It's a stupid risk for both of them, but when Mycroft Holmes drops to his knees in front of you while you're sitting in your office chair, it's hard to think of things like that. Gregory Lestrade is having trouble remembering his own name, let alone his rank within the Metropolitan Police, what with the sight of Mycroft's mouth sliding up and down his cock and the soft moans Mycroft's making as he goes about his task. It's early in the morning, and not that many people are about, but still…
So he bites back his cry when at last he comes even though Mycroft can usually wring noises from him that he didn't know he could make.
Fastidious and precise in all he does, Mycroft produces a handkerchief, cleans Greg efficiently and tucks him back up. It's not the silk pocket square that he keeps in his jacket pocket; it's a white linen one, monogrammed with a large H between the smaller M and E. Mycroft refuses to tell Greg what the E stands for, which makes Greg think that it's not Edward or Eugene but something bizarre like Engelbert or Ethelred. Occasionally when he does laundry he'll find one of Mycroft's handkerchiefs and it brings a rush of lust, but also a rush of emotion that surprises him and he'll trace the letters with his finger as he folds it. He reminds himself to ask Sherlock about it as he is certain that Sherlock will delight in telling him a secret about his brother. Or perhaps he can get it from Mycroft by asking what Sherlock's middle name might be…
Mycroft has risen and dusted himself off. Greg reaches to pull his lover's hips to him to press his face into Mycroft's slightly plush tummy. "Can I return the favor?"
"I have to get to the office, my dearest."
"Sometime I'll come to your office and do the same for you."
"Oh, no, Greg. My office has far too many cameras and listening devices. Later. I'll see you later." Mycroft bends to press a tender kiss to Greg's mouth before retrieving his umbrella and departing, leaving Greg to ponder the mysteries of his lover's job.
It's late at night and Mycroft has, by scratching a few backs, gotten all of the cameras and listening devices turned off in his office (or so he hopes) except for one that is recording directly to his laptop. That's for he and Greg to enjoy later.
His waistcoat and jacket are over the back of his chair and his white shirt is rucked up. His tie is loose and askew. His legs are spread as far apart as they can be with his trousers around his ankles and he's holding his own cock to keep it from rubbing against the blotter on his desk while Greg thrusts into him, hard, deep and fast. It's been a busy week and they've barely seen each other. So when Greg called to say that if world war three hadn't started yet he'd be in Mycroft's office in two hours, Mycroft had called his favors.
There's been no time for finesse, just frantic hands undoing buttons, kisses that are more tongue than lips ending in this, Mycroft bent over his desk.
"John can keep Sherlock's round arse," Greg whispers into Mycroft's ear. "Yours is perfect for me."
"Do you mind, ungh, not talking, ooohhh, about my brother, yeesss, at this moment?"
Greg drives himself to orgasm first but keeps thrusting through to bring Mycroft off as well. Mycroft's leaking onto the expensive leather and dark blotter paper. 'I shan't change that,' he thinks. 'I'll look at the stain everyday and think of this.'
At almost the moment that he comes a light appears on the phone and it rings.
Greg murmurs, "Oh, no, Mycroft, don't," but Mycroft knows who's calling on that line.
Still bent over he says, "Handkerchief, right trouser pocket," and answers the phone.
"Bonjour, monsieur le Président. Ou bonsoir. Ah, une minute Nicolas," he says as two more lights appear.
"Guten Abend, Frau Merkel, einen Augenblick, bitte.
"Moshi Moshi, Kan-Sama."
Greg sighs, cleans Mycroft up as best he can, even pulling up his trousers and fastening them, places a kiss along Mycroft's spine and lets himself out.
Thank you to all the native speakers who corrected my grammar!
Hopefully I haven't slaughtered the greetings and honorifics too much. Moshi moshi is a bit casual to greet the Prime Minister of Japan, but I thought it a funny idea to have Mycroft say it. :)