Greg LeStrade bit down hard on Mycroft's shoulder, letting the glorious blood tickle his tongue. He felt Mycroft push against him harder and watched as he threw his head back, revealing the long, tempting neck. He scraped his teeth gently along the sensitive expanse of pale skin, feeling Mycroft's arousal growing under him. Feeling and tasting the lust building in the man he was currently sitting astride.
Bedding Mycroft had been something of a revelation to Gregory LeStrade. The man was absolute propriety itself normally. Even when he was craving blood he managed to control himself with an iron will. Greg knew from experience that was not an easy thing to do. But once the curtains were securely drawn and the door was safely locked against the prying eyes of the world, Mycroft Holmes became something else.
Passionate did not even come close to it.
The layers of Control and Ice and Order and Calm fell away until the real Mycroft was revealed. The Mycroft that Greg knew he had not created, but had liberated from its Saville Row prison. The Mycroft currently angling upwards to penetrate Greg's arse and ride him into oblivion. The Mycroft currently sinking sharp teeth into Greg's chest and sucking blood from around his nipple.
Greg raked his teeth along his lover's broad shoulders, relishing the taste, the smell, the feel of him. Feeling the hot, hard silk forcing its way inside him, filling him and pushing him. Pain and pleasure together in one inseparable moment.
"Mycroft!" There was no reply. The mouth still occupied with wet nursing Greg's blood, but the powerful thrust said more than any words. It said I am yours and you are mine. Blood of my blood. Flesh of my flesh. Forever and ever. And death won't part us.
It was not supposed to be like this. Even La Neige had never seen anything like it before, and he was older than the dirt they had built Carthage on. There was not supposed to be this intensity of feeling. This unending passion. There was nothing in recorded history comparable to what Greg had found in Mycroft Holmes.
But then there was nothing in recorded history like Mycroft Holmes.
"Gregory!" Mycroft had tears in his eyes. Greg felt his shuddering completion flooding him. Greg felt his own orgasm approaching like an avalanche and was powerless to do anything but be still and let it smash over him.
They lay in the darkness, Greg stroking the soft hair on Mycroft's chest. Nothing could ruin their happiness. Surely?
"Sherlock broke in to a secure research facility today. Pretending to be me. What is the legal position on fratricide?"
"In your case, justifiable. Where was John Watson?"
"Breaking in to the secure facility with my brother. Both as bad as each other. Both of them need a babysitter!" Mycroft sighed and relaxed into Greg's embrace.
There was no one in recorded history like Sherlock Holmes either.