Work Text:
Mycroft takes a deep breath while he steps out onto the curb, leaving 221B. The echoes of Sherlock’s long string of insults still bouncing around in his brain. His little brother’s words don’t usually affect him as badly as they did today. Every jab at his weight, taunt about his personal life, and shot at his clothing, cut deep into his already microscopic self-worth.
He presumed that his sour mood was due to the fact that he hadn’t gotten a decent night's rest in almost a month, put up with several of Sherlock’s juvenile antics, and hadn't seen Gregory for weeks. He tugs at his waistcoat while waiting for his car. Staring blankly ahead, he felt his mobile buzz in his pocket. A text from Detective Inspector Lestrade.
‘Are you free for dinner tonight?’
He smiled, temporarily forgetting about his irritating sibling, and replied. The last thing he wanted to do was eat, but he missed Gregory so he agreed anyway.
‘Of course. Is 7 o’clock adequate?’ -MH
‘See you then love.’
He slips his mobile back into his pocket, seeing that his car has pulled up in front of him. Mycroft didn't do much else for the rest of the day. He had already done what he needed to do that day and Anthea had taken over his paperwork. The car pulls up his driveway and parks near the front door. He sees lights on. Gregory must already be in.
Mycroft steps out and strides towards the house, trying to keep up his mighty facade until he could slink into the comfort of his home and the warmth of his lover's arms. He finally makes it to the front entrance and walks in. Shutting the door behind him, Mycroft allows his posture to slouch. His shoulders fall and he lets out a shaky sigh. He moves to hang up his coat and hears footsteps behind him.
“Alright love?”
He hears the gruff voice of his lovely partner.
“Of course darling. It was just an uncomfortable day.”
Mycroft doesn't want to worry him. He doesn't want to ruin what little time they get together. He musters up a fake half-smile and turns to face the DI. He watches Gregory’s face fall a bit when he sees Mycroft's phoney smile. He knew already. It was frustrating how perceptive Gregory is when it came to how Mycroft was feeling. He allowed the smile to drop from his face. Gregory rushed up to him and put a hand on his cheek.
“What happened My?”
Mycroft closed his eyes. He leaned into the warm palm resting on his face. He knew he was going to have to tell him eventually but he really didn’t want to get into it now. So he pulled away and walked deeper into the house. He heard Gregory following behind him but he didn’t turn to look. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to eat. He wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep for a month. But he couldn’t do that.
So instead, he forced himself to sit down at the table and wait for Gregory to leave or go to bed. He knew it was childish to ignore his problems but he didn’t care. Mycroft was exhausted. He was tired of his brother. He was tired of the idiots in power that he had to deal with every day. He was tired of himself. Tired of his brain. Mycroft didn’t notice Gregory sitting down next to him, too caught up in his own swirling thoughts. He felt that same warm hand come to rest on top of his own, whirling thoughts coming to a screeching halt.
Coco coloured eyes gazed into his. Mycroft adored his partner’s eyes. They could be sweet and warm like honey in chamomile. Sweet like milk chocolate on Christmas or caramel dipped apples. Warm like the rays of sunshine that float through the window in the afternoon. But they were also the colour of the Earth beneath their feet. Raw and powerful. His eyes could move mountains and crack stone. Or they could be dark and bitter like coffee in the wee hours of the morning. Dark like a forest of cedar in the dead of a snowless winter. Mycroft could find a million ways to describe the perfection of the man in front of him. From the tips of his silvered hair to the heels that strike the ground with such gentle strength that it made Mycroft shudder.
“What happened love?”
He knew that Gregory wouldn't force him to say a thing. He never did. He knew that getting things off his chest would make him feel better but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He just looked up, hoping that Gregory would know what he was trying to tell him. He suddenly sat back in his chair, seemingly figuring out what had him in such a state.
Mycroft felt a tear slip down his cheek. He quickly tried to move his hand to wipe it away, but he was stopped. Gregory had grabbed his hand before it could reach his face. He once again brought his own hand up to the taller man’s cheek, wiping away the droplet.
“Beautiful.”
Mycroft looks back up to the other man, confused.
“What?”
Gregory has a small smile on his face.
“Stunning.”
Mycroft feels more tears running down his face.
“What are you doing?”
The gentle smile still clear on Gregory’s face.
“Mesmerising.”
More tears.
“Gregory…”
Gregory stands and moves around the table.
“Breath-taking.”
Mycroft closes his eyes.
“Dazzling.”
Gregory has shuffled around the table and is now standing in front of his distressed lover.
“Exquisite. Angelic. Elegant. Enthralling. Magnificent.”
Mycroft hugged Gregory around the waist and buried his head into the man’s stomach. The DI rubbed the ginger’s back, soothing him gently.
“Jaw-dropping. Divine. Enchanting. Captivating. Charming. Striking.”
Gregory reached down and tilted his head up. Mycroft looked vulnerable and exposed. He wiped away the stray tears and leaned down. He placed a tender kiss on Mycroft's forehead. Then the tip of his nose. And then both his cheeks. Their faces were about an inch apart. Gregory whispered against his lips.
“Beautiful.”
He then closed the distance between them, lips pressing together gently. Soft and light. It reminded Mycroft just how loved he was. He didn’t need to change. Gregory loved him just the way he was. They both needed to pull back for air. Mycroft stood and nuzzled his face into Gregory’s neck. He was warm. Like a weighted blanket. He was so comforting. His smell. His warmth. He loved Gregory with all his heart. It made Mycroft lightheaded.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Gregory asked him softly. Mycroft shook his head.
“Bed then?”
He asked. Mycroft muttered something into the crook of his neck.
“I didn’t quite catch that love.”
Gregory urged him off his shoulder. Mycroft's face was dusted with pink, a coy look on his face.
“Oh.”
Gregory smiled and grasped his chin, leaning in once again. Their lips meet, this time with more heat. Before Mycroft could tilt in and deepen the kiss, Gregory pulls away and nips at his neck. He peppers him in small love bites, down the side of his throat and under his chin. Mycroft hums low in his chest, bringing Gregory back up to his lips. He gives the DI a few light pecks and then rests his forehead on the man’s shoulder.
“Thank you.”
Mycroft whispers quietly, snaking his arms around his torso. Gregory smiles and hugs the taller man back.
“Of course love.”