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“Brrr,” Greg chitters, burrowing further into the blankets than should be possible.
They’re spending the night at Greg’s, who’d been not at all thrilled to discover that his heater had expired while he was away. Outside, the wind howls, mercilessly battering against the windows. The chill ignores all of his synthetic blankets effectively, and he doesn’t like it one bit.
“Please come to bed already, you git,” He groans.
His partner raises an eyebrow from across the room, where he’s fetching a clean throw blanket from the armoire. Humming, he takes one out, closing the door firmly before unfolding the soft woolen blanket. It’s covered in a delightful pattern of small white sheep hopping over golden fences: Mycroft’s pick.
He makes his way to the bed, where Greg has dared extend an arm from inside his cocoon and is making grabby hands at the blanket. Mycroft smiles softly.
“Patience, dear Gregory.”
Before Greg can get a hold of the blanket, Mycroft’s already extended it over him, adjusting it so that it rests evenly over him. Greg smiles contently, though he’s still shivering slightly.
“Thank you. Now, please?” Greg raises one side of the blankets, leaving Mycroft enough space to slide in. As soon as he does so he finds himself clutched by the coldest hands in the universe, right after those of a corpse, a skeleton, and Death itself.
“Hmmm...” Greg shivers, this time with pleasure as he nuzzles against Mycroft’s neck. His eyes close automatically as he drapes himself over the man much like a koala, absorbing all the warmth with gusto. “Your weird government nickname is extremely misleading, love.”
Mycroft hums, relishing in the weight of Greg’s body against his side. Greg shuffles, reopening his eyes halfway to look at him.
“I mean, The Ice Man? Really? If only they knew...”
Mycroft chuckles, raising his free arm to secure it over Greg’s, which is clasped across him. His other arm is pinned under Greg’s head, and he raises his hand to comb through the silver strands soothingly.
“You shall keep the secret to yourself, I trust.”
“Of course. You’re mad if you think I’m sharing you, British Government be damned.” Greg glares, nuzzling closer with a huff. “They can afford their own heating, thank you very much.”
Mycroft sniffs.
“I see it now. You’ve only asked me to bed for what my body can offer.” He says. “How I failed to deduce this before is a mystery.”
He can sense the vibrations of Greg’s quiet laughter, the breath coming in short puffs on that spot behind his ear before he feels him deposit a soft kiss.
“Yep, that’s right. I’m a heat vampire and you’re nothing but a victim seduced by my wiles. Fear me, mortal...”
Greg kisses the spot again then shimmies up a little. Mycroft only has time to let out an inquisitive noise as Greg kisses him one last time before he feels teeth biting down gently. Greg's hand has somehow burrowed under Mycroft's shirt and is now lazily smoothing along his side, down and then up again.
It sends a shiver down his spine, through other places.
“Quite an amateurish vampire attack, that was,” He says mildly.
His eyes glint, however, and Greg grins, ironically wolfish.
“Guess I’ll have to practice then. Good thing I have a willing subject right here...” He trails off to deliver more kisses, this time happily moving to Mycroft’s mouth, who smiles into the sensation.
“Beast. More than willing...”
They revel in the give and take, their pulses thrumming.
Soon enough Greg can’t care less about the blanket’s mock warmth.
At least not when he's got Mycroft right here, providing the real thing.