Chapter Text
“Enough! I want a turn.” Sherlock pushed Lestrade, making him stumble to the side, interrupting the kiss. Mycroft looked bland, perhaps slightly displeased, “And you will get it, Sherlock. There is no need for violence here.”
“No need, maybe, but what if I want a little slap and bang, ‘croftie? What are you going to do then? Trying to protect him is useless. I always get what I want in the end.”
Mycroft looked at his brother for a long moment and sighed heavily, a silent condemnation, “Very well, we’ll do it your way tonight, but I’ll have your word that he’s mine after this. You don’t know how to take proper care of your playmates,” He completely ignored Lestrade’s huff of displeasure at the title, “and I... enjoy the Inspector.”
Sherlock looked momentarily surprised by the admission, and then scowled, “I’ll want a replacement.”
“Of course,” Mycroft replied smoothly, “you’ll have your pick of subjects.”
“Fine,” Sherlock almost spat the word, looking suspicious, not sure he had gotten the better end of the deal.
Mycroft smiled back, pleasant mask in place, “Shall we adjourn to the bedroom?”
“No. I want him here,”
The petulance was overwhelming. Sherlock was determined to wrest every concession he could get from his brother. Lestrade, who had been watching the exchange closely, a bit chilled at it, maybe relieved, he couldn’t be sure, decided to voice his thoughts; gambling on his knowledge of Sherlock.
“Here’s fine with me. Less work. Don’t have to deal with a bed,” Sherlock’s expression went dark, and Lestrade realised he’d made a mistake.
Sherlock pulled on Lestrade’s shoulder until they faced one another. He crowded in, doing his best to intimidate. “Don’t try to predict or manipulate me, Lestrade, you don’t get a say in what we’re doing tonight,” He looked up at his brother, standing innocently to the side, “A bedroom would be lovely, Mycroft, after we’re done in here. Your stolen bit of rough-“ Another shove sent Lestrade staggering into the wall, “needs a lesson in respect.”
After they were through in the sitting room, Lestrade was missing half his clothing and had gained a few bruises. His lips felt puffy and stung a bit, too. Sherlock hadn’t (wouldn’t) come, but that hadn’t stopped him from making use of Lestrade’s mouth.
They went to a different room than Mycroft and Lestrade generally used. Lestrade wasn’t very surprised; Mycroft was very particular about his spaces.
Sherlock manhandled Lestrade out of the rest of his clothing, shoving trousers and pants down roughly.
“Mycroft, get me-“
“Yes, yes, I know.”
Sherlock slowed down for a bit, exploring. Lestrade left his hands at his sides, deciding Sherlock would (and could, thank you) demand whatever touching he wanted. His playmate for the night was thorough, testing every inch of his upper body with pressing fingers and the occasional pinch.
Lestrade jumped slightly when Sherlock grabbed his arse and pulled him in for a deep kiss. Despite the distraction, Lestrade mind couldn’t stop whirring with speculation and irrelevant thoughts. He was hard, didn’t want to be, but some things couldn’t be helped. He’d learned that long ago. Carpet-muffled footsteps came up behind him, and he gasped in surprise as Sherlock spun him around, pushing him chest-first into Mycroft, his cinnamon-y scent rushing to meet his quick breaths, keeping his arms pinned behind him. There was a sudden feeling of cold around his wrists and the distinctive sound of handcuffs closing.
Lestrade jerked his head around to look at Sherlock angrily. “Sherlock. Let me go. Handcuffs aren’t safe for this kind of playing.”
Sherlock’s grip on Lestrade’s forearms firmed as a satisfied smirk crossed his face. “How tragically misinformed, the toy thinks it can tell me what to do.”
Lestrade snarled and twisted, trying to break Sherlock’s grip and get in his face, hurt him. Sherlock and Mycroft stopped him from getting anywhere. “I am not your goddamned toy!”
Sherlock laughed, loud and deep, the sound seemed to echo mockingly. “You almost make me wish I had been fucking you the past few months, Inspector. You’re so more much fun to bait when sex is on the table.”
They stared at each other for a minute, Sherlock self-satisfied and cruel. Lestrade desperate; unwilling to give in.
Mycroft cleared his throat, breaking the silence.
Sherlock scowled, “Don’t rush me, brother. We have all night.”
“If that’s what you wish, Sherlock, but we all have duties to attend in the morning, and not all of us are impervious to lack of sleep.”
“I’ve never understood how you can stand letting your body rule you,” Sherlock said with disgust, and pulled Lestrade from Mycroft’s grip. Once they reached the bed, Lestrade was propelled face first on the mattress. He hit the bed with his chest, unable to bring his hands forward to cushion his landing. The noise of impact, his breath rushing out, overwhelmed his senses for a few seconds. He was quickly made aware of the rest of his body when Sherlock kicked open his legs, which were still off the bed.
Lestrade tried to rear up, helped a bit by the stability of his wide stance, but was forced back down by a hand between his shoulder blades.
“Look at him, hard even though he doesn’t want it. You’ll really give up fighting eventually, I expect,” Sherlock’s voice drawled, “I wonder if we’ll get there tonight? Would you like to try, Lestrade?” Sherlock had moved closer, speaking directly into Lestrade’s ear, Lestrade felt a shiver pass through him at the menace in the tone.
“No,” his voice came out a rasp, and he growled to get it working again. “No. I said no! I mean it. I’m not going to stop meaning it. I don’t care-“ the rest of his sentence was muffled into intelligibility as Sherlock’s long-fingered hand clapped over Lestrade’s mouth.
“You ‘enjoy’ this, Mycroft? You aren’t the type to enjoy combat. Tuh!” Sherlock had successfully avoided being bitten, but Lestrade, somewhat childishly, had licked him. He took his wet hand from over Lestrade’s mouth and slapped the back of his head. Lestrade immediately began to shout threats interspersed with cries for help, figuring he had nothing to lose at this stage. His attempts to kick or move off the bed were hampered by his position.
Sherlock’s sneer was impressive, from what Lestrade could see peripherally, and he shoved his hand over Lestrade’s mouth again, trying to keep him quiet, but not succeeding terribly well.
“Mycroft! Get me a gag and a paddle. If our Inspector wants to act like a child, we can treat him like one.”
Lestrade couldn’t hear over his own struggles and semi-muffled shouts, but the sudden presence of a rubber ball in his mouth testified that Mycroft had once again followed orders. He struggled to spit it out, of course, but Sherlock had pulled it tight, and fastened it before he could do more than start. Why was he so surprised that Mycroft had bondage gear? He’d never used it on Lestrade, but then, he’d never needed to, had he?
“Help me move him. Hold his legs,” Sherlock’s clipped orders had Lestrade manhandled over his lap, in prime position for a spanking, which Lestrade hadn’t been in since his childhood. He was pinned by a hand on his neck, and pressure on his legs. Was Mycroft sitting on him?
The first blow came as a surprise, hard enough for the sound of it to ring in the room. Lestrade flinched unintentionally; hands clenching and unclenching. Damn, Sherlock had more muscle than he’d guessed. His cock brushed Sherlock’s lap as he un-tensed, and he suppressed a groan. This was not on.
It was a surprisingly silent ordeal, with the sound of hard slaps and heaving breaths the loudest thing in the room. Eventually, it started hurting enough to bring noises from Lestrade’s throat without permission. Something wet trickled down his cheek, and he wondered briefly if Sherlock was drooling on him before realizing he was crying. God, it hurt. Would it never stop? Sherlock didn’t seem to be tiring, each blow just as hard as the last, with the shortest of pauses between them.
Eventually, Lestrade relaxed, too exhausted to continue, riding the pain, accepting it in a way he’d done before. This was his world now, being hurt for little reason beyond trying to be his own man. His attempts at independence weren’t working. Had they ever? He started to push his cock against Sherlock’s legs intentionally then back as each blow landed, craving more stimulation. It didn’t matter what kind.
“There you are, all loose and ready for a good, long fuck, aren’t you now?” Someone crooned. Oh, right, Sherlock. Lestrade’s muscles tried to tense against the threat, but couldn’t. Lestrade didn’t feel entirely present, floating somewhere in his own head.
The pressure on his legs lifted, and he moved them restlessly, restoring circulation, not trying to go anywhere, too lost to make a plan that involved resisting.
A hand pushed against his calves, “Stop that, no more moving until I say. Do you understand, Lestrade?”
Lestrade hummed back in response, shuddering slightly as the hand moved up to his very hot Burning. Can skin burst into flame on its own? and sore arse.
“I’ll bet you’re a great fuck. Those little noises you were making? You’re going to make them again soon. He’s a proper slut, isn’t he, Mycroft?”
“Of course,” Another hand smoothed down Lestrade’s back, hitting the blockade of his arms, and running back up them to his shoulders. Lestrade arched into the touch, concentrating on the feel of it, the pleasure of being praised and petted after being threatened and scared for so long.
The hands unbuckled the gag, taking it away, and pulled his hips up, folded his legs beneath him, stretching his punished arse and making him hiss. “Please...”
“It’s begging now, isn’t that sweet? What do you want, hmm? Do you need a good, long fuck, little toy?” A finger pushed in, slick with lube. Lestrade cried out at the pleasure.
“Yes, more...”
“More...what?” Two fingers inside now, hooking and pulling out, hitting something that sent sparks of pleasure through Lestrade. He grunted contentedly, then whined when three fingers were forced into him too early. “Answer the question.”
“I- More, please?” Lestrade sighed as the three fingers drew out and only two came back, stretching wide, but not causing the burn three fingers had.
The rest of the preparation went the same way, with Sherlock and Mycroft forcing answers out of a pliant Lestrade, who would do anything to please, to get the promised pleasure. Finally, finally he was rewarded. A thick cock he was unfamiliar with this way stretched him open, wider than he’d been stretched with fingers. He whined, trying to push back against it and forward away at the same time. Sherlock held his hips still and refused to stop until he was buried. He stayed inside for a moment, savouring the feeling? Lestrade breathed deeply, slowing his exhales, clenching and relaxing with each breath around the intrusion.
Sherlock pulled out a bit too early for it to be entirely comfortable, but the pleasure was over-ruling the pain at this point. He set a drawn out pace, pushing in slowly, but pulling out abruptly. Lestrade tried to quicken the pace, get his prostrate stroked a bit, but Sherlock refused to change, digging fingers into his heated backside to reprimand his toy for being demanding.
Lestrade surrendered more easily this time, sinking back into the floaty space he’d found earlier, taking in all the sensations of being fucked. At some point, soft hands took his jaw and pushed a cock into his mouth. Sherlock and Mycroft set a complementary rhythm, pushing the body between them onto the other’s cock.
Sherlock came first, his pace getting faster, then stuttering towards the end. He pulled out halfway through, spurting warm come on Lestrade’s still hot arse.
“Not a bad fuck for an old man. We’ll see about another round later,” With that, Sherlock crawled to the unused portion of the bed, collapsing on his side to enjoy his hard-earned endorphins, and watch his brother at work.
Mycroft pulled carefully out of Lestrade’s mouth. Lestrade had done his best to please, covering his teeth and using his best techniques, including a few Mycroft had taught him. He was a bit glad for the respite; his jaw ached from being held open too long. Another dick pushed into his arse, thankfully freshly covered in lube. He moaned at the sensations flooding him: soreness, from his arsehole and his bum as hands caressed it, slick intrusion and fleeting pleasure as his prostrate was brushed. A warm chest leaned onto his back, and a voice sounded next to his ear.
“Gregory, you’re going to help me roll you over, now.” And he did, the manoeuvre a bit tricky while still impaled, but they managed.
Mycroft pushed his knees to his chest, and Lestrade held them there, familiar with this routine.
“Look at me, love.”
Lestrade’s eyes opened, blinking slowly in the low light of the room. When had he closed them? Mycroft’s face was soft, affectionate. He started moving, setting a more urgent pace, his need denied too long. His hand reached down, fisting Lestrade’s cock gently, pacing it with his own thrusts.
“Come for me, Gregory; show me what it feels like.”
Lestrade let go, not having realised he’d been holding back before. Waiting for something. It took precious few pulls of Mycroft’s soft hands before he came, grunting softly.
Mycroft’s own eyes fluttered and closed, overwhelmed by Lestrade’s body pulsing around him. His thrusts became more urgent, rough, until he froze over Lestrade, groaning softly. Lestrade felt his chest compress as Mycroft relaxed onto him, lying on top of him as he rarely did.
It took several minutes for anyone to speak again. Mycroft broke the silence.
“Most enjoyable. Thank you, brother. Gregory is rarely this pleased to comply with my wishes. Perhaps I will allow another encounter to take place in the future.”
“Hmph, you were always too soft to get the results you need, Mycroft.”
“Back to insults, then? Well, one cannot gain the world in a day,” Mycroft’s tone was philosophical.
“I never stopped insulting you, weren’t you listening? Sex makes you stupid,” Sherlock got up, delivering this scathing commentary whilst searching for hastily discarded clothing.
“Maybe, but perhaps stupidity increases enjoyment of the act. Leaving so soon?”
“Your nauseating display of emotion put me off further activities.”
“As you like, Sherlock, do be so good as to call the next time you wish to visit,”
Sherlock huffed, finished his dressing, and made to leave.
Mycroft called after him, “Goodbye, brother mine. Be safe.”
“When have I ever been safe?”
“Right, try for me, then?”
“Never,” the door closed, not quite slamming.
Mycroft sighed, condensing all his disappointment and worry into a single act. “That boy will never grow up, I fear.” He turned to Lestrade, who was still dozing, unwilling to wake and face the world, however changed for the better it was now. “At least I have someone to protect him on the ground,” He kissed Lestrade’s forehead, noting the shudder that ran through the man’s frame at the gesture. “Sleep while you can, my love, we have busy days to face tomorrow.”