Chapter Text
Here, in this room with his younger brother and his younger brother’s partner, shuttered in and enclosed from the rest of the world, Mycroft finally realizes that he does not have a choice in the matter. Sherlock has always had his own methods for getting what he wants, and this is no different. John is perfectly still, pushed as far inside Mycroft as he can go, and Mycroft can feel every inch of him. The burning has abated but he’s full to bursting, every ridge and vein of John’s cock conforming perfectly against his insides. And Sherlock’s fingers are curled so gently around his cock, the thumb rubbing lightly over the slit like Sherlock isn’t even aware of what he’s doing, even though Mycroft knows there is nothing about this situation that Sherlock is unaware of.
Letting go goes against everything that he is. It's terrifying. He breathes in slow, sharp pants, trying unsuccessfully to control the fine trembling in his hands that can't be masked. He wants John to tell Sherlock to leave off and stop staring at him but he knows that John won't, not now, and that means Sherlock can see everything because he can't hide it anymore. He blinks slowly and then closes his eyes, allowing his head to tilt back in a silent concession because he can't bring himself to say it out loud. Even now that is beyond him, but it doesn't seem to matter. Sherlock exhales with a soft hiss of triumph and even though Mycroft's eyes are shut he can still picture the flush of satisfaction across his cheekbones, the way his eyes will gleam.
"Alright?" John says, his voice noticeably roughened and low.
"Yeah. Fuck him hard, John."
John rocks his hips, swaying almost gently into Mycroft. "You think he's ready?"
"Yes," Sherlock says, squeezing his hand tighter round Mycroft's cock. "But even if he's not, the decision has been taken out of his hands. That's what this was all about, after all. You have no control here, Mycroft, not anymore. You think you can do whatever you want, regardless of the effect it has on everyone around you. At least I don't try to play god. I don't intervene with people who are perfectly capable of getting on without me. I want you to leave me and John alone from now on unless we actually require your help." He eases up on his grip and instead forms his hand into a tight ring, so that the movement of John's fucking pushes his cock through Sherlock's hand. The feeling is glorious.
"Oh god." John groans with difficulty and rucks Mycroft's thighs up, nearly balancing them on his shoulders. It hurts but the ache in Mycroft's muscles only adds to the overall experience. "Sherlock, I don't think I can hold out much longer."
"It's alright, John. I want to see you fuck him until he can't hold back and then I want you to come inside him. Maybe we'll fetch a plug, keep him like that all night." Sherlock is practically purring.
Mycroft moans. He can't hold it back anymore. The idea of being kept here all night, trapped and helpless, plugged full of come is just too much. His body is tingling from head to toe with overstimulation and he doesn't know how much more he can take. He squirms restlessly and whimpers, the shame of the experience falling to the side, unimportant, when John rewards him with a particularly deep thrust that nudges his prostate just right. Sherlock curls in closer and begins whispering encouragement, fantasies, describing what John does to him, what Sherlock does to John, what they would both like to do to Mycroft the next time he sticks his nose in where it doesn't belong, and every word paints a lurid set of images across Mycroft's mind.
"Fuck, I'm going to - fuck - " John is gasping and his cock is swelling, getting even larger, and Sherlock's hand is tightening again and speeding up. He moves without warning, and suddenly Mycroft feels another touch between his buttocks, a long finger sliding curiously around his stretched entrance, pushing inside along with John's cock on the next downward thrust. The feeling is unbearable and pushes him ruthlessly over the edge.
He climaxes hard, his back arching and lips parting in a silent scream as he spills violently over Sherlock's hand. It seems to go on for ages, and he is just barely aware of John shuddering and coming deeply inside of him. They stay like that for several minutes, John panting and Mycroft shivering and Sherlock's eyes wide with fascination, until John braces himself against the bed and slowly eases out. Sherlock keeps his finger inside, though, and as soon as John is out he quickly slides in another to keep as little come as possible from spurting out. He says something to John in a low tone and John laughs and gets up with an agility that suggests he hasn't just fucked someone silly, and then Mycroft jolts as something cold and hard is eased between his cheeks.
"Easy," John says, sprawling out on the bed beside him. He pats Mycroft's belly in a manner that is clearly meant to be soothing.
"You..." Mycroft says and he wants to make it into some form of protest, he really does, but it doesn't work. The words get lodged in his throat and what emerges is instead a strangled whimper. He looks down the bed at his brother, kneeling between his stretched and aching thighs with a satisfied smirk on his face.
"You actually look pretty," Sherlock says musingly, cocking his head to the side.
"He's not the only one." John holds up a hand and beckons to him, and Sherlock crawls around and up the bed until he can hover over John and bring their lips together in a gorgeous, filthy kiss. Mycroft stares at them unashamedly until they part and Sherlock smirks at him as he wiggles in close to John's side, leaving John in the middle between them.
“Mycroft,” Sherlock says, “do you have anywhere you need to be?”
In between the drifting, sweet silence that has overtaken his mind, Mycroft tries to think about his schedule for the night and the next day, what’s he got to do and where he’s got to be. He knows – well, he’s fairly certain – that John and Sherlock would release him if he claimed a pressing engagement. It’s a surprise for him to realize that he doesn’t want to go, that he wants to stay where he is, he wants to sleep the night through with them and let whatever happens in the morning happen, whether it’s another thorough fucking or a shower and being sent on his way. He locks eyes with first Sherlock and then John and thinks about letting go.
“No,” he says at last. “No, I think I’m fine right here.”