Ready
Title: Ready
Characters: Mycroft Holmes/Gregory Lestrade
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,750
Warnings: omega/beta/alpha dynamics, werewolf au
Summary: One-shot from the BTSM series. Greg has decided he's ready to become a werewolf and mate with Mycroft.
---
Gregory Lestrade comes from a small village north of London, about three hours drive, and it’s the kind of place where everyone knows everyone. He lived there until he was eighteen and left for uni, and during that time he never once met a werewolf. His parents only let him go after repeated warnings about how wolves couldn’t be trusted, which was a common enough attitude amongst humans: though one that Greg couldn’t afford to adopt, not if he wanted to become part of Scotland Yard. The place was run by wolves, the best and brightest, and humans that couldn’t accept that were tossed out.
It was a daunting task to be one of the few humans that proved good enough to be a copper but Greg was a plucky, determined sort and he never gave up when he really wanted something. He was patient and resourceful and did everything right until one December morning when he met a young werewolf by the name of Sherlock Holmes.
And then everything went to hell.
Well, Greg amends silently, looking at his lover from the corner of his eye. Mycroft is lost to the world, staring down at his mobile phone like it holds the secret to the universe - and in retrospect that may not be all that far from the truth. Not to hell, precisely, but a pretty close equivalent. He tries to imagine what his parents would have to say if they were alive to hear what he was contemplating. He gives up when he starts picturing all of the incoherent shrieking and sighs, switching his gaze back to the window.
There had been an instant attraction between him and Mycroft Holmes. Greg had done his best to avoid thinking about it but a Holmes, he had discovered all too quickly, was something like a disease, leeching their way in until they’d gone and poisoned everything and it was much easier to give in. So eventually he’d gotten tired of fighting the inevitable, of ignoring that spark and the dreams he had at night that made him feel like a seventeen-year-old kid and the wanting, and done it, given in that is, and he’d never looked back since.
The fact that he’s not a werewolf hasn’t been too much of a problem in the past but the older they both get the more Greg knows Mycroft thinks about it. He’s brought it up before, of course, but Greg has always shot the idea down and Mycroft has accepted that in his own quiet way. It’s not something he can push, they both know that. This is life changing and forever. And Greg’s really quite okay about being with Mycroft forever: it’s the whole omega werewolf thing he couldn’t wrap his mind around. Mycroft is an alpha and that makes the chances of Greg being an omega something like 99%. That’s a high number, much higher than he’s comfortable with considering all of the omega abuse he’s seen over the years.
Not that he thinks Mycroft would do… that. No, that’s not what this is about. He just doesn’t want to stop being Greg Lestrade.
For the first time, after meeting with and talking to John Watson, he thinks that maybe he doesn’t have to.
“You must be over the moon,” he says. “I never thought we’d find a bloke who could put up with Sherlock.”
“Doctor Watson is an exceptional man,” Mycroft agrees, a slightly smug smile curling his lips. “Perhaps he will be able to keep my brother suitably contained.”
Greg gives him an indulgent smile and a fond pat on the knee. He knows Mycroft is just as happy for Sherlock even though he’ll never admit it. There’s a light in Sherlock’s eyes now that Greg has never seen before and he knows it’s all because of one little blond army doctor who alternately fascinates and enthrals the great consulting detective. He can admit to himself that he wants to see that same light in Mycroft’s eyes, but that the thought of what it will take terrifies him.
Becoming a werewolf. A monster. The creatures the kids back home used to whisper about at night. Oh sure, there’re benefits: extended lifespan, for one thing, and increased healing. But there’s a downside too: being forced to change at every full moon, no exceptions. How other people will look at him, like he’s become something dangerous. And mating… good god, he’s seen what happens to werewolves who lose a mate. It’s like losing your heart. Most of them never recover. He’s not sure he wants to be, can be, that vulnerable. Frankly he’s shocked that Sherlock is willing to take the risk.
But there's something about the way in which John and Sherlock look at each other, those two men who only met a month ago but who seem to have a deep connection already, something that tells him that taking the chance may just be worth it.
The car finally pulls up in front of Mycroft's posh flat. He gets out and follows Mycroft inside, watching his lover's arse as Mycroft walks ahead of him. There's still time to think about it, of course. He doesn't need to make his decision right now. But he feels restless, almost, like he's tired of shying away from it. Because Greg knows there're two choices here: he will become a werewolf or he'll leave Mycroft, because he could never be cruel enough to make Mycroft watch him die from old age. And since the latter isn't really an option that only leaves one eventual route and he's never been the sort of bloke who sits around once a decision is made.
As soon as the door is closed behind them he pushes up against Mycroft, wrapping his arms around the man's belly and nuzzling his cheek against Mycroft's shoulder. "I want you to take me to bed," he mumbles into the expensive material. It's early yet but he knows there's a full moon tonight. He could be a werewolf tonight. His heart is pounding suddenly.
Mycroft must feel the change because he turns in the circle of Greg's arms and looks at him, adopting that 'I will figure this out' expression that he and Sherlock share. Greg lets him do it, lets Mycroft come to his own conclusions, and feels a small spark of satisfied pleasure when Mycroft's eyes go wide. He knows that Mycroft was hoping that talking to John might be the thing to tip Greg over. He also knows that Mycroft hadn't actually been expecting for it to work. It feels good to know that even after they've been together for as long as they have he can still surprise Mycroft on occasion. He smiles and leans up for a kiss, lightly brushing his mouth against Mycroft's before drawing back.
"I think I'm ready," he says, and realizes in a rush that the words are true. He is ready. The idea is still terrifying but he knows he wants to do this.
"Are you certain?" Mycroft looks him over carefully. "There is no turning back once the change starts."
"I know. I've been thinking about it for a while now. I don't want you to be alone." He brushes the back of his hand against Mycroft's cheek, feeling an amazing rush of love for this man, this bloody man who captured his heart and never let it go.
"Gregory - "
"That's not the only reason I'm doing it, My. I have my own reasons and you're going to have to trust that I know myself well enough to know I want to do this."
"I do trust you," Mycroft says without hesitation. There aren't many people he can say that to and mean it but Greg knows he's one of them and his smile grows.
"Good. Then take me to bed and let's do this, yeah?"
He can’t help being nervous as they move to the bedroom and begin to undress. This is as good as marriage, better then. But he feels better as he watches Mycroft take his clothing off piece by piece and fold it with careful precision, laying it neatly upon the chair. Greg, who is far messier, takes everything off and chucks it over his shoulder in the general direction of the hamper. He sits on the edge of the bed and obligingly spreads his thighs when Mycroft, stark naked, comes to stand between his knees. Mycroft looks down at him and there's an incredible softness to his expression that makes Greg warm all over. He breathes out slowly and presses a kiss to Mycroft's belly button.
"Gregory." A warm hand comes up over his neck, rubbing gently. "We don't have to mate today. The change - it can be difficult, painful for the first time, and I'm not sure that mating at the same time would be - "
"Just do it," Greg interrupts. "Seriously, My, I don't care if it hurts. It's sweet that you want to avoid causing me pain but if we're going to do this I want to do it right and make sure it takes the first time." He really doesn't want to be an unbonded omega werewolf. He might not even have a heat cycle but he's seen what happens to omegas that are claimed by alphas whether they wanted to be or not to not want to take the risk. Even though he's confident he can protect himself there's no point in taking the chance. And also, if Mycroft bites him today, this close to the moon, and they mate at the same time he’ll definitely change.
"Alright," Mycroft murmurs after a moment's pause. He bends down and tilts Greg's chin up and presses a kiss to his mouth, one that swiftly deepens into something more, something hot and passionate that makes Greg's cock start to swell. He moans deep in his throat and willingly lets himself be guided backwards, scooting up the bed until he's leaning against the pillows with Mycroft hovering over him. He reaches up, sliding his hands over his lover's skin, tweaking playfully at the dusky nubs until Mycroft shivers.
He kisses Greg again, pressing his fingers to Greg's ribs, then down to his hips, rubbing soothing circles against the flesh. He follows the trail with his mouth, moving straight down Greg's chest until his chin bumps against cock. He breathes wetly over the half-erect shaft for a moment, licking his lips as though it's a delicious cake he’s about to devoir, and Greg moans again. There's nothing sexier than Mycroft Holmes right before he gives a blowjob, especially when Mycroft, delicately but with unerring precision, gives one rough lick from the base of his cock all the way to the head. Greg's cry sounds choked and he tries to buck but hands tighten on his hips to hold him in place as that sweet heat is repeated a second and then a third time.
Abruptly Mycroft's mouth descends and swallows him whole. Lights flash across Greg’s vision and he’s pretty sure he stops breathing. Mycroft is talented at loads of things but he’s got everyone beat in this area, like he’s been practicing his whole life (and maybe he has, Greg doesn’t even know anymore). A hot tongue moves over the slit, running beneath the foreskin, and then Mycroft sucks and bobs his head and hums and the vibration is so fucking good that even though Greg doesn’t want to come yet he still moans in disappointment when Mycroft pulls back as suddenly as he’d begun.
“Fucking hell,” he manages to rasp out, realizing that his fingers are clutching the sheets so tightly the cotton is ready to rip. “You’re way too good at that.”
“Indeed,” Mycroft says smugly. Somehow he’s procured a tube of lubrication and he pops the cap, one-handed, which Greg still can’t do even though he’s watched Mycroft do it several times. He squeezes some of the gel out onto his hand and rubs it across Greg’s entrance but he doesn’t push in, keeps it teasing, just the way they both like it. Mycroft can’t control himself as well when the full moon is so close and Greg likes a little burn, likes feeling it the next day.
He swings himself over onto his hands and knees. His cock slaps wetly against his belly and his balls hang heavy, already drawing up tight. Mycroft positions himself, leaking head pressed against his hole, and there’s only the briefest moment of hesitation, a split second where neither of them is sure, and then Greg shuts his eyes and pushes his hips back. It burns, yes it does, a delicious angry feeling that reverberates up his spine and into his belly, changing into little tingles of heat that make him shiver when Mycroft lets out a soft sound of appreciation as he pushes all the way in. His hands come to rest on Greg’s hips again.
“Sure,” Greg says raggedly. There’s sweat running down his forehead and the smell is strong, pungent. He wonders what Mycroft will smell like once he’s been changed. “I’m sure. Do it.”
“Gregory,” Mycroft whispers and his voice sounds almost reverent. He pulls out and then in, long deep thrusts that Greg fancies he can feel all the way up to his throat. He’s never been able to take Mycroft’s knot before. Wonders too, what that will feel like. He wants to find out.
Mycroft is excited, more so than he wants to let on, and he sets a fast, determined pace like he wants to see this through as quickly as possible. Each stroke hits Greg’s prostate exactly the way he likes it and he hears himself making a low keening sound, his body shuddering with every thrust. The burn is fading now, changing into something more subtle that adds to the pleasure, building it up. He wants to reach for his cock but he can’t, not without losing his balance and being shoved face first into the mattress. He’s at Mycroft’s mercy and he loves it, wants more, and he angles his hips with a desperate little moan.
And then Mycroft stops.
“What - ” It takes Greg a second to realize that only the head of that cock is inside of him. When he tries to push back again Mycroft stops him. He groans in frustration. “Mycroft, what?”
“I have to know,” Mycroft says and Jesus, he sounds utterly destroyed, “Gregory, you’re so beautiful, so perfect, but what changed your mind?”
Of course, of course he does, because Mycroft is a Holmes and really he and Sherlock have far more in common than either of them will ever admit. Greg drops his head and tries to think through the blur of pleasure. “I’ve known… for a while,” he says. “That it’d happen. I’d change, I mean.” His eyes flutter shut with a soft gasp when Mycroft slides back in, like a reward. “It wasn’t talking to John, but seeing him and - God - him and Sherlock, and how they act, and I want that with you.”
“Gregory…”
“I know what we have is a lot, My, but I want it all. I’m greedy that way.” He grins at the wall and bears down, squeezing hard, relishing Mycroft’s choked off cry. “Now come on, fuck me already.”
“You…” Mycroft trails off as he resumes, finding the rhythm with ease, and he doesn’t finish his sentence but that’s alright because Greg thinks he knows what Mycroft means. He arches his back and moans when Mycroft reaches around and grabs his cock, sliding his hand down the shaft, giving Greg something warm and slick to fuck. He knows this is it but he’s not scared or worried or anything except wanting.
“Mycroft… please…” he gasps.
“Yes, yes, now.” Another arm slides across his chest and draws him up so that his back is to Mycroft’s chest. Teeth sink deeply into the back of Greg’s neck, hard enough to draw blood, and he feels himself coming, body trembling and coming apart in Mycroft’s strong arms, fuelled by the burn in his neck and the wet feeling of Mycroft coming inside of him and Mycroft’s wrist presses against his nose and the smell, oh god the scent, the sweetness of pastry and hint of recycled air and clean suits and umbrellas with the dash of sweat, something that’s purely Mycroft hits so hard he feels boneless.
They collapse on the bed together, Mycroft pinning him down but rolling off quickly. He checks the mating mark on the back of Greg’s neck, fingers sliding over it gently, then licks away the blood. Greg is utterly exhausted, the heavy draw of sleep dragging him down, the body’s defence in light of the pending change: sending the mind into a temporary coma to protect it. The last thing he feels is Mycroft brushing a kiss over his forehead as he whispers words of love and encouragement into his ear.
Characters: Mycroft Holmes/Gregory Lestrade
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,750
Warnings: omega/beta/alpha dynamics, werewolf au
Summary: One-shot from the BTSM series. Greg has decided he's ready to become a werewolf and mate with Mycroft.
---
Gregory Lestrade comes from a small village north of London, about three hours drive, and it’s the kind of place where everyone knows everyone. He lived there until he was eighteen and left for uni, and during that time he never once met a werewolf. His parents only let him go after repeated warnings about how wolves couldn’t be trusted, which was a common enough attitude amongst humans: though one that Greg couldn’t afford to adopt, not if he wanted to become part of Scotland Yard. The place was run by wolves, the best and brightest, and humans that couldn’t accept that were tossed out.
It was a daunting task to be one of the few humans that proved good enough to be a copper but Greg was a plucky, determined sort and he never gave up when he really wanted something. He was patient and resourceful and did everything right until one December morning when he met a young werewolf by the name of Sherlock Holmes.
And then everything went to hell.
Well, Greg amends silently, looking at his lover from the corner of his eye. Mycroft is lost to the world, staring down at his mobile phone like it holds the secret to the universe - and in retrospect that may not be all that far from the truth. Not to hell, precisely, but a pretty close equivalent. He tries to imagine what his parents would have to say if they were alive to hear what he was contemplating. He gives up when he starts picturing all of the incoherent shrieking and sighs, switching his gaze back to the window.
There had been an instant attraction between him and Mycroft Holmes. Greg had done his best to avoid thinking about it but a Holmes, he had discovered all too quickly, was something like a disease, leeching their way in until they’d gone and poisoned everything and it was much easier to give in. So eventually he’d gotten tired of fighting the inevitable, of ignoring that spark and the dreams he had at night that made him feel like a seventeen-year-old kid and the wanting, and done it, given in that is, and he’d never looked back since.
The fact that he’s not a werewolf hasn’t been too much of a problem in the past but the older they both get the more Greg knows Mycroft thinks about it. He’s brought it up before, of course, but Greg has always shot the idea down and Mycroft has accepted that in his own quiet way. It’s not something he can push, they both know that. This is life changing and forever. And Greg’s really quite okay about being with Mycroft forever: it’s the whole omega werewolf thing he couldn’t wrap his mind around. Mycroft is an alpha and that makes the chances of Greg being an omega something like 99%. That’s a high number, much higher than he’s comfortable with considering all of the omega abuse he’s seen over the years.
Not that he thinks Mycroft would do… that. No, that’s not what this is about. He just doesn’t want to stop being Greg Lestrade.
For the first time, after meeting with and talking to John Watson, he thinks that maybe he doesn’t have to.
“You must be over the moon,” he says. “I never thought we’d find a bloke who could put up with Sherlock.”
“Doctor Watson is an exceptional man,” Mycroft agrees, a slightly smug smile curling his lips. “Perhaps he will be able to keep my brother suitably contained.”
Greg gives him an indulgent smile and a fond pat on the knee. He knows Mycroft is just as happy for Sherlock even though he’ll never admit it. There’s a light in Sherlock’s eyes now that Greg has never seen before and he knows it’s all because of one little blond army doctor who alternately fascinates and enthrals the great consulting detective. He can admit to himself that he wants to see that same light in Mycroft’s eyes, but that the thought of what it will take terrifies him.
Becoming a werewolf. A monster. The creatures the kids back home used to whisper about at night. Oh sure, there’re benefits: extended lifespan, for one thing, and increased healing. But there’s a downside too: being forced to change at every full moon, no exceptions. How other people will look at him, like he’s become something dangerous. And mating… good god, he’s seen what happens to werewolves who lose a mate. It’s like losing your heart. Most of them never recover. He’s not sure he wants to be, can be, that vulnerable. Frankly he’s shocked that Sherlock is willing to take the risk.
But there's something about the way in which John and Sherlock look at each other, those two men who only met a month ago but who seem to have a deep connection already, something that tells him that taking the chance may just be worth it.
The car finally pulls up in front of Mycroft's posh flat. He gets out and follows Mycroft inside, watching his lover's arse as Mycroft walks ahead of him. There's still time to think about it, of course. He doesn't need to make his decision right now. But he feels restless, almost, like he's tired of shying away from it. Because Greg knows there're two choices here: he will become a werewolf or he'll leave Mycroft, because he could never be cruel enough to make Mycroft watch him die from old age. And since the latter isn't really an option that only leaves one eventual route and he's never been the sort of bloke who sits around once a decision is made.
As soon as the door is closed behind them he pushes up against Mycroft, wrapping his arms around the man's belly and nuzzling his cheek against Mycroft's shoulder. "I want you to take me to bed," he mumbles into the expensive material. It's early yet but he knows there's a full moon tonight. He could be a werewolf tonight. His heart is pounding suddenly.
Mycroft must feel the change because he turns in the circle of Greg's arms and looks at him, adopting that 'I will figure this out' expression that he and Sherlock share. Greg lets him do it, lets Mycroft come to his own conclusions, and feels a small spark of satisfied pleasure when Mycroft's eyes go wide. He knows that Mycroft was hoping that talking to John might be the thing to tip Greg over. He also knows that Mycroft hadn't actually been expecting for it to work. It feels good to know that even after they've been together for as long as they have he can still surprise Mycroft on occasion. He smiles and leans up for a kiss, lightly brushing his mouth against Mycroft's before drawing back.
"I think I'm ready," he says, and realizes in a rush that the words are true. He is ready. The idea is still terrifying but he knows he wants to do this.
"Are you certain?" Mycroft looks him over carefully. "There is no turning back once the change starts."
"I know. I've been thinking about it for a while now. I don't want you to be alone." He brushes the back of his hand against Mycroft's cheek, feeling an amazing rush of love for this man, this bloody man who captured his heart and never let it go.
"Gregory - "
"That's not the only reason I'm doing it, My. I have my own reasons and you're going to have to trust that I know myself well enough to know I want to do this."
"I do trust you," Mycroft says without hesitation. There aren't many people he can say that to and mean it but Greg knows he's one of them and his smile grows.
"Good. Then take me to bed and let's do this, yeah?"
He can’t help being nervous as they move to the bedroom and begin to undress. This is as good as marriage, better then. But he feels better as he watches Mycroft take his clothing off piece by piece and fold it with careful precision, laying it neatly upon the chair. Greg, who is far messier, takes everything off and chucks it over his shoulder in the general direction of the hamper. He sits on the edge of the bed and obligingly spreads his thighs when Mycroft, stark naked, comes to stand between his knees. Mycroft looks down at him and there's an incredible softness to his expression that makes Greg warm all over. He breathes out slowly and presses a kiss to Mycroft's belly button.
"Gregory." A warm hand comes up over his neck, rubbing gently. "We don't have to mate today. The change - it can be difficult, painful for the first time, and I'm not sure that mating at the same time would be - "
"Just do it," Greg interrupts. "Seriously, My, I don't care if it hurts. It's sweet that you want to avoid causing me pain but if we're going to do this I want to do it right and make sure it takes the first time." He really doesn't want to be an unbonded omega werewolf. He might not even have a heat cycle but he's seen what happens to omegas that are claimed by alphas whether they wanted to be or not to not want to take the risk. Even though he's confident he can protect himself there's no point in taking the chance. And also, if Mycroft bites him today, this close to the moon, and they mate at the same time he’ll definitely change.
"Alright," Mycroft murmurs after a moment's pause. He bends down and tilts Greg's chin up and presses a kiss to his mouth, one that swiftly deepens into something more, something hot and passionate that makes Greg's cock start to swell. He moans deep in his throat and willingly lets himself be guided backwards, scooting up the bed until he's leaning against the pillows with Mycroft hovering over him. He reaches up, sliding his hands over his lover's skin, tweaking playfully at the dusky nubs until Mycroft shivers.
He kisses Greg again, pressing his fingers to Greg's ribs, then down to his hips, rubbing soothing circles against the flesh. He follows the trail with his mouth, moving straight down Greg's chest until his chin bumps against cock. He breathes wetly over the half-erect shaft for a moment, licking his lips as though it's a delicious cake he’s about to devoir, and Greg moans again. There's nothing sexier than Mycroft Holmes right before he gives a blowjob, especially when Mycroft, delicately but with unerring precision, gives one rough lick from the base of his cock all the way to the head. Greg's cry sounds choked and he tries to buck but hands tighten on his hips to hold him in place as that sweet heat is repeated a second and then a third time.
Abruptly Mycroft's mouth descends and swallows him whole. Lights flash across Greg’s vision and he’s pretty sure he stops breathing. Mycroft is talented at loads of things but he’s got everyone beat in this area, like he’s been practicing his whole life (and maybe he has, Greg doesn’t even know anymore). A hot tongue moves over the slit, running beneath the foreskin, and then Mycroft sucks and bobs his head and hums and the vibration is so fucking good that even though Greg doesn’t want to come yet he still moans in disappointment when Mycroft pulls back as suddenly as he’d begun.
“Fucking hell,” he manages to rasp out, realizing that his fingers are clutching the sheets so tightly the cotton is ready to rip. “You’re way too good at that.”
“Indeed,” Mycroft says smugly. Somehow he’s procured a tube of lubrication and he pops the cap, one-handed, which Greg still can’t do even though he’s watched Mycroft do it several times. He squeezes some of the gel out onto his hand and rubs it across Greg’s entrance but he doesn’t push in, keeps it teasing, just the way they both like it. Mycroft can’t control himself as well when the full moon is so close and Greg likes a little burn, likes feeling it the next day.
He swings himself over onto his hands and knees. His cock slaps wetly against his belly and his balls hang heavy, already drawing up tight. Mycroft positions himself, leaking head pressed against his hole, and there’s only the briefest moment of hesitation, a split second where neither of them is sure, and then Greg shuts his eyes and pushes his hips back. It burns, yes it does, a delicious angry feeling that reverberates up his spine and into his belly, changing into little tingles of heat that make him shiver when Mycroft lets out a soft sound of appreciation as he pushes all the way in. His hands come to rest on Greg’s hips again.
“Sure,” Greg says raggedly. There’s sweat running down his forehead and the smell is strong, pungent. He wonders what Mycroft will smell like once he’s been changed. “I’m sure. Do it.”
“Gregory,” Mycroft whispers and his voice sounds almost reverent. He pulls out and then in, long deep thrusts that Greg fancies he can feel all the way up to his throat. He’s never been able to take Mycroft’s knot before. Wonders too, what that will feel like. He wants to find out.
Mycroft is excited, more so than he wants to let on, and he sets a fast, determined pace like he wants to see this through as quickly as possible. Each stroke hits Greg’s prostate exactly the way he likes it and he hears himself making a low keening sound, his body shuddering with every thrust. The burn is fading now, changing into something more subtle that adds to the pleasure, building it up. He wants to reach for his cock but he can’t, not without losing his balance and being shoved face first into the mattress. He’s at Mycroft’s mercy and he loves it, wants more, and he angles his hips with a desperate little moan.
And then Mycroft stops.
“What - ” It takes Greg a second to realize that only the head of that cock is inside of him. When he tries to push back again Mycroft stops him. He groans in frustration. “Mycroft, what?”
“I have to know,” Mycroft says and Jesus, he sounds utterly destroyed, “Gregory, you’re so beautiful, so perfect, but what changed your mind?”
Of course, of course he does, because Mycroft is a Holmes and really he and Sherlock have far more in common than either of them will ever admit. Greg drops his head and tries to think through the blur of pleasure. “I’ve known… for a while,” he says. “That it’d happen. I’d change, I mean.” His eyes flutter shut with a soft gasp when Mycroft slides back in, like a reward. “It wasn’t talking to John, but seeing him and - God - him and Sherlock, and how they act, and I want that with you.”
“Gregory…”
“I know what we have is a lot, My, but I want it all. I’m greedy that way.” He grins at the wall and bears down, squeezing hard, relishing Mycroft’s choked off cry. “Now come on, fuck me already.”
“You…” Mycroft trails off as he resumes, finding the rhythm with ease, and he doesn’t finish his sentence but that’s alright because Greg thinks he knows what Mycroft means. He arches his back and moans when Mycroft reaches around and grabs his cock, sliding his hand down the shaft, giving Greg something warm and slick to fuck. He knows this is it but he’s not scared or worried or anything except wanting.
“Mycroft… please…” he gasps.
“Yes, yes, now.” Another arm slides across his chest and draws him up so that his back is to Mycroft’s chest. Teeth sink deeply into the back of Greg’s neck, hard enough to draw blood, and he feels himself coming, body trembling and coming apart in Mycroft’s strong arms, fuelled by the burn in his neck and the wet feeling of Mycroft coming inside of him and Mycroft’s wrist presses against his nose and the smell, oh god the scent, the sweetness of pastry and hint of recycled air and clean suits and umbrellas with the dash of sweat, something that’s purely Mycroft hits so hard he feels boneless.
They collapse on the bed together, Mycroft pinning him down but rolling off quickly. He checks the mating mark on the back of Greg’s neck, fingers sliding over it gently, then licks away the blood. Greg is utterly exhausted, the heavy draw of sleep dragging him down, the body’s defence in light of the pending change: sending the mind into a temporary coma to protect it. The last thing he feels is Mycroft brushing a kiss over his forehead as he whispers words of love and encouragement into his ear.