The Call

        Greg's tongue massaged mine as he reached for the drawer of the bedside table. It was strong but soft. He abandoned my kiss to push a box of condoms out of the way and instead collect a bottle of lubricant.       

        "Greg, perhaps we should...."       

        He interrupted me, knowing exactly my concern. "I didn't sleep with her."  This wasn't at all the most appealing time to think about him with someone else, but that was lovely to hear. A year spent trying to reconcile with his wife, and they hadn't been intimate?  "I didn't sleep with her once," he reiterated. "And nothing's changed for you." 

       He hadn't posed it as a question, but I still replied, "No." Greg knew very well that he was the only man I'd ever been with and that I intended to keep it that way.       

        "Then we're clear," he whispered into my ear, gliding his way back to my mouth. I gave in to the heat of his lips. So long as neither of us had strayed elsewhere since our most recent medical tests, there was no need to put any sort of barrier between his smooth skin and mine. I could feel him unscrew the bottle cap as he sucked my bottom lip. The sound of his strong hands rubbing together to warm the oil sent a chill down my spine. I pushed harder into his kiss. Then came the invigorating feeling of oil on my skin. Still sitting on my chest, he'd reached around to grip my cock. He found a slow rhythm, pumping up and down, slathering me with the soft moisture. I moaned into his mouth, clenching his powerful, beefy thighs. Once he'd transferred all the oil, he raised himself to his knees and reached for my hand. He poured the substance into my palm. It smelled, and I could recall, tasted, like strawberries.       

        As I reached around his body, he moved slightly closer, presenting himself to me again. I waited until I'd begun to prepare him with my fingers and then took all of him in my mouth. I echoed the rhythm he'd already set with both my lips and fingers. His hands gripped my shoulders as he failed to resist the urge to thrust himself deeper into my mouth. Eventually, he reached around to remove my hand and backed himself, throbbing, out of my mouth. He rested on my chest again and kissed my collar bone, following a trail of freckles to my ear. "Just close your eyes and enjoy it."       

        His breath left the side of my face, and I felt his hand wrap around my cock. My body trembled as he slowly lowered himself onto me, growling a bit as he did. Greg's motions were clumsy at first, but the sensation of his muscles gripping me was intoxicating. I could tell he was worried about hurting me. Never in the years we'd been together had he mounted me. We had both been craving one another, and this was his solution. I reached out for his hips. "I'm okay. I'll tell you if I'm not," I promised.       

        I felt him trace my scar as he accepted my reassurance. "Okay."  His fingers brushed my body from my scar to my chest. He placed his palm face down on my chest and adjusted the pace of his hips to match my heart rate. He'd done it many times before. I never really understood it, but it was special in some undefined way.       

        The urge to thrust deeper into him and the desperation to rock my pelvis against the resistance of his body made the inability to do so seem excruciating.  He must have interpreted my grunts as a need for more because his pace slowed just slightly as he seated himself deeper onto my lap. He gasped for breath with every pump, signaling that my prick was hitting that sublime circle.  Neither of us was going to last.  

        I reached for him and began stroking him twice as fast as he was riding me.  His rhythm didn't change, but he made sure his buttocks rested flush with my thighs before every upward movement, letting as much of me inside him as was possible.  I started to lose my breath. I did feel a twinge of pain in my abdomen while trying to regulate it. He didn't need to know that. I was flirting so dangerously on the edge now that it no longer mattered. I felt pain with every pant, but the fantastic over energizing of my synapses made up for it. I felt a pleasure I could almost taste. I caught myself biting my lip while the colors flashed before my closed eyes. The more I struggled to breathe, the more I could smell the burning logs on the other side of the room.       

        Greg's deep voice moaned in rhythm with my fist. I could feel his legs trembling against me. His body released a year, two months, and eighteen days of desire onto my stomach.  His muscles tightened as his body rocked through the end of his release. The tightening around my cock made mine begin. As my muscles contracted, the pain in my side was almost unbearable. I screamed as I poured everything I had into Greg. He leaned forward, bracing my biceps as my body quivered in an indescribable mixture of rapture and agony.       

        "It was too soon. I'm so sorry." He moved slowly as I fell out of him and rested his body beside mine.       

        "No." I kissed him, suddenly feeling tears escape my eyes.         

        Greg leaned back. "It hurts that much? Oh, Mycroft. My God."       

        I rubbed his hip. "No. No." His eyes were filled with fear. "It feels that good," I whispered.  I gave up any fight I had left in me as I kissed him again and let the tears flow. I had missed him. I'd missed the one person in the world with whom I could be real. I'd missed the one person in the world to whom I could bare my body and my soul.       
     Greg's understanding and acceptance of what I was - the Iceman, Jim Moriarty had called me - that's what made him so important to me. There was no one else on earth who would accept me for that frigid exterior and allow me to offer with my body what I couldn't in words.  I could only remember crying once before. I was seven. Sherlock was born.        

        I held this perfect man in my arms for a few minutes as we both gained our composure.  

        "Let's get you cleaned up." Greg stood, taking my hand, helping me move through my pain, and led me to the shower.
 

***

 

        I had never been one for social gatherings, nor did I frequent public dining establishments of any sort. The only place I routinely spent time in public was at the Club, where things were peaceful and silent.  Greg had, however, insisted that I meet him for drinks at a small pub he'd found.  He had acted as my nurse for two months, so I really didn't feel I had the right to decline any of his ideas. As I walked in, I was pleasantly caught off guard. It was reasonably small, very dark, and nearly empty. At first glance, things appeared sufficiently clean and well-tended. There was a distinctly enjoyable sound of quiet - no music or telly playing.

        I had made it a point to dress a bit better than usual. I had a difficult question to ask Greg - difficult for me. I had made up my mind that I would ask him here. Forcing myself into a specific time and place made it less likely that I would fail. I spotted the radiance of his handsome face, sitting in a corner across the main room. He nodded his head to greet me from a distance. I sat down to a luscious glass of cabernet and Greg's comforting smile. I dared not give myself the luxury of time. "Greg, can I ask you something?"      

        "Anything." There was a slight shadow of concern on his face.

        "I spoke with my mother and father yesterday."

        "How are they?"

        "Fine. Fine. Mummy would like Sherlock and me to take them to Sherrinford on Christmas Eve."

        "Are you up for that?"

        "It's not my choice. It's what she wants."

        "Okay." His eyes squinted at me a bit, wondering where I could be aiming with this line of conversation.

        "Since we'll all be together, then, she's demanding a proper Christmas dinner after."

        "I wouldn't expect less from any mother."

        "Greg," I hesitated just slightly, "would you go to dinner with me?"

        "With your parents? And Sherlock?"

        "As my - my -" What was the word I was looking for?

        "Boyfriend?"

        "Yes." I heard myself exhale, more obviously than I'd hoped.

        A hushed laugh escaped Greg's chest. "Well, you figure out what word you're gonna use to introduce me, and I promise I'll go."

        "You will?" I wasn't wholly shocked but hadn't expected the conversation to be quite so brief and straightforward.

        "Of course. I'm flattered." His smile glowed from across the table. I could tell he wanted to take my hand but wasn't sure I'd receive it well in public.

        Now I simply had to determine the best way to mention to Mummy I was bringing a guest.
 

***
 

         I'd been sitting in my office reading reports for nearly six hours. My mobile vibrated and startled me half out of my chair.

        "Mycroft Holmes." I hadn't bothered to read the name displayed on the screen. 

        "It's me. We have a problem." Greg's voice was so unstable it sounded as though his body was trembling when he spoke.        

         "What is it?"        

        "Can you just meet me at home? I don't think this is something we should deal with on the phone."