Greg’s shoulders slumped and his feet dragged as he let himself into Mycroft’s house. He knew Mycroft was out of town, but right now he needed his alpha’s scent, the comfort of all the familiar things that reminded him of his lover.
If he’d called or texted, Mycroft would come home in a heartbeat, but Greg didn’t want to be a bother, didn’t want to ask Mycroft to stop his always important work for one bad day. Not the first or last vicious murder he’d dealt with, but this one had been worse than usual. Everyone had been shaken and the department was sending in someone to talk to them tomorrow. Sometimes identifying the murderer wasn’t a comfort.
Kicking off his shoes, Greg climbed into the large bed and gathered Mycroft’s pillow in his arms, breathing him in, doing his best to banish the images from his mind, letting Mycroft’s scent cover the smell of death that clung to his nose. Greg closed his eyes and drifted into an exhausted sleep.
Several hours later, Greg stirred as the bed dipped and Mycroft curled up around him. “I thought you were in Belgium,” he muttered.
“More pressing matters here,” said Mycroft, nuzzling his throat and stroking his hair.
Greg sighed and let go of the pillow, curling up on Mycroft’s chest instead.
Mycroft kissed his temple. “I told you to contact me if you needed anything,” he reminded gently.
“And I told you I wouldn’t get in the way of your work,” grumbled Greg.
“You never do.” Mycroft held him in his arms.
Greg sighed again, keeping his eyes closed. “Thank you for coming.”
Mycroft hummed in acknowledgment, stroking Greg’s back until he fell asleep again.
Greg woke up again to an empty bed. He frowned and sat up, wondering if he’d dreamed the whole thing, when Mycroft walked back in with a tray. “Work said to take the day off.” He set down breakfast in Greg’s lap.
“Did they?” Greg rubbed the back of his neck and picked up his coffee. “I suppose it was an open and shut case.” He grimaced at the memory.
Mycroft sat next to him and rubbed his back again. “I took the day off as well.”
Greg looked at him. “Mycroft…”
Mycroft held up a hand to stop the argument. “I can do a bit of work from here, but otherwise, I am your disposal. It’s fine.”
Greg shook his head and sipped his drink. “Thank you,” he murmured.
After he ate Greg went to take a hot shower, needing to get the last remnants of the day before off his skin. When he stepped out again he could hear Mycroft talking on the phone in his office. The door had been left partially open, an invitation.
Greg collected a book from the small stack on the nightstand and walked down the hall, slipping into the room and curling up with his book in the window seat. Rain spattered against the window, calming and relaxing him.
Mycroft finished his call and sat down at his computer, the steady sound of keys echoing the raindrops. The book was a cheesy romance, but Greg had found he liked the familiarity of the stories. And so did Mycroft, judging by the number he kept tucked away in a corner of his office. Wouldn’t do to have shelves full of romance novels in the carefully curated parlor he had downstairs for guests.
After a time, Greg stretched, working out the kinks in his back and setting the book aside. He walked over and pecked Mycroft on the forehead, avoiding looking at his screen, and went downstairs to fix them both sandwiches. By the time he returned, Mycroft had closed his laptop and locked his work away.
“Let’s eat on the balcony,” he said, leading the way through the guest bedroom and out onto the covered space. Technically this bedroom should have been the master, but Mycroft felt safer with fewer entrance points to where he slept. They sat and made small talk as they ate, feet tangled beneath the table, the air cool and refreshing.
Mycroft stifled a yawn as they finished.
“Go on to bed. I’ll join you in a minute,” said Greg.
Mycroft leaned in to scent him. “Is that a promise?”
Greg chuckled and batted him away. “We’ll see,” he said, gathering the dishes and heading back into the house.
By the time he came back up to the bedroom, Mycroft was snoring softly.
Greg startled awake sometime later, turning tucking his head against Mycroft’s shoulder, breath coming short.
“I’m here,” he murmured, holding Greg tightly.
Getting control of himself and raising his head, he kissed Mycroft. “And I am so glad for it,” he murmured.
Mycroft returned the kiss and rolled Greg onto his back. He looked into Greg’s eyes. “Every day I wake with you in my bed I am the most fortunate man on earth.”
Greg’s heart ached. “I love you, Mycroft.”
Mycroft leaned in and kissed him deeply, running fingers through Greg’s hair.
Greg moaned softly, feeling himself start to slick as the scent of desire filled his senses. Mycroft always did know the best ways to distract him.
“May I have you?” asked Mycroft, reaching to tug off Greg’s shirt.
“Wherever and whenever you like,” answered Greg.
Mycroft quickly stripped Greg, and then himself. Greg admired the alpha as he so often did, the quiet strength hidden behind suits and pomp, the constellations of freckles on his pale skin.
“Beautiful,” murmured Mycroft, clearly taking in Greg as well. He leaned down to kiss his lips, then slowly worked his way down Greg’s body, worshiping him, driving him to distraction.
Groaning, Greg spread himself wide as Mycroft held his hips, taking his small cock in his mouth and flicking his tongue over it.
“Christ,” groaned Greg, arching his back and pinned to the bed.
Mycroft pulled off and kissed the crest of Greg’s hip. “You’re mine, Gregory.”
“And you’re mine,” panted Greg, moaning again as Mycroft’s fingers pressed into him.
“As long as you’ll have me,” promised Mycroft, shifting back up the bed.
“Forever,” said Greg, wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s neck and pulling him into a kiss. Mycroft pulled his fingers free. He settled between Greg’s hips and easily pressed into him. Greg moaned again, Mycroft’s solid weight making him feel safe and secure, driving away any other thoughts.
“Beautiful,” Mycroft murmured in his ear, thrusting slowly. “Brave. Good. I love you.”
Greg felt tears in his eyes and turned his head to kiss Mycroft.
Mycroft kissed him back and held him tight, shifting his hips until Greg gasped. “My omega,” growled Mycroft, moving faster, reaching down to stroke him.
Greg surrendered, trusting, Mycroft bringing him closer and closer with every thrust. There was nothing else in these moments save himself and his lover. Finally, Greg tucked his head against Mycroft’s throat and came, panting against his skin.
Mycroft thrust a few more times and followed him over with a groan.
“Thank you,” said Greg when they could speak again.
“Thank you,” answered Mycroft, kissing him gently, running fingers through his hair.
Greg sighed and relaxed, comfortable and safe, no matter what storms raged outside these walls.