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Stop Staring

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Greg had been spending an extortionate amount of time in the library recently. He always enjoyed the influx of naive, young freshmen at the beginning of the year, but this time he had his eye on one in particular. The boy was posh, privileged and well dressed. To say he was Greg’s type would be an understatement. It was all he could do to stop himself dragging the man from his seat and tearing the suit trousers from his never ending legs.

He’d leave the tie on, he mused, sucking the end of a pencil as he eyed the boy from across the room. It looked like silk.

‘Oi,’ Harry sat down heavily next to him, dumping a pile of books beneath his nose. ‘Stop staring.’

‘Can’t,’ Greg sighed. He ignored the books. He had been dreading his third year at Oxford, ever since he had sent his application. To begin work would mean he would never finish it. ‘It’s alright, he hasn’t noticed.’

‘Maybe that’s what he wants you to think,’ Harry mused, flicking her hair back out of her eyes. She removed her shoes and placed her feet on the table, striped socks on full display. Opening a packet of crisps, she began to crunch loudly, receiving angry glares from the people surrounding them.

‘Mm-hm,’ Greg answered, his eyes drawn back to his crush as the boy looked up, alongside the rest of the room. 

‘He’s looking at you,’ Harry hissed excitedly, poking him in the ribs and making him jump, ruining his attempts to look cool and nonchalant.

The boy was indeed looking at him, with a disapproving frown on his face. Greg’s stomach flipped and he grinned, winking at him as he reached into Harry’s packet of crisps. He placed a crisp in his mouth and licked his lips, eyes travelling over the boy’s body.

‘That was gross,’ Harry pointed out, a little too loudly, as the freshman returned to his notes with a dazed, confused expression. ‘Do you really think that’s the way to pick up a bloke?’

‘How would you know how to pick up a bloke?’ Greg teased. Harry made no secret of the fact her interest in men was, to say the least, limited. That was one of the reasons Greg liked her. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

Harry snorted, pulling one of the books from the pile and opening it righteously. She reluctantly fished a pen from her pocket and looked down in disgust at the words before her. ‘What’s your next move? More lascivious drooling?’

‘Dunno,’ Greg shifted uncomfortably in his seat, beginning to feel significantly aroused. The freshman had started shooting suspicious glances his way, which he couldn’t help but enjoy. ‘I might just go and get his number.’

Harry smirked down at the book, suddenly looking very pleased with herself. ‘Want his name?’

‘You know him?’ Greg asked furtively, leaning closer to whisper in her ear.

‘My little brother is friends with his little brother,’ Harry explained casually. She shrugged. ‘Of course... I had no idea he’d strike your fancy.’

‘Fuck off,’ Greg huffed, a little annoyed that he had been deprived contact with the younger man for so long. ‘You know my type. What’s his name?’

‘Mycroft Holmes. Watch your step, he’s a stuck up little snob.’

Greg ruffled his hair, and considered this new information, mulling over his next move. ‘Shouldn’t you go and say hello?’

‘Oh no,’ Harry looked up with a horrified laugh. ‘No, no, no. Don’t think I’m setting you up with him. His parents would kill me.’

‘Hey,’ Greg raised his hands defensively, unable to keep the grin from his face. ‘This has nothing to do with me. I just think it would be a nice gesture to invite the kid out for a drink tonight, seeing as you know him. It’s kind of your responsibility to make sure he settles in.’

Harry pursed her lips. ‘And I suppose you’ll be present for all this.’

Greg watched the boy beginning to pack his satchel, obviously on the verge of leaving. ‘Drinks on me,’ he snapped, pushing his friend from her seat. ‘Now GO.’

‘My friend wants to shag you,’ Harry intoned sarcastically under her breath as she left the table. ‘Fancy letting him?’

 

Greg chewed his lip as he watched his friend cross the room. Mycroft had stood up and seemed ready to leave by the time she reached him. The boy was wearing a tight fitted grey pinstriped suit, and carried his black briefcase neatly in one hand. As Harry approached him she smiled broadly, and turned on the Watson family charm.

Grinning into his fist as the two began to speak, Greg looked on as Mycroft first bristled and then began to relax into the conversation. He smiled politely and nodded, before reaching out to shake her hand. The two separated and, as Mycroft left the room, he met Greg’s eye with a curious, lingering gaze.

‘Fuck yes,’ Greg muttered under his breath, following the boy with his eyes as he departed. His eyes flicked shamelessly down to Mycroft’s arse as soon as his back was turned.

‘Stop leering,’ Harry sighed, returning to him. ‘The kid’s only seventeen.’

‘Is he?’ Greg asked, interest piqued. ‘Sexual prime then.’

He winced as Harry picked up a text book and hit him around the head.

 

‘Bloody hell,’ Harry rolled her eyes at the sight of him. ‘You’re keen.’

‘What?’ Greg asked sheepishly, sidling up to meet her outside the pub. He looked down at his outfit. Alright, maybe he had dressed up a bit for the occasion... but it wasn’t every day that he got to go for a drink with a bit of posh totty. He folded his arms defensively.

‘Are you wearing your pulling pants?’ Harry teased. She had already started drinking, and was sipping enthusiastically at a hipflask, looking eager to get inside.

Greg ignored her. Although he was. He rubbed his hands together to keep them warm and looked eagerly up and down the street.

‘If he sees them, you’re dead,’ Harry warned him.

‘I thought you didn’t like him?’ Greg asked sheepishly. An approaching figure had caught his attention and he narrowed his eyes squinting through the gloomy lamplight. The boy was wearing a heavy grey tweed coat and swinging an umbrella in his hand.

‘I feel a duty to protect him from your influence,’ Harry explained, lowering her voice as Mycroft drew nearer. ‘Look at him, he’s probably a virgin.’

Greg groaned lustfully, ignoring the sharp prod in the ribs he received because of it. Poor Harry really wasn’t doing anything to put him off.

‘Good evening, Harriet,’ Mycroft called out as he approached, in a voice like melted chocolate. He switched his umbrella to his left hand and reached out to shake Harry’s hand with his right. His eyes flickered to Greg as he did so, a cautious frown marking his forehead.

‘Mycroft,’ Harry smiled politely, her voice regaining some of the middle class polish Greg recognised from when he had met her in their first year.  ‘Glad you came.’

Greg cleared his throat pointedly when no introductions were made, but Harry ignored him, slipping through the door to the pub and holding it open for them. Mycroft looked at him inquisitively.

‘Greg,’ Greg introduced himself, holding out his hand for the boy to shake. He gave him a cheerful wink.  

Mycroft took it doubtfully, glancing at Harry questioningly when Greg held on for a beat too long.

‘C’mon,’ Harry waved them through the door. ‘You’re letting the cold in.’

Heading towards the bar in order to make good on his promise to buy drinks, Greg watched from the corner off his eye as Mycroft and Harry sought out a table. The two slipped into a corner booth, taking opposite sides and Mycroft removed his tweed coat, revealing a delicious black shirt and jacket. The teen was also wearing a silk cravat tucked into the collar which was more than enough to convince Greg that he was gay.

Grinning, he ordered three pints of lager from the tired barman, wondering if there were suspender straps hidden beneath that suit jacket.  Balancing all three drinks in his hands, he approached the table with a bit of a swagger, deciding he’d make it his aim for the evening to find out.