The Holmes Dilemna, Ch.5
Jun. 30th, 2012 10:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jdmcoolTitle: The Holmes Dilemna, Ch.5
Pairing: Mycroft/Sherlock, John
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,761
Summary: John can't sleep with the sheer amount of normal in his life. That and the dreams keeping him up at night.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, unfortunately. Written for this prompt at the BBC Sherlock Kink Meme.
There was a romantic notion fluttering about Mycroft’s mind that he should’ve been happy. After all, it had been almost two weeks since he had last seen his brother, not that Sherlock ever looked any different. No, for the most part, he was entirely the same. Even had on that black shirt that Mycroft had last seen lying on his floor, which was partially his fault.
Most people, though, would’ve been eager to be with the one they loved. To embrace each other in a tender moment and confess their love and absolutely misery at being apart. He had seen it enough times in airports all over the world. No matter where one happened to be, people tended to feel the same when it came to the person they loved. And yet, watching his brother all but sulk through the ride to his office, Mycroft felt that there was something rather wrong with the two of them, yet again. No room for grief or conventional love in their lives, although, perhaps that had more to do with the fact that there was little that was conventional in sleeping with one’s brother.
Taking his seat behind his desk, Mycroft looked over a nondescript sort of file that had been left on his desk on top of a series of papers. All matters that were, and would continue to be, passed over for at least another day, he decided as he did his best to ignore his brother.
After all, Sherlock had a sort of routine upon entering his office. Just like a child, he’d allow Mycroft peace and quiet while he handled only what was truly necessary by occupying himself with touching everything in sight, taking note of what was new and different.
“I’ve a box of rubber bands, if you’d like to make yourself a ball,” Mycroft offered sarcastically as he placed the file down.
Looking over to him from where he was looking through one of Mycroft’s books, Sherlock put it back before moving to stand in front of the desk. “Why did you interrupt my case, Mycroft?”
“I missed you.”
“Sentimentalities don’t suit you.”
Nodding in agreement, Mycroft sighed. “I’ve a matter I’d rather wish to discuss with you.”
“That matter being?”
Tapping his ring finger on the desk, Mycroft furrowed his brows. “What do you know of James Moriarty?”
“Don’t you have people for this?” Sherlock questioned as he took a seat.
Somehow, his brother managed to make such a simple and natural action into a sort of smug mannerism. After all, the man knew that Mycroft had people for everything, leaving very little reason to actually talk to the other unless it was a far more delicate matter. Which, of course, meant that there was no way Sherlock was likely to give in easily.
Sitting up straighter in his seat, Mycroft stared at Sherlock in annoyance. “They have not had the pleasure of meeting him in the same way you have.”
“You intend to go after him because he helped the woman?”
“No, you helped her. He texted me afterwards, putting the final move in play.”
From the look of him, it would seem as though the little correction did quite a bit in quelling Sherlock’s smugness. After all, no matter what Mycroft said otherwise, he officially had quite the screw up to hold over his brother’s head, since that was bothered him most. It wasn’t that his brother briefly felt something for another, but rather that he would let his emotions get the better of him. If he couldn’t keep a level head in a relationship, well, he was of little use to anyone.
Steepling his fingers underneath his chin, Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “You have me here to talk about a five minute meeting over the fact that he texted you.”
“People don’t just text me. He wanted my attention and I’ve every intention of giving it to him.”
“He met me first. He was posing as Molly’s boyfriend.”
“Pity for her.”
“More or less,” Sherlock agreed with a shrug. “Left his number. Eventually kidnapped John, where I met him. I threatened to kill him, he threatened to kill me and John, I raised the stakes to killing us all and his phone rang.”
The next point held no real purpose in being said, since Mycroft could easily deduce just who it was that caused the man’s phone to ring. “He’s a consulting criminal.”
“Dear Jim, can you help me leave something for my kids for every person I kill? Dear Jim, can you help us get into the country? Dear Jim...”
Holding up a hand to silence his brother’s ramblings, Mycroft smiled tersely. “I get the gist. Anything else worth knowing?”
“He’s likely as clever as either of us.”
“But not both.”
“No one is as clever as both of us,” Sherlock shot back, smile slowly spreading across his lips.
Leaning back in his seat, Mycroft gave a noise of agreement. Of course the idea that this Moriarty might be as clever as either one of them was nothing to laugh at given the fact that Sherlock didn’t easily hand out his compliments, but it was amusing to know that Sherlock thought that they worked well together. Especially considering the fact that they so rarely did anything together.
“Moriarty sticks to consulting then?”
Rising from his seat, Sherlock made his way around to the other side of the desk. Standing in front of his brother, he shook his head. “No. He had snipers. Very unstable, though, Moriarty. And you’re wearing a different aftershave.”
“I shaved on the plane. Focus.”
“I hate the smell of it,” Sherlock stated, no longer cooperating with his brother’s wishes. Leaning in, he ran his tongue along Mycroft’s jaw and frowned. “Tastes worse.”
“I suppose now would be a terrible time to ask what the problem with John is?”
“If you had any intention of not having sex, you wouldn’t have cleared your schedule,” Sherlock declared as he took off his scarf and jacket.
Mycroft’s only response was to smile as he scooted forward to sit at the edge of his seat. Running his hand up his brother’s stomach, revelling in the cool feel of his shirt, he casually looked over toward the door.
“I locked it when I came in. Stop stalling.”
“And here I thought missing each other was far too sentimental,” Mycroft teased as he untucked his brother’s shirt.
If not for the slight smirk on Sherlock’s lips, it would almost appear as though he held no interest in the matter. He stood there, perfectly still, never once moving as Mycroft began to unbutton his shirt. Inch by lovely inch of skin exposed until the elder Holmes could no longer resist the urge to feel it.
Dragging his nails down Sherlock’s chest, he smirked at the shiver he could feel course through Sherlock’s body. There never was anything quite like the joys of knowing that he was the one to make Sherlock do that. The only one who made his brother moan and plead for more, since a Holmes did not beg.
Trailing kisses along Sherlock’s stomach, Mycroft rubbed at the bulge that was beginning to strain his brother’s trousers, feeling his prick stiffen against his hand. Kept at the gentle ministrations until he could feel Sherlock’s breath quicken before unbuttoning his trousers. Meeting his brother’s lust filled gaze, Mycroft hooked his thumb in the waistband of Sherlock’s pants, tugging them down along with his pants.
Just looking at Sherlock’s stiff prick was enough to make Mycroft’s mouth water. Something about an oral fixation from all that dieting, as Sherlock tended to say. Not that either of them had an issue with it. No, if anything, Sherlock appreciated the way Mycroft licked broad stripes along every inch of it, taking the time the slit before licking around the rest of the glans.
Cupping the back of his brother’s head as Mycroft went down on him, Sherlock tilted his head back as he tried to keep from thrusting down the man’s throat. It was only when faced with the warm heat did he ever remember just how much he tended to enjoy the way Mycroft sucked at him as he bobbed his head, taking more and more until his nose was pressed against the curly dark hairs.
It was a feeling that Mycroft would never admit to enjoying. The feeling of the stiff prick in his mouth, Sherlock’s fingers toying with his hair. Pressing the heel of his palm against his growing erection, he moaned, eyes drifting shut as Sherlock finally fisted his hair in order to control the situation.
Hearing the phone ring, though, Mycroft gave a groan of disappointment as he let his brother’s prick slip past his lips. Looking at it, he gave it a quick lick before putting it on speakerphone.
“Yes?”
“The Prime Minister has rescheduled your conference. He’ll be calling in five minutes.”
“What happened to this afternoon?”
“Apparently, he’ll be busy then. There’s a file blue file on your desk with all the information you’ll need sir.”
“Thank you,” he said before hanging up. Sitting back, Mycroft began to look through the files on his desk. “Afraid this will have to wait for another time. You understand,” he said, waving his brother off.
Sherlock nodded in agreement as he watched his brother. Of course he understood. After all, it wasn’t the first time Mycroft’s work had come at an inconvenient time for him. When Mycroft leaned back in his seat after picking up the phone, Sherlock gave a soft sigh as he finished removing his bunched up trousers and pants. Bending over his brother’s desk, he began to suck at his fingers, eyes locked on the busy politician.
Staring in shock, Mycroft continued his conversation with the Prime Minister as calmly as possible. He knew his brother could be petulant, but he didn’t think this was actually necessary. Having his little brother sprawled out over his desk, that perfect, pale arse all but framed by the edge of his shirt. Even the voice on the other line could do nothing to dispel his hard on.
When he finally tore his eyes away from Sherlock’s arse and all the thoughts of what he wanted to do to it, Mycroft covered the receiver and asked, “Why?”
Releasing the fingers from his mouth with a pop, Sherlock shrugged. “You lied.”
Mycroft watched as those spit slicked fingers began to circle his brother’s hole teasingly before one slowly pressed in. Found himself torn between the way Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut and the finger he was so envious of as it sunk in deeper.
Going back to his conversation as best he could, Mycroft tried to turn his attention to the file on his desk instead of the way that his brother was fingering himself, carefully working that one finger in and out. Teasing himself as much as he was teasing Mycroft, if the way Sherlock pressed back against his own hand was anything to go by.
Of course, it was impossible to ignore Sherlock so desperate and needy. The fact that he cared was something Mycroft prided himself on. Opening his desk, he pulled out a small container of lube and placed it next to his brother.
Sherlock merely stared at it blindly. Carefully working a nearly dry second finger into himself, Sherlock bit his lip, the sting of it painted clearly across his face. For a few moments he remained perfectly still, eyes locked on a similar blue pair as Mycroft rubbed his back. Gently moving his hand yet again, Sherlock quickly relaxed into the feeling.
He was almost certain that his brother wouldn’t actually care if he hurt himself in the process of proving his point, whatever that was supposed to be, since Mycroft found his eyes more drawn in by the sluggish way his brother was fingering himself. The action was almost distracting enough to make him lose track of what was being said to him on the phone.
“Yes, of course I can hold,” Mycroft said, silently thankful for the pause. Scooting his chair behind Sherlock, he covered the receiver once again as he shook his head. “You always were stubborn when you didn’t get your way.”
Whatever witty retort his brother had ready was beaten out by the low moan that tore past his lips as Mycroft began to lick around his hole. Moving his hands to hold himself open, Sherlock panted noisily against the desk. Slowly working its way past his already loosened ring of muscles was a much better use for Mycroft’s mouth than sorting out national issues. The feel of it, jabbing at him only to stop as Mycroft sucked at the sensitive skin was enough to make Sherlock grip the edge of the desk as though it was a lifeline.
Moaning in acknowledgement when he heard the voice on the phone, Mycroft slowly moved away, smirking as Sherlock tried to follow him with his hips. Taking pity on the poor soul, Mycroft cradled the phone against his shoulder as he grabbed the lube. He wasted no time coating his fingers before roughly thrusting two into Sherlock.
All composure seemed to leave the younger Holmes at that moment. It took all he had not to make a sound as he pushed back greedily as Mycroft set up a quick pace, fingers constantly brushing against his prostate until Sherlock had to grip his leaking erection to keep it from ending too soon. When a third finger was added, Sherlock bit down on his arm as a moan escaped him.
Clearing his throat, Mycroft watched his brother in amusement, trying his best to keep his tone level. “Yes, well let me look into that and I’ll get back to you on this. Good day, sir,” he said before quickly hanging up.
Rising up from his chair, he pressed himself against Sherlock back. “One day you’ll need to learn that certain matters are more important than your need for release, Sherlock,” he said in the most serious of tones against his brother’s jaw.
“You just put off national matters for it,” Sherlock declared proudly, rubbing his arse against the obvious bulge in his brother’s trousers.
Closing his eyes, Mycroft gave a soft sigh of pleasure before grabbing Sherlock’s hip to stop him. Undoing his belt and trousers, he pulled his straining cock out. Brushing it along his brother’s crack, he whispered to him, “A country for a boy’s arse. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Thrusting into him, he stilled as Sherlock moaned freely. Digging his nails into his brother’s hip, he kissed along his brother’s neck, quickly setting about fucking his brother in earnest. Gentleness and patience had no place in that moment. Even if they would never admit to missing each other, there was no hiding how badly they wanted each other. Even knowing his office as he did, Mycroft worried that someone outside might hear Sherlock’s desperate moans.
Taking his brother’s cock in hand, Mycroft stroked him, panting heavily against Sherlock’s ear as he tried to bring them both to completion as quickly as possible after all the teasing that had been done. Of course it was Sherlock who came first. Hot, thick pulses coating Mycroft’s hand and desk as his body clenched around the elder Holmes. Thrusting through it, Mycroft buried himself deep inside Sherlock, shuddering through his release with a breathy moan.
For a long while, they stayed as they were, hunched over the desk, panting to catch their breaths. Sherlock was the first to grow tired, as usual, shifting restlessly until Mycroft moved away. Sitting back in his chair, Mycroft watched as Sherlock cleaned himself up, not bothering to redress. Instead, he merely grabbed a cigarette from his discarded jacket and lit it up before settling himself in Mycroft’s lap.
“So, how long has John been having troubles sleeping?” Mycroft asked, holding Sherlock as tightly as a child would a teddy bear.
Exhaling the smoke, Sherlock shook his head. “Not long. What are you going to do when you find Moriarty?”
“Talk, I presume. You know how it goes.”
Snorting derisively, Sherlock held the cigarette up to Mycroft’s mouth. “Don’t presume anything about Moriarty.”
Meeting his brother’s gaze, Mycroft let the smoke slowly flow out of his parted lips. Instead of answering his brother, he settled for capturing that mouth the moment the cigarette was out of the way. The exchange of lazy kisses and cigarettes were a better choice than continuing their conversation anyways.
Pairing: Mycroft/Sherlock, John
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,761
Summary: John can't sleep with the sheer amount of normal in his life. That and the dreams keeping him up at night.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, unfortunately. Written for this prompt at the BBC Sherlock Kink Meme.
There was a romantic notion fluttering about Mycroft’s mind that he should’ve been happy. After all, it had been almost two weeks since he had last seen his brother, not that Sherlock ever looked any different. No, for the most part, he was entirely the same. Even had on that black shirt that Mycroft had last seen lying on his floor, which was partially his fault.
Most people, though, would’ve been eager to be with the one they loved. To embrace each other in a tender moment and confess their love and absolutely misery at being apart. He had seen it enough times in airports all over the world. No matter where one happened to be, people tended to feel the same when it came to the person they loved. And yet, watching his brother all but sulk through the ride to his office, Mycroft felt that there was something rather wrong with the two of them, yet again. No room for grief or conventional love in their lives, although, perhaps that had more to do with the fact that there was little that was conventional in sleeping with one’s brother.
Taking his seat behind his desk, Mycroft looked over a nondescript sort of file that had been left on his desk on top of a series of papers. All matters that were, and would continue to be, passed over for at least another day, he decided as he did his best to ignore his brother.
After all, Sherlock had a sort of routine upon entering his office. Just like a child, he’d allow Mycroft peace and quiet while he handled only what was truly necessary by occupying himself with touching everything in sight, taking note of what was new and different.
“I’ve a box of rubber bands, if you’d like to make yourself a ball,” Mycroft offered sarcastically as he placed the file down.
Looking over to him from where he was looking through one of Mycroft’s books, Sherlock put it back before moving to stand in front of the desk. “Why did you interrupt my case, Mycroft?”
“I missed you.”
“Sentimentalities don’t suit you.”
Nodding in agreement, Mycroft sighed. “I’ve a matter I’d rather wish to discuss with you.”
“That matter being?”
Tapping his ring finger on the desk, Mycroft furrowed his brows. “What do you know of James Moriarty?”
“Don’t you have people for this?” Sherlock questioned as he took a seat.
Somehow, his brother managed to make such a simple and natural action into a sort of smug mannerism. After all, the man knew that Mycroft had people for everything, leaving very little reason to actually talk to the other unless it was a far more delicate matter. Which, of course, meant that there was no way Sherlock was likely to give in easily.
Sitting up straighter in his seat, Mycroft stared at Sherlock in annoyance. “They have not had the pleasure of meeting him in the same way you have.”
“You intend to go after him because he helped the woman?”
“No, you helped her. He texted me afterwards, putting the final move in play.”
From the look of him, it would seem as though the little correction did quite a bit in quelling Sherlock’s smugness. After all, no matter what Mycroft said otherwise, he officially had quite the screw up to hold over his brother’s head, since that was bothered him most. It wasn’t that his brother briefly felt something for another, but rather that he would let his emotions get the better of him. If he couldn’t keep a level head in a relationship, well, he was of little use to anyone.
Steepling his fingers underneath his chin, Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “You have me here to talk about a five minute meeting over the fact that he texted you.”
“People don’t just text me. He wanted my attention and I’ve every intention of giving it to him.”
“He met me first. He was posing as Molly’s boyfriend.”
“Pity for her.”
“More or less,” Sherlock agreed with a shrug. “Left his number. Eventually kidnapped John, where I met him. I threatened to kill him, he threatened to kill me and John, I raised the stakes to killing us all and his phone rang.”
The next point held no real purpose in being said, since Mycroft could easily deduce just who it was that caused the man’s phone to ring. “He’s a consulting criminal.”
“Dear Jim, can you help me leave something for my kids for every person I kill? Dear Jim, can you help us get into the country? Dear Jim...”
Holding up a hand to silence his brother’s ramblings, Mycroft smiled tersely. “I get the gist. Anything else worth knowing?”
“He’s likely as clever as either of us.”
“But not both.”
“No one is as clever as both of us,” Sherlock shot back, smile slowly spreading across his lips.
Leaning back in his seat, Mycroft gave a noise of agreement. Of course the idea that this Moriarty might be as clever as either one of them was nothing to laugh at given the fact that Sherlock didn’t easily hand out his compliments, but it was amusing to know that Sherlock thought that they worked well together. Especially considering the fact that they so rarely did anything together.
“Moriarty sticks to consulting then?”
Rising from his seat, Sherlock made his way around to the other side of the desk. Standing in front of his brother, he shook his head. “No. He had snipers. Very unstable, though, Moriarty. And you’re wearing a different aftershave.”
“I shaved on the plane. Focus.”
“I hate the smell of it,” Sherlock stated, no longer cooperating with his brother’s wishes. Leaning in, he ran his tongue along Mycroft’s jaw and frowned. “Tastes worse.”
“I suppose now would be a terrible time to ask what the problem with John is?”
“If you had any intention of not having sex, you wouldn’t have cleared your schedule,” Sherlock declared as he took off his scarf and jacket.
Mycroft’s only response was to smile as he scooted forward to sit at the edge of his seat. Running his hand up his brother’s stomach, revelling in the cool feel of his shirt, he casually looked over toward the door.
“I locked it when I came in. Stop stalling.”
“And here I thought missing each other was far too sentimental,” Mycroft teased as he untucked his brother’s shirt.
If not for the slight smirk on Sherlock’s lips, it would almost appear as though he held no interest in the matter. He stood there, perfectly still, never once moving as Mycroft began to unbutton his shirt. Inch by lovely inch of skin exposed until the elder Holmes could no longer resist the urge to feel it.
Dragging his nails down Sherlock’s chest, he smirked at the shiver he could feel course through Sherlock’s body. There never was anything quite like the joys of knowing that he was the one to make Sherlock do that. The only one who made his brother moan and plead for more, since a Holmes did not beg.
Trailing kisses along Sherlock’s stomach, Mycroft rubbed at the bulge that was beginning to strain his brother’s trousers, feeling his prick stiffen against his hand. Kept at the gentle ministrations until he could feel Sherlock’s breath quicken before unbuttoning his trousers. Meeting his brother’s lust filled gaze, Mycroft hooked his thumb in the waistband of Sherlock’s pants, tugging them down along with his pants.
Just looking at Sherlock’s stiff prick was enough to make Mycroft’s mouth water. Something about an oral fixation from all that dieting, as Sherlock tended to say. Not that either of them had an issue with it. No, if anything, Sherlock appreciated the way Mycroft licked broad stripes along every inch of it, taking the time the slit before licking around the rest of the glans.
Cupping the back of his brother’s head as Mycroft went down on him, Sherlock tilted his head back as he tried to keep from thrusting down the man’s throat. It was only when faced with the warm heat did he ever remember just how much he tended to enjoy the way Mycroft sucked at him as he bobbed his head, taking more and more until his nose was pressed against the curly dark hairs.
It was a feeling that Mycroft would never admit to enjoying. The feeling of the stiff prick in his mouth, Sherlock’s fingers toying with his hair. Pressing the heel of his palm against his growing erection, he moaned, eyes drifting shut as Sherlock finally fisted his hair in order to control the situation.
Hearing the phone ring, though, Mycroft gave a groan of disappointment as he let his brother’s prick slip past his lips. Looking at it, he gave it a quick lick before putting it on speakerphone.
“Yes?”
“The Prime Minister has rescheduled your conference. He’ll be calling in five minutes.”
“What happened to this afternoon?”
“Apparently, he’ll be busy then. There’s a file blue file on your desk with all the information you’ll need sir.”
“Thank you,” he said before hanging up. Sitting back, Mycroft began to look through the files on his desk. “Afraid this will have to wait for another time. You understand,” he said, waving his brother off.
Sherlock nodded in agreement as he watched his brother. Of course he understood. After all, it wasn’t the first time Mycroft’s work had come at an inconvenient time for him. When Mycroft leaned back in his seat after picking up the phone, Sherlock gave a soft sigh as he finished removing his bunched up trousers and pants. Bending over his brother’s desk, he began to suck at his fingers, eyes locked on the busy politician.
Staring in shock, Mycroft continued his conversation with the Prime Minister as calmly as possible. He knew his brother could be petulant, but he didn’t think this was actually necessary. Having his little brother sprawled out over his desk, that perfect, pale arse all but framed by the edge of his shirt. Even the voice on the other line could do nothing to dispel his hard on.
When he finally tore his eyes away from Sherlock’s arse and all the thoughts of what he wanted to do to it, Mycroft covered the receiver and asked, “Why?”
Releasing the fingers from his mouth with a pop, Sherlock shrugged. “You lied.”
Mycroft watched as those spit slicked fingers began to circle his brother’s hole teasingly before one slowly pressed in. Found himself torn between the way Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut and the finger he was so envious of as it sunk in deeper.
Going back to his conversation as best he could, Mycroft tried to turn his attention to the file on his desk instead of the way that his brother was fingering himself, carefully working that one finger in and out. Teasing himself as much as he was teasing Mycroft, if the way Sherlock pressed back against his own hand was anything to go by.
Of course, it was impossible to ignore Sherlock so desperate and needy. The fact that he cared was something Mycroft prided himself on. Opening his desk, he pulled out a small container of lube and placed it next to his brother.
Sherlock merely stared at it blindly. Carefully working a nearly dry second finger into himself, Sherlock bit his lip, the sting of it painted clearly across his face. For a few moments he remained perfectly still, eyes locked on a similar blue pair as Mycroft rubbed his back. Gently moving his hand yet again, Sherlock quickly relaxed into the feeling.
He was almost certain that his brother wouldn’t actually care if he hurt himself in the process of proving his point, whatever that was supposed to be, since Mycroft found his eyes more drawn in by the sluggish way his brother was fingering himself. The action was almost distracting enough to make him lose track of what was being said to him on the phone.
“Yes, of course I can hold,” Mycroft said, silently thankful for the pause. Scooting his chair behind Sherlock, he covered the receiver once again as he shook his head. “You always were stubborn when you didn’t get your way.”
Whatever witty retort his brother had ready was beaten out by the low moan that tore past his lips as Mycroft began to lick around his hole. Moving his hands to hold himself open, Sherlock panted noisily against the desk. Slowly working its way past his already loosened ring of muscles was a much better use for Mycroft’s mouth than sorting out national issues. The feel of it, jabbing at him only to stop as Mycroft sucked at the sensitive skin was enough to make Sherlock grip the edge of the desk as though it was a lifeline.
Moaning in acknowledgement when he heard the voice on the phone, Mycroft slowly moved away, smirking as Sherlock tried to follow him with his hips. Taking pity on the poor soul, Mycroft cradled the phone against his shoulder as he grabbed the lube. He wasted no time coating his fingers before roughly thrusting two into Sherlock.
All composure seemed to leave the younger Holmes at that moment. It took all he had not to make a sound as he pushed back greedily as Mycroft set up a quick pace, fingers constantly brushing against his prostate until Sherlock had to grip his leaking erection to keep it from ending too soon. When a third finger was added, Sherlock bit down on his arm as a moan escaped him.
Clearing his throat, Mycroft watched his brother in amusement, trying his best to keep his tone level. “Yes, well let me look into that and I’ll get back to you on this. Good day, sir,” he said before quickly hanging up.
Rising up from his chair, he pressed himself against Sherlock back. “One day you’ll need to learn that certain matters are more important than your need for release, Sherlock,” he said in the most serious of tones against his brother’s jaw.
“You just put off national matters for it,” Sherlock declared proudly, rubbing his arse against the obvious bulge in his brother’s trousers.
Closing his eyes, Mycroft gave a soft sigh of pleasure before grabbing Sherlock’s hip to stop him. Undoing his belt and trousers, he pulled his straining cock out. Brushing it along his brother’s crack, he whispered to him, “A country for a boy’s arse. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Thrusting into him, he stilled as Sherlock moaned freely. Digging his nails into his brother’s hip, he kissed along his brother’s neck, quickly setting about fucking his brother in earnest. Gentleness and patience had no place in that moment. Even if they would never admit to missing each other, there was no hiding how badly they wanted each other. Even knowing his office as he did, Mycroft worried that someone outside might hear Sherlock’s desperate moans.
Taking his brother’s cock in hand, Mycroft stroked him, panting heavily against Sherlock’s ear as he tried to bring them both to completion as quickly as possible after all the teasing that had been done. Of course it was Sherlock who came first. Hot, thick pulses coating Mycroft’s hand and desk as his body clenched around the elder Holmes. Thrusting through it, Mycroft buried himself deep inside Sherlock, shuddering through his release with a breathy moan.
For a long while, they stayed as they were, hunched over the desk, panting to catch their breaths. Sherlock was the first to grow tired, as usual, shifting restlessly until Mycroft moved away. Sitting back in his chair, Mycroft watched as Sherlock cleaned himself up, not bothering to redress. Instead, he merely grabbed a cigarette from his discarded jacket and lit it up before settling himself in Mycroft’s lap.
“So, how long has John been having troubles sleeping?” Mycroft asked, holding Sherlock as tightly as a child would a teddy bear.
Exhaling the smoke, Sherlock shook his head. “Not long. What are you going to do when you find Moriarty?”
“Talk, I presume. You know how it goes.”
Snorting derisively, Sherlock held the cigarette up to Mycroft’s mouth. “Don’t presume anything about Moriarty.”
Meeting his brother’s gaze, Mycroft let the smoke slowly flow out of his parted lips. Instead of answering his brother, he settled for capturing that mouth the moment the cigarette was out of the way. The exchange of lazy kisses and cigarettes were a better choice than continuing their conversation anyways.
