Some Mystrade to lighten things up. And we all love a bit of Mystrade.
Dominant!Mycroft
Warnings: Contains slash.
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC. I only own this plot.
Mycroft closed the hotel room door with a sigh and leaned his forehead against it. He was clearly shaken after what happened, but there was also a hint of relief on his face. He didn't look as impeccable as he usually did; his suit was askew, hair sticking up ever so slightly and his umbrella tie pulled loose.
"God, Greg. I'm getting too old for this." The elder Holmes brother peeled away from the door and slumped onto his bed, rubbing his face with dainty hands.
"Nonsense. You were brilliant tonight." Lestrade took off his jacket and switched on the small cable T.V before settling onto the bed beside Mycroft. "And look at the bright side – Sherlock has John looking after him."
"True. That doctor really changed my brother in the best of ways. You're right, I should stop worrying. It's just… he's my baby brother you know? It was always my responsibility to look after him. I even made a promise to Mummy." Mycroft heaved a sigh and let his body go slack on the bed.
"I know, Mycroft. You're a wonderful brother, but you trust John with Sherlock's life don't you? He's saved him more than once." Mycroft offered Lestrade a smile and kissed his forehead. The DI tried not to sigh because it was always this way; stolen kisses in their offices, sneaky hand holding in Mycroft's car or little pleasures on the very rare occasion.
Reaching over to his weekend-bag, the DI pulled out a tube of hand cream and began to rub a pea-sized amount onto his calloused hands. Mycroft raised an eyebrow.
"Hand cream?" He took a little sniff. "Scented hand cream! Greg, you're not turning into a woman on me are you?" Lestrade snorted and put the tube away, still rubbing the coconut scented cream into his hands.
"I have delicate skin. My hands go through the wars if they're not kept moisturized." He turned to face Mycroft. "Problem dear?"
Mycroft rolled his eyes and prodded Lestrade playfully before switching the T.V channel to a murder-most-foul FBI case. Lestrade groaned and snatched the remote out of his lover's hands. "No. I've seen enough murder cases to last me a lifetime. How about something a bit mellower?"
"What, a programme about animal clinics or sunset romances?" Mycroft snorted when the former actually did appear on screen. Not that he really cared what they watched; he was too worn from the night's events that Barney the bloody dinosaur would cheer him up at the present time.
About fifteen minutes into the programme Lestrade got bored. They had been holding hands on the bed, fingers entwined and giving little squeezes every now and again. Without warning, Lestrade rolled over, took Mycroft's other hand and pinned the elder Holmes brother to the bed as he straddled him.
"Wha- Well that was unexpected, Gregory. A bit wired tonight are we?" Mycroft looked surprised but smirked anyway. He was answered with a soft kiss, tongues dancing and the DI's body pushing at dangerous proximity against his own.
"Mycroft…" Lestrade broke the kiss and just stared down at Mycroft before pulling back altogether and resuming his previous position. "Sorry, I was being hasty."
"Sorry? Why are you sorry?" Mycroft had now pushed himself onto his elbows to look over at Lestrade, who seemed to be blushing. It looked rather… handsome on the DI's cheeks. "I certainly wouldn't be sorry…" Mycroft leaned over and his hand started to undo the first few buttons of Lestrade's shirt.
The DI smiled and sat up, undoing the rest of his buttons by himself. Mycroft did the same and soon enough both shirts were tossed somewhere across the room. Mycroft reached out and gave Lestrade a kiss, shifting so he was pushed right next to him.
"W-wait. Who's going to be on top?" Lestrade sat up for a second and tried to establish dominance by once again leaning over Mycroft. "I am a man of power after all."
Mycroft chuckled and his legs moved to wrap around Lestrade's waist. He had incredible strength and in a matter of seconds Lestrade was being pinned down. "Oh, but not as much as I do, detective inspector." Smirking, he let his hand trail down the DI's chest and to his belt. That was swiftly removed, followed by Mycroft's and those were kicked off the side of the bed. The elder Holmes hand slipped into his lover's underwear to tease the growing length beneath. Lestrade let out a breath at the feel of those dainty hands around him.
"Oh, god." Lestrade let his eyes close when Mycroft began to stroke upwards. That proved to be hard the less space there was, so Lestrade's maroon coloured underwear was quickly yanked off and thrown carelessly to god knows where in the hotel room. Mycroft resumed his stroking, slow and firm around Lestrade's length.
When Lestrade tipped his head back, Mycroft took that chance to attack his neck. Lestrade let out a deep, relieved moan, shuddering and trying not to arch his back. The elder Holmes brother chuckled into Lestrade's neck, not letting his strokes speed up even with the DI shuddering under him. His fingers eventually loosened and he let his hand drift away, ghosting up his lover's chest.
"Well, this isn't going to go anywhere very quickly. Where did you put that hand cream you had, Gregory? I'll admit I wasn't expecting things to take this turn when I came looking for Sherlock, so I haven't packed anything."
"On the… The locker." Lestrade took a breath and reached over. That gave Mycroft enough time to rid himself of underwear and wait patiently for the hand cream. He received it with a wink to Lestrade and squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers. His free hand trailed up Lestrade's inner thigh, caressing the skin. The hand cream was sort of cold, and so when Mycroft teased the taut ring of muscle with his forefinger, the DI gasped.
Chuckling, Mycroft pressed his finger forward slowly, being encased by glorious tight heat. It was hard to move around, but eventually he found enough space to push slowly in and out. "Goodness Greg. You're tighter than I realised."
"Well what do- Oh! - You expect? I don't go round... Ngh… shagging every night of the week."
"I should certainly hope not." Mycroft snorted and added another finger. This time it made Lestrade gasp again and his back arched slightly. Mycroft set about a rhythm; scissoring, pushing, Crooking. It was all making Lestrade moan and groan and writhe under him. "Greg, your leg."
Lestrade took the hint and slung one of his legs over Mycroft's shoulder. That gave Mycroft the perfect angle to crook his fingers just so until he was practically caressing the older male's prostate. Lestrade moaned and arched his back up.
"Jesus, Mycroft! Now!"
"Wie du sagst, mon cherie." Trust a Holmes to start speaking two languages at a time like this. And with impeccable accents too. Mycroft removed his fingers and let Lestrade's leg fall back to the bed. He took the hand cream and lathered a generous amount onto his own hard member. Spreading the DI's legs, Mycroft lined himself up.
He pushed in, letting the heat consume him once more. He closed his eyes and settled into a comfortable position. Lestrade could easily tell the difference between two fingers and what was currently inside him now. He let out a sharp breath and tried to relax his body. But his hips betrayed him and rolled up as Mycroft pulled out. They set about a nice steady pace and with every thrust Mycroft made, the DI would make a new noise. It was like music to Mycroft's ears.
As he did one thing to Lestrade, his mouth simply ached to do another. Leaning down, he let his lips and tongue tease his lover's taut nipple. Both those pleasures combined turned Lestrade into a writhing, moaning mess, sounding out the first syllable of Mycroft's name plus a string of four lettered curses.
Perspiration made their skin damp as Mycroft's steady thrusts quickened considerably, and he pulled his lips away from Lestrade's chest. The elder Holmes brother groaned low and deep with every thrust. Lestrade let his legs wrap around Mycroft's hips, lock into place, and switch their positions so he was riding out the younger male. Mycroft landed with a sound of surprise, but he was set quickly back into focus when Lestrade moved his hips around, hands splayed out on the younger man's stomach.
"Greg, I'm not going to last very lon- Ah!-"Mycroft bucked his hips up and his hands grabbed at Lestrade's hips. Whatever movement they made at that particularly point, it pleased both of them to the point of yelling.
"M-Mycroft…" Lestrade's head tipped back and he began to pant, hips rolling forward. "Ngh- Ah!" Lestrade felt Mycroft's nails dig into the skin of his hips and they came at the same time, the elder Holmes brother letting out a cry of his own. The DI could swear he saw stars; it had been so long and it felt so fantastically relieving.
Collapsing onto his lover's chest, Lestrade's eyes closed and he took a minute to get his breath back. Mycroft's hips and back settled fully down on the bed, hands moving to card through Lestrade's silver-grey hair. They stayed like that for a while, listening half minded to the drone of the T.V in the background. Mycroft finally broke the silence.
"We should probably get out of this current position before falling asleep, Greg." With that, he gently rolled the DI off him and removed himself. Lestrade moaned lightly at the loss of Mycroft inside him. Mycroft reached over his lover and reached for an embroidered handkerchief with M.H in fanciful golden script. He cleaned the both of them off, tossed the handkerchief aside and pulled the light covers over both of their bodies.
"Turn off the T.V, Mycroft…" Lestrade yawned and snuggled closer to Mycroft. Humming in agreement, the elder Holmes brother turned off the T.V and shimmied down in the bed so he could hold Lestrade. And that's how they fell asleep, dead to the rest of the world except each other.
Speaking German and French during sex. As you do, naturally.
Some fluffy smut to relieve the mood of this fiction. Drop a review if you like.