Could You Imagine? PART 3
A/N: Should I write an epilogue, I feel bad leaving them all awkward like this?
R&R!
"I'm going to fuck you with my tongue," he whispered, barely audible and they both felt Mycroft's cock twitch violently between them.
Lestrade stood up with a very self-assured look on his face, and Mycroft couldn't bring himself to mind. Slowly Lestrade unbuttoned his shirt, but left it on. He dropped his hand down to his jeans and unbuttoned them, letting them fall. Alas, he wasn't wearing underwear, and Mycroft observed the curve upwards in the man's penis quite similar to the predatory smile that now lingered on his face.
Freed from most of his clothing, Lestrade now crawled back up Mycroft's body.
"Is this your first time?" He asked, and Mycroft could hear pure concern under the lust pouring from the words.
"For a long time," he replied, embarrassed.
Lestrade nodded, and then went to work, placing hot, wet kisses all over his face, down his neck and shoulders, licking a stripe down his collarbone. He circled Mycroft's nipple and Mycroft felt himself becoming hyper aware of his body, tingling in all of the places he was touched, strokes of hand and tongue.
Because of the lead up, when Lestrade pushed his tongue on his perineum hard enough to hit that certain place through many layers, Mycroft allowed himself a long, low groan, extended by the tongue that was running over his entrance.
Lestrade continued his exploration while Mycroft lazily stroked himself with fingertips. Then, suddenly, Lestrade pushed his tongue in as far as he could and simply by chance brushed over the place that made Mycroft yelp.
Lestrade, face against ass, felt satisfaction and domination over this man, and mused over how ironic the situation was, before getting back to the task at hand and beginning to thrust his tongue.
For Mycroft it was the most oddly erotic feeling ever, a tongue wriggling around inside him. It was really over in seconds, ending with a resounding 'FUCK' for Mycroft and a horrified 'what the fuck?' from Sherlock, who had silently made his way up the stairs was no standing stock still in the doorway.
"What's wrong, Sherlock?" John called from downstairs.
Lestrade jumped away from Mycroft, who instantly pulled the covers up over himself, remembering his expensive suit by the bar. Lestrade was pulling his pants on over his still hard dick.
John joined a shell-shocked Sherlock at the door and slowly took in the situation before muttering an apology and pulling Sherlock down the stairs.
"See why it's a bad idea to break into people's houses?" they heard from down the stairs.
"Yeah, you see a detective inspector's tongue in your brother's arse."
There was silence from downstairs, a door shutting and a cry of "Taxi!" took the intruders away.
Mycroft chanced a look at Lestrade, who had his head against the wall. So he crept out of bed, sped downstairs, pulled on his and suit and went to the bathroom to fix his hair. Lestrade clumped downstairs, downed two scotches and blearily waved Mycroft out.
It was two in the morning and, for a main road, quiet. He called for a taxi and tried to forget his brother for a while.