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“…would never end! You’re coming round to the pub, right, Gov?” Andy, the new DCI in my division smiles at me. “We need you on our team if we’re to win the quiz.”
“Stop calling me Gov, Andy. I suppose I could…” I pull up short at the sight of the black sedan idling at the kerb as we exit the Yard. “On second thought, maybe not tonight. I feel a headache coming on. Besides, I’ve got an early meeting in the morning.”
“You’ll definitely be missed,” Sally adds. “But you could use the night off.”
I watch them walk toward the car park with resignation. “Shit.” After the day I’ve had, I’m itching for a cigarette, and a stiff drink, not to play word and mind games with a Holmes.
Anthea looks up from her Blackberry as I approach and gives me her customary tight smile. “I’m to take you home, if you’re free.”
“You wouldn’t be here if I weren’t free,” I sigh, “so let’s just get on with it.” I slide into the backseat, and after a few minutes, pull my coat tighter around my body. I think they keep the car cold to unnerve me.
Anthea shuts the car door, and looks over at me. “Chilly out.”
“Chilly in,” I correct. “It doesn’t bother you?”
“Wreaks havoc with my sinuses,” she admits. “But how else will we keep you off kilter?”
“So the British Government would sacrifice your comfort to make a useless point, eh?”
“Not so useless in most instances,” she returns. “But, keep in mind that Mr. Holmes likes you. Imagine if he didn’t.”
Nothing to say to that, so I sit back, and enjoy the ride.
***
I open the door of my flat, and find it warm and, if I’m not mistaken, cleaner than it was when I left this morning.
Anthea clears her throat. “Mr. Holmes was delayed, and will be here in approximately forty-five minutes. There’s a pizza warming in the oven, and the scotch for which you’ve previously shown a preference is in the cupboard above the refrigerator. Mr. Holmes apologises for the inconvenience, and appreciates your willingness to accommodate his unconventional schedule." At my snort, she adds, "He is a man of many words. When he is of a mind, of course."
I look at my watch, then back at her. “So what do you do while you wait?”
“I don’t have to wait when he meets with you. One of the boys will fetch him when you’re done. I’m off to bed – tomorrow is a full day.” She smiles, and heads for the door. “Goodnight, Detective Inspector.” She’s gone before I can tell her how lucky she is that she’s going to bed.
I go to the kitchen, where I find pizza – hot, and topped with olives and mushrooms, which doesn’t even surprise me that Mycroft’s people (and hopefully, the man himself) know what I like. The promised scotch is a bit of an eye-opener. Arbed Ardbog – one hundred and four proof, smooth, and expensive. Just like Mycroft. Jesus… where did that thought come from?
Yeah, as if I didn’t know. I’ve been lusting after him for a year now, and after bumping my head against that impenetrable wall more times than I’m willing to admit, I’ve put it in a file marked ‘impossible’. I try not to dwell on it much, since it’s clear my interest will never be returned, but all this – my favourite pizza, and expensive whisky – makes me think there might be a tad bit of hope.
Or maybe he just feels bad about keeping me up, knowing I have to be in early tomorrow…
I shake my head to clear it, and figure I’d better have a shower before he gets here, considering I probably smell like that alley I spent most of the day in. Knowing Mycroft, he’ll come in smelling like fresh laundry, and … oh, that’s not a good thought to carry into the shower. I’d better make it a cold one.
***
Fifteen freezing minutes later, I’m on the sofa in jeans and a thermal shirt, with two slices a pizza and a double shot of whisky, right as rain. The pizza, far from what I’m used to, is excellent, and the whisky is divine.
After I’m done eating, and am working my way through my second drink, I realise that more than forty-five minutes have passed, and no Mycroft. I’m sure the delay has something to do with something I don’t need or want to know about, so I settle in, and let the warmth of the room, and the comfort of the sofa keep me company.
A few minutes later, I’ve drifted into a half-asleep state, and have cropped up a fantasy of Mycroft in my bed, propped up against the pillows, pale and creamy against the dark of the mahogany frame, long legs folded, as he strokes my hair gently. His hands are gentle and the touch is sensuous, and it’s all I can do to keep from rolling over and pinning him to the bed. He looks down at me with a knowing look, and trails a finger down my cheek. “Such naughty thoughts, Detective Inspector…”
“Mycroft…” I sigh, and snuggle closer to him, rubbing my cheek against the softness of his – shit! I jolt awake, and sit up quickly. “Fuck… sorry. Didn’t mean to drift off.” I hope he didn’t notice… oh, hell, who am I kidding? He’s a Holmes – they notice bloody everything. “Um…”
“I apologise for keeping you from the comfort of your bed,” he says, and I note that he’s avoiding looking directly at me.
“It’s not a problem. Have a seat.” I wave at the end of the sofa because I don’t feel like getting up and moving the pile of file folders from the armchair.
He sits on the sofa, and opens his briefcase, which is on the table in front of him. “Here.” He holds out a handful of my warrant cards. “Found in Baker Street. Surely you knew that they were missing?”
I shrug. “They’re always missing. No matter where I hide them, he finds them.”
“Your inner coat pocket is the worst place, Detective Inspector.”
“Greg,” I correct. “And short of putting it in my shoe like a kid, what do you suggest?”
He puts a long finger to his lips, and I’m lost.
Gorgeous, that. Long fingers, nails manicured, so I’m sure they won’t snag, or have hangnails. Smooth hands… I know he uses some posh hand cream that’s processed in the spleen of a baby whale or some shit to keep them soft. Jesus… what would they feel like on my chest? My thighs…or higher. God… the thought of those sexy, long-fingered hands on my dick is the hottest-
“Greg… Gregory… are you all right?”
I blink away the fantasy, and look at him. “What’s that?”
“You went glassy-eyed. Am I… you should be sleeping, and here I am going on about Sherlock and your warrant card.”
“It’s okay,” I say, crossing my legs to quell my rising erection. “I just…” I clear my throat, and decide to take the bull by the horns. “I was distracted by your hands.”
“What about them? “ He frowns. “It’s the freckles, isn’t it? Odd, I know, but my father’s side of the family-“
“I wasn’t thinking about your freckles,” I laugh. “Well, not in the sense that they’re odd. More like wondering if there were more of them…?”
“I… what?” He tilts his head to the side, and narrows his eyes. “You…”
“Are you freckled all over?”
He laughs, and to me, it sounds a bit nervous. “Did you hit your head during the arrest of that murder suspect today?”
I like that I’ve put him off his game a bit. “I’m not suffering from a concussion, if that’s what you’re asking.” I shrug. “I was just wondering.”
“About my freckles? That’s peculiar.”
Again, I shrug. “That’ I’m asking, or that I’m asking?
He mulls that over for a moment. “That you’re asking, I suppose.”
“Hm.” I swallow hard. In for a penny… “You seem so well put together – it’s sexy that you have freckles under all your… you.”
“My ‘me’?”
“Layers.” I chuckle at the look of confusion on his face. “You’re usually sharper than this.”
“You’ve managed to confuse me,” he admits reluctantly. “Asking about freckles, and staring at my hands. Losing your train of thought. Unlike you.”
“Yes, well… you don’t everything about me. Yet.” I lean forward, and give him a hard look. Normally, I’d back off, given the mixed signals. Maybe he really doesn’t know what I’m after. But that blush… it’s calling me. And if I’m going to be kept up, it should be for a good reason. “I ah… lost my train of thought because I was thinking that I’d like you to put your hands on me. All over me.”
To my surprise, the blush deepens, and spreads from his neck, round to the tips of his ears. He shifts, and clears his throat. “I… well… I don’t wish you to think that you are obliged to flatter me in order to keep me from advising your superiors that Sherlock has been using your warrant card to –“
“No.” I take a deep breath (for courage) and move to the center of the sofa, close enough to feel his thigh against mine. “Because you’re damned sexy, and I want to shag you. Have done for ages now. Gagging for it, wondering what it would be like to have your soft hands on me, your well-kept nails down my back… every time I see you, it’s the only thing I can think of.”
He blinks once, which I’ve come to know as a sign that he’s considering the most diplomatic response to something that he considers gauche. Or outside his knowledge. Which isn’t many things, but I’m sure no one like me has ever admitted wanting to shag him, so he’s probably figuring how he can dispose of my body.
“It was just a stray thought,” I say. I figure if he doesn’t want me in that way, or isn’t in to men (low odds), he can have an out. “I’m overly tired. Feel free to ignore me.”
“I could.” He looks at me thoughtfully, then flashes a frankly predatory smile. “Or, I could just…” And he just leans over and mashes his lips to mine.
Surprised, my mouth falls open, and he takes advantage by slipping is tongue in. And it’s perfect. Soft, hot, needy… damn it. I tug him closer, and it’s awkward because we’re side by side. I pull away and scramble to the end of the sofa, so I can lie flat. He grins (grins!) and is on top of me before I can invite him to do just that.
He nuzzles against my neck, kissing his way across my collarbone, and up to my lips again. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers. “I had no idea you’d want this, want me, but when I came in, you were practically moaning my name in your sleep.”
I blush at being caught out. “I was thinking about you as I dozed off…”
“What do you want to do?”
“All of it,” I say fervently, wanting to wrap myself around him and move. “Whatever you want, however you want it. Tell me.”
He blushes again, and looks away. I can feel the shiver that runs through him, and I hope it’s because he’s thinking of what he wants to do to me. God, please let it be that.
“Please, Mycroft,” I moan, lifting my hips to show him how much I want him. “Don’t hide from me. It’s okay. Tell me…”
“Gregory.” His breath is hot and humid against my throat. “You have no idea how long, how much, or what I promised I’d do if I got a chance to have you under me. So many things…”
“Do them to me,” I plead, running my hands through his hair, down his back to cup his fleshy arse cheeks. “All of it. Any of it. Please.”
He lifts his head, meeting my eyes. His pupils are wide and dark, and I shiver at the need showing on his face. “I don’t think I can be… it… I might be rough. And perhaps embarrassingly quick, because it’s been… a while. But I promise to make it up to you. I’m extremely capable in the sense of recovery time….”
“It’s all fine. Rough, fast, more than once… I want all of it.” I nip at his shoulder, groaning at the taste of his jacket in my mouth. “Gotta get you out of these clothes.”
“Yes.” His mouth meets mine eagerly.
I push his jacket off his shoulders, frustrated that I can’t get it past his upper arms. I wrench out of the kiss. “Take… too many clothes. Off, please.”
The sight of a hot and wanting Mycroft Holmes wriggling out of his expensive jacket has got to be at the top of some ‘sexiest things ever’ list. He tosses it to the end of the sofa, and is back nibbling at my neck. “This is just perfect,” he croons, “just perfect. Look at you. Are you sure it’s me you want?”
“Get my kit off, and you’ll know.” I lift my hips, needing him to feel just how much I want him, want this, but the clothes between us are making that impossible. “This isn’t working…”
“Patience.” He lifts off me, and stands up. “I think we should take this to your bed. Otherwise,” he looks at my wobbly coffee table, and narrow sofa, “we may end up furniture shopping when all is said and done.”
The idea of breaking the table, the sofa, hell… breaking the bloody floor, is so hot, I am off the sofa in a flash. “Come on, then.” I grab his hand, and tug him toward my bedroom. “Let’s break my bed.”
“Yes. And if you plan on having me in it often, we can replace it with a sturdier version.”
I groan at the thought, and push him hard toward the bedroom.
***
I shut the bedroom door with a bang, and turn to face him. “Get your kit off, Mycroft.”
He smiles, and looks around. “Not at all what I expected.”
“I’ve managed to surprise you?” My shirt and belt go on the floor. “You’re falling behind.”
“Not surprised.” He unfastens his watch from the thirty or so latches on his waistcoat, and places it in his pocket. The pin from his tie is loosened and removed, and placed in the same pocket.
“God, you getting out of all your expensive trappings is making me want you more, Mycroft.” I lick my lips. “Hurry up, Mycroft.”
He chuckles at that, and undoes the top buttons of his waistcoat. “I was expecting… well, less expensive furnishings, based on the décor in the other rooms of your flat. Your bed is an antique, correct?”
I smile. “It was my gran’s, made by her husband as a wedding present. Francois Lestrade was quite good with his hands, I’m told.” I pull off my socks, and drop my trousers. Kicking out of them, I smile at him. “Master craftsman, he was.”
“And are you?” He slips out of his waistcoat and lays it properly on the chest at the foot of the bed. “Good with your hands? A master craftsman…?”
“Hm… let’s see, then.” I swallow hard, and step in close, covering his hands with mine over the buttons of his shirt. “You really wear too many clothes. Nice clothes, but not good for undressing.”
“Clothes maketh the man.”
“Yeah. And you must have a very good tailor.”
“I do.” He loosens his tie, slides it off, then works on removing his cufflinks. “One of the best.”
“Good at sewing buttons and such, I imagine.”
“Obviously.”
“That’s a boon for me, then.” I put his hands on my hips, then wrench his shirt open, sending the last three buttons flying across the room.
“Gregory!” The look on his face is a mix of horrified and confused. “Why would you do that? Those buttons are-“
“Replaceable,” I whisper with a nip to his bottom lip. “And I’m quite eager to see if you’re as hairy as I think you are…”
“Oh.” He ducks his head, and eases his shirt off his (creamy) shoulders. “There are… well, I’ve… that is, I’m a bit pale because-“
“Mycroft.” I smooth my hands along his arms, which are surprisingly quite firm. “Relax, please. This isn’t a pageant…”
“I am simply providing you with facts so that you aren’t disappointed.”
“You couldn’t disappoint me. I’ve been thinking about you, wanting you… Christ, you know everything… how could you not know that?” I pull him against me, and move my hips, slowly grinding against him. “Feel what I think about you. And before you say it’s a natural reaction to stimuli or some brainy shit like that, I’ll have you know that I don’t just get hard on a whim at this age. I’m hard because of you. Now… what are you going to do about that?”
Mycroft’s wicked smile sends a shiver down my spine. “If you’ll allow me to finish undressing, I’ll answer your question.”
“Of course,” I say. I strip out of my pants, letting them drop to the floor without a thought. I crawl into the bed, and lie against the pillows, waiting.
He watches me for a long moment, and I can see the calculations and deductions going on in his mind. Then he nods. “You’re beautiful,” he says.
“And I’m sure you are, too, under your get up.”
Taking the hint, he undresses without hurry, but I can feel the vibration of his anxiousness, see it in the fumbling of his hands with his zip, in the way his pulls off his shoes without unlacing them. When he’s finally naked, he comes over to my side of the bed, and slips in beside me before I can get a good look at him. “You have the necessary accoutrements, I assume?”
I laugh at that. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a condom being referred to as an accoutrement. But yes, I have whatever we need. In that bottom drawer.”
“Good.” He rolls over top of me, and smiles. “You’re very lovely, Gregory Lestrade. And I thought about having you like this, about fucking you…” he shudders and moves his hips forward slightly. “A hundred different ways. My fantasies didn’t prepare me for how utterly wanton you would be for me, nor that I would feel so distractingly fevered.” His hands grip my waist, and he tugs at me, moving me into perfect position beneath him.
I moan as his cock slides against mine. It’s long and thick and perfect. “You feel good against me. Big and hard… I want it.”
“As do I,” he whispered. He moves a hand across my chest, down to my stomach, and back up again. “But now that I’ve calmed myself, I find that I’d rather linger over you, over this, much like a fine cognac. Had I rushed, I’d have missed how sensitive you are here…” He tweaks my left nipple, which causes me to arch upward. “And here…” his long-fingered hand trails along my side. “Just lovely…”
“Mycroft… please.” I am not above begging, pleading, or whatever he needs to move this along. “Could you not tease me?”
“Do you like them sucked?” Without waiting for a response, he bends down, and takes the nipple in his mouth, sucking gently.
“Christ,” I groan, and before I can even think about it, my hands are at the back of his head, tugging him closer, trying to get more of his mouth on me. “That is… ah!”
He sucks harder in response, and flicks his thumb over the other nipple, back and forth, driving me mad in the process.
“Mycroft.”
“Hm?” He lifts his head, releasing the nipple with a rather lewd slurp, and smiles at me. “Too much?”
“No…” I move my legs back and forth against his hips and legs impatiently. “Yes. Maybe… I don’t know. I just want you.”
“Well, let’s not keep you waiting.” He rolls partially away, opening the drawer for the ‘accoutrements’. “Do you need to…?”
I chuckle at his practicality. “All good,” I say. “How do you want me? What did you imagine in your dreams about me?”
“I dreamed,” he says, sliding one long, lubed finger inside me, “that I touched you, and made you wild. Unbridled, unhinged, begging for me to fuck you.”
“Not far off from that.” I bite my lip as he moves his finger in and out, opening me. “Oh…good god, that’s good.”
“Has it…” He swallows hard, then looks at me. “How long since the last time? With a man?”
“Oh… ah… maybe a few years,” I pant. “I’ve not… Mycroft…” A second finger joins the first, and I can feel myself gripping them, clenching down, easing the way for him. After a few minutes, I feel so relaxed, I can’t help but push up and ride his fingers, circling my hips, trying to get him in deeper. “Please… I need more.
“I know,” he soothes, “just a bit more.” His other hand grips my cock firmly, then he starts a nice up and down motion that has me writhing. Jesus… “I knew your hands would be soft. I knew you would know how to touch me. God, Mycroft… it’s perfect. Just like that.”
The rhythm he sets – fingers in and out, hand up and down is maddeningly erotic. He doesn’t miss a beat, watching, gauging… his eyes are dark and piercing, focused on my face. “So responsive to me… has anyone else touched you like this?”
“No,” I pant, arching upward into his hand. “No one has long fingers like you… you’re so deep inside me….”
“Yes.”
“I’m ready. Very ready.”
“Trust me. You need another finger.” He moves back a bit. “Touch me, Gregory. Feel how big I am, how thick and long, and how it will feel shoving up inside you when you’re ready…”
Eagerly, I reach down and take him in hand. Hard and silky, veiny, and fairly leaping in response to my touch. I circle it with my fingers, and slide my hand upward, gauging the length and width. “It’s lovely. I want to see if it fits in my mouth…”
A hint of colour tints his cheeks and gingerly removes my hand. “You can taste next time.” He squirts more lube on his hand, and another finger is added.
“Mmm…” I tense at the feeling of fullness, and breathe out through my nose. “That’s… mmph… lot of fingers. Very long fingers.”
“Are you all right? I can –“
“No, no… it’s fine. Just takes some getting used to.” I feel myself relaxing as he curls his fingers slightly. “That feels so fucking good… can you… I want to see you, see how you touch yourself when you think about me… show me, Mycroft.”
He laughs and slides his hand off my cock. He holds it in front of my mouth. “Lick.”
I lap at his hand, tasting the lube and my own flavour coating his hand. Then I lick, long broad strokes with my tongue, up and down, tonguing between his fingers. “Delicious.”
“Lethal tongue,” he groans. He wraps his hand around his cock, and moves it down in one long stroke. “I like to linger over the sensation. Slow strokes, mimicking your shorter fingers and wide palms. I imagine that your grip would be loose…” he slides his hand down… “but firm. It would feel heavenly,” he finishes with a wistful sigh.
“Let me touch you, make it real for you…”
“No. I’m too close.”
That sends a shiver down my spine. “I’m ready, Mycroft. Fuck me. Hard.”
“Yes, yes…” he agrees, and removes his fingers with a gentle wiggle. The condom is opened, put on (with a bit of a struggle – must remember to buy bigger next time) and a bit of lube is applied. “Please let me know if you experience any discomfort.”
“So polite, you are,” I tease, spreading my legs to accommodate him. “Stop teasing and get on with it.”
His eyes rake over me, and he frowns. “Is this… the position all right with you? We can change – “
“I want to see you,” I whisper. It didn’t occur to me that he’d think I wouldn’t want to be on my back, to be vulnerable. “It’s fine, Mycroft. I’m not that macho. Please…?”
He nods, and leans down to kiss me. It’s a distracting kiss – hot, demanding, all tongue and lips, so forceful, that I don’t notice that he’s pressing his dick inside me until the head is mostly in.
I break out of kiss and arch my back, wanting to get him deeper inside. “Feels good, “I laugh. “Big, but good.”
“Not hurting you?”
“No, just too slow. Go on, take it, Mycroft… don’t make me wait. I won’t break…”
“God… you…” He swallows hard, and braces himself on his arms. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted you… no idea.” He moves forward, sliding the whole of his cock in me in one fell swoop.
“Christ!” I wasn’t ready for the fullness, for the sharp ache that it would trigger. “Wait, wait… let me move…” I bend my legs, and press them against his sides. “There. Now, get back to it.”
“Yes.” Mycroft leans down, and kisses me. “So beautiful,” he whispers, and presses forward again.
The slow slide of his cock is maddening, and it’s just making me wanting more of him. “Mycroft… god… harder, faster… something. Don’t stop.”
“No,” he pants, moving faster, snapping his hips harder.
It’s perfect, he’s perfect. I tilt my hips upward and move with him, catching the pace he’s set. “So good, so good,” I chant, wrapping my legs around his waist. God, I’m going to feel this in the morning, but I don’t ever want it end. “Oh,” I moan as he rams forward again.
He smiles down at me, boyish and sexy, seemingly delighted at the curses he’s drawing from me. “You are positively gorgeous like this, Gregory. Wanton, greedy, begging… you like this, then? Being filled with my cock?”
“God, yes. It’s perfect, you’re perfect. Keeping fucking me…”
His hand wraps around my cock, and he pulls, gently, then more firmly. “I need you to come for me… are you ready?”
“Getting there,” I pant. “Keep doing that.”
He obliges me, jacking me with long, firm strokes until I’m sweaty and basically twisted into a pretzel beneath him.
He lets out his breath in a huff and stills. “Gregory, I want you to ride me. Can you?”
“Yeah.” I sound shaky and breathless. I unwrap my legs from his shoulders as he eases out of me. He helps me sit up, and moves past me to sit with his back against the headboard.
I smile and rise to my knees, crawling up the bed to straddle him. “You’re quite sexy,” I say, leaning in to nuzzle his neck. He tastes salty and delicious, and I want to spend hours nibbling at his long, graceful neck.
But he has other ideas. “I think you’re missing the point of being on top of me, Gregory.”
“Oh, yes… something about riding you.”
“Yes.” He grips my hips, and lifts me slightly. “Please.”
I shift, reach back, and press his cock into place. With a shaky smile, I sink down on him a bit at a time. “Jesus…”
“Too much?” His hands are smoothing up and down my thighs. “No rush, Gregory. In your own time…”
“Mmm.” It’s big, and long, and I don’t think I’m ever going to get to the end of it. “So damned big… how do you even fit in your trousers?”
“I’m very rarely aroused to this extent,” he says matter-of-factly. “And never when I’m getting dressed.”
“Big cock like this, you must dress up.” I sink down again, then lift up slightly. Then down again, rotating my hips to get all of him inside me.. “You pick a side and you’d be beating all the size queens off with a stick.”
“How astute,” he murmurs. “I love how we fit together. You’re delightfully tight, almost to the point of pain. Exquisite.”
I take hold of the headboard, and grind up and down on him, loving the feel of his hard cock as it pistons in and out. “That’s it, that’s good, keep doing that,” I urge, moving faster, plunging down harder. “Touch me. I’m close… god, touch me.”
A long finger trails down the length of my cock, and I shudder. “Like that?”
“With your hand. All of your hand,” I beg.
He obliges me, teasing the head of my cock with his thumb, spreading the moisture around, then grips me. “Beautiful.”
“Mmm…” I lean back with my hands behind me, thrusting forward into his hand, then bouncing down on his cock. Sex has never been this decadent before, and I’ve never been so indulged. “Oh, god… Mycroft...” And before I can stop it, I’m coming all over his hand.
To my delight, he laughs, and rubs semen on my stomach. “Such a tart,” he teases.
“Oh, you posh git… that’s just filthy,” I pant. “Are you going to finish? You’re like a brick inside me, and I want to see how you get off…”
“And so you shall.” His eyes go a deep, dark blue and he smacks my arse with both hands. “Hands back on the headboard, if you will…”
I fall against him, hands on the headboard, and he slides further in me. “Damn…”
“Move,” he demands, slapping at my arse again.
My hips lift, and he plants his hands under my thighs, settling me fully on his cock. “Ah, Gregory… just perfect.” His hips snap upward, pounding against me, the sound loud and sharp in the quiet of the room.
“Yes,” I moan as he moves faster, harder. “Fuck me…” If he keeps it up, I’m going to come again, it’s so damned good. His cock is stretching me, filling me, and I grind down hard, then lift, and drop. I do this a few times, and let go of the headboard, to brace my hands against his chest. “Lazy sod, making me do all the work. Come on, then… show me what you’ve got.”
“Of course…” He pulls me against him, holding me tightly, lips against my shoulder, immobilising me. Then he proceeds to pound me to hell and back, shoving in and out of me until I’m almost sure he’s going to break me. And all the while, his hands are all over my back, and his lips and tongue ravish my neck, nipping and sucking, and arousing me, so that in just a few short minutes, I’m panting and needy.
“Christ… Mycroft… you’ve got me all hard again.”
“Wanton.” He sounds pleased with himself. “You’re so willing, and ready for me, I could most certainly fuck you all night, but I’m so close…” he husks. He lets me loose, and his hands spread my arsecheeks wide, and I can feel him swell even bigger inside me as he shoves in hard, and comes. He nips at my shoulder as he does, and I jerk at the sting, and laugh as I come again.
“My dear Gregory," he groans, flopping back against the pillows. He is gorgeously disheveled, sweaty, and breathing likes he’s run a marathon.
I hiss as I lift off his spent cock, and fall sideways on the bed. “You made me come twice. No one has ever done that before.”
“No one but I will ever do so again.” He pets my hair, and tugs me closer for a kiss. “I consider you mine.”
“The same goes, then.” I look down, and laugh. “That condom looks like it’s going to split… the loo is that way.” I point to the door to the left. “Bring back a flannel.”
He rolls his eyes, and slides out of bed. I get an eyeful of his gorgeous arse and feel like that cat that got the cream.
***
After a quick clean up, we indulge in a cuddle under the blankets. “Christ, I ache all over.”
Mycroft slides a hand up my thigh and squeezes. “Too rough? It had been a while for you.”
“No, you cocky bastard. You weren’t too rough. You’re hung like a horse. I’ve got meetings, and my arse has been drilled thoroughly. So I’ll be over in the corner, trying to look like I’m meant to be standing.”
“You begged me to fuck you hard,” he defends. “How could I resist such a siren song? I’m only human.”
“You are most definitely not human.” I roll over with a groan. “I’ll never sit again.”
He fingers through my hair, and slides his hand down my back. “I will arrange for you to have a massage this evening, if you’ve no objections…?”
“None at all,” I say. “I like that there are perks to being your…” I frown, and wonder what he’s decided this is. “Ah, shag?”
“Certainly not.” His tone is firm and hard. “I have been enamoured of you for two years now. I’ll not reduce your status to something as crass as just a shag.”
“Well… it’s not like it needs a label,” I agree. “I ah… you’ve had feelings for me for two years?”
“More or less,” he says, averting his eyes. “I admired you because you put up with Sherlock. And you’re kind, and rather sexy. The combination of those things, and the fact that you have an incredible arse made me want to explore all types of possibilities.”
I laugh, and kiss him soundly. “You are good for my ego, Mycroft Holmes. And for the record, I’ve wanted you from the day we met. I’ve a thing for menacing types who offer bribes to police officers in sketchy warehouses. Very sexy, that.” I chuck him under the chin. “And your long, long legs, and lovely hands. And now that I know you’re hiding adorable freckles under your bespoke get up, I’m all the more besotted.”
“I always hated them as a child. I could never be outside for more than an hour without freckling or burning.”
“Your fair skin looks marvelous against my dark sheets. The contrast is very arousing.” I throw a leg across his thighs, and rub against him suggestively. “If I didn’t feel like I’d been run over by a lorry, I’d beg you for another go…”
“As much as I’d love to lie here and let your flattery lead to other things,” he sighs, “I must take my leave soon. I have morning tea with the Prime Minister, and it won’t do for me to smell like sweat and sex. And you’ve ruined my shirt.” He gives my arse a gentle squeeze. “And I’ll need you in top form if there’s to be another time.”
“There will most definitely be another time, since I’m yours now.” I plant a kiss to his chest, and fight the urge to lick him all over. “And your shirt is not ruined, it just needs mending. Besides, your waistcoat will hide the missing buttons.”
“Ruined,” he repeats. He reaches across me and takes up his phone from the night stand.
“Who are you calling at…” I squint at the clock. “… half-four in the morning?”
“Anthea,” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to be calling one’s assistant at this time of morning.
“What for?”
“A ride. I know you don’t mind taking me, but you’ve got to be at work at seven – to take me home would make you late. Now, hush… Anthea? Sorry to disturb you, my dear, but I am in need of a ride. If you would be so kind as to fetch me, I would be extremely grateful.” He looks at me, and smiles. “No, no trouble. It seems that Detective Inspector Lestrade and I may have stayed up a bit late discussing the current Sherlock situation, and it wouldn’t do for him to have to drive me out to Knightsbridge when he has to be at the Yard in the next two hours.”
I laugh softly at his outright lie.
“Thank you, Anthea, I’ll be waiting.” He ends the call, and gives me a sheepish, which is the sexiest thing in the world on him. “It is not a lie to keep the truth to oneself.”
“Well, she’s going to know what you’ve been up to as soon as she sees you,” I counter. “The ‘Sherlock Situation’ is going to become the code name for shagging Lestrade.”
“Not if you put me back the way you found me.”
“I’m not a miracle worker, but I’ll try.” Hard as it is, I get out of bed, and put on my dressing gown. “Up, up… I’m sure she’s not going to leave you standing outside my flat for more than a few minutes.”
“She’s most likely nearby.” He gets up with a groan, and pulls on his pants. “I think we should do this at mine next time. Your mattress is as antique as the frame.”
“I’m sure yours has clouds stuffed into it, and is so soft, it has to be tied down so it won’t float away.”
“Of course,” he laughs. Then he frowns at the state of his shirt. “Ruined.”
“Just put it on, and stop complaining.” I move behind him, and fasten the remaining three buttons. “Too sexy for your shirt.”
“Most amusing. You ravished me, and ruined my clothing, Gregory Lestrade.” His trousers go on next, and then his waistcoat. “I don’t have the energy to attach my watch.”
I laugh at that. “It’s nearly sunrise, and you’re going home to change. You don’t need your full armour, do you?”
“Says the man with ‘lucky pants’.”
“Worked, didn’t they?” I step around him, and lick my lips at the sight of Mycroft Holmes with beard burn. “You are so fucking sexy, Mycroft. I want to undress you again, and make love to you all day.”
Mycroft blushes, and loops his tie around his neck. “Flattery.”
“Truth.” I feel myself getting hard again, and with a growl, I latch my lips onto the hollow of his throat, and suck gently.
“Gregory!” he gasps, and pushes me back. “I’ve a meeting with the Prime Minister… I can’t do that with… love bites!”
“Oh, no one will see once you’ve got your tie on.”
“We will definitely have to set some ground rules, Detective Inspector Lestrade,” he huffs, putting on his jacket and sliding into his shoes. “Anthea’s here.”
“How do you just know things?” I ask, gathering his coat and brolly, and following him to the door.
“My mobile vibrated.” He takes up his briefcase, and we go outside.
***
Anthea is waiting by the car as we come out. Mycroft looks around like he’s scanning the area for assassins, then relaxes.
I hand him his coat, and umbrella. “Thank you for assisting me with the Sherlock Situation,” I say, barely resisting the urge to kiss him.
Mycroft hooks his umbrella on his arm, then leans in closer. “Perhaps tonight you can put that rather delectable cock of yours to some use. As a proper thank you, of course.”
“Of course,” I say, smiling hard. The urge to kiss him has gone, and has turned into the urge to strip him right here, right now. I settle for a squeeze of his shoulder. “Get on with you, before I do something embarrassing right here.”
“Have a good day, Detective Inspector,” he says politely, and walks toward the car.
I laugh at the fact that he’s not got his shoes on completely, that his waistcoat wasn’t buttoned up proper, and his hair is sticking up on one side. But he’s got his head held high, and is walking like he owns the world.
Anthea hands him a cup of coffee, and they have a brief conversation that has him blushing. I knew she’d figure out we’d been shagging!
“I’m disheveled,” he calls out, turning back to me. “You were supposed to fix me back the way you found me.”
“I’m not a magician or a seamstress,” I say, then remember that it’s not even five yet, and my neighbors are probably sleeping. I prop the door open with my slipper, since it would be embarrassing to have to ask Mrs. Karash to let me in. Again. I walk over to the car, and smile. “It’s a good look on you. Morning, Anthea. Good of you to come.”
To my surprise, deep red splotches appear on her cheeks as she looks at me, then at her boss. I guess I thought she was immune to anything involving Mycroft. “Er… yes, well. I’ll… the car is where I’ll be.” She doesn’t wait for approval or comment; she just gets in the car and slams the door shut.
“We’ve embarrassed her,” Mycroft says, nudging me to lean against the car.
“You’re so sexy,” I say, wrapping my arms around him. “I wish you could stay…”
“Meeting.” He plants a loud kiss to my lips, then brushes a hand down my cheek. “Later?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Have a wonderful day, Mycroft. And thank you so much for putting your hands on me. It was perfect.”
He blushes, and gets into the car.
I laugh at what I’m sure is a going to be a lovely ride out to Knightsbridge, with Mycroft pretending we’ve spent the evening talking, and Anthea dying of curiosity.
“Positively disgraceful, guests skulking out of your flat at this time of morning, and you, parading around practically naked, snogging your fancy man in the street. Have you no shame?” Mrs. Karash frowns at me from her window.
I think about that for a moment, then smile at her. “Not really,” I shrug. “No shame at all.”
“Tart!” she tisks, and slams her window shut.
Since it’s been so long since I’ve had anyone at my flat doing anything to me, I’m going to take that as a compliment. “Have a good day, Mrs. K,” I laugh, and go inside to get ready for the day.
Fin
***