"Sherlock, stop it." It's not the first command Mycroft has ever given his brother, nor will it be the last, but perhaps the penultimate. The words aren't caressed by supple lips but forged into jagged edges to be thrown at the prone slump on his couch, to match a temper rising above decades of self-restraint. Mycroft's skin has been pulled taut over his knuckles, cells stretched to their breaking points and seeking release from their bonds as he seeks release from his.
Just one uncaring shove, one anonymous push, one loving feather-light finger to rest upon his shoulder, and he would snap. He daren't think about the consequences now, as they'd ruin the tart sweetness of dancing with the danger he's just begun to flirt with.
Tempt me. He begins to tap his ring finger against his obsolete umbrella in impatience, awaiting confirmation and damnation from the one man who'd ever come close to equaling his intelligence, and certainly the solitary figure who'd made a heist of Mycroft's heart.
Breath held, jaw twitching, finger tapping, he almost dove into the abyss of his own volition at the sultry glower sent his way. Cupid-bow lips parted with a smirk.
"You first."
A/N: *cough* I've recently been on a Holmescest spiel (which is what this pairing is called, by the by), so I figured I may as well introduce the concept to FF. This is what I consider a double-drabble, being exactly 200 words long.