Work Text:
Most people assumed that, given his abrasive work personality, Mycroft wanted to be the dominant partner in the bedroom. Or the entire opposite – that he wanted to be dominated in a manner he couldn’t indulge in professionally.
He detested both presumptions with equal passion – he found hints of violence and coercion off-putting, if not distressing, and any verbal abuse (the derogatory terms some of his would-be partners seemed to love) frankly a monumental turn-off.
He craved gentle lovemaking with an equal partner; one who would coax him, caress him, tease him till he was ready to weep while whispering words of encouragement. A partner who would appreciate having his body canvassed in an equally tender and adoring manner in return.
He had sworn years ago that he would no longer try to mould himself to meet other people’s expectations and preferences. But, damn it, he simply cared too much for Gregory – if he was being honest with himself, he had to admit that he would in all likelihood agree to follow Gregory’s lead, even though he might not find the man's intimate preferences entirely to his taste.
He had strung Gregory along long enough – the man was surely getting impatient and wanted to take the relationship to its next physical step, though he had so far been remarkably kind and patient. And, despite the general opinion, Mycroft did have a perfectly functional libido himself; Gregory’s soft brown eyes were utterly beguiling, and the temptation of sliding into his lap was getting harder and harder to resist.
At least, he had the confidence that Gregory was unlikely to push for anything he was truly reluctant to consent to.
Greg and his ex-wife had not been very well suited in the bedroom. His ex had a penchant for role-play that Greg lacked both the imagination and the enthusiasm for. Sure, he'd made an effort and tried his best to please Karen when he’d been younger, but his attempts had been deemed increasingly pathetic as he grew older, more tired, and greyer, both literally and figuratively. She'd found him unbearably dull – why did vanilla sound like an insult? – and had used the boredom as an excuse to look for more adventurous and exciting partners elsewhere.
He told himself that he did not care what she thought of him; all preferences were equally valid, and there was no right or wrong as long as everyone was a freely consenting adult. In any case, his sex life existed only in the abstract – in practice, he was married to his work. Even after the divorce, he'd hardly had any time or energy for the dating game.
His friendship with Mycroft had developed into something more intimate seemingly by accident; they were both overworked, seldom available, and appreciated a quiet evening to decompress. Their affair had progressed so slowly that Greg was unsure when it had properly begun, and they seldom exchanged anything more than a few furtive touches or a chaste kiss on the cheek.
The man was not conventionally attractive (his jawline was weak, lips narrow, and nose too long), but he had charisma in spades, and his voice could surely melt butter (not to mention those well-manicured hands). Greg actually quite liked the way Mycroft looked (those snazzy suits), although he’d bet that the man would look even better when draped in silken sheets. Plus the man was incredibly caring and considerate.
He did sense that Mycroft was hesitant to take things further, though the heated looks Greg had spied on the man’s face more than once suggested that he was not immune to sexual attraction. Greg vowed to himself that he would not push the other man to do anything he did not enthusiastically consent to – that path only lead to resentment, and it was better to find out if they were not compatible sooner rather than later.
But, by gods, he did hope it would work out – he was frankly infatuated with the man and would sorely miss his company.
The mounting pressure builds to a climax just before the holidays. One moment, Greg is sitting on the sofa in Mycroft’s living room, enjoying an excellent whisky thigh to thigh with Mycroft; the next, the man is wrapped around him and kissing him with passion. Greg isn’t going to complain, though – the man is really an excellent kisser.
They continue to kiss for a long while, enjoying the slide of their lips and tongues and the feel of clothed bodies under exploring hands. When Mycroft finally retreats, they are both aroused and breathing heavily. Mycroft’s lips are all plumped up and red, his usually carefully coiffed hair in disarray, and his tie askew.
“Perhaps we might continue this in the bedroom,” the man proposes, his blue-grey irises nearly hidden by swollen pupils.
“I’d love to,” Greg takes the proffered hand and is led upstairs to Mycroft’s bedroom.
When there, the man seems hesitant. Greg kisses him to get over the initial awkwardness and feels the man melt into his touch.
“May I undress you, gorgeous?” Greg asks him afterwards; they are both breathless again. There is a softly whispered, “Yes.”
After undoing Mycroft’s tie, Greg coaxes him, “You can undress me as well.” The man dutifully starts to lift the hem of Greg’s shirt out of his trousers.
Greg is not entirely sure he likes the meekness: it feels too much like Mycroft is merely trying to please him, instead of being an eager participant and instigator. Is there something that the man needs but is reluctant to ask for? Or perhaps he is unused to intimacy?
Greg presses for more information: “What would you like, darling?” Mycroft’s fingers hesitate on the hem of his shirt.
“I’d really like you to show me,” Greg tells him, “show me how I can make you feel good.”
Mycroft’s eyes scan his face searchingly, till a tentative smile blossoms on his lips, “I shall, yes. And please do.”
After that, it all falls into place.