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“That’s it, love,” Greg rumbled, his voice honeyed and dark, “that’s it, show me.”

Mycroft huffed out a whimper, biting at his lower lip. Even trying to hold in his sounds felt good, so good. He shuddered as Greg’s fingers curled over his lube-slicked ones, grinding his head back into the pillow with a gasp, stroking himself faster and harder. 

“G-Greg…!” Mycroft couldn’t manage ‘Gregory’ in this state; the last two syllables were beyond him. Unable to say it, his eyes flashed anxiously to Greg’s, reaching for the safety of his gaze as the snug, wet sensation of their hands moving together slowly unraveled him.

“Shhh, s’okay, breathe for me.” Greg showed no signs of tiring, even after being rendered a soundless, writhing mess from his own orgasm just a short time ago. The weight and taste of his cock still lingered on Mycroft’s tongue, in the ache of his jaw. Greg had trembled in Mycroft’s arms after, wanting gentle touches and comfort while settling back to calm. Mycroft had thought to simply pet his hair until he fell asleep, until Greg’s mouth sought out the soft skin under his chin, and his hand stole down between Mycroft’s thighs.

Greg tended towards a bit of voyeurism at times like this. Spent as he was, it still gave him pleasure just to share in Mycroft’s, cuddled languidly against his side, watching as Mycroft shivered and moaned for relief. In an odd way, it helped hold the breaking point at bay - everything in Mycroft wanting to keep going, so Greg could watch to his heart’s content. So Mycroft could keep feeling the delicious weight of Greg’s eyes just a little longer.

“God, you’re so close, aren’t you?” Greg whispered, his voice hoarse and unbearably arousing. “Wanna watch you come, please, Myc.” 

Oh yes, close, so close…

It was that soft encouragement that seemed to be driving Mycroft to his end. He could never deny Greg anything when begged so beautifully. The brush of fingers against Mycroft’s bollocks made him jerk and swear. He suddenly remembered Greg still had an unoccupied hand. 

At the first knead, his hips convulsed, trying to lift from the mattress. His voice rose into a fractured cry, fragments of pleas and things he didn’t even understand as sensation pulsed and pounded through him. He could barely breathe for the intensity of it. The gentle presence of Greg’s hands guided him safely through his crisis, steadying his last stuttering strokes, coaxing out those last little bits of pleasure.

Coming back to himself was rather like trying to gather melted wax with a sieve.

“Greg-“ He felt lips press to his forehead, aloe to a sunburn. He moaned, softly, and more kisses followed. His shaking limbs were gathered up into a warm embrace. “Oh, Christ…”

“Good, darling?” The husky laugh made him tingle. “Sounded like it was.”

“M-mmhm…” Mycroft weakly lifted his head to find Greg’s eyes, flushing as he wondered what Greg saw to make him smile like that. “Do you want-“ the word eluded him for a few moments, “shower?”

“Later.” Greg tenderly brushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead. Before he reached for the wipes on the nightstand, he kissed Mycroft again, murmuring, “Rather look after you for a while.”