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Mycroft sips, savouring the taste of the wine on his tongue while observing the wary look Greg gives the elaborately styled dish just placed in front of him. With a small shrug, Greg takes a bite. He closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and his expression is utterly captivating. He makes a soft noise in his throat as he swallows, and Mycroft can feel himself vibrating, for god’s sake.
No. It’s his phone vibrating. In his pocket. Reflex overrides his deep desire to ignore the interruption, and the phone is in his hand.
Mycroft grimaces at the screen before setting the phone on the table with a dismissive gesture. It buzzes again.
Greg clears his throat. “You should probably answer that.”
“Most unfortunate, but correct.” Mycroft lifts the phone to his ear and steps away. He knows his dinner date is over, but the conversation still takes longer than he would prefer.
He covers his frustration with an apologetic smile when he returns. Dessert has just been served, and he does love the pavlova here.
“You have to go,” says Greg. It’s not a question.
“Yes. If there were any way for me to stay….”
Greg waves him off. “God knows what could fall apart if you don’t take care of… whatever. Wouldn’t want to be the one to blame.”