Though I Walk Through the Valley (15/38)
Though I Walk through the Valley
Title:Though I Walk through the Valley (15/38)Series: Still Waters (Run Deep) (Part II of IV)
Author: melody_in_time
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Through S1 only
Disclaimer: I wish, I wish upon a star... but until that works, not mine and sadly no money made.
Author's Notes: Because I didn't get you anything Wednesday, here are two chapters today instead.
Warnings: Sex, sex, sex, quite a bit of sex really.
If you've wondered here by mistake, you may wish to start at Part I of the series, Rarest of the Rare: Chapter 1.
Prologue - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 - Chapter 19 - Chapter 20
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Mycroft dropped a kiss to Greg’s shoulder, one hand smoothing over his ribs, chasing the slight hollows he had developed during their disastrous ‘just friends’ period. Greg was gradually gaining back the weight he’d lost, but he was trying to do it in a controlled healthy manner rather than via fish and chips down the Pub. He had a very important reason not to have a heart attack before he was fifty now, though if he didn’t get some relief soon Mycroft was going to give him one as the hand had drifted down between Greg’s legs and was tugging his balls downward, releasing them from where they’d drawn up against his body, easing the tension while adding to the fire.
Greg didn’t know whether to buck his hips into the air or squirm into the touch in a bid for relief.
“My...” He fidgeted, seeking some satisfaction, some release. How long before Mycroft took him again? How long before he could come?
“Soon, Gregory, soon.” Mycroft’s lips trailed down Greg’s neck. “I know it’s hard. I won’t leave you waiting too long.”
Mycroft’s kisses feathered over Greg’s jaw before he licked his way smoothly into Greg’s mouth. His tongue mimicked their earlier frantic coupling, taking Greg’s mouth in hard strokes without a hint of remorse for the way he was practically devouring Greg whole. Greg pressed back against him, embracing the grounding sting in his lips in favour of meeting Mycroft stroke for passionate stroke.
Kisses could be gentle, they could be loving, they could be rough, they could be dirty. Tied to the bedpost, hovering shallowly in Subspace with his aching erection, Greg wanted dirty; dirty and passionate and driven and possessive, and he was more than happy to keep up his end to make it that way, drawing back to nip at Mycroft’s lips, sucking hard on his tongue, and generally contributing every filthy trick that had ever turned him on into the mix.
“Oh yes.” Mycroft broke away with a groan and threw his leg over Greg, reaching for the hourglass. As he turned it over, Mycroft lowered himself just enough so Greg could slide into him with a sharp thrust. “That’s it Gregory, come on, fuck me hard.”
Greg shuddered. The sound of such crude language in Mycroft’s polished upper class tones hadn’t failed to elicit a strong reaction from him yet and he pounded into Mycroft as hard and fast as his position allowed.
“Perfect, so perfect.” Mycroft pulled off causing Greg to whimper as he leant in for another searing kiss. “You have no idea what you do to me, Gregory, how you test my control.”
He seated himself back on Greg’s cock almost as an exclamation mark to his statement, preventing any of the thoughts trying to be heard in Greg’s head being verbalised as anything more than incoherent syllables.
Mycroft felt so good above him, a warm slick passage clamping down on his shaft with every glide. He was moving with him now, ensuring each withdrawal took them to the peak of Greg’s cock so every entry included the sizzling feeling of the glans re-penetrating, and that every thrust caressed every last centimetre, swallowing him down to where the leather cock ring still bound him tight.
It wasn’t long since their last round, but Mycroft’s cock, displayed perfectly in Greg’s reduced field of view, was half-hard and struggling to rise further. A pink flush had stained his cheek and spread down his chest, drawing attention to erect nipples and the distinct lack of chest hair, an omega trait. It was an inspiring sight and Greg drove harder into his partner.
Greg shuddered as Mycroft met his stroke. So hot, so wet. The smell was overpowering, a combination of pheromones, sweat and sex that if anything smelt more decadent than the feel of that velvety glide and the taut press of the silky ropes and the filthy feel of Mycroft’s come cooling on his chest that was so right and the sound of breathy moans and gasping breathing and slapping flesh punctuating cooling breezes that drifted over him as the air was shifted and caused the mess to cool and Mycroft moaned and his own cock was -
Mycroft gave one last whimper and lifted off Greg, shifting to kneel beside him instead, gasping slightly for breath.
“What’re you, why have you?” Greg’s voice was slurred and he tugged helplessly against the ropes binding his arms.
“Shh.” Mycroft gently smoothed Greg’s hair. “We’re just taking a break.”
“But we’re not-” Greg turned his head to the timer, sand still spilling in a regular trickle from top to bottom. “You haven’t come yet.”
“You were becoming overwhelmed. Shh, shhh.” His hand stroked Greg’s cheek, calming the knot of panic forming in his gut. “We were always going to stop for a period. It’s not advisable to spend more than half an hour wearing one of these in a session.” His hand dropped to the cock ring and began to loosen the binding knot. “I’m going to remove this now, Gregory, and you are not going to orgasm, you understand?”
Greg forced his fingers to release their grip on the bed.
“Do you understand?” Mycroft’s Dom voice rolled through him.
“Yes.” He gasped.
The sheets underneath were rasping against his sensitised skin and the silence as Mycroft removed the restraint hurt his ears. He jerked as Mycroft’s hand went to the ropes tying his arms to the bed head.
“But... but we’re not done. I thought you said-”
“Shh, shhh. We have all night, Gregory.” Mycroft interrupted soothingly. “A little food, a drink,” he wrinkled his nose as he carefully lowered Greg’s arm to the bed, “maybe a shower.”
The blood rushing into Greg’s arm was painful in a good way, a numb tingling that bordered on just the right side of agony. He blinked again and felt certain stimulations retreat (the scratch of expensive bed sheets, the burning flow of cool air over sensitive wet skin, the empty echo of silence) in favour of more grounded realities (the fat feeling as blood returned to his arm, the congealing stickiness of lubricant, sweat and Mycroft’s release on his chest and cock, the deep seated ache in his balls).
“Shower would be nice.” His voice sounded hoarse. Had it been a few moments ago?
“Welcome back.” Mycroft lowered his other arm, coiled the rope and finally turned the timer on its side. His voice lost the faint burr of Dominance that had flavoured all his words, mostly unnoticed against the stronger orders, but a comforting timbre nonetheless.
“Sorry we didn’t make the hour.” Greg felt his cock wilt to slightly more than half mast with the lack of direct stimulation and changed atmosphere in the room.
No matter how turned on he’d been, he was not at the right end of his life to be sustaining a raging hard on that long, especially once Mycroft called a halt to the session.
“A break, Gregory; a pause or respite in the proceedings, not the end. I’m not done with you yet.”
Greg’s penis stirred, but failed to rise more than it was, desire notwithstanding.
However,” Mycroft continued, “now that we have taken a respite I feel a shower has suddenly become a priority.”
Deceptively powerful thighs propelled Mycroft off the bed and he strolled casually toward the bathroom, utterly unconcerned about the issue of his own nakedness. It was a disorientating change from last time when Mycroft had had his dressing gown on before Greg had levered himself up to his elbows.
Greg’d almost started to wonder whether Mycroft was body conscious and had begun to speculate on body image issues especially in light of Sherlock’s continual jabs about Mycroft’s diet. Those speculations fell to pieces watching Mycroft’s casual progression to the bathroom, the same confidence characteristic of every aspect of Mycroft’s life shining through here.
Mycroft, Greg reflected with a sappy grin, had amazing legs. The nature of his desk job meant they weren’t overtly muscled, but they were toned and lean in a way that added the illusion of even more length. His suits were always well tailored, but shaped loosely with jackets disguising the sinfully plump rear. Greg’s grin widened in the smug knowledge that he was well acquainted with that rear and that he’d be buried deep inside it again soon. A hand lazily stroked his genitals in Alpha satisfaction.
“In your own time, Gregory.” Mycroft disappeared through the bathroom door, the sting of the rebuke lost against the riot of much more insistent satisfied/possessive/amazing/beautiful/smug/mine running through Greg’s head.
Moving his arms carefully Greg lifted up off the bed and walked across the uncluttered floor, eyes fixed on the open doorway his Omega had disappeared through. The echoing patter of water on tiles drifted out the door as Mycroft started the shower.
He had time for a brief thought that the bathroom was more modern than he’d anticipated before his gaze and mind were drawn to the singular focal point that was Mycroft.
In the shower.
Wet.
With rivulets of water sluicing over his back and streaming down his thighs, licking their way over the ample curves of his tantalising arse.
Mycroft’s hair was darkened by the water from his usual brown with hints of barely there chestnut to the sable more characteristic of the younger Holmes brother. Greg wished Mycroft’s hair was longer, suddenly wanted to know whether the whispering suggestion of curls in Mycroft’s dry hair lived up to its potential or fell straight under the weight of the longer strands.
Mouth-watering.
He wanted to sink his teeth into the creamy unblemished skin and suck until it was crimson, an obvious warning to any who went near that this Omega, this totally unique and utterly wonderful Dominant, was his.
Greg’s eyes roamed greedily over the exposed canvas. No need to mark the neck, no need to be so crass and obvious. No, his mark needed to be lower, more intimate, well away from the prying eyes of the public. Somewhere only a rival encroaching on Greg’s territory would see it and be warned. The delicate expanse of pale skin on the inner thigh maybe, or the slight depression of the lower back where any alpha daring to lick or kiss those gorgeous cheeks would be confronted with it at eye level.
In the shower Mycroft cocked his head and met Greg heated gaze for heated gaze.
“Care to join me?” His voice was once more a throaty rumble followed by the tiniest speck of Dominance.
“Oh yes!”
He was hard again, Greg realised as Mycroft favoured him with a long devouring sweep.
“Maybe you should fetch the timer first.” Mycroft opened the cap of one of the many bottles in the shower and the heavy scent of sandalwood filled the air.
“Maybe I-” Mycroft began lathering himself in graceful arching strokes. “Oh Jesus, timer.”
With great reluctance Greg fled the bathroom and moved as quickly as he could with the aching erection once again raging between his legs to the bedside table.
Careful not to disturb the sand, he carried it back to the bathroom and set it on the counter. In doing so he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Red marks with the finest of fibre patterns ran up his arms coiled like snakes in bright red against his skin. They didn’t hurt, he suspected they might feel raw later, and they looked spectacular. Each progressive loop was equal distance from the other, creating a regular pattern across his body that reflected how carefully he’d been bound. Taking into account the unsymmetrical nature of the human figure, not enough to be noticed, but enough to destroy the perfect mirroring of such a deceptively complex work, it displayed skill Greg could never achieve. Pressing his wrists together he could see now the marks on both arms matched, flowing easily from left to right, though they’d been bound individually.
Careful steps carried him to the glass walled shower and through the door Mycroft had left open.
“You took your time.” A lazy smile curled one side of his mouth, eyes half lidded in what could be pleasure, satisfaction, anticipation or plotting.
“I thought we were taking a break.” Greg murmured, pressing his nose into his favourite spot on Mycroft’s neck, pulling him flush back to front.
The shower had dampened Mycroft’s natural smell, but the water could do nothing for the phantom scent produced by his pheromones, which blended with the sandalwood body wash to create an effect intoxicatingly like the one Mycroft had exuded during Heat. A little extra spice and... Greg inhaled deeply.
“We were.” Mycroft chuckled, a slight hitch manifesting as Greg thumbed over a nipple.
“Mmm.” Greg hummed gently biting down.
His hand ghosted over Mycroft’s body, caressing and stroking. Fingers dug into Mycroft’s hip, massaging the underlying muscles.
“My,” Greg sighed and tongued over the bite mark on Mycroft’s neck. “My, I need...”
Mycroft pulled away and pushed the door open. “Timer.”
Greg stumbled out and flipped the timer to its upright position before dashing back under the spray. Mycroft turned and braced his hands against the wall, spreading his legs wide.
“Remember Gregory, you may not come.”
Greg nuzzled the back of Mycroft’s neck, pressing fingers deep into the yielding passage, still slick with lubricant despite the shower and length of time since prep.
“Remember, Gregory.”
“Yes.” He murmured, and, adjusting his position, removed his fingers and slid back into Mycroft’s body with one smooth stroke.
It was much harder to contain himself without the cock ring, much harder to prevent himself spilling on the first thrust. Greg paused on the upstroke, buried balls deep, as he struggled to contain himself, knowing that if he moved too soon or without exercising iron will he wouldn’t make the remaining time.
Slowly he gave an experimental shift, testing his limits, then gradually increased his pace.
“Touch me.” Mycroft ordered pushing back to meet Greg’s thrust.
Leaning a hand forward to brace himself against the wall, Greg snaked his free hand around their bodies to grab hold of Mycroft’s cock, hidden from view, but hard and slick in his hand from water, body wash, and pre-come. The adjustment changed the angle of penetration and he felt Mycroft shudder underneath him as Greg’s cock dragged over his prostate.
Unintentionally Greg established a rhythm where Mycroft alternated between being impaled by his cock and having his own dick pushed into Greg’s firm grip.
“Harder.”
Greg found it was easier with the commands. His own need was much less insistent, much easier to ignore, when he was focusing on Mycroft, trying to make every thrust brush over Mycroft’s prostate, trying to add a flick or a twist or a thumb glide over the head with every hand stroke, stimulating as many nerves as possible.
“Faster, oh God, Gregory, faster.”
Abandoning the wall, Greg moved his hand to Mycroft’s hip. His fingers dug in as he pistonned as fast and hard as he could, muscles burning in his abdomen with the strain. The muscle ache was enough to cover the liquid burn that began to condense in his balls and spread until last minute when Greg finally realised and pushed himself off Mycroft, crowding himself against the mercifully cold glass as he struggled to hold back his orgasm.
He was mostly successful, small spurts of release covering the glass without any of the euphoria or relief associated with orgasm. His balls stayed aching, drawn up against his body, and his cock was stiff, verging on purple from the strain of staying erect so long. He whimpered.
“So beautiful.” Mycroft’s hand pulled him away from the glass and guided him to his knees under the shower spray. The timer had been turned on its side, less than a quarter of the sand remaining in one of the bulbs. “So beautiful.”
His mouth was guided to Mycroft’s erection, salty tasting from the pre-come not yet washed away from the water. The droplets falling from the shower head forced him to close his eyes, one hand wrapped around Mycroft’s hip for balance as he suckled greedily.
The water wasn’t able to wash clean the air and the salty tang of sex had added itself to the musky pheromones, sandalwood, and ginger mess of scents.
His hand gently fondled Mycroft’s testicles running them gently around in his palm. Greg could feel them drawing up closer to Mycroft’s body and sucked hard on the tip.
Mycroft groaned aloud and pushed at Greg’s shoulder. With an obscene pop Greg let Mycroft’s cock fall from his lips and peered up at Mycroft as best he could, eyes half lidded against the water spray.
The shower door was pushed open and Mycroft stepped out, collecting a towel from the rack along the way. One end was rubbed through his hair, the other end trailing over his shoulder, tip just brushing the top of his buttocks and failing completely to cover his raging erection.
“Bedroom.” He whispered, voice dark as midnight. He snatched up the timer and left the room.
Greg stumbled to his feet and pawed at the shower controls until it was off. There was only one bath towel lying in the doorway where Mycroft had discarded it on his way to the bed. Not wanting to soak the sheets, Greg snatched it up and roughly dried himself off as he crossed the room back to the bed.
Mycroft was kneeling on the bed, facing Greg as he approached, one hand imperiously out-stretched. Once Greg was in reach, it reeled him in, pulling him up on the bed next to Mycroft and into a burning meshing of lips.
“Less than ten minutes.” Mycroft whispered into Greg’s mouth, “but don’t think that if you come before then we won’t be starting again. Two weeks of denial and a full hour fucking me - from the beginning. So you won’t come, will you Gregory? Not until you’re allowed?”
Teeth gently held Greg’s lip, tugging so to reawaken the stinging reminder of the lash he’d taken across them as punishment earlier.
“No.”
“No, what?” Mycroft’s voice was hard.
“No, I won’t come, Master.”
“Good.” Mycroft purred, turning on the bed to face the other way. “Then fuck me.”
It was the shower all over again, pressed up tight against Mycroft’s back, balls deep and thrusting mindlessly as he focused every ounce of concentration he had on his Dom’s body. Fingers ran up and down Mycroft’s cock, movements smoothed by the last lingering drops of water and slowly beading pre-come they collected from the tip as Greg tried to drive Mycroft to the edge he was rapidly approaching himself. Greg’s ears were filled with the slap of skin, breathy groans and poignant whimpers as he stroked over the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, interrupted only by gasping commands to go deeper, faster and harder.
With a needy growl of his own Greg pushed Mycroft forward, forcing him to his hands and knees for balance as Mycroft’s Dominance overrode tired muscles and aching joints to pound and pound and pound.
Feeling his palm start to catch on Mycroft’s erection and unwilling to pull out to coat his hand with the lubricant sitting next to the not so innocent hourglass on the bedside table just out of reach, Greg shifted his weight and brought a hand to Mycroft’s mouth in silent offering. It was several more thrusts before Mycroft accepted, drawing Greg’s fingers into his mouth and licking over his palm.
“Enough.” Mycroft growled and Greg obediently returned his hand to its former position between Mycroft’s legs. A delightful shudder passed through Mycroft’s body as he did, timing playing out so that the stroke with his hand coincided with a jab to Mycroft’s prostate.
“Almost there, Gregory, almost... oh, again. Again, again, again-” Mycroft came with a shivery moan, almost enough to be a wail.
He had to hold back, he hadn’t been told the time was up, but it was hard, so, so hard with Mycroft clenching tight around him as the Omega rode out his own pleasure. Greg wasn’t sure whether he was still allowed to move as Mycroft would be over-sensitised now. Was he meant to stop and pull out? He didn’t want to leave that delectable heat and snapped his hips involuntarily forward. Despite riding out the last tremors of pleasure, Mycroft pushed back against him and Greg took that as a signal to keep going.
The sand was trickling more slowly now, it had to be, as there had been barely any left and there was still barely any left in the upper bulb. Greg kept his eyes fastened on the white trickle as long as he could until a particularly deep thrust as Mycroft flexed internal muscles around him forced his eyes closed.
Breathe, just breathe. Focus. He was almost there and he hoped to God the time was too because the ocean of hot liquid arousal and need was shifting and spreading into his cock and balls and no mental storm levy could hold back this tide.
“Come for me Gregory.”
The heat exploded out his cock and backwashed arousal through Greg’s whole body until every limb was tingling and every nerve ablaze. A wild shout left his mouth as he emptied into Mycroft, shuddering helplessly as he lay splayed over Mycroft’s supporting body, and his vision went white, then grey and descended into black.
When Greg came back to himself he had no idea how much time had passed. The room had been picked up and the toys packed away neatly out of sight. The curtains were drawn leaving him no way of knowing whether or not it as still dusk outside or had descended into true nights.
Most importantly, Mycroft sat in the overstuffed brown chair from the dressing table, turned to face the bed. He’d clearly showered again and redressed, but how long ago Greg couldn’t be sure.
It was nice, comforting, to wake up with a partner there, even better when it was your lover not merely a tawdry one night stand of the sort Greg hadn’t successfully engaged in in years. It would have been better again if Mycroft had been in the bed, but given the amount of work the Dom probably had to catch up on, the fact that he was still there at all made Greg smile.
“Welcome back.” Mycroft closed file he’d been reading.
Greg was sure he didn’t want to know what exactly was in there. He rather suspected it was a ‘if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you’ thing.
“Not quite, but they are confidential so if you would continue to restrain your curiosity that would be appreciated.”
“Would’ve thought you’d read downstairs.” Greg muttered in sleepy contentment, still trying to reconnect various parts of his brain and body.
“That would have been incredibly poor form. How’re you feeling?”
Greg smiled and struggled lethargically with his mind for the right word.
“Blissed out.” He eventually decided. “You?” He frowned, an element of seriousness bleeding through. “You’re not too sore are you? I didn’t-”
Mycroft quirked an eyebrow. “I will most definitely be feeling the results of our exertions through tomorrow, but it is not unbearable. Besides, I believe you’d rather enjoy the thought that I’ll be sitting in a meeting with the Prime Minister feeling the burn as I try not to shift in my seat.”
Greg swallowed, mouth suddenly very dry, and regretted instantly how exhausted his body was, unable to even raise his arms off the bed. Otherwise...if he weren’t so totally boneless...
“That...” He swallowed. “That makes me wish I was twenty years younger and could really give you something to feel.”
Mycroft walking through the hallowed houses of government, the hidden corridors of the secret service, maybe the palace, with every step reminding him of Greg, of what his lover had done to him and how enthusiastically he’d done it, wearing secret marks left by Greg totally unknown to the suave official, diplomat or politician he was meeting with... It was a kink Greg hadn’t been aware he had.
“Fascinating.” Mycroft obviously noted the blatant signs of arousal at the thought. “While I don’t mind indulging you Gregory, I do hope you’ll keep your possessive instincts in check and limit the visual displays.”
Greg huffed lightly into the pillow he face was buried in, knowing that Mycroft was serious, but amused. In a burst of activity he wiggled his toes and flexed his biceps. He should probably roll over. Falling asleep on his front was becoming a habit his neck most definitely did not appreciate.
“I’m sorry we had to stop.” He frowned, pride more than a little stung that he hadn’t managed to meet his Dom’s expectations.
“Nothing to apologise for, Gregory, as I’ve already mentioned. Besides which,” a faint glimmer of a smile tugging at Mycroft’s thin lips, “I did appreciate the short respite from the festivities myself.”
“Mmm.” Greg pressed down into the expensive pillow until the end hid Mycroft’s face. “I could have kept going.”
“No, you couldn’t have. Maybe one day, Gregory, but not today.”
“Mumph.” Greg didn’t try to characterise the sound he made though something along the lines of a sighing-grumble-mert. Whatever a mert was, it sounded accurate.
“Gregory.” The tone of voice was its own warning and Greg lifted his head. Mycroft’s eyes were magnetic, commanding total attention and absolute eye contact. “I will take you to your limits, and then take you further, beyond what you ever thought you could do, but I am not a pathetic low level Dominant fuelled by macho arrogance with no patience, who will push you off a cliff with no thought to the bottom. I will not rush this. I will not break you through self-serving ignorance. I will repeatedly take you to the edge and I will throw you over, but when I do, Gregory, you will fly.”
Greg swallowed convulsively and Mycroft scaled back his gaze, allowing Greg to break eye contact. It sounded like a vow of some kind, the sort a Bound Dom would give his Sub, and the possibilities, hopes and fears made Greg’s head ache and heart pound.
“Do you have to go to the office tomorrow?” He asked, moving the conversation out of the maelstrom and back to level ground.
“For some time, yes. I have several meetings tomorrow.” Mycroft turned his attention back to his file.
“With the Prime Minister?”
Mycroft scowled at the poorly hidden glee in Greg’s voice. “Yes, you unprincipled policeman, with the Prime Minister.”
Greg laughed outright, and extended a hand.
“Come to bed.” He whispered, made more than a little brazen by the warm swell in his chest.
Mycroft paused, weighing the file in his hand and the work no doubt spread over his desk against sleep and a warm body. Greg had no illusions that Mycroft hadn’t intended to put in several more hours that evening before succumbing to sleep, if he even did.
Greg had never spent the night with Mycroft, never curled around his body in sleep. Not since Mycroft’s Heat anyway, so not within actual memory, and the last time they’d woken in bed together Mycroft had run from him. He needed this more than he could put into words.
“Please?” The fingers on his outstretched hand twitched.
“Let me return the files.”
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We should definitely be good for next Wednesday! I'm sorry about the delay this time. Won't happen again.
Previous - Next
Title:Though I Walk through the Valley (15/38)Series: Still Waters (Run Deep) (Part II of IV)
Author: melody_in_time
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Through S1 only
Disclaimer: I wish, I wish upon a star... but until that works, not mine and sadly no money made.
Author's Notes: Because I didn't get you anything Wednesday, here are two chapters today instead.
Warnings: Sex, sex, sex, quite a bit of sex really.
If you've wondered here by mistake, you may wish to start at Part I of the series, Rarest of the Rare: Chapter 1.
Prologue - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 - Chapter 19 - Chapter 20
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mycroft dropped a kiss to Greg’s shoulder, one hand smoothing over his ribs, chasing the slight hollows he had developed during their disastrous ‘just friends’ period. Greg was gradually gaining back the weight he’d lost, but he was trying to do it in a controlled healthy manner rather than via fish and chips down the Pub. He had a very important reason not to have a heart attack before he was fifty now, though if he didn’t get some relief soon Mycroft was going to give him one as the hand had drifted down between Greg’s legs and was tugging his balls downward, releasing them from where they’d drawn up against his body, easing the tension while adding to the fire.
Greg didn’t know whether to buck his hips into the air or squirm into the touch in a bid for relief.
“My...” He fidgeted, seeking some satisfaction, some release. How long before Mycroft took him again? How long before he could come?
“Soon, Gregory, soon.” Mycroft’s lips trailed down Greg’s neck. “I know it’s hard. I won’t leave you waiting too long.”
Mycroft’s kisses feathered over Greg’s jaw before he licked his way smoothly into Greg’s mouth. His tongue mimicked their earlier frantic coupling, taking Greg’s mouth in hard strokes without a hint of remorse for the way he was practically devouring Greg whole. Greg pressed back against him, embracing the grounding sting in his lips in favour of meeting Mycroft stroke for passionate stroke.
Kisses could be gentle, they could be loving, they could be rough, they could be dirty. Tied to the bedpost, hovering shallowly in Subspace with his aching erection, Greg wanted dirty; dirty and passionate and driven and possessive, and he was more than happy to keep up his end to make it that way, drawing back to nip at Mycroft’s lips, sucking hard on his tongue, and generally contributing every filthy trick that had ever turned him on into the mix.
“Oh yes.” Mycroft broke away with a groan and threw his leg over Greg, reaching for the hourglass. As he turned it over, Mycroft lowered himself just enough so Greg could slide into him with a sharp thrust. “That’s it Gregory, come on, fuck me hard.”
Greg shuddered. The sound of such crude language in Mycroft’s polished upper class tones hadn’t failed to elicit a strong reaction from him yet and he pounded into Mycroft as hard and fast as his position allowed.
“Perfect, so perfect.” Mycroft pulled off causing Greg to whimper as he leant in for another searing kiss. “You have no idea what you do to me, Gregory, how you test my control.”
He seated himself back on Greg’s cock almost as an exclamation mark to his statement, preventing any of the thoughts trying to be heard in Greg’s head being verbalised as anything more than incoherent syllables.
Mycroft felt so good above him, a warm slick passage clamping down on his shaft with every glide. He was moving with him now, ensuring each withdrawal took them to the peak of Greg’s cock so every entry included the sizzling feeling of the glans re-penetrating, and that every thrust caressed every last centimetre, swallowing him down to where the leather cock ring still bound him tight.
It wasn’t long since their last round, but Mycroft’s cock, displayed perfectly in Greg’s reduced field of view, was half-hard and struggling to rise further. A pink flush had stained his cheek and spread down his chest, drawing attention to erect nipples and the distinct lack of chest hair, an omega trait. It was an inspiring sight and Greg drove harder into his partner.
Greg shuddered as Mycroft met his stroke. So hot, so wet. The smell was overpowering, a combination of pheromones, sweat and sex that if anything smelt more decadent than the feel of that velvety glide and the taut press of the silky ropes and the filthy feel of Mycroft’s come cooling on his chest that was so right and the sound of breathy moans and gasping breathing and slapping flesh punctuating cooling breezes that drifted over him as the air was shifted and caused the mess to cool and Mycroft moaned and his own cock was -
Mycroft gave one last whimper and lifted off Greg, shifting to kneel beside him instead, gasping slightly for breath.
“What’re you, why have you?” Greg’s voice was slurred and he tugged helplessly against the ropes binding his arms.
“Shh.” Mycroft gently smoothed Greg’s hair. “We’re just taking a break.”
“But we’re not-” Greg turned his head to the timer, sand still spilling in a regular trickle from top to bottom. “You haven’t come yet.”
“You were becoming overwhelmed. Shh, shhh.” His hand stroked Greg’s cheek, calming the knot of panic forming in his gut. “We were always going to stop for a period. It’s not advisable to spend more than half an hour wearing one of these in a session.” His hand dropped to the cock ring and began to loosen the binding knot. “I’m going to remove this now, Gregory, and you are not going to orgasm, you understand?”
Greg forced his fingers to release their grip on the bed.
“Do you understand?” Mycroft’s Dom voice rolled through him.
“Yes.” He gasped.
The sheets underneath were rasping against his sensitised skin and the silence as Mycroft removed the restraint hurt his ears. He jerked as Mycroft’s hand went to the ropes tying his arms to the bed head.
“But... but we’re not done. I thought you said-”
“Shh, shhh. We have all night, Gregory.” Mycroft interrupted soothingly. “A little food, a drink,” he wrinkled his nose as he carefully lowered Greg’s arm to the bed, “maybe a shower.”
The blood rushing into Greg’s arm was painful in a good way, a numb tingling that bordered on just the right side of agony. He blinked again and felt certain stimulations retreat (the scratch of expensive bed sheets, the burning flow of cool air over sensitive wet skin, the empty echo of silence) in favour of more grounded realities (the fat feeling as blood returned to his arm, the congealing stickiness of lubricant, sweat and Mycroft’s release on his chest and cock, the deep seated ache in his balls).
“Shower would be nice.” His voice sounded hoarse. Had it been a few moments ago?
“Welcome back.” Mycroft lowered his other arm, coiled the rope and finally turned the timer on its side. His voice lost the faint burr of Dominance that had flavoured all his words, mostly unnoticed against the stronger orders, but a comforting timbre nonetheless.
“Sorry we didn’t make the hour.” Greg felt his cock wilt to slightly more than half mast with the lack of direct stimulation and changed atmosphere in the room.
No matter how turned on he’d been, he was not at the right end of his life to be sustaining a raging hard on that long, especially once Mycroft called a halt to the session.
“A break, Gregory; a pause or respite in the proceedings, not the end. I’m not done with you yet.”
Greg’s penis stirred, but failed to rise more than it was, desire notwithstanding.
However,” Mycroft continued, “now that we have taken a respite I feel a shower has suddenly become a priority.”
Deceptively powerful thighs propelled Mycroft off the bed and he strolled casually toward the bathroom, utterly unconcerned about the issue of his own nakedness. It was a disorientating change from last time when Mycroft had had his dressing gown on before Greg had levered himself up to his elbows.
Greg’d almost started to wonder whether Mycroft was body conscious and had begun to speculate on body image issues especially in light of Sherlock’s continual jabs about Mycroft’s diet. Those speculations fell to pieces watching Mycroft’s casual progression to the bathroom, the same confidence characteristic of every aspect of Mycroft’s life shining through here.
Mycroft, Greg reflected with a sappy grin, had amazing legs. The nature of his desk job meant they weren’t overtly muscled, but they were toned and lean in a way that added the illusion of even more length. His suits were always well tailored, but shaped loosely with jackets disguising the sinfully plump rear. Greg’s grin widened in the smug knowledge that he was well acquainted with that rear and that he’d be buried deep inside it again soon. A hand lazily stroked his genitals in Alpha satisfaction.
“In your own time, Gregory.” Mycroft disappeared through the bathroom door, the sting of the rebuke lost against the riot of much more insistent satisfied/possessive/amazing/beautiful/smug/mine running through Greg’s head.
Moving his arms carefully Greg lifted up off the bed and walked across the uncluttered floor, eyes fixed on the open doorway his Omega had disappeared through. The echoing patter of water on tiles drifted out the door as Mycroft started the shower.
He had time for a brief thought that the bathroom was more modern than he’d anticipated before his gaze and mind were drawn to the singular focal point that was Mycroft.
In the shower.
Wet.
With rivulets of water sluicing over his back and streaming down his thighs, licking their way over the ample curves of his tantalising arse.
Mycroft’s hair was darkened by the water from his usual brown with hints of barely there chestnut to the sable more characteristic of the younger Holmes brother. Greg wished Mycroft’s hair was longer, suddenly wanted to know whether the whispering suggestion of curls in Mycroft’s dry hair lived up to its potential or fell straight under the weight of the longer strands.
Mouth-watering.
He wanted to sink his teeth into the creamy unblemished skin and suck until it was crimson, an obvious warning to any who went near that this Omega, this totally unique and utterly wonderful Dominant, was his.
Greg’s eyes roamed greedily over the exposed canvas. No need to mark the neck, no need to be so crass and obvious. No, his mark needed to be lower, more intimate, well away from the prying eyes of the public. Somewhere only a rival encroaching on Greg’s territory would see it and be warned. The delicate expanse of pale skin on the inner thigh maybe, or the slight depression of the lower back where any alpha daring to lick or kiss those gorgeous cheeks would be confronted with it at eye level.
In the shower Mycroft cocked his head and met Greg heated gaze for heated gaze.
“Care to join me?” His voice was once more a throaty rumble followed by the tiniest speck of Dominance.
“Oh yes!”
He was hard again, Greg realised as Mycroft favoured him with a long devouring sweep.
“Maybe you should fetch the timer first.” Mycroft opened the cap of one of the many bottles in the shower and the heavy scent of sandalwood filled the air.
“Maybe I-” Mycroft began lathering himself in graceful arching strokes. “Oh Jesus, timer.”
With great reluctance Greg fled the bathroom and moved as quickly as he could with the aching erection once again raging between his legs to the bedside table.
Careful not to disturb the sand, he carried it back to the bathroom and set it on the counter. In doing so he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Red marks with the finest of fibre patterns ran up his arms coiled like snakes in bright red against his skin. They didn’t hurt, he suspected they might feel raw later, and they looked spectacular. Each progressive loop was equal distance from the other, creating a regular pattern across his body that reflected how carefully he’d been bound. Taking into account the unsymmetrical nature of the human figure, not enough to be noticed, but enough to destroy the perfect mirroring of such a deceptively complex work, it displayed skill Greg could never achieve. Pressing his wrists together he could see now the marks on both arms matched, flowing easily from left to right, though they’d been bound individually.
Careful steps carried him to the glass walled shower and through the door Mycroft had left open.
“You took your time.” A lazy smile curled one side of his mouth, eyes half lidded in what could be pleasure, satisfaction, anticipation or plotting.
“I thought we were taking a break.” Greg murmured, pressing his nose into his favourite spot on Mycroft’s neck, pulling him flush back to front.
The shower had dampened Mycroft’s natural smell, but the water could do nothing for the phantom scent produced by his pheromones, which blended with the sandalwood body wash to create an effect intoxicatingly like the one Mycroft had exuded during Heat. A little extra spice and... Greg inhaled deeply.
“We were.” Mycroft chuckled, a slight hitch manifesting as Greg thumbed over a nipple.
“Mmm.” Greg hummed gently biting down.
His hand ghosted over Mycroft’s body, caressing and stroking. Fingers dug into Mycroft’s hip, massaging the underlying muscles.
“My,” Greg sighed and tongued over the bite mark on Mycroft’s neck. “My, I need...”
Mycroft pulled away and pushed the door open. “Timer.”
Greg stumbled out and flipped the timer to its upright position before dashing back under the spray. Mycroft turned and braced his hands against the wall, spreading his legs wide.
“Remember Gregory, you may not come.”
Greg nuzzled the back of Mycroft’s neck, pressing fingers deep into the yielding passage, still slick with lubricant despite the shower and length of time since prep.
“Remember, Gregory.”
“Yes.” He murmured, and, adjusting his position, removed his fingers and slid back into Mycroft’s body with one smooth stroke.
It was much harder to contain himself without the cock ring, much harder to prevent himself spilling on the first thrust. Greg paused on the upstroke, buried balls deep, as he struggled to contain himself, knowing that if he moved too soon or without exercising iron will he wouldn’t make the remaining time.
Slowly he gave an experimental shift, testing his limits, then gradually increased his pace.
“Touch me.” Mycroft ordered pushing back to meet Greg’s thrust.
Leaning a hand forward to brace himself against the wall, Greg snaked his free hand around their bodies to grab hold of Mycroft’s cock, hidden from view, but hard and slick in his hand from water, body wash, and pre-come. The adjustment changed the angle of penetration and he felt Mycroft shudder underneath him as Greg’s cock dragged over his prostate.
Unintentionally Greg established a rhythm where Mycroft alternated between being impaled by his cock and having his own dick pushed into Greg’s firm grip.
“Harder.”
Greg found it was easier with the commands. His own need was much less insistent, much easier to ignore, when he was focusing on Mycroft, trying to make every thrust brush over Mycroft’s prostate, trying to add a flick or a twist or a thumb glide over the head with every hand stroke, stimulating as many nerves as possible.
“Faster, oh God, Gregory, faster.”
Abandoning the wall, Greg moved his hand to Mycroft’s hip. His fingers dug in as he pistonned as fast and hard as he could, muscles burning in his abdomen with the strain. The muscle ache was enough to cover the liquid burn that began to condense in his balls and spread until last minute when Greg finally realised and pushed himself off Mycroft, crowding himself against the mercifully cold glass as he struggled to hold back his orgasm.
He was mostly successful, small spurts of release covering the glass without any of the euphoria or relief associated with orgasm. His balls stayed aching, drawn up against his body, and his cock was stiff, verging on purple from the strain of staying erect so long. He whimpered.
“So beautiful.” Mycroft’s hand pulled him away from the glass and guided him to his knees under the shower spray. The timer had been turned on its side, less than a quarter of the sand remaining in one of the bulbs. “So beautiful.”
His mouth was guided to Mycroft’s erection, salty tasting from the pre-come not yet washed away from the water. The droplets falling from the shower head forced him to close his eyes, one hand wrapped around Mycroft’s hip for balance as he suckled greedily.
The water wasn’t able to wash clean the air and the salty tang of sex had added itself to the musky pheromones, sandalwood, and ginger mess of scents.
His hand gently fondled Mycroft’s testicles running them gently around in his palm. Greg could feel them drawing up closer to Mycroft’s body and sucked hard on the tip.
Mycroft groaned aloud and pushed at Greg’s shoulder. With an obscene pop Greg let Mycroft’s cock fall from his lips and peered up at Mycroft as best he could, eyes half lidded against the water spray.
The shower door was pushed open and Mycroft stepped out, collecting a towel from the rack along the way. One end was rubbed through his hair, the other end trailing over his shoulder, tip just brushing the top of his buttocks and failing completely to cover his raging erection.
“Bedroom.” He whispered, voice dark as midnight. He snatched up the timer and left the room.
Greg stumbled to his feet and pawed at the shower controls until it was off. There was only one bath towel lying in the doorway where Mycroft had discarded it on his way to the bed. Not wanting to soak the sheets, Greg snatched it up and roughly dried himself off as he crossed the room back to the bed.
Mycroft was kneeling on the bed, facing Greg as he approached, one hand imperiously out-stretched. Once Greg was in reach, it reeled him in, pulling him up on the bed next to Mycroft and into a burning meshing of lips.
“Less than ten minutes.” Mycroft whispered into Greg’s mouth, “but don’t think that if you come before then we won’t be starting again. Two weeks of denial and a full hour fucking me - from the beginning. So you won’t come, will you Gregory? Not until you’re allowed?”
Teeth gently held Greg’s lip, tugging so to reawaken the stinging reminder of the lash he’d taken across them as punishment earlier.
“No.”
“No, what?” Mycroft’s voice was hard.
“No, I won’t come, Master.”
“Good.” Mycroft purred, turning on the bed to face the other way. “Then fuck me.”
It was the shower all over again, pressed up tight against Mycroft’s back, balls deep and thrusting mindlessly as he focused every ounce of concentration he had on his Dom’s body. Fingers ran up and down Mycroft’s cock, movements smoothed by the last lingering drops of water and slowly beading pre-come they collected from the tip as Greg tried to drive Mycroft to the edge he was rapidly approaching himself. Greg’s ears were filled with the slap of skin, breathy groans and poignant whimpers as he stroked over the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, interrupted only by gasping commands to go deeper, faster and harder.
With a needy growl of his own Greg pushed Mycroft forward, forcing him to his hands and knees for balance as Mycroft’s Dominance overrode tired muscles and aching joints to pound and pound and pound.
Feeling his palm start to catch on Mycroft’s erection and unwilling to pull out to coat his hand with the lubricant sitting next to the not so innocent hourglass on the bedside table just out of reach, Greg shifted his weight and brought a hand to Mycroft’s mouth in silent offering. It was several more thrusts before Mycroft accepted, drawing Greg’s fingers into his mouth and licking over his palm.
“Enough.” Mycroft growled and Greg obediently returned his hand to its former position between Mycroft’s legs. A delightful shudder passed through Mycroft’s body as he did, timing playing out so that the stroke with his hand coincided with a jab to Mycroft’s prostate.
“Almost there, Gregory, almost... oh, again. Again, again, again-” Mycroft came with a shivery moan, almost enough to be a wail.
He had to hold back, he hadn’t been told the time was up, but it was hard, so, so hard with Mycroft clenching tight around him as the Omega rode out his own pleasure. Greg wasn’t sure whether he was still allowed to move as Mycroft would be over-sensitised now. Was he meant to stop and pull out? He didn’t want to leave that delectable heat and snapped his hips involuntarily forward. Despite riding out the last tremors of pleasure, Mycroft pushed back against him and Greg took that as a signal to keep going.
The sand was trickling more slowly now, it had to be, as there had been barely any left and there was still barely any left in the upper bulb. Greg kept his eyes fastened on the white trickle as long as he could until a particularly deep thrust as Mycroft flexed internal muscles around him forced his eyes closed.
Breathe, just breathe. Focus. He was almost there and he hoped to God the time was too because the ocean of hot liquid arousal and need was shifting and spreading into his cock and balls and no mental storm levy could hold back this tide.
“Come for me Gregory.”
The heat exploded out his cock and backwashed arousal through Greg’s whole body until every limb was tingling and every nerve ablaze. A wild shout left his mouth as he emptied into Mycroft, shuddering helplessly as he lay splayed over Mycroft’s supporting body, and his vision went white, then grey and descended into black.
When Greg came back to himself he had no idea how much time had passed. The room had been picked up and the toys packed away neatly out of sight. The curtains were drawn leaving him no way of knowing whether or not it as still dusk outside or had descended into true nights.
Most importantly, Mycroft sat in the overstuffed brown chair from the dressing table, turned to face the bed. He’d clearly showered again and redressed, but how long ago Greg couldn’t be sure.
It was nice, comforting, to wake up with a partner there, even better when it was your lover not merely a tawdry one night stand of the sort Greg hadn’t successfully engaged in in years. It would have been better again if Mycroft had been in the bed, but given the amount of work the Dom probably had to catch up on, the fact that he was still there at all made Greg smile.
“Welcome back.” Mycroft closed file he’d been reading.
Greg was sure he didn’t want to know what exactly was in there. He rather suspected it was a ‘if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you’ thing.
“Not quite, but they are confidential so if you would continue to restrain your curiosity that would be appreciated.”
“Would’ve thought you’d read downstairs.” Greg muttered in sleepy contentment, still trying to reconnect various parts of his brain and body.
“That would have been incredibly poor form. How’re you feeling?”
Greg smiled and struggled lethargically with his mind for the right word.
“Blissed out.” He eventually decided. “You?” He frowned, an element of seriousness bleeding through. “You’re not too sore are you? I didn’t-”
Mycroft quirked an eyebrow. “I will most definitely be feeling the results of our exertions through tomorrow, but it is not unbearable. Besides, I believe you’d rather enjoy the thought that I’ll be sitting in a meeting with the Prime Minister feeling the burn as I try not to shift in my seat.”
Greg swallowed, mouth suddenly very dry, and regretted instantly how exhausted his body was, unable to even raise his arms off the bed. Otherwise...if he weren’t so totally boneless...
“That...” He swallowed. “That makes me wish I was twenty years younger and could really give you something to feel.”
Mycroft walking through the hallowed houses of government, the hidden corridors of the secret service, maybe the palace, with every step reminding him of Greg, of what his lover had done to him and how enthusiastically he’d done it, wearing secret marks left by Greg totally unknown to the suave official, diplomat or politician he was meeting with... It was a kink Greg hadn’t been aware he had.
“Fascinating.” Mycroft obviously noted the blatant signs of arousal at the thought. “While I don’t mind indulging you Gregory, I do hope you’ll keep your possessive instincts in check and limit the visual displays.”
Greg huffed lightly into the pillow he face was buried in, knowing that Mycroft was serious, but amused. In a burst of activity he wiggled his toes and flexed his biceps. He should probably roll over. Falling asleep on his front was becoming a habit his neck most definitely did not appreciate.
“I’m sorry we had to stop.” He frowned, pride more than a little stung that he hadn’t managed to meet his Dom’s expectations.
“Nothing to apologise for, Gregory, as I’ve already mentioned. Besides which,” a faint glimmer of a smile tugging at Mycroft’s thin lips, “I did appreciate the short respite from the festivities myself.”
“Mmm.” Greg pressed down into the expensive pillow until the end hid Mycroft’s face. “I could have kept going.”
“No, you couldn’t have. Maybe one day, Gregory, but not today.”
“Mumph.” Greg didn’t try to characterise the sound he made though something along the lines of a sighing-grumble-mert. Whatever a mert was, it sounded accurate.
“Gregory.” The tone of voice was its own warning and Greg lifted his head. Mycroft’s eyes were magnetic, commanding total attention and absolute eye contact. “I will take you to your limits, and then take you further, beyond what you ever thought you could do, but I am not a pathetic low level Dominant fuelled by macho arrogance with no patience, who will push you off a cliff with no thought to the bottom. I will not rush this. I will not break you through self-serving ignorance. I will repeatedly take you to the edge and I will throw you over, but when I do, Gregory, you will fly.”
Greg swallowed convulsively and Mycroft scaled back his gaze, allowing Greg to break eye contact. It sounded like a vow of some kind, the sort a Bound Dom would give his Sub, and the possibilities, hopes and fears made Greg’s head ache and heart pound.
“Do you have to go to the office tomorrow?” He asked, moving the conversation out of the maelstrom and back to level ground.
“For some time, yes. I have several meetings tomorrow.” Mycroft turned his attention back to his file.
“With the Prime Minister?”
Mycroft scowled at the poorly hidden glee in Greg’s voice. “Yes, you unprincipled policeman, with the Prime Minister.”
Greg laughed outright, and extended a hand.
“Come to bed.” He whispered, made more than a little brazen by the warm swell in his chest.
Mycroft paused, weighing the file in his hand and the work no doubt spread over his desk against sleep and a warm body. Greg had no illusions that Mycroft hadn’t intended to put in several more hours that evening before succumbing to sleep, if he even did.
Greg had never spent the night with Mycroft, never curled around his body in sleep. Not since Mycroft’s Heat anyway, so not within actual memory, and the last time they’d woken in bed together Mycroft had run from him. He needed this more than he could put into words.
“Please?” The fingers on his outstretched hand twitched.
“Let me return the files.”
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We should definitely be good for next Wednesday! I'm sorry about the delay this time. Won't happen again.
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