Warning: Violence, murders sexual tensions and relationships between males. Angst, and sexual happenings eventually.
Tales of a Feather.
Chapter Nine.
Greg looked up from the bane of all sane men, paperwork, and blinked at an infuriated Sally Donovan who was standing in the doorway looking like some sort of demented marmoset who'd had a treat stolen away from it. "Is there a problem Sergeant Donovan?"
"Yes Sir, a bloody big problem...I'm sure the freak has something to do with this, somehow it has him written all over it." She walked across the floor and slammed a paper down in front of Lestrade. "Did you know about this Sir? I've been transferred, effective immediately. To buggering East End. I've worked my bloody arse off for this division, for you Sir. It's not fair." Sally was aware that she was out of line, that Lestrade was her commanding officer but she was so pissed, so disappointed.
Greg looked down at the paperwork and managed, heroically, to keep the amusement off his face as he remembered Mycroft mentioning something about underlings being transferred. This had his sticky fingers all over it. He lifted his eyes back to hers, "Donovan if I put in for you to be transferred you'd have known it long before it went through and Sherlock enjoys pissing you off too much to have arranged this. But to answer your question, no I didn't know. Who've you mouthed off to recently?"
"No one Sir, been on my best behavior. Only one who's even annoyed me is the freak and if he enjoys pissing me off then this would be bloody Christmas for him now wouldn't it?" Sally was livid, she would never get anywhere career wise, being stuck in the East End. Drug heads and hookers, that would be her future and with her luck Sherlock fucking Holmes would find a way to stick it to her there as well.
"Might be for him yeah," Lestrade didn't bother to pull the punch. It had been weeks since the end of the Lanning case and though they'd brought Sherlock in on a couple of cases Sally had still been on him about his lack of reaction to the victims as well as making her disgust with the hickies Sherlock showed off smugly very, very clear. It was a good thing she was being transferred because he had a feeling that soon she'd go far enough over the line nipping at Sherlock that John actually clocked her. "Sorry to hear about this though Sally. You'll be missed." In the back if his head Greg could hear an echoing 'Not!' as well as his id's gleeful cackling.
"Yeah." Sally slumped, realizing she wouldn't get any backing from Lestrade. She had clung to a desperate hope that maybe it had been some sort of horrible misunderstanding and that Lestrade would somehow fix it for her. "You've been a good boss considering." She looked down at her perfectly polished shoes. "Good luck around here, call me if you find yourself floundering yeah." She plastered on a smile that felt as if it would crack her face and turned to walk out of the DI's office. She had a locker to clear out.
It took a lot of effort for Greg not to just jump up and do a little dance. He didn't hate Sally but her ambition and the looks she tossed him when she thought he wasn't looking, as if she thought he was the one holding her back and not her own flaws, made this a bloody relief. Now he could do his job without worrying about getting stabbed in the back. He pulled out his phone and pondered before composing a text.
'This was you I know it.- GL'
He sent the text to Mycroft, who he'd not actually seen since the meeting after the Lanning case. He wasn't sure about whether or not the man actually noticed the very loud wanks Greg had taken to indulging in or if he'd been entertaining some poor sods listening in. He hoped it was the former. Really, really hoped so and that Mycroft would make some sort of fucking move before he either made one himself or wanked himself numb.
'Consider it an early birthday gift. - M'
'Oh and look in your top drawer, figure your throat must be sore now from all the shouting, dear me, consider the neighbors. - M.'
Mycroft grinned as he sent the texts. Oh but the detective was amusing and very vocal. It was intriguing. The man was dangerous though, Mycroft had found himself thinking about Gregory Lestrade on several occasions when he had a country...Well actually several countries to run.
Greg smirked when he read the text and fired off a quick reply.
'Hell with the neighbors. My throat's just fine too though I suppose I might be able to manage a private showing if you're interested.- GL'
He pursed his lips then followed that one up with a second.
'And if you're lucky I'll show you my tattoo.- GL'
And there his concentration went down the drain along with his blood who also traveled south. The Detective Inspector was a tease, a naughty one at that. Mycroft had spent a large amount of time obsessing about Lestrade's tattoo, too much time. Same with the piercings, piercings, in plural. No matter how he tried and dug in Lestrade's background Mycroft hadn't been able to figure out the surprises underneath Lestrade's clothes. It was maddening. He let his fingers fly over the keys of his phone.
'Show me yours and I'll show you mine.' - M'
"Oh you cheeky bastard," Greg's voice was a deep, private growl. He wondered if Mycroft actually had a tattoo or if he was just playing, it would be just the thing the sneaky arse would do.
'Your place or mine?- GL'
Immediately following that text he sent one to Sherlock.
'Does M have any tats?- GL'
Of course Sherlock's reply was lightning fast and made him laugh.
'Dear God why would you ask me something so revolting? As far as I know, no. Nor do I wish to know. And I've been ordered to tell you that should this put me off tonight's entertainment John will come after you with a cricket bat.- SH'
Mycroft eyed the last text. This was it, was he ready to take the leap? He'd noticed his brother's happiness with John Watson and he couldn't help but being a little envious. He wanted that too, that closeness, he just wasn't sure if he was built for it. Mycroft ran his finger up and down his nose as considered his options...Finally he reached for his phone again and texted Lestrade his home address.
Greg felt a deep sense of triumph when he read Mycroft's text, replied with the time he'd be over, and then he sent John a quick one.
'Should your evening entertainment be less than you hope for you'll have to beat me to death tomorrow because I've entertainment of my own set up. Wait til after and at least I'll die a happy man.- GL'
'Does this has something to do with Mycroft and tattoos? No don't tell me, please don't tell me. Why Greg? Why do you hate the thought of me getting shagged on a regular basis? - JW'
Greg chuckled and sent John apologies, the address of a specialty shop that sold fresh olives stuffed with feta cheese, something he'd found out that Sherlock not only enjoyed but would eat regularly if he could be arsed to actually get up and go get them, and a suggestion to hand feed Sherlock to Wagner. Then he settled in to complete his paperwork so he could be free for the evening.
John felt somewhat placated though he wished he had mind bleach to wipe the image of a naked, tattooed Mycroft Holmes out of his brain. He did save the address for the shop and decided to go out and get some shopping done. He wished Greg luck, if he was going after Mycroft then he would need every ounce of luck he could get.
oOoOoOo
Greg looked up at the house at the address Mycroft had sent him. Oddly enough, despite the posh neighborhood, it was not at all the huge mansion he'd been expecting. Like the man itself it was deceptively simple and elegant on the outside. It made Greg wonder how much the inside would reflect Mycroft. He strode up the steps, not at all doubting that his every move was being watched sharply, and rung the bell.
It was Mycroft himself that opened the door. The house wasn't big enough to require any other help than the cleaning lady who came twice a week. Besides, the more people you allowed into your house the larger chance of a security breach. His eyes traveled over the man on his doorstep, mentally cataloguing clothes, posture and once again trying to figure out where those sodding piercings could be. "Do come in, it is chilly out tonight."
The inspector gave Mycroft a warm once over, his smile widening in mingled delight and attraction as he took in the missing jacket and waistcoat. Mycroft stood before him in just the white shirt he'd bet his paycheck was silk and the well tailored trousers and, his eyes dropped further, no shoes. Somehow the lack of shoes made it all the more endearing and Greg had to stifle a grin as sock clad toes wiggled under his scrutiny.
He stepped in, brushing against Mycroft deliberately as he did, "Have a good day running the empire Overlord Holmes?"
"Ah you know how it is, all the serfs complaining and all the lesser lords trying to overthrow me, work, work, work. Dull as always." Mycroft smirked even as his skin tingled where Greg had brushed past him. "How about you? Have you scouted a replacement for Sergeant Donovan yet?" He lead the other man deeper into his house, into his library, the room where he could let his guard down and be himself. There were no cameras, no bugs and no underlings in this room, just a fireplace, comfy chairs and hundreds upon hundreds of books.
"I've had my eye on one for a while, he's young but he's good. I was trying to figure out how I could bring him into the unit without the brass or Donovan raising hell so your sneaky little present worked out perfectly. Biggest relief is that without Sally around Anderson'll ease back on trying to impress and prove he knows more than he actually does and he'll focus on his real job. Plus since she won't be there to offer Sherlock a full set of data he won't have as much material to take potshots at Anderson's infidelity. I can sense blessed peace, in as much as I get at a crime scene, within my reach." He gave Mycroft a warm smile, "Thank you."
"It was nothing really, just the smallest whisper in the right ear and then sit and watch it play out but you're welcome." Mycroft walked them over to the huge leather armchairs in front of the fireplace. "I'm afraid I'm not being that good of a host, not used to guests. Are you hungry? Can I offer you food or drink?" In a lot of ways Mycroft was just at inept at social skills as his brother, he just hid it better and paid people to be pleasant in his place.
"Oh I'm good for the moment. I'm curious about something, I'm guessing you've been doing some research about my piercings and tattoo," he gave Mycroft a smile that he knew from experience made women literally toss him their knickers, "Find anything?"
Mycroft made a face. "No, it is actually quite vexing. Either you got your tattoo done underground or out of the country and piercings, well anyone with a needle and some skill can do those. Very annoying. I believe firmer records needs to be kept." He sat down in one chair, hesitating for a brief moment before pulling his feet up and tucking them beneath himself. "It wasn't difficult at all to find out Dr. Watson's ink, you only need to look at the man to figure out his choice of tattoo and where it is places. You...Not so much."
Greg chuckled, "Not underground nor out of the country. The tat was done in Dorset by an old friend of mine borrowing his father's equipment for the night. Everyone one of us got a tat that night," a nostalgic smile tilted at his lips, "Jan's still makes Ripper choke on his tongue and they've been married for twenty years," he stretched his legs out in front of him lazily, "And I did all but one of the piercings myself."
Mycroft's eyes narrowed as they swept over Greg again, as if he was doing his best to see through the layers of clothes. The thought of Greg piercing himself did dangerous, dangerous things to Mycroft's libido. "The more I learn about you the less I know, it is disconcerting. I am not sure I like the feeling."
He had to grin, "I'll be wicked and admit that I enjoy mystifying you. I can't see it happening very often." He ran his fingers over his short silver hair, "It was a rock and roll sort of thing. I was in a band with three of my friends. Janice Huffman, Rupert 'Ripper' Graves, and of course the tattoo artist, Liam St. Allyerdyce. Jan was our bassist and background vocal, Ripper was our drummer, Liam switched between rhythm guitar and keyboard, and I was on lead guitar and vocal." He grinned, "It was massive fun for four college kids. Liam went on to become an accountant, Jan's a real estate agent, married Ripper, who's Mr. Mom now, and they have four kids. And of course there's me. Anyway the piercings and tats just seemed like the thing to do when you're in a rock band." He tugged on his earlobe, "I know you've seen this hole. I've got two more under my clothes, Jan did the third piercing for me while I was passed out drunk."
Rock band, yes, Mycroft could see the other man on stage, he had that kind of presence about him. Could captivate an audience even now as a police officer. Greg Lestrade was the man at the forefront of things, just as Mycroft was the one in the shadows. "Sounds like...fun?" It came out more as a question than a statement. Mycroft had never experienced that kind of University life, he studied, slept and worked, that was all.
"It was though it was more that we were doing it together than what we were doing. We'd all been friends since we were in nappies so it was, in a way, a last hoorah for who we'd been growing up. Now we're all responsible adults though I do still take the acoustic out and torture it from time to time." He studied Mycroft, "So was the 'show me yours I'll show you mine' an honest comment? Does Overlord Mycroft have a tattoo or piercing hidden away somewhere?"
"Of course I don't, it's not proper for someone like me with a minor position in the government. Not to mention that Mummy would be ever so upset." There was a slight sparkle in Mycroft's eyes. The worst thing on my skin are freckles.
"Freckles hm?" Greg's eyes swept lazily over Mycroft as if he could see past his clothes to the aforementioned freckles, "Maybe I should mention now that I have an inordinate fondness for freckles."
"That is another piece of information I learn about you, weird fondness to have though." Mycroft actually looked a little bit confused, as if he wasn't sure what to do next, if he should fling his shirt off or continue making small talk. "You are aware that I invited you over to copulate right?"
"Mmmhmm, and I can't believe you missed the implication in the freckle statement," Greg rose to his feet and stalked like some sort of graceful predator towards Mycroft, "When I say fondness, I mean the sort of fondness that involves me mapping your freckles out with my mouth," he leaned down, hands on either arm of Mycroft's chair, and angled his head in, nuzzling at the spot just under Mycroft's ear, "There's a little trio here," he flicked his tongue out in quick licks, tracing from one freckle to the other. "You, Mycroft Holmes, are eatable."
Mycroft sucked in a deep breath at the feeling of Greg's tongue on his skin. Goose-bumps rose in the wake of Greg's mouth. "Feel free to eat me then." He turned his head, took hold of Greg's tie and pulled him close, latching on to the man's bottom lip.
For Greg it was like being hit in the gut with a freight train. After months of longing, months of torturous want, he had his mouth on Mycroft's. He certainly didn't let grass grow under his feet and angled his head, licking into Mycroft's mouth, almost desperate for a deeper taste of him. One hand went to the back of Mycroft's head, fingers spearing into the dark hair always slicked into ruthless order. He was looking forward to mussing this man up.
Mycroft ran his tongue over the one in his mouth before sucking on it. Greg tasted like coffee and tobacco, it seemed as if the DI had been unfaithful to his nicotine patch. After a while Mycroft took a little more action, battling Greg's tongue and pushing his way into the other man's mouth, taking full care to taste and explore everything he could. His hands pulled on Greg's tie so he could loosen the knot and pull it off, before getting to work on his buttons.
Greg's own hands were far from idle, making quick work of the buttons down Mycroft's shirt, yanking it open so he could smooth his hands over the sleek muscles. Okay the next time he heard Sherlock call Mycroft fat, he was going to tell him, in detail, just how wrong he was. Mycroft wasnot fat. He was sleek and smooth and oh God delicious.
Gregory Lestrade was a very attractive man, Mycroft had noticed that the first time he laid eyes on him. He was strong and rough and downright sexy. To see that man look at him with such hunger in his eyes, it was surprising. Mycroft lived in the real world and he knew that he was mediocre, not a troll but not worth that hunger either. He wasn't going to be fool enough to point that out though, no he was going to enjoy this moment and take as well as give all the pleasure he could. He had finally gotten all the buttons on Greg's shirt undone and worked his hands beneath the parted fabric, he really needed to get Greg some shirts of better quality, this one was terribly rough but Greg's skin was smooth and warm and lovely. Oh yes, it should only be touched by the very best of things.
The inspector tilted his head, breaking his lips away from Mycroft's and used the moment to begin nibbling at his jawline, hiding his smile and concentrating on Mycroft, so he'd know the instant he found the first piercing. His fingers, a little calloused from his guitar playing, traced and stroked over Mycroft's ribs, feeling a tickle of concern. They weren't jutting by any means but they were just a little bit too prominent to be healthy. Oh yes he'd be having a conversation with Sherlock on the 'fat' comments, and probably wind up annoying the fuck out of Mycroft's PA getting her to deliver some home cooked healthy food.
Mycroft shivered beneath Greg's touches, his hands feeling almost too good on his skin. Greg had big hands, capable hands, working hands. Mycroft liked them very, very much. His own fingers were busy mapping out Greg's torso, he almost groaned when his fingers encountered the first touch of metal, he circled the small nub of Greg's left nipple, feeling the barbell through it, tugging on it lightly. The thought of Greg piercing himself there, sliding metal through soft sensitive skin made aching heat pool low in his stomach.
Greg made a sort of purring growl, the sort you'd expect from a large jungle cat, at the tug. He'd chosen the nipple piercing because he'd heard that made it that much more sensitive and it was true. Having his nipple piercing played with was a guaranteed instant hard-on. He kissed, licked, and sucked his way down Mycroft's throat, rasping his tongue over the slight growth of stubble and scraping his teeth over the Adam's apple. "You taste fantastic."
"Do I? That's fortunate then since I rather like your mouth on me." Mycroft gave the nipple piercing another light tug, delighted by the response he'd gotten the first time. He ran his hands further down Greg's chest and stomach, lips curling into a smile when he found the other piercing at Greg's navel. He plucked at it as he put his feet back on the floor, leaning forward until he could close his lips around the nipple piercing while his fingers still played with the navel one.
This time it was a long, low groan, heat building in his bloodstream, already sizzling. He shifted so that his knee was sinking into the cushion of Mycroft's chair, right between his legs, and pressed up, his thigh rubbing against the hardening bulge behind the zip. "I absolutely plan to have my mouth on more of you. I'm going to taste my way down your body, to hit my knees and suck you off, and I'm going to leave marks. No one else will see them but you and I will know they're there, that I bit and sucked them into being."
"Oh God." Mycroft pulled away panting, arousal and want staining his cheeks red. He wanted that, he wanted to go to work tomorrow and know that underneath his clothes he was marked and claimed, wanted Greg's marks on him. "Time for bed, I want you to do all those things and I want to do my own share of touching but not here." Mycroft struggled to get out of the chair, moaning when his erection pressed more firmly against Greg's knee.
He did get up though and took Greg's hand, pulling him out of the library and up a narrow set of stairs. Despite some beliefs his brother had, Mycroft didn't over indulge much but his bed was an exception, it was huge, like a lake of soft sheets and fluffy pillows. The sheets were not silk, no nothing that gaudy would make its way into Mycroft's home, they were Egyptian cotton, the highest thread count money could buy. He showed Greg into his bedroom and made quick work to pull the jacket and shirt completely off Greg's shoulders and arms, giving him more access to that beautiful body.
Greg stripped Mycroft's shirt completely off and made a sound of pure want. he dipped his head to lave at Mycroft's collarbone and the line of freckles that played over it. His fingers went to his nipples and flicked over them teasingly before dragging down over the flat abdomen to play at the fly of his trousers.
Mycroft's skin tingled, buzzed and seemed to have a mind of its own, completely separate from Mycroft's brain. It ached for Greg's touch, as if it was created solely for Greg to put his hands and mouth on. His own hands splayed across Greg's back, mapping out smoothness and scars, mentally counting all the times he could have lost Greg without ever getting to touch him like this. It was an unacceptable tally.
Greg's fingers worked open the trousers and pushed them down as he kissed and nibbled his way along Mycroft's shoulder. He laved the skin with his tongue and smiled a bit as his fingers told him that Mycroft's underwear were traditional briefs. He should have known. Mycroft could be unconventional but at the heart of it he was a traditionalist. He worked his fingers under the elastic and wiggled the pants down over the slim hips.
He nipped at Mycroft's shoulder and coaxed him to step out of the clothes before backing him toward the humongous bed. As soon as Mycroft's calves were brushing against the side of the bed, Greg sank to his knees, pressing his mouth to the hollow of a hipbone as his hand curved around Mycroft's prick, a sound of pleased satisfaction vibrating in his throat at the shape of it filling his hand.
A hissing, pleading moan left Mycroft's throat, his eyes wide and locked on Greg on his knees in front of him. Even in that position it was clear that Greg was completely in control. Mycroft liked it, liked being able to let go for once, to feel and just go where ever Greg would lead him. That didn't mean he was still and inactive. No, his hands were on Greg's shoulders, his neck and in his hair, touching, getting to know Greg's body just as well as he wanted to know his mind.
His eyes went midnight in hunger at the sound Mycroft had made and, after taking the time to suck a vibrant bruise into being on his hip, he decided he'd been patient enough in his desire to know every last bit of Mycroft Holmes. His mouth closed around the head, tongue lapping at it, flicking at his frenulum then swirling around as his hand slid up and down the exposed shaft. His other hand was exploring Mycroft's body wherever he could reach. Nails traced teasingly over freckled skin and he looked up, eyes connecting with Mycroft's as he took more of his cock into his mouth.
"Gods...Greg." Mycroft couldn't be quiet, not when Greg's pretty lips were wrapped around his prick like that. Not when his mouth was heaven on earth. All of Mycroft was focused on the man on his knees in front of him, not one thought escaping in any other direction. Mycroft was not a man to use curse words but oh now he was tempted to, nothing he knew of could come close to the pleasure he felt right now. He looked into Greg's eyes and tightened his hands in silver hair, not pulling or pushing, just holding on, grounding himself.
Greg made a hum, the gentle tug in his hair was deliciously arousing. He was doing this, making Mycroft Holmes grope for something to steady him. He took still more of the hard shaft into his mouth, a wicked glint sparking in his eyes as he pulled back a little then returned, bobbing his head once, twice, taking a deep breath then relaxing his throat and taking Mycroft in until his nose was buried in the soft pubic curls and he was swallowing around the other man's cock.
That caused a strangled shout, a sound Mycroft couldn't have stopped even if he'd wished it. Such slick, wet, tight heat around his erection made him shudder, sweat broke out on his skin and his hips gave an involuntary jerk, despite his bets attempts at controlling himself and choking the man going down on him. "Just...please, please, please."
Greg pulled back just long enough to press a kiss to Mycroft's unmarked hip and say huskily, "Shh, you don't have to beg. Not from me. All you ever have to do is ask." That said he sank his mouth back onto Mycroft's erection, deep-throating him again then started to bob his head, taking him into the root every time. One hand massaging his balls, the other stroking Mycroft's skin.
"Oh God, so good, so, so, so good." Mycroft didn't even recognize his own voice, he didn't sound like that. It was a fleeting thought though, disappearing with Greg's next suck. His balls tightened in the palm of Greg's hand and sparks of electricity traveled down his spine, heat coiling in his belly. "I'm going to..." He pulled on Greg's hair in warning.
He hummed and didn't let Mycroft pull him off instead swallowing around him again and making a pleased, almost growl when the first spurt of semen hit the back of his throat. He continued to swallow, the sounds Mycroft was making going right to his own cock. He had every intention of bringing Mycroft up and over again because watching him come was honestly one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.
Mycroft was undone, turned inside out and wobbling where he stood. It felt like both his brain and his soul had been sucked out through his penis. He didn't mind, how could he mind when Greg looked at him like that? His knees wouldn't carry him any longer and he sunk down on the bed behind him, sighing a little in loss when his spent prick slipped out of Greg's mouth. Mycroft pulled on Greg until he could claim his mouth, tasting himself as he kissed Greg.
Greg hummed into the kiss, his hands still stroking over Mycroft's body, keeping the fire stoked. He was straddling Mycroft's thighs and still had his own trousers on both because he'd been too focused on Mycroft and because he was drawing out the reveal of his tattoo as long as humanly possible. He nipped playfully at Mycroft's bottom lip then kissed his way over to run his tongue over the pulse point in the other man's neck. He would leave a mark there but he liked tasting, feeling the pulse jump under his mouth. "I think I've got fantasy material for eternity now. God you're fucking gorgeous when you come."
Mycroft's heart beat even faster at those words. He'd always thought sex slightly undignified but he couldn't think so now, not when he could witness and feel what it did to Greg. "Hmm, time for me to get my viewing then. I need to put a visual to all those dirty sounds I've been hearing you make." His hands went to the narrow leather belt Greg wore unbuckling it before moving on to the top button and the zip. "I want you inside me, so deep I'll feel you there for a week, no matter what I'm doing."
"Oh your wish is my command," Greg grinned against Mycroft's skin, "in this respect anyway." He shifted to make it easier for Mycroft to undo his zip, his hands still roaming the long body beneath him.
Mycroft undid the trousers and inhaled sharply when he noticed that there was nothing but warm smooth skin beneath the fabric. "Oh you are a naughty, dangerous man Greg, very dangerous indeed." He pulled the trousers down as far as he could with the position they were in, eyes going to the red, flushed shaft and his hands going behind Greg, squeezing his arse. "Beautiful."
He licked his bottom lip, leaning back into those very sexy hands. "Mmm I'm glad to meet with your approval," he leaned back down to nip, kiss, and suck his way over Mycroft's chest, leaving a few marks in his wake. He had not been joking about marking him up. He closed his mouth over a nipple, scraping his bottom teeth over it teasingly beforehand.
Tensing like a bowstring, Mycroft arched his back almost to the point of pain. He threw his head back and his nails bit into the cheeks of Greg's bum. Christ that felt good, Mycroft could feel his spent prick twitching with interest again.
"Oh now that's promising," Greg scraped his teeth over the nipple again, his hands going under Mycroft's back to support him, "Mmm the things I can do with you," he nibbled his way to the other nipple and gave it the same treatment before sealing his mouth over it and sucking, hands playing along Mycroft's flanks as he did.
"Do them, do everything to me, make me yours...At least for tonight." Mycroft's voice was low and gravelly, not at all his usual smooth tones. One hand slipped from that delectable behind to curl around Greg's shaft, keeping his grip light and teasing. He raised his head to look Greg over, noting no sign of ink on the front, where was that illusive tattoo?
Greg refrained from telling Mycroft that he had plans to make him his for a lot longer than just tonight. He didn't want to scare him off. He groaned as that elegant hand curled around him, the teasing bastard, and sat up, noticing the way Mycroft's eyes swept over him. A roguish grin curved his lips and he leaned in quickly to brush his lips against Mycroft's before sliding off him just long enough to finish shedding his trousers, remembering to retrieve a condom and lube from his pocket, and turn around, looking over his shoulder to watch Mycroft's expression.
At first Mycroft's eyes widened, then his lips pulled into a genuine smile before he began chuckling. He was still aroused, still wanton but that tattoo was so very fitting for Greg that he couldn't help it. Mycroft inched forward on the bed so that he could run his fingertips over the inked words on Greg's right bum cheek and the logo beneath them. "If you play your cards right I might just do that. Kiss it I mean."
"Oh I think I can play them well enough," the touch had gone straight to his already throbbing cock and he turned around to slide back onto the bed, settling himself between Mycroft's thighs. His hands slid down the lean flanks, "To be honest though, right now I'm more interested in kissing yours."
A brow rose. "You are, are you? Well I think that could be arranged." Mycroft kept his eyes on Greg, his hands finding their way back to that warm, corded body. "So how do you want me, front or back?"
Greg pursed his lips then noticed the full length mirror off to the side, angle it right and he and Mycroft would easily be able to see each other. He nudged the other man further up the bed and around until they were both framed in the mirror then he pet his hand down Mycroft's thigh, "Turn over sexy."
Mycroft complied and met Greg's eyes in the mirror as he did so. There was something very intimate and highly arousing about watching himself being touched by Gregory Lestrade. "Kinky, should have anticipated that." He drew his knees up underneath himself and spread his legs, leaning forward on his elbows. "Good thing I like kinky."
"Bloody damn good for me," Greg ran his tongue over his lips and took handfuls of Mycroft's arse. Oh he could see why someone might mistakenly think Mycroft had excess body fat if they only looked at his arse, it was full and round, a true bubble butt, and deliciously perfect. He spread the cheeks, exposing the tight little pucker, and leaned in to run the flat of his tongue up the crack.
A really loud, dirty moan escaped him and his thighs trembled at the sensation, Mycroft's head fell down to rest on his crossed hands on the bed and his cock gave another twitch, filling with blood again. If the first touch of Greg's mouth there felt that good, Mycroft wasn't sure he'd survive all of it.
Greg made a hungry sound before applying himself to rimming Mycroft. He lapped over and around the wrinkled skin, massaging it with his tongue, coaxing it to loosen and relax. The noises it brought out of Mycroft had him leaking onto the sheets and not giving a bloody fuck. He slowly wriggled and pressed his tongue against Mycroft's hole until he could push his tongue inside.
"Fuck." This time Mycroft couldn't hold back, the curse word slipped out as he was a panting, writhing mass beneath Greg's hands and mouth. He'd always known that Greg had a lethal mouth on him but this was a new talent, a talent Mycroft wanted to keep all to himself, just as he wanted the man all to himself. Before John, before he saw the change John had in his brother he had actually been jealous of Sherlock, for getting to spend time with the DI when he couldn't. Now he was clutching his hands in the sheets, trying not to fall apart and loving every second of it.
Greg had to groan as the taste of Mycroft, musk, and lust danced over his tongue and when he heard that curse word slip out of the always composed man's mouth he hand to reach down and squeeze himself tight at the base of his cock to keep from coming. Once his orgasm backed off, he fumbled for the travel size lube he'd brought and opened it, dribbling a little of the slick fluid over his fingers, when he then brought to where he was still rimming Mycroft. He worked one finger in gently alongside his tongue, almost moaning as he felt Mycroft tighten for a moment around both appendages.
It didn't hurt, Mycroft was too wound up to feel much of any pain, especially not with Greg's tongue still there, making him see white with pure pleasure. "More, please, I need more." Mycroft longed to feel the stretch, the burn as Greg worked him open so that he could slide into him. He was completely hard again and he spread his knees wider, not caring in the slightest how wanton it made him seem. He did want, he wanted so much that he was aching with it.
Sweet Jesus Mycroft Holmes would be the death of him but God what an incredible way to go. Greg worked another finger in, slipping his tongue out to kiss and suck a mark onto Mycroft's arse cheek, as he slid his fingers in and out of him. "God you're so tight around my fingers, squeezing around them like a vise. I can't wait to feel you around my cock, all hot and tight and perfect," he lapped at the mark he'd made as he scissored his fingers stretching Mycroft open for him a little more.
"Yessssss." It was a drawn out hiss. "I want it, want you inside, stretching my open and filling me up until all I can feel is you, hot and pulsing inside me. Mycroft braced his knees on the bed and pushed back on Greg's fingers until he was practically fucking himself on them.
Greg added another finger until all three were pressing in and out, his tongue rejoining them as he reached deeper and pressed the little gland he knew would get more of those desperate, hungry sounds out of Mycroft. His free hand went up under him and slid up his chest to pinch a nipple, rolling it between his fingers.
Mycroft's whole body shuddered violently and he let out a keening wail. "Fuck me, just fuck me already."
Greg didn't waste any more time, he really couldn't because much more and he'd be coming without ever getting inside Mycroft. He slipped his fingers and tongue out and grabbed up the condom packet, ripping it open and rolling it on in a smooth, quick motion. He spread more lube over his covered cock and brought it to Mycroft's hole. He slid his hand back under Mycroft's chest, supporting him and holding him still as he began to push inside him.
Mycroft was moaning continuously as he felt the head of Greg's prick breach him, spread him wider that the fingers had, sinking in smoothly. There was a slight burn but Mycroft loved that feeling, knowing that what would follow was ecstasy. "That's it, so good Greg, so very good. Deeper, please, deeper." If Greg hadn't been holding him still he would have pushed himself back on Greg by now.
He complied until he was completely inside Mycroft, the tight walls of his arse around him a form of bliss he never thought could happen. He pressed a kiss to one of Mycroft's shoulder blades, giving him a few moments to adjust before he rolled his hips, sliding out part way then back in. Slowly at first, to make sure he wasn't hurting Mycroft. He'd cut his arm off before hurting him. "God, so hot, so tight. You're so good around me, so fucking good."
"Yes, God yes. You feel so good inside me, moving and filling me up." Mycroft was not the kind of person to just lie back and think of England, no matter his position in life so even with Greg's arms around him he did roll his hips in movement with Greg, pushing his hips back and squeezing around the cock inside him. He wanted Greg as lost in lust as he was, wanted to show the other man that he would never have anything as good as what they could have together with anyone else. This was a claiming, a claiming that went both ways.
Greg made a growl and moved faster, assured that he wouldn't be hurting his lover. He held just a little tighter and pulled, bringing Mycroft's torso up so that he was leaning back against his chest, the both of them up on their knees, "Watch," he licked up Mycroft's neck, "watch us in the mirror Mycroft." His hands roamed Mycroft's chest then one fell to his hip, holding tight as he thrust hard and fast. He brought his other down to swipe a finger at the leaking precome from Mycroft's cock. He brought the finger to his mouth, meeting Mycroft's eyes in the mirror, and sucked it in, cheeks hollowing and reminding his lover of the earlier blow job.
"What are you doing to me?" It was an honestly asked question, Mycroft didn't feel like this, didn't act like this and didn't watch himself get thoroughly fucked in a mirror in his own bedroom. Now that Greg had told him to watch though, he couldn't tear his eyes away. He didn't recognize the man in the mirror, eyes wild, cheeks flushed, hair all over the place and cock hard and bouncing up against his belly with every thrust Greg made. He'd rather look at the man behind him, Greg's expression and the way his muscles bunched and relaxed with every movement. Mycroft reached up and looped one arm around Greg's neck and his other hand went to his own erection, stroking it as Greg fucked into him.
His mind supplied 'Loving you.' but he knew Mycroft would not in any way be ready for that so he chose the better part of valor. He mouthed the muscle at the side of Mycroft's neck, the hand not clamped on Mycroft's hip hard enough to bruise dropping to cover Mycroft's hand, stroking with him, controlling the pressure and pace. "That's it, take your pleasure baby," it was a little incongruous to call the British Government 'baby' he supposed but somehow it fit. "Every time you sit, stand, even move tomorrow, you'll feel where I stretched you out and filled you up and you'll remember this." He punctuated each word with a rolling thrust, "Remember me pushing into you, fucking you, remember feeling me sliding in and out while we watch in the mirror. Then you'll get home and strip for your shower and you'll see the marks I put on you and remember everything my mouth is capable of." He licked the shell of Mycroft's ear.
"Yes, I'll remember all of it." Mycroft knew he would too, at least this time he could use his photographic memory for his own advantage. His hand sped up on his erection and his breath came out in sharp huffs, mouth open and eyes sliding shut. Both feeling what happened and watching it too was too much, Mycroft didn't know how to handle it. His stomach clenched as Greg hit his prostate over and over again and he let out another shout.
"Come on baby, come for me. You look so fucking sexy like this, and the sounds you make," Greg made a low groan, he was too close, holding back by his fingernails but he didn't want to come until Mycroft did, "God I could come just from listening to you. Go over Mycroft baby, go over." He rubbed his thumb at the slit at the tip of Mycroft's prick just as he rolled his hips and battered into Mycroft's prostate again, his breath huffing and the dirty words rolling out of his mouth in an attempt to throw Mycroft over.
Mycroft didn't just go over, he tumbled, he flew, throwing himself over that ledge, not having a choice, not with Greg's prick inside him and his words in his ear. He didn't know what sounds he made as his body spasmed and shook, semen bursting out of his cock to splatter his hand and Greg's, his stomach and the sheets beneath them. Mycroft clung to Greg, his arse still contracting. He had never come that hard before.
Greg threw his head back as Mycroft tightened around him, pulling him into orgasm after him like a domino effect. He cursed, reverent, husky, into Mycroft's ear, riding out the tsunami of pleasure that swamped him. He released Mycroft's hip to band the arm around him, holding him close as the orgasm seemed to sweep away all his foundations and leave him a shuddering, pleasured wreck. He barely remembered to let Mycroft's cock go and grab tight hold of the condom as he pulled out in regret. The last thing either of them needed was an embarrassing trip to the A&E, or worse a call to John.
He buried his face into Mycroft's shoulder, panting, still shuddering, and forcing the words that wanted to burst out back. "God. Holy fuck."
"Mmm, yes." Mycroft was all sated, languid muscles and fucked out bliss. He'd come twice, with the only person he wanted. He did feel empty with Greg pulling out of him, no matter how necessary it was to do so. He couldn't keep standing on his knees so he shifted, pushing Greg down on the sheets of his bed before spreading out on top of him, wrapping himself around him like a human blanket. Mycroft kissed Greg's sweat-damped skin before resting his cheek over Greg's heart. "Stay."
Greg lifted a hand to pet through Mycroft's hair, his other arm going around his waist, "I will." For as long as Mycroft wanted him, he'd stay.
~to be continued...~
