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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Mycroft hummed in the back of his throat, pleased by those clever fingers starting on the waistcoat. They had gotten rather far the last time before Gregory had to stop for a footstep on a creaky floorboard.

Not tonight. Save World War III, Mycroft Holmes was going to have this delicious man, one way or another. He pushed his hands up to get Gregory out of his jacket, pushing the hands away from him for a moment before letting Gregory work on the buttons once more. His mouth parted, willingly, around that delicate press of tongue against his teeth.

He was more than happy to shed his jacket easier movement, and it was one less thing hindering the ultimate goal tonight.

Waistcoat unbuttoned, Greg slid his palms underneath, against the warm cotton button down to slip the waistcoat from his shoulders, letting it fall just behind him.

Mycroft's mouth opened to his and he plunged boldly, taking liberties, chasing and retreating, tasting. His hands reached for the tie, carefully loosening the knot, his groans muffled as he felt hands tugging his shirt from his trousers, then warm palms on his skin.

He wanted more, so close to that point of no return they almost reached blindly two days prior.

He could spend hours kissing this man. Would happily too, but not tonight.
Tonight he wanted more.

Tugging at Mycroft's loosened and askew tie, he leaned back, lowering himself on the couch and pulling Mycroft with him, keeping him close so he didn't have to leave that mouth that was driving him mad. Wanted the weight, the realness of them together right now. A confirmation that they were here, that this was on.

Mycroft would have liked to say he had better control of himself than he did at that moment, but Gregory undid him the moment he wrapped his fingers around that tie and started to pull Mycroft atop him. He didn't protest, simply let his face flush, a noise rather like a moam groan low in his throat, and he shifted his position so he was more or less straddling the other man.

Long fingers started around to Gregory's front, to that solid chest so buttons, all the buttons, could be loosened, freed from buttonholes so he could return to where he was all that time ago. To bare skin on bare skin, while he let Gregory have his way with his mouth, taking only sweet revenge by sucking Gregory's tongue back inside of his own mouth anew.

The weight of him felt amazing. Greg sighed into his mouth, his hands finally succeeding in unbuttoning the last of the buttons on his shirt, sliding his hand up and over now bare flesh, pulling the shirt off as his palms slid over warm skin.

He was never so glad that Mycroft hadn't rebuttoned his cuffs, making it easier to slide the shirt completely from his body.

Breaking from their kiss, he gasped out a breath before pressing his lips to Mycroft's neck, his tongue slipping out to lap at him as he rand his hands back up his back.

"Christ," he whispered into his neck. "You feel so damn good."

Receptive, is the first word that comes to Mycroft's mind, as Gregory moves his hands greedily over Mycroft's bared skin, moaning into his parted mouth. He just managed to get Gregory out of his shirt before they were both lying on the sofa, Mycroft holding himself just up by his elbows.

That particular comment gets Mycroft to lift his hips slightly, so he can press his leg between Gregory's, a reward for being so very, very charming.

He nipped at Gregory's chin, a purr rolling out, "I must return the compliment. You are absolutely divine."

His hips cant upward at the pressure of Mycroft's leg between his own, his own pressure in his trousers was growing, the desperation to relieve a bit of it.

He knew how he was, emotions and need reigned over his sexual encounters and soon talking wouldn't be enough, messing about on the couch wouldn't be enough, not when he understood that was a very real and definite end to this dance they were doing.

His mouth trailed a line down to the part where his neck met his shoulders, nipping gently and sucking. Hands slid back up his bare chest, thumbs brushing up his ribs.

Oh, that is lovely, isn't it? Pressure being put where it is wanted most. Hips tilting up into hips and now he knows their interest is absolutely mutual. Still, he wants to drag this out as long as he could. There was only ever one first time for everything, after all. One time for the experience.

He hummed at the teeth at his neck, leaning in to nip in turn at Gregory's ear, taking his earlobe between his lips and sucking on it lightly. Shivering at the thumbs rubbing up his skin.

"Fuck."

The word, whispered, was pulled out of him like the tugging of his earlobe between Mycroft's teeth.

The feeling was like a lightning bolt that shot from his head to his groin and his hips jerked upward, meeting Mycroft's hips and rubbing. The feeling sent another shockwave through his body and he let out a groan he felt in his toes.

"My...Myc..." Mycroft moved his hips again and Greg's voice gave out, his hand cupping the back of his neck to pull him back towards his lips.

He cannot help himself - he is a Holmes, after all.

"That is the general idea, yes."

Another grinding down, and he can feel sparks flashing behind his gaze. The feel of Gregory alone, like this, would probably drag Mycroft straight into orgasm but he is not willing to have their first time of this wasted on teenage rutting on his sofa. He wants Gregory in his bed, thank you ever so much.

He follows Gregory's insistent direction to his mouth, muttering against the other man's lips between long, drawn out heated kisses, "I want to take you upstairs, please."

Yes, even he will be surprised how guttural he sounded just then.

"Christ yes," Greg groaned, his eyes closing for just a moment ad the absolute rightness of it all. Slowly, they opened and he was gazing into blue eyes the color of glaciers.

With a shaky hand Greg stroked Mycroft's cheek, feeling light stubble and wondering for a brief moment what he would look like with a beard.

Then he was gone and Greg missed the weight on him. Not heavy just...firm, comforting. It spoke of promise.

He drug a shaking hand through his hair and sat up. Looking up, he saw a bare chested Mycroft with his hand held out to him. The image was glorious.

Taking the hand, he stood up.

Mycroft was going to fill an entire continent on Gregory's Expressions. The one he was getting right now was particularly appealing - the 'aren't you a wonderful thing?' look was downright ... well. Mycroft wanted that look on Gregory's face whenever he looked at Mycroft. Impossible, yes, but he would strive for it.

Which was why when Gregory stood up, hand wrapped in his, Mycroft pulled him in for another long kiss, and used it to lead the other man out of the study. Towards the stairs, where he did give into the temptation to let Gregory push him against a wall and kiss him insensible.

Gregory seemed fascinated with his stubble - Mycroft would have to ask him about that in a few hours. Hours after he had finally managed to get them to the landing and then down the hall. This time, he pushed Gregory against the door to his bedroom, his voice low and whiskey-edged, "From this point on, the rest of your clothing is going to be removed."

He loved kissing Mycroft.
It was one of the things he'd learned of the last few days. He really loved kissing Mycroft.

The man was expressive in the way he kissed; confident, demanding, but there was a softness to it at times.

But this, this one...his back hitting a door, Mycroft pressed firm against him, taking his mouth as confidently as he'd take over a meeting with world leaders. Greg allowed himself to be plundered, his own hands holding tight to bare skin.

His voice, rough and low, sent shivers down Greg's spine, his trousers uncomfortable tight. Right now, having them off sounded like a wonderful idea.

"Yes," He couldn't help but agree, breathing hard, trying to catch his breath. He couldn't help running his hands over Mycroft's chest, the chest hair soft against his palm. "Okay. You too?"

It seemed Mycroft had managed to kiss brain cells out of him, he couldn't string together a complete sentence. But he didn't really think complete sentences were going to be needed for a while.

Reaching behind him, he felt for the door knob and, remembering almost too late to move his weight off of the door and oh Christ!, pressing closer to Mycroft, he twisted the door open.

Mycroft had to bite back a laugh, and managed to keep it to a lightly amused snort against Gregory's mouth as they almost went tumbling into his bedroom. It was good to know that he could kiss the sense out of Gregory Lestrade's head, just as much as Gregory kissed it out of his. He hummed in pleasure as he nodded, slipping his hands around to the front of his own trousers, so he could remove them in a quick manner and a neat one, so they wouldn't be wrinkled on the floor.

He nudged Gregory backwards even further, as he stepped out of his trousers, leaving him only in his boxer briefs. Truly, a hedonistic evening beyond compare. He hadn't felt this ... alive in quite some time. Nor so naked, and exposed. It filled him to the brim with conflicting wants and desires.

Mycroft's deep chuckle, muffed against his own mouth was decadent, sent shivers down his spine.

Distantly, he heard the soft sound of a zipper followed by fabric rustling and Mycroft's words before they stepped- stumbled- in here returned.

His hands went to the front of his trousers, knuckles brushing against bare torso again and distracting him for a moment. Eventually the zipper was pulled down and the trousers hastily removed, Greg kicking the final leg off of his foot, sending the fabric off into the room somewhere to be found later.

He had bigger cases to solve than the case of his missing trousers at the moment. The case of getting Mycroft out of those boxer briefs so he could see just what was pressing against his thigh, was much more interesting at the moment.

Pulling away with a gasp- he could spend hours snogging this man and never get bored- Greg caught Mycroft's gaze, black iris blown almost over ice blue eyes, his own hands sliding slowly over a warm stomach, stopping right at the waistband of the briefs, his fingers sliding just under the elastic, precariously close to the prize.

"May I?" he asked, his voice quiet in the room, his meaning clear.

Ah Dear Lord... He hadn't realized how much the sight of Gregory, mussed and kiss-bruised, in only his underpants would do to him. As it stood he felt like he was going to either jump the man before they got to the bed or in fact stammer here like he was sixteen again and first discovering his libido.

Then Gregory's hands were on him, sliding down his chest and to the waistband of his own boxer briefs and he could actually feel the almost yearning twinge under there. Dark eyes on his and all he could do was nod before he pressed his mouth over Gregory's again, then fingers into his hair, down his body to tug those underpants off him in turn.

"Naked is. The acceptable. State of being right now."

"Brilliant." Greg muttered once before he was consumed once again by Mycroft's kisses.

Hands slid briefs down and he almost tumbled over trying to get his own legs free of his briefs.

The growl that rose low in his throat as he tried to kick off the offending garment morphed into a needy groan as his own hand brushed finally against Mycroft's cock. His stomach tightened as a wave of need rushed over him and his mind was nothing but now please yes need now

"Bed. Now. Please." he murmured between biting kisses. "Need you on the bed, need to taste you. Just...let me have you, please. Just for a bit then I'm yours."

Mycroft's hands came to Gregory's shoulders, feeling himself make a soft noise somewhere between a whimper and a growl as Gregory's hand brushed against his cock, making it flare once more. He breathed out as he gave another round of kisses, starting to pull them both back to the bed as Gregory voiced his wants.

And who was Mycroft to deny him?

"Yes, dear god, yes. Just let me - " His knees hit the bed, and he let himself go down, reaching up to curve his fingers around Gregory's hips, to pull him down on top of him.

Greg tumbled onto the bed, on top of Mycroft, his hands going out automatically to catch himself so he didn't drop his full wright onto the man. But he was pressed on top of him on the bed and Dear Lord! the feel of Mycroft's body pressed against his, of their cocks pressed against two bodies tightly...it was too much.

Scrambling up, he urged Mycroft to scoot up on the bed a bit before lowering his head, mouthing at his clavicle, pressing tiny kisses followed by swipes of his tongue.

His hand however...

His fingers wrapped around Mycroft's cock and he sighed against his skin, as he stroked downward, pulling down the foreskins and running his thumb over the wet tip with a barely contained groan against his chest.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this." Greg groaned against Mycroft's bare chest. "I thought I could take this slow, make it good for you but..."

Greg licked at his chest, the flat of his tongue sliding over a nipple, lapping at him as he slowly stroked.

Mycroft was utterly unprepared for this.

Well, all right, no, he was not a virgin by any stretch of the imagination. He knew what happened when two men stripped off their clothing and started touching each other in very interesting places. He was well aware that Sex Was Happening Right Now, and it was Excellent.

What he was unprepared for was how Gregory completely came undone the moment their skin touched, how his mouth went to worship Mycroft's skin even as his hand slipped around Mycroft's cock and stroked downwards. How Gregory's hungry words, pressed against his chest, just made Mycroft's mind ... flicker in the corners. Comprehension was slipping away again to sensation.

He knew he should be doing - using words to paint a rather delicious picture of what he was going to do to Gregory once he got his hands on him. What he did do was make a gutteral noise as he arched up into that mouth and into that hand, and while one hand dug right into Gregory's hair, the other slipped down to his hip, trying to get one hand around that rather delightful rear-end.

All impulsive, no thought, just ... doing. It was both frightening and exhilarating, and a bell went off in his head to warn him to watch himself. He could get addicted to this.

He felt the groan beneath his lips. It rumbled deliciously in Mycroft's chest and Greg's hips pushed against Mycroft's thigh, where he rested, desperate for some sort of friction.

His kisses shuddered when he felt fingers in his hair, pulling the short strands just long enough to be tugged at.

He wanted Mycroft's hands on him, wanted to feel his kisses on his body, his fingers touching him in places silently promised.

After though. He wanted this first. Craved it, had been thinking about it since that first night of kisses on his couch and again when Mycroft had seared his mouth with a kiss before he left the small house.

Pushing away how damn good the feeling of Mycroft's fingers digging into his hip felt, Greg lifted up from his ministrations.

"Promise, I'm going to make this so damn good for you."

Sliding down Mycroft's body, Greg lowered his head, giving the first tentative lick and moaning at the taste.

"Christ, Mycroft, you're going to be the death of me." Greg groaned.

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?"

Was it possible to become sexually aroused by someone speaking?

Well, yeah, he knew the answer to that, even before he'd begun this venture. Had seen first hand what the voice of a Holmes man could do to someone who wasn't expecting it, or was expecting it, it didn't matter. A lower octave, extra bass in the voice and the recipient was pretty much weak knees and pliant.

He felt a little like that now. Instead, Mycroft's voice just made him want to slide his mouth down a little further, take him in a little deeper, show off, as it were.

For God's sake, he wanted Mycroft to be proud of him, impressed. It sounded ridiculous and absolutely childish, but damn if he didn't want the praise.
Anything to feel Mycroft's hand in his hair, stroking and lightly tugging. The movement went straight to his cock.

Greg's hips jerked once more, rutting against Mycroft's thigh, giving a low moan as he felt the head of his cock hit the back of his throat and go just beyond before he let up, sliding his mouth back up and letting him go with a soft pop .

Greg looked up at the man through his lashes, his hand back to lightly stroking again. Just because his mouth wasn't on him, didn't mean he was giving up touching just yet.

"I don't know if that's possible," Greg said, his voice pitched low and raspy. "You couldn't be less appealing if you tried."

He bent his head and gave another slow lick, taking just the head into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.

"Mmmm, tell me what you want Mycroft." he murmured, sliding down a bit more, licking at his balls, gently sucking them into his mouth and letting go. "I'm at your mercy."

Another slow lick, starting at his balls and sliding torturously slow up the shaft of his cock, finishing with the flat of his tongue over the head.

"You don't want me to die from sexual gratification, I won't. I'm yours to order."

The last word slipped from his lips with all the innuendo possible behind it.

Gregory slipped his mouth all the way down on Mycroft's cock, and Mycroft knew instantly that all the paperwork had been absolutely worth it.

He spoke in low and raspy tones, and Mycroft knew that they were not leaving this bed until well into the morning. Gregory was staying over as often as possible. Mycroft was going to make him a key and give him all the security codes.

Then Gregory had the temerity to say that he was Mycroft's to order ... and Mycroft Holmes fell in love. Right then and there, with Gregory looking at him like he was some sort of gourmet meal, one hand on his cock, devilish look in his eye, and Mycroft fell completely and totally in love and thus decided that Gregory was never leaving. He would move Gregory and Adalaide into his house, get Addy all the puppies she ever wanted, and he would marry this man and send Rebekah spiteful pictures of their glorious honeymoon whereever Gregory had decided they were going.

All that, in one heated glance.

When Mycroft Holmes wanted something, he took it. Fully and completely. He and Sherlock had that in common too.

Right now though, he was going to finish seducing this man. He'd sort out the rest of their lives over breakfast.

"Oh ... what I think I am going to order you to do, is fully satisfy me with that glorious mouth... " He purred, that nice low octave he knew was going to make Gregory salivate. "... as you use the lube that is in that nightstand there to prepare me ... " And let that voice roll like smooth silk, along Gregory's skin, "So you can claim me right on this bed with that rather delightful piece of manhood that I am claiming as mine. I am ordering two orgasms from you, Gregory Lestrade, and putting you on notice that you'll have my mouth on you once we recover."

At the Met, Greg was In Charge. Evan after that fiasco with Donovan and Anderson during the Moriarty case that backfired horribly on both of them, Greg was firmly In Charge. Sally knew it now and their work relationship was never better.

His officers knew who was In Charge, every day they stepped into the office. He was the boss, the man they followed and looked to for direction. He answered to very few and the ones he did answer to usually had to power to fire him or sign his paycheck.

Even Sherlock, as much as he liked to think he was the Alpha in their relationship, was never in charge. He liked to give merry chases and act pompous but it was always Greg's investigations. He chose who to delve priority to.

But here, listening to Mycroft order his about, it sent chills down his spine. Good chills, the kind that somehow trail down the core of ones body and set off good chills in all the right pleasure zones.

Here Mycroft was In Charge, and Greg was perfectly fine with that. He'd happily do whatever the other man wanted, so long as he praised him with that voice and didn't let him go.

Two orgasms in one night...he wasn't a spotty teen anymore, but damn if he wouldn't try. He'd almost come when Mycroft had said mine.

It was too much. He needed this man, needed to feel him, taste him, surrounded himself with him.

A soft moan fell from his lips as he smiled warmly, his hand still lazily stroking Mycroft's cock.

"Whatever you command." he growled before lowering his head once more and allowing his mouth to engulf Mycroft's cock, sliding down the shaft and making sure he took in every bit of it he could before letting up a bit, just enough to swirl his tongue around the head before swallowing him down once more.

He could do this all night should Mycroft order it, his only thought at that time was making this man moaning above him happy.

Whatever you command... - how soon could one propose marriage? Surely not during sex, that would seem as coerced by lust. Mycroft was going to have to figure out the logistics, again, in the morning.

So much math. So much delicious math.

In response, he hooked one long leg up over the other man's shoulder, and braced his foot against the mattress. He did have to stretch his long arm a little to reach the lube in the drawer, but it was well worth it for the smoky, deliriously happy look in Gregory's eyes.

He tossed it gently on the duvet, and whispered hoarsely, "I command you to not touch yourself while you're touching me ... because I want you to come inside of me, Gregory."

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