It's finally done! Sorry for the delay, guys, and thanks for all the encouraging comments! I hope the length of this chapter helps make up for the slow posting.

Also, special super extra thanks to my lovely beta reader, DancingGrimm, who was able to get this monster of a chapter back to me in less than 6 hours. You are fabulous, my dear!

"Wait!" Suddenly desperate, Greg lunged forward, grabbing blindly at the place where Mycroft had been standing. His fingers brushed against soft fabric and he lurched forward again, closing his hand around what was possibly the edge of Mycroft's jacket, trying to ignore the way that his hand seemed to have disappeared from the end of his arm. His fingertips pressed against cool silk and soft cotton as he tightened his grip and yanked, hard.

Again he saw Mycroft's distorted broken form for a moment as he staggered against the pull, letting out a little "oomf" sound when his knee knocked against the coffee table. Greg yanked again and suddenly Mycroft was completely, perfectly visible, just as he collapsed sideways onto the sofa beside where Greg was kneeling.

"Release me this second!"

"Shut up and listen!" Greg shouted back, relinquishing his hold on Mycroft's jacket only long enough to place both hands on his shoulders and squeeze. He pulled Mycroft around and leaned forward until their faces were only inches apart. Mycroft looked back, apparently frozen, face giving nothing away.

"Mycroft, I really did think you were going to kill me. I'm sorry, but I did. The way you cornered me, the things you were saying, it sounded like I was about to die." Mycroft opened his mouth, but Greg did not pause. "But I didn't do what I did because I thought it would save me. Honestly, that never even crossed my mind."

Now Greg paused, but Mycroft's mouth had snapped shut and he did not speak. He was watching Greg with unwavering focus, the blank mask slipping to reveal a just a hint of emotion in his eyes. After a moment, Greg continued.

"I did it because I wanted to, and because I thought that if I was going to die anyway I might as well have one less regret."

Mycroft's eyes widened, and he swallowed twice before speaking. "You wanted to?"

"God yes." Slowly, slowly, Greg leaned forward, giving Mycroft time to protest. When he did not, Greg carefully pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Mycroft stayed frozen for a brief second and then melted into the kiss, all the tension draining from his body as if someone had pulled a plug.

Greg broke the kiss after a short time and pulled back, smiling softly. Mycroft blinked up at him and then relaxed, boneless, into the sofa, rolling back into a proper sitting position and letting his head fall back onto the cushion. Greg scooted to sit beside him, clasping Mycroft's hand in his. He nudged him with his shoulder, and Mycroft raised his head, looking down first at their joined hands before turning to face Greg.

"Gregory, I… I am pleased to hear that you feel that way." He paused. "And I believe I should tell you that I feel the same."

"Yeah, I kind of figured." He rubbed Mycroft's thumb with his and delighted at the tiny shudder that passed through the other man.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, and Greg could not help but reflect on the way that everything in his life had changed in such a short time. Only yesterday he had been terrified, half convinced he was going to be killed for discovering Mycroft's secret and half convinced he was going insane, and in either case dreaming nightly of being taken by the man in every conceivable way. Now here he sat, beside a confirmed vampire who apparently held a fairly significant amount of affection for him, suddenly more concerned for their possible relationship than his own life.

A movement from Mycroft startled him, but he was only leaning forward to pick his mug up from the table. He sipped it gingerly and then pulled the mug quickly away from his mouth with a grimace.

"Has it gone cold? I could make some more." Greg stopped and thought for a moment. "Oh hell, do you even drink tea, or were you just being polite? I forgot to ask before."

"No Gregory, I drink tea and eat food, just as you do. I just require, shall we say, some additional nutrition from a very specific source in order to stay healthy." Greg could not suppress a shiver at the reminder, a ribbon of heat curling low in his stomach. Mycroft watched him with one eyebrow raised, and Greg felt himself blushing.

"Um… in that case, I was just about to order some take-away when you… showed up. Want to stay for dinner?" Greg did not notice the implications of his phrasing until the question was out of his mouth. Mycroft arched his eyebrow further.

"Sounds delicious," he murmured. Greg blushed harder.

"Right. How about Thai then? There's a great place just down the street that delivers."

"As you please." Mycroft settled back on the sofa as Greg went into the kitchen to grab his mobile and place the order. Once food was on the way Greg went back to the sofa, sitting down a few feet from Mycroft. He brought one knee up and twisted to face the other man, who was watching him calmly.

"So I was wondering, is it alright if I ask you about… you know, stuff?"

"You can ask. I should warn you that I have not spoken of my… condition in quite some time. In this modern world of recording devices, it seems prudent that I exercise caution."

"Would you prefer not to talk about it?" Greg was disappointed. He had been looking forward to finding out more about Mycroft, and vampires in general, once he discovered that he was not going to be summarily killed for the knowledge.

"Oh no, it's quite all right. I can state with absolute certainly that there are no recording devices in your flat at this time. But I might find it difficult to discuss some aspects, as a result of my long history of reticence."

"Oh, well, great then." Greg tried to be annoyed at the comment about recording devices, but found he could not. He was too pleased to have Mycroft here, apparently content to sit and talk with him. He did file away the phrase "at this time" for future consideration, though. "I wanted to ask about the disappearing thing that you do. I've never seen anything like it. What is that?"

"It's one of my Talents; we call it Veiling. Essentially I can generate an energy field that causes light to bend around me, making me appear invisible to others."

"Oh wow. That's… that's brilliant, actually."

"Is it?" Mycroft looked puzzled. Greg found that far more endearing than he thought he should.

"Yeah, definitely." Greg resisted the urge to wink at Mycroft, who still looked confused. "So, you said that's one of your talents. What else can you do?"

"I can…," Mycroft paused and scratched at his chin, which Greg recognized as an indication that he was uncomfortable. God, when had he become so familiar with Mycroft's mannerisms? "I can conceal memories, cloud them, make people forget things."

"Right." Greg looked away and swallowed. "You said you were going to do that to me."

"Gregory." The earnestness in Mycroft's voice made him turn back, unable to resist the pull of Mycroft showing genuine emotions. Mycroft clasped both hands around one of his, holding gently. "I was going to do it for your safety, because possessing this knowledge is dangerous to you as much as it is to me. And also… well, because it never occurred to me that you would find it… appealing. I assumed you would be terrified, knowing what I am, that we exist. I thought you would be glad to be rid of those memories."

"You know, I probably should be scared. I was, actually, at first. But, well, I don't know," Greg shrugged, dropping his eyes. "I mean, it's scary to think about vampires being real, but when it's you, it's not the same. You're not just some random Dracula monster. I've known you for years, and… well, fancied you for quite a while. So I guess this just makes you seem… even more dangerous and impressive." Greg could feel himself blushing as he made this confession. He kept his eyes averted.

"Gregory." Mycroft's voice was a growl, and the next second Greg found himself being pushed back against the arm of the sofa with Mycroft climbing onto his lap. He slid a hand into Greg's hair and brought their lips together in a slow, heated kiss.

Greg ran his hands up and down Mycroft's back, humming into his mouth. The kiss was languid and tender, and sent a slow wave of heat rolling though Greg. He let his head fall back against the arm of the sofa and surrendered control to Mycroft, reveling in the sensation of his lips and tongue and teeth, letting himself drift in the pure bliss of it.

They kissed, and went on kissing for an unheeded amount of time, until a sudden knock at the door jerked them from their daze. Greg blinked as Mycroft pulled back, momentarily disoriented before he remembered that he had ordered take-away. Mycroft looked similarly confused, but slid off Greg's lap and onto the sofa.

Greg took a moment to collect himself as he answered the door and paid for the meal. It would not do to just go back and jump the man… vampire… whatever. Greg was quite hungry, for one thing, and he still had some questions he wanted answered. So he straightened his pajama bottoms and willed down his erection as he carried the paper bag of food back into the living room, with a brief stopover in the kitchen to collect forks and plates. They would eat and talk, and hopefully get a few more things figured out. Then he could jump him.

Mycroft was waiting on the sofa, looking slightly disheveled and entirely gorgeous with his rumpled suit and tousled hair, and Greg had to close his eyes for a moment to strengthen his resolve.

"Best Thai food in the city," Greg announced as he set the bag on the table and started pulling out cartons. Mycroft watched him, looking mildly horrified as Greg started flipping lids and scooping food onto his plate.

"Gregory, don't you have a perfectly serviceable dining table right over there?"

Greg grinned. "Yeah, but I like to eat in here. More comfortable." He nudged a plate and a carton of pad Thai in Mycroft's direction and grinned wider as Mycroft reluctantly forked out some noodles.

"So," Greg started, once he had swallowed a few bites of food to take the edge off, "vampires can become invisible and erase memories, huh? That's funny, I didn't find anything about that when I was researching vampires. Turning into bats and fog, yes; mind control, yes; but no invisibility or memory stuff."

"Not all of us have the same Talents. They differ between individuals. Clouding, which is what we call the memory altering Talent, is in fact extremely rare. Also, I've never heard of anyone with the ability to turn into an animal or a weather feature."

"Hmm," Greg swallowed another bite of food, his lip curling in a half-smirk. "I notice you didn't mention the mind control."

"Yes, well." Mycroft looked away and scratched his chin. Greg's smirk bloomed into a full grin. Uncomfortable Mycroft was too cute. And besides, Greg had already worked this one out for himself.

"Oh, come on. You might as well tell me now."

"I do in fact possess a Talent that allows me to encourage huma- that is, people, to act in the manner that I desire, although it is quite limited."

Mycroft's slip drove home to Greg quite suddenly that he was sitting here on his sofa eating cheap Thai food and chatting about magic powers with a being that was not technically human, that could snap him in half with barely an effort. The shiver that passed down his spine was a combination of heat and fear that left him suddenly breathless, his heart pounding.

Mycroft jerked his head up to look at him sharply, brow furrowed, and Greg realized that Mycroft could hear the increase in his heart rate. He licked his lips, and Mycroft mimicked the motion. He shivered again.

"It's your eyes, right? When they go all black? That's how you control people."

"I…" Mycroft's eyes widened slightly, which Greg knew to be the equivalent of gasping in shock for most people. "Yes, that's correct. I must make direct eye contact in order to use either of the two of my Talents that operate directly on the brain. It is, in fact, quite limiting."

Greg snorted. "Yeah, you can only erase memories and make people do what you want when you look them in the eye. That's a shame."

Mycroft gave a grimace that could possibly be considered a smile, if Greg was generous.

"You did it to me."

Mycroft sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes jumping to meet Greg's, expression suddenly tight. Greg kept his face deliberately smooth and even. This he had not worked out until just now, the words falling out of his mouth as the realization struck him. He remembered Mycroft whispering it into his ear as they humped against the wall. "I've tasted your blood," he had said.

Greg knew he should be furious, horrified, but again the emotions would not come. Because despite the violation implied in the act, here he sat, whole and safe and relatively unharmed. And although he was covered in injuries both minor and significant when he arrived at the hospital, the doctor had never mentioned anything about puncture wounds.

"Gregory…" Mycroft started, and then trailed off, apparently at a loss for words. He looked terrified, in his particular Mycroft way: tiny furrow to his brow, slightly widened eyes, and jaw tight. As Greg watched, he swallowed visibly and dropped his gaze. "It is true, I did. But please, please, Gregory, understand that I did not intend to. The first time was an accident, triggered by my fear and disorientation, and I stopped as soon as I realized I was doing it. The second time I was out of my head with the pain from the silver, and you were literally bleeding at my feet. I had no control over myself, none. I never meant… I would never do that to you. Not deliberately."

Mycroft kept his hands in his lap and his eyes down as he spoke, clearly expecting Greg to react with rage and fear, but Greg just felt… blank. He watched Mycroft, silent, while he tried to process everything he had just heard.

Twice? It had happened twice? He had no trouble placing the second incident; that had obviously occurred when Hairy Knuckles had shoved him bleeding back into the cell. Even now he retained no memory of what had happened between when he was pushed through the door and when Sherlock showed up. He had been attributing it to shock and blood loss, but clearly there more to it. But when was the first time?

"When was the first time?" Greg asked, voice flat.

"It was after they put the lights out that first night." Mycroft looked up at him again, expression pleading. "I have… other senses, usually. I can gather additional information about the environment using my mental energy, to supplement what I can see and hear. But running water and silver both inhibit those senses. The water, in particular, warps what I can sense until it is meaningless confusion, like trying to read newsprint through a glass prism. And then, when the lights went out as well… I have not been so blind in hundreds of years."

"It was when I used my mobile for light," Greg said suddenly, realization striking all at once. "My 'panic attack.' That's why I didn't feel comfortable sleeping within reach of you afterwards."

"Yes. You have good instincts."

Greg blinked. "I do, don't I?" He searched inside himself, but still found no anger, no fear. Mycroft had had him at his mercy repeatedly throughout their time in that cell, and had not taken advantage of it until he was too far gone from pain to control himself, and even then only when Greg had showed up dripping with blood. He smiled a soft, gentle smile and reached out, resting his hand on Mycroft's knee.

"Gregory?"

"It's okay, Mycroft. I appreciate you being honest with me about this, and it's okay. I believe you when you say it was out of your control. We can blame it on Andrei and the lot."

"Gregory…," Mycroft clutched at Greg's hand and squeezed almost hard enough to be painful. "I don't know how you can be so understanding about this, but I am more grateful than I can express."

"Well, like you said, I have good instincts." Greg was relieved to see a little smile appear on Mycroft's lips. "And Andrei's group certainly seemed to know what they were doing, didn't they? In terms of handling a vampire, I mean."

"Yes."

"Did you ever figure out what they were after? I assume your people managed to capture a few of them while they were rescuing us, right?"

"Indeed."

Greg waited. "And?"

"Initially, I assumed the motivation for the kidnapping was political. Or possibly intended to acquire certain… information… that I had on my person. The micro USB device, you remember?"

"I'm sorry, the what?" Greg carefully schooled his face into an expression of polite inquiry. He was not born yesterday, and knew a test when he heard one. "I have no idea what you mean."

Mycroft watched him for a moment, one eyebrow raised, and then smiled. "Well then, I shall say no more about it except that at the time of the kidnapping I had in my possession a device that some unscrupulous people might have sought to gain for themselves."

"So that's what they were after?"

"In fact, no. Think about it Gregory. They knew to keep me underground, bound in silver chains, in a room containing running water and sealed with a silver-plated door. How could they have known to do such things unless they knew what I was right from the start?"

"I don't… wait. Are you saying they captured you because you're a vampire? They were targeting vampires specifically?"

"Correct. We were captured by a militant group dedicated to the destruction of those such as myself. The group is based out of Romania, and call themselves "Vanatori". They learned of my… condition, and came for me. I believe you were only taken because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Or possibly they thought a human would be easier to interrogate."

"Likely that as well."

"Jesus, Mycroft, that's bizarre." Greg considered Mycroft's words for a moment. "It makes the questions Andrei was asking make a lot more sense. Oh yeah, I wanted to ask. He accused me of being something. 'Fascinat', I think was the word. I tried to look it up but I couldn't find anything about it on the internet. According to Google Translate, it just means 'glamorous' in Romanian. Any idea what he meant?"

"Yes. He was accusing you of being compelled to help me. In the past, those of us with the ability would take over human minds and create armies of loyal, mindless drones to serve as helpers and protect us from other humans."

"Well shit."

"Yes."

"That's… that's bloody insulting, is what it is."

"What?" Mycroft look baffled.

"I thought I made a pretty good show of not being a mindless drone when they were interrogating me, thank you very much."

"I see." Mycroft's mouth quirked as if he was trying to hold back a smile. "Well, no doubt you did. I'm sure they were just too blinded by their fanaticism to recognize it. Also, I have to believe that they did not think a human would willingly help someone like me."

"Well they're wrong there. I would always help you, human or not."

Mycroft swallowed and did not speak. Greg, embarrassed by his own candor, suddenly remembered the food they were eating. He quickly shoveled a few forkfuls of lukewarm yellow curry into his mouth. Mycroft followed suit, taking careful and deliberate bites. He managed to avoid getting sauce on his chin, which Greg found impressive.

"You know, I'm surprised they managed to catch you at all," Greg said after a few minutes of silent eating, waving his fork in the air to punctuate his statement. "You have all your government security, and then the advantage of your special vampire senses. I imagine you're hard to sneak up on."

"Yes." Mycroft looked suddenly grim. "That is usually the case. However, in this instance, they had an advantage."

"Mph?" Greg made an interrogative noise through a mouthful of food.

"A 'man on the inside', I believe is the term. My assistant, Benjamin. After we went missing, Sherlock discovered that he had been communicating with the Vanatori and had deliberately set me up. He disabled most of my security that evening. The Vanatori of course had some ideas how to conceal themselves from my awareness as well, being dedicated vampire hunters."

"Oh crap, Mycroft!" Greg dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter. "Your assistant? That's… that's awful."

"Yes. Finding a suitable replacement has been quite a challenge, but I do believe that the young lady I just hired will fill the position admirably."

"What? No, I meant, because of the betrayal."

"Oh. I see." Mycroft rubbed his chin again and avoided Greg's eyes. "Well. He has received a fitting punishment."

"Good." Greg could see that the subject made Mycroft uncomfortable, but he had to ask. Thinking about someone whom Mycroft had trusted and depended upon betraying him like that made Greg furious, and he needed to know that it could not happen again. "What did you do to him?"

Mycroft looked up suddenly at the heat in Greg's tone. "I was quite severely wounded from prolonged contact with the silver by the time Sherlock and the others found us. I was suffering extreme pain and was entirely delirious. I could not have been safely released from my bonds in such a state, or I would have almost certainly injured many of those that came to help us." Mycroft paused and glanced at Greg briefly before continuing. Greg could not read his expression. "There is only one thing that will restore a creature such as myself under those conditions."

Greg licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry. "Blood."

"Yes."

"The man... that man Sherlock was dragging around. I heard him, right before I passed out. I heard him screaming."

"Yes." Mycroft looked directly into Greg's eyes, his expression open and unguarded. "That was Benjamin. Sherlock discovered his role in the kidnapping and, after interrogating him, chose to bring him along. He realized that I could only have been held for so long given extreme measures, and rightly deduced that I would need a large amount of blood very quickly once I was found. He felt, and I agree, that providing me with that blood would be a fitting consequence for Benjamin's disloyalty."

"Christ," Greg breathed, flopping back against the sofa and breaking eye contact with Mycroft. He did not know what to feel about that revelation.

His initial knee-jerk reaction was horror, that any person should be put through that, fed to a creature like the one Mycroft had become by the end of their time as prisoners. On the other hand, though, Benjamin was largely responsible for Mycroft being in that state in the first place, and had actively sought to cause him harm. Have him killed, in fact, and probably in some kind of ritualistic and terrible way, after a prolonged session of torture via silver.

"Did he die?" Greg asked, still not looking at Mycroft.

"I regret to admit that he did," Mycroft responded after a pause. "If I had been in my right mind I would not have killed him. Even that severely damaged, I did not require so much blood that he could not have survived, and I truly do abhor killing. I would have preferred to take what I needed, and then Cloud his memory, assign him to an awful post in some remote frozen wasteland, and ensure that he never again received a promotion. Unfortunately, I did not have the awareness or self-control to manage it."

Greg nodded, although he was not sure to what. The thought of it turned his stomach, but he could not find fault with Mycroft either. Benjamin deserved a harsh punishment for his betrayal, and Mycroft was in an impossible situation. Logically, he saw the appropriateness of using Benjamin to provide the blood that Mycroft needed; it had a certain amount of poetic justice to it. So he forced his qualms aside and turned back to Mycroft.

"Okay, I can't say I like it, but I think I understand."

Mycroft let out a slow breath, reaching over to gently grasp Greg's hand. "Your kindness and generosity of spirit continue to astound me, Gregory. Thank you."

Greg shrugged and fell quiet, searching his mind for a change of subject. After a silent moment, he found one.

"So, Sherlock is a vampire too then."

"What?" Mycroft looked startled, although Greg could not tell whether it was because of the sudden change of topic or the comment itself.

"Sherlock. He's a vampire too."

"I never said…"

"Mycroft, come on. Your explanation made it pretty clear, but even if you hadn't said anything I would have figured it out. I watched him hold a terrified man in place with one hand while lifting me off the ground with the other. I had sort of forgotten it with all the other stuff, but that was clearly not the kind of thing a regular person could do."

"You're right. I'm sorry, Gregory. I've been keeping secrets for so long that I have a hard time discussing some things. And Sherlock's secrets are not mine to tell."

Greg smiled. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I figured this one out on my own, okay?" Mycroft nodded. "I do have one question though," Greg continued. "Are you guys really brothers?"

"In a manner of speaking. We were both turned by the same individual, which makes us… equivalent to siblings, according to our traditions. We are not biologically related, and in fact I am nearly one hundred years older than he is."

Greg's mouth fell open. Mycroft smirked.

"God, I hadn't even considered how old you might be. That's… that's kind of crazy."

"I'm sure it seems so, yes."

"How old are you, exactly? If you don't mind telling me."

"Not at all. I am just shy of my three hundredth birthday."

"Jesus." Greg sat back, letting his gaze drift aimlessly around the room as he considered Mycroft's words. Hundreds of years of living; all that knowledge, all that experience. The things Mycroft must have seen, must have done in all that time. "That's bloody amazing."

Mycroft shrugged.

"No, seriously." Greg hesitated, unable to bring himself to meet Mycroft's eyes as the next thought occurred to him. "I can't imagine what someone as incredible as you sees in an old, greying, broken-down copper, but I'm glad for it."

"Oh, Gregory." Mycroft squeezed Greg's hand and tugged gently, causing Greg to raise his eyes to meet Mycroft's gaze. "You are not old; compared to me, you are quite young indeed. Your hair is a striking shade of silver which admirably suits your distinguished features. And you have never been broken down. Even under extreme stress, such as when you've been kidnapped or when you have to interact with Sherlock for longer than a few minutes, your resilience and optimism shine through and buoy the spirits of everyone around you, myself included. You are a charming, handsome, intelligent man and I find you more fascinating than anyone else I have ever known. I am only grateful that you are willing to spend time with me at all, now that you know my secret."

Mycroft's tone rang with sincerity, and Greg swallowed against the lump forming in his throat. He held on tight to Mycroft's hand with both of his and gazed back at him, unable to look away from the genuine emotion shining in his eyes. Greg knew he must look ridiculous, gaping at Mycroft like a fish, but he could not help it. Nearly three hundred years of living, and Mycroft found him to be so very fascinating? He had no idea what he had done to deserve it, but now that he had this in his life he was damned if he was going to let it go.

"Mycroft, will you… would you like to stay the night?"

"More than I can express," Mycroft said with a soft smile. He released Greg's hand and looked down, pulling a slim mobile from a hidden pocket inside his jacket. "Just give me a moment to make certain arrangements, and my evening will be yours."

While Mycroft made his call, voice muffled as he spoke rapidly into the mobile, Greg cleaned off the coffee table, shoving take-away boxes haphazardly into his refrigerator and dropping dirty dishes in a pile in the sink. He finished and walked back out into the living room just as Mycroft was slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Greg stopped just inside the room, feeling suddenly shy and hesitant. Mycroft turned his head, saw him standing there, and gave a little smile. He stood and moved across the room until he was standing just in front of Greg.

Silently, Mycroft held out one hand, palm upwards. Greg looked at it for a moment and then placed his own hand on top of Mycroft's outstretched palm, glancing back up just in time to see Mycroft's smile soften into a tender expression. Then Mycroft clasped Greg's hand and tugged him forward into an embrace, bringing his other hand around and threading it through Greg's scruffy hair.

Their lips met and Greg's eyes fell closed as he lost himself in the sensation. This kiss was gentle and tender, heavy with undefined emotions, and Greg could feel warmth filling him up until he was bursting with it. Prickles of heat tickled the back of his eyes, and he realized with shock that he was on the verge of tearing up from the overwhelming emotions.

Greg squeezed his eyes tight and tilted his head, parting his lips and deepening the kiss. Mycroft's tongue met his and a flare of heat jolted him, derailing his thoughts completely. He clutched at Mycroft's jacket with both hands and pulled himself against that long, firm body.

Mycroft let out a quiet, desperate little sound and the hand in Greg's hair turned suddenly harsh, scratching his scalp and pulling his hair. He moaned, clenching Mycroft's jacket in his fists and arching against him. Mycroft's answering moan made him shudder and he shoved at Mycroft's jacket, suddenly desperate to feel his skin.

Fumbling and grasping at each other's clothes, they stumbled toward the sofa, the kiss never breaking for longer than a second. Greg's knee knocked against the coffee table and he yelped, the sound immediately swallowed up by Mycroft's mouth on his. Then Greg dragged his hands up Mycroft's stomach and onto his chest, reveling in the sensual pleasure of the soft material of his shirt beneath his palms. He paused, smiled wickedly into the kiss, and shoved Mycroft back.

It was Mycroft's turn to yelp, one arm flailing as he staggered backward and landed sloppily on the sofa. He looked so different, shirt rucked up and hair sticking out in spikes, limbs sprawled out wide, undisguised expression of surprise on his face, that Greg could not help himself; he giggled.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and then, to Greg's complete shock and delight, a smile lit his face and he let out an adorably high-pitched, almost child-like giggle. This, of course, only made Greg laugh harder.

Regaining his composure first, Mycroft reached out and wrapped a hand around Greg's thigh, pulling him sharply forward. Greg's laughter was abruptly cut off as he found himself pitching forward onto Mycroft's lap. He grabbed at Mycroft's shoulders to stabilize himself and felt those strong, narrow hands settle on his hips as he came to rest straddling Mycroft's legs.

Greg froze, breathless, looking down into Mycroft's eyes. Wide and blue, they sparkled with joy and mirth, and Greg found himself spellbound. This, this playful pleasure and innocent delight, was something he had never expected to find in his life, and especially not with Mycroft Holmes. Certainly not with the version of Mycroft he had known before he discovered his secret.

Greg felt it again, a sensation of effervescent warmth filling his chest, making him tingle. He let the feeling push a new, gentle smile onto his face as he brought one hand up and softly caressed Mycroft's cheek with one thumb.

Beneath him, Mycroft was perfectly still, gazing back with an expression of rapt adoration. When Greg's hand touched his face his eyes fell shut and his lips parted as he let out a little puff of air, tilting his head into the stroke. Greg watched, captivated for another moment, and then leaned forward and brought their lips together again. Instantly, the heat Greg had been feeling was reignited, and he moaned, parting his lips and deepening the kiss.

Remembering his earlier mission to feel Mycroft's skin, he brought his fingers up and clumsily unbuttoned Mycroft's waistcoat and shirt, unable to concentrate fully on the tiny buttons through the sensation of Mycroft's tongue caressing his and fingers stroking gently along his back. Finally, after an interminable time, he managed to open them both and push them back off of Mycroft's shoulders. Mycroft helpfully leaned forward to allow Greg to push the clothing all the way off.

Beneath them, he was wearing a vest.

"Oh bloody hell!" Greg said, breaking the kiss to glare accusingly at yet another layer of clothing keeping him from his prize. Mycroft snorted and arched an eyebrow.

With a growl of impatience, Greg grabbed the bottom hem of the vest and yanked it upward, tearing it off of Mycroft as fast as he could manage. And then, finally, his prize was revealed.

Greg ran his hands down Mycroft's chest, smooth and firm and dusted with freckles. Again he noticed that Mycroft had a bit of a tummy when sitting in this position, and the sight of it made him feel so unbearably fond that he had to blink hard to dispel the prickling sensation in his eyes. Mycroft's skin was soft beneath his palms and he took a moment to simply enjoy the feel of it, caressing gently, before turning his attention more deliberately to making Mycroft gasp.

Leaning forward, Greg dragged his tongue along the column of Mycroft's throat, nipping and sucking gently. He scraped his fingernails down Mycroft's chest, moving to pinch one nipple in his fingers as he bit down on the skin between his teeth and sucked, and was rewarded with a sharp hitch of indrawn breath. He rolled the nipple between his fingers, pinching softly as he moved around to work the other side of Mycroft's neck, and Mycroft gasped again before letting out a long, low moan, shuddering beneath him.

Greg smiled against Mycroft's throat and pinched again, harder. He felt Mycroft's hands come up under his t-shirt and stroke up his back with firm pressure. Then Mycroft hooked his fingers and scratched down with sudden, shocking intensity, making Greg hiss, fingers tightening convulsively on Mycroft's nipple. Lines of fire burned pleasure down his back and Greg broke off his explorations of Mycroft's throat to throw his head back and gasp.

"Shirt off," Mycroft growled, voice low and raspy and almost unfamiliar. Greg immediately dropped his hands to the hem of his shirt and pulled it swiftly up over his head, throwing it to the side without turning. Instead he looked down at Mycroft, and the sight that greeted him stopped him cold.

Mycroft was looking up at him, pupils hugely dilated in his blue eyes, a light pink blush staining his cheeks. He was panting, his shoulders visibly rising and falling with his rapid breaths, and his hair was messy. But what Greg noticed, all he could see, were the tips of two long, sharp fangs peeking out from between Mycroft's parted lips.

An instant wave of intense arousal flooded through him, and Greg swallowed. Mycroft's nostrils flared for a moment and his eyes widened. Then his mouth curved in a devious smile, and he slowly licked his lips, drawing his upper lip back and letting Greg watch as his fangs scraped and caught on his tongue. Greg whimpered.

Slowly, gently, Mycroft raised one hand and rested it on the back of Greg's head, letting the tips of his fingers drag through the short hair there. His other hand he rested firmly on the small of Greg's back, just above his tailbone. As Greg watched, mesmerized, Mycroft tilted his face up and bit his lower lip, his fangs visibly dimpling the soft pink flesh.

Greg leaned forward, feeling almost like he was moving through molasses, and brought his mouth down to hover just above Mycroft's. This close, his eyes were huge pools of black ringed with blue, deep and endless and beautiful. Greg held his gaze and, very slowly, extended his tongue.

The tip of his tongue touched the corner of Mycroft's mouth and Greg's eyes fluttered shut, out of his control. He gently licked along Mycroft's soft lips until he felt it, the sharp point of one fang extending beneath the plump flesh. Involuntarily he groaned, tracing the shape of it with his tongue and licking at the pointed tip.

Mycroft's mouth opened with a soft gasp, and Greg took advantage of the space to thrust his tongue inside, still keeping their lips separated. He lapped at Mycroft's mouth, pushing his tongue along the teeth, dragging it back and forth across Mycroft's fangs, deliberately scratching himself across the sharp points. The hand holding the back of his head squeezed, nails dragging through his short hair, and Greg groaned again. Then Mycroft's tongue met his.

They licked at each other almost frantically, still not quite kissing; tongues sliding and slipping and scraping between Mycroft's fangs, breath panting hot in the space between their mouths. The desperate lust in the action sent a sharp frisson of arousal shuddering through Greg, and he moaned. Mycroft let out an answering sound, nearly a sob, and dropped both his hands to Greg's hips, pulling the other man abruptly flush against his groin.

The sudden contact of his erection against the hard flesh of Mycroft's sent a bolt of pleasure slamming through Greg, and he tore his mouth away to throw his head back and gasp, involuntarily thrusting against the pressure. Mycroft's hands rose to his shoulders and pulled, and he collapsed forward onto Mycroft's chest, his head tipping forward over one firm shoulder as he continued to buck on Mycroft's lap.

Wet heat trailed along the exposed arch of his neck and Greg shuddered. Mycroft kissed along the length of his throat, pausing to suck harshly at the soft pale flesh, his hands relentlessly running up and down Greg's body. Greg moaned and trembled on top of him, feeling suddenly and intensely overwhelmed by pleasure. And then Mycroft let his fangs scrape against the skin of Greg's throat.

Greg whimpered as hot sparks of lust cascaded through him. He writhed on Mycroft's lap, grinding down on the erection beneath him. The friction of his pajama bottoms against his cock, the way he slid smoothly against the fabric of Mycroft's suit trousers; it was just on the right side of painful, and Greg bucked his hips faster, pushed down harder, chasing the sensation.

Mycroft moaned against his skin and dropped his hands to Greg's hips again, pulling him down over and over, pressing his own erection hard against Greg's. He nipped Greg's flesh with his fangs, the sharp sting making him shudder.

Greg arched his neck further, mindlessly pressing into Mycroft's teeth. The feeling abruptly lessened, and Greg whimpered again, this time in disappointment. He stretched up and pushed his throat against Mycroft's mouth, letting out a moan when he felt the press of those fangs against his flesh again. His hips bucked involuntarily and there was a sudden cold sensation against the hot skin of his neck as Mycroft sucked in a gasp.

Greg grabbed Mycroft's head with both hands, keeping his mouth in place as he leaned back and straightened up. Braced on his knees, he started rolling his cock against Mycroft's, riding him through their clothes. Mycroft's hands clenched on his hips and he bit harder, sucking in a mouthful of Greg's skin and letting his fangs squeeze to the point of pain.

Greg moaned again, the twin sensations on his cock and throat pulling him fast to the peak of his pleasure. He felt heat pooling in his groin, a wave of tingling pleasure rolling up his spine, and he jerked Mycroft's head harshly against his neck.

And then suddenly Mycroft's head was torn from his grip and strong, implacable hands were pushing him backwards, up off of Mycroft's groin to balance on his knees. Greg nearly sobbed, hips still bucking, hands grasping uselessly at the empty space in front of his neck.

"Gregory…" Mycroft was panting, and his voice sounded absolutely wrecked. "Gregory, stop."

"Oh God, please," Greg answered, equally breathless, opening his eyes to look at Mycroft.

Mycroft looked as wrecked as he sounded. His hair was a mess, standing up in spikes where Greg's sweaty hands had gripped him. His mouth was swollen, fangs still peeking out in the open space between his lips. But his eyes… his eyes were so filled with emotion, sadness and desire and fear, that the sight of them slapped across Greg's consciousness like a wet rag, immediately dampening his lust.

"Mycroft, what? What's wrong?"

"Gregory, I… I can't."

"What? You can't what?" Greg was almost panicking now, frantic to know what he had done wrong to put that look on Mycroft's face. Mycroft paused, eyes searching Greg's face as he drew several deep breaths. Finally, he dropped his eyes and opened his mouth to answer.

"My self-control is quite strong. Under ordinary circumstances, I can resist the call of my nature and behave in a way that is appropriate no matter then temptation. But right now, Gregory, when you are here in my arms, making those noises and pressing my mouth to your throat, I am finding it extremely challenging."

Greg's brow furrowed. "What are you saying?"

"I just need to take a moment to regain my control. I'm sorry."

"Wait." A sudden shiver passed down Greg's spine as he realized what Mycroft was talking about, and he felt a throb of heat in his groin. "Are you saying you want to… bite me?"

Mycroft gave a wry smile. "'Want' is a bit of an understatement. I am finding it quite difficult to fight the urge. But Gregory, I will control myself. You never have to be afraid that I will hurt you."

"You…" Greg breathed out, all the air knocked out of him by the thought. Somehow, through this whole thing, it had not seriously occurred to Greg that a now-healthy Mycroft would want to bite him, drink his blood. That he himself might desire it. But now that the idea was in his mind, Greg could not think of anything he wanted more. God, just the very thought…. He shuddered, and his cock jumped in his pajama bottoms.

"I am so sorry, Gregory," Mycroft said, looking at him with obvious concern. "If you would like me to go, I will."

"No!" Mycroft flinched a bit at the sudden volume of Greg's protest, and Greg swallowed. "No," he said again, softer. He brought one hand to Mycroft's shoulder and pulled himself forward, resting his weight more fully over Mycroft's legs and looked directly into Mycroft's eyes, willing him to see the naked desire painted there.

"Gregory?"

"Mycroft, I…" Greg paused, swallowed. "I want you to do it."

Mycroft's pupils expanded visibly. "What?"

"I want you to bite me. To drink my blood." Just saying it out loud sent another tremor of anticipation and pleasure through Greg. His cock pulsed, full and aching.

"Gregory, you don't understand." But he sounded breathless, and his fingers twitched where they rested against Greg's chest.

Greg smiled. "Probably not. But I want it anyway. You don't have to take too much blood, right? Not enough to kill me, at least."

"No, it doesn't have to be that much. But Gregory, I…." It was Mycroft's turn to swallow. "I am afraid that, once I start, I won't be able to stop."

"Mycroft, after everything we've been through together, I trust you not to hurt me. If you didn't do it before, you certainly won't now."

"You misunderstand; I don't mean all at once. I mean that, once you have let me taste you, I will need to do it again, and again, and I will not be able to let you go."

"Oh. Oh God." Mycroft's words sent another wave of heat through Greg, and he could feel his balls tightening and drawing up as he pictured it, pictured Mycroft taking him, biting him, fucking him over and over. He lifted his chin. "Mycroft, please."

Mycroft's voice suddenly sounded deeper, more predatory. "Gregory, I have tasted your blood once already." Greg's eyes fluttered shut, and he tipped his head back further. "It was the best, the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. I am desperate, desperate, Gregory, to have it again." Mycroft's hands slid down Greg's chest and around to his hips, drawing him forward slowly until he was flush against Mycroft's groin. He whimpered. "I want it so much." Mycroft's breath ghosted across Greg's neck, making his hips twitch. "I could easily see myself becoming addicted to it, to you. To the feeling of your body in my arms, to the sound of your moans, to the taste of your blood."

"Oh fuck," Greg gasped, stretching his head back and leaning forward toward the sinful purr of that voice.

"Is that something you want, Gregory? Do you want me to drink from you? Do you want me addicted to you?" Greg felt Mycroft's tongue trail up his throat.

"Yes, God yes, Mycroft please. Do it."

"Then look at me."

Greg sucked in a breath at the command in that voice and opened his eyes, dropping his chin and leaning back until he could look at Mycroft's face. The naked lust he saw reflected there took his breath away.

"Ask me."

Greg felt his eyes widen and his cock got suddenly, impossibly harder. "Mycroft, please, drink my blood. I want you to."

Mycroft let out a sound almost like a growl. He brought his arms up under Greg's and curled them behind him to clutch his shoulders, using the grip to pull Greg firmly down against his erection and tip him forward. Greg rolled his cock against the hard bulge beneath him and lifted his chin, baring his throat.

Greg squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered when he felt the tips of Mycroft's fangs trailing along the column of his throat.

"Last chance, Gregory," Mycroft murmured, lips brushing against Greg's skin as he spoke. "If I do this, you are mine."

Greg drew a shuddery breath and tried to pull himself together enough to respond. "I'm already yours."

Mycroft growled again and thrust his hips up while pulling Greg down, grinding into Greg's erection. Greg gasped and moaned at the onslaught, pleasure arcing through him.

And then Mycroft bit.

Pain, sudden and sharp and bright, burst through him, and Greg cried out. He could feel Mycroft's fangs piercing his skin, Mycroft's mouth warm and wet against the wound, Mycroft's arms holding him tightly, Mycroft's cock still thrusting and pulsing against his through their clothes. The conflicting signals of pain and pleasure clashed and warped inside him, drowning him in red hot bliss, and he writhed helplessly, caught in the cage of Mycroft's arms and impaled on his teeth.

Mycroft started sucking against the puncture wounds, and a crashing wave of euphoria broke over Greg, pleasure unlike anything he had ever felt before. He arched his neck back, giving himself completely to the incredible sensations, allowing Mycroft to use him as he wished. He could feel himself talking, babbling nonsense, but he could not hear it over the roaring in his ears.

Lost, overcome with pleasure, completely subsumed by sensation, Greg had no awareness of how long it continued. He could only feel and buck and moan as he was carried helplessly on the rush of ecstasy. Dimly through the haze he could sense his body, tightening and drawing up, muscles beginning to clench and convulse.

Then his orgasm struck him, sudden and shocking and inevitable, the stab of pleasure pushing him so high that it nearly hurt. He felt himself cry out and jerked his head back involuntarily, and felt a sharp ripping pain in his neck. The feeling bloomed, mingled with intense pleasure, and for a moment he balanced perfectly on the knife edge between pleasure and pain, engulfed by rapture.

He blacked out.

When Greg woke, he was still resting on Mycroft's lap, collapsed forward over his chest. Mycroft's hands were trailing softly up and down his back and he could hear him murmuring something, but not in English. He felt wrung out, exhausted, limp, but also joyful and sated. He shifted, drawing a deep breath, and winced when he felt the cooling sticky sensation in his pants.

He started to sit up and was surprised at the effort it took. Mycroft fell silent and his hands tightened on Greg's back for a moment, as if trying to stop his movement. As Greg straightened, he felt another sticky tug, this time on the skin of his neck. The feeling made him smile.

When he managed to pull himself into an upright position, he looked down at Mycroft below him. Mycroft looked incredible, his cheeks pinked with a rosy blush, his hair wild. A trail of dried blood ran down his chin.

Mine, Greg thought, and shivered just a bit. He was not sure if he was thinking about the blood or Mycroft himself, but then decided it did not matter. It was true either way.

"Hey," Greg said softly, when Mycroft continued to gaze at him silently.

"Mmm." Mycroft's expression was… somber. Greg felt a bit of creeping worry sneaking up on his joy.

"You okay?"

Mycroft did not respond, just dropped his eyes to look at Greg's throat. Greg brought a hand up and touched the spot, which was very sore. When he pulled his hand back, his fingertips were wet and tacky with drying blood.

"Oh, ew. I think I need a shower."

"Gregory…" Mycroft was still staring at his neck.

Greg brought a hand to Mycroft's face and tilted his head up until Mycroft met his gaze. He smiled, gently and deliberately. "Hey. What?"

"I hurt you." Mycroft reached up as if he were going to touch Greg's neck, but his hand stopped before he made contact and dropped to his lap.

"Yeah, a little."

"I'm so sorry, Gregory."

"Mycroft," Greg spoke softly, carefully, "it's okay." Mycroft looked as if he wanted to argue, but Greg did not give him the chance. "I get worse at work all the time. Besides, I'm pretty sure this was my fault. I felt it happen when I jerked my head back."

"I should have been paying better attention, but I was so lost in my own pleasure. Gregory, I… that is, if you are still willing to allow me this privilege, I swear that I will not let it happen again."

"Well, it's probably good if this doesn't happen every time, because I'm pretty sure it's going to leave one hell of a mark. But," Greg deliberately let his voice deepen to a low purr, "it would be nice if it happened sometimes."

Mycroft's eyes widened. "Gregory?"

"Christ, Mycroft, couldn't you tell how much I liked it? I've never felt anything like that in my life. I'd do it every day if I thought I could handle it. Probably not, though. But, I still want to do it again as often as possible."

"Really?" Mycroft's expression was a combination of heated and hopeful that made Greg feel warm inside.

"God yes." Greg leaned forward and slowly, gently brought his lips to Mycroft's. The kiss was slow and tender, all reaffirmation and reassurance. Mycroft's hands resumed caressing Greg's back, and Greg stroked Mycroft's cheek gently with his thumb.

When they separated, Greg could taste his own blood on his lips. He grinned.

"Now, about that shower."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

In the end, they showered separately. Greg sent Mycroft in first, while he puttered around the flat. He dug out his only other pair of pajama bottoms and another soft t-shirt for Mycroft to use, since his suit was officially too wrinkled and spattered with fluids to be worn even with Mycroft's magic suit-straightening skills. Greg decided to wear boxers and a t-shirt, since he was out of pajamas. Somehow, he doubted Mycroft would mind.

After his own shower, Greg took a moment to bandage the wounds on his neck, which were in fact not nearly as severe as the quantity of dried blood had made them look. He returned to the living room to find Mycroft, looking ridiculously adorable in a red t-shirt and blue pajama bottoms printed with the Chelsea FC crest, half-lying across the sofa. An episode of Doctor Who was playing on the telly, and Mycroft was holding a steaming mug in one hand. Another sat on the coffee table.

"Hey," Greg said, taking a seat at the other end of the sofa and pulling Mycroft's feet into his lap before picking up his mug. "Thanks for the tea."

"You're welcome, Gregory." Mycroft smiled at him, a soft happy smile. Greg smiled back, staring into Mycroft's eyes and feeling that sensation again, as if his whole self was being filled with warm effervescent bubbles. He gazed at Mycroft, just enjoying the feeling, until Mycroft cleared his throat and dropped his eyes, taking a sip of his tea.

Greg's smile widened, and then he too looked away.

"So, are you a Doctor Who fan then?" he asked after a moment, gesturing to the telly with his mug.

"Oh yes," Mycroft answered, voice fond. "I've been watching since the show first aired. I must admit, although I like this new generation quite a bit, I'm not sure whether I prefer it to the classic episodes."

"What? But they're so campy! The writing and special effects are so much better now."

After a good-natured argument about which era and Doctor were the best (Mycroft said Four, Greg held out for Ten) and another mug of tea, Greg found himself draped across Mycroft's chest, encased in his arms, watching the closing credits of the episode rolling up the screen. He sighed in contentment and turned his head, nosing against Mycroft's chest. Mycroft hummed softly in response.

"I'm really glad you came over tonight, Mycroft."

"As am I."

Greg smiled. "Maybe we should write a thank you note to the Vana-whatever for kidnapping us, since this is the outcome."

Mycroft snorted. "As it happens, I have people diligently searching for members of that particular group right now. I can have your message passed on when they are found."

Greg huffed against Mycroft's neck. "Great." He trailed a finger over the soft cotton of his t-shirt covering Mycroft's chest. "Seriously though, Mycroft, I am so incredibly grateful that I get to know you like this. All of you, I mean." He paused, swallowed. "You're not the only one who's running the risk of getting addicted. You're stuck with me now."

Mycroft's arms tightened around him, squeezing until the pressure was just short of too much, and he felt a kiss on the top of his head.

"Gregory, I cannot imagine anything better."

I really like frottage!

So that's it for this story, although I do intend to continue Mycroft and Greg's tale to some degree when I do the sequel to "At Dawn They Sleep". I think they have things left to explore. Sorry about the delay in getting this last chapter up, and I hope you enjoyed my little story!

And thanks again to Barawen for the excellent prompt!