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The Ice Man Cometh	By : deklava Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 2832 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock or its characters, and do not profit financially from this story.

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Those two words, which contained more emotion and surrender than he'd ever heard Sherlock express before, made Mycroft pause. He stared down at that bowed head, and resisted the urge to slip a hand under his brother's chin, raise it, and claim that cupid's-bow mouth in a fierce but loving kiss. His rage had calmed, and now he wanted to gather that thin, dishevelled body in his arms and reassure him that the punishment had been inflicted out of love as well as anger.
Sherlock didn't need or want petting or soothing right now, he reminded himself. The younger Holmes, in words as well as posture, was begging for firm handling. His cock is hard but his mind is relaxing. He knows he needs more.
It all made sense now. After the cabbie shooting, Mycroft's man on the scene had reported that John had called Sherlock an idiot and the younger man smiled shyly in response. Mycroft thought at the time that the man was mistaken, and scolded him accordingly. Now he wondered whether his brother's reaction was a faint signal of an unfilled need. Many people abused Sherlock: his haughty manner and acidic tongue provoked it. But had anyone really dominated him before?
Mycroft understood that desire well. His cravings had been similar when he was younger and rebelling against a world that seemed so stupid and pointless. He'd been out of control, defying (begging?) anyone to stop him. Then his weapons instructor at MI6 took him firmly in hand one night at the academy, bending him forcefully over a brightly polished desk and cropping his arse black and blue before fucking him until he came so hard that he nearly fainted. It had all hurt, but the sense of peace that followed the punishment left him tranquil for days.
He loved Sherlock enough to pass on the lesson. He also desired his brother enough to fuck him the way he needed.
Irene was silent. She understood too. Had it been the same for her?
"Look at me, Sherlock," Mycroft finally ordered. "Don't say anything either. Just shut up and listen."
Sherlock obeyed.
"This-" Mycroft gestured toward his bruised arse"-was just the beginning. You need more. And I'm pleased that you've just admitted it."
Sherlock's breathing quickened and his eyes reflected an enormous need. Mycroft did touch his chin then, keeping their combined stares level.
"You're to do everything I tell you. One stroppy comment or complaint and you walk home. Nod to indicate that you understand."
Sherlock's jaw quivered as he nodded.
"Excellent." Fighting to keep the arousal out of his tone, Mycroft released the younger man's chin, uncrossed his legs, and said, "Undo my zip. With your mouth."
Irene's breath caught in her throat. Sherlock blinked once. Then he bent forward, and Mycroft felt those soft lips grazing his crotch, seeking the zipper. When he found it, he took it between his teeth and lowered it carefully. Mycroft's erection poked through the gap immediately, covered only by the thin silk of his boxers.
The elder Holmes gripped the armrests and inhaled. When he could trust his voice, he said briskly, "Very good. Now take out my cock."
Again a blink, but Sherlock quickly complied. When Mycroft felt his flushed, rock-hard shaft spring free and graze one perfect cheekbone, he swallowed heavily. Sherlock was almost angelic in his beauty, and he resisted the urge to grab those now-matted curls and force-feed himself into that warm mouth. But no. He had to demonstrate the same level of control he was demanding of his brother.
"I think I know the answer, but I'm going to ask anyway. Have you ever sucked a cock before? Nod yes or no."
Sherlock shook his head. Fear and arousal flitted around on his face, fighting each other to be the dominant expression.
"Time to change that then. Put your mouth on mine, right at the tip."
Sherlock made an anxious noise, but Mycroft let it pass when he parted his lips and took the first couple of inches into his wet mouth. "I'm sure this is a superfluous warning, little brother, but if I feel teeth, I'll rip them out of your head."
Sherlock nodded, but judging from his steadily leaking cock, the threat turned him on more than it scared him. Calmly, steadily, Mycroft put one hand on his head and ordered, "Now suck me. Move your mouth up and down, going as deep as you can. Don't hold out on me either- I'll know if you're not performing to capacity."
He backed up the warning with a soft yank on his brother's curls. Sherlock's cheeks hollowed and he tightened his lips around Mycroft's shaft before bobbing his head. Mycroft sighed in pleasure at the suction that built up. When Sherlock, inspired, began circling his cockhead with his tongue during each upward pull, he bit his lip to force back a moan.
"He's a natural," Irene said breathlessly.
Mycroft reached out, grabbed her arm and pulled her onto the seat next to him. Without giving her chance to reorient herself, he claimed her mouth, pushing his tongue inside and nipping at her painted lips. As far as Mycroft was concerned, she belonged to him now. They both did. Outside, she might be the dominatrix who brought England to its knees and Sherlock a celebrity consulting detective, but on this flight of the dead, they were extensions of his will.
Just like practically everyone else.
Saliva was now filling and dribbling out of Sherlock's mouth, the resulting wetness making the blowjob even more exquisite. When he felt his balls tighten and tremors course through his cock, Mycroft broke Irene's kiss and hissed at his brother, "When I come, you're swallowing it all, you understand? Lose one drop and it's game over."
Sherlock breathed through his nose and nodded as best he could. Mycroft's hips started rocking and his hand squeezed Irene's ample breasts as the tension in his groin intensified. "Here it comes," he exclaimed, a split second before he shot one wad after another down his brother's moist throat.
Sherlock held still until Mycroft stopped shooting, and then swallowed with an audible gulp. His brow furrowed at the unfamiliar taste, but he didn't wince or gag. The elder Holmes slipped his softening cock out and, on impulse, grabbed Sherlock's shoulders and brought their lips together. He tasted himself on that eager tongue, and once more pride and affection surged through him.
"Sherlock," he breathed. "What you drive me to do…"
Sherlock whispered, "Thank you." The sound of his voice snapped Mycroft back into character.
"We're not done yet, little brother. You're going to be feeling my cock one more time. Turn around, and lean over."
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The Ice Man Cometh