Chapter 1
AU Teenlock
Mycroft Holmes sat in a comfortable chair near the fireplace in his family's country house. The Holmes' cottage, while publicly displaying a traditional and modest front, was quite remarkable in that it had a very modern interior. Mrs. Holmes, Mycroft's mother, had an eye for design and plenty of family fortune to indulge in fine furnishings. Mycroft enjoyed staying in his parent's comfortable home especially when they were presently away in a two-month tour of North America.
He worked in a positon of eminent political power, a family legacy, and knew he was headed for greater things. Currently, his employer had encouraged him to enjoy a hiatus, a vacation he'd called it, in order for the young man to recharge his batteries. His superiors deemed it necessary for him to take a mental health break for three weeks out of every year. If Mycroft had his way, he'd never take a holiday, he considered it an unnecessary waste of valuable, work time.
His family employed a housekeeper, Mrs. Dresden and she had just brought Mycroft a perfect cup of Earl Grey tea and three, raspberry-shortcake biscuits, his favorite. He'd just been about to tuck into the delicious treats when the front bell rang.
"Damn," he exhaled. He waited a moment to see if Mrs. Dresden would answer the door. Apparently, she'd gone upstairs. A moment later he heard another pull at the bell. "Oh bother! he shouted to the general air. "I'll get it," he pronounced to no one and got up to answer it himself.
In a huff, he pulled the front door open and on the threshold stood his surprised, younger brother, Sherlock. He saw an indistinct, short male standing in the shadow behind him. Since he'd been promoted at work, he rarely got home to visit from London much at all any more. He barely recognized him. Mycroft frowned and asked, "What, may I ask, are you doing here?"
"I live here, Mycroft," Sherlock stated and pushed his way past his older brother arrogantly. Mycroft noted that the seventeen-year-old had grown almost an inch and a half since he'd last seen him. He'd most likely reached his full height of six foot, one and he seemed to have stretched thin and lost what little baby fat he'd had. Mycroft sighed, his younger brother had no trouble keeping a trim appearance, while he himself had to watch every bite or it showed in places he didn't like.
"I know you live here, brother. But, shouldn't you be at school? Our parents pay an obscene amount of money for you to attend Briarbridge Academy, and yet here you are. How did you escape?"
"Briarbridge is very progressive. It has year round schooling and we're on one of our breaks. You'd know that if you spent any time here at home, Mycroft," Sherlock sniped at him. Mycroft caught a fleeting look of hurt on Sherlock's face that disappeared quickly to be replaced with a look of cool indifference. "I've brought home a friend of mine. He's my roommate. I met him last term. His name is John Watson."
The shorter shadow stepped forward and a teenager about Sherlock's age smiled and stuck out his hand. "Hi," the young man said shaking his hand with enthusiasm, and Mycroft took in the appearance of a blonde teen with blue eyes and a very winning smile.
Mycroft smiled a thin-lipped smile back, "Charming," he said almost taken aback at this handsome young man. "And, how long are you staying?" he asked turning to Sherlock.
Frankly, Mycroft was stunned at the word "friend" tumbling from Sherlock's lips. He'd never know Sherlock to have introduced him to a mate, a chum or friend in his whole life. In fact, before Mycroft left for University, he'd been young Sherlock's only playmate. They used to be quite close once and he found himself missing his brother's company and quick wit many times in the past few years. He now felt a pang of regret at having missed so much of his brother's childhood. He always meant to come home and visit him more often, but his life and work kept getting in the way of such sentiments.
"We're here for two weeks, as usual. What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked waving John into the front hall.
"I'm on holiday, Sherlock," he said tugging at his waistcoat.
"And you chose to spend it at your parent's house?" John asked with a cheeky grin as he scooted past Mycroft carrying a duffle bag. I mean why aren't you off at the beach or something?
"I like it here," Mycroft responded huffily. Who was this boy and why did he feel he could be so impertinent?
"You can put that upstairs in my room," Sherlock said still giggling at John's comments.
"Your room?" Mycroft said. "We've got a guest room, Sherlock. You don't have to make him sleep on your floor."
"Who said anything about sleeping on the floor?" Sherlock asked and quirked his eyebrow knowingly at Mycroft.
With a start, Mycroft understood his brother's intent. Sherlock not only had a friend, he had a boyfriend. This weekend, it seemed, was a sort of sex holiday. Something in Mycroft's chest turned over at that thought. Sherlock was far too young to want to have intimate relations with someone, and a boy? Mycroft had wondered about what gender Sherlock might finally settle on if he ever did locate his libido, but so soon? Why, he himself had dated only a few times and that was with young women of high social standing that his mother had set him up with. While none of the elegant young women had sparked his interest much beyond a second date, Mycroft wasn't worried. He and his mother still thought he had plenty of time to find himself someone. Now, his younger brother, behaving like a sex-starved, ordinary teenager had brought home some cute, pert boy to…. It boggled his brain to contemplate.
Mycroft watched John carry his duffle up the stairs. His compact form suggested a strong muscular body beneath his ordinary jumper and jeans. In fact, he must be on scholarship, because he obviously didn't come from money. The way he walked, straight shouldered, precise, showed almost a military bearing. His knuckles were rough from playing sports, probably rugby or soccer. But, if he were on scholarship, he'd have to pretty bright to have gained entrance to a school like Briarbridge.
Mycroft had been so busy watching John walk up the stairs, he hadn't heard Sherlock step up behind him and rumble low in his ear, "The things I plan to do to him, Mycroft." He jumped a little and blushed deeply. Had Sherlock seen him "checking out" John? Then he wondered, when had Sherlock grown so….adult?!
"We'll be down later. Is there any food? John will be hungry," Sherlock said with a smirk at his brother's look of indignation.
"Do our parents know John is spending the break with you?" Mycroft asked finally getting his thoughts in order enough to process this situation.
"Yes, I texted them, and they said it would be fine."
"Do they know you're sleeping with him?" Mycroft finally got out.
Sherlock smiled one of his half smiles at him. "No, Mycroft. Problem?"
Mycroft huffed in response. In absence of their parents, he supposed he should be the responsible adult here. But, he felt very out of his depth. He wasn't Sherlock's father and really had no say over him. "I guess not, just be careful. Use…" but he couldn't articulate his thought and look his little brother in the eye. He suddenly felt far too uncomfortable.
"Yes, I'll be careful. I've had the talk already. Besides, John wants to be a doctor. He's very aware of…"
"Yes, yes," Mycroft interrupted feeling a blush creep over him. "Okay, Sherlock. I'll see you later." His little brother and this John person were planning to have sex in their family home! Who was this boy? Why did Sherlock, after years of telling everyone he had no interest in romance or feelings, suddenly have them for John Watson?
Sherlock's smile stretched across his face. If Mycroft didn't know better, he'd almost believe Sherlock had been flirting with him. Cheeky little bastard. Mycroft looked up at his brother and shook his head. Another feeling had begun to creep into his heart, jealousy. He wasn't entirely sure whether he was jealous of Sherlock's new sexual confidence or weather he was jealous of John for stealing it away when Mycroft wasn't looking. Now he watched the tall, elegant form of his brother as he climbed the stairs carrying a black satchel bag up to his room. He'd grown into a very handsome young man and Mycroft swallowed an unbidden emotion quickly before it could grow.
Chapter 2Violin music floated down the stairs as Mycroft attempted to find out where he'd left off before Sherlock and his interesting house guest had disrupted him. He grunted in displeasure when he brought the cold cup to his lips. The raspberry shortcakes would be no good without warm tea to dunk them in. He picked up his newspaper and tried to read.
Not that he was trying to listen, but from upstairs, he heard a delightful laugh from John and a low answering chuckle from his brother. Mycroft didn't know when the last time he'd heard a genuine laugh come from Sherlock. Jealousy flashed through him again. Damn it, why didn't Sherlock ever laugh with such ease around him now? They used to have such fun playing make believe and pirates in the back yard of this very cottage. The violin music began again and Mycroft recognized one of Sherlock's original compositions. It was rare for him to share those with anyone outside the family. He played for a while, then, it grew quiet upstairs. The silence unnerved him more than the laughter, and he tried not to picture what the two teens could be doing right at this moment.
"Mycroft," Mrs. Dresden said startling him out of a light doze he'd fallen into a while later. "Do you know who's upstairs?" she asked him. She'd come downstairs in her slippers and dressing gown. "I was up in my room, and I heard voices. One sounds like Sherlock but there's another..."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Dresden," Mycroft said apologetically. "Sherlock came home from school this evening and he's brought a friend."
She looked at him in amazement. "A friend?"
"Yes, I'm as shocked as you are, I'm afraid," he answered. "They were wondering if you'd prepared anything for supper. They might be hungry later."
"Oh, she said clutching her dressing gown around her neck in a nervous fashion. "I've got leftover pork pie. They can have that if they'd like. I wasn't expecting the boy home. He often stays at school during his breaks. Nobody informed me…"
"Please, don't trouble yourself. You need your rest, dear lady," Mycroft said trying to smooth her ruffled feathers. He'd had plenty of opportunities to practice diplomacy at his job. "They can get supper themselves."
"All right, Mycroft. Good night," she said and trudged slowly back upstairs.
The old girl wasn't getting any younger, Mycroft thought. She didn't need to be wandering about the house after hours when she should be in bed. He'd half a mind to go up to Sherlock's room and tell them to quiet down. Then, he thought about what he'd be interrupting if he did, and the thought of it made something in his stomach feel very unusual.
A few minutes later, he heard the soft thuds of bare feet on the stairs and looked up to see his brother and John coming down the stairs trying to be quiet. Mycroft searched to find something in the newspaper to rivet his attention as they made their way across the sitting room and towards the kitchen.
"There's pork pie if you want it," he said pointedly from behind the page. "Mrs. D was wondering who was making all that racket," he said stiffly. His intentions to just let them go by without commenting flew out the window.
"Thank you. Hmmm, Mycroft?" Sherlock said pausing on his way to the kitchen.
"Yes, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked not looking up from his paper.
"Were you listening?" Sherlock asked and he and John broke into soft sniggers. "I mean if you wanted to know what we were up to…?"
"No, I do…did not," Mycroft sputtered putting the paper down and feeling a horrific blush rise on his face. He rose from the chair and decided he should go upstairs now and leave the two to their late supper.
"We'd be happy to tell you, If you're interested," John finished softly for Sherlock, and something suggestive in the boy's voice made him turn back around.
Mycroft looked at John who met his eyes. He had stopped giggling to stare back at him in an intense, direct way as if to say, "I really see what's going on with you."
Sherlock took that moment to drape a long arm around John's shoulders and pull him close. His piercing, azure gaze moved from John's frank blue eyes to Mycroft's face. Always observant, Sherlock seemed to read something in John's intent gaze that caught his interest. Mycroft thought he saw a glimmer of it there as well. John's gaze had changed from amusement to something sensual and direct. Mycroft felt it hit him, hard. John was sexually interested in him, and Sherlock seemed to be completely aware of his interest.
He looked back at both of them in wonder, "What are you two up to?" he asked his heart thumping hard in his chest.
Sherlock ran a long, slender finger under John's chin and tilted his head up towards his lips. He kissed John deeply and tenderly and John unabashedly kissed back. It was if Mycroft suddenly wasn't there, and he felt very much like an intruder into their intimacy.
Sherlock pulled apart from John reluctantly and returned his eyes to Mycroft who hadn't been able to turn away, "He tastes wonderful. Do you want to try?"
"I-I, Sherlock!" Mycroft said his voice rising in panic. This whole situation was unreal. But, after watching that kiss, he very much wanted to try. Although, at this point, he didn't know which he wanted more, to place his mouth on John's or Sherlock's. He let out a low groan at the thought of wrongness of wanting to taste Sherlock. It was bad enough to desire a seventeen year old boy like John, but his brother? Sherlock couldn't be suggesting he'd want to... His breath caught as the two broke away and began stalking toward him. Their matching looks of desire nearly made his knees give away.
"Sherlock," he began weakly putting up both hands to ward them off. Perhaps they were winding him up. He closed his eyes at the thought, and how humiliated he'd be if they were to suddenly burst out laughing and slapping their knees at him. His face burned at the thought and he stepped backward and once again considered fleeing upstairs. He'd got as far as the staircase.
"Stop, Mycroft," Sherlock said and held out his hand to his brother. "Come here," he said softly. "We both want you to try John. Please, don't go."
The please caused him to pause. Sherlock hadn't said please to anyone since he'd been a child and forced by his mother.
"Sherlock," Mycroft began again, "This doesn't make sense. John's your boyfriend."
And that's when John crossed the distance between them and reached up to caress Mycroft's face in his hand. John stepped up onto the first step in order to be even with a much taller Mycroft and leaned in to kiss his lips gently.
John tasted like butter cream. Mycroft's lips had been open just slightly and John licked his tongue into his mouth like a quick cat lapping up milk. John deepened the kiss using his tongue to explore and tantalize. Before he realized it, Mycroft felt himself reach out to pull John toward him. John moaned into his mouth and Mycroft had never felt anything so perfect in his life as this golden boy's lips and tongue stealing his very breath from his body. He had no idea kissing could be this wonderful.
He felt John's arms come up along his back and hug him close. Something broke in him then and a floodgate of desire washed through him. He pressed into John's mouth harder and found an equal desire matching him right back. He opened his eyes fleetingly and saw Sherlock watching them with a hungry interest. They locked eyes and Mycroft felt a moment's shock when saw desire growing on his brother's face. No jealously, just open lust.
Mycroft stopped himself and pulled away from John. His breathing had become harsh and shallow. How had they all got here? Fifteen minutes ago, he knew his place in the world, and now he felt altered forever by his own dark urges. He needed to step back from this and flee before he went too far. Perhaps they could all still go back to the normal world of drinking tea, reading newspapers, and eating pork pie. It would be a place where little brothers and friends of little brothers didn't turn him on so fucking bad!
He felt feverish and hot. Sherlock had moved closer and put himself next to the pair of them still embracing one another. He reached a hand out and brushed his fingertips across Mycroft's cheek gently, almost reverently, "Myc, I've missed you so much," he whispered and he kissed him gently on the mouth.
"I've missed you too, Sherlock," Mycroft said after breaking the sweet kiss and running his hand through the dark curls at his brother's neck. It felt like years of constricting bands of steel had begun to break away from around his chest. His little brother had missed him, too. "Perhaps we can share this together? Perhaps it's all right to do this,"
"Yes, it's all right," Sherlock said looking into his brother's eyes as if he'd never wanted to be anywhere else. "I'd like that," he said and turned to John. Would you like to ask Mycroft to join us upstairs?
"God, yes!" John agreed.
Chapter 3Warning: Smut ahead. :)
Together John and Sherlock each took one of Mycroft's arms and led him upstairs. "Come see what we've brought," John said. "Sherlock has taught me so much in the past few months, but we can't really do what we like at school."
Mycroft quirked an eyebrow at his brother. "I had no idea."
"You'd be surprised what I've learned in my work chasing criminals around. School isn't the only thing I've been doing."
"Ah yes," Mycroft said. "Mummy and Father have mentioned your extra -curricular activities in solving crimes. Do you help him, John?"
"Yeah," John said with a smile. He looked admiringly up at Sherlock. "He's brilliant."
Sherlock preened at John's compliment. "Without John, I'd be lost. He's the best partner I could ask for." Here he leaned in as they reached the top of the stairs and said close to Mycroft's ear, "He's so much more than that. You've only had a lick, Myc, wait until you take a real bite."
John blushed and moved forward to open the bedroom door. Sherlock's double bed lie awash in blankets and sheets. Whatever they'd been doing before had made a mess of the neatly made linen. Sherlock guided him to sit on the bed.
"Here, lie back on the pillow. Why don't you watch for now, get used to what we do and then, if you like, you can join us?" Sherlock seemed to be a perfect mix of confidence and over eagerness. It bit at Mycroft's heart to see the earnest bid for his approval in his brother's face.
But, as soon as Mycroft relaxed back into the bed, Sherlock took it as a sign he should proceed. The unsure, approval seeking persona seemed to drop away from him like an overwarm coat, and his eyes gleamed with desire for the blonde boy in front of him.
"You're wearing too many clothes, John," Sherlock said coming up behind him and placing his large hands on the boy's shoulders. "Take them off."
Mycroft's breath hitched at that. Sherlock's overeager look vanished only to be replaced by a steel-eyed stare directly at his brother. Sherlock helped divest John of his shirt and even wrapped his arms around John's middle to help him undo his flies from behind. John's denim trousers dropped revealing no underpants. He stepped out of his clothing and Sherlock hooked a foot into them and drug them unceremoniously off to the side and out of the way.
"Oi," John said. "That shirt is new."
Sherlock brought his hands up to John's chest and pushed the boy back possessively into his own torso. He growled into John's ear, "That's enough talk out of you. I want you silent for now."
John's eyes widened and a look of pleasure swept over his face. "My bag," he said a little breathlessly.
Sherlock retrieved John's duffle bag and placed it on the double bed. He unzipped it to reveal a change of clothes and several interesting objects. He began taking them out and placing them next to Mycroft's outstretched leg.
Mycroft was familiar with the function of most of the toys but he'd never had the chance to see any up close never mind touching them. His gaze dropped to a particularly long, thick dildo and cone shaped butt-plug and he wondered how the human body could take objects of that size.
Sherlock picked out a black and red ball gag and a harness made from thin leather straps from the duffle bag. He stepped back around and said, "Open for me, John." He placed the gag into John's willing mouth and strapped it firmly behind his head. "All right?" he asked and John nodded.
"We've been waiting to try this out until we got here. There is no privacy at school," Sherlock continued as he placed a Y-shaped harness over John's head. The harness had a single strap down the front and back that connected to a belt that wound around John's firm and quite fit middle. A pair of wrist cuffs attached to the belt kept John's hands cinched up at the small of his back. The whole harness left his bottom half free and accessible. "Now kneel."
Mycroft couldn't help but notice how the black leather straps set off his golden skin and hair nicely. He'd always favored dark-haired women, when he fancied women, but John's fair hair, deep blue eyes and blonde eyelashes sparked a wave of desire. His solider-trim body also sent shockwaves of lust through him. Even as he kneeled on the floor by the bed, Mycroft could sense a hidden power in his compact form. This boy willingly allowed this submission because he desired it, and that made Mycroft fall in love with him a little. He looked back up at his brother who seemed to be waiting for some sign of approval from Mycroft before proceeding.
He nodded to Sherlock still in awe of his brother's intensity and easy confidence in this. This was the stuff of fantasies, internet porn, and somebody else's life, not Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock ran a hand through John's short hair and he leaned into it eagerly. Sherlock's mouth turned up into a half-smile and he closed his eyes. Doing this in front of his brother, Mycroft noted, had Sherlock in quite a state of arousal. Even though he'd remained clothed, Sherlock's prick bulged tightly against the fabric of his expensive trousers. Mycroft smiled in anticipation of his brother's state. In fact, he still couldn't say what turned him on more, the thought seeing Sherlock's erect dick or watching him fuck John.
He'd gone down quite the fucked up rabbit hole and apparently wouldn't be coming back up for a while. Thank heavens Mrs. D was a sound sleeper.
Chapter 4Warning: More Smut
Sherlock rummaged around in his closet for a moment and gave out a cry of, "Ah, there it is!" He had located an old riding crop in the back and brought it out with a flourish. John's expression paled a bit when he saw what Sherlock carried toward him and he visibly swallowed.
"Sherlock," Mycroft said suddenly uneasy. "Do you know what you're doing?"
Sherlock came over to the bed and sat down leaning slightly to rest on Mycroft's leg. The simple touch sent a shiver of delight through Mycroft and he felt his own erection growing full in his trousers. Did he want Sherlock to know about the effect he was having on him? Would tonight be about sharing John or about sharing more?
"Yes, Mycroft. John and I have been exploring a submissive and dominant relationship."
"I gathered that," Mycroft replied archly. "I mean do you know how to do it properly?"
"You know my methods. I've performed extensive experiments on corpses and have gathered a great deal of emperical data on the forming of bruises and other physcial stimli."
Sherlock used the flat end of the crop to gently stroke John's cheek. John, eyes wide and eloquent, waited patiently without so much as a whimper. Sherlock ran the crop down his cheek and along the outside of one of John bound arms. Goosebumps rose along the golden skin and John shivered a little.
"John, I want you to stand up now," Sherlock commanded. John stood obediently.
Then, he turned toward his brother and his tone softened to almost a whisper, "It's all right. We are careful and even have a safeword. Mycroft, come sit on the edge of the bed." Sherlock had taken off his jacket and now began unbuttoning his shirt revealing a lean torso. Mycroft licked his lips unconsciously at sight.
Wordlessly, Mycroft did as he was bid. He wasn't sure what part he might play next, but he lifted himself up and perched himself where Sherlock wanted him. As he moved into place, he got a look at himself in the dresser mirror near the bed. The view presented by the reflection gave him pause. John looked luscious in his harness, Sherlock's smoldering sexuality radiated from him in waves, but Mycroft thought he seemed oddly out of place in this trio. He still looked good enough at twenty-five to consider himself attractive. Granted, his hairline seemed to be receding faster than he liked, but he could still make a woman smile if he poured on the charm. Normally, he thought himself above all this carnal pleasure. His formality usually protected him like armor. He'd never faced the idea that he might want something more than a proper wife who lay passively prone in the missionary position once a week. He hadn't known he'd wanted this until Sherlock brought him here.
"Myc," Sherlock said seeing Mycroft's hesitation. He took his brother's face in one hand and forced him to look into his eyes. "I want you to let John lay across your lap. You must hold him down and not let him squirm too much. I'm going to use this crop on him. Will you do it?"
Mycroft looked at John who had begun to breathe much quicker and flush even redder, his arousal evident in the way his erection bobbed energetically. Drops of pre-come formed at the tip of John's penis. Mycroft wanted to reach out and collect a droplet on the end of his finger, put it to his mouth. "Yes, Sherlock. I will," he said and patted his lap for John to lie across. They seemed to have this well under control.
With an elegant grace only the young and strong seemed to possess, John stretched himself across Mycroft's knees. He arched his back and kept his head up.
Sherlock handed him a flannel, "Put it down under him so you don't ruin your trousers," Sherlock said.
Mycroft took the offered flannel and worked it under John. As he did, his hand brushed across John's fullness and the boy let out a gasp behind the gag. "Easy, John," Sherlock said passing a long fingered hand over John's backside and rubbing it gently. "I'm going to give you twenty strokes. All right?"
John nodded and sighed, readying himself.
Twenty? Mycroft thought in amazement. He didn't think he could take twenty heart-felt strokes. John would never manage that many without breaking apart. But Mycroft suddenly wanted to feel John writhing under the crop so badly he looked up into Sherlock's gaze. Sherlock smiled in response, "You want to count for me?"
He nodded and rubbed his own hand across John's perfect ass and down the back of his thighs.
"Hold him, then," Sherlock said and let fly the first stinging slap. John wiggled beautifully as the first blow landed. A perfect welt formed and Mycroft ran his fingers over the raised edges. John wriggled again and moaned at the touch. He met Sherlock's eyes again and said, "One."
Sherlock let fly three in a row each landing just a little above or below the original welt. "Two, three, four," Mycroft said feeling more aroused than he'd ever felt in his life. The more John squirmed in his lap, the more he wanted to hear the sharp crack and see the red welts blossom across his golden skin.
"Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!" Mycroft counted as Sherlock dealt out the next set mercilessly across John's buttocks, and back of his thighs. The stripes stood out hotly on his skin and Mycroft felt his breathing quicken. He wondered what it would feel like to have Sherlock mark him in this way. He found he'd very much like to feel the sting of the crop himself.
Sherlock paused and massaged John's round cheeks. John moaned again and tried to pull away from the intense feeling. Sherlock ran his hand up John's quivering back and into his hair. He took hold of it and pulled the boy's head back, "Be still, John. You can do this."
John whimpered a little but met Sherlock's eyes with determination and Mycroft saw, intense arousal.
"Hold him again," Sherlock rumbled. "I'm going to cross along the welts now. John, this will sting a bit, but you're doing so very well."
Sherlock drew back his arm and let fly the remaining lashes. John took every one of them with a small cry mounting higher and higher until Mycroft called, "Twenty!" and John lie still on his lap panting heavily.
As soon as he finished, Sherlock knelt at John's side and helped him back into a standing position. He embraced John tenderly and stroked his hair. He stroked along his back rubbing soothing circles along his shoulder blades. "You did so well, John. I'm so proud of you." John rested his forehead against Sherlock's breastbone.
Sherlock placed his hand on the back of his neck, and John stilled. He unbuckled the gag and took it out of John's mouth carefully. He used the flannel to wipe the drool away. John's lips, puffy and swollen, looked infinitely kissable.
Mycroft found himself wanting to join his brother in comforting John. The young man had taken the lashes exceptionally well. He stood up and moved to join the two. He placed his hand in John's hair and gently stroked it.
As he caressed him, John surprised Mycroft by turning his head and capturing his mouth in a searing kiss. He disengaged himself from Sherlock's embrace and rounded on him eagerly kissing softly along his neck and pressing him back to the bed. Sherlock chuckled amusedly as John lavished his brother with kisses.
"I think he likes you, Myc," Sherlock said with bemusement.
Even with John's bonds, he managed to steer Mycroft back to the bed. He ended up on his back with John straddling him. "I want you in my mouth, Mycroft." John said looking at him like a hungry wolf looks at a cornered rabbit.
"Then, you know what to do, John. Unzip him with your teeth," Sherlock said and knelt down on the floor next to the bed for a better view.
Chapter 5Smut ahead.
John bent over carefully and used his teeth and tongue to undo Mycroft's belt buckle. Mycroft was genuinely amazed at how good the boy was with his mouth and his cock swelled even further at the thought of all that talent. He gripped the zipper with his teeth and pulled it down.
Sherlock watched every move John made with an intensity and curiosity that only intensified and aroused Mycroft. Each time John got a piece of Mycroft's trousers open, Sherlock looked at both their faces cataloging each reaction to play back later. He knew his brother too well.
John finally got the flies of his trousers laid back and his shirt pulled up revealing a hard bulge under the thin layer of his silk shorts. The blonde boy licked along his length soaking the through expensive material and Mycroft nearly exploded with need. The sensation was just enough to drive him mad and he needed much more, "Oh, John. Don't keep me waiting." Mycroft moaned. It took all his considerable restraint not to thrust his hips up in his need.
John, mouthing his dick, chuckled sending waves of pleasure through him. Finally, he grabbed the elastic waistband of Mycroft's shorts and pulled down freeing his cock to bob upward. John licked a stripe on the underside of his shaft sending an electric jolt into his brain. Then, he rubbed the soft part of his cheek, along Mycroft's balls teasing him with gentle strokes along the head of his penis and around the sensitive outside edge. "Dear God, John," Mycroft whined despite himself. He ran his hands through John's short hair and moaned. If he didn't get some relief from this exquisite torture soon, he just might pull the boy's head down and brutally fuck his mouth.
Next to him, Sherlock laughed low and dirty. "He's very good at this part, Myc. Be patient. He's giving you a slow build and when he does wrap that hot mouth around you, you'll never want it to stop." Mycroft turned his head to watch his brother's eyes focused on what John's mouth was doing to him and he ached to know what Sherlock was thinking. The thought, however, was driven out of his mind when John finally eased his suffering and engulfed him almost down to the base. Intense bliss enveloped him and the white hot intensity of it almost had him coming like a teenager. He bit down on the feeling before he could lose himself entirely. He wanted this to last.
He almost lost it again when he turned his attention back to Sherlock whose hands now reached down to undo the drawstring of his own sweat pants. He pulled them down to reveal a slender, slightly bent cock. His long-fingered hand wrapped around himself and he licked his lips in anticipation as he began pumping up and down. He stopped a moment and reached his open palm out to Mycroft. "Lick brother," he commanded and Mycroft closed his eyes and ran his tongue over the soft, warm skin coating it with a slick layer of his own saliva. The combination of John's expert blowjob and the feel of Sherlock's palm over his mouth had him moaning uncontrollably.
Sherlock removed his lubricated hand and used it to work himself again. John renewed his efforts on Mycroft's cock using his tongue to flick and caress until he felt the unfurling urgency race up from the middle of his belly. Quickly, he gripped the base of this shaft to keep himself from what he was sure might be the best orgasm of his life and whispered, "Stop, John."
John paused giving the head of his cock one last teasing flick and sat up, eyes enquiring. "Don't you like it?" John asked crinkling his brows in concern. Do you want something else? I want to please you, Mycroft." John seemed to sense the change and scooted back to allow Mycroft to sit up.
"God, no. You're doing it so perfect. I…didn't want it to end so fast," he said breathing heavily. "And I want…" He didn't know how to ask for what he wanted. Even now, lying on his brother's bed in this debauched position, he felt a burning shame in what he wanted. His face flushed and he ran his hand tenderly over John's cheek. "You are beautiful, and I see why Sherlock loves you."
It was John's turn to blush and he nuzzled into Mycroft's palm. "I love him too."
They both turned to Sherlock then who had paused in stroking himself and merely stared at both of them with a half-smile playing on his lips. "Trade places with me, John," Sherlock said and stood up. He slid the loosened sweat pants and underwear off his slender hips and they pooled around his feet on the floor. John gracefully stepped off the bed and knelt down in Sherlock's place on the floor leaving the space between Mycroft's legs feeling strangely bereft of warmth. Sherlock took a moment to free John from his restraints. It was a turning moment for him when Sherlock knelt and settled his naked form between his brother's spread legs. This truly was the point of no return.
"Lie back," Sherlock said crawling up to press himself against the side of Mycroft's body. He began pressing small, fluttery kisses along the underside of Mycroft's neck and jaw until he worked his way up to his lips. Sherlock locked onto his mouth and began kissing soft at first, then insistently pressing him open and seeking out his tongue. Sherlock reached around and grabbed the back of his neck to press him more firmly into the kiss. Mycroft responded by running his hands up Sherlock's taunt back and pressing him firmly into his chest. He wanted to hold and kiss his brother, never let him go. He felt a resonate emotion, a tender possessive feeling overwhelm him then. He'd found his sweet Sherlock, not so little any more, again. They kissed long and passionately until they had to draw apart to breathe. Sherlock rested his head on Mycroft's chest and laid one long arm around his waist to draw him closer.
"Sherlock," Mycroft said at last. "I want to touch you. Is that alright?"
"Yes, please Mycroft." There was that word again. And Mycroft began gently stroking along the length of Sherlock's cock that hadn't grown the least bit soft. Sherlock moaned and Mycroft captured his mouth with his again as he softly, reverently stroked the most enticing sounds from his brother's lips.
"Lube, John," Sherlock said.
Mycroft heard the drawer open in beside table and John squeezed some lube into Sherlock's hand. He drew himself up so that their cocks lined up next to each other and wrapped his hand around them both. He coated them both liberally with lube and began pumping them together. Mycroft's mind shorted out as he gave himself over to the absolute pleasure of the feeling. It took only moments for the coil in his belly to blossom and shoot out all over Sherlock's hand. Seconds later, Sherlock followed and cried out as he shot his own load into the combined mix forming a white puddle on Mycroft's stomach.
John was up and retrieving a flannel from somewhere and wiping them both up with an enormous grin on his face. "That was amazing. You almost came at the exact same time." Mycroft, feeling soft and frowzy in the afterglow, couldn't help but smile at him. They were still so young, just boys really, playing at being adults.
He pulled Sherlock back to lie next to him letting his head rest on his chest. He wound his fingers through the soft curls and sighed. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so comfortable and relaxed. He'd just committed, he was sure, one of the seven deadly sins and he found he really didn't care about that at all. He just wanted to be sure Sherlock wouldn't regret this in the future.
"Stop thinking so loudly," Sherlock said placing a hand on Mycroft's chest. "I wanted it as much as you did. You do not have to worry about this." Sherlock's voice rumbling into his chest. "I only wanted to…"
"I know," Mycroft said covering Sherlock's hand with his own. "Me too. We've grown apart and I realize now how much I missed you too."
"Hmmm. We've forgotten someone." He said nodding to his friend and John laid his head on Mycroft's chest as well. They both took a moment to thread their fingers through John's hair. As all three of them lie in the bed contentedly, Mycroft wondered at how fast his world could change, and what it might mean in the future. Right now, however, he wanted this moment to stretch out forever.