CRITIQUE ME: Quid Pro Quo (Mycroft/Sherlock), incomplete
anonymous
June 20 2012, 04:53:39 UTC
Warnings: Vaguely dubious consent, underage (Sherlock is 14ish)
As noted in the header, this is not complete, but I've been beating my head against this fic for the better part of two months and I'm just flat out stuck. This was originally intended to be a follow up to another fic, so be warned that there are a few references to previous events.
My main concerns:
1. Character voices 2. Pacing of the action 3. General writing quality (I know I repeat certain phrases like I have a verbal tic) 4. Am I in this too much? DO I GET IN THE WAY OF THE PORN? D: 5. This might be a side-effect of having held onto this for so long, but at this point, I'm rather bored. I was hoping to say something with this, I guess, about Mycroft's character or their relationship or SOMETHING and I... haven't. 6. HOW THE HELL DOES THIS END? WHY AM I SO FRUSTRATED? ARRRRRGGGHHHH.
He turned the page of his notes, continuing his transcription as Sherlock resumed his hurried scribbling. It was easy enough to tune out the scratch of his pen, the sound swallowed up into the background as Mycroft converted his shorthand to something more legible.
"Mycroft, what's [MATHS PROBLEM]?"
"[SOMETHING SOMETHING] and---" He glanced up sharply. "Why are you bombarding me with maths problems?"
"Homework."
Ah, of course. The hated horror of homework. He should have known. Mycroft made a brief note on his cuff in pencil before turning back to his still sulking brother.
"I've no intention of doing your homework."
"Not even---"
"No, Sherlock. Now hush. I've no time for your temper tantrums today. I'm quite busy."
Whatever rejoinder Sherlock had prepared for him came out as a frustrated growl as he flopped back on Mycroft's bed. As was so often the case, Sherlock permitted him nearly two consecutive minutes of silence before groaning melodramatically. Mycroft didn't bother to look away from his notes. Better to deny him the satisfaction.
The groan sounded a second time, louder and, if possible, even more irritating.
"What is it now, Sherlock? Are you having a fit? Shall I send for a medic?"
With a quiet chuckle, he jotted down another cuff note. It wouldn't do to forget his little rendezvous later.
"You could do it for me, you know," Sherlock said.
"I could," he agreed, "but I won't. You're perfectly capable of simple arithmetic."
"I could make it worth your while."
There was no need for Mycroft to turn to know Sherlock was smirking. It was evident from the tone he'd taken, the smug little imp. He feigned interest in his notes, savoring the huff of frustration Sherlock failed to hold back. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sherlock rolling off the bed, bare feet silent on the carpet of Mycroft's bedroom. His hands came down on Mycroft's shoulders a moment later.
"Are you listening, brother?"
"Intently."
"We both know what you were after last Sunday tea." His voice had no right to be that low or that smooth, Mycroft reflected. Never mind the heat of Sherlock's thin, clever fingers working loose the knot of his tie. "Punishing me."
"You’d have let me have it, too, you greedy little slut."
The playful dip of his fingers beneath the collar of Mycroft's shirt was confirmation enough. He nipped at Mycroft's earlobe, more viciously than was perhaps necessary.
"You spoilt me, you know. Dirtied me up. Ruined me, Mycroft."
"Oh, let's not be dramatic."
Sherlock's hand withdrew, halting its gentle exploration. Mycroft swiveled to face him. "You're not the least bit penitent, are you."
"You wouldn't find me half as fascinating if I were." He favored the boy with a smile, privately delighted by the slight widening of his eyes. He dropped his hand to Sherlock's hip, stroking absently over the sharp lines of his pelvis. "Well? I was under the impression you wanted to exchange."
Re: CRITIQUE ME: Quid Pro Quo (Mycroft/Sherlock), incomplete
anonymous
June 20 2012, 04:54:57 UTC
He pitied the boy, really. He was already all aflush, his pains to hide it beneath a veneer of coquettishness notwithstanding. When he climbed into Mycroft's lap, he couldn't help a smile. Sherlock responded in kind, arms twining about Mycroft's neck to steady himself. He bit his lip, prettily. Such an obvious affectation should have seemed garish---entirely too artificial to be at all appealing---but it was a pleasing affectation all the same.
Mycroft slid the pad of his thumb over Sherlock's mouth, catching on one of his sharp little teeth.
"Go on," he encouraged. "Suck."
Sherlock's face flooded with red for the briefest second before the pink tip of his tongue flicked out, wet and tentative against Mycroft's thumb. He pushed it a little deeper, pleased at the utter lack of resistance as Sherlock's mouth closed softly around the digit. Suction followed moments later, accompanied by soft, suckling noises that sent his cock swelling.
He slipped his thumb free, gently brushing away the lingering saliva along Sherlock's bottom lip.
Sherlock batted at his hand. "I can do it myself, Mycroft."
"I've no doubt." He leaned back in his chair and laced his hands over his abdomen. "I think I'll have you naked, now. Eyes on me."
There were few sights more pleasing than the tremulous striptease of a boy forced to watch you watching him undress. Sherlock performed with stiff-necked pride, beginning with the buttons of his shirt until he stood bare in front of Mycroft, naked as the day he was born and infinitely more intriguing. He wasn't surprised to find Sherlock hard, not at this stage. It was the thrill of obedience, coupled with the possibility of insubordination; the mild perversion flavored with a deeper taboo.
Sherlock liked this, even if he was too proud to admit it.
"Closer now, pet."
Sherlock held back, wary. "What for?"
"Don't worry; you'll enjoy yourself, I'm sure."
He caught Sherlock by his soft, slim hips and tugged him forward. It was almost too easy to flip him round and the boy bent over all on his own, arse presented in vulgar delight. Such a smooth, plump bottom. Sherlock responded with a sharp intake of breath at Mycroft's hands spreading his cheeks wide.
He blew lightly over the exposed hole, eliciting a delicious, full-bodied quiver. The barest touch of his lips made Sherlock jerk away.
"Mycroft!"
"How did you imagine I'd get you wet enough to take my cock, you silly boy? Now do as you're told and behave."
Sherlock sunk back to his former position, aided by Mycroft's hand planted firmly on the small of his back. Mycroft dove back in immediately, trailing wet little kisses over his brother's pink little hole and running his hands up and down the backs of his long, slender thighs. The way Sherlock was responding, he wouldn't even need his fingers. The flicker of Mycroft's tongue along his cleft and the light nosing over his perineum were making him unfold without difficulty.
He spat and Sherlock reared up. "That's revolting, Mycroft."
Mycroft ignored his outburst and pressed him back to the desk. The gob of saliva was already slicking its way down the curve of Sherlock's arse. Mycroft spread it with his tongue, licking and laving, harder now. Sherlock wriggled atop his desk, breathing hard and shaking with every pass of Mycroft's tongue over his wet little hole. He was so lovely like this. It was a wonder he hadn't considered it before.
Mycroft used both thumbs to spread his pucker wider. It gave easily under the pressure of his fingers, exposing a soft, pink centre. He let just the tip of his tongue slip inside, fighting the urge to smile when Sherlock gave a jerky press back toward his face. It was almost too easy to sink his thumbs into Sherlock, both at once.
"You're ready for me now, aren't you," he remarked, pleased by the ripple down Sherlock's spine as he fought not to roll his arse into Mycroft's hands. "Ready to sink back onto my prick. Admit it."
Re: CRITIQUE ME: Quid Pro Quo (Mycroft/Sherlock), incomplete
anonymous
June 20 2012, 04:56:27 UTC
Sherlock's voice was defiant, if breathy. "I hardly need to encourage you."
"Admit it," Mycroft clarified, "or I'll leave you naked and wanting and you'll have no one but yourself to blame."
There was something greedy about the way the boy immediately pressed back, trying to take Mycroft's fingers up past the knuckle. The reply followed, grudgingly. "Just give me your prick, Mycroft."
"Is that how you ask nicely?" He gave a final twist of his thumbs before withdrawing. Sherlock gave a choked moan. "Don't be insolent. It isn't becoming."
"And having your fingers jammed up my arse is?"
Mycroft gave him a good smack. "On the bed, little brother."
On shaky legs, Sherlock did as he was bidden. He sat cross-legged on the bed, his hard little cock jutting up from his lap. Mycroft watched with interest as he started to play with it with little twists of his fists. His belly was already sticky---he'd come early on, then.
"I want to see it this time, Mycroft."
"See what, precisely?"
Sherlock glared, pairing the expression with a sharp tug of his cock. "Your prick, you berk. Last time you only let me feel it."
Mycroft remembered the last time quite well. As well as he remembered the state of his trousers after. Better to lay them aside this time. He undressed without fanfare, quickly and efficiently. He had no interest in giving a show. He stood at the edge of the bed, letting Sherlock look at him and watching the boy's Adam's apple bob as he studied Mycroft's prick, half-hard and heavy along his thigh.
A hand reached out to settle on his belly. Mycroft covered it with his own and guided it gently between his legs, letting Sherlock's fingers curl into the wiry hair there before wrapping them around his cock. He let his free hand curl around the base of Sherlock's neck, pulling him forward a bit.
"Open your mouth."
"You didn't say I was supposed to suck you off." Sherlock's face shone pink, eyes darting off to the side. Mycroft bumped his cock against his cheek, smearing precome along the sharp ridge of a cheekbone. "Knock it off, Mycroft."
"You can suck me now or you can suck me after I've come in you."
"Ugh, you're revolting."
Mycroft shrugged, turning Sherlock's face back toward his prick. "We've all of us our flaws. Now open wide, you greedy little thing."
Sherlock's eyes flashed defiance, but his lips parted enough for Mycroft to feed him the head of his cock. He didn't need to take more than that. Not today. Sherlock sucked with his eyes off somewhere to the side. Mycroft let him. He'd come round, sooner or later. When he was hard he pulled back with a soft pop, taking a moment to admire the wet shine on Sherlock's mouth and chin before pressing him back on the bed and spreading his knees.
Sherlock cried out at the shove of his cock, sharp and high like some small animal. He grit his teeth and glowered.
"That hurt, Mycroft."
"And now it's over," he soothed, running a hand along the boy's cheek. "You should thank me for not dragging it out."
His little cock had deflated in the interim, but no matter; boys always went soft the first time. Mycroft would soon have him stiff again. Sherlock gave another yelp as he began to move, a slow glide in and out of his snug little passage. He bent to kiss away Sherlock's scowl, lapping at the seam of his mouth.
"I'll make you come if you're a very good boy. Would you like that?"
His mouth quivered against Mycroft's, his hips rising ever so slightly. That was answer enough. Mycroft hooked an arm under Sherlock's back and rolled them over without breaking contact, folding Sherlock down against his chest. His back was beading with sweat as Mycroft stroked over the sharp knobs of his spine, all the way down to where they were joined.
Sherlock was stuffed to bursting, the poor thing. Mycroft massaged his taut little hole, trying to relax him as he lay sniffling against Mycroft's shoulder.
Re: CRITIQUE ME: Quid Pro Quo (Mycroft/Sherlock), incomplete
anonymous
June 20 2012, 04:57:24 UTC
Mycroft sucked two fingers into his mouth and wet them liberally before reaching back down to where he was pressed inside Sherlock. He rubbed lightly around the rim as Sherlock rocked back and forth, working himself loose. He let a groan of pleasure escape his lips, delighting in the way Sherlock flushed at his praise. Sherlock kept shifting, his muscles squeezing Mycroft deliciously as he tried to get comfortable on his prick.
Sherlock rubbed his face into Mycroft's shoulder, mumbling, "Why haven't you come yet?"
"Don't tell me you're bored, little brother."
Sherlock sat back on him with a scowl. "You're just lying there."
"I don't recall complaining when you were too frightened to even shift your knees apart for me," Mycroft responded mildly. He stroked along Sherlock's belly, sticky under his fingers. "Need I remind you that this was your idea? Are you so horrified by the thought of having to work for what you want?" Without waiting for an answer, he cupped Sherlock's cock in his hand. Sherlock's hips twitched forward. "Quid pro quo, brother. Do your part and I'll do mine."
For the longest time, Sherlock only stared, gaze calculating. At the last, he gave a minor rock of his hips atop Mycroft, as if testing the waters. Mycroft rubbed his prick encouragingly. He was firming up again, quickly. Typical, for a boy his age. Mycroft wouldn't begrudge him a second climax or even a third, if he behaved. He liked the sound of that---Sherlock gasping, bucking into his fist, oversensitized and half-raw from rubbing his little cock against the wood grain of Mycroft's desk and still unable to help himself from rutting against him.
Sherlock's palms dug into Mycroft's shoulders as he raised himself a few inches before sinking back down, brow furrowed. His knees rubbed sharply against Mycroft's sides, his nails bitten and uneven, his movements ungainly and unpracticed. Perfect. Mycroft drank in the sight of him with his flushed skin and his slim cock bobbing against his belly every time he loosened his fist.
[AND THEN THE PART WHERE SHERLOCK CAME BASICALLY AGAINST HIS WILL HAPPENED AND MYCROFT CAME INSIDE HIM AND SHERLOCK THOUGHT IT WAS GROSS AND MYCROFT WAS PRETTY GROSS ABOUT IT AND THEN MYCROFT WAS LIKE LOL YOU’RE A SLUT BUT I LOVE YOU AND SHERLOCK HATED HIM SOME MORE AND THEN THERE WAS A SNAPPY ONE-LINER TO TIE IT ALL TOGETHER. QUID PRO FUCKING QUO, BITCHES. ]
Re: CRITIQUE ME: Quid Pro Quo (Mycroft/Sherlock), incomplete
anonymous
June 20 2012, 05:25:42 UTC
YOU DON'T HAVE TO GIVE UP JUST WRITE SOME LITTLE BIT THAT MAKES YOU HAPPY AND GO FROM THERE! BECAUSE IT ALL MAKES *ME* HAPPY RIGHT NOW!
Or just leave us with this lovely wank fodder, and move on to the next bit. :-)
I'll give it a closer read tomorrow, if I have some time. I am having the same problems with my own WIP, including boredom and trying to reach for something a little bigger than porn. All the sympathy.
Re: CRITIQUE ME: Quid Pro Quo (Mycroft/Sherlock), incomplete
anonymous
June 20 2012, 05:35:46 UTC
Oh, wait, you already know what porn that is. Pah. I'm slow on the uptake. Yeah, OK, still sleepy, but interested. Will shake it around a bit when eyes stay open.
I kind of like the way you already ended it, TBQH. :D
Re: CRITIQUE ME: Quid Pro Quo (Mycroft/Sherlock), incompletegoseawardJune 20 2012, 06:57:43 UTC
I really like this so far!
When I'm having trouble with a scene like this I try to come up with a through-line. Like you said: I was hoping to say something with this, I guess, about Mycroft's character or their relationship or SOMETHING and I... haven't. So...figure out what that thing is (whether it's how manipulative they are with each other, or how they show love through manipulation because that's all they know, or how they're the two smartest people around so they've only got each other to entertain them, or how they find social rules so silly they'll break them just for fun, or whatever else you had in mind--whatever it is you feel fits your version of the characters). Then I throw in just a couple of references to that throughout the scene. A little goes a long way. Then, when I get stuck, I use it as a handle to pull me to the next part of the scene: so if it's about love, then Mycroft might want to see what Sherlock looks like when he comes, or to make him feel good; if it's manipulation, then maybe he wants Sherlock to know he can manipulate his body too; whatever. Having set up the next beat of the action, then I can just write it without reference to that overall theme. The theme just serves as a transition point when I need it.
I guess I think of that as narrowing the focus: there are lots of things a sex scene (or any scene) can do, telling me lots of things about the characters and the setting and what have you, and now I'm drilling down and picking one thing to concentrate on, so it gets easier to choose what I'm highlighting next.
As noted in the header, this is not complete, but I've been beating my head against this fic for the better part of two months and I'm just flat out stuck. This was originally intended to be a follow up to another fic, so be warned that there are a few references to previous events.
My main concerns:
1. Character voices
2. Pacing of the action
3. General writing quality (I know I repeat certain phrases like I have a verbal tic)
4. Am I in this too much? DO I GET IN THE WAY OF THE PORN? D:
5. This might be a side-effect of having held onto this for so long, but at this point, I'm rather bored. I was hoping to say something with this, I guess, about Mycroft's character or their relationship or SOMETHING and I... haven't.
6. HOW THE HELL DOES THIS END? WHY AM I SO FRUSTRATED? ARRRRRGGGHHHH.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Mycroft, what's the [MATHS PROBLEM]?
"[ANSWER]."
He turned the page of his notes, continuing his transcription as Sherlock resumed his hurried scribbling. It was easy enough to tune out the scratch of his pen, the sound swallowed up into the background as Mycroft converted his shorthand to something more legible.
"Mycroft, what's [MATHS PROBLEM]?"
"[SOMETHING SOMETHING] and---" He glanced up sharply. "Why are you bombarding me with maths problems?"
"Homework."
Ah, of course. The hated horror of homework. He should have known. Mycroft made a brief note on his cuff in pencil before turning back to his still sulking brother.
"I've no intention of doing your homework."
"Not even---"
"No, Sherlock. Now hush. I've no time for your temper tantrums today. I'm quite busy."
Whatever rejoinder Sherlock had prepared for him came out as a frustrated growl as he flopped back on Mycroft's bed. As was so often the case, Sherlock permitted him nearly two consecutive minutes of silence before groaning melodramatically. Mycroft didn't bother to look away from his notes. Better to deny him the satisfaction.
The groan sounded a second time, louder and, if possible, even more irritating.
"What is it now, Sherlock? Are you having a fit? Shall I send for a medic?"
With a quiet chuckle, he jotted down another cuff note. It wouldn't do to forget his little rendezvous later.
"You could do it for me, you know," Sherlock said.
"I could," he agreed, "but I won't. You're perfectly capable of simple arithmetic."
"I could make it worth your while."
There was no need for Mycroft to turn to know Sherlock was smirking. It was evident from the tone he'd taken, the smug little imp. He feigned interest in his notes, savoring the huff of frustration Sherlock failed to hold back. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sherlock rolling off the bed, bare feet silent on the carpet of Mycroft's bedroom. His hands came down on Mycroft's shoulders a moment later.
"Are you listening, brother?"
"Intently."
"We both know what you were after last Sunday tea." His voice had no right to be that low or that smooth, Mycroft reflected. Never mind the heat of Sherlock's thin, clever fingers working loose the knot of his tie. "Punishing me."
"You’d have let me have it, too, you greedy little slut."
The playful dip of his fingers beneath the collar of Mycroft's shirt was confirmation enough. He nipped at Mycroft's earlobe, more viciously than was perhaps necessary.
"You spoilt me, you know. Dirtied me up. Ruined me, Mycroft."
"Oh, let's not be dramatic."
Sherlock's hand withdrew, halting its gentle exploration. Mycroft swiveled to face him. "You're not the least bit penitent, are you."
"You wouldn't find me half as fascinating if I were." He favored the boy with a smile, privately delighted by the slight widening of his eyes. He dropped his hand to Sherlock's hip, stroking absently over the sharp lines of his pelvis. "Well? I was under the impression you wanted to exchange."
Reply
Mycroft slid the pad of his thumb over Sherlock's mouth, catching on one of his sharp little teeth.
"Go on," he encouraged. "Suck."
Sherlock's face flooded with red for the briefest second before the pink tip of his tongue flicked out, wet and tentative against Mycroft's thumb. He pushed it a little deeper, pleased at the utter lack of resistance as Sherlock's mouth closed softly around the digit. Suction followed moments later, accompanied by soft, suckling noises that sent his cock swelling.
He slipped his thumb free, gently brushing away the lingering saliva along Sherlock's bottom lip.
Sherlock batted at his hand. "I can do it myself, Mycroft."
"I've no doubt." He leaned back in his chair and laced his hands over his abdomen. "I think I'll have you naked, now. Eyes on me."
There were few sights more pleasing than the tremulous striptease of a boy forced to watch you watching him undress. Sherlock performed with stiff-necked pride, beginning with the buttons of his shirt until he stood bare in front of Mycroft, naked as the day he was born and infinitely more intriguing. He wasn't surprised to find Sherlock hard, not at this stage. It was the thrill of obedience, coupled with the possibility of insubordination; the mild perversion flavored with a deeper taboo.
Sherlock liked this, even if he was too proud to admit it.
"Closer now, pet."
Sherlock held back, wary. "What for?"
"Don't worry; you'll enjoy yourself, I'm sure."
He caught Sherlock by his soft, slim hips and tugged him forward. It was almost too easy to flip him round and the boy bent over all on his own, arse presented in vulgar delight. Such a smooth, plump bottom. Sherlock responded with a sharp intake of breath at Mycroft's hands spreading his cheeks wide.
He blew lightly over the exposed hole, eliciting a delicious, full-bodied quiver. The barest touch of his lips made Sherlock jerk away.
"Mycroft!"
"How did you imagine I'd get you wet enough to take my cock, you silly boy? Now do as you're told and behave."
Sherlock sunk back to his former position, aided by Mycroft's hand planted firmly on the small of his back. Mycroft dove back in immediately, trailing wet little kisses over his brother's pink little hole and running his hands up and down the backs of his long, slender thighs. The way Sherlock was responding, he wouldn't even need his fingers. The flicker of Mycroft's tongue along his cleft and the light nosing over his perineum were making him unfold without difficulty.
He spat and Sherlock reared up. "That's revolting, Mycroft."
Mycroft ignored his outburst and pressed him back to the desk. The gob of saliva was already slicking its way down the curve of Sherlock's arse. Mycroft spread it with his tongue, licking and laving, harder now. Sherlock wriggled atop his desk, breathing hard and shaking with every pass of Mycroft's tongue over his wet little hole. He was so lovely like this. It was a wonder he hadn't considered it before.
Mycroft used both thumbs to spread his pucker wider. It gave easily under the pressure of his fingers, exposing a soft, pink centre. He let just the tip of his tongue slip inside, fighting the urge to smile when Sherlock gave a jerky press back toward his face. It was almost too easy to sink his thumbs into Sherlock, both at once.
"You're ready for me now, aren't you," he remarked, pleased by the ripple down Sherlock's spine as he fought not to roll his arse into Mycroft's hands. "Ready to sink back onto my prick. Admit it."
Reply
"Admit it," Mycroft clarified, "or I'll leave you naked and wanting and you'll have no one but yourself to blame."
There was something greedy about the way the boy immediately pressed back, trying to take Mycroft's fingers up past the knuckle. The reply followed, grudgingly. "Just give me your prick, Mycroft."
"Is that how you ask nicely?" He gave a final twist of his thumbs before withdrawing. Sherlock gave a choked moan. "Don't be insolent. It isn't becoming."
"And having your fingers jammed up my arse is?"
Mycroft gave him a good smack. "On the bed, little brother."
On shaky legs, Sherlock did as he was bidden. He sat cross-legged on the bed, his hard little cock jutting up from his lap. Mycroft watched with interest as he started to play with it with little twists of his fists. His belly was already sticky---he'd come early on, then.
"I want to see it this time, Mycroft."
"See what, precisely?"
Sherlock glared, pairing the expression with a sharp tug of his cock. "Your prick, you berk. Last time you only let me feel it."
Mycroft remembered the last time quite well. As well as he remembered the state of his trousers after. Better to lay them aside this time. He undressed without fanfare, quickly and efficiently. He had no interest in giving a show. He stood at the edge of the bed, letting Sherlock look at him and watching the boy's Adam's apple bob as he studied Mycroft's prick, half-hard and heavy along his thigh.
A hand reached out to settle on his belly. Mycroft covered it with his own and guided it gently between his legs, letting Sherlock's fingers curl into the wiry hair there before wrapping them around his cock. He let his free hand curl around the base of Sherlock's neck, pulling him forward a bit.
"Open your mouth."
"You didn't say I was supposed to suck you off." Sherlock's face shone pink, eyes darting off to the side. Mycroft bumped his cock against his cheek, smearing precome along the sharp ridge of a cheekbone. "Knock it off, Mycroft."
"You can suck me now or you can suck me after I've come in you."
"Ugh, you're revolting."
Mycroft shrugged, turning Sherlock's face back toward his prick. "We've all of us our flaws. Now open wide, you greedy little thing."
Sherlock's eyes flashed defiance, but his lips parted enough for Mycroft to feed him the head of his cock. He didn't need to take more than that. Not today. Sherlock sucked with his eyes off somewhere to the side. Mycroft let him. He'd come round, sooner or later. When he was hard he pulled back with a soft pop, taking a moment to admire the wet shine on Sherlock's mouth and chin before pressing him back on the bed and spreading his knees.
Sherlock cried out at the shove of his cock, sharp and high like some small animal. He grit his teeth and glowered.
"That hurt, Mycroft."
"And now it's over," he soothed, running a hand along the boy's cheek. "You should thank me for not dragging it out."
His little cock had deflated in the interim, but no matter; boys always went soft the first time. Mycroft would soon have him stiff again. Sherlock gave another yelp as he began to move, a slow glide in and out of his snug little passage. He bent to kiss away Sherlock's scowl, lapping at the seam of his mouth.
"I'll make you come if you're a very good boy. Would you like that?"
His mouth quivered against Mycroft's, his hips rising ever so slightly. That was answer enough. Mycroft hooked an arm under Sherlock's back and rolled them over without breaking contact, folding Sherlock down against his chest. His back was beading with sweat as Mycroft stroked over the sharp knobs of his spine, all the way down to where they were joined.
Sherlock was stuffed to bursting, the poor thing. Mycroft massaged his taut little hole, trying to relax him as he lay sniffling against Mycroft's shoulder.
Reply
Sherlock rubbed his face into Mycroft's shoulder, mumbling, "Why haven't you come yet?"
"Don't tell me you're bored, little brother."
Sherlock sat back on him with a scowl. "You're just lying there."
"I don't recall complaining when you were too frightened to even shift your knees apart for me," Mycroft responded mildly. He stroked along Sherlock's belly, sticky under his fingers. "Need I remind you that this was your idea? Are you so horrified by the thought of having to work for what you want?" Without waiting for an answer, he cupped Sherlock's cock in his hand. Sherlock's hips twitched forward. "Quid pro quo, brother. Do your part and I'll do mine."
For the longest time, Sherlock only stared, gaze calculating. At the last, he gave a minor rock of his hips atop Mycroft, as if testing the waters. Mycroft rubbed his prick encouragingly. He was firming up again, quickly. Typical, for a boy his age. Mycroft wouldn't begrudge him a second climax or even a third, if he behaved. He liked the sound of that---Sherlock gasping, bucking into his fist, oversensitized and half-raw from rubbing his little cock against the wood grain of Mycroft's desk and still unable to help himself from rutting against him.
Sherlock's palms dug into Mycroft's shoulders as he raised himself a few inches before sinking back down, brow furrowed. His knees rubbed sharply against Mycroft's sides, his nails bitten and uneven, his movements ungainly and unpracticed. Perfect. Mycroft drank in the sight of him with his flushed skin and his slim cock bobbing against his belly every time he loosened his fist.
[AND THEN THE PART WHERE SHERLOCK CAME BASICALLY AGAINST HIS WILL HAPPENED AND MYCROFT CAME INSIDE HIM AND SHERLOCK THOUGHT IT WAS GROSS AND MYCROFT WAS PRETTY GROSS ABOUT IT AND THEN MYCROFT WAS LIKE LOL YOU’RE A SLUT BUT I LOVE YOU AND SHERLOCK HATED HIM SOME MORE AND THEN THERE WAS A SNAPPY ONE-LINER TO TIE IT ALL TOGETHER. QUID PRO FUCKING QUO, BITCHES. ]
...I tend to give up rather dramatically. :(
Reply
Or just leave us with this lovely wank fodder, and move on to the next bit. :-)
I'll give it a closer read tomorrow, if I have some time. I am having the same problems with my own WIP, including boredom and trying to reach for something a little bigger than porn. All the sympathy.
Reply
I kind of like the way you already ended it, TBQH. :D
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When I'm having trouble with a scene like this I try to come up with a through-line. Like you said: I was hoping to say something with this, I guess, about Mycroft's character or their relationship or SOMETHING and I... haven't. So...figure out what that thing is (whether it's how manipulative they are with each other, or how they show love through manipulation because that's all they know, or how they're the two smartest people around so they've only got each other to entertain them, or how they find social rules so silly they'll break them just for fun, or whatever else you had in mind--whatever it is you feel fits your version of the characters). Then I throw in just a couple of references to that throughout the scene. A little goes a long way. Then, when I get stuck, I use it as a handle to pull me to the next part of the scene: so if it's about love, then Mycroft might want to see what Sherlock looks like when he comes, or to make him feel good; if it's manipulation, then maybe he wants Sherlock to know he can manipulate his body too; whatever. Having set up the next beat of the action, then I can just write it without reference to that overall theme. The theme just serves as a transition point when I need it.
I guess I think of that as narrowing the focus: there are lots of things a sex scene (or any scene) can do, telling me lots of things about the characters and the setting and what have you, and now I'm drilling down and picking one thing to concentrate on, so it gets easier to choose what I'm highlighting next.
Good luck!
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