Iceman & the Coffee Boy, Interlude #2
ICEMAN AND THE COFFEE BOY
by Soledad
Author’s notes: For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the secondary index page.
This picks up the loose end in the first Interlude. Obviously.
Warning: Adults only!
INTERLUDE #2 - RECREATIONAL ACTIVITIES
Mycroft Holmes was sitting in the study of his townhouse on Pall Mall, stripped to his shirtsleeves, rubbing his face tiredly. The first contact - and the following confrontation - with his son had worn him out, more even than a crash with Sherlock would.
In many things, Ianto seemed eerily like his younger self: smart, stubbornly independent, not backing off an inch but smooth enough to avoid any irreparable break-ups. He clearly wasn’t impressed either by his newfound father’s wealth or his power, which was refreshingly different from most people’s reaction. At the same time, though, that fact made it very difficult to manipulate him. Or to influence him in any manner.
And while Mycroft, for his part, preferred a strong-willed son who insisted on standing on his own two feet to some spineless little parasite who’d only be after his money or his influence, he hated not being able to have him under control.
Control was something he did very well… usually. Even when it came to Sherlock, one of the most uncontrollable forces of nature.
Mycroft allowed himself a bitter little chuckle. Here he’d been, worried sick if his son would be able to integrate in the Holmes family. Well, he could rest assured where that problem was concerned. Ianto clearly didn’t want to become part of the Holmes family. To abandon his former life for the eternal struggle with family obligations. For a family that didn’t particularly want to have him in the first place.
Although he hadn’t outright rejected the idea of working for Mycroft, so there probably was some hope left, after all.
Mycroft rubbed his burning eyes tiredly. It was such a mess! His private life, such as it was, had been rendered to shambles in a mere few weeks.
“You’re awfully tense, sir,” a pleasant tenor voice said right behind his back, and he nearly jumped in his seat. He hadn’t heard Captain Harkness enter his study, but there the man was, placing the weekly security report on his desk and giving him a searching look with those brilliant blue eyes. “Would you allow me to help?”
“I’m afraid I’m not up to your idea of recreational activities, Captain,” Mycroft replied tiredly.
It was a known fact that for Captain Harkness recreation equalled sex (highly inventive sex, bordering on the avant-garde, as one of the male employees once put). Most of the time anyway. And no matter what Aunt Diane might think about the man, Mycroft really didn’t feel up to sexual gymnastics. Even if he had the custom of sleeping with the staff. Which he did not.
The answer earned him one of those wide, white smiles that almost hurt the eye. Quality US dental work could be a bit too much of the good thing sometimes.
“I was thinking more along the line of offering you a backrub, sir,” Captain Harkness said brightly. “I’m actually very good at those, according my mother… and everyone else who tried them, for that matter.”
Mycroft hesitated. He was very tense, that much was true. Tense enough that the accumulated stress would inevitably lead to a killer headache if he didn’t do anything about it. On the other hand, this could be a trick from Captain Harkness to get physical with him, couldn’t it?
But again, even if it was - did he really care?
“A backrub would be lovely indeed,” he admitted.
Captain Harkness blinded him with another smile and unceremoniously began to roll up the sleeves of his plain blue cotton shirt. He owned at least a dozen of those shirts, all the same particular shade of blue that brought out the colour of his eyes most flatteringly.
As if he needed it!
“Just sit there and relax, sir, and let me take care of the rest,” he said encouragingly.
Mycroft pushed the staples of top secret files a bit further back, so that he could put his folded arms on the desktop and rest his head upon them. God, he was tired!
He was so far gone that he barely felt the shock when Captain Harkness reached around him and began to unbutton his waistcoat.
“You’re wearing far too many layers for a proper backrub, sir,” he murmured in Mycroft’s ear, his warm breath tickling his skin and making him shiver. “A shirt would be enough to protect your virtue, don’t you think?”
Mycroft really didn’t know how to answer that, so he simply let Captain Harkness divest him of his waistcoat. His bracers, too, were pulled down his arms and let to hang from the waistband of his trousers at the same time. Then he was allowed to resume his former position, and Captain Harkness finally put those large, warm hands on him.
The first gentle, probing touches already elicited a moan of him. He couldn’t even remember the last time he was touched like this. So gently. So carefully. As if he truly mattered. As if his comfort was really an issue.
The professional masseurs, whenever he found the time to indulge in a massage - which was rare enough by his workload - had never been so considerate. Their hands were hard, impersonal, almost cruel; their touch hurt more than it helped. So after a while he gave up on the idea entirely and rather endured the near-constant back pain.
Given enough time, one could get used to almost everything, after all.
Captain Harkness’s hands didn’t hurt him. Well, there was some pain, understandably, as his back was hard with tension and the memory of decades-old hurts. But it was a good hurt; he couldn’t find a better word for it. Captain Harkness tried to loosen the muscles in his neck, shoulders and upper back by drumming his strong fingers along them like a pianist playing a particularly vigorous piece. Only when he felt the muscles begin to give in a little, only then did he start the actual kneading and rubbing. First on the surface, then digging his fingertips gradually deeper, finding one sore spot after another, loosening knotted muscles patiently.
By then, Mycroft was groaning continually. He hurt in places he’d long forgotten to exist, but - paradoxically - it felt so very good. Years of tension were seeping out of him gradually as those strong, warm hands kept kneading his now pliant flesh tirelessly. He was vaguely aware of the fact that he was making the most embarrassing noises of pleasure but he couldn’t bring up the energy to care. The treatment just felt too good.
“I like it how vocal you are when I lay my hands on you, sir,” Captain Harkness murmured into his ear, his breath hot on Mycroft’s now damp skin, the spicy scent of his shampoo or aftershave or whatever product it was filling Mycroft’s nose so completely that he could barely breathe. “I bet I could make you sing even louder for me.”
And with that, he reached around Mycroft’s boneless torso and pinched his nipples through the thin fabric of his shirt. Hard. At the same time he licked the sweat off Mycroft’s neck without warning.
The wet touch upon his neck, combined with the sharp pain lancing through his tormented nipples, shot directly to Mycroft’s groin, making him steel hard in a second. He couldn’t remember ever getting an erection so lightning-fast, not even in his youth. His somewhat hazed mind suddenly provided him with the mental image of himself, bent over his own desk, his trousers around his ankles and Captain Harkness shagging him within an inch of his life.
He very nearly came into his pants on the spot.
“Oh, I see you’re not so adverse to the idea,” Captain Harkness murmured, opening his trousers with one hand and grabbing him through the soft silk of his underwear with the other one.
Mycroft Holmes would deny to the end of his life that the high, keening sound following that act came from his throat.
In the next moment he was indeed hauled over his desk, his trousers - including his underwear - yanked down to his ankles, and he could feel the thin rubber of a condom being rolled expertly onto his straining erection.
“We don’t want to make a mess of your state secrets, do we?” Captain Harkness murmured, pressing him down onto the desk with a hand on the small of his back.
Mycroft didn’t offer any resistance. He was being handled by an expert, and he wanted this. He wanted the control being wrestled away from him, wanted to be possessed by someone physically stronger than him, wanted to be taken without being asked first. It was a secret fantasy of him, a dangerous craving he’d never allowed to take the upper hand before.
But in this very moment, lying face-down and utterly helpless across his own desk, while his big, virile security chief was kneading his arse to make him relax for the main act, he understood those men - rich, powerful, important men - who’d go to Irene Adler to lay down their burden, at least for a short while.
He’d never do that, of course. Aside from the fact that he was attracted to men, not women (and to big, strong, virile men like Captain Harkness, at that), becoming vulnerable to a ruthless woman like Irene Adler was a suicidal mistake. One that he would never allow himself, even if he’d been interested in the professional scolding part of it.
Still, he could understand how liberating it was to submit on a deeply personal level when one had to make life and death decisions all the time. The higher one stood in the hierarchy, the greater the pressure grew, the heavier the responsibility weighed upon one’s shoulder. Mycroft’s decisions could be the making or the fall of the whole nation. Small wonder he never managed to get his eating disorder under control.
Yet now, lying bare-arsed and spread-eagled across his desk, with Captain Harkness’s slickened fingers probing his most private places, opening him up, stretching him for the much bigger intruder to come, first two fingers, then three, until the longest one finally reached that hidden spot inside him that hadn’t been touched for years and that made him see glowing stars in the darkness behind his tightly shut eyelids, he understood on a deep, almost animal level how liberating the loss of control could be.
The noises he made weren’t even remotely human anymore.
Then the questing fingers at the entrance of his body were replaced with something much bigger and heavier, and he groaned as he was being stretched to his limits. It hurt, despite all the careful prep work; it had been too long, he was practically a virgin again, so long had it been. And it had never been like this; never so personal. Hasty encounters in seedy clubs, the darkrooms in foreign countries where no-one could recognize him - they simply didn’t count.
“Don’t you dare to stop!” he growled when he felt the invasion stop. It was too late to reconsider, he needed this and he needed this now!
“I’m hurting you,” Captain Harkness murmured, still hesitating,
“Well, hurt me then, damn you!” he snapped, desperate for being subdued and thoroughly possessed. “I don’t need you to go gently on me! Do your worst!”
“This is a bad idea,” Captain Harkness muttered, but he obeyed nonetheless, and for a moment Mycroft thought he’d be split in two.
It had definitely been too long.
But then his pleasure spot was touched again, and the vice-like grip of his body suddenly relaxed around Captain Harkness, so that he could finally move within him. And move he did, with renewed vigour, hitting his sweet spot with every inward thrust, until Mycroft passed out from the intensity of his orgasm.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When he came to, he was fully clothed again - well, save for his suit jacket, that is - and resting on the comfortable leather sofa of his study. He hurt deep within like a bitch (and he supposed he’d keep hurting for days to come), but the rest of his body was in a near-gelatinous state, and there was no trace of a headache.
Clearly, Captain Harkness’s recreational activities did have their advantage.
Opening his eyes, he saw the man sitting in one of the deep leather armchairs on the other side of the coffee table, watching him with worried blue eyes.
“Are you all right, sir?” he asked, when seeing that Mycroft was awake. “I got a bit carried away; I’m sorry. I never had anyone yielding so beautifully to me. It was a heady experience.”
Mycroft’s face felt hot from all the blood rushing there suddenly.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I might have difficulties sitting through some boring government meetings tomorrow - or is it today? - but it was definitely worth a little discomfort.”
“I’m sorry,” Captain Harkness said again. “I never wanted to hurt you, sir.”
“Nonsense,” Mycroft replied dismissively. “If I wanted something soft and pliant, I’d have booked one of those effeminate boys from a catalogue. I have no use for them. You gave me exactly what I needed.”
Captain Harkness nodded, accepting the declaration for face value and stood to help him rise from the couch gingerly. They were close enough for their breath to mingle; Captain Harkness’s smelt of peppermint.
“I’d like to kiss you, sir,” he murmured. “May I?”
A short, sharp laugh escaped from Mycroft; he was surprised that it didn’t sound bitter at all.
“Captain, you’ve just fucked mo so thoroughly that I won’t be able to walk straight for a week. I think we’re well beyond the phase of asking permission.”
“No, sir,” Captain Harkness replied. “That was different; something you needed and I took care of your need. This… this is personal. This is for me… if you allow it.”
His handsome face was serious and open, no wide, fake grin plastered across it. He’d given Mycroft what Mycroft needed and was clearly ready to do so again. What he needed, what he wanted was a simple kiss, and Mycroft felt that he owed the man that much.
“I do allow it,” he said simply. “Please help yourself.”
There was a smile - not the big, fake, thousand megawatt grin but a small, genuine one - and then those big, warm hands captured his face, pulling him closer. Soft lips covered his mouth, pressing against his lips in a surprisingly chaste kiss; then a warm, wet tongue slid into his involuntarily yielding mouth, filling it, exploring it, sucking the air from his lungs.
He made a strange little sound in the back of his throat. His hands came up on their own, grabbing the firm backside of Captain Harkness and grinding their crotches together.
“Don’t!” Captain Harkness warned, tearing his mouth away for a moment. “You definitely aren’t up for another round yet, sir, and if you keep doing that, I can’t guarantee that I’d be able to hold back.”
“Promises, promises,” Mycroft grinned and kept doing that.
Captain Harkness rolled his eyes in exasperation.
“I’ve created a monster,” he complained. “That’s the problem with the repressed ones. As soon as they’d licked blood, they can’t be stopped anymore.”
“Problem?” Mycroft asked, nibbling on his earlobe.
“At the moment? Yeah,” Captain Harkness gently but firmly freed himself from his boss’s possessive grip. “We both need sleep; at least a couple of hours of it. You’ve got several important meetings tomorrow, sir - well, today, actually - and I’ll have to be awake enough to keep you safe, or Quilla will have me gelded.”
“Which would be a crying shame,” Mycroft agreed, reaching unceremoniously in the other man’s trousers to give the potentially endangered body parts an experimental squeeze.
Captain Harkness’s eyes rolled back in his head and he almost came on the spot.
“Very well, Captain,” Mycroft said with a sigh. “In order to save your... err… family jewles, I’ll be a good boy and retreat to my bedroom - alone. However, I want to make something very clear.”
“And that would be sir?” Captain Harkness asked politely.
As if he didn’t know!
“I’m aware of the fact that what happened between us was simple convenience,” Mycroft said slowly. “I assume my aunt set you up to it, and I’m grateful that she did. I enjoyed our… encounter immensely, but I’m not interpreting anything else into it. You can walk away from this right now; no questions asked, no changes in our working relationship. You can walk away from it at any time in the future, under the same conditions. But if you choose to indulge in serving my needs again, as long as you do it, you’ll be off-limits for other… playmates. I do not share.”
Captain Harkness nodded, understanding the conditions perfectly.
“In your situation I wouldn’t either, sir,” he replied simply.
“Good,” Mycroft said. “Understand also that while you can indeed walk away from our… agreement any time you want, once you’ve done so, you’ll be walking away for good. There won’t be any coming back.”
Captain Harkness nodded again, not the least disturbed. “Understood, sir. “It’s a reasonable agreement.”
“Good,” Mycroft said again. “Let’s go sleep then. Work won’t take into consideration that we’ve used up a lot of energy tonight.”
“But in a very enjoyable way,” Captain Harkness grinned, helping him into his suit jacket. “Good night, sir.”
“Good night, Captain,” Mycroft allowed himself the momentary weakness of leaning against the solid, warm body behind him and filling his senses with the smell and the feel of the man who’d just so thoroughly possessed him.
Then he went to sleep indeed.
Chapter 07 - Revelations
by Soledad
Author’s notes: For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the secondary index page.
This picks up the loose end in the first Interlude. Obviously.
Warning: Adults only!
INTERLUDE #2 - RECREATIONAL ACTIVITIES
Mycroft Holmes was sitting in the study of his townhouse on Pall Mall, stripped to his shirtsleeves, rubbing his face tiredly. The first contact - and the following confrontation - with his son had worn him out, more even than a crash with Sherlock would.
In many things, Ianto seemed eerily like his younger self: smart, stubbornly independent, not backing off an inch but smooth enough to avoid any irreparable break-ups. He clearly wasn’t impressed either by his newfound father’s wealth or his power, which was refreshingly different from most people’s reaction. At the same time, though, that fact made it very difficult to manipulate him. Or to influence him in any manner.
And while Mycroft, for his part, preferred a strong-willed son who insisted on standing on his own two feet to some spineless little parasite who’d only be after his money or his influence, he hated not being able to have him under control.
Control was something he did very well… usually. Even when it came to Sherlock, one of the most uncontrollable forces of nature.
Mycroft allowed himself a bitter little chuckle. Here he’d been, worried sick if his son would be able to integrate in the Holmes family. Well, he could rest assured where that problem was concerned. Ianto clearly didn’t want to become part of the Holmes family. To abandon his former life for the eternal struggle with family obligations. For a family that didn’t particularly want to have him in the first place.
Although he hadn’t outright rejected the idea of working for Mycroft, so there probably was some hope left, after all.
Mycroft rubbed his burning eyes tiredly. It was such a mess! His private life, such as it was, had been rendered to shambles in a mere few weeks.
“You’re awfully tense, sir,” a pleasant tenor voice said right behind his back, and he nearly jumped in his seat. He hadn’t heard Captain Harkness enter his study, but there the man was, placing the weekly security report on his desk and giving him a searching look with those brilliant blue eyes. “Would you allow me to help?”
“I’m afraid I’m not up to your idea of recreational activities, Captain,” Mycroft replied tiredly.
It was a known fact that for Captain Harkness recreation equalled sex (highly inventive sex, bordering on the avant-garde, as one of the male employees once put). Most of the time anyway. And no matter what Aunt Diane might think about the man, Mycroft really didn’t feel up to sexual gymnastics. Even if he had the custom of sleeping with the staff. Which he did not.
The answer earned him one of those wide, white smiles that almost hurt the eye. Quality US dental work could be a bit too much of the good thing sometimes.
“I was thinking more along the line of offering you a backrub, sir,” Captain Harkness said brightly. “I’m actually very good at those, according my mother… and everyone else who tried them, for that matter.”
Mycroft hesitated. He was very tense, that much was true. Tense enough that the accumulated stress would inevitably lead to a killer headache if he didn’t do anything about it. On the other hand, this could be a trick from Captain Harkness to get physical with him, couldn’t it?
But again, even if it was - did he really care?
“A backrub would be lovely indeed,” he admitted.
Captain Harkness blinded him with another smile and unceremoniously began to roll up the sleeves of his plain blue cotton shirt. He owned at least a dozen of those shirts, all the same particular shade of blue that brought out the colour of his eyes most flatteringly.
As if he needed it!
“Just sit there and relax, sir, and let me take care of the rest,” he said encouragingly.
Mycroft pushed the staples of top secret files a bit further back, so that he could put his folded arms on the desktop and rest his head upon them. God, he was tired!
He was so far gone that he barely felt the shock when Captain Harkness reached around him and began to unbutton his waistcoat.
“You’re wearing far too many layers for a proper backrub, sir,” he murmured in Mycroft’s ear, his warm breath tickling his skin and making him shiver. “A shirt would be enough to protect your virtue, don’t you think?”
Mycroft really didn’t know how to answer that, so he simply let Captain Harkness divest him of his waistcoat. His bracers, too, were pulled down his arms and let to hang from the waistband of his trousers at the same time. Then he was allowed to resume his former position, and Captain Harkness finally put those large, warm hands on him.
The first gentle, probing touches already elicited a moan of him. He couldn’t even remember the last time he was touched like this. So gently. So carefully. As if he truly mattered. As if his comfort was really an issue.
The professional masseurs, whenever he found the time to indulge in a massage - which was rare enough by his workload - had never been so considerate. Their hands were hard, impersonal, almost cruel; their touch hurt more than it helped. So after a while he gave up on the idea entirely and rather endured the near-constant back pain.
Given enough time, one could get used to almost everything, after all.
Captain Harkness’s hands didn’t hurt him. Well, there was some pain, understandably, as his back was hard with tension and the memory of decades-old hurts. But it was a good hurt; he couldn’t find a better word for it. Captain Harkness tried to loosen the muscles in his neck, shoulders and upper back by drumming his strong fingers along them like a pianist playing a particularly vigorous piece. Only when he felt the muscles begin to give in a little, only then did he start the actual kneading and rubbing. First on the surface, then digging his fingertips gradually deeper, finding one sore spot after another, loosening knotted muscles patiently.
By then, Mycroft was groaning continually. He hurt in places he’d long forgotten to exist, but - paradoxically - it felt so very good. Years of tension were seeping out of him gradually as those strong, warm hands kept kneading his now pliant flesh tirelessly. He was vaguely aware of the fact that he was making the most embarrassing noises of pleasure but he couldn’t bring up the energy to care. The treatment just felt too good.
“I like it how vocal you are when I lay my hands on you, sir,” Captain Harkness murmured into his ear, his breath hot on Mycroft’s now damp skin, the spicy scent of his shampoo or aftershave or whatever product it was filling Mycroft’s nose so completely that he could barely breathe. “I bet I could make you sing even louder for me.”
And with that, he reached around Mycroft’s boneless torso and pinched his nipples through the thin fabric of his shirt. Hard. At the same time he licked the sweat off Mycroft’s neck without warning.
The wet touch upon his neck, combined with the sharp pain lancing through his tormented nipples, shot directly to Mycroft’s groin, making him steel hard in a second. He couldn’t remember ever getting an erection so lightning-fast, not even in his youth. His somewhat hazed mind suddenly provided him with the mental image of himself, bent over his own desk, his trousers around his ankles and Captain Harkness shagging him within an inch of his life.
He very nearly came into his pants on the spot.
“Oh, I see you’re not so adverse to the idea,” Captain Harkness murmured, opening his trousers with one hand and grabbing him through the soft silk of his underwear with the other one.
Mycroft Holmes would deny to the end of his life that the high, keening sound following that act came from his throat.
In the next moment he was indeed hauled over his desk, his trousers - including his underwear - yanked down to his ankles, and he could feel the thin rubber of a condom being rolled expertly onto his straining erection.
“We don’t want to make a mess of your state secrets, do we?” Captain Harkness murmured, pressing him down onto the desk with a hand on the small of his back.
Mycroft didn’t offer any resistance. He was being handled by an expert, and he wanted this. He wanted the control being wrestled away from him, wanted to be possessed by someone physically stronger than him, wanted to be taken without being asked first. It was a secret fantasy of him, a dangerous craving he’d never allowed to take the upper hand before.
But in this very moment, lying face-down and utterly helpless across his own desk, while his big, virile security chief was kneading his arse to make him relax for the main act, he understood those men - rich, powerful, important men - who’d go to Irene Adler to lay down their burden, at least for a short while.
He’d never do that, of course. Aside from the fact that he was attracted to men, not women (and to big, strong, virile men like Captain Harkness, at that), becoming vulnerable to a ruthless woman like Irene Adler was a suicidal mistake. One that he would never allow himself, even if he’d been interested in the professional scolding part of it.
Still, he could understand how liberating it was to submit on a deeply personal level when one had to make life and death decisions all the time. The higher one stood in the hierarchy, the greater the pressure grew, the heavier the responsibility weighed upon one’s shoulder. Mycroft’s decisions could be the making or the fall of the whole nation. Small wonder he never managed to get his eating disorder under control.
Yet now, lying bare-arsed and spread-eagled across his desk, with Captain Harkness’s slickened fingers probing his most private places, opening him up, stretching him for the much bigger intruder to come, first two fingers, then three, until the longest one finally reached that hidden spot inside him that hadn’t been touched for years and that made him see glowing stars in the darkness behind his tightly shut eyelids, he understood on a deep, almost animal level how liberating the loss of control could be.
The noises he made weren’t even remotely human anymore.
Then the questing fingers at the entrance of his body were replaced with something much bigger and heavier, and he groaned as he was being stretched to his limits. It hurt, despite all the careful prep work; it had been too long, he was practically a virgin again, so long had it been. And it had never been like this; never so personal. Hasty encounters in seedy clubs, the darkrooms in foreign countries where no-one could recognize him - they simply didn’t count.
“Don’t you dare to stop!” he growled when he felt the invasion stop. It was too late to reconsider, he needed this and he needed this now!
“I’m hurting you,” Captain Harkness murmured, still hesitating,
“Well, hurt me then, damn you!” he snapped, desperate for being subdued and thoroughly possessed. “I don’t need you to go gently on me! Do your worst!”
“This is a bad idea,” Captain Harkness muttered, but he obeyed nonetheless, and for a moment Mycroft thought he’d be split in two.
It had definitely been too long.
But then his pleasure spot was touched again, and the vice-like grip of his body suddenly relaxed around Captain Harkness, so that he could finally move within him. And move he did, with renewed vigour, hitting his sweet spot with every inward thrust, until Mycroft passed out from the intensity of his orgasm.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When he came to, he was fully clothed again - well, save for his suit jacket, that is - and resting on the comfortable leather sofa of his study. He hurt deep within like a bitch (and he supposed he’d keep hurting for days to come), but the rest of his body was in a near-gelatinous state, and there was no trace of a headache.
Clearly, Captain Harkness’s recreational activities did have their advantage.
Opening his eyes, he saw the man sitting in one of the deep leather armchairs on the other side of the coffee table, watching him with worried blue eyes.
“Are you all right, sir?” he asked, when seeing that Mycroft was awake. “I got a bit carried away; I’m sorry. I never had anyone yielding so beautifully to me. It was a heady experience.”
Mycroft’s face felt hot from all the blood rushing there suddenly.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I might have difficulties sitting through some boring government meetings tomorrow - or is it today? - but it was definitely worth a little discomfort.”
“I’m sorry,” Captain Harkness said again. “I never wanted to hurt you, sir.”
“Nonsense,” Mycroft replied dismissively. “If I wanted something soft and pliant, I’d have booked one of those effeminate boys from a catalogue. I have no use for them. You gave me exactly what I needed.”
Captain Harkness nodded, accepting the declaration for face value and stood to help him rise from the couch gingerly. They were close enough for their breath to mingle; Captain Harkness’s smelt of peppermint.
“I’d like to kiss you, sir,” he murmured. “May I?”
A short, sharp laugh escaped from Mycroft; he was surprised that it didn’t sound bitter at all.
“Captain, you’ve just fucked mo so thoroughly that I won’t be able to walk straight for a week. I think we’re well beyond the phase of asking permission.”
“No, sir,” Captain Harkness replied. “That was different; something you needed and I took care of your need. This… this is personal. This is for me… if you allow it.”
His handsome face was serious and open, no wide, fake grin plastered across it. He’d given Mycroft what Mycroft needed and was clearly ready to do so again. What he needed, what he wanted was a simple kiss, and Mycroft felt that he owed the man that much.
“I do allow it,” he said simply. “Please help yourself.”
There was a smile - not the big, fake, thousand megawatt grin but a small, genuine one - and then those big, warm hands captured his face, pulling him closer. Soft lips covered his mouth, pressing against his lips in a surprisingly chaste kiss; then a warm, wet tongue slid into his involuntarily yielding mouth, filling it, exploring it, sucking the air from his lungs.
He made a strange little sound in the back of his throat. His hands came up on their own, grabbing the firm backside of Captain Harkness and grinding their crotches together.
“Don’t!” Captain Harkness warned, tearing his mouth away for a moment. “You definitely aren’t up for another round yet, sir, and if you keep doing that, I can’t guarantee that I’d be able to hold back.”
“Promises, promises,” Mycroft grinned and kept doing that.
Captain Harkness rolled his eyes in exasperation.
“I’ve created a monster,” he complained. “That’s the problem with the repressed ones. As soon as they’d licked blood, they can’t be stopped anymore.”
“Problem?” Mycroft asked, nibbling on his earlobe.
“At the moment? Yeah,” Captain Harkness gently but firmly freed himself from his boss’s possessive grip. “We both need sleep; at least a couple of hours of it. You’ve got several important meetings tomorrow, sir - well, today, actually - and I’ll have to be awake enough to keep you safe, or Quilla will have me gelded.”
“Which would be a crying shame,” Mycroft agreed, reaching unceremoniously in the other man’s trousers to give the potentially endangered body parts an experimental squeeze.
Captain Harkness’s eyes rolled back in his head and he almost came on the spot.
“Very well, Captain,” Mycroft said with a sigh. “In order to save your... err… family jewles, I’ll be a good boy and retreat to my bedroom - alone. However, I want to make something very clear.”
“And that would be sir?” Captain Harkness asked politely.
As if he didn’t know!
“I’m aware of the fact that what happened between us was simple convenience,” Mycroft said slowly. “I assume my aunt set you up to it, and I’m grateful that she did. I enjoyed our… encounter immensely, but I’m not interpreting anything else into it. You can walk away from this right now; no questions asked, no changes in our working relationship. You can walk away from it at any time in the future, under the same conditions. But if you choose to indulge in serving my needs again, as long as you do it, you’ll be off-limits for other… playmates. I do not share.”
Captain Harkness nodded, understanding the conditions perfectly.
“In your situation I wouldn’t either, sir,” he replied simply.
“Good,” Mycroft said. “Understand also that while you can indeed walk away from our… agreement any time you want, once you’ve done so, you’ll be walking away for good. There won’t be any coming back.”
Captain Harkness nodded again, not the least disturbed. “Understood, sir. “It’s a reasonable agreement.”
“Good,” Mycroft said again. “Let’s go sleep then. Work won’t take into consideration that we’ve used up a lot of energy tonight.”
“But in a very enjoyable way,” Captain Harkness grinned, helping him into his suit jacket. “Good night, sir.”
“Good night, Captain,” Mycroft allowed himself the momentary weakness of leaning against the solid, warm body behind him and filling his senses with the smell and the feel of the man who’d just so thoroughly possessed him.
Then he went to sleep indeed.
Chapter 07 - Revelations