The Case of the Cuddle Chapter 15
Hello my lovelies! Thank you again for all your wonderful reviews. I am so glad you like my Mystrade. I have to admit to having a few nerves about it, as its not something I'm used to doing, so you have reassured me beautifully. And remember, more reviews, more smut... So anyway, here it is, the bonking you have all been waiting for.
Warning: Men going at it. It does what it says on the tin.
Disclaimer: I don't think I mentioned it, but I don't own this stuff, or achieve any revenue from it. You have to say it somewhere, don't you?
The white leather squeaked. Mycroft was on his back, mostly naked now, and Greg had settled between his legs, rutting hungrily as they kissed.
His head was spinning. Greg had imagined making love to Mycroft so often, but he had never really believed it would happen. And now, so quickly, here they were, and it was way beyond anything he could ever have dreamed up. Greg had expected, for example, that Mycroft would have the same build as Sherlock, bones like knives under his skin, pale and hairless and slender. By Mycroft was not like that at all.
He was, for want of a better word, beefy. Muscular. Solid. He had a broad chest covered with a thick growth of wiry red hair, a pelt that seemed to cover his belly and back too.
There was not an ounce of spare flesh on him. Under that impeccable Saville Row tailoring, he was strong and weighty. He would have made two of even Greg's slightly overweight frame.
His skin had a satisfying rosy tone, and was covered with freckles. He seemed to love having his neck kissed –
'No visible marks, please,' he panted as Greg grazed his teeth along his throat.
Now, stripped to the waist and pliant in Greg's arms, he was moaning with need. Greg knelt up between his legs and went to remove his jacket, but Mycroft reached out a hand to stay him.
'No,' he breathed. 'You stay dressed.'
'Mmmm,' Greg grinned. 'Kinky, eh? That's fine with me.'
He pulled off his tie though. Just for comfort's sake.
'I want you naked,' he growled.
Mycroft sat up and gripped Greg's belt buckle. He looked up into his eyes as he started to unfasten it, then unzipped and slid his hand inside Greg's fly.
Greg groaned.
Long, sensitive fingers gripped him, stroked him. His cock strained against the cotton of his boxers for more friction.
'Fuck me,' Mycroft whispered, massaging.
'Babe, I'm going to fuck you so hard your teeth will rattle,' he panted.
Mycroft moaned and lay back on the couch, lifting his hips. Greg slid his hands under that substantial backside and tugged Mycroft's expensive trousers and pants down in one go. He dropped them on the carpet. Socks followed.
Greg stared at the man laid out under him. Mycroft had flopped one leg over the back of the sofa, spreading his thighs in invitation. His erection dripped glossy beads into the tangle of ginger hairs on his belly. It was broad, circumcised and a little longer than Greg's. He couldn't help licking his lips as he looked down at it.
'You're cut,' he said.
'Family tradition,' Mycroft said, which was probably more than Greg really wanted to know. He didn't want the concept of Sherlock's cock popping into his head right now, when he was about to roger his brother senseless. Never the less, there it was, bright pink and perky behind his eyes. He had to blink hard to eradicate it. It didn't work. Oh well, only one way to tackle that then.
He went down on Mycroft.
The spy did not seem to have been expecting it. He cried out, and arched his back with pleasure as Greg sucked his prick between his lips with an indulgent moan. It was beyond delicious. How many times had he imagined doing this, alone in his tatty little flat fisting his own cock in a seedy, lonely sweat? And now finally he had Mycroft's succulent length in his mouth. He let the glans pop out between his lips and then massaged it with them, spreading the tiny flood of precome over the naked purple crown. He licked Mycroft's slit with the tip of his tongue, eliciting a lavish groan. He kissed the entire shaft, revelling in the salty flavours, and rich, heady scents, buried his face in the thick crop of dark red curls at the base, and inhaled. Then took him deep again, sliding his head up and down as he worked his magic.
And when he was satisfied that Mycroft was panting and trembling enough, he began to work his way back, licking and sucking at his balls, then tickling his perineum with his tongue, so that the taller man squirmed against the leather upholstery, his perspiration making obscene squeaks. Mycroft tilted his pelvis up, pressing down with the leg that was hooked over the back of the couch to support himself, so that he could offer Greg better access for what they both wanted.
Greg searched with a fingertip until he found it, the pink pucker of Mycroft's hole. The first slight stroke brought a gasp and a shudder of pleasure.
'Good?' Greg asked him, caressing.
'So good,' Mycroft breathed. He twisted himself up, bending almost double as he strained towards Greg's hand.
Greg decided to take the plunge. He buried his face between Mycroft's cheeks and licked and sucked and probed to his heart's content. The taut ring of muscle quickly softened under his ministrations. He had no idea whether Mycroft had had the chance to wash or prepare in any way for their encounter, but he was amazed that the sweetness of his taste there, a kind of rich, earthy flavour that made him think of mince pies and Christmas cake. Wreathed in cinnamon and nutmeg though he was, there was something about Mycroft that was so irredeemably male that made Greg so hard it hurt. He couldn't help himself any longer. He had to have him.
He struggled upright, wanting desperately to rip off this stupid cheap suit, but Mycroft had begged him to keep it on. He pulled his own cock clear of his trousers and worked some spittle into its crown, agonising at the sensitivity there. It was going to take everything he had not to come immediately.
'Ready?' he asked Mycroft.
The younger man's eyes sparkled. 'Ready,' he panted.
Lining himself up, he pressed the crown against Mycroft's hole, and then eased forward.
Mycroft let out a blissful moan.
Greg was determined to go slowly, but every inch of that tight arse was a heaven beyond anything he had ever experienced.
'I don't think I can-' he struggled.
'Fuck me, then,' Mycroft begged. 'Fuck me hard!' He reached up above his head with both hands and grabbed onto the metal frame of the sofa as Greg ploughed into him. His elegant lips parted and he began to keen, a deep note punctuated by a grunt at each thrust. He took every inch without complaint, though Greg was sure that, at least to begin with, it must have hurt. He was pumping into that voluptuous body so lustily that the whole couch was rocking, but he didn't care. Neither of them cared.
'Harder!' Mycroft wailed. 'Fuck me harder!'
Greg gritted his teeth, fighting the tension that was coiling ever tighter in the pit of his belly and loins.
'Yes,' he growled. 'Yes!'
There was something electrifying about not feeling Mycroft's hairy skin against his own, something erotically charged about being clothed when his lover was not. He could see the attraction now. Mycroft needed release not only sexually, but mentally. He needed to let someone else take control for a change. And that was okay with Greg. It made Mycroft seem more human, gave him a vulnerability under that austere carapace of detachment.
As he pounded into him, Greg watched every synapse of Mycroft's incredible brain systematically shutting down, until all that was working was the animal, the hindbrain, the part of him that wanted, needed, this crazed rutting. It made little dazzling thrills break out all over Greg's own body, seeing this magnificent man in the grip of such desire. He could feel the rush of orgasm coming, his eyes becoming clouded, his skin singing, the muscles within his pelvis beginning their tremors. He tried, but he knew he couldn't hold out anymore.
As if he knew how close his lover was, Mycroft arched his back again, wailed, and loosed a cascade of milky come across his own tousled belly, kicking and writhing like a dervish. The noise he let out was beyond definition, a fiendishly erotic sound that gripped Greg's spinal cord and wrenched it, and set ice and fire exploding between his legs.
He let out a roar. And came. Mycroft howled as Greg's release scalded his insides with ecstasy.
For a moment, there was nothing but the heavenly spasms of pleasure.
And then Greg became aware that he had collapsed onto Mycroft's body and was lying there, inert. He lifted his head, woozy.
Mycroft was still clinging onto the metal frame of the couch. He was dripping with sweat.
'Fuck,' he gasped.
And Greg laughed.
'I don't think I can let go,' Mycroft said, looking a little embarrassed. Greg reached up and helped him, gently peeling the cramped fingers away.
'I'm sorry,' Mycroft told him. 'It's been a long time. I'm not used to feeling that out of control.'
Greg let his hand flutter over the spy's chest. 'I hope it wasn't a bad feeling.'
'It was incredible,' Mycroft whispered, pulling the inspector against him. 'Kiss me?'
And Greg did.
The next morning saw a flurry of text messages to and from Greg's phone.
So, did you fuck him? S
Mind your own business, you gossip-gobbler, G.
I'll take that as a yes then, S.
You may think that, I couldn't possibly comment. G.
You have obviously imbibed his attitude along with his semen. S
That's gross. G
Which bit? S
The attitude. The semen was very nice, thank you. Not that I told you anything. G
Not a word passed your lips. They were probably too busy with other things. S
Sherlock, stop badgering my lover for prurient details, Mycroft Holmes.
Mycroft, So he's good in bed then? S
Exemplary. But you never heard it from me. M
M, knowing you, the whole of London heard it from you. S
Jealous brat, M
And then a pause, followed by:
RUOK? Mycroft.
Fantastic. Suit's ruined tho. You? Greg
I'll buy you another one. I am fine. Still tingling with you, Myc.
And a moment later:
Greg, we need to do it on the rug. Come tonight, Myc.
Myc, the rug, the chairs, the table, the balcony, the sink, the washing machine, the kitchen counters (all of them), the shower, the bath, the credenza (whatever that is), the coffee table. Oh, and the bed would be good too. 7pm okay with you? G
Tomorrow, back with John and Sherlock, and an unexpected invitation…