Chapter Text
Mycroft Holmes watched Sherlock carry John Watson from the roof. He quickly erased any CCTV footage that had evidence of their natures. About bloody time they'd figured each other out. He sighed and picked up his mobile. It was late, but Gregory would be free as soon as they booked the suspect. He shrugged on his coat and sent a message. Perhaps it was time he was honest as well.
Greg glanced at the message on his mobile and a soft grin interrupted the scowl he’d been wearing for the last several minutes. The last message he’d received from a Holmes had informed him that the serial killer he’d been looking for was on the roof and that the evidence he needed was on the man’s shoelaces. Of course when he’d arrived, Sherlock hadn’t actually been there and a flash of the mountains of paperwork he’d have to file flashed before his eyes. But another text from a Holmes, one whom he loved in quite a different way, was enough to make him put all that stress on the back burner. As Sally shoved the now-conscious suspect into a car, he waved her off and rocked back on his heels on the pavement. Before a minute had passed, a sleek black car was pulling up in front of him and there was no containing his grin now.
Mycroft waited in his study, turning a glass of wine in his hand as he watched the fire. Rain struck the window, a soft background melody. He was anxious, tense. A Guardian did not reveal his or her nature lightly, usually only in dire emergencies... Or when making commitments to the one they loved. Mummy had never told them when she revealed herself to their father, but she was an eminently practical woman, so no doubt it had happened around the same time as she'd decided to marry him. Did he want to marry Gregory? Certainly he didn't want to live without him, but there were so many risks in making a public commitment. But revealing himself might be the ultimate test of their relationship so far. The car pulled up outside and he poured a second glass of wine.
Seeing his lover was so rare that Greg practically bounced from the car, then bounded up the steps to My’s house, the doorknob clicking open easily under his grasp. “My?” he called out, listening for the response that came from the study a moment later. They’d been together for years at this point, almost as long as he’d known Sherlock, but he still got as excited to see his lover as a schoolboy did with his first girlfriend (or boyfriend). He locked the door behind him before shedding his coat and his work, leaving them at the door before following his boyfriend’s answering call from the study. And promptly froze as soon as he walked through the doorway. My was holding a wine glass in each hand, one he’d clearly been sipping on and the other clearly for Greg. It wasn’t that which stopped him, rather the hard line of tension in his love’s shoulders, a line he was never without in public and a line he was never with in private. So something had to be on his mind, and it had to be big. Something big that My thought he needed a drink for...“Are you breaking up with me?” he blurted, heart pounding in his chest.
Mycroft blinked. "What? No...I no, Gregory." He hastily set the glasses down and reached for his lover’s hands. "I apologize if that is what you thought." He didn't know what to say. Fear gripped his heart. Was this a mistake? He never wanted to see panic like that in Gregory's eyes again. "Never mind. It's not ultimately important."
The relief he felt at My’s confused response was in every line of Greg’s body as let out a deep breath. “No, no it is important. It just... you have this way you hold yourself when you’re not with me, and no matter how dire something is out there, you always keep it out there.” He darted forward mid-speech to peck a startled Mycroft on the nose before continuing. “And yeah, that may have been an overreaction, a bit, but you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’ll admit it, I’m always a little worried that you’ll find someone who’s younger than me, smarter. Someone who doesn’t have the kind of job I have that keeps me up for days at a time and makes me come home to you too exhausted to do anything other than sleep most days. So when I walk in and see you looking like that...” he shrugged a shoulder. “I can’t help it. So whatever it is, it’s important.”
Mycroft swallowed, startled by the declaration. He hesitated between folding Gregory into his arms or downing the rest of his wine. He settled for kissing his forehead and taking a few deep breaths. "I do not wish to frighten you, Gregory. That is why I am tense. And I am beginning to believe it may have been a mistake to tell you this thing. I cannot lose you." It was the closest he could come to saying that he loved him.
His lover’s reticence to speak was starting to worry him immensely. What had he done? “Why do you think that telling me... whatever it is will make you lose me?” he asked instead. “Are you afraid of someone taking me because of this knowledge or are you afraid of me taking myself?” He wanted to kiss away the tiny frown between his usually-unruffled boyfriend’s eyes but doing that would certainly lead to... other things. And being distracted by other things would not get this thing settled.
Mycroft saw his worry. He took a step back. "You have always honored my secrets and understood when I cannot divulge. This one...well." He took another breath and let his wings stretch, trying to keep a calm mask as he looked up at Greg's face.
Greg’s jaw dropped faster than when Molly had shed her coat that first Christmas party at Sherlock’s. Behind his lover, his normal, human lover, spread a pair of large, auburn wings, wings that matched the colour of his hair perfectly. Actually, ‘large’ didn’t begin to cover the size. They were massive, arching out from behind him and brushing the walls of the study. They were gorgeous as hell, and he was just standing there, staring with his mouth wide open.
Drawing his wings closer to his body, Mycroft took a step towards his lover, anxious. "Gregory?"
“Fucking hell!” Greg flinched at the way My recoiled at his words and instantly he was reaching out, grabbing onto shoulders smaller in his hands than they looked and tugging the man (angel?) back towards him. Uncharacteristically, his posh boyfriend stumbled into his chest and Greg slipped his arms over his shoulders, cautiously threading his fingers through feathers softer than any he’d ever felt. Softer than anything he’d ever felt. “Mycroft Holmes...” he whispered, beyond awed at what he was being shown.
"I am a Guardian." Mycroft rest his head on Greg's shoulder, wings leaning into the touch. "It means that I have these and bear a certain duty. I...have never shown anyone outside my family my wings."
“A Guardian?” Greg echoed, sorta not really paying attention, too entranced by the slide of those soft feathers through his fingers. Then it caught up to him. “Wait, family? So Sherlock--”
Mycroft raised his head and looked into the deep brown eyes. "I trust you to keep this secret, keep this knowledge safe. Please, Gregory." He shifted his wings, enjoying the touch but still anxious.
Greg almost jerked back as the wings in his hands rustled but maintained his posture with a blink and kept at what he was doing. “Of course. Whatever you want. Anything.” God, how where his feathers so soft? He didn’t want to stop touching them, didn’t want to stop watching his fingers parting through the auburn waves. “Can I fuck you with these out?”
Mycroft arched an eyebrow. "I am glad you are not put off your priorities," he said dryly, secretly pleased.
“Well, seeing as my first priority is you...” Greg teased, finally pulling his fingers from feathers to thread through hair instead, pulling his lover into a deep kiss. The tentative way Mycroft responded and the way he relaxed against him spoke volumes to how worried he’d been about revealing his secret and Greg just tightened his grip and kissed him even more firmly.
Mycroft moaned softly and arched his wings around them. He put his hands on Greg's waist and parted his mouth. Now that this was out, he could relax. He wanted to give Greg anything and everything he wanted. And possibly convince him to stroke his wings some more.
As they parted and dove back in, over and over, Greg walked them backwards in blind search of My’s desk. Or rather, the comfortable chair behind it. He’d always wanted to fuck the man in it, and what better time than now? His heel hit the base and he practically fell into it, accidentally ripping himself from a mouth he could spend eternity devouring. But when he blinked and looked up, the sight that greeted him was well worth it: My’s hair and clothes disheveled, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed, wings draped behind him like a cloak. Without pause, Greg undid his fly and shoved his trousers and pants just below his bollocks, his cock standing proudly at attention as he reclined in the leather.
“Come here, My,” he whispered with a grin, already reaching into an inside coat pocket in which he stored a great deal of single-use lube packets. They didn’t see each other often, and sometimes their meetings were so quick there wasn’t time for foreplay.
Mycroft cracked a tiny smile. Instead of getting in his lap, he leaned against the desk (carefully avoiding catching his wings) and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. Bringing one wing forward, he gently touched Greg's cheek before dipping it down to brush his cock. Gregory Lestrade was like no one else and his ready acceptance did nothing to diminish his care for the man.
A strangled sound was yanked from his throat at the first touch of feathers against where he was most sensitive, followed by a second one as they did it again. He managed to contain the third, but when he realized My was giving him a slow strip-tease, he couldn’t keep his moan at bay. Away went the waistcoat, followed by the button-up shirt, then the shoes and socks, and then trousers. And finally he was just in his pants, and Greg was dizzy with arousal from the slow, gentle, soft brushes. When those pants finally joined the other articles of clothing, he groaned a single “My...”, startled by how devastated he sounded before they’d even started.
Mycroft pulled his wing back, leaning into kiss his lover. "Are you going to be able to hold on?" Before Greg could answer he went to his knees, wings arching as he licked a hot stripe up his lover's cock. He wanted Greg inside of him, wanted the strong hands on his hips. Reaching back, he touched his entrance, eager to get himself ready.
“BLOODY FUCK!” Greg shouted, throwing his head back at the hot, wet (unexpected) heat on his cock. That silver tongue darted over him again and he had to curl his hand on the chair’s arm to keep from putting it back in auburn hair. Because if it went back in that hair, it would pull, and My liked to punish him when he did things like that. “No, I won’t be able to hold on,” he growled, thrusting the lube packet at the man--Guardian--between his knees. “Hurry,” he encouraged, waving the little bit of liquid-filled plastic frantically.
"Don't you dare come without me," growled Mycroft, sitting back on his heels. He tore open the packet and looked up at Greg. His dark eyes were nearly black with lust, sweat standing out on his brow and glistening in the silver hair on his chest. He looked positively delicious. Mycroft fingered himself open hastily, knowing it would probably hurt, and not caring one fig.
“Then you’d best get on my cock and fast,” Greg growled back, leaning forward to wrap hands around biceps and yank his lover up. Deliciously fleshy thighs surrounded his and knees held tight around his hips as he gently lowered Mycroft down. The look in those blue eyes as his cock split the man open was as delicious as the low breathy moan that emerged from between pink parted lips, and the inspector couldn’t help the upward thrust of his hips, wanting to be fully sheathed and now. My looked disheveled. Greg wanted him wrecked.
Mycroft groaned. His wings fluttered a bit as he sank down, sending papers scattering. "Gregory," he whispered, hands on the man's shoulders. With another thrust Greg filled him completely, stretching him. Leaning in, Mycroft nipped the joint of shoulder and neck, wings curving around them. He could feel Greg's heartbeat and knew it was only for him.
“Nnnngh,” he groaned, feeling the difference in the lack of preparation in the tightness around his cock. His lover curled over him, wrapping him up in a feathery cocoon and he tightened his grip on Mycroft’s waist, holding it slightly aloft and bracing his feet in order to thrust up and thrust up hard. The British Government was alway collected, unruffled, and it never failed to make Greg want to leave a lasting impression, even if that impression was bruises from his fingerprints and extra effort put in to not walk with a limp. His bollocks were slowly growing tighter and tighter as he continued to thrust into the welcoming, wet heat, encouraged along by the way My was gasping against his neck and trembling in his arms.
Mycroft's hand went to his cock. Greg was so close. He could see he was about to lose it. With a wicked little smile, Mycroft brushed a wing along a certain spot behind Greg's ear...
“BLOODY FUCK!” Greg shouted for a second time that night, pulling My down as he thrust up, coming rather spectacularly inside his lover. Something tugged at his heart. Something, something... “My?” he gasped, confused as his orgasm prolonged unnaturally and his very being seemed to echo happiness and MycroftMycroftMycroft.
Mycroft was surprised himself. He wrapped his arms around Greg's neck, wing fluttering from both orgasm and nerves. "I...it's a bond that can happen when you're seeing my true form. I'm sorry," he was suddenly afraid. He didn't mean to make Greg do anything he didn't want to. Burying his head against his shoulder he shook slightly, feeling the bond himself and wanting to embrace it.
“A... bond? Like...” He had no idea what words to put to it. Greg rubbed a hand over his face, trying to find words to describe how amazing he felt. “It feels like... like you’re hugging me from the inside. God, that’s a shit explanation.”
"Is it okay?" Mycroft’s voice was uncertain. "Do you wish to bond like this?”
“Okay? My... Can’t you... can’t you feel it? Doesn’t it feel this good to you too?” Greg’s head was swimming, overwhelmed by the emotions inside of him, that feeling welling up in all of it and taking over anything else. His heart was pounding in his chest like it would after a case and he was gasping into sweat-damp auburn hair, fingers fluctuating around fleshy hips, feeling his arousal rise and his cock thicken impossibly for a second time. He wasn’t twenty anymore. There was no way that he could possibly have a second erection in the same night. But he was. And it was rising so closely on the heels of his orgasm that it felt like he was ready to come again. Immediately.
“Of course I do,” Mycroft raised his head. He leaned in to kiss him, tasting him. He was sweet and delicious, even more than usual. Groaning, Mycroft ran his hands through the short gray strands, wings flexing around them as he felt Greg start to fill him again.
“Good. That’s good. Because that’s how I usually feel about you. Just... mmm... stronger. I like it.” His hips began to shift again, thrusting up minutely. A second orgasm was sitting right behind stage, just a few strokes from zipping through his veins a second time. “It won’t fade will it? Because I really... really want it to never stop. Ever. My God, My... Oh fuck.” He gave a few shallow thrusts and then the second orgasm came up fast, but it washed over him slow and his vision went dark with it, that same feeling in his chest swelling and intensifying. “Oh My... Please. Please don’t let it fade.”
Mycroft held him close, wings shaking. “Gregory…” The words were on the tip of his tongue, the words he could never say. To anyone. “I am yours,” he said instead, swallowing it down. He had to be stronger here. After all, Gregory was only human. He kissed him again and carefully got up. Taking a few breaths and hiding his wings again he put an arm around his lover and guided him up to his bedroom, silently praying that this all hadn’t been a huge mistake.
When Mycroft moved to pulled him down into his bed, large, comfortable thing that it was, Greg shifted them so that he was on his back, his redhead splayed out on his chest. He stroked a hand down the freckled back and then back up, and then raising his other hand to cup a shoulder blade in each one. “Can you make them come back?”
Leaning up to kiss him, He brought back his wings. They were folded tight against his back. “I am glad you did not run.”
That tension was back in My’s shoulders and translating into the way his wings curled in on themselves rather than spread wide like when he’d first shown them. “I’m yours too, you know,” he said suddenly, sliding his fingers into feathers and feeling them jump underneath his hands. “I don’t know if we’ve been avoiding saying it on purpose but, I love you. You know that, right?”
Mycroft took a deep breath, his heart aching. He stretched out a wing so Greg could touch his feathers better. “I do know, Gregory. And I am so grateful.” He wished he could say the words. He hoped Greg knew how much he cared.
Emotionally constipated git. He snorted and ran his hands along the outer bones, forcing the wings to drape wide parallel to the bed. With every sweep of his fingers through the auburn feathers, My relaxed against him little by little. “I find it funny that you’re grateful, you know. I’m the grateful one. Without Sherlock, who apparently has wings, we never would have met. We could have passed each other on the streets, or even at some crime scene, and you never would have given me a second look.” As the body laid over his stiffened at his words and he could practically building a speech of rebuttals building in his lover’s head, he shushed him. “Just because you love me now doesn’t mean you would have been interested in some alternate timeline that never happened. And that’s all that matters to me, the here and now. That’s what I’m grateful for.”
“My world would be colorless without you,” said Mycroft softly. He tucked his head under Greg’s chin, relaxing further against him. “There is so much I cannot share with you, I am glad you accepted this. And that feels very good.”
Greg huffed out a laugh. “I’m glad. Will leave these out? When it’s just us?”
“Maybe not all the time. But if you wish it.” He leaned up to kiss him again, feeling the bond thrumming between them.
Greg had a brief flashback to The Princess Bride. That day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying "As you wish", what he meant was, "I love you." “Yeah,” he whispered, laying his head back on the pillow, relaxing in the knowledge that he was loved by the person he loved. “Yeah, I wish it.”
FIN