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Greg let out a deep sigh, as he went through their apartment to gather the laundry. It was mostly his laundry, because Mycroft was much neater than him. Greg tended to throw his clothes around when he got undressed at night and Mycroft always folded them neatly on a chair.
However, Mycroft never blamed him.
They tried to divide the household chores between them as much as possible, given their schedules. Often many of these chores fell to Greg because of Mycroft's frequent and sometimes long absences, but he didn't mind. In fact, what bothered him was that when Mycroft was away, these kinds of chores, like laundry, made his absence even more obvious.
Greg spotted one of Mycroft's shirts hanging neatly on the back of a chair. Taking it in his hands, he remembered how it highlighted, like all his perfectly cut clothes, Mycroft's slender figure.
He couldn't help but bring it up to his face and inhale its scent deeply. Mycroft's scent.
He held the shirt against his face, reveling in the comforting smell. He couldn't keep his throat from tightening. He missed Mycroft, as always. It wasn't the first time, nor the last, and Greg wouldn't change his life for anything, but the missing... he never thought it would be this hard. And paradoxically, he told himself that if he missed Mycroft that much it was a pretty good sign for their relationship.
He picked up the shirt and put it on top of the laundry basket, then headed for the washing machine.
On the small table next to it, he began to sort the laundry. He almost heard Mycroft's voice.
Greg, it's important, never put anything colored with my shirts.
Greg chuckled to himself. He had reminded Mycroft that he hadn't waited for him to do his laundry but assured him that he would always be careful with his things. He knew perfectly well the fussy side of his lover and had no intention of being a source of additional stress.
He filled the machine and programmed it to run later in the evening. He was about to leave the laundry room when his eyes fell on Mycroft's shirt.
He took off his henley, threw it carelessly on one of the piles of laundry, took Mycroft's shirt and put it on.
Although he knew he was alone, he couldn't help but blush at the thought of what he had just done. But the sensation that invaded him when his skin came into contact with Mycroft's shirt, made him forget all embarrassment. Added to that the scent of Mycroft, he had the impression of being in his arms. It only missed his body heat.
He walked to the living room, grabbed the plaid that always hung there, and sat down, curled up in the loveseat where they often sat together. He covered his legs with the plaid and snuggled into Mycroft's shirt, tightening the flaps and collar around him. Tired and soothed by the sensations Mycroft's shirt gave him, he fell asleep peacefully.
He slept so deeply that he did not hear Mycroft come in.
Mycroft saw that there was no answer, so he went to the living room and was surprised to see Greg asleep on the loveseat. As he approached, he gasped when he saw what Greg was wearing, his shirt. His eyes softened again when he saw the way Greg was nestled in the shirt, the way his hands gripped it, even in his sleep.
Mycroft swallowed. Lord, he had missed him.
Then he wondered how Greg was handling it. How hard it could be to walk into an empty house.
Mycroft knelt in front of him, looked at his peaceful face and whispered, "I'm sorry Gregory, this is probably not what you wanted. My absences, my secrets, this loneliness. I wish I could give you more."
"Mycroft...you're an idiot."
Mycroft saw that Greg's eyes were wide open. Seeing that he was about to get up, Greg pulled him by the sleeve and pushed himself up a bit to allow Mycroft to sit next to him. Mycroft complied.
Greg took his hand and said gently, "This is not what I wanted, this situation is not what I wanted. Of course, who would want to be separated from the person they love for so long? I miss you in ways that are almost unbearable at times. So yes, this is not what I wanted, but you, you are what I wanted, what I still want, the good and the... not so good. None of this changes the love I have for you."
He wrapped his arm around Mycroft's neck and drew his face up to his to capture his lips in a kiss that said better than words the sincerity of his feelings.
When they parted, Mycroft rested his head on Greg's shoulder and his hand in the middle of his chest. The shirt was half-open and Mycroft intermittently placed light kisses on the bare skin under his cheek. Greg had his hand in his hair and was slowly caressing it. After a few minutes, he broke the silence, "And you Mycroft, is this what you wanted?"
Mycroft thought for a few seconds before answering, "Not seeing you for days and the resulting deep miss, no absolutely not, but coming home and seeing you in my shirt, having a companion who understands me beyond my wildest dreams, who loves everything about me, who wants everything from me, the good as well as the... not so good? Yes, that's exactly what I wanted."
Greg didn't say anything because there was nothing more to say.
Then after a few seconds he chuckled lightly, "If I had known wearing your shirt would have this effect on you, I would have put it on much sooner."
Mycroft smiled against his skin before lifting his head a little, "You know what makes me feel even better than you in my shirt?"
He didn't let it answer and gently pushed the shirt away, baring Greg's shoulder. He pressed a lingering kiss on it then lifted his head he said, a playful glint in his eye, "You without my shirt."
Greg suddenly got the same playful gleam in his eye, stood up and took both of Mycroft's hands, "so let's go somewhere where you can take it off me."
Mycroft grabbed both sides of the shirt and pulled Greg against him. He captured his lips in a slow, delightful kiss and it wasn't long before their clothes, the white shirt included, were scattered around their apartment, creating a path from the living room to their bedroom.
And Mycroft didn't care in the least.