Archive of Our Own ^beta

The kiss was disappointingly a little like the man himself, slightly restrained, a fraction up-tight and not nearly as intensely possessive as you were wanting.

Standing, resplendent in beautifully tailored suit, Mycroft Holmes was looking down his considerably aquiline nose. Sighing, you pull back from his soft lips; did he always have to be so damned…repressed? Would it kill him to manhandle you against a wall and snog you as if the world was ending in the next thirty seconds? Probably not gentlemanly enough, you muse.

Relaxing into the couch, but frustrated beyond belief, he pours drinks and hands you an elegant crystal glass filled with warming amber nectar, before unbuttoning his suit jacket and sitting beside you. The warm line of his clothed thigh presses against yours and it is a wonderful distraction.

Innocuously scooting closer, eager for closer contact and the feel of more of his body against yours, Mycroft can tell exactly what your game is and merely rolls his eyes.

Dating Mycroft was lovely, if a little 18th century. Dinner and flowers and theatre were perfect but after weeks of his splendidly sartorial company and yet no sign of him removing those exquisite clothes, it was a little…unsatisfying, to say the least.

Well, it was going to be tonight, even if you had to rip those bloody clothes off him.

Finishing the contents of your glass in one swift gulp, you rest it carefully on the floor and slide closer to him, almost knocking his own glass out of his hand. He sets it down for fear of other spillages, a look of mild amusement playing across regal features.

‘Any closer and you will be sitting on my knee,’ he drawls sardonically.

‘Is that an invitation?’

His reply is only a mysterious smirk in your direction that could mean anything at all. This guarded man’s features can be extremely hard to read at times, despite your best efforts.

Leaning forwards, you can just reach enough to place small open mouthed kisses on his cheek. It is so beautifully soft and smooth under your lips as you trail down to the very corner of his mouth. The feather light touch must tickle as Mycroft’s lips twitch.

It would appear that he is not unwilling; he turns his head to the side to give you better access and begins caressing your lips with his own.

Carefully getting to your knees on the couch you are now higher, positioned over him. Bodies push even closer together as your kiss deepens into something more than the chaste ones he always seems more comfortable with.

You chance a more direct approach, sliding your tongue out gently to run along his bottom lip. Mycroft makes a small noise at the contact, lips parting; you use that to your advantage, sucking in his bottom lip and tugging it slightly with your teeth. A hand sneaks around you back, steadying you against him and at the same time pulling you urgently closer.

Sliding across his suited lap, your body ends up straddling his, legs parted on either side of his thighs. Large hands skim from your knees upwards before finally resting on your hips.

The slight pressure and weight from his hands lets you know he is there and just that small embrace is beginning to excite you.

Now this is more like it, you think, as you enthusiastically press the front of your body closer to his, rubbing your centre against his. The kiss is infinitely better than anything before; hotter, full of wanting and passion you knew there was something under that calm and calculating exterior.

Mycroft’s tongue demands entrance to your mouth, massaging yours slowly with his own, clearly intent on exploring every inch of you. The aftertaste of Brandy fills your mouth and you wonder how it can taste so deliciously different when it is coming from his.

A warm weight is beginning to pool in your stomach as your body instinctively clenches eager for more intimate contact. His fingers are making small circling patters on your waist and it is a terrible distraction. The tongue may be talented but you wonder what else those long, elegantly nimble fingers could be doing to you.

A small groan of mixed pleasure and longing is lost in his mouth; his only response is the involuntary buck of his hip off the couch, almost taking you with him.

Your hands tangle in his hair, running through soft silky auburn locks. You stifle a giggle at the current messy state. It is always so neat and you have been eager to mess up Mycroft’s hair for some time just to see the look on his face.

Impatient for more contact of skin on skin, your fingers slide through his blue silk tie, tugging it out of the confines of his waistcoat in an attempt to loosen the large Windsor knot.

It was the disruption up of his clothing that did it. A small sigh and his eyes flutter open, glancing down at you resolutely holding his tie and trying to prise it off. For a moment he seems unaware where he is, too wrapped up in the pleasure of the moment. His gaze focuses once more; you can see the government personal slip back into the previously unguardedly relaxed features.

One elegant eyebrow arches in your direction and you can only bite back an expletive as Mycroft straightens the tie and tucks it neatly back inside his still-buttoned waistcoat.

Oh well, nearly.

Strangely he hasn’t indicated you to move. Legs parted, the centre of your body pushed against him, only a few superfluous layers of clothing separate your groin from his. Licking your lips at the delicious possibilities you catch Mycroft’s gaze wandering your body to where you are rubbing gently against him. As his eyes travel back to meet yours, you can tell he was thinking the same thing, a small flush of pink crosses his cheeks at the distinctive tenting of his trousers.

His head cocks slightly to the side as if in contemplation and Mycroft seems torn, debating his next move. Hands slide back to your thighs and are either purposely or subconsciously tracing small intricate patterns across your legs. At this moment you could only wish your legs were bare so that his warm hands would be caressing naked skin.

With a final, meltingly heated kiss on your lips he shifts, scooting to the edge of the sofa, indicating that he wants you off.

Slipping off his lap you stand on the floor, heels sinking into the soft, plush carpet. Effortlessly, and with all the grace of a cat, Mycroft slides to his feet beside you.

Taking your hand firmly in his, without a word, he begins walking from the lounge, trailing you in his wake. He doesn’t bother turning on any lights, a few lamps casting dim shadows across the walls as you progress through his house.

He pulls you close in the dark, firm body leaning over yours. You can feel his lips barely brush your ear and tickles slightly but they continue moving, grazing your temple, kissing your cheek, all while pulling you along.

Mycroft’s lips sweep your earlobe and it sends a small shiver of pleasure down your spine. His voice lowers; you swear it has dropped a few octaves. Already silky smooth, it whispers down your neck like velvet chocolate, ‘I would love to become more…intimate with you my dear. But I have a…problem that I must confess first.’

Problem? You can imagine no problem just at this moment that would make you say no. Baring confessing that he is a serial killer or something, you can’t imagine anything else at the moment that would stop you climbing into bed with him.

Continuing onwards, he leads you upstairs, all the while his hands gently trailing your body; a gentle brush across your shoulders, a small caress of your waist, his fingers lacing with yours. In the dim light and with his warm, masculine smelling body so close, such small trivial touches seem far more intimate that they really are and are creating a horribly unsatisfied need in your groin.

You both arrive at a large, gleamingly white door. Stopping you, as you are about to turn the handle and walk in, Mycroft pulls you into his much larger embrace. Your senses are assaulted by his expensive aftershave, the faintest whiff of the hand soap from the restaurant you were both in tonight and an underlying tang that you have come to identify as Mycroft Holmes himself. It is quite intoxicating really and you are only too happy to melt your body against his and be swept up like some damsel in an old black and white movie.

His nose brushes your cheek as insistent lips trail a fiery line of pleasure down your jaw line and neck. A small kiss in the very hollow of your throat weakens your knees and speeds your pulse.

You can’t take much more of this. A small murmur must have escaped your lips as his mouth is suddenly on yours, demanding and forceful and just what you have been looking for.

Sliding your hands under his suit jacket, they skim along the silky back lining of his waistcoat. It feels luxurious and expensive, the texture only heightening all the sensations on your own body at this moment but no silk ever felt as good as what his mouth was doing to yours right now. It only makes you want more of him, more skin, more contact more...something.

Breaking away, you are both panting and breathless. Even in the dim light you can see his pupils are dilated, hiding those beautiful crystal blue eyes behind orbs of jet black. Those lusciously kissable lips are parted in surprise-probably at his own forcefulness-and you can’t take your eyes off his pouting pink tinged bottom lip. It begs to be sucked really. Just as you were about to move in to do so, Mycroft licks his lips, a small sign you have spotted over the weeks whenever emotion gets the better of him. It is a nervous tic while that immense brain works out his problems.

A hand cups you face and you lean into it, rubbing against the smooth appendage in a happy-cat-being-stroked-way, trying to curl around its master. The pad of Mycroft’s thumb traces your cheek gently before sliding across your lips.

He has a strange look on his face, something you don’t really see on the man; uncertainty.

Taking the tip of his thumb gently in between your lips, you bite down gently, before giving a small, experimental suck on the tip, a silent sexual overture that you are hoping he is going to allow.

Mycroft lets out a shaky breath, voice cracking as he says, ‘My problem…’ but he pauses; the minor flicker in his eyes tells you he is not sure how to proceed.

He laughs, a small almost-cackle, but not like he was genuinely finding anything amusing.

‘I confess myself, uncertain.’

Lacing your fingers through his hand you hope to appear reassuring and sensitive. Willing him to share the problem because at this small selfish minute you want to go back to sweaty passionate kissing and hope to God that there is a very large bed behind that doorway.

A small smile plays across his features, his usual slightly arrogant smirk back in place. ‘For once, I believe, I am a loss for words.’

‘Well that is a first.’ You tease him, hoping to lighten the mood.

With his hands on your hips and a final distracting lick of his lips, he turns you back towards the door walking you forward. One arm reaches around you and turns the handle, ushering you into what is clearly a very sumptuous, but well used, bedroom.

The door clicks softly shut as hands on your waist continue to propel you forwards.

The room is large and open; tastefully decorated, classic and understated. The décor screams Mycroft and his influence-or at least a very good interior designer. A few high backed chairs are positioned around the room; an ornate dresser with mirror that you think wouldn’t look out of place in Buckingham palace and matching wardrobe sit against the far wall. A large four poster bed rests against another. The plush cream carpet is even fluffier than the one downstairs and you can feel your heels sink into it all the more, you become eager to take your shoes off and wiggle your toes on it.

The firm line of Mycroft’s body presses against the back of yours as he brings the pair of you to halt just feet from the end of the bed.

The bed itself is large with coloured cushions framing the dark wooden bedframe. Deep wine coloured sheets lie unchecked and slightly wrinkled. Something you wouldn’t expect of such and impeccably precise man as Mycroft. What is currently taking up your attention however is that there is a person already on it.

‘You know Sherlock?’ He says offhandedly, as if he were introducing you both at a social function.

You glance from the bed to Mycroft wondering what on earth is going on. Of course you know his brother Sherlock. You have met him a few times, and exchanged polite-or what Sherlock would call polite-conversation. The man’s personality nothing like his brothers; much more confrontational, slightly more conceited, but still sharp and quick witted.

‘It is about time you returned brother mine.’ Sherlock murmurs from his position, tone full of knowing arrogance.

Mycroft’s body presses closer to yours, hands still on your waist, while his chin rests gently on top of your head, brushing back and forth.

You are not entirely sure but Sherlock appears naked. A glowingly pale, lean body is stretched out on the dark red sheets in striking contrast. His chest is rising and falling rhythmically, slender legs extend in front of him. Across his groin, a rumpled sheet seems to have been thrown haphazardly, perhaps to cover his modesty?

Raven curls flopping down his forehead, Sherlock looks like some sort of beautiful sculpture lying there, or an angel. No scratch that, a fallen angel, definitely fallen.

What you wonder though, is why he is blindfolded and wrists tied to one of the bedposts with what appears to be scarfs.

‘The problem…’ Mycroft practically purrs in your ear as you were busy watching Sherlock’s naked form shift on the bed, hoping, perhaps a little wrongly, that the sheet would slip just a fraction, ‘Is that my brother and I share. Everything.’

Hang on, your brain screams at you. Did he just say they share?

The emphasis on the last word, along with the currently gently rubbing of his hands in small circles along your waist, indicated exactly what Mycroft is looking for with you.

Oh.

Sharing. In that fashion.

He shares everything with his brother and you were planning on jumping his bones given half a chance.

‘Would you like to play?’ The infliction in his voice lets you know how eagerly he wants you to say yes.

You think about it, musing it over for all of about three seconds. Hell yes. Two delightfully delicious Holmes specimens under your touch, you can only imagine the rapture.

‘Why is he tied up?’ You question Mycroft at Sherlock’s current state of bondage and undress.

‘Didn’t pick this one for her intellect then brother?’ The younger man’s retort from the bed is biting criticism.

Mycroft sighs wearily, reaching around you and gives his younger brother a sharp whack on his bare thigh with open palm. The noise of flesh hitting flesh reverberates around the room and Sherlock writhes and bucks on the bed, clearly not expecting it with the blindfold currently blocking his vision.

‘Play nice Sherlock or I will have you gagged for the duration.’ Mycroft’s voice has turned deliciously evil, the threat of the gag and the dominance of his backlash against his brother is not quite something you would have expected and it turns you on just little more.

He throws a small apologetic look at you. ‘Sherlock’s manners are a lot to be desired at times but he does like you, honestly.’

A quick glance at the bed and Sherlock has wiggled himself down in the sheets further. The corner covering his mid-section is in danger of slipping completely. You can just make out a faint line of his manhood resting against his thigh and you notice there is a definite stiffening there. It would appear Sherlock clearly enjoys his brother dominance and attentions.

‘This keeps him out of trouble,’ Mycroft explains gently, ‘My brother has a particularly nasty self-destructive streak. I have found that these…entertainments keep him occupied when his mind is not on cases. It keeps him off the drugs.’
He caressed the bound man’s bare thigh lovingly, almost the way you would pet a dog.

‘The sex can be just as a euphoric high as your previous narcotics abuse, can’t it Sherlock?’

After a brief moment of silence, Mycroft lashes out with the palm of his hand again, coming into contact with bare skin. Sherlock bucks and moans at the contact, letting out a small breathlessly excited gasp of ‘Yes’.

The older Holmes smiles in triumphant satisfaction. Turning his gaze back to you the look of intensity in his eyes has increased. Maybe because you haven’t said no or run screaming, he has already deduced that you will be more than willing to take part in the boys ‘game’.

‘You can do what you like with Sherlock, he doesn’t mind.’ With that Mycroft bends towards you, bringing your lips against his in a heated kiss full of teeth and exploring tongues.

Pulling back, he gives you a gentle push towards the bed, ‘Let me watch you with him, please?’

It was the please that did it. The look he gives you is one of hunger and excited anticipation. So Mycroft likes to watch, eh, with his own brother, well that is a just a little bit kinky Sir.

Sliding out your shoes you crawl onto the bed beside the statuesque bound figure. Sherlock squirms knowing you are there, feeling the bed sink as you approach. He must be straining in anticipation you think, the sheet barely covering him is now tented impressively thanks to his fully formed erection.

Trailing a hand up his thigh, warm solid muscle quivers under your touch and he makes small encouraging noises at the contact. Coming to the edge of the sheet you peel it slowly back revealing Holmes jnr in all his glory.

Good lord, you lick your lips. It would seem Mycroft had been busy before your dinner date preparing his brother for show. A cock ring is already in place, restricting the already solid erection before you and you can just about make out the small metallic sheen of the base of an anal plug as Sherlock shifts his hips upwards. Has he been lying there like that all night when you were out? Eagerly awaiting his brother’s return in a limbo of want and arousal? Jesus, he must have been tied here for hours.

Crawling over his body, his hard cock is soon trapped under you as you straddle his waist, running your hands over a smooth, defined chest. You marvel at the pale alabaster skin, he is too perfect to be real. Sherlock has the build of an athlete, not overly muscular, all thin and lean; he could be a runner or perhaps even a swimmer.

Letting out a few small moans as you scrape fingernail across his nipples, he bucks experimentally underneath you, driving the hardness of him almost painfully into your thigh.

Leaning over, you start by placing your lips at the hollow of his throat, eager to know what his skin tastes like. You have tasted Mycroft and he is delicious. Let’s see if his brother is equally so. Spurred on by the small appreciative noises from Sherlock’s throat you trail a path of warm open mouthed kissed up his taught slender neck, arriving as a strong jawline. Tracing it upwards you finally meet his lips, a soft cupid’s bow parting under yours unhesitatingly. His kisses are wonderful but nothing on Mycroft’s you muse. There was a man who could possibly make you come from his voice and maybe a well places kiss or two, but Sherlock is certainly an interesting new toy, full of exciting promise.

Tugging off the blind fold, your eyes meet his at last. Green eyes seem to shift in colour in the passing light, at one moment you can’t tell if they are aqua, blue, emerald, grass green...so many different colours shimmering into one. He is breath taking; you could possibly cut yourself on those chiselled cheekbones and get lost in those eyes.

Sherlock blinks, unaccustomed to the light. The pause is only brief, as he strains up towards you seeking another kiss. You oblige, pushing against his mouth more forcefully than before. Grabbing a fist full of dark hair your kiss deepens, bodies bucking together.

Gasping, Sherlock pulls away as your clothing rubs across his sensitive erection.

He glances off to the side of the room, no doubt seeking his brother and your eyes follow his. Mycroft has positioned himself in a chair near the bed with a clear view of the pair of you on it. He is still fully clothed, sitting straight backed, one leg folded across the other hands resting in his lap. Only the glimmer of his eyes shows his excitement, eagerly watching the pair of you writhe on the bed. You wonder if he is going to join you at some point. As delicious as Sherlock is, you have been fantasising about, and been frustrated by, Mycroft for much longer. If you had to choose, then he would be the one tied under you at the moment.

As if reading your mind, Mycroft murmurs a seductive ‘later’ to you and nods to continue.

Sherlock is busy nuzzling your neck, kissing paths across your collar bone, tongue dancing out in small flicks against your skin.

His cheek brushes yours, ‘untie me,’ his voice is a soft whisper, lost in the kissing and rubbing of bodies. Automatically you move to loosen the scarf on his left wrist. Now free, you then turn to the right. Mycroft comments, almost drolly from somewhere to the side, ‘I wouldn’t do that.’

Turning in his direction you are about to ask why not. However you have obviously done enough to loosen the bonds, as without warning, Sherlock grabs a fistful of your hair, using his strong lithe body to push backwards until your back hits the bed. He used his body and weight to pin your down, covering every inch of you with himself.

A squeak of shock escapes your lips as you lie flat on the bed, being pushed further into the soft mattress.

‘Well I warned you,’ Mycroft sounds amused. ‘I wouldn’t have untied him just yet, he likes to…reassert his dominance occasionally and he doesn’t get away with it with me.’

Oh dear. A distinctly trapped feeling settles in the pit of your stomach along with the building pressure and excitement that rough sex can promise. You are amazed someone so lean and skinny could seem so big; but trapped under him you know there would be no escape if you were to try and force yourself up. You can only hope if you say stop then Sherlock will comply.

Lips trace your skin as delicately as a feather, it causes you to shiver, goosebumps rising on your heightened sensitive skin. Teeth sink in to the mound of your breast as you can only gasp and wiggle under him.
His quick hands are deftly removing your clothing, pausing briefly to fondle you, each new brush of bare skin across his only exciting you further. Before long you are squirming under him, silently pleading with your body.

His erection brushes your inner thigh, there is nothing quite like the smooth silky and velvety texture of it. Instinctively you part your legs in a silent invitation that you want more. The tip of his cock caresses your clit, the small bundle of nerves tingling and pulsing under the touch.

Without warning, Sherlock’s large hands grab your waist and you find yourself flipped over onto your stomach. Face down on the bedspread, his firm weight pushes into you, his body snug along yours, so close that you can’t even wriggle anymore.

Raising your head from the soft bedspread slightly, you can just see Mycroft, happily sitting in his chair as if he is at the theatre and watching a wonderful show. A small, devastatingly erotic smile is playing on his lips.

‘Fucking tease!’ Sherlock hisses in your ear as one of his hands fists almost painfully in your hair, the other pushes against the curve of your spine, forcing you deeper into the bedding. Using his knees, your legs are forced further apart, the cooler air assaulting your most intimate area. You can just feel the hard length of him rubbing between your folds and your body clenches in longing.

‘Fuck!’ An unexpected cry leaves your lips as the younger Holmes forces the hard length of his cock into your tight body in one deep thrust. Your fists ball into the sheets below as you bite your lip, eyes watering from the pain. You are nowhere near wet enough for what he just done and a deep hiss in your ear lets you know that he felt that too. Lubrication for comfort works both ways and Sherlock has skipped any extensive foreplay.

Small whimpers leave your mouth as he draws out, plunging back in just as violently as before as he sets a bruisingly brutal rhythm.

Hips smack loudly against your backside, even his sharp hipbones dig into your soft flesh. It feels like Sherlock is trying to thrust all the way through the bed to the floor below and it forces you to grip the edge of the mattress tightly, least be pushed off. Drawing a mouthful of sheet into your mouth, you try and kerb the screams coming from your throat.

‘Sherlock, I believe you are hurting her,’ Mycroft’s voice drifts across the room but a slightly edge to it, he actually sounds concerned.

Sherlock shifts, you get the feeling he is going to stop or get off, but you manage to find your voice, ‘No. No don’t stop.’

‘You are sure.’ His voice is strained from effort.

‘Yes. Please keep going. I want it to hurt.’

He continues as requested, never easing or letting up in his assault.

You are enjoying the pain. Teased and torment for weeks by Mycroft, it is delicious to feel something, and rough contact with someone else. You are not wet enough and your body is not loosening to him, each thrust tearing through your abdomen in a wonderfully ruthless fashion.

You have a good view of Holmes senior mere feet from the bed. He has abandoned that wonderful posture and slumped slightly in the chair. His suit is still impeccable but the front of his tailored trousers seem impossibly tight. As he watches his brother fuck you he is slowly rubbing himself through the fabric in long, slow strokes.

Sherlock’s fingers dig painfully into your hip and you know tomorrow there will be finger shaped bruises all over your skin.

As suddenly as he started, he stops, just as you were about to draw breath to ask him to. It was becoming just a little too much.

Withdrawing from your body and pulling back, the cool air assaults your senses without the warmth of him covering you and it leaves you almost shivering in shock.

Glancing over your shoulder, Sherlock is kneeling, panting heavily and chest heaving as if he had just run a marathon. His pale, lean body glistens with sweat and you notice he hasn’t finished, the cock ring preventing his release, just for the time being.

Gingerly you roll over and your lower body aches. Feeling like you have been punched in the gut, something is going to hurt awfully in the morning. You hesitate for a brief moment of having allowed Sherlock to brutalise your body, even if it did feel wonderful to be hurt just for a few moments, to let the pain ride your body until you nearly beg to stop. It had been a while since you woke up with rough sex riding your body like a silken bruise and would look forward to it tomorrow extremely.

Lying on your back, a small shift in air current draws you attention behind you. Mycroft has slid from his seat and is kneeling on the floor beside the bed. Craning your neck up at him you give him a small smile as he leans down and captures your lips in a brief, upside down, kiss.

‘Enjoying yourself?’

‘Immensely. Although I can think of something that will make it better.’ With that you tug on his tie pulling him down for another heated kiss.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Mycroft drawls, ‘You seemed to be doing just fine without me.’ He raises one eyebrow and gives you a naughty grin.

You shake your head. You want him. Sherlock is nice and distracting, but you are eager to see the government official out of his clothes. You want to feel his naked body rub against yours just as his brother had done. Would he do it, you wonder? If you asked him nicely? Would he hold you down and fuck you until you scream or pass out.

Rising up slightly from the bed, you aim to go to him, turning to insinuate yourself in his arms, but he smirks, pushing you back down on the bed and pinning your shoulders against the soft mattress.

With a final kiss he pulls away, soft lips begin trailing your cheek and neck while his fingers glide gently down your shoulders and arms.

‘Sherlock,’ Mycroft’s voice is a sexual purr, ‘Time to apologise for your behaviour.’ He gives his brother the most devilish smirk you have ever seen on his features.

Sherlock glances down at you sprawled on the bed, both of them looming over your smaller frame. His gaze is heated and you marvel how he can look both simultaneously mutinous at Mycroft’s ‘order’ and hungry all at the same time.

Settling between your legs the younger Holmes positions himself comfortably and it is quite a sight to see that beautifully sculpted face from between your legs, gazing longingly up the line of your body. Your hips buck as he places warm kisses playfully on the inside of your thighs. Teeth sink into the skin there and your wriggle, eager for his mouth to be in other more intimate places. You can feel his warm breath blowing across your wet pussy and it only serves to increase your arousal. A small frustrated groan leaves you as he continues teasing; skipping by the area you want his mouth to be on the most.

Kneeling above, Mycroft distracts you will his own kisses. His tongue is warm and soft, but insistent against your own, carefully exploring every inch of your mouth and leaving the taste of him lingering, even when he pulls away to attack other sensitive areas of flesh.

Each press of Sherlock’s mouth is like a small electric shock as he manoeuvres back up the inside of your thigh. His nose brushes in between your legs and you open them wider, enthusiastically, while his brother’s mouth latches onto a hardened nipple. Sucking gently and rolling it between his lips, Mycroft sends a fiery line of pleasure all the way to your toes.

Your clit pulses of its own accord, eager for contact and for a brief moment you wish it was Mycroft between your spread legs about to use that talented tongue. However suddenly Sherlock’s mouth is on you and it is the most wonderful sensation as he gently laps along your outer lips, caressing folds, pushing forwards his dexterous tongue as it slips inside you.

Head thrown back against the bed, you buck wildly against both men, looking for more, more pressure, more sensation just more in general, desperate for a release, to feel an orgasm ripple through you.

‘Please, more.’ You entreat them and Mycroft and Sherlock are only happy to comply, Sherlock between your legs and Mycroft your lips, neck, breasts, anywhere he can reach.

The younger man’s mouth is impossibly insistent, working over your hardened nub with abandon, massaging it with the pad of his tongue, or flicking gently. Latching on he suddenly sucks violently, drawing yet more moans from you and causing your back to arch alarmingly off the bed.

Almost completely lost in sensation as two sets of lips and hands wander your body providing a sensory overload, you have just enough reasoning left to notice that the movement of Mycroft and his brother are almost identical. Mycroft’s massaging tongue in your mouth moves in time and rhythm with Sherlock’s across your clit. Just how well have these two ‘practiced’ together to be like two sides of the same coin?

Barely aware that you are wiggling uncontrollably under them, screaming, begging, crying out, one hand tangles in the sensuously soft raven curls of Sherlock, the other seeks out Mycroft. Grabbing a fist full of his expensive suit jacket and drawing him closer so that you can feel the warm weight of him practically sprawled over your naked upper body as he over balances on his knees.

A warm weight is building uncomfortably in your lower abdomen. The earlier punishment all but forgotten as the wet manipulation of Sherlock’s tongue soothes your previously abused pussy. An explosion of coloured stars crosses your vision as you come, but it is his brother’s name that whispers from your lips in the moment of ultimate pleasure.

Your lower body is tingling, clit pulsing all on its own, but between your legs Holmes junior continues lapping, sending aftershocks of pleasure down your spine, enough to make your toes curl.
It is too much and you are too sensitive, you have to beg him to stop. Rolling his eyes insolently up at you, Sherlock smirks before giving one last kiss to your aching pussy. His eyes fixing on his brother almost as if he was looking for praise, or a puppy wanting a pat on the head.

Mycroft merely stands, smoothing down the small creases forming in his clothes. After what seems like an age he begins unbuttoning his jacket before laying it neatly over the back of his vacated chair. Both you and Sherlock watch, fascinated, as he begins a slow process of undressing from his many layers.

Rolling onto your side, you want a better look at him. You had longed to strip Mycroft out his stuffy clothing yourself but watching the long, slow, deliberate strip tease of his body is a close second for excitement. As the belt goes and he hooks long fingers into the waistband and tugs downwards, you can’t help a small giggle at the firm perky arse currently in view. He glances over his shoulder at you, eyebrow raised.

‘Do you always go to work in sharp suits but no underwear Mr Holmes?’ He smirks, realising your giggling is teasing him and not the sight of him naked.

‘You would be surprised what I occasionally wear or do not wear under these suits.’

Well there is an interesting idea, you think. Thanks to the position you discovered Sherlock in earlier; you now have the incredibly erotic image of Mycroft sitting in work with someone very important people, perhaps the Queen herself, wearing a cock ring or even having a prostrate massager embedded deep inside him. That is something you will get to that later.

Mycroft naked is the glorious sight you have been waiting for. Just as pale and lean as his brother there is more of softness to his body, compared to the toned, sculpted Sherlock, but he has a wonderful smattering of fine reddish-blond hair covering his chest and arms and also between his legs. Not to mention a vast collection of freckles that you are currently mesmerisedly following as he moves. You wonder if he would lie still enough, one day, to let you count them or maybe just run your tongue across the marked skin.

He swaggers back to the bed, now fully naked, his clothing in neat piles on the chair, even his shoes are arranged squared and neatly. There is a definite ‘swing’ in his step as your eyes follow his bobbing erection as he approaches. You lick your lips, wondering if he will let you taste him.

After a brief kiss, Mycroft slides across the bed to his brother who is still hard and eager. Taking a fistful of Sherlock’s curls he snaps his head back at a painful angle, devouring his mouth in a crushingly possessive kiss. You can see Sherlock snake his tongue out, sliding it into his brother’s mouth eager to intensify their contact.

Mycroft pulls back with a smile in your direction. ‘He tastes of something different tonight, he tastes of you.’

Reaching forwards Sherlock is again invaded roughly by his brother’s mouth. A hand sneaks down the younger man’s body as he caresses his chest, skimming over his stomach and grabs his hardened cock.
Sherlock whimpers from the contact and an unexpectedly firm squeeze as Mycroft slides the foreskin back and forward across the shaft, teasingly slowly, until Sherlock’s hips buck and he is crying into his mouth.

Suddenly, Mycroft pulls away with a final bite to Sherlock’s lower lip. Grabbing the scarfs, before he knows it, Sherlock is back bound to the bed. He makes a small noise of protest but his brother grabs your discarded panties and stuffs them into his mouth with relish.

‘I told you that I would silence you. Be a good boy for now and watch.’

Turning his attention back towards you, Mycroft begins crawling down towards the bottom of the bed where you are still sprawled naked. You were quite enjoying the incredibly erotic sight of both men together and would have happily watched them get each other off. You suggest as much to Mycroft who has caught you rubbing your clit in slow circles, masturbating to the view of the two men together.

He smiles, ‘I can have Sherlock anytime, but I want you, now.’

His body covers yours, warm weight riding yours and pushing you deeper into the bed. You part your legs eagerly for him, desperate for contact. You have waited for this for so long and now you can finally have him.

Instinctively raising your legs, they curl around his hips while your arms snake around his back, nails lightly scratching the pale skin. Mycroft’s mouth is on yours, kisses as passionate and demanding as earlier, letting out all the frustration of waiting to do this for the last few weeks and being denied.

There are a lot of more sexually adventurous positions than missionary but at the moment it is just what you are looking for, being surrounded by him, feeling his body cradled against yours, being able to curl under him as he slowly sinks himself into your wet tight pussy.

With a small flex of his hips, Mycroft eases himself gently into your body. Closing his eyes a small sigh escapes him as he pushed forwards slow, inch by inch. He looks as if he is trying to savour the feeling, the delicious feeling of that first penetration.

His pace is teasingly slow, drawing out the maximum amount of pleasure but frustratingly sedate. Impatient, you raise your hips up to him, meeting his shallow thrusts eagerly. Mycroft doesn’t take the hint or simply ignores your silent pleading, continuing with an agonisingly leisurely pace.

Burying your lips in the crook of his neck, you inhale the deep musky scent that is him, curling your arms more tightly around his shoulders, drawing him as close to you as you possibly can almost as if you could crawl into him and share the same skin. His hairline is damp from exertion and you snake a tongue out to taste the salty sweat, nibbling his neck as you go.

Lost in each other, somewhere to the head of the bed, Sherlock makes a muffled moan. Mycroft pulls back, never leaving your body to turn slightly in his brother’s direction.

Sherlock is struggling in his bonds, cock painfully erect, and sweat glistening across his pale alabaster body.

Mycroft glances at you, sardonic smirk back in place. ‘Well, do you think we should reward such bad behaviour and set him loose?’ His tone is teasing but he is leaving up to you.

Looking over at the bound man, you were thoroughly enjoying having Mycroft all to yourself for just a little while, but it seems a shame to leave him frustrated, especially when that tongue was so talented. You decide that Sherlock deserves his fun too.

You nod at Mycroft who withdraws from you to loosen the younger man’s bonds.

Finishing the task, the scarves are one again caste aside and he returns to you, bringing back the warmth of his body.

You watch Sherlock slide off the bed and pull open a bedside drawer. He removes a small bottle of lubricant from within just as Mycroft slides himself back inside you with a small sigh of contentment.

Tearing your gaze away from Sherlock, you focus, instead on the brilliantly blue eyes staring down at you. You realise you could stay he forever, getting lost in this man as he nibbles your neck delicately, before trailing lips downwards to your breast, lavishing attention with his mouth on one nipple then the other.

Only vaguely aware of the other man moving near both of you, Sherlock spreads a generous amount of lubricant on his own cock, easing the ring off gently, which falls to the floor with a soft thunk. Sherlock grasps himself, pumping firmly and spreading the clear liquid over his erection until it is wet and glistening. You can feel the bed sink; indicating that he has climbed back on top and you can just see him over one of Mycroft’s freckled shoulders.

Mycroft gasps above you and groans loudly. His body stills, not withdrawing but this rhythmic thrusting has stopped. His eyes flutter closed and he bites his lip hard enough to almost break the skin. You can guess at what Sherlock has done. Lubricating two fingers he slid them inside of his brother, gently twisting and wiggling to widen him.

Taking a deep steadying breath Mycroft continues moving, his pace within you is a little rougher now as you see Sherlock rock his fingers back and forth behind his brother.

The weight feels heavier on top of you as the younger man positions himself kneeling behind Mycroft. Sliding his cock into the tight ring of muscle in one long movement, Mycroft whimpers above you, visibly shuddering at the contact as his brother grabs his hips.

Each sharp thrust by Sherlock only pushes his brother deeper into you, and you can’t help but cry out and wriggle at the sensation.

It is wonderful to witness Mycroft lose control, his movements and breathing becoming uneven and desperate. Every time he withdraws from your warm wetness only sinks his arse further onto Sherlock’s waiting cock.

There is no sense of rhythm in his movements any longer; his biceps under your fingers are shaking, muscles quivering in sensation. Behind him Sherlock has his eyes closed, biting the beautifully luscious bottom lip in an effort to contain himself.

If you were in any doubt as to which brother was more disciplined then now you have your answer. Despite the double sensation and loud moans, an even louder cry erupts from further behind, indicating that Sherlock has just came. The younger man’s movement stills and you can feel his withdrawal in the lighter feeling on the man on top of you.

Mycroft opens his eyes, giving you a small smile as he takes a deep breath resting his forehead against yours. He gives you a deep, tender kiss before arching his long, slender neck up for the same with Sherlock.
Sherlock withdraws, lounging on the bed next to the pair of you in post orgasmic satisfaction, a small content smile playing across his features.

You can feel wetness on your thighs as Sherlock’s come is escaping his brother and running down between you. Mycroft’s voice is strained and uneven, still feeling the effects of his double sensation and looking as if he is fighting not to come on the spot.

‘Sherlock, make yourself useful for a change.’

Rising to his knees on the bed, Mycroft grabs your hips firmly, lifting them along with his movement and arching your back off the bed.

Sherlock’s curly head appears between your bodies, a happy and well fucked smirk on his face. His soft hair tickles across your stomach and lower abdomen, ‘Do you mind?’ His deep voice purrs as he indicates your clit.

You can only shake your head as he positions his own, taking a long swipe with his tongue across your clit and by the look on Mycroft’s face, he managed to catch his cock also where it was embedded into you as well.

Mycroft’s auburn head is thrown beautifully back as he fucks you, pace increasing now that he is not over stimulated by his brother. It would seem he wanted help making you come one last time before he did, as Sherlock’s insistent tongue is doing its best to push you into another screaming orgasm all over again.

He suck and licks and laps while Mycroft thrusts deeply, rubbing along your inner walls, angling your hips, using his hands just so in order to push the tip of his cock over the small sweet spot inside of you.
Not before long you are bucking shamelessly on the bed, crying out in pleasure as your orgasm crashed over you in a tidal wave of pleasure, curling your toes and tightening every muscle in your body.
Sherlock has to use both large hands across your hips and stomach to hold you in place while his mouth continues drawing out your pleasure an agonisingly long time, eventually taking your breath away so that you can only pant wordlessly while they finish.

As Sherlock withdraws his mouth you manage a deep shaking breath, glad the Mycroft is holding your hips up as the rest of your body slumps in a post orgasm blissful state.

Mycroft is not long behind you, unable to contain himself or maintain the position; he releases your hips back to the beck with a soft thud as he quickly coves your body. Losing all sense of rhythm, a last few rough thrusts tears a cry from deep in his throat as he comes inside you.

Collapsing beside you on the bed, panting heavily, Mycroft draws you into a sweaty embrace, tucking you under one arm, the other flung across your chest. Sherlock curls himself around your other side. Head resting on your stomach, legs entwined with yours.

Comfy and exhausted, all three of you begin to fall into an exhausted and happy slumber. As sleep draws you in Mycroft, and indeed Sherlock, promise much more fun later in the shower, after a small rest.

~end~