Title: Odds On Favourite
Author: Jessie Blackwood
Pairing: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Fandoms: Sherlock
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are not my characters, they are public domain. Anything that resembles Sherlock BBC belongs of course to Mr Moffat and Mr Gatiss and is theirs alone. The plot is mine. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is otherwise purely coincidental.
Series: 1) Evening Out The Odds
Summary: This is my sequel to Evening Out The Odds. You asked, you got. The New Year Party looms...
***
Chapter 1: Money Can't Buy HappinessGreg woke first, realisation dawning that he was in a strange bed, quickly followed by the knowledge of whose bed it was. He yawned, tired but rested, then stretched luxuriously. They had long ago cancelled his hotel room so the bed was no longer all that strange. He had moved into Mycroft’s room, and they had so far spent a delightful few days in each other’s company. The post-Christmas depression that Greg routinely experienced had so far not surfaced, and he could only put it down to Mycroft; Mycroft in his life and in his bed… The thought was almost intoxicating. The Iceman had thawed, well and truly. Only a few days… He marvelled at the speed with which this had become comfortable.
There had been one blip when concerns about their differences got the better of Mycroft but they had talked, and opened up in what seemed, to Greg at least, a surprisingly honest discourse, discussing their concerns like grown ups. They had got through it, had settled their worries and got on with enjoying life. Greg was happy with the outcome, and so was Mycroft, it seemed. The man had relaxed after that, and Greg had seen a side of Mycroft Holmes that he was sure nobody, maybe not even his brother, saw with any regularity, if at all. Doubtless there would be other concerns, but they would deal with those when they arose.
Greg had been right about Holmeses being quick learners too. Mycroft had taken great delight in being taught, enthusiastically finding out what he liked in bed as well as everything Greg prefered, and more. Some things they had explored or the first time together. Greg felt both privileged and proud that Mycroft trusted him so much.
“Good morning, Gregory,” came the sleepy murmur from the mound of duvet beside him.
“Morning, love. You well?”
“Very well.” Mycroft surfaced, looking adorably mussed, sleepy-eyed with a slightly dopey smile on his face. Greg glowed with pride that nobody else would ever get to see the man like this; relaxed, sleepy, actually happy, and that he was the cause of that. He wrapped his arms about the man and drew him close, nuzzling his hair. Mycroft’s response was to hum happily and burrow closer to his partner.
“You know, this doesn’t feel real,” Greg said, stroking Mycroft’s back. “At the moment, I want this to go on forever. Mycroft, I’ve never been so happy, but it all feels so disconnected from reality. It’s only been a few days since I was sitting in my office, feeling lonely and facing Christmas alone. Now I feel like I’m in the middle of a fairytale.”
“The Fairytale of York, hm?” Mycroft had relaxed a little, although wariness radiated through his body.
Greg barked a laugh. “Yeah, something like that, although the lyrics wouldn’t be as good, probably. Look, Myc, there’s something you should know…”
“What would that be, Gregory?”
“I don’t want this to be casual. If you want me, you’ll get all of me, all my love, my loyalty, my attention… I’m still working out what happened to my marriage and it worries me that it was something I did. She’s never said why or what or given me any indication. I really don’t want to stuff it up again, and it concerns me I might…”
“Gregory, stop.” Gentle fingers pressed to his lips to hush him. “You will tear yourself to shreds worrying about something that may not be within your purview.”
“English, please?” Greg mumbled behind the press of Mycroft’s fingers. “I’m still half ashleep…”
“Pish. All I am saying is that you may not be at fault. The life of a policeman is not for every wife. Were you aware that the divorce rate among policemen is more than double the national average? I know how far it is from being an easy life. MIne is little different; long irregular hours, the demands of an investigation, not to mention the stress of seeing the worst of humanity. For one such as myself, going to bed early and getting up at 5am has never been a bother. I rarely sleep for long...”
“Am I wearing you out then?” Greg grinned. “You’ve been asleep for nine hours straight.”
“Quite possibly,” Mycroft agreed. “I find myself far more rested this week than is normal for me. However, where a normal person is concerned, like yourself, your irregular hours have more effect upon you. No wonder it placed stress upon your marriage. It is hardly better in the other services. Most find solace with a fellow in the same profession. At least then there is some understanding. When you marry outside the job, understanding can be in short supply. At least where we are concerned, we both have high-stress, high-demand jobs, so we should have a modicum of understanding of each other’s situation. So please, Gregory, do not fret yourself. We shall endeavour to iron out our problems as they occur. Do not try to cross a bridge until you come to it. So far we have been doing admirably well in that regard.”
“You know, I was thinking about retiring soon anyway.”
“Retiring? Are you certain that is what you are ready for?”
“Well, mid-fifties, Myc. Not getting any younger. This is a young man’s game, after all. I don’t want to get any higher. DCI maybe, would make my pension a bit better, but...the higher up you get the more paperwork and policy meetings, the less proper police work. Besides, I want to enjoy life, while I still can. I want to experience a full-blown mid-life crisis, all to myself, no worries about what anyone else thinks.”
Mycroft chuckled. “Would there be any room for a retired civil servant with a yen to go travelling in your plans?”
“Hell, yes,” Greg said without hesitation. “You figure on joining me?”
“Indubitably, if you’ll have me?”
“Course I would, Myc.”
“When we get back to London, I wonder,” Mycroft said, in contrast slightly hesitant, “would you consider...well...moving in with me?”
“Moving in… with you? Christ, isn’t that a bit soon? I mean…not like we don’t know each other, and I would love nothing better than to see you every day, but…”
“Exactly. We already know each other. We’re sleeping together, for God’s sake. I realise the merits of having you to wake up to, or come home to, Gregory. We are two lonely men, and the least we could do is try being flatmates…”
Greg laughed. “Well, it seemed to work for your brother.”
“We’ve known each other for years, Gregory. Now after all this time, it appears we are compatible in bed, and when we talk together….”
“Well, we seem to have more in common than I ever thought we would. Still, living together is a big step. We’ve reached an age where we’re more than likely to be set in our ways. Could be we’d irritate the shit out of each other inside of a week.”
“And there you were suggesting a Holmes could reprogram his ways…”
“Yeah, well, I don’t doubt that a Holmes can, but I think a Lestrade might find it more difficult. You’d get pissed off with me tracking dirt into the flat on my shoes when I forget to take them off in the hall, or leaving my dirty underwear on the bathroom floor…”
“I have a housekeeper for that.”
“What, leaving dirty laundry on the bathroom floor? Ow!” Mycroft placed a well aimed smack on his arse.
“That was deserved, you rogue. She cleans the place and does my laundry once a week, takes things to the dry cleaners, does my grocery shopping, that kind of thing. For which I pay her handsomely.”
“Oh, well then…I am never leaving my dirty underwear on the floor, I swear. Is she...well, young and pretty, or old and cross?”
“Neither. She is in her forties, with two teenage boys. She is very quiet and discreet.” Mycroft trailed his fingers across Greg’s chest, feeling him shudder at the gentle touch. “Stop finding excuses, Gregory. Think about it, at least. Please?”
“You never plead,” Greg murmured, stroking his fingers along Mycroft’s jaw. “So this means a lot to you, and yes, of course, I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you. Now, what time is it?”
“Around eight, why?”
“Shower, breakfast, and then I have need to hire a car. I thought we might drive into the country tomorrow?”
“Sounds nice. Anywhere in particular?”
“I…um...I have arranged a viewing…”
“Oh? How do you mean, viewing?”
“I saw a property in a local estate agent’s window before you arrived. It looked… rather nice. I wanted to see it for myself with a view to investment.”
“Retirement property?”
“I am unsure as of yet, which is why I wanted to see it for myself.”
“Where is it?”
“Not far, less than ten miles away, but it is not on a bus route.”
“Mycroft, since when have you been interested in travelling on a bus route?”
“Never, but it is a good indication of how connected it is to the outside world. Not being on a bus route indicates that living there would be somewhat disconnected, and not an area favoured by those whose primary concern would be public transport.”
“See your point. Bit too cut off then?”
“Well, I imagine that taxis and ambulances could access the place should the need arise, but beyond that, it is less likely folk would call without prior notification.”
“So when’s your viewing?”
“Tomorrow. After lunch. I arranged 2pm.”
“Sounds okay. What about car hire then?”
“I thought to book a car from the Hertz franchise at the railway station, that’s the closest. I will designate us both as drivers, so I presume you have your driver’s license. I should have checked with you before you came.”
“Yeah, no worries, I’ve got it with me. Never go without it, usually.”
“Your warrant card should be sufficient if they require further ID.”
“So, shower and breakfast?”
Mycroft exhaled with a happy smile. “Shower and breakfast,” he agreed.
After breakfast, during which Mycroft spent some time ordering their car online, he then suggested another jaunt into the city. Greg agreed and very soon they were once again sauntering into the town across the bridge, in step with one another, and Greg itched to walk hand in hand.
“You could do with a new suit, Gregory,” Mycroft suggested, steering them back to the gents outfitters he had previously located.
“Mycroft, not again, please?”
“Gregory, indulge me. I have too much money and nobody else to spend it on apart from my brother and my parents and they are all amply catered for. Allow me the opportunity, if you will.”
“Mycroft, you really are aware that you can’t change me, aren’t you? Posh clothes won’t make me fit into your world better, you know?”
“Gregory, please, think back to our conversation the other night. We have already discussed this. I am not doing it to...make you fit into my world. Do I have to reiterate, I have no wish to change you into something you are not. You are delightfully you. Please stop taking this the wrong way. I merely want you to have a little of the luxury I take for granted, because you deserve to have that in your life and I can provide.”
“But you don’t have to lavish gifts on me, you know?”
“Does it make you feel so uncomfortable?”
“Only because I want to do the same for you and, while I’m no pauper, I’ve got limited resources.”
“So if you do buy me gifts, I shall appreciate how much more it means.”
“It just seems sometimes you’re trying to… well, buy me…”
“Heaven forfend!” Mycroft was scandalised. “Gifting my new friend is something rather new and appealing and....Gregory, I fell in love with the man you are, the one who stands in front of me now, not some...clotheshorse. Your integrity and honour are unimpeachable, I understand that. I am not trying to buy your affections, simply bestow a little luxury upon you that I feel you deserve. I would not want your affections to be motivated by anything other than mutual attraction. What?” Greg was looking at him oddly. “What have I said?”
“You just said you love me. You've fallen in love with me?”
Mycroft looked at the ground, trying to gather his thoughts. When he looked up, his expression was open and unguarded. “I do,” he said, softly. “I really do. Do you even realise, you are everything I ever wished for in a partner; loving, gentle, compassionate. I never hoped for a fraction of those things and now I find I have a man, interested in me, who is caring, strong, commanding....”
Greg snorted. “Commanding? Bloody hell, Myc.”
“But you are. When you order someone to do something, they jump to obey. If anything it is I who does not deserve you, you know.”
“Nonsense, Mycroft. Bloody nonsense. It’s got nothing to do with who deserves who. We fit, we bloody fit, plain and simple.” Greg smiled, leaned in and kissed him, regardless of the fact they were in public. “The only deduction I can make from this is that you’re mine, and I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”
“Thank you, Gregory,” Mycroft replied, eyes a little moist. “Of course I’ll have you.”
“None of that, now. Come on then, you’ve got money to lavish upon me, yes?”
“Yes, I have.”
“No time like the present then. I would appreciate your sartorial advice, but mine is the final choice. Yeah?”
“Of course, Gregory. I would have it no other way.”
“Mycroft?”
“Yes, Gregory?”
“I guess I should tell you now... you and I are going on a date, New Year’s Eve. I booked us dinner, hope you don’t mind.”
“Heaven’s, where?”
“The hotel has a New Year event…”
“Ah, yes. I refused the initial suggestion that I join in with the festivities.”
“That was before you had me. Come on, Myc, this will be fun.”
“Black tie, I presume.”
“Erm… yeah, think so.”
“Then we had better seek to hire something. I am afraid I left my dinner suit at home.”
“There’s a Moss Bros on the way back. I googled it.”
“You are a dark horse, Gregory Lestrade.”
“You don’t mind? There’s dancing....”
“I like dancing, but…”
“But?”
“I have never danced with a male partner before.”
“Well, first time for everything…”
00000000000000
“Jesus, Myc. What have you done?” Greg was standing staring at the car on the forecourt of the rental place with awe.
“I have indulged, Gregory.”
“But a DB9? Really?”
“A treat to drive, and we can share it. Besides, I did want to arrive in something that bespeaks my… status, as it were. I did not wish to start off at a disadvantage, considering the property on view.”
“Who gets to drive us first?”
“If you will allow me, at least until we reach the nearest town. I thought a pub lunch first, then a drive to the property and then coffee elsewhere on the way home?”
“Sounds perfect.” Greg took off his new overcoat and stowed it in the back, and paused. Mycroft was looking at him again, stare intense. “Swear to God, Myc, if you don’t stop looking at me like that, we will be going straight back to the hotel.”
Mycroft smiled, and winked, and got in the driver’s seat. “I applaud your choice of attire, that’s all,” he said when Greg sat down and tugged the door shut.
“My choice was heavily governed by you, as I recall.”
“Ah, but you did say yours was the final choice.”
“From the ones you suggested, yes, so I didn’t have much to do with it, really, did I?”
“I merely guided you. Gave you a little advice, nothing more. Your choice was excellent, really.”
“So where are we headed now?”
“The market town of Helmsley, I think. It’s only about a half hour away. I had a pub there recommended to me for lunch.” Mycroft adjusted the sat nav to take them, and then activated the keyless ignition, the engine purring into life. Greg settled down and relaxed as Mycroft pulled the vehicle out from the station into the daytime traffic, heading out of the city to the north.
0000000000000
“Oh, my fucking God...Myc…”
“Profanity, Gregory… Please, not in front of the children.” His gaze encompassed the young man who waited for them on the gravel outside the old house they had just come to a stop in front of.
“This is...amazing, Myc. What a place.”
“Hm, I reserve judgement. I need to see the state of it before I make any decisions.”
He swung his elegant legs out of the car and called a greeting to the young man. Greg followed, trying to surreptitiously unkink his spine after the journey. The car was beyond comfortable, but he wasn’t getting any younger, unlike the estate agents, he thought morosely.
The house was beautiful; a modest tudor farmhouse, obviously renovated and brought up to date but in a tasteful way. Greg wandered around trailing Mycroft as he was shown the salient features by the young man who was grasping his clipboard as if his life depended on it. He was well spoken, but obviously nervous. Probably his first job, Greg wondered. But then, Mycroft made most people nervous. As the two men talked about mundane things like internet connection and when the place had last been rewired, Greg ran his hands over exposed wooden door frames, wondering at the age of the place and who had lived there previously. Five hundred years old, and still going strong. Generations of people must have come and gone; kids running through there laughing and happy, adults making love and grieving lost loves, Christmas celebrations, birthday presents, war time anguish, relief and pain, crying babies, sleepless nights, sickness and death and proposals of marriage…The whole of life must have been seen by this place.
Would there be another couple to add to the history of the place, another couple comforting each other through life’s ups and downs, sharing happiness and success, celebrating anniversaries and birthdays and Christmases? He cast his eyes across at Mycroft and wondered if they would survive whatever life held in store for them. Will we succeed? It left him feeling a little overwhelmed and not a little wistful. They weren’t even a couple yet, never mind official. No happy announcement had been made. Stop it, he told himself. After that chat the other day and all your protesting about negative projection…
The whole place was very well appointed, with period features but modern additions, with lovely views across the countryside, surrounded as it was by a large well-kept garden. There were out-buildings that had been turned into garages and workshops, with accommodation above them, to serve as guest quarters. Greg saw Mycroft’s eyes light up when a paddock and stables were mentioned; there was a slight raising of eyebrows accompanied by a small smile. He likes horses then, Greg noted. Probably rides well. The thought of Mycroft on a horse did nothing for Greg’s well-being right then. The closest he had been to a horse were the mounted coppers on a cup final day.
They finished an hour later, with Mycroft promising to get in touch soon, and Greg watched the two men shake hands. The young man got into his car and Mycroft turned to Greg and offered up the keys. Greg shook his head and got in the passenger side. Mycroft’s brows drew together in a tiny frown as he got in and settled himself behind the wheel.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, glancing across at Greg who seemed to be in rather a contemplative mood.
“Nothing, really. It’s a lovely place.”
“Hm, I thought so.”
“You like it.” Greg wasn’t asking. He knew Mycroft liked the place.
“Yes, I do.”
“Long way from London though.”
“Precisely.”
“Would you want that?”
Mycroft sighed. “I am not certain, to be honest. It is a lovely house, with character, age, history. I am...quite bowled over by it, but it is a long way from Sussex…”
“Why Sussex?”
“I have a shared inheritance from Uncle Rudy. He left a cottage to Sherlock and myself, somewhere we were both thinking of retiring to one day. Well, when I say ‘cottage’, it’s quite big enough for both of us. It’s old, with two wings off a central hall, which we could live in quite happily without living on top of one another, but it’s not…” Mycroft paused.
“Not what?” Greg prompted.
“Not here.”
“You like it here?”
“Yes, I do. It’s...not Sussex,” he said with a grin. “Hard to explain, really.”
“Is Sherlock definitely going to retire there though? I mean, he’s attached to London, and he might not want to leave it. If it belongs to both of you, have you thought of selling it? Splitting the profits?”
“I think he has an idea about retiring there in order to keep bees. He has always had an ambition to maintain hives and study bees.”
“Bees? Well there are worse things he could want to study.”
“Please don’t, Gregory. I do have a sufficiently active imagination to fill in the blanks.”
“Sure you do. Well then, do you want to be closer to Sussex than here?”
“Not really, just...I fear for the future sometimes.”
“We coming back to that? Tell me, Mycroft, could you afford to hire a helicopter?”
“I beg your pardon? Of course I could. I do so on a semi-regular basis.”
“How long would a helicopter take to reach Sussex?”
“I have no idea. Less than an hour maybe?”
“Well, the garden out there is big enough to land one.”
Mycroft smiled and shook his head. “You are suggesting I hire a helicopter if I wish to reach my brother quickly?”
“Or buy one.” Greg took out his phone and Googled. “Hm, somewhere in the region of £500 to hire one to fly it yourself…”
“You are looking at the best part of £1000 an hour to hire one with a pilot,” Mycroft said, obviously speaking from experience. “Not actually that prohibitive, however.”
“Not for you maybe?” Greg grinned. “Nowhere is too far away when you have the funds. Or knowing you, you could just buy a helicopter and hire someone who could fly, drive and bodyguard for you in your old age? Have you thought though, this place has a lot of extra room. You could invite Sherlock and John to live here, there’s well enough room for bee hives in the garden here. If Sherlock wanted, he could spend holidays in London. Two hour train ride from York, not that long.”
“I can see you’ve been thinking about this.”
“Yeah, well, someone has to.”
Mycroft seemed to brighten after that, his agile mind obviously working its way through the possibilities. They drove to a nice country pub where they ordered coffee and sandwiches, and spent a companionable hour eating and discussing the house further. Afterward, Mycroft pushed the car keys into Greg’s hand, insisting on him driving them the rest of the way.
“You know,” Greg said, thoughtfully, as he drove them back to York, “I saw some flats for sale in the city the other day, a Georgian place, a bit Belgravia, I thought. Opposite the theatre, has its own private parking, next to the art gallery, and the cathedral. In case you think the place we just looked at is too far away, or if Sherlock wants to keep the cottage in Sussex, maybe we could look at one of them? Top floor would give you great views. There’s one on the end of the row, double fronted, rather Upstairs Downstairs.”
Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “A possibility, I suppose. No garden though, but a bit closer to home?”
“I thought so. I mean, what would you need? Are you a gardener? You’d require a couple of extra bedrooms for guests, bit of space and some charm to it all. The flats are centrally placed, convenient for the railway.”
“True, we would not require a huge place. Besides, I could buy both outright and not put a huge dent in my finances.”
“Both? Are you fucking kidding me? Mycroft, those townhouses are listed at 1.6 mil. I caught sight of the guide price on that manor, you know. What was it, nearly four million?”
“I do not advertise my wealth, Gregory,” Mycroft said gently. “However, I am adept at playing the stock market and I learned how to do so from an early age. Money makes more money, if you know what you are doing with it. For me, maths has always been as Sherlock’s cases are to him, nothing but a puzzle to be decoded, links to be made. I also made a rather judicious investment in the property market in the mid 90s and I have only recently sold my property portfolio. It was only a matter of patience and predicting market changes. I made rather a tidy profit.” He smiled. “It has always been a childishly simple thing for me to invest, to predict how businesses will grow and which will fail. I have sometimes lost money, I admit, but on the whole, I enjoy a modicum of risk, and that has paid off. While safe investments are not to be frowned on, they do not make as much as those with a higher risk attached.”
“That’s how you get your kicks, isn’t it? Risking fortunes and gambling?”
“Investing, Gregory. Gambling, while it can be exciting in its own way, is a fools’ game. Investments are a more strategic use of one’s intellect. Gambling employs luck, and luck is never something to rely on.”
“So, you could afford both the house and a posh flat then?”
“I could, yes. We could view it next week, after New Year? I can call the estate agent today, reserve a viewing before anyone else snaps it up.”
“Sounds good. Before we leave then?”
Once the car was returned, and Greg had to admit it was with a little regret, the two men walked back to the hotel for dinner. Greg sought out Mycroft’s hand as they walked, and he did not pull away. The two of them fell into step easily. It all felt easy, Greg thought, wondering at what he should do. It all felt way too easy, as if they’d been dating for years. To move or not to move?
“You not worried I’m after your money?” Greg asked as they went up to their room in the lift. Mycroft cast him a disbelieving look.
“Heavens, no. Whatever gave you that idea? Gregory, even if you were—and I do not believe it for a moment—I really don’t mind. As long as you do not bleed me dry, and I think you are too sensible to do that, I really do not care. Besides which, Gregory, you are not that shallow…”
“Oh, I dunno. I could turn shallow very easily, given your money.”
“Gregory, stop being so self-deprecating. You will not turn shallow and you are not a gold digger. I do trust you. God’s sake, you could spend as much of my money as you wish. I do not mind. As I have said, money means very little to me beyond making life comfortable. It allows me to move in the circles I need to for my work, it allows me to live the lifestyle my job demands, but frankly, in itself it does not bring me happiness.” He turned to Greg before the lift pinged, and fixed him with a look. “You, Gregory, you bring me happiness.” The lift door opened, and Greg was forestalled making a reply as an elderly couple got in.
“So, a New Year’s dinner dance. You know it is going to be a formal affair, Gregory? Exactly how good a dancer are you?” Mycroft asked when they got back to their room. He hung up his coat and toed off his shoes, and went to pour himself a drink. Greg followed suit and sat down in one of the armchairs.
“Um...I used to dance a lot when I was in my twenties,” Greg admitted.
“Yes, well, gyrating at a disco is hardly dancing.”
“Oi! I was in the mosh pit at punk rock gigs, head banging with the best, thank you.”
Mycroft rolled his eyes and shook his head in that exasperated fashion. Greg laughed. “Your face,” he said, chuckling, and got to his feet. He scrolled through his phone and picked a track, ramping up the volume, then set it on the coffee table. Then he stepped right into Mycroft’s personal space and took his glass from him, setting it by his phone. He grabbed Mycroft’s hand and pulled him to his feet, tugging him close, and then swung him round and into the steps of a tango. Greg watched Mycroft’s eyes go wide in surprise.
“I...when did you become a ballroom dancer?”
“Like I said, I danced a lot in my twenties. The wife and I used to belong to a dance studio. She was more into it than me, but I did it to keep her company. Plus as I rose though the ranks I got invited to more swanky dinner dances. She loved that. We were good together on a dance floor at least.” Mycroft gasped as Greg swung him round and abruptly pulled him into a close embrace. He was rusty, and Mycroft wasn’t used to following, but they made a good effort in the confines of the hotel room. Greg was barely breathing hard by the time the music ended, but the atmosphere was charged with an entirely different energy.
“That was...arousing, to say the least,” Mycroft admitted. “Dance like that and I may embarrass myself…”
Greg chuckled. “Well, Tango is my favourite. I’m passable at foxtrot and quickstep, and I can waltz with the best of them, but tango is...passionate, intimate, if done correctly.”
“Tango deserves to be done correctly. You favour Argentine?”
Greg nodded. “We had an honest-to-God Argentinian dance teacher. He was very good. Think I had a crush on him.”
Mycroft smiled. “Well, let us scandalize the locals on New Year’s Eve. I shall endeavour to follow your lead though. You are a natural leader, masculine, and as I think I may have mentioned, commanding.”
“You really do believe that, don’t you?”
“I’m certain of it. You...exude masculinity, Gregory. Look at you, broad shoulders, sturdily built…” He paused. Gregory was smiling at him, broadly, not to mention a little...shy? “What?”
“I’m just not used to compliments.”
Mycroft managed to look scandalised. “That is unacceptable. You should be complimented every day. In fact, I shall make it my duty to do so.”
“Go on then, which of my many features turn you on?”
“Fishing now, are we?”
“Hell, yeah. I want to know exactly what you think about me. However, maybe don’t want to know if I have any...less than desirable features.”
“Such as?”
“Saggy arse and flabby middle?” He patted his stomach for emphasis.
“Good grief, you are neither saggy nor flabby, so far as I can see, Gregory, and I have said this before as well. You have quite a trim waist for a man of your years, and your arse has not displayed any...sag so far. In fact,” Mycroft murmured, one hand sliding to squeeze said arse cheek gently, “it is a very satisfying arse to fondle. As to your other salient features, you have magnificently broad shoulders, and...rather powerful thighs...Your...um...thrusts attest to that.” Greg felt him shiver, and the arse-fondling hand gave his bum a squeeze for emphasis. “Your eyes….Oh, my God, Gregory,” Mycroft’s voice softened. “I could drown in them. You have eyes the colour of fine single estate cocoa; soft, dark, rich… And your hair…”
“My hair makes me look ancient.”
“Pish tosh, Gregory, your hair is your crowning glory. Sufficiently pepper and salt to give the appearance of steel, of silver. You are NSY’s resident silver fox, and all the women know it. Including Anthea. She is not immune to your charms, you know.”
“Anthea is immune to everybody.”
“Not so. You occupy a special place in her...I was going to say heart, but perhaps inventory might be a better description. The inventory she keeps of things she happens to care about, which is spartan to say the least, has a place for you.”
“What makes you say that?”
“If I mention you, a look comes into her eyes.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Not so. If you can conjure that look, then you have her undying loyalty. Moreover, her protection. She would never tell you that, but I can guarantee it.”
“Well, you know her better than me.”
“I do indeed.”
“Well, while we’re on the subject of compliments, I have to say, I think you,” and Greg tapped a gentle finger on Mycroft’s chest, “are sexy as hell in your suits, and even sexier out of them. I love your freckles, and your hair, and your gorgeous blue eyes...Never had a blue-eyed lover before...and your neck… Fuck me, I love your neck. Graceful, kissable, nibbleable.”
“I always thought my neck was too long.”
“Graceful, Mycroft. Graceful.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. Love your trim waist too, you’re definitely not fat. You’re nice to cuddle, and believe me, I love to cuddle. You know what? I love your nipples…”
“My nipples?” Mycroft chuckled. “Of all my features….”
“Yes. Your nipples are lovely. Come on, don’t tell me you don’t like it when I have my lips wrapped around them?”
“Oh, I do…”
“Well then. Nipples, yes, one of your best features. You also have gorgeous legs and feet.”
“Feet?”
“Yeah, long and elegant. Love ‘em.”
“I never considered my feet in quite that light before. I thought them too long and boney.”
“Well, they’re not.”
Mycroft smiled. “I am rather looking forward to celebrating New Year with you, Gregory.”
“Oh yes, gonna cut a dash tonight, won’t we?”
“That we shall…”
“Looking forward to it.” Greg set another tune going, this one somewhat slower. “Waltz?” Mycroft took his hand and Greg pulled him closer.
“We need the practice,” he said, nuzzling into his lover’s neck. “Got a few more hours to put in before the event. What do you fancy next?”
“I rather thought we might indulge in a different kind of dance, Gregory….”
“Oh, you mean… Okay then, follow my lead…” and he pulled Mycroft unresisting toward the bedroom.
***
Chapter 2: Get This Party StartedThey were ready early, which was no surprise given Mycroft’s habitual punctuality. However, Greg caught the man giving him an odd look as he emerged from the bedroom, fastening his cufflinks.
“What’s the matter, love?”
“N.n.nothing,” Mycroft stammered, eyes slightly wide. “I...you...breathtaking,” he managed, eventually. “Truly breathtaking. Why are you interested in me, Gregory? Seriously. I cannot compare.”
“I’ve said it before, love. None of that. You are gorgeous, you know? You are everything I could want and more. You’re handsome, elegant, out of my league…”
“Pish, Gregory. You are more than a match to the most elegant man I have had occasion to meet.”
“Who was that then?”
“Pardon?”
“Who’s the most elegant man you’ve ever met? And don’t say me. Gimme a name…”
“Well, the Royal family are always exceptionally well turned out...William has an innate sense of style…”
“You’re comparing me to the Royals?” Mycroft simply inclined his head in agreement. “Wow, I am...lost for words…”
“George Clooney is always well dressed.”
“He can afford to be.”
“Yes, well, I can attest to the fact that you are both silver foxes of some note. Really Gregory, maybe you should have pursued acting as a career…”
“Instead of pursuing criminals, hm? They do laugh at me sometimes. I wonder maybe comedy…?”
“Nonsense, Gregory. I should think you have enough successful convictions to assure that the criminal fraternity is laughing on the other side of its face by now.”
“Not all of them, I’m afraid.”
“Well, none of that matters tonight. You look simply stunning.”
Greg glanced at himself in the mirror. Actually, he didn’t look too bad. The suit looked good on him, and he felt...actually a little giddy with happiness. He had survived another year and looked to have acquired himself a good looking, intelligent, and generous lover into the bargain....
The two of them turned a few heads when they arrived at the ball. Only a small number of guests had so far gathered for the event, and it looked like mycroft and Greg were early. A young woman dressed in a flapper style dress enquired of their names at the door to the large room, welcoming them warmly and ticking their names off the guest list. As they stepped into the reception area, they were met with waiters serving champagne and canapes, and other couples were already milling about between the strategically placed clusters of silver and gold balloons. Banners declaring Happy New Year were hung across the ceiling, and the place was festooned with fairy lights.
“Hope it’s not too...ostentatious?” Greg suggested, sipping his drink.
“It’s New Year, Gregory. Precisely what else could it be?”
When they finally headed to their table, another couple were already seated. These two were middle aged and successful, introducing themselves with warmth and good humour as Greg and Moira Hardiman, and offering friendly handshakes. There was congenial laughter when Greg revealed he was also called Greg. As they were seated, Mycroft could not resist pointing out in an undertone to Greg that his namesake was a doctor and Moira was a teacher…
Several other couples joined them over the next half hour and Mycroft slipped into his genial diplomatic mode, making small talk with their immediate neighbours, erudite and relaxed. Greg smiled, and caught Mycroft’s eye, triggering an answering smile. Greg knew he would give a lot to see that smile every single day. The rest of their table companions turned out to be four more couples; Janet and Rayne, Harry and Beth, Fran and Alan, as well as the aforementioned Greg and Moira. Greg ended up beside Rayne, finding himself in a chat about keeping goats as they were served their starter, a rather delicious pate. Greg hoped it wasn’t made of goat, for Rayne’s sake.
Music struck up from a live band on the small stage just as everyone was beginning their main course. The beef that Greg was eating was a nice antidote to Christmas, and was wonderfully tender. He glanced across at Mycroft and smiled softly. The man was radiant. Greg wondered if he glowed as much at all those diplomatic dinners he was used to attending. Somehow, he thought not. Mycroft looked up at that moment and smiled, and Greg felt himself heat up. It was a possessive look in the eye of one of the most powerful men in the country, and it was directed at him. It took his breath away.
The band struck up with “Tonight’s The Night”, closely followed by The Final Countdown. A few people got up to dance but Mycroft did not look keen so Greg waited for the band to play something more sedate. When they struck up with Blue Moon, Greg took Mycroft’s hand and said “Dance with me?” Mycroft said nothing but got to his feet, smiling. Greg pulled him closer, and they moved confidently onto the floor.
Afterwards, Greg couldn’t remember everything that they did or said that evening. He would recall the excellent food, the music, and the feel of Mycroft in his arms as they took a turn or two on the dancefloor. He knew they were being watched by some of the guests; two middle aged men in a very obvious gay relationship in a northern town like this were bound to draw attention… However, they were met with smiles rather than disapproval, fondness rather than ridicule, which both surprised and pleased Greg no end. As the clock counted down to midnight, and the first of Big Ben’s chimes struck the hour, Greg remembered downing the champagne in a toast, but burned into his memory was the look in Mycroft’s eyes as they stood together, as if Greg himself was the single most important thing in Mycroft’s world. He did his best to return the look, desire for desire.
They were both more than slightly tipsy by the time the party began to break up, although quite a few hardy souls looked like they were set to stay as long as possible. The live band had given way to a late night disco, the tables had been cleared of plates and cutlery, and the bar was working overtime. Some folk were dancing to the retro 80s hits, to repeated performances of Prince belting out 1999 and Robbie Williams’ Millenium as if their combined futures depended on it. Mycroft and Greg bowed out around 2am and did their best to get back to their room as quietly as possible.
When Mycroft came back from the bathroom, clad only in his silk dressing gown, he found Greg standing staring out the window, contemplatively.
“What’s the matter, darling?” Mycroft asked, arms slipping around Greg’s waist.
“When we go back,” Greg vetured to ask, “will we...well, will we still have all this?” He was hyper-aware that his voice shook a little.
“Why would you think otherwise?”
“Because…” Greg’s voice tailed off.
“Because is not sufficient, Gregory,” Mycroft encouraged.
“Isn’t it? Damn…”
“No, Gregory. Please quit teasing. Now, why would you think that this would not continue?”
“You’re you, and I’m...well...me, I guess.”
“I sincerely hope so otherwise this relationship would be cut grievously short…”
“Now who is teasing?”
“Touche. Honestly, though, Gregory, why on earth would you think that?”
Greg sighed. “I dunno. I’m a bit drunk, and I get maudlin when I’m drunk. Got one failed marriage behind me...You’re way out of my league...you’re gorgeous. Why would you want me?”
“Gregory, we have discussed this…”
“Have we? Remind me then? I’m not thinking straight…”
It was Mycroft’s turn to sigh. “Come to bed, Gregory. We still have a few days left here, and I intend to make the most of this new year, and you, and yes, we will still have this if you wish it, when we return to real life. Personally, I would not relinquish it for all the tea in China…”
“Me too...I love you...Silly man…”
“Oh, I’m the silly one, hm? Come to bed, my love, and let us sleep? I think we’ve both had quite the night.” Mycroft tugged on his hand, and Greg went willingly enough, allowing his lover to undress him carefully, and to press him to the bed. Mycroft turned off the lights and spooned behind him. “There now, showers can wait. Sleep, my love, and sweet dreams. I’m right here. Not going anywhere.” Mycroft was strangely aware of their reverse roles. Where it was usually Greg reassuring him, now it was his turn to reassure his slightly tipsy, somewhat sleepy partner of the security of their relationship. Greg nodded and snuggled and pretty soon he was snoring softly. Mycroft smiled, closed his eyes and drifted. He was warmed by Greg’s own desire for their fledgeling relationship to carry on, to succeed. Ah well, he thought, tomorrow is another day, and we have the rest of our lives to look forward to.
Role on 2018….
***
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