Give Me A Label (I'll Make Confetti)

Chapter 6: Kiss, Kiss, Kiss

The people were the same, Greg was the same, yet everything at the party felt different. Greg felt like he was waiting for someone (which he wasn't), like he'd dressed for someone (which he hadn't!) and like he couldn't get drunk because he wanted to enjoy whatever might come from a certain ginger-haired boy (HE COULD GET ABSOLUTELY FUCKING DRUNK, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!)

Greg lingered in the kitchen figuring Mycroft would need a drink at some point if he turned up (not that it mattered, of course. Why would Greg be waiting for Mycroft? He wasn't, absolutely not).

He was on his fourth beer when a familiar auburn-haired teenager suddenly appeared at the keg. He bent right over, giving Greg a view of his gorgeous arse wrapped in bright blue, skin-tight jeans, filled a cup up with beer, and proceeded to swallow the lot.

When he was done he tossed it aside, locked eyes with Greg, and smirked before leaving. Greg left his own beer on the table and followed through the crowd, keeping him in sight as they walked.

He headed upstairs and Greg followed behind, heart pounding in his chest and entire body tingling as he stared at the arse practically dancing before him. Greg swallowed thickly as they reached the dark hallway.

Suddenly Greg was yanked further into the darkness and slammed into the wall. All the air left Greg's lungs as he found himself in the exact same position as the night before; an arm wrapped around his waist, a hand tugging at his hair, and Mycroft Holmes smirking at him.

His eyes were covered in dark blue eyeshadow, eyeliner highlighting them perfectly and making Greg lick his lips. His shirt was a tight black one and he wore a blue-pinstriped waistcoat over the top.

'Hello there, Gregory,' Mycroft said, sounding amused. 'What are you doing, following me to the bathroom?'

'I didn't follow- ahh!'

Mycroft tugged Greg's head back, making him cut himself off with a hiss. 'No, no, don't lie to me, Gregory dear. You saw me get a drink and you followed me. Were you thinking about last night when I fucked lovely young James? He was lovely, Gregory, I saw you eyeing him earlier in the evening.'

Greg's eyes widened. Mycroft had been watching him?

'Oh yes, I've seen you at plenty of parties in the past,' Mycroft said, eyes roaming over Greg's face. 'I've watched you fuck whatever guy you want, leaving them gasping for more. But you never give them more, do you, Gregory?'

'No,' Greg said.

'Why is that?' Mycroft asked.

'I... they...' Greg wet his lips, Mycroft's eyes briefly darting down to them. 'They're never any good,' Greg admitted. Mycroft inclined an eyebrow. 'I mean, I get off,' Greg said, wondering just why the hell he was talking to Mycroft Holmes about this. 'But they're not... they don't...'

'Satisfy you?' Mycroft provided.

'Yeah,' Greg said. 'They make me come, but it's not enough.'

'Mm, a pity,' Mycroft mused.

'I still can't believe... this,' Greg said, looking Mycroft over.

The elder Holmes chuckled. 'Hmm, seems not everybody can fit under the perfect little labels you create,' he said conversationally. 'What have you called me, Gregory? Oh, yes; posh, prat, loser, boring, arsehole... does any of that hold true at this very moment, hmm?'

Mycroft tisked when Greg failed to say anything.

'Well,' he said with a smile, 'let's see what label you use after this.'

He launched himself forward, crashing his mouth against Greg's and taking him by surprise. Greg gasped as Mycroft's right hand twisted painfully through his hair, forcing Greg's head to go whatever way Mycroft wanted. His knee was suddenly rutting hard against Greg's cock, the organ twitching in interest, even while Mycroft pressed his entire body against the older boy's own. His left hand snaked around Greg's waist, fingers digging in hard and arm dragging Greg from the wall.