They were following him.
Greg didn't speed up or change his walk in any way, just continued slowly ambling his way through the park, knowing full well that some of the lackies from the small but deadly gang he was trying to bring down were following him. He was undercover. For the first time in more than a decade, he was undercover. He'd thought he was too recognisable, but the operation they were running was going to be a long one so they'd cooked up a huge story around it.
Greg fired from the Met for some reason never made public. Sherlock and John on the blog claiming their trust and faith in their friend was ruined by this awful situation. A beautifully choreographed fall from grace including a drunk and disorderly and some well publicised gambling problems. All of this over the last 8 months, and only himself, Sherlock and John, and his superiors any the wiser.
The look of shock and disappointment on Sallys face when she'd released him from the drunk tank and put him in a cab home. The badly concealed joy on the face of his ex-wife when she was interviewed on morning tv - fucking TV!!!! Who would ever have thought that TV would give a shit about Greg Lestrade? All of it was slowly chipping away at his soul.
But it would all be worth it if he could bring these bastards down. They'd been trafficking women for months. Half of them weren't even women. Just girls. 16 and 17 year olds. Two had wound up dead, and that had brought Greg onto the case. He was determined the bastards wouldn't get away with it, after following a trail of bodies and beaten women across the city. They were cocky bastards. They'd let him in just as a display of power. "Look at us. That cop trying to bring us down? Well now he works for us!"
The first few meetings had gone well. But something had felt off tonight. And now he was being followed home.
He left the park and turned down the street towards his building. As he walked past an alley an arm whipped out and pulled him in. Greg found his back against a wall and an arm pressing across the front of his chest. He looked up in shock at blue-grey eyes and felt the air rush out of him with relief. It was short lived. Pounding feet told him his pursuers had seen him get pulled in and were going to arrive any second.
Mycroft locked eyes with Greg for a split second, before diving forward and kissing him.
Gregs eyes slammed shut at the insistent press of Mycrofts lips. He gasped, reaching down and pulling Mycrofts hips towards him at the same time Mycroft dug his hands into Gregs hair and slipped his tongue into Gregs mouth.
Jesus Fucking Christ!! This is the best kiss of my LIFE!
Greg moaned into the kiss. Totally unaware of the two men that had reached the mouth of the alley and were watching as the smartly dressed fella pressed the copper against the wall and snogged the hell out of him.
He faintly heard the fake camera shutter sound of a photo being taken but then Mycroft did something glorious with his tongue and Greg lost all sense of time and space.
Greg couldn't tell you how long they kissed for. It could have been seconds or hours. The feeling of Mycrofts tongue dipping in and out of his mouth, sometimes flicking along his lips and sometimes brushing the roof of his mouth, was turning Greg to jelly. His hands were gripping onto Mycrofts hips so hard it probably hurt, but there was no way he would stay standing if he let go.
Mycroft tried to pull away, but Greg was having none of it, bringing his hand to Mycrofts neck and reeling him back in to chase the feel of his tongue. Greg slowed as he realised Mycroft wasn't kissing back anymore. Mycroft pulled back again.
"Gregory…they're gone. You don't need to…"
Greg cut him off. The falseness of the last few months caught up with him in a wave of honesty.
"Don't care. Want you. Want your mouth, your tongue, your hands. Fuck, Mycroft. I've wanted to kiss you since the day I met you. Please. Please get back here and kiss me again." He felt tears in his eyes but refused to let them fall, still gently tugging on Mycrofts neck to try and bring him in.
Slowly, he felt Mycroft lean forward and reconnect their lips. The contact was gentle this time. Not rushed or desperate but just as mind meltingly good. Greg relaxed back into the wall, letting it hold him up as his knees went weak. Mycrofts hands were still in his hair. They were brushing gently through the silvery strands, scratching across his scalp in time with a particularly deep thrust of Mycrofts tongue.
Greg groaned deeply and dropped his head back against the wall, disengaging their lips. Sucking in breath and almost giggling with the rush, Greg wrapped his hands around Mycrofts waist and drew him into a hug.
Mycrofts head dropped to his shoulder and he felt the huff of breath across his throat as Mycroft let out a short sigh.
"Well, this is not how I imagined this meeting going." He said in a low, breathy voice that seemed to travel straight to Gregs already hard cock.
"God, Mycroft." Greg moaned, pressing his hips forward.
They stayed as they were for a moment before Mycroft started to step away. Greg let him go this time, suddenly very aware that he had shifted the balance between them and their careful friendship was about to come crashing down. Which way it would fall still remained to be seen. On the one side, Mycroft could shut down completely and never speak to him again. Or… It was that 'or' that made Greg reach out. He touched his fingers to Mycrofts wrist and dragged them slowly down the back of his hand before tangling their fingers together. Mycrofts tentative return grip made his heart pound.
"Why were you waiting for me?" He asked in a whisper.
"I wanted to speak with you, about your case. I may have evidence in my possession that could shorten your undercover assignment quite considerably." Mycroft replied carefully "I wasn't expecting you to be being followed. My informant believes that your deception has been masterfully executed. Apparently the leaders are all perfectly unaware of your remaining ties to law and order."
Greg nodded. Mycroft continued "Maybe we should discuss this inside?"
"I'm not confident my place hasn't been bugged."
Greg smiled at the simple answer, one that made his breath catch just a little with the power and confidence behind it.
"Ok. Let's go then. Maybe we should - " he looked down at their joined hands "- keep up the pretence just in case."
Hands still linked, the exited the alley and walked quickly but casually to Gregs building. Greg almost gasped out loud when Mycroft stepped up close behind him and nosed at the short hairs at the back of his neck while he was trying to open the outer door.
"Just keeping up the pretence." he whispered into Gregs ear. Was it just Gregs imagination, or was there a hint of pure filth in that beautiful voice? God, he hoped so.
Greg finally fumbled the door open and they moved inside and up the stairwell to Gregs third floor flat.
When they were finally inside, they turned to each other. The need for pretence was apparently over. Anything that happened now was because they wanted it to. Neither of them moved. There were mere inches between them, but somehow neither wanted to be the one to shift the balance on purpose. There was still the tiniest shred of plausible deniability in this, for Mycroft at least. Greg was pretty much screwed after laying all his cards on the table in the alley, but Mycroft could still walk away. But he wasn't. However, he wasn't getting any closer either.
Greg took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. Work first.
"Do you want a cuppa?" he asked finally breaking out of his frozen state and moving towards the kitchen "Then you can tell me about this evidence and your informant."
Mycroft followed and Greg fell into the easy habit of making tea. They sat together at the kitchen table and Mycroft produced a pen drive. Greg grabbed his laptop and they reviewed the contents together.
"This is great, this gets at least 20 of them a good 10 years behind bars. But it doesn't give me the killers. I want to know who killed those women, who dumped their bodies to rot. I want them behind bars for life. This is amazing, Mycroft, but it's not enough."
"I understand. I had a feeling that you would not take anything less than the killers. I will help in whatever way I can, of course." Mycroft stood up but Greg reached out and took his hand.
"Mycroft. Are we not going to talk about this?" he asked softly.
"I…We…ummm." Seeing Mycroft lost for words was a rare thing and Greg didn't know how to feel about it. When Mycroft spoke, he was one again, Mycroft Holmes, the Iceman. Greg hated it. "You need to focus on your case, Gregory. Being undercover is draining. You do not need undue distractions. Perhaps it would be best if we forget about this."
"No!" Greg burst out. Not loudly, but with conviction. He stood to face the slightly taller man and took hold of his lapels. "Fuck.that. This last few months have been exhausting. Isolating. Lonely. But even as lonely and stressed as I have been, there is no way I mistook that kiss. You feel something for me. Lust, desire, something. And I will be damned if I let that slip away from me. Not now, not ever."
Mycroft looked him in the eyes. Greg saw the moment he made his decision. A hard shell cracked and allowed softness to escape.
"You think it's just lust? How I feel for you?"
"Maybe. I don't know."
"You stupid, beautiful man. Gregory…I am in love with you. I have been in love with you since the night you held my brothers hand and helped him through withdrawal while he wouldn’t even let me near. Since you looked at me and told me it would all be fine with a conviction even the doctors and nurses couldn't find. Since you smiled at my attempt to give you money for helping Sherlock and told me I could pay you in fancy dinners at the kind of places that would usually kick you out." He took a deep breath "I know you don't feel the same. I know….."
Greg cut him off "You know nothing, Mycroft Holmes. I have loved you since the time you turned up at a scene and I stole your coffee, thinking you were offering it to me. I have loved you since you came flying down a hospital ward, exhausted and a dishevelled as I have ever seen you, to check Sherlock was ok after I found him in Lambeth. Forget what you think you know. And tell me what you feel." Greg leaned forwards and placed his lips on Mycrofts, a gentle peck. He resisted the urge to kiss more deeply when Mycrofts lips parted and instead dragged his lips slowly down Mycrofts chin, along his jaw and to his ear. He brought the lobe gently between his teeth and pulled, his heart jumping at the stuttered breath he heard Mycroft take.
Suddenly, his back was against the wall and Mycrofts hands were at his hips, pressing him backwards with hands and hips as he ground himself against Greg. Gregs erection had flagged while they were talking about the case, but it came roaring back at the feel of increasing hardness against his hip. Mycrofts tongue was in his mouth again and Greg was slowly loosing the ability to form coherent thought.
He lifted his hands to Mycrofts shoulders and pushed his jacket off, Mycroft letting go of him long enough to drag it off while holding Greg against the wall with the press of his hips. Greg groaned, trying to undo the buttons of Mycrofts waistcoat but fumbling them.
"Damn it! Why do you have to wear so many layers?" he asked.
Mycroft grabbed his hands and pressed them to the wall above Gregs head.
"Fuck, YES!" he practically yelled, dropping his head back against the wall with a thud. He opened his eyes a crack to see the most beautiful, sexy smirk cross Mycrofts lips. "God damn it, Mycroft, bedroom, naked, NOW."
Mycroft pressed forward once more, moving one hand from Gregs wrists to his hair and holding his head in place as he brushed his lips delicately over Gregs lips. Greg tried to lean into the kiss but hissed at the firm grip in his hair preventing him. God it felt good. Mycroft released him all at once and stepped away, breaking all contact between them so smoothly that Greg almost slid down the wall from the head-spinning suddenness of it.
He watched as Mycroft turned on his heel, picked up his jacket and swung it over his shoulder before striding towards Gregs bedroom.
"Do come along, Gregory." he called back and Greg practically bounded after him.
He stopped in the door to his bedroom to watch Mycroft take of his waistcoat and drape it over the back of the small chair in Gregs room. He lifted his eyes to meet Gregs as he slowly loosened his tie and dragged it free of his collar. Then he started unbuttoning his shirt, still keeping eye contact.
Two can plat at this game.
Greg grabbed the hem of his jumper and pulled it up over his head, throwing it to the floor near his washing hamper. Then he whipped his t-shirt off and did the same. His hands went to his jeans next and he had them opened and off, his socks still balled up inside, before Mycroft had even finished with his buttons. Greg leant against the doorway in just his boxers while Mycroft was still (mostly) in his shirt and trousers.
"You’re a bit behind, Mycroft." he teased, padding forward and bringing his hands to Mycrofts belt. He undid the buckle, button and zip, opening the trousers and running his fingers up the cotton clad bulge he found there.
Mycroft didn't speed up. His movements remained calm and controlled as he undid his cufflinks and dropped his shirt to the chair. He brought his hands to his waistband and eased his trousers of his long legs, draping them over the chair as well. Then he bent down and quickly dragged off his socks.
As soon as Mycroft straightened up again, Greg starting moving him backwards towards the bed. A small flicker in his eyes told Greg something was about to happen, but it still took him by surprise when Mycroft spun them at the last second and dropped Greg onto the bed. He leaned down over Greg and started to leave biting kisses down his chest, his hands gripping the waistband of his boxers and easing it over his cock. Greg lifted his hips to let Mycroft pull them off but instead he dragged them only halfway down Gregs thighs before abandoning them and sliding his mouth down Gregs cock in one smooth, wet, hot glide. Greg cried out, his hands moving to Mycrofts hair but intercepted by his hands and held on the bed next to his hips. His thighs clamped together like they were made it hard to thrust and his position on the bed meant his couldn't get his feet on the floor to get any leverage. Mycroft had positioned him perfectly to keep him completely unable to do anything but lie back and take what Mycroft dished out.
"Fucking hell, Mycroft, your mouth. Jesus. God. You're so good. HELL. Ahh, fuck. Oh" his mouth was running away with him, just a stream of expletives and praise and begging and gasping as Mycroft brought him to the hardest orgasm of his life in less than two minutes. He lay panting on the bed, aftershocks still coursing through him, as Mycroft lowered himself gently over Greg and kissed him. Greg could taste himself on Mycrofts tongue as it tangled deeply and possessively with his own.
His hands now free, he wrapped them around Mycroft and pulled, dropping Mycroft on his back on the bed beside him. Greg jumped up off the bed and threw his boxers away, freeing his thighs at last. He grabbed Mycrofts underwear and dragged it off before straddling his thighs and yanking Mycroft upwards and into a kiss. He wriggled his free hand between their stomachs and grabbed Mycrrofts cock, gripping him hard and stroking the hot flesh. Mycroft gasped out of their kiss and dropped back onto his elbows, head dropping back and hips kicking up at the feeling of Gregs hand on him. Greg was nearly unseated, but he kept his balance and stroked Mycroft quickly to orgasm, watching as come splashed over his hand and the pale skin of Mycroft stomach and ribs.
Mycroft collapsed backwards and Greg dismounted, picking up his discarded boxers and using them to clean Mycroft up.
Then he manoeuvred the taller man into the bed properly and pulled him into his arms.
They lay in contented silence for several minutes, just basking the in the afterglow, before Greg spoke.
"I'll have to stay undercover a while longer to get what I need, but I still want to see you when I can. We'll have to be careful, keep your identity completely secret, but I don't want this to end before it's even started." he whispered into Mycrofts hair.
"I understand. I.. I meant it you know. I…love you, Gregory."
"I love you too, Mycroft."
They fell asleep together, wrapped in each other's arms.
Six months later, with one of the biggest mass gang arrests in Met history under his belt and with the real possibility of a promotion to DCI, Greg was wrapping up a press conference.
"And I would never have been able to do this alone. The people of the Metropolitan Police force have ensured that a dangerous gang is no longer able to operate, and we are doing all we can to ensure their victims are provided with the care and support they need to move forward with their lives free of the tyranny the had been suffering under the cosh of these men and women who so deeply underestimated us. And on a personal note, I would never have survived the undercover operation without the support of my new husband, Mycroft Holmes-Lestrade."
A murmur of surprise from the gathered press (he's gay? How did we not know he's gay? Who's the husband?) as they turned to see a tall, impeccably dressed gentleman leaning on and umbrella and sporting a look of unabashed pride and love.