Gregory's room at New Roissy overlooked the back gardens. Oil paintings adorned the exposed brick walls and a fire burned in the massive hearth, chasing away the chill from the stone floors and frosted window panes. At the center of it all was a king-sized four-poster bed, raised on a mini-platform like a throne on a dais.

Lestrade led Mycroft over to the bed and sat him on the mattress edge. "You were amazing downstairs, Myc," he murmured as he touched the collar and cuffs. "You feel comfortable wearing these?"

Mycroft fingered one of the metal cuff rings. "I feel loved, actually, and safe."

"Because you are." Gregory kissed him before picking a black velvet robe up off the duvet and draping it across Mycroft's bare shoulders. "Now sit here and don't move while I enlighten your brother a little more."

Sherlock stood in the doorway, hands clasped and eyes down. When Gregory approached, his boots treading ominously on the stone floor, Mycroft saw his brother tremble a little but remain in place.

"Well," Lestrade drawled, tapping the riding crop against his open palm. "I understand you want to be a Dom. Like me."

"Yes, Sir."

"You think you're as good as me?" He thrust his face into Sherlock's.

"I… I think it's attainable."

"Do you, now. We'll see. As you've discovered by now, a primary rule is that you shouldn't do to anyone else what you couldn't take yourself. Some may disagree, but I don't give a fuck about their opinions."

Sherlock looked up, startled. "But surely statistics-"

"SHUT UP!"

Mycroft jumped: he'd never heard his lover yell like that before. Sherlock's jaw dropped, and he gasped when Lestrade's gloved hand seized his throat.

"Shut up, you mouthy bastard. Did I ask you about bloody statistics?" He released Sherlock's neck and shoved him toward the bed. "Strip. Fold your clothes on that chair and then get up on the bed. Myc, please stay where you are."

Sherlock's erection, trapped by the cock ring, looked painful and oozed pre-ejaculate. When his pale, lean form climbed onto the mattress and positioned itself facedown, Gregory ordered, "Arms out."

Sherlock complied. Gregory took a length of nylon rope out of the bedside drawer and secured the younger man's narrow wrists to the headboard. The task completed, the DI dealt Sherlock's already-red arse another solid slap.

"This is going to hurt you more than it will hurt me, thank God. Get ready."

Lestrade raised the crop. Mycroft could see his brother tense up. But instead of bringing the instrument down onto its quivering target, Gregory smirked, tossed it aside, and climbed onto the bed, between the spread legs. When he bent down and ran his tongue all over Sherlock's buttocks, the bound man jumped in surprise.

"What? Oooh."

Lestrade dug his fingers into the bruised muscles and parted the cheeks. After winking at Mycroft, who was spellbound at the sight of his lover reducing his arrogant sibling to moans, Gregory shoved his tongue deep into Sherlock's hole.

"Oh, Christ, Lestrade! Please!"

Sherlock raised his hips off the bed and began rutting against the duvet. Lestrade applied a few more long, torturous licks before sitting up on his knees and smacking that writhing arse again. "You think I'm fucking doing all this work just to get you off? " He picked up the crop again and declared, "Maybe this will put you in a more repentant frame of mind."

Mycroft could hardly breathe. Like Sherlock, he was so hard that it actually hurt. Gregory had fucked other people in his presence before; variety was the spice of both their lives, and no birthday or celebration was ever complete without a threesome at the Diogenes Club or another discreet establishment. Seeing Lestrade with Sherlock, though, was so surreal, so wrong somehow that the blood roared in Mycroft's ears and every nerve tingled in excitement. He was sure that if the fire were any closer, he'd combust.

Lestrade brought the crop down on Sherlock's arse with a sharp crack. Sherlock cried out and buried his face in the pillow, fingers gripping the rope that bound him in place. Without pause or mercy, ten more blows landed on those upturned buttocks. The last one was particularly harsh and caused the younger Holmes to kick up involuntarily and knock the instrument out of Gregory's hand.

"That's earned you another six, Sherlock." The DI shook his head and winked at Mycroft, whose fingers were wandering across his thigh, toward his own cock. When Gregory mouthed the words "No-wait" he stopped and licked his dry lips.

Sherlock's eyes brimmed with moisture as Gregory retrieved the crop and administered the final blows. When it was over he yielded to tears, but Mycroft also saw bliss slacken his features. He winced when Lestrade caressed his abused flesh, but the dreamy expression remained firmly in place.

"You took that very well, Sherlock." Gregory's hand traveled up the young man's spine to his head, where he ruffled the dark curls. Sherlock leaned into the now-gentle touch, purring like a cat. "I think you deserve a reward."

"Thank you, Sir."

Lestrade untied his wrists and guided him into a kneeling position. "Help me, Myc?"

Mycroft crawled eagerly across the bed. He positioned himself behind Sherlock, coaxing his younger brother into leaning against him. "All right?" he murmured into the wild mop of curls under his chin.

"Mmmmm."

Mycroft wrapped his strong arms around Sherlock's smaller frame and held him close. His erection nudged the younger man's lower back, and it was all he could do not to rut against it. He'd never been attracted to Sherlock sexually – still wasn't, really- but the warm flesh against his throbbing cock felt good.

Lestrade ran his gloved palm over Sherlock's flat stomach in ever-widening circles before grasping his erection and stroking it firmly from root to tip. Sherlock's hips thrust up and he moaned.

"Please, Lestrade."

While Mycroft held him tight, Gregory removed the cock ring and began stroking hard and fast. Sherlock leaked so copiously that lube was unnecessary. He twisted and wailed in his brother's grasp, palms planted on Mycroft's thighs and head against his shoulder. Inspired, Mycroft dug his teeth into Sherlock's neck, biting hard enough to bruise the pale skin.

"Faster, faster, please, I'm almost there…. OHHHHH!"

Hot semen practically exploded from his formerly-restrained erection. Gregory pulled his hand away and twisted Sherlock's nipples while the younger Holmes bucked and cried through the aftershocks. Then Sherlock went completely limp, chin dropping to his chest and whimpering softly.

Mycroft rocked him and whispered, "You did marvelously, Sherlock." He flinched as he remembered the last time he'd held his wild sibling so close: Sherlock had passed out from a cocaine overdose and Mycroft was trying to keep his airways clear and call 999 at the same time.

Lestrade gave the brothers a few extra minutes to revel in the loving contact. Then he tapped Sherlock's cheek and said, "Wake up. I need you to do something for me."

"Hmmm… all right. What?"

"You'll see in a moment… Myc, let him go and lie on the bed. On your front."

When Sherlock sat up straight and slid off his lap, Mycroft crawled toward the head of the bed. When he was face-down, one cheek nestled in the pillow and arms extended in case his lover wanted to restrain him, Gregory fondled his smooth arse cheeks with a roughness that betrayed his arousal.

"You looked so damned sexy when Irene was fucking you… and when you turned the tables on her… Christ." Lestrade's breathing was ragged. "I swear to God, every minute I watch you reminds me of why I fell in love with you in the first place."

"I love you too. Now tie me up and use me hard."

Silence. Then: "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Oh God, oh God. Fuck." Lestrade grabbed the nylon strands that remained fastened to the headboard and secured his lover's wrists. Then he pounced onto the bed and began kissing and biting Mycroft's shoulders and upper back. One hand slid under Mycroft's belly and started rhythmically pumping his hard length. Mycroft raised his hips and moaned, wanting harder friction.

"Sherlock." Mycroft was so aroused that Gregory's voice could barely be heard above the blood rushing through his ears. "There's a bottle of lube in that drawer. You're going to help me open up his arse for a good pounding."