Work Text:
Having prepared a cold cocktail, rather unfitting for London weather in mid September, but fitting for someone who just returned from holidaying in warmer climates, Mycroft sat heavily on the sofa, waiting for Greg to finish his shower. He sideeyed his tablet for a few moments and let it rest on the side table uninteresting in mails and news.
It was his first holiday in... well decades, and he was not long enough. Despite being dubious when Greg had first mentioned a holiday together back in March, he had planned it meticulously, booking hotels, and events they mostly missed because they were otherwise preoccupied.
Now, Mycroft was thinking of a two week holiday in Christmas in central Europe.
Thankfully, they had returned early and he could enjoy Greg's company a couple of days before returning to work. Thinking about it, he could hardly recognise himself. Greg made him greedy for more time with him, for more of what they had together.
Listening to his partner's whereabouts, he knew the moment he got out of the bathroom and looked up to see him coming down the stairs, dressed in a bathrobe and soft looking pyjama bottoms, instantly missing the Bermuda shorts Greg favoured their days abroad.
Drying his hair with a towel, Greg took a seat next to Mycroft, leaning over to kiss his brow. "Is that for me?"
"Naturally." Mycroft handed him his glass.
Greg took a sip and shuddered. "It's too cold for this now, Mycroft..."
Mycroft looped his arms around Greg's shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss, his fingers playing with the long strands of hair at the back of Greg's head. "Yes, but it tastes good. Especially when I kiss you." Pulling him with a bit of force, he had Greg straddling his lap, and nuzzled against his nose.
Greg enveloped him in his arms. "You're all proper and prim, and I look like Tarzan. Haircut and a shave before returning to work on Monday," he said, removing one arm from around Mycroft and scratching his beard.
"Not letting you go until Monday morning," Mycroft replied against his lips, and caressed one stubbly cheek with his knuckles. "You could go to work just like this."
"The wild man from the jungle," Greg said, laughing.
Shaking his head, Mycroft tsked. "If only people knew their worth. Come on, get up, you're not going to a barber if I have anything to say about it. You'll come back with a buzzcut again, and can't have that."
Greg stood and stretched his neck left and right. "That was comfortable..." It had also been cold when the drizzle met his skin instead of his hair, but he wasn't going to share that with Mycroft. His hand was taken by Mycroft and he was dragged up the stairs. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
Mycroft led him to the en-suite and told him to sit on a chair Greg hadn't seen before. Placing a towel around his shoulders and securing it on the front, he pulled out a small case. Greg looked at it curiously, eyeing the . "Are you planning to cut my throat?"
"Just you hair."
Mycroft pressed his hands against Greg's head and threaded his fingers through the soft, wet hair, missing it already. "When we retire, you'll let it grow, and I'll spend my free time just like this." He proceeded with trimming the ends, his fingers keeping it straight. "It's more salt than pepper these days." He glanced at Greg's eyes in the mirror who was looking at him wide-eyed, as he changed tools and created a sharp, even, polished edge, cutting the grey hair straight across, and then he added layers, all the while moving as if he was born doing it.
"You look like a professional. An artist, actually."
Mycroft listened to him as he cleared Greg's neck with a razor carefully.
Returning his gaze to the mirror, he smiled. "Good?"
"Not bad."
"Let's wash it then."
Washing the hair meant getting naked and sharing a shower, during which Mycroft's hands never left Greg's head, or the rest of his body, and lips trailed from the back of the neck to the shoulder blades with relative ease, washing away short hairs.
And when they got out of the shower, helping each other into clothes, Mycroft combed Greg's hair and styled it after drying it, kissing his nose after finishing it.
Greg took a deep breathe and smiled. "I think I owe you a cup of tea." He pulled Mycroft to him, kissing him slowly.
"Yes, I do. So I'm going to make it instead of you because we have to be able to drink it. Not like your crude oil you call tea."
“Is there no end to your talents?”
Preparing to think about, he said. "No, no there isn't." He pressed Greg on the bed, kissing the still wet skin beneath his jaw. "And when it's Sunday evening, very evening..."
Eyes sparkling, Greg cupped Mycroft' head. "Very evening?"
"Late in the evening. Everyone's a critic."
"'m not everyone."
"No, no you're not. And when it's late at night, I will shave you, the old fashioned way. Close shave." The back of his fingers caressed the side of Greg's face, Greg's hand moving in circles on his back gently. "With a safety razor, a brush..." he licked behind Greg's ear, who turned his head to help him. "Carefully, the blade, fresh and sharp for best result, will cut off the stubble with gentle pressure. Just the weight of the razor sliding down your skin, and then we will wash you and moisturise the skin, and have you for my own, clean shaven and beautiful."
"Stop it..."
"Colour rising to your face like now."
"Mycroft!"
"Mine to pamper."
Greg looped his arms around his torso and turned them around coming on top. Staring down in laughing, gray eyes that looked back at him in a way no one else had before, his chest felt bigger, full with emotion and affection. “I love you, you know.”
“I know.” Mycroft ‘s hands on his back pressed him down on his chest. “It’s surprising, shocking and exhilarating.” He kissed the freshly cut hair. “I love you too.”
“Yeah, what about my tea, then?”