A/N: Ah, the ninth and final chapter. Thank you so much for sticking with us through thick and thin! We hope you've enjoyed reading it, because we had a terrific time writing it. We love you all.

"Then kiss me." There was a long silence after the simple words rang through the air, during which only the rhythm of the rain and the whispering of a cold wind just outside broke the stillness. Mycroft remained frozen, his head in his hand, and Greg stayed quiet a few feet away, fists clenched by his sides. When the trembling man made no move to approach him or to speak, Greg made a strangled noise, and took two steps forward, grabbing his face in his hands, crushing their mouths together. He kissed him fervently, passionately, holding him in place as his lips devoured Mycroft's, and everything inside of Lestrade became sensitive and aware all at once. His hand stood on end. His skin tingled. His heart sped up. His legs went weak. He whispered his name, opening his mouth, his tongue flicking out to taste him.

Mycroft stiffened, but it was already too late. He was tired, too tired to resist. And so he allowed Gregory to kiss him, and soon he was returning the kiss, his arms closing around Gregory's back in a desperate embrace. Hands gripped on the man's jacket as Mycroft pulled him close, hungrily capturing the detective inspector's lips again and again, barely stopping for air. He could hear his name being said in low, husky tones, and it made his heart quicken, it made his head fog up. He ran a hand through the short silver hair, gripping the top and pulling his head back, attacking the exposed neck with virility. "I told you to leave." He moaned kissing underneath the man's chin. "You should have. You should have."

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Everything within him screamed the word, and Greg let his head fall backward as Mycroft's hands tugged his hair. He panted, grinding his body into the expensive suit, his eyes fluttering as he felt the answering firmness, the heat of the flesh below. "Don't... want to leave," Greg gasped, whimpering as the mouth latched onto his throat, biting, licking, kissing up and down. Oh, no, he didn't want to leave. He wanted to touch, to experience the fire again that he'd felt when they'd lain naked, groaning, touching, feeling each other. He shoved his hands inside the jacket, pulling swiftly at the crisp shirt beneath, and he moaned as he freed it from the trousers. Warm hands slid up Mycroft's bare back, pulling him closer, and Greg rubbed his body against him, swallowing. "Don't want to leave you," he whispered again breathlessly, exploring the skin with eager hands.

Mycroft laughed and pushed away from him for a second, staring directly into the clouded brown eyes. "That doesn't matter anymore, because you can't. You can't leave me ever. Not anymore. I gave you your chances, and now I won't allow you to leave." And then he pushed him down on the floor, hovering over him, pulling the shirt tails out from the trousers, his hands delving beneath the fabric, searching out warm, tan skin. Mycroft had had enough playing coy. Had enough of being a martyr. And now he was going to take what he wanted. And every fibre of his being wanted Gregory Lestrade. Had wanted him for much longer than Mycroft would have cared to admit. "My flat is close." He whispered in the man's ear, rolling the lobe about between his teeth. "I have all the necessary items. The ones we were lacking before." He latched onto Gregory's neck and began the delicious process of leaving a bright purple mark on the skin. "Come with me."

"Yes." Greg was already rolling his hips up in a desperate effort to gain more friction. "Yes, I want that," he rasped, suddenly more sure of this than he'd ever been of anything. More than his wife, more than his job... Greg was sure that he wanted, he needed Mycroft's flat, and Mycroft's... items. He let himself be tugged to his feet, and he grabbed the other man once more, growling a little as he kissed him deeply, his tongue pushing forcefully inside. The kiss was brief and violent, and Greg pulled away first, panting, his eyes flashing wildly. "Want me to drive?"

"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn." Mycroft answered, straightening his clothes and leaning in for another quick, searing kiss. "I just want to go."

Greg smirked at the pop culture reference, taking him by the hand and leading him to the door. Mycroft surprised him. Time and again, the man surprised him. He supposed... that was part of his charm. Greg poked his head out of the large doors, glancing about, and he darted out quickly, dragging Mycroft out behind him. "Come on, make it fast," he growled, his eyes sharp for any sign of the man's over-attentive staff. They hustled out of the club without being seen, Greg's hand still wrapped tightly around his lover's, and he laughed as they jogged to the tiny, run down white coupe that he'd parked down the street. Mycroft's lip was curled a little. Greg unlocked it, letting go of his hand and tossing his head at the passenger side. "Get in. It won't bite."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and gingerly sat in, pleasantly surprised to see that it was quite clean. "Directions," he said quietly as Gregory sat down beside him. Handing one of his most precious possessions, his camera phone, over to the grinning man, Mycroft flashed a return smile. "Hurry. If you break the speed limit then I can sort it out. Just do step on it." He leaned forward and kissed the man's cheek, once more grasping his hand for a scant few seconds before retreating back to his seat and buckling himself in. "It will take ten minutes to get there." He turned to the window and looked out, his heart racing.

"I can cut that to seven." The engine revved, and Greg grinned broadly at his companion, tearing out of the parking space and into the street with very little regard for the traffic laws.

He managed it in six and a half. Luck was on his side, the traffic lights were compliant, there were few vehicles on the road, and he completely ignored the speed limits as Mycroft's mobile gave him monotone, robotic directions to the flat. Through the entire ride, the brown eyes flicked repeatedly to the man sitting next to him, and Lestrade reached over every few seconds to pet at his leg, his hand, hoping desperately that six and a half minutes was not long enough for him to change his mind. The police inspector had a bloody painful stiffy, and if he allowed himself to look, he could see that Mycroft was in the same pitiable condition. He only allowed himself a glance twice though... after he nearly ran over an old woman walking a dog, he kept his eyes on the road. They pulled up to Mycroft's home, and Greg shut the car down, his breath quick and shallow.

"Come along, Gregory." Mycroft unbuckled his seat and leapt from the car, walking very quickly to the front door. "Hurry!" He whipped around to beckon the man forward, rummaging about in his pockets for the keys. It was good to be home. Damn good to be home with Gregory. He did a quick mental walk-through at the state of his flat, and seeing that it was quite respectable enough to allow company in, unlocked to door.

Greg didn't need to be told twice. He slammed the car door, hot on Mycroft's heels, the smile he'd been sporting now plastered to his face, possibly permanently. He took a very brief moment to coo at the posh building, his eyebrows raised, but he didn't have time to take it all in. He was too busy staring at the tight movement of Mycroft's arse beneath his loose Italian trousers. Greg's cock jumped, and he groaned, pressing himself into his back as the front door closed behind them, and they were left alone in the dark hallway of Mycroft's home. "Finally," Greg grunted, twisting him around to face him.

Mycroft leaned against him and smirked, his hands reaching around to cup the man's arse. "Not the most eloquent of phrases, but I could not agree more." He tugged him along the hallway, not bothering with the lights. It wasn't as though they would be needing them anyway. "I have been waiting for so long." He murmured, resting his cheek against Gregory's. It felt warm and soft. "The flat's a bit nippy. I'm not here enough to really care about the temperature." Mycroft murmured apologetically as they entered his large, simply decorated bedroom. He snapped his fingers and the lights turned on. "Everything is by the bed. All ready for us." He smiled and let go of Gregory.

Greg tilted his head. Mycroft wasn't kidding. In the center of the room was an enormous bed, quietly draped in thick blankets and rich pillows, solid and heavy. Next to the bed, a table sat against the wall, and upon the tabletop was a lamp, a telephone, a notepad... and a bottle of lubricant. He blinked at his companion. More surprises. "Expecting someone?" he asked casually, sauntering over to the table and picking up the bottle. It looked new.

Mycroft laughed a little and shook his head. "I don't often receive house guests." He said smoothly, walking over to the soft bed and sitting down, carefully unlacing his shoes. "That is for my own personal use." The elder Holmes brother set the shoes down underneath the bed and began to take his coat and vest off. Getting up from his seat he walked over to the closet and hung them up. "Make yourself comfortable, please." Mycroft's heart rate was beginning to return to normal, his arousal calming down slightly as his mind began to whirr once more. Manners came back, proper speech and etiquette were remembered. Things were beginning to get restored to normalcy.

Greg stared at his back, wondering if somehow in the last few moments, he'd stepped through some sort of dimensional shift in the universe. Some cock blocking dimensional shift. Mycroft was disrobing, yes, but it was so damned precise and stiff that Greg's erection half wilted immediately. He glanced back at the bottle in his hand, and pictured Mycroft lying on his back in the dark of the night, stroking himself and moaning... hah. There. His dick sprang to life once more, and Lestrade chuckled a little, setting the bottle down and striding over to the tall man by the closet. "Hey," he whispered, sliding both arms around Mycroft's waist and tugging the white dress shirt from his trouser waistband. "You're not moving fast enough." He rubbed his crotch against the firm cushion of Mycroft's arse, pulling him back gently to meet the little thrust, and he ran his lips down the curve of his neck.

Mycroft moaned a little, the erection that had been previously calming down flared once more. "I apologise," he murmured, his hands falling from his shirt to rest by his sides. "Why don't you give it a try, then?" Turning about in the strong arms, Mycroft rested his own arms on Gregory's hips and smiled at the silver haired man in front of him. "Undress me." He said in low tones, leaning forward and kissing the thin lips. Mycroft chuckled against the lips and rocked his hips into the other man's. He was, despite his outer cool exterior, quite eager to get on the bed.

Greg accepted the kiss hungrily, his hands flying to their work. He walked backwards, pulling Mycroft along with him, tearing at the buttons of his shirt, and when he became frustrated with their stubbornness, he yanked at them roughly. He heard the soft hiss of his lover, and could not discern whether Mycroft was angry at him for endangering an article of clothing which no doubt cost more than his monthly salary, or if the man was gasping out of passion. He decided to pretend, at least, it was the latter, and he twisted his hands in the soft hair atop Mycroft's head, dragging him in for a deeper kiss as he pushed and shoved at his trousers. They pooled on the floor, and Greg kicked them away, never breaking the embrace. His own clothes came off in much shorter order. He was quite used to stripping quickly at the prospect of a shag... one never knew when one's partner might change their minds. Greg didn't want to give him the chance. He was standing, panting and trembling and naked, before Mycroft in a matter of seconds. The setting sun shone golden at his back, setting his silver hair afire as he waited for Mycroft to react, to say something, to touch him.

Mycroft took a step back and stared at the tanned, nude man. He was silent for quite a few minutes, just gazing at the beautiful expanse of flesh in front of him. And finally, when Gregory began shifting uncomfortably, Mycroft made his move. Reaching one hand forward, he brushed three fingers across Gregory's chest, feeling the heartbeat. "I don't understand," he said finally, "how anyone could want to leave you." And then he stepped close again and began to kiss Gregory's neck, chest, lapping at the skin, worshiping it. He knelt down, kissing lower and lower, sucking softly at the hollows of the detective inspector's hips, moaning softly. This was the best night he had spent in... a long time. Better than the frenzied nights in the hotels. Better than the long days on the beach. Far better than the lonely nights in his bed with his thoughts and the comfort of his hand.

Greg stood above the kneeling man, his hands threading through his hair, his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps. Mycroft's tongue probed his flesh, his lips kneading and discovering untouched places that sent Greg's knees shaking. He whimpered, letting his head fall back and moaning as a pair of soft, silken hands worked their way up the back of his thighs, and he nearly buckled when a rush of warm, damp breath ghosted over the head of his aching cock. "And... I don't know how.. you've been alone all these years," he grated out, shuddering with the overpowering sense of need for the man before him. "H..How you've wasted away in here.. by yourself." His strong hands grabbed Mycroft's elbows, pulling him back up, and Greg looked him in the eye fully, sincerity in his every feature. "Come on," he whispered, and in the two simple words were such promises. So much hope, and promise for Mycroft. He sat on the bed, tugging his lover along with him, his throat dry.

Mycroft cleared his throat and allowed Gregory to pull him close. "Enigma." He shook his head, kissing the man lightly on the lips. Such kind, honest words. It rocked one of Mycroft's core beliefs, that humans were intrinsically selfish and cruel beings. He crawled on top of the detective inspector's lap, kneading his lips along the tanned neck. Gregory's body was warm and comforting, and between them he could feel their cocks, rubbing both together and against their stomachs. Dripping with pre-cum and hard, Mycroft had a strong urge to take them both up as he had done not that long ago, and rub them together. After all, Gregory's prick must be as aching as his own was.

The mouth on his neck was driving the detective inspector mad. He allowed the movement for a few seconds longer, letting his body twitch and roll beneath Mycroft, but as the pressure built, and he began to feel the other man's body moving in an all-too-familiar rhythm, Greg hesitated, pressing his palm against the pale chest, his heat galloping rapidly. "W..wait."

Mycroft ceased his movements and looked down at the man, his cheeks flushed. "Is something wrong?" He asked, his breathing heavy.

"No." Greg kissed his cheek, his hands wandering Mycroft's chest as he panted, looking down at their bodies. Mycroft had settled on his hips, their thighs pressed together, cocks trapped between the two flat stomachs, a tangled mess of ivory and weathered tan. It struck Greg that they were rather beautiful like this... a contrast of lovely errors. He smiled lopsidedly up at the man on his hips, and kissed his lips lightly. "If.. we're about to do what I think we're about to do.. I've not been with a man before, Mycroft." Greg did not look or sound sheepish or ashamed... it was, like everything else, quite matter of fact. "I believe you have, so.. If you'd like to take the reins.." Just this once. Greg was a take charge sort of bloke, but he did like to learn first-hand.

Mycroft nodded, getting off of Gregory and sitting next to him, his hands clasped in his lap. "Then I ought to ask which position you would prefer." He glanced over at the silver haired man, a soft look close to adoration in his eyes. It did not matter what Gregory wanted, be it top or bottom, Mycroft would do whichever he chose just to be allowed to touch this beautiful creature.

The frozen look on Greg's face spoke volumes. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking very comical as he blinked at Mycroft, clearly worried about the next words to come out of his mouth. He looked horribly conflicted, and at last settled on a choked, "Wh..which do you think is best for me?" The question cost him dearly. He'd blanched pale beneath his healthy glow.

Mycroft laughed and took one of Gregory's hands in his own, kissing up the palm and along the inner side of the arm. "I think that whichever one you felt more comfortable in would be the absolute best for you." He replied fondly, reaching the hollow of Gregory's shoulder and flicking his tongue out to trace along it. "What one do you want? I am not demanding." Not with Gregory, at any rate. Mycroft cared too much to demand more than his fair share. "Would you rather be inside me? Or be penetrated?" He looked up at the man with kind, loving blue eyes. "I will not make you uncomfortable, Gregory. I will not force you into anything you do not wish... in the bedroom."

That caught Greg's attention. He snorted, butting his head against Mycroft's gently, indignant at the very idea that Mycroft thought he could make him do anything. But... if it was really up to him... His thin lips grazed the shell of the delicate ear, and his hands began working towards his arse, squeezing it. "I want inside you," he breathed, and was delighted when Mycroft shivered. "Wanted inside you that first night in Italy," Greg admitted softly, pulling Mycroft to lie on top of him as he reclined on his back, his legs winding in the other man's, securing him to his chest. "Been thinking about it ever since."

Mycroft nodded, kissing underneath Gregory's chin. "Very well." He murmured, resting his head in the crook of Gregory's neck. "It's simple from here on out. I can either prepare myself or, if you wish, you can." He rubbed his cock against Gregory's thigh, moaning at the relief the friction caused. "Please, just hurry." It was a needy plea, an almost desperate plea. Because Mycroft had been wanting the same thing, well he hadn't cared who topped, since that night. Since before, if he allowed himself to admit it.

"Prepare you." Greg reached out for the lubricant, far less confident than his smile and light hearted tone would have Mycroft believe. He thought a moment, then slid the bottle into his lover's hand without a word, trusting him to understand. Greg watched curiously as Mycroft took it from him, a splotch of colour in his cheeks. This... this would be interesting. Greg sat back on the bed, brown eyes wide, not wanting to miss a moment of this. Since coming back from Italy, this moment had been a constant subject of fantasy and powerful curiosity, and he was not ashamed to admit he'd wanked to the thought of Mycroft touching himself... well, many, many times now. Sometimes... he thought of this. And though he'd never experienced sex with another man, he was bloody eager to get on with it. If John Watson and Sherlock Holmes could enjoy it as much as they so OBVIOUSLY did, then... Gregory wanted to taste a little, just a tiny bit, of that sort of pleasure. And the fact that he was falling for the man currently in bed with him helped.

Mycroft steeled himself, holding the bottle as though it mattered little to him which option Gregory had chosen. He was far too prideful to admit how very... embarrassed he was to be indulging in this activity in front of another person. With an air of confidence and nonchalance that he did not at all feel, Mycroft popped the cap off and began coating fingers in the stuff. Reaching behind himself he located the tight, sensitive pucker, gently pushing in one finger. He had not touched himself in this way for a very, very long time. His arse generally never entered into his sexual encounters, not in this way at any rate. He bit back a low moan as he felt the cool finger twist about inside him. Biting his lower lip, Mycroft's head fell back as he added another, speeding up the process, eager to get it done with. It felt almost shameful to be doing this in front of another person. A third finger slid in and he gasped aloud as the digits twisted about, crooking and scissoring inside him.

"Oh bloody hell." Greg's eyes traveled up and down Mycroft's open body, his throat going dry as he gazed in wonder at his new lover. The dusky light highlighted the curving lines of Mycroft's torso, sending shadows into the valley of his abdomen and taut stomach, dancing in the crevices and hollows. His face was a mask of fear, pleasure, and anticipation, and Greg found that he was stroking himself as he watched, his cock twitching and warm in his rough hand. As the slender, white fingers penetrated Mycroft's tight hole again and again, Lestrade's movements quickened, his eyes rounding and his breath coming in ragged pants as he drank in the sight eagerly. "Oh, fuck, that looks gorgeous," he whispered, a foolish grin spreading on his face. Mycroft's jerking spasms were almost musical, each muscle rolling in time with the fingers digging into the pucker. He impaled himself on them, over, over, over again, whimpers escaping the long throat. Greg grabbed for the lube, slicking it over his cock with impatience. "Shit, that's lovely."

Mycroft's body shuddered as he heard Gregory's praise. With deep, shuddering breaths he pulled the fingers out and sat heavily down. He was good enough, well, as stretched as he was going to get with just his fingers. The burn was still there, he could feel it in his arse, and he knew it would be much worse when Gregory finally penetrated, but he didn't mind. Not this time. "Are you ready?" He asked softly, climbing on the detective inspector's lap and kneeling up, his arse right above the pulsating dick. At least the man was still aroused even after seeing the spectacle Mycroft had made of himself.

"Oh, yes." Greg's hands moved, climbing up Mycroft's back, gently massaging the tense muscles in his shoulder blades. Hell, this bloke was wound tighter than an overworked pocket watch. He sank back in the pillows, letting his fingers wander the petal soft skin, up his neck, down the pectorals, his gaze focused on Mycroft's beautiful turquoise eyes. "Ready when you are," he murmured, choosing his words very carefully. He meant exactly what they said... he was ready, hell yes, but he was ready when Mycroft was. He couldn't think of a more intimate, trusting, vulnerable act than what they were about to do, and Greg was in no hurry. He could wait for his lover to be ready. He reached for one of Mycroft's small, soft hands, and he brought the knuckles to his lips, kissing each one as his prick nudged the rosy, warm ring of muscle. It took a great deal of effort not to just.. push inside... but Gregory Lestrade was a disciplined man. He sighed, sucking the index finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip.

Mycroft would have choked had he not been trained to take surprises with a cool exterior. He stared down at Gregory's mouth, shuddering as the warm, soft flesh created a delicious suction on his finger. Somehow it seemed even more surprising than any of the other things Lestrade had willingly done to pleasure Mycroft. He couldn't explain it. "Of course I'm ready," Mycroft growled, his chest rumbling. "I wouldn't have asked you if I had not been. This is simply... a very grave thing. Not something that you can return from." He looked down into the deep brown eyes and took one of Gregory's hands in his own, pressing it to his cheek. Then he lowered himself onto the cock. It took every ounce of dignity and pride he had not to cry out in pain. Three fingers could never have prepared him for the thick, hot shaft that was slowly impaling itself in him. He let his head fall to Gregory's shoulder, unwilling to let his face slip from the confident mask until it was hidden from view. Biting his lip, Mycroft settled himself fully on Gregory's cock and stayed there, unmoving. He was completely filled, he could feel each vein and every ridge. He could feel how it twitched and the wetness of the precum as it touched the walls of his arse. It was not... it was not unpleasant. Not by a long shot.

They remained there on the bed, holding on to one another tightly, Mycroft's face buried in Greg's neck and shoulder, for several long moments. They breathed in unison, shallow and wavering. Their hands clutched each other's skin, and little convulsions ran through their bodies as small movements sent sensation tearing through their nervous systems.

Greg lay perfectly still, struggling with the overpowering desire to wiggle, to buck, to grab onto the thin hips and slide his cock in and out of the snug, warm, velvety tunnel. Mycroft was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. He tingled, all over, as little lightning bolts of pleasure shot off in his core, licking at his gut and his limbs, sending his blood rushing hot in his veins. The weight of Mycroft's body resting on his hips was wonderfully close, a heavy, real, tangible presence that assured him of the reality of the moment. Greg needed that. It grounded him, and gave him the strength and confidence to reach up, threading his hands through Mycroft's soft hair, and he began to murmur comforting noises to the man, rotating his hips a little.

Mycroft moaned as the shaft began to move ever so slightly, rocking just enough to make his body ache for more. "If you're going to move," said he through gritted teeth, "then move. Do not play around!" With that he rolled his hips emphatically, not paying any heed to the immense pain that accompanied each and every movement. He knew from past experience that there was much pleasure to be derived from this action, and he just had to plough through the pain. That was all. He lifted himself up a little and thrust down, hissing into Gregory's neck. "Move, just move." The elder Holmes brother began to kiss his neck, licking and sucking at it. He knew Gregory would not be able to resist the command when it was so obvious that he wanted to do exactly what Mycroft was telling him to.

Greg's grip found its way to the man's thighs, and he moaned, rocking up twice before pausing again, his chest heaving as he stared at the ceiling. Mycroft's mouth was silky and coaxing on his neck, causing his cock to jump inside of him every time the thin lips grazed his jaw, or the teeth latched on to his tanned skin. Greg cursed softly, still reeling from the few seconds of unprecedented, immeasurable ecstasy that those tiny movements had brought. And yet... still, so stiff, so tense. Mycroft was coiled, perched above him, trying so, so hard to be strong, to be stoic, to be a good lover for him. Greg's heart blew open, suddenly filled to the brim with Mycroft Holmes, and he gathered him tightly in his arms, rolling over to pin him on his back. He kissed him deeply, settling in between the thin legs, his dick still wrapped in the decadent heat. With slow, deliberate thrusts, Greg began to move in and out, his tongue tracing his mouth, his fingers lacing with Mycroft's on the bed.

Mycroft flushed and turned his head, his heart thudding wildly. He never would have allowed this position before! Never would have allowed someone to have this much control over him. But it felt good. The thrusts, not the transfer of power. That could never feel good. Not a chance. No possible way. He would always hate it, because, of course, he hated it. Mycroft's flush grew even deeper and he snapped at his brain to quit analysing. The slow, steady pace made Mycroft's toes curl and his fingers tighten around Gregory's hands. "You may move faster. I am not made of porcelain. I am not a delicate tea cup." He laughed a little and closed his eyes. Oh, it felt good. Gregory's cock was thick and wet and very, very hot inside him. Every time he moved Mycroft could feel each one of the veins and ridges, he could feel how the skin dragged against his, and how the leaking head just grazed his prostate, sending lightning bolts of pleasure through his body. It was magnificent.

Greg could barely speak between grunts and groans, for Mycroft's body was the most welcoming damned thing he'd ever felt. It hugged him, cradled him, caressed him, and as the man below him began to hold his breath and move his hips to meet the thrusts, Greg thought perhaps he would faint from the heady pleasure of it all. "D..don't want to go faster," he gasped, his words ending in a strangled noise like a cat. "So.. beautiful.. don't want to go too fast." Hell, if he moved any faster, he'd be cumming, and that would be bloody embarrassing. As it was, the slow pace was too good, too full of sensation. Greg could easily let himself go, and just let it wash over him. He concentrated instead on how lovely Mycroft looked as he tensed and relaxed on the bed, a never ending rhythm that danced to the timing of his smooth, wave like thrusts. The brown eyes moved down the long expanse of thigh and calf to Mycroft's feet, and he whimpered with a smile as he saw the toes curling in the sheets. "Am I hurting you?" he asked shakily, terrified of the answer. He wasn't sure he could stop, even if he was. He continued to grind into him deep, pulling out a little, pushing back in slow, his entire frame trembling with the effort to hold back.

Mycroft's eyes shot open and he turned his head to face the silver haired man. "Don't be stupid." He snapped. And with that, he slammed his hips down hard, practically shouting out as Gregory's cock thrust up against his prostate with extreme force. He then wrapped his legs around the man's waist and kissed his chin, nibbling along the day old stubble. "My toes," he said softly, "curl when I feel good." The sharp eyes of Mycroft Holmes had not missed the tiny noise, the look of worry after Gregory had seen his feet. "I would never have told you to go faster if you were hurting me. You may count on that, Gregory. As it is... it feels..." He moaned in the man's ear, pleasure mounting inside his skull. "Exquisite" It was really all he could manage to say, for the constant rocking, the hands on his body, the noises in his ears, everything roiled about in his mind, filling up space, allowing room for nothing but the most ultimate of pleasures.

"Well, fuck it, then." Greg grinned down at him, and once more took his hands, holding them hard against the mattress, and he began to snap his hips faster. The brown eyes sparked, and his mouth fell open as he stared into his lover's face, for as good as the slow rocking had seemed... oh hell. This was madness. This was insane. This was.. "FUCK!" Greg's head shot backwards, and his thrusts grew wild and quick, slamming in and out. With every drove in, he arched his back, bringing their stomachs together, trapping Mycroft's slender, long cock between them, and he captured a swift kiss on the man's lips. The massive bed groaned beneath the frantic shagging, creaking, and Greg had the passing thought that the bed needed a hell of a lot more use. He intended to give it some. "Mycroft," he grunted, meeting the wide teal eyes with a boyish, delighted smile as he pummeled him, "you're the damned tightest thing I've ever fucked in my life. You're... you're a bloody wet dream, you know that? Shit, if you could see what I'm looking at right now..."

Mycroft Holmes was lovely. Naked, spread out, moaning, hard, wrecked.. and lovely.

"Oh shut up." Mycroft muttered, turning his head once more. He closed his eyes tightly, thankful he could not see what Gregory saw. He was quite sure that if he did he would lose his erection, possibly forever. What was appealing about an overweight old man? Absolutely nothing. Except maybe that his arse was tight. In contrast, however, Mycroft's partner was an exceptional beauty. Tan skin, soft brown eyes, beautiful smile, perfect body. Yes, Gregory Lestrade was definitely something to look at. And seeing him in the throes of ecstasy was even more appealing. Mycroft looked back at him and leaned forward, kissing the inviting lips. "I am going to cum soon, I think." He murmured, tightening around the thick, welcome intrusion. Inside the pressure was building, his muscles coiling, readying. The friction between their stomachs was making his cock ache and twitch with the need to release.

Greg reared back a little, just enough to wrap his palm, still slick with lube, around the base of Mycroft's prick. It struck him in that moment, as he rammed into his arse that this was the most surreal, and yet most absolutely real thing that he'd ever done. The contrast made him smile, and with quick, sure motions, he began to stroke him, fascinated by how the silken head turned lavender under his attentions. "Come on then," he said, his voice guttural and thick with the hazy beginnings of his own orgasm. The tighter Mycroft's muscles became, the higher his pleasure climbed. It was peaking, and Greg was powerless to stop it. The rhythm was lost in the headlong, mindless effort to reach the pinnacle together. "Cum for me, I want to watch you."

Mycroft snorted a little, but he did not argue. He could not have. Gregory's hand was doing too good of a job, making him incapable of putting together a well formed sentence let alone a decent argument. He curled his fingers around the silky sheets, exploding in Gregory's hand. Arcs of white sperm landed on his chest, some even on his cheeks and his sharp nose. Euphoric pleasure over took his body and he tossed about, throwing one arm over his head to claw at his solid wood headboard. Long, thin legs tightened around Gregory's waist as he rocked back, gasping and shouting out.

A loud, choking laugh burst from Lestrade's throat as he watched Mycroft climax, and he yelled his name, unloading deep into him with one final, piercing drive. He stayed there for long moments, feeling the muscles caress his cock as it pulsed, his entire body rigid. At last he sagged, still laughing softly, and he rained kisses on the pale chest, disbelief and extreme satisfaction on his handsome face. "Bloody hell," he said again softly, licking at one pert, pink nipple, his hands wandering the lean body. "Bloody hell."

Mycroft stared unblinking into the white ceiling, his chest heaving as he took deep, gasping breaths. This was the first time. The first time someone had cum in him without a condom. His body slowly began to loosen, relaxing as the warm mouth worked around his chest. It felt good, proper, right. Tired hands made their way to Gregory's back and he cut back the urge to yawn. Now that the explosive sexual urges had been sated, he remembered how fatigued he had been earlier. Remembered it and made a mental note to get more sleep. Somehow. It would not do to be this tired all the time. "We ought to get cleaned up," he murmured thickly, struggling to keep his eyes open. "And change the bedding. They've jizz all over them."

Greg was silent for exactly four seconds before he burst into a fit of loud, raucous laughter. "What the HELL?" he cried, pushing up and blinking down at the sleepy, surprised man. "Did.. you just say jizz? You? Mycroft Holmes?" Mycroft looked indignant, but the detective inspector swooped down and kissed him thoroughly, still chuckling. "Jizz." He rolled out of bed and trotted down the hall, poking his head in doors at random until he found the loo. He returned to the bedroom, naked and completely without shame as he tossed a warm, damp towel to Mycroft on the bed. "There. Clean up, and point me to the linens."

"Down the hall, third door to your left. Linens are on the top shelf." Mycroft answered, still prickly from Gregory's earlier outburst. He was allowed to say that! It wasn't as though he was completely archaic and formal. The elder Holmes brother stood up and grimaced a little at the stabs of pain that swarmed his lower back. Limping a little, he made his way to the loo and closed the door behind him. A washcloth was simply not going to do it. Not when he had cum leaking out of his arse.

Greg waited patiently for his lover to shower, allowing him the time alone. He felt.. oddly light. Giddy. Like he'd just had the best shag of his life, which.. he had. He cleaned up a bit and sat on the bed, humming to himself as he scrolled through his phone, and saw a text he'd missed while they were shagging like madmen. Greg smirked, typing out a reply.

Sorry, Sherlock, I'm off work for the night. got a date. - Lestrade

The reply text came five minutes later, simply meaning that Sherlock and John were in the middle of fucking wildly, and Sherlock had managed to sneak a glance at his mobile.

It's not technically a date if all you do is fuck. At least that's what John keeps reminding me every time I try to use that as an excuse to get out of his ridiculous ideas as dates. - SH

And apparently crime scenes don't count either. Or chasing criminals. Dating is dull. Stop having sexual intercourse with my brother. It's putting me off my tea. - SH

Greg's laughter was deep and sonorous, and he wondered at what point he'd started feeling so damned lovely that he laughed so much. Laughed during sex, laughed after, laughed at Sherlock... bloody hell he wanted a peek at Mycroft in the shower. No. No, he was going to give the man a little alone time. He grinned, glad to finally have the chance to pay Sherlock back for some of the less than savoury positions he'd found him and John in.

It's a date if I sleep over, which I intend to. And it's a date if we snog a great deal, which we have. And you'll just have to be put off your tea, because your brother is a damned good shag. - Lestrade

He thought a moment, his smile faltering. With a sober face and tender eyes, Greg added another thought.

I'm.. quite fond of him, Sherlock. - Lestrade

Don't make me throw up. It's obvious you're bloody well fond of him. - SH

I think even John could pick up on that "subtle" hint. - SH

I don't like it. - SH

Why not? I was rather hoping you'd be pleased for me. For us. - Lestrade

He's MYCROFT. My BROTHER. I hate him, remember? Thought you did, too. - SH

You don't hate him, and I never hated him. Mycroft's a fine chap, and I like him very much. I think I'll keep him. - Lestrade

Fine. Just don't cry when he throws you out. He doesn't like strays. - SH

I haven't even asked him to let me stay, yet. And I may not be a pure bred poodle like you, but I'm a loyal mutt. Goodnight. - Lestrade

The inspector looked up as a toweled figure appeared in the doorway. He grinned, setting his phone aside and pulling his legs up so that he sat cross legged and slouching on the pillows. "Hey, Mycroft, want to keep me?" he asked matter-of-factly. Sherlock wasn't going to scare him. Not this time.

Mycroft blinked owlishly, clutching the towel to his hips as he peered at the beaming man. "I thought I had already made that abundantly clear." He shuffled over to his wardrobe and pulled out clean pyjamas, wrinkling his nose at them. Of course he would have to be sleeping in them more often now that he had a... a lover of sorts. Letting the towel drop to the floor he pulled up the trousers and set to the task of buttoning up the pyjama shirt, turning around to face his companion. "Sherlock's not wrong. I don't keep people, but... I think I'll make an exception. Just this once." He smiled softly at the man and sat down beside him.

Greg snorted, resting his chin on Mycroft's shoulder and flashing his winning grin. "Told him so." He grabbed his waist and hauled him onto the bed, tangling their legs together and yawning as Mycroft pulled the blankets over their bodies. Sleep was thick in both sets of eyes, their breathing growing slow and steady in the dark. "You don't care if I sleep naked, eh?" Greg tugged playfully at the pyjamas, his eyes sliding shut.

"Not one bit." He replied, resting one arm over the man's waist. "Just let me sleep. I have to go to Buckingham tomorrow and I need to be somewhat coherent."

"Sleep sounds... good." Greg buried his nose in his hair, inhaling once deeply before he kissed the crown of his head, and let himself drift away.

Oh, and HAPPY ENDING. Because we care. Review!