John was regretting his life choices when he woke up with a hangover and he had to work at the clinic. He was four patients in, and had banged his head against his desk after the third STD from idiots who swore they never had unprotected sex, when the next patient walked in.

"Just a second," he muttered, holding up a finger as he promised himself never to drink again.

"Oh, please, do take all the time you need, John," came the smarmy reply.

John's head snapped up.

"No. You can't be here, Mycroft," John hissed. "Not at work."

"Looks to me like you could use a break."

John huffed.

"As long as you're not expecting me to give you a physical."

"I wouldn't mind, though. I seem to have overindulged last night."

John snorted at the understatement, and Mycroft looked at him over the desk in amusement, his eyes going all crinkly again, something John had never known he had a fondness for before.

"Why are you really here?" John asked, more seriously.

"Would you believe me if I said the memory of you last night distracted me from my work?"

"I didn't know you did anything as pedestrian as daydreaming."

"I'm only human."

He sounded a bit sad admitting it, but having him be so truthful for once prompted John to be nice. Despite what he had said, John walked around his desk to the examination table, which he patted.

"Hop on."

He could have sworn Mycroft's eyes darkened.

"Don't go imagining anything. I simply can't bill you if I haven't given you the standard examination. NSH procedure, you know. I wouldn't want to lose my job."

"I'm familiar," Mycroft sighed, but he did take his vest off to fold it neatly over the chair.

He didn't do something as undignified as "hopping on" though, but instead sat on the beat up old table as if it was a throne, which was quite amusing from his point of view. Mycroft certainly wasn't his usual kind of patient, not in this neighbourhood. His protection detail had to be going berserk right now.

"Shirt off," John said, a bit excited at the thought his musings about the man's freckles would soon be answered.

"Yes, doctor."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" John asked while Mycroft slowly loosened his blood-red tie before sliding it off from around his neck.

"I could call you Captain, if you'd rather?"

Oh God, that was enticing. Imagine giving orders to Mycroft and him not only obeying, but liking it. A novel idea, to be sure, but one he had to file away, preferably forever.

"Shirt," John reminded him.

Mycroft kept eye contact as he undid every little button. It made John's mouth go dry. The slightest reveal of pale flesh enticing him to look closer so he could map out the freckles. John was breathing hard by the time he arrived to the last button. Damnit. He was attracted to Mycroft. Maybe not at first, or maybe he had just been reluctant because he was Sherlock's brother, but he was definitely seeing the attraction now. John took a step closer, into his personal space, more than a doctor ought to be for a simple physical. And the smell of his cologne hit him, reminding him of a fuzzy memory of Mycroft helping him up a flight of stairs, worried and caring.

Mycroft's breathing hitched at his proximity, which pleased him immensely. So John had power over this man after all, the most powerful man of the country. That was a heady feeling. It was exciting and excitement was what he craved more than oxygen.

John was at a crossroads. He knew the direction he should take, the sane road leading away from Mycroft. He would tell him to get dressed and leave, then try to continue avoiding him as best he could. But right now, he wanted to speed down the road to the unknown and ignore all the danger signs cautioning him away.

John took matters into his own hands. It was his decision and no one else's. With deliberation, John slid the now open shirt off of Mycroft's shoulders and there they were, a myriad bronze freckles covering his skin in copper patches. John stepped closer still, between Mycroft's legs, and kissed one shoulder, making the British Government sigh. That was hot too. He kissed the other and was stunned at how responsive Mycroft was when he had always imagined him to be stoic in all things.

"I think I have come to a diagnosis," John said against his skin.

"Already?"

John hummed and glanced up.

"You seem to be suffering from a bad case of touch deprivation. I don't usually do home visits, but…"

"I'll have my chauffeur pick you up after work."

"In a hurry?"

"You have no idea."

Mycroft slid off the table and leaned into him so their lips were almost touching.

"Don't make me wait," Mycroft added before he calmly turned around and dressed himself up to his usual standard.

"You're such a tease," John chuckled as he returned to his desk.

"You're one to talk," Mycroft retorted. "I'm looking forward to your visit."

John shuffled on his chair, trying to adjust the bulge in his trousers. Mycroft wasn't duped and smirked at him as he walked over to repossess his vest.

"Doctor," he said on his way out, as proper as you please, as if this had not been the filthiest thing to ever happen in his office, which was saying a lot about his lack of sex life.

John waited for the door to close, then banged his head on the desk again before the next I-swear-I-got-an-STD-using-a-public-toilet walked in.

The rest of the day both felt like the shortest and longest one he'd had to work through, in turn anxious and excited about meeting Mycroft that night. He had no idea what to expect since the other man alway managed to surprise him, but if he was honest with himself for once, John was up for anything he would throw his way.

The worst part was telling Sherlock about his plans.

"I guess it was inevitable," Sherlock said, his sigh audible even across the line. "Just promise me one thing?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't ever, ever, mention anything about it. In fact, I'd better not look at you when you return or I'll just see everything. Urgh. I think I might accept that case in Scotland, just to be on the safe side. I'll be back in a few days."

John thought he was being a bit melodramatic, but then he tried putting himself in his shoes and imagining his best friend having sex with his sister and… Urgh… it was indeed something be would be going to Scotland to avoid. John wished him luck on his case instead, which Sherlock scoffed at before hanging up. In the end, Sherlock hadn't even been mad about his decision, only disgusted, which wasn't so bad. It certainly made John feel better about it since he hadn't wanted to put his friendship in jeopardy just to get a leg over.

With a sigh, John readjusted his trousers and walked out to meet Mycroft's chauffeur. The drive to the town house went smoothly, except for his heartbeat that was thumping steadily louder and harder in his chest, the way it did as a soldier when he was going into battle. He supposed it was fitting, given how their relationship had evolved, a constant battle of wills until… Who had won? John didn't feel like he'd lost. He hadn't caved to Mycroft's demands but rather taken control as he made the first physical move on the other. Did Mycroft see it the same way? Or would he be all smug with the knowledge he had gotten what he wanted in the end?

Standing before Mycroft's front door, it was a bit late to have second thoughts, so he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and knocked.

Mycroft opened with an apologetic smile, pointing at the phone he held against his ear. John wasn't even surprised, although hearing him speak a foreign language he couldn't even guess at did. After following him into the familiar kitchen, John chuckled when Mycroft set a cool beer in front of him, unsure whether he should take the gesture as a jibe or a kindness. He mouthed a thanks at him anyway and sipped on it while Mycroft's tone grew in speed and volume, sounding angrier by the second, until the conversation suddenly ended.

"Apologies for that, John. I wasn't expecting the call, but I couldn't delay it either."

John waved off his worries. He was almost glad for it, to be honest. He was more relaxed than he'd been at the door, as if the normalcy of a work emergency had thrown out all the doubts and expectations that had been weighing him down. It was just Mycroft being Mycroft. Mycroft who wanted him. Needed him too, maybe.

God knows John needed someone to connect to, to be close to, with whom he could drop all pretence and barriers. Mycroft knew him better than most everyone, and John was one of the rare people Mycroft could trust. This could actually work.

His reasoning, however sound, didn't mean his legs didn't feel like jelly as he stood, abandoning his beer to quench another kind of thirst. Mycroft's whole posture stiffened when he approached, his eyes following him, much darker than they had been just a minute ago.

"Tell me you want me," John demanded when they were so close he could feel his every breath, soak in his Cologne and feel the heat emanating from his body.

The other man breath hitched. He licked his lips as he tilted his head just a fraction to look him in the eye.

"Of course I do. Yes. I want you, John." John smiled. Waited. He was being cruel, but Mycroft had been a bit not good of late. "Please?" he added.

Good enough. John would bet Mycroft never begged for anything. Just for him. That's how bad he wanted him. Desire sparked in his body, making everything feel more intense: his gaze, his smell, his presence… With a nod, John took Mycroft's hand and led him towards the stairs.

"Your room?" he asked.

He was too old to be doing gymnastics on a kitchen counter or against the fridge. Hell, they both were. Less spur of the moment, but his knees and back would thank him tomorrow.

"Second on the left," Mycroft answered breathlessly.

The door was already open, revealing a very large bed covered in white pillows and a thick grey comforter.

"Perfect," John purred as he pulled Mycroft forward, easing him on the bed in front of him so they were positioned much like they had been in his medical practice. "Now, where had we left off?"

John smiled at the whimper that escaped Mycroft's lips. He was going to enjoy this immensely. Let it not be said that to the victor went all the spoils. John may have lost this battle of wills against Mycroft in the end, but he fully intended to reap as much benefits from it as the winner.