Author's Note: Wrote this as a one-shot for all my fellow Mystradians and Mystradistas! Thank you all.

The lights dimmed. The curtains covering the screen swept aside. Mycroft Holmes was impressed. One would think he and Gregory Lestrade were attending opening night at the opera instead of sitting in the rank silence of a Soho porn theatre.

"I can't believe we're actually doing this," Lestrade sighed.

"It was your idea, Greg."

"I know. But I honestly didn't think you would do it. This isn't exactly the Royal Opera House."

"Makes for better cover, so of course I did it." Mycroft's hand stole across the armrest and clasped Gregory's thigh. "Try not to be too distracted by the films, now. You're supposed to be working."

"I doubt the films will be the source of any distraction." Lestrade shifted on the seat and laughed shakily.

Mycroft smiled. "Enjoy them- it's all fine. I'll watch the audience and the shadows. You'll have to demonstrate anything I missed later."

For three months, an arsonist had been loose in London, targeting erotic bookstores, movie houses, and novelty shops. Letters to the press and Scotland Yard suggested that the individual was a religious fanatic. "Church freaks", as Lestrade called them, were nothing new, but this one had initiated a campaign that killed eight people so far, and even the right-wing element was nervous. Murderous zealots demonized their views to the general public.

Sherlock's inquiries among his homeless network indicated that the newly opened Pleasure Palace in Soho was being watched by a young white man who hurried away when pedestrians drew near. That afternoon, the juvenile spies reported seeing the man actually go into the building. Lestrade opted to stake the place out that night, certain that the visit had been a site inspection and not a pleasure trip, and tentatively asked Mycroft to join him. The elder Holmes would notice suspicious behaviour in a fraction of the time it would take one of Lestrade's detectives to do the same.

The theatre contained only twelve other moviegoers: three couples and six individuals. Mycroft surveyed the latter, alert for any signs that one was more interested in the layout than the entertainment. So far, everyone was riveted by the onscreen action, which featured an army barracks orgy and horrible dialogue. Heavy breathing and gasping began, and shoulders shifted as some men moved their hands carefully toward their crotches.

"See anything, Myc?" Lestrade asked hoarsely.

"Lots of wanking, onscreen and off." Mycroft's grin widened. "I don't think your perpetrator's here, Greg."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. All the single men in the audience are indulging in hand to gland combat."

Lestrade exhaled. "Well, it was worth a shot."

"Speaking of shots." Mycroft danced his fingers along the crease of his lover's groin until Gregory's swelling crotch was pressing against his palm. "You seem to be absorbed in this tawdry entertainment. Should I be offended?"

"What? Christ, no! But it's amazing what they can do with trick photography these days." He pointed an unsteady finger at the screen. "That bloke in the crew-cut. Look at what he's doing. No fucking way that's one continuous scene."

Mycroft looked. "He's being spit-roasted, as that sort put it. So what?"

Lestrade laughed. "I can't believe you said spit-roasted."

"Said it? I've done it."

"Yeah? With who?"

"I never spit and tell, Greg."

"You never spit period."

They laughed, giddy with arousal and daring. On impulse, Mycroft put his umbrella on the adjoining seat, unzipped Lestrade's trousers, and pulled them down to his knees. After taking a quick glance around to ensure that no one was exhibiting firebug behavior, he leaned forward and breathed gently on the wet spot spreading across his lover's boxers.

"Oh, fuck," Lestrade hissed behind clenched teeth. "Please…."

Mycroft lowered the elastic waistband with his teeth until Gregory's cock and balls hung free, the former slapping lightly against his cheek and leaving a sticky smear. He darted his tongue teasingly around the head, enjoying the way the other man's stomach muscles clenched in response. He wrapped his lips around the first couple of inches, applying suction while licking lightly at the slit. Lestrade swore softly, dug his fingers into Mycroft's perfectly groomed hair, and forced his entire length down that talented throat.

The seat springs began to squeak as Lestrade rocked his hips with increasing urgency, but the noise from the orgy onscreen masked the noise nicely. Mycroft's cheeks hollowed as he sucked, coaxing out so much pre-ejaculate that it dribbled past his lips and ran down his chin. He undid and lowered his own trousers before wiping some of Gregory's pre-come onto his fingers and using it as lube to press into his tight hole. He stretched himself, moaning around his mouthful when his fingertips grazed his swollen prostate.

Just as he deemed himself ready to be fucked, Mycroft felt the first flicker of a contraction in Gregory's cock, warning of imminent orgasm. He pulled his mouth away with a wet smack, ignoring his lover's choked protest, and kicked his trousers and pants all the way off. As he climbed out of his seat and straddled Gregory's lap, the DI clutched the armrests and gasped, "What… what the fuck are you doing?"

"Shut up, and fuck me as hard as you can," Mycroft hissed. He reached back to hold Gregory's cock steady before lowering himself onto it. The glide and burn left him unable to do more than moan into Gregory's shoulder. When his buttocks rested heavily on his partner's thighs, he whimpered and began rotating his hips, wanting prostate stimulation.

Lestrade dropped his hands to Mycroft's waist. "What brought this on?"

"You. Always you."

Breathing heavily, Gregory clasped his lover's cock in one warm, lightly calloused hand and stroked. Mycroft whimpered, bent down, and sucked Lestrade's tongue as their combined lust escalated. They had fucked face to face before, but never like this, in public, when any moment could bring exposure and ruin for Lestrade at least.

They loved it.

When Mycroft felt climax approaching, he broke their kiss, pushed his face into the crook between Gregory's neck and shoulder, and dug his teeth into the fabric-covered flesh to muffle his moans. Gregory was fucking him so hard that a sharp slap slap slap accompanied each upward thrust. Suddenly he shook all over, every nerve raw with exploding energy, and came all over Lestrade's fist. His convulsions were still going strong when Gregory's body stiffened and warmth flooded his insides.

"Oh God, God," he half-sobbed, half-whispered.

Lestrade kissed his sweaty neck, and then peered around the dark theatre. "No suspicious activity so far from anyone but us, so how about we go back to your place?"

"And film our own feature attraction?"

"By all means. I'll give you a command performance."

Once he'd summoned the energy to move, Mycroft dismounted slowly and quietly, relishing the feel of Lestrade's cooling release trickling down his thighs. Must ask him to fuck me one day before I meet with the Foreign Minister, or someone equally important. When Gregory pulled a tissue out of his pocket and began to clean himself off, Mycroft grabbed his wrist, crouched down, and used his tongue and lips to complete the task.

When he stood up, Lestrade hugged him fiercely. "You horny bastard," he said, voice thick with emotion. "Where have you been all my life?"

As they edged out of the seat row and walked up the aisle toward the exit, Mycroft squeezed his hand and whispered, "Looking for you. What do you think?"