50 Shades of Mycroft

The end of another week heralded no pleasure for DI Gregory Lestrade. The prospect of another long, long weekend alone at home did nothing for his already tetchy mood. It had been 6 weeks since he had last seen Mycroft Holmes and it felt like SO much longer.

During that time he had come to the indisputable conclusion that the weekends were the worst. In the week he had plenty to occupy his time, murders to investigate, consulting detectives to babysit and more than enough paperwork to keep him busy until he reached retirement age!

The nights he could keep short by working late and then going home to 'talk' to Mycroft by email or Skype or a scratchy phone connection. The conversations were always short and told him nothing but he still cherished them:

"How was your day Gregory?"

"Same as always, murder and paperwork. You?"

"You know I cannot tell you that."

"No of course not. So is it nice where you are?"

"I am in a hotel room so…."

"Yea, I know, you can't tell me."

"I wish I could Gregory but…"

" I get it Mycroft…you can't tell me anything," he hated that he sounded so belligerent but he was lonely….horny and lonely… and he had, had this conversation EVERY night since Mycroft had suddenly found it necessary to flee the country. "Can you at least tell me when you think you might be home?"

There was a pause, there was ALWAYS a pause. "Soon, I am sure it will be soon."

Even over whatever medium they were using it was at this point that Greg could tell by the tone of Mycroft's voice that he wasn't the only one feeling the pain of their longest estrangement.

"I hope so because this house is far too big for one, and I miss you."

"I know and I will be back as soon as I can. Now I must go."

The connection would break and Lestrade would be left telling thin air that 'I love you'.

But the weekends, the weekends were interminable. They dragged with a slowness that Lestrade could barely believe possible. He tried to make what few jobs he had to do -washing, ironing, shopping - last as long as he could to minimise the hours he spent prowling round the house seeing Mycroft in everything, everywhere. It hadn't worked for the past six weekends and as he drew up to the house he was certain that it wouldn't work this weekend either.

Mycroft Holmes glanced at his Rolex; he'd been informed that Lestrade had left Scotland Yard and by his calculations he had just enough time to check everything was in place before Greg was due home.

He knew he didn't need to check because he was a meticulous man who left nothing to chance, especially when it was something as important as what he had planned for Greg.

Room by room everything was in its right place and finally satisfied Mycroft took one last look at himself in the hallway mirror and then undid another button on his shirt.

NOW he was ready.

He heard the key in the door just as he made it into the kitchen and the sound made his adrenaline spike.

Tonight, at last, he'd….they'd… be back together and Mycroft was determined to ensure that it was a night that neither of them would forget. As quietly as he could, he poured two glasses of champagne and waited.

Lestrade knew something wasn't right the second he opened the door and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled in anticipation. He REALLY wasn't in the mood to fend off burglars, or to deal with a petulant and bored Sherlock (who wasn't above breaking into his brother's house just for the hell of it).

Summoning his growing annoyance he clenched his hands into fists ready to fight should he need to and wished, not for the first time, that he had taken John's 'gun that he didn't have' off him and kept it.

The thought that it might be Mycroft never entered his head, after all he would have said if he was coming back, wouldn't he?

"Police!" he yelled kicking the door shut behind him, all his senses alert for any sound or movement. "Stay where you are." He took a purposeful step into the hallway.

"Really Gregory there is no need to shout."

Lestrade's head spun towards the sound of the familiar voice and the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks. Mycroft was stood in the kitchen doorway, champagne glasses in hand, a sincere smile on his lips.

His time away had given him a gentle tan which accentuated his freckles and showed off his pale eyes. His hair was lighter and longer than normal and unbelievably there was just the faintest trace of stubble showing along his jaw line.

Mycroft had 'dressed down' which for him meant no jacket or tie. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck allowing Lestrade a tantalising glimpse of flesh and just for the hell of it he'd opted to go bare footed.

Lestrade was speechless – which was EXACTLY the effect that Mycroft had intended.

For Lestrade it seemed as if an eternity passed in what was no more than seconds. He could hardly register what he could plainly see. He squinted and stared, he even shook his head and still nothing changed. Mycroft was home and looking like he had never done before. Lestrade didn't know if he should be angry with him for not telling him he was coming home or to just run over to him and kiss him very hard.

"You're home," his voice was low; almost a whisper and a smile cracked his features. Holding back the urges that seeing Mycroft had stirred inside him he shrugged out of his coat, letting it fall to the floor where he stood. Slowly he closed the gap between them, letting his senses absorb the unmoving, beautiful man in front of him.

The detective was all too aware that he looked unkempt, creased suit, more than one day's stubble, dark rings under his eyes. He smelt of too much coffee and too many cigarettes and not for the first time the awareness of their different social backgrounds threatened his equilibrium. Mycroft held out a glass as Lestrade ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"Yes I am," he pressed the glass into Lestrade's hand. "And I can honestly say that there is nowhere else I would rather be." He tapped his glass against Lestrade's and took a long draught of the chilled champagne.

"God Mycroft you don't know…I've …fuck…I've missed you so much," he shucked back half the glass of champagne hoping it would take away at least some of the taste of his day. Then he swept in, wrapped his free arm around Mycroft and swung him up off the floor as he kissed him.

It was the sweetest kiss….that first kiss….they were like lost men who had suddenly been found. It was better than the first time they had ever kissed; better than the kiss when they had exchanged their vows and better than the kiss they gave each other every day all rolled into one.

It lasted forever and no time at all and when they finally broke free from each other their breathing had fallen into a matched rhythm and the smiles they both wore lit up their faces.

"I should be mad at you," Lestrade said. Mycroft looked confused. "You didn't tell me you were coming home. You look so, God you look great, and I look like…."

"I wanted to surprise you and you look fine."

"Well you certainly managed that," he said as he downed the last of his drink.

Mycroft sipped at his own glass as if he was deep in thought and then with his mind made up said, "I have another surprise for you Gregory."

"I think I've had my fill of surprises for one day Myc, you nearly scared the life out of me back there. Thought you were a burglar or worse, Sherlock."

Mycroft's resolve almost wavered, he didn't want to force Lestrade into something that he didn't want and yet he had thought of nothing other than this night throughout the interminable meetings and the endless nights he had endured whilst he had been away and now he feared that all his plans would be for nothing.

"If you will permit me I think, without being too presumptuous, that this is a surprise that you will find…at the very least acceptable."

"Ok you got me intrigued," Lestrade said as he took Mycroft's hand and brushed a kiss across the knuckles. "Surprise me."

Unusually, Lestrade noted, their bedroom door was shut. It was never shut, not even in the depths of night and as he reached out to open it he found his way barred by Mycroft.

'Damn' he thought, 'that man can move when he wants to'.

Mycroft's hand stayed Lestrade's attempt to open the door and he drew himself up to his full height. He wasn't a great deal taller than Lestrade but right now all Lestrade was aware of was how powerful and masterful Mycroft looked. He was someone who exuded the confidence and ….arrogance…of a man who knew just what he wanted and just how to get it.

"Do you trust me Gregory?" Lestrade quirked his head at the unusual question. "Do you trust me in here?" Mycroft indicated beyond the closed door with an elegant sweep of his free hand.

"With my life, you know that."

"Yes, of course I do," he replied seriously. Mycroft had known that of course but he needed to hear Lestrade say the words and once he had he lifted Lestrade's hand from the door handle, gently kissed the palm and then swung the door open. Without another word Mycroft led them into the room.

The bedroom was lit by a myriad of scented candles their flickering light casting dancing shadows on the walls. The scents of jasmine, honeysuckle and bougainvillaea made the room smell like a balmy Mediterranean evening.

The bed was stripped down to a single dark silk sheet and low in the background the sound of Gregorian chanting could be heard. Lestrade had never seen anything more romantic, more sensual than this room that he thought he knew so well.

He could feel the start of his arousal, coiling in his belly, flooding his rational mind with the thought that all he wanted to do was to tear Mycroft's clothes from him and fuck him hard and long, to show him with words and actions just HOW much he had missed him. The words would be coarse and yet loving, the actions…well they would speak for themselves. They would fuck until they couldn't breathe and then they would fall asleep in each other's arms. And, if Lestrade had his way, they would NEVER be apart for that long again.

Lestrade pulled Mycroft into a tight embrace, holding him close, inhaling his special scent, feeling the way their bodies seemed to mould together. He leant in the last few inches and kissed the bare exposed flesh at the neck of Mycroft's shirt. He heard the tiny intake of air as his lips brushed the tanned flesh.

Mycroft allowed Lestrade to hold him, to nuzzle at his neck, his turn would come and when it did he knew that it wouldn't end until he had given him the most intense, most erotic night that either of them had ever had.

Mycroft ran a gentle hand down Lestrade's back feeling how he shivered and deepened his kisses at his touch. He tangled his fingers in the unruly strands of Lestrade's hair holding his head close against his chest. All the time their other hands remained intertwined their matching gold bands clinking softly as their bodies shifted subtly against each other.

Lestrade's eyes were almost black, the pupils blown wide with his lust when he finally lifted his head to look into Mycroft's face. He opened his mouth to speak and found that he had so much he wanted to say he didn't know where to start, so instead opted for silence and a wry smile that lit his whole face.

"I know," Mycroft told him as he slowly unwound himself from the embrace. "I know". Then there was distance between them and both men felt the emptiness deep inside them. "No words Gregory just trust me; do as I tell you and I promise you, I shall make you fly."

"'K," Lestrade swallowed, he'd never seen Mycroft like this before. Their sex life was healthy but conventional and that seemed to suit them both. But now Mycroft's whole demeanour had changed, he'd become…if Lestrade had to find one word to use it would have been…dominating, and that excited Lestrade more than he had expected. "Just want to say how much I love you."

"And I love you too Gregory," Mycroft said as he turned away to sit on the edge of the bed. "Now strip for me, slowly, I want to see every inch of you."

Lestrade toed off his shoes and slipped out of his suit jacket, letting it fall at his feet. Normally he had no trouble undressing but now he found himself cursing under his breath as under the unusually intense gaze of Mycroft he fumbled with his buttons.

Eventually he forced his fingers to cooperate and his shirt joined the growing pile on the floor with only one or two buttons torn from the cloth. He had less trouble with his trousers, socks and boxers leaving him naked, his erection hard and heavy showed Mycroft how he felt about the evening so far.

"Beautiful," Mycroft mumbled just loud enough to be heard as he soaked in the sight of the naked man before him. It seemed as if he had been dreaming of this night since the first day away from his husband and now that the reality was here, it was every bit as good as his dreams.

He heard Lestrade's huff of incredulity at his description but to Mycroft he was beautiful, in his own flawed, imperfect, scarred way and before Lestrade could say anything he spoke.

"Come closer, let me see you properly."

Lestrade took a steadying breath and then with just the slightest flick of his tongue over his lips walked slowly towards Mycroft. He didn't know why or where this new more demanding version of Mycroft had come from but he liked it…a lot.

Mycroft held up one hand to signal that Lestrade should stop where he was and rose with a cat like grace from the bed. He circled around the naked man in an almost predatory fashion, tracing the ridge of his shoulders with a sharp edged finger nail. He drew a faint red line down the gentle curve of Lestrade's spine relishing in the tremor that followed his finger.

"I cannot tell you how much I have missed you."

"You could try," Lestrade replied.

"There are more ways than just words Gregory," he tells him somewhat cryptically as he stops in front of him and reaches for the top button of his waistcoat. He finds his hand stayed against his chest by the thicker fingers of Lestrade.

"Here, let me" he says as he flicks the button open. "I want to get you naked Mycroft Holmes, right now."

Mycroft swallows thickly and nods his agreement. He allows Lestrade the pleasure of slowly divesting him of all his clothes. By the time he is naked he has an erection that matches Lestrade's and several reddening patches of skin from where Lestrade's lips and teeth have worried at his flesh.

"Lie down," Mycroft tells him.

It is an instruction, just short of an order and Lestrade scrambles to comply. As he lowers himself onto the bed he notices that across each dark pillow there is a splash of grey.

A grey silk tie lies on each pillow, one shot through with fine black thread, the other with fine purple thread. They were the ties they had worn the day they had got married.

As he rested his head in the space between the ties he knew that this was Mycroft's way of reassuring him about whatever was coming next. His way of telling him that he loved him and would never do anything to hurt him and that made him swallow down the unexpected lump in his throat.

"Hands above your head," this time it is an order. "Spread your arms to each corner of the bed."

The aching hardness of his erection spikes to a level that Lestrade hadn't ever imagined was possible. Never once in all their time together had they ever even broached the subject of 'kinky fuckery' and yet now….now he wanted it. He wanted Mycroft to tie him up and dominate him and that thought alone was enough to force a low rumbling moan of acceptance….of submission… from his lips.

With a speed and dexterity that would have impressed a Boy Scout Mycroft secured Lestrade's wrists with the ties. The bindings were tight enough to restrict movement without being uncomfortable. He placed a kiss onto the palm of each upturned hand and then ran a long finger down the length of Lestrade's exposed arm.

"Nearly there Gregory," he says as he pulls a black silk scarf from under one of the pillows. "To truly appreciate the pleasure you have to feel it and to feel it you have to have no distractions."

Lestrade knows that Mycroft wants to take his sight and although he doesn't understand why he should want that so badly... he knows that he does.

"Yes," he mumbles, not sure if the word is in agreement to what Mycroft has said or an acceptance, an agreement, of what he wants to do.

The last thing he sees is Mycroft, eyes wide with lust, cheeks flushed with arousal. Then his world turned black, as Mycroft bound the scarf around his head and unbelievably his arousal, his emotions climbed even higher. And Mycroft hasn't even touched him yet.

In this strange new world of darkness and restraint Lestrade turns to his other senses for comfort and finds that the first thing he notices is the music. When he had first come into the room it had been the low almost hypnotic rhythm of a Gregorian chant and now… it was still choral but different.

Layer upon layer of choirs sang, over and around each other. The music rose and fell in a crescendo of beautiful noise like nothing he had ever heard before. It filled him, took away his ability to think, all he could hear were the voices, like angels.

Now his sense of smell tells him that Mycroft is beside him. He'd know that smell anywhere, it is…citrus and spice, it is expensive and polished, it is uniquely Mycroft Holmes.

"I understand in situations such as this it is common practice to employ a 'safe' word," Mycroft informed him in a tone that sounded a little like he was giving a speech to a Government committee. "However I am certain that you will not have need of one, therefore, I shall not permit you one."

Mycroft saw and felt the uncomfortable squirm Lestrade gave at the thought of not being able to stop what was coming. "Do not worry Gregory, I promise that I will do nothing that does not give us both pleasure."

Lestrade wasn't sure if the use of the word 'us' was a good or a bad thing. He didn't know if what gave Mycroft pleasure might be something that gave him…pain.

"I think it is time we began," Mycroft told him in a voice that was deeper, huskier, more filled with emotion than Lestrade had ever heard. "You cannot see me and you cannot touch me but you will be able to feel me. I want you to feel me Gregory, around you, on you and in you."


"Hush Gregory….just relax…relax…" Mycroft's voice dropped lower and lower in tone until it was barely above a whisper. He pressed his lips against Lestrade's lips, a gentle reassuring kiss that slowly deepened as he pushed his tongue into Lestrade's mouth, tasting him. Coffee, cigarettes, champagne Mycroft noted as he ran his tongue along the ridge of Lestrade's teeth and was rewarded by the feel of Lestrade stretching up below him to meet his kiss with an equal amount of passion.

Mycroft would have been happy to have spent all night kissing Lestrade, it was one of the things he most liked to do but the aching hardness of his own erection drew his thoughts back to what he had planned and so with a long last kiss he reluctantly pulled free. His lips felt bruised and when he touched them with his fingertips they tingled.

Lestrade was aware of Mycroft moving away from him when he felt the weight lift from the bed and just for a fleeting second his whole body tensed with the loss of the contact. He knew….he thought he knew…that Mycroft wouldn't just leave him, but then again this was a whole new Mycroft. A darker Mycroft, a Mycroft that he really rather liked.

"Gregory!" an admonishment loud enough to be heard over the soaring choirs that still filled the room.

"What?" he asked surprised by the strange thick sound of his voice.

"I would never leave you like this, although it is a most acceptable sight."

How…how the bloody hell did Mycroft know what he was thinking he wondered not for the first time in their relationship.


"Apology accepted," Mycroft told him just a second before he swatted the taught skin of Lestrade's chest with the suede flogger he had picked up.

Lestrade grunted, not with the pain, in fact it didn't hurt as much as enliven, but with the surprise.

"I will use this, it will not hurt but it will make your skin sensitive and heighten the sensations that are yet to come," Mycroft told him as he delivered a second stroke swiftly followed by another and another. The strokes were all delivered with the same precise power and never in the same place and soon Lestrade's skin was glowing, his nerve endings screaming with the sensitivity of another blow.

After the shock of the first few blows Lestrade found that he was starting to crave the feel of the long suede fronds against his skin. Every blow now sent sharp spikes of pleasure to his groin and he was certain that he could come from the stimulation alone. He could hear his breathing loud in his own ear, rising and falling in time with the blows; feel the blood pulsing through his veins as he strained up into where he hoped the next blow would fall.

And then they stopped and Lestrade's cry of 'No…please' had spilled from his lips before he had even thought the words. He didn't even know what he was asking for. Something almost unbearably soft touched his skin, which in its highly sensitive state prickled and all the tiny hairs on his arm leapt up in the wake of the softness.

He can feel it, down one arm and then the other, long languid strokes, across his neck and onto his chest. It caresses his nipples tugging gently on each one skimming the surface of the hair that lies between them.

'Fur' he thinks thickly 'Fuck…it's a fur glove' and then as the glove trails down lower and lower he can't even think anymore. All he can do is listen to the low steady even breathing of Mycroft, the soft mumbling endearments that accompany each stroke of the glove and the music, the damn music, filling him all the parts blending together, a litany of love in a language that he can't understand until he can hardly even remember to breath.

The sensations are almost overwhelming. He wants it to stop and yet he never wants it to stop.

Mycroft had never seen Lestrade look more gorgeous, or sexier than he did right now. Bound and blindfolded, his body glowing in the candlelight, straining, seeking the next stroke of pain or pleasure. And he tells him so, with whispered words, as he strokes his gloved hand in tantalising, teasing circles lower and lower towards Lestrade's rock hard erection. He never touches it though, just strokes the skin at the top of his thighs, trails away down his legs and then back up again. Never giving Lestrade more than a moment to wonder where the softness will touch next.

Eventually Mycroft can stand it no longer, he needs to be inside his husband, needs to make love to him, needs to make him feel, needs to make him come apart at his very touch.

He drops the glove and settles himself on the bed. The music has started again, its long slow build up will perfectly match his and he kisses the hollow at the base of Lestrade's neck. A suckling kiss, with just the hint of teeth that once more makes Lestrade gasp at the sensation.


He places his fingers on Lestrade's lips as a way to still his words and finds that Lestrade opens his lips and draws his fingers into the warm wetness of his mouth where he sucks on the digits in a way that stops Mycroft in his tracks. It is both sensual and dirty in equal measure and Mycroft is aware of the hitch in his breathing and the passion that spirals deep in his groin.

Leaving his fingers where they are he arches his body away and resumes his exploration of Lestrade's body with his lips. He reigns kiss on the by now sweat slicked skin, taking great care to lavish extra attention on every tiny scar that marks the Detective Inspector's body. He mentally catalogues the life of a modern Police Officer as he does, stabbed….glassed….bitten….and wants nothing more than to make certain that nobody adds to that catalogue. And he could to, a few phone calls and….then he would take away from Lestrade the one thing that made him ….Gregory and he could never do that.

He takes one of Lestrade's nipples in his mouth laving it until it rises into a hard nub beneath his tongue. His free hand twists relentlessly at the other nipple until Lestrade moans around his fingers and he can feel the rumble of pleasure coursing downwards through the body beneath him. He kisses a trail down the fine hair that stops only where it is blocked by Lestrade's erection and without pausing takes him in his mouth, swallowing him almost to his root.

Lestrade throws his head back as he feels the warmth of Mycroft's mouth on him and he is almost undone there and then. He thinks he may have actually screamed as he felt the rough edge of Mycroft's tongue against the soft underside of his cock, and suddenly became aware of the scratch of light stubble against his groin as Mycroft tormented him to a point where he knew he was going to come.

He was on the brink, he opened his mouth to warn Mycroft and then….then it stopped…the heat, the pleasure…everything just stopped and he did scream.


Then he is aware that Mycroft is between his legs pushing them up, grasping his hips and pushing a soft pillow under him. He doesn't hear the snap of the lube but suddenly he can smell mint and then as the cool gel fills him he feels a tingle inside him. It is a new sensation, one of so many that he has been subjected to tonight, it further heightens his already fevered state.

Strong hands grip him and pull his legs higher, resting them against solid flesh and he knows that Mycroft has them around his waist and then with one swift movement he is filled and what little breath he has is lost.

Mycroft can feel the hot tightness of Lestrade around him, the slow burn of pain that accompanies his hard deep thrust. He had intended to take more time in his preparation but baser, more animal instincts, instincts he had kept hidden, suppressed for years had taken over. He knew that when Lestrade had begged him he was on the very, very edge of his control and that now was the time to take them both over that edge.

He pulled back slowly, feeling the quivering in Lestrade's thighs and then with an exquisite slowness filled him again. He heard them both moan and repeated his actions. Slowly, so very slowly, he starts to move, in and out, out and in. The voices in the music dictate his pace. As they build so does he, as they fall so he slows, keeping pace with the music, keeping his control, holding Lestrade on the verge of orgasm for minute after minute.

Finally he reaches through the embrace, pushing Lestrade's legs higher, getting so deep inside him that he can feel nothing else. He reaches out and pulls the blindfold from Lestrade's eyes.

"I want to see you when you come for me," he tells him as he thrusts hard against the spot inside him that sends shockwaves of pleasure through Lestrade that are so strong that even he cannot fail to feel them.

As the music builds to another crescendo Mycroft throws his head back and drives, harder and deeper and faster. His hips snap at the end of every thrust and then suddenly he stills, panting, sweat dripping from his hairline. He licks his lips and allows a smile to cross his face.

"Come for me now Gregory," he tells Lestrade as with one last almost violent thrust he gives in to his own orgasm.

At the very second that Mycroft filled him with his orgasm, Lestrade gave into the sensations that had flooded his mind and body all night long and despite the fact that Mycroft hadn't touched him for an eternity he came in an orgasm that was the most intense, the most agonising, that he had ever experienced.

He was vaguely aware that he might have cried Mycroft's name when he came, but the darkness that followed his release took everything from him.

When his consciousness returned he was aware firstly of the silence, the music had stopped, then the weight of a body draped across his own. He opened his eyes slowly to find Mycroft sprawled across his chest watching him with weary and yet concerned eyes.

"Hi," he said.

"Hello," Mycroft replied. "Are you alright?"

Lestrade can do no more than nod, he is tired, he aches, and he is so completely sated that he actually wonders if he will ever be able to stand again. Summoning his thoughts he takes a long deep breath in, feels the somehow comforting burn in his arse, and knows that he has never been more alright in his life.

"That was….." his voice is cracked with a sudden rush of emotion that leaves tears at the corners of his eyes and he has a sudden need to wrap Mycroft in his arms and never let him go. "I want to hold you."

Chagrined at his lack of forethought Mycroft hurried to undo the ties that bind Lestrade and is immediately swamped by strong arms that hold him close….so ….so close.

For a long time they don't speak, content to be in each other's arms. This, Mycroft thinks, is how it should always be. But as the room starts to cool he knows they need to move.



"We should get up."

"Why, I'm ok here."

Slowly Mycroft peeled himself off Lestrade and sat beside him on the edge of the bed.

"You did very well Gregory," he told him, "and I love you so very, very much. I am honoured that you are my husband."

Lestrade pushed himself up onto an elbow. "Right back at you," he said as he placed a gentle kiss on Mycroft's shoulder. "But can I ask you something?"

"Anything, you know that."

"Where the hell did all this," he waved a hand at the surroundings, "come from?"

"Six weeks away from you gave me a lot of time to think and there are certain things that I have always wanted to do with you. My homecoming seemed an opportune moment to enact some of those things."

"Some…you mean there's more?"

"Oh Gregory, you have no idea."

Lestrade sat up, pulled Mycroft close. He could smell their sex heavy in the air and once again feel the first stirring of arousal deep in his belly. He kissed him gently on the lips and whispered.

"Well then maybe you should put that fancy music back on and show me."