Chapter Fourteen: Waistcoat

Author's Note: This one's for BA.

Also, this story has now officially overtaken my other story Needed in reviews... which is strange as Needed is 75 thousand words long and this is only 35 thousand. Do you know what this tells me? You people enjoy smutty porn kinkiness a bit too much...

... and I love writing it!

Thank you from me and DarkStarr7713 for all the lovely, sometimes angry, reviews!

Warning: Light bondage, slapping and rimming

[Text From: Greg Lestrade

To: Sally Donovan

WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU BETTING ON ME?]

{oOo}

'Holmes? Where is he, where is that boy?'

Mycroft was grinning even before the door burst open and the woman entered. Older then Mycroft but stunning none the less, the woman glared at him with bright green eyes before placing her hands on slim hips.

'Are you on another silly diet?'

Mycroft tisked and Anthea peered around the woman's shoulder, staring at her boss. 'I apologise, sir, I tried to stop her–'

'No need to worry, Anthea, dear,' Mycroft smiled.

'Dear?' the woman raised an eyebrow.

'Yes, dear,' Mycroft said back, raising his own eyebrows.

She burst out laughing, turning to smile at a thoroughly confused Anthea. 'I trained him, dear.'

'Oh,' Anthea said, 'you're Barbara.'

'Barbara Anne, in the flesh.' She leaned down to whisper in Anthea's ear. 'If you ever want the good dirt on old Mikey Holmes, you give us a call.'

'BA, please,' Mycroft moaned.

Barbara just winked at Anthea, the younger woman smiling and shutting the door. Mycroft stepped across the room and pulled Barbara in for a hug, half his life coming back to him in that one gesture. Barbara had trained Mycroft to be the shadowy side of the government, had taken a nervous, brilliant boy and turned him into a powerful, enthralling man.

'What are you doing here, you didn't call,' Mycroft said and turned to gesture at his desk. Rather than sit in one of the two guest seats, she rounded the table and sat in Mycroft's chair. He smirked a little. 'Still like being in command, then?'

'Still a smartarse, then?' Barbara retorted.

Mycroft smiled and went over to his liquor cabinet, pulling open a glass tumbler and filling two glasses with expensive scotch.

'So, Mycroft, what have you been doing with yourself?' Barbara asked as he approached, handing her a drink and sitting.

'The same as usual,' Mycroft replied, sipping his drink.

Barbara held hers carefully, eyeing Mycroft over the glass.

'What?'

'You know damn well what,' Barbara barked in her no-nonsense tone. She had the ability to make Mycroft feel twenty-three again and he slouched in his seat. 'Posture, Mikey!' she teased. He sat straighter again, scowling at her. 'Now, tell me; your brother.'

'Is clean.'

'And...?'

'In a relationship.'

'With...?'

Mycroft smirked. 'Like you don't know.'

'John Watson seems like a lovely man and I'm sure he is otherwise you wouldn't have let him near Sherlock,' Barbara said, finally taking a sip of her drink. She looked down at the amber liquid. 'Tisk, Mycroft.'

'That's good scotch!' Mycroft protested.

Barbara just chuckled lightly. 'Next; you.'

'Me what?'

'Mikey, what has happened to your vocabulary?' Barbara asked.

Mycroft paused to think about that. It was true, his speech had changed slightly since he started dating Gregory. He always let himself speak casually when around the DI but now he was doing it in public, in meetings, with his brother.

'Well...?' Barbara prompted once more, bright green eyes as piercing as the day Mycroft had met her.

'Erm...'

Barbara raised an eyebrow. Okay, not a good answer.

'Gregory,' Mycroft finally said.

'Gregory who?'

'Lestrade.'

'And what does this Gregory Lestrade do?'

'He is a Detective Inspector with Scotland Yard.'

'Age?'

'Forty-eight.'

'You always liked them older.'

'You always liked them younger.'

Barbara smiled at his stab. 'What does he look like?'

Mycroft tutted. 'Come now, you already know all this or you wouldn't be here.'

'Indulge an old woman.'

'You are hardly old.'

Barbara gave him a throaty chuckle and took another swig of scotch. 'Mikey, I haven't seen you in seven years.'

'Spiky grey hair, used to be brown. Dark brown eyes, five-ten, broad shoulders, tanned skin, ha–' he cut himself off before mumbling, '... handsome...'

'Now, tell me everything, please.'

Who was Mycroft to deny the one woman who had shaped him into the man he was today? He relented and leaned back, looking into his glass.

'He's... Gregory's amazing,' Mycroft said honestly. 'He's charming, brilliant, a truly wonderful man.'

'He makes you happy?'

Mycroft nodded. 'He can make me laugh or cry or think, sometimes he makes me food; toast, sandwiches, a roast dinner once... he hugs me when I need it and just... he takes care of me.' He looked up at Barbara carefully. 'He loves me and I love him.'

'Well then...' Barbara said slowly and Mycroft waited for it; waited for her to say that Gregory isn't good enough, not for dear Mikey Holmes, '... he seems like a fine gentlemen.'

Mycroft blinked. 'He... he does?'

Barbara smiled. 'Of course, dear. I met him this morning.'

'What?'

Barbara giggled, somehow looking ten years younger than her actual age. 'I may not be as young as I used to be, Mikey, but don't think I'm out of tricks.'

Mycroft just chuckled and clinked his glass with hers.

'So...' she said and Mycroft looked at her again. 'Tell me about this pool going on between you and Sherlock; I hear you had sex with Gregory in Sherlock's flat.'

Mycroft groaned.

'I believe you're in the lead, Mikey, but I'm not sure how long that will last,' Barbara said and leaned back in Mycroft's chair. 'I've already called Sally Donovan; I'm Mystrade.'

Mycroft shook his head.

'So, from the beginning,' Barbara grinned.

'Oh, BA, whatever will I do with you?' Mycroft smiled.

She chuckled. 'Tell me ridiculously filthy stories about your boyfriend, brother, and friend.'

Mycroft stared at her for a few seconds before putting his glass down and leaning over the desk. 'It started when I said the word horny...'

{oOo}

[Text From: Sally Donovan

To: Greg Lestrade

Calm down, Boss. Just a bit of fun. I'm backing you.]

'Oh, Sherlock...'

Sherlock grinned up at John, a waistcoat in his hands.

'Where'd you get that?' John asked, dropping the shopping on the kitchen table. He shouldered from his jacket and began putting things away.

'I broke into Mycroft's flat.'

'Again?'

'His password was 'Hamish'.'

John chuckled. 'Well, isn't that sweet?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes and began looking at the waistcoat carefully.

'Let me guess,' John said, dropping the bread on the counter. 'You wanna do something dirty with Mycroft's waistcoat?'

'Maybe.'

John smiled and entered the living room, looking at where Sherlock was perched on the table. 'Greg likes those waistcoats.'

'Exactly.'

'Sherlock–'

'Jumper, John.'

John sighed and folded his arms. 'Alright, what do you want to do?'

'I want you on the floor, naked, arms pinned by this waistcoat.'

[Text From: Greg Lestrade

To: Sally Donovan

Fun? FUN? THIS IS MY PRIVATE LIFE!]

John reached out and Sherlock handed over the waistcoat. It was nice, expensive, the back made of silk and feeling like butter in John's hands. He ran a finger over the buttons before following the stripes. He held it up and inspected it carefully.

'Sherlock...'

'John?' his boyfriend questioned.

'There's no way I'll fit into this.'

Sherlock frowned. Apparently he hadn't thought of that.

'I mean, Mycroft's a bit bigger then you, yeah, but he's still a rake compared to me. I'd maybe just manage to get this done up over my chest and shoulders but my arms too?' He shook his head. 'No way.'

'Oh,' Sherlock breathed out, slumping back onto the couch. John smiled and looked at him carefully. 'Smiling, why are you smiling? My plan is ruined.'

'Well...' John said slowly and Sherlock's frown deepened. 'I might not fit into it but you would, arms and all.'

Sherlock just stared at him.

'You're thinner then Mycroft, it'd work.'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'I am not wearing my brother's waistcoat.'

'But it'll look lovely on your skin,' John said, pants already feeling tight. He could picture it, Sherlock on his knees, arms pinned, face red and curls bouncing as John sunk into him again and again. 'Yes...' he murmured, fingers trailing over the expensive garment, '... lovely.'

Sherlock continued to stare at him, clearly not picturing the same things as John. Right, time to change that.

'Clothes off, now,' John said in his best captain/doctor voice. Sherlock hesitated before complying, rising to start unbuttoning his shirt. Sherlock claimed to be the dominant half of their relationship but there were times when John's commanding voice really got to his cock and this seemed to be one of those times. He continued to look resistant, even as John approached him and held the waistcoat up. 'Yes, this will work.'

Sherlock was still in his trousers and John glared at him. With a small eye-roll, Sherlock kicked off his shoes and slipped from his socks, hands already working his belt. John just watched, cock twitching as Sherlock finally stepped from his boxers. He stood stark naked in the living room, face every bit as stubborn as the rest of him... well, except his cock.

He was half-hard already and his cock moved visibly when John pushed the waistcoat against his naked torso. His skin was perfectly pale, chest hair ginger with the odd freckle and scar lining his muscled skin.

'Mm,' John murmured before making a turning motion with one hand. Sherlock complied, shivering when John pressed into him from behind. 'Arms.'

Sherlock linked his hands behind his lower back and John wrapped the waistcoat around him, stretching the material to get it around his biceps. He managed and started doing up the buttons, making sure to press his trapped erection against Sherlock's perfect arse.

[Text From: Sally Donovan

To: Greg Lestrade

Private? Since when is doing your boyfriend in a doctor's surgery private?]

'Nngh,' Sherlock moaned, pressing himself back.

'What was that?'

'N-nothing,' Sherlock said, trying hard to swallow back the swirl of arousal that was coiling in his gut.

'Nooo, that was something,' John teased, doing up the last button. He stood back to admire his work; Sherlock naked apart from a waistcoat, hands pinned to his lower back, cheeks pink and body oh so fuckable. 'Something very delicious,' John said and licked his lips.

Sherlock turned and John wasted no time in pressing their lips together, licking his way into Sherlock's mouth and sucking on his tongue. Sherlock moaned a lot more audibly this time, rutting his now completely hard cock against his boyfriend's jumper-covered stomach.

John let him, enjoying the noises Sherlock was making. He wrapped his arms around the taller man, fingers spreading against the front of the waistcoat and gripping Sherlock's trapped arms.

'What you do to me,' John breathed softly, pushing his crotch up in an aim to get at Sherlock's cock.

But the height difference made it difficult and John settled for kissing Sherlock like there was no tomorrow, biting his lips and licking up and down Sherlock's own tongue.

'Down,' John said and pushed. Sherlock fell to sit on the couch, grunting as his shoulders strained. John made him forget his pain as he got down on his knees, licking his lips before swallowing Sherlock's cock in one swift movement.

[Text From: Greg Lestrade

To: Sally Donovan

I didn't know you knew about that.]

'Oh God,' Sherlock groaned, pushing up and trying to get his cock deeper into the doctor's mouth. John sucked back enthusiastically, licking the tip and swallowing pre-come as he went. Sherlock continued to moan and thrust into him, hands clenched behind his back, shoulders straining against the waistcoat. 'J-John...'

John pulled back and grabbed Sherlock, spinning the consulting detective until he was kneeling on the couch, legs spread and head resting against the back of the sofa.

'John?'

John licked a strip between Sherlock's cheeks, fingers digging into his boyfriend's gorgeously shaped arse, pale skin flushing red as John aimed a few light smacks. Sherlock tried to bend to see what John was doing but gave up when his boyfriend's tongue pushed into him, slipping past his ring of muscle and making everything so hard and hot and FUCK!

[Text From: Sally Donovan

To: Greg Lestrade

Yeah, the girl who works the front desk is in the pool.]

Sherlock settled for rutting back against John, trying to get the wet organ deeper into his body. John alternated between fucking his boyfriend with his tongue and licking across that perfect arse he was allowed to violate so wonderfully. Sherlock was reduced to a mess, face sweaty and red, lips swollen from kissing and biting.

He moaned when John pushed a finger in, sliding in and out in swift movements as he tongued Sherlock's hole.

'J-John,' Sherlock groaned, pressing his face into the couch. John used one hand to spread his cheeks wider before slipping another two fingers in, twisting until he found that spot. 'JOHN!'

'Had enough?' John teased, nipping at Sherlock's arse, his lower back. He squeezed the man's thighs, hands brushing against his leaking cock.

'P-please,' Sherlock begged. 'N-now.'

John stood and disappeared, leaving Sherlock crouching on the couch. He breathed heavily, arms already aching and cock throbbing with need. He was too hot, way too hot, and he needed John right then and there.

Movement from behind made Sherlock pause and suddenly a wet cock was being pressed into him. 'Mm... yes, please,' Sherlock begged again as John pushed completely into him.

[Text From: Greg Lestrade

To: Sally Donovan

Course she bloody is.]

John just stood there, completely encased in Sherlock's sweet, tight heat. He spread Sherlock's cheeks wider, pinching and slapping until Sherlock was pushing back against him.

'John...' he whined, biting his bottom lip and sucking back.

'Mm?'

'P-please...' Sherlock stuttered.

John smiled. 'What do you want, Sherlock?'

'I want you to fuck me,' Sherlock demanded.

'Well that's too bad.'

'Why?'

'Because I want you to fuck yourself on me,' John said. Sherlock groaned. 'So which one of us is going to get what we want?'

Sherlock began moving immediately, head bent as he tried to impale himself on John's cock. Soon he got into a rhythm, found a way to pull himself half off John's cock before thrusting back.

John groaned and ran his hands down Sherlock's creamy thighs, gripping tightly as he moved up to the man's hips. Sherlock grunted in his efforts, sweat beading on his forehead and cheeks flamed red as he pushed back.

John took pity after a few minutes and grabbed Sherlock's hips forcefully, pulling his boyfriend into him. Sherlock groaned loudly as he was completely filled, John's cock hitting his prostate to send a delicious wave of ecstasy through his already sparking body.

A few kisses were placed against Sherlock's neck, the genius moaning loudly. Sherlock arched into John, their bodies pressed together. The buttons of the waistcoat scratched at John's skin, reminding the doctor that Sherlock was still bound by the expensive garment.

'Mm,' he breathed against Sherlock's ear before licking across his jaw. 'Look at you, all lovely and tied up.'

'Nngh,' Sherlock managed as John captured his lips, tongue sloppily plundering Sherlock's mouth. 'M-more...' he mumbled after John had pulled back.

'More?'

'Mm-hmm.'

John smiled and kissed him again.

[Text From: Sally Donovan

To: Greg Lestrade

So, you in or out?]

John pushed back in forcefully, Sherlock shouting and letting his head drop. John used one hand to steady him, the other gripping his neck and holding tight as he fucked Sherlock hard.

Sherlock let out a string of curses, what sounded like French, and then a lot of incoherent words followed by, 'Guh, m-mo-oh... Jesu... y-yes!'

John slammed into him over and over again, the couch rutting against the floor as John pounded into the genius, hitting his prostate every fifth thrust. He reached for Sherlock's cock and gave a few, swift tugs before he was pulling out.

Sherlock practically squealed, eyes blown with lust and heart hammering in his chest. John pulled him up until he stumbled, leaning heavily against the doctor as he was turned.

'On the coffee table,' John growled.

Sherlock moaned and did as asked, managing to crouch on the coffee table with some help. The new angle meant John could get in deeper than before and he wasted no time in doing just that, cock being swallowed again and again as he forced his way in.

John grabbed the back of Sherlock's head, twirling that lovely curly hair in his fingers as he pulled Sherlock's head back. Sherlock gasped and his back arched, John pulling him up until he could suck and bite at that pale neck he loved so much.

'What a good idea,' John said, his own pleasure now threatening to make words impossible. 'Just look... at you...' he grunted, snapping his hips quickly as his cock slammed into Sherlock's prostate again and again.

'U-uh...' Sherlock let out a long, breathy moan, eyes shut and lips hanging open. John sucked back on his skin, Sherlock groaning as he was filled.

John let his head go and concentrated on fucking Sherlock into an orgasm, one hand on his waist, the other on his boyfriend's waistcoat-covered shoulder.

'S-so c-close,' Sherlock moaned, head bent as John fucked him hard.

Suddenly he was being pulled back and both fell to sit, John with his back pressed against the couch. 'Show me how much you want to come,' John hissed. 'Go on.'

Sherlock started fucking himself again on John's cock, legs working hard as he pushed himself up and down. He moaned loudly as John penetrated him deeper than before, cock hitting his prostate each and every thrust.

'Come on, Sherlock,' John said and pulled on his boyfriend's cock, thrusting up to burry himself over and over again. 'Come...'

Sherlock tightened around him and came, leaking over the waistcoat and John's fist. John continued to thrust into him, biting into the waistcoat that still trapped Sherlock's arms. Sherlock just moaned and allowed himself to rock on John's cock, the orgasm still thumping though him and making everything so good.

John pushed Sherlock off, the genius falling to press his chest against the coffee table. He was vaguely aware of John grunting and groaning, the doctor jerking himself off over Sherlock's back.

He came with a loud grunt, climaxing all over the waistcoat and Sherlock's heaving body. He slumped against him, bodies hot and pressed together.

[Text From: Greg Lestrade

To: Sally Donovan

In. Mystrade.]

Slowly John started moving, unbuttoning the waistcoat and letting Sherlock free. The genius groaned, arms cramping as he sat up. John kissed his neck, his shoulders, massaging his boyfriend's aching muscles.

'You okay?'

Sherlock managed a nod before shuffling to sit on the couch, draping himself over it and letting his head tip back. John joined him, folding his body into Sherlock's and pressing kisses to his shoulder.

'You sure?'

'Mm,' Sherlock murmured.

''Kay.'

Sherlock turned to look at him and smiled. 'John?'

'Yeah?'

'We should buy a waistcoat.'

John just chuckled.

{oOo}

[Text From: Sally Donovan

To: Greg Lestrade

No worries ;)]

Mycroft stared at the pile of waistcoats, a sick feeling in his gut.

'Can't you tell which one?'

'Yes, but...' Mycroft winced, '... the violated waistcoat has touched the others.'

Greg couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. 'Violated?'

'They violated my waistcoats, Gregory.'

'They're just–' He cut himself off when Mycroft glared at him. 'M'kay. But Myc, that's a lot of money wasted just because Sherlock and John–'

'Don't.'

'But they only–'

'Gregory.'

Greg paused before, 'It's just come–'

Mycroft groaned and walked from the bedroom quickly. Greg looked at the pile of expensive clothing.

'Shame,' he murmured, 'Mycroft looks good in a waistcoat.' Suddenly his head was filled with images of Mycroft in just a waistcoat and he grinned, turning to go find his boyfriend.

'Myc!' he called. 'I think we should go shopping!'

Author's Note: Okay, DarkStarr7713 asked me to give a special shout out to Lestat's Violinist. This is the message:

Lestat's Violinist, I read your review on Chapter 13, and I have to say, you've got THE COOLEST grandmother FREAKING EVER. MY grandmother would be shocked and appalled at this story... so, now I declare your grandmother COMPLETELY AWESOME. ~ DarkStarr.

All I can say is that I agree whole-heartedly with DarkStarr and I hope Lestat's Violinist's grandmother liked her character. If not, I really do apologise.

Until next chapter, lovelies...

x