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Anything You Want

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“Can we try something?”

Mycroft glanced up at Greg and raised an eyebrow. The question was casual, but--fingertips of Greg’s left hand rubbing together anxiously, absently, slight rise in the pitch of his voice, lower lip pink and slick (he’s been biting it, nervous, excited), face a study in forced calm. Greg had so many tells it was really rather silly of him to think he could fool Mycroft for a second.

“What has you so worked up, then?” Mycroft asked.

“I’m not… okay, fine, yeah,” Greg said, and a sheepish grin spread across his face. “I want to try something. With you. In bed.”

Mycroft allowed a trickle of amused indulgence to show in his eyes. “You hardly need to ask.”

“This time, I do,” Greg replied. “Just, would you come with me? Please?” He held out a hand.

“Always.” Mycroft took his hand and rose to his feet, then let Greg lead him into the bedroom. He watched Greg carefully. Slight leftward hitch to his gait, already aroused enough to making walking awkward. Respiration elevated, but quiet--a clear effort to keep it under control. Mycroft didn’t know what was coming but Greg’s obvious excitement alone was enough to make his skin sing with anticipation.

“Right,” Greg said, turning to face him as they stood beside the bed. “Hold still.”

Mycroft quirked a smile at him and held still obediently. Greg unbuttoned his waistcoat first, sliding his hands around Mycroft’s abdomen, feeling the shape of him. He moved to the shirt buttons next, slowly, and stopped halfway down Mycroft’s chest. He flicked his gaze up to meet Mycroft’s eyes for a moment, then leaned in to kiss delicately at his neck. The touch was light, ticklish, leaving behind cool spots of moisture that made Mycroft shiver.

Greg made a muffled sound against him and kissed harder, sucking at the spot just below Mycroft’s ear, then nibbling at his earlobe. Mycroft’s hand came up automatically, cradling the back of Greg’s head, wanting more pressure.

Greg pulled back and took Mycroft by the wrist, steering his hand back to his side. “No,” he said. “Let me.”

Mycroft nodded. He swayed forward as Greg went back to kissing him, the faint stubbled scrape of his chin followed by the warm, wet slide of his lips. Greg steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, the other cupping Mycroft’s jaw, tilting him. He nosed along the line of Mycroft’s collarbone, dipped his tongue into the center, peppered a line of kisses up his throat and to the hinge of his jaw. Mycroft closed his eyes and leaned harder. His skin prickled into goosebumps, a hot tingle down his back and across his chest.

Greg kissed him on the mouth then, tugging at Mycroft’s lower lip, running the tip of his tongue just inside. Mycroft chased the touch eagerly. Greg had a soft mouth, a plush curve that could do startlingly wicked things and Mycroft wanted it, he wanted to lick in and taste and have. But Greg kept the kiss light, teasing. Almost chaste, with daring little nips and soft kisses to the corners of his mouth.

Mycroft gave an impatient huff of breath and brought his hand up again, tangling his fingers in Greg’s hair, holding him close. Greg immediately grabbed his wrist and pushed it back down, squeezing a little tighter this time. “No,” he said, stern. His face was close, his mouth reddened and wet, his eyes dark with arousal. But relentless, implacable. “Keep your hands down.”

“Greg…” Mycroft heard the needy whine in his own voice and swallowed it back. “Yes. All right.”

Greg grinned at him, and looked, for a moment, impossibly young and reckless. “Good. Get on the bed.”

Mycroft lay on his back, the position making his erection obvious, tenting his trousers. Greg swept him with a long, avaricious gaze and then climbed on top of him, knees to either side of Mycroft’s hips, sitting on his thighs. He trailed his fingertips down Mycroft’s chest, stopped where his shirt was still partially buttoned, then back up, sweeping over his skin.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the center of Mycroft’s sternum, then lapped at the skin, up to his collarbone and down until he reached the shirt. He mouthed at the button, his breath hot through the fabric, tongue slipping out as he worried at it with his teeth. Mycroft shifted his hips enough for his cock to brush against Greg’s belly, the pressure a tease more than a relief through two layers of clothing, and he rocked it there, making a rough sound in his throat.

“Behave,” Greg said, shifting so Mycroft couldn’t reach him anymore.

Mycroft tightened his jaw and obeyed. Greg smiled. He worked at Mycroft’s shirt buttons, tugging each one open with his teeth, licking and nibbling at the skin below as he exposed it. He took some time to lap at Mycroft’s navel, making him twitch and wriggle, the contact just on the overly sensitive side of ticklish. He bit gently at the lower curve of his abdomen, then licked and hummed, the vibration shooting through Mycroft and making his cock twitch where it was still confined in his trousers.

Greg tugged his shirt out of his trousers and spread it open, finally baring Mycroft’s chest fully. He settled himself against Mycroft, his belly pressing firmly against Mycroft’s groin, his arms braced at the elbows on either side of Mycroft’s chest. He nuzzled the skin, kissing a line from his navel to his throat, leaving occasional tiny, stinging nips with his teeth.

“Oh,” Mycroft breathed, unable to hold the sound back. Greg’s belly was firm over him, the pressure welcome against his aching cock, but there were pants and trousers and zippers and buttons and all he really wanted was skin. He thrust up anyway, and bit his lip at the warm swell of friction.

Greg’s lips curled into a smile against his chest, and then, without warning, he pulled Mycroft’s nipple between his teeth and bit lightly. Mycroft jerked and twisted, not sure if he wanted to push into the feeling or pull away. Greg ran the tip of his tongue in a tight circle around the edges of the nipple, slowly spiraling inward, and then flicked it back and forth over the tip. Mycroft rolled his head on the pillow and rocked his hips again, holding back a moan.

“I, ah,” he said. “I suspect it was unwise to let you know just how sensitive I am there.”

“Mmm.” Greg scraped with his teeth, very gently, then soothed with slick, flat strokes of his tongue. “Regrets?”

“Not one,” Mycroft said. He curled his hand around the back of Greg’s neck and pulled him tighter against his chest. Greg wriggled out of his grasp and Mycroft made a frustrated sound.

“You’re having a lot of trouble with those hands,” Greg observed. “Let me help you with that.”

“What?” Mycroft’s voice was low, rough with wanting. He could only watch, dazed, as Greg reached under the edge of the blanket and pulled out two lengths of soft rope.

Greg met his eyes. “Yes?”

“You planned this,” Mycroft said. He wanted to watch Greg’s face, to read his expression, but he couldn’t seem to take his focus off the ropes. They were smooth, neat, a rich brown colour, thick enough so they wouldn’t bite into the skin when they were tied. They were made specifically for this purpose. Greg had gone out to one of those shops that sold this sort of thing, and bought these, and hidden them in their bed, and lured him in here all with this in mind.

“Yeah.” Greg swallowed and his hand tightened on the rope. “All right?”

“Brilliant,” Mycroft breathed. “You’re amazing.”

A relieved grin flashed across Greg’s face. “Right then,” he said. “Hands over your head.”

Mycroft put his hands up, watching as Greg carefully wound a rope around each wrist. He was methodical about it, a small line of concentration appearing between his eyebrows. He gave the knots a tug when he was finished, and rubbed a fingertip between the rope and the vulnerable skin on the inside of Mycroft’s wrist, making sure it wasn’t too tight.

Greg leaned back and rested his weight on his knees, looking Mycroft up and down. His eyes darkened, and he licked his lips. “Do you know how you look right now?” he asked. “Shirt hanging open, love bite on your neck, hard and wanting, and your hands…” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “The things I want to do to you.”

“So do them,” Mycroft urged. “You’ve got me right where you want me, take advantage of it.”

Greg gave him a wry, knowing look. “Still trying to take charge, My?”

“Only if you let me.”

Eyes flashing at the challenge, Greg swiftly leaned in and pounced, taking Mycroft’s other nipple in his mouth. He tugged, harder than before, teeth closing over the sensitive bit of flesh sharply enough to make Mycroft gasp and twist away. He held Mycroft still, hands strong on his chest, and licked, softness and heat over the stinging skin. Mycroft groaned and pressed up against his mouth.

Greg kept at him, lapping and sucking, adding little scrapes of his teeth and jaw until Mycroft’s nipples were tight, aching points on his chest and the pressure of his trousers was maddening against his cock. He softened his touch, gentled, and used the tip of his tongue to tease but Mycroft was so raw even that was impossible to bear.

“Please,” he finally blurted, his voice coming out high and strained. “Please, enough, I can’t.”

Pressing a final, soft kiss to each nipple, Greg relented. He trailed his fingertips down Mycroft’s ribs, then tucked them beneath the edge of his trousers, stroking the skin. Mycroft pushed up at him, thrusting against nothing, the rub of his clothes against his cock too rough and not enough at the same time.

“Want me to touch you?” Greg murmured, tugging a little at Mycroft’s belt. “Hmm? Is that what you want?”

“Yes, yes.” Mycroft arched his back and moaned in relief as Greg stroked him through his trousers. Just the heel of his hand, pressing, rubbing the fine cloth against his skin.

Greg opened the belt and undid Mycroft’s fly, lowering the zip an inch at a time. He tugged at the trousers until they were around Mycroft’s thighs, and then trailed his fingertips along Mycroft’s cock through the thin material of his pants.

Mycroft shuddered at the touch. Greg’s hands were warm, slightly rough, the pads of his fingers pressing and teasing. His pants were damp with pre-come and they caught and dragged at his skin, rubbing, sticking, wet but not slippery enough. Mycroft reached instinctively to pull them off, to bare his skin, but was caught short by the ropes. He tugged at them and made an impatient mmmf.

“Oh that’s gorgeous,” Greg purred, watching Mycroft’s hands. “What do you need? Tell me.”

“You know.” Mycroft felt a flush of heat creep from his chest to his throat, burning his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

“I know,” Greg agreed. “I want to hear you say it.”

Mycroft clenched his jaw and looked up at the ceiling, trying to focus. “Make me.”

Greg chuckled. “I plan to.” He breathed over the head of Mycroft’s cock, the heat making him twitch and tremble. Then he tugged at the waistband of his pants with his teeth, pulling it down a little at a time, licking the skin beneath. He ran the tip of his tongue along the crease of Mycroft’s thigh, trailed his fingers over his cock through the pants, then rubbed just below the head.

He slipped his fingers into the pants and stroked, just with the tips, over the head of his cock. Mycroft thrust up and Greg let him, his palm curled loosely, teasing. He slid his index finger around the head, tugging at the foreskin, letting it slide against the sensitive glans beneath. One, two, three deliberate circles and Mycroft squeezed his eyes shut tight and writhed on the bed.

“Please, please, oh,” Mycroft gasped. “Your hand, I want, I want skin, I want to feel, oh god stop teasing me and just do it.”

“Good.” Greg’s voice was a smug rumble. “That’s what I like to hear.” He tugged Mycroft’s pants down to join his trousers around his thighs, and then curled his fist around Mycroft’s cock and gave him a firm squeeze. His thumb pressed over the head, stroking back and forth, spreading the slippery pre-come.

Mycroft keened and bucked up into the pressure. Finally, finally. But Greg only let him thrust twice before taking his hand away.

“Unh, what, no,” Mycroft mumbled, opening his eyes and giving Greg a pleading look.

“Shh.” Greg had a tube of lubricant squirreled away under another corner of the blanket (some coherent bit of Mycroft’s mind admired his forethought) and he squirted a generous dollop into his palm. Then he rubbed his hands together, warming the liquid, the wet sound of it mixing obscenely with Mycroft’s ragged breathing.

His hand was slick when it curled around Mycroft again, gliding easily over his skin. Mycroft groaned and tugged at the ropes, wanting to reach down and push Greg faster, to make him squeeze and press and rub. “Tighter,” he said. “There, oh, more.”

Greg held him tighter, letting Mycroft thrust up into the snug ring of his fingers, twisting a little on each stroke. His thumb swiped over the head and rubbed the frenulum as it slid by. His other hand cupped Mycroft’s balls, rolling them, lapping slickly over the skin and behind them, stroking the perineum. Mycroft shuddered and cried out wordlessly when he felt Greg’s fingertips skate across his opening, dripping with lube.

Already he could feel the tight coil of pleasure gathering at the base of his spine, rippling through his cock and belly. His skin tightened, growing taut and sensitive, his nipples still aching from their earlier treatment, sending shivery darts of sensation down his chest. Greg was stroking in earnest now, doing everything he knew Mycroft loved, the quick circles around the crown, the firm pressure at the base of his cock, rhythmic pushes behind his balls.

“Oh, mmm,” Mycroft tossed his head, arching until his lips lifted briefly off the bed. “Yes, yes, close, oh…”

Then the tight (hot, perfect, glorious) pressure around his cock eased, becoming a teasing trail of sensation as Greg barely brushed the skin. The circles around the head grew light, sparks of pleasure but not the deep throb he could feel just waiting to be triggered. Mycroft moaned and tugged fretfully on his bound wrists. If he could just get a hand around himself, just a few more strokes, he was so close.

Greg made a low, rough sound, and Mycroft found him watching, face flushed dark with arousal, lips parted as he breathed hard. “God, look at you,” Greg muttered. “You want it, tell me how much you want it.”

Mycroft jerked his hips helplessly, pressing into the maddening, barely there touch of Greg’s hand. “You,” he breathed, “you are…”

“What?” Greg’s eyes crinkled mischievously. “An evil bastard? A cocktease?”

“Incredible,” Mycroft answered. “Amazing, you, you plotted all of this, you played me, nobody plays me, I’m at your mercy and, oh, I think you’re going to make me beg.”

Greg’s face went from playful to avidly intent in seconds. “Do you want me to?” he asked, low, voice coated in thrumming want. “Shall I make you beg?”

“Yes,” Mycroft said, nodding rapidly. “Yes, do it, anything, I want. I want you.”

Greg scrambled up his body and kissed him hungrily, his mouth greedy and soft, licking past Mycroft’s lips and sucking eagerly on his tongue. He nipped at the corners of Mycroft’s mouth, nibbled at his bottom lip, moaned as he rocked his still clothed groin against Mycroft’s hip. Then he slid back down, trailing hot kisses as he went. Another firm lick to each of Mycroft’s nipples, making him quiver and gasp, and then there was the wet sound of more lube, rubbing between his hands.

When his fist curled around Mycroft’s cock again, it was so slippery and warm Mycroft thought at first it was his mouth. But no, because there was Greg’s mouth, sucking at the line of his hip, lapping at the skin of his inner thigh, dipping the tip of his tongue into his navel. His clever fingers worked at Mycroft the whole time, twisting on the upstroke, rubbing at the slit, sliding the foreskin up and down.

Mycroft thrashed and rocked on the bed, suspended between his bound hands and his feet planted on the mattress, his hips bucking up into Greg’s touch. He could hear the helpless moans spilling from his lips but could do nothing to stop them and wasn’t interested in trying. All he wanted was to push into the tight ring of Greg’s fingers, to thrust and rub until he came.

“Yeah,” Greg encouraged, mumbling the word into the skin of Mycroft’s belly. “Yeah, I can feel you, you’re shaking, you want it so much.” He lifted his head, caught Mycroft’s gaze. “You need to come? You need it, love?”

“Yes,” Mycroft panted, and thrust up again. Greg kept raising his hands higher, until Mycroft’s back was bowed in an effort to reach him, desperate for more contact. “Yes, I need to, don’t stop, oh please, don’t stop.”

Greg held him there, teetering on the edge, his grip firm but angled so that Mycroft couldn’t thrust properly. He ran the fingers of his other hand along the cleft of Mycroft’s arse, then cupped his balls, pressing them up snug against his body. “You’re so full,” he said, wonderingly. “So hard. If I untied you right now, would you touch yourself?”

“Yes, yes, I need to, I need,” Mycroft tugged at the ropes. “I want, just touch me, a little more, Greg, please. I can’t anymore, please.”

Greg’s eyes went dazed and soft, blown so dark Mycroft could barely see the rim of dark brown around the black center. “Jesus, Mycroft,” he moaned and there, there, his hand was strong and sure and exactly where he needed it.

Mycroft threw his head back and babbled, nonsense words and pleas, his muscles locked tight as he shook apart under Greg’s hands. The thumb pressed firmly, rubbing, just in that sweet spot below the head, the slickness of his tight fist stroking over him, fast, his other hand dipping and sliding fingertips just at his entrance, slippery and warm and Mycroft came until he couldn’t breathe.

Greg took him through each shuddering pulse, come streaking up his belly and chest, landing hot on his skin. The pleasure was overwhelmingly sweet, arcing in sparks up his spine, pooled heavy in his groin, spilling out of him until he thought there couldn’t possibly be any more. When it finally eased he went slack and boneless against the bed, his head spinning, and there was nothing for a while but pleasant, sated haze.

He opened his eyes when he felt a tug on his wrists, and blinked blearily at Greg. “Mmm?”

“Hey,” Greg said. He gave Mycroft a soft smile. “Back with us?”

Mycroft nodded slowly. When the ropes came undone, his arms dropped heavily to the mattress. Greg settled down beside him and curled against Mycroft’s side, his head resting on Mycroft’s chest.

“You never stop surprising me,” Mycroft said quietly. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Greg replied. “Literally.” He took Mycroft’s hand and pressed it against his groin, where his trousers were noticeably damp.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.” Greg sounded a little sheepish. “When you… I couldn’t hold off any longer. Couldn’t even wait long enough to undo the fly. Rubbed off in my pants like a teenager.”

Mycroft gave a small shiver. “I want to watch that next time.”

Greg smiled and kissed him, slow and lingering. “Anything you want.”

*