Chapter Text
Gregory looked up from his paperwork as one of his favourite scenes in the film approached but was surprised at the soft chuckle that came from the other end of the sofa. Mycroft was still sitting with his legs propped up on a stool, laptop on his knees, typing steadily away but obviously he had been listening more closely than he claimed.
“Can I help you Gregory?” the civil servant asked, pausing and turning to look at him over his glasses. Greg continued to look at him, relishing the sparkle that was returning to the still shadowed eyes.
“Just admiring the view,” he said with a smile, he was still far too skinny for his liking and sleeping almost twelve hours a day but it was so much of an improvement that he was happy to take what he could get.
“Well get back to your film and let me get on with this,” the other man said, in mock scolding.
“Uhhu, cause you’re not watching it at all.”
“No Gregory, I’m doing a little light report writing.”
“Oh, of course you are,” Greg said, playing along quite happily, “I’m going to put the kettle on.”
“Tea please,” Mycroft said, returning his attention to the computer screen. Greg collected his mug and the other man’s tea cup and the pot from the table and headed through to the kitchen.
In the four days since Sunday the two of them had spent more time alone together than they ever had before and he for one had relished every moment of it. For most of the first forty-eight hours Mycroft had done little but sleep but even the opportunity to see him resting was such a rare treat that he had spent hours just watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Opening the cupboard that housed the tea cadies, he selected an afternoon earl grey and reached for fresh cups. The sound of footsteps behind him prompted him to turn around and he smiled at Mycroft standing there in cords, a lambs wool sweater and his slippers, glasses hanging from his right hand.
“Can I help you, M?” he asked, “was I taking too long?”
“Just thought I’d offer you a hand,” came the casual reply, but Greg had to force himself not smile as Mycroft sauntered up to one of the cupboards and pulled out a packet of Rich Teas. He’d been slightly sceptical when amongst all the wholesome foods that Anthea had had delivered there had been six packets of these particular biscuits, but the first time that his partner had wondered into the kitchen looking for something other than dry toast and broth that was what he had settled on. They obviously weren’t a substitute for well balanced meals and Greg was certainly making sure that there were plenty of those to be had, but he got so much pleasure from seeing M eat something just because he enjoyed it.
“Come on,” he said, collecting up the tea things, “I didn’t pause the film and there’s a good bit coming up.”
“I paused it,” Mycroft replied lightly.
“Is that right?”
“I thought it was a simple way of avoiding having to listen to you complain about missing one of your many favourite bits of James Bond.”
“Many favourite bits of James Bond?”
“Well you do seem unnaturally attracted to him…” the other man said innocently, accepting the cup Greg handed him and dunking a biscuit in his tea, timing the move to his mouth to perfection. He knew Mycroft was winding him up but he was entirely happy to play along.
“Actually, I think I prefer his superior.”
“Is that, right?”
“Hmmm, I’m all about M,”
“Is that right? There is certainly something to said for Dame Judy Dench, even more so in person.”
“I’m certain that there is, but for the most part I like my crushes a little less female.”
“Well I certainly can’t complain about that,” he said, reaching for the remote control and hitting play.
“Come here you,” Greg requested holding his arms out and leaning back into the corner. Mycroft shut his laptop and placed it on the coffee table before shifting his teacup, the teapot and his packet of biscuits further up the table so that they’d be in easy reach before shuffling up and leaning back against Greg’s chest. It took some rearranging, but soon they were settled comfortably his arm wrapped around his partner’s waist and the other man’s head resting on his shoulder.
“We should do this more often,” Mycroft mumbled sleepily as the credits rolled, turning and curling in so that his head rested under Greg’s chin.
“What? Watch James Bond?”
“Maybe,” Mycroft replied, “Just the two of us getting to relax, to fall asleep on the sofa, eat an entire packet of biscuits and drink copious amounts of tea.” Greg chuckled, enjoying the weight against his chest.
“I agree entirely, I think I may have developed a thing for you lying on top of me and eating biscuits.” Mycroft slapped his chest.
“You wont say that when I’m twenty stone and squashing you entirely.”
“I love you now and I’ll love you when you weigh more than the average twelve year old, and I would love you if you weighed twenty-five stone.”
“Is that right,” Mycroft said in an entirely unconvinced monotone.
“Absolutely,” he reiterated seriously, shifting so that he could look the other man in the eye, “I mean, I’d be concerned about your life expectancy but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t love you.”
“From the man who chases criminals for a living in a profession that has a life expectancy significantly lower than the civil service.
“How about we strike a deal, I’ll try not to get shot, or drink myself into an early grave, and you’ll never work yourself so hard you frighten me as much as you did at the weekend.”
“And we’ll try and do this one afternoon every now and again.”
“Agreed,” he said gently, carding his hand through the soft hair at the back of Mycroft’s head.
“Hmmm,” the other man sighed gently, settling back on to his chest. Greg could tell barely minutes later when he fell asleep, his breathing changing and his frame relaxing further into his. It was just another sign that there was still some way to go before Mycroft was back at fighting fit, but it was only Thursday and the schedule was still clear till Monday. So Greg simply settled down and reached for the remote, increasingly appreciative of digital technology as he searched the menus for another 007 to keep him entertained until he too slipped under Morpheus’ spell.