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"Fuck it. Let's get drunk."
Mycroft rolled his eyes at Greg's words.
They had just returned from Molly's birthday party and Mycroft really should have watched how many drinks Greg had. The weather was warm and Molly's punch was delicious and thirst-quenching, but the sweetness of its fruity taste had overpowered the taste of the alcohol.
They staggered to the door of their room and Mycroft muttered, "Drunk you already are, my dear. Let's call it a night."
Greg brought his lips to Mycroft's and whispered, "I barely drank, I'm just drunk on you, honey."
Mycroft chuckled softly, "Detective Lestrade, you are a real flirt when you're drunk."
Greg winked at him and replied flirtatiously, "And? Does it work?"
"Hmmm, I don't know," Mycroft replied playfully, "Go on."
Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft's neck and blew against his lips, "Kiss me...".
He had barely spoken the words when Mycroft pinned him against the door and replied, "You'd better remember that tomorrow," before pressing his mouth against Greg's.
Mycroft didn't know if it was because Greg's lips tasted like the fruity punch or just because it was Greg, but the sensations were intoxicating. Incredibly sweet. Every touch of his lips was like an explosion of passion and Mycroft didn't want it to stop.
But it was necessary, because it was out of the question to go further while Greg was not in full possession of his faculties.
He stepped back, pushing Greg away a bit to catch his breath.
He watched in amusement as Greg licked his lips, when suddenly his lover whispered mischievously, "I'll remember that tomorrow, Hoooney. Believe me, I'll never forget the day I, a mere detective, outsmarted the great Mycroft Holmes."
At Mycroft's stunned look, Greg chuckled softly and, pulling him by the flaps of his jacket, dragged him into their bedroom, whispering, "But don't let that stop you from continuing what you've started."
Mycroft, transfixed, knew at that moment that the intoxicated feeling had nothing to do with alcohol, but everything to do with Greg.
He was the one who was drunk.
Drunk with this man who kept surprising him.
Drunk with his smile, his eyes, his voice, his mouth.
Drunk with his love.
If this was what it meant to be drunk, then Mycroft never wanted to be sober again.