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Clear My Thursday

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Mycroft Holmes looked over the files on his desk. He enjoyed the quiet of the Diogenes, the knowledge that there would be no arguments outside his door. In his office, of course, he spoke, and sometimes quite forcefully, but the Diogenes was a nearly blissful retreat from the noise and ruckus of London.

On the top of the files was a picture of one Gregory Lestrade, Police Inspector, Scotland Yard. He’d been working with Sherlock for a few weeks now, and things seemed to be going well. But of course, one never quite knew with Sherlock. His little brother was the irritating grit in the otherwise smooth gears of his life.

And truly, he had no serious complaints. Of course the Americans could be annoying, and there was always some crisis or another, but it was just the right amount of challenge for a man like him. And he always got his way in the end.

In six minutes, Gregory Lestrade would be walking into his office. Mycroft would explain the difficulties of Sherlock to him, and extract a promise to mind him. Sherlock needed a minder, and at least Lestrade seemed to have more patience to tolerate him than most. The very fact that Sherlock had stayed sober for nearly a month was testament to that fact.

Smiling softly to himself, he stacked the files into a neat pile, leaving Lestrade’s on the top. He was an excellent policeman, with a good record. The sort of solid, strong man that England was built on.

Five minutes to go now. Mycroft stood and turned on the kettle. Lestrade was more of a coffee man, but he wouldn’t turn down tea. After all, he was polite. Mycroft stretched and pulled down his waistcoat, frowning a bit at himself. Need to do a few more laps on the treadmill, apparently.

Suddenly the door swung open. Mycroft turned towards it, half expecting some sort of threat, but instead finding himself face to face with one irritated Detective Inspector. Early. Only by three minutes, but still.

“You the bloke that saw fit to have me lifted from the street?” growled Lestrade, door still open behind him.

Quickly recovering himself, Mycroft strode over and shut the door. “Ah. Yes, Inspector. Forgive me, but it was imperative that you and I speak. It’s a private matter, I’m afraid.”

Lestrade looked him up and down. “You’re Sherlock’s brother, aren’t you? He warned me you’d be lurking about.”

Damn. Mycroft put on a smile. “I am, in fact, his elder brother, yes.”

“Well he’s still clean, if that’s what you want to know.” Lestrade walked over and sat without asking, leaving Mycroft by the door.

Blinking a few times, Mycroft walked over to the sideboard. “Tea?”

“I’m off work, now, got anything stronger?”

Mycroft looked back at him and noticed Lestrade was eyeing the good scotch he kept on a shelf behind his desk.

“I’m afraid I am still on the clock, however, a single glass would hardly do any harm.” Mycroft shut off the kettle and walked over for the scotch, reaching a bit to collect a pair of glasses. When he turned back again he thought perhaps Lestrade had been checking out his posterior. Surely he must be imagining it.

Clearing his throat, Mycroft poured them each two fingers and put the scotch on the side table. Lestrade reached across his desk and picked up the folder with his picture on it. Mycroft barely resisted the urge to slap his hand away.

“I’m sure you understand with my brother’s history, why I would be concerned regarding any new associates.”

Lestrade grunted a small response, flipping the folder open and sipping his scotch. Mycroft stared at him for a moment, then gathered the other folders and bent over to put them in a filing cabinet. When he turned back again Lestrade didn’t even try to pretend he hadn’t been looking.

Mycroft adjusted his tie and held out his hand for the file. “I’m certain there’s nothing in there that you don’t already know.”

Lestrade gave him a grin that made certain parts of Mycroft’s anatomy quickly stand up and pay attention. Mycroft did his best to ignore it and cleared his throat.

Lestrade threw back the rest of the very expensive scotch. He stood, chair scraping on the floor, and put the file into Mycroft’s hand. “That file, yeah. But what about you?”

Mycroft turned away from him and set the file on a side table to avoid bending over again. “I am only a minor government official.”

Turning back he found Lestrade had stepped around his desk and was leaning in with that irrepressible grin. “Bullshit.”

Mycroft blinked a few more times and reached over to take the glass from Lestrade’s hand. “I do believe you’ve had quiet enough, Inspector.”

“I thought you said you wanted to discuss a… private matter.”

Good Lord, not only was the man a heathen, but he was positively lewd. That hadn’t been in the file.

Mycroft cleared his throat again, the air in the room suddenly seeming to be too thin. “Yes. My brother.”

“Oh of course, just brotherly concern.” Lestrade leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, looking for all the world as if he were lounging against the bar of a pub.

“You don’t have any siblings, do you, Inspector?”

“Siblings, naw. But a handful of little cousins. I know how the little buggers can be, especially when they make up their mind about something. Sherlock’s different. So are you.”

Mycroft resisted the urge to adjust his tie again. “As I told you, I am only a minor government official. Nobody important.” He picked up his own glass of scotch and sipped it.

Lestrade gave him a cocky grin and stepped over, taking the glass from him and throwing that one back too. “Bullshit,” he repeated.

Mycroft swallowed hard. Lestrade was just a hair shorter than him, but it seemed to make no difference. How did one man ooze so much charisma? And why wasn’t that in the file. Someone was going to get fired. Or at least a stern talking to.

Lestrade set the glass aside. “We’re all alone in here, aren’t we?”

Mycroft nodded, suddenly dizzy with the possibilities.

“Good.”

Lestrade pulled away, only to turn and walk over to lock the door. Mycroft thought about the locations of every weapon in the room, but somehow was unable to move from the spot where Lestrade had left him.

“Now,” said Lestrade conversationally, walking back over to Mycroft. He looked into his eyes and reached out to loosen Mycroft’s tie. “If you don’t want this to happen, you need to tell me. But I think I know exactly what you need.”

For once in his life, Mycroft’s power of speech seemed to have failed him. He shook his head and reached to unbutton his waistcoat as Lestrade pulled his tie slowly free of his collar. He didn’t normally do this sort of activity on the clock either, but bugger it all. Possibly quite literally.

Lestrade reached up to cup his cheek. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

Mycroft Holmes had been called many things in his life. Gorgeous was not one of them. Ruthless, cold, ambitious and genius, yes. But never gorgeous.

Suddenly Lestrade’s lips were pressing against his own. Mycroft nearly went boneless as Lestrade’s tongue sought entrance. Lestrade put a strong arm around him to steady him. Mycroft startled himself with a soft moan.

When Lestrade pulled away again, he expected to see a smirk, but instead, the man was looking at him with genuine desire. The warmth in his eyes nearly made his knees buckle all over again.

Mycroft licked his lips, hardly daring to believe. “What… what do you want?” He managed.

Lestrade’s hand was still on his cheek and he slowly ran his thumb along Mycroft’s lips. “You. You’ve been watching me.”

Mycroft nodded, not in any sort of position to deny it. With only the slightest hesitation, he reached up to unbutton his shirt. Lestrade watched as he bared himself, undisguised desire in the way he took in every inch of bared skin.

Nobody ever wanted Mycroft that way.

Lestrade leaned in and stole another kiss. He unbuttoned his shirt sleeves and rolled them up. Mycroft took off his suit coat and lay it aside, followed by his waistcoat and his shirt. Lestrade hooked his fingers in Mycroft’s belt loops and pulled him close, laving one nipple with his tongue.

Mycroft made a startled sound, hands fluttering a moment before landing on Lestrade’s shoulders. Lestrade’s hands slid along his hips and he heard his belt buckle come free. Closing his eyes, Mycroft relaxed, wanting whatever came next.

Lestrade raised his head again and gave Mycroft another soft kiss before pushing down his trousers and pants to pool around his ankles. “God yeah, gorgeous man,” he breathed, sliding his hands along Mycroft’s pale skin.

With a gentle push, Mycroft found himself bent over his own desk. He reached over and moved the small figurine the Queen had given him for his birthday out of his line of sight. Lestrade’s belt buckle came free behind him.

Mycroft’s eyes slipped closed as Lestrade kissed slowly down his spine. Another soft moan escaped him as he felt Lestrade’s fingers brush against him. Had the man come here equipped with lube?

Well, Mycroft was hardly in any position to argue, especially as Lestrade’s fingers pressed into him. “Gotta make this one quick,” murmured Lestrade, “But next time I want to worship those freckles.”

Next time.

In almost no time at all, there was the sound of a condom being torn open. Mycroft braced himself, groaning as Lestrade pressed in. He could feel the material of Lestrade’s trousers against his bare skin, and that only heightened the sensations. He could smell the man’s cologne as he leaned over him, bracketing him with his arms, kissing along his shoulders as he thrust. Lestrade’s breath came in short pants as he claimed him, hot against his bare skin.

Even with the drag of the wood against his skin it was heavenly. He wouldn’t be able to even look at his desk after this.

Any thought of getting a new desktop was obliterated as Lestrade shifted his hips and struck his prostate. He cried out despite himself.

“Yeah,” grunted Lestrade, leaning over and nibbling on his ear lobe. “Gonna come, Mycroft.”

Mycroft. The man was using his Christian name. And it had never sounded so utterly filthy on any other llps.

With a low groan, Lestrade reached his climax. Mycroft could feel the heat of him. His own cock was achingly hard and neglected, but he’d hardly given it a thought with the feel of Lestrade’s weight on him.

Lestrade licked a bead of sweat from between Mycroft’s shoulder blades before kissing the back of his neck and carefully pulling out.

“Come here, gorgeous,” said Lestrade, tugging Mycroft back by the hips.

Mycroft found himself somewhat awkwardly tumbling into his own desk chair. Damn, might need to order a new chair as well.

Lestrade slipped to his knees and Mycroft could only stare at him as he shuffled forward. Lestrade gave him a satisfied, yet still hungry grin and kissed the crest of his hip.

Even knowing what was coming, Mycroft’s head dropped back and he groaned as Lestrade swallowed his cock. The man was evidently as talented with his tongue as with everything else. Mycroft could only grip the armrests as Lestrade moaned around him.

“Christ,” managed Mycroft, a moment before he came.

Lestrade eagerly swallowed all of it, taking him almost to the point of oversensitivity. He finally knelt back and licked his lips, grinning up at Mycroft.

Mycroft leaned forward and cupped the back of Lestrade’s head, kissing him deeply, tasting himself. When he pulled away he realized he was wearing a grin of his own.

Lestrade kissed Mycroft’s knee and helped him get his trousers up. “I’ll just show myself out, yeah?” he asked as he got to his feet.

Mycroft wasn’t sure he was physically capable of standing, so he didn’t try. “It seems so, but I do believe you should call again.”

Lestrade leaned over and whispered in his ear. “I damn sure will.”

He reached over for the decanter of scotch and poured himself one more finger, throwing it back as he watched Mycroft.

“You know,” said Mycroft conversationally as he reached for his shirt. “That is a sipping scotch.”

“I do know, but I can’t afford it myself, so I figured I better enjoy while I can.” Lestrade gave him another smile and set the glass down.

“I’ll order you your own bottle so you can stop assaulting mine.”

“Just order it for yourself and tell me what time to get to your place.” Lestrade set the glass down and headed for the door. “I know you have my number, saw it in the file. Next time, just call, yeah?”

“Very well,” said Mycroft, slowly buttoning up his shirt.

“Good,” said Lestrade. “Then I’ll see you Thursday.” He gave Mycroft one more grin and stepped out, closing the door behind him and leaving the room far quieter than it had been when he arrived.

Mycroft looked at the door as he finished dressing. He’d certainly have to update the man’s file. He leaned over and put the figurine back in its place.

He poured himself a bit more scotch and sipped it, collecting himself for a moment longer. Then he pulled out his phone and pressed a button. “Clear my Thursday night.”