sadieandmo:

Sadie:

Sadie: *cracks knuckles* Alright let’s take a whack at this

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay, yeah, just–just wait right here, I’ll go get him. Yeah.”

Greg headed upstairs, treading lightly because he’s still used to creaking stairs even though these particular stairs are marble, not wood.

He hoped this was a good idea.

He eased the door to the bedroom open a sliver, and silently squeezed himself inside the darkened room.

He really hoped this was a good idea.

It had to be.

Leaving the door open a crack so he wouldn’t bust his toes or crack his shins, Greg made his way over to the side of the bed closest to the door…which was usually *his* side, but not today.

He sat down on the edge and patted part of the great big lump of blanket next to him. “Hey, lovey…” he said quietly. “Naptime’s over.”

The lump stirred slightly, burrowing deeper into the rest of the blankets.

Greg gave the lump a firmer pat. “C’mon, it’s time to wake up,” he said, no longer whispering. He reached over and clicked on the bedside lamp, and the lump whinged.

“Ah-ah, Mikey. You’ve slept a long time, and besides, we’ve got–” Greg stopped mid-sentence and barked out a laugh when he looked down at the lump and saw a very grouchy Mycoft glaring back up at him from underneath a corner of blanket. “Good afternoon to you too, Sunshine,” Greg grinned.

Mycroft’s frown deepened. “No.”

“ ‘No’, what? No to getting up?”

Mycroft’s face disappeared. “…No. No Mikey.”

Ah. “I’m sorry, I forgot,” Greg said, and he meant it with all sincerity. When Mycroft had agreed to do this, to ‘give it a try’, he’d laid out a short but thorough list of things (”Limit’s,” he’d said) that absolutely would not be happening during the…during the ‘trying phase’, under the threat of celibacy until Greg’s cock ‘dried up and fell off’, should any of those limits be breached.

Calling him ‘Mikey’, as Greg had originally suggested, was on that list. Other names were fine-ish (as long as they weren’t gag-worthy or meant for teasing), but Mikey was strictly not. It had been tough as nails to get Mycroft to finally agree to this, even after the list had been made and discussed, and Greg was determined not to fuck this up. “I’m very sorry,” he said again, and rubbed his hand up and down the pile of blankets. “It won’t happen again.”

The lump shifted, but didn’t pull away. Okay. that was good. Greg bent down and slowly lifted the corner of the blanket out of the way. “…Would it make it better if I said there’s something downstairs for you?”

Mycroft peered at him from underneath the blankets, his only response was to blink.

Christ. Greg had never remembered just how much Myc favoured his brother until he did something like that. “Yeah, it’s waiting on us downstairs,” he said, giving Mycroft a reassuring smile. “Should we go see?”

Finally, Mycroft nodded (Greg had noticed that in headspace, Mycroft was a man of even fewer words than he was as an adult…fewer as in, if he didn’t have to speak, he wouldn’t) and, after letting Greg pull back the blankets, sat up.

Greg’s smile broadened. Fluffy, sleep-mussed Mycroft with his hair sticking out all over was always a favorite of his, but the added layer of vulnerability that the baby-soft fleece pajama top that had been borrowed from Sherlock’s stash, with the image of a baby bear cradled sleepily in a smiling crescent moon was the topping on the adorable little cake.

And the matching blue cotton training pants (nappies had been the first thing on the list of ‘Fuck No’s’), the icing. “Here,” Greg held out his hands. “Toilet first, then we’ll go see what’s down there.”

Mycroft stared at him a moment as he sat there, considering Greg’s offer.

Greg held his breath while keeping the smile steady on his face.

…Please, let this be a good idea.

Mycroft finally held his hands out as well, letting Greg take them and help him stand up. The look on his face made it painfully obvious that he still wasn’t fully comfortable.

Seeing this, Greg slowly wrapped one arm around Mycroft’s waist, giving him plenty of time to shake his head ‘no’ or pull away if he wanted–which he didn’t, thankfully…although he was watching Greg very closely–and pulled him into a warm hug.

“Good boy,” he murmured when he felt Mycroft gradually raise his arms to hug Greg back. He rubbed his hand up and down the lean man’s back, stopping at his bottom.

He felt Mycroft stiffen. “No, shh…you’re a good boy,” Greg murmured, and began to pat his backside, confirming that yes, this is different and I know you’re scared but this is okay and I love you.

At the steady, continued patting, he felt Mycroft go slack in his arms. “Yeah, there we go. It’s okay,” Greg said, stepping back.

Mycroft’s cheeks were flushed a charming shade of pink that Greg thought suited him very well, especially when you considered his current get-up. Obviously, the bum-patting had worked; Mycroft’s headspace seemed a bit more reinforced, and the same softness that he’d so often watched slip into Sherlock’s eyes when he regressed was now taking the edge out of his lover’s.

Greg took his hand and gave it a squeeze, delighting when Mycroft squeezed his fingers back. “Such a good boy,” he said again, taking a praising tone. “Staid dry all through your nap!”

Mycroft’s cheeks blushed darkly as Greg pulled him towards the bathroom, still heaping the praise for all it was worth (and with both Holmes brothers, that meant a lot); “Let’s keep that good luck going and use the toilet like a big boy, yeah? You did so well keeping dry, my clever little man. I’m impressed.”

Mycroft just nodded as he shuffled along after Greg, still blushing at the praise and chewing at the knuckle of his thumb.

Greg looked back at him and brightened.

This was a good idea.