Fic: The Album Chapter 5/5
Title: The Album Chapter 5/5
Summary: Gregory finds a photo album of Mycroft when he was overweight...and he likes it...a lot.
Pairing: Mycroft/Lestrade, established relationship
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Disclaimers: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Author's Notes: Inspired by (and written with permission from) the wonderful "Feeding Sherlock" series by Atlinmerrick and equally wonderful "Dessert" by Woe-in-a-Hoodie. This story would be nothing, nothing I tell you, without the massive beta and editing effort of Atlinmerrick. I bow to the goddess! I didn't force her into beta servitude for this chapter, so, as always, any mistakes are mine. Also, I'm going to write an epilogue for this fic, but it may be a few days. Until then, I think my other fic "White Knight" could be seen as a bit of a quasi-epilogue to this story. Thanks to everyone who has read and commented on this story. You guys are awesome!
This chapter picks-up immediately from the end of Chapter 4, found here: http://lucybun.livejournal.com/5244.html#cutid1. Here's a link to the beginning, Chapter 1: http://lucybun.livejournal.com/2502.html#cutid1.
With that, Mycroft stopped pulling and began pushing. Pushed Greg back to the sofa till it hit the back of his knees and he fell back into the seat. Mycroft climbed on top of him, straddled his lap. Released the fistfuls of his shirt and gripped his fists in Greg's hair instead. Then he kissed him, hard. All teeth and tongue and wet. He finally came up for air and leaned forward to rub his damp cheek alongside Gregory's. He turned his head slightly. Brushed his lips against Greg's ear until the man shivered. Then he whispered, "I need you to show me, Gregory. I need you to show me how much you really want me."
"Oh, God," gasped Greg as he turned to catch Mycroft's lips. He rubbed their mouths together, trying to be gentle. He hadn't shaved in awhile and Mycroft had very sensitive skin. But Mycroft was having none of that. He used his hands still fisted in Greg's hair to pull him in harder. To crush their lips together, gnashing teeth and spreading wetness. Greg opened his mouth against the assault and Mycroft's tongue slipped in. Greg sucked it in further, continued sucking on it until he felt a moan stirring in Mycroft's chest. Greg quit sucking and began sliding his own tongue against Mycroft's. Sliding in and out of the other's mouth like he was fucking him already. And they were still pressed too hard against each other. Mycroft's bent elbows had come up and over Greg's shoulders so that he was pulling him in by the hair of his head and pulling his torso forward with his bent elbows that were resting a little below Greg's shoulders.
Mycroft was as close to frantic as he'd ever seen the man. He truly had been afraid, and he needed this now. Was demanding it with his body. Greg wrapped his own arms around Mycroft's waist and pulled the lower half of their torsos together. They were both already hard, and when their cocks settled together through their clothing, Mycroft gave a guttural groan and immediately began rocking. Greg slipped his hands down to his ass and pulled him closer, giving the man more pressure to rut against.
When their lips finally parted, they both gasped for air. Mycroft kept Greg's face close, rested their foreheads together so they were panting in each other's breath. They stayed that way for a few moments until Greg tipped his head forward and began kissing Mycroft's neck. Licking at his collar bone. Sucking and biting at every bit of skin he could reach. Normally, Mycroft would never allow this. Greg would never try. But both of them seemed to acknowledge that this was necessary now. The marks, the bruises were necessary reminders that they still had this, still had each other. That they'd been claimed and had accepted it, welcomed it.
The pushing and the biting and the rutting weren't going to be near enough though. So Greg brought one hand up behind Mycroft's head and pitched forward onto his knees on the floor. Greg's hand on his ass and behind his head cushioned Mycroft's short fall to the floor, but it had startled him. He'd released Greg's hair and lay on his back for a moment, stared up at Gregory kneeling between his legs.
Greg stared back, saw the red marks on his neck, saw their saliva glistening on his chin and swollen lips. And all he could say, all he could think was, "Mycroft." It came out as a growl, as a warning that Mycroft understood perfectly. He lifted up and slid his dark pullover off his body and threw it to the side then moved his hand down to work on the button and zip of his khakis. He scooted his body back out of the trousers and kicked them off to follow the shirt. Moving back like that gave him room to stretch out full length on the floor, his feet a few inches from the bottom skirt of the sofa.
Greg continued staring. Eyes devouring the pale skin, the thin trail of dark hair that started below his navel and disappeared into his pants. Mycroft finally lifted back up onto his elbows, locked eyes with Gregory, realized there was a fine tremor running through the man's body. Like there was some sort of low level electrical current surging underneath his skin. He seemed frozen in place, just trying to tame that current. But that was the exact opposite of what Mycroft wanted, what Mycroft needed.
So he brought his hands up to his stomach, ran them down to the band of his pants and hooked his thumbs there. Greg's eyes followed his every move as he pulled his pants up and over his erection then lifted his hips from the carpet to pull them all the way down. "Look at me, Gregory," he ordered. When Greg's eyes finally met his own he reached down to take hold of his erection and said, "I meant it, Gregory. I need you to show me. I need you to prove to me how much you want this. Want me. And I need you to show me now."
It was like those words had thrown a switch, completed some circuit within Gregory, and he was suddenly a live wire. He pulled his own tshirt off and slipped his sleep pants and his boxers down together around his knees. Then he tipped onto all fours with his hands on either side of Mycroft's hips. He took exactly two breaths over the head of the man's erection and then went down on him on one smooth move. Took in Mycroft's entire length so that his nose was buried in the dark hair there. So that he could only take in short shallow breaths. Breaths that were drenched with the scent of Mycroft, of his arousal.
Mycroft's arms gave out, and he fell back flat to the floor and closed his eyes. Greg began moving up and down his shaft, sucking and licking. Letting saliva and precum drip from his lips around Mycroft's shaft. He sucked until his cheeks hollowed. He gave a lick to the sensitive underside of the crown. He did all the things that he knew drove Mycroft absolutely mad until Mycroft grunted out a strangled, "Gregory," in warning.
With that, Greg pulled off of his cock with an audible pop and settled back on his knees again. He brought his hand up to Mycroft's dripping wet cock and began pumping it hard and fast. "I...I'm going to come, Gregory."
"Yes, you are. Right now. Come for me now." And he did. As the first spurt shot out, Greg brought his other hand up around the head and caught as much of Mycroft's come as he could. And as he was still milking the last drops from his cock, Greg said, "Lift your legs. Up. Up." When Mycroft complied, Greg pushed his come slick hand down between Mycroft's cheeks and began rubbing and pressing into his twitching hole.
"Ohhhh. Ohhh!" Greg didn't know if it was an exclamation of understanding or delight, and he didn't much care. He pushed in his finger and twisted it a bit. Then pulled it out, gathered more of the come that had pooled on Mycroft's stomach and pushed in another finger. He rotated his fingers inside until he found Mycroft's prostate and began to brush across it as he pushed in and out, scissoring his fingers every so often to stretch the man open. He added his ring finger and slid in and out a few more times.
He pulled his hand out, swiped up every bit of spit and come that was left on Mycroft and used it to slick his own cock. He put either hand behind Mycroft's knees and pushed until the man was nearly bent in half. Mycroft reached his hand around and grabbed Greg's shaft and guided to his entrance. When Greg felt the head of his cock breaching the first ring of muscle, he pushed all the way in in one fluid movement. He truly wasn't going to last much longer, there was no time for gradual anymore.
He took a brief moment to check that Mycroft was okay. When he saw the man's eyes screwed shut he paused, but then he saw the man's cock starting to fill again and realized they weren't screwed shut in pain. He took that as permission to move. He rocked his hips back and slammed back in. His thrust so hard that he pushed Mycroft back along the carpet. Had either of them been coherent they might have worried about rug burn on the man's back. As it was, Mycroft just threw his arm back and braced his hand against the brick hearth of the fireplace to stop his body from sliding further across the carpet. Greg used the additional leverage to pound into him even harder.
Mycroft's cock was fully hard again and flush against his abdomen, bobbing with each slap of Greg's hips against his ass. Greg could feel himself getting close, but couldn't release Mycroft's legs to get at the man's cock. Instead he ordered, "Touch yourself, Mycroft. That's it. God, that's it." And he watched as Mycroft jerked himself in time with his thrusts, back arched and body stretched to brace himself. It was the most beautiful thing Greg had ever seen, and he was GONE. One more thrust, one more jerk and he was coming inside Mycroft harder than he ever had, and Mycroft was coming again, dripping over his own fingers onto his stomach.
They stayed in place several moments, twitching and shivering with the aftershock, until Greg realized how he still had Mycroft contorted in half. He took a breath and eased out and let Mycroft's feet settle back on the carpet, legs still bent at the knee as Greg knelt between them, settling back on his own heels. Mycroft finally let go of his cock and brought his other hand down from above his head. He rested his elbows on the carpet and brought both hands up to rest in the mess on his abdomen. His eyes were still shut as he struggled to calm his breathing.
Greg just stared at him, took in the image of the man covered in marks and bites and come. He brought his own hands up to rest over Mycroft's. Gave the other man's hands a squeeze and then settled them there. Then Greg slid forward on his knees. Brought them and his thighs alongside Mycroft until the man's hips were cradled between Greg's thighs. Mycroft dropped his knees a little. Wrapped his legs around Gregory's own hips.
He expected Gregory to come up over him. Stretch his body out on top of his own, let his weight settle into him, smear the come between their stomachs. Instead, Greg wrapped his hand around one of Mycroft's and brought it up to his mouth. He kissed and licked and sucked that hand clean then lifted the other and did the same. And then, as Mycroft watched, he finally bent forward and gave the same treatment to Mycroft's abdomen, his chest. Finally bowed his back so he could lick Mycroft's softened cock clean.
Only then did he finally stretch forward, bring his body up over Mycroft's. He hovered over him a moment then settled on the floor, off to the side a bit. He kicked off his pants and boxers that were still down around his ankles. Then he slid one arm under Mycroft's neck and the other over his waist and turned him into his embrace. Gregory held him there like that, petted his reddened back, massaged feeling back into his overexerted arms. Kissed his hair, his face, his lips.
As Mycroft's head rested on his shoulder, Greg brought his lips around to the man's ear. Kissed it, sucked the lobe into his mouth, licked softly up the rim. And then he whispered, "I want you, Mycroft Holmes. Always. Never doubt it again."