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'Woah...'

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Mycroft chuckled drunkenly and rested his head on the Detective Inspector’s shoulder. They hadn’t met before, but were getting along rather well and the man didn’t seem to mind.

The room was crowded with laughing and chattering people. Mycroft and Lestrade and Molly Hooper were slumped on the sofa, drinking wine and talking animatedly. At least Greg and Molly were talking animatedly. Mycroft had drunk a little too much to feel particularly animated. But he was enjoying listening to Greg’s deep voice, and was beginning to wonder if the man would like to go somewhere a little quieter together… just so he could hear him better.

He nuzzled into Greg’s neck, and the man looked down at him and then back at Molly who giggled delightedly.

‘Oh, Greg,’ she began, ‘how can you resist?’

‘Well, I have a wife for one thing,’ he muttered, gently pushing Mycroft’s head from his shoulder.

Mycroft caught his hand and brought it to rest on the side of his face, feeling his heart rate increase. He was vaguely aware of Molly’s high pitched giggling from the other end of the sofa, but his eyes stayed fixed on Greg.

‘Um… hello,’ Greg said, looking anywhere but into Mycroft’s eyes. He grinned all the same though, as if enjoying the attention.

‘Good evening,’ Mycroft murmured, letting Greg move his hand away, before returning his head to the man’s shoulder.

He breathed in deeply, enjoying the man’s cologne, and half listening to his conversation with Molly. Feeling a little dizzy, he brought his left hand up to rest on Greg’s chest, trying to ground himself and stop things spinning.

‘…definitely fancies you.’

Mycroft opened one eye to peer blearily at Molly, who was smirking at Greg.

‘…doesn’t… just too much drink.’

The words felt like they were travelling to his ears through a filter, which washed half of them away. Mycroft squeezed his eyes closed again, trying to concentrate. If he was correct… and he usually was. Then Greg seemed to be saying that he doubted Mycroft’s attraction to him.

Mycroft frowned. Sitting up, he watched the room swim, before slinging one leg over Greg and straddling his lap.

He heard an outburst of giggling to his left, and Greg saying, ‘woah…’

But all that mattered was that he started kissing those beautiful lips. He brushed their noses together, turning Greg’s head to face him. The man looked like he was trying not to laugh. His hands were on Mycroft’s shoulders but were holding him back rather than pulling him closer. Mycroft frowned and pushed forward, pressing his lips against Greg’s.
The giggling stopped. Greg went very still. Mycroft flicked his tongue over his lips encouragingly. No reaction.

Sighing heavily he pulled back. Greg was looking at him differently now... without amusement. He looked surprised, but not unpleasantly. His head was tilted to one side and his gaze flicked back to Mycroft’s lips.

Mycroft hummed approvingly. ‘Kiss me,’ he demanded, and made Greg pull him in this time.

‘Okay,’ the man murmured. And their lips were moving together again, with more heat this time. Molly must have moved, because Greg lay back where she had been, pulling Mycroft on top of him.

It felt rather fantastic, Mycroft thought. He should get drunk more often.

Somewhere in the background he heard Sherlock shouting.