This was the last chapter in my original fic, however I will hopefully be posting more, so do keep watching!
This story was originally written for a kink meme prompt, but my partner (Ourworstnightmare) and I decided to extend it. There will be more chapters to follow as we further explore the relationship. Warnings for dub-con, bondage, masturbation and incest.
"Sherlock…" Mycroft began, looking at the man straddling him. He had barely seen his brother in the previous ten years. Sherlock was still beautiful, puberty had done wonders. Those slim, long, slightly muscled legs, now on either side of Mycroft's hips, their groins hovering, inches apart, were enough to make his breath catch in his throat. "This is very, very wrong."
Sherlock laughed; his voice cascaded through that rich, dark chuckle that Mycroft adored. "Still insisting on your social ideas and morals, brother mine?" he mocked softly, stroking a finger down Mycroft's bare chest. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, attempting to remain indifferent.
"Yes Sherlock, my morality and my stance on the situation remains intact," Mycroft said coldly. "You are my brother."
"And yet you desire me," Sherlock commented, quite correctly. He began to grind against Mycroft's bare cock, feeling him begin to harden underneath him. "Don't bother lying to me; it is so very tedious."
"Whatever I may or may not feel for you Sherlock is irrelevant," Mycroft told him plainly, staring directly up at the ceiling, not granting Sherlock the honour of eye contact. He detested his body's responses, the way Sherlock was able to manipulate him. "It is repugnant."
"Oh just shut up, will you?!" Sherlock yelled abruptly; he gripped Mycroft's chin, forcing him to look up at his younger brother. "You are so dull! So boring!" he continued, drawing back a hand and slapping Mycroft hard across the face. Mycroft winced, but otherwise made no reaction. His bound arms were beginning to ache, his cheek was flushing a delicately stained red.
"You have wanted me for eight years, and made no move in that time. I made it easy for you too! The clues, the hints, you could have found me in an instant," Sherlock accused; Mycroft shifted, uncomfortable, aware that Sherlock was entirely accurate in his accusations. "You were too scared of your own feelings, too afraid of what you might do if you actually found me".
Sherlock laughed with a hint of melodious insanity, scratching red welts down his brother's chest, making him arc backwards against the mattress in a bid to escape. This was rapidly falling out of his control.
"You let other people, British citizens, take responsibility for my crimes," Sherlock mocked, delving into Mycroft's more uncomfortable realities. "I thought I would have to go on a spree before you'd decide you'd have to finally face me."
"Is that what all this is about?" Mycroft asked, face softening a tiny bit, trying to find some hint of a seven year old Sherlock in the adult pinching his nipples cruelly hard. "You wanted my attention."
Sherlock snorted. "A little," he conceded, slowly leaning forward, towards Mycroft's face. "But mainly, brother dear, because it was fun."
Mycroft turned away, wrenching his head away from the grip Sherlock still had on his chin. "If you had merely spoken to me. This could have been avoided."
"You would have turned me away, run away," Sherlock interjected, his face suddenly darkening. "Tried to have me committed. Again".
"That was Mummy's idea," Mycroft said quickly. "I never agreed to…"
"Shut up!" Sherlock bellowed. Another slap, so hard Mycroft felt his ears start to ring, blinking away the slight fogginess that invaded his vision. In the low, constant ringing, Sherlock voice: "Have you ever killed anyone brother? I mean you, not some lackey. Killed someone with your own hands?"
"I am pleased to say that has yet to occur," Mycroft retorted.
"It is addictive, better than coke, better than crack," Sherlock mused, plump lips falling sensuously open. "Oh, the most addictive thing I have ever found. Until now," he breathed. He moved his lips down, tasting his brother's chest, the sheen of sweat and bodily musk. Mycroft shivered, shuddering at the rough sensation of a tongue on soft skin.
"Who knows. If this is good enough maybe I'll go off killing, just stick to fucking you instead," he purred. Mycroft shut his eyes, breathing hard. He could be the one to keep Sherlock legal, clean, away from the things that could get him killed or imprisoned.
"You would swap murder for incestuous sex of dubious consent? How very noble of you," Mycroft remarked blankly. He wanted his brother, more than he could say, but not like this. Not kidnapped, his body made to respond against his will. Despite what his afore-mentioned body may want.
"Oh, because they all go against your rules, don't they brother?" Sherlock hissed lividly, angry again. "Against your little world view. So very, very boring!" He almost screamed, making the man beneath him flinching slightly. He had a healthy fear of being slapped again.
"Why can't you see sense, like I have?" Sherlock pleaded, lips almost brushing Mycroft's. "You could be so much more. Those rules are for the insects, the sheep. The stupid, dull masses, those so much less intelligent than you or I," he breathed. He paused, touching Mycroft's face very softly; it was almost childlike, watching him explore his brother's features.
"They are made to protect people Sherlock," Mycroft said gently, almost sadly. His brother had never understood how all of this worked. "To keep them safe."
"No, brother mine. They are made to trap them," Sherlock responded icily. "They are made to make people think stupid, idle thoughts, inside imagined boxes."
"You are brilliant, Sherlock," Mycroft told him, listening to his brother's ranting. "Stop this now, and we will both come away from it, I promise, I'll visit. I'll help however I can…"
"Will you fuck me? Will you love me?" Sherlock said, the last few words sounding constricted in his throat. Mycroft paused, looking at the man.
"Oh, Sherlock. I can't…"
Sherlock snarled in vicious anger, fingers digging into Mycroft's chest. "Let's see how you feel in half an hour," he said, tone vitriolic, shuffling down his brother's body, moving his head down to Mycroft's semi-erect member.
"Sherlock. Don't do this. Please, oh good god!" Mycroft moaned as his brother took the head of his cock into his mouth, tongue lapping at the slit. Hands busy, he massaged the underside of his length, cupping Mycroft's balls and tugging gently. He glanced up at Mycroft, whose head was straining to capture whatever Sherlock was doing.
A second later he swallowed the man to the base, relaxing his gag reflex and swallowing around him. It was too much; Mycroft moaned as he felt Sherlock's hand pumping his base as his lips moved higher, tongue tracing the underside of his shaft. He was licking at the head once more, tasting the pre-cum that was beginning to spill.
"You taste wonderful brother," Sherlock commented, locking eyes with Mycroft, just as they had done years ago. "So very... sweet."
Mycroft gave a strangled gasp as Sherlock set upon him again, his fists clenching convulsively. It was a fucking good blow job, and it had been nearly a year since Mycroft's last proper encounter. The fact that it was Sherlock too; a forbidden fruit, the ultimate treasure, the focus of so many imaginings. He couldn't hold out much longer, hips begin to stutter upwards, seeking more, seeking release. Sherlock noticed and pulled away, eliciting a hiss from Mycroft.
"Don't worry, you'll cum soon brother, I promise you," Sherlock smirked, seeming a little more satisfied.
He undressed slowly, the tight shirt and trousers falling to the ground and exposing inch by inch more of his marble-like skin. Mycroft marvelled at him, too distracted even to care about the crumpled state of the clearly expensive suit on the floor.
Sherlock moved to a side table, returning with a bottle of lubricant which he popped open, creaking his neck to one side. He ensured he had Mycroft's full attention as he coated three fingers, reaching behind him to press one slick digit against his arse.
Mycroft groaned as he watched his brother prepare himself, slipping a finger in and out of his own body, moaning as he hit his own prostate. It was so beautiful and so very, very wrong. Oh, he had dreamed of this, taking his little brother this way, fucking him against a wall, over his desk. Now his dreams were realised while he was bound and aching in the cellar of some idiot's house.
Sherlock slipped in a second finger, was now riding them with vigour, fast and hard, as Mycroft had imagined he would. His erection was straining, begging for release. A third finger and Mycroft couldn't stop his own hips rutting upwards. Sherlock watched, enjoying Mycroft's frustration.
After what seemed like hours he finished, pulling his fingers out of himself and positioning himself over Mycroft's member. Mycroft gasped as Sherlock lowered his body down, the tip of his erection pressing against Sherlock's hole. Suddenly he was inside, Sherlock pushed down, all the way down, crying out in a delirious mixture of pain and pleasure, until Mycroft was buried balls deep within him.
"Christ, you're tight," Mycroft moaned, as Sherlock took a second to adjust, shifting his hips, making Mycroft moan.
"Well. I never wanted anyone else, did I?" Sherlock replied sarcastically. Mycroft's eyes widened; this was Sherlock's first time? He was so well prepared, so confident, so entirely unlike somebody who was doing this for the first time. "How could anyone ever bloody compare after you!" Sherlock hissed angrily. Mycroft could only nod in agreement as he felt Sherlock move against him.
"Just relax, take it slowly, I do not wish to hurt…" Mycroft began, somehow forgetting that this was Sherlock's game. He had started to ride him, adjusting his own angle. "Slow down Sherlock," Mycroft said, though entirely for Sherlock's benefit. It had been years since he had fucked someone like this, hard and rough. It was what he craved, what he needed.
Sherlock was giving him everything, groaning as Mycroft began to thrust up and into him. They were moving in tandem now, both making more noise than either would care to admit to. Occasionally Mycroft felt the tell-tale shudder when he hit Sherlock's prostate. That was the aim, make it good, make it good for both of them.
Mycroft came first, spilling inside Sherlock's arse. He collapsed against the bed, sweaty and spent, wrists chafed painfully against the cuffs. Sherlock, however, was still going; he pulled himself off Mycroft's softening member and moved upwards, straddling the man's face.
One hand pulled on his short auburn hair, making Mycroft open for him. Mycroft did so with only a shadow of sad reluctance, considering all this could have been, how perfect this encounter could have been.
Sherlock pushed into him with a groan; Mycroft's tongue worked against him, sucking, Sherlock pushing repeatedly, sliding deeper, Mycroft choking around him, brutally fucking his mouth until he came. Mycroft swallowed despite himself, cum dribbling down his chin.
The younger Holmes fell back, exhausted. Mycroft too was panting, unable to believe what had just occurred, his body sated and mind working too much, too fast, too frantically.
After a few moments Sherlock stood, reaching for his clothes.
"Society is for idiots, brother, slaves of convention," Sherlock told him, voice a little hoarse. "I will be keeping you here until you learn that lesson, one way or another."
Mycroft looked up sharply; Sherlock was not intending to release him, then. He would be kept, owned, by his younger brother.
"Oh and one more thing," Sherlock drawled, moving over to Mycroft, kissing him for the first time that day, Mycroft's eyes still vaguely wide with panic. "Jim Moriarty sends his regards."
Thanks again for reading, as always feedback is adored!