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The movie had been forgotten somewhere at the half hour mark, running unnoticed in the background. Images playing over the screen in a flicker of light and colours. Their takeout containers and plastic utensils had been abandoned on the floor. The empty whiskey bottle had fallen over on its side.

Mycroft lay draped over Greg; warm and pleasantly heavy like some large, blissed-out cat. His mouth was soft and pliant, his fingers continuously played through the short strands of Greg’s hair. Hints of ginger chicken and liquor were still on his tongue. 

Mycroft’s moans had grown more and more frequent as time passed; little helpless catches in his throat Greg didn’t think he was even conscious of. He cosied his hands a bit further inside Mycroft’s trousers, steadying his grasp on Mycroft’s arse, keeping up the slow, rhythmic rubbing of their lower bodies. 

“Myc?” Greg whispered, gently unsealing their lips. Speaking took something of a concentrated effort under the fuzz of alcohol-fumed arousal. “D’you want – ah - bed?”

Mycroft made an indiscernible sound, a blurry combination of amusement and breathlessness. Greg wasn’t sure if he had understood the question until Mycroft nuzzled into the space under his chin and sighed.

“No...” His back arched as Greg rocked them together a little more urgently. The ocean-like roll of his hips deepened. ”Like this.” 

For long minutes, they continued on the same - slow, languid, and sleepy. Mycroft’s breath stumbled when Greg would take a firmer handful of his backside and squeeze. Greg writhed at the responding flash of tongue and teeth against his neck. Delicious little curls of pleasure were soothing up Greg’s back, rising all the way to his throat, lapping gently at his senses even as it took his breath. 

A hazy idea struck that perhaps it wasn’t just his own pleasure Greg was feeling, but Mycroft’s as well. That every shiver, gasp, and pulse of their hearts was somehow a shared experience, echoing between them. That as Greg felt Mycroft begin to tremble - broken fragments of `I love you` tumbling out into the quiet, that perhaps Mycroft was hearing him shudder and pant the same words.

Mycroft shook through his orgasm, fingers buried deep in Greg’s hair. He pressed his face into Greg’s neck, still grinding against him with convulsing, uneven thrusts.

The single, soft “ah…” expelled against his skin was the final piece Greg needed.

Greg gripped Mycroft’s arse and pulled him in, tight and close as he could manage, bucking weakly as he lost the thread of it all for a few perfect, timeless seconds.

“Oh… oh fuck. Gregory…”

Greg laughed softly, his head swimming back from the ether. It always felt deliciously decadent when Mycroft cursed, made all the better for how rarely it happened. 

“Alright?” he asked. He nudged at Mycroft’s cheek, guiding him into a sluggish kiss, flexing his hands into the meat of Mycroft’s bum.

Mycroft sighed, one last twitch running through his body. “Y-yes.” When their lips came apart, he gazed down at Greg, that nuanced control of his facial expressions not quite firing on all cylinders, so his smile was somewhat lopsided – a little dopey, even.

With a sudden frown, he made a wobbly attempt to sit up. “Shower…”

“In a mo’.” Greg gathered him down again, no resistance as he tucked Mycroft’s head against his shoulder. “Lie with me a bit longer.”

Mycroft scoffed even as his eyes were slipping shut. “Just a moment.” Greg curled an arm over his back, and Mycroft stretched and huffed, the tension draining from his limbs. 

Chest to chest, Greg could feel Mycroft’s heart settling, quieting as he drifted off. A flutter went through Greg’s soul at the rightness of Mycroft over him like this.

He smiled and closed his eyes.

“Just a moment,” he murmured.