Chapter Text
The retirement party was lovely. Mycroft had wanted to throw an additional party at some nice estate or other but Greg had refused saying that one retirement party was more than enough. He didn’t need to hear any more stories about him ending up in the Thames or dealing with angry dogs or whatever else his colleagues might remember. Seeing a very harassed looking Sherlock forced to give a moderately complimentary speech about Greg’s service to the Yard was an unexpected bonus. John was in Sherlock’s direct line of sight and furrowing his brow anytime Sherlock looked ready to waver on the message of thanks and congratulations.
Mycroft smiled approvingly at the praise of his husband and squeezed his hand. “And now I get to have you all to myself.” He murmured.
“I suppose it’s too much to hope that you’ll retire now? You could keep me in bed all day.” Greg said grinning cheekily.
“Mmm, tempting. However, I’m not naïve enough to believe you’ll be kept away for long. I’m sure you’ll be asked to be Sherlock’s liaison, as you’re the only member of Scotland Yard fluent in Sherlock…”
Sherlock concluded his speech “I believe I can say without qualification that Inspector Lestrade has easily been the best and most capable officer of the law that I have had the…privilege to work with here at New Scotland Yard.” He turned to look at Greg “I want you to know that I am saying this under great duress,” he spared a brief glare for John who rolled his eyes “but it is no less true for all that. I am grateful to you and will be sorry to lose you as a colleague. Thank you, Gregory.” Sherlock barely waited for the applause to conclude before rushing off the dais for the reward cigarette John had promised him.
Greg blinked “I uh wow, that was a bit of a surprise.”
“Was it? Sherlock’s not given to displays of sentiment but he is fully aware of the debt he owes you.”
“Debt? Hardly. I think the Yard owes him far more than Sherlock could ever hope to collect on.”
“Have I ever told you what a disgustingly kind and generous soul you are, Gregory?”
“It rings a faint bell.”
~
The first few months of retirement were strange as Greg settled into his time alone at the Mayfair house he shared with Mycroft. He picked up the guitar again and began relearning the chords for Spanish Bombs by the Clash, the only song he’d managed to master all the way through when he was a teenager. He picked up and abandoned several books in succession. He grew a beard, shaved it, grew a goatee, shaved it, and then briefly grew mutton chops before Mycroft said he was uninterested in having sex with a Victorian lithograph and could he please shave it and never attempt historical facial hair again.
Mostly Greg found himself cooking again. He hadn’t had time to devote to preparing meals in years and the joy of being in touch with the food he ate and the food he provided to Mycroft was immeasurable. Greg dug out some of the recipes his grandmother had used and made cassoulet for the first time, undercooking the beans only slightly. He fumbled his way through clafoutis, nailed coq au vin the first time out, and did a pretty reasonable steak au poivre. He took to making quiche each weekend but Mycroft was unwilling to eat just quiche and insisted on a fruit salad and some yogurt with it.
“Gregory you know I can’t eat just eggs with cream and bacon.”
“It’s a quiche! It’s good for you!”
Mycroft gave him a stern look. Greg relented “Alright, not good for you but it’s not the worst thing you could eat. I didn’t just serve you a giant slab of paté for breakfast or anything.”
“Paté is probably marginally healthier than quiche, dear.”
“Is it? Well I guess I’ll go pick up some goose livers at the shop today then”
Mycroft sighed “Gregory, please. I’m very happy that you’ve found something you enjoy doing but I cannot eat this sort of fare regularly.”
“Of course you can. Myc, you look fine! More than fine! You look incredible and handsome and like someone I want to shag as often as you’ll let me!”
“I appreciate that but the point remains. You may make whatever you like but I will not always be able to eat it with you.”
Greg grinned at his husband “I’ve stopped listening. All I can think about is how handsome you look with bed head.”
Mycroft’s hair returned to very soft curls after a night of sleeping on it, with a few tufts sticking up. Greg ran a hand through it and stroked a thumb down Mycroft’s neck before leaning in to nibble on his ear.
“If I can’t get you to enjoy this fine quiche, what can I offer you that you will enjoy?"
Mycroft brought a hand up to run his nails along Greg’s scalp causing Greg to shiver and close his eyes in enjoyment. “I’m afraid my thoughts are still consumed with my husband’s plans to destroy my waistline with his French lineage and culinary skills” Mycroft said softly.
Greg groaned “Negotiating while I’m trying to get a leg over is not on! Especially when you’re looking so edible.”
“Well, then I think it’s in your best interests to concede the point.”
“What!? My best interests? I’m a fantastic lay! I can guarantee your enjoyment!” Greg huffed in feigned hurt.
Mycroft smiled, baring his teeth in a delightfully predatory manner. “Yes, I know.”
Greg got down onto his knees in front of Mycroft’s chair and wrapped his arms around his husband’s waist, nuzzling the softness of his belly. “Why can’t you just trust me when I say that you are sexy and I will always think you’re sexy. I love your softness and it makes me want to fuck you more, not less! I would still want you like mad even if you gained ten stone and here you’re worried about putting on one!”
Mycroft clenched his jaw at the reference to his body. He preferred to not think of himself as having a physical body at all, if he could help it. It made it easier to dissociate from the failings he found with it. Gregory untied his robe and lifted up his shirt and began making soft love bites on Mycroft’s belly. He relaxed his jaw and sighed, pulling Greg up look into his face. He couldn’t see any signs of mockery but then when it came to Greg, he never could. He was always so earnest about his adoration for Mycroft’s body. It disconcerted him all over again each time he confronted it.
“Myc, will you ever – well, have you ever believed me when I say I love your body?”
Mycroft smiled gently “No. It is an act of faith to believe that you love me as I am and I am singularly unskilled at having faith.”
“How many times would I have to utterly ravish you before you could believe me?”
“Utterly ravish?”
“Shut up, I was reading one of those Regency romances last week.”
“Did it leave you breathless and panting?” Mycroft smirked.
“Oi, I found it on your bookshelf! And stop dodging the question!”
“There is not an answer to your question. We will just have to keep ‘ravishing’ one another and see what develops.”
“Can I start ‘ravishing’ you right now?” Greg asked hopefully.
“Well, it would be a shame to waste a moment when you are already on your knees…”
~
Greg had kept up his exercise routine into retirement, going for a half hour run every afternoon and then doing a round of pushups, sit-ups, and pull-ups. He felt pretty good for 59. He didn’t look as fit as he used to, but that was okay. Being a chiseled 59 year old would be a waste of time. Staying fit enough to chase whatever criminal Sherlock had managed to track down was really the most important measure of health to him.
It was a bit of a shock when he needed to go up a notch in his belt, but retirement usually meant settling into a more sedate lifestyle and he was expecting to go a bit softer now that he was cooking. The love handles were less welcome as were the slight man breasts he’d started to develop. Standing in front of the mirror, fresh out of the shower, he frowned at himself. Was this what he would turn into? His dad had been a bit round as he’d gotten older but Greg hadn’t thought about himself aging much. He was only 59, that wasn’t old. Well, it was a bit old, but he was still running and exercising. How did these pounds find their way onto his body?
He didn’t give it too much thought until he had to go up a size in trousers. Mycroft found him sitting on the floor of the enormous walk in closet next to a pile of trousers and jeans looking pensive.
“Are you alright?” Mycroft asked, taking in the sight of his husband in a sea of trousers.
“Yeah, fine. Just going through some of my clothes. Getting rid of stuff, you know?”
“Do you want me to get an appointment with the tailor? You seem to be getting rid of quite a few trousers.” Mycroft noted, looking at Greg’s absent expression.
“Hmm? Yeah, that would be good.”
“We can go next weekend. I need some new pocket squares anyway.”
Greg looked slightly alarmed “I’ll be fine on my own. Really, I just need some trousers, maybe a shirt or two.”
“I know, but I don’t think I can count on you to pick out pocket squares for me.”
“I just would rather do it on my own. You know how tetchy I get about clothes. I don’t want you to have to deal with me when I’m being a prat.” Greg said with a nervous shrug.
Mycroft furrowed his brow “Alright, perhaps I can meet you there after you’ve finished up? John wanted to meet with us for lunch anyway. I believe he and Sherlock are considering adopting a child.”
Greg perked up at that. “Really? A kid huh? Well, I guess John is used to looking after things and Sherlock’d probably love having someone else around to be amazed at him.”
“Yes, they seem very pleased about it. Anyway, I shall leave you to sort out your wardrobe. Let me know when you’ve finished.”
“Right. Will do.”
~
Greg tried to eat healthier in the week before his appointment with the tailor hoping that maybe he wouldn’t need the appointment after all. He even started running an extra ten minutes every day. His body seemed indifferent to his efforts however and continued to store away extra pounds. He had gained a stone and a bit after six months of retirement. This did not bode well. At this rate he may as well start wearing track bottoms and have done with it!
In an attempt to keep his weight gain unnoticed he started sleeping with a shirt on after years of sleeping in just boxers. Mycroft had looked at him suspiciously but Greg had just claimed to be a bit cold lately. Mycroft nodded and then snaked a hand under the waistband of Greg’s boxers and cupped his balls.
“Clearly I’m not keeping you warm enough.”
Greg lay back against the headboard and spread his legs a bit wider before slipping his hardening cock out of the opening of his boxers. Mycroft took his hand out of the boxers and began stroking him lightly up and down.
“Are you going to take your shirt off? I promise you’ll be very warm very soon” Mycroft asked while gently mouthing Greg’s nipples through his shirt.
Greg’s breath hitched slightly “No, I think I um chaffed my nipples while running this week. They’re a bit sore”
Mycroft immediately removed his mouth and looked at Greg in concern “Oh, I’m sorry! Would you like me to put some salve on them? I’ll get you some better running attire tomorrow.”
“No, no, really Myc, it’s fine.” He looked down at his cock which had softened while Greg’s mind was preoccupied with worry at having to take off his shirt in front of Mycroft.
Mycroft nodded and quietly stripped off his own boxers and shirt and straddled Greg, sucking softly up his neck before licking the curve of his ear. Greg’s cock showed renewed interest and he nudged his hips up to meet Mycroft’s. While Mycroft was distracted, Greg surreptitiously pulled his shirt all the way down. He debated scrambling out from underneath his husband and saying he was too tired right now but he’d already avoided sex for most of the week. If he didn’t offer something Mycroft would definitely start asking questions. Greg was so often the initiator, it might have already attracted Mycroft’s notice that Greg wasn’t pouncing on him. He quickly reached up and circled his thumbs around Mycroft’s nipples flicking them until they firmed up and ran his thumbnail gently across them. Mycroft shivered at his attentions and nipped hard at Greg’s neck before moving into a bruising kiss that softened into tongues sliding lazily against one another.
Greg tried to relax into it and savor Mycroft’s taste but he was painfully aware of how close Mycroft was to lying on top of his newly softened belly. Greg reached between them, forcing Mycroft to sit up a bit more, and took both of their cocks, stroking them together in a gentle rhythm. Mycroft let his head fall back and thrust slightly each time the heads bumped together. Greg sighed with pleasure at the sight of Mycroft enjoying himself. Even if he couldn’t let himself get too carried away, he could appreciate how amazing it was to see Mycroft eyes closed, flushing pink and taking harsh staccato breaths.
“You are so beautiful, Myc. I love seeing you like this.”
Mycroft gasped and opened his eyes to look at Greg. His hands fluttered a little nervously as though he wanted to cover himself but Greg squeezed the base of their pricks and pulled up, bringing each foreskin over the crown causing Mycroft to grunt and close his eyes again. He put his own hand next to Greg’s, feeling it move up and down. “Ahh – Fuck, keep doing that!” Greg sped up his strokes and leaned up to bite gently on one of Mycroft’s nipples. He came with a startled whimper after another few pulls, grinding against Greg.
He let his head hang forward, his hair falling into his eyes. He took some breaths to collect himself but felt exposed. He hadn’t had sex with one partner clothed, unless he was the one still clothed, in a very long time. It was thrilling to be so bare in front of someone but still triggered that urge to hide and not let his body be seen. This was Greg though, and he’d made an effort to reach out and let Mycroft see how sexy Greg thought he was. The least he could do was try and repay that effort by trusting Greg, even if it felt like he was being asked to walk naked down the high street.
Mycroft pulled Greg’s hand off of their cocks and wrapped his fingers around Greg’s, slicking it up with his own come. He tried to show as much of himself to Greg’s gaze as possible, rather than curling in on himself, and watched with nervous pleasure as Greg reverently ran his hands over Mycroft’s pale form. He shuffled backwards so he could lean down and lick at the underside of Greg’s cock, moaning softly as he tasted himself on that warm and heavy prick. He reached a hand up to touch Greg’s chest but Greg intercepted his hand and intertwined their fingers.
Greg was nervous now that Mycroft wasn’t under the haze of arousal anymore, he’d be much harder to distract from Greg’s body. He threaded his other hand into Mycroft’s hair in what he hoped would prompt Mycroft to focus on sucking cock rather than trying to touch any part of Greg’s torso. Mycroft took the cue and slowly sunk Greg’s cock into his mouth and ran his tongue around the head. He took it in deeply and seemed to get lost in the rhythm of sliding and sucking. His hand tightened on Mycroft’s and he gave a stuttering breath. Mycroft pulled back and fluttered his tongue against the frenulum. Greg let loose a surprised groan, his hips trying to thrust up into the warm flicking sensation.
“How the fuck do you do that?”
Mycroft hummed happily before opening up his mouth and letting Greg watch that pink tongue bouncing against his prick. He inhaled sharply at the sight and gave a shuddery sigh as a slow, sweeping orgasm rippled through him. Mycroft gently licked at each new spurt as it trickled down Greg’s cock until he gave a final shiver and relaxed into the bed, keeping one hand splayed protectively against his belly in case Mycroft tried to cuddle up next to him before he’d had a chance to arrange himself into his least fat exposing position.
“To answer your question, I played the flute briefly.”
Greg looked up from his haze “What? Oh right, the tongue thing. I’ll have you know when I was 17 I dated a girl who played the flute and she never once did that.”
“Perhaps I’m lying then, and I learned it from a renowned courtesan” Mycroft said, kissing Greg’s nose.
“Courtesans don’t exist anymore”
“I was trying to be delicate.”
“Fine, would a ‘courtesan’ give lessons on dick sucking technique?” Greg raised an eyebrow.
“This one did” Mycroft gave him the most neutral of looks.
“You know,” Greg sighed “I’ve been married to you for 8 years and I still can’t tell when you’re lying.”
“Flute.”
“Can you still play?”
“Evidently” Mycroft smiled demurely before wrapping himself in a dressing gown and going to grab a flannel to clean them up with. Greg took the time while Mycroft was in the bathroom to make sure his shirt hadn’t ridden up. Mycroft was going to find out sooner or later about Greg’s weight gain. Hell, he probably had already noticed but was just being polite enough not to mention it. Greg refused to entertain that thought for long. He had to keep this as much to himself as possible, there was no need for anyone but him to see his growing paunch and man boobs. Jesus Christ, he had man boobs! He anxiously scrubbed his non-sticky hand over his face . Mycroft had already settled for an older, grey haired, slightly battered cop for a husband. He at least deserved a reasonably fit one. Greg would get this sorted out; he would just have to try and keep Mycroft from seeing him naked in the meantime.