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Mycroft nodded blandly as he listened to the ambassador, and a subprocess in his brain scanned the conversation for anything meaningful as he allowed parts of his mind to venture elsewhere. The conversation wasn't a particularly vital one, and his upcoming tryst with Sherlock provided so much more in the way of stimulating mental challenges. Negotiating subsidies bored him to tears; plotting how to get Sherlock on his knees did not.
Sherlock's little experiment with auto-fellatio had been a pleasant distraction the previous evening, and some small part of him felt his brother deserved his belated orgasm. On his terms though, not Sherlock's. He wondered if Sherlock had continued his experiment after John went to bed. I wouldn't put it past him. The image of his brother, curled over on himself with his own cock in his mouth, derailed his thoughts so soundly that he had to squeeze his eyes closed for a second, just to concentrate on the ambassador. No doubt he'd rigged up something with his clothing - a belt of some sort - to pull his thighs closer to his chest. He'd been less than an inch away when Mycroft arrived; it wouldn't have taken much more. Sherlock had just been too focused on the immediate prize to think clearly.
Mycroft wasn't worried about the new 'competition' from Sherlock's mouth; his own hand had been with him all his life, after all. The involvement of his mouth merely constituted a novelty. Ultimately, Sherlock craved mental stimulation far more than the mundane mechanics of physical release.
And Mycroft was the only person who could provide that.
They'd carried on a fairly normal relationship for years, if it was possible to describe an incestuous relationship between volatile geniuses as normal. Mycroft had left the more exotic components of his sexual repertoire behind him when he left university; it had been hard enough to find a willing partner then, and once he'd started his job… well. But then Sherlock had entered the picture, and everything changed.
And then his brother had shown up with Lestrade's handcuffs.
And everything changed again.
It was a shift in their dynamic. Perhaps not a full-time one - he wasn't sure either of them wanted that - but for Sherlock to willingly submit to him? That was a whole new game, and one he suspected they'd both enjoy playing for quite some time.
And he was going to start with the corset. Sherlock didn't know it yet, but he had plans for those newfound submissive tendencies - plans that involved Sherlock's forehead pressed against its deep blue silk as he knelt in front of him and sucked his cock.
He smiled and replied as the ambassador asked him a question, even as he plotted the details of Sunday's tryst. He sent the text as soon as the ambassador left the office.
Sunday dinner at Mummy's? -MH
Of course. -SH
It was their best and most reliable excuse to get Sherlock out of the flat. A weekly meal with Mummy - even Sherlock couldn't shirk that responsibility. His brother bemoaned the dullness of the weekly occasion at every chance he got, and John had never even asked him for details. Nor had he questioned the extended visit each week; everyone knew how those things with relatives just dragged on.
But it was only Friday afternoon; waiting until Sunday might kill him. Besides, he wanted to surprise him with the corset; Sherlock might expect it on Sunday. He needed another excuse to get Sherlock to the townhouse.
What better way to test Sherlock's desire to submit? Make him come up with the excuse.
Be at the townhouse tonight. 7pm. Don't be late. -MH
An unusually lengthy pause ensued before Sherlock's reply.
What should I tell John? -SH
I'm sure you'll think of something. -MH
Mycroft smiled. Sherlock hadn't refused, or even complained. The thought of his brother's submission pulsed throughout his body, and he wondered if the pause indicated a similar reaction from Sherlock.
He left work at precisely five o'clock; it would give him more than adequate time to prepare for his brother's arrival. It took all his restraint not to throw off his clothes and change as soon as he entered the townhouse. The front windows only had sheers - what would the neighbours think? He couldn't decide whether to put the corset on now, or to make Sherlock do it when he arrived. Each option had its merits. Having Sherlock help him would certainly make getting dressed easier, but it would come at the price of losing the initial impact of the whole outfit. Putting it on himself, as awkward as it would be, would prepare him both physically and mentally to dominate his little brother. And it would take Sherlock's breath away, at least it would if his own reaction to it had been any indication.
Now, he thought, what to do for Sherlock? He could make him strip naked, of course, but that might not be enough. He retrieved his leather gear from its hiding place behind his suits. Ah, the harness. That would do nicely. He felt torn about the collar; it had been his, when he had subbed for Andrew. It held more memories for him than the harness, and he didn't want to confuse that. It just didn't seem right to use it on Sherlock. Fair enough. If he truly takes to this, I'll buy him his own. At this stage, even the possibility of Sherlock wearing the harness seemed, well… only vaguely likely.
Still, it was worth a try.
And perhaps, given Sherlock's previous reaction to the handcuffs, he had better odds than he thought. The memory of Sherlock, standing stock still at his bidding and barely breathing as Mycroft had whispered commands into his ear, sent shivers of lust down his spine. Sherlock had been impudent during sex though, making light of Mycroft's thrill at his submission. That wouldn't happen again; he'd teach his brother how to show the proper amount of respect.
He placed the corset and the lingerie on the bed. Once again, just the thought of the preparations had his cock twitching. By the time he'd put the stockings and panties on, his erection screamed for attention. He glanced at his watch on the dressing table - another half hour at least, if Sherlock arrived on time. If Sherlock arrived. The idea stabbed through him. What if he didn't show up? He'd never gotten a reply to his last text, after all; perhaps he'd pushed things too far. He debated his position and eventually sent another message.
Any problems with your excuse? -MH
No. I'll be there at seven. -SH
Relief surged through him. Good.
Time to put the corset on, then.
His familiarity with the process helped a lot, and it took much less time and effort than it had previously. The effect, though, was no less stunning. He allowed himself an appraising look in the mirror. A long one. It wasn't vanity really, it was more… well, putting himself in Sherlock's position and assessing the effect.
It was one hell of an effect.
The shoes gave him an extra three inches - four more than his brother. Kissing him from this position would force Sherlock's head back, exposing his neck and heightening his sense of vulnerability. The dark blue corset practically shimmered against his creamy skin and the ginger hair on his chest, and he couldn't resist running his fingers across the smooth expanse of silk. He caught his breath at the tingling sensation left in their wake. He flashed on an image of Sherlock on his knees before him, wrapped in the leather bands of the harness; his cock jerked, and he felt a bead of pre-come form at the tip. That won't do. It'll ruin the silk. He carefully placed his hand inside the panties - they only contained him by some miracle of dimensional physics - and wiped the fluid from the dark-red glans. He sucked it from his fingertip, savouring the taste, and readjusted himself so his erection peeked outside the panties. Once Sherlock is here, he'll be able to take care of that.
He laid the unbuckled leather harness on the bed. He wanted Sherlock to see it; to know what he had in mind for him. Then he placed a medium-sized anal plug beside it. Sherlock would not dictate the terms of his own pleasure tonight. If his brother behaved - submitted - he'd be amply rewarded. If he didn't, he'd go home with his balls aching.
Mycroft put on the silk dressing gown that matched the corset so well and retrieved his riding crop. He had no intention of using it, at least not in any painful manner, but he wanted to gauge Sherlock's reaction to it. He glanced at his watch: five to seven. He tied the dressing gown loosely and made his way, with remarkable ease and stability, down the two flights of stairs to the sitting room on the ground floor. The silk caressed his skin as he moved and the corset endowed him with an even more regal bearing than usual. He sat carefully in a wing-backed chair, eagerly awaiting his brother's arrival.
Seven o'clock.
He stood and moved to the window, just beyond the view of any passers-by on the street.
This was better than he'd hoped.
Sherlock was late.
He licked his lips and curled them into a hungry smile.
At two minutes past seven, a taxi pulled up outside the townhouse, and Sherlock got out. He rang the doorbell with his eyes in a vague squint.
He doesn't know what to expect. Good.
Mycroft opened the door. His dressing gown made his appearance fairly unremarkable, excepting the heels, and he had no reason to hide from public view. That said, he didn't feel like walking out onto the front doorstep, either. He grasped the riding crop meaningfully.
"Sherlock. You're late. Do come in."
He looked as if he were about to disagree, but he saw the riding crop and abruptly stopped. "What's that for?" he asked, sounding intrigued.
"Strip, and place your clothes in a neat pile by the staircase. If you don't wish to comply, please leave. I shan't hold it against you."
"Tell me one thing."
"Yes?"
"Do you plan on using that," he nodded at the riding crop, "on me?" Sherlock's tone was neutral, for once; it was a query, not a challenge.
"Only when you beg me to," Mycroft replied.
The corner of Sherlock's mouth curled into a lust-filled smile, and he started to strip.
Mycroft left his brother to finish undressing and ascended the stairs in a swirl of blue silk, not glancing behind him. Sherlock could follow when he was finished. When he was naked.
"Wait, Mycroft, I'm not done yet."
"You know where to find me," he replied, without breaking his step. His calm voice belied the utter excitement he felt at having his brother submit to him.
He stopped by the kitchen and filled a crystal tumbler with sparkling water, then continued to the bedroom. He closed the door behind him and took a sip of the icy water to calm his nerves, then he slipped off the dressing gown and draped it over the back of the chair in the corner. He stood and waited, facing the door, for his brother to enter. Sherlock wasn't the only one with a flair for the dramatic.
Seconds later, Sherlock knocked on the door.
"Come in," Mycroft said, pleasantly surprised that Sherlock had even bothered knocking.
His brother entered the bedroom, completely naked, as instructed, and already partially aroused.
Sherlock stood in the doorway and took in Mycroft's appearance, lavishing long hungry stares at the corset, the riding crop, the stockings, the heels, and the obvious erection jutting above the waistband of the panties.
"Fuck," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mycroft graced him with a hint of a smile and walked towards him, slowly. The heels made his hips sway slightly and he watched Sherlock's eyes follow the movement of his cock as he approached.
He cleared his throat delicately, and Sherlock looked up.
Mycroft had stopped at arm's length from him and slowly ran the tip of the riding crop along his cheekbone and down onto his chest. He kept going until it rested on the tip of his brother's cock.
"Why did you come?" Mycroft asked. He'd phrased it like that deliberately, of course, and he made a conscious effort to keep the smile off his face.
Sherlock responded without a second of hesitation, "Because you told me to come."
"And what if I told you not to come?"
Sherlock smirked a little and responded, "Then I'd do my best not to."
"Good boy," Mycroft replied, and placed the tip of the riding crop beneath his balls. He drew it up slowly, eliciting a bitten-off moan.
He pointed towards the bed with the crop. "I won't be the only one dressed for the occasion." He watched Sherlock's reaction carefully. His brother's breathing quickened, and his cock got visibly harder.
His brother stared him directly in the eye and defiantly stated, "I'm not wearing that."
He's deliberately refusing to see how far he can push me. Fine.
"You shall wear it, Sherlock."
Sherlock's eyes flashed with lust and his voice came out low and ragged. "Make me."
Oh, I'm so glad to hear you say that, he thought.
In one swift move, he twisted Sherlock's arm behind his back, pulled up hard towards his shoulders, and pushed him face down onto the bed.
Sherlock growled with pleasure as Mycroft held him in place.
"You need to learn some respect, Sherlock." He jammed his elbow firmly between his brother's shoulder-blades to keep him still as he lubed up the plug. Spreading his cheeks with one hand, he placed the tip of the silicone toy at the tight pink rosette of his brother's arse. Sherlock visibly relaxed and prepared to accept it, which was just as well; it was going to be a tight fit. He pushed it in slowly but steadily, pausing only when Sherlock tensed at the intrusion.
"You're going to take everything I give you, Sherlock, unless you want me to send you home." He didn't say Sherlock couldn't fight him on it. He sort of hoped he would.
"I'd rather take your cock with no lube than that ridiculous piece of rubber," he retorted.
"And that's exactly why you aren't getting my cock until you learn some manners, Sherlock." He pushed the toy in harder, a little more forcefully than necessary, and Sherlock yelped.
Sherlock's breath came in ragged gasps as Mycroft kept pushing. "I wish you could see this, Sherlock, the way it's opening you up so easily. I'll have to buy the larger size and see how wide I can stretch you." It finally breached him completely and snapped into place, and his arse closed tightly around it.
Mycroft pulled him off the bed. "Kneel."
His brother tried to squirm out of his grasp, but his eyes were dilated and his cock was like iron.
Squirming or not, he knelt on the floor at Mycroft's feet and groaned as the toy pressed further inside him.
Mycroft picked up the harness by its leather cock ring.
"I said, I am not wearing that."
"Oh, Sherlock," Mycroft replied in a mocking, sympathetic tone. "You never learn, do you?" Actually, he thought, you've already learnt how to play this game, and you're playing it superbly. Even better than I'd hoped.
Sherlock made no effort to move, or indeed to offer any resistance whatsoever. Mycroft pulled down the silk panties and sighed in delight as his cock sprang free. He braced his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and delicately stepped out of them, quietly thankful he didn't snag them on the stiletto heels and pitch forward onto his brother.
Sherlock was too busy hungrily eyeing his brother's cock to notice that Mycroft had wadded the panties into a ball.
It became more obvious when he grabbed Sherlock's hair, pulled his head back, and shoved the ball of silk into his mouth.
"Hey," Sherlock protested in a muffled voice.
"You don't get my cock until I let you. If I let you. And I haven't decided if you deserve it yet. Perhaps seeing you in the harness will change my mind."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and shot him what Mycroft supposed he intended as a withering glare.
In return, Mycroft gave him a questioning look with his eyebrows and tried to look bored as he dangled the harness by the cock ring, right in front of Sherlock's face.
Sherlock caved first; he sighed and let his shoulders drop.
Mycroft resisted the temptation to gloat; well, he resisted the temptation to visibly gloat. It was a victory and they both knew it.
He buckled Sherlock's still very-erect penis into the cock ring, and then ran the wide leather strap up to his chest, where it split off in four ways over his shoulders and around his chest. There were another two straps wrapped around his waist. A sightly thinner one ran from the cock ring, beneath his balls, and between the crack of his arse, holding the plug in place - not that it was going anywhere. The pattern repeated on Sherlock's back, and Mycroft buckled the contraption snugly in place. The metal o-rings connecting the straps provided handy attachment points for a leash. Or cuffs. It's a wonderfully versatile piece of gear, Mycroft mused, suddenly glad he'd kept it all these years.
He caught Sherlock glancing down, trying to catch a glimpse of the harness against his lithe body. I wish I'd had the forethought to purchase a leash. It would have been perfect to snap it to one of the rings and lead him over to the mirror. Ah well. Next time. It seemed likely there would be a next time, considering Sherlock hadn't walked out in a huff yet.
"You look simply delicious, Sherlock. Good enough to eat."
That piqued Sherlock's interest, and he cast his gaze upwards to see Mycroft's face. He had to crane his neck.
"I do love the way the silk peeks out of your mouth, just a little. So delicate." He reached out with one finger and teased the slip of fabric at the corner of Sherlock's mouth. He stood only inches from him, and his cock jutted out teasingly towards his brother's face - close enough for him to wrap his lips around, had his mouth not been stuffed full of expensive panties.
"I'm not sure I'm quite hungry yet, though. What about you?" he asked with nonchalance. "Hungry?"
"Yeff. Pleaff." The hungry look in Sherlock's eyes certainly seemed to back that up.
"Oh, good boy. So polite," Mycroft praised, and he very slowly pulled the wet silk from between his brother's lips.
Sherlock moved forward to devour Mycroft's cock, but then he thought better of it and held back at the last second. He tipped his head all the way back so he could see Mycroft's eyes, and asked, "May I?"
Mycroft looked down at him, at his dark hair surrounding his pale skin, and at that long expanse of neck that seemed to go on forever. I want to mark him, he thought. Claim him. Leave a trail of bites from his jaw down to his collarbone so that he has to wear that scarf all day long. He licked his lips at the idea. Soon.
"Yes," he replied, "please do." He placed one hand behind Sherlock's head and fed him his cock.
Sherlock's eyes flicked up at Mycroft as he took him in his mouth eagerly. Almost desperately.
The tight, wet heat felt marvellous, and Mycroft arched his back, pushing himself more deeply into Sherlock's throat. "God, yes," he moaned, barely audible, but Sherlock seemed to hear (or perhaps feel) the words, and responded by digging his hands into Mycroft's buttocks and drawing him closer. Deeper. So deep that his forehead rested on the blue silk of the corset.
"Good boy," he murmured, and fisted his hair as Sherlock worked his way down his cock once again.
Sherlock seemed to take the praise as dispensation to make less of an effort. Can't have that. Mycroft forced himself all the way back in, making Sherlock gag.
"You can do it, Sherlock. Take it." He held him there for a few moments before he pulled his brother's head back off his cock and let him recover.
Sherlock gasped for air and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips.
"Ready for some more?"
Sherlock nodded, enthusiastically.
"Mm. See if you can do better this time." He shoved back inside and groaned as the head of his cock rammed the back of Sherlock's throat. "Oh yes, there you go. Perfect." No gagging this time, just the entire length of his shaft crammed into his brother's mouth. It felt like heaven. The tension coiled in his gut as the sensation drove him closer to orgasm. He felt one of Sherlock's hands leave his arse, and glanced down.
"No," he commanded. "You're not to touch yourself. Not unless I allow it." It wouldn't do him any good anyway, not with the cock ring in place.
Sherlock's hand moved back to Mycroft's thigh and smoothed over the cream-coloured stockings, back up to his arse.
"What do you think of the outfit, Sherlock? Are you glad you gave it to me? Do you like it?" He thrust into Sherlock's mouth particularly hard as he said 'like' and as soon as Sherlock had the chance, he groaned in affirmation. "Mm. I like it too," he replied as he pulled Sherlock off him with one of the black leather shoulder straps of the harness. "I like this on you, as well. It's a good look for you."
Sherlock looked up at him, his mouth empty for the first time in a while, and smiled.
Mycroft waited for a sarcastic remark, but there was only silence. "Oh, so good," he praised, and then he sighed as Sherlock took him back into his mouth, shallower this time, and tongued the head of his cock with the finesse he'd come to expect of his brother.
"Oh, so very good," he repeated. "I'm going to come in your mouth, but you're not allowed to swallow any of it, understood? I want to see it dribble out onto your chin, mixed with your saliva."
Sherlock nodded, as well as he could.
Mycroft let himself go then, mostly allowing Sherlock to work his magic, but occasionally fucking his face, hard. When he felt the tight cord of release rip through him, held Sherlock's head in place to make sure he got every drop of semen. He wanted to see it all over his brother's face, but he wanted it in his mouth first. He rode out the last pulses of his orgasm but left his cock inside Sherlock's mouth. He imagined his brother's mouth filling with saliva, surrounding his cock and mingling with the semen he'd just spent there. "Don't you dare swallow a drop," he warned. He held Sherlock's head until his brother started to look uncomfortable; if he didn't allow him to swallow soon, the urge would become overwhelming. "I'm going to pull out of your mouth. Don't try and hold it in, I want to see it spill over your chin."
As he pulled his sensitive cock out of his brother's mouth, it trailed a mixture of semen and saliva. Sherlock let his jaw drop and left it open, and their co-mingled fluids dripped down his face and onto his chest.
Mycroft reached for a towel and dried himself off so as not to ruin the silk, but his eyes never left Sherlock's. "Mm, you're filthy, Sherlock," he uttered lovingly, just before he pulled Sherlock to his feet with the harness and captured his mouth in a wet, dirty kiss. And you're utterly perfect, he thought. He groaned as he tasted himself in his brother's mouth, then he moved down to his chin, placing kisses and gentle bites across his jaw, cleaning Sherlock's face with his mouth. "Did you enjoy that?" he murmured, as he kissed and nibbled across Sherlock's collarbone.
Sherlock responded with a groan more felt than heard.
"I thought you might." He let his hand find Sherlock's aching prick and gave it a few long strokes before he unsnapped the cock ring. He turned his brother around, and pulled him closer - one arm across his chest and the other around his cock.
"Do you like the way the silk feels against your back?" he asked as he started to stroke him again.
Sherlock nodded and cupped his balls; they were tight against his body, and no doubt aching for release.
"Mm. I thought so. It was more of a gift for both of us, it seems" he murmured against his brother's ear, as his hand moved faster along Sherlock's prick.
The sounds of his brother's frantic breathing and moans filled the room. "God, My. Please, please…" he begged, almost incoherently.
"Do you want me to let you come?" he asked.
Sherlock's hair brushed against Mycroft's chest as he nodded in desperation.
"Come for me, Sherlock."
His brother let out a cry and shuddered, hot cream flooding Mycroft's fingers. Mycroft held him close as his brother relaxed back against his chest and tried to catch his breath.
"Fuck, My. That was amazing," he said, his voice still ragged from the orgasm.
He nuzzled Sherlock's messy curls and murmured agreement, and they both stood there for while, just basking in the afterglow.
Mycroft grabbed a fresh towel from the stack on his bureau and carefully cleaned his brother off, starting with his red lips, still swollen from the blowjob. Sherlock stood there as his brother gently towelled the sweat and come from his body.
Mycroft caught him gazing at his outfit and smiled.
"That corset gives you amazing curves," Sherlock said. "The whole outfit… bloody hell. You really pulled that off rather spectacularly."
"Thanks," Mycroft beamed, and added, "Would you mind helping me out of it before we get a shower, love?"
"Mm," he replied.
Sherlock helped him undress, fascinated by the corset's construction and the effect it had on his brother's body. "Oh, look at the lines it leaves, from the stays," he said, as he traced his finger in a curve down Mycroft's abdomen.
Giggling, Mycroft pushed Sherlock's hand flat against his belly. "Don't, that tickles."
Sherlock pried his hand away and did it again, sending Mycroft squirming away.
Mycroft twisted around and pinned him to the bed. "Behave," he said with a grin. "Or I'll make you wear the harness and plug the next time we go to dinner at Mummy's."
"You don't mean that," Sherlock challenged.
"No, I don't, not unless you want to. But if you want to, I'll be more than happy to oblige. You look amazing," he said, with a nod of appreciation towards Sherlock's still leather-clad form. "Now come on, let's get that off you and get a shower. I'd like to curl up in bed with you for a while, if you don't have to be back home soon."
"Mm, I'd like that," Sherlock replied, as Mycroft hauled him to his feet. "I like all of this. Apparently I quite enjoy you telling me what to do, as long as nobody else is around to see it," he grinned. Then he leaned over and kissed his brother - they were almost the same height now - and Mycroft started to undo the buckles on the harness.