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Chapter Text

Of course, the precise nature of the soulmate bond is hotly debated. New science suggests that developments in puberty might tune people to the same frequency as their in potentia soulmates, but this fails to account for developmentally delayed soulmate bonds that nonetheless track on to eighteen… (Roberts, Candice. “Developments in Soulmate Science.” Journal of Adolescent Development 202, no. 3 (1991): 107-123)

5 June, 1993

Mycroft decided to go into Intelligence when he was eleven.

That’s when he learned that soulmates can’t tell each other names or important numbers or their mental connection will go silent. He figured if he is going to have to track someone by time zones, landmarks and physical description, he had best put himself into a position to have access to the most information he could get.

Mycroft tucked himself into his room at Oxford several hours before sunset on his eighteenth birthday. He was shaky with nerves. He had a page of questions and a blank pad of paper.

The sun set.

Hello?

**

There was no response at first. Then, a somewhat confused, Hello? Hey, who- Mycroft frowned. He was about to try again when, Guys, can you turn down the- Hello?

Mycroft took a deep breath. This was real. It was happening. “Hello. I’m here.”

Holy shit. There was no mistaking the excitement in that voice, at least. Hang on, just a sec. I’m- I’m with friends- yes. I- okay, yeah, thanks.

Mycroft tried not to vibrate in place. Some of that was clearly not directed at him.

Okay, sorry, my friend tucked me into a guest room. More softly, wondering, You’re here.

“I’m here,” Mycroft agreed. He tried to ignore the prickle of worry. Something about his soulmate’s tone of voice was off. “Is it sunset where you are?”

8:23pm

Mycroft neatly set aside one stack of research. “And would you say the language you’re speaking is the dominant language in the country you’re in?”

Oh, that’s clever. Yeah, definitely. I’m- I don’t live in the same city as my accent, but I’m in the country I grew up in. You?

Mycroft’s heat leapt. England. “Yes. I think we might be in the same country.”

How’s the weather today?

Mycroft felt a smile break across his face. That was several questions down on his list. “Drizzly. Disappointing but absolutely typical.”

Ha! Lots of grey summers where I am too.

**

Greg was fit to burst. He had a soulmate. His soulmate sounded posh and brilliant. “Listen, I’m sorry about- being out. I’m a couple years older than you. Twenty one.”

His soulmate took a moment to think. His voice was rich with understanding and sympathy. Ah. You thought I didn’t- that I wasn’t coming.

Greg swallowed. Fifty percent of all soulmates were born within a year of each other. Another twenty five percent within two years. When Greg hit twenty with no sign of his match- “Yeah. I thought maybe- null. Or-”

Widowed.

Tears stung Greg’s eyes. There was so much tender compassion in that one word. “Twenty was a pretty bleak year for me.”

I’m sorry. I’m here now.

Greg took a slow, deep breath. “You’re here now. Tell me about yourself?”

**

Mycroft pressed his hand to his chest. His heart was aching. His poor soulmate. “I’m the older son. I have a younger brother.” Best not to mention his sister at this juncture. “He’s seven years younger. I’m just finishing my first year at university.” He paused. “I went early.”

That right? You must be proper smart. Mycroft smiled at the admiration. I’m the oldest, too. Younger sister, three year younger. We’re close.

“I look forward to meeting her one day. I feel I should warn you to brace yourself. My younger brother is...an experience.”

Laughter. “Oh? How so?

Mycroft sighed. “He has a brilliant mind, which is to say he is easily bored. He finds the average person...disappointing. He has absolutely no sense of what he should not say out loud or why.”

**

Greg laughed. “He sounds like a handful. I’m sure I’ll like him, though. I’ll like anyone you care about just fine.” There, that was a normal thing to say to a soulmate, right?

“I didn’t do uni myself. Not, well, much of an academic. Hope that’s alright.”

Of course. If you’re not in university, what are you doing?

“I’m a policeman. Had a few different jobs, but I think this one’ll stick. Been there a year now. S’not- anything important, not yet. Mostly scut work. Filing and running down leads and such.”

That’s very admirable. Greg felt himself flush. His posh boy’s voice, saying something like that to him, was kind of working for Greg. I intend to go into politics. Behind the scenes. There’s some family connections, and I am well suited to it.

**

Wow! That’s a helluva plan.

Mycroft breathed a silent sigh of relief. He was keenly aware that any number of people suited to the kind of work he was aiming for did not have his connections. His soulmate sounded lower class, and almost certainly wouldn’t have.

“Thank you.” Mycroft paused. He glanced at his notes, trying to sort through what would be useful now. “A police officer. Describe your precinct?”

Well, the city I’m in is big. Not really sure if it’s the biggest in the country, but definitely the most well known. People in other countries would be able to name it. All sorts of tourist attractions. But my precinct doesn’t cover much of that. More the seedier side of things. He paused. M’still finding my feet, but I think homicide. Uh. The department where I want to work, I mean.

“Is that the department you are in now?” If Mycroft could narrow it down, could find his soulmate through work, that would make things much easier.

Yeah. What- you said uni. Is there anything, landmarks or such?

“Alas, I am sitting exams next week and then headed home for the summer. Home has no particular distinguishing places that would make me easier to locate. University has several stone bridges, a library in a circular building, and the town has a 12th century bell tower.” He hesitated, mind racing. His soulmate had done a good job of hinting at his location. Lips curving, Mycroft hummed a few lines of a popular children’s rhyme.

**

Greg laughed, delighted. “That’s- yeah, you’ve got me.” Christ. Never thought “London Bridge is falling down” would be part of finding his soulmate. His heart started racing. “Are you here, too?”

Unfortunately not. Several hours away, both university and home.

Greg’s heartbeat steadied. “Okay. Right. We’re definitely on the right track. Your uni as posh as you?”

Ah. Quite.

There was a shade of discomfort there. Greg bit his lip. “I like how you sound. M’just teasing, sweetheart.”

Oh. That was lighter, but surprised.

Greg ran back over what he’d just said. He put a hand over his face. “Sorry. Is that- is calling you that okay? It’s fine if it’s too much.”

You can call me sweetheart.

**

Mycroft was going to combust. Less than an hour of knowing his soulmate, and he was going to die. He swallowed, trying to settle. Sweetheart. Good lord.

Yeah? I like pet names. Call my sister squirt, and all my friends have got something. You’re my only sweetheart, though.

Mycroft swallowed. “I- you as well. That is, there is no one else.” He paused. They would have to discuss the nature of their bond soon. “I always knew my soulmate would be a man.” There. Hopefully that was clear without being off-putting.

I’m bisexual, so could’ve gone either way with me. I know there’s all that shite out there about same sex bonds being platonic, but. This doesn’t feel platonic.

Mycroft let out a breath. “No. Not to me, either.” He shifted in his seat. “I am entirely homosexual.”

**

“You out?” Posh boy at a posh university, turn of the century. Could go either way.

Mm. Somewhat. My parents politely pretend ignorance, though I have made no particular effort to conceal it from them. I do not know that any of my professors or fellow students have paid attention one way or the other. My brother knows. He is not yet out of that stage where any thought of someone he is related to having a romance is abhorrent.

Greg laughed softly. Thank god he and Rachel were close in age. His soulmate seemed to be missing a category, though. “Your friends know?”

There was a long pause. Greg fidgeted and wondered if he should retract the question.

I am afraid I am rather socially awkward. I do not make friends easily. There is no one at university I would classify that way.

It was a heartbreaking confession.

**

I’m sorry, sweetheart. Hope you find people who appreciate you properly soon.

Mycroft relaxed. It was one thing to know his soulmate would, by nature of the bond, like him. It was quite another to experience. “And you? Are you out?”

Eh. Squirt knows. Told my parents, but dad decided it was a phase and wouldn’t hear a word otherwise. Mum’s not happy, thinks I ought to marry a woman and have her start popping out grand-kids. Friends, yeah, usually. Ran around the punk scene a lot, doing stupid shite. Anyone who knows me from there would know I go both ways. Mycroft winced. Sorry.

Mycroft blinked. Soulmates couldn’t usually get any emotion from the bond until they met in person. Or perhaps his soulmate had deduced his reaction. “I understand. It is perhaps a touch disconcerting to imagine. It is hardly as though you were cheating on me, though.”

Kind of feels like it, darlin’.

Mycroft frowned. “No. Not at all. I believe in choosing each other. What happened prior to this is not relevant, except in the sense that I wish to know everything about you.”

That was true. He didn’t really believe in fairy tale romances.

**

Greg slouched. Relief flushed through him.

“You’re right,” he said, “it’s more important, what we choose. Sorry, guess I got a bit in my head there. There’s all that stuff on shows and such. Love at first sight, never even thought of feeling anything for someone else. It is just you, from now on. I promise.”

His soulmate’s voice was soft when he spoke. I would like that. The chance to get to know you, while it’s just us.

Greg sucked in an unsteady breath. That was- whatever the opposite of a gut punch was. “Thank you. That’s- real nice to hear.” He drummed his fingers on his leg. “M’not really out at work. The force isn’t exactly the sort of place you talk about that sort of thing anyway. I mean, there’s some locker room sort of talk, but I never went in for that.”

**

Mycroft smiled, pleased. “While I have no intention of hiding you from anyone that matters to me, work does not qualify. I would imagine both of our careers would be easier if we let people assume our bond is platonic.”

Prolly right.

Mycroft glanced idly at his list. “Do you typically work weekends?”

Yeah. Low man in the office, all the shifts no one wants. Gonna come find me?

Mycroft smirked. “Just so.”

M’not always in the office. Might be out on a case.

Mycroft shrugged. “Best to get started. I shall make a list of when I visit each station and if any admit to having officers fitting your description out. Then you can tell me if I have missed you or not when we speak next.”

**

Greg nodded. It was as solid a plan as any. He bit back a month with a wince. No names. No proper nouns, or the bond would cut. “My birthday’s the 21st, early fall. You might not even be back at uni by then. But if you are, I’ll start searching on my days off.”

His soulmate sounded pleased, a lilt to his voice that made Greg want to draw it out again. Lovely.

“We, uh, should probably talk appearance. I’m 5’8”, brown hair, brown eyes, about 65, 70 kilos. You?”

**

Mycroft scolded himself silently. He had known this moment would come. His knuckles were white when he responded. “Six foot, redhead.”

Yeah? You sound exactly my type.

Mycroft squeezed his eyes closed. Better now than later. It wasn’t as though he was going to lose more weight before he found his soulmate. He had tried. Naturally. He seemed stuck at his weight, though.

“I am also- somewhat overweight.”

**

Greg bit back a whimper. “Fuck me, dangerously my type.”

R-really?

“I mean, I don’t mean to come off as looks obsessed or anything. I’m sure I’d think you were perfect no matter what you weighed. But honestly no one under 90 kilos has ever really caught my eye.”

The flavor of the silence before his soulmate responded raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Is that a joke?

Greg scowled. “No. I know I’ve got plenty of shite from friends for it, and that’s probably nothing to what people have said to you. But I’m serious. I like my partners bigger.”

I am a bit over 100 kilos.

“Hng.” Greg coughed. “I promise I won’t just tackle you and start feeling you up the second we meet. Might be thinking it, though.”

**

Mycroft flushed. Well. This was decidedly not the response he had imagined. “Oh, will you?”

One boy in his study group had commented he had a nice voice. Perhaps he could work with that.

His soulmate sounded gratifyingly interested when he responded. Definitely. Imagining kissing you, giving your neck a little nibble. Running my hands down that gorgeous body of yours.

“Mm. Perhaps I shall be thinking of that as well.”

Yeah? Do- do you want to think about it now? Together?

Mycroft worried his lip. He hadn’t imagined things going this direction when he had thought of spending the night listening to his soulmate. But he couldn’t deny he was interested.

**

Greg waited with baited breath. It was madness to do this here, hiding in Vi’s guest room. He listened hard for a second. At least it seemed like everyone else had gone home. Must be gone midnight by now.

He wasn’t going to be able to stop himself if his soulmate was up for it. He sounded absolutely delicious with that little purr in his voice.

What would that look like?

Greg took a careful breath. Easy, easy. Didn’t want to scare him off. “Any way you want, darlin’. We could just talk, get a little wound up for seeing each other. Or touch ourselves. Anything in between.”

The response was quicker this time. I am...not very used to this sort of thing. Shy, not unwilling.

Greg’s heart skipped a beat. “You will be once I get my hands on you. And I’m not either, not really. M’not that far ahead of you. Maybe- just enough to make things a bit easier?” He let that settle. “I could just tell you what I want to do with you, when we’re together. Would you like that?”

I would. Y-yes.

Greg felt his stomach flip at the hitch of desire he heard.

**

Uni, you said. Dorm room?

Mycroft cast a helpless look around. “Yes, I- oh. Ah. I have a room to myself.”

Lucky me. Why don’t you get comfortable in bed, sweetheart? Don’t need to do anything in particular. You tell me if it’s too much, alright?

“A-alright.” Mycroft was nearly dizzy as he made his way to the bed. He toed uncertainly out of his shoes, hesitated over his socks. He’d left his room just a bit on the chilly side, to assist with staying awake. Deciding his soulmate wouldn’t want him to be cold, he left them. He arranged the pillows so he could sit with his back against the headboard. “I’m in bed now.”

Wish I was there, cuddled up with you. Just put my arms around you. Hold you.

Mycroft only noticed the trace of nervous tension as it left. He was absolutely melting. His eyes fluttered closed. “I would like that. To hold you. To- be held.”

You’d feel perfect against me. Could do that all night. Course, if you were interested...I could do a little more. Kiss you.

Mycroft’s pulse picked up. “I would be. Interested.”

A warm chuckle. Yeah? I’d start easy, just feeling you out. Bet you’ve got soft lips. I’d kiss you nice and slow. Wait until you started to kiss me back before I did anything else. Then I’d want to taste you. Your lips. Your mouth. Mmm?

Mycroft licked his lips. Were they soft? He didn’t know. He could almost feel the touch of his soulmate’s mouth. It made him feel restless.

“Tell me more.”

**

Greg was on fire. Listening to the quiet sound of his soulmate’s breathing shortening, the drip of arousal in his voice. He was helpless to resist the request. “Lots of places I’d want to kiss. Nibble along your jaw. Suck on your earlobe. Kiss my way down your neck. See where you’re sensitive.”

His soulmate’s breath hitched again. Oh?

Greg smiled, knowing a “go on” when he heard one. “Well, anything else, there’d be clothes in the way. I wouldn’t want to rush. So I’d just spend awhile petting you. But eventually…”

I w-would hate for clothing to be a barrier.

Oh, this was going fantastic. He rubbed an absent-minded hand over where he was getting hard in his jeans. Then he stopped. Best ask. “You touching yourself, gorgeous?”

**

Mycroft’s eyes snapped open. He snatched his hands away from where they had been tracing the lines his soulmate had described. “I- y-yes.”

Good. Me, too.

The adrenaline spike of being caught doing something wrong left him shaky. Even the deepening of his soulmate’s voice and the murmured reciprocity couldn’t quite settle him. Thankfully, his soulmate didn’t leave him hanging for long.

Posh boy like you- button downs and slacks?

Mycroft blinked down at his attire, which was much as his soulmate had described. “Ah. Yes?”

Well, I guess I’d have to handle those buttons first, hm? Open ‘em up one at a time. Touch you and kiss you where there was skin. Would you do that for me, sweetheart? Open your buttons up?

Mycroft blushed terribly. His fingers went to the top button. “Will you keep talking to me while I do?”

**

Greg groaned. “Count ‘em off for me. I’ll tell you something for each button.”

One.

“That’s right at your throat, yeah? Bet you smell amazing just there, fancy cologne. I’d want to suck a mark there, just under the collar where no one could see.”

Two.

By the time they got to the last button, his soulmate narrating pulling his shirt out of his trousers to get to it, Greg was white-knuckled where he gripped the arm of the chair. He was so hard and sensitive he felt like he might not make it out of his pants before he came.

“Fuck, sweetheart, are you hard? I’m so hard for you.”

**

Mycroft moaned. He had never been so turned on in his life. If this is what just talking to his soulmate was like, he might not survive meeting him. “Yes, I’m, oh, please.”

His soulmate made a sound in his throat that Mycroft wanted to devour. I’ve got to get my cock out, I’ve got too. Mycroft whimpered in response. Fuck, fuck. You too, darlin’, get you out of those trousers and your pants. Just push ‘em down, huh? You got lube there? Get your hand all nice and wet for me.

Mycroft lunged for the bedside drawer, hands shaking. His clothes were twisted up around him and he didn’t care. He flopped back down inelegantly, popping the lid and dousing his hand.

Somehow, the second he was ready, his soulmate started speaking again. That’s it, baby, wrap your hand around your cock. Touch yourself. Just want it to feel good.

Mycroft couldn’t speak anymore, all bitten off cries and urgent moans. Need was coursing through him. His cock was achingly hard in his hand, pulsing precome where he worked himself.

Fuck, holy- I’m close, darlin’, are you close?

**

The sound of his soulmate coming is what tipped Greg over. He came with a shout, wild with it. He didn’t even care if he woke Vi up. Didn’t care if the whole bloody block heard. This was his soulmate, his, he would never be alone again.

He managed to clean up with a tissue before the release hit him. Tears bubbled up.

Mmmmm.

The pleased rumble drew a strangled laugh from Greg. Shite. Greg sounded as off-balance as he felt.

Sure enough, his soulmate picked up on it. Are you alright?

Greg swiped at the tears creeping down his face. “Sorry. Yes, I’m good. Just a bit emotional.”

You’re crying. He sounded so gently concerned that Greg had to bite his lips to stifle a sob. He threw an arm over his face.

“Yeah, sorry. Took me by surprise. That was amazing. Intense. I- I missed you. Didn’t even know you, but I missed you. This whole time since I turned eighteen. I’m real, real glad you’re here.”

**

Mycroft’s lips pulled into a soft frown. “I’m here now,” he echoed. “You don’t need to be sorry, love.”

You’re perfect, you know that?

“I feel entirely the same.”

They were silent together for a few minutes. Mycroft could imagine how lovely this would be in person, lovemaking turned to quiet touching.

His soulmate took a deep breath. I’m looking forward to meeting you like crazy.

Mycroft smiled, heart aglow. “Yes.”

Chapter Text

After a long battle, today same sex soulmates have been granted the same rights and protections as opposite sex soulmates. News comes amidst a wave of approval. (Bloom, Daniel. “Same Sex Soulmates Win Rights.” The Guardian, 12 October 1991.)

June-September, 1993

Greg dropped by HR the next day. Maggie, who was on duty that morning, quirked an eyebrow at him. Coppers were notoriously hard to get into HR.

He smiled. “Here to update my status. Soulmate bond, in potentia.” It was the technical term for soulmates who hadn’t met in person yet.

Maggie’s look warmed. “Congratulations!”

Greg tucked his hands in his pockets. “Thanks. It’s a bloke, so, you know. Platonic. Still! A soulmate.”

Maggie’s smile got smaller. Greg tried not to let it sting. She nodded briskly. “Let me just print you the forms.”

A few clicks later, and Greg sat down to spend the first twenty minutes of his lunch filling out Change of Soulmate Status.

**

Mycroft’s birthday had unfortunately fallen on a Sunday this year. It meant he had the full week of exams ahead of him. And while he could have gotten a soulmate exemption from Monday’s exams, the less attention he could draw to his soulmate, the better. It would protect him in the long term.

Mycroft mainlined coffee and depended heavily on his excellent memory and focus to make it through. His classmates took it for staying up late studying. At his current pace, he would be done with his undergraduate degree sometime in the next academic year, and with his graduate degree two years from now.

He wondered if having his soulmate near would be a help or hindrance.

**

Greg made friends easily. Always had. Maggie had been a bust, but he made a point now to get friendly with as many receptionists and folks in HR as he could. He needed to know when a soulmate search went through in order for this to work.

His work started paying off almost immediately. End of the month, he missed a soulmate searcher while out on the beat. A blond woman. No one but Maggie and her supervisor would know the details of his bond, just that he was in potentia and should be interviewed.

Seemed like there was someone new looking for their soulmate every few weeks. He interviewed with three searchers, missed another five.

It wasn’t until September he missed someone who sounded like his.

**

Mycroft slid out of the cab and in front of yet another precinct. His heart-rate picked up. It always did. Maybe this would be the time. Maybe his soulmate would be here.

He’d learned what worked best. Dark jeans and a button down, no tie, no waistcoat or jacket. Good manners with a hint of nerves. No attempts to push to the front of the line.

Mycroft entered the waiting room and entered his name and business just like everyone else. He settled quietly with a book and let the time tick past. This precinct was busier than some of the others. A rougher sort. A man shaking and talking to himself in the corner. A woman in a scandalously low-cut top winked at him. Two drunks with signs of fighting on their faces. Two teens, clutching each other, faces pale. A tired looking woman.

His soulmate search had been tremendously educational. Mycroft had gotten a much better feel for the lives and fears of those outside the upper echelons of society. He wasn’t really reading, or rather he was reading the room. The receptionist had steel grey hair and the expression of someone who had seen everything. He watched her handle one person after another and felt his respect grow.

At last, he was called. “I’m terribly sorry to take your time. I’m here on a soulmate search? An officer.”

Mycroft went through the metal detector and placidly let his bag be searched. They set him up in an interview room, and he prepared himself for another round.

**

You missed me.

Mycroft blinked. Yes, of course he had- oh. “When?”

His soulmate’s voice was warm and excited when he responded. The fifth. This month.

Mycroft flipped through his notebook. Fifth September. Three stations that day. “I visited more than one station that day, but that narrows it down considerably. I should be there within a few weeks at most.”

Holy fuck. A few weeks!

Mycroft found himself chuckling. “I know.”

The rest of his soulmate’s birthday night passed blissfully. They talked and laughed and planned. They made love to the sound of each other’s voices.

The soft fade of his soulmate’s voice at sunrise didn’t seem so bittersweet. I’ll see you soon.

“Yes. Soon.”

Chapter Text

Jon Sople: And what do you think of the new privacy laws?
George Lichet: It’s a difficult balance- on the one hand, naturally I agree that one’s workplace has no business knowing the details of one’s private life. And what happened to the Carrigans is repulsive, no one should be put through that. My heart is with them. But at the same time, tonnes of people meet their soulmates at work.
(Licht, George. “Privacy in the Workplace, the New Soulmate Laws.” Interview by Jon Sople. News with the Stars, TV Weekly interview, 10 May 1993, TV.)

September-October, 1993

Greg cursed his birthday falling on a Tuesday this year. It meant a wait of almost a full week before there was the chance his soulmate would find him. He tried to stay upbeat: he cleaned his flat to within an inch of its life, did his laundry, and laid in supplies. He doubted he would want to leave his flat once they were together. It still dragged on.

Naturally, Friday night turned up a nasty murder that had Greg out on the beat for hours over the next few days. He tried not to let his stomach drop when Amber confirmed he’d missed a repeat, red-headed soulmate searcher. He’d be back. They had a plan.

**

Mycroft kept a polite smile on his face as he interviewed PC Rudric. He was quite certain the man was not his soulmate, but it would look better for when they did find each other if Mycroft was known to take some time with each potential soulmate.

Privacy laws, alas, meant that he had no idea how many more potential soulmates there were at this station. The receptionist would only promise to tell him when there were no more.

He wouldn’t have said he had any sense that his soulmate wasn’t near. Yet, as he wound down with PC Rudric, suddenly all his senses sat up and sang. The man let himself out with a disgruntled frown.

“Ladies first.”

Mycroft’s heart leapt into his throat. That was his soulmate. His soulmate’s voice.

He interviewed the lady in question in a haze.

**

Greg drummed his fingers on his thigh. It had nearly killed him to usher Lieutenant Finch ahead of him. Still, it meant no one was waiting when she let herself out with an easy shake of her head. Greg shrugged his commiseration.

He closed the door to the interview room carefully behind him. He stumbled a few steps toward the absolutely stunning creature sitting in a chair. His eyes were wide. Greg could feel all the hair on the back of his neck standing up.

“Hello,” Greg said.

His soulmate’s lips parted, but no sound came out. He licked them. “Hello.”

**

Oh.

Mycroft hadn’t known it would feel like this. Everything in overdrive. He stood, swaying. He was sure, but-

“How long have we been looking for each other?”

He got an easy, warm smile back. “A few months. I knew you’d be here soon, because we narrowed it down thirteen days ago.”

That was terribly specific. Mycroft tried to breathe. “And how many years older than me is my brother?”

“You’re the oldest. He’s seven years younger, and a handful.”

His soulmate took another step closer to him. One more question. Mycroft swallowed. “What schooling am I doing?”

His soulmate- it was really his soulmate, this was actually happening- grinned. “Uni. But not your first year; your third, because you’re a genius.”

Mycroft flexed his fingers. “You call your sister squirt, and you were out with friends when we first spoke.”

**

The questions they’d agreed upon answered, Greg closed the distance between them. His soulmate reached out a hand to shake, a little shy. “Mycroft Holmes.”

Greg took his hand. “Gregory Lestrade.” He tugged gently. Mycroft came easily, nearly collapsing against Greg and clinging tight. Greg clung back, burying his face in Mycroft’s shoulder. He felt perfect in Greg’s arms. “Christ, I’m not off for another three hours. How’m I meant to let you go?”

Mycroft hummed into his hair. “Don’t think of it, love.”

After another minute of just holding each other, Greg made himself loosen his arms. Mycroft pulled back putting a few inches of space between the. He cupped Greg’s face, eyes searching.

“I really, really want to kiss you,” Greg said, “but if I get started, it’s going to be hell to stop.”

Mycroft nodded and drew back further, dropping his hands. Greg snatched one and pressed his lips to it. “That’ll have to do until tonight, gorgeous.”

**

Mycroft flushed. It was one thing to be told he was his soulmate’ type, and quite another to have Gregory looking at him like he’d enjoy eating Mycroft with a spoon. “I- yes.”

What were they meant to be doing?

Gregory dug in his pocket and produced an envelope. He held it out to Mycroft. “Directions to my flat and a soulmate key.”

Right, yes. He tucked the envelope carefully into the inner pocket of his jacket. He withdrew a business card and a pen.

“I have a cell phone,” he said, neatly printing the number on it. “The back is my family’s address and phone, just in case.” He quirked a smile. “Please do not let any criminals have access to it.”

Gregory laughed. “No, I won’t. I should be home ‘round 7:30. I’ll ring if something comes up.”

**

Now that he had found his soulmate, Mycroft practiced discretion. He shouldn’t be attracting any particular attention at his juncture; any future with the security service was purely hypothetical. Still, better safe than sorry.

He took a cab to the train station. He visited the loo and read the directions to Gregory’s flat there, unobserved by any cameras. He emerged and walked to a nearby grocer’s, then a pharmacy, blushing a little at his purchase. He walked some blocks before hailing another cab, this time to the tube station Gregory had indicated.

The walk to his soulmate’s flat was fairly quick from there. He let himself into the third story flat and looked around. Small, clean, décor that tended toward cosy. Altogether charming. He put his bags down and smiled.

**

Greg spent the afternoon laying the groundwork for his time off. He complained to one co-worker of an upset stomach, joking about too much coffee. He kept clearing his throat and coughing in front of his sergeant. He abruptly excused himself to the loo mid-conversation with Leslie.

Tomorrow, he’d call work and inform them of his mysterious off-season flu. A few days, to settle the bond. He refused to feel guilty.

Greg all but sprinted for the door when 7pm came. There had been some sort of equipment malfunction on the tube earlier, which put Greg on a train he normally missed. It was packed with people. He didn’t care. He’d get to see his soulmate a few minutes earlier.

By the time he was pushing the key into his lock, hands shaking, it was 7:21.

Greg nearly forgot to close the door behind him. Mycroft appeared from the kitchen. He had a towel over one shoulder. He was barefoot, had his sleeves rolled neatly up, and was clearly the source of the mouth-watering smell coming from the kitchen.

Greg was pretty sure there was porn that stated like this.

**

Mycroft hurried out of the kitchen when he heard the front door opening. His soulmate was just as handsome as he remembered. He was also staring at Mycroft like higher brain function had abandoned him.

It was deeply flattering. He felt himself begin to blush. “Gregory. Hello. You’re, ah, a little early. The sauce is still cooking down.” There was no response, just eyes raking up and down him. Mycroft shifted. “I hope it was alright for me to use the kitchen?”

Gregory shook himself and started into motion. He closed the door, slipping his keys into his pocket. “Yeah, of course. It smells great in here. You didn’t have to do that. Thank you.”

Mycroft smiled, pleased. “You’re quite welcome. Though be warned, this is one of only a few dishes I can reliably make.”

**

“S’alright, beautiful.” He tossed his jacket over one end of the couch. “I can cook.”

He tried to keep his movement toward Mycroft even. Not like he was stalking. He stopped just in reach, running his hands up Mycroft’s arms to his shoulders. Mycroft stepped closer. Greg’s heart was jack-rabbiting. “So,” he said, “do I get a welcome home kiss?”

Mycroft nodded and looked at him big-eyed.

**

Gregory was being incredibly gentle with Mycroft’s inexperience. He’d nuzzled in, lips soft against Mycroft’s cheek. One big hand came to cup Mycroft’s other cheek, fingers stroking softly.

“S’alright, sweetheart. It’s just me. Just us.”

His mouth was coaxing on Mycroft’s. Lips brushing his own, feather-light then firmer. Staying with Mycroft, unhurried, until Mycroft caught the rhythm of it. Until Mycroft felt safe enough to kiss back. He licked inquisitively at Gregory’s lips. Gregory groaned in response.

“Christ, sweetheart,” Gregory breathed against him, “gonna kill me.”

“Mm?”

**

The wet heat of his soulmate’s mouth under his, pliant and inviting, really did feel like it was going to kill him. He wanted to find every sensitive spot on Mycroft’s body, tease until he was a gasping mess. Though, based on the way Mycroft had fisted both hands in his shirt and was panting already, it might not take much.

Which was fine with him. His soulmate was so hot it was incendiary.

An unfamiliar beeping noise startled him. He jerked.

Mycroft blinked. “Ah. That’s- the sauce. It should be ready now. We should eat.” His eyes were on Greg’s mouth when he said it.

It took everything in Greg to peel himself away. “Food. Yeah. Thanks for making dinner, darlin’.”

**

Dinner passed in a haze. If someone had asked him if he would enjoy playing footsie with his soulmate before, Mycroft would have denied it. And yet, there was something so charming about Gregory’s sly expression as he nudged his foot against Mycroft’s that Mycroft couldn’t help but respond. Gregory was flirtatious and physical, reaching frequently to touch Mycroft’s hands and arms and showering him in compliments.

Every time it came close to overwhelming him, Gregory eased back, turning the conversation to something simple. It was an incredibly deft use of their bond for so early in knowing each other.

Dessert was, perhaps prosaically, strawberries with a chocolate dipping sauce. Gregory watched him eat each one with a hungry expression. He managed three before he pushed them away. The low simmer of desire that had underlain their meal was expanding. Mycroft tried to hide the shake in his hands.

**

Watching Mycroft wrap his mouth around strawberries was torture. Not so much he missed the nerves when Mycroft pushed them aside and declared himself done. A rush of tenderness swelled in him.

“Come cuddle on the couch?”

It wasn’t what he’d originally been going to suggest. He tapped his internal brakes hard. Mycroft might not be ready for sex. That would be fine. He would take this at whatever pace his soulmate needed. He still reached out, curling an arm around Mycroft as he stood, guiding him the few steps to the couch and into a nice, comfortable corner.

Greg was going to try for a bit more conversation, ease into things.

He wasn’t prepared for Mycroft to lean over and kiss him.

**

Bother. He’d felt his soulmate pull back on his need, which wasn’t what Mycroft wanted at all. He hoped Gregory was easily riled, because Mycroft did not have a great depth of experience to draw from.

Pressing his lips to Gregory’s, parting his own in invitation, felt delicious. Like slipping into a hot bath after a cold day. Gregory’s tongue licked into him. Mycroft revised his opinion. Like a hot bath when one had the house to oneself and knew no one would be home for hours, and was about to indulge in an absolutely luxurious wank.

He wound his arms around his soulmate’s shoulders, stroking the broad muscle admiringly. Mycroft wasn’t sure if it was one kiss or a dozen. It spun out endlessly, dreamily. There was a rhythm to it, patterns that Mycroft was quickly learning.

The bond was a help. It was alive and sizzling between them. Mycroft could tell every time he did something that Gregory liked, even without him gasping and tightening his hands.

Hands that were starting to pet, just like he had promised the first night they spoke.

**

Right.

Maybe not that nervous. At least, Mycroft was sighing and pressing close in a way that belied his earlier impression. So maybe less “wait, I’m not ready” and more “show me?” Shy, like.

Only not that shy, either. Mycroft had definitely taken control of the kissing now. He’d got one hand in Greg’s hair, tugging gently and sending sparks down Greg’s spine. His other hand wandered up and down Greg’s back.

Then he decided to get a little bitey. First with Greg’s lips, which was fine, then with his ear, which was- Greg groaned softly. Mycroft's rush of excitement in response was heady.

“Do you like that, love?” Mycroft asked. He bit again.

“Mhm,” Greg said, tilting his head to give Mycroft better access. Then, playfully, “Do you?”

**

Mycroft supposed he should have expected that. The nip to his ear was pleasant, but he was as sensitive there as Gregory. Gregory went exploring, brushing lips and tongue and teeth over his cheeks, the curve of his jaw, and down his neck.

There was a spot on his neck, just below what a collar would cover, that made Mycroft gasp. Gregory lingered there, hands soothing up and down Mycroft’s chest. The heat of them through his shirt was quietly addictive.

Mycroft tugged at Gregory’s shirt, pulling it out of his trousers and sliding his hands under. Gregory made a soft, pleased noise and came up to kiss him again.

“D’you want this off, sweetheart?”

Mycroft licked his lips. “Yes.”

**

Greg was flying. The second he dropped his shirt on the floor, Mycroft’s hands were on him. Like he couldn’t get enough. Greg knew how he felt.

“And, can I?” Greg skimmed a hand up Mycroft’s buttons. He wanted to beg. Wanted to feel Mycroft’s skin against his. Didn’t want to pressure but, fuck, wanted.

He kissed Mycroft while he waited. Let him think. Mycroft relaxed again, resting his weight against Greg. Greg peppered soft kisses over Mycroft’s face. He wanted to adore him. He loved the sweet smile his actions provoked.

Once Mycroft seemed to realize Greg wasn’t going to push, he grew curious. His pale eyes were bright as he ran his hands over Greg’s bare chest. Fingers petted his chest hair. Greg’s nipples, already pebbling, grew tighter under Mycroft’s clever fingers.

It wasn’t until Greg's breath sped up and he was starting to become aware of his cock filling that Mycroft seemed satisfied. He brought Greg’s hand back to the vee where his collar was open.

“Alright,” he said, “yes.”

**

It was hard to stay self-conscious with the way Gregory was looking at him. He held Mycroft’s eyes as he undid the first button. Then his gaze lowered as his hands eased Mycroft’s shirt more open. He traced the edges of his shirt, then stroked the skin just hidden.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Gregory breathed reverently. “Perfect for me.”

His mouth was warm when he pressed it to the middle of Mycroft’s chest. Mycroft’s heart skipped a beat. He tangled his fingers in Gregory’s hair.

Mycroft’s buttons slid open one by one. Gregory’s hands caressed him as he became more exposed. His mouth ventured a little lower, then back up, nuzzling in between murmured comments on Mycroft’s desirability and soft questions about if he was enjoying himself.

He was. He could feel Gregory. The heat of him, yes. But also the warmth: Gregory’s care, his tenderness, his desire to treat Mycroft well and bring him pleasure.

It was wildly good.

**

Greg’s sense of everything outside the bounds of the couch had faded to nothing. He could have been kissing his soulmate for hours or days. He would be perfectly happy to stay like this. Just worshiping Mycroft with his hands and his mouth.

Except.

When Greg finally nudged in close, chest to chest, Mycroft clutched at him. He watched the pleasure of it wash through Mycroft. He pulled at Greg, twisting, trying to get closer. There was no closer they could get, not like this.

“Here, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Greg said. He guided Mycroft back, settled him against the couch’s arm. A quick tug and shuffle got them both lying down, Greg’s arms braced on either side of Mycroft and their legs tangled together.

The sound Mycroft made when he pressed their chests together this time went straight to Greg’s cock. It was all he could do not to rut against him.

**

Mycroft was briefly confused by the rearrangement. Shouldn’t- ought they not to move to the bedroom? But he couldn’t hold on to the thought past Gregory settling over him. The contact was delicious. He arched, rubbing their chests together, nearly purring with pleasure.

He was getting hard. He was getting hard, touching his soulmate. And, he was nearly certain, his soulmate was getting hard touching him. It felt illicit, like he couldn’t possibly be allowed to feel this good.

Gregory’s ear was right there, so Mycroft bit it. Gregory hummed appreciatively.

“You’re pink right down your chest,” he said. “Did you know?”

A hand snuck between them, making a wide stroke over Mycroft’s chest. Mycroft jerked when fingers brushed past his nipple. Gregory paused.

**

“Oh?” Smile growing wicked, Greg backtracked, thumb making a slow circle. Mycroft’s eyes fluttered shut. “That right, sweetheart?” He tightened his fingers, watched Mycroft’s jaw drop open. Christ on a stick.

Greg shifted his weight more firmly to one elbow, lowering his head. It took Mycroft a minute to catch on, but then the fingers in his hair urged him on. The taut feeling of anticipation dissolved into electric need as Greg sucked on a nipple. Mycroft moaned.

Fuck. Shite. He was going to lose it. His cock was a throbbing ache between his thighs now. He was dangerously aware that he could come like this, both of them in their trousers. More, when Mycroft started to writhe.

**

Lord. Mycroft had never felt like this before. Not when he’d touched himself imagining. Not with Gregory’s voice in his ear. He was burning up.

“Darlin’,” Gregory husked, “let me take you to bed.”

Mycroft didn’t know how he stood, much less how he stumbled to Gregory’s bedroom. He fought his way out of his shirt, leaving it crumpled on the floor. When he looked up, Gregory was gloriously naked. Mycroft stalled out, brain failing him.

Gregory wrapped him up in an embrace. He could feel, now, the hard curve of his cock against his stomach. Gregory kissed him, hips working gently. Mycroft kissed back, hands pulling him in, kneading the tight curve of his arse. Gregory moaned into his mouth. Mycroft's knees went weak.

“Let me take this off you,” Gregory said, “lie down together.”

Mycroft nodded. His ears rang. He clutched at Gregory as his soulmate divested him of the last of his clothes.

**

Mycroft was flushed everywhere, a sight to make Greg dizzy. The bed was just there. He tried to be careful as he nudged Mycroft back onto it and wasn’t sure he managed. His limbs were losing coordination, just wanting Mycroft and skin and close.

Mycroft, laying back on his bed and reaching for him, thick thighs parted and cock red and straining, was a sight he would remember for the rest of his life.

Mycroft surged against him as soon as he was in reach, dragging Greg down. His hips rolled up, seeking. Greg couldn’t deny him anything. They kissed, messy and deep. Greg adjusted his body down, just a little, just enough.

The first touch of their cocks almost finished him off.

**

Whatever romantic notions Mycroft had cherished about what a first time with his soulmate might be like had entirely left his head. He just wanted this. Gregory close, touching him, wanting him. Heat was blazing through him, blazing through their bond. He opened his thighs wider, and Gregory sank between them, the new angle forcing a cry from him.

Once he started, he couldn’t stop. Every breath wrenched from him with a sound. Gregory answered him, groaning and choking out variations of his name mixed with profanity. His sense of control was scattered, his mind blank of anything but this piercing need. It was fine, it was good, he didn’t need to think. He was in his body, feeling more than he could ever remember.

The dirty grind of their cocks together was driving him to impossible heights. He was teetering, wavering on the edge of orgasm. Gregory bent his head to his chest and got his mouth on Mycroft’s nipple again. The sharp feel of his teeth there shot through Mycroft. His balls drew up tight, and he came.

**

Greg felt Mycroft come with a wave of desperation. He was aching for it, couldn’t stop, couldn’t do anything but thrust against the slick mess between them and add his own with a shout. They shivered together, panting. Greg kissed Mycroft’s cheek and just rested there a minute.

When he could, Greg rolled to the side. His muscles still felt like jello. Mycroft rolled with him, staying close in his arms. Greg pet his back and sides. “Doing alright, beautiful?”

“Yes.” Mycroft glanced down, a hint of his earlier shyness peeking through. “Was that, ah-?”

Greg kissed him, pushing everything he was feeling toward his soulmate. His happiness, his bone deep languor, his excitement about all the possibilities for what came next. “Very,” Greg murmured against Mycroft’s lips.

Mycroft kissed him back, his quiet relief almost buried under the pleased hum that radiated from him.

It took a few minutes to stop kissing. Greg grinned foolishly. “M’gonna get a warm flannel, clean us up.” He hoisted himself to sitting. “Back in a sec.”

Mycroft was fuzzily half-asleep when Greg returned. Greg’s heart turned over in his chest. Getting clean was quiet. Greg tucked them in together, wondering how he would sleep with another person in his bed, and was out like a light.

Chapter Text

While seclusion had long been a practice among the nobility and merchant classes, it was only in 1963 that the right to seclusion was extended to all and codified in law. (Robards, Lawson. A Comprehensive History of Soulmate Laws. Stanford University Press, 1990.)

5 October, 1993

Greg jerked awake to the obnoxious buzzing of his alarm. He groaned and silenced it with a practiced thwack.

There was someone in bed with him. Christ, where had he gone last night?

Oh. Oh, it was his soulmate in bed with him. Mycroft. He turned his head and got a sleepy blink. His stomach turned over with giddiness. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. M’just going to call work, make my excuses.”

He ducked into the living room, dialing in and cheerfully lying about being sick. He might have deployed the phrase “squirting at both ends” to cement the time off. No one wanted a PC vomiting all over the evidence.

He wasn’t terribly surprised to find Mycroft still awake and more alert when he returned. They’d been up past midnight, and six am wasn’t nearly enough sleep for what he had in mind.

“All fine,” he reassured Mycroft, “three days without a physician’s note, hope for my swift return, etc.” He planted a soft kiss on Mycroft’s cheek, drawing him down as he crawled back into bed. “Sleep.”

**

Mycroft wasn’t sure he would be able to fall back asleep. Generally, he was up once he was awake. However, it would seem having Gregory near and sleeping was a somnolent. He judged several hours had passed by the time he woke next. The sort of dream that usually ended with needing the sheets changed faded to an equally sexy reality.

They had not dressed before bed. Gregory was plastered, naked, against his back. His hard cock was in insistent contact with Mycroft’s arse. Mycroft shivered and rocked back into the pressure.

“Darlin’. You awake?” Gregory’s voice was rough with sleep. Or perhaps arousal. His hand skated from Mycroft’s hip, up his side.

“Mhm.” Mycroft’s own voice came out breathy. Well. That was only reasonable.

Greg rubbed his stubbled cheek against Mycroft’s shoulder. Mycroft gasped. “I don’t think I said last night, but you have an absolutely luscious arse.”

His hand skimmed back down and gave said arse a squeeze.

**

Mycroft gave a pleased little wriggle. “Do I?”

Greg groaned and rocked against him. “Yep. And in case you’re wondering,” he said, squeezing again, “I’ve been awake a couple of minutes.”

“Oh?”

Greg grinned, hidden where Mycroft couldn’t see. “Mm,” he said, dropping a kiss on the side of Mycroft’s neck, “definitely “oh.” Good dreams, sweetheart?”

Mycroft tilted his head, offering more of his neck. Arousal was trembling through their bond, softening the world at the edges. He sighed and rubbed himself deliberately back against Greg’ cock. “You,” he said, voice low and dark. He sounded like Greg thought good whiskey probably tasted.

“Yeah?” Greg gave him a nibble. “Don’t need to dream. M’right here.”

He let his hand wander, soaking in the soft feel of Mycroft’s thighs, inching toward his cock. There was no denying they were rubbing up against each other with intent now, like cats in heat. He could hear the catch in Mycroft’s breathing.

“This good, sweetheart? There’s lube in the nightstand.”

**

Mycroft’s thoughts tumbled over all the possibilities lube might indicate. His gut tightened with nerves and need. Their current position was certainly suggestive. And surely the world wouldn’t be so cruel as to give him a soulmate who had desires incompatible with his own.

The lube was precisely where Gregory had said it would be. He passed it back to him without looking.

Gregory caught his wrist, tugging gently. Mycroft followed his urging until he was turned enough for Gregory to kiss him. Mycroft felt himself melt and settle. Whatever was about to happen would be okay.

“Nothing fancy,” Gregory said, “just this, but slicker, yeah?”

Mycroft nodded mutely in ascent.

The lubricant smoothed along his arse was cool, warming quickly under Gregory’s touch. Gregory shifted behind him. Then he was pressed close again, his cock sliding wetly along Mycroft’s crease. Gregory moaned.

Then he wrapped a slick hand around Mycroft’s cock.

**

Mycroft’s startled, needy cry when Greg got a hand on him made Greg pulse. “Fuck,” he breathed, “you’re perfect.”

Mycroft’s cock felt amazing. He was long and thick and already achingly hard. His hips were juddering back and forth, mindlessly seeking his pleasure. He moaned softly. Greg twisted his wrist. Mycroft got a hand on Greg’s thigh, his fingers digging in urgently. Greg went from hard to desperate from one breath to the next.

“Fuck,” he said again, “m’not going to last.” He swiped a thumb over the head of Mycroft’s cock. His heart thumped. There was fluid leaking from the tip. Mycroft’s next moan was half an octave deeper. “But neither are you, right, gorgeous?”

Greg thrust urgently. The wet sounds of their bodies slapping together filled the air. God, Christ. How was this his life? How did he have his soulmate here, in his arms, making a sound straight out of Greg’s filthiest fantasies?

“Go on,” Greg said, barely holding it together enough to make words, “wanna feel it. Wanna feel you make a mess, gonna come all over you-”

And that image was too much for him. His orgasm slammed into him. He jerked against Mycroft, shouting. His soulmate went silent, back bowed, as liquid heat covered Greg’s hand.

**

Mycroft was the one to fetch the flannel this time. Gregory’s bathroom was small and tidy. The flannel was not up to his usual standards. Now that he thought of it, the sheets had also been a bit rough. He wondered how early was too early to broach the topic of finances.

Not now, certainly.

Clean up was simple. They drifted pleasantly into talk, lazing together in the crisp fall morning. Gregory asked after his classes. He listened attentively. Mycroft assumed that was a useful skill in his profession. The warmth of his admiration, without expectation weighting it, was a balm.

Cuddling was also turning out quite lovely.

The absent-minded way Gregory was petting his stomach was a little more difficult.

**

Greg was half-asleep and still glowing from another round of fantastic sex. That was the only reason it took his brain so long to catch up to his body.

Mycroft was tensing every few breaths, then relaxing again. By the time Greg noticed, he became aware that Mycroft had been doing it for awhile. He cut himself off mid-sentence.

“Hey. Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Mycroft said. Just a little too fast, like he was trying to convince someone.

Greg stilled his hand. He wasn’t stupid. For all that his hook-ups had been casual, he’d still picked up some things about touching bigger bodies. “Yeah? You keep tensing up on me.” He stroked, just once. “This okay? You’re allowed to say no.”

Mycroft put a hand on top of Greg’s. His expression had softened. “I know. It is, perhaps, complicated.” He paused. Greg waited him out. “On the one hand, part of me is perfectly confident that any way you touch me is safe. Good. On the other-” His lips pulled into a tight smile. “-people have been unkind. About my body, my- my stomach, in particular.”

That was about what Greg had expected. “You want me to stop touching you there?”

Mycroft licked his lips. He shook his head.

Greg gave him one long, soothing stroke, circling all over his belly. He leaned close, nuzzling against Mycroft’s cheek. “Want me to see if I can tip the balance? Love on you a little?”

He was close enough to hear Mycroft swallow. “I. Yes, that sounds- good.”

**

Mycroft wanted to hide his face. Good, for goodness sake. Was that the best he, with his vast vocabulary, could do? And he still was not entirely certain what Gregory meant. Only that that tone of voice had been the precursor to good things thus far.

“Just to be clear,” Gregory said, voice quiet and low, “I love your body.” He ran his hands slowly down Mycroft's chest and back to his stomach. He kissed his way down the center of Mycroft’s chest. “You’re incredibly fucking hot.”

Mycroft blushed. It was difficult to believe. Gregory smiled at him knowingly. “Gonna keep telling you until you know it in your bones, darlin’. Gonna tell you until you strut everywhere, until every time you walk down a street everyone turns to watch and wishes they were with you.”

Mycroft smiled hesitantly. He still could not begin to imagine it. Perhaps, however, he could imagine Gregory looking at him that way.

Gregory pressed a softly reverential kiss to the top of Mycroft’s stomach. Mycroft let himself close his eyes and just feel.

**

Doing this for Mycroft was hypnotic. Greg started slow. Just hands, fingertips firm enough not to tickle, and the occasional soft kiss. He wanted Mycroft to feel adored. Taking care of him was going to be the greatest pleasure of Greg’s life. He could tell. It gave him a happy shiver, thinking of all the time they had in front of them.

So yeah, nothing much at first. Everything nice and slow. Letting Mycroft get used to being touched there. Even without bringing weight into it, bellies were vulnerable. Your soft underside. He firmed his touch, cradling, soothing. Trying to send how much he was enjoying this along to his soulmate.

Then he added a few more kisses. Still slow, still easy. Just his mouth, gentle as anything. He kissed from one side of Mycroft’s belly to the other. Kept his hands moving, petting now. Admiring Mycroft with his hands.

He could feel it working. Feel Mycroft’s body relaxing fully. His belly softened and expanded under Greg’s quiet worship. Like he’d been holding himself in, and now he knew it was safe to come out. To trust himself in Greg’s hands. Greg felt a flicker of pride stir in his chest.

**

Mycroft floated lazily. Thought seemed far off. He was melted into the bed.

At some point, he had reached out and put a hand in Gregory’s hair. The strands were soft under his fingers. He coiled his fingers with them, following every time Gregory moved his head.

He was doing that more. Kissing, hands holding Mycroft tenderly. His mouth was open, breath warm and inviting on Mycroft’s skin. His stubble brushed against Mycroft, too.

It felt good.

**

Greg hadn’t known if things would go this direction. Mycroft had been beautifully relaxed. Greg could have happily kept him there all day.

But a hint of tongue got a luxurious sigh and fingers tugging his hair. So he did it again. Quick flickers of tongue that drew pleased sighs and hums from his sweetheart. Longer licks, wanting to taste everywhere he’d touched.

Mycroft moaned. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be.

Greg could hardly believe his luck. He tried rubbing his stubbled cheek against Mycroft’s soft skin. Mycroft pushed into the touch, hand going demanding in Greg’s hair. Greg’s breath sped up. He reached down and adjusted himself.

Teeth, next. Just a touch, just to see. Mycroft arched, a moan breaking out. Louder, this time.

“That right, beautiful? Like that?”

**

Thankfully, Gregory didn’t seem to require an answer. At least, not a verbal one. He supposed the grip he had on Gregory’s hair stood in for words.

If anyone had told him he would become aroused from someone touching his stomach, of all places-

He couldn’t even finish the thought, another wave of pleasure derailing him. Gregory’s mouth was absolutely deadly. His tongue, the scratch of his unshaven jaw, his teeth. Dear god, his teeth. Nibbling bites, delivered to spots Mycroft had never known were sensitive. He was positively writhing into the touch.

“Want me to keep going?” What a nonsensical question. “Or, since I’m down here…” Mycroft’s eyes shot open. Gregory met his gaze, eyes heavy lidded. He licked his lips. Mycroft followed the motion of his tongue, entranced. “Could go a bit lower. Take care of you with my mouth.”

Mycroft didn’t know how he managed to convey his agreement. He felt positively unhinged. The first gust of Gregory’s breath over his cock sent his eyes slamming shut. He forced them open again. He didn’t want to miss a moment of this.

Gregory sucked soft kisses up one side of his cock and down the other. Mycroft was half hard, just from that. Then he was treated to long, wet licks, root to tip. Over and over, until Mycroft was fully hard and slick with spit. Gregory’s hand wrapped around him, as good as it had been earlier. He thrust into the grip. Gregory let him, his mouth wandering lower still. His tongue rasped over Mycroft’s balls, sucked on them carefully.

Finally, he licked back up Mycroft’s cock, tongue swirling over the head. He opened his mouth, eyes locked with Mycroft’s, and sank down.

His mouth was the best thing Mycroft had ever felt.

**

If Greg had to guess, he would guess Mycroft didn’t know how much noise he made during sex. It was unbearably sexy. He’d given up on trying to hold off. Rutting against the sheets would do him just fine.

Mycroft tasted like sin, masculine and musky. Greg swallowed, groaning in pleasure. Having a cock in his mouth felt good. Having Mycroft in his mouth felt like heaven.

He tried the things he’d read. Things he fuzzily remembered. Tracing the big vein. Flicking the sensitive spot right behind the head. Tonguing at the slit. Mycroft was devastatingly responsive. He was pink again, flushed all the way down to his cock, where he was pushing into Greg’s mouth.

“Mhm,” Greg said around his mouthful. Mycroft's fingers tightened to the edge of pain. Greg jerked, rubbing frantically against the sheets. He was making noise too, groans and grunts and garbled sounds of need. The salty taste of precome filled his mouth. He redoubled his efforts.

“Ah!” Mycroft’s voice was wild. “Oh-”

It was enough of a warning. Greg swallowed, sucking down mouthfuls of come, feeling it dribble out the sides of his mouth. He surfaced with a gasp. He got a hand around his cock, gripping tight.

“Fuck, fuck,” he bit out into Mycroft’s hip. “Oh, fuck.”

“Gregory,” Mycroft said, voice low and wrecked, and that was it. He came with a wrench.

**

It was rather more brunch than breakfast by the time they made it out to the kitchen. The clean up this time had taken awhile. Neither of them had been able to let go of each other for some time.

Mycroft’s backpack carried pajamas and a single change of clothing, plus his toiletries. The rest of his luggage was at the hotel. He would have to place a call at some point, either extending his stay or having his things held.

In any case, Gregory had wandered into the kitchen in his pants. Mycroft was feeling a good deal sunnier about his looks, but still opted for the pajamas. It seemed a lounging sort of day.

Gregory was naturally as good as his word, and had stocked his kitchen with foods Mycroft had professed to liking. There was yogurt and plenty of fruit to choose from. An apple seemed just the ticket.

**

Greg fried up some bacon and eggs and dropped the lot over toast. He was starving. Sex worked up an appetite. Mycroft was lingering over an apple and a cup of tea. He’d take a bite, then spend some time staring at Greg.

He blushed the first time Greg caught his eye and smiled. Greg found it stupidly charming.

It was even better when Mycroft smile back.

Mycroft’s nose twitched when Greg sat down. Greg nudged a foot against his under the table. “Want some?”

Mycroft’s eyes flicked down to Greg’s plate and back up. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

**

By the time Mycroft finished off his apple, Gregory had inhaled half his plate. He wasn’t unmannerly about, simply a quick eater. Likely developed due to being called out for work during meals, Mycroft deduced. He exhibited none of the defensive body language that suggested childhood malnourishment.

The bacon smelled heavenly.

Gregory gave him a knowing look and held out a slice. “Go on, then.”

Mycroft's shoulders tightened. “No.”

Greg put the bacon back down, his smile fading. “There’s no way an apple and some yogurt filled you up. If you really don’t want bacon, let me get you something you do want.”

The food he had eaten had been sufficient. A healthy breakfast. Hadn’t it? “I-” He paused. He didn’t know what to say.

**

Greg reached over for one of Mycroft’s hands. “Hey. Sweetheart. Take a deep breath, okay?” Mycroft followed the request. The sense of distress stayed. “M’not going to make you eat or anything. I just want you to be happy. Food should be a pleasure.”

Mycroft was staring at their hands. It took him several heavy seconds to respond. “I- cannot recall the last time someone told me to eat more.” His breathing had gone shallow. “It’s always Mycroft, do you really need seconds? or Dessert! Not for you, Mycroft.” The eyes he raised to Greg’s were shining.

Greg wrenched his knee getting around the table. He crouched and gathered his soulmate into his arms. He used a foot to drag his chair around and let Mycroft cry quietly into his shoulder.

When Mycroft finished, wiping at his face with his sleeve and sniffling, he asked, “Can I have a piece of bacon?”

**

He ought to feel ashamed. Here he was, on his first proper day of seclusion with his soulmate, and he was having some sort of breakdown.

It was remarkably difficult to feel embarrassed with Gregory’s protective tenderness lapping at him. Perhaps it was acceptable to let go.

Gregory pulled his plate across the table. He kept one arm wrapped around Mycroft’s shoulder and held the bacon to his lips with the other. Mycroft took a bite.

Oh. It tasted as good as he remembered. As good as it smelled.

When he had finished the last bite, Gregory kissed his cheek. “Fraught subject. It’s alright, I’ve got plenty of them knocking around. I’m sure we’ll bump into one soon. We’ve just got to take care of each other when it happen. Yeah?”

Mycroft’s heart gave a happy patter. “Yes. Thank you, love.”

**

Love. Greg thought he could collapse. Just swoon like some sort of Victorian maiden. It was a pet name. Mycroft didn’t mean it like that. Not yet. Too soon.

It didn’t matter. Greg was falling fast.

“Any time, darlin’. Every time.”

They were quiet over the rest of breakfast. Greg slowed down, feeding Mycroft occasional bites. There was something about it that satisfied a deep-seated need to provide. Make sure his soulmate was taken care of properly. They talked a little, quieter things. Films and TV shows they liked.

It turned out Mycroft liked classic films and, guiltily, romantic comedies.

Greg instantly decided he had to watch at least one with Mycroft while he was here.

**

The roller coaster of the day’s start evened out as they went along. Mycroft was grateful. The remainder of the morning and early afternoon passed in soft conversation. They bickered over actors they thought were attractive, shared cynical opinions about the wisdom of getting involved in the U. S's political machinations, and swapped childhood stories.

Mycroft made a large salad for lunch, and Gregory produced perfectly grilled cheese sandwiches. They each split their creations and shared. Mycroft felt only a faint twinge of guilt for breaking his diet.

They curled up together on Gregory’s sofa- stained but ridiculously deep- and watched a film together. As dusk closed in, Gregory toyed with the hem of Mycroft’s top.

“So, how do you feel about working up an appetite?”

**

To Greg’s delight, Mycroft was easy to tempt into an early evening shag. Of course, Greg spending the day in nothing but boxers and a shirt so worn it was almost see through might have had something to do with it. Or the lazy snogging during the film.

In the bedroom, Greg shed his shirt. Mycroft gave him a look filled with mischief. “Do you know, I somehow have not got my hands on your cock yet?”

And then, with no further warning than that, he ran a hand down Greg’s front to feel him up. Greg startled a little and got an arm around Mycroft. “Christ, darlin’, warn a bloke.”

Mycroft smirked. “Oh, should I? You don’t seem to be objecting.”

Greg sure as hell wasn’t. Having Mycroft massaging his cock through his boxers was quickly awakening his interest. “Not sure you’re really getting the full picture here.”

Mycroft laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, I intend to make sure I have a very full picture.” He slid his fingers through the opening of the boxers and caressed. Greg took a slow breath. “Let’s get you out of these, hm?”

**

Mycroft wasn’t sure where his sudden surge of boldness was coming from, but he intended to take full advantage. He didn’t protest the removal of his own clothes. Let Gregory look.

“Lie back,” he said once they were in bed. “I’m not even close to done exploring.”

Gregory laid back obediently, spreading his legs so Mycroft could kneel between them. He got a slather of lubricant on his hand and spread it over Gregory’s cock. It was just a touch firmer than flaccid. Mycroft drew a teasing spiral with one finger, circling lightly from the root of Gregory’s cock to the head. Back down. Not much more than a barely present touch.

Then, because he was enjoying himself, Mycroft left Gregory’s cock alone entirely. Instead, he turned his attention to his soulmate’s inner thighs. Muscle under skin. He kneaded into it. “You work out.”

“Hard to chase anyone down if I’m not in shape for it.” Gratifyingly, he sounded a touch breathless already. “Mycroft-” Mycroft raised an eyebrow. Gregory huffed with laughter and flopped down onto his back. “Yeah, okay. Confidence looks good on you.”

“Mmm.” Satisfied he would be let to do things his way, Mycroft continued his attentions. He allowed Gregory to arrange the pillows so he was propped up and could watch more easily. Kneading and soft touches got mild reactions. An experimental pinch was immediately abandoned upon Gregory recoiling. Mycroft gave him an apologetic look. Gregory smiled to let him know all was well.

“You could just ask, you know,” he said at some length. “What I like.”

Mycroft was fairly sure he would choke on the words. “This is more entertaining,” he said. Thankfully, Gregory’s response was cut off when Mycroft tried a hint of nail. A long, light stroke up toward his cock got the best reaction. Mycroft watched in interest as Gregory’s cock plumped up nicely. “Just here? Harder?” Ah. Perhaps he could ask, after all.

“N-no. Just like that.”

Mycroft kept the same movement, varying from regular to erratic. He watched hungrily as Gregory’s cock grew slowly stiffer, his breath coming faster. At last, he brought one hand up and make a loose fist around Gregory's length. He got a groan for his efforts. Mycroft neither tightened his fist nor moved it, a sense of heated glee filling him.

“Would you like something?” Mycroft was almost surprised to hear his voice come out slow and promising. “You can have anything you like. You just have to ask.”

Gregory’s cock jerked delightfully in his grip. Mycroft waited. “Tighter? And move. Please.”

That “please” went through Mycroft like a hot knife through butter. He tightened his grip infinitesimally, enough to give a hint of friction, and began to move his hand slowly. Gregory stuttered another groan. His body began to move under Mycroft, hips rolling up to meet him. His head tossed from one side to the other.

**

“Is there something else you want, love?”

Mycroft’s voice was like honey, like velvet wrapping around his cock. Greg thought Mycroft could probably talk him into orgasm. Watching his lover explore him, curiosity and desire and control that was making Greg hard was quickly rising to the top of his favorite sexual experiences. That teasing, light touch was driving him mad.

But he could have more. He just had to ask. “T-tighter.” Mycroft’s grip tightened, but not enough, he needed- “Tighter, please, tighter.” Greg moaned in relief when Mycroft finally closed on him how he needed. His lover’s eyes were gleaming.

Mycroft was secretly a bastard, though, because he went just as slow as before. Greg tried to speed him up, thrusting into his grip. Mycroft slowed down even further.

Finally, Greg was forced to gasp, “Faster, Christ. Mycroft, god, please, I can’t-”

**

Mycroft gave Greg what he’d asked for so nicely. He could have made him ask over and over again, speeding up bit by bit as he had in response to “tighter.” Gregory was restless, though. His hands were knotted in the sheets. His body was covered in a light layer of sweat. So Mycroft gave it to him all at once, pressure and speed.

He wasn’t expecting his soulmate to choke out one more request. “Please, there’s a spot right behind the head, can you, please.”

Mycroft knew where he meant. He pressed with his thumb. Gregory’s eyes rolled back in his head. At the top of each stroke, now, Mycroft rubbed there.

Abruptly, he knew exactly how he wanted to end this. The idea rose from his base instincts and dripped off his tongue. “You said, earlier, that you would come all over me.” Moisture beaded at the tip of Gregory’s cock, his eyes flying back open. “I have decided that I would like that.”

**

Greg thought he was hallucinating for a second. That’s how how it was. Mycroft let go of his cock and rolled to Greg’s side.

“Straddle me, kneel up.”

Shakily, Greg did. He followed Mycroft’s directions until he was kneeling over his belly. Mycroft wrapped a hand around his cock again. Greg had to lean over and brace himself on Mycroft’s shoulders.

“Oh god,” he said, “fuck.”

Mycroft’s gaze was hotly intent. “I’ll have to have you jerk off on my cock some day,” he said. Greg made a low, punched out noise. He was so close he was dizzy. “Or, I could bring you up here, let you come on my face.” Greg shouted, coming like a freight truck. “That’s it, yes, come all over me, let me feel you.”

Greg didn’t know how he kept from collapsing on top of Mycroft. His muscles had liquefied. Mycroft was a sight, stripes of come over his belly and up his chest. Slowly, carefully, Greg sat back, settling his weight on Mycroft’s thighs.

“Clean you up, sweetheart?”

**

Mycroft glowed. It had been immensely satisfying, bringing Greg pleasure like that. Deducing what he wanted, flirting with the edges of it, and bringing him over. It had also, naturally, had an effect on Mycroft.

Which was to say, he was wonderfully hard.

He waved a hand in agreement when Gregory offered to clean him up. He was unbothered by the results of Gregory’s pleasure now, but it would be unpleasant if left. Greg smiled at him, a hint of unexpected shyness in it, and bent.

Mycroft sucked in a surprised breath. When Gregory said “clean”, Mycroft had not imagined he meant with his mouth. He supposed he should be less surprised. Gregory had shown quite a penchant for using his mouth this morning. Mycroft’s cock gave a hopeful twitch.

Long, soft strokes of Gregory’s tongue slowly licked up every trace of his come. He teased at Mycroft’s nipples for awhile. For long enough that Mycroft started to lose his grip on his thoughts. He lifted his head from Mycroft’s chest, pupils blown wide.

“Can I suck you off again, beautiful?”

**

Somehow, Mycroft’s cock tasted even better this time. Like the perfect note of sex, mouth-wateringly good. He filled Greg’s mouth just right. Greg had the sense again that he could stay here all day. Suck on Mycroft forever.

Mycroft wasn’t demanding about his own pleasure. He had a hand in Greg’s hair, yeah, but he wasn’t yanking. And Greg got the feeling that the rhythm Mycroft set was less intention and more need. He thought he’d be into Mycroft doing it on purpose. Taking control. Using his mouth, using Greg to get to his peak.

Greg shivered and moaned around his mouthful. He bobbed his head, following Mycroft’s movements. He wished he could talk while he was doing this, say something as hot as Mycroft had. Let him know how good this was, how he wanted Mycroft to come down his throat.

Almost as though he could hear the words Greg didn’t say, Mycroft tensed and cried out. Greg swallowed down his come hungrily.

Chapter Text

The fact of the matter is that seclusion is more for the sake of society than for new soulmates. Romantic bonds typically are solidified through sexual activity, which should be carried out in private. (Your Changing Body and Your Soulmate. Health Press, September 1956. Pamphlet)

6 October, 1993

Mycroft was having a truly ridiculous amount of sex. He thought, in retrospect, that they had been a bit nervous of each other that first night. One orgasm apiece, then a cuddle. Yesterday- good lord, had they really had sex five times? In a single day? Then twice again this morning before they made it out of bed. They had barely managed breakfast before tumbling back into bed. They were now lazing next to each other, naked and sated.

Mycroft had never had so many orgasms in his life. Not when he had been thirteen and first discovering the pleasures of his body. Not at sixteen, painfully lonely. Not even these last few months, when he had his soulmate’s voice and description to form a base for his fantasies. Gregory was a revelation.

“How many languages do you speak?” Gregory was relaxed against him, hands petting in soothing strokes. “Think I caught at least two that weren’t English in there.”

Mycroft paused. He hadn’t realized he was saying much of anything. “Five.”

“Really? I’ve just got English and French. Mostly courtesy of my Nan, not school.”

Mycroft shrugged. “Eidetic memory. You can imagine it will be useful in my line of work.”

“How d’you pick?” He sounded genuinely curious. Mycroft loved that he always had some question, something to keep conversation from faltering.

Mycroft made a considering noise. “French when I was quite young. I used to sing lullabies in it to Sherlock. So naturally, Sherlock then grew up speaking both. Once he was old enough for language lessons, he chose Spanish and I learned it with him. We were closer when he was young.”

**

“Then?” Greg left it open-ended deliberately, leaving Mycroft space to talk about his brother or languages.

“I briefly picked up Latin, on some pretentious notion the classics were best enjoyed in the original language. A touch of Greek as well, for the same reason. Neither of those are anything like fluent, though.”

Greg grinned, imagining a tiny, imperious Mycroft ordering some hapless tutor to get him books in Latin. “How old were you when you did that?”

“Oh. Thirteen. Of course, then my uncle had a word about what sorts of things would be useful if I were planning to go into intelligence. I refocused on Arabic after that. Russian when I was sixteen. I’m working on Mandarin now.”

Greg blinked. He had known his soulmate was smarter than him, but he hadn’t really put together what that meant in practice. “You’re picking up a new language every two years.”

**

Mycroft thought better of raising his head. He didn’t like the trepidation coming through the bond at all. Looking his soulmate in the eye wouldn’t help. “I suppose I am,” he said, trying for light. This was always going to happen: the moment his soulmate realized how Mycroft’s brain worked. It was best not to sugarcoat. “Alongside statistics, international politics, law… there’s quite a lot to work on.”

“Bet there’s things you’re terrible at,” Greg said. His uncertainty had shrunk under a wave of fondness.

Mycroft let out a quiet sigh of relief. “My cooking is dire,” he said, “there were several embarrassing incidences when I first moved out where I was so used to money being taken care of that I quite forgot my wallet, and I struggle to socialize on anything but a superficial level. To name a few.”

Greg laughed. It was gentle. Kind. “Don’t worry, posh boy.” He kissed the top of Mycroft’s head. Mycroft blinked. “I’ll cook for us. Teach you a few things, if you want.”

Mycroft smiled. “I exploded an egg. And caught a microwave on fire.”

Greg laughed harder. “Christ. Okay. No cooking for you.” Then, because he seemed to have a hook straight into Mycroft’s soul, he squeezed him for a second. “Sorry I got weird about how smart you are. Don’t want you to feel like you have to hide.”

“Everyone is good at something,” Mycroft said. It was an oft-repeated lesson in his childhood. He kept the second half (but you should be the best) strictly internal.

**

Greg bit his lip against another laugh. “That was deeply unconvincing,” he said.

Mycroft tilted his head to look up at him. “What? But I- ah.” He made a wry face. “Apologies. I appear to have borrowed my tutor’s intonation.”

“Mm.” Greg ran a hand down Mycroft’s side, a quiet reassurance. “So you’re learning Mandarin and international politics. You’ll be done, what, summer after next?” He’d have to move. Oxford wouldn’t be great for his career but he couldn’t stay away from Mycroft for that long. He’d lose his mind.

“Ah.” Mycroft squirmed. “Not quite. I tested out of several freshman classes, and I, well. I am on a somewhat accelerated track. I anticipate finishing my undergraduate degree this winter, and my graduate degree by the spring after next if I work through the summer.”

Greg felt his eyebrows go up. “That’s fast.” He stared at the ceiling, calculating. “Doctorate?”

“Mm.” Mycroft shrugged. “I think not. It is unlikely to be necessary.”

“Huh.” A year and a half. Might not make that much difference in the long run. “I’ll transfer as soon as I can.”

**

Mycroft closed his eyes against a wave of relief and gratitude. Having Gregory only on weekends would have been terrible. “Thank you. I would think I’ll be based in London after that.”

“You said- intelligence. Secret service stuff, MI5?”

“Yes, something like that,” Mycroft agreed. Of course, Uncle Rudy was grooming him to go higher than MI5.

“Dangerous, I reckon.”

Mycroft tried his hand at soothing. “For a short while. That is, I imagine there will be an unpleasant period of field work but I am more valuable in an analyst role. By the time I am a target, I should think I will have security of my own.”

“Headed for the top, are we?” Gregory’s voice was warm with approval and a hint of laughter.

Mycroft hid a smile. “I rather doubt I will be replacing Her Majesty.”

**

Greg cracked up. His soulmate had a dry sense of humor that came out of nowhere. It kept taking him by surprise.

“Alright then, Mr. Spy. How do we keep me quiet?”

Mycroft pulled back to look at him. “We won’t be able to, not entirely. There are surely measures in place once I am advanced enough. For now, we keep confusing the trail. You wait a few weeks to report a change in status at work. I move off campus. We are careful about who we tell, and most especially about who knows our bond is romantic.”

“That all sounds sensible.” He hesitated, stirring restlessly. “How careful are we talking here? I don’t think I could lie to Rachel. And my friends- well, a few of them at least are close enough friends that I could say “platonic” until I was blue in the face and they’d see through that.”

“Ah.” Mycroft’s gaze went distant as he thought. “Your sister, certainly. Sherlock will deduce it as well. I do not mind being introduced as your soulmate to close friends, though I think some amount of “platonic if anyone asks” would be wise.”

Greg’s heart squeezed. No mention of Mycroft having friends again. He’d have to see about changing that. “Alright. You know best.”

Mycroft smiled, hesitant and sweet. “Thank you.”

**

“So, moving off campus?”

Mycroft took a deep breath. This would surely be easier to discuss. “Sneaking you in a few times is one thing. Having you live in my dorm room would be quite another.”

Gregory grinned, mischief lighting his face. “I’d be quiet as a mouse. New disguise every day.”

Mycroft shook his head at that bit of ridiculousness. “Yes, I am sure it will less suspicious if I am sneaking a new man into my room daily.”

“Where are you thinking to live, then?”

The realities of Gregory’s apartment suddenly clashed with his daydreams. “I had perhaps not fully thought it through,” he said, testing.

Gregory propped himself up on one elbow. “Yeah, I’m guessing you can afford something a lot more posh than me. I’d rather not live somewhere everyone assumed I’m being kept.”

Mycroft frowned. “What would you suggest?”

**

Greg’s stomach churned. He bloody hated money talk. “Somewhere I can afford half the rent?”

“I-” Mycroft worried his lower lip. “I’m afraid I don’t have any way to judge that.”

Greg really didn’t want to name a salary. “Splitting it, we’d be able to afford somewhere a bit nicer than this. Though- did you notice anything on your way in?”

“I’m afraid I was a touch distracted.”

Greg gave him an appreciative peck. Mycroft startled and blushed. Greg fought off the impulse to let himself be distracted. “This is a queer neighborhood. No one’s going to look twice at two men together, and people aren’t likely to answer questions about it either.”

Mycroft blinked rapidly. “I suppose I hadn’t considered a community that would be discreet. I have always assumed no one knowing was best.”

That was sad. Greg reeled Mycroft in for another kiss. “Can’t go through life an island. Got to trust somewhere.”

Mycroft kissed him back. “I trust you.”

**

Talk of trust led to a lengthy interlude of kissing. Gregory took his time, kissing Mycroft unhurriedly and deeply. Mycroft melted under the attention. The afternoon took on a dreamlike haze. Mycroft's lips felt hot and swollen by the time they levered themselves out of bed for lunch.

He was almost surprised when they moved afterward to the couch instead of back to bed.

Gregory led again. Conversation meandered over his work, Mycroft’s favorite class (guiltily, classic literature), their shared sense of duty to protect others and salty skepticism over who got excluded from that protection.

They spoke of dream vacations, foods they would like to try and those they already favored, childhood escapades and the trials of being the eldest. They spent awhile talking about their siblings, both fiercely proud of what they had accomplished. They had high hopes for their futures.

They lingered over attraction.

“I was, oh, eight or so,” Mycroft said, “and there was this boy in my class. He was athletic. Extroverted. Always at the center of a group, laughing and sparkling. I wanted to be his friend. Badly.”

Greg’s hand rubbed down his spine. “Thought he hung the moon, huh?”

Mycroft huffed, mostly at himself. “Yes. Rather. I didn’t realize...well. There was a party. I was not invited. He kissed a girl on a dare. It was all over school the next day. I was crushed.”

**

Greg nuzzled Mycroft’s shoulder. “Poor love.” He could just imagine it, a baby Mycroft with feelings too big for his body. “Took me a bit longer to figure myself out. I mean, plenty of crushes on girls growing up. Was maybe, mm, thirteen or so? That summer was hotter than usual. I fell in with a bunch of lads, we’d go chasing around on our bikes and take over the local pool. Lots of shirtless hooligans.” He smiled, the memory gentle now. He echoed his soulmate deliberately. “There was this boy. Quieter than the rest of us. Sweet. Smart. Don’t know what he was doing with us, to be honest. I wanted to kiss him.”

Mycroft shifted in his arms. “Did you?”

Greg laughed. “Christ, no. In the 80’s? Didn’t know “fag” was something you could be on purpose.” He traced back up Mycroft’s back. “Started going to shows when I was sixteen. Little bit of everything at first. Then got real into punk. Alternative, you know? People didn’t care as much there.”

“There were gay people there?”

“Mm.” Greg smiled, remembering. “Stumbled over two guys kissing. Just froze with my mouth hanging open. They told me to piss off.” He shook his head. “So I did, gave them my best “no trouble here” look and backed up. But I was keeping an eye out after that. Started seeing it everywhere.”

**

Mycroft listened quietly, head cushioned on Greg. “That sounds rather nice. A community.” It was nothing like his isolated upbringing.

“Don’t know I’d call it that, exactly. But yeah, other people. A few casual friends. I had my first kiss at shows. One of each. What about you?”

“I-” Mycroft sighed. “An entirely failed attempt to convince myself I wasn’t homosexual when I was fourteen. I dated a girl for two months. I told her at the outset that I was a romantist. She assured me she was as well. We kissed.”

Gregory’s arm tightened around him. “I’m sorry you felt like you had to do that, sweetheart.”

Mycroft shrugged. “It is not an uncommon experience.” He should tell Gregory. Have it all out in the open. “There was also a boy. The summer I turned sixteen. We did not- date, par say. But we did kiss several times. Things became, ah, somewhat heated. I put a stop to it. I was not particularly ready for anything to proceed past that.”

He glanced up, uncertain what he would see on Gregory's face. There was nothing there but warmth and kindness. He drew a deep breath.

“You said- that you had ah. When you were twenty.”

**

Greg bit his lip. “Yeah. I- like I said, I wasn’t in a good place. I’d been getting edgier the whole time I was nineteen, and when I turned twenty it was like I just snapped.”

Mycroft was still against him.

“I moved. Away from everyone. I know, it’s the opposite of what you’re supposed to do. No support system and all that. But I couldn’t stand for anyone to know anymore.” He swallowed. “I started drinking too much. Then drugs. Tried a couple things. Didn’t want to feel. Throwing myself into the mosh pit, coming home bruised black and blue at two in the morning.”

He could feel his soulmate’s gentle distress through the bond. “And then, one time, I was drunk and high and found myself grinding against some bloke I’d never met before. Waiting for someone to stop us, ready to fight. And instead we- he dragged me off to some corner and got his hand down my jeans. It felt good. First thing I could remember really feeling good for awhile. It happened a couple of times. Different bloke each time. One guy put me on my knees.” He smiled wryly at the memories. “It was never-” He blew out a breath. “It wasn’t romantic.”

**

Mycroft’s heart was in his throat. He hadn’t known what to expect from hearing about Gregory’s previous sexual exploits. He thought he might be a touch jealous, that there would be some easy tale of Greg’s friendliness leading into something more. Not this. “I’m glad something felt good to you, love. Something else changed?”

Greg’s shoulders relaxed. “Yeah. Thank god for Vi.”

“Your friend?” Mycroft tilted his head, curious. “What happened?”

Greg laughed, lighter than he had been moments ago. He shifted in Mycroft’s arms, settling. “So, this is pretty much all from Vi, ‘cause I don’t remember it. There’s another show, I’m getting pinned to the wall by some guy with his tongue down my throat. Only this time, turns out the guy in question had come to the show with Vi. As a date.”

Mycroft blinked. He could not see how this would be amusing. “Oh?”

“Yeah, “oh.” She comes looking and is really not impressed when she finds him. And in the middle of telling him off, she realizes I’m way too impaired to be consenting. She drags him off me by the ear, then basically tucks me under her wing and gets us out of there. Took me home.” His voice is deeply fond. “I woke up in this strange woman’s guest bed, no idea where I am or how I got there. She reads me one hell of a lecture on taking care of myself. Fed me breakfast.”

Mycroft does not know what to make of all this. “Good?”

**

Greg nosed at Mycroft’s chin. He could feel Mycroft hovering on the edge of worry. “Yep. That’s when things started to turn around for me.” It really was a bunch of good memories. He needed Mycroft to know it all turned out fine. “Vi’d show up at shows, keep an eye out. Told me there was nothing wrong with any of it- getting drunk or high or getting off with whoever- but that I should have people to back me up if something went wrong.”

Greg thought for a minute, trying to figure out how to make it all make sense. “She pulled me into her group of misfits, gave me friends. Gave me choices. Helped me feel like I mattered again.” He was quiet, playing with Mycroft’s fingers. “It’s different, when it’s a choice. Turns out I’m not really into the drugs or drinking. Don’t like not being in control of my actions.” He took a deep breath. “Vi and I made out twice, when I was sober. Decided we were better as friends. I was trying to figure out how the hell to go from quickies at shows to maybe dating someone or something when you showed up.”

He raised his head and kissed Mycroft softly. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Mycroft kissed him back carefully, tenderly. “I’m here, love. Thank you for sharing all that.”

Greg shivered. “Like when you call me that.”

**

Mycroft’s heart sang. “Love.” He kissed Gregory again. “My love.”

Gregory went pliant against him, mouth opening for Mycroft’s tongue. Mycroft kissed him deeply. He cradled Gregory’s jaw in one hand. With a shocked little thrill, he realized his weight meant he was bigger than Gregory. Broader. That he could take all of him, surround him. He moaned. Gregory gasped in response.

Feeling bold, Mycroft said, “Tell me something else that you like.”

Gregory hummed. “You.” He raised his head enough to meet Mycroft’s eyes. “Play a game with me?”

That soft note of shyness made Mycroft want to do terrible things. “What sort of game?”

Greg nuzzled his cheek. “Three things. Three things we haven’t done yet that you want to. Trade off.”

Mycroft hummed, mind racing. Visions of a variety of depraved acts immediately rushed him. He flushed. “Go on.”

**

Greg huffed. “Guess I walked right into that, didn’t I? I’m going first?” He thought. He had plenty of ideas. The problem was narrowing it down. Something not too crazy first. “I’d like to take a bath together. Soap up and get my hands all over you. Relax.”

“We shall have to ensure wherever we move has one,” Mycroft said. Everything felt soft and open. “I should like to give you a massage,” he said. “I do not know entirely what I am doing, but…”

Greg grinned. “One with a happy ending?”

Mycroft’s hand stilled, then resumed its lazy stroking. “I suppose that could be arranged.”

Greg bit his lip. He was getting turned on thinking about it. Not that it took much when it came to Mycroft. “I’d maybe- like to wait. Uh, I mean.” Mycroft didn’t rush him. “T-to get you off, please you, and wait myself.” He swallowed, cock twitching. “Wait until you’re ready again.”

Mycroft’s nails scratched carefully at his lower back. “What a fascinating thought.”

**

Gregory had put forward something vulnerable. Mycroft ought to match that. “I want you to fuck me.” He wasn’t sure he had ever thought such a thing, much less said it aloud.

Gregory shivered. “Y-yeah? I definitely want to.” He squirmed against Mycroft. Mycroft hid a smile in his hair. “I haven’t, before. Might need to work up to it a bit. Is that okay?”

“Naturally,” Mycroft soothed. “We shall wait until we are both comfortable for any of this.”

Greg pulled back to look at him. “Actually, can that be my third thing? Fingers. I want to finger you.”

Mycroft felt a low pulse of arousal thrum through him. The thought of Gregory’s rough, thick fingers toying with his sensitive entrance was electric. “I am entirely amenable.”

Greg’s fondness curled around him through the bond. “I love the way you talk.”

Mycroft let his lips quirk and his gaze go heavy-lidded. “I want to suck your cock.”

**

Greg’s brain went staticky. “Hng. Fuck.” Hearing that posh voice say dirty things was going to be his undoing. He shifted, suddenly halfway to hard in his jeans.

“Yes?”

Greg nodded like his head was on a string.

Mycroft smirked. It was unbearably attractive. “No working up required?”

Greg’s blood was rapidly relocating, clued in by the way Mycroft was flexing his hands on Greg’s hips, pulling him into a gentle rhythm. “N-no. No working up.” Though he was worked up. Fuck.

“So what you’re saying,” Mycroft said, hands pushing up under Greg’s shirt. Greg struggled out of it. “Is that I could suck your cock, right now.”

Greg choked.

**

Mycroft leaned in for a kiss. The sound his soulmate made was entirely gratifying. He let Gregory divest him of his top before pushing up. He maneuvered them so that Gregory was sitting.

“Would you like that, love?” Mycroft skated a hand down Greg’s chest, pleased to find him nicely hard. He massaged his length through his jeans. “For me to suck your cock?”

Greg bucked into his touch, eyes wild, apparently beyond words. Mycroft let up a moment. He licked his lips, holding Greg’s eyes. “Yes?”

“Yeah, yes, fuck, Mycroft-”

Mycroft cut him off with another hungry kiss. It was easy, then, to kiss down Gregory’s chest. He licked at the furred skin. His hands worked Greg’s fly open. Gregory lifted his hips eagerly, letting Mycroft take his denim down and off. He braced his hands on Gregory’s thighs and knelt, settling himself between Gregory’s legs.

Mycroft took a moment just to look. The simple cotton of his y-fronts was distended, cock pushing heavily forward. It was quite an image. He leaned in, kissing his way up Gregory’s thigh, nuzzling his cheek against his straining cock. He looked up at his soulmate. “Any tips?”

**

Greg let his lip go. He sucked in a breath. He couldn't think. Mycroft’s mouth was right there. “T-tips?” He scrambled for something. “No teeth. Don’t- don’t gag yourself.” He let out a shaky sigh. “Not a lot you can do wrong, sweetheart.”

Mycroft smiled. “No?” He lipped open-mouthed at Greg’s cock through his pants. After a few seconds where Greg tried desperately to stay still, Mycroft continued. “Well, if you’re certain.”

Before Greg could answer, he extended his tongue and licked over the head of Greg’s cock. A groan tore form Greg’s throat, deepening in pitch halfway through as Mycroft licked again. Then he went to town, licking and sucking until the fabric of Greg’s pants was soaked through. He couldn’t tell if he wanted them off or for Mycroft to keep on like this forever.

Thank god Mycroft was in charge. Apparently satisfied with his work, he pulled Greg’s pants down past his knees. Greg’s cock pulsed in relief, curving up toward his belly. Mycroft licked up him, root to tip. It felt incendiary, like he hadn’t come for days instead of hours. Mycroft hummed. He held Greg in place with one hand and tongued at his head. He lapped at Greg’s slit, then swirled around before his clever tongue curled into the sensitive spot just behind his head. Greg cried out.

Smiling, holding eye contact the whole time, Mycroft opened his mouth and sank down on Greg’s cock. His hand stayed tight just below his lips. His mouth was a furnace, wet and hot, and oh god. Oh god. He wasn’t going to last, this was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him.

He tried to convey this with an urgent whimper. Mycroft moved his hand and his mouth together. He sucked, cheeks hollowing, and jacked Greg into his mouth. Greg took a desperate grip on the couch. He heard himself, distantly babbling praise and swearing and making noises. Mycroft made a quiet sound around him, tongue insistent. Precome, that’s what- oh fuck, Mycroft was tasting him. Was getting off on it. Even through the crushing pressure of his impending orgasm, there was no mistaking the feel of Mycroft’s desire.

“Close,” Greg panted.

Mycroft made another noise, louder, more deliberate. Moaning around him.

“Fuck, fu- coming!” Greg shouted, and then he was coming, pulsing with it, shaking in its grip. Mycroft swallowed him down.

**

Performing oral sex had been both easier and more exciting than Mycroft anticipated. He wasn’t sure about the taste of come, but did not mind it much when taking Gregory’s response into account. Before Mycroft could wonder too much about performance, Gregory pulled him up.

“Come here,” Greg said. He was still panting hard, sex-flushed and biteable. He tipped sideways, urging Mycroft close to lie against him. “That was-”

Greg cut himself off with a kiss. A moment later, his hand wriggled between them to take hold of Mycroft’s cock. Mycroft gasped and moaned into Gregory’s mouth. Gregory kissed like he wanted to track down every last bit of himself in Mycroft’s mouth.

It took achingly little time to tip Mycroft past the point on no return.

“That’s it, darlin’, let me feel you.” His hand tightened perfectly on Mycroft’s cock. Mycroft came, arching and clinging.

“Perfect,” Greg sighed into his ear. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

Chapter Text

Families used to host “third-day picnics” to introduce new soulmates to everyone. This practice diminished in popularity over the course of the 19th century, and by the mid-20th century had almost entirely disappeared in the Western world due to the invention and widespread use of telephones. (Margot Adler & Jessica Finch. “The Impact of Technology on Soulmates.” In Modern Day Soulmates, edited by Edward Kelly. University of Chicago Press, 1992.)

7 October, 1993

On the third afternoon of their seclusion, as was traditional, they broke it by contacting their families.

Well. Somewhat traditionally. These days, a phone call during dinner, where the phone could be passed from family member to family member in congratulations, would have been considered appropriate. Without much conversation, he and Gregory had decided to bypass that particular hurdle for some time in the future.

Sherlock would likely be alone at this time of day.

Manfred, their butler, answered the phone. There was a telling pause when Mycroft asked to speak with his brother that warned Mycroft that Sherlock might not be easily found. He settled in to wait, leaning back against Gregory.

When the phone was finally picked up again, Mycroft tried to keep his voice neutral. “Sherlock?”

There was a suspicious pause. “Mycroft.”

Mycroft’s lips twitched. “Father? Mummy?”

“Father’s at work, as you know perfectly well. Mummy is resting. You usually call on Wednesdays.”

Mycroft fought back a smile, sure it would be audible to Sherlock. “Mm. Perhaps something has come up.”

“Something you don’t wish to speak about to- oh. You found him.”

Mycroft made one last try at throwing Sherlock off. “Found who? I’ve simply been ill.”

Sherlock laughed. “You did! You found your soulmate! Tell me.”

Greg, chin hooked over Mycroft’s shoulder, laughed. “Alright, yeah, that was pretty impressive.”

Mycroft lost the battle with his smile. He could all but feel Sherlock vibrating, winding up to deduce at speed. “Shall I let you interrogate him directly?”

Greg took the phone. “Hi! I’m your soub, it’s nice to meet you.”

“This is your third day of seclusion,” Sherlock began, “and since Mycroft’s birthday is in June, yours must be more recent. Late September- I didn’t notice any change in behavior while he was home.” That was fairly basic. Sherlock was just getting started. “You’re romantic soulmates, obviously; avoiding speaking to parents until some later date. You’re out to your parents, but there is some resistance there. Likely bisexual. Working class family, no university education. You have at least one younger sibling yourself.” Mycroft could feel Greg’s eyebrows creeping higher. “You’re several years older than Mycroft. Did you think you didn’t have a soulmate?”

Greg hesitated.

“Yes, then,” Sherlock continued. “You reacted poorly. Romantist, like most of the population. Boring. Some conduct you’re ashamed of after you turned twenty. Drugs, perhaps. Fighting. Other sexual partners.”

Greg tensed. Mycroft reached a soothing hand back to him. “Sherlock,” he warned.

Sherlock sighed. “Oh, fine. Started a career after what you think of as your rough patch. Something with an irregular schedule, where you are expected to work weekends. Firefighter? No, police.”

“Wow,” Greg said.

Sherlock snorted. “Am I being trotted out like a show dog?” He raised his voice slightly. “I know you can still hear me, Mycroft. I can hear you breathing.”

“Nah, kid. Mycroft just wanted you to show off. He’s crazy proud of you.”

There was a long pause. Mycroft blushed. “I’m not a kid.”

“Hmm,” Greg said. “Right. All grown up at twelve, is it?” He squeezed Mycroft gently. “I’ve got a younger sister, like you said. I’ve heard that one before.”

Sherlock sniffed. “I’m done with you now. Give me back to my brother.”

Laughing, Greg did.

**

Listening to Mycroft talk to Sherlock was another revelation. He got the feeling that speaking about their feelings was something they didn’t do. Good thing he was here now. Greg had no issues with nudging that particular upper class notion out of their way.

Mycroft listened with quiet patience as his younger brother rambled through talking of his classes, attempted to breeze past a bully, whinged about boredom, and generally sounded like a genius kid. Mycroft inserted the occasional question, his voice warm and gently impressed at his brother's progress. He was sympathetic without being overbearing about the teasing, though Greg could feel his worry. Mycroft made several suggestions. He presented them with a deft, “You have already considered a number of options, and some of these may overlap, however…”

He was, in other words, clearly a great older brother. Greg couldn’t stop grinning dopily at him. Mycroft finally extracted himself with promises to resume his usual schedule of phone calls the following week.

“You’re not wrong,” Greg said. “Smart kid. Absolutely no sense of what not to say. We’ll have to work on that.”

Mycroft sighed and relaxed back against him. “It’s likely half the problem with bullies.”

Greg made an amused sound. “Prolly shouldn’t be encouraging you to teach him how to blackmail someone, but…”

Mycroft laughed. “Indeed. If they feared he would reveal something embarrassing and had some faith he would keep it to himself otherwise, that might handily do the trick.”

“Mm.” Greg cuddled for a little longer in silence. Having Mycroft in his arms made him glow with happiness. “Guess it’s my turn now, eh?”

**

Rachel was absolutely charming. She greeted Greg with a pleased, “Greg! What’s up?” that was a great deal warmer than most teenagers recently moved out would bother with on the phone to an older brother.

“Hey squirt,” Greg said, “got some news.”

“Yeah? Work news or soulmate news?”

Mycroft smiled against Greg’s shoulder. He could feel Greg’s quivering excitement. “Soulmate news,” he said. “Uh, pretty big soulmate news, actually.”

“Omigod,” Rachel breathed, “omigod, Greg, did-”

“He found me.” Rachel screamed her full-throated delight. Greg pulled the phone away from his ear, laughing and wincing. Rachel started shouting into it, loud and joyful. Greg put the phone back against his ear. “Right, yes, right, Rach- Rach. Squirt! Let me get a word in.”

Rachel did not let Gregory get a word in. Instead, her volume decreased enough for Mycroft to lean curiously close again, but her words sped up. He only caught the tail end. “-want to talk to him.”

Greg cleared his throat. His smile was so wide Mycroft’s heart skipped a beat. “Here, then.”

Mycroft took the phone carefully. “Hello.”

**

Listening to Mycroft and Rachel talk made Greg’s heart ache. It had been hard to tell when it was just the two of them, but Greg could see like this that Mycroft was genuinely a bit shy. He knew all the socially polite things to say. Rachel wasn’t letting him go at that, though.

Thank god Rachel was the same brand of extrovert Greg was. She caught on to Mycroft’s nerves quickly and set out to soothe. Greg rubbed a gentle pattern on his back. He did his best to project that Mycroft was doing just fine.

Mycroft brushed past Sherlock, but Rachel caught him on classic literature and drew out more heartfelt opinions. She was a smart cookie, aced her A-levels and just starting uni herself. She asked about Mycroft’s favorites, then seamlessly coaxed him into revealing why they were his favorites. It turned out that what Greg had missed in this line of questioning was that Mycroft had a soft spot for Victorian age romances.

“Of course you’re a romantic. I know how mushy my brother is. Speaking of where is Greg?”

Mycroft turned his head to smile into Greg’s eyes from an inch away. “Right here.”

“When you say “right here...”,” Rachel asked.

Mycroft blushed faintly. “There, ah, may possibly be a bit of a cuddle happening.”

Rachel laughed. “Cute. Oy, Greg, shoo out of earshot a minute, huh? I’m going to arm your boy with embarrassing little sister facts.”

Greg laughed in response. He pressed a soft kiss to Mycroft’s temple and got up to make tea.

**

“Is he gone?” Rachel asked.

Mycroft smiled after Greg’s retreating back. “Yes.”

“Right.” Rachel blew out a breath. “Listen, I don’t know how much the two of you have talked about the last few years. But- he’s doing better, right?”

Mycroft’s heart tripped. Greg’s sister loved him so transparently. “We’ve talked about it. Yes, I promise, he’s doing much better. He was already doing better when I got here.” He hesitated. Bond details were not generally widely shared. And it would be important, later, that his bond details were particularly private. But surely, for Rachel’s sake, it made sense to share some. “I will know, in the future, if something starts to go wrong.”

“Oh thank god,” Rachel said. “I- he-” She took a shaky breath. “He scared the shite out of me. I can’t even begin to tell you how glad I am you’ve met.”

Mycroft’s hand tightened on the phone. Greg had likely glossed the worst of it over, then. “I’m here,” he said. “I will do my very best to make sure nothing happens to him.”

“Right. Right.” With audible effort, Rachel shifted gears. “I’ve got loads of embarrassing stories about Greg that I absolutely will share sometimes. But right now, the thing you really should know is that Greg is just about the most romantic person I know. I’m talking, you should brace yourself for him to show up with flowers just because, and he will melt into a puddle if you arrange a candlelit dinner. He had his wedding all planned out as a kid. Any over the top romantic gesture you can think of, I guarantee he wants to make it and wants you to make it too.”

Mycroft felt a soft smile taking over his face. Greg emerged from the kitchen and went still. “Erm.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft said to Rachel, “that’s enormously helpful.”

“Greg back?”

“Yes.”

“You can hand me back over, then. Lovely meeting you, look forward to talking again soon.”

Wordlessly, Mycroft held the phone out.

Chapter Text

In the 1980’s, 4 in 5 people with same-sex romantic bonds lied to their families about either the sex or nature of their bond. Of those who spoke candidly, fully a third were kicked out of home or cut off from further family contact. (Johnson, Hector. “Contemporary Attitudes in Same-Sex Bonds.” Journal of Soulmate Social Studies, 3 September 1991.)

7 October, 1993

The phone calls to their siblings had gone so well it had left them both a bit high. At least Greg felt high from the relief. Whether it was that or something else, Mycroft had gone extra sweet on him in the aftermath. It was all soft touches and long eye contact. Every time Greg thought it had settled and he’d found his balance, Mycroft would say something like, “I adore you,” out of the blue. It knocked Greg’s knees out from under him every time.

By the time they were finished with supper, Greg felt like melted caramel, gooey and sweet. Mycroft didn’t hesitate to tug him to bed.

“I was wondering,” he said, pausing to kiss Greg softly, “if you’d like to try fingering me tonight?”

Greg shivered. “Yeah? I’ve never, uh-”

Mycroft kissed him again. Languid, reassuring. “We’ll go slow.” His eyes were heavy-lidded, a curl of heat snaking between them. “I’ll show you how. I’ve been doing this since I was, oh, fifteen or so.”

Greg’s pulse skipped. “Fingering yourself?”

Mycroft smiled. It was confident and sexy. He was visibly recalling good memories. “Mmm.”

Christ. That was an image.

**

Rachel had been entirely right. Every romantic thing Mycroft could think to say had made Gregory go big-eyed and pliant. It was desperately appealing. He was already planning more ventures. In the meantime, he intended to take thorough advantage of Gregory’s agreeable state.

His soulmate had been the one to bring it up, in their flirtatious exchange of ideas. Having already checked off one of Mycroft’s desires, it only seemed fair to attend to one of Greg’s. Not that he needed to justify anything. Not with the way Greg was looking at him. Pupils rapidly widening, lips parted, like Mycroft touching himself was the best news he had ever heard.

“That’s,” Greg said. “Hn.”

Mycroft let his smile grow. He closed the last inch of space between them and kissed Gregory again. He eased his hands under Greg’s shirt. They kissed as hands stroked warm skin. Mycroft divested Gregory of his shirt. “Undress me,” he murmured.

His soulmate’s hands were shaking as they opened Mycroft’s buttons. Mycroft soothed him with soft touches and warm kisses. Once his top had been flung somewhere, Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft and clung.

Mycroft held him for long moments before he stepped back. He stepped out of his trousers and pants. Wordlessly, he stripped his soulmate as well. “Come to bed, love.”

**

Greg wasn’t sure why this particular act was making him so clingy. Anyone would think it was his arsehole up on offer. Instead, it was Mycroft cradling him close, whispering tenderly and petting him so gently he thought he could cry.

Maybe it wasn’t the sex part that was doing him in.

In any case, it was Mycroft who got them naked and tugged him into bed. He fetched a towel and crawled in after Greg. The bed was a bit of a mess by this point in things. They’d gone through all his extra sheets. Greg had washed one in the sink and hung it to dry. The blankets were a nest at the foot of the bed and tipping onto the floor.

Mycroft arranged them on their sides, facing each other. He threw one leg over Greg’s hip. For long minutes, it didn’t get much sexier than that. Just trading kisses back and forth. Mycroft stroked his cheek, his neck, down his arm. Greg made a soft sound into his mouth.

Mycroft nibbled his lip, the kiss growing a bit more interested. Greg relaxed. He caressed over Mycroft’s back. He flirted with the line of Mycroft’s jaw and brushed at the mark he’d left over the sensitive spot on his soulmate’s neck. Mycroft gasped in response.

**

It took awhile for Greg to settle. Mycroft was patient with it. Once Greg became involved, Mycroft nipped at his ear. “I must admit,” he breathed, “every time I’ve done this since my birthday, I have been thinking of you.” Greg’s breath hitched. Mycroft smiled where he couldn’t see. “I’m quite sensitive there, and I imagine your touch will feel exquisite.”

Mycroft tightened the grip of his top leg and rolled his hips lazily forward. He was getting turned on thinking about it. He wanted Greg to be in no doubt about that. Greg’s hand stroked down his side to his hip. Then, encouraged by Mycroft’s hum of pleasure, he got a grip on Mycroft’s arse. He cupped the meat of his arse, kneading. Mycroft practically purred. Oh, yes. That felt lovely. He could feel the flutter of his soulmate’s nerves as he inched his fingers inward. He paused just shy of where Mycroft needed him.

“Please,” Mycroft breathed, voice low and hungry.

Gregory sucked in a sharp breath. His fingers closed the distance. A glancing, dry touch first. His fingers ran curiously up and down the cleft of Mycroft’s arse. He settled the pad of one finger over Mycroft’s clench. He drew a little circle around it, then rubbed over him more firmly. Mycroft made a shivery sound, face pressed into Greg’s shoulder. He wanted to rut back against that finger. He didn’t want to scare Gregory off.

“Here?” Greg asked. His voice had dropped, deepening with arousal. “Christ, you’re really into this.”

**

“Yes,” Mycroft said. Greg could feel him getting hot. Heating up the bond, cock stirring against Greg’s hip. “There.” Greg rocked his finger a bit, just trying things out. Mycroft’s voice skipped. “I- please.”

Right. It was hard to be nervous when Mycroft was like this. It was bloody hot. Mycroft was rocking back against his finger now. He cleared his throat. “Where’d the lube get to, did you see?”

With clear reluctance, Mycroft released him. The both half-sat up, trying to find the tube. They were running low. He’d have to pick up more at the chemist’s before Mycroft came back for the weekend. He got the lid open, twisting toward Mycroft. “I- is that- erm. How should we do this?”

Mycroft looked at him, eyes glittering. “When I am on my own, I usually prefer to be on my knees, arse up. To leave my hands free.” Greg choked on nothing. That was a hell of an image. Mycroft’s scorching look said he knew it. Christ. “However, since you are here, I believe on my back will do quite well.”

Mycroft suited words to action, quickly arranging a towel over a pillow, and shoving both underneath him. He kept his feet flat on the bed. He crooked a finger at Greg. “Come here.”

**

Gregory was still hesitant. The break in skin contact seemed to have allowed for a resurgence of nerves. Mycroft gripped his patience as hard as he could. He drew Greg back into his arms, feeling him rest on his elbows. They kissed deeply. Mycroft drew on the carnal knowledge he had built over the last few days. He tightened one hand to perfection in Greg’s hair, caressing with the other. Then, reminding himself that Gregory liked him bold, he spoke.

“You know, when we’re ready, we can fuck in this position. Face to face. You like being between my legs, don’t you, love?” Mycroft arched, squirming up against Greg. Greg ground down against him, moaning. “I like how you feel there, too.”

He could almost imagine it. Greg’s cock, rubbing against the soft skin of his inner thighs, buried inside him. Greg’s hand crept under his arse. His thumb stroked in, a quick brush of sensation over Mycroft’s hole. Mycroft groaned. Greg shuddered against him, and sat up. He picked the lube back up and squeezed a generous amount over his fingers.

“You’re going to feel so good in me,” Mycroft said.

**

Greg’s cock gave a hopeful twitch. Jesus. Mycroft was going to kill him, saying stuff like that. He got a slick hand down there. The angle seemed odd. Had to turn his hand upside down to get his fingers where he wanted them. Mycroft made a good sound, pleasure thrumming as Greg pressed. He could feel Mycroft’s body responding to him, skin tightening and relaxing rhythmically. It started to feel like his finger was going in every time he rocked it, just a touch.

Greg thought he could have kept doing that for awhile, drunk on the feeling, if Mycroft hadn’t started to get impatient. His hips arched, chasing Greg’s finger.

“Please,” he said. His eyes were wide. He was sex-flushed already. “I want you to. Push. Firm but slow.”

Greg bit his lip. Right. He could do that. His eyes flicked uncertainly from his hand to Mycroft’s face and back. He squeezed Mycroft’s arse with his unlubed hand, holding him open so he could see what he was doing. There. Carefully, he pressed in with his middle finger. He slid in easily up to the first joint.

Mycroft clenched around him and relaxed. He took a deep breath. “More.”

It was more of an order than a plea, and it went straight to Greg’s cock. He pushed again, his finger meeting faint resistance that opened into a smooth heat. Mycroft moaned.

**

God, yes.

Greg’s fingers were bigger than his and felt every bit as delicious as he’d hoped. Greg explored, trying different angles. He pressed deep and slow, then rocked in the restless rhythm Mycroft set. Mycroft panted. He clung to the sheets. Slowly, the craving for more fullness rose in him.

“Another,” he panted, “another finger. Pull out, then both at the same time.”

Gregory, pupils dark, followed Mycroft’s instructions. There was a moment of stretching, followed by the glorious sensation of being finger-fucked. Greg looked as entranced as Mycroft felt. His fingers slid deeper and rolled over Mycroft’s prostate. Mycroft cried out with pleasure.

“Like that?” Greg repeated the motion, eyes hungry. Mycroft bucked and cried out again helplessly. It felt so good, so effortless like this, having Greg work him open. His eyes dropped involuntarily shut. He could hear himself, loud for Greg, unable to stop it. Heat twisted through him. He was so hard, aching with it, he almost thought he could come like this.

“I want, oh lord, fuck, another, one more, please, fuck!”

**

Greg was going to pass out. Just fucking expire from being this turned on. Mycroft wanted another finger, and he couldn’t do anything but give it to him. Mycroft got louder somehow, writhing. He was scorchingly tight around Greg’s fingers.

“Hand,” Mycroft groaned a few moments later, “give me- the lube. And your free hand.”

Greg’s rhythm stuttered. He found the lube next to his knee and passed it up. He rocked his fingers in Mycroft. Mycroft gritted out a groan. He snatched Greg’s free hand, interlacing lube-slick fingers with Greg’s.

“Touch yourself,” Mycroft said. “I want you, ah.” His head dropped back. “To come, mm, while you’re, oh, in me.”

Whimpering, Greg wrapped the hand Mycroft had slicked up around his cock. He groaned, the need he’d been ignoring pounding in his ears. Mycroft rolled his hips. Greg fucked his fist in the same rhythm.

**

“Fuck me,” Mycroft ordered, “like this, yes, perfect, oh-”

His cock slapped against his stomach, matching the pace Greg was driving into him. No more words. He could feel how close Greg was, his trembling need a perfect echo of Mycroft’s. Every stroke in forced a new cry from his lips. They were going to come together, like this.

Heat gathered, shimmering like a mirage, trembling closer and closer. It was agonizing. It was perfect. At last, Mycroft took his cock in hand. Slickness dripped from the head, mixing with lube. He couldn’t take this for long. Greg couldn’t take this for long. The fullness in his arse, the caress over his prostate, the look on his soulmate’s face, his tight grip on his cock, the flame in the bond, they all rolled into one desperate need. Mycroft curled up off the bed and came. Greg was coming too, wet heat splattering his thighs and stomach.

It took a long minute to catch his breath. He’d closed his eyes at some point. He felt utterly limp. Slowly, he registered the fingers still inside him. Ah. Yes. Greg would need some instruction. He forced his eyes open.

His soulmate was looking at him when he opened his eyes. He seemed dazed. Well. That was flattering. Mycroft’s lips quirked. “Withdraw slowly,” he said.

Greg smiled back at him and did. Once he was out, he wiped his fingers on the towel. Mycroft rolled to one side, made a brief attempt at cleaning himself, and threw the towel to the floor. Greg climbed straight into his arms without another word. Mycroft locked his arms around him in relief. The act itself had been exquisite. He was, perhaps, feeling a touch more vulnerable in its wake than he had expected.

**

Greg was achingly glad that Mycroft wanted a cuddle as much as he did. He wasn’t sure he could move any more, now that they were close like this. His brain was blank. Good thing it didn’t seem like he needed it.

His heat bill was going to be astronomical. Still, it was nice not to have to worry about covers. Just lie skin to skin together for awhile. Dreamily, his hand wandered over Mycroft’s back. He gave Mycroft’s arse a fond pat. He didn’t know what made him do it.

Mycroft snorted. Grinning stupidly into Mycroft’s neck, Greg patted him again. Mycroft giggled. Greg started to laugh. In moments, they were both in stitches.

“What-” Mycroft gasped, “what on earth-”

Greg laughed harder. “I don’t know! Good- good job, maybe?”

Mycroft utterly lost it.

**

It took ages to stop laughing. When he’d imagined sex, he had never imagined laughing together in its aftermath. He couldn’t think why not. Flushed with hormones and relaxed seemed a perfect time for laughter.

He kissed Gregory, sweet and lingering. Then he got up to make a more thorough job of cleaning himself. He paused on his feet. Excellent. Yes. He would be able to feel the ache of getting fingered tomorrow. It gave him a little thrill.

He was quick in the bathroom. He stopped in front of the mirror on his way out. It was almost startling. Pink-cheeked and smiling, body language loose, he looked good. He couldn’t look at his stomach, but that had been the case for many years. He couldn’t recall the last time he had thought of himself as more than passable- well-groomed, clean, neat.

If this was the effect a handful of days with his soulmate had, perhaps he would one day be able to see himself as Gregory did. Desirable. Sexy. With a small smile to himself, he turned off the light and went to bed.

Chapter Text

Soulmate rights in the United States drag behind those in other Western countries. In Europe, soulmates are granted an average of one week of seclusion, with Germany leading the pack at a full three week’s paid leave. (Lichtenstein, Dana. “Soulmate’s Rights in the Modern Age.” In 20th Century Soulmates, edited by Carol Marks and Stephen Curran. Pan Macmillan, 1989)

October, 1993

Leaving Mycroft Wednesday morning was torture. All he wanted was to curl back up against his soulmate and stay like that forever.

But he had work.

Even if he’d been open about finding his soulmate, they still would have expected him back after three days of seclusion. He really didn’t think three days were enough. How did people do it? The very thought of coming home and having Mycroft gone was filling him with anxiety.

Mycroft cupped his face and kissed him softly, once. Then again. “It will be alright, love. You’ll see. Call me tonight when you get home, and I shall be here when you get home Friday evening. Soon.”

Greg held out for one more kiss, then left.

**

Mycroft stared at the door his soulmate had just departed through. Perhaps he should- he could stay one more day. Stay in Gregory’s flat, in his arms. Or join him. Who would notice if he ceased coming to classes for a few measly weeks? He was a Holmes. He had more than enough brain power to make it up.

No. This way lay folly. If he did such a thing, there would be questions. Possibly even an investigation. He would draw attention. And that attention would put Gregory in danger.

Taking a slow, measured breath, Mycroft let himself out. The Tube was nearby. He took it in a random direction and got off seven stops later. He hailed a taxi and gave it his hotel’s address. The concierge took no notice as he retrieved his luggage and checked out.

The train ride back to Oxford was interminable.

**

Greg was home all of a minute before he called Mycroft. He struggled out of his uniform one-handed. “Hey gorgeous.”

“Greg.” Mycroft’s voice was warm, a balm to his nerves.

Greg smiled stupidly at the wall. “Miss me?”

“Terribly,” Mycroft said. “I could hardly concentrate in today’s afternoon lecture.” Before Greg could apologize, Mycroft continued, “At least it gave credence to the notion I spent several days unpleasantly ill. The flushing and shifting as well.”

Greg swallowed. “Are you sore?”

“Deliciously,” Mycroft purred. “I am quite certain I have never been so thoroughly exercised.”

Greg shivered. His cock gave a hopeful twitch. He’d become used to that tone preceding good things. He shook his head. “Don’t get me all wound up just yet, darlin’. I want to hear about your day.”

**

Mycroft softened. He stroked the pillow next to him in lieu of the gentle touch he would prefer to be giving Gregory. “It was fine.”

“Mm? Catching up alright?”

Mycroft smiled wryly at his desk, piled with missed assignments. He had used the syllabus to get ahead of the reading on the way down and back, but writing would take some time. He’d sat for a missed quiz already.

“Yes. I shall likely be up late tonight, but I should have it all squared away by the time I see you.”

“Smart boy,” Greg said, teasing gently.

Mycroft blushed. He didn’t know why Greg saying it was so different from everyone else. “And you? How was your day?”

“Eh. Bit of a bollocking from the boss, the lads going on like I’d been gone a month. Made up some graphic details about how sick I’d been to general approval. Nothing I didn’t expect. Called out to a robbery, and then just loads of paperwork. Boring.”

**

“Why would your boss be upset?”

Greg blinked. It’s not that he forgot Mycroft was rich, exactly, but it was mostly a background detail until he said something like this. “Way of the world. Doesn’t matter I’ve got a right to sick days, boss’s got to give me duff about it. Blather on about commitment to the job or some such.”

“Ah.” Greg could hear the trepidation in that syllable. “I hope you are not- in trouble?”

Greg smiled softly. “No, nothing like that. Keep my head down for a few days and it’ll blow over. They’ve got me on shite shifts, not off until 9 some nights. And I was right, they decided sick days counted as enough of a weekend. Not off again until Tuesday.”

“Tuesday,” Mycroft echoed. “We shall have to be somewhat discreet while you are here. I am not precisely barred from having overnight visitors, but neither am I exactly allowed.”

Greg grinned. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse. Could wear a disguise, maybe.”

**

Mycroft’s face crumpled with amusement at the recycled joke. “Gregory.”

“Unless you wanted me loud?”

Mycroft laughed. “Oh, now I am allowed to work you up, hm?”

“Well,” Greg said, voice pitching low.

Mycroft smiled smugly. “Was that a “yes,” love?”

“Yeah.”

Mycroft tossed the pillow aside and sprawled out, determined to learn how to enjoy Gregory this way as well.

Chapter Text

The Soulmate Privacy and Protection Act of 1985 guaranteed that all areas of soulmate status, as well as the contact information for a person’s soulmate, would be protected under law at the workplace and in healthcare settings. Despite this, some 2% of the population lies about some part or all of their soulmate information. (Fulcher, Leslie. “Effects of the Soulmate Act of 1985 on Soulmate Behavior.” Journal of Soulmate Studies 175, no. 3 (1991))

October, 1993

Phone calls Wednesday and Thursday evenings only stoked Greg’s eagerness to get off work Friday. Of course, Fridays being busy for coppers, he was scheduled noon to nine, with a supper break at five. He was vibrating by the time he left.

Vi had invited him out. He’d brushed her off with a lie about wanting to just laze about. He’d have to catch her up soon. Not over the phone, though. And somewhere private, for Mycroft’s sake. It was like some sort of Bond movie, falling in love with a spy.

He tapped his foot on the Tube. For once, he was glad of Londoners general desire to stay out of each other’s business. He didn’t think he could manage random small talk.

What was Mycroft doing right now? Was he studying? He had seemed confident that he would be caught up by tonight. Had he made himself dinner? Taken a nap, all snug in Greg’s bed? His hands were almost shaking by the time he put his key in the lock.

**

Mycroft’s attention kept slipping. It was a good thing he could simply sit in a lecture and expect to retain it all. By the time his last class got out at four, he was alight with nerves. He managed to force himself to pack dinner and stop by the library, checking out several books that would be useful for the research project they had been set. Then he got himself on a train.

He read on the way down to London. Even with a book in his hands, he found himself staring out the window at the passing terrain, uncertain how long he had been doing so. It was somehow worse in Greg’s flat. By the time he arrived, it was gone eight. A little over an hour until they would see each other again.

Mycroft finished his reading and got the rough outline of his planned argument written out. The introduction and first section even had details and notes for which quotations to use. He was quite proud of that, considering he was glancing at the clock every five minutes.

At 9:15, he finally succumbed. He could do no more tonight. There would be plenty of time tomorrow while Greg was at work. He tidied the stacks of papers and books. Hopefully Greg wouldn’t mind a corner of his table being colonized. Mycroft put the kettle on for something to do. He could feel Greg getting closer.

There was the sound of a key in the lock just as he poured out two cups.

**

Greg shut and locked the door behind him, his soul lit up with the sight of Mycroft. Studying. He could see work on the table. He came straight to Mycroft and drew him in.

One warm kiss of welcome spiraled quickly out of control. It sent his head spinning, how fast they went from a kiss hello to Mycroft pinning him to the fridge, their hips rubbing frantically against each other. “Shite, fuck,” Greg gasped.

Mycroft nipped his ear and slid eager hands under Greg’s uniform, stroking up his chest. There was a flicker there, something appreciative about how he looked in his uniform that made Greg want to preen. He got a few of Mycroft’s buttons open before he gave up. He lowered his hand to run a palm over the front of Mycroft’s trousers. Mycroft bucked against the weight with a soft cry. Greg popped his trousers button and got his fly down, sliding his hand into Mycroft’s pants and pulling his cock out.

Mycroft trembled against him for a second. Then he returned the favor, his hand soft and sure on Greg’s cock. It was too dry. They had lube, but the bedroom was impossibly out of reach. Not with Mycroft here, heavy and pulsing hot in his hand. God, right here, up against the fridge, not even the couch. Just here, like an animal, out of control.

Greg let Mycroft’s cock go and licked a wet stripe over his palm before he got back to work.

**

Mycroft didn’t know what had happened. Yes, he had missed Greg, but-

Greg’s grip tightened perfectly, and Mycroft groaned. His trousers were around his knees. He still had his shirt on, for goodness sake. This was not how he had imagined anything going. He bit into the meat of Greg’s shoulder, trying to keep up, fist moving in a jerky rhythm on Greg’s cock.

Greg captured his wrist and pulled gently. “Want you to, first.”

Good lord, why was that so hot? Mycroft let go of Greg’s cock, focusing on his own pleasure. He was leaking now. Greg smeared his thumb through the precome. Mycroft cried out, clinging to Greg’s shoulders. His head went back. Greg tightened his grip on Mycroft’s cock, his other hand squeezing Mycroft’s arse. His mouth dropped to the sensitive spot on Mycroft’s neck, still bruised from their last sex.

“Yeah,” Greg said, “want you. Going to come for me, darlin’? Come on me? Mark me.”

Mycroft shouted. His eyes screwed shut as he came, pulsing a spurt of come and then another.

**

Greg watched Mycroft’s eyes flicker open. They glanced down between their bodies, taking in his come all over Greg’s belly and cock. Greg felt Mycroft’s post-orgasmic languor sharpen into hunger a bare second before Mycroft dropped to his knees.

“Holy-” Greg leaned back against the fridge hard, his knees weakening. Mycroft looked up at him, eyes blazing. He leaned forward, keeping deliberate eye contact, and licked. Steadily, he cleaned the come off Greg’s stomach, then his cock. By the time he was done, Greg was so hard he thought he could faint. He couldn’t say a word, couldn’t make a sound other than a high, desperate whistle in his breath.

Smirking, Mycroft finally sank his lush, gorgeous mouth down on Greg’s cock. Greg felt his jaw hanging open and was helpless to do anything about it. Every ounce of his attention was on locking his knees and feeling Mycroft’s mouth. Mycroft drew back achingly slow, his tongue firm on the vein in Greg’s cock. It was torture. It was glorious. He couldn’t, couldn’t possibly last long, not this turned on.

But he did. Mycroft didn’t let up. He stayed slow, though. Too slow to get much of anywhere. He stilled the involuntary roll of Greg’s hips with firm hands. Mycroft didn’t grasp his cock with his hands. He didn’t try to go deep. The head of Greg’s cock and a bit of the shaft, working his mouth farther in increments until he seemed satisfied. Half, maybe.

It didn’t matter. Watching Mycroft bob between his legs, gaze a hot weight, the lash of need and control and possessiveness in the bond unrelenting, was more than enough. Mycroft kept Greg there, on the shaky edge, for what seemed like ages. He’d never leaked so much precome in his life.

Mycroft waited until Greg was shaking all over, his knees threatening to give despite his best efforts. Then, finally, with a perfect flick of his tongue, he threw Greg over. White hot pleasure crashed through Greg. All his breath left him. Mycroft sucked him through it.

**

Mycroft tried to brace for it, but they still ended up in a pile on the floor. Coming had sapped the last bit of Greg’s strength. He huffed a breath of laughter into Mycroft’s shoulder, then stayed there. He was breathing like a racehorse. Mycroft tried not to be smug and failed. He kissed the top of Gregory’s head.

Finally, Greg stirred in his arms. He kissed Mycroft gently. “Let’s get off the floor, yeah?”

Mycroft let Gregory disentangle himself and give him a hand up. He pulled his pants and trousers up, smirking. Greg’s eyes creased with a helpless smile. “Christ, that was hot.”

Mycroft’s smirk widened into a smile. “Oh, yes.”

Greg shook himself. “Should probably eat something. Keep our energy up.”

“Mm.” Now that he thought on it, he believed he had rather skipped supper. “May I recommend taking your uniform off first? Lest it become unfortunately stained.”

Greg ducked his head. “You, uh.”

Mycroft smiled. He had wondered if that had come through. He reached a caressing hand out to smooth over the breadth of Greg’s shoulders. “I certainly do.”

Greg flexed into his touch. There was the hint of a blush along his cheeks. “Alright.”

**

They undressed together in Greg’s bedroom. Mycroft, to Greg’s delight, had brought a dressing gown and didn’t seem inclined to put more than it on over his pants. It was a distraction over food. A welcome one.

“Can’t believe I’m going to get you like this all the time.”

Mycroft smiled, eyes soft. “Yes. You are still certain you wish to be the one viewing properties? I could handle it more quickly…”

Greg shook his head. “I’ve got more experience with this sort of thing. And it’s not like my transfer paperwork is going to get rushed. Likely to be a month in any case.”

Mycroft shrugged. “As you wish. A month seems both terribly long and quite short.”

Greg reached over and squeezed his hand. “Yeah.”

**

It had only been days since Mycroft had last slept in Gregory’s bed. Somehow, though, it felt like an impossible relief. They made love again that night, then once more in the morning before rising. A long, lazy morning was spent mostly draped over each other, skin to skin.

After his soulmate was off to work, Mycroft settled back to his school work. With his memory, he had no particular need to study for an upcoming test in International Economics III. That meant instead completing the make-up essay he had been set, the last of the work to be done for his recent bout of “illness.” Then he took himself off to the central library branch, where he could turn his Lit Comp notes into a typed essay.

By 4pm, Mycroft was done there. He opted for a meal out and people watching. Inquiries made of both the librarian and his waitress netted him several suggestions for where he might find furniture shops. That was his next stop, considering and discarding several notions. Two shops had branches in Oxford, which would be more convenient. He nevertheless took brochures from each shop back to Greg’s.

A proper conversation with Greg would be needed, of course. However, Mycroft flattered himself to think he could deduce something of his soulmate’s tastes. He had been frankly too distracted by Greg’s presence to think much beyond him. Looking around now-

Well, it was obvious Greg shopped on a budget. Or took in free pieces offered by family or friends. He was clearly solidly blue collar, and likely held that class’s pride. Nothing ostentatious would suit. Mycroft wasn’t given to clocks with embedded gemstones or chairs with inlaid gold lining in any case. Durable, that was the ticket. Pieces that would last.

Even with Greg’s budget, there were flourishes. Lots of pictures of friends and family. Light, airy curtains on the window, and signs he’d removed blinds. A rather striking framed black and white photo of a woman’s back, umbrella outlined against the sky. Closer examination proved it to be one of the women in Greg’s more casual friend photos. A friend who was an artist? That would fit.

A bookcase was crammed full. Woods tended to be lighter. His bedding, towels, and sofa were all various shades of blue. There was a single plant a few feet from the window, but it was thriving. Together, they painted a picture. Mycroft paged thoughtfully through the catalogs, circling several options.

Mycroft was twitchy by the time evening became night. It didn’t help that he could feel Greg was involved in some unpleasantness.

**

Greg wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he finally got home. Saturday night shifts were always shite. He was just glad his ended at nine, and he wasn’t one of the poor suckers working the late night shift this time. He’d been kicked, punched in the side, and vomited on.

Whatever he thought he would open the door to, it was not a second supper waiting for him. Mycroft stood, face falling in sympathy. “Oh love.” He rummaged in the kitchen for a second and came out with a bin bag. “Strip that off and straight into the shower.”

Greg sagged in relief. “Ta.” He set to getting his clothes in the bag. “You know we can’t actually throw this out, right?” Mycroft was posh enough he might not think that.

Mycroft smiled. “I do know. Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

Mycroft kissed him softly and ushered him into the shower. Both felt heavenly. His head emptied. He stepped out as Mycroft slipped into the bathroom. He had Greg’s pajamas draped over one arm. He set them down and held out a towel. Greg let Mycroft dry him without complaint, heart full.

“You’re perfect,” he said.

**

Mycroft smiled fondly, ruffling through Greg’s hair a final time. “You’ve had a difficult day. How convenient that I am here to treat you well.”

It was a bit disconcerting to see Greg so meek. He imagined he would be worrying about Greg coming home in such a state alone until they moved in together. He put it to the side for now.

Tonight was perhaps not the time to discuss furniture choices. Mycroft rather thought Greg ought to be done with choosing for tonight. He helped Greg into soft sleep clothes. Eased him into a chair and brought the take-out he’d ordered an hour ago.

Greg blinked at it, fork in one hand. “Spoiling me,” he said, finally sounding a bit more normal.

Mycroft smiled, pleased. “Oh, no. I haven’t even started spoiling you properly yet.”

Greg blushed. It was spell-binding.

**

Greg’s terrible evening washed away under the power of Mycroft’s care. A hot shower and hot dinner were followed by Mycroft’s hot, wandering hands. “Perhaps I should continue the theme,” Mycroft had teased. “Spoil you.”

And holy shite, Greg had felt spoiled as hell by the time Mycroft was done with him.

He woke feeling fantastic, bruised side not withstanding. He stretched. Mycroft was already up. He could hear quiet sounds coming from the kitchen. He wondered what his self-professed terrible cook of a soulmate was doing in there. Tea maybe.

Greg got up, slipped back into his pants and joggers, and went to join him.

**

Mycroft brushed a gentle good morning kiss across Greg’s lips. “Did you sleep well, love?”

“Mhmm. Toast?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” It was still a bit uncomfortable, eating more than he had trained himself to over the last decade. Still, he could recognize that tea and toast was a perfectly normal breakfast. A light one, even.

Greg blinked gradually more awake as he sipped at the cuppa Mycroft had made him and puttered around making toast and some beans to go with it. By the time they’d finished breakfast and were playing footsie lazily under the table, conversation drifted to the previous day.

“Ah,” Mycroft said, “that reminds me. One moment.” He plucked the catalogs from the top of the pile with his textbooks in it and returned to the table. “I was thinking of furnishing our new apartment, so I wandered through a few places. Tell me what you think?”

Gregory opened the first catalog, pausing over the pieces Mycroft had circled. His lips drew in and his brows down, matching the discomfort coming from the bond. Oh. Had he misread? “You don’t like them.”

**

“I-” Greg looked up at him, then back down. “Mycroft. These are all wildly out of my price range.”

Mycroft frowned gently. “I didn’t mean these exact pieces, necessarily. Just the style.”

Greg gnawed at the inside of his lip. He was pretty sure he didn’t have a style. And it was bloody hard to ignore the prices listed. Who the fuck paid a thousand pounds for a couch? They didn’t need a couch that posh.

Mycroft reached over and laid a hand on his. “Gregory. Among my class, it is understood that one’s soulmate will receive an allowance- money that is for frivolous purposes, not meant to be spent on household needs. My father, for example, spends his on golf and twee waistcoats and rare books.”

Greg tried not to tense at the word “allowance.” Mycroft’s eyes were sharp but his hand was soft.

“I, too, have an allowance. I am expected to live off of it until I take control of my own finances fully, at twenty one. The assumption is that I will be responsible for shared expenses, tuition, and so on. Generally, a soulmate allowance is about a quarter of mine now, and a third of mine once I am twenty one.”

He said a number, then. It made Greg’s brain go a bit fizzy. Mycroft waited him out patiently. “That’s- is that meant to be you or me?”

“You.”

**

Greg swallowed. “That’s more than I make in a month.”

“Mm.” Mycroft smiled sympathetically. “Several times more, I imagine.” He could feel the way Gregory’s defensiveness had come up short in shock. “We won’t be able to register it formally, if we want to keep you a bit of a secret. I would still consider that amount yours, by rights.”

It took another long while before Gregory responded again. Mycroft kept Greg’s hand in his, running fingers gently over Greg’s knuckles. At last, Greg said, “That’s- I can’t-” He took a deep, stuttery breath. He finally met Mycroft’s eyes again. “Mycroft, that’s enough to- I could buy a bloody flat in a few years. I could set my sister up. Pay off dad’s medical bills.” He shook his head. “I don’t- how can you- rare books?” He laughed disbelievingly.

Mycroft squeezed his hand, heart aching. “No, love. Anything that’s not frivolous is mine to take care of. I’ll take care of bills. Of you, and that means your family too. Of course it does.”

Greg’s mouth trembled, and his eyes grew wet. He hid his face in his hand for a moment. Mycroft let his hand go and drew him close, tucking Greg’s face into the crook of his shoulder.

“I just,” Greg said wetly, “I just need. A minute.”

Wordlessly, Mycroft pressed a kiss to his hair.

**

Christ.

Greg knew rich people lived different lives than his. He’d always thought those “soulmate to a prince” type TV dramas were fairy-tales, though. Completely made up. But what Mycroft was describing- just casually swooping in to take care of Greg and his family, no questions, no trouble at all-

They weren’t poor. Not proper poor, not East End poor. Greg had gone to a decent secondary school. They’d never worried about food or anything growing up, always had a few pounds for a movie or a night out with friends.

But there was no denying that Greg was working class. Blue collar, that was him and his family. He was proud of it, of them.

Too proud for a bloody allowance? Greg thought hard.

When he lifted his head up, he met Mycroft’s eyes. “What if I want to give it away?”

**

Mycroft’s heart skipped a beat at the challenging look on Greg’s face, and another at the question. Of course. Of course, the very first thing his lovely soulmate would think to do, given access to wealth, was take care of his family, followed by taking care of others.

His smile was probably smitten. Mycroft didn’t care. “Go right ahead, love.. He couldn’t resist a little smirk. “How very philanthropic of you.”

Greg groaned. “I’m going to make a whopping huge donation to ACT-UP,” he said.

Mycroft laughed. “Scandalous.” He leaned forward and kissed Greg softly. “You are a remarkable man.”

Greg flushed. “Thanks.”

Mycroft rested a hand on his cheek. “If it’s important to you that we live somewhere you can afford half the rent, especially while we’re in Oxford, then that’s what we’ll do. But please, allow me to deal with furnishings. Yes?”

Greg breathed out slowly. “Okay. Yeah.”

Mycroft doubted this would be the last time they needed to work through Greg’s feelings about money, but he let it go for now. There were more pleasurable things to do before Greg had to leave for work again.

**

Greg got home Sunday night to discover his fridge full, cartons of his favorite take-out prominent at the front. The bed had a fancy new quilt on it, with a note from Mycroft on the pillow. I hate to think of you cold, it read. His laundry was miraculously all clean and put away, and he thought from the smell of it that Mycroft had hired someone to do a clean of his flat, too.

It was stupidly expensive. It was also stupidly romantic.

Chapter Text

On bonding, officers may put in for a Soulmate Transfer if their soulmate lives more than seventy-five kilometers away. Transfers will be honored in order of submission. Every attempt will be made to complete a Soulmate Transfer within one month… (Metropolitan Police. (1992). New Employee Handbook)

October-November, 1993

Greg’s weeks started to fall into a pattern. Mycroft would visit, leaving his flat sparkling and his cupboards and fridge full. He would come home to find a bit more of his things packed every time. After his second visit to Oxford, which they had agreed on as the shortest period of time that wouldn’t raise suspicions, Greg filed for a soulmate transfer. They were lucky. Two years earlier, and same sex soulmates wouldn’t have had the same rights.

Greg stayed in their new flat when he visited now. Mycroft had paid some sort of extra fee for a rush, and they had been allowed a mid-month move in date. They bought a bed straight off. It was every bit as comfortable as the one in Mycroft’s dorm, but three times the size. Plenty of room to roll around. The flat had a bit more in the way of furnishings every time Greg went. Curtains. Gleaming bookcases, just waiting to be filled. Soft towels.

They talked on the phone every night they weren’t together. Greg was prompt about clocking off. There was a bit of heckling- he’d been pretty gung-ho before Mycroft- but Greg shrugged it off. He didn’t need to explain a sudden decision to not let work swallow him whole.

He felt guiltier about ducking his friends. He eventually caught up with Vi in person and told her he’d found his soulmate. She was happy for him, though less happy about him moving. Protests that he’d be back in a year didn’t move her. She wanted to meet his soulmate, see for herself what kind of person he was. Greg promised to see what he could do.

~*~

Mycroft’s days started to fall into a pattern. While the flat Greg had chosen was shabbier than anywhere he had lived before, Mycroft determined he could make it work. The first thing was a thorough clean, by a professional. Then furniture- a bed and a kitchen table suited for six, so that they could each host their family in turn. A throw rug covered a stubborn stain on the wooden hallway floor. A mirror in the bedroom made it seem bigger, while also opening delicious possibilities.

He could easily have had someone pack up Greg’s flat for him, but he seemed pleased to be doing it himself. He told Mycroft once it made him feel like a responsible adult. Mycroft shrugged, had boxes and tape delivered, and did his best to help when he was there.

His own things, what he had with him at Oxford, fit neatly into a half dozen boxes, which he moved in two short cab rides. Their flat was a brisk forty minute walk from campus. Mycroft took to walking home most evenings, simply packing a brolly along. He took cabs to campus, not relishing a lengthy walk at or before dawn.

Mycroft considered keeping his dorm room. It was rather convenient for his earliest lecture, and of course he wouldn’t know all the foibles of his mastery class schedules yet. It was fully paid through December in any case. Mycroft was paying his own tuition, and had been since his eighteenth birthday, so alerting his parents wasn’t a factor.

Ultimately, the thought of Greg’s reaction tipped the scales. He politely informed the college that he would be vacating his rooms in favor of off-campus housing at the end of the term. He didn’t mention that he had all but done so already.

~*~

Apparently putting in for a soulmate transfer triggered some sort of hellish backlash. Not officially, of course. Officially, it just happened that Greg’s name came up for the late shift when rosters were re-done at the end of October. He was working bloody supper til 3 in the morning on weekends. He had been supposed to go off shift tonight at 11pm, which was already stupidly late for Mycroft. Mycroft would be up at five.

No matter how much Mycroft assured Greg he simply napped as needed, and didn’t require much sleep in any case, Greg always felt a bit shite calling him close to midnight. Now there’d been a chase and a fight and a load of paperwork his DS insisted got done before he let Greg go. It was gone one. Greg could feel Mycroft asleep.

Greg took the easy route. He shucked his shoes and jacket and fell face first into bed. He was out like a light.

It felt like almost no time had passed when he was dragged awake. Mycroft pulled on the bond, fear and panic overlapping with confusion and hurt. His phone started ringing. Greg scrambled upright and picked up.

“Hey,” Greg said.

“Greg.” There were too many complex things packed into that one word. Greg tried to wake himself up enough to process them.

“Mycroft,” he said, “what- are you-”

“You didn’t call.”

Greg blinked heavily. The fear was fading out, replaced by anger. “I- it was late. You were asleep.”

Mycroft took an audible breath. Greg winced. “You were in a fight. Then you didn’t call, and you were unconscious. I thought-” His voice hitched. “I thought you- and would anyone call me, really, if you were hurt? If they saw a man’s name on the paperwork? We both know it happens. And I- what would I-”

Oh no. He was crying. Greg’s stomach lurched. “No, hey, I’m not- just bruises, I promise. I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I should have called. I didn’t think. I won’t, I’ll call, we’ll work out what to do if there’s a problem. I’m sorry.”

Listening to Mycroft cry over the phone was heart-wrenching. All Greg could do was send his love. After a minute, Mycroft’s breath evened out. “Please don’t miss any more calls.”

“I won’t,” Greg promised instantly, “I’m sorry, I won’t. Never again.”

“I.” Mycroft took a slow, deep breath. “I have to go. I have class.”

Greg bit his lip and choked down the urge to beg him to stay. “Alright. I’ll talk to you tonight.”

“Tonight. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~*~

Mycroft didn’t hold any sort of intentional grudge, but it took almost until the day they were moving in together for him to feel fully confident in Greg again. The missed phone call had been their first serious fight. It was a good thing he was feeling settled about that, because Greg had talked him into coming out with his closest friends.

“Not a big group,” he promised, “just Vi, Dylen, and Suraj.”

Greg’s last day of work had been Wednesday, and he’d let his team take him out for drinks then. He officially had a week’s leave between London and Oxford. He’d spent Thursday hung over, from his own account, though he had been mostly better by the time Mycroft arrived that evening. Mycroft had taken a rare day off and politely informed his professors he would be unavailable Friday.

It was odd, spending the evening in Greg’s flat. Boxes everywhere, bookcases devoid of their shelves. Very little of his furniture would be joining them; only the bedside table that turned out to be a sentimental gift and the short bookcase in the bedroom that was the first thing Greg had bought with his own money. The rest was going on to friends and friends of friends. Apparently Greg had simply mentioned it to Vi and two or three others, and word had spread organically. The lot would drop by over the course of the day Saturday, picking things up and saying goodbyes. That night would be their small going away dinner with Greg’s closest friends.

There was just one small problem.

**

Greg tried hard not to smile. He didn’t want Mycroft to think he was laughing at him. “You know I love how you dress. But gorgeous, if you show up to Venus in slacks and a button down, you’re going to stick out like a sore thumb.”

Mycroft frowned. “I want to look nice. And these are casual- no waistcoat or vest or anything.”

Greg stepped close and ran a calm hand down his back. “I’d never want you to wear something you didn’t look nice in. Though frankly I think you could pull off just about anything.” A brief vision of Mycroft in full punk clothes flashed across his mind. “I wouldn’t want you uncomfortable, either. This is mostly going to be punks and goths. Let me help you find something?”

Mycroft was still tense under his hands. “I don’t have anything with me. I don’t know that I own anything that would let me blend with a crowd like that.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean from what you brought.” There was a fizzle of excitement in his gut. This sounded like the perfect way to spend his last free day in London. “Let me take you shopping.” Mycroft looked intrigued, but uncertain. Greg took an educated bet. “Tell you what, if you let me dress you down, I’ll let you dress me up.”

Mycroft’s brow arched. “You would look rather exquisite in a suit.”

Greg grinned. “So is it a deal?”

Mycroft smiled. “Deal.”

~*~

Mycroft had no idea what he had thought when Greg requested to shop for him. He had been in a Mark and Spencer’s before, so he had some sense that shops where they tailored everything was not the average person’s experience. He had not expected this, though.

There were thrift shops and secondhand stores scattered through the neighborhood. Greg seemed to know them all, greeting people behind the tills cheerfully. Mycroft, had he stopped to consider, would have expected his weight to be a bar to ease of shopping. Greg, however, unerringly ducked into back corners and came away with things for Mycroft to try on.

Not only did Greg have an eye for what would fit Mycroft, he was also attentive. He responded to Mycroft’s feedback, quickly veering away from band tees and toward items with a bit of flair. If Mycroft felt uncomfortable in something in the dressing room, Greg told him to change right back out of it.

Despite the texture, Mycroft found several pairs of nice jeans that he quite liked. Tops were a bit more difficult. A black cashmere jumper with a vee neck made Greg lick his lips. Mycroft didn’t think he could leave the flat wearing it, but he would certainly keep it for home. A deep blue pullover was a possibility. It wasn’t until the fifth shop that Greg made a triumphant noise. He thrust his find into Mycroft’s hands.

Mycroft blinked. “I thought button downs were out.”

Greg snorted. “That,” he said, waving at the garment, “is not a button down.”

Mycroft didn’t argue. He changed in the tiny dressing room, curtain blocking him from view. The stiff, elaborate shoulders and fancy clasp-buttons down the front had character. He blinked at his image in the mirror with astonished delight.

**

Greg waited impatiently. The surge of pleasure when Mycroft saw himself made his heart expand in size. “Yeah?”

Mycroft opened the curtain. He looked stupefyingly good, pulling off the stiff shoulders and complicated clasps with elegance. He held himself confidently. “I believe we have a winner.”

It was all Greg could do not to feel him up. His eyes dipped to Mycroft’s mouth. When he looked up again, Mycroft’s smile was knowing. The slight flush on his cheeks said he wasn’t unaffected either. “Looks good,” Greg said.

Mycroft ducked his head. “Let’s get this and pick something up for supper.”

Home. Yeah. Some privacy was sounding good about now.

**

Mycroft, because he enjoyed his soulmate’s attentions very much, changed into the cashmere jumper and silk pants when they got home. He didn’t bother with trousers. Greg laughed and spent the time between bites of food stroking him everywhere he could reach.

After, reclining together in this bed for the last time, Greg fondled his cock through their silk casing. “Have you ever come in these?”

Mycroft gasped. “Not, ah, not on purpose. There was an, oh, incident when I was sixteen and first out on my own.”

Greg paused his ministrations. “An incident?”

Mycroft blushed to recall it. “Well. I went through a brief period, heady at being out on my own, where I wandered around in just pants for a time in the evenings.”

Greg grinned. “Did you?”

“Mm.” Mycroft licked his lips. “I decided to- tease myself a bit one evening. And rather overshot.”

Greg laughed. “Messy?”

“Oh, yes.” He let his gaze go heavy-lidded. “I don’t object to messy with you.”

**

Greg responded to that look with a deep kiss. He nipped Mycroft’s bottom lip. He palmed at the heavy weight of Mycroft’s cock, trailing his other hand over Mycroft’s chest. Mycroft moaned and splayed his legs. Greg settled close.

“I wonder what silk tastes like?”

Greg felt Mycroft’s cock jerk at the question. He hid a smile, teeth scraping lightly over Mycroft’s nipples. It took a minute for Mycroft to get a hand in his hair.

“Would you like to find out?”

Christ, that husky note in Mycroft’s voice was never not going to be sexy. He looked up at Mycroft. “May I?”

Mycroft tugged gently at his hair. “Since you asked so politely, my love.”

Greg shivered and went.

~*~

Saturday was odd. It felt like a day outside the normal stream of time. Mycroft mostly occupied himself in the bedroom, packing away the last of Greg’s things and making sure the two boxes and duffel that would be traveling with them were clearly marked and easily accessible. For the first time, their clothes mingled together: Greg’s duffel was packed with dirty clothes as they wore them and Mycroft’s was reserved for clean clothes and their toiletries. Mycroft smiled and stroked the clothes gently. It was pleasing to imagine their lives more fully mingled like this.

Over the course of the day, Greg answered the door. Sometimes his voice was cheerfully neutral, other times warm. He helped people haul furniture out amid cursing and laughter and friendly advice about routes and rope. No one seemed to pick up on the unease he was feeling.

After someone made off with the couch, Mycroft emerged to wrap Greg in his arms. Greg held him back with a fierce grip. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”

Greg nodded against his shoulder. “It’s not like this is the first time I’ve moved. Christ, for a bit it felt like I was moving every month. Just…”

Mycroft was quiet, waiting.

Greg drew a deep breath. “I guess it’s sort of crazy, watching all the stuff I built up over the past few years disappearing. Not asking for anyone to pay for anything. And that’s only right, but- I don’t know. Just feels like- what if something goes wrong?”

Ah. This was something he could help with. “With the move? Or with us?”

**

Greg jerked his head back. “I don’t doubt us,” he rushed to clarify. “I don’t think you’re going to leave or that things won’t work out or anything. It’s just a leap. I guess I’d got used to doing for myself, and now there’s an “us” in the balance.”

Mycroft smiled and stroked his cheek. “Now there’s an “us.” We shall figure it out together. And as for the rest- if the moving company disappeared with everything and we arrived to find someone had broken into the flat and made off with all its contents, we would be fine.”

Greg shook his head. “That’s still mental to me.”

Mycroft kissed him softly. “I know. Have you taken a look at your bank account recently?”

Greg raised his eyebrows. “No. Usually do around the start of the month, but I was distracted with all this. Why?”

“I’ve dispensed some funds. Let us call it your quarterly allowance.”

Greg paused. “Quarterly. So that’s-” He tried to do the maths in his head and gave up.

“Enough to re-buy all the furniture you’re giving away and set yourself up comfortably in a flat for some months.” His lips quirked. “Or make a substantial donation to ACT-UP.”

**

Greg laughed and lost some of the tension he was holding. He nuzzled Mycroft’s cheek and let it turn into a proper kiss. Mycroft drew back after a moment.

“I haven’t really moved before, you know.” It was true. He was depending on Greg for direction on some of the pieces. He wouldn’t have known about the move-out refund or how to assess a new landlord’s trustworthiness. “That is, I moved into the dorms, but home is still-” He shrugged and waved one hand. “-there. It is utterly bizarre to me that after tomorrow, we will never again see the first place we kissed, or inhabit the first room we made love in.”

It was honestly a bit of a relief to voice it aloud. Mycroft was familiar with his tendency to get in his own head, but he hadn’t wanted to upset Gregory. Now that Greg had shared his feelings, Mycroft felt more able to open up.

It was even more of a relief to feel Gregory’s arms tighten around him and feel a wash of protectiveness through the bond. “It is weird,” Greg said. “We’ll have other firsts, though. And other seconds, and tenths, and hundredths. Say, do you think we’ve had sex a hundred times yet?”

Mycroft laughed. “I don’t know. Surely not?” They contemplated their mutual hunger for each other in silence. Mycroft made a quick attempt at counting and grew distracted. “Hmm.”

Greg pressed a teasing kiss to his jaw. “Well. Something to look forward to. Think we’re past a hundred kisses, for sure. Not a hundred days since we met, though.” Mycroft smiled. “Do we celebrate anniversaries from your birthday or the first day we met?”

Mycroft kissed him, lingering and sweet. “Both, clearly.”

**

The couch had been the last pick up of the day, which meant Greg could wrestle Mycroft into bed for saying something so romantic. They weren’t late to meet his friends, despite Mycroft’s fussing. Greg could feel his nerves.

“They’re going to love you,” Greg promised. After all, he loved Mycroft, even if he hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to say it yet. He risked a quick squeeze of Mycroft’s hand. There was no line at Venus yet. They went straight in. Greg made a beeline for the back. Even once it hit eight, the music would be quieter back here. Up front, the dance floor turned wild.

Vi had tucked them into a corner, bless her. Dylen and Suraj were pressed together on one side of the booth. Must be on again, then. He’d have to explain their whole thing to Mycroft.

“We’re just there,” he said, nodding.

Mycroft paused for a second, then followed.

**

“Greg!” Vi- it must be- unfolded herself from the table.

Mycroft hoped desperately that how off-balance he felt didn’t show on his face.

After Vi had exchanged a warm hug with Greg, she turned to him. “And you must be Mycroft,” she said. Mycroft held out his hand to shake. She reached and gathered both his hands in hers, squeezing gently once. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

Mycroft’s voice caught in his throat. He cleared it. “Yes. You as well.”

Vi gave him a keen, searching look. She released his hands to lean over and give Greg a thwap on the shoulder. “Greg, you arse, did you not warn him?”

Greg turned away from Suraj. “What?” His eyes darted from Vi to Mycroft. “Warn him about what?”

“So, no, then?” Vi shook her head and turned back to Mycroft. She waved a hand between them. “This must come as a bit of a shock.”

The humor of it caught up to him. Mycroft’s lips twitched. “I know he said I’m his type, but..”

Greg’s eyes widened in understanding. The table burst into laughter. “Like looking into a mirror, huh?” Vi wiggled. “I mean, we have some differences.”

Mycroft smiled. Vi’s hair was a brighter shade of red than his, and she had a sprinkle of freckles over her nose and cheeks. She was also, however, his height and he would judge them close in weight also. A corset showed off a startling amount of breast. She patted his arm. “Sit, sit.”

They all crowded into the booth. Greg hastily completed introductions, though with a table between them everyone settled for nods. Mycroft tried to relax. He had Greg on one side and an easy exit on the other. Now that the first shock was over, he could find his similarity to Vi funny. This was a chance for Greg to spend time with his friends before they moved. He didn’t need to do anything more than be here.

**

“Sorry,” Greg breathed, once the conversation had moved on. “I didn’t think- I didn’t really realize.”

Mycroft touched his knee gently under the table. “It’s quite alright.”

It was impossible to hold on to a sense of guilt when he could feel that Mycroft genuinely meant it. He peeked over Mycroft’s arm at the menu. “The fish here is crap, don’t eat that. The chicken tikka is good. So’s the shepherd pie.”

He hated how he could feel Mycroft tensing over the food options. Worrying over his weight again. Greg lowered his voice further, leaning in so no one else would overhear. “Eat whatever sounds good, gorgeous.”

Mycroft breathed out carefully and nodded his head. Greg leaned back. All he could do was be patient and keep reassuring Mycroft. How he felt about his body and how he ate was ultimately up to him. Greg let Vi draw him in, waving her hands and telling a story about a show she’d been to two weeks ago.

**

It turned out that sitting quietly was rather difficult. Gregory’s friends wanted to know about him. It turned out that Suraj was also a fan of classic literature, but was wider read on an international level than Mycroft. He had started, he confessed, with Indian classics and been fascinated by the contrast with English classics.

“The elements of what makes a classic are different, which of course makes sense. What is popular in one culture is not necessarily popular in another. But even things one might expect to be the same- length, point of view, symbolic language- those differ as well.”

Mycroft leaned forward. “Fascinating! I’m familiar with the phenomenon from a sociopolitical angle, but I admit I hadn’t considered its application elsewhere.”

Suraj smiled. “The overlap, I would think, would be novels that deal with historical events. Read novels set in the early 1800’s that deal with the other country and you get quite the perspective.”

Mycroft smiled. “I imagine so.” With a flutter of embarrassment, he realized Suraj was quite attractive. Hopefully the lighting and the heat would cover any color in his cheeks. “Do you have any recommendations?”

Thankfully, food arrived to disrupt any awkwardness.

**

Though it was more funny than anything else, Greg still steered Suraj into a table-wide conversation. He was a handsome bloke and it wasn’t surprising Mycroft noticed. Left to talk on their own, Greg worried Mycroft would stumble and pull away.

Besides, Vi was practically bursting at the seams with her desire to get at Mycroft. Her natural kindness and extroversion easily carried them. She drew him out on, of all things, landscapes. Public parks in London and Oxford, the college grounds, and the grounds at his home were all topics. Underneath that, Greg caught hints of the wider conversation. Vi wanted to know what Mycroft found beautiful, what he thought of wealth and access, how he viewed people of varying social status.

Dylen had unsurprisingly strong opinions on homeless people in parks. “Public spaces should be open to everyone. If we don’t allow the poorest access, then we’ve already started gate-keeping. Who decides who is allowed?”

“Politicians,” Greg said.

“Do they?” Mycroft turned and raised an eyebrow. “Most politicians are weather vanes, turning to follow wherever the winds of public opinion blow them.”

“One can hardly say that politicians do not also shape public opinion, though,” Suraj said.

Mycroft made a see-sawing gesture with one hand. “You would be surprised. It’s quite rare for one to veer off in some direction the public wasn’t already headed. Even charismatic leaders tend to be merely good speakers who say something the public strongly agrees with.”

“Then who shapes public opinion about the homeless in parks?” Vi asked. “We all know most people don’t want them there.”

“Most people don’t like seeing the suffering of strangers,” Mycroft said. That struck a chord, and everyone went momentarily silent.

**

Mycroft breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Vi picked up the conversational thread. Politics was certainly something he felt comfortable conversing on. He was more used to a classroom setting and not caring what others thought of his opinions.

“That seems true enough,” Vi said. “There might be some instinctual response at play. But there’s social contexts where turning away from suffering would be considered unacceptable. So why isn’t it for this?”

“Status,” Dylen said. “Fear of contamination. We do the same thing with death, like getting too close will make it rub off on us.”

“I still think politicians are in play,” Suraj said. “Even if we concede they are blowing with political winds, there is something to be said for legitimizing opinions. A personal discomfort might be masked as a policy opinion- it’s not that you hate seeing homeless people because they make you feel bad, it’s that people should pull themselves up by their bootstraps. It gives language and an excuse.”

Dylen nodded, eyes bright. “It’s the same for us, isn’t it? It’s not that anyone has anything personally against gay people, it’s just that it’s unnatural, see? Won’t someone think of the children.”

“Ugh,” Greg said, “sounds like something my old man would say.” He’d gone tense against Mycroft’s side.

“Regardless of where it comes from,” Mycroft said, “there are effective ways to combat this sentiment.” He pressed his leg more firmly against Greg’s under the table. “It’s difficult to change the mind of a group because they reinforce each other, but it’s quite possible to change minds of key figures. Take homophobia. Say a young man, an American who lives somewhere rural, has just come out to his family- mother, father, two siblings- and it’s gone poorly. They’re influenced by their church; a pastor who preaches the sin of homosexuality. The father knows someone whose son ran away after coming out. The mother is part of some social group that gossips about AIDS. The siblings are younger. Perhaps they are concerned over their social status, or just think it’s gross.”

Mycroft paused and took a sip of his drink. “It’s important to know, or discover, people’s motivations. The young man can then approach people as individuals. To his mother, he might say, “Mum, I want you to know that my soulmate and I have talked about this, and we don’t plan to be intimate with anyone but each other, so you don’t need to worry about my health.” To his siblings, perhaps he communicates that he knows school might be difficult for them if it got out, so he intends to keep quiet until they’ve graduated, and in the meantime he teaches them how to throw a punch. He tells his pastor he’s worried about his friend, who thinks he’s going to hell. He has tried for years to suppress his same-sex desires but now has a same-sex soulmate that he knows is a romantic match. The pastor will naturally know he is talking about himself. He may be moved to preach on compassion instead of hellfire.”

“I notice you’ve skipped the father,” Dylen challenged.

Mycroft smiled. “To his father, he says nothing. He spends time doing other things, engaging in shared pastimes. His father gets flustered when he makes what used to be unremarkable mildly homophobic comments, even though the young man never says anything. When his father does, eventually, bring up his sexual preferences, maybe not until he has met his soulmate, he feigns surprise and says he figured his father didn’t want to discuss that sort of thing.”

**

Greg snorted. He had to admit, that would probably work on his father. “You’re good at this.”

“Mm.” Mycroft hid a smile in his drink. “Well, it is rather the field I am hoping to go into. Changing minds.”

“I thought politicians were weather vanes?” Suraj teased.

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. “There are people behind politicians.”

Greg bit the inside of his cheek. He guessed behind-the-scenes politics was one way of describing the job Mycroft wanted. The secret services, MI-whatever. Definitely influencing outcomes.

“A rough field to be queer in,” Vi said.

Mycroft shrugged. He tipped his head toward Greg. “Policing is, as well. We’ll manage.”

“I still can’t believe, out of all the possible fields, you decided to become a cop,” Dylen said.

Greg rolled his eyes. “Someone’s got to bloody well look out for us, don’t they, mate?” Before Dylen could dig them into a well-practiced argument, Greg cut him off. “Alright, enough doom and gloom. This is my last night out. Celebrate!”

Vi gave him shark’s grin and raised her hand, ordering a round of shots.

**

Mycroft steered Greg out of the cab and into the flat. Greg hummed something off-tune, leaning his weight heavily against Mycroft. He was just past tipsy, relaxed and playful. Mycroft had stopped drinking after the first round of shots. Gregory had not.

The kiss once they were inside wasn’t wholly unexpected. Gregory had been humming with low-level arousal for half the night. Still, it was late and Greg was loose-limbed. He doubted anything would come of it.

Greg wandered into the bedroom fully clothed, dropping his coat on the floor by the bed. He pulled his tee over his head and turned back to Mycroft. Mycroft pulled his eyes up from arse level. Those jeans really were magnificently tight. Greg caught him looking. His eyes went heavy-lidded and he palmed himself, rubbing over the front of his jeans. Mycroft swallowed.

He held out the water bottle Vi had pressed on him as they left. “Drink this.”

Greg took the bottle and cracked it open. Mycroft tried not to stare at his throat working as he drank. He dropped his own coat and toed out of his shoes. He went to work on the double row of fastenings on his top. Greg looked absolutely sinful, bare-chested in jeans and boots, head tossed back as he finished off the water.

“Thirsty.”

Mycroft paused. “We can fill it again in the sink.”

Greg tossed the bottle over his shoulder and took three steps well into Mycroft’s space. “Rather have you.”

Before Mycroft could think, Greg sank to his knees and pressed his face against Mycroft’s crotch.

**

Mycroft startled, hand going to Greg’s shoulder. “Greg,” he said.

That didn’t sound like a “no” to him. Greg rubbed his cheek against Mycroft. His hands went to Mycroft’s hips. “Can I, sweetheart?”

Mycroft’s breath was starting to pick up. There was a soft stir of interest along the bond. Mycroft’s hands flexed on his shoulders. “I-”

Greg peered up at him. “Please? I’ll be so good for you, take you nice and deep, clean you up after.” He had to give himself a rub, saying all that.

Mycroft looked down at him, eyes dark in the low light. “Alright, love. Go ahead.”

Greg fumbled Mycroft’s belt open, eased his jeans and pants down. Mycroft had taken care of his top and let Greg guide him to step out of his clothes. He was naked above Greg, like some sort of pagan god. Greg wanted to worship him.

After a few kisses to his belly, Mycroft pulled away. He backed up tot he bed and sat. Greg settled between his legs. He nibbled his way up those long, thick thighs. His hands stroked over Mycroft’s chest and belly, rousing sluggish blood to the surface. He breathed hotly over Mycroft’s cock for a moment. With a long, reverent lick, he sucked him in.

**

“Ah.” Mycroft was louder than he meant to be. Perhaps he was a bit tipsy as well. But it didn’t matter, not when Greg was- “Oh, fuck, yes.”

Mycroft braced one hand on the bed and got the other in Greg’s hair. He was only beginning to firm up. Getting hard in Greg’s mouth felt sinfully good. Mycroft let himself indulge, basking in the roil of emotions that letting his lover do all the work brought up. The punch of being so intensely desired was an aphrodisiac all its own. Greg being still half-clothed while Mycroft was naked, yet on his knees, added another layer.

Greg groaned as he worked Mycroft over. Mycroft tightened his hand in Greg’s hair in wordless encouragement. Greg made another sound. He looked up at Mycroft, his beautiful eyes dark. The lamplight cast his absurd eyelashes in striking detail. He pulled off, working the flat of his tongue over the head of Mycroft’s cock for a minute.

“Want you to fuck my mouth.”

Mycroft sucked in a sharp breath. His cock leapt against Greg’s smile. “I- are you sure?”

Greg’s eyes fluttered shut. “Mhmm.” His hand came down to circle the root of Mycroft’s cock. He gave Mycroft a slow, steady stroke. Then he settled his fingers into a tight, hot grip. He slid his mouth down to meet his fingers. He eased up until his lips were just barely around Mycroft. Greg opened and his eyes again, looking up expectantly at Mycroft.

Mycroft shivered. Slowly, he inched his hips forward. He didn’t want to hurt Greg. He eased back out. Greg’s mouth stayed open in delicious invitation. Mycroft sheathed himself again. Carefully, he set up a rhythm, barely moving. He was achingly hard. Greg made a low, pleading noise. Mycroft jolted, burying his cock deeper in Greg’s mouth. Greg moaned in instant approval. His tongue worked against Mycroft’s cock.

“Fuck,” Mycroft moaned. Without intending to, his hips withdrew and snapped forward. Greg groaned again. “Fuck!”

There was no more restraint after that. One hand fisted in Greg’s hair, Mycroft thrust, fucking his mouth. Greg let out a continuous string of needy sounds. The vibrations ratcheted Mycroft higher. Under that, he could hear the wet, messy sound of their fucking. Wild with it, Mycroft plunged onward, orgasm shimmering just ahead. With a final shout, Mycroft stiffened, coming down Greg’s throat.

**

Greg kissed sloppily at Mycroft’s thighs in between panting. His head was buzzing with how hot it had been to have Mycroft let go like that. Greg had stuffed one hand down his pants at some point. It was tight, it wasn’t enough now. He whined.

Mycroft tugged gently at his hair, steering his head up. He must’ve got a look at Greg’s predicament, because a second later, he said, “Take your hand out of your trousers.”

Greg did. His hips twisted helplessly, searching for friction.

“Unbutton,” Mycroft ordered, “all the way.” Greg fumbled the button fly open. He was desperately hard. “Now push your pants down, just to the tops of your thighs, there. That’s it.” Greg’s cock sprung up, slapping against his belly. “Now touch yourself.”

It was unfairly sexy, having Mycroft use that voice on him. His hand was firm in Greg’s hair, eyes intense as Greg fisted himself. Oh Christ, he was already leaking.

“Are you close, love?” Mycroft asked. “Did you get all worked up, sucking me off?”

Greg’s next moan came out stuttered. He nodded. Words felt out of reach. With a knowing smile, Mycroft cupped his jaw and slid two fingers into his mouth. Greg sucked gratefully.

“That’s it,” Mycroft murmured, voice dripping like honey through Greg. “Take it. Let me see what I do to you.”

Greg choked around his fingers, hand speeding. His eyes snapped shut and he came.

**

Greg was a sight like this. His face was come-slack, eyes still shut and mouth open. Mycroft gently withdrew his fingers. His jeans and pants were just where Mycroft had ordered, pushed down to the tops of his thighs. His thick cock laid at their open vee.

He’d come absolutely everywhere. His belly and chest, Mycroft’s leg, and the floor all retained traces. Mycroft thought about telling him to clean up his mess. Now that he’d come, though, Greg was practically swaying in place. He dropped a soft kiss on Greg’s lips.

“Get your kit off,” he said instead, “I’ll be right back.”

By the time he’d wet a flannel, cleaned himself off and made it back to the bed, Greg was on it and blinking sleepily at Mycroft. Mycroft wiped him down, dropped the flannel over the side, and crawled into bed.