As long as this is complete before next @fluffbruary I think that counts as a win.
20. cafe | linger | year
Greg was sprawled on the floor, dressed only in a towel and pressing a hand to his cheek. The can of shave foam lay upended in the basin and a quarter of its contents coated the tile.
"Let me see." Mycroft knelt at Greg's side and tugged at his hand. His cheek was cut and bloodied and Mycroft winced. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"
"Fell on my arse," Greg confessed sheepishly, grinning when Mycroft caught his eye with a sceptical glance. "I really did. Don't need you to inspect it, though. Not unless you want."
Mycroft reached for a tissue and pressed it against Greg's bloody cheek. Greg leant into the contact. "You seem a bit dazed. How's your head?" Mycroft asked, choosing to bypass the entire subject of arse inspections for the moment.
"It's fine. I was a bit dizzy. Dropped the razor, lost control of the foam."
"You slipped and fell."
"And with the exception of my arse, I'm fine because I'm not concussed," Greg insisted, palm reaching to rest against Mycroft's cheek. "I haven't eaten a thing in," he paused to glance at Mycroft's watch, "twenty-six hours. I need a meal and few more hours in bed, darlin'. I'll be right as rain."
"I'll be the judge of that," Mycroft added sternly, but then paused. "... Darling?"
"Been calling you that in my head for a few weeks at least."
Their eyes caught. Mycroft let his gaze linger as his mind replayed the word "darlin'" on an infinite loop. Then, it was Mycroft's turn to have his lips traced with a thumb. He gasped around it. The sensation was surprisingly erotic, tingles originating on the edge of his mouth and travelling directly to his cock. He captured the pad of Greg's thumb in a kiss and licked it. It tasted of shave foam.
As did the kiss they pulled one another into a second later; shave foam and Greg's toothpaste and Greg's breath all mingled on his tongue as he kissed Greg with everything he had. Weeks of longing, of almost-dates, of holding and touching and not quite having emerged in every slow pull of lips and sweep of tongue.
Greg moaned into the kiss, plaintive vibrations making Mycroft melt as their hands moved from cheeks to necks to backs. They pulled one another closer, drifting down to the foam-strewn tiles. Mycroft lifted a hand to cradle Greg's head as he kissed him into the floor, straddling his legs for leverage.
The hard ridge of Greg's erection beneath the towel made Mycroft's breath catch and Greg's hand pressing on his sacrum to bring their hips into alignment made him cry out.
"You good?" Greg gasped as they pulled apart to breathe.
"I need," Mycroft panted, "a shower. And you need no strenuous activity for another six hours."
"Oh, you're a terrible man, Mycroft."
Mycroft kissed the skin by Greg's ear. "Think of it as... delayed gratification." He licked and suckled at Greg's pulse point as Greg squirmed in his arms.
"God, you're a tease," Greg griped, running fingers through Mycroft's hair.
"It's only teasing if I fail to follow through." He scraped his teeth over Greg's collarbone and hovered over a peaked nipple. "Six hours of rest and food. Then you have my word that I will bring you off – gently – in my mouth." He pulled once at Greg's nipple. Greg bucked beneath him.
"Oh, fuck."
He helped Greg to his feet and the two of them wiped the tiles clean. Mycroft shed his t-shirt and was just reaching for the waistband of his pants when Greg grabbed his face and pulled him into another kiss. This one was toffee-thick with every drop of deferred desire.
"I've a rule for you," Greg grumbled into the space between their swollen lips. "No sneaky wanks in the shower. If I have to wait, so do you."
"Naturally." Mycroft threaded his fingers through silver strands. "Though, perhaps you ought to stay and keep an eye on me." He pulled his hand out of Greg's hair and showed him the bit of foam. "Or join me."
Greg grimaced, but his eyes were dark and his lips were half turned up when he responded. "Yeah, think I'd better."
It was not the longest shower of Mycroft's life, but it was the longest he'd taken in recent memory and certainly the most pleasurable. He let Greg stand under the spray first to rinse the foam out of his hair, but as they were trading places, wet bodies close in the confined space, he found he couldn't resist pressing Greg up against the tiled wall.
He kissed him gently, skin-to-skin, trying to keep things slow and steady, but Greg's cock filled and jumped between his thighs and his own twitched against Greg's belly in sympathy. They rocked together, tongues tangling, hands gripping until Mycroft steeled himself to pull away. He tipped his head back into the spray.
"Shampoo?"
Greg narrowed his eyes but passed the bottle. "Oh, it's on, gorgeous."
"I haven't the slightest idea what you're referring to." Mycroft lathered unhurriedly.
"No, 'course not." Greg tugged him close for another kiss, one that burned low and slow like coals. "You're the picture of innocence. Body wash." He handed Mycroft another bottle before he slipped out of the shower, skin gleaming and covered in droplets.
Mycroft squeezed out a dollop of sandalwood scented soap and washed himself carefully, eyes never wandering from where Greg stood on the other side of the glass, drying himself with a similar attention to detail. He reached the apex of his thighs just as Greg turned and caught his gaze. With an attentive audience, he slowed his motions further as he spread soap over his tender inner thighs before taking his cock in hand.
He gave himself a few easy strokes and let his eyes drift closed until he heard a warning "Mycroft" growled from the other side of the glass.
Greg had himself in hand as well, eyes flashing with mischief. He looked stunning and the only thought in Mycroft's head was how desperately he wanted to hold him. The next six hours promised to be delicious torture.
After a silent stalemate, they reached a mutual agreement to carry on their respective tasks. Greg returned to finish his shave. Mycroft rinsed the soap from his skin and emerged from the shower. He caught Greg's eye in the mirror as he reached for a towel and dried himself. He didn't need to look up to know that Greg was watching his every move.
He wrapped the towel around his waist and moved closer to wrap Greg up in his arms. Greg leant back into the embrace.
"We look good together," Greg murmured.
Mycroft looked at their reflection. "I suspect you look good with anyone."
"I look best when I'm happy. 'S not just anyone can make me happy."
Mycroft focussed on his own reflection. He looked underslept but peaceful. He was happy, too, relaxed and elated to be here with Greg, mere hours from having everything he'd been afraid to want. They would have to talk, discuss exactly what this would be, how they would carve out spaces in their solitary lives for one another.
Greg turned his head to mouth along the line of Mycroft's jaw.
"You keeping this?" Greg whispered, fingers feathering over Mycroft's unshaven cheek.
"No. I'd prefer to shave."
"Shame. I like a little beard burn between my thighs."
Mycroft pulled him closer and pressed a kiss behind his ear. "I shall keep that in mind for the future."
His fingers traced over the skin above the waistband of Greg's boxers. Greg had pulled them on before he returned to shaving, but left his upper body deliciously bare. Mycroft kissed his neck, opening his mouth to taste fragrant skin. At this rate he was going to develop a pavlovian response to the taste of Boots' best offer.
Greg pressed back against him. "Gonna take me back to bed?"
"You need to eat."
Greg grumbled and spun around to wrap his arms around Mycroft's neck. "Know something else I'd rather get in my mouth."
Mycroft had to kiss him for that. He kissed him greedily, tongue diving into his mouth, seeking more contact, more sensation, more connection. Greg gave as good as he got, twining his tongue around Mycroft's, sucking at his lower lip, dropping a hand to his hip to grind their stiffening cocks together.
He wanted this. They both did. Nothing could be more evident. The question of whether was answered. The question of how was next. In order to ask it Mycroft would have to tear himself away from Greg's perfect mouth and the embrace that was growing more intoxicating by the second.
"Let me feed you," Mycroft whispered, the words flowing in a far more sultry manner than he'd intended. "Lunch," he added in answer to Greg's mischievous grin.
"And then bed."
"To sleep."
"Sure, darlin'. We'll sleep. Eventually." Greg drew distracting designs through Mycroft's chest hair before drawing him into another kiss, this one delicate, slow and sweet, but no less heated.
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