Stepping into the room, John carefully avoided looking at Mycroft until after he had gently pulled the door shut behind him. The 'snick' of the door somehow managed to sound as loud as a firecracker in the silence of the room.
Falling into a modified parade rest, John finally lifted his gaze to the man behind the desk.
Immaculate as ever in his suit- and vested-attire, Mycroft was sitting straight-backed in his chair with his hands folded together atop the multitude of papers on his desk, an expression of polite interest on his face.
John wondered if it was faked for his benefit or if the man was genuinely interested in anything to do with him. The Holmes brothers were excellent mimics of normal emotion, when the situation called for subterfuge on their part.
As they stared each other down, each trying to read the other, John wondered what had moved Mycroft to invite him back. His interactions with John before had always been Sherlock-related; there was no need for Mycroft to have involved himself with John ever again.
And here was John, a good little masochist, picking at the scab on the wound Sherlock had left in him. What was he doing here?
Mycroft cleared his throat, an amused smile playing about his lips, as though he could read John's thoughts. Gesturing imperiously to a set of chairs before his desk, Mycroft broke the ice.
"Please sit down, John. I believe we have much to...discuss."
John nodded in agreement, though his tension made it more of a ducking/jerking motion. He crossed the room and sat in one of the proffered chairs.
A pregnant pause stretched between them again.
John knew he should say something-anything- but his thoughts were scattered and his tongue turned to lead by uncertainty. How does one "discuss" a blowjob given in a veritable fit of emotional weakness? How does one "discuss" a sexual attack (however allowed it might have been)? How does one sit in a twisted parody of normalcy when all they can think of is dropping to their knees to service the man before him again?
John swallowed as saliva flooded his mouth at the very thought.
Squirming a bit in his seat, he struggled to reign in his libido. Mycroft's gaze felt like an x-ray, seeing straight through to John's core: seeing his nervousness, his needs, his fears, his desires...Mycroft turned his attention to the desktop, selecting a pen and a sheet of paper.
John released the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. If the sheer power of the man's stare was enough to take his breath away, God help him if Mycroft touched him again.
"As difficult as this may be, John, I do require some answers from you. You see, I'm not accustomed to such encounters in my place of business."
Again, his eyes caught and held John's, but this time John had gained some control over himself; he cleared his throat to respond. "Um, yes. Hehe...don't suppose many people expect that sort of thing to, um...happen..." He trailed off, gathering his thoughts. "I, uh, I owe you an apology. Um, for disturbing you...well like that." John might not have been able to properly voice his actions, but he could certainly apologize for them.
Mycroft's lips twisted in an ironic sort of smile.
"I assure you, John, it didn't disturb me nearly as much as you seem to think. I found it rather intriguing though. Curious. Have you always been so...inclined to such boldness? Or is it a new development?"
Leave it to Mycroft to find a subtle way to ask John if Sherlock's suicide had turned him into a sex-crazed lunatic.
Unfortunately, John didn't think he was too far off the mark. Before Sherlock's death-before he'd even met Sherlock-John had always had fairly vanilla encounters (men and women, alike). He never minded when things got a bit kinky, but he'd never actively sought it out. He'd never been the one to surprise his partner with sex in a public place or anything much out of the norm.
It was only recently-very recently-that he'd been entertaining unusual thoughts and desires...ones relating to a certain government official...
Choosing to look at a rather handsome paperweight than directly at Mycroft, John considered his words carefully.
"No, it's not something I usually do at all. Ever. It wasn't even what I came here to do...This might sound silly, but it, well...it just sort of...happened."
John sighed, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees, burying his face in his hands. God this was embarrassing...
Mycroft interrupted his attempt to explain himself.
"The last time you were in my office, you said you 'needed it'. What did you mean?"
Ah, that.
Feeling his face flush, John kept his head in his hands, speaking to the room in general.
"Since Sherlock..." John couldn't bring himself to say 'died', not yet. "No one's really...needed me. Everyone has their own lives, their own jobs, when mine is gone. When my everything is gone. No one needs me, really needs me not like Sherlock did. We depended on each other, helped each other, and now... I was so angry with you last week. I was going to rage at you for your part in this, to make you understand...but when I got here I just...I don't know, I just couldn't. But I still needed someone, something... I needed to be of use to someone and you were probably the only one who wouldn't have turned me away. I wanted to help you and that was the only way I could think of..."
John trailed off lamely, ashamed by his own admission and by his inability to look the man in the eyes when he'd said it; when he'd told Mycroft he'd whored himself to the man he'd held responsible for Sherlock's death, putting him into such an emotional upheaval in the process.
A touch, fingers under his chin-he hadn't even heard the man move- tilted his head up. John forced himself to open his eyes and look up. Mycroft had moved to lean against the front of his desk, facing John, but much closer now.
Close enough to touch.
A wave of relief swept through John. If Mycroft was touching him, then perhaps he wasn't repelled by John's candor. The desk that had been between them had made John feel so alone in the room and he hadn't even realized it.
John relished Mycroft's touch and leaned into it slightly, grateful for how human it make him feel; no longer quite as empty as he was used to feeling lately.
Holding John's chin between his forefinger and thumb, Mycroft seemed to be weighing his words.
"You wished to be of use to me? I wonder...did you do this for my brother? Did you get on your knees and help him as well? He always was quite selfish. I'm sure he'd have accepted your...assistance...Are you simply transferring it to me, then?
He squeezed John's chin firmly as he spoke, eyes hardened by some emotion John hadn't seen from him before. Protectiveness? Jealousy?
John shook his head slowly in Mycroft's grasp, wanting to banish that emotion from his eyes, but needing to maintain contact with the man.
"No, I never touched Sherlock, sexually. Or offered to do so. Just you."
"Hmm," Mycroft's eyes softened and the pressure eased up on John's chin. "Just me. You wanted to be useful to me, but you offer your services to me differently than you did my brother. Why?"
"Because you're different. You don't need me the same way Sherlock did."
Silence stretched between them again while Mycroft turned over the doctor's words, never releasing his hold on John's face. When he spoke again, there was a trace of uncertainty tingeing his voice (and perhaps hopefulness?).
"This occurrence of last week...did you wish it to continue?"
Finding his throat too tight to speak, John nodded his assent.
"You would do this-offer the use of your body-to me?"
Another nod.
Mycroft's eyebrow lifted skeptically.
John cleared his throat. "I assure you, it doesn't disturb me nearly as much as you'd think." He stared the elder Holmes down, pleading with his eyes for him to believe him.
"There would need to be rules, if we are to continue this...arrangement."
John nearly laughed at how sardonically the man had said the word. "I'm fairly negotiable, but all the same I'd prefer to take permanent bodily harm off the table. And I may not be squeamish when it comes to body fluids, but if we restricted them to just sweat, semen, and blood, I'd be much grateful."
"Blood?" Mycroft inquired, eyebrows raised slightly.
"Like I said, I'm fairly negotiable."
Mycroft nodded. "I accept your boundaries. I'd add that our 'meetings' not be allowed to interfere with out duties-work or otherwise. Mine have a habit of being perpetually...delicate."
"Agreed, and perhaps we could text? If we needed to...reschedule?" God, business had never sounded so dirty.
"Amenable. I'll draw up a contract and send it over for your perusal. When mixing business with pleasure, I find it safer for both parties to be fully aware of their boundaries."
"That's, uh fine. Is that, um, all?" John squeaked out. Having Mycroft close enough to feel the heat emanating from him, to be touching John, was driving him to distraction (even though part of him was paying full attention).
"Not quite, I think." Mycroft looked down seriously at him before slowly leaning down and pressing his lips to John's. The doctor's eyes drifted shut as he allowed the elder Holmes to gently lick into his mouth and slide his tongue against the one inside.
John moaned softly, leaning up into the kiss and losing himself in it. The hand that had gripped John's chin slid around to cup the nape of John's neck, tilting and holding him exactly where Mycroft wanted.
He felt dominated, owned-and Mycroft had barely touched him.
A shiver of anticipation ran through John. Feeling it, Mycroft's lips twitched against John's. A smile, John realized. He whimpered when Mycroft pulled back, murmuring "Lovely" as he retreated.
Mycroft pulled John gently by the grip on his neck, directing him out of the chair to kneel between his spread feet. His hand moved from John's neck to his hair, running through the short strands.
"It's been such an arduous week. So stressful. I'd be obliged if you could help me to relieve the tension I have?" And what a lovely tension it was. The man's trousers were already tented by his obvious arousal.
I did that, John thought (with no small amount of pride).
Reverently, John leaned forward to give a long, slow lick to the impressive bulge, keeping his eyes on Mycroft's. A deep sound of approval erupted from Mycroft's throat.
Reaching up to the fastenings on the man's trousers, John released the button before slowly easing down the zipper's pull-tab. John thought the grating of the zipper teeth sounded particularly obscene in the stark primness of Mycroft's office.
He opened Mycroft's trousers wide and nuzzled him through his pants, breathing in his musky scent. Mycroft's hand clenched in John's hair and pressed him tighter against his trapped erection. When John began mouthing him through the material, Mycroft released a soft moan, rocking ever so slightly against the hot, wet mouth.
Showing mercy on the man, John tugged the waistband of Mycroft's pants down, revealing his gorgeously long erection.
Gripping the base, John licked another stripe along it, trailing saliva from hilt to tip.
He wasted no time in taking Mycroft's cock into his mouth, groaning in pleasure at the sharp taste of the precome oozing from the tip.
Needing more of Mycroft, John bobbed his head up and down the man's shaft, stroking with his hand what wasn't inside his mouth. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of the cock in his mouth as he licked and sucked.
Not bothering to hold back, Mycroft moaned as John lavished his attention on him, completely unrestrained in his enthusiasm. Slowly, so as to not alarm the man with his teeth around his cock, Mycroft rocked his hips back and forth, fucking the needy little mouth. John moan, his own arousal ignored in favor of servicing Mycroft.
Mycroft tugged on John's hair until he pulled off his cock with a wet 'pop'.
Following the hand's direction, John was urged to his feet, his own cock shifting uncomfortably with the movement.
"It occurs to me that we haven't discussed how far, exactly, you are willing to let me go in regards to your 'submission' to my needs."
Swallowing roughly, John wrapped his hand around Mycroft's length and resumed stroking him; the resulting hitch in Mycroft's breath was very satisfying. "I'm no blushing virgin, Mr. Holmes. I'm more than willing to tend to your needs in any way you might require."
A deep purr tore from Mycroft's chest as his eyes darkened with lust.
He dragged John up by the nape of his neck for a searing kiss, wrapping an arm about his waist to pull him close. With their bodies flush together, their height differences showed: Mycroft's cock rubbed against John's belly while John's erection pressed into Mycroft's thigh. John began rocking his hips, effectively humping the other man as he was orally fucked.
With his head tilted up by the hand on his neck, his arms snaked around Mycroft's neck and waist, and grinding against the man's leg, John was sure he looked like quite the cock slut.
He was equally sure that he didn't give a damn.
John might have been content to hump his way to completion twenty years ago, but nowadays he needed more than this meager friction to achieve orgasm.
This would all be so much easier if they weren't wearing clothes.
John was intensely curious how a naked Mycroft Holmes looked.
Despite Sherlock's past attacks on the man's waistline, Mycroft Holmes's weight was fairly average for his age. Not fat at all, just having a bit more fluff around his middle than Sherlock's lean and toned frame had possessed.
Maintaining the kiss, John slid the arm he had around Mycroft's waist to his front. Boldly, he began to unbutton Mycroft's vest, caressing him as he moved up, button by button.
The undressing didn't go unnoticed. Mycroft hummed against John's lips as he firmly cupped John's ass and squeezed. The retaliation pulled a muffled yelp from John, as well as a thrust to his thigh.
Spreading the vest open, John made sure to thumb each of Mycroft's nipples ruthlessly before unbuttoning his dress shirt, working from the top to the bottom. The only thing blocking John's view of his naked chest was a thin white undershirt, translucent though it was.
Breaking the kiss with a playful nip, Mycroft pulled away to remove his unbuttoned garments, his eyes never leaving John's. After tossing them onto a nearby chair, he pulled John towards him by his jumper. He pulled it over John's head, taking his white undershirt with it. Teasingly, he ran a soft-palmed hand over John's nipples, his chest, his midriff...
Satisfaction shone in Mycroft's eyes as he perused his lover's body. Though John was beginning to soften in his own middle, he still retained some of the tautness from his army days (running everywhere after Sherlock hadn't hurt either).
John toed off his shoes, confident that wherever this was going, he wouldn't want to be wearing pants.
Lashes lowered seductively, John flicked open his belt and unfastened his trousers. In a sort of strip tease, he slowly dragged the zip down the length of his erection. John cupped it and rocked into his own palm, teasing himself.
Mycroft stepped close to push down John's pants and trousers, letting them drop to the floor. He took hold of John's hip and used it to pivot him, reversing their positions so that John's back was to the desk. Mycroft retreated until his legs hit the edge of a chair. He sat down on it, yanking John forward to straddle his lap. It was a tight fit; there would be bruises adorning John's legs tomorrow.
But John paid no mind to any discomfort in his legs. The new position allowed John's swollen cock to rub against Mycroft's, still standing tall out of his trousers.
It felt so dirty to be pressing his nude body to Mycroft's mostly clothed one. He rested his hands on Mycroft's shoulders and rocked his hips back and forth, rubbing their cocks together.
Moaning, Mycroft grasped John's hip as he angled John's head down for a heated kiss.
Taking a hand off his shoulder, John reached down and wrapped it around their straining cocks.
It was glorious. Silken heat over steel, they moved together in John's grip, precome and sweat easing the way. They thrust against each other awkwardly, Mycroft's hips pinned down by John's weight. The friction of John's hand on them occasionally crossed the line from pleasure to pain, creating an edge that took them higher.
John worked his hips into his fist, sliding against Mycroft faster and faster.
When John ran his thumb across both their crowns, he broke away from Mycroft's lips to throw his head back in a long groan. Christ he was close...
Mycroft nipped and sucked at the doctor's exposed neck, littering his flesh with bruises and teeth marks. A particularly vicious bite near John's collar bone sent John over the edge.
His grip tightened convulsively around them as he shot his release onto his hand and belly, biting his lip to muffle his cry.
The sight of John coming apart above him and John's last squeeze had Mycroft bucking his hips in climax, sinking his teeth into the doctor's good shoulder as he groaned through each spurt.
John all but collapsed against Mycroft. The two men panted and clutched each other as they recovered from their pleasure. Eventually, John gained enough control over himself to sit up and survey the damage. Mycroft's hair was a bit mussed, he was pleased to note. Most of the semen had managed to fall on John- including Mycroft's.
He ran his fingers through their mingled release, smearing and rubbing their combined scents into his skin. Mycroft's hand joined in, slipping his fingers over John's belly absently.
Reaching his clean hand over to his suit jacket, Mycroft retrieved a handkerchief from a pocket and proceeded to clean them off before the semen dried too much.
Carefully maneuvering his way off Mycroft's lap, John's knees protested their abuse rather loudly now that a hard on wasn't drowning out the pain. He wasn't used to having sex in chairs. Not that he particularly minded, though. The pleasure had been worth the pain.
John smiled shyly as he began redressing. His smile was returned as Mycroft retrieved his shirt, doing up the buttons.
John was pulling his jumper on when another pair of hands helped tug it into place. After it passed over his head, John found himself looking up into Mycroft's blue eyes. Taking hold of John's chin, he leaned down and brushed a gentle kiss on John's lips. He pulled back after a moment to grace John with a genuine smile.
"Thank you, John. If I may say so, I believe that was just what the doctor ordered."
Smirking mischievously, John stepped close to press a kiss to Mycroft's neck. "I might have to order you to a round of private therapy sessions, then. With a stressful job like yours, you need a proper tension release every now and then."
Giving John a brief nipping kiss and a smile, Mycroft stepped back. "Then I'll leave myself in your capable hands, Doctor Watson." He glanced at his desk. "I should have the basics of our agreement drawn up tonight. I'll have a courier drop it by your flat. If you should think of any additions, feel free to text them to me. I trust you haven't deleted my number?"
"Um, no. Still got it, yeah." As upset at Mycroft as he'd been after Sherlock's death, he hadn't been able to delete his number-though he never imagined needing it for something like this.
The traces of come on his skin were creating an itchy feeling on his abdomen. Anxious to find relief in a hot shower, John decided not to drag their encounter any longer. Besides, after getting off with Mycroft Holmes of all people, he preferred not to leave on an awkward note.
"I'll let you know if anything comes to mind. Uh, same time next week, then?"
"Certainly." Mycroft stole another kiss from him before moving to sit behind his desk.
John's last impression of the man, before closing the door, was of Mycroft using his letter opener as a mirror to tidy his appearance. Promising himself to thoroughly muss his hair next time, John walked down the hall with a small bounce in his step.