Could You Imagine? (NC-17)
EDIT: The second part of this ongoing series is still a work in progress that can be found and fanfiction.net/~novadiablo under the title 'Just a Few Drinks'.
I
Mycroft slipped nervously through the door and slid along the wall towards the bar. He'd had Anthea drop him off in her own car three blocks back, but it had taken him twenty minutes to get here, what with all the detours he'd taken to lead any followers astray. He was terrified still, that someone would be following him. Someone like… Sherlock. And then of course, Mummy would find out, because Sherlock like to worry her with trifles. Mycroft was sure that if he searched through surveillance footage he would find some of him shagging that flatmate, though.
But Mycroft didn't expect to see any familiar faces, here of all places. So when he caught sight of a certain grey-haired detective inspector, surrounded my scantily dressed younger men, his stomach sank to his toes. And, just his luck, any chances of a quiet, speedy exit were dashed when Lestrade's eyes fell on him, widening.
He and Lestrade had only met once, and not formally. Lestrade had been rushing out of Sherlock's flat as he had been rushing in, paramedics in tow. But that was not a pleasant memory for any involved, including those poor paramedics, who had received a verbal beating from a certain drug addict who apparently hadn't overdosed enough to shut him up.
Mycroft sat at the end of the bar, hunched over and resigned to the fact that he wouldn't get laid tonight or any other night. If Lestrade saw him leave with someone, everyone would know, surely. He stared into a drink he didn't remember buying.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lestrade standing, saying something to one of the fellows he was with and making his way over to Mycroft, so he stood up, drained his drink and headed for the door, aware that Lestrade was following.
When the cool night's air and sounds of the busy street hit him, he relaxed a bit.
"Mycroft? Mycroft Holmes?"
"Detective Inspector Lestrade," Mycroft nodded to the man as he came to stand next to him.
"What, pray tell, are you doing in this end of town?" Lestrade enquired.
"I might ask you the same question!" he replied snappily, "but if you must know, I was conducting an experiment, which I shall not be repeating."
"Ah," replied the DI, realising three of his buttons were undone and working towards refastening them. "Well, would you like to come back to my place for a drink to celebrate your first time in a gay bar, then?"
Mycroft swung his head around and looked at the DI, who was staring intently at the alleyway opposite them.
"Yes, I suppose."
"Taxi!"
II
The taxi ride to Lestrade's place hadn't been a long one, just too far to walk, which is probably why Lestrade favoured the bar.
"Could you imagine what would happen if Sherlock found out?" He stressed.
"It's not half as bad for you," Mycroft commented, "He's my bloody brother."
Lestrade had never heard Mycroft curse before, but it shot a nice tingle up his spine and brought on a rush of images of Mycroft swearing in other, sexier circumstances.
Lestrade's house was nice, so Mycroft said so.
"Thanks. DI's get paid pretty well these days. We just don't get much time to use it." He replied, heading to the bar to prepare some drinks. Mycroft nodded, knowing the feeling. He sat down on a bar stool.
"So do you go to… you know, often?"
Lestrade blushed, grinning a little and passing a drink over to Mycroft. He nodded.
"I'm a bit of a celebrity there, for some reason."
"Quite a catch, I'm sure," Mycroft said, winking. He was surprised how well they'd hit it off. It was almost worth the lack of orgasm. Almost.
"Sorry to drag you away from what promised to be a good night, then." Mycroft grinned, and so did Lestrade.
"Night's not over yet," he said, and leant over the bar to kiss Mycroft fair on the lips. A thousand reasons why this was a bad idea ran through Mycroft's head, most of them involving Sherlock. Sod Sherlock, he thought as Lestrade sauntered around the bar.
Mycroft laid his arms over Lestrade's shoulders and leant down to kiss him, the bar stool giving him a good few inches height advantage. Their tongues fought for domination for a while before Mycroft was victorious and thrust his into Lestrade's mouth, exploring and tasting liquor.
Lestrade's hands ventured downwards, unbuttoning Mycroft's shirt and pushing it and his coat off. He ran cool hands down Mycroft's chest, causing Mycroft to moan into his mouth. When he reached Mycroft's pants, however, he stayed with palming the throbbing erection, neglected skin remaining untouched for just a little longer. He moaned in frustration and Lestrade smiled against his mouth.
Then pants were unzipped and the warm heat that had captured Mycroft's mouth was now wrapped around his cock, sucking hard.
Mycroft breathed in harshly and accidentally bucked into Lestrade's mouth. The feeling of choking around him would have ended it right then and there - it had been a while, after all - if the DI hadn't pulled away, subjecting Mycroft to a sharp temperature change in the cool night air.
Lestrade pulled him off the chair, marched him up the stairs and threw himself on top of his on the bed.
III
"I'm going to fuck you with my tongue," he whispered, barely audible and they both felt Mycroft's cock twitch violently between them.
Lestrade stood up with a very self-assured look on his face, and Mycroft couldn't bring himself to mind. Slowly Lestrade unbuttoned his shirt, but left it on. He dropped his hand down to his jeans and unbuttoned them, letting them fall. Alas, he wasn't wearing underwear, and Mycroft observed the curve upwards in the man's penis quite similar to the predatory smile that now lingered on his face.
Freed from most of his clothing, Lestrade now crawled back up Mycroft's body.
"Is this your first time?" He asked, and Mycroft could hear pure concern under the lust pouring from the words.
"For a long time," he replied, embarrassed.
Lestrade nodded, and then went to work, placing hot, wet kisses all over his face, down his neck and shoulders, licking a stripe down his collarbone. He circled Mycroft's nipple and Mycroft felt himself becoming hyper aware of his body, tingling in all of the places he was touched, strokes of hand and tongue.
Because of the lead up, when Lestrade pushed his tongue on his perineum hard enough to hit that certain place through many layers, Mycroft allowed himself a long, low groan, extended by the tongue that was running over his entrance.
Lestrade continued his exploration while Mycroft lazily stroked himself with fingertips. Then, suddenly, Lestrade pushed his tongue in as far as he could and simply by chance brushed over the place that made Mycroft yelp.
Lestrade, face against ass, felt satisfaction and domination over this man, and mused over how ironic the situation was, before getting back to the task at hand and beginning to thrust his tongue.
For Mycroft it was the most oddly erotic feeling ever, a tongue wriggling around inside him. It was really over in seconds, ending with a resounding 'FUCK' for Mycroft and a horrified 'what the fuck?' from Sherlock, who had silently made his way up the stairs was no standing stock still in the doorway.
"What's wrong, Sherlock?" John called from downstairs.
Lestrade jumped away from Mycroft, who instantly pulled the covers up over himself, remembering his expensive suit by the bar. Lestrade was pulling his pants on over his still hard dick.
John joined a shell-shocked Sherlock at the door and slowly took in the situation before muttering an apology and pulling Sherlock down the stairs.
"See why it's a bad idea to break into people's houses?" they heard from down the stairs.
"Yeah, you see a detective inspector's tongue in your brother's arse."
There was silence from downstairs, a door shutting and a cry of "Taxi!" took the intruders away.
Mycroft chanced a look at Lestrade, who had his head against the wall. So he crept out of bed, sped downstairs, pulled on his and suit and went to the bathroom to fix his hair. Lestrade clumped downstairs, downed two scotches and blearily waved Mycroft out.
It was two in the morning and, for a main road, quiet. He called for a taxi and tried to forget his brother for a while.
I
Mycroft slipped nervously through the door and slid along the wall towards the bar. He'd had Anthea drop him off in her own car three blocks back, but it had taken him twenty minutes to get here, what with all the detours he'd taken to lead any followers astray. He was terrified still, that someone would be following him. Someone like… Sherlock. And then of course, Mummy would find out, because Sherlock like to worry her with trifles. Mycroft was sure that if he searched through surveillance footage he would find some of him shagging that flatmate, though.
But Mycroft didn't expect to see any familiar faces, here of all places. So when he caught sight of a certain grey-haired detective inspector, surrounded my scantily dressed younger men, his stomach sank to his toes. And, just his luck, any chances of a quiet, speedy exit were dashed when Lestrade's eyes fell on him, widening.
He and Lestrade had only met once, and not formally. Lestrade had been rushing out of Sherlock's flat as he had been rushing in, paramedics in tow. But that was not a pleasant memory for any involved, including those poor paramedics, who had received a verbal beating from a certain drug addict who apparently hadn't overdosed enough to shut him up.
Mycroft sat at the end of the bar, hunched over and resigned to the fact that he wouldn't get laid tonight or any other night. If Lestrade saw him leave with someone, everyone would know, surely. He stared into a drink he didn't remember buying.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lestrade standing, saying something to one of the fellows he was with and making his way over to Mycroft, so he stood up, drained his drink and headed for the door, aware that Lestrade was following.
When the cool night's air and sounds of the busy street hit him, he relaxed a bit.
"Mycroft? Mycroft Holmes?"
"Detective Inspector Lestrade," Mycroft nodded to the man as he came to stand next to him.
"What, pray tell, are you doing in this end of town?" Lestrade enquired.
"I might ask you the same question!" he replied snappily, "but if you must know, I was conducting an experiment, which I shall not be repeating."
"Ah," replied the DI, realising three of his buttons were undone and working towards refastening them. "Well, would you like to come back to my place for a drink to celebrate your first time in a gay bar, then?"
Mycroft swung his head around and looked at the DI, who was staring intently at the alleyway opposite them.
"Yes, I suppose."
"Taxi!"
II
The taxi ride to Lestrade's place hadn't been a long one, just too far to walk, which is probably why Lestrade favoured the bar.
"Could you imagine what would happen if Sherlock found out?" He stressed.
"It's not half as bad for you," Mycroft commented, "He's my bloody brother."
Lestrade had never heard Mycroft curse before, but it shot a nice tingle up his spine and brought on a rush of images of Mycroft swearing in other, sexier circumstances.
Lestrade's house was nice, so Mycroft said so.
"Thanks. DI's get paid pretty well these days. We just don't get much time to use it." He replied, heading to the bar to prepare some drinks. Mycroft nodded, knowing the feeling. He sat down on a bar stool.
"So do you go to… you know, often?"
Lestrade blushed, grinning a little and passing a drink over to Mycroft. He nodded.
"I'm a bit of a celebrity there, for some reason."
"Quite a catch, I'm sure," Mycroft said, winking. He was surprised how well they'd hit it off. It was almost worth the lack of orgasm. Almost.
"Sorry to drag you away from what promised to be a good night, then." Mycroft grinned, and so did Lestrade.
"Night's not over yet," he said, and leant over the bar to kiss Mycroft fair on the lips. A thousand reasons why this was a bad idea ran through Mycroft's head, most of them involving Sherlock. Sod Sherlock, he thought as Lestrade sauntered around the bar.
Mycroft laid his arms over Lestrade's shoulders and leant down to kiss him, the bar stool giving him a good few inches height advantage. Their tongues fought for domination for a while before Mycroft was victorious and thrust his into Lestrade's mouth, exploring and tasting liquor.
Lestrade's hands ventured downwards, unbuttoning Mycroft's shirt and pushing it and his coat off. He ran cool hands down Mycroft's chest, causing Mycroft to moan into his mouth. When he reached Mycroft's pants, however, he stayed with palming the throbbing erection, neglected skin remaining untouched for just a little longer. He moaned in frustration and Lestrade smiled against his mouth.
Then pants were unzipped and the warm heat that had captured Mycroft's mouth was now wrapped around his cock, sucking hard.
Mycroft breathed in harshly and accidentally bucked into Lestrade's mouth. The feeling of choking around him would have ended it right then and there - it had been a while, after all - if the DI hadn't pulled away, subjecting Mycroft to a sharp temperature change in the cool night air.
Lestrade pulled him off the chair, marched him up the stairs and threw himself on top of his on the bed.
III
"I'm going to fuck you with my tongue," he whispered, barely audible and they both felt Mycroft's cock twitch violently between them.
Lestrade stood up with a very self-assured look on his face, and Mycroft couldn't bring himself to mind. Slowly Lestrade unbuttoned his shirt, but left it on. He dropped his hand down to his jeans and unbuttoned them, letting them fall. Alas, he wasn't wearing underwear, and Mycroft observed the curve upwards in the man's penis quite similar to the predatory smile that now lingered on his face.
Freed from most of his clothing, Lestrade now crawled back up Mycroft's body.
"Is this your first time?" He asked, and Mycroft could hear pure concern under the lust pouring from the words.
"For a long time," he replied, embarrassed.
Lestrade nodded, and then went to work, placing hot, wet kisses all over his face, down his neck and shoulders, licking a stripe down his collarbone. He circled Mycroft's nipple and Mycroft felt himself becoming hyper aware of his body, tingling in all of the places he was touched, strokes of hand and tongue.
Because of the lead up, when Lestrade pushed his tongue on his perineum hard enough to hit that certain place through many layers, Mycroft allowed himself a long, low groan, extended by the tongue that was running over his entrance.
Lestrade continued his exploration while Mycroft lazily stroked himself with fingertips. Then, suddenly, Lestrade pushed his tongue in as far as he could and simply by chance brushed over the place that made Mycroft yelp.
Lestrade, face against ass, felt satisfaction and domination over this man, and mused over how ironic the situation was, before getting back to the task at hand and beginning to thrust his tongue.
For Mycroft it was the most oddly erotic feeling ever, a tongue wriggling around inside him. It was really over in seconds, ending with a resounding 'FUCK' for Mycroft and a horrified 'what the fuck?' from Sherlock, who had silently made his way up the stairs was no standing stock still in the doorway.
"What's wrong, Sherlock?" John called from downstairs.
Lestrade jumped away from Mycroft, who instantly pulled the covers up over himself, remembering his expensive suit by the bar. Lestrade was pulling his pants on over his still hard dick.
John joined a shell-shocked Sherlock at the door and slowly took in the situation before muttering an apology and pulling Sherlock down the stairs.
"See why it's a bad idea to break into people's houses?" they heard from down the stairs.
"Yeah, you see a detective inspector's tongue in your brother's arse."
There was silence from downstairs, a door shutting and a cry of "Taxi!" took the intruders away.
Mycroft chanced a look at Lestrade, who had his head against the wall. So he crept out of bed, sped downstairs, pulled on his and suit and went to the bathroom to fix his hair. Lestrade clumped downstairs, downed two scotches and blearily waved Mycroft out.
It was two in the morning and, for a main road, quiet. He called for a taxi and tried to forget his brother for a while.