Untitled (Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes) (NC17) (TW: Non-con, Incest)
A fuck-or-die fic that includes/focuses on the aftermath
*note* please suggest title for this.
"I'm fine, Mycroft." Sherlock said to him sternly, with an underlying tone that said, "don't ask stupid question." but Mycroft didn't faze. His brother was a good actor, he'd give him that.
Sherlock was sitting in his chair plucking his violin, pose completely relaxed like he usually was, but - there it was; his fingers picking the string with just the tiniest bit more force than usual. Mycroft tightened his lips and in turn Sherlock stopped his movement, both of them waiting for the other to move.
"Sherlock," Mycroft tried again, his hand reached out to Sherlock. At the same moment Sherlock snapped, "don't touch me!" he jerked away from Mycroft, who immediately froze and withdrew.
"I'm... I'm sorry. Just, give me some times, please." Sherlock looked away.
"I understand. I'll leave for now, then." Mycroft stood and headed for the door. "Until next time, brother."
Sherlock didn't answer.
***
"Come on boys, don't try my patience. You surely don't want to know what kind of nerve gas I've cooked for you?" The red light of the intercom was blinking at Mycroft, mocking him. Mycroft did a quick assess on the environment. Sturdy walls, knobless door, small ventilation hole in the middle of the ceiling, cameras possibly hidden somewhere. The small room was barren except for the luxurious bed in the center of the room.
A room built for a single purpose.
Which Moriarty had stated so eloquently earlier ('I want you to fuck each other!') Mycroft turned to his brother beside him. Sherlock was naked just like himself, his gaze distant and expression tense. His fingers unconsciously clenched a bottle of lubricant that he found upon waking up.
Mycroft touched him.
Sherlock was startled and their gaze met.
Let's just do this.
He'll kill us anyway.
Buy sometimes until my subordinates found us.
"Mycroft, you know the reason I'm still a virgin," Sherlock whispered. Mycroft knew; his brother was repelled by the idea of having sex. Not because of any traumatic or depressing experiences, but because he was born just like that.
Which was a shame, Mycroft thought, because - a stray, dark thought crossed his mind. He immediately cast it off, but it was too late.
Sherlock backed away so fast that his head hit the bed post.
"God, Mycroft," Sherlock looked at him, horrified, "you want this."
"Sherlock - " Mycroft reached out but Sherlock evaded him, trying to get out of the bed. On instinct, Mycroft grabbed his brother and pinned him face down. Sherlock struggled, but his movement only served to arouse Mycroft.
"Stop struggling!" goddamit, Sherlock, Mycroft wanted to scream. Sherlock trashed, and in doing so bumped his arse into Mycroft's cock.
It was when the delirium began.
Mycroft never lost control of his mind, but at the moment, he forgot where they were, he forgot about Jim Moriarty, he forgot about everything, except that he wanted to fucking drive his cock into his baby brother's arsehole.
Mycroft gripped Sherlock's hair and held his head into the pillow. After a few moments his movement died down and Mycroft let go.
"Mycroft... please... don't..." Sherlock began to sob. "Ssh." Mycroft kissed his neck and back, but Sherlock only sobbed louder. Giving up, he decided to ignore the cry, and instead grabbing the lubricant and poured a generous amount of it onto Sherlock's arse crack. Without wasting any time he then pushed a finger into his brother's hole and began to massage him. Sherlock's body tensed, but then it goes very still and only his quiet cry indicated that he was still conscious.
Mycroft added a finger, then another until the hole loosened up. He was ready to enter him, but then he remembered.
This might be... No, this will be the only time he can do this with Sherlock.
Better make the most of it.
He turned his brother around and face him. Sherlock's face was a mess, flushed red with snot and tears everywhere, mouth gaping as he tried to breathe.
Mycroft thought he was beautiful, and thrusted into him.
It was all he ever wanted. He began to move in slow pace, all the time looking straight into his baby brother's eyes. Sherlock was eerily silent, his gaze transfixed on Mycroft. If not for the situation Mycroft would have called it serene. Most likely though, Sherlock had escaped somewhere inside his own mind.
That won't do, Mycroft thought as he leaned forward and kissed his brother on the mouth, snapping Sherlock out of his mind palace and stared wildly at him. "Please, Sherlock," Mycroft pleaded almost desperately. "give me this - just this one time, please."
Sherlock's face was a wreck of emotions. Fear, hurt, anger - Mycroft had never seen his brother displayed such intense emotion before. He began to fear that his brother might break right there and then.
Instead, Sherlock wrapped his arms around Mycroft's neck and began kissing him. It was sloppand inexperienced, but God, Mycroft thought, it was his brother, it was Sherlock kissing him. Mycroft gasped and quickened his pace.
"Mycroft!" Sherlock half gasped and half moaned, and Mycroft cummed inside his baby brother.
For a while they were only lying there, breathing. After he calmed down Mycroft pulled out and looked at his brother. Sherlock's face was unreadable, but he seemed so broken, with body covered with sweat and tears and -
"Sherlock," Mycroft choked. Finally, finally realizing what had he done to his baby brother.
"I'm sorry. Oh God, I'm really sorry, Sherlock."
The younger one reached out to him, when Moriarty spoke again.
"Now that wasn't too difficult, was it? You put quite a show, I tell you. Do you do this on daily basis? By the way if you don't want the video of this fun little event goes to the internet, I suggest you stop sniffing about my... small business in Moskva. Until next time, boys!"
The door slided open but neither of them move.
***
Mycroft sat by the fireplace. He gently rocked the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid sloshed about as his mind wandered freely. Which was a bad thing, because it always came back to the memory of -
"How long have you been wanting it?" Sherlock stood in the doorway. Mycroft wanted to chide him about knocking before entering, but then again it was always futile.
"Ever since I hit puberty." he sipped his drink, but then think better of it and gulped it all down. He's going to need it.
"That's why you stop touching me, and started the insult and the feud. To drive me away."
Mycroft said nothing.
"You didn't regret what you did, but you regretted hurting me."
"If you've done stating the obvious, would you kindly leave me alone?"
Sherlock glared at him.
"This is what Moriarty wants, to divide us. So logically we should stick closer than ever."
"Yes, but can you?" Mycroft finally looked at him with sadness he had never shown before.
Sherlock stood still for a moment, then crossed the room to his brother.
"What do you want from me, Mycroft?"
Everything; Mycroft didn't say it out loud but Sherlock heard it nonetheless.
"I can't... give you sex but I can give you..."
Sherlock stepped and hugged him, and Mycroft couldn't help but placed his arms around Sherlock.
"I used to like it, you know." Sherlock whispered, lips muffled on Mycroft's hair.
"Your touches and hugs. I don't want to lose it. I don't want to lose you."
They fell into silence.
"If we're going to do this," Mycroft started carefully, "there will be no turning back, it will change us forever."
We are already changed.
"There is no other way, isn't it?"
***
The next few weeks were bizarre, for them and for everyone around them. They touched and kissed and hugged more than ever. At one time Mycroft kissed him on the lips on front of everyone from the yard. Anderson had nearly vomited while Donovan cursed colourfully. John Watson didn't say anything, until one day he approached Sherlock with a very grim face in their living room.
Sherlock kept on cleaning his violin when John began, "I've got a text from Moriarty. He said 'tell your master to stay away from Shanghai'. Does that mean anything to you?"
"That means you should ignore him. Oh, right, you need not to worry about your safety, John. Apparently british government deemed us worthy of secret service babysitting." if anything, Sherlock's reply only made John looked more uncomfortable.
"The thing is, he also send me the picture of you and your brother... Erm... In compromising position. I deleted it right away but..."
Sherlock looked at him, setting the violin down.
"That was from the time you both are kidnapped, right? But, erm, your... Public display of affection with Mycroft these days... Is it an act to lessen the damage of those... Photos?"
Sherlock smiled at him.
"Brilliant deduction, John. Except for one thing. It was not an act. My brother and I had reached an agreement that things are better this way..."
Sherlock Holmes really didn't expect the hurt expression on John's face.
"Right. Good then, you finally found... Refound someone you can share your affection with. I suppose congratulation is in order, hmm? In fact, why don't I post some lovey-dovey photo of you both on my blog? Your fans must be really curious about the man that can steal your heart."
"That would be perfect, John," Sherlock said, picking up his violin again.
"I'll start working then," John's voice cracked in the end.
***
You're no fun >: (
JM
***
After the blog was posted, it got quite mixed responses. Some people were disgusted, some appalled by the idea of the forbidden love, and some just didn't care what the consulting detective did in his bedroom.
After Moriarty hacked into John's blog and posted the video (and download links), it all went to hell. Sherlock managed to recover the blog but the damage was already done. It also didn't help that the media blew it up.
"Anytime now some women talkshow will start calling us for an interview," Sherlock huffed as he and Mycroft walked down the street after a lunch date.
"Well you've already on the national tabloid. I suppose that would be just another small step in raising your ego?"
Sherlock was just about to retort when a middle aged woman marched toward them.
"You beast!" she threw a cup of orange juice to Mycroft's face. He only calmly took out a handkerchief as Sherlock jumped at her.
"You shouldn't be so cranky, lady. No wonder your three ex-husband won't stick with you..."
By the time Sherlock finished, the woman scurried off while still glaring at them.
"You alright?" Sherlock took his own handkerchief to dry Mycroft, who took his hand and kissed it gently. They then continued to walk, hand in hand.
"We should try eloping," Sherlock thought out loud. "going somewhere noone recognize us, change our name, get married..."
Mycroft smiled, "that would defeat the whole purpose of our course of action, isn't it?"
Seeing that Sherlock pouted, Mycroft said again,
"Maybe later, when we've taken down Moriarty?"
In response, the younger brother only gripped his hand tighter.
Mycroft knew promises and fantasies never made his brother content.
But he hoped that the warmth of their intertwining hands are enough for now.
Fin.
*note* please suggest title for this.
"I'm fine, Mycroft." Sherlock said to him sternly, with an underlying tone that said, "don't ask stupid question." but Mycroft didn't faze. His brother was a good actor, he'd give him that.
Sherlock was sitting in his chair plucking his violin, pose completely relaxed like he usually was, but - there it was; his fingers picking the string with just the tiniest bit more force than usual. Mycroft tightened his lips and in turn Sherlock stopped his movement, both of them waiting for the other to move.
"Sherlock," Mycroft tried again, his hand reached out to Sherlock. At the same moment Sherlock snapped, "don't touch me!" he jerked away from Mycroft, who immediately froze and withdrew.
"I'm... I'm sorry. Just, give me some times, please." Sherlock looked away.
"I understand. I'll leave for now, then." Mycroft stood and headed for the door. "Until next time, brother."
Sherlock didn't answer.
***
"Come on boys, don't try my patience. You surely don't want to know what kind of nerve gas I've cooked for you?" The red light of the intercom was blinking at Mycroft, mocking him. Mycroft did a quick assess on the environment. Sturdy walls, knobless door, small ventilation hole in the middle of the ceiling, cameras possibly hidden somewhere. The small room was barren except for the luxurious bed in the center of the room.
A room built for a single purpose.
Which Moriarty had stated so eloquently earlier ('I want you to fuck each other!') Mycroft turned to his brother beside him. Sherlock was naked just like himself, his gaze distant and expression tense. His fingers unconsciously clenched a bottle of lubricant that he found upon waking up.
Mycroft touched him.
Sherlock was startled and their gaze met.
Let's just do this.
He'll kill us anyway.
Buy sometimes until my subordinates found us.
"Mycroft, you know the reason I'm still a virgin," Sherlock whispered. Mycroft knew; his brother was repelled by the idea of having sex. Not because of any traumatic or depressing experiences, but because he was born just like that.
Which was a shame, Mycroft thought, because - a stray, dark thought crossed his mind. He immediately cast it off, but it was too late.
Sherlock backed away so fast that his head hit the bed post.
"God, Mycroft," Sherlock looked at him, horrified, "you want this."
"Sherlock - " Mycroft reached out but Sherlock evaded him, trying to get out of the bed. On instinct, Mycroft grabbed his brother and pinned him face down. Sherlock struggled, but his movement only served to arouse Mycroft.
"Stop struggling!" goddamit, Sherlock, Mycroft wanted to scream. Sherlock trashed, and in doing so bumped his arse into Mycroft's cock.
It was when the delirium began.
Mycroft never lost control of his mind, but at the moment, he forgot where they were, he forgot about Jim Moriarty, he forgot about everything, except that he wanted to fucking drive his cock into his baby brother's arsehole.
Mycroft gripped Sherlock's hair and held his head into the pillow. After a few moments his movement died down and Mycroft let go.
"Mycroft... please... don't..." Sherlock began to sob. "Ssh." Mycroft kissed his neck and back, but Sherlock only sobbed louder. Giving up, he decided to ignore the cry, and instead grabbing the lubricant and poured a generous amount of it onto Sherlock's arse crack. Without wasting any time he then pushed a finger into his brother's hole and began to massage him. Sherlock's body tensed, but then it goes very still and only his quiet cry indicated that he was still conscious.
Mycroft added a finger, then another until the hole loosened up. He was ready to enter him, but then he remembered.
This might be... No, this will be the only time he can do this with Sherlock.
Better make the most of it.
He turned his brother around and face him. Sherlock's face was a mess, flushed red with snot and tears everywhere, mouth gaping as he tried to breathe.
Mycroft thought he was beautiful, and thrusted into him.
It was all he ever wanted. He began to move in slow pace, all the time looking straight into his baby brother's eyes. Sherlock was eerily silent, his gaze transfixed on Mycroft. If not for the situation Mycroft would have called it serene. Most likely though, Sherlock had escaped somewhere inside his own mind.
That won't do, Mycroft thought as he leaned forward and kissed his brother on the mouth, snapping Sherlock out of his mind palace and stared wildly at him. "Please, Sherlock," Mycroft pleaded almost desperately. "give me this - just this one time, please."
Sherlock's face was a wreck of emotions. Fear, hurt, anger - Mycroft had never seen his brother displayed such intense emotion before. He began to fear that his brother might break right there and then.
Instead, Sherlock wrapped his arms around Mycroft's neck and began kissing him. It was sloppand inexperienced, but God, Mycroft thought, it was his brother, it was Sherlock kissing him. Mycroft gasped and quickened his pace.
"Mycroft!" Sherlock half gasped and half moaned, and Mycroft cummed inside his baby brother.
For a while they were only lying there, breathing. After he calmed down Mycroft pulled out and looked at his brother. Sherlock's face was unreadable, but he seemed so broken, with body covered with sweat and tears and -
"Sherlock," Mycroft choked. Finally, finally realizing what had he done to his baby brother.
"I'm sorry. Oh God, I'm really sorry, Sherlock."
The younger one reached out to him, when Moriarty spoke again.
"Now that wasn't too difficult, was it? You put quite a show, I tell you. Do you do this on daily basis? By the way if you don't want the video of this fun little event goes to the internet, I suggest you stop sniffing about my... small business in Moskva. Until next time, boys!"
The door slided open but neither of them move.
***
Mycroft sat by the fireplace. He gently rocked the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid sloshed about as his mind wandered freely. Which was a bad thing, because it always came back to the memory of -
"How long have you been wanting it?" Sherlock stood in the doorway. Mycroft wanted to chide him about knocking before entering, but then again it was always futile.
"Ever since I hit puberty." he sipped his drink, but then think better of it and gulped it all down. He's going to need it.
"That's why you stop touching me, and started the insult and the feud. To drive me away."
Mycroft said nothing.
"You didn't regret what you did, but you regretted hurting me."
"If you've done stating the obvious, would you kindly leave me alone?"
Sherlock glared at him.
"This is what Moriarty wants, to divide us. So logically we should stick closer than ever."
"Yes, but can you?" Mycroft finally looked at him with sadness he had never shown before.
Sherlock stood still for a moment, then crossed the room to his brother.
"What do you want from me, Mycroft?"
Everything; Mycroft didn't say it out loud but Sherlock heard it nonetheless.
"I can't... give you sex but I can give you..."
Sherlock stepped and hugged him, and Mycroft couldn't help but placed his arms around Sherlock.
"I used to like it, you know." Sherlock whispered, lips muffled on Mycroft's hair.
"Your touches and hugs. I don't want to lose it. I don't want to lose you."
They fell into silence.
"If we're going to do this," Mycroft started carefully, "there will be no turning back, it will change us forever."
We are already changed.
"There is no other way, isn't it?"
***
The next few weeks were bizarre, for them and for everyone around them. They touched and kissed and hugged more than ever. At one time Mycroft kissed him on the lips on front of everyone from the yard. Anderson had nearly vomited while Donovan cursed colourfully. John Watson didn't say anything, until one day he approached Sherlock with a very grim face in their living room.
Sherlock kept on cleaning his violin when John began, "I've got a text from Moriarty. He said 'tell your master to stay away from Shanghai'. Does that mean anything to you?"
"That means you should ignore him. Oh, right, you need not to worry about your safety, John. Apparently british government deemed us worthy of secret service babysitting." if anything, Sherlock's reply only made John looked more uncomfortable.
"The thing is, he also send me the picture of you and your brother... Erm... In compromising position. I deleted it right away but..."
Sherlock looked at him, setting the violin down.
"That was from the time you both are kidnapped, right? But, erm, your... Public display of affection with Mycroft these days... Is it an act to lessen the damage of those... Photos?"
Sherlock smiled at him.
"Brilliant deduction, John. Except for one thing. It was not an act. My brother and I had reached an agreement that things are better this way..."
Sherlock Holmes really didn't expect the hurt expression on John's face.
"Right. Good then, you finally found... Refound someone you can share your affection with. I suppose congratulation is in order, hmm? In fact, why don't I post some lovey-dovey photo of you both on my blog? Your fans must be really curious about the man that can steal your heart."
"That would be perfect, John," Sherlock said, picking up his violin again.
"I'll start working then," John's voice cracked in the end.
***
You're no fun >: (
JM
***
After the blog was posted, it got quite mixed responses. Some people were disgusted, some appalled by the idea of the forbidden love, and some just didn't care what the consulting detective did in his bedroom.
After Moriarty hacked into John's blog and posted the video (and download links), it all went to hell. Sherlock managed to recover the blog but the damage was already done. It also didn't help that the media blew it up.
"Anytime now some women talkshow will start calling us for an interview," Sherlock huffed as he and Mycroft walked down the street after a lunch date.
"Well you've already on the national tabloid. I suppose that would be just another small step in raising your ego?"
Sherlock was just about to retort when a middle aged woman marched toward them.
"You beast!" she threw a cup of orange juice to Mycroft's face. He only calmly took out a handkerchief as Sherlock jumped at her.
"You shouldn't be so cranky, lady. No wonder your three ex-husband won't stick with you..."
By the time Sherlock finished, the woman scurried off while still glaring at them.
"You alright?" Sherlock took his own handkerchief to dry Mycroft, who took his hand and kissed it gently. They then continued to walk, hand in hand.
"We should try eloping," Sherlock thought out loud. "going somewhere noone recognize us, change our name, get married..."
Mycroft smiled, "that would defeat the whole purpose of our course of action, isn't it?"
Seeing that Sherlock pouted, Mycroft said again,
"Maybe later, when we've taken down Moriarty?"
In response, the younger brother only gripped his hand tighter.
Mycroft knew promises and fantasies never made his brother content.
But he hoped that the warmth of their intertwining hands are enough for now.
Fin.