Suitable Partners Ch 3.
Trigger warning for watersports (that means piss-play), and more violent coercive stuff from Dark!Mycroft.
Mycroft had called a few days after John and Sherlock's night in the restaurant and he was not pleased. He had seen or heard that Sherlock had ordered for John, had seemed to be in charge and dominating John and Mycroft was not pleased at all.
Sherlock was now blindfolded, gagged and handcuffed naked to the bed in the Diogenes Club. He had tried to explain to Mycroft that nothing had happened, but Mycroft had been too angry to listen. He had torn Sherlock's clothes off him, shoved a cleave gag in his mouth and cuffed him to the bed. There had been a nice bruise darkening one cheekbone even before the beating started, and that had been nearly half an hour ago. By now Sherlock could feel that his whole back and arse was striped with welts from the caning, and the cloth of the gag was soaked with his saliva from his involuntary groaning.
Unfortunately, Mycroft was still incredibly angry. The caning did not seem to have helped the situation much. The shouts of "Slut! Cheat! Whore!" were getting further apart, but the stripes were no lighter and Mycroft did not seem in any danger of tiring soon. Sherlock dropped his head to the bed and resolved grimly to endure as long as it took. Not that he had much choice. Mycroft had never given him a safeword. All their games stopped when Mycroft decided he was finished.
Sherlock tuned back in to Mycroft's rants, looking for an opening to say something to appease him.
"After all that I've done for you…" Stripe.
"Behind my back…" Stripe.
"If there's anyone who should be looking outside this relationship it isn't you." Stripe.
"Trying to top someone else…" Stripe.
"As if you've ever been good enough for me, yet I've never tried to cheat on you." Stripe.
"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" Stripe.
At this, Sherlock moaned a denial. No, never. Mycroft paused in the whipping for a moment. He ran the tip of the cane down Sherlock's spine.
"Did you want me to punish you more? Have I been too lenient on you? Is that it? You wanted some excitement?"
Sherlock shook his head frantically. He didn't think he could cope with any more punishment than he already got on a regular basis.
Impatiently, Mycroft ripped the gag out of Sherlock's mouth. "What then? Why were you trying to cosy up to John? What do you need that I'm not already giving you? Well?"
Sherlock ran his tongue around the inside of his dry mouth before trying to speak. "It was a mistake," he finally whispered. "I thought… I thought John was interested in me, but he wasn't."
"Little bitch," Mycroft backhanded Sherlock across the face so hard he half rolled over on the bed, only the restraint of the cuffs stopping him. "So you were looking to start something with John? I should make you bleed. Besides, who but me would ever take you on? You're rude, insolent and stupid. I can think rings around you. Who would ever tolerate your ridiculous airs apart from me? You know that everyone at the Yard hates you. Why would John be any different? Just because he's broke and has to share a flat with someone doesn't make him desperate enough to start anything with you." The last word was punctuated with another slap.
Sherlock found himself saying anything he could think of to make Mycroft happy with him again, to make Mycroft stop. "No, it was a mistake. Of course John doesn't like me. Of course John would never think that way about me. He hated what I ordered for him – I don't have good taste like you, brother. I didn't know what I was doing. I don't know how to be the dominant one like you do. I won't do it again – it's always you in charge of me, just you. Just you Mycroft, you're the one I love, the only one for me. Never again, never, never…" Sherlock trailed off, panting. His frantic reassurances seemed to have done the trick. Mycroft had stopped beating him anyway, and was staring at him thoughtfully instead.
"Up, slut. Into the bathroom. I've thought of something to teach you a lesson, but I don't want to make a mess in here."
"Yes, Mycroft, whatever you want. Please forgive me?"
"Not yet. You need to show me some repentance first." Mycroft unbuckled the cuffs and gripped Sherlock by the upper arm, dragging him to the bathroom and shoving him towards the shower stall. "Get in and kneel down."
Sherlock opened his mouth to ask a question, then shut it again. Mycroft would tell him what was required. All Sherlock needed to do was obey. He was not the thinker in this relationship.
Mycroft laughed, nastily. "Yes, open your mouth. Good boy."
Sherlock knelt in the shower stall facing his brother. Mycroft approached his face and opened his trousers. Sherlock felt relief – if Mycroft would let him suck his cock, then he would be forgiven and it would be fixed between them. Mycroft was still soft, but Sherlock could work on that. He opened his mouth and waited expectantly.
"Close your eyes, whore. I'm in charge here, and I want you to know it."
"Yes, Mycroft. I'm sorry, I…"
"Shut up. I don't care what you think and I don't care to hear your voice right now. I just want your mouth to do what it does best."
Sherlock closed his eyes and waited to feel Mycroft's cock in his mouth. And waited. Was Mycroft going to tease him by making him wait? Should he speak? No, better not disobey a direct instruction. He waited.
Just when he thought he couldn't stand it any more, he felt a sudden splash of warm water over his face and into his mouth and down his chest. But no, not water. It had a slight acid and ammonia tang. Could it be…? His eyes popped open involuntarily to confirm what he already knew. Mycroft had his eyes half-closed in pleasure and relief and he was pissing on Sherlock.
Sherlock's first impulse was to retreat into the shower cubicle, or at least shield his face from the stream being directed down over him, but further consideration made him realize that Mycroft might (certainly would) get angry if he did that. Ducking his head would only shift the target from his face to his hair. No, the best strategy would be (always was) to just hold still and wait for Mycroft's permission to move.
The warm stream gushing down over his face and chest finally slowed, then stopped. He heard Mycroft sigh above him.
"Look at you; a filthy whore." Mycroft sniggered. "At least now the outside matches the inside, doesn't it?"
Sherlock remained silent, which turned out to be the wrong move.
"I said, the outside matches the inside, doesn't it?" This time Mycroft's voice was loaded with menace and promised retribution if it didn't get the agreement it was looking for. Maybe even then.
"Yes, sir," agreed Sherlock. "Would you like me to suck you now, sir?"
Mycroft appeared to be considering this offer. Finally he said "No, I don't want to get all wet and disgusting, do I? I don't want to be like you, do I?"
"No, sir." Sherlock said quietly.
"Very well. You can shower and get dressed and take yourself home. I hope we won't need to have this discussion ever again."
Sherlock stayed on his knees in the shower stall, just to be sure, until he heard the outer door to the suite slam shut. Then he slowly climbed to his feet and turned on the shower taps. The water came out cold enough to make him gasp, but he just turned his back and let the cooling water play over the welts all down his back. After the shower he checked his back in the mirror. Mycroft had been hard on him, he couldn't remember the last time he had been caned so much. He had never done anything to deserve Mycroft's anger like this before.
Sherlock thought rather resentfully that it was actually partly John's fault. If John hadn't been so warm, so eager, leaning into Sherlock's personal space and generally so complying it never would have occurred to Sherlock that he might want a relationship, and then this fiasco with Mycroft would never have occurred.
John. Mycroft. Wait!
Could it be that Sherlock was the one who was confused? John was a soldier, a killer, a surgeon used to being obeyed. It was true that he deferred to Sherlock in matters where Sherlock was the expert, such as on cases, but in his own sphere John could be quite dominant. Was Sherlock getting the wrong end of the stick altogether? Perhaps he should not have tried to dominate John, perhaps he should have offered to submit to him?
Sherlock quailed a bit at the thought of being dominated by two men at once, but then cheered up when he realized that if John were to become his dominant, then perhaps he would protect him from Mycroft! Could John protect him from Mycroft? Sherlock had a moment of doubt. Well, only one way to find out. But for caution's sake, perhaps the experimentation had better stay in the flat, just in case.
