brotherthine | For Mousie - Anticipation of Pleasure

For Mousie - Anticipation of Pleasure

Mycroft had arranged entire countries over the course of a few days, but he never felt the thrill of pleasure and anticipation that came from clearing his Tuesday evening to meet with Gregory Lestrade. He had done a solid eight hours of work on Sunday, going through emails, red-lettering reports, writing five of his own. Monday he went in and told Anthea precisely what he needed over the next forty-eight hours, and like the miracle that she was, she made sure his schedule ran like clock-work.

With sandwiches, salad, tea and a review on the Government's policy for romantic engagements and privacy disclaimers, no less. Not to mention not one, but two cigarette breaks.

He bought her a new holster for her slinky-dress .22, and made sure she had tickets to the ballet that she had been dying to see. It was the very least he could do considering he was getting precisely what he wanted.

...well, mostly what he wanted. Tuesday night was rolling around towards 8 pm, and he was slowly considering calling in favors to have President Donald Trump and his entire staff of idiots bombed out of existence by some very disgruntled Canadians. Instead, he checked the timer on his lasagna, made sure that his salad was freshly cut, and then proceeded to give a Trump a blistering review of his entire life than left everyone in the Oval Office silent for some time, before someone croaked, 'You can't possibly know all that -'

Which was the point that Mycroft sucked in a breath, heard the ring of the doorbell and went to pull open the door and gesture Gregory inside without a backwards glance. It was unfortunate, but all of his focus now had to go into the next two minutes so he could finish this deal and have the rest of his evening.

"I could so possibly. I could possibly ruin every last one of you sniveling idiots with a stroke of my pen and my whisper in the ear of any of the many, many American publications. I know it all, gentlemen and ladies. I know about the bought sex. I know about the wire transfers. I most definitely know about the abortions that would politically cripple all of you within your own party. I also know that the last time a fascist leader tried to pull this sort of threat to the British Government, the British Government did not budge an inch. Neither, gentlemen, will I. Sign the agreement. Smile for the cameras. Or be prepared to be on the front of every newspaper in the world, and in jail within the next eighteen months. Good. Night."

He clicked off his phone, and exhaled, rubbing one hand over his face. "My apologies - the new American President is unfortunately as thick as a post. I also meant to go and put my suit coat back on from the kitchen but that did not occur either."

So here he was in his favorite dark grey suit - or at least most of it. Comfortable trousers, deep blue tie, and he had at least shaven today. Otherwise, he knew he still had his persona of the British Government up and running, so he took another breath so he could finally look properly at Gregory, and soak in the other man's charm and warmth, as well as peer to see what the other man was flaunting with his broad shoulders.

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The kiss was...

It was indescribable.

No matter what Greg had just done, how intimate they'd just been, the kiss was so much more intimate than he could deal with at the moment.

All he wanted, aching cock or no, was to curl up next to this man and let him sooth him to sleep. He wanted the comfort this kiss promised, this moment of just being themselves without the remainder of the world knowing or caring.

But it wasn't time for that. Not now, if Mycroft's low tones had any say. His words reminded his own cock that it was wanting.

Greg frowned almost uncomprehending. He'd been promised that if he was good then he could have Mycroft.

He still wanted that, wanted to fill him up, to feel that tightness around himself. To lose himself in Mycroft Holmes.

For a moment he regretted making the other man come with his mouth, because watching him come while he fucked him would have been so damn satisfying.

His hips rutted once against Mycroft's hips as if in response to the man's question.

"Need you." he answered, almost with a needy sigh, his hand reaching up to stroke Mycroft's chest. "Need to be in you. You said that's how you wanted me."

I need you like that. Please say yes.

If one could exude the need to be held, to be loved, it would be Gregory Lestrade. Mycroft could feel it in the soft way that Gregory touched him, the way he closed his eyes during their kiss. Mycroft could imagine he could touch the scars left by his ex-wife in this brilliant man, bright and ugly red marks carved over his soul that made him crave something as simple as touch.

Honestly he was going to deport her to Australia.

He cupped his hand around Gregory's cheek, sliding his fingers up into that now sex-mussed silver hair that truth be told, drove him insane with lust. Silver-haired fox, indeed. He drew Gregory down again, savoring another kiss while he whispered into Gregory's mouth.

"I would very much like, Inspector, for you to press me down into this mattress as you come inside of me so hard we both see galaxies behind our eyelids. So yes, I want you ... and I want you right now."

"Fuck."

The word hissed from Greg's mouth, his cock standing at attention at Mycroft's words. That second kiss had been just so...

He felt...safe. Safe enough to play these little games without retribution or contempt. Safe enough to have a bit of innuendo or dirty talk in the bedroom without the fear of repercussions. Hell, maybe later on, safe enough to laugh in the bedroom without worrying that the laughter was directed at him or misconstrued.

Safe enough to do what he was about to do. Which was, hopefully, turn Mycroft on just a bit more.

Blindly, he felt around the bed until his hand fell upon the bottle of lube laying right where his head had been, right beside Mycroft's hip.

"Fuck." he repeated in a whisper, pressing his head against Mycroft's sternum for just a brief moment, savoring that one brief moment where he felt...something. His heart beat hard against his chest once, before settling.

He glance up at the man with a gleam in his eye, hint of mischievousness on his lips.

Not breaking eye contact, he straightened, just enough that he was kneeling over Mycroft. He popped the lid and poured a bit of lube in his hand.
Dropping the small bottle between his legs, he rubbed his hands together and slowly, teasingly, began stroking himself, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock as he kept Mycroft's gaze.

"I live to serve, Sir" he answered, his tone promising to do just what Mycroft had ordered and more.

Mycroft breathed out as his light blue eyes slipped down to where Gregory was sliding his hand up and down his own cock. He exhaled deeply and heavily, siding his gaze upward Gregory's body. He could not help himself - he reached out to touch all those muscles, that olive tinted skin that was just begging to be touched. He hummed again, as he tipped his head up again to meet that merry, dark gaze.

"Darling Inspector, I have total faith in your ability to serve me." He exhaled deeply, feeling that through every inch of his naked body. Good lord, he had not had a decent refractory time since he was a young man and had first discovered sex. Still, he had it on good personal authority that it might just happen again, watching Gregory Lestrade prepare himself. It wasn't normally so warm in his bedroom, so he had to imagine all this sweat was merely coming from the pool of heated blood in his stomach, contracting his veins pleasantly with anticipation.

"However, I must warn you, if you do not hurry up, I may take matters in hand for the next round of things."

Christ, those fingers. Firm and sliding over his abdomen.

It was everything he could do to not groan aloud at the touch.
And those eyes, sliding seductively up his body as if he wanted to devour him.

Greg wanted to be devoured. But not quite yet. He allowed one more stroke of his cock before his hands slid over Mycroft's legs, sliding them upward, folding them towards his body.

"We can't have that," Greg said, his voice a soft rumble. Hands slid down warm thighs as he moved in closer, angling himself.

"Oh no, you ordered me to serve you," His voice was lower, raspy as he pressed at the entrance, warm, welcoming. Holding his cock, he steadily pressed, his other hand, gripping against the sheets beside Mycroft's shoulder. "Serve you I shall."

The feeling. Dear Lord the feeling. He moaned low, breathing harshly as he carefully pushed.

"Mycroft...oh Christ, Mycroft..." His head dropped, inches away from Mycroft's.

If you were to tell Mycroft Holmes, at any point in his rather interesting and frankly dangerous life, a life filled with ignorant people who thought power somehow made up for intelligence, where people used emotions as weapons ... that he would be this gloriously happy?

He would have had them shot.

All right, perhaps just imprisoned.

Either way, the one feeling that he could sort in his mind as Gregory Lestrade pushed his way inside of him, that slow and sensual push, was happiness. Lust followed right after it, with the moan trapped over Gregory's face, the look of sheer ecstasy as Gregory sheathed himself inside of Mycroft. I am never letting this go - I am never letting you go - you are mine, Gregory.

It was possessive, it was most likely insane because Gregory was not going to let himself be kept like an overly loved poodle ...but there it was. Mycroft would do whatever he had to do to keep his lover.

My lover. He stuttered out a moan, his voice a low register hum as he managed to get out, "Gre ... gregory ... good god, yes..."

And then by some measure of athleticism made only possible by hormones, he managed to cant his head up enough off the bed to take Gregory's mouth again. He was going to feel all of this in the morning.

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,

this might be home.

That edge inched closer.

Ah Gregory, if only you knew you already had your own country in the Memory Globe, you would not worry about whether or not Mycroft would remember this evening. Even now, as he was pinned to the bed, letting out hisses of pleasure and faint shock as he slipped all the way in as their mouths connected. He let out a sharp noise, his body falling back to the mattress, as he gave himself a moment relax - to get use to the press and feel of being completely filled.

So many years - too many years since he had felt this. Yet, he knew it would have been unwise to let himself have anything like this. Too vulnerable, too open. Yet he was safe here, the man above him would sooner set himself aflame than hurt him. You are with me now, and I shall not let you go.

He exhaled, sharp pants, before he finally looked up at Gregory, "... if you do not move ... I am going to grab your posterior ... and Make You."

That last part came out as the perfect level of frustrated and turned on growl.

With a delighted grin, Greg moved.

Sliding out slowly and thrusting back in.

"Like that?" he asked innocently, looking down at Mycroft, those normally ice eyes darkening even as he watched.

He moved again, pulling out and thrusting back inside, releasing the sheets with his other hand and using it to rest against Mycroft's thighs, opening him up a bit more to Greg's thrusts.

"Or like that?" he offered, moving steadily even as he spoke.

He kept the thrusts slow, achingly slow, alternating with the occasional quick sharp thrust, burying himself as deep as he could go.

"Tell me how you want it, Mycroft." Greg panted as he thrust into him once more. "Would you prefer me to fuck you slow or fuck you fast and hard?

Mycroft changed his mind, he was going to kill Gregory Lestrade. Or give him a really expensive car. He hadn't quite decided yet as the man slowly pumped into hi, and then moving in more steadily, before going shallow once more and then as deep as he could. Mycroft groaned, arching his back into the thrusts, lingering over each one of them as if he could somehow just keep Gregory's cock where it was by willpower alone.

Still, all he managed to get out was, "More ... like this but More ... god, please, Gregory ..." Fingers dug into Gregory's forearms, as Mycroft tried to move his body even more into the other man's, slapping their bodies together deliciously.

Mycroft's moans were an aphrodisiac, spurring Greg to move in a steadier pace, speed up a little faster, but still slow enough to prolong the exquisite torture for the both of them.

The small problem being that Greg wasn't sure how much longer he could torture himself like this. The urge to move, to thrust to fuck Mycroft into the bed was becoming more and more urgent.

The feel of him surrounding his cock, the warm, tight, Christ! achingly perfect feel of this was almost too much to bear.

His thrusts became faster, his breathing more ragged. Mycroft's fingers digging into his arm as if he could control the speed of which Greg thrust into him by just a twitch of his finger. Which to be honest, he probably could.

A long, low moan left his mouth as he pulled away, only to thrust in quicker once more. He back straightened and he slid a hand along one of Mycroft's thighs.

"Sorry...I'm sorry..." he panted. "You...you feel so good, I don't know...how much longer I can last. Don't wanna hurt you but-Christ!- I'm...I can't hold back."

There is absolutely no possible way I am not going to end up feeling every bit of this in the morning. Mycroft's breath was coming out in sharp pants and grunts, and low dragged out moans as Gregory's pace went slow, then fast, then slow again. Sped up with each round and he felt his balls start to tighten again as the other man hit that bundle of nerves right on.

He gasped as he dug his fingers in as Gregory's body slammed into his, before he huffed out a breath. He looked up at Gregory, before his mouth twitched, "Well ... if what you are looking for is permission to give me a proper rogering, my darling ... go on. Put your back into it."

Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck

That should not be so hot. Mycroft's brand of dirty talk should not make Greg want to "put his back into it" as he said.

But damn if Greg didn't want to do exactly that. Wanted to fuck him directly into the mattress. Mess these sheets up so much that he'd just have to toss them. Wanted to lock his hands with Mycroft's, hold them by his head and pound into him until he cried for release.

He was dizzy with lust, a carnal need to brand Mycroft as his.

Fingers gripped his thighs, pushing his knees up, holding them, opening him. He wasn't going to last long this way but bloody hell, what a way to go.

"Aye Sir," he growled, and began to move, fast and hard, the sound of smacking flesh and grunts filling the room as Greg did exactly what Mycroft commanded.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh. Mycroft Holmes was a genius. He was a genius who had just talked Gregory Lestrade into literally pounding him into the mattress. He sucked in a deep and hard breath before they all came out in exhalations, sharp pants that had him pressing his back down against the mattress. Gripping his hands into the sheets, ignoring the fact that he may or may not end up ripping them.

Besides, the besotted look on Gregory's face as he did all of this, lust mixed with adoration, and he knew he was probably mirroring it out. Which should fill him with a quick stab in his heart of panic -- but nothing. Just the quick pounding of blood in his veins and his own cock trying to get back into the party.

Ecstacy.

That's what he was feeling right now if he was forced to give a name to it, sheer and utter ecstasy.

And it couldn't last much longer.

Greg breath was labored now, hips snapping against skin. He could hear the rushing of his blood in his ears, the sounds of Mycroft's pants. Someone was moaning, he wasn't sure if that was him, Mycroft or the both of them.

The tingling sensation began in his spine, sliding down towards his lower back and to his groin. The slow spread that had him almost mindless, chasing it relentlessly. It felt good, this all felt good but the promise of something better was on the horizon, something only Mycroft could give him.

Greg's hands gripped at Mycroft's hips, leaning forward and using his body to push Mycroft's legs back a bit more, his hips already snapping quicker.

Little more.

Little more.

There... there

The pleasure rushed down his spine to his cock and back to the base of his spine so fast Greg didn't have time to prepare, he thought he still had some time but, nope, there it was.

"Myc...Mycroft...Guh!"

With a shout, Greg came still thrusting into Mycroft. Hands left his hips flailing and slapping against the mattress until one came in contact with other fingers.
He mindlessly held on to that hand, still in the throes of his orgasm, as if Mycroft was the only one who could save him.

Mycroft had never had someone lose their minds over him, before. He had to admit, it was something of a pure ego boost that he had not gotten outside of the Queen's direct praise. It might, in fact, still be coming up even.

He felt the throttle of another orgasm run through him, even if nothing came out it was still good enough to jerk him right after Gregory was finished.

Oh dear, these sheets would have to be changed. After he managed to get control of his limbs again. One hand went to Gregory's hair, and the other continued to squeeze the other man's hand as they both started to come down off the orgasm rush of hormones and blood surging away from the brain.

"...ah, gregory..." Was all he could manage to say, but he tried to pack as much feeling as he was capable of into those two words.

When the endorphin rush subsided and the white haze that filled his vision and brain had finally come back to actual colored shapes, Greg realized he was buried against the crook of Mycroft's neck, still breathing deeply as if he'd run a marathon.

There was a hand running through his hair, and his fingers were wrapped around the other hand. His face was wet.

Hell, that had never happened before. Get it together you ponce, nobody likes anyone who cries after sex.

Greg sucked in a deep breath, moving his face to rub it against the sheets before letting go of the hand, and rising up.

"Sorry, not exactly light." he muttered good-naturedly. "Let me just..."

He needed to move, slide out of Mycroft, wash up. After that was a blank.

One step at a time. He started with the obvious first.

Greg moved, sliding his now softening cock from Mycroft, half falling beside him, a leg still entangled with his, Greg's cheek resting against Mycroft's shoulder.

"Christ." Was all he managed to get out. There was a second step but right now, he couldn't be arsed to care too much about it.

Mycroft let out a sigh as Greg slipped out of him, before he put his hand back into that delightfully soft hair, a sharp yet satisfied smile curving over his lips. "No, but I will take praise, thank you ever so much. You were phenomenal, but I always had a deep suspicion you would be."

Everything inch of him felt both energized and at the same time, completely calm and content. He had never felt this way since ... since. Never. Never had he felt this boneless, this sated. He tipped his head down so he could kiss Gregory's cheek softly, "I think I shall keep you, all to myself."

He looked down the length of them, and then made a face. "After we have bathed."

A sharp laugh slipped out of Greg.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think we might need that."

He rolled onto his back looking lazily at Mycroft, smiling at the disgusted look as he tried to figure out the best way to get up without it all spreading.

"I'd suggest tissue," he teased. He was feeling playful. He attributed it to the damn good shag he'd just had. "It'll get the majority off and then it's a dash to the bathroom to wash the rest off. Want me to wait until you're finished to clean up?"

He didn't want to assume anything. He'd lived this long and survived more than his fair share of problems by simply not assuming.

Mycroft considered the option, before he let out a faint snort at the rest of what Gregory had said. He tipped his head towards his lover - which Gregory most certainly was and Mycroft was Pleased as Punch about it - speaking wryly, "I would like to make a counter offer."

He lifted one hand weakly, as the rest of him had been nicely drained by incredible sex, "We use the tissues. We both get up. We both shower, and I get to touch you to my heart's content."

Greg smiled. Bright as the sun.

Rolling over, he pulled out several tissues from the box and handed them over to Mycroft.

"You know Mr Holmes, I think I love your negotiation tactics."

He hauled himself off of the bed, eyeing the sheets. Would they need new ones or just the top sheet tossed on top for tonight? it could always be changed tomorrow before they left. Did Mycroft change his own sheets or did he have people who did that?

His eyes roamed up from contemplating the sheets to the long lines of his...well, he guessed partner was the word they were officially using now. Boyfriend was too immature and lover didn't encompass enough in his mind.

"Need help washing your back?" he offered with a mischevious grin.

Oh, smile at me like that again, please.

The man was ridiculously handsome when he smiled. Mycroft silently promised himself he would keep that smile there whenever possible. He eased himself up and delicately cleaned himself off, huffing slightly as he put the used tissues into the trashcan.

He also eyed the sheets and tutted - he would have to change these out.

Gregory's comment got him a sly look with those ice-cold blue eyes. "I think I shall require washing everything - but then I insist you stay in for a soak whilst I change the bedclothes."

"Where's the fun in that?" Greg asked as he waited for Mycroft to lead him towards the bathroom.
"We change the sheets now and then we can both have a soak in the tub."

It felt, well, rude, to be relaxing in a hot bath while Mycroft struggled with getting the corner sheet on to back part of the bed that was always impossible to get straight. It was always easier to do it with two people. that way one didn't have to run back and forth around the bed trying to get them even. and wrapped around the whole of the matress.

He didn't bother putting his boxers back on, just followed Mycroft into a larger-than-his-own bathroom. Much larger. The tub itself was almost sinful.

"Holy... where in the hell did you find a tub you can stretch out in?

"Well, I cannot argue with that." Both of them naked, Mycroft led him over to the linen closet, so they could change out the sheets properly, then he could put the delightfully filthy ones into the laundry hamper. The house keeper, poor soul, could soak them tomorrow.

"I had it brought in. Sometimes, even I need to relax." He smiled, going towards the wide open glass shower. "Would you like a bath, my darling? I don't mind a quick rinse if you want to soak with me."

"Maybe another time? A shower is equally as good at the moment."

It was late and as much as a soak int he tub sounded wonderful at the moment, his body was beginning to call time. To shut itself down. The endorphins from the orgasm were dissipating and he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be upright before he fell asleep.

"I can still wash your back in there," he teased.

Greg had a bad habit. He was a cuddler. It was one of the things Rebekah had disliked about him, no matter how they started in the bed, eventually, he'd be curled up next to the person.

It was fine for Addie, half the times when the girl came into his room after a bad dream or an illness, she'd end up sprawled out on top of his chest. She was as bad as he was when it came to cuddles.

He really hoped Mycroft didn't have an issue with being touched at night. He'd try to stave it off, but he didn't hold out much hope that come the next morning or sometime during the night, Mycroft would awake to find himself the little spoon.

For Mousie - Anticipation of Pleasure

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