long time after, watching the rise and fall of Mycroft’s chest.
When Gregory woke the next morning, he was alone.
Gregory waited up until midnight, but Mycroft never came home. When he woke the next morning, the space beside him was cold.
Gregory scanned the papers for the second day in a row looking for some hint of something that might have Mycroft’s “signature” on it. The closest he came to finding anything was the story of how an early warning system failed in alerting a town of an impending volcanic eruption, leading to a loss of life.
Late that evening, Mycroft came home. Gregory looked up from his novel to see him swaying from exhaustion in the doorway. He looked shattered, his suit rumpled and he had startling dark circles under his eyes.
Gregory put down his book and crossed the room, pulling Mycroft into his arms. The younger man sagged against him, nearly asleep on his feet. Gregory kissed him on the top of his head and then led him slowly, carefully upstairs.
Gregory quickly undressed his lover and got him into a pair of pyjamas and then under the duvet, where he joined him moments later. He gathered Mycroft to him, frowning at the tenseness of his lover’s body and he sighed heavily.
“It wasn’t your fault, Mycroft,” he murmured against his ear. “It’s like trying to control the weather. Or Sherlock,” he said with rumbling chuckle. “You can’t control a force of nature.”
Gregory felt the moment that Mycroft forgave himself; he took a heaving, shuddering breath, and his entire body relaxed into Gregory’s warm, strong arms. “Thank you,” Mycroft whispered just before he fell into an exhausted slumber.