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The Ice Man Cometh	By : deklava Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 2831 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock or its characters, and do not profit financially from this story.

Chapter List
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Mycroft managed to control himself until the driver let him off outside his townhouse. Once the door was locked, the violent trembling started. He dropped his precious umbrella and ran shaking fingers through his neat hair. Even his breath came out in stuttering gasps.
Moriarty knew about the jumbo jet scheme. Because Sherlock had foolishly rambled to Irene Adler about the particulars. The whole operation, which involved months of planning and the cooperation of several nations, had to be abandoned.
In an hour he would be confronting Sherlock about his unforgivable lapse in judgement. And then punishing him for it.
He could hardly wait.
By the time Mycroft reached his bedroom, the front of his trousers was soaked. Normally fastidious, he now undid his Italian leather belt and hurled it to the floor with such force that its buckle chipped the wood. Then he yanked both trousers and pants off as if they were tearaway items and not worth more than most people made in a month. His cock bobbed angrily, its sticky string of pre-ejaculate swinging in the air.
Mycroft cringed at the apologies and promises he'd have to make to his political masters when they learned of the debacle. But the thought of punishing the guilty party –after they'd been stripped naked and made to kneel at his feet- excited him immeasurably.
First he had to take the edge off.
Stripping off his waistcoat but leaving his grey silk shirt and tie on, Mycroft crawled onto the massive four-poster bed. He arched his back, pressing his shoulders against the mattress and shoving his arse higher into the air. The stretch felt so good; he impulsively imagined that an aggressive, handsome man –perhaps that Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard, Gregory Lestrade- was hovering behind him, ready to grab his hips any minute and stuff him full of thick, pulsating cock.
"Fuck," he seethed behind clenched teeth. He reached under the mountain of gold-fringed pillows, and grabbed the vibrator and bottle of lube. His movements were quick and desperate: he needed that toy inside him, dilating his tight passage and assailing his prostate until orgasm calmed the fury.
He could not afford to be in anything less than complete control when he left for the private airfield in half an hour.
As he slicked the vibrator up, Mycroft imagined what Sherlock's reaction would be to his imminent discipline. There'd be surprise when his older brother slapped the arrogant expression off his face, but they'd punched each other before, so the shock would be fleeting. But when Mycroft dragged him into the first-class cabin, stripped him, and spanked him….well, that would be a terrifying first. Then, once the fight was smacked and stroked out of him and he was begging for more instead of less, Sherlock Holmes would experience another first.
The man had been a virgin far too long. It was clouding his judgement, making him excessively neurotic even for a Holmes.
It's my duty to help him.
Mycroft rolled onto his side and tucked one knee up to his chest. Taking a deep breath, he gripped the device at the base, lined it up with his hole, which was also shiny with lube, and slowly slid it in. He moaned in ecstasy as the blunt tip glided past his tight ring of muscle and grazed his prostate. Then it was all the way in.
He paused, letting his body adjust to the invasion. His cock pressed against his belly, smearing sticky fluid all over his shirt hem. Oh, so good. He glided the vibrator in and out of his slippery passage, shivering at the resulting pleasure, before finally switching the device on.
"Oh, fuck!" The vibrations shivered through him, making his nerves sing. Mycroft fucked his own slick fist while using the other hand to shove the toy in harder, deeper. He rolled partway onto his front and lifted his leg higher to get a better angle, feeling the excess lube drip down his crack onto the duvet like a lover's cooling release. The prostate stimulation was so intense that he dug his teeth into one of the pillows, and felt the fabric tear.
"Oh dear, you are a pillow biter, Mr. Holmes. And to think that Jim calls you the Ice Man."
Mycroft's head shot off the mangled pillow.
Fabric rustled in the shadows near the wardrobe. Then Irene Adler emerged from her hiding spot in full battle costume, which in her case was nothing except a pair of sky-high stilettos. Her scarlet lips twisted playfully, but her stare looked positively hungry.
"Oh, don't stop on my account," she said as she climbed onto the bed and stretched out next to him.
He stared at her, lips parted in shock and disbelief. He started to rise and pull the vibrator out, but she caught his wrist and pushed firmly, driving it back in so deep that he moaned.
"I said don't stop, Mr. Holmes. Please… just listen."
If she hadn't said please, Mycroft would have hurled her to the floor. He might even have snapped her neck. The type of havoc she had caused him mandated a death sentence under ordinary circumstances. But for Irene Adler to be so amiable, even beseeching… something was afoot. He would hear her out, and perhaps make her suffer later.
Irene's grin widened at his acquiescence. "Pleasuring yourself like this while I watch: most men pay a thousand pounds a session for the privilege."
"Consider yourself 'privileged' that I'm not choking the life out of you right now."
She licked her lips. "You are dangerous."
Mycroft wasn't in the mood for verbal foreplay. He hadn't gotten off yet, so the rage still brewed in his guts. He lunged at her, the vibrator falling onto the duvet, and pinned her to the mattress. She groaned as his bulky body, feverish with unsatisfied lust, crushed her slim form, but when he shoved her legs apart and plunged in to the hilt, the cry's tone shifted from surprised to ecstatic.
"I'm more dangerous than your precious Moriarty, and if you're lucky, you'll live to see me take him apart piece by piece," he hissed into her ear as he fucked her. She was sweet, hot, tight, and… and…for sale.
Yes. Shame to waste such a brilliant mind. If all it took was money….
"Yes, Mr. Holmes, yes… I want that. That's why… why I'm here… also about your brother…."
So in between punishing thrusts that nearly drove both of them into the headboard, he listened.
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The Ice Man Cometh