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Dinner Conversation

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This moment had been building for weeks, months if he was honest. They were in a comfortably intimate corner of a fancy restaurant, enjoying each other’s company by candlelight. Perhaps a little more wine had been drunk than was sensible, eye contact held for far longer than strictly polite, ‘accidental’ touches had become more frequent. Greg hadn’t hauled out his dusty bag of seduction tricks for far too long, but he still fancied himself a little better at the game than Mycroft.

“If we’re ever going to be allowed back here, you need to stop looking at me like that.” Greg murmured, keeping his voice low, letting his eyes drop to Mycroft’s lips, before re-taking and holding his gaze.”

“Whatever do you mean?” was the quiet, measured response, accompanied with an eloquently raised eyebrow.

“You’re looking at me like I’m the next dish on the menu… and you’re starving.” not bad, Greg thought to himself, a little smug.

“With the greatest respect, you are mistaken.”

Oh, shit!

Before Greg could stammer out an apology, Mycroft fixed him with a terrifyingly intense gaze and continued.

“That is precisely how I should look at you, for that is precisely what I am thinking. I am doing my best to appear as though I’m having a comfortable evening with a friend when, in reality, my greatest desire is to indulge all of my senses with you. A not-insignificant amount of my mind is focussed on your skin, your scent, your hair - how the flavour of the nape of your neck would compare to that of your inner thigh. Every time you speak, I cannot help but wonder how your voice changes when you moan with desire or cry out in ecstasy. I want your sounds. I need to fill all of my senses with you, dig deep until I know every part of you as thoroughly, no, even better than, I know my own body. I need to know where your body is smooth as silk, where it reminds me more of velvet, and how raw the prickle of your stubble can make my skin. “ Mycroft paused, slow, deliberately swiped his tongue over his upper lip, then caught his lower lip between sharp white teeth. During the speech, his voice had deepened, his words sped up, becoming impossibly more smooth and sensual, almost a physical caress.

“Oh, Jesus…” Greg managed to croak - or thought he did. He wasn’t sure if the words made it past his suddenly parched throat.

Mycroft’s eyes darkened from deep blue to smokey grey in the candlelight. “I wish to savour you like the finest wine, devour you with purest gluttony, gulp you down, slake my thirst with you. Shall I go on?”

Greg shook his head, no. He thanked whatever gods existed that he retained control over his body - but it was a close thing. Heat bloomed through Greg’s entire body. He was entirely sure he wouldn’t walk out of the restaurant as the same man who had entered.

“Would you like to leave now, Inspector?”

“Christ, yes. Just give me a minute.” Greg took a large gulp of iced water, biting the ice cube, relying on the combined dental nerve and brain freeze response to temporarily dampen his desire. He avoided looking at Mycroft. “Leave before me, do not look at me, do not speak to me, do NOT touch me… and I should be able to get out of here without a public indecency charge.”

Unseen by Greg, Mycroft’s air of smug superiority slipped somewhat, in fact rather a lot, at Greg’s forceful instruction; he shifted uncomfortably and made his way swiftly to the exit.