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turanteOk, this literally didn’t let me sleep. It took me out of my hot bed and warm boyfriend (or was it the other way round?) at an ungodly hour to start writing it. (Took me a LONG time to gather the courage to finish and post it.)
Now I can go back to procrasturbating... *whistles nonchalantly*
Rating: Nc-17
Pairing: Mycroft/Lestrade
Word Count: who cares! I mean, 1300
Warnings: this one is KINKY! Mild Bondage, Orgasm Denial, Power Play, Rimming (is it a poker?)
A/N: this is for you![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thimpressionist because your picspams have the ability to turn my brain to mush and our conversations (and your fic!) make dirty, dirty thoughts pop in my mind, and for 2ndskin because she's the other one who encouraged more Bearded!Mycroft fics. Also, to whomever likes the man with a beard. Come out and claim a bit of dedication. I know you're there.
Also, completely, utterly and gloriously unbetaed.
Summary: Mycroft teases Lestrade in bed. (yep, that's ALL the plot)
Title: Perfectly Timed
They are in a small town; so far in the countryside their hotel barely even has a name. The rooms are small, few, but well soundproofed, which serves Mycroft’s purposes splendidly.
Outside it’s dark now – not that it changes anything.
Lestrade is panting, sheen of sweat covering his forehead, eyes closed and hands gripping the headboard so hard his knuckles are white (Mycroft loves taking in all these details).
Mycroft’s jacket is on a chair, where he has carefully left it before, so as not to get creases. His pocket watch is on the nightstand, substituted, this time, because it didn’t fit his intentions. His shoes are by the door, arranged tidily. His tie is used to gag Lestrade – he can see a glimpse of white teeth over the thick silk – and he’s still wearing the rest of his clothes, admittedly having conceded a few buttons on his collar and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.
Lestrade is naked, of course, and it is a sight he always enjoys, as proven by the tightening of his trousers.
But that’s not why he’s doing this.
He nibbles at a thigh and hears a stifled moan, then bites harder, and the man under him groans and flexes his leg, trying to flinch away and toward him at the same time. (He loves to make Lestrade confused with want. And to think that he had almost hesitated when Lestrade had asked him to grow a beard as a Birthday present.)
He bends down, spreading the inspector’s legs and manoeuvring them so that Lestrade can rests one on his shoulder. He kisses a bit higher, and Lestrade gasps, his mind grasping his final intent.
He knows that Lestrade is looking at the ceiling now, more flushed than ever, what little blood isn’t trapped in his erection rushing to his face and neck and ears.
Mycroft almost wishes he could see, but this is just as good.
His beard is short and tickles, scratches and stings Lestrade’s thigh where the skin is more sensible, more delicate. The part only he ever gets to see.
Delicious friction, Lestrade has called it, a nice rough burn.
He liked seeing Lestrade’s lips and mouth a bit redder than usual after they’ve kissed; liked seeing him rub at his face and smile his grin full of mischief.
And what he plans to do next...
Lestrade flexes his leg, calling him back from his reverie. Mycroft licks at the thigh and the man moans around his gag, a shameless, delicious sound coming from his throat.
He moves his mouth upwards and gently kisses his way to the man’s testicles. He starts licking and even sucking a bit, holding him down with one hand as he bucks his hips.
He muses, silently, and watches Lestrade’s body answer to his touches – has been doing it all along – recalculating each time the best thing to do in order to obtain the best result (it isn’t as arid as it sounds).
Mycroft sucks on his fingers, making a bit of a show of it, moaning a bit too loudly as he sloppily wets them with his own saliva. He can hear a curse muffled by the silk; cannot discern the words, but he knows the man well enough. Lestrade is a creature of habit, just like him, and awfully fond of his curse words.
Then he slowly inserts one digit into his opening. Lestrade bites harder on his tie, trying to move against the finger; Mycroft has teased him enough before – well, not enough according to Mycroft.
Now the inspector wants more.
Mycroft knows the man would never forgive himself for begging – that’s what the gag is for – and besides, this is more fun. Make him beg with his body, tremble, whimper, moan and sweat with impatience and desire. Make him swallow his pride and allow Mycroft to do anything to him.
Yes, fun.
He pulls out the finger, and Lestrade growls: his patience is wearing thin, and most people would capitulate and give him what he wants, what he craves, what he’s almost begging for. But Mycroft is not most people. And Lestrade is not even begging.
He rubs his beard on the inside of the other thigh, drawing out another groan, a bit frustrated this time. Mycroft stops for a second to bite.
He puts the finger back in, slowly, carefully tracing every millimetre of the passage, then out again. He circles the opening, teasing the muscles, and works a second finger inside too.
Lestrade’s whimper sounds almost delighted, since Mycroft doesn’t even register impatience anymore (it’s beside the point).
He goes back to nibbling and scraping his teeth and beard across the tender skin in front of him. It’s still new, and Mycroft is trying it out, enjoying it thoroughly – though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone else.
He bends the fingers, teasing Lestrade more, finding his prostate and brushing past it once, making the man shudder and arch his hips wantonly, but after that he carefully avoids it. He doesn’t want this to end yet.
He takes out the fingers and before leaving him the time to complain, he spreads Lestrade’s cheeks better, teasing the hole with his tongue this time.
Lestrade has probably screamed “Fuck!” at this point. Or rather, tried to.
Mycroft knows exactly how this feels, with a wet tongue pushing at his entrance and the stubble scraping him slightly in places he’d never imagined. A soft pain on the right side of pleasure, a little discomfort maybe, but such a supreme distraction...
Lestrade moans louder, shifting his hips to get a better angle. Mycroft knows how to undo him completely, but it’s an art and he won’t be rushed.
He stills the other man’s hips and sets his pace, he starts gently, with light touches and licks, pausing every now and then to kiss or nibble. He’s aiming to make him insane with need, so beyond reason he forgets all about their little game.
So far Lestrade has resisted everything, showing an admirable self-control as Mycroft licked the entire alphabet on his skin. One letter at a time, each on a different patch of skin, interspersed with punctuation, numbers, hickeys and bites.
He has endured the torture of being brought to the brink of orgasm by Mycroft’s mouth sucking him, his fingers touching every other erogenous zone he possesses (that’s where being observant comes in handy).
And so far Lestrade has resisted the urge to beg, or disobey Mycroft’s order not to touch himself.
But now... Now that Mycroft is stabbing his tongue in and out of his hole, his resolution is crumbling, he can barely think anymore – and after all that teasing no one can blame him! – so when the man that is the British Government (despite all his insistence of the contrary) adds a finger to the game to stroke his prostate, he gives in. Lestrade groans against the tie gagging him, lets go of the headboard and finally, finally closes his hand around himself, stroking fast, hard, so eager to come.
It doesn’t take long at all before he spills himself on his hand and all over his chest. It’s a wonderful relief and a tad disappointing coming down from his orgasm.
Mycroft sits back on the bed, tutting in disapproval at his disobedience. He pulls out the stopwatch from his waistcoat’s pocket and presses the button. “A few minutes short of three hours... but I have faith you can do better,” he says, and Lestrade feels too boneless to do anything other than grab Mycroft by the shirt and kiss him and his delicious stubble.
There’s always morning to make Mycroft regret having made him wait so long for an orgasm, and knowing him, Mycroft has probably already planned it too.
Now I can go back to procrasturbating... *whistles nonchalantly*
Rating: Nc-17
Pairing: Mycroft/Lestrade
Word Count: who cares! I mean, 1300
Warnings: this one is KINKY! Mild Bondage, Orgasm Denial, Power Play, Rimming (is it a poker?)
A/N: this is for you
thimpressionist because your picspams have the ability to turn my brain to mush and our conversations (and your fic!) make dirty, dirty thoughts pop in my mind, and for 2ndskin because she's the other one who encouraged more Bearded!Mycroft fics. Also, to whomever likes the man with a beard. Come out and claim a bit of dedication. I know you're there.Also, completely, utterly and gloriously unbetaed.
Summary: Mycroft teases Lestrade in bed. (yep, that's ALL the plot)
Title: Perfectly Timed
They are in a small town; so far in the countryside their hotel barely even has a name. The rooms are small, few, but well soundproofed, which serves Mycroft’s purposes splendidly.
Outside it’s dark now – not that it changes anything.
Lestrade is panting, sheen of sweat covering his forehead, eyes closed and hands gripping the headboard so hard his knuckles are white (Mycroft loves taking in all these details).
Mycroft’s jacket is on a chair, where he has carefully left it before, so as not to get creases. His pocket watch is on the nightstand, substituted, this time, because it didn’t fit his intentions. His shoes are by the door, arranged tidily. His tie is used to gag Lestrade – he can see a glimpse of white teeth over the thick silk – and he’s still wearing the rest of his clothes, admittedly having conceded a few buttons on his collar and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.
Lestrade is naked, of course, and it is a sight he always enjoys, as proven by the tightening of his trousers.
But that’s not why he’s doing this.
He nibbles at a thigh and hears a stifled moan, then bites harder, and the man under him groans and flexes his leg, trying to flinch away and toward him at the same time. (He loves to make Lestrade confused with want. And to think that he had almost hesitated when Lestrade had asked him to grow a beard as a Birthday present.)
He bends down, spreading the inspector’s legs and manoeuvring them so that Lestrade can rests one on his shoulder. He kisses a bit higher, and Lestrade gasps, his mind grasping his final intent.
He knows that Lestrade is looking at the ceiling now, more flushed than ever, what little blood isn’t trapped in his erection rushing to his face and neck and ears.
Mycroft almost wishes he could see, but this is just as good.
His beard is short and tickles, scratches and stings Lestrade’s thigh where the skin is more sensible, more delicate. The part only he ever gets to see.
Delicious friction, Lestrade has called it, a nice rough burn.
He liked seeing Lestrade’s lips and mouth a bit redder than usual after they’ve kissed; liked seeing him rub at his face and smile his grin full of mischief.
And what he plans to do next...
Lestrade flexes his leg, calling him back from his reverie. Mycroft licks at the thigh and the man moans around his gag, a shameless, delicious sound coming from his throat.
He moves his mouth upwards and gently kisses his way to the man’s testicles. He starts licking and even sucking a bit, holding him down with one hand as he bucks his hips.
He muses, silently, and watches Lestrade’s body answer to his touches – has been doing it all along – recalculating each time the best thing to do in order to obtain the best result (it isn’t as arid as it sounds).
Mycroft sucks on his fingers, making a bit of a show of it, moaning a bit too loudly as he sloppily wets them with his own saliva. He can hear a curse muffled by the silk; cannot discern the words, but he knows the man well enough. Lestrade is a creature of habit, just like him, and awfully fond of his curse words.
Then he slowly inserts one digit into his opening. Lestrade bites harder on his tie, trying to move against the finger; Mycroft has teased him enough before – well, not enough according to Mycroft.
Now the inspector wants more.
Mycroft knows the man would never forgive himself for begging – that’s what the gag is for – and besides, this is more fun. Make him beg with his body, tremble, whimper, moan and sweat with impatience and desire. Make him swallow his pride and allow Mycroft to do anything to him.
Yes, fun.
He pulls out the finger, and Lestrade growls: his patience is wearing thin, and most people would capitulate and give him what he wants, what he craves, what he’s almost begging for. But Mycroft is not most people. And Lestrade is not even begging.
He rubs his beard on the inside of the other thigh, drawing out another groan, a bit frustrated this time. Mycroft stops for a second to bite.
He puts the finger back in, slowly, carefully tracing every millimetre of the passage, then out again. He circles the opening, teasing the muscles, and works a second finger inside too.
Lestrade’s whimper sounds almost delighted, since Mycroft doesn’t even register impatience anymore (it’s beside the point).
He goes back to nibbling and scraping his teeth and beard across the tender skin in front of him. It’s still new, and Mycroft is trying it out, enjoying it thoroughly – though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone else.
He bends the fingers, teasing Lestrade more, finding his prostate and brushing past it once, making the man shudder and arch his hips wantonly, but after that he carefully avoids it. He doesn’t want this to end yet.
He takes out the fingers and before leaving him the time to complain, he spreads Lestrade’s cheeks better, teasing the hole with his tongue this time.
Lestrade has probably screamed “Fuck!” at this point. Or rather, tried to.
Mycroft knows exactly how this feels, with a wet tongue pushing at his entrance and the stubble scraping him slightly in places he’d never imagined. A soft pain on the right side of pleasure, a little discomfort maybe, but such a supreme distraction...
Lestrade moans louder, shifting his hips to get a better angle. Mycroft knows how to undo him completely, but it’s an art and he won’t be rushed.
He stills the other man’s hips and sets his pace, he starts gently, with light touches and licks, pausing every now and then to kiss or nibble. He’s aiming to make him insane with need, so beyond reason he forgets all about their little game.
So far Lestrade has resisted everything, showing an admirable self-control as Mycroft licked the entire alphabet on his skin. One letter at a time, each on a different patch of skin, interspersed with punctuation, numbers, hickeys and bites.
He has endured the torture of being brought to the brink of orgasm by Mycroft’s mouth sucking him, his fingers touching every other erogenous zone he possesses (that’s where being observant comes in handy).
And so far Lestrade has resisted the urge to beg, or disobey Mycroft’s order not to touch himself.
But now... Now that Mycroft is stabbing his tongue in and out of his hole, his resolution is crumbling, he can barely think anymore – and after all that teasing no one can blame him! – so when the man that is the British Government (despite all his insistence of the contrary) adds a finger to the game to stroke his prostate, he gives in. Lestrade groans against the tie gagging him, lets go of the headboard and finally, finally closes his hand around himself, stroking fast, hard, so eager to come.
It doesn’t take long at all before he spills himself on his hand and all over his chest. It’s a wonderful relief and a tad disappointing coming down from his orgasm.
Mycroft sits back on the bed, tutting in disapproval at his disobedience. He pulls out the stopwatch from his waistcoat’s pocket and presses the button. “A few minutes short of three hours... but I have faith you can do better,” he says, and Lestrade feels too boneless to do anything other than grab Mycroft by the shirt and kiss him and his delicious stubble.
There’s always morning to make Mycroft regret having made him wait so long for an orgasm, and knowing him, Mycroft has probably already planned it too.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 28/12/2010 19:32 (UTC)no subject
Date: 28/12/2010 20:19 (UTC)Yay for grin making! well, it's all your fault really, for inspiring it. :D
no subject
Date: 28/12/2010 22:17 (UTC)Sorry look I'm a bit incoherent right now. How do you do this??? FUCK you've hit my kinks and omg I can't think!
I'm just gonna go....bunk need bunk
(Look at my lack of punctuation!! LOOK WHAT YOUVE DONE!)
Daaaaamn........
Now I need to write some Mystrade porn. I think I've been holding back- you, fengirl and bloomy have done it! I feel left out! T__T
no subject
Date: 28/12/2010 23:58 (UTC)Do I gather that you liked it?
(about hitting kinks... it's because we share too many, dear. way too many. --> points at Jim. AHEM)
Far be it from me not to encourage more porn. Just don't let it interfere with the WIPs (like I do. *headdesk*)
*glomps you*
no subject
Date: 29/12/2010 21:26 (UTC)THIS.
this is what I get for spending a week away - sensory overload of bearded!Mycroft porn...
*sizzles*
no subject
Date: 29/12/2010 21:29 (UTC)You go away and my shame leaves too. U_U
no subject
Date: 29/12/2010 21:35 (UTC)whew! this was soooo hot...
no subject
Date: 29/12/2010 21:42 (UTC)Thank god I don't always dream like this... No, wait. DAMN!
no subject
Date: 29/12/2010 21:30 (UTC)I have to read this again. I think I wil never want or need any other porn for the rest of my life.
It's like . . . the Taj Mahal of Lestrade/Mycroft porn.
Really.
Am going off to read it twice more, then will comment coherently.
I love you.
no subject
Date: 29/12/2010 21:40 (UTC)But please, for my sake, BREATHE! *breathe in... out... slowly*
You're flattering me way too much!
no subject
Date: 29/12/2010 21:43 (UTC)I am in love with Mycroft and his tidy, observant, devilish self. Oh my god. My fucking, fucking god.
I really am literally bowing down to your pornographic skills right now because I can't get off the floor. <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
no subject
Date: 29/12/2010 22:58 (UTC)no subject
Date: 29/12/2010 23:01 (UTC)no subject
Date: 04/01/2011 14:48 (UTC)(that sounds a tad wrong... meh XD)
Evil!Mycroft! Poor Lestrade! haha
I usually tend to shy away from Mystrade fics... Mycroft tends to be a bit OOC. But this... this wow, really fantastic!
Love this one too! XD
no subject
Date: 04/01/2011 15:24 (UTC)Glad you enjoyed this one too! (God only knows how much I enjoy your fics... :) )