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The door to his left opens and Greg looks in that direction briefly, just to make sure everything is in order. He’s been in charge of the royal family’s security for so long that he’s well accustomed to this morning dance. He nods at Princess Sherlock, who nods back with a slightly embarrassed smile before disappearing down the hall, hurrying towards his own room before someone else can catch him leaving a room he’s not supposed to be in.Then again, that might be the worst kept secret in the whole castle. The fact that the wrong Holmes brother is sharing the King’s bed every night is well known and the truth is no one is terribly bothered by it, least of all the Queen but then, appearances must be kept, Greg supposes.When the announcement of the engagement between Prince John of Irolon and Princess Mycroft of Leaba had been made a little over five years ago, it had actually came as a surprise. Anyone with eyes could have seen that Prince John got much better along with his soon-to-be brother-in-law; he was, in fact, quite taken with young Sherlock. By all means, having them married instead would have made all the sense of the world or so one would think, but Princess Mycroft had been the heir of his throne and their Royal Majesties on both sides had figured securing a marriage between their heirs was more bidding than any other arrangement.It’s a decision, Greg is sure, that everyone regrets on different levels. This arrangement can’t be pleasant for anyone involved, although they’ve dealt with it with as much dignity as possible.It’s really none of Greg’s business, what happens inside the royal suite, but he can’t help to feel a little bit bad for the Queen. King John and Princess Sherlock have each other, after all and while he doesn’t think they’re happy per se (how could they?), they probably are content enough. Queen Mycroft, on the other hand--He’s seen the way the Queen looks at his husband and brother, when he thinks no one can see him. There’s longing in his gaze, although if it is for his husband or just for someone to love him, Greg can not tell for sure. But it’s clear he adores his brother above it all, and he won’t stand in the way of his happiness, no matter what it might personally cost him.It doesn’t seem fair, but then, Greg supposes life normally isn’t. All in all, the Royal family can’t exactly complain, not when everything else they could possibly want is so easily within their reach. The circumstances of the general population in the now joined kingdom isn’t bad, not by far, but it’s certainly not as comfortable as it is for the Royals.Greg shakes his head, telling himself he ought not to get distracted. He has a job to do, even if there hasn’t been a single attack on the Royal family for over a century.It won’t do to become complacent, after all. Working by night and sleeping by day makes no favours to one’s health, Greg thinks sourly as he stares through the window. He knows he doesn’t get nearly enough sleep, but it’s just plain odd being asleep with the sun so high in the sky and so no matter what the doctors say, he always ends up wandering the royal halls way before his shift officially starts.He sighs, looking around aimlessly. He’s not on duty, so there’s nothing for him to truly do this early in the morning but no one actually tries to stop him from roaming the halls. He is, after all, in charge of the royal family’s security and all the soldiers are well used to his impromptu security checks so they barely blink when they see him coming.Today though, Greg doesn’t feel like even pretending to examine the guards. He looks outside the window once more, gazing around the empty garden, his chest feeling oddly tight. Homesick, he thinks, except he doubts that’s all it is.He notices movement on the east side of the garden and his eyes zoom into the figure sitting by the fountain. He bites his lip, telling himself he ought to look away, but he soon finds he really can’t. Besides, there’s no real harm in looking, is there?He has done his best to ignore the attraction he feels towards the Queen. It’s ridiculous and it couldn’t possibly go anywhere and yet he yearns . He remembers all too well when Queen Mycroft first arrived into the Castle, all cold detachment and yet Greg had seen, beneath his cool exterior, how nervous he really was. He was handsome, perhaps not in the traditional sense and certainly not in the porcelain figure-like way his brother is pretty, but he’s still terribly attractive and Greg had felt pulled towards him right from the start.His interactions with the Queen, scarce as they are, have done his silly little crush no favours. Mycroft is always distantly polite, or at least that’s the impression he gives, but if one pays enough attention, one can get to witness his particular brand of humor, his witty remarks and his deadpan sarcasm. They have run into each other in occasion, at the library mostly or sometimes at the gardens and they’ve spent lovely afternoons discussing books and sometimes even politics, delicate and murky as such subject is. It’s clear Mycroft is clever and has opinions on a lot of things, even if he was taught to keep most of his thoughts to himself, as any well-breed Omega is supposed to.There’s so much more to the Queen than what meets the eye and Greg thinks it’s a real pity his husband only has eyes for the younger Holmes.The Queen looks up then, as if he could sense his stare and Greg blushes, pulling away from the window even if he knows there’s no way the Queen is truly aware of his stare. God, what is he doing? He’s being ridiculous, no doubt.And yet-- “Captain Lestrade, a word?”Greg startles, turning to look at the door on his left. An hour or so ago he watched the Queen join his husband in his quarters for the first time in forever and he hadn’t known what to think, telling himself the sudden tightness in his chest was him being ridiculous. He has spent the last hour being very quiet, standing very still, doing his best to ignore any sounds that might come from within the room even if he knows sound doesn’t really travel across the thick walls.“Of course, your Majesty,” he says, bowing to the King and slipping into the room after him. King John goes to stand by his wife who’s sitting on one of the chairs next to the fire, looking oddly uncomfortable. There’s no sign the couple has been doing anything other than talk, but then, appearances can be deceiving, Greg supposes.Greg stands very still, hands linked behind his back in parade rest. He forces himself to stare at the King, trying to ignore the Queen’s piercing stare. He seems to be reading into Greg’s very soul and that’s both terribly unnerving and oddly alluring, but Greg tries not to let any of that show in his stance.“What I’m about to discuss with you Captain, is a matter of most importance,” the King says, startling Greg a little with the suddenness of it. “It’s also a matter of the highest secrecy. Do I have your word you won’t tell anyone of what I say to you tonight?”“Of course, your Majesty,” Greg replies, bowing low, feeling wrong footed. What the hell is going on?King John bites his lip, considering. “Very well,” he says, after a brief pause. He takes a seat next to the Queen, nerves and uncomfortableness rolling off him in waves. Queen Mycroft spares a quick look in his husband’s direction, before turning his attention back to Greg.“As you well know, my wife and I… haven’t shared a bed,” the King says, a light blush covering his cheeks. It’s evident he finds it an awkward subject to discuss and Greg can’t blame him, seeing he feels the same way too. “That has never been a issue, not really, but after nearly five years of marriage people are beginning to… whisper , about the lack of an heir,” he continues, scrunching his nose in displeasure and the Queen places a hand on top of the King’s, a brief reassuring touch that seems to startle the Alpha more than reassure him. “The matter can not go unaddressed any longer.”Greg nods, although he’s very very unsure of why he’s being told all of this. “The general understanding is that I’ve been somewhat… remiss, with my marital duties,” the King says after a brief pause and his wife's lips curve upwards just the slightest bit. “It won’t do for people to start suspecting the problem is we can’t actually conceive. That would put a wrench in our relationship with Leaba and we can not risk that,” he continues, throwing a quick look in the Queen’s direction, who nods just the slightest bit. “Given my… arrangement with Princess Sherlock though, I’m sure you can see why fulfilling our marital duties is a bit awkward for my wife and I?”Queen Mycroft scoffs, earning himself an angry look from the King, which he promptly ignores, in favour of continue observing Greg’s reaction. The Captain for his part, can see what the problem is, but he doesn’t understand why they’re telling him this.“I’m afraid I fail to see how I can be of use, your Majesty,” he says after a brief pause, ignoring once more the Queen’s intense stare.The King bites his lip, once more looking in his wife’s direction before turning to look at Greg once more. “We need a child,” he says finally, “I can not-- I will not father a child with my wife, so we need someone who will.”Oh. Oh. That’s-- that’s--That’s all kinds of fucked up, isn’t it?Greg turns to look at the Queen, trying to figure out his thoughts on the matter. He doesn’t seem particularly concerned, although Greg can’t imagine him actually being fine with this. Still, he supposes it’s not really his place to question the King’s plan, is it? “I will find someone loyal and discreet,” Greg assures them, because that’s all he can do, really. “You do not need to worry, your Majesty.”“You misunderstand, Captain,” the Queen says, speaking for the first time in this whole awkward conversation. “We do not wish for you to find someone, we want-- that is, if you’re alright with it, of course…” he waves a hand meaningfully, a mighty blush covering his cheeks.Surely not. Surely-- “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”“Of course you do,” the Queen scoffs. “You are, after all, a most loyal and discreet Alpha, are you not, Captain? But of course, if you’d rather not--” He bites his lip and it’s terribly distracting and Greg ought not to be thinking what it’d be like to bite those lips himself, but-- “I understand it’s a lot to ask,” the Queen continues, not quite meeting Greg’s eyes.It is a lot to ask, although probably not for the reason the Queen thinks. Greg would love to sleep with him, but it’s probably going to drive him mad afterwards, when this… arrangement comes to its inevitable end.Still-- “I live to serve you, your Majesties,” he replies, bowing once more.And that’s all he can possibly say, isn’t it?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Very well,” the Queen declares, standing up suddenly. “I shall take my leave then, husband,” he says, addressing King John, with the slightest inclination of his head. “Rest well.”The King watches him for a beat before nodding once, holding the Omega’s stare although there’s a funny expression on his face. Greg doesn’t think much of it; given tonight’s conversation, he supposes they’re all a bit unsettled.“Captain,” Queen Mycroft addresses him and Greg stands to attention, ignoring the way his heart is trying to escape his chest. “If you will?” he asks, offering his hand to take and Greg feels himself paling. Does he really mean-- right now ?!Well, he supposes the sooner they’re done with this whole ordeal, the better. The Queen probably doesn’t want to endure his company much more than what’s strictly necessary and knowing him, he has probably researched when it’s the best time to start… well, trying and he probably wants to be done with it.“Of course,” Greg replies, bowing courteously before taking the Queen’s hand. He has lovely long fingers and his palm is soft and smooth, very unlike what Greg is used to, which of course is just further reminder of how crazy this whole thing is.He looks at the King once more, wondering what the man is thinking, but King John is busy staring at the fire, a far away look in his eye. Greg gulps audibly, turning to look at the Queen once more before heading for the door.God, why did he agree to this? It’s beyond crazy, really, he has no business--He follows the Queen into his room, all the while trying to contain his raising panic. If the Queen is half as nervous as Greg himself is, he doesn’t let it show, keeping his perfectly blank expression the whole time. Even after the door closes behind them, the Queen doesn’t show even the slightest hint of nerves and Greg wonders if this is something he’s been planning for a long while: Queen Mycroft probably always knew his husband would never touch him and had figured other arrangements would need to be made in order for him to produce the very needed heir.Greg supposes he ought to be honored to have been chosen to father the next king, but all he really feels is dread. It’s not that he doesn’t want to bed the Omega, far from it, but the reasons behind it--The Queen lets go of his hand, dropping the robe he’s wearing on the floor as he makes his way towards the bed. The nightgown he’s wearing is a flimsy little thing that does very little to actually cover him and Greg figures this is, indeed, premeditated.“Your Majesty--” he begins, but the Queen shakes his head as he takes a seat at the edge of the bed.“Mycroft will do,” he announces seriously, crossing one leg over the other primly, resting his hands over his knee. “Given the circumstances… I don’t think the use of titles would be appropriate, Captain.”Greg’s lips curve upwards briefly. “I must insist you call me Greg, then,” he says, earning himself a light blush from his companion.“Very well, Gregory ,” Mycroft says, stressing his name and Greg can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine at the sound of his name in the other man’s lips. “I… how should we proceed?” he asks, tone entirely too flippant for it to be natural. He’s nervous too, Greg realizes, and doing everything in his power to avoid showing it.“That’s entirely up to you, Mycroft,” he murmurs, approaching the bed, noting the way his companion tenses. He’s more than nervous; perhaps terrified would be a more appropriate description.“I-- I don’t know. I’ve never--” he confesses softly, his hand going to where his mating bite should be and that’s when Greg notices it’s not there. Their eyes lock for a second, before Mycroft looks away, blushing. “It’s surprising what a little bit of well applied makeup can do, don’t you think?”Oh, hell. The marriage was never even consumated, Mycroft is a bloody virgin . What is Greg supposed to do with this? He closes his eyes, willing himself to remain calm: it won’t do to throw an scene and scare the Omega. “Are you sure you want this?” he asks, coming to stand right in front of the younger man and Mycroft looks up at him, a resoluted expression on his face even if fear still lurks in the depth of his eyes.“It’s not a matter of want,” he replies icily, uncrossing his legs and sitting up a bit straighter. “Can you or can’t you do this?” he asks, tone dripping with defiance and Greg bites his lip. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t. He does not know what he’s asking, he does not know--But then, he supposes, there’s really very little choice. “If you want me to stop, at any point, just say the word,” he instructs, standing into the Queen’s personal space.Mycroft gulps, rather audibly, but nods all the same. Greg leans forward, slow enough for his companion to stop him if he so wishes, but Mycroft just stares at him evenly. Their lips connect and the Queen makes a soft breathless noise that has Greg pulling away in panic.“No!” Mycroft exclaims, a mighty blush covering his cheeks as he scrambles to pull Greg close once more. “I didn't mean-- I wasn't expecting that.” Of course he wasn't, Greg thinks sourly. Arrangements of this type don't involve kissing, he supposes, but his companion is a virgin and he wanted-- he thought--“I didn't mean to say it wasn't welcome,” the Queen says after a brief pause, looking up at Greg. “It just-- it took me by surprise.” He's still blushing and he looks quite adorable, truth to be told and Greg just wants to kiss him once more. “Let's give it another try?” he says shyly, something in his tone suggesting he expects to be denied although Greg wonders why does he think he'd deny him something.He doesn't answer, prefering to lean forward to kiss the Omega once more. Mycroft makes another of those funny sounds but this time he has thrown his arms around Greg's neck, effectively stopping him from pulling away.Not that Greg feels inclined to pull away anytime soon. The kiss is clumsy, too eager and, well, wet but endearing precisely because of that. It's clear his partner knows what to do in theory but lacks any proper practice.He focuses on the kiss, trying to get Mycroft to reign in his enthusiasm, although he thinks it's rather sweet. It's not, by any stretch of the imagination, mind blowing and yet it takes Greg's breath away.The Queen buries his fingers in Greg's hair, pulling softly. A soft growl leaves Greg's lips which prompts a nervous chuckle from his companion. He does it again, which leads Greg to believe he doesn't mind the possessive growl, he might in fact actually relish it and so Greg retilates by nibbling Mycroft's jaw, earning himself a sharp breath intake.Kissing is all well and good, but that's not the point of this little rendezvous. Flimsy as Mycroft's nightgown is, it's still in the way. Greg allows one hand to slip underneath, softly caressing his partner's thigh and Mycroft throws his head back, biting on his lip to hold a moan in. The Queen is all soft smooth skin and Greg has the sudden urge to see him bare. He knows some people don't actually like getting fully undressed for sex and he supposes it's not truly necessary given the nature of their encounter, but--“May I?” Greg questions, already pushing the gown upwards, baring his partner's legs. They're very lovely legs, Greg notices, long and lean and Greg can imagine them well enough wrapped around him as he moves inside his companion.Mycroft's blush has got darker somehow, but he hurries to nod, helping Greg to discard his gown as quickly as he can, clumsy in his eagerness. He blushes some more as he notices Greg smiling at him fondly and he looks away, scooting backwards to leave more room for Greg on the massive bed, pupils blown wide with lust.It's going well, it seems.For his part, Greg hurries to discard his own clothes. In other circumstances he'd enjoy having his partner undress him but he must admit right now he doesn't really have the patience for it. For all he knows he might not get the chance to do this again; after all conception only takes one well timed encounter, although he hopes--God, is he a horrible person for wishing it'll take them long to conceive?Mycroft is watching him closely, his eyes flickering across his body, never quite lingering, more out of some sense of modesty than anything else, Greg thinks. He's biting his lip, his cheeks a healthy rosy color and Greg would dare to say he likes what he sees.The Omega looks at him as Greg climbs onto the bed, approaching him as a predator stalking its prey. Mycroft lies back on the pillows, breathing hard and closing his eyes once Greg is practically on top of him.He's nervous, that's easy to see but no longer terrified. He might be (does Greg dare to think it?) eager and he looks lovely like this, Greg thinks, flushed cheeks and panting, mouth open just the slightest bit. Greg leans forward, kissing him once more, soft and tender, a silent reassurance that he'll take care of him and his companion sighs into the kiss, chasing his lips when he pulls away.Greg smiles, endeared, and wonders, just for the briefest of moments, if he should just get done with it. But he does want his partner to enjoy it, even if for him it's just another duty to perform. As most well breed Omegas, Greg imagines Mycroft was taught to just bear with it and yet he desperately wants to show him that it doesn't have to be like that. A part of him, a silly, selfish part of him wants to show him just how good it can be in the hopes that he'll let him touch him again, with no plans of conception involved.He ponders this as he nibbles at the Queen's neck, licking his mating gland before biting it softly. It's a sensitive spot, completely tabu in many ways. Only mates are supposed to do that and yet Mycroft bares his throat, allowing him better access, his hips buckling up on their own accord when Greg sucks softly and the Omega bites his lip harshly to keep himself from moaning.That simply won't do.“You'll hurt yourself like that,” he murmurs, nuzzling his partner's jaw. “Besides, I want to hear you.”He looks at his companion, who just arches an eyebrow. Anyone else would probably take it as a chastening, given the Queen's icy expression, but Greg takes it for what it is: a silent challenge he's more than happy to uptake.“Suit yourself,” he murmurs, kissing his companion's nose before starting to kiss his way down his partner's body. Mycroft seems startled when Greg's lips end at his groin and lets a soft surprised groan when Greg's mouth descends upon him.It's obvious the other man wasn't expecting that and Greg is glad he has managed to surprise him. Soon enough his partner gives up on trying to stay quiet, moaning with abandon, his hips thrusting upwards on their own accord.Mycroft's comes with a breathless cry, his fingers digging in Greg's shoulders almost painfully although he can't say he truly notices, busy as he is memorizing how his companion looks as he comes undone: he suspects it's a memory that'll keep him company in many lonely nights (or days) from now on.The Queen is completely boneless in his arms afterwards, a small pleased smile on his lips. Greg smiles, sliding closer so he can kiss him once more.Mycroft makes a content sound, allowing the kiss for a while, before spreading his legs, the hand on Greg's hip urging him close. Of course, this isn't about pleasure or not just pleasure and Greg hasn't really done what it's expected of him.He slips easily into Mycroft, not at all surprising considering how damn wet he is. Mycroft moans once he's fully seated inside him, wrapping his legs around Greg's waist and they look as lovely and feel as amazing as Greg first imagined.He starts moving slowly, uncertain. It seems his companion isn't in any pain, but he heard somewhere first times tend to be painful for Omegas.But if Mycroft is in any pain, he certainly doesn't look like it, once again moaning with abandon as Greg moves. He kisses him messily, fingers digging on Greg's shoulders once more, the heels of his feet digging on Greg's buttocks.Oh, Mycroft looks so bloody gorgeous like this. The Ice Queen, he is called, because how cold and detached he usually looks. No one would dare to call him so if they saw him like this though: flushed and panting beneath Greg.Of course, no one else will get to see him like this. It's a privilege, Greg is well aware and he's honored the Queen has allowed him this close, that he will continue to tolerate his touch until he gets him with child.The thought, of course, leaves him breathless for a whole different reason. His chest suddenly feels too tight, the air too thin and he fears he'll do something embarrassing, like fainting or worse, confess his messy feelings. Luckily for him, before any of that can happen, Mycroft bites onto his own mating gland, triggering his orgasm. He knows the bite can't be deep enough to actually form a bond, the Queen wouldn't be that careless and yet it feels…The intensity of his orgasm leaves him utterly boneless, nearly making him collapse on top of his partner although he manages to catch himself and instead maneuvers them onto their side. They're knotted together and while that shouldn't last more than a few minutes, he doesn't want Mycroft to be uncomfortable in the meantime. It is uncomfortable, though, the silence that descends upon them. The tension in the room is almost physically painful and Greg is thankful they're not facing each other. He can read the tension in Mycroft's back and he desperately wishes he knew how to get him to relax.Another orgasm might do the trick, but considering Greg won't be up for another round in a while, the Queen might not appreciate him touching him again.This is, after all, a very specific arrangement.“I read that book you mentioned,” he finds himself saying and immediately wants to smack himself. Really? That's the best he could think of?But it seems to be the right thing to say, judging by the way the other man relaxes, his body sagging against Greg. “And what did you think?” Mycroft asks, tone deceptively flippant but it's clear he wants to get pass this initial tension as soon as possible too.“It was… Umm…” he searches for the appropriate way to describe it, but his brain is still too fuzzy with pleasure to come up with any believable lies. Maybe that wasn't the best subject to bring up, after all.“Ridiculous boring and uninformative?” Mycroft suggests, a hint of humor in his voice and Greg snorts. Something inside him eases a little: for a moment it’s like they’ve just run into each other at the library and are discussing their latest reads, even if he’s all too aware of how warm and soft the other man is in his arms.“You said it was good.”“I said it was enlightening,” the Queen corrects good naturedly and Greg can practically see his smug smile in his mind eye. “It's terribly telling on why Lord Graves’ particular philosophy never took hold.”Greg snorts and Mycroft chuckles, relaxing even further into Greg's embrace. It feels horribly domestic, terribly right and that hurts but Greg figures it's better than that suffocating silence.Isn't it? He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he supposes it’s not completely unexpected. In the future, though ( if there’s a future ), he ought to be more careful. He is, after all, supposed to be watching over the royal family and while it’s very unlikely there’ll be an attack in the middle of the night…Well, better safe than sorry, right?He slips out of the room quietly, careful not to make much noise so he won’t wake up Mycroft. The hall is still dark and deserted, or at least that’s his first impression and Greg lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.“Good evening,” a voice murmurs at his left, making Greg nearly jump out his skin. He reaches for his sword, but the soft laughter that follows makes him realize that won’t be necessary.“Your Highness,” he greets, bowing as Princess Sherlock comes to stand in the light coming through the windows, a knowing (pitying?) expression on his face.For a beat, neither of them speak. Greg is all too aware of how this must look and one doesn’t need to be a genius of Princess Sherlock’s caliber to figure out what’s going on. And perhaps it’s safe to assume the Princess has been informed of the Arrangement that has been made, but--“Be careful, Captain,” the Princess says finally, stepping closer, his voice a barely audible murmur. “My brother doesn’t do well with sentiment. ” And with that he turns around sharply, disappearing in the direction of his own rooms, his steps resonating in the otherwise too quiet hall.Greg bites his lip, considering.What the hell is that supposed to mean?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mycroft's first thought upon waking up cold and alone, is that he might have made a mistake.This is not a statement that Mycroft would make lightly; he takes great pride in his ability to measure cons and pros before making any decisions. That’s what makes him such a good strategist and the main reason why it’s in everyone’s best interests to leave the kingdom’s politics to him.But in this particular case, he might have made a mistake.He forces himself to get out of bed, ignoring the pleasant soreness of his whole body. Last night didn’t go as expected, not by far: he had imagined Captain Lestrade would take good care of him, but he hadn’t thought he’d come to enjoy it quite as much as he did.A miscalculation and nothing more. All in all, it’s not such a horrible mistake to make: his mother always told him than when it came to mating, the best he could do was lie back and think of Leaba. His brother’s… comments on the contrary hadn’t done much to dissuade him of such notion: it was clear dear Sherlock was too infatuated with John to notice just how unpleasant the whole business really was. Love, Mycroft had imagined, can make one miss the obvious.But apparently, he was the one mistaken. The memory of what he felt last night after the Alpha slipped into him makes him blush as he chews on his lip viciously. It’s simply shameful, the way he behaved last night, moaning and begging like a common whore. Never again, he resolves to himself although he can already feel his resolution faltering. If the good Captain stuck to what was asked of him and nothing else, this would be far more simple. But of course the man has complicated things in ways Mycroft doesn’t wish to think about.Another miscalculation on his part. And for that one, he doesn’t have much of an excuse, does he?When Mummy refused to listen to reason and insisted Mycroft was the one who ought to marry John despite every other evidence pointing at how much easier it was marrying Sherlock off, Mycroft had quickly come up with a contingency plan. As far as he was concerned, marriage was just another duty to perform, another task in the endless list of things that well breed Omegas ought to do. Feelings were irrelevant in the matter, marriage is just a type of agreement and there were only two things that truly mattered: the alliances to be made and the heirs to be conceived.John’s sentimentalism wouldn’t allow for the logical solution: breed Mycroft and then merrily carry on sleeping with Sherlock. Neither would Sherlock’s, for that matter, although originally Mycroft hadn’t thought it’d be a problem: both he and his brother were raised to be practical above everything else and he had always believed they both had learned that lesson well.Given those circumstances, other arrangements needed to be made. An heir was a necessity, whether John understood it or not. For the sake of the Kingdom, yes and for the sake of Mycroft’s own standing: it was bad enough that most of the Kingdom knew of John’s and Sherlock’s… entanglement, it wouldn’t do for people to question Mycroft’s authority. No, people needed to understand that while John might be bedding Sherlock, Mycroft is still the Queen and soon he’ll also be the mother of the next Monarch.Persuading John of going along with his plan hadn’t been as easy as he had thought: the King did want his actual child in line for the throne, but once Mycroft had perfectly laid out the situation, he had quickly changed his mind. Between having an actual heir and keeping Sherlock, it wasn’t much of a competition.That’s why feelings are only for fools.And of course John thinks this is a recent development, a bit of a spur of the moment decision and he truly doesn’t know him at all, does he? Not that it matters, of course, since it has always played in Mycroft’s favor.It’s not, however, a recent development, not by far. He would be lying if he said he hasn’t been studying the prospects for the last five years: he needed someone discreet and either terribly loyal or who stood to lose too much if they happened to reveal the truth. He’s never been a fan of blackmail, so loyalty seemed the way to go.Naturally, that left out every single noble. Politics is, above all, a game to be played and secrets is the most used currency. Moreover, there’s no such thing as loyalty among nobles: convenience, comfortableness, security, power -- those are the real motivations behind every alliance.That left the servants and the guards. Servants, Mycroft has always known, are invaluable sources of information, always prone to gossip and easily to be talked into giving away what secrets they know. Guards-- well, in theory, there laid his answer.Saying Mycroft’s own preferences didn’t play a role in his choice would be a lie. A part of him is ashamed of the way he’s manipulated Captain Lestrade to get him in bed, but needs must. Of course, he also knows that’s (partially) a lie. It’s true enough the Captain is a good, loyal man and Mycroft is sure there’s no need to fear any foul play and yet--He pinches the bridge of his nose as he gets into the ensuite bathroom, trying and failing to fend off his incoming headache.God, what a mess. When he finally comes out of the bathroom, having taken a little longer than necessary, he finds his lady in waiting standing by the mirror, his clothes already spread out over the bed. He wonders if last night’s activities were evident for whoever made the bed, but he supposes there’s no much use on worrying about that now.Just another mistake to be added to that quickly growing list.Anthea helps him dress without a word, quick and efficient as ever. There’s a part of Mycroft that wishes he could confide in her, but he also knows it’s unwise. He likes the woman well enough and she does seem quite discreet, but it really wouldn’t do for anyone to question his child’s parentage and the less people that know of his new arrangement with Captain Lestrade, the better.He flinches a bit as Anthea applies his usual makeup over his mating gland, the spot far too tender after last night. If Anthea notices, she doesn’t mention it and Mycroft bites his lip, thinking he was woefully underprepared for this endeavour. He overlooked so many things and only time will tell just how fatal his mistakes were.In any case, it’s too late for regrets. All he can do now is carry on as planned and hope for the best.Even if it’s turning out to be more difficult than he first thought, for reasons he’s unwilling to contemplate. Breakfast is, normally, a wrenched affair.He does not understand John’s and Sherlock’s constant guilt, particularly because it’s not like they’re ever going to change their behavior. He hates their pity with a dark passion: he’s not lonely, nor envious-- his brother can keep his husband forever more, for all he cares.Today of course, the tension in the room is even more noticeable. John keeps shooting him worried looks, as if he’s expecting him to have a meltdown in the middle of the dining room. Mycroft bristles as the mere idea: as if he’d do such an undignified thing.Besides, eye opening as last night was, it’s nothing he can’t handle. Sex is just a biological function, humans are the ones who insist on assigning it an emotional value. Mycroft is nowhere near naive, nor foolish enough to let the experience affect him in any way.Except that’s not quite true, is it? He was affected by last night’s encounter, he can feel it in his very bones. There’s a part of him that’s very much looking forward to do it again and he supposes that’s good, isn’t it? Of course, there’s also that part of him that’s ridden with guilt, constantly reminding him he shouldn’t abuse the gift he’s been given: Captain Lestrade has agreed to breed him, not to be his lover and he ought to keep that difference in mind.Mycroft does not want a lover, in any case; he’s perfectly content on his own. And the Captain is stupidly handsome and smart and funny, but that’s not important; once their arrangement meets its inevitable end, they’ll go back to the way things were.He can handle this. More importantly, he must.How he wishes he could get everyone else to understand that. Luckily (or perhaps not), John’s duties for the day get him called away, leaving just him and Sherlock. His brother has kept his attention mostly on his breakfast, although he hasn’t been eating. Mycroft can tell he’s working up his courage to say something and that can not possibly bode well for the future.He sighs, dropping his own spoon and turning to face his brother. “Is there something you wish to say, brother mine?” he asks, in his most saccharine tone. He adores Sherlock, he really does, but sometimes… well, he gets on his nerves entirely too easy.“I do not believe you know what you’ve got yourself into,” Sherlock says, meeting his eyes, expression deadly serious. It’s evident he does not wish to discuss the subject, not really, but he feels he must.Mycroft rolls his eyes. “Don’t be silly. Of course I do,” he answers flippantly. “It’s rather easy, really.”“It really isn’t,” Sherlock argues, shaking his head. “It’s going to get messy.”Mycroft takes a deep breath, willing himself not to lose his temper. He knows that now, of course, but he’s not willing to admit it out loud. As much as he loves his brother… as much as he trusts him… “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a perfectly straight forward arrangement.”“Is it?” Sherlock challenges, leaning forward. “I have no doubt you think you’ve analyzed this from every possible angle, but you haven’t Mycroft. And in all truth, I’m surprised John even let you do it.”That stings. “He didn’t let me do anything, Sherlock,” he hisses annoyedly. “He forsake any say he had on my behavior the moment he decided to start your… whatever.” He blushes a little, but manages to keep his voice from shaking.“Mycroft,” his brother says, tone urgent, resting a hand over his. “You don’t know--”“But I do,” he interrupts sharply, pulling away. “Unlike you, brother dear, I don’t make any rash decisions.”Sherlock pursues his lips, annoyed and angry now. That’s never good, his brother often resorts to cruelty when pushed like that. “So be it,” his brother sentences darkly. “You’ve made your bed and now you must sleep on it.”Mycroft growls. “Do you imagine I made it on my own, brother? Have you forgotten your own role in this mess?” he demands, angry too, his own nerves and insecurities making him lash out. “I wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for you!”“ You offered to step back,” Sherlock argues, although his guilt is easy to read in his expression.Mycroft stands up, figuring a retreat is the best move right now. “There’s very little I wouldn’t do for your happiness, brother mine,” he says darkly. “The least you can do, is be thankful for it.” And with that he storms out of the room, ignoring Sherlock’s calls. He can feel the anger simmering in his veins and it won’t do to get his frustration out on his brother.After all, Sherlock is right.He got himself in this mess and now he must deal with it. It’s more than a little shameful , Mycroft thinks, his fingers digging into his partner’s back, urging him on, the most absolutely filthy sounds leaving his lips. It’s beneath him, he thinks, to behave this wantonly, to completely forgo any resemblance of dignity and self control.And yet, he can not bring himself to give a damn.Mother would be horrified, no doubt. All those lessons about property and how a well breed Omega ought to behave, wasted. It’s not really Mycroft’s fault, though, he reasons with himself: after so many years of being ignored and often forcibly submitted, his damn hormones are playing dirty tricks on him.And it’s not like it matters, anyway. After all, who is going to know about this, other than Mycroft’s current partner? It’s not like Captain Lestrade would tell anyone, even if John hadn’t asked for his absolute discretion: he’s too much of a gentleman for that. He’s also trying his damn best to drag those sounds out of Mycroft, judging by the satisfied smile he sports everytime Mycroft moans entirely too loudly, so...Thank the gods for the thick walls, really. He does not believe he could abide having someone else hearing the noises he’s making.“Do try not to look so smug,” Mycroft says, aiming to sound stern but all his panting probably ruins the effect. His companion chuckles, soft and fond, his breath ghosting over the nape of Mycroft’s neck and he bites his lip harshly. He’s not even doing anything, damn it! He shouldn’t-- it doesn’t--“I do apologize,” Gregory murmurs, pressing his lips to the nape of his neck, sending a shiver down Mycroft’s spine. The hand around Mycroft’s waist tightens its grip, pulling him closer and Mycroft feels himself relaxing, against his better judgement. “Please don’t be angry.”“I’m not,” he murmurs sourly, half hiding his face in his pillow.He really isn’t.It’d be much easier if he was. It seems his body has no regard for his pride and if that was limited to their sexual activities, Mycroft figures it’d be embarrassing, but not the end of the world.He covers his mouth with his hand, trying his best to reign in his silly laughter, the sound entirely too embarrassing. Gregory’s lips curve upwards, pleased with himself for having made him laugh. It’s not proper, Mummy always taught him: as the Queen he was meant to be cold and distant, untouchable, even feared. He was not to wear his heart on his sleeve, he was never to show any emotion other than disdain to the general public.His mother always scorned the little displays of affection he bestowed upon Sherlock, but Mycroft was incapable of holding them back. At least now he does no longer feels suffocated by the urge of holding him, touching him, making sure he’s fine: he’s learned to keep his distance, even if his expression sometimes betrays him, even if sometimes it feels like he’s dying from the self imposed distance.But if he has somewhat managed to control his reactions around his brother, his treacherous body refuses to let him have some measure of control around the Captain. He’s noticed this before, several times in fact: sometimes Gregory would make a comment, a quip, or simply share a look with him and Mycroft will feel his lips twitching upwards, a chuckle attempting to escape, a minuscule muscle tick giving away whatever he’s feeling.And that he knows is infinitely much more dangerous than whatever other reaction he might have when they’re in bed together, because while that can be explained by the novelty of the experience, mean to wore off as time passes and he becomes more accustomed to his partner’s touch, Mycroft’s reactions to everything else… well, those are not so easy to explain, are they? Sentiment serves no purpose, other than to complicate things. Feelings are something only fools indulge in, logic and practicality must always prevail.And yet-- Choosing Captain Lestrade was the logical, practical thing to do.But saying his feelings played no role in the matter is a total lie.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Three months into the Arrangement.
The sun rises slowly, bathing the room in soft orange and yellow glows, chasing the shadows away. The bed is angled far enough from the window so the light might not bother its occupants until at least past midday, although as far as Greg knows, it’s not like Mycroft actually lingers in it long.The window is entirely too big, he thinks and the sight is breathtaking. He lets his fingers rest against the window pane, the glass still cold. The Winter is almost upon them, but not quite here yet and so standing naked in the middle of the room isn’t completely uncomfortable.It’s not the first time he has allowed himself to linger this long and the more time passes, he suspects, he’ll just linger more and more. It’s just entirely too easy to fall asleep with Mycroft in his arms, the warmth and closeness lulling him into a state of total relaxation. It’s not right, it’s not what he signed up for and yet--“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” a voice says, pulling him out of his thoughts, making him look in the direction of the bed. Mycroft sits on it, propped against the many pillows, the sheets covering him almost artistically. He looks quite a sight, in this dim light, expression soft, body completely relaxed.Greg's eyes roam over Mycroft's face and naked body, finally holding the gaze of those grey eyes. “Yes,” he replies breathlessly. The Queen offers him a small nervous smile, looking away as a soft blush spreads across his cheeks. Greg takes a step towards him and then stops, uncertain.Lovers have a spot in each others’ beds, but Greg isn’t the Queen’s lover, not really. Their Arrangement doesn’t allow for any sentimentalism; Greg isn’t sure he’s welcome back into the bed now that his job for the night is done. Of course right now he’d be perfectly capable of going another round and he can feel his cock twitching at the idea, but--“Come here,” Mycroft orders, except it sounds more like a suggestion than a demand really. Greg complies either way, happy to obey the Queen’s command, grinning like a madman when the Omega pulls him into a kiss. It’s easy, entirely too easy and soon he finds himself trying to undo the little cocoon of sheets his companion has made for himself during the night.“It’s cold,” Mycroft complains softly as Greg’s body comes to cover him. He wraps his legs around Greg’s easily though, pulling him close, these last few months they’ve had together making each familiar with what the other likes best.“I’ll warm you up right away,” Greg murmurs, nibbling his partner’s neck gently, the Omega baring his throat for him with a sigh. Mycroft hums, running his fingers down Greg’s back, squeezing his buttocks once his hands travel down far enough. “You always do,” he agrees, pulling him into another kiss, urging him to get inside him by tilting his hips upwards.“Always so bossy,” Greg says, but compiles, smiling all the way. His companion chuckles, meeting each of his trusts with one of his own.“Well, I am the Queen,” Mycroft informs him very seriously, moaning rather loudly when Greg tilts his hips just so. “It’s part of the job,” he adds, pulling softly at Greg’s hair, making him groan.Greg hums, picking up his speed a little. “Less talking, don’t you agree?”“Yes,” Mycroft pants softly, his fingers digging into Greg’s shoulder blades. “Yes, please.”There’s not a single thing that Greg could deny this man, not even if his life depended on it. So even if he feels like he’s dying a little, every time after they’re done and he has to leave the Queen’s room…He wouldn’t change this for the world.
Five months into the Arrangement.
Greg closes his eyes, leaning back on the comfortable chair. He’s fond of this particular spot at the library, right in front of the big windows that face one of the Castle’s many gardens. The sunlight pours through the window, warming him even with the Winter so close.Normally, he’d be perfectly at ease like this, but not today. No, today there are too many dark thoughts pullulating around his head for him to be truly content, no matter what.It’s been five months since he entered the Arrangement with the Queen. They’ve been five lovely months, there’s no denying that and he’s enjoyed them immensely, but--He rubs his breastbone absentmindedly, trying to chase the phantom pain away. He knew it was bound to be a messy business, it couldn’t have been otherwise considering his messy feelings. He liked the Queen entirely too much before they started and now, after getting to know him a bit better--Maybe he should have just sticked to doing what had been asked of him, ignoring the uncomfortable silence that fell over them every time they finished, leaving as soon as they were no longer locked together.But--He thinks of Mycroft’s little smiles as they talk in hushed tones, bodies pressed close. His witty remarks, his clever comments, his sarcastic replies. The way he tries so hard to keep his face from betraying any emotion, despite Greg’s best attempts to provoke a reaction.He’s got used to all that and he has no idea what he’ll do when he no longer has it.“Captain,” a voice calls, startling Greg from his thoughts. He looks up to find himself face to face with the object of his musings and he attempts to smile, although he fails rather miserably.“Your Majesty,” he greets, standing up to offer a bow. A quick look around tells him they’re all alone in the library, but it won’t do to act too casual around the Queen. The last thing either of them wants is for someone to suspect their relationship. Not that it’s a relationship per se, but--“I was actually looking for you, Captain,” the Queen says, tone perfectly cool but the way he’s holding his hands in front of him, almost wringing them (except of course, Mycroft never actually does that), suggests he’s somewhat nervous. Greg frowns a little, wondering what’s wrong.“How can I be of service, your Majesty?” he asks, honestly concerned and Mycroft blushes a little, turning away from him to face the window.“I’ve become aware there’s a rather sturdy vine outside my window. I mean, I’ve always known it’s there, but it has occured me it could be climbed and it leads directly into my bedroom. Of course, I always keep the windows closed at night, but perhaps… I was wondering if you could check it out?”Greg processes the words, noticing the way Mycroft’s ears are completely red, burning no doubt. The Queen spares a quick look in his direction, biting his lip in a most distracting manner and Greg can feel all his blood rushing downward.He’s not-- is he suggesting--? “I see,” he says slowly, nodding. Mycroft looks at him once more, briefly, still quite red on the face. “Would you like me to see to it immediately, your Majesty?”“If it’s no bother,” Mycroft replies. “I’m not entirely sure it’s problematic , you see, but it’d put my mind to ease if you looked into it, Captain,” he replies coyly, biting his lip once more.“I’ll get to it right away, then,” he says, bowing once more before disappearing in the direction of the garden, a quick look back letting him know the Queen is heading for his own rooms.Well, this is… interesting, to say at least. The windows on this side of the Castle are well hidden from view, even from the sentinels spread between the towers. Once upon a time, it would have been dangerous, but nowadays there’s no real reason to fear an attack on the royal family although Greg does place a couple of guards around during the night.Better safe than sorry and all that.In the middle of the day though, the Royal Wing is more often empty than not, so there’s no point in leaving guards here. There is a guard stationed outside the rooms, in Greg’s usual place, but Greg doesn’t foresee any trouble on that regard.The vine is quite sturdy and Greg should probably see to have it cut down at one point, except that would mean he’d need to get more creative finding ways of sneaking into the Queen’s bedroom. Then again, once their Agreement has reached its end…And yet, this isn’t part of their original agreement, is it? It feels more like a rendezvous between actual lovers, too eager to be together to actually wait for the night. It certainly raises a lot of questions; questions that Greg isn’t sure he wants to know the answer to. What is Mycroft playing at? What does this mean for them, in the great scheme of things?Lost in his own thoughts, he falls through the window a little gracelessly. The room’s occupant turns around, startled by the sound and Greg offers him a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that,” he says, standing up and shaking off the few leaves that got caught in his clothes. “That vine is perhaps a bit of a risk.”Mycroft’s lips twitch upwards. “I see. It seems it’s a bit easier to climb than I originally thought,” he continues, approaching Greg. “I wasn’t expecting you just yet.” He links his hands around Greg’s neck, a bit awkwardly, nervous, as if uncertain of his welcome.“I might have been a little overeager,” Greg says with what he hopes is a salacious smile. Mycroft smiles, a small and fleeting thing and Greg wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him close.He notices the Queen had been busy trying to get undress on his own when he showed up, judging by the state of the laces in the back of his dress. They’re unevenly pulled, as if in a rush, but nowhere near undone enough for Mycroft to slip out of the dress. He kisses his companion, slow and tender, continuing with his work and Mycroft hums contently, pressing against him.As the dress pools at Mycroft’s feet, Greg becomes aware of yet more complications. “What the hell is all this?” he asks, puzzled by the amount of underthings his companion is wearing. He honestly doesn’t know what half of the things are, let alone how one is supposed to take them off and he hears Mycroft giggle, amused by his expression no doubt.“As I said, I was expecting to have a little more time,” his partner replies, amusement clear in his tone, pulling away so he can start undressing. “Although to be fair, I’m not sure I can get out of all this on my own. Anthea usually helps me out of this, you know?”Greg hums. He normally does enjoy undressing his partners a great deal and he has enjoyed getting the chance to take off Mycroft’s nightgowns while kissing messily, but there’s no way he can focus on undoing the ridiculous amount of laces and whatnot when all his blood isn’t really in his head.“Alright,” he says, perhaps a tad sulkily, gesturing for Mycroft to turn around so he can start working on the corset. “Why do you need these many things, anyway? Is it even comfortable?”Mycroft shrugs. “I’m used to it,” he replies. “But it’s mostly so the dress will look the way it’s supposed to.” Greg makes a face and while his companion can’t see him, he still knows somehow. “It’s rather inconvenient, I’m noticing now.”Greg huffs. “You don’t say…” he murmurs and then he notices the way Mycroft’s shoulders have dropped. Upset, perhaps? “Well, we do have all the afternoon,” he says, in a lighter tone. “I’m rather glad you told me about that vine.”Mycroft looks at him over his shoulder, a light blush on his cheeks. “I thought we could… not always, of course, since it’ll get suspicious but… sometimes, right?”Greg hums, stepping closer so he can kiss the nape of his partner’s neck. “Sounds delightful,” he replies, allowing his hands to continue their work while he entertains himself with kissing Mycroft’s lovely shoulders. “I’ll get quicker at this with enough practice.”Mycroft laughs, a small nervous laugh but a laugh nonetheless and Greg smiles.He’s still concerned about what this might mean for them and their arrangement, but one does not look a gifted horse in the mouth. For now, he’ll be happy to enjoy what he has and not worry about the future.There’s no point in that, after all. Greg allows his fingers to skim over Mycroft’s fake mating bite. The makeup is a little smudged now, not surprising considering their previous activities, but it’s still visible. It’s well done, very realistic: even up close it’d be hard to say it’s not really there.Mycroft is asleep, his breaths deeps and even. He doesn’t notice the way Greg’s fingers linger on the spot, completely oblivious to the Captain’s messy thoughts. There’s no point in thinking about that, he knows: no use to think about the impossible and yet--His eyes catch sight of the ring on Mycroft’s left hand. He has noticed it before, of course, the Queen never takes off his wedding ring. Certainly not in public and not when they’re together; Greg wonders if he took it off to sleep before they started their little… whatever. He wonders if it’s a reminder to himself. King John never wears his, naturally, but the King doesn’t really care much about the image of his marriage.Mycroft does, of course, for whatever reason and it makes something in Greg ache fiercely. Mycroft might not mind his husband’s infidelity, but it cannot be easy. He must be lonely at the very least and now-- now--He thinks he might not be the only one who stands to lose so much when their Arrangement is over. But he also knows the Queen well enough to know that it won’t stop Mycroft from ending it.He presses his nose to the nape of his partner’s neck, sliding closer, pressing their bodies together. He should leave, he knows, he ought not to let himself linger so long, especially not when he notices the road his thoughts are taking. He rests a hand over Mycroft’s stomach, flat and devoid of life just yet, but eventually… eventually…God, what is he going to do?
Seven months into the Arrangement.
Greg doesn’t really consider himself a sentimental man or at least he didn’t use to. Nowadays he finds himself distracted by the littlest things, dreamy smiles on his face at any given time. He often finds himself daydreaming about things he knows that they won’t be, can not be and yet--It’s sheer torture, really.He had known it was a bad idea, right from the start, but he doesn’t think he really understood just how epically bad it was. He had known his messy feelings were bound to get even messier, but still… manageable , somewhat. He hadn’t thought it’d be easy, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he didn’t think he’d feel so bloody torn up all the time.All the blurred lines don’t help either. He does spend an awful lot of time with Mycroft nowadays, often in the bedroom but not really doing what they’re supposed to be doing. Oh, sure, they have sex, but Greg always ends up lingering, which leads to talking at some point and--Well, it’s all very confusing.And now this… this is even more confusing. He inhales deeply, his nose pressed against this companion’s neck. He knows the Queen’s scent has changed, subtle as the change is. But he knows what it means, of course and Mycroft must know it too: Greg noticed the change a week ago, Mycroft must have noticed even sooner.Which means… it means…What the hell does it mean?Now the Queen has what he wanted from Greg, but he’s still welcoming him in his bed, allowing him not only to touch him, but to hold him afterwards, to actually sleep with him in his arms. Greg is not naive enough to think it means what he desperately hopes it means and he knows Mycroft is nowhere near sentimental enough for that either, but-- but--What does it mean, then?He wants to ask. Oh, how he wants to ask! But if he asked, Mycroft would answer and then there’d be no more hiding from the truth, no more silent hope. So while he knows his hope is misplaced in all likelihood, he doesn’t want to destroy it just yet. Soon , he thinks, tightening his hold around Mycroft’s waist. But for now, he wishes to ignore the truth, enjoy what little time he has left.
Soon.
Eight months into the Arrangement.
All things considered, the gathering is going well.Greg hates this type of things, all those nobles gathered in just one place are nothing but trouble. He has spend the whole evening walking around the ballroom, watching everything and everyone, spotting any sign of trouble so it can be dealt with before it actually becomes a problem. Just a couple more hours, he tells himself, looking around the room for a certain someone. He finds Mycroft next to the King, looking every inch the Queen he is, a cold calculating expression on his face. As if sensing his stare, Mycroft turns to look at him, but hurries to look away, something that looks an awful lot like guilt in his expression.Greg frowns, but continues his survey of the room. The sooner this thing is over, the sooner he can go to the Queen’s room and figure out what’s up with him. The thought makes his lips curve upwards briefly; the thought of being with Mycroft always brings a smile to his lips.He starts walking around the room once more, although he’s not paying a lot of attention anymore, truth to be told. He catches sight of Princess Sherlock attempting to scare off a couple of stubborn suitors and he rolls his eyes. As if, he thinks. The Princess is madly in love with the King and there’s nothing in this world that could change that, no matter how messed up the whole thing is.His eyes go to the Queen once more, just in time to see King John calling for the attendants’ attention. Greg almost smiles: it seems the night is finally coming to an end.“My friends,” the King starts grandly, a practiced smile on his face. “Tonight is a night of celebration, for our ties to Eskait have been strengthened by the newest treaty,” he turns to the diplomats of said nation, who nod politely, perfunctory smiles on their faces. “But I must confess there’s another reason why I called for this gathering, another reason for us to celebrate,” he continues, voice booming with emotion although Greg is almost certain it’s all fake. The King offers his hand to Mycroft, who takes it without hesitation, a small fake smile on his lips and Greg realizes what’s happening, his heart dropping to his feet. “My Mate has given me an heir.”There’s cheering and some rambunctious displays of celebration, but Greg is deaf and blind to it all: he knows what this means, and the way Mycroft very pointedly avoids his eyes is the only confirmation he needs.The end has come.And there’s nothing for him to do.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Please tell me that at the very least you told him before the announcement.”If Mycroft were prone to drama, he’d groan and bury his face under the covers, refusing to acknowledge his brother’s question. He’s not though, so he simply raises an eyebrow, challengingly, and Sherlock rolls his eyes, standing up and starting to pace around the room.“That’s heartless, even for you,” his little brother chides him and Mycroft shoots a glare in his direction. He places a hand over his abdomen, protectively and shrugs.“The Captain knew the terms of our Arrangement,” he replies easily, with a dismissive gesture of his hand. “I honestly doubt he thought anything of it.”Although, maybe not, he thinks morosely. The Captain already knew he was pregnant, there’s simply no way he wouldn’t : what with how close they usually ended up together and his tendency to bury his nose in Mycroft’s neck, it was impossible not to pick up the change of scent. The fact that he never asked though, the fact that he never pointed it out--Mycroft hadn’t been ready to give up on their arrangement, truth be told. Hence the reason why he hadn’t told anyone about the baby: if he said it out loud, if he admitted it to someone else…Well. Then there’d have been no reason for carrying on with his little affair with Gre-- Captain Lestrade, no reason at all. They had agreed on very specific terms, after all, and now that it ran its course, there was simply no point in continuing it. Mycroft had the baby he wanted and the only logical thing to do was to release the Captain from his duty.But maybe-- maybe, if he had asked, if he had talked to Gre-- Captain Lestrade before the announcement--But no. There’s nothing down that road for him, nothing but pain that is.“Mycroft, you should--”“I’m tired,” Mycroft interrupts sharply, leaning back on his pillows. “Morning sickness is quite a nuisance.”Sherlock makes a face, slightly disgusted and Mycroft’s lips curve upwards briefly. He knows they are both remembering how exactly everyone else found out about the baby: an unfortunate bout of morning sickness had Mycroft ruining John’s favorite boots.As unfortunate as the timing had been, Mycroft can’t deny it was well worth it, just to see the expression on his husband’s face.“I know better than to insist on you talking about something you do not wish to discuss,” Sherlock says, heading for the door. “But think about what I said. Considering the circumstances, whatever shread of happiness you can find is not something you ought to take lightly.”Mycroft scoffs, deciding to give into his childish urge and hide beneath the blankets, blind and deaf to the world around. Sherlock makes an annoyed sound, but does leave, making sure to slam the door on his way out.Mycroft emerges out of his cocoon then, rubbing his abdomen absentmindedly. Soon enough he’ll have his child and that’s all the happiness he needs in this world. He’s… a little upset, yes, that his arrangement with Captain Lestrade is over, but it’s certainly not the end of the world and he’s not about to invite the man back into his bed just because. It was never about the pleasure or the company; he wanted a baby and now that he’s pregnant…Well. There’s really nothing else to it.His pride, Mycroft has found, is a very lonely companion.But it’s the only constant one in his life, so he has learned to make do. The vine next to his window is gone.Distantly, Mycroft wonders when did that happen: he’s spent an awful lot of time in his rooms ever since the announcement, since he’s constantly sick and tired nowadays and yet he heard nothing that could have clued him in on the fact that the vine was being taken down. Something aches inside him fiercely at the sight of the empty space, but he hurries to push any thoughts on the matter away, determined not to make anything of it.He sits by the window, contemplating the garden, rubbing his still smooth abdomen almost obsessively. He’s feeling overly emotional, but then, he is pregnant. Everyone knows pregnant Omegas are terribly emotional and no one would be surprised if he succumbed to a bout of emotion and broke down crying at the sight of a bare wall, even if there’s not one single logical reason for him to react that way.It’s just his hormones, playing dirty tricks on him.And yet he feels like he’s actually dying, as if someone had reached into his chest and pulled his heart out by sheer force. Breathing is painful, the sobs wrecking his whole body, his stomach heaving with each shake and he hates the feeling, he hates it with every bit of his heart.He’s just emotional, that’s all. “There’s no need for your presence, Captain,” Mycroft says, in his icest tone and his heart clenches at the sight of the other man flinching. He keeps his face perfectly blank though, turning his attention to the maids who are busying themselves serving him breakfast.“I’m afraid Princess Sherlock was most insistent,” the Captain replies, once the maids leave, his tone betraying nothing. Mycroft resists his urge to look in his direction and starts eating. “He’s worried about you.”“It’s hardly your duty to make sure I eat,” Mycroft replies testily, making a face as his stomach churns at the smell of the porridige. It occurs him it was hardly the Captain’s duty to get him with child either, but that’s neither here nor there.“The well being of the Royal Family is my duty, Your Majesty. In your delicate state, it’s not good for you to go so many hours without food.”“I’m pregnant, not dying,” Mycroft murmurs sourly, pushing his plate away. “And it’s hardly my fault I can’t keep anything down,” he adds, picking up an orange and starting to peel it.“The Princess is worried,” Captain Lestrade repeats calmly. “Although he understands there’s little we can do for you, he asked me to keep an eye on you.”Mycroft rolls his eyes, shoving an orange slice into his mouth. He’s starving, but his stomach doesn’t seem to agree with most foods. “Aren’t you technically off duty now, Captain? Don’t you have other places to be? A family to visit?”“My only sister doesn’t live in the city, Your Majesty,” the Alpha replies and Mycroft knew that already. They talked about it once, in the dead of night, entertaining each other with tales of how troublesome younger siblings can be.“A beau, then,” Mycroft says and he can’t help but look in the other man’s direction. “Surely an Alpha like you must have an Omega somewhere.”Captain Lestrade throws him a dark look, barely contained anger in his gaze. He’s annoyed at Mycroft’s implication that he’d been unfaithful to his partner, but Mycroft hadn’t exactly meant it like that: after all, everything they did was just another part of the job for the Alpha.“That’s not the case, your Majesty,” the Captain replies curtly and, ridiculous and unfair as it might be, something inside Mycroft eases. “I’m too devoted to my duty for that.”Mycroft bites his lip, wondering if he really heard the inflection in the Captain’s voice or if it was just a product of his imagination and if the inflection was there, what does it mean then?Better not to think much of it, really.And yet-- “You’re doing it wrong,” Sherlock declares, plopping on one the chairs in front of the fire. Mycroft glares at him over the little fortress of blankets he’s build for himself: he feels awful and he just wants to be left alone, but he didn’t really hope Sherlock would understand that. “You’re supposed to gain weight, not lose it.”His tone is his usual haughty one, but Mycroft can hear the concern in it. He’s a little concerned himself, but there’s nothing to be done. “The pregnancy doesn’t agree with me,” Mycroft murmurs, well aware he sounds like a put off toddler. “The midwife says it should get better after the first trimester, so… just one more month.” He attempts to smile reassuringly, but he suspects he fails.Sherlock hums, watching him like a hawk. “Well, if Mummy had as many problems as you when she was pregnant with me, it’s no wonder she didn’t really like me that much,” his brother says with a dismissive wave of his hand. Mycroft bites his lip; he should say something, he thinks, but Mummy did have miserable pregnancies and she never liked either of them much. Constant disappointments, the both of them.“I don’t think that’s how it works,” he murmurs softly, rubbing his abdomen. He cannot imagine not loving his child, he cannot imagine ever being with them as cruel and unfeeling as Mummy was towards them.“Perhaps,” Sherlock agrees, a wistful expression on his face. He always claimed he didn’t want children, but Mycroft thinks he knows better. The succession line will be messy as it is and Mycroft’s station is already quite precarious, if Sherlock was to have a child-- “You were always very nurturing,” he says softly. “I didn’t really miss Mummy’s affection, because I had yours. Not that anyone believes you were ever affectionate, you being the Ice Queen and all that.”Mycroft scoffs. “While surprising, I don’t think anyone could begrudge me being affectionate with my child.”“No,” Sherlock agrees, something off in his tone. “You always liked to hide it, but you feel much more than anyone.”These, Mycroft recognizes, are dangerous waters. Sherlock is trying to guide this conversation in a direction he does not believe he cares for. “Sherlock--”“I’m well aware you’ve done a lot for me and for my happiness,” Sherlock interrupts sharply, not quite facing him. “And there’s nothing I can do or say that would adequately express how thankful I’m for it,” he adds, biting his lip. “What little happiness I’ve found has come at the cost of your own and I can’t-- there’s nothing--”“Sherlock--”“You were happy,” his brother interrupts once more. “ Happyish. And I just want-- I think--”“Sherlock,” it’s Mycroft’s turn to interrupt sharply, not wanting to have this conversation, not wanting his brother to finish that thought. “He doesn’t… it wasn’t like that.” Sherlock looks ready to protest and Mycroft shakes his head, refusing to listen. “And even if it was… I can’t.” Why he can’t, it’s too difficult for him to explain, though, and Mycroft prays his brother will have the good sense to keep quiet. Sherlock opens his mouth, ready to argue, but then closes it, a sad, resigned expression on his face.Sherlock stands up, coming to sit on the bed instead, gesturing for Mycroft to make space for him. Mycroft complies and lets his brother pull him into an awkward hug while lying down, just like Mycroft used to do when they were children and Sherlock was going through some turmoil. “I’m here for you,” his brother murmurs, holding him close and Mycroft finds himself relaxing, leaning into the embrace.It’s nice to be held from time to time, he’ll admit. From the moment Mycroft was born, a set of expectations had been placed on him. He learned from a very young age that failure to meet them was never an option, the consequences always terrible when he did.Of course, Mummy is far away now, so he shouldn’t fear any sort of punishment, but the fear has stayed with him through the years nonetheless. And worse than the fear of punishment, it’s the bitter taste of knowing he just wasn’t good enough, that no matter how hard he tries, he always falls short.He had married knowing that juggling his obligations to his kingdom, to his family and to himself wouldn’t be easy; he had known that the worst of the burden of dealing with John and Sherlock’s affair would befall upon him and yet he had felt prepared for it, had dared to believe that he would manage somehow.He never accounted for the sharp stab of longing that would threaten to break him, late at night, all alone. He never considered how jealous he’d feel, not of his husband as such, but of the evident love he and Sherlock shared. He never imagined that one day the knowledge that he’s fulfilling his duty and meeting everyone’s expectations simply wouldn’t be enough to quell the emptiness inside.And that oversight has, and will continue, to cost him dearly. Spring might just be around the corner, but an unexpected bout of snow has the garden paths covered in it and they’re somewhat slippery. Captain Lestrade’s grip is strong and steady, his sole presence soothing something within Mycroft’s very soul, even if he’d never admit it out loud.“You needn’t to have come,” Mycroft murmurs, allowing the other man to guide him through a particularly slippery patch, holding onto his hand for dear life.“It’s not exactly safe in your state to be wandering on your own, Your Majesty,” the Captain says, eyes downcast. He seems… subdued lately, sad perhaps, although Mycroft wouldn’t dare to begin speculating about it.“Still, it’s your time off,” Mycroft murmurs, the silence feeling oppressive. Even the gardens are quiet, the birds long gone for warmer places.“Princess Sherlock--”Mycroft huffs. “Don’t let my brother rope you into doing his bidding at all times. He has a tendency to believe everyone is at his entire disposal.”Captain Lestrade’s lips curve upwards, expression fond. “He does, yes. But I do not mind,” his voice is soft, gentle, as if speaking to an easily spooked animal. “And as the Princess pointed out, this is sort of my fault, so--”Mycroft stops abruptly, stomach twisting painfully. “Let me make something very clear, Captain,” he says, tone as cold as the snow that surrounds them. “You are nothing but the Royal Guard’s Captain, understood? My child will only know you as such and you will treat them with the respect that’s due to their station and nothing else.”The words hurt in way Mycroft doesn’t think he can describe, but if the other man is affected by them in any way, he doesn’t let it show. “I know, Your Majesty,” he says, tone perfectly steady. “I know what I agreed to.”“Oh, I don’t think you do,” Mycroft says and he wonders whom he’s exactly talking to. Because if someone didn’t really understand the terms of their Arregement, if someone has forgotten those terms--“I do, your Majesty,” the Captain insists, tone breaking no argument. “I apologize for overstepping and I’ll be more careful in the future. Now, shall we continue? It’s starting to snow again.”Mycroft’s heart constricts painfully, every instinct in his body urging him to reach out, to apologize, to beg for something. But he knows that what he wants can not be; even if Captain Lestrade wanted the same thing, they’re both constrained by their roles and their duties.So he nods, resuming their walk. He feels empty inside, hollow, all too aware of the many mistakes he’s made so far and terrified of those he has yet to make.God, will this nightmare ever end?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
All things considered, Greg thinks he’s doing rather fine, actually.
He’s well aware that he’s not his usual cheerful, relaxed self, but neither is he a mopping mess, going through life in quiet despair. He has these moments, of course, when misery threatens to drown him, but overall… he’s fine, really.
The same can be said of the Queen, of course and a small part of Greg (an ugly, selfish part of him) feels a little…
betrayed
by how well the Queen has taken to the whole ordeal. There was a difficult month or so, just by the end of the first trimester, when Mycroft looked truly miserable more often than not, but that had more to do with his actual health than any emotional strain. If he regrets the end of their Arrangement, he’s kept that well hidden and there’s nothing in his behaviour or the way he talks to Greg that suggests there’s even the slightest hope that he felt even half as much as Greg did.
Which is… understandable, really. Greg entered their Arrangement with his eyes wide open; he cannot say he was deceived at any point. And if by the end of it he thought the Queen might have shared his feelings to a degree… well, that’s entirely on him, isn’t it? That was his mistake and now he must pay for it.
It’s just that… he misses it. Not the sex, mind, lovely as that had been, but the company. The talks and the jokes and the mutual understanding. The
affection,
even if by now he’s beginning to think he imagined that. It’s all gone now; every one of their interactions now marked with some uncertainty, with discomfort, with
bitterness.
And yet he can’t keep himself away. Time and time again he finds himself looking for the Queen’s company, for excuses to talk to him, to
be with him,
often joining him on the strolls he now takes every afternoon, watching him like a hawk to make sure he’s fine, that if he’s not happy, he is at least content.
It’s sheer torture, of course.
But Greg has found that he’s the worst kind of masochist.
The first trimester might have been a little rough on the Queen, but the second one agrees with him marvelously. There’s a glow to him that makes him seem… more approachable, perhaps, although most people have quickly found that pregnancy hasn’t really changed Mycroft’s personality one bit. He’s still as cold and sharp as ever, perhaps even sharper now, often snapping at everyone over anything, with the sole exception of Princess Sherlock, of course. King John is most baffled by this, used as he was to his wife quiet disapproval of pretty much everything he does, instead of this much more vocal one.
Greg, personally, finds it hilarious.
He’s careful to keep his face from betraying his thoughts, though, since he does know of the King’s short temper. He might tolerate Mycroft’s mood and whenever the Queen isn’t around he might joke about how hormonal the Queen has become, but he probably wouldn’t take it well if he learned his subjects find such displays amusing. All of Mycroft’s remarks are true, of course, but still… it’s probably better to err on the side of caution.
He can’t help himself though, always trying to catch the Queen’s eye whenever he delivers a particularly clever comment, and sometimes he succeeds. Those moments always leave a bittersweet taste in his mouth, as the Queen will smile at him, one of those private, secret smiles of his and Greg’s heart will flutter uselessly, just for the moment to be shattered a second later, when Mycroft eventually looks away, something like regret shining in his eyes.
Or maybe Greg is just imagining things.
Either way, he cannot deny he does like this side of the Queen. He’s always been sarcastic and very opinionated on pretty much everything, but now he’s quite unapologetic about it. Greg does pity the King from time to time: it’s clear as water he has no idea what to do with his wife now that he’s not just running things from behind.
Everyone looks terribly relieved when the King announces the meeting is over, his advisors leaving the room in a hurry. Princess Sherlock snickers, leaning down to whisper something against his brother’s ear, earning himself a dramatic eye roll. The Princess smirks, straightening up, looking in Greg’s direction.
“Perhaps it’d be best if you accompanied the Queen for a stroll, Captain,” the Princess says and Greg would glare, if he thought it’d make any difference. The Princess keeps ordering him around to spend time with the Queen and while it’s not like he doesn’t want to spend time with Mycroft, he does know the Omega doesn’t really appreciate the Princess intervention. “He needs some air.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” Greg says with a bow, narrowing his eyes at the younger man who simply smirks some more. He turns to look at the Queen, who’s staring at his brother with a very annoyed expression on his face, but he does stand up and steps closer to Greg.
“Shall we, Captain?” he asks, waiting for Greg to offer his arm, which he hurries to do. The touch is light,
detached
and yet it makes Greg’s heartbeat pick up.
God, what a mess he is.
The gardens are vibrating with life, small birds singing their songs and most of the flowers in bloom. It’s warm but not uncomfortably so and all in all a very pleasant day for a stroll.
Mycroft isn’t really paying much attention to their surroundings, lost in his own thoughts, Greg suspects. He keeps rubbing his belly absentmindedly, a far away look in his eyes. The baby bump is barely noticeable, not really surprising with the amount of clothing the Queen wears, but he does look a bit… rounder, everywhere.
It’s more than a little distracting, truth be told.
Greg would be lying if he said he has not spend more than a few nights lying awake in bed, imagining how the Queen looks underneath his clothes now. He took care to memorize every inch of the other man’s body, foreseeing he wouldn’t get to see him naked ever again, but he imagines there are some differences now, differences Greg would like to map extensively.
It’s not going to happen, of course, but there’s no harm in indulging in the occasional fantasy, is there?
There are, of course, more painful ways to torture himself. Lovely as sex fantasies might be, they have nothing on the
domestic
ones, even if they’re a hundred times more hurtful. If he’s honest with himself, he’s always dreamt of a family, even if he really hasn’t found the person he’d like to start a family with. Except--
He looks at the Queen once more, his steps slow and measured, his abdomen swollen with their child and he wants-- he wants--
He wants what he knows there can never have.
“Are you quite alright, Your Majesty?” he asks and the Queen turns to look at him, a little startled, as if he had forgotten Greg was there. “It’s only… you made a face, as if you’re in pain and you’ve been rubbing your abdomen a little too earnestly and I… I just… are you alright?” he feels a bit foolish, truth be told, but he is worried. Mycroft doesn’t seem to be in pain, not really, but the slight scrunch of his nose--
“It’s nothing,” Mycroft replies airly, his cheeks acquiring a rosy colour. “It’s just-- the baby is a little restless.” He smiles, a soft affectionate thing, resting a hand on his abdomen once more and Greg aches in a way he can’t describe.
“I-- may I?” Greg asks, even though he knows it’s a foolish request. It might be too early for someone else to feel the movement, since Mycroft is barely in fifth month, but he wants-- no, he needs--
“I… I don’t think that’s a good idea,” the Queen replies, letting go of Greg’s arm and stepping away. “It’s not very proper, is it?”
No, Greg realizes it isn’t. He’s also sharply reminded of another conversation they had in these gardens, not so long ago. The child might be his by blood, but they’ll never truly be
his.
He knew what he was getting into,
he knew.
And yet--
“Your sister lives at the northern border, does she not, Captain?” Mycroft asks, having advanced a few steps further and Greg frowns, hurrying to join him once more.
“She does indeed, Your Majesty.”
Mycroft looks at him from the corner of his eye, biting his lip softly. “I know the Regiment Captain from there is retiring,” he says slowly, letting his words sink in. “It’d be… the pay would be a little better and you’d be closer to your family. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
Greg’s heart has stopped in his chest. “I-- I’d have to think about it, your Majesty. I’d rather not-- I do like it here.”
Mycroft hums, taking his arm once more. “Think about it, Captain. A change might be good for you.”
He’s not wrong,
Greg thinks. And yet--
He should leave, he knows. He does miss his sister, sometimes and he’d like to be closer to his nephews too. He might even find himself a nice Omega over there, start a family, find some degree of peace.
Except that when he closes his eyes, trying to imagine himself in love with someone new, Mycroft’s face comes into his mind and he knows, deep in his bones, that he’ll never find someone else. Foolish as it might have been, he’s handed his heart and there’s just not getting it back, even if the other man has rejected it so viciously.
He could still go and he could still marry and he might be content, one day.
But that somehow doesn’t seem fair.
Greg knocks on the door and waits for a beat. The hall is as quiet as ever and also dark, the moonlight coming through the windows throwing shadows all around. No sound comes from inside the room and he places his ear against the door. He knows the walls and the door are too thick for any sound to really travel, but he could have sworn--
He opens the door, instinct telling him it’s the right thing to do. Mycroft will be mad, if nothing is amiss, but he just feels--
The Queen is indeed in bed, but he’s not asleep. In the soft light of the room Greg can’t quite make out his expression, but he can hear his harsh breathing and when he steps closer he can see how pale he is, face covered in light sweat.
“Your Majesty?” he asks, stepping closer, still unsure of what he ought to do or say. Maybe--
“I--” Mycroft murmurs, attempting to get out of bed, but his legs seem to fail him and Greg is at his side a second later, supporting him while growing more worried by the minute. “Get the midwife, please.”
He looks at the Queen, scrutinizing him and Greg nearly loses it to panic. There’s a tickle of blood running down Mycroft’s leg and a small but noticeable spot of blood on the otherwise immaculate sheets.
“Lay down,” he orders, manhandling his companion back onto the bed. Mycroft’s eyes are very wide, fear evident in his expression and Greg’s heart is beating frantically , panic threatening to overwhelm him at any given minute. “I’ll fetch the midwife,” he promises, but he finds himself reluctant to leave the other man’s side. It’s clear he’s scared and that’s probably not doing him any favours and all Greg wants is to make him feel better somehow, but-- but--
He forces himself to head out of the room, rushing down the hall in search of another guard. He finds the usual two guarding the stairs and he yells for them to get the midwife and a doctor right away. Luckily, the guards obey his orders quickly, not even thinking of raising any questions and Greg hurries back to the Queen’s chambers, intent on providing what little comfort he can.
He stops very briefly at the King’s door, wondering if he ought to notify him of the developments. But it won’t do Mycroft any good, he supposes, and Greg thinks the less people are around, the better.
In any case, it’s not like the King will care terribly, he thinks darkly, stalking back into Mycroft’s room. Princess Sherlock will, of course, but knowing him it’s probably better if he stays out of the way now. But maybe--
“Gregory,” the Queen calls for him and Greg startles a little. He’d thought Mycroft would never call him by his name again and the sound tugs at his heart almost painfully, memories surging forward.
Now of course, is not the time to be focusing on that.
“I’m here,” he murmurs, coming to sit by the bed, taking the Omega’s hands in his. “It’s going to be fine, the midwife is coming.”
Mycroft hums, squeezing his hands softly. “I’m scared,” he confesses and Greg’s heart constricts painfully.
“It’s going to be fine,” he insists, although he’s not entirely sure he believes it. “Does it hurt?”
“Not really,” Mycroft murmurs, shaking his head. “I thought… at first I didn’t really notice. It’s just… It might not be something very bad, right? It might be… it’ll be fine, won’t it?”
Greg nods, placing a kiss against his companion’s knuckles, wishing to comfort him although he’s not entirely confident himself. They wait in silence like that, just holding each other’s hands, both worried and scared and neither daring to say anything much.
The midwife finally arrives , looking out of breath but she does hurry to see to her patient. Greg tries to move out of the way, but Mycroft’s tight grip of his hands makes it impossible. The midwife’s eyes flick towards him briefly, before dismissing his presence and focusing on the matter at hand.
Greg sits back down, still holding Mycroft’s hand, hoping everything will turn out alright.
There’s no sound in the room but their combined breathing and the soft rush of fabric. The midwife works quickly and efficiently, pulling things out of her bag and checking Mycroft over, although Greg pays her very little attention. His whole focus is on Mycroft, who seems a little less tense now, more confident in the outcome now that the midwife is here.
It’s going to be fine,
Greg tells himself, over and over again.
If only he could believe it.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It’s still dark outside when Mycroft wakes up next.
He feels vaguely ill, although he thinks it has more to do with the unpleasant dream he was having, even if he doesn’t remember any particular details. All he knows is that his whole body has tensed, his muscles aching with the strain and he feels more tired than when he first fell asleep.
The midwife’s prognosis hadn’t been terribly helpful, in all honesty, but he is hopeful. If something had truly happened to his baby, he’d know, wouldn’t he? Aren’t mothers supposed to have a sixth sense when it comes to their children? Surely, if something was terribly amiss he would know, wouldn’t he?
He takes a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. Panicking will do him no favours and there’s nothing for him to do but wait. The midwife said he’d either feel the baby moving again at some point or he wouldn’t and, either way, there was nothing for them to do.
Harsh as the words had been, he knows they’re true.
He sits up slowly, flinching as pain shoots from his core. The bleeding had been minimal and he hadn’t truly felt any pain right away, but maybe that was simply the shock that numbed his senses. He aches faintly, his hips feeling all funny, but he supposes he ought to stay positive.
What else can he do, really?
He looks around the room intently, attempting to distract himself, his eyes landing on the figure folded in one of the chairs. The position can’t be remotely comfortable and yet Captain Lestrade seems to be asleep.
Mycroft bites his lip, attempting and failing to ignore the fluttering in his stomach. The Captain’s hand rests over the covers, the rest of his body folded awkwardly on the chair so that no other part of his body touches the bed.
Mycroft slides closer to the right side of the bed, gingerly placing his hand over the Captain’s. He lets his finger trace his companion’s knuckles, soft and slow so as not to disturb his sleep. Denying the thrill he feels at the simple touch is useless and so he doesn’t even attempt to hide the shiver that runs down his spine.
He should pull away, he knows. He shouldn’t be allowing himself these many liberties, particularly since the other man is asleep and yet he can’t help himself. He remembers all too well how those hands felt caressing his body, he misses the chance to touch the other at his heart’s content and he wants-- he wants--
But of course, what he wants matters very little.
He retreats his hand, folding them both over his lap. He can’t do this, he shouldn’t be doing this. He should have sent the other man away the minute the midwife came in, he should have--
But he was scared and he felt so lost and Gregory’s presence was a soothing balm for his nerves. Besides, he is the child’s father, so--
Except that’s not how this works, is it? That’s not what they agreed on.
And yet he wishes-- if only--
He closes his eyes, allowing himself the brief fantasy in which their time together wasn’t a product of that horrible Arrangement, but born out of a mutual desire and affection. He imagines being Gregory’s real mate, he imagines they’re expecting their first child together and while they’re both nervous, they’re terribly excited too.
He opens his eyes. It’s a lovely fantasy, but that’s all it can be.
And why is that?
a voice inside his head murmurs and Mycroft hurries to dismiss the distracting thought. It simply can’t be and that’s it.
He caresses his abdomen, silently praying for a sign that his baby is fine. The baby is all he has, they'll be his only source of happiness and if he was to lose them…
Well, he's not sure he'll survive that.
The door opens abruptly, startling Mycroft. He wasn’t sleeping, not really, but he was caught in that point between sleep and total awareness, so he can’t help jumping a little at the sound.
“Your Highness--” the poor guard stationed outside the door attempts to stop Sherlock from storming into the room, but his brother is a force of nature even in his best mood and right now he looks downright murderous. Mycroft dismisses the guard, who shoots him a thankful smile before sliding out of the room quickly.
On the chair, Captain Lestrade stirs, looking around the room wildly. He seems confused by his surroundings and even more by the abrupt waking up, but he’s on his feet a second later, hurrying to bow to the newcomer, causing Mycroft to roll his eyes.
“You!” Sherlock exclaims, pointing at the older man. “How dare you not inform me of what happened to my brother? I wake up this morning to find another guard at my brother’s door and that’s how I have to find out--”
“Sherlock!” Mycroft hisses, annoyed. It’s true the Captain didn’t even attempt to wake up his brother, but in all truthness, Mycroft wouldn’t have wanted Sherlock around during last night’s ordeal. He loves his brother dearly, but he’s not the person he wants around when things get too difficult, when he’s feeling desperate and vulnerable.
So yes, he’s glad Captain Lestrade didn’t try to reach him.
Sherlock huffs, throwing an annoyed glare in his direction. “Are you feeling better now?” he asks tensely, concerned, yes, but mostly angry at having been kept in the dark.
“Yes,” Mycroft answers, although it’s not the full truth. He still hasn’t felt the baby move and that’s starting to make him angsty once more.
Sherlock nods tightly, before turning his attention to the room’s other occupant. “Captain, a word?” he says, his tone hinting he’s not really asking and the older man nods, if a bit reluctantly. Before he can make a move though, Mycroft reaches for him, grabbing him by the wrist.
For a second, it’s as if the whole world has gone still. Captain Lestrade is looking at him with wide eyes, surprised, but Mycroft suspects not unpleasantly so. Having his whole focus on the man he’s attempting to detain , Mycroft can not see his brother’s expression, but he doesn’t particularly care: he wants the Captain to stay and he outranks Sherlock, no matter how often the younger man seems to forget it.
Sherlock huffs. “Fine,” he says petulantly, turning on his heel and heading for the door. “We’ll talk later,” he warns, although Mycroft isn’t quite sure whom is he addressing. “I wish you a quick recovery.” And with that he’s out of the room, although of course he slams the door on his way out.
Not that Mycroft or Captain Lestrade really notice, seeing as they’re still busy staring at each other. Mycroft relishes his hold of the Captain’s wrist, retreating his hand slowly, feeling vaguely guilty. His companion sits down once more, watching him closely, expression inscrutable.
“I apologize for that,” Mycroft murmurs, dropping his eyes to his lap. “I just-- I’d prefer it if you stayed close,” he chews his lip, uncertain. “At least for a little longer. I understand you have other things to do, of course, but I-- I’d like--”
“I’ll stay,” the Alpha promises, reaching for Mycroft’s hand and halting, seemingly thinking better of it a second later. “As long as you want me here.”
Mycroft nods, all too aware of the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He knows he’s been unfair: after the way he has behaved, Gregory has every right to refuse him any sort of comfort, but--
“Would you-- would you hold me, please?” he asks, voice very low and shaking and while he hates how vulnerable and terrified he must sound, he finds he doesn’t really mind, not when Gregory is the only one to witness it.
“Of course,” his companion replies after a brief pause. He’s being unbearably cruel to the Captain, Mycroft knows. It’s not right, not at all, but he just wants-- he needs--
He moves a little to make space on the bed and the Captain sits on the edge, careful not to jostle it much as he slides closer. He wraps an arm around Mycroft’s shoulders, the touch light, hesitant and Mycroft snuggles closer, burying his nose in his partner’s neck, breathing him in, which seems to help the other man relax considerably.
He knows he shouldn’t allow himself this indulgence.
But it’s just for a little while.
“Sherlock is very upset about the whole ordeal.”
Mycroft does his level best not to roll his eyes, throwing an unimpressed look in his husband’s direction. John shrugs non committedly, gingerly sitting on the chair next to the bed, ready to leave at any minute.
“Please do excuse me if I’m a little more concerned about my own health than my brother’s hurt sensibilities,” Mycroft murmurs sulkily, his focus going back to the document he’s reading.
“He does worry a great deal about you,” John points out after a brief pause and Mycroft does roll his eyes this time. “Is it too much to ask to keep him informed--?”
“I had more pressing concerns last night,” Mycroft interrupts sharply, putting the documents down once more. “Besides, I didn’t want to
interrupt
anything.”
John huffs. “Are we really going to discuss--”
“No,” Mycroft interrupts once more, sending one more glare in the Alpha’s direction. “I’m just saying… I’m sorry if Sherlock is upset but surely you can see these are very trying times for me?”
John makes a face, but doesn’t argue. Mycroft knows he shouldn’t be angry at his indifference: his child is, after all, none of his husband’s concern since he’s not the sire, nor does he particularly care about Mycroft. And most of the time he doesn’t really care about John’s total disinterest, but given the circumstances…
“Are you sure you should be working?” the King asks after another tense pause and Mycroft glares. “I do know how to run my kingdom, you know?” he says petulantly and Mycroft raises an eyebrow challengingly
“Could have fooled me…” he murmurs, earning himself an annoyed glare from the other man.
“I am serious, Mycroft.” His companion insists after a brief pause. “You shouldn’t stress yourself.”
He’s probably right. But what is he supposed to do then? Worry endlessly? Wouldn’t that just stress him in a different way? “It’s fine,” he says dismissively and John looks at him doubtfully but he doesn’t press, standing up instead.
“Talk to your brother, would you?”
Mycroft pinches the bridge of his nose. “Of course,
husband dear.
”
John huffs, but finally does leave. Mycroft drops the documents he’s reading on his lap, closing his eyes and forcing himself to take deep breaths. He’s tired and he probably should be resting, but--
He needs a distraction, least he drives himself mad with worry.
“You really don’t have to--”
“Your Majesty,” Captain Lestrade interrupts, raising a hand to signal for his silence. “It’s my pleasure, really.”
Mycroft sighs, leaning back on his many pillows. The Alpha offers him a small smile, gesturing at the tray of food he’s just brought in. “Do you think you’re strong enough to make it to the table?”
“I’m not dying,” Mycroft argues sulkily. “Although this child is determined to make me look like I am,” he adds, sliding out of bed and cursing softly when his legs fail him. The Captain is at his side a second later, helping him or rather carrying him up to the table. “You really are too good to me, Captain.”
“Hardly, your Majesty,” the man argues, helping him sit. “I am worried about you.”
“You don’t--”
“Your Majesty,” his companion interrupts once more, kneeling in front of him so they’re eye to eye. “Please do excuse me if I’m being too forward, but do believe me when I say that it’s my privilege to look after you.”
Mycroft sighs, looking away. “I just… I just don’t understand why you would care.”
The Captain’s eyes are infinitely sad and he hesitates for a beat before taking Mycroft’s hand in his. “Even if I felt nothing towards you, I’d be compelled to look after you, Your Majesty. You’re in a rather delicate state right now.” Mycroft’s heart skips a beat and he turns to face the Alpha, a surprised (and perhaps a tad terrified) look on his face. Gregory’s expression is soft, his touch tender as he pulls Mycroft’s hand so it comes to rest over the Captain’s heart. “Let me take care of you, Mycroft. At least until your baby is born. And afterwards… afterwards I’ll leave for the border, if that’s what you want.”
Mycroft bites his lip, uncertain. His heart is beating entirely too loudly, so loudly in fact he’s certain everyone in the Castle can hear it. But of all the things-- how could he--
Luckily, before he has a chance to make sense of his scattered thoughts, let alone reply anything, he feels a movement inside him. He’s probably making a face , judging by how concerned his companion suddenly looks, and he can’t help the relieved laugh that escapes him, making the Alpha relax right away.
“The baby is moving,” he explains with a smile. “Do you-- do you want to feel them?”
This, Mycroft knows, it’s dangerous territory. This was never supposed to happen, it’ll only complicate things in the long run. He shouldn’t have-- he ought to--
But as he watches the smile that comes unbidden to Gregory’s lips after placing a hand over his abdomen, feeling
their baby
move for the first time… well, he can’t bring himself to regret it.
No matter what it might cost him in the future.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Being back in Mycroft’s bed it’s all kinds of strange, even if Greg can’t help but find it terribly thrilling. Of course nowadays their interactions are completely chaste, but just being close to the other man-- being able to hold him--Well. It’s much more than what he thought he’d have ever again.His companion shifts, making a small displeased sound and Greg is on high alert right away. He’s probably being ridiculous, he knows. Mycroft has been recovering quite nicely ever since that scare in the middle of the night and the midwife has assured them more than once that the baby is fine, but Greg can’t help but worry. It’s in his nature, he supposes: everyone knows Alphas are protective of their Omegas, specially when they happen to be expecting.Of course, technically speaking, Mycroft isn’t his Omega but the child growing inside him is Greg’s so… it must count for something, right?He places a hand over his companion’s abdomen, softly caressing his swollen belly. Mycroft makes a pleased sound, leaning back so their bodies are pressed together. Greg feels a soft kick and he smiles, sliding even closer to his partner. Their bodies slot together quite nicely, as if they were meant to fit against each other and while he recognizes that’s a dangerous path for his thoughts to travel on, he can’t bring himself to care overly much, not now, not like this.Another kick and a soft groan from Mycroft has him chuckling lightly, running his hand over his companion’s abdomen soothingly.“You must let your mom sleep, little one,” he murmurs and while he feels a little silly, he can’t deny the swell of affection he feels after receiving yet another kick. “Hush, little one. Your mother won’t appreciate it if you wake him up.”“Too late for that,” Mycroft murmurs sleepily and Greg pulls away immediately, blushing profusely. He knows he takes too many liberties while his companion sleeps, although-- “Hold me,” the Queen instructs, pulling Greg’s arm around him once more. “It’s nice.”Greg thinks Mycroft is mostly still asleep, because he knows he wouldn’t be behaving this way if he was wide awake but one does not look a gifted horse in the mouth, so he simply does as he’s told, allowing himself to relax.This, he knows, can only end in tragedy.But he’s determined to enjoy it while it lasts. “... no strenuous activities,” the midwife says expression deadly serious. “And no stressing situations either. It might be better if the Queen did not get involved in any politics for the time being,” she finishes, nose scrunched a little.Everyone knows who the real puppet master is here and asking the Queen not to get involved in politics might be a little unwise, really, but given the circumstances…“Of course,” King John agrees calmly, expression perfectly placid despite the mighty glare his wife is throwing in his direction. “Have you heard that, my dear ?”Mycroft scowls, unhappy. That, Greg has no doubt, has always been a sore subject between the spouses and with good reason: as an Alpha, King John is expected to rule on his own, with his wife doing nothing but looking pretty standing next to him and bearing him as many heirs as possible but Mycroft is way too clever and too much of a good strategist to let his talent waste like that. He could get a bit overbearing too and King John might often find himself outplayed by his wife, which must sting his ego, at least a little bit.“Of course,” the Queen concedes finally, bowing his head, caressing his belly thoughtfully. “If that’s… if you think it’s best,” he adds, biting his lip. He does not like the idea, that’s easy enough to see but after the little scare of a couple of days ago…“Better safe than sorry,” the midwife agrees with a firm nod. “I do wish you’d consider staying on bedrest too, your Majesty.”Mycroft pursues his lips, unhappy. He might not find it as hard to sit still as Princess Sherlock does, but he doesn't like being idle either and since he’s not allowed to work either, Greg can imagine these next few weeks are going to be hell on the Queen.“If you think it’s best,” Mycroft agrees once more, looking more than a tad dejected. He keeps his eyes fixed on his abdomen, perfectly round now, one hand resting over it protectively.“And while I advice spending time with your Alpha and a lot of skin to skin contact,” the midwife says meaningfully, turning to look at the King once more. “I’d say no sex, at least not the penetrative kind.”Greg feels himself blushing right away: sex is not something one discusses in polite company, although he supposes that given the circumstances…King John just blinks confusedly, as if unsure why exactly he’s being told this. Mycroft is doing his level best to avoid rolling his eyes dramatically, Greg can see, but Princess Sherlock has no qualms about it. Finally, the King seems to understand and he blushes a little, nodding tightly. “Right. That’s-- yes, none of that.”Greg considers this briefly. He had thought it was well known who is really sharing the King’s bed every night, but apparently he was mistaken. Although of course, given the fact that Mycroft is the one pregnant, people might assume he and his husband have finally figured something out.They kind of did, of course, although not in the way most people would assume.The midwife spares a quick look in Greg’s direction, narrowing her eyes at him and Greg tries to keep his face from betraying his thoughts. While it could hardly be considered a compromising position, the midwife did see him holding the Queen’s hand on that fatidic night, the sort of liberty not anyone could have taken, especially not with Queen Mycroft. But if the midwife suspects anything else is going on between them, she’s smart enough to keep it quiet, turning her attention to the King once more, before excusing herself and leaving the room, bowing lowly to all the congregated royals.“Well, that was fun,” Princess Sherlock comments sarcastically, dropping himself on the edge of the bed, next to his brother. “Confined to bed, you are.”Mycroft throws a mighty glare in his direction and the Princess smirks, although there’s some concern in his expression. “So it seems,” the Queen agrees. “Do try not to throw the Kingdom into chaos,” he adds, turning to his husband and King John rolls his eyes dramatically, crossing his arms over his chest.“I do know how to rule, you know,” he murmurs sulkily, earning himself a raised eyebrow from the Omega. “ Plotting and scheming just comes more easily to you.”Greg feels a little annoyed on the Queen’s behalf, but Mycroft takes it in stride, a slight smirk gracing his features. “And that, husband dear, is why our Kingdom thrives while others don’t.”The King opens his mouth to protest (although Greg doesn’t think he has much of a case: the Queen is right, after all).“I’ll help,” Princess Sherlock declares before the Alpha can say a word, surprising both his brother and his lover in equal measure. “I did learn a trick or two from Mummy,” he adds with a little shrug, looking deeply unhappy but resigned.The Princess clearly wouldn’t have minded marrying King John, but he wouldn’t have wanted to be Queen, that’s for sure. Still, considering how things are currently going… well, he seems willing enough to step up, Greg supposes.Mycroft has a funny expression on his face, calculating, but not quite. King John is still staring at his lover with a surprised expression, actually happy, Greg suspects.“Are you quite sure?” Mycroft asks, watching his brother closely, something off in his tone although Greg can’t exactly pinpoint what.Sherlock shrugs, a light pout on his lips. “I can do it,” he insists, resolute but not pleased about it. Mycroft considers him for a beat, before nodding solemnly.“Of course you can,” the Queen agrees, a small fond but sad smile on his lips that Sherlock returns and while Greg realizes he’s missing something, that something else is being discussed even if not in words, he figures he really doesn’t want to know.Better that way, he thinks.“Well, we should leave you to your rest,” the King announces with an air of finality and the Princess stands up, albeit a bit reluctantly. “Do get some sleep, wife dear.”“Of course, husband,” the Queen agrees with a roll of his eyes, leaning back against the pillow.“Have a pleasant evening.” The King scoffs, but doesn’t add anything else, slipping out of the rooms without a fuss. Princess Sherlock throws one last look in his brother’s direction before leaving too and so finally it’s just Greg and Mycroft alone in the room.“Do you wish me to leave, your Majesty?” he asks, because he feels like the Queen might have forgotten about his presence. He’s been standing quietly in the corner, of course, just observing, so he supposes that might just be natural.“If you wish,” the Queen replies airly, eyes fixed on some point in the distance. “But-- umm, the midwife did mention--” Ah, of course .“Should we undress?” he asks, because the midwife did say skin to skin contact, although he’s not sure--“I don’t think that’s particularly wise,” the Queen replies, too quickly, a mighty blush covering his cheeks. “But you could… maybe just… undress to your smallclothes? I am just wearing my nightgown, after all.”Greg nods solemnly, proceeding to do as instructed. He knows he shouldn’t feel this thrilled, particularly not considering how deeply unhappy the Queen seems to be with the whole ordeal but--He climbs into the bed, giving the other man plenty of time to get used to his sole presence before attempting to slid closer. Mycroft watches him with a curious expression, part longing, part hurt and Greg thinks, not for the first time, this is a bigger mess than anyone could have possibly predicted.And yet, he can’t bring himself to regret it. “You’re not supposed to be working.”Mycroft looks up guiltily, half hiding the document he’s reading although it’s rather pointless now. Greg arches an eyebrow, mildly amused and the Queen rolls his eyes, putting the parchment away. “What exactly am I supposed to do then?” he asks sulkily as Greg retrieves the parchment, looking it over quickly. “Bore myself to death?”“Read,” Greg suggests. “And you must have other hobbies, don’t you? Don’t you play some instrument?”Mycroft scoffs. “Sherlock was the one with the artistic talents, I’m afraid. He plays the violin, as I’m sure you know.” Greg huffs. The Princess does play the violin, but whenever he’s in one of his moods he tends to torture the instrument rather than play it, tormenting everyone in the Castle too. Mycroft smirks, amused. “I used to paint a little when I was a child but…” he shrugs non committedly. “As my dear husband pointed out, my real talents lie in plotting and scheming.”“There’s more to you than that,” Greg argues softly, although he’s not quite sure that’s what the other man wants to hear.Mycroft sighs, eyes dropping to his hands, now linked over his belly. “My father often said it was a pity I was born an Omega,” he murmurs softly. “He used to say I’d have made a good King.”“The Kingdom would be lost without you,” Greg argues and the Omega’s lips curve upwards briefly.“John isn’t that terrible at ruling,” he says with a light smirk. “But he’s more… if we were living in the violent times of our parents, he’d have made a great King and General. He just doesn’t have the patience or the tact required for… diplomacy .”Greg smirks, thinking of the King’s famous moods. “I do hope they’ll be an Alpha,” Mycroft says, more talking to himself than to Greg, caressing his belly.“Do you?” Greg asks, considering. He doesn’t think he’d particularly care either way, but then again, what he thinks or feels doesn’t matter much, does it?Mycroft shrugs. “It’s prefered for a King’s heirs to be Alphas,” he replies softly. “I think that part of the reason why my parents were such at odds with each other was because Mummy took so long to concieve, only to deliver Omegas both times.”That’s… depressing, actually. “You--”“And I don’t think I can convince John to go along with this little ruse more than once,” he carries on, as if Greg hadn’t spoken at all. “And I don’t-- I don’t think--” he bites his lip, sparing a quick look in Greg’s direction. “It’d be better like that,” he repeats, nodding to himself.Greg hesitates, uncertain what to say. If the baby happens to be an Omega, will Mycroft want to try for another child, assuming of course the King was willing to go through this particular ruse once more? Given the complications so far, Greg would understand the Queen’s reluctance to get pregnant once more and there is, of course, another thing to consider even if Greg doesn’t really want to think about it. Who would father this second child? Would the Queen invite Greg back into his bed to conceive another child or would he rather find someone else?The mere idea makes Greg’s stomach turn, even if he quickly reminds himself he has no right to his senseless jealousy. Theirs was a simple, convenient Arrangement and even these few past days, sharing the other man’s bed once more are nothing but stolen moments.So he decides not to say anything, quickly changing the subject to more pleasant themes, intent of distracting the Queen from his boredom and to avoid thinking of things that can only hurt him. “Are you singing?”Greg straightens up, feeling his cheeks heat up. When his mother was pregnant with his sister, his father used to sing when the baby was restless, leaning his head over his wife’s swollen belly. He wasn’t entirely sure it worked, but Mycroft had been complaining softly in his sleep and Greg had seen the mighty kicks of the baby, visible now due to how stretched the skin is and he had figured he could give it a try.“It’s something my father used to do,” he says softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I don’t know if it actually works, but the baby was moving a lot and… well.” He shrugs, moving away, getting ready to leave the bed. “I’m sorry.”Mycroft watches him in silence, a sad expression on his face. “Gregory, I… maybe it’s not very wise, to continue doing this.” He bites his lip and Greg’s heart constricts inside his chest. “It’s not fair on either of us,” the Queen continues, sounding regretful. “I don’t… we can’t. ” He looks brokenhearted, his voice breaking just the slightest bit and Greg nods, unhappy.“I know,” he murmurs, because he does. They had an Arrangement and now-- now-- “I should leave.”And yet, he makes no move to. Mycroft stares at him, eyes a little teary and Greg can feel his heart beating too quickly, almost painfully. He realizes he’s holding his breath, although he’s not sure what for.And then the Queen is kissing him, coming to straddle him, the kiss too eager and rough, but completely perfect and he can’t think of anything that’s not kissing the other man back, with as much love and passion as he possibly can.He does not know if this is the end and he certainly doesn’t know what this all means, but he doesn’t particularly care, not now, not with Mycroft kissing him like there’s no tomorrow.So even if there’s no tomorrow… at least he’ll always have this.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Giving into his desire is entirely too easy.
Or rather, it feels too easy when they’re like this, entwined together, desperately pulling each other close, kissing fiercely, reluctant to pull away even for something as essential as breathing.
Mycroft groans, feeling his companion pulling at his nightgown, to trying to take it off and while logically he knows they ought to stop kissing for that to happen, logic has no place between them. As far as he’s concerned, if Gregory wants him naked, he’ll have to tear apart his clothes, because there’s simply no way they’re going to stop kissing long enough for that to happen.
There’s a little voice in the back of his head, reminding him of the midwife’s warning, but it feels distant and unimportant in the light of the burning desire he can feel in his very core.
Closeness
is what he needs, what he
craves,
after so long of staying away-- after fighting with himself for months to do the right thing,
the proper thing--
And why is this wrong, anyway? He’s certain he had his reasons for keeping himself away, for denying his heart its dearest wish but for the life of him he can’t remember them now.
He cannot hope for a single kiss to quench this yearning, a lifetime of kissing and touching would never be enough but for now-- for now--
“I love you,” his companion murmurs softly against his lips, holding him so tightly it should be painful but the idea of putting any distance between the two of them is what really feels unbearable and so Mycroft just pulls him closer, making a soft approving sound.
The words, while welcome, don’t feel like a revelation even if it’s quite a momentous confession. He’s always known, he realizes, that the other man loved him, just as he’s always known he loved him back.
“We probably should-- I mean, the midwife said--” Gregory tries to say, but Mycroft shakes his head furiously, whimpering a little, making the Alpha hold him instinctively closer.
“Just-- just keep holding me,” Mycroft instructs, distantly aware of the way their bodies are rubbing together, pleasure buzzing underneath his skin, but he knows the real enjoyment he feels comes from something beyond the physical realm, something that defies all logic and all reason.
What comes next it’s something he hasn’t figured out yet
And oddly enough, he realizes he doesn’t particularly care.
Mycroft might be going mad with boredom, but the Kingdom is not in total chaos, so it’s certainly not as bad as he feared.
In truth, everything seems to be going smoothly, although perhaps it’s a bit too soon to be claiming victory just yet. It’s been just a week since he’s been forced into bedrest, after all, but if things continue this way…
Well. Better not to get ahead of themselves.
“I told you I could do it,” Sherlock says, looking quite proud of himself. “I did listen to Mummy’s lessons on occasion.”
Mycroft’s lips curve upwards briefly, nodding. “So it seems,” he agrees. “She would be proud.”
Sherlock scowls at that, glaring at nothing in particular. “I never wanted to be Queen,” he says, tone soft but dark. “I always thanked the gods you were the eldest, thinking it was such a blessing I’d been spared such fate.”
Mycroft knew this already, of course, but something in Sherlock’s tone puts him on edge. Like he’s revealing something deeply personal, something no one else was supposed to know. “And then you got engaged,” Sherlock continues, a bitter smile on his lips. “And I started wondering if it wasn’t a curse after all.”
Mycroft sighs. “Sherlock, you know I tried--”
“I know,” his brother interrupts. “I also know there was not much of a way around it. Not then, anyway.”
Mycroft considers this. Oh, how different their lives would have had been, if their parents had listened to reason: it’s true that the alliance between Irolon and Leaba would have been considered a bit shakier if Sherlock had been the one who married John, given the fact that he was a second child and so whoever married Mycroft would have had a stronger claim to the Throne of Leaba but that would have been easily solved by not having Mycroft marry at all.
But alas… here they are.
And then Sherlock’s words truly sink in and he finds himself staring at his brother open mouthed, unsure of how to interpret his statement. “Not then?” he asks and Sherlock offers him a brief bitter smile. “Meaning… now there is?”
“Is there?” Sherlock asks sarcastically. “I do not know, brother dear. You’re the smart one, after all; if there was, you’d have figured it out by now, wouldn’t you?”
Mycroft bites his lip, considering.
Perhaps there is.
All his life, he never gave much thought to what he really wanted to do with it. Having a choice over one's life is a privilege that someone of his station could simply not afford.
Now thought…
He supposes he still does not have that privilege, not really. In truth, it’s a rather dangerous thought to be entertaining. Then again, that’s been the story of his life lately, hasn’t it? Just how many times has he entertained crazy thoughts in the last few weeks (months, even)?
He caresses his abdomen, humming softly in an attempt to soothe the baby. He learned from a very early age that he had a duty to his Kingdom and his people, a duty whose fulfillment would often come at great personal cost. Such was the price of being born a Princess and a firstborn at that.
That’s a lesson his child will have to learn too.
The idea makes his heart clench painfully inside his chest. He wonders if that’s the reason why Mummy was always so cold and so distant: if it was her own desperate effort to protect her heart, so her children’s suffering might not break it. It’s a dreadful thought and the mere idea of turning into his mother--
Father was always distant too, even more so than Mummy. As far as he was concerned, he and Sherlock were only pieces on a board to be played as it suited his (the kingdom’s?) needs. He imagines John will not behave much differently, especially considering he’s not the child’s true sire. He can not be blamed, really, although--
He thinks of Gregory, whispering soft words against his abdomen when the baby is specially restless, the way he soothingly caresses his belly until the baby stops kicking. He’ll love their child, of that Mycroft has no doubt, even if he’ll never tbe a true father to them and the little Prince or Princess will grow up wondering why the Royal Guard’s Captain is so overly fond of them.
He closes his eyes. His child’s future is so bleak it breaks his heart a little bit and he wonders if it’s horribly selfish of him to wish to spare them of such fate. The Kingdom needs an Heir but--
And if he chooses to save his baby of that future--
It’s a difficult choice, that’s for sure.
“How are you feeling?” Sherlock asks, coming to sit next to him on the bed. He looks tired, the strain of taking over Mycroft’s responsibilities no doubt to blame for it, and yet, he doesn’t look unhappy.
“Well enough,” Mycroft replies, putting his book down. He’s been trying to read for the last few hours or so, but he hasn’t had much success, his mind insisting on going on different paths, analyzing possibilities. “Bored to death, but well.”
Sherlock scoffs. “The midwife said--”
“I know what she said,” Mycroft interrupts, a bit more sharply than he intended. Sherlock looks at him, a slight frown on his face.
“What’s bothering you?” his brother asks, doing his best to mask his concern and Mycroft sighs, leaning back on the many pillows, turning to stare at the ceiling, wondering if he really wants to voice what he’s been thinking. Here’s the point of no return and he’s not sure he wants to pass it.
“I’ve been thinking,” he starts slowly, reluctantly, his insides twisted with dread and anticipation at the same time. He gulps, his throat feeling sand dry and he closes his eyes, chewing his lip softly. “I’ve been thinking what a terrible thing it’d be, if I was to die during childbirth.”
Sherlock opens his mouth-- to reassure him, no doubt-- but then his words seem to sink in and Sherlock bites his lip, considering. “A tragedy, indeed,” his brother replies cautiously, as torn as Mycroft about the implications. “Given the circumstances… I suppose there’s a chance, undesirable as it might be.”
Mycroft nods slowly, relieved he’s been understood. He did not dare to voice his plan out loud; it feels better this way. “It’d be twice as tragic if my baby didn’t make it either,” he continues, because there’s no way in hell he’s leaving his child behind. “But of course, my husband is still at his prime and he might find himself another bride, to give him more children.”
“Surely not so soon after your death,” Sherlock replies, a tiny bit of sarcasm slipping into his tone. He’s chewing his lip hard enough to draw blood, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed. “You’d be greatly missed,” his brother adds softly, staring at his hands. “You’re a great Queen.”
“You do not want to be Queen,” Mycroft says and Sherlock sighs, looking away.
“No, I do not. And after these last few weeks of handling things in your absence, I’ve become more convinced of it,” he replies, standing up and going to stare outside the window in an effort to put his thoughts in order. “But I suppose… I suppose some things are worth every sacrifice.” He does not look at Mycroft, his reluctance clear in his tone but he’s right of course: to get what we want, we must be willing to compromise.
They stay in silence for a while, both lost in their own messy thoughts. “If you were to die,” Sherlock says after a long time, turning to face Mycroft once more, “I’d miss you but I’d-- I suppose some things can’t be avoided.”
Mycroft smiles, a soft wobbly thing and he nods. It’s not ideal solution, not really, but it’s good enough, given the circumstances.
Sherlock nods tightly to himself, going back to the bed, curling himself next to his brother. Mycroft holds him a bit awkwardly, uncertain and Sherlock sighs, closing his eyes. “I’ll miss you too,” Mycroft whispers softly, lips pressed against the top of his brother’s head and the younger man huffs, but nods.
It’s not ideal, truly.
But some things are worth every sacrifice, indeed.
“Have you considered my proposal?” Mycroft asks and maybe it’s not the best of times to ask, but since it seems he’s truly going to with his crazy plan, he supposes he might as well.
Gregory hums, sleepily, not really paying that much attention, still holding him close, enjoying the warmth. “About the Regiment’s Captaincy at the northern border.”
His companion goes very still very suddenly, his grip around Mycroft’s waist tightening before loosening a bit. He looks up at him, no trace of the previous softness on his face, evident worry in it. “I don’t-- I didn’t think--”
Mycroft blanches, realizing how that might have sounded. “No! No, I didn’t mean-- I just-- I thought--” he closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he finishes lamely.
Gregory stares at him, concern written all over his face. “How did you mean it, then?”
Mycroft sighs, looking away. “I’ve been thinking what a terribly thing it’d be, if my child and I were to die during childbirth,” his companion opens his mouth to protest and Mycroft hurries to silence him, placing a hand over his lips. Gregory blinks, processing his words, Mycroft staring at him intently, willing him to understand.
“Oh,” Gregory murmurs softly, a sudden smile lighting his whole face. “Do you mean--?”
“Try not to sound so happy about my death,” Mycroft argues sourly and his companion lets out a happy giggle which makes him roll his eyes fondly.
Gregory giggles some more, leaning forward to capture his lips in a kiss. It’s messy, but passionate and Mycroft hums in approval, allowing his partner to pull him into his lap so they can kiss more comfortably.
“Are you quite sure?” Gregory asks, when they pull away for air, pupils blown wide, breathless. “I don’t-- I mean, it’s not-- it won’t be--”
Mycroft kisses him again to shut him up.
It won’t be easy, he knows.
But the result outweights the costs considerably, he thinks.
“I’ve been thinking,” Mycroft says, for what feels like the millionth time in these last few days. “What a terribly thing it’d be, if my child and I were to die during childbirth.”
The midwife considers this as she continues her examination. “There’s a chance, of course,” she replies, matter-of-factly and Mycroft wonders if she realizes what he’s attempting to convey here. “With how hard the pregnancy has been on you, I suppose it wouldn’t surprise anyone,” she adds, her expression giving away nothing.
Mycroft bites his lip, thinking. There’s a chance childbirth will be truly deadly, he supposes, but he hadn’t really thought much about it. Now thought, with the serious expression on the midwife’s face--
“I’d advice actually giving birth here,” the woman says after a beat. “In case there are complications. And while I assume you want to be far away as quickly as possible, do take into consideration you’ll be taking a newborn with you, not to mention you’ll be in quite a delicate state,” she picks up her stuff, quickly and efficiently, heading for the door shortly after, having said her piece.
Mycroft blinks, processing the brief conversation, if it can be called that.
Well, that didn’t go as he expected.
Mourning bells wake up the Capital's habitants on a cold October morning.
The news spread slowly, no one too keen on gossiping about the Queen’s tragic fate. The city covers itself in black, the general mood melancholic: the Queen might have been cold and distant, but he was a good Queen and he’ll be greatly missed. The fact that it happened during childbirth only adds insult to the injury, everyone commenting on what a terrible thing it is.
The funeral is short and solemn, the King looking actually sad at the loss of his wife.
A tragedy, indeed.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
King John marries Princess Sherlock not even a year after the burial of his wife.
It’s a widely debated subject among his people, everyone seemingly having an opinion on the royal affair.
It’s not decent,
people say.
Oh, if the Queen were here--
But the Queen is (supposedly) dead and so he cannot say or do anything about it. Not that he’d be inclined to care overly much, in any case and certainly not considering he has new concerns nowadays.
Mycroft nods politely at the town’s gossips who try to engage him in the conversations surrounding the scandal. He excuses himself, pointing at the baby at his hip, heading back home with the smallest smirk on his lips, humming a cheerful tone to himself. He’s glad his brother is marrying, even if he does believe it’s a little too soon but then, he supposes, he’d have no leg to stand on seeing he’s already married too.
He examines his mating bite in the mirror, bouncing little Eve gently, making the babe giggle happily. The mark has healed nicely and it stands out against his all too pale skin, completely real this time.
It’s curious, he thinks, just how many things can change in a year.
He puts Eve down, who is all too happy to crawl away and go explore on her own while Mycroft turns his attention to tonight’s dinner. He and Gregory have been very careful about baby proofing the house, so there’s little reason for concern, although Mycroft is careful to always keep an eye on her anyway.
The making of tonight’s supper, as usual, turns into his particular brand of purgatory and he wonders if he’s really paying for some terrible sin. He shakes his head at the thought, smiling: what a terrible penance indeed. Never in his life did he have any real need to even make his own tea and yet here he is, attempting to prepare something remotely edible.
He knows Gregory will eat whatever he happens to make, a big smile on his face, complimenting everything no matter how tasteless it actually is. Eloise, Gregory’s sister, has been trying to teach him to cook, but she has had very little success.
Some people are just not meant for the kitchen,
she said the first night, after he nearly burned the house down, a kind smile on her face despite the destruction surrounding them. It had been heartwarming, truth to be told and Mycroft had come to like her quite a lot thanks to that.
In all honesty, he’s not fit for this quiet country life. He had predicted the transition wouldn’t be easy, but he was thoroughly unprepared for the reality of the change. He misses his old life, there’s no denying it and sometimes (just sometimes, mind) he finds himself wondering if it’s worth it.
Of course then he’ll glance at his daughter or at his mate and he’ll wonder how could he ever doubt it.
Still, he often finds himself bored, itching to do something. Even when he wasn’t busy
plotting and scheming,
back at the Castle he had an entire library at his disposition whenever boredom threatened to swallow him whole, but that’s not the case over here. He was never a particular
social
creature and he doesn’t imagine that’s bound to change, with so little options right now… Of course, Eve keeps him busy most of the time, but she’s quickly growing up and soon she won’t depend on him quite as much, which will in turn leave him with more spare time.
He needs to find something to do with himself or risk going crazy. He’s made plans, of course, some more outlandish than the others and only time will tell which one is the best one.
He doesn’t think he’ll ever come to feel
bitter
about his decision, but he doesn’t imagine he can content himself with simply being a housewife either: he misses the politics, the thrill of
scheming.
There’s little to do in that regard so far away from the Capital and maybe getting involved in politics isn’t exactly wise, all things considered: last thing they want is for someone to recognize him and all their careful planning and hiding to have been for nothing.
It’s actually funny how easy concealing his real identity has been. After they arrived in town, with people coming and going at all times and all too eager to greet the newcomers, he had feared someone would, but no such thing had happened. This far away from the Capital, most people have never been close enough to the Royal family to really recognize them, all they have to go are the royal portraits and those tend to be deceiving, the painters usually portraying their own views of how Alphas and Omegas should look, hence why everyone seems to think King John is some kind of giant.
Mycroft chuckles at the thought, remembering the royal portrait hanging in the Throne room (or at least that’s where it used to hang). John hovered over him at least a whole head taller, Mycroft looking small and delicate next to his husband’s bulky form. If that’s the image the subjects have of their former Queen, is no wonder they did not recognize him: that Mycroft has doll-like features, fiery red hair, falling in perfect ringlets around his round, almost childish face.
He huffs, amused. At the time the painting was made, he remembers having felt annoyed at how little it resembled him, but now he’s thankful for it.
Who would have thought?
Mycroft is awaken by a feather light kiss pressed against his forehead. He blinks awake, a small smile already blossoming on his lips, his Mate’s soft chuckle making his heart swell with affection. Sleepily, he searches for his companion’s lips, kissing him lazily and messily, humming contently when the other man finally pulls away.
“Hello,” he greets with a smile, stretching out. “How was your day?”
Gregory shrugs, now standing next to Eve’s crib, watching her sleep with a soft smile. “Good enough,” he replies. “How about you? Did this little one wear you out?”
Mycroft hums, standing up, rubbing his eyes groggily. “A little,” he replies, wrapping his arms around his husband’s middle, resting his chin against his shoulder, watching their daughter. “You know, back at the Castle I wouldn’t have even been expected to nurse her, let alone run after her all day.”
Gregory hums. “Do you regret it?” he asks softly, almost reluctantly and it occurs Mycroft he could have phrased that a little better.
“Of course not,” he scoffs, pulling away a little so he can make his partner turn, so they’re facing one another. “I’d never,” he assures him, leaning forward for a kiss which his companion returns enthusiastically, pulling him close, their bodies practically fused together. “I miss you during the day, you know?” he murmurs between kisses, pulling at the Alpha’s clothes, backing him towards the bed.
“So do I,” Gregory replies as they land on the bed, both already breathless. “You could come visit me.”
“I wouldn’t want to distract you from your obligations,” Mycroft replies playfully, earning himself an eye roll from his partner.
“That didn’t seem to bother you in the past,” Gregory argues good naturedly and Mycroft’s chuckles quickly turn into moans as his partner’s hands slide underneath his gown.
“Well, yes, but I was in charge back then,” Mycroft replies for the sake of arguing, more than anything else. “Over here… well, I suppose I could always write to Sherlock, but--”
“Speaking of Sherlock--”
“Do we need to, right now?” Mycroft questions, figuring things are quickly getting derailed and that’s not something he wants right now. “Can we discuss my brother’s eminent marriage later?”
His companion hums in agreement, kissing him once more.
There are more pressing matters right now, after all.
“So you’re fine with it?”
Mycroft groans, burying his face in Eve’s curls. The girl giggles, thinking he’s playing with her, tugging at his hair in retaliation and Mycroft smiles, letting her do as she pleases while casting an unimpressed look at his husband . “What, you’re thinking it’s
indecent
?
Not even a year since the Queen’s funeral and--”
“Well, it’s not like we can argue against it,” Gregory interrupts with a fond roll of eyes. “But that’s not what I meant. I just-- I don’t know,” he finishes lamely, an embarrassed smile on his lips.
“I’m happy for Sherlock, of course,” he replies, making a face as Eve tugs his hair with too much force. “And I wish I could have been there for him and I wish things could have been different and I wish he’d have had the chance to meet his niece but-- it is what it is. It’s not perfect, but we both can finally have what we wanted so…” he shrugs, looking at his companion with a hopeful smile. “Sometimes you need to sacrifice something, to get something else.”
Gregory reaches for his hand, squeezing it once and Mycroft is thankful for the comfort it provides. “I’m happy, honestly,” he says softly, “I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”
And he is. It’s not perfect, as he knew it wouldn’t be and there’s still some way to go but--
He’s truly happy.
And that’s what matters, isn’t it?