The Assistant Headmaster (Mystrade Fanfic)

Thirty Eight

Greg

"I think I love your parents," I told Mycroft as we began the drive back to Mycroft's place.

"And I think they love you too," Mycroft chuckled, never looking away from the road.

"It's been a good night," I continued, not knowing exactly where I was going with that statement. Mycroft, however, seemed to.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Something's wrong, Greg. I can see it in your face and the fact that you're making 'small talk' shows me that you subconsciously want to talk about it but you don't want to bring attention to it. So let's not beat around the bush about it."

I shook my head. "Dunno what you're talking about. Anyway, all I'm sayin' is, it was a nice night."

Mycroft scoffed. "Ok."

I felt I could almost grab his thoughts in the air as we fell silent. They were so thoroughly thought that they were nearly tangible - or at least it seemed that way.

How could I tell him that his brothers words had hurt? How could I tell him that even though the evening had been amazing, meeting his parents and all, Sherlock's words still raced through my mind, ruining everything else. And why did it hurt? Because I could see the truth in his words.

Mycroft turned up the music on the radio and a classical piece  began to stream through the speakers, easing my emotions somewhat.

We pulled up outside Mycroft's house, and he unlocked the door for me. The outside's evening air had been replaced with the warmth of the fire that crackled in the fireplace; my mind still boggled as to how it was made possible that the fire should be started in the first place.

"Make yourself at home," Mycroft said, waving a hand at the sofas in the living room as he locked the front door.

I sat down on the sofa and tapped my fingers against the armrest. I gazed at the fire for a moment, thinking about I-don't-even-know-what, before turning towards the sound of a loud 'pop!' sound. Mycroft had opened a bottle of champagne and poured two glasses of it.

I looked at the fire once again and felt the sofa dip slightly as Mycroft sat down beside me. "Here," he said, handing me a glass.

"What's the occasion?" I asked as I took a sip, smiling gratefully.

"Us."

"To us," I said, gently bumping my glass against his in toast.

We sat together, watching the fire flicker, and yet -strangely- it seemed that more heat was being radiated off of the man's body. His arm was draped over my shoulder, fingers rubbing gentle circles over my jumper. I rested my head against his shoulder and he leaned down to kiss my forehead. "I love you, you know," he murmured into my hair.

"I love you too," I whispered back.

Somehow, I can't remember how it happened, I ended up falling back on Mycroft's bed -impossibly softer than his old one at his parents house -, sighing as his lips met my neck. My fingers dug into Mycroft's bare back, his shirt lost somewhere on the way up the stairs, and I felt him moan against my sensitive skin. His large, cool hands snuck under the fabric of my clothes, burning my hot torso with his touch.

My clothes - both upper and lower - were  quickly discarded onto the floor, and I was naked while Mycroft remained in only his pants and trousers. We crawled under the covers and Mycroft kicked off the rest of his clothes. His lips moved to mine hungrily, and I kissed him back passionately, moaning as his tongue rubbed against my own.