The walls were still ringing with the sound of every single goddamn thing on Mycroft’s desk hitting the floor at once. Greg was particularly worried whether the red telephone had fallen off the hook; he didn’t think whoever was at the other end was bound to appreciate their manner of celebration. He was also concerned that Mycroft hadn’t secured the door.
“You really don’t care if we get caught.”
“We are seven stories underground and my staff are meticulously trained. No one is going to come in here, Gregory.”
“Ngh. Well.” Hands. Everywhere. And a mouth that was doing marvellous things to his throat. “I wouldn’t say that.”
It was obvious when Mycroft finally got the joke, because he stopped. He stared. He sighed. “Must you?”
Greg tried to look innocent in spite of the thud of his heart and the state of his trousers. “Of course I must.” He tsked. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”
“I could know you a lot better if you’d focus instead of making jokes.”
“And I could focus a lot better if I knew you’d locked the door.”
“I’m hurt that you don’t trust me.”
“I trust that you get off on being seen. But I do not. Indulge me. Lock the door.”
After a moment, a smile tinted Mycroft’s face: subtle, inexorable, the edge of a watercolour bloom. It looked delicious against the flush creeping up past his collar. “Fine. If you must know, the door is already locked.”
Greg would have to check that the red phone wasn’t going to catch anything more salacious than state secrets. And then they could get back to the business of celebration. “I suppose you do know me after all.”
“Maybe I just know how to get what I want.”
Biting down the rise of affection, Greg began to work on Mycroft’s tie. “I would never accuse you otherwise.”
“That,” Mycroft said, ducking in to work more of those marvels against Greg’s throat, “is because you know me.”
Which was all the conversation they had breath for, because with that undid Greg’s zip and lit the fuse to a fireworks show the likes of which that bunker-of an-office had never seen. As Greg lay shoulder-to-shoulder with him fifteen minutes later, tired and sore and blinking away the stars dancing in his eyes, he had to laugh at them both.
