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The Constable and the Priest

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Mycroft stood in the vestibule, seeing out his parishioners and making small talk as needed. The day was warm and his robes clung to him a bit, though thankfully it was cooler in the church than outside. The village was small, but the church had always been here and for the last decade or so, Mycroft had been their priest.

He assured Mrs. Darby that he'd be at hers for dinner and Mrs. T. Jones that he was taking care of himself in this weather. He listened to Mr. Newsom talk a bit about his sheep and gently declined Mrs. R. Jones' offer of lunch. 

Finally, the last person was out of the church and he closed the doors against the sun.

He tugged at his robes and went into the sanctuary, doing another round to make sure the place was well and truly empty of stragglers or anyone seeking a little extra absolution.

Finding himself blissfully alone, Mycroft went up the altar to do a bit of tidying. He smiled as he heard one of the rear doors open, hoping it was who he thought it was.

"Need any help?" asked Greg, giving him a hopeful smile.

Mycroft's heart ached with affection. "I've got it. Come on back to my office." He picked up a few things and led the way. In some ways this Sunday ritual was as well-practiced as his sermons, but there was always a tinge of danger to them. After all, word would get around very quickly in such a small village if anyone found them out.

Greg had been the village’s constable for only slightly longer than Mycroft had been the priest. By all accounts, his marriage had been troubled from nearly the start and no one had been particularly surprised when his wife had run off two years earlier, leaving Greg and their daughter behind.

His daughter was fourteen now and Mycroft could only assume she knew about her father's frequent visits to the church. But she wanted nothing more than her father's happiness, so she could be trusted with this secret.

Greg waited until the door closed behind them and Mycroft had deposited his burdens in a chair before he drew Mycroft close and kissed him with passion.

Mycroft moaned into the kiss, backing Greg against the door. Greg smiled and wrapped his arms around Mycroft's waist. "Hello," he grinned.

"I thought we were past that," said Mycroft.

Greg chuckled and kissed him again. "Aren't you warm in those robes?"

"And getting more so by the minute. Come on." Mycroft took his hand and led the way to the office's back door, looking out to make sure the coast was clear before crossing over to the small parsonage, Greg in tow.

Greg closed the church door behind them and allowed himself to be pulled into the parsonage, this time locking the door behind them.

"It was a good sermon," he said, looking Mycroft over with anything but chaste intentions.

Mycroft wet his lips. "I'm glad you approved," he said, loosening his robe.

"Let me help with that," said Greg, moving towards him. 

Mycroft had no complaints as his lover undressed him, kissing his sweat-damp skin as he exposed it. Greg's hands and lips on his body was by far one of his favorite sensations, only exceeded by the feeling of the two of them joined as one.

Somehow they stumbled together to the bedroom, Greg losing his shoes and shirt along the way and pulling off his socks as they tumbled into bed. Mycroft got Greg’s trousers open and drew out his length, getting his mouth on him.

Greg groaned softly and ran fingers through his hair as he shoved his trousers and pants down and off. "I do love what your mouth can do," he groaned.

"I know," said Mycroft, raising his head to kiss Greg before going back to his cock.

Greg settled against the headboard, Mycroft between his thighs, worshiping his cock with all the single-minded focus he could bring to bear on the subject. Which was considerable. He smirked as he heard Greg's head thump back against the wall.

Mycroft bobbed his head, stroking him with his fingers, reveling in the soft moans that escaped Greg's lips. His previous lovers had been few and far between, and none of them were as sensual as Greg.

Greg gently pushed on his shoulder to encourage him back. Mycroft wiped his mouth and smiled at him. Greg cupped his cheek and leaned in to kiss him. "God, but I'm the luckiest bloke alive," he muttered.

Mycroft felt that ache in his heart all over again. He reached over for the oil he kept on his bedside and handed it to Greg. Greg pulled him up to seated and pressed a slicked finger into Mycroft as he held him close.

Now it was Mycroft's turn to moan softly, tucking his head against Greg's shoulder to muffle himself.

"Beautiful," said Greg in worshipful tones that would be blasphemy from any other lips. Greg's free hand toyed with the hair at the nape of Mycroft's neck.

Greg pressed two more fingers into him. Mycroft groaned at the burn, but it felt good too. Greg wanted him but he would make certain Mycroft could take him. 

Mycroft wrapped his hand around Greg's cock and gave him a stroke.

Greg hissed. "Ooh, gentle, love. I want to come inside you."

Raising his head, Mycroft kissed Greg, shifting up to straddle his waist. "Then do so," he said.

"Is that how it's going to be?" smiled Greg, toppling him onto his back. He worried the flesh of Mycroft’s shoulder in his teeth a moment before raising his head. "And what if I want to tease you more?"

"Would you be so cruel?" asked Mycroft, rocking against his fingers.

"Is it cruelty to bring you pleasure?" asked Greg, kissing his lips again and adjusting his fingers, making Mycroft moan and arch up against him.

"Per.. perhaps I want the pleasure of your cock," stuttered Mycroft.

"And you shall surely have it," said Greg. "When I'm ready to give it to you." He pinned Mycroft's wrists above his head with his free hand, continuing to work him with his fingers as he nipped and teased at a pebbled nipple.

Greg knew exactly how to play his body, exactly how to bring him to the brink of pleasure but keep him from toppling over the edge. He tasted Mycroft's skin as if it were the sweetest ambrosia, as if Mycroft's moans were the richest music.

Mycroft could no more give up these stolen moments in Greg's arms than he could choose to stop breathing.

Finally, Greg carefully withdrew his fingers and wiped them on the bed. He kissed Mycroft as he pushed into him.

Mycroft wound his long limbs around Greg's body, drawing him closer, needing to be taken.

"I've got you," whispered Greg, perhaps sensing his desires, likely wanting to claim just as badly.

They groaned softly in unison as Greg began to move. Mycroft's eyes were closed as Greg settled over him, panting against his ear as he sped his thrusts. 

Mycroft tangled his hands in Greg's hair, moving with him. There were no thoughts, no worries or fears in his mind, only this burning love and passion. Only Greg.

Greg groaned softly as he came, just the whisper of Mycroft's name on his lips. He worked himself through his aftershocks, then pulled out and slid down, swallowing Mycroft all at once.

Mycroft cried out and came almost instantly, Greg's strong hands keeping his hips pinned to the bed. He shivered as Greg swallowed his release, utterly lost in the moment.

At last Greg released his softening cock. He moved back up and spooned around Mycroft, dragging his fingers through his chest hair. They were both soaked, between the warm weather and the vigorous activity, but neither of them had any desire to move. Greg's lips found Mycroft's shoulder, marking him, if only for today.

Mycroft smiled, finding himself drifting off. Really they should get up and get clean, but Sunday afternoons were for Greg.

Suddenly there was a gentle, but insistent, knock on the door.

They startled apart. Mycroft took a breath, then indicated for Greg to stay put as he hastily threw on a robe.

He tried to get his hair into some fit state as he closed the bedroom door and attempted to quickly shove their clothes out of sight. There was a knock again. "I'm coming," he called, making sure the robe was tied tightly before opening the door.

Mrs. Smith stood in the doorway, looking a bit pleased with herself. "I brought you lunch," she said, offering him a basket.

Mycroft took a breath and accepted it. "That was very kind of you, thank you.” He glanced into it and noted how much food there was. "This a lot for one person."

"Yes," she said, with a knowing smile. 

"Ah, well, thank you," said Mycroft.

"Enjoy your afternoon," said Mrs. Smith, turning and walking away.

Mycroft stared after her, then shook himself and closed the door. He carried the basket into the kitchen, where Greg appeared a minute later, wearing one of his shirts. "Everything okay?"

"Mrs. Smith brought us lunch," he said.

"That was nice of her," said Greg, reaching to unpack the basket.

" Us . Greg. She knows." Mycroft looked at him.

Greg met his gaze. "Mrs. Smith, you said?"

Mycroft nodded. 

"Then it's not a problem. If she approves, then the village approves." He picked up a muffin. "Come on, let's eat."

Mycroft watched Greg sit down, then slowly sat down next to him. "Are you sure?" he asked. 

"Entirely," he assured Mycroft, leaning in to kiss him. "So let's eat this, then go back to bed for a bit, alright?"

Mycroft nodded. He thought it over as they ate. Greg was right, Mrs. Smith set most of the opinions of the village. And it seemed they had her blessing.

"Hey, Mycroft?" said Greg, catching his attention.


"I love you."

"I love you, too."