A/N: This story contains consensual acts of intimacy between two men. With a guest appearance by a tortured bladder...

As the car sped toward the docks, Mycroft's heartbeat quickened in anticipation. He'd never expected anything like this. Gregory was a genius, even if his bladder was killing him and he had to fight not to drool.

When he'd arrived home that evening, he'd been a nerve-storm on legs, walking stiffly and gripping his umbrella to conceal his overall shaking. He rarely wondered if he was still strong enough to do this job, but today it happened. Everything- from the vitriolic Russian First Minister to an insubordinate assistant to Sherlock setting off a smoke bomb at Bart's and clearing the hospital- had been just too much.

Gregory had taken one look at him and seen everything. The mental agitation, barely suppressed beneath Mycroft's usual genteel façade. The trembling. Gregory Lestrade may not have been a Holmes, but his observation skills were astute enough to make him a Detective Inspector at Scotland Yard. Mycroft could fool him, but not without effort.

"We're going out," he said.

"Not tonight, Gregory. Please."

"I'm not giving you a choice, Myc."

Mycroft knew he could easily fight for that choice. He knew seventeen different ways to pulverize an attacker with his umbrella. But he loved Gregory too much to hurt him, so he yielded. Besides, he had no energy for another confrontation.

"Fine," he replied, putting his umbrella in its stand and reaching for his coat buttons. "But let me-"

"No. Stay there."

"Gregory, we'll do things your way after I go to the toilet. The need is rather pressing."

Lestrade grinned. "Good. It will give you something to focus on during the ride. And I repeat- stay there."

The DI's firmly worded command caused something to shift within Mycroft. He needed to piss badly, but that basic choice being taken from him was weirdly exhilarating. "What ride?" he finally asked.

Instead of answering him, Gregory left the foyer. He came back a few minutes later with a black scarf and a clear plastic device that hadn't been removed from its original packaging. While Mycroft stared at it, he tore the wrapping away and approached.

"Open your mouth," he ordered.

When Mycroft obeyed, his lover brought the device to his face. It looked like a strapless penis gag, with a curved base tailored to the shape of the mouth. When Lestrade inserted it, Mycroft observed with surprise that the base fitted inside his lips, not over them like most gags. It was like wearing a mouth guard, albeit one with a phallic-shaped piece that sat heavily on his tongue.

Gregory ran one finger lightly over his closed lips. "Brilliant. It's completely concealed. Now give me your wrists, please."

Ignoring the pressure in his bladder, Mycroft held them out. Lestrade looped them together with one end of the scarf. Then he opened his lover's coat and undid his trousers. Mycroft gave a muffled yelp as he felt the other end of the scarf being wrapped securely around the base of his cock and behind his testicles. When he automatically recoiled, a few drops of urine escaped, and it was only via intense effort that he refrained from wetting himself.

"Easy," Gregory chided as he re-fastened the trousers and coat. "See what happens when you resist?"

Mycroft breathed slowly through his nose. His earlier mental agitation had retreated in the face of his urgent, primal need for release. All he could focus on was preventing an accident.

Fuck you, Gregory.

Bless you, Gregory.

Lestrade took his own coat off its hook, put it on, and gripped Mycroft's arm. "Let's get you sorted, you beautiful disaster."

Now here they were, in a cab, hurtling across London toward an address that Mycroft recognized as being close to the Thames. His bondage was so well-concealed- his coat sleeves covered the fabric across his wrists, and the gag was invisible from the outside- that the cabbie didn't suspect a thing.

By the time the cab stopped outside an old rowhouse- one of the last shipping merchant residences still standing in the area- Mycroft's normally hyperactive mind was focused solely on his need to piss. He shifted and squirmed on the seat, keeping his knees pressed together. When Gregory teasingly touched his abdomen, he recoiled like he'd been stuck with a knife.

Lestrade chuckled and paid the cabbie. Then he took Mycroft's arm and led him onto the pavement. The elder Holmes detected the slightly rancid scent of river water and heard muffled music and laughter coming from within the house. The dimly lit street was otherwise silent.

"Still need to go, love?"

Mycroft nodded desperately.

"All right then." Gregory opened his coat and trousers for the second time. He carefully extracted Mycroft's penis and tucked his clothing out of firing range. "Go here. Do it here."

Mycroft let out a muffled exclamation. Piss here? In a deserted but still public street? That was something homeless people and drunks did! When he shook his head uneasily, Gregory grabbed his chin and forced their stares to connect.

"Do it. Now."

Mycroft's knees wobbled. Then he was whimpering in relief and mortification as streams of hot, salty fluid splashed onto the pavement. Lestrade held the base of his penis to prevent their coats and trousers from being soiled, all the while kissing his jaw line and whispering encouragement.

"That's it, Myc. Don't focus on what anyone else might think right now. Focus on what I think. Focus on how much I love you."

Finally he was done. He slumped against Gregory, who held him upright with one arm while undoing the scarf and re-fastening his trousers with the other hand. Then the DI carefully removed the gag from his mouth and pocketed it.

"Dear God, Gregory….that was…"

"Merely a prelude," Lestrade whispered heavily against his cheek. "I need to fuck you now. I'm so goddamn hard, Myc. Feel me."

He guided Mycroft's palm to his crotch. He wasn't kidding: his cock was raging hard and pushing rebelliously against his zip.

"Let's go home," Mycroft groaned, "unless you expect me to take care of that in public too."

Lestrade laughed shakily. "Not quite." Still gripping his lover's hand, he strode over to the house and ascended its steps.

Mycroft's sharp eyes and sharper brain scanned the old structure's exterior. The windows facing the street had thick curtains that reduced the lights inside to muffled glows, and the tread patterns on the stone steps were unusually light. People didn't walk up these steps- they hurried. They didn't want to be seen entering or exiting the place. When Lestrade paused to push the doorbell, the elder Holmes also smelled perfume: women frequented this establishment.

Or worked here.

An obese, over-hennaed redhead opened the door. "Detective Inspector," she purred, pencilled brows arching in surprise. "You've never come here as a customer before."

"And I'm not now either, Shelley. My partner and I need a room."

Her brows nearly touched her hairline this time. "I'm not so sure I rent rooms. Just some lovely amenities."

"I brought my own amenity." Lestrade drew Mycroft close. "And you owe me."

Mycroft looked past her into the entrance hall. Walls painted in a tawdry shade of red, a gilded mirror, a potted palm at the foot of a curving staircase, and now a blonde in black lace tottering down the stairs in six-inch heels: Gregory had brought him to a brothel. He'd been in one before- several times, in fact- but never an establishment that was so garish. Yet its ugliness was alluring- he could forget his upper-class, high-power responsibilities within these physically and morally decaying walls.

He wondered briefly how Lestrade knew about this place, how he knew the madam well enough to address her on a first name basis. She'd called him Detective Inspector… ah, an informant. Of course.

Shelley led out a sigh that caused all three chins to jiggle. "Fine. Room 12. First landing, second door on the right."

"Thanks." Lestrade pushed past her, dragging Mycroft behind him, and took the stairs three at a time. The blonde squawked and nearly dropped her cigarette over the railing.

They found the room in question easily. Once inside, Mycroft only had time to see that its furnishings were limited to a spartan-looking bed and side table with condoms, lube, and a porcelain water jug. Then Lestrade pushed him against the door and touched his face.

"Mycroft Holmes the British Government doesn't exist here right now," he said. "Just a beautiful, sexy man who needs to let go for awhile."

"Yes, Gregory. Please."

"Hmmm." Lestrade nuzzled his neck as he undid his lover's red tie and slid it loose. Mycroft closed his eyes and tipped his chin up, baring more of his flesh. "Shall I treat you like a whore?"

The elder Holmes flushed as heat surged through his body. He pushed his hips forward, sighing as his own erection brushed against Gregory's. "That sounds wicked. God, yes. Please."

All right then." Lestrade released him and stepped back. His lips twitched in amusement as Mycroft let out a disappointed moan at the broken contact. "Strip, slut. Give me my money's worth."

Before meeting Gregory Lestrade, Mycroft had shied away from undressing in front of his lovers, and had always insisted on sex in the dark. The insecurity arose from childhood obesity and having an uncommonly beautiful younger brother who attracted lustful admirers like flies. Gregory had made him feel desirable for the first time in his life.

He stripped slowly under Gregory's hungry gaze and left his clothes in a neatly folded pile on the bedside table. When he was completely naked and shivering with arousal and the room's slight chill, Lestrade approached and embraced him tightly.

"A lot of fucking goes on in this place out of lust, Myc," he said. "I'm going to fuck you not only because I want you, but because I love you."

"I love you too."

Their lips met, gently at first. Lestrade finally yielded to lust and thrust his tongue into Mycroft's mouth, claiming the hot interior with broad and aggressive sweeps. At the same time, he secured Mycroft's wrists with his own silk tie.

"Hmmm," he said, again. "What's this?" He rubbed a thumb over the sensitive head of his lover's penis, smearing the warm fluid that had accumulated there. "You're wet already. Are you always gagging for it like this?"

"No." Mycroft ran his tongue over his swelling lips. An exhilarating calm blanketed his once-shattered nerves, leaving him free to revel in his escalating desire. "It must be something about you."

"Nice flattery. You must have been doing this for awhile." Lestrade rubbed the leaking tip a little more before popping his thumb into his mouth. "Christ, you taste good. I think I'll take you with me when I leave here. I want you all to myself from now on."

"I'm rather high maintenance."

"Are you now?" The DI's eyes gleamed. "I'm a bit demanding myself. Like now." He stepped back and pulled sharply on the other end of the tie, propelling Mycroft toward the narrow bed. "Lie down on your back and grab the headboard. Legs apart."

The elder Holmes eagerly arranged himself as ordered. Lestrade secured his wrists to the iron headboard and paused to admire his handiwork- and his naked, eager lover.

"Fuck," he hissed at last, grabbing at and removing his clothes with a fraction of the control Mycroft had shown. He tossed them to the floor, grabbed the lube and a towel from the bedside table, and sprang onto the mattress so eagerly that the rusted springs protested. "Spread your legs wider."

Mycroft obeyed, relishing the way his hip joints ached at the forced spreading. He licked his lips and waited while Gregory arranged the frayed and stiff towel beneath his buttocks and smeared lube over both their erections. As he pushed two fingers into that willing body and scissored them, Lestrade gave Mycroft's aching cock a few slow, gliding strokes. The man's slick fist felt heavenly.

"Do it," the elder Holmes begged once he felt his sphincter muscle relax around the probing digits. He tilted his pelvis upward to guarantee the perfect angle. "Fuck me."

Gregory growled, too far gone to form words. He pulled his fingers out, wiped them on the towel, and lined himself up with Mycroft's slick, shiny hole. Then he pushed in, pausing every few seconds to let his lover's body adjust, until he was fully seated.

"Oh, God," he choked when he was able to speak. "You're so bloody tight. Maybe you haven't done this before. If Shelley tries to charge me extra for having a virgin, she'll be running her business from Holloway."

"Oh," Mycroft moaned as that hot shaft slid across his prostate. "Please… fuck me hard!"

"God, Myc." Lestrade lowered himself onto his elbows and started thrusting.

Mycroft closed his eyes and locked his legs around the older man's waist. Yearning to dig his nails into Gregory's back, he briefly fought the wrist restraints. Finally he just let go and enjoyed the ride.

Each inward push of Lestrade's hips drove more residual tension from his body, like a psychic massage. Mycroft revelled in the combined peace and pleasure, crying out as the hot, coiling tension that signalled oncoming orgasm started in his lower belly. Lestrade's quickening thrusts indicated that he was close too.

"Come on, Myc!" His warm hand closed over Mycroft's cock and stroked it as the fucking sped up. "Christ, I'm almost there…. Fuck…. Do it with me!"

Mycroft arched his back and circled his hips, forcing that hammering appendage to massage his sweet spot repeatedly. Lestrade's cock and fist had him trapped in an unyielding spiral of pleasure until sparks burst behind his eyes and he was coming so hard that both their chests were coated. Lestrade tossed his head back and went rigid just before Mycroft felt a hot moisture flood his tight passage. His body clenched down, repeatedly milking his lover until both of them were moaning uncontrollably.

After the post-climax shuddering and muscle jerks abated, Gregory collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily.

"Holy fucking hell…. You okay, Myc?"

Mycroft was more than okay. He was at peace with himself and the mad world outside this door once again. When he nodded and smiled, Lestrade reached up to undo the tie, but Mycroft said, "No, please. I want to stay like this for awhile. Beneath you." He swallowed. "Feeling anchored."

Affection flooded Lestrade's sweaty features. "Okay then. If that's what you'd like." He settled back down again, resting his cheek over Mycroft's heart. "I love you," he murmured yet again as his eyes drifted shut.

"Love you too," Mycroft whispered, kissing the top of his head before letting his own eyes close.

The last thing he heard before falling asleep was the sound of thunder followed by rain lashing the window. He let the sound of nature's rage lull him to sleep, knowing that no external forces exceed Gregory's ability to heal him.