Work Text:
The bench is freezing beneath Greg. He can feel the cold seeping through his coat, the seat of his trousers and his underwear. The air is thick with white fog, it’s almost snowing; the clouds are on the brink of releasing the white flurry. He wishes Mycroft would hurry so he could leave the cold spot he occupies. There’s no sign of him amongst the people streaming past. They come in small groups, huddled together against the cold, cradling warm beverages between their hands and close to their faces. None of them are dressed for the weather; they’re just in business suits, quickly hurrying through the cold streets to grab food to then eat at their desks in their nonexistent lunch break.
He wishes he was in his nice warm office, but he doesn’t wish to be working. He took a half day to meet Mycroft. He wishes for a steaming cup of something in his frozen hands. A violent shiver courses up his spine and with a shake of his head he abandons the frozen metal bench.
The strong smell of coffee is a welcome thing. It surrounds him as he steps through the door of the coffee shop. The bell tingles above him and the door creaks with the slow fall closed. It’s busy; the air is filled with a dozen conversations and the clacking of people working on their laptops. The atmosphere makes him happy, warmth and the bust sounds of life. He scans the room for an empty seat and sees there’s no worry of not getting one further in the shop.
He orders himself a drink, a black coffee with 2 sugars, and Mycroft one, a hot chocolate. Carefully, carries them to a table and sits down. With now unfrozen hands he fishes his phone from his coat pocket and fires off a text informing Mycroft of the change of location. There’s a quick reply, he’s on his way.
Coffee now cradled between his hands he allows the warmth to thaw his frozen features. He rifles through his work satchel to find his book to occupy his time, but his hand comes away empty. With a sigh he straightens up and concedes to people watch. He runs a hand through his grey hair at the sound of the bell above the door, subconsciously trying to make himself look as attractive. A chaste kiss is planted on his check and he smiles at the familiar touch. It’s followed with a soft hand skimming down the length of his arm and stopping at his fingers which are given a loving squeeze.
The old seat opposite him wheezes as his partner relaxes into it. The scrape of the chair legs against the wooden floor is ugly to their ears and they both cringe at the intrusive noise. Mycroft folds his right leg over his left and clasps his fingers together against his belly. He looks relaxed and comfortable.
“You shouldn’t have got me chocolate, I’m on a diet.” Mycroft says with no malice and a small smile twitching at his thin pink lips.
“Well it’s your favourite.”
“Be that as it may, I’m still on a diet.”
“You don’t need to be.” Greg says with sudden seriousness, his eyes boring into his partner’s.
They haven’t seen each other’s eyes in person for so long. It’s overwhelming for both of them. They don’t need to speak, their actions are sufficient and slowly they’re leaning across the table towards each other. Their lips join in a gentle kiss, but it doesn’t last long because of the smiles that break the join. The coffee and chocolate are drunk slowly, both of them catching up on the other’s life.
They’ve been apart for 5 months and chocolate stained breath seeps over them as Mycroft explains what he can of the work he’s been doing abroad, the trials and tribulations. He works in an important position somewhere in the government, Greg doesn’t really know, he just knows that his Mycroft is smart with people and gets to show that off in his job.
They eventually finish their drinks and leave the cafe joined at the hands. They opt to walk home, it’s not too far and the afternoon sun has started to thaw the chilly day. They’re bundled in coats scarves and gloves but despite this the wind still bites at any exposed skin. Their ears turn a glowing red, which causes laughter to bubble up inside them at how silly they look.
Greg has missed this, the real life interaction. There’s only a glimpse of real life when it’s shared online, it’s not as warm and comforting, but cold and mechanical.
Their breath forms clouds in front of them as he fumbles for keys with no precision because of the gloves. They’re found with a triumphant whoop and slotted into the door with a loud clunk. The warm air in the house floods out in a whoosh, turning their already red extremities redder.
A thankful sigh accompanies them as they divest themselves of outdoor wear. Greg swaps his stiff shirt for a plain t-shirt and his suit trousers for worn out pyjama bottoms. Mycroft stays in his usual clothes, trousers and a shirt. He’s never understood Greg’s need to wear bed wear with no intention of sleeping.
They collapse on the sofa and drag the blanket from the back of it and tuck it in around them. It’s a classic red and black tartan design with obvious signs of use and old age, it’s followed them to three different houses in their past.
Greg gets comfy against Mycroft’s body and picks up the book he left on the coffee table. Mycroft lets his arms wrap around Greg and his eyes rest closed for a bit. After a chapter is read, Greg places the book back on the coffee table and shuffles about in Mycroft’s hold, getting more comfy and angling himself to face him. The artificial sound of wood popping on a burning fire comes from the flickering image of one nestled into their wall. Their voices are gentle and hushed, words spoken into ears and hair. They don’t require the inane drone of a TV in the background; their relaxed breathing is sound enough for them.
“I’ve missed you” he mumbles against his partner’s lips, his hand grasping on to the others, “marry me and always come back safe and sound.”
Mycroft smiles a tired but ecstatic smile and nods his head languidly against the sofa arm, “yes.”
They’re dozing off, their eyelids drooping; one final kiss is shared between them before they drift off.