Fairy-lights twinkled on a tree so symmetrically and meticulously decorated that it looked strangely unreal, giving the rather sombre room not only a hint of warmth and festivity, but dim, shifting multi-coloured light. Specks of red, blue, green, and white made the three shapes on the haphazard pile of cushions before the tree look a little surreal.
Mycroft lay upon a large cushion of deep maroon, his fair skin looking all the paler by comparison, and the dim spangle of the fairy-lights almost didn’t reveal the constellation of fine freckles scattered over his body. He held his lower lip tightly between his teeth, hands fisted in the upper edge of the cushion so tightly that fabric was pulled taut under his neck. He was nude save for a garish green, red, and black striped tie loosely knotted about his neck.
John Watson, fully-bared skin looking more tan than it actually was in comparison with Mycroft’s, moved in a slow, steady rhythm that he had already proven capable of maintaining for far longer than Mycroft had expected. One of the elder Holmes brother’s long, long legs was hooked over John’s shoulder, the other splayed widely to the side, similarly-long toes curled and uncurled in obvious pleasure as John’s hips moved.
“C’mon, Mycroft, let me hear it,” John murmured as he bent down and caught one of the pale, rose-coloured nipples showing amidst fine, dark-ginger chest-hair, sucking the tiny, already tight bud and nipping it lightly. This brought a gasp from Mycroft, along with an upward thrust of his hips into John’s forward movement. John gave a soft, breathy grunt in response as this forced him even deeper into Mycroft for just a moment; at the same time, this brought an open-mouthed cry from Mycroft at the result of his reactive movement.
“He was much louder than this when I walked in on him and his first lover,” Sherlock rumbled as he knelt up behind John, neatly fitting his legs in amongst John’s and his brother’s before running one graceful hand down John’s bare back, delving the middle two fingers into the cleft of his arse. A slight sound escaped John, a sighing moan that was almost lost against Mycroft’s chest as he stretched to reach the other nipple.
“Sherlock, do shut up,” Mycroft hissed, poking his younger brother unerringly in the chest with the toes of the leg John held against his chest.
“John likes to hear that he’s doing well,” Sherlock explained as he circled the sensitive ring of John’s entrance with his fingers, which brought another low, breathy sound from John. “He’s worked hard on your present, you ought to show some enthusiasm.”
“I… ahh… ammm…” Even as Mycroft was responding, John circled his rigidly-erect cock with a warm, slightly-rough hand and gently squeezed, making it impossible for Mycroft to speak any more clearly as he arched into the touch. When John began a rhythm of strokes that matched his measured thrusts, Mycroft crooned in an undertone, “oh, yesss, perrrfectmmmm...”
“Sherlock, you’re going to lube those,” John said against Mycroft’s chest as Sherlock pressed just the tip of one finger inside John’s arse.
“Of course,” sighed the younger Holmes brother. “Just testing.” He exhaled a little shakily as he nuzzled at the nape of John’s neck, revealing that he was struggling past his arousal to seem unaffected.
John made a sub-vocal sound that was like a grunting-growl and bit Mycroft’s nipple just short of painfully. Mycroft gave another gasping cry of surprised response and rocked up into John again. The flash of John’s grin was brief and he worried the tight bud a few more times, timing it so Mycroft’s reactive hip-thrusts met his own inward pushes. Each one garnered another, louder sound from Mycroft at the sensation of John’s cock suddenly balls-deep inside him.
“You like that,” John observed, voice low and a little rough with his own arousal, and Mycroft’s cock twitched in his hand, the man himself exhaling shortly in reaction to both the voice and the sensation. “Yeah, alright, ready for it?”
“He’s been ready for it for three and a half minutes, John,” Sherlock put forth smugly as he squirted lube onto his fingers.
“Sherlock,” John said in a slightly more off-hand voice, never ceasing his steady thrusts into Mycroft’s arse. “You remember what’s in the second drawer of my nightstand, left-side?”
Sliding slick fingers down toward John’s hole, Sherlock sighed out, “oh, yes.” Mycroft’s eyes opened at this and his entire expression went from ‘oh, God, this feels good’ to ‘oh, my, what is in John’s nightstand that makes Sherlock react like that?’, though in a very subtle, Holmesian fashion.
John tightened his grip minutely while giving the head of Mycroft’s cock a swirling sweep with his thumb, making the man gasp and then moan, his eyes closing reflexively. The doctor turned his head to the side, voice still easy and off-hand—possibly too much so—as he added, “You behave or it’s two hours, I mean it.”
“Oh…” Sherlock breathed, resting his head against the middle of John’s back for a moment, and then pressed a kiss there as he ran his fingers in a small circle over the tight ring of muscle. “Yes, John.”
“As for you, Mycroft,” John shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on Mycroft’s leg and widening his knees, consequently lifting Mycroft’s hips a little higher off the big cushion beneath him. “Since you’re more than ready for it, let’s go.”
“God,” Mycroft moaned, shivering in anticipation, not having to ask what was meant. A moment later, he was proved correct in his deduction as John started moving faster, picking up speed, each push a little harder and his strokes on Mycroft’s cock commensurately increased.
“Okay, Sherlock,” John said a bit breathlessly, “go ahead and… mmmmyeaahh…” Before John could finish, Sherlock was sliding two fingers into him, resting his palm against John to better move along with him as he thrust into Mycroft. “Mmmfuck,” John groaned as the dual sensations collided in him and made everything a bit more intense.
“Are you… going to…” Mycroft tried to speak clearly, but he was caught in his own dual sensory experience and had to work to finish his sentence, everything broken apart by the soft smack of John’s skin against his own and the shock of pleasure that jolted through the both of them with each thrust. “Take Sherlock… at the same… time?”
“You want that?” John asked, his grin crooked and his rhythm faltering a little.
“Of course he does,” Sherlock rumbled, twisting his fingers, eliciting a gasp from John that was definitely not displeasure. “I want to, too.”
“Yes,” Mycroft agreed, then bit his lip, adding in a smaller voice, “though I can’t last long… if you do.”
“It’s fine. We’ve got all night to have another go,” John reassured him, turning his head to the side. “Ready, Sherlock?” He entirely missed Mycroft’s eyes widening at his words ‘have another go’.
“You have to ask?” Withdrawing his fingers, Sherlock slicked the excess lube along his fully erect cock, the head nearly purple and dripping with pre-ejaculate.
John chuckled a bit unevenly. “Silly me.” He slid into Mycroft all the way, leaning forward a bit more, keeping his hand moving idly on Mycroft’s just as wet cock, running his hand over the top to gather more and spread it downward.
Scooting closer behind John, Sherlock lined his cock up with John’s now-slicked hole and pushed in slowly. “Oh, yes, yes…” He whispered, perhaps not even intending to do so, as John’s body accepted him.
Mycroft watched, head lifted and tilted to the side, as his younger brother’s long-fingered hands curved around John’s hips, as Sherlock’s eyes closed and his lips parted and moved on another silent ‘oh’ and then ‘John’. At the same time, John never quite stopped his hand moving on Mycroft’s cock, but his own eyes closed and his head dropped forward, obviously focused on Sherlock entering him in careful incremental pushes and withdrawals.
“Fuck, Sherlock… fuck… hold still or… Jesus fuck…” John groaned and for just a moment it was clear that he was close to overwhelmed, a shudder running through him. Sherlock held still, almost all the way in, and mouthed the line of John’s neck where it met his shoulder. After another few moments, John nodded, his voice still rough and breathy. “Okay.”
“Go. Set the pace,” Sherlock urged thickly, sounding almost drugged, looking over John’s shoulder with eyelids so heavy they were almost closed, watching Mycroft as he placed more open-mouthed kisses along John’s skin.
Mycroft nodded, gaze shifting from his brother to his brother’s lover, temporarily his—almost—and observed as John tilted his head, consciously or unconsciously inviting more of Sherlock’s attention upon his neck.
Seeing the nod, John started moving again, and Mycroft lifted up into him, watching the differences in John’s face and body, noting how seemingly effortlessly Sherlock matched his movements; the younger Holmes falling into a tandem rhythm rather than a synchronized pattern. Each time John was fully inside Mycroft, Sherlock slid home inside John a moment afterward, then letting John push him back before pulling out at the apogee of John’s motions; thus, by waiting that small fraction of a second before following him in again, he and John were getting friction at the same time as Mycroft.
Where before John was fairly in control, not very verbal or noisy, now he gave soft, deep-throated sounds with each thrust, and it took him almost a minute to remember to start working Mycroft’s cock again. With that added stimulation, Mycroft’s previous reservations began slipping further away, his moans and gasps increasing with each thrust and stroke; consequently, his increased response only made John and Sherlock’s greater, in kind. Soon John was swearing softly, fingers indenting Mycroft’s thigh, hips snapping forward faster, and Sherlock moaned incomprehensible syllables against John’s neck and shoulder.
“I… I’m…going to…” Mycroft reached down, though he had kept his hands up and steadfastly clamped to the cushions till then, and lay his hand over Sherlock’s on John’s hip. Sherlock’s eyes opened, pupils blown wide, and he met Mycroft’s gaze—bluer irises around pupils gone just as huge—and he grinned wickedly at his elder brother as he deliberately set his mouth at a precise spot on John’s neck and bit lustily.
“Ah! Fuck, Sherlock, yeah,” John nearly shouted as he almost immediately started coming, his thrusts turning a little erratic, but slightly rougher. “Now, now, Jesus!”
Mycroft groaned loudly, digging his fingers into Sherlock’s hand and John’s hip as he came harder than he had in years, his other hand unknowingly tearing the cushion still in his grasp.
“Ooohhhh…” Sherlock, caught up in John’s orgasm and then sparked by Mycroft’s, came shouting, though muffled by the fact that he still had his mouth fastened to John’s neck, and he barely managed not to break the skin before letting go. The skin was already livid, no doubt John would carry quite a mark for a few days.
Some minutes later, after all three had lain sprawled out on the cushions just panting for a while, Mycroft mustered language first, though he spoke in the slow drawl of a thoroughly relaxed man. “That was quite the most creative… Christmas gift I think I have ever… received. Thank you both for… sharing.”
“Not both,” Sherlock argued, his own voice similarly coloured with post-coital lethargy. “That was John’s gift.”
Mycroft lifted his head, frowning at his brother. “Not that I’m complaining, of course, but—“
“This,” Sherlock interrupted, lifting his hand and smacking John’s bare arse fondly with more noise than actual impact. John twitched slightly in surprise, but didn’t protest as Sherlock continued speaking, all the while spreading his hand upon John’s buttock and squeezing with obvious appreciative approval. “This is your gift from me, mon frère.” John turned his head where it was resting upon Sherlock’s chest, a sultry grin on his face and heavy-lidded, knowing dark blue eyes.
Mycroft lifted one eyebrow as his sex-blurred brain caught up, his expression turning from mild surprise to smugly speculative, and John’s grin turned into a soft, almost-giggle as he nodded in confirmation. “Happy Christmas, Mycroft.”
“Happy Christmas, indeed,” Mycroft agreed, his voice almost a purr.