The Call

        It hardly needs to be said that my siblings and I did not experience childhood in the same way as other children. That may have been most evident during the Christmas season. We couldn't be convinced of the secular magic of Father Christmas or surprised by gifts. Our parents struggled to celebrate the religious aspects of the observance accompanied by our constant analysis of the origin of its traditions, many of which make little sense. In his tender years, Sherlock could be momentarily mesmerized by twinkle lights and music, but that was as near to normal as any of us ever proved to be.

        My Christmas experiences remained much the same as we aged. In the earliest years of his adulthood, I found myself tracking my little brother, only to find him high and in cold sweats under a bridge or in a dosshouse. I was often able to avoid any invitation to my parent's home for the day. In more recent years, I usually spent the day alone in my parlour, before a fire with an unforgivably expensive bottle of wine, often sharing evening hors d'oeuvres with Anthea. I generally found an old film to watch in an effort to keep my thoughts away from Greg as nighttime set in.

        This year, of course, was very different. I had returned home from Sherrinford. My mother had cried for most of the visit, and I'd decided to give my father the time to help her recompose herself at home while I fetched Greg and while Sherlock - did whatever Sherlock did.

        I'd been waiting in the car as Greg crawled into the back seat next to me. He was dressed in a black velvet jacket with very fitted denim trousers. Whatever reaction Mummy was going to have to our relationship, at least I could be sure she'd be as smitten with him as I. "You look wondrous."

        "Thank you." He took my hand. "How did it go?"

        "Exactly as expected."

        "Well, that's good in its own way, isn't it?"

        "I suppose so."

 

***

 

        "Let me take that, Myc," Mummy said, as she reached up to brush snow off the shoulders of my overcoat, simultaneously pulling it from my shoulders. "I thought you were bringing a friend along."

        I'd left Greg in the car. It seemed only right to take a moment to mention that I was gay before introducing him into the scenario.

        "Yes. I was hoping we could talk for a few minutes, though."

        My father led us all into the kitchen, where the table was covered in a spread of tea and devils on horseback. The turkey was sitting on the countertop, waiting to be carved.

        "What do you want to talk about?" Mummy asked as we all sat.

        "Well, I know I said I wanted to bring a friend to dinner. I don't think, though, that friend was the proper word to use."

        "See! I told you," She exclaimed, nudging my father's elbow with her own, "My boy is in love."

        "Yes. Yes." He said, eating a slice of bacon but leaving behind the prune.

        "Well, what's to talk about, Myc? Where is he?"

        What did she say? "He?" I mimicked aloud.

        "Where is he?" She repeated herself with impatience.

        "I'm sorry. Did you say 'he'?"

        "You thought we didn't know." She said matter-of-factly.  

        "Well, I...."

        She interrupted. "Mycroft Holmes, I have the deductive skills of you and your brother combined. Besides, never underestimate the instincts of a mother."

        I had never considered that they already knew. I should have. It would, of course, have been as evident to her as it was to Sherlock. It simply never crossed my mind.  "Yes, ma'am", I mumbled under my breath. 

        "I believe this belongs to you?" Sherlock's voice floated in the doorway with Greg's cologne.

        My parents both stood as Sherlock plopped into a chair and stuffed a handful of prunes into his mouth.

        Greg walked toward me as Mummy approached him to take his coat and scarf.

        "May I introduce Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade," I said.

        "No doubt, it's just Greg?" asked my Mother, rubbing his arm as she spoke.

        "Yes, ma'am." Greg flashed his smile at her.

        "He's so formal, so proper," she said, reaching over to pat my back. "Is he always like that, Greg?"

        "Without fail." He winked at me, sitting down next to Sherlock.

 

***

 

        We had collapsed together on the sofa after arriving home. After such a long, social day, resting my head on Greg's lap, feeling his fingers run through my thin sideburns was more than I had the energy to appreciate.

        "Thank you for today," I heard him purr as he slid his body down the sofa so he could reach me more easily.

        "I should be thanking you."

        "No. Not really. It meant a lot to me."

        "The Holmes family is a lot to handle."

        "Well, I deal with two of you on the daily. Adding your sweet Mum and, frankly, normal Dad into the mix isn't much of a challenge."

        I was caught in one of those beautiful moments that I lived for, but in which I was always lost for words.

        Greg didn't acknowledge my silence. He simply chuckled as he continued, "We both smell of your Mum's kitchen."

        "Do we? Is that bad?"

        "It's not a bad smell. Not really the smell I'd prefer right now, though."

        "No?"

        "No. How about a bath?"

        Afraid of ruining the moment with the wrong words, I chose to moan in agreement instead.

        "I'll go run the water," he said, sliding out from under me. "Come on up when you're ready."

 

***

 

        The water was perfectly warm, and the salts Greg had added smelled of mint. I'd brought two glasses of apple brandy along that now sat empty on the side of the porcelain basin. The double-sized clawfoot tub sat in the middle of the room, surrounded on three sides by one-way tinted windows. I rested my neck on the back of the tub, looking out at the snow falling between the stars, savoring the feeling of Greg's body resting against mine.

        For the first time, things were settled. We were together - officially. Everything was decided and functional. All that meant this was also the first time we could sit in silence together without knowing we were avoiding a strenuous conversation. So, we did precisely that. Greg's damp hair tickling my collar bone. My arms wrapped around his chest. His hips resting between my legs so that his toes could reach mine. Every few minutes, he bent his neck to kiss my forearm. There was no other movement and no sound. At least not until his kisses on my forearm became a nibble tracking up my bicep.  "Come with me," he instructed, carefully moving to his feet.

        Without a word, I accepted his outstretched hand, allowing him to help me up. He wrapped us each in a towel, moved to stand behind me, and then used his hands to push my hips, encouraging me to walk toward the bedroom. It felt as though I was a child playing a train. Eventually, I landed on the edge of the bed and turned to face Greg. He stood before me, dropped his towel onto the floor, and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, moving toward me until he was standing between my knees. I felt his nose brush through my hair and then a light kiss on the top of my head. He crawled onto the bed, pushing me back as well so that we were lying side by side and face to face. "I love you." His voice was so deep, husky, and affecting.

        I traced my fingers from his thigh to his ribs.

        "It's okay," he reminded me, "you never have to say it."

        "That's not true. I do wish you'd stop giving me a pass on it."

        "Wish all you want. I know. You don't need to tell me."

        I shifted my body closer so that my hand could run along his back instead. "When did you know?"

        "When did I know that you were in love with me ?"

        "Uh-hmm," I murmured in confirmation.

        "Uh. It was probably about five months in or so. We'd been meetin' up for a while. We were down in the sitting room."

        I was surprised to realise that he didn't just have a general time frame; it seemed he had a day, a time, a specific moment.

        "Well, that was the first time you did it anyway."

        "Did what?"

        "Reached for my hand."

        "What do you mean?" I wasn't following him at all.

        "That night was the first time. But ever since then, you do it every time. Every time you..." He stopped and cleared his throat, clearly unsure he wanted to use the words that felt natural. "Every time you - come," he cleared his throat again, "you find my hand to hold."

        "I do?"

        "Every time. No matter what. Luckily, I've good balance." He grinned.

        I suppose it was impressive that he always had a hand free.

        "That's when it changed. It didn't feel like we were using each other anymore. You let it get personal."

        "I didn't even know I was doing it."

        "Well, don't start thinking about it and ruin it."

        "I won't," I promised, kissing his cheek.

        "How are you feeling? You haven't said much." His fingers tapped over top the scar on my pelvis.

        "I'm fine. Until I accidentally touch that, I don't even remember anything happened. I've no pain at all and full range of motion. I sat still for three hours in my office yesterday and didn't even experience a hint of stiffness standing after."

        "Good. Good." He tapped the scar again. "Mycroft?"

        "Hmm?"

        "When was the last time you..." More throat clearing, but I knew exactly where he was going. "When was the last time you - took care of things?" His fingers moved up the concave of my side and to the small of my back, quickly finding my tailbone.

        "I'm fine," I said with encouragement.

        "Not what I asked."

        "You don't want to know the answer."

        "When?"

        "This morning?"

        He pulled his neck back to lock eyes with me. The distinct glare of suspicion was now directed my way. I knew he wouldn't be able to simply ignore the fact that I'd made preparations that morning for any range of sexual activity. "So, what does that mean?" he asked.

        "It means I'm fine," I said, leaning in to kiss him. He softened for a moment, letting my tongue massage his soft palette.

        "Hmmm," he hummed as he pulled away from the kiss. "Am I being controlled right now?"

        "What do you mean?"

        "You know what I mean.  You know how you influence people. I just happen to choose tonight to break the ice on it, and you happen to be prepared for it?"

        "Greg, I would never try to influence you - at least not without your knowledge or consent."

        "So, it's just a coincidence?"

        "No." I didn't believe in coincidence. "It's a deduction."

        "I'm sorry?"

        "I knew how you'd react to the day and thought it might be a possibility. That's all. Please move on now."

        He honoured my request with a roll of his eyes, then brushed his fingers back and forth, like a paintbrush, in the space below my navel. "So, does that mean you're up for it?"

        "Just be patient with me." I kissed his neck and started pulling on his earlobe with my teeth.

        He took little time to roll me onto my back and land his head between my legs. His tongue on my damp slit and his fingers tickling my perineum were enough to make me squirm with excitement. My bollocks ended up in his mouth. He kneaded and sucked, then pulled away, kissing his way to my hips. "Roll over."  I could feel how flushed my cheeks already were as I rolled to face the pillow. I closed my eyes and took in the sounds of Greg rimming me as his hand teased my prick. Eventually, his lips kissed their way up my spine. "Relax for me." His whisper against my ear sent a shot of heat through my veins. He reached for lubricant. The chill of the oil on my skin made me flinch. I felt his teeth in the flesh of my backside as he took his time preparing me. Eventually, his fingers disappeared, and I heard the quiet, wetness of him rubbing the oil on himself. His arm wrapped around my waist, hoisting me onto my knees. 

        He leaned to my side and whispered again, "deep breaths, Daddy."  On my third deep inhale, my body lurched toward the edge of the bed. Then I exhaled, with a bit of a scream, the delightfully fine line between pleasure and pain that only taking in a very thick man for the first time in a year and a half can create. His body rocked inside of mine. I pushed back against his thrusts, growling through, but also completely reveling in, the sensation of fullness. I was so focused on the movements of his hips that I didn't notice his hands or fingers. Whatever he was doing, my cock was content. He was a master of timing, careful to avoid my prostate until he knew he was close enough to the edge to bring me along with him. 

        I clenched the sheets beneath me as I tried to keep steady breath. I could smell Greg's cologne on them. This was our bed. It wasn't mine anymore. Everything I had belonged partly to him - which was exactly as I wanted it. "Greg," I said, beckoning him to lean over me.

        He did. "What's wrong?" I felt his breath against the back of my neck, but his rhythm didn't break. His hand grabbed my shoulder in response to my silence. "Are you okay, Mycroft?"

        I reached my hand around to my shoulder to touch his. "Greg." I had to pause to take a deep breath. His pace slowed with concern. "Greg, I love you." I turned my head to kiss his hand after I spoke.

        His hand didn't move, but he didn't reply. His head pulled away, and his pace quickened so that he was hammering that perfect spot in the most glorious way. I buried my face in the bedclothes, whiting out to the smell of his cologne and the feeling of his release inside me, perfectly timed with my own.

        Greg didn't move away but stayed on top of me, kissing the freckles on my shoulders.

        I reached around, stretching my neck as far as I could, and pulling his down so that I could just barely kiss the side of his mouth.

        "Move over," he suggested, backing up and away from me.

        I slid to the opposite edge of the large bed, so there was plenty of room for both of us away from the puddle of happiness I'd left on the duvet. I found myself resting my head on Greg's beautiful chest.

        "Say it again."

        I laughed through my nose, looking up to smile at him. "You didn't think I'd ever say it."

        "I really didn't."

        "I love you," I said, then kissed his chest. "I love you." I kissed him a few inches to the left. "I love you." I repeated the phrase four more times, alternating it with kisses.

        He laughed aloud and took my face in his hand. Without a word, he stared at me for a moment, then offered the softest, most innocent kiss I'd ever experienced. His lips left mine as he wrapped his arms around my shoulders, nuzzling his ear against mine. It had taken us nearly five years to finally reach this moment. "Can I ask just one thing?" Greg's voice was gentle.

        "Of course." As I replied, I heard the buzzing of a mobile vibrating against wood. Out of habit, we both looked to the opposite sides of the room at the bedside tables. Both of our mobiles were notifying at the same time. Greg started to reach for his.

        "Wait!" I said abruptly.

        "Hmm?" He looked at me, confused.

        "What happened the last time we both answered him at the same time?" I was dead set against ever allowing a repeat of the year we'd had as a result of our experience at the aquarium.

        Greg let out a huff of air. "You don't even know it's him."

        "Don't I?"

        He looked at me in silence, then sighed, throwing his head back against a pillow. "What if he's actually in real trouble?"

        "Sherlock Holmes prefers to text, but in a life-or-death situation he would ring you. Those were texts."

        "Whatever you say, Mr. Holmes."

        "Trust me, Inspector," I quipped back. "Now, what did you want to ask?"

        "Can we move that one?" His arm moved to point to the armoured horse standing in the corner of the bedroom.

        I moved in to kiss him with a smile. "As long as you do the leg work.
        His arms wrapped around me again as he kissed my cheek and ran his nose through my hair. "I'll do the damn leg work." 
 

 

THE END