Rating: Explicit

Notes: So, I've been in a rather Sherlock friendly mood lately. I don't know why this prompt struck me, and this is one of my few incest pairings… but I had fun with it. Hopefully the prompter enjoys.

Prompt: For comment_fic - Sherlock BBC, Mycoft/Sherlock, gag ball, restrained

Warnings: consensual incest, rough sex

Word Count: 1,822

Disclaimer: This is a work of fictional parody in no way intended to infringe upon the rights of any individual or corporate entity. Any and all characters or celebrity personae belong to their rightful owners. Absolutely no money has or will be gained from this work. Please do not publicly link, repost or redistribute without letting me know first.

Written: 2/2012

Getting Sherlock in the car was simple enough, as was the silent drive to a warehouse that he had no doubt memorized the location of. Before he'd even stood up from the stopped car, the first brute grabbed him and attempted to bind his wrists while a second went for his legs. After the better part of fifteen minutes, four broken bones – none of which belonging to Sherlock Holmes – and quite a bit of shouting, he squirmed and fought against the tight bonds holding his ankles and wrists together as he was unceremoniously manhandled into the backseat of the sedan.

He'd managed to bite one of the unknown men and been strapped with a red ball gag in what he would assume was retaliation; really Mycroft had wanted to ensure he'd be the only one talking. After an hour, Sherlock's struggling had died down to occasional bucking of his hips and scraping of his shoes against the driver's seat and Mycroft allowed his presence to be known.

"Well done, brother… they weren't expecting such a spirited resistance," he said casually, tapping his umbrella against the worn floor with each slow step toward the car. "Two of them are still in Emergency."

Sherlock tilted his head back and glared at him upside-down, attempting to form angry words behind the rubber ball. He was clearly not amused when a thin strand of spittle smeared down his cheek to his ear.

"Oh dear, look at you." Mycroft frowned and shook his head; "You've torn your shirt in the scuffle." His steps stopped at the open rear passenger side door, the top of Sherlock's head brushing against his trousers as Mycroft reached down and traced the large rip across the center. For a long moment, his fingers lingered on the silk; and then shifted to the equally soft flesh below where he trailed a lazy circle over the dip of Sherlock's sternum. "John'll have a fit when he sees this," he leaned his favorite umbrella against the open door and then brushed his fingers over a raised welt of broken skin under Sherlock's left eye. "I told them not to mark you, but good muscle is so difficult to find in London."

The remark set him off again and Sherlock lurched up against the strong palm pressing into his chest; attempting to smack his head against Mycroft's thighs.

Mycroft chuckled and pulled away from his just long enough to grab a knot of sweaty curls and still his pitiful assault. "Now, now, Sherlock. Mummy would be most displeased to see us fight like this. I only asked that you be incapacitated so that I could get a good look at you. I hardly see you anymore when isn't on camera."

If he could speak, he'd surely have words about that; likely that there were many very good reasons they would never be on friendly terms. Sherlock grunted loudly again, another string of drool rolling down his chin as his head was lifted up from the seat and Mycroft slid in under him, pushing and adjusting until Sherlock's torso was draped awkwardly across his lap.

"Now, a little privacy." Mycroft closed the door, leaving them utterly alone in the warehouse in the back of the non-descript black sedan. For a moment, he was silent, content to merely slip his palm once more under the thin silk to caress over his brother's chest and down to the bare thinness of his stomach to the band of his trousers. "I'll admit it, Sherlock, I've missed our little chats since your Watson came into the equation. Tell me, have you been able to allow yourself to be intimate with him?"

He shouted behind the gag again, less animated than before but still glaring up at Mycroft. His shoulders shifted and his eyes opened wider.

"Oh, interesting…" Mycroft smiled; "I had assumed you'd find a way to pique his interest…" Nimbly, his fingers traced over the thick twill until he thumbed open the catch and lowered the zip – lingering on the open folds above his pants; "No matter, not everyone can be quite so bold in obtaining what they want."

It wasn't the first time, nor the last, that they had come together under such circumstances. He'd only admitted it once, and likely never would again, but Sherlock enjoyed their occasional dalliances; though it was uncertain whether it was due to the breaking of social mores alone or if a certain part of him didn't feel something more than physical relief. For his part, Mycroft was silent on the subject… always the aggressor, but never the one to make mention of it.

When Mycroft's delicate fingers slid under the flimsy barrier of his shorts, Sherlock's mouth opened just enough for the ball wedge against his teeth and a silent moan punctuated the gasp behind the blockage. Mycroft teased over the sensitive flesh, telling as it always was, and smiled when it responded readily to his touch. "It isn't the same, is it?" He murmured casually, letting his weaker hand toy with Sherlock's dark curls as he slowly relaxed into his brother's lap; "They've never got the slightest idea how to touch you… how to make your brain still for those fleeting moments."

The corners of his mouth twitched in what may have been a smile or simply silent protest and Sherlock managed to lift his hips slightly to encourage the gentle, lazy strokes that only frustrated him.

"Shh… calm, dear brother. We've got time, at least another hour before he starts to wonder where you've gone off to," Mycroft chided. His fingers slowly tightened down on the hard length – stroking deliberately slow until soft groans began to leave a visible wetness on his brother's lips around the gag. "I know what you need." With a gentle smile, he raked his fingers through Sherlock's hair and grasped hard at the roots before twisting his wrist with a practiced yank.

Bucking his hips as hard as he could in his restraints, Sherlock thrust up into the tight grip on his cock – choking on a moan behind the red rubber ball. When one knew his buttons, it took minimal effort to unleash the animal lurking well behind the layers of supposed mystery that Mycroft had seen form over the many years of their upbringing.

"Faster?" Mycroft asked, his smile quirking up when Sherlock's eyes flashed up and stared back up at him menacingly; "Yes, I agree completely." He gave one last hard twist of the hair knotted in his palm, eliciting another groan as he stroked with increasing speed and an even tighter grip – forcing him over the edge. His smile slid into a tightlipped grimace of effort and focus as he bore down intently until his brother's body seized in his lap, writhing in his bindings against the upholstery. Satisfied with the warm wetness across his palm and over the top of his hand, Mycroft withdrew slowly and unfastened the strap at the back of his brother's head; without pause, he rubbed the sticky fingers over his bruised lips was delighted with the heat of Sherlock's tongue lapping the clean.

"Oh God…" he panted loudly between enthusiastic licks of the familiar taste and Mycroft understood the sensation, Sherlock's frantic brain stilled to blissful ignorance in the moments immediately after orgasm. Wriggling and fighting, he managed to roll onto his belly and push down just enough for his face to rub against the obvious arousal that had been digging into him throughout the quick interlude. "Open," he stated firmly.

"And your hands?" Mycroft asked with a grin, making quick work of opening his trousers and pushing aside his y-fronts for full access. "Mmm, don't need them…" he groaned when the familiar warm mouth enveloped him. Attempting to maintain some semblance of control over the situation, Mycroft closed his hand over the back of his brother's neck – gripping just tightly enough to feel the muscles working in tandem with the strong thrust and drag of his tongue to draw him in deep. He liked to think it was one area he clearly taught Sherlock everything he knows, but every so often it was hard to be sure… and when he felt the rough tug of several hard swallows it was very nearly his undoing. "Slow… slow, Sherlock… damn you…" he groaned, his voice but a whispered plea on deaf ears.

Sherlock moaned purposefully, sending a hard vibration over the tender flesh as his throat clenched in another forced swallow. It wasn't a sustainable pace, but he knew all too well he needn't press himself long. Eyes tightly closed, he opened his throat and let Mycroft take over – after all, he had started the game… he could very well finish it.

It was his move, and Mycroft's hand tightened further on the back of Sherlock's neck – holding him in place for much slower paced thrusts down the curve of his tongue and against the back of his throat. Each rise of his hips sent him nearly spiraling up past the edge, but for a brief moment he entertained that he had more self-control than he actually did. "Yes… y… yes…" he whispered, barely audible even in the confines of the vehicle. And then the warm heat closed down fully on him once more, sucking him in with a hard swallow followed by the gentle drag of teeth against the underside of his cock; "Mmm… damn you…" he whimpered, a rare brief glimpse of vulnerability more than obvious as he rooted himself against his brother's mouth and forced one last deep swallow.

Smug and utterly amused with himself, Sherlock lifted his head up off the slick member. With a haughty grin, he rolled his shoulders and tugged free one wrist and then the other; "Next time you should try cuffs… clearly, rope tying is a problem for your men."

Mycroft collected himself and covered his exposed manhood, zipping his trousers before he responded; "In all fairness, I believe you fought them a little too hard… you broke the largest one's arm in two places."

"Three." Sherlock licked his lips. "And I believe that was well under the three minute record."

"You cheated," the smile slowly returned to Mycroft's lips; "you let me do all the work."

"Not all, besides, what's the fun if I've got to break a sweat." He gestured at the mark on his face and his swollen lips; "You are right about one thing, John will have a fit about this."

Mycroft groaned slightly and unlocked the door; "You should be getting home to the little wife, Sherlock… I'm sure he misses you."

Sherlock managed to sit up in the seat and regarded his tied ankles before starting to work open the knot without using his freed hands. "Same time next month?"

"Perhaps," he got out of the car with no ceremony and retrieved his umbrella from the floorboard, "I'll be seeing you, Sherlock."