There was something deeply satisfying about being able to get someone like Gregory Lestrade to the point of sexual inebriation that he was basically just moaning and rutting one's leg, like a rather attractive cocker spaniel. Not that Mycroft would ever sleep with a canine, but he felt it was apt that someone who could seem so utterly blaise about everything the Holmes brothers did and still called them on their malarky, would be so utterly undone by Mycroft's naked body.
It was quite flattering, all things told, and Mycroft promised himself that he was going to suck Gregory's brains out through his cock for such wonderful complimentary feelings. As it was, he could feel himself arching up into Gregory's body again, just to get a little relief, to get Gregory's hand to slide down him more freely. He knew he was already going to have some self-lubrication - he was far too sexually aroused himself not to.
He hummed with purring pleasure as Gregory''s mouth moved down his skin, sending up a path of sensory data of the most delicious variety, and then ... that tongue. That blessed, perfect, tongue. Mycroft could write entire reports about the sensual slide of Gregory Lestrade's tongue. He might, if he was feeling whimsical.
The comment, though, deserved to be answered, "...Gregory, you are not allowed to expire from sexual gratification before I am able to gratify you. Throughly." He tugged on the other man's hair, his voice low and rough, "That is an order. I have promised to ...ah, yes, good ... I have promised to thoroughly taste you and I cannot do that if you succumb to your own demise. Must I be less appealing?"
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It was quite flattering, all things told, and Mycroft promised himself that he was going to suck Gregory's brains out through his cock for such wonderful complimentary feelings. As it was, he could feel himself arching up into Gregory's body again, just to get a little relief, to get Gregory's hand to slide down him more freely. He knew he was already going to have some self-lubrication - he was far too sexually aroused himself not to.
He hummed with purring pleasure as Gregory''s mouth moved down his skin, sending up a path of sensory data of the most delicious variety, and then ... that tongue. That blessed, perfect, tongue. Mycroft could write entire reports about the sensual slide of Gregory Lestrade's tongue. He might, if he was feeling whimsical.
The comment, though, deserved to be answered, "...Gregory, you are not allowed to expire from sexual gratification before I am able to gratify you. Throughly." He tugged on the other man's hair, his voice low and rough, "That is an order. I have promised to ...ah, yes, good ... I have promised to thoroughly taste you and I cannot do that if you succumb to your own demise. Must I be less appealing?"