A/N: Sherlock and Mycroft's bickering puts me in a mood, if y'know what I mean. I decided to have this take place when they were younger, simply because I think Sherlock would have been more likely to acquiesce to such treatment as a young man. WARNING: explicit m/m, incest.

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Sherlock slammed into his room and threw himself on the bed. This always happened when he came home from uni. If he had his way he would skip holidays completely and stay at the school. The last thing he wanted was to deal with his...he shuddered...his family.

As he expected, Mycroft wasn't far behind, barging in without knocking. "Mummy is crying," he said, standing just inside the doorway.

"And whose fault is that?" Sherlock spat back. He pulled the blankets up around him in a pout.

"Certainly not mine," Mycroft said, his tone so even and calm. He was infuriatingly stoic at times—it made Sherlock want to scream. "Now come back downstairs and apologize."

"I won't." Mycroft sighed and grabbed at the blanket, and soon the brothers were engaged in a tug-o-war. "You're such a mummy's boy, Mycroft Holmes," Sherlock said, clinging to his blanket as Mycroft began to drag him across the mattress. "You never take my side!" With a final yank he managed to topple Mycroft, the elder brother falling on top of Sherlock.

"Your side! Twenty years old and you still pick sides."

They began to wrestle in earnest until the young men fell onto the floor in a furious tangle of bedclothes. "Only because your side is never mine," Sherlock said with a gasp as Mycroft successfully pinned him, straddling his waist and holding down his arms.

"What now Sherlock?" Mycroft teased. He was older and stronger and, though Sherlock detested admitting it, smarter. No matter what move Sherlock used to escape Mycroft would anticipate it.

...Except maybe one. Sherlock closed his eyes, steeled his nerves, and lifted his head up to kiss Mycroft.

Mycroft was clearly startled, though not so startled that he didn't kiss back, and his grip weakened, and soon Sherlock was flipping places with him, never breaking the kiss which only deepened. Mycroft started fumbling with the button's of Sherlock's shirt, and Sherlock tried to pull away.

"Oh no you don't," Mycroft said. "That's your problem—you shouldn't start what you don't want to finish, little brother, and you've got me going now." He ripped the shirt open and pushed it off Sherlock's shoulders, his arms tangling in the fabric.

"Wait," Sherlock said as Mycroft unfastened the front of his pants, and he fought to free his arms and fight back, but his older brother plunged one hand down the front of his pants, cupping his cock and balls through his underwear. "Don't wait," he breathed.

"Sometimes I think my little brother needs to be taught a lesson about manners," Mycroft said.

"Manners are pointless." Sherlock groaned when his brother squeezed him hard enough to cause discomfort, hard enough to send pleasure vibrating through his nerve endings. "And you feel the same as I do, Mycroft. You detest them. You're just too much of a mummy's boy to admit it."

Mycroft withdrew his hand and grabbed the back of his brother's neck and pulled him forward, causing him to topple over Mycroft's knees. He pulled down the young man's pants the rest of the way, revealing the smooth, pale expanse of ass to him. "You don't understand." He let a heavy hand slap across Sherlock's backside. "You play their game. You smile nice. You don't react." Each of his sentences matched rhythm with the staccato of repeated slaps. Sherlock squirmed under his brother's attentions. "You shut your mouth for once and stop trying to be so ruddy clever."

"Why?" Sherlock demanded, gritting his teeth at each slap, his ass beginning to burn.

"No one likes a malcontent." Having had enough of spanking his brother Mycroft rolled him off of his lap. "On your hands and knees," Mycroft demanded. Sherlock did as he was told. It was a lovely sight, his slim body in the submissive position. One arm was still caught up in the sleeve of his shirt and his head hung down even as his cock stood to attention.

Like any young male there was a secreted jar of lubricant in Sherlock's bedside table, and Mycroft was quick to collect it, scooping up a fair amount of petroleum and pressing one finger against her little brother's tight opening.

"Oh god, Mycroft," Sherlock moaned as the finger slipped easily inside him.

"Where do you expect to get in life with your attitude?" Mycroft demanded, fucking Sherlock with first one finger, then two.

"Where are you?" Sherlock snapped, pushing back against Mycroft's hand and wishing he would just get on with it. "A minor position in the British government?"

"For now," Mycroft said quietly. "Only for now." His finger's withdrew from Sherlock while he used his other hand to undo his belt and free his own cock. He counted on his previous ministrations providing enough lube and thrust in hard and fast, filling Sherlock with his fairly impressive length.

Sherlock grunted, supporting himself with one arm and reaching down to stroke his own hard cock. He wasn't going to last long—he never did when Mycroft wanted to teach him a lesson. "You're too brash," he continued to lecture as he thrusted. Mycroft did so love to hear himself talk. "You'll never get anywhere in life if you keep this up."

"I think I'm getting somewhere," Sherlock managed to gasp out, and moments later he exploded, spending all over his bedroom floor. He let out a gutteral groan which sent Mycroft over the edge as well, pulling out in time to squirt all over Sherlock's back.

Mycroft's climax was silent and composed. He took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe himself clean. "Get cleaned up and go downstairs and apologize," Mycroft said, slapping Sherlock's ass one last time and standing up. "Mummy is threatening to cut off your allowance. And let this be a lesson to you." He left the room without another word.

Sherlock stood on shaky legs and reached for the tissues next to the bed. Mycroft could never understand. Some men wanted power. Some men wanted to dominate. Other men just wanted to have a good time. It was funny how both he and Mycroft always seemed to get what they wanted.