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.
Mycroft blindly felt around his bedside table and I looked from under hooded eyes at the bottle of lube he had in his hand. "Alright?" He asked as form of permission.
"Shit yeah," I breathed.
Mycroft grinned at me, so brightly it was almost blinding, and poured a generous amount into his hand before rubbing it around his erection. He used the access to rub around me, gently slipping his finger in and out of my tightness, easing any tension I felt.
I reached up and pulled him in close again, pressing my lips against his. Our kisses were feverish, two sets of hands roaming over the expanse of each other's bodies. Whatever concerns I had temporarily faded away with the suction of his lips at my neck.
"I love you, Greg, I love you," Mycroft murmured as he gently pushed inside me.
I sighed in pleasure as he filled me, his chiseled torso rubbing against mine. Mycroft's lips reattached to my neck, and he sucked at it, groaning as he slowly moved his hips backwards and forwards, hitting my prostrate each time with an admirable precision that only he could have. My fingers dug into his back as we grunted and groaned in unison. He sped up, only slightly, however it made all the more better.
"Mycroft," I sighed as his hands traveled down over my torso and thighs, pulling them up around his waist. It changed the angle considerably, with my hips rocking up higher to match his pace and thrusts, and he hit my prostrate with a lot more force that made my eyesight blue and black out in spots.
"Fuck," he grunted in my ear, his fingers tightening on the sheets beside my head. "You're so good, Greg, so tight."
"Nggh," was my only audible response. I didn't even know what I meant to say.
My body seemed to be on fire; it burned through my veins with every thrust of his hips, every gasp of his breath, every word from his lips that lingered near my neck and ear. He was mine in that moment, in every sense of the word, because for that moment, I alone held his attention, and whether or not Sherlock had been right about him getting bored of me, I certainly held his attention then. His words mentioned only my name and his body moved only for me. His lips smiled against my lips for me when I arched my back further into him - and that was for me alone.
I felt the heat settle in my stomach, thrumming hard into my entire body from there. "Mycroft, I'm gonna..." My voice trailed off and was substituted by a grunt.
"Come for me, Greg," he growled, gently tugging at my earlobe with his teeth.
We came in unison, coming to an almost complete standstill. Mycroft looked down at me with loving eyes, leaning in to gently kiss my forehead before easing himself out of me. "I love you."
"I love you too, Mycroft."
I awoke in the morning to find Mycroft watching me. "Good morning," he smiled, stroking small circles into my arm.
"Morning," I mumbled sleepily, burrowing in closer to him and burying my face in his neck.
"Ready to talk about yesterday?"
I sighed and turned over so that my back was to him. "You really wanna spoil the moment like that?"
"Is it about Sherlock?"
I turned - yet again - to face him. "Do you really care about me?"
The look in the assistant headmaster's eyes showed his hurt and offence. "What?"
"Anderson calls me a boy toy, your brother called me a boy toy. Do I really mean more to you than that?"
"Oh, Greg," Mycroft sighed. "You just don't understand, do you? You don't realise that you're my entire world, you mean everything to me."
"I dunno," I shrugged, "I just don't see why you'd think that."
"I'll prove it to you, Greg, someday."
That day just so happened to come on Christmas Day. I had stayed at Mycroft's house, and woke up to hear the gently sound of a piano. Grunting, much like a caveman, I looked up to see Mycroft playing a piano in his room, looking at me all the while.
"What-"I began.
"It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside," Mycroft began to sing.
"-Are you doing?" I continued.
Mycroft ignored me and continued to sing and play the piano. I recognised the song as soon as he began it: Your Song by Elton John.
I think the tears began as he began singing "I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words... How wonderful life is, while you're in the world." He sang the song with such conviction, so much passion in his eyes that stared into mine. He sang with a confidence that made me question whether the song really was Elton John's orignially, because Mycroft made it sound like his own.
The song finished and he came around from the piano. "You have to believe that I love you more than anything, Greg. I wouldn't have just made a huge fool out of myself otherwise."
With a sniff, I ran into his arms, seeming to fit into them better than ever before. We were like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that fit together perfectly; in that same sense were made for each other.
"I'm going to marry you one day," Mycroft promised before kissing me passionately, which I repaid with a grin on my face. We were together, and in such a way that we always would be.
~Fin~
A/N - Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night