Curiosity

Prompt: Greg letting Mycroft fuck him to satisfy his bi-curiosity. He ends up liking it very, very much.

Greg was being wined and dined by Mycroft Holmes. The man sat proudly across from him in the shiny kitchen of a sleek London apartment, with his back straight and his head held high. Every few minutes he would carefully adjust the handkerchief in his front pocket and smooth back the loose curl which fell repeatedly down over his forehead.

Intensely aware of exactly why he was here, Greg prodded unenthusiastically at the delicate food on the plate before him. When his red wine jus splattered across the pristine white table cloth, Mycroft flinched and Greg hurriedly set down his fork. There was absolute silence, and nothing about the atmosphere was making him feel at ease.

Finally setting his knife and fork to one side, Mycroft removed the handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed neatly at the corners of his mouth. As he did so, his eyes roamed appreciatively. Greg swallowed dryly as the man dropped his handkerchief on top of his plate and began to loosen his tie.

‘Um,’ Greg watched, suddenly aware of an unpleasant fluttering sensation in his stomach. ‘Should I…?’ he gestured at his own clothing, a plain black shirt and tight denim jeans.

Mycroft shook his head. His chair scraped loudly across the tiled floor as he stood. Removing his tie as he approached, he hooked Greg around the neck with it and drew him to his feet.

The silky fabric brushed tantalisingly against the sensitive skin beneath his jaw and Greg followed, transfixed, as the man backed out of the room. His mind racing, he wondered exactly how this had happened. Mycroft had always made it plain what he wanted from their relationship, but it wasn’t until now that Greg had given in. He supposed he was… curious.

Still moving backwards, Mycroft licked his lips as he leaned back against an intricately carved wooden door. It swung silently open on its hinges revealing a decadent bedroom, lit by the flickering light of a glowing, red fire.

Mycroft sighed and let go of the tie wrapped around Greg’s neck. ‘At last,’ he murmured, with evident satisfaction, hands reaching forwards to claw at the fabric of his shirt. The man’s eyes fell closed and he let out a small whimper before falling swiftly to his knees.

As the man’s face was pressed firmly into his thigh, Greg became aware he was trembling. He pushed his hand into Mycroft’s hair, tangling his fingers in the soft curls and holding tightly. The man turned his head sideways at the movement, and his heavy breathing brushed heatedly against Greg’s trouser zip. Frozen by the strangeness of having a man staring at his crotch, Greg made no attempts to stop the fingers slipping below his waistband.

The first stroke of smooth fingertips against the bare skin of his stomach sent a wave of heat flooding through him. With a wild groan, he reached behind him and shut the bedroom door with a slam.