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“Charlie wanted to say ‘hello.’”
Mycroft stared groggily into the too-bright light of his phone screen, which was like staring into the sun even when the device was on Night Mode and at its dimmest setting.
It was one in the morning here in Las Vegas, and besides his phone screen, the hotel room was steeped in darkness - a stark contrast to the vibrant sun coming through the windows behind the green-eyed brunet on the other side.
Albert was incredibly lucky that said lighting was doing wonders for his charm right now. And he was luckier still that Mycroft happened to fancy him enough to answer a 1 a.m. call five hours before his series of flights back to London, especially after a week of tedious business meetings.
A little white bird hopped into view, its head cartoonishly enlarged thanks to its proximity to the camera. It pecked at the device twice before Albert reached forward to scoop his hands around the bird’s breast and pull it gently away. It sat semi-obediently against his fingers, its head bobbing this way and that as it tried to make sense of the situation.
“Mmh,” Mycroft replied sleepily, fighting between closing his eyes so that they wouldn’t strain against the light, but also trying to stay relatively awake enough for this conversation. “Did he now.”
“He did,” Albert insisted, a bit giddily. “He also wanted to say that he’s been very well taken care of.”
“Because I was terribly worried about his well-being since you sent me those pictures of you fattening him up with peanuts some ten hours ago,” Mycroft mumbled. His eyes fell closed, all but giving up the fight to squint against the phone light. “And yes, they were very cute.” His mouth twitched into a smile - he couldn’t help it.
Albert chuckled, though it tapered off a bit forlornly at seeing Mycroft drifting off again. “He also wanted to say that he misses you terribly, especially since you won’t be back until today - which is Valentine’s Day - has all but passed, and he is sad that I am sad that you and I are missing the opportunity to again acquaint ourselves very intimately on such an occasion.”
At that, Mycroft blinked himself more awake. “It sounds like you’re using my bird as a spokesperson to say that you're missing me terribly - and I’d rather you not corrupt him with those depraved urges of yours.”
But he was smiling, and said it with humor; Albert picked it up right away and laughed in turn. “Well, I’m not sure what you expect a man to do. You’ve been gone a week. Am I not allowed to have urges? Have you not?” He scoffed, mockingly. “Unless you’ve been out there giving into the urge of gambling all your life savings away.”
“Oh, yes,” Mycroft drawled, the pitch of his voice increasing as he fought back a yawn. “You know me so well. And indeed, Al…worry not, for when I return, we shall couple most voraciously.”
“That is excellent news,” replied Albert, a too-seductive grin on his lips, and that combined with the thought of their reunion now had further woken Mycroft up; although another urge having to do with his bladder now presented a more pressing reason. He pulled the covers and sat up in bed, this time letting out the large yawn that had been brewing for a while now; at the same time, he heard a surprised noise from Albert, who then said despairingly, “Oh, now, that is very very unfair.”
Mycroft blinked, and then smirked upon understanding. He had crawled straight into bed last night after walking the few blocks back to the hotel from a late-running dinner with a few American associates, and the air conditioning in the hotel room had not been enough to soothe his disposition toward the heat; essentially he had slipped under the covers mostly naked, which was now further exacerbating Albert’s little issue with a certain urge.
The little devil deserved it, and Mycroft felt no regret whatsoever.
“Talk about corrupting Charlie!” Albert shielded the bird’s head from view with his palm dramatically. “You, sir, are one colossal hypocrite.”
They shared a quiet chuckle, which soon tapered off. Mycroft sighed, the full gravity of not being there with Albert finally hitting him. “I am sorry I’m missing Valentine’s Day, Al. But I will make it up to you.” He was thinking about the expensive Vegas-themed wine glasses he had bought for Albert that were probably going to be a nightmare to get through security, with how much he’d over-bundled them in his checked luggage; but that was hardly a sacrifice worth noting for someone he so loved.
“I would not have you ‘make up’ anything to me. Apart from the sex, I suppose,” Albert laughed a bit awkwardly, “but I did have something I want to be ready for you when you arrive home.”
There was a question there between the lines, and Mycroft sighed; the timing of it wasn’t very promising. “If all goes to schedule, I’d not land until one, and perhaps another half hour or so to wait for luggage, plus the commute home…”
The other man’s debonair charm slowly shifted into a disheartened half-pout. Mycroft knew Albert wasn’t actually upset, though he did still feel badly, and certainly didn’t want him risking his sleep to stay up for him.
“I’m sorry, dove. I know it goes without saying, but don’t wait up for me. Right now I am only looking forward to having you again in my arms when I return. Which will be,” he shuddered at the thought, “very late tonight for both of us.”
At that, Albert’s cheeriness returned in the form of a small, but genuine smile. It reached his eyes, which were the loveliest shade of green, even in digital format that could never do them enough justice as in real life. Mycroft did so dearly wish to have the other man close to him again - and Albert had no real reason to know the depth of his own particular, mutual urges.
Make that up to him he would, indeed.
“Al,” he said, after another yawn, “I’m off to the restroom now, and then back to sleep.”
Albert took the hint, and nodded with a small sigh. “Of course. I am sorry for calling you, even knowing it’s so late for you there.”
“I understand,” Mycroft said, and truly he did; Albert was the one person who had ever succeeded in winning his affections, and not once had they been misplaced; he guessed it was the very same for his lover also.
“Yes, well. All the same. Thank you for answering.”
A near-awkward beat of silence passed. Charlie, who had nearly been put to sleep under Albert’s soothing petting, craned his head and cooed softly. Then Albert started to reach for the phone, to disconnect the call.
“Al,” Mycroft said, on a whim that he would later blame on tiredness; Albert halted, his thumb almost covering the camera. He nearly faltered, but could think of no other way to elaborate the phrase that should just be stated bluntly at this point: “I love you.”
Albert looked taken aback, and laughed shortly in disbelief and embarrassment. He took a moment to collect himself, and then said, a little tearfully, “Thank you. And…and I, you.”
How awful the both of them had always been at such language, and it made Mycroft want to laugh at the absurdity of it. It had been a long time coming, at least for Mycroft; and such a thing, so hard-earned, would only ever be spoken with genuine intention. Albert still suffered from past demons, and so it came less easily to him unless prompted; it was something Mycroft would never fault him for, but he did hope Albert at least believed him when he said such things.
“I’ll see you when you get home. Myself and Charlie, both,” Albert said, and in the light his cheeks looked a bit rosier, and his expression sated by affection. They bid each other goodbye, and Mycroft caught himself smiling with that same affection too.
Between his last five hours of sleep, and the flights and layover time, it would be some eighteen hours before he would again touch United Kingdom soil; and those hours of travel and airports plus the severe jet-lag were enough to seep the energy right out of him by the time he’d crawled in the door.
He longed dearly for his bed, and somewhere amidst his zombie-like shambling toward the steps he assumed he would find Albert there, already asleep. Except he was stopped by a sweet scent wafting about the first floor, something that seemed to him like caramel.
The light in the foyer had been left on for him, but now he noted that a dim, flickering light was coming from the living area.
Mycroft set his luggage down by the door and poked his head into the living room, and was subsequently met with an enchanting sight: candles, littered all about the mantle and coffee table, casting a serene, dull glow around the room; the fragrance of roses rose to meet him as he stepped through the threshold. The candles were lovely, though not the most eye-catching of this scene: that instead went to the man curled up on the couch. Albert’s arms were tucked in close to his chest, and his legs bent slightly to accommodate his full height across the piece of furniture. His bangs fell softly across his eyes, disturbed slightly by his long, deep breaths.
A surge of affection swelled in Mycroft, strong and unexpected. It inspired the urge to touch: he could not help walking forward to sweep Albert’s chestnut curls from his face so that he could press a kiss to his forehead.
From this perspective he saw also a bowl had been left out on the coffee table amidst the candles. This was the source of the caramel smell, he realized; it was a gelatinous custard with a golden brown layer of melted sugar atop it. Albert’s special: crème brûlée.
The dessert was molded into the shape of a heart, which seemed a bit cutesy for either of their tastes, although he did find it all the more endearing. That Albert would have gone through the time and effort to prepare this gift, and (attempt) to stay awake long enough for Mycroft’s return…
Valentine’s had historically been just another uneventful day in Mycroft’s eyes, but now Albert had made it something special. And that Albert had done so at all warmed his heart; there could be no doubt that the man was trying to make this something real despite all of the guilt and heartache of his past.
A hand reached up to cover his, where it was still threaded through Albert’s hair; he looked back to see the man blinking up at him sleepily. But his lips quirked upward slowly at the sight of Mycroft, and he threaded their fingers together lazily.
“‘m sorry,” he said, his voice slurred by tiredness. “Seems I didn’t make it long enough to see you come home.”
“You shouldn’t have had to, dove,” Mycroft said, squeezing his fingers against Albert’s. “But I am terribly grateful that you did.”
Albert’s lips quirked again, as his eyes fluttered shut. “It’s late,” he mumbled. “The brûlée won’t be as good tomorrow, but I won’t blame you for waiting.”
“Oh, I am still going to try it,” Mycroft promised. And though he did long for his sheets, the dessert was just as appetizing. All he’d eaten that day was a salad, which was the only thing he could stomach amidst the other greasy airport food. Now he was lucky enough to come home to someone he loved, who had prepared a homemade dish for him; Mycroft very well could not have declined.
Albert cracked one eye open, watching as Mycroft reached for the spoon, and then broke through the thin layer of caramel, which cracked satisfyingly as he swept up a large bite. The aroma of it made his mouth water, and once he had tasted it, he found it to be sweet but not overwhelmingly. He hummed in satisfaction.
“It’s very good, Al.” And to prove the point, and also indulge further than he normally would have, finding he couldn’t help it: he took another spoonful, this time savoring it longer on his tongue. Then he asked Albert if he had saved any for himself, wondering if the man knew of his own mastery of his creation.
“No,” Albert answered, but there was a look of devilry in his eyes as he reached for the collar of Mycroft’s shirt; Mycroft let him pull him down into an open-mouthed kiss, where Albert probed the lingering taste from his lips. Smirking, he said, “But now I have.”
Mycroft chuckled, amused by his boldness. “And your verdict?”
Albert kissed him again, this time pressing a series of small pecks against his lips. “It’s good,” he smiled, mirth in his half-lidded eyes as he released him.
“I’m very glad we’re in agreement.”
By way of response, Albert yawned cutely, and then stretched across the cushions with a satisfied sigh, his eyes falling closed again; the whole thing reminded Mycroft much of a mischievous and lazy cat. One that he also was very much looking forward to cuddling, within the warmth and comfort of his own bed.
He gave Albert a moment to doze, and used that time to bring the remaining dessert to the fridge, pleasantly noting that the kitchen had both been cleaned and organized to professional level. It didn’t surprise him, given Albert’s certain dispositions, but it still made Mycroft appreciate him all the more.
He found his way back to the living room and blew out the candles, before returning to Albert still lounging, unmoved from his position on the couch. Mycroft swept his thumb over Albert’s bottom lip; the other man poked at it with his tongue, and then opened one lidded green eye.
“Are you coming to bed, dove?” he asked.
Albert’s eyebrows drew together. “But I am so terribly comfortable already,” he bemoaned, dramatic, and then shut his eye again. “I think I may just have to sleep down here.”
Mycroft hovered, so that his breath could be felt upon Albert’s face. “If that is what you wish,” he replied, playing into it, “although I do recall promising to engage you in ravenous acts of pleasure…”
Albert opened his eyes again and pouted up at him, scrunching his nose up as though he had to contemplate that offer; Mycroft found it strangely adorable. Then, Albert relented with a small sigh, “Oh. Oh, you do drive a hard bargain. Very well.”
Mycroft helped him to stand, and he took the assistance willingly, letting their hands and bodies slide together; Albert dozily leaned against him in a half-hug, tucking his chin into Mycroft’s shoulder as Mycroft pressed a kiss just under his ear. They stood like that for a moment, embracing this re-acquaintancing touch that neither would ever have believed or thought they needed, and yet it was so cathartic and comfortable that Mycroft thought they might fall asleep against each other, just like that.
“Mm…” Albert breathed into his shoulder, “I do think at this point you may have to carry me.”
Mycroft pressed a kiss now against Albert’s neck, soft and affectionate. “That I would, if I had the energy, but as it stands now I can foresee us both being acquainted with the floor rather than the bed.”
The man leaning into him chuckled softly, and then pulled away, finding his balance. He didn’t look Mycroft in the eyes, but his cheeks were dusted the slightest bit pink.
“Shall we?” Mycroft asked, and his hand instinctively found the small of Albert’s back, hovering gently there. Albert nodded, and yawned again, and then they made for the steps; Mycroft gave his suitcases one tired glanceover before deciding he was content with leaving them in the foyer for tonight.
They stood side-by-side in the bathroom, washing up together in relative silence, the only sound coming from the sink being run. Then Mycroft filed after Albert into the bedroom, pausing for only a second to appreciate that it had been left neat, and that Charlie was roosting comfortably in his cage; until he was distracted by Albert’s hands finding the bottom of his shirt.
“Let me help you with that,” Albert said, and he had probably meant it to come out more suggestively, but the exhaustion had caught up to him again and now he looked and sounded more sleep-drunk than anything else. But Mycroft let the man’s hands drift and wander, uncoordinated between wanting to touch, and his body all but giving up; just the sight of it made his own deep exhaustion catch up to him, and he, too, began to help Albert out of his own day-clothes, moving sluggishly.
And when they were down to their base layers, and Albert’s hands were on his chest and Mycroft’s were at Albert’s hips, the latter just chuckled helplessly and gave in to an indulgent, but unheated kiss. Then they broke apart, and Albert looked at him, all tired and forlorn.
“In the morning,” he said.
“In the morning,” Mycroft agreed.
They shared a final kiss, and then crawled under the sheets together; Albert curled beside him, one arm thrown over his chest, with his head tucked into the crook of his shoulder. He spoke against Mycroft, drowsy and muffled and nearly incomprehensible. But Mycroft understood, and he smiled, even as everything went hazy with encroaching sleep.
“And I, you, Al.”