Greg was three steps from the edge, trying his best not to be that guy who gets two pumps in and then loses himself.
Hearing Mycroft underneath him, moaning, begging... it made that edge even closer.
His hands fisted tighter into the sheets, focusing on the feel of the sheets against his palms to counteract, if even a little, the enormous pleasure that was racing down his spine at the moment. He wanted to thrust, to push, to claim.
He wanted Mycroft, wanted to brand himself into the man's skin. It was stupid but he wanted to know that when Mycroft went to work tomorrow, sat down at his desk, he'd remember Greg and this night. That the memory of this would linger in the man's mind - if he did indeed have a mind palace like Sherlock - that this night would have it's own special room.
Mycroft lifted his head, catching Greg's mouth with his own; hot, needy, possessive, and Greg's hips jerked on their own accord, sliding home, filling him.
A hand left the sheets, cupping Mycroft's neck, resting there, the feel of skin against his palm reminding him that yes, he was here and this was happening.
He wanted this to last for hours. He wanted this again and again and with a shooting flash of clarity Greg realized,
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30/11/18 22:05 (UTC)Hearing Mycroft underneath him, moaning, begging... it made that edge even closer.
His hands fisted tighter into the sheets, focusing on the feel of the sheets against his palms to counteract, if even a little, the enormous pleasure that was racing down his spine at the moment. He wanted to thrust, to push, to claim.
He wanted Mycroft, wanted to brand himself into the man's skin. It was stupid but he wanted to know that when Mycroft went to work tomorrow, sat down at his desk, he'd remember Greg and this night. That the memory of this would linger in the man's mind - if he did indeed have a mind palace like Sherlock - that this night would have it's own special room.
Mycroft lifted his head, catching Greg's mouth with his own; hot, needy, possessive, and Greg's hips jerked on their own accord, sliding home, filling him.
A hand left the sheets, cupping Mycroft's neck, resting there, the feel of skin against his palm reminding him that yes, he was here and this was happening.
He wanted this to last for hours. He wanted this again and again and with a shooting flash of clarity Greg realized,
this might be home.
That edge inched closer.