While Sherlock rose and stripped, tossing his clothing everywhere in his haste, Mycroft fetched a red blanket from under the sofa- a relic from the days when he used to burn the midnight oil- and laid it out on the leather surface. His movements were calm, but conflicting thoughts and impulses assailed his normally steady mind.

This is wrong.

No. Helping Sherlock is never wrong.

John should be the one doing this.

No. John may be a doctor, but he's not a Holmes. He could never 'see' Sherlock as I do. And besides, Sherlock won't be intimate with him until this issue is overcome.

It's all down to me.

Sherlock, now naked, stretched out on the sofa. His pale flesh looked even whiter against the blood-red blanket, and his cock, still hard, bobbed heavily against his flat belly.

"My, please," he murmured, using a long-abandoned nickname for his older brother. "Show me how to feel good."

"I will. Now close your eyes."

Sherlock nodded and visibly relaxed. No matter how much he claims to hate me, Mycroft thought as he removed his platinum cufflinks and rolled his sleeves up, he always comes to me when he's in distress. That's as good as a declaration of love.

He knelt on the carpet. Sherlock extended one unsteady hand when Mycroft's warm palm landed on his belly, close to his straining cock without touching it. Their fingers linked and squeezed tightly in both reassurance and promise.

"You're beautiful, Sherlock." Mycroft caressed the soft skin of his brother's chest and belly with one hand while maintaining their handclasp with the other. "John Watson is a lucky man."

"I'm lucky to have him."

Mycroft gently broke their hold. "Now lay your hands at your sides. No touching yourself or me until I tell you differently."

His brother's breath hitched and he nodded. His long fingers clutched the blanket convulsively.

"We're going to try a few things, see what works for you. There's more to erotic stimulation than wanking."

"There is?"

Sherlock's genuine surprise made Mycroft's heart clench. The younger man was a former junkie and seasoned consulting detective who knew a hundred different ways to abuse his body, but nothing to pleasure it.

"Yes. There is."

Yielding to arousal, Mycroft bent forward, parted Sherlock's lips with his own, and slowly, smoothly, slid his tongue inside. He cradled his brother's head as they kissed, loving the feel of the silky curls against his fingers. (No one's ever touched him like this before!) When he unconsciously tightened his grip on Sherlock's hair, his brother's stomach muscles clenched beneath his other hand. Sherlock also moaned and shifted his hips.

Enjoys having his hair pulled. Submissive tendencies?

Mycroft broke their kiss and pulled Sherlock's head back, exposing his pale throat. When the elder Holmes nipped that tender flesh, Sherlock licked his kiss-swollen lips and choked, "Oh, God, yes. Please, My, bite harder. Please."

Mycroft relinquished his hold. "Can't. John would see it."

Sherlock whimpered.

"Shhhh." Mycroft slid his hand down Sherlock's belly and wrapped his fingers around the younger man's erection. It was painfully hard and leaking copiously. "I think you may have a submission kink, little brother."

"I- I don't know."

Mycroft stroked him once from base to tip, twisting his wrist on the upstroke the way he enjoyed doing to himself. Sherlock squirmed, but his body didn't tense like it did during the biting and hair-pulling.

Definitely not vanilla then. Needs rough physical stimulation.

"Hmmm.". Mycroft released his brother, ignoring the disappointed whimper that resulted, and stood. His own cock throbbed for attention, and his legs trembled. He hoped Sherlock wouldn't notice. "Roll over."

Sherlock complied eagerly. After sliding a cushion under his hips, elevating his tight arse, Mycroft went over to his desk, and opened the bottom left drawer.

For security reasons, he never took his casual fucks home, and those were the only kind he had time or inclination for. An American-born call girl he frequently hired once called the ornate office an "undercover fuck pad", and the description fit. He even had a drawer loaded with condoms, lube, and various toys that covered his entire mood spectrum. Mycroft was inclined to be dominant, but sometimes the handcuffs, ball gag, paddle, and cock ring were just what he needed when his hyper-stimulated mind required an enforced silence.

Mycroft had never dreamed that he'd one day hunt through his collection for something to use on his own brother. Swallowing heavily, he took out a bottle of lubricant, one of the smaller vibrators, and a pair of latex gloves.

"What have you got there?" Sherlock asked when he returned.

"None of your business. Face on the cushion, and don't move unless I tell you to."

Sherlock quivered as he obeyed.

"Hands stay where I can see them."

"Yes, Mycroft."

Sherlock's hips rutted slowly against the cushion. Mycroft planted a firm hand on his lower back. "None of that."

Sherlock stilled. "I… like it when you order me about."

Mycroft smiled despite himself. "You could have fooled me."

"But only when my clothes are off."

Mycroft brought his palm down on that pale arse. The crack of hand against buttock was loud and gunfire-sharp. "You don't dictate to me."

"Hnngh." Sherlock's squirming became more enthusiastic. Mycroft seized his hair again, forcing his head up, and administered more spanks with his other hand. He knew that they were on the right track when Sherlock tensed, limbs locking tightly and face slack with bliss.

"Mmmm, feels so good. Please, harder."

Mycroft gave him one more swat that drove him into the sofa cushions and made him scream. A split second later, knuckles rapped on the door.

"Sir?" It was Anthea. "Is everything all right?"

Mycroft wiped sweat from his brow. "Yes, yes. That reminds me. Please hold all calls and tell any visitors to wait until I tell you otherwise."

"Yes, Sir."

When her footsteps receded, Mycroft hissed, "Not so loud!"

"Can't help it."

"Well, you'd better, because it's going to become more intense."