Chapter Text
Mycroft sits in his home office and stares dubiously at the mobile on his desk in front of him, his fingers give a slight twitch, but he refrains from reaching out. As always, he has his silent debate, if he's going to give in to temptation or not. Of course, he will inevitably, but at least these few moments let him pretend he's in control of his desires. The first time he was nervous, but after that, the feeling turned into delicious anticipation. It is not something he needs to engage in, but it is incredibly indulgent of him.
He eyes the innocent-looking wireless earpiece next to his mobile. He never required one before, but it appeared on his desk a few weeks after discovering his new pastime. Mycroft had struggled to look Anthea in the face for a week. His phone was encrypted and secure, but she was his right hand for a reason. He knew she knew why being" hands-free" might be beneficial.
The internal debate over, Mycroft picks up the earpiece, hooks it around his right ear, reaches for his mobile, and holds his breath as he dials the memorized number. He listens to the beeps as he keys in the options for the prompts inquired by the prerecorded voice. His whole body thrums in expectancy as he waits on the line, gripping the mobile tightly in his hand.
"Hi, my name is Gary," a male voice huskily purrs on the other line, "who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"
Mycroft bites his bottom lip, putting the mobile back on the desk, and leans back in his chair, his hands on the armrests. Good lord , he thinks, the man's voice never fails to make him melt. It's like liquid smoke, and the sound sends tremors straight to his groin. It also reminds him of a particular silvered hair individual of a similar name. It dangerously blurs the line of reality, but it's not something Mycroft is willing to stop.
"Good evening, Gary," he replies.
There is a surprised inhale on the other line and then a breathy response, "Hello Gorgeous."
Mycroft feels his face go hot, and his stomach gives a little flip at the nickname. It's flattering that Gary still recognizes his voice and always seems happy to hear him. He was too apprehensive the first time to provide a name, so Gary took to calling him different endearments. Mycroft doesn't mind them, so he never felt the need to change the status quo. Gary just always knows it's him.
"I was hoping you would call tonight," the voice continues. "I missed you these past two weeks," Mycroft can practically hear the pout.
"My apologies," Mycroft licks his dry lips, wetting them. "Unforeseen circumstances had me unable to participate in our usual conference."
"Fuck, it's okay," Gary groans (no, Greg, Mycroft's mind corrects, this is part of the fantasy after all). "God, your voice. The way you talk. I missed it so much. Jesus, my cock is already getting hard for you."
Mycroft shifts in his seat, his cock starting to respond in kind. It was ridiculous how pavlovian it all was. His fingers flex on the armrests, but he makes no effort to move yet, "I admit your voice does the same for me."
"Yeah?" Greg's voice is gravely and velvet-edged simultaneously," Have you had a long day, sweetheart? Want do you need tonight?"
Mycroft inhales and exhales slowly, his mind racing through different scenarios, but all he can think about is Lestrade's attractive face the last time he saw him. Unfortunately, it had been when he had to take Lestrade's current case from him, national security concerns, of course. He could tell the other man had wanted to argue from the stubborn set of his chin and mouth thinned with displeasure. He had noted the dark tired eyes and the shadow of two days worth of stubble outlining his strong jawline. Silver hair disheveled in a stark contrast to the man’s tanned skin.
All of it had made Mycroft want , and he did his best to keep his face cold and stoic. But then Lestrade's eyes lazily roamed his figure, and there was a flash of white as his lips set in a mischievous grin. The look he had given Mycroft sent goosebumps down his arms; it was the look of "I know something you don't know." As if there was a secret, Mycroft wasn't privy to. Before Mycroft could deduce anything more, Lestrade had turned around and was already ordering his team to pack up. It had left Mycroft feeling unsteady.
"Gorgeous?" Gary's voice pulls Mycroft back to the present, "What do you need?"
"You," Mycroft says lamely and winces.
Greg gives a warm chuckle. "You already have me, love. What can I do to help release that stress I hear in your voice, hmm? Do you need to fuck me? Pin me down and have your way with me. Or maybe I could fuck you, nice and slow? Take my time filling you up, teasing you, make you beg for me to thrust into you."
"Good lord," Mycroft moans, "your mouth."
"My mouth?" Mycroft hears the smirk in Greg's voice. "Would you like to fuck my mouth? Shove your cock down my throat. Make your dick nice and wet?"
"Yes." Mycroft sighs, finally pressing his right palm against his crotch; he's already half hard.
"Are you wearing one of your suits tonight?"
"Yes," Mycroft says, blinks, then adds, "no jacket, sleeves rolls up to my forearms."
"Waistcoat and sleeve garters still on?"
Mycroft lets out an affirmative hum that turns into a soft whimper as he presses down again, giving himself some friction. His nipples tighten, and his shirt feels rough against his sensitive skin.
"Fuck me up," Greg says, "that's so hot. I love knowing you're all dressed up. So put together. I want to take you apart. I want to ruin you."
Mycroft gasps, "please."
"Go ahead and push your trouser and pants down but not all the way." Greg's voice is smooth but insistent. "Leave the rest of your clothes on; I want to imagine you at your desk dressed up but with your cock out. I can't wait to get my mouth on you." Greg pauses as Mycroft breath catches, and Mycroft quickly moves to obey.
"Get some lube and make your self wet for me." Greg continues.
Mycroft reaches for the small bottle of lube in his desk drawer. It's water-based and feels silky-smooth against his skin. It was another addition he found the same day as the earpiece. Bless Anthea.
Mycroft lets out a filthy moan as his lubed hand wraps around his heated cock, he can feel his pulse throb, and he lightly spreads the wetness from root to tip and back down.
"Good boy." Greg purrs, "I love hearing the noises you make. I can't wait to get my mouth on you. I want to run my tongue all over your dick, my mouth stretching as I take you. Would you like that, you could put your hand on my throat and feel as I swallow you all the way down."
Mycroft strokes himself up and down slowly, as he imagines Lestrade in front of him on his knees, gripping the salt and pepper hair as he uses the other man's mouth. Greg is right; he would love to slide his other hand down and feel Lestrades's throat. He would leave his thumb against the corner of the older man's lips, feeling the stretch of his mouth and the gathering saliva. Mycroft would hold Lestrade's head still as he took his pleasure, thrusting up into the wet heat.
Mycroft grunts and reaches with his other hand to pull lightly on his balls, they barely started, and he already feels dangerously close. It's been too long. A large bead of precum wells up at the tip of his dick, and swipes his thumb over it.
In a lower throatier tone, Greg asks, "Do you like that, love?" and then, "Fuck, I need to touch myself, just listening to those noises you make."
"Fuck, please, touch yourself while you suck my cock" Mycroft replies, and his mind diligently provides the updated imagery of Lestrade, on his knees, tugging on his cock as he moans around Mycroft.
Mycroft hears the rustle of movement on the other line, and Greg gives a deep laugh that's all kinds of dirty and Mycroft's toes curl inside his shoes, "Christ, I don't even need lube right now." Greg breathes. Mycroft can imagine the wicked grin with the next words, "you should see the wet spot on my pants, Posh. Fuck me up. I wish-" his voice cuts off as he whimpers and lets out a shaky exhale. "God, I want you to pull my hair and feed your cock to me. I want my eyes to water as you use me, I want to gag on your dick."
Mycroft lets himself get lost in the sound of the other man's voice. His body tingles as Greg's velvet murmur whispers dirty things to him, edging him closer and close to climax. Eventually, he's too warm; there's sweat collecting under the collar of his shirt that is clinging to his damp body. His arse and exposed thighs are sticking to the leather of his chair. His trousers and pants pulled taut at his knees, where his legs are trapped, unable to spread further than what fabric allows. His skin feels tight, and he feels like he's going to burst into flames at any moment. It's suffocating. It's overwhelming. It's glorious.
"That's it," Greg's voice is thick and unsteady, "Come for me, gorgeous. Come in my mouth."
"Oh God, Gre-" Mycroft bites his lip, barely avoiding the slip-up, but Greg's command is enough for the tension to snap, and Mycroft finally tips over the edge. His vision whites out, and he feels a rush of pleasure that seems to burst forth from his center. His toes feel as if he dipped them into ice water while his ears blaze with heat. His cock throbs as he releases in thick spurts over his hand and trousers. He distantly hears Greg keen as he also finds his relief, his breath coming in harsh over the earpiece.
There's a few moments of silence, and Mycroft relaxes, loosely holding his softening cock; his head feels light and like he's underwater, and he gives a few slow blinks. The world feels muted, and the constant hum of his thoughts has temporarily ceased.
Greg's horse whisper breaks the silence, "you still with me, Gorgeous?"
Mycroft gives a soft hum and reaches for some tissues to clean up, "that is debatable at this moment."
Greg laughs in agreement, and Mycroft can hear movement on the other line. "Fuck, I really missed you, you have no idea. I haven't come like that in a while."
Mycroft raises an eyebrow, "I would assume you have many opportunities to," he trails off.
Greg snorts, "Well, yeah, but no one gets me all hot and bothered like you, Posh."
Mycroft rolls his eyes, but says coyly, "I can attribute the same responses to you as well, Gary."
They exchange a few small pleasantries with a promise to call again next week, and Mycroft hangs up the phone. His limbs feel heavy, and he suddenly wants nothing but to collapse into his waiting bed. He has a long busy day ahead of him tomorrow, and he should try to get some sleep. If he's lucky, his dreams might work in favor tonight and feature his favorite inspector.
Halfway across London, Greg Lestrade tosses his mobile down and uses his shirt to clean himself up. His heart is still pounding from his orgasm, and the revelation that he is almost 100% sure his posh caller is Mycroft. At first, it was just a fantasy, a guilty pleasure to think about, tease himself with since the voice evoked Mycroft's image from the start. He never believed that the younger man would ever call a sex hotline; hell, no one knew Greg even did it on the side. After his divorce, it seemed like a fun thing to try, make some extra money.
However, all the pieces have slowly started coming together; the voice, the suits, the late nights, and the irregular business trips. Earlier that day, Sherlock lamented that Mycroft was back in town after being away on a trip and how peaceful the last two weeks had been without him around. Then the same day, there's a call from Mr. Gorgeous himself.
Greg groans, leaning back against his couch, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, "fuck me up."