Mycroft stepped out into the sunshine and stood on the steps of the old office building, surveying the London streets. His meeting had finished early, and with a satisfactory conclusion, so he had a spring in his step as he descended to the pavement and wondered if he might treat himself to a little something at the patisserie a few streets away.
As he glanced around he saw a familiar figure not far away - Detective Inspector Lestrade wasn't what he would call a friend, more an acquaintance, but Mycroft had been thinking about him lately. It seemed that he'd decided to take some leave - which of course he was entitled to - but had neglected to leave anything for Sherlock to do in the meantime. This had led to Mycroft getting ever more irritated by his younger brother's nagging and moaning, text messages arriving at all times of the day and night. If he spoke to Lestrade then at least he might know when his torture might end, if not find some way to keep Sherlock occupied in the meantime. He set off along the street, frowning slightly as he took in the jeans, checked shirt and leather jacket the DI was wearing. He was far more used to seeing the man in a decent (for off-the-peg) suit. And there was a chunky silver necklace and bracelet he could see on show too – a vulgar show of wealth, in Mycroft's opinion. He had thought better of the man. Although he couldn't deny the silver did bring out the colour of Lestrade's hair.
He strode along the pavement, umbrella tip tapping on the flagstones and opened his mouth to call to the DI.
Lestrade pretended to consult his iPhone, then shrugged. "No sooner?"
"Difficult," the man he was speaking to answered. "Coming fresh, see. Not even on the boat yet."
Lestrade sighed, then glanced around, more out of habit than anything else. And saw something he didn't expect. Mycroft bloody Holmes walking straight toward him. It wasn't that he disliked seeing the man, but trust him - the only man in England who still thought it appropriate to address everyone by their full title - to turn up right in the middle of an undercover operation. He knew this was going to end badly. Possibly very badly for him - two of the four men he was currently talking to had knives on them, he'd clocked them.
Mycroft was within a few feet, smiling, mouth opening...
"De..." Mycroft began, eyebrows rising as Lestrade moved swiftly, away from the group, closing the space between them in milliseconds, hands sliding onto his cheeks and his mouth crashing into Mycroft's, lips open, kiss demanding, hips pressing against him aggressively.
Mycroft let out a small grunt of surprise, and then couldn't muster a thought let alone an action. Lestrade's body seemed to press against his from top to toe, and he was forced to reach around him, fingers sinking into the soft leather of his jacket just to stay upright. He tried to say something, to suck in some precious air, but all that did was give Lestrade's tongue a chance to slip into his mouth, and just as his brain was catching up with what was going on Lestrade broke the kiss, leaving them both panting.
"Mikey, didn't think you were in this part of town today," he said, and Mycroft almost frowned, but something told him not to. He glanced over Lestrade's shoulder to the various expressions visible on the faces of the men he had been talking to, varying from distaste to surprise.
"Just got a bit of business to finish up, Love," Lestrade said, his hand having somehow moved from Mycroft's face to slide around his waist, thumb sneaking into the back of his waistband as he stepped aside to stand next to Mycroft.
"Gonna introduce us then, Danny?" the man who looked as if he were in charge of the other group said, looking Mycroft up and down. Mycroft returned the gesture, a grimace on his face as he took in the cheap flashy suit, cufflinks, tiepin – probably Argos, if they did such things. Tacky.
Lestrade's hips canted slightly toward Mycroft, so they were still pressed together, an obvious and aggressive display of ownership, especially when paired with the hand on his bottom. Mycroft felt his mouth going dry.
"This is Mike. Mikey, some of the guys I was telling you about the other night - William, Tibo, Alex and Mikhail."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Mycroft managed to stutter out, the pressure from Lestrade's hand increasing on his right buttock as he did so.
"Ooh, Christ, don't he speak nice," William moved toward them, still clearly checking Mycroft out. "What're you doing with him," he gestured to Lestrade. "I could show you a way better time, Darlin'."
Lestrade's stance changed, subtle movement of hips and shoulders, and Mycroft glanced to see the sneer on his face. "I'm betting there's very little you could show him, Darlin'," he answered, looking pointedly at William's crotch.
The look he got back was pretty much pure hatred, Mycroft thought.
"You wanna drop the old man, get yourself someone who'd treat you right. Nice threads, huh? I could buy you anything you wanted," he boasted, and reached out to touch Mycroft's lapel.
Lestrade's hand moved so fast Mycroft barely saw it, and grabbed the man's wrist.
"Old?" he said, voice dropping lower. "He's got a man, kid, doesn't need a boy. Unless you want to make the tea?" He virtually threw the hand back into William's own face, then slid his own hand over Mycroft's front, as if dusting away any possible contaminants from him.
"Get fucked," William spat. "Just telling you – you wanna drop him, anytime. I can show you real money."
"Yeah, some of us don't need to pay for it, kid," Lestrade answered, smiling. "Come on, we're talking business. I can get you fifty for next week. I don't like waiting."
"Yeah? Deal's changed. Fifty and a coupla hours with the talent," he stepped forward, trying to crowd Mycroft. "You half as uptight as you look, bet you're a fine ride," he said, sliding his tongue over his teeth and nodding.
Mycroft swallowed. He wished he'd used his brain when he first saw Lestrade – it was obvious he was playing a part, he could see that now. He mentally cursed himself, but kept his face as impassive as he could.
Lestrade took a step forward, jabbing William in the chest. "Then you can go fuck yourself. I can get cheap pussy anywhere. Your crew are nothing special."
William let out a low whistle. "He must be good, if you're willing to throw away the deal for his arse."
"Better than you'll ever know," Lestrade looked him in the eye, glare unwavering.
"Billy." The voice was gruff, and Mycroft glanced at the older man who had spoken – he'd been standing at the back of the group, arms crossed. "Leave it. Deal's a deal. Anything else is between you and 'im," he nodded to Lestrade.
Lestrade relaxed slightly, and spat, just missing William's foot, still keeping eye contact. He had known William wasn't the driving force behind the gang – just the face. Although he hated that Mycroft was there, in danger, he couldn't help but be glad that the little spat had made it obvious who was really in charge.
"So?" Lestrade addressed Alex now, ignoring William, moving to show his attention was now on Alex. "Give me a time. Money's no problem, just make sure you've got the girls."
"Didn't 'ave you down as a queer, Danny," Alex said, conversationally, as if nothing else was going on. "Not in your line."
"Any dealer who's tempted by his own stuff don't know what he's doing," Lestrade answered. "Drugs, pussy, doesn't matter. I know what punters want in a girl, so you got the goods, I've got the cash."
"Then we got a deal," Alex answered, nodding. "The twelfth, out East, there's a lay-by on the A20, about three and a half miles from the M25. Have to get in touch with you for the time, depends which boat we get 'em in."
"Deal's with me," William said aggressively, trying to step into Lestrade's eye line.
"Talking to the organ grinder, not the fucking monkey," Lestrade answered, offhand.
William gave a small snort, and took advantage of Lestrade's position by getting closer to Mycroft.
Lestrade was aware of it, and knew he needed to try to protect Mycroft. "Mikey," he said, hoping it came out as enough of an order for Mycroft to obey and stand closer to him.
"Worried?" William asked, eyes narrowed.
"Just don't like him getting filth on him," Lestrade looked pointedly at him.
"I can imagine all sorts of filthy things to do with him," William reached out to touch Mycroft's face.
Mycroft moved away, swaying out of reach, but William wasn't put off that easily, taking a step forward.
It was all Lestrade needed, he swung around and buried his fist in the man's gut, aiming for the solar plexus.
William doubled over, the breath rushing out of him in a grunt.
"You need to keep him on a shorter fucking leash," he said to Alex, reaching out automatically for Mycroft, his hand colliding with Mycroft's hip and slipping around to hold him close. "And if I see him at the meet I'm out, don't give a shit what you've brought me. I don't trust him, so I see his face, deal's off."
He glanced at Mycroft, and then saw a familiar black car sliding to a stop by the kerb. He almost breathed a sigh of relief.
"Now," he looked at William, who was still on the floor, gasping to get his breath back. "I've got far better things to be...doing," he smiled and slid his hand very obviously down Mycroft's behind, giving it a squeeze that made Mycroft jump slightly.
"Cunt," William wheezed, pushing himself to his knees and spitting at Lestrade, who deftly sidestepped, placing him directly in front of Mycroft.
"You ever try and touch something of mine again," Lestrade said, voice dripping with hatred. "And I won't just fucking break your arms, I'll rip 'em off, got it?" He reached out and patted him on the cheek.
Then he pointed at Alex. "The twelfth. Get me those times soon as."
He turned, heading for the car. "Get yourself in that Merc, Mikey. Got plans for you. I need a bit of stress relief after dealing with this shower of shit," he said loudly.
He held the door open for Mycroft to climb inside, allowing his hand to finally slide off the expensive material covering Mycroft's arse as he did so, and making a show of admiring the view.
Once inside the car he shut the door, thanking God for the tinted windows, and rested his forehead on his hands.
"Sorry," he said. "Sorry for...well, everything."
"No, it's...I'm the one who should apologise," Mycroft answered. "As you guessed, I so very nearly ruined your cover and gave you away to those men. I was informed you were on leave, not…."
Lestrade looked around with a half smile. "Still...Christ, you must think I'm...well, God knows. I don't usually stand about feeling up strangers, though. And...Thanks, for y'know, playing the part."
"I must admit," Mycroft looked down, as if embarrassed. "I did find a certain amount of…enjoyment, in the subterfuge."
Lestrade let himself sit back, rubbing his face and laughing. "Damn. Good, I mean. I'm glad I didn't…"
And a hand slid over his thigh, cutting off his speech.
"I really enjoyed it, very much," Mycroft said, softly, leaning closer. "And if you wished, we could go to my house, and Danny could do just exactly what he promised, to Mikey. He would be most…welcome."
Lestrade looked Mycroft in the eye, seeing the spark of desire there, and gave an almost imperceptible nod. He spread his legs, relaxing back on the leather seat, letting the persona slip back over him. He beckoned Mycroft closer.
Mycroft moved, and when he was near enough, Lestrade grabbed him by the lapels, pulling him into a searing kiss.
"Danny might not want to wait 'til we're home," he growled.