#mycroft holmes x reader
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More Than A Lovers Quarrel
Summary:When Sherlocks case seems to be more then he can chew he takes it out on (Y/N). Things have been said that may not ever be forgiven and Sherlock doesn’t seem the least bit remorseful.
Summary-You and your father Sherlock have never been on good terms. He wanted you to thrive in academics while you wished to bless paper with your ideas and art. When one day an argument goes to far Sherlock must sit and face the consequences
Kittens and Cuddles
Summary:Ever since Sherlock met you he has always needed your undivided love and affection. When suddenly that affection is given to something else he begins to reminisce his first time meeting with you, but now enough is enough and he is determined to keep you all to himself. Even if it is a few short hours.
Summary - Ever since meeting Sherlock everything seemed to be to be going great. Your life was spiraling upwards but so is your feelings for the great detective. When Molly’s jealous words get the better of you. Your insecurity seems to push Sherlock more in your direction causing another stepping stone to some thing greater and something more then just a friendship.
The Artist and the Intellect
Summary:(Y/N) has just returned from her latest art venture to live with her grand-mother Mrs. Hudson. In doing so she occupies the apartment downstairs and becomes fast friend with the tenant upstairs. Over the months her feelings and their chemistry grow. In an effort to convey to Sherlock her feelings she gives him a gift.
Unadulterated Desires
A/N: Contains Smut
Summary:You notice a difference in Sherlock’s behavior and it becomes more apparent when he begins to feel you up in front of John. Sherlock expresses his insecurity and how he is ready to take the relationship to the next level, but who knew that your first time together would be on the table you eat on.
Greater Forces Than Loneliness
Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader
Summary: In the light of the next day, Mycroft’s fears return, but will he be brave and make the right choices, or will he hide behind his mask of logic and linger in his lonely existence?
Word Count: 2918 words
A/N: Okay, so I know it’s been a bit of a wait, BUT here is the FINAL part of the series. I hope it lives up to expectations!
His sleep was troubled by unnerving dreams. The face of the governor as he raised the gun morphed into yours, and the gunshot rang out before he could do anything. Waking with a start, Mycroft felt a sense of disorientation and it took him a moment to realise where he was. Memories of the previous night washed over him as he caught the scent of your shampoo on the pillow beside him. You had been right here with him. You had seen him at his worst, had taken care of him like he was a fragile and precious thing, but it appeared that you had left.
That made sense. Once you had seen him in such a state, obviously your feelings for him would have changed. He had been incapable of even changing into his own night clothes for gods’ sake. It had been a mistake to let you stay, to allow himself to believe that you could somehow belong to one another.
Silently getting up from his bed, he turned down the covers and made his way to the bathroom to shower. As the warm water washed over him, he planned his outfit for the day. He needed something that would make him feel confident, it was going to be a difficult day. The blue one, navy. Mentally he picked out his tie and waistcoat, feeling happy about his choice as he exited the bathroom, ready to put on his armor.
He would meet his brother and his parents at his office, which seemed the most secure place, would be best for the inevitable scene mummy would create. Buttoning up his jacket as he descended the stairs, he caught the whiff of freshly made toast and coffee. Frowning slightly, he approached the kitchen, it was too early for Magda to be here, and she rarely prepared him breakfast. Perhaps one of the police officers had entered his home in search of sustenance after a long night of standing guard unnecessarily. Ah, that would be another thing to add to the list of tasks today, a conversation with Lestrade.
“Good morning, darling. I didn’t butter the toast in case you preferred jam.” You were stood in his kitchen, in a set of his pajamas, smiling at him as if this were a totally normal course of events. For a moment, his brain froze, as if taking a picture for future daydreams, ones where he could wake up to this each morning.
“I do not have time for this.” He heard himself say, his voice clipped and carrying a hint of irritation. Your smile had at once faltered, and his heart ached, longing to take back his comment and instead thank you for your thoughtfulness.
“I am sure Anthea could- “
“I have work to attend to. Yesterday was entirely wasted and there are matters which require my urgent attention. I cannot stand here playing house in whatever delusion you have concocted since your arrival.” He snarled while his inner monologue screamed at him to shut up! It seemed like all his frustrations, all his fears about what he would face today were focused on you. How could you possibly love him? He was thoughtless and cruel and an idiot, hardly the man someone like you deserved.
“Right. Well, if you can hold on just a second, I can pour your coffee into a travel mug and- “
“I do not need, nor want, your coffee. Your presence here is no longer required, and I never intended to give you the impression that it ever has been. Your feelings for me are unwarranted and unwanted. All hearts are broken. All lives end. Caring is not an advantage. Sentiment is a weakness, and the sooner you understand that the better.” His voice was void of all emotion, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a swirling vortex within him. Although he didn’t directly look at you, he was aware of your reaction to his words, the stuttered breathing as you fought back tears.
As he turned and swept away, Mycroft reminded himself that it had to be this way, that the only reason you had been in danger yesterday was because of him. You deserved more, and he was incapable of giving you anything. This was for the best. The pain would fade, and the emotional scars heal. You would find someone much more suitable, someone who merited your love.
Needless to say, you didn’t stay long after your brief interaction with Mycroft. The burn of humiliation and shame created a warmth in you which made you forgo taking a jacket when you made your way to meet John.
Not wishing to cross paths with the elder Holmes brother, you had messaged John upon your arrival, asking him to meet you in the café below. Taking a seat towards the back, you indulged in a rather large slice of cake and tried not to get too caught up in your own thoughts. He had said he was aware of your feelings for him, did that mean he had always known and chose to ignore it, or was this a recent revelation?
“Hi.” John said brightly as he sat opposite you, despite looking like hell.
“So, Greg says you lot had a bit of a shit day yesterday. Want to talk about it? Or is that a subject we’re going to avoid?” You said with a soft smile of understanding. Whatever had happened, you did not want to push any of them into reliving it until they were ready.
“Yeah, between Sherlock almost shooting Mycroft, then himself, and then me being chained to the bottom of a well, it wasn’t the greatest day. How about you? How was your day?” He chuckled at the look of shock on your face.
“Well, certainly not as eventful as yours. I mooched around the flat and then Greg called me in to go check on Mycroft.” You gave him a wry smile before turning your attention back to your cake.
“You know about the phone call then?” John asked softly, not seeing how the topic wouldn’t have been raised.
“Ah, so you and Mycroft were there for that.” Your shoulders slumped, that made sense. How could he continue to ignore your feelings when his brother and John were aware of them too?
“He was in bits when he thought you were in danger. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that way.”
“What do you mean?” Your eyes met your friends, and you tilted your head a little, curious.
John spent the next few hours filling you in on every detail of the previous day. It seemed surreal, and your heart ached for Mycroft as each piece of the puzzle fell into place. The burden he had been carrying for so long, the loneliness, the reasons for isolating himself.
“Where is Sherlock now?” You asked, even though both of you knew your real question was ‘where is Mycroft’.
“Diogenes facing the parents.” John smirked, knowing that would be a very interesting conversation.
“Right. Well, I’m..”
“Go. He’s going to need you.”
Sitting behind his desk, Mycroft realised he had always considered this office to be a safe space. Sitting in this chair, no matter who came through the door, he was the one with the power. Now, as his mother stood over the solid wooden barrier between them, he was not so certain that was the case. He knew he was a disappointment, that he had hurt everyone in this room, but he had only been trying to keep them safe.
“Alive?! For all these years?” the shock in his mother’s voice was like nails being dragged down a chalk board. “How is that even possible?!”
Mycroft suddenly felt like a small child caught with his hand in the biscuit tin and then lying about it. His father had sunk into a chair at the news of his sister, his face in his hands as he attempted to process everything. Mycroft glanced over at his brother, who was leaning against the wall by the office door, with his arms folded across his chest, head down and avoiding all eye-contact.
“What Uncle Rudy began…” he hesitated slightly, lowering his gaze as he anticipated the flash of anger and disappointment his next words were about to elicit. “…I thought it best to continue.”
“I’m not asking how you did it, idiot boy, I’m asking how could you?” His mother spat, and her words cut through him like a thousand razor blades. How could he? How could she not know his reasoning behind his actions?
“I was trying to be kind.” Raising his eyes to hers apprehensively, he remembered all of the times she had told him it was his duty to take care of his younger siblings, all the times he had ensured Sherlock’s safety, all the times he had tried to understand his sister.
“Kind?!” she gasped, as if that one word was a bullet in her chest. “Kind? You told us that our daughter was dead.”
The image of Eurus flashed into his mind, blood splattered, and blank faced. “Better that than tell you what she had become. I’m sorry.” Apologies did not come easily to Mycroft, and he was not entirely certain what he was apologizing for. Was it for his part in the deception? Was it for being unable to save his little sister?
His father got to his feet and loomed over the table; hands pressed firmly against the wood as he stared his eldest son down. “Whatever she became, whatever she is now, Mycroft … she remains our daughter.”
“And my sister.” Mycroft reminded them; it wasn’t that they had the monopoly on hurt in this matter.
“Then you should have done better.” His mother’s words hung in the air, and he felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. He should have done better? How? Everything he did, he did for this family. Every rung he had climbed was to put him in a position to ensure their safety, even from his own sister.
“He did his best.” Sherlock said quietly, understanding the guilt which laid on his brother’s shoulders.
“Then he’s very limited.” She stated with such distain that Mycroft looked towards his brother, unable to meet his parents’ eyes, knowing the look of complete disappointment and potential hatred there.
“Where is she?” His father’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he reminded himself that this was his office, that he was a powerful man and if he could view this as a business meeting then he could get through it without breaking. He refused to let them see him as weak in addition to being an ‘idiot boy’.
“Back in Sherringford; secure, this time.” He looked up at his father, his face stony. “People have died. Without doubt she will kill again if she has the opportunity. There’s no possibility she’ll ever be able to leave.”
Mr. Holmes leaned closer to his son, matching his glare. “When can we see her?” He asked firmly.
“There’s no point.” Mycroft practically sighed. Why could they not see that what was left of their daughter had disappeared a long time ago?
“How dare you say that?” His mother’s voice was shaky, and he knew if he looked at her, he would see tears in her eyes.
“She won’t talk. She won’t communicate with anyone in any way. She has passed beyond our view. There are no words that can reach her now.” Mycroft said firmly, closing his eyes and willing himself to stay strong. They did not need to see Eurus like she was now, better they remember her as the little girl she had been.
“Sherlock. Well? You were always the grown-up. What do we do now?” His mother turned to her youngest son, searching for some answers.
“Perhaps, you should start by acting like parents?” Your voice cut through the silence and Mycroft’s eyes sprang open, darting to the doorway where you stood just behind his brother.
“I beg your pardon?” His mother bristled at the intrusion.
“No need to beg, I understand that you have had quite the shock and so I will give my pardon freely.” You smiled sweetly, but there was a coolness in your eyes. “None of your children are ‘limited’. One uses their talents to torture and kill people, one to solve crimes and the third to take care of their family. Whatever happened when they were children has left all of them traumatized, so I guess I am just wondering why you would choose to feed into that? Whatever Mycroft has, or has not done, he did based on the information he had at the time, and I can guarantee that decision was not easy or taken lightly. It may not have been what you would have chosen, but the outcome would have been the same.”
“I don’t know who you think you are…”
“I am the person who is going to deliver a few home truths, because it is apparently clear nobody else has. Your sons were nearly killed yesterday, by your daughter. She tried to force Sherlock to shoot Mycroft, did you know that? Mycroft was going to sacrifice himself rather than let his little brother lose his best friend. The only reason that didn’t happen was because Sherlock then turned the gun on himself. Can you imagine, for just one moment, going through that? Witnessing Eurus shoot people and drop people into the sea while tied to a chair? The mental and physical torture your sons went through yesterday, and here you are, berating Mycroft for trying to keep his brother safe? Is that not what you have instilled in him? That he is responsible for Sherlock?” You looked between Mycroft’s parents with a raised brow.
“I- we…” Mrs. Holmes stuttered, completely taken aback by this person she had never met defending her son so vehemently.
“I understand you have had a shock, that the news that your daughter is alive is huge, and that you need to regroup and figure out what to do next, but please do not take your anger out on your son. He does not deserve that.”
“She is right.” Sherlock chimed in, standing up straight and placing his hands behind his back. “We do need to regroup and work out our next steps. May I suggest we all take some time and meet again for dinner?”
Once the Holmes family had exited the office, you turned your attention towards Mycroft, a little apprehensive. You had meant every word, but realised that, perhaps, confronting his parents was not the way to endear yourself to him.
“I’m sorry if my little outburst has caused more problems than it solved.” You smile sheepishly as he moves from behind his desk. “But at least they can focus their anger at me instead of you.”
“I don’t want them to focus their anger on you, my dear. I would rather like my parents to adore you, it would make family gatherings far less awkward.” He leaned against his desk with a sigh, his fingers gripping the edges as he tried to keep control of his emotions.
“So,” you began, moving to lean on the desk beside Mycroft, your head inclined ever so slightly as you looked up at him, “were you ever going to tell me that you almost died? Or were you protecting me from that?”
A look of guilt washed over his face as he avoided eye-contact, and you couldn’t help but smile softly.
“I meant it, you know. You are a remarkable man. True, you can be a stubborn arse, but you’re far from limited.”
His hand rested on top of yours on the desk, and you leaned to rest your head against his shoulder. “I am sorry about this morning.” He sighed, closing his eyes and savoring the contact of your skin against his.
“Just don’t go making a habit of it. You get a pass on this morning because of the near death thing, and the having to explain things to your parents, but next time I make us breakfast you will sit with me to eat it.”
“Next time?” he raised a questioning eyebrow, his heart racing at the implication that there would be a next time.
“Oh yes. You don’t get rid of me that easily, Mycroft Holmes. I love you, which means, even though you don’t feel the same way about me, you’re kind of stuck with me.”
“What do you mean I don’t feel the same way?” True, he had told you that your feelings were unwanted, but you had seen through that, right? “If I didn’t love you then I certainly would not have asked you to stay with me last night, or shared my bed with you, or let you speak to my mother like that.” He chuckled, knowing that some fences most certainly would need to be mended, but it felt good knowing he had you in his corner no matter what.
“So, what now?” You asked softly, turning your head to look up at him.
“Now, I tell Anthea to reschedule my day because I am going to spend it with my significant other.” He murmured turning to look at you as he caressed your cheek, getting a little lost in your eyes.
“I like the sound of that plan.” You hummed as his lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss.
Surprise… Not Dead
It has come to my.. uh.. realisation.. that I haven’t updated either of my current two fics in.. a long time. Oops!
I promise I’m not dead.. I’m just an occasional tumblr lurker atm because university is being a pain in the arse and I’m getting thrown assignment after assignment and, quite frankly, I’m a bit sick of typing my mental health is also a bit not good but it’s just from the current stress of end of term essays..
However! After my next assignment (if I survive that long..) I’m planning on getting the next chapter written out for both my Mycroft and Sherlock stories!
Alternatively, I’ll struggle with the assignment and pretend to be dead for the next three years so my professors leave me alone could go either way… ANYWAY thank you all for your patience
A/N- Honestly this is about three thousand words of utter filth.. Expect the next chapter to have similar themes- but I mainly wrote this one as a filler for the next one.. I may also have lied about only having two chapters left and I am going to try and round it to a nice twenty.. Enjoy, perverts!
Word Count- 3.1K
Saturday had been spent, much like a majority of your previous days, in a bout of sheer laziness and relaxation- the after effects of the whiskey and abundance of greasy takeaway having taken its toll when morning arose.
“I’m too old to spend a whole night on the sofa.” You groaned, stretching out your arms and peeking through slitted eyes.
“You’re too old? At least you were laying down- my back is going to severely regret this.” Mycroft’s voice was muffled with sleep, but his hand squeezed fondly where it rested on your shoulder. “Forty two years old and I couldn’t control my whiskey intake enough to take us to bed before the exhaustion hit- mildly humiliating.”
“Well it’s officially your birthday weekend, so you’re not allowed to feel embarrassed or be grumpy.” Sitting up from your position of laying in Mycroft’s lap, you leant over to give him a quick kiss to his jaw.
“There’s truly no need for such extensive celebrations. It’s terrible enough that I am a day away from being a year closer to fifty, let alone seeking joy in such a fact.” As Mycroft sat up, you heard the bones of his shoulders and lower back click in protest of his movements. “Though with a reaction like that, I’m feeling far closer to eighty than I would like.”
“In that case, you make for a very handsome pensioner. I daren’t put you in a home- the old biddies will be all over you and I fear I may end up punching somebody’s Nan.”
“Jealousy truly that intact that you’d seek violence against the frail?”
“Mycroft, a part of me is jealous of your clothes for getting to hang off you all day; the Grannies wouldn’t stand a chance.” His chuckle sounded low in his chest and you grinned. “Though part of me thinks you’d enjoy it.. Breakfast?” Mycroft made a heavy noise in protest and shook his head.
“I feel as though I ate so much last night that I should never feel hungry again. I’m not entirely convinced that I am able to move from this sofa for it. What is the time, anyway?” Mycroft’s eyes squinted towards the clock on the fireplace but to no avail.
“Almost nine. You know, you should really consider wearing your glasses more.” The man scoffed. “What? Didn’t think I’d noticed them practically gathering dust on your bedside table?”
“Ridiculous. I needn’t wear them- the optometrist stated that they need only be worn when absolutely necessary.”
“Was that before or after you belittled their knowledge and decided you knew better?” You raised an eyebrow.
“I.. It was in regard for work. They were never too keen on allowing anybody to broaden to legwork if there was any means of.. weakness.” He explained, though it was a poor, near on twenty year old, excuse that you saw through immediately.
“Fine. That explains your appointment when you were twenty odd- but there’s no way there aren’t still government issued annual check ups, even though ‘leg work’ days are behind you.”
“Perhaps.. Even still- I merely just need a moment to awaken properly and then it’ll be fine. A shower should do it- and my aching bones.” Then, he smiled a little deviously and added. “Care to accompany me?” You smirked back but couldn’t help your following line.
“Why? Need a guide to find the shower?” He moved to flick your forehead but you stood before he could reach, holding out both of your hands and hoisting him off the chair. “Kidding. I’d never say no to seeing you naked.” Mycroft flushed at your words, despite being the instigator, and followed you up the stairs to the en suite bathroom.
—
The hot water cascading down your skin was more than welcomed by your aching muscles from your kip on the sofa- and if the content look spread over Mycroft’s face was anything to go by, you’d wager he was equally enjoying the sensation. You ran the tips of your fingers over his bare shoulders, squeezing and applying pressure here and there where the muscles had felt tight. He hummed appreciatively, his eyes remaining closed as he focused his attention on the feeling of your hands on his skin paired gorgeously with the heat of the water trailing down his back.
“Mm, you shouldn’t do that. You’ll raise my expectations for any further showers we have.” His voice was low, almost raspy, and it caught you a little off guard.
“Keep talking in that voice and I promise I’ll do it every shower for as long as we both live.” You responded, moving to grab a handful of showergel before continuing your administrations. You moved to stand behind him, hands trailing from his shoulders, down his back and rounding back to circle the tight muscles around his neck- a trail of suds running down his body and circling the drain below. Mycroft could feel your fingers tracing the outlines of old scars, gliding over his hips where he had once felt so insecure over the small amounts of loose skin that clung to the bone, and circling back round to his chest where your digits ran soapily through his chest hair- your voice muttering in his ear how you adore his ginger streaks that he had spent so much of his life hiding. If actions like these were your intentions when you stated the need to celebrate his birthday for the whole weekend, Mycroft found himself feeling more willing to follow through with it all. “What are you thinking about in that pretty little head of yours?” You spoke with a grin, your hands now weaving shampoo through his hair- the strong smell of lavender and eucalyptus filling the air.
“Lucky.” Was the only word Mycroft could find his brain summoning, any other chance of pulling words from his brain diminished as you massaged his ear lobes in the midst of rinsing the white foam from his head. You smiled and let your fingers run down his jawline, stroking fondly at the small amount of facial hair that you had grown to love so much- and would miss dearly when it was once again removed for work.
“Lucky, eh? Didn’t think that luck and fate within the stars was really your bag, Mr Holmes.” You spoke teasingly. “Dare I say that I cloud your usual means of judgement? Should I be honoured?” You let your hands drop, fingertips skimming the skin of Mycroft’s thigh and trailing slowly inwards.
“Dangerous.” His eyes opened now, blue meeting E/C, pupils a little larger than usual. “I fear I lose a good ninety five percent of my usually extensive vocabulary around you.” Mycroft’s breath hitched in his throat as he felt your hand wrap around his quickly growing length, tugging slowly, tormentingly slowly.
“Only ninety five? Well that’s no good. Let’s see if I can up it to one hundred.” And with that, you quickly pressed your lips against his before dropping to your knees. Mycroft hissed as he leaned backwards, the warm skin of his back colliding with the bitingly cold tile of the shower. Wasting no time, you poked out the tip of your tongue and trailed it teasingly along the underside of his cock, relishing in the breathy moan that sounded above you. You feathered small kisses from base to tip before taking the head into your mouth, sucking slowly and circling your tongue around the sensitive skin.
“P-Please..” His voice was quiet but the begging undertones didn’t go unmissed. Electing to oblige to the wishes of the man on his birthday weekend, you began to bob your head, taking him in inch by inch and humming around the shaft as you went. “Oh, God..” You pulled away momentarily, a grin on your face.
“We might have reached a good ninety eight percent now, but I aimed for one hundred and I’m a girl of my word.” Shifting around more comfortably, you reached for Mycroft’s hands that had been bunched in fists at his side, moving them to rest clutching at your hair. “I’m all for you, Myc. Just take it.” You parted your lips slightly and glanced up expectantly at Mycroft who looked about ready to collapse.
“I- Are you-?” Rather than answering his unfinished question with words, you nosed along the thick shaft of his cock, licking lovingly at the veins pulsating at the sides and Mycroft groaned, his head rolling back to lay against the tiles as he fed you his length. He moved slowly, holding himself back, and stopping when he met resistance; making a move to pull back out but you quickly moved your hands around him and squeezed onto the gorgeous globes of his arse, encouraging him in deeper until your nose met with a light bristle of pubic hair. You sucked once, hard and long, guiding Mycroft out slowly and showing him how pleasurable this could be if he lets himself loose for a moment. His moans echoed off the tile, deeper than any you’d heard from him before and it only spurred you on, picking up the pace with your hands firmly planted on his backside until you felt the hands in your hair tighten and begin to guide you himself. He moved slowly at first, pushing in as far as he could before edging back with your lips around his tip, teasing himself with the light motions. Squeezing at his thigh softly, you signalled a moment to catch your breath- pulling from the swollen pink head of his cock with an audible 'pop’, and wiping away the small lines of pre-cum that began to dribble from the sides of your mouth.
“Good?” You smirked, your hand picking up the administrations of a mixture between slow, long tugs and quicker jerks of your wrist that had Mycroft debating the strength that remained in his legs.
“Mmmmm.” His only response was the low hum, his eyes now open but staring up at the ceiling, his lips parted as small gasps of breath left them.
“I think I’ve successfully achieved making you forget a hundred percent of your vocabulary, wouldn’t you agree?” Another hum. “Still, it’d be a shame not to finish up. Better get to it, eh?” You grinned, licking a line with your flattened tongue from base to hilt before giving control back to Mycroft and moaning against every snap of his hips to your mouth. It didn’t take long before they began to be on the verge of erratic and the noises that had begun to escape out of Mycroft’s mouth were nothing less than pure filth. He let out shaky, heavy breaths that were repeatedly cut off by a low moan that sounded from the back of his throat; paired with shaking legs and hands that tightened in your hair to keep you still while he regained his composure. As the volume of his noises increased, mixed with a variety of curses and shudders of your name, you felt yourself throbbing. With Mycroft doing the work, you trailed your hands teasingly down your chest, pinching at your nipples harshly before dragging your nails further down your skin until you reached your aching clit, letting out a guttural moan as your fingers traced circles over the bundle of nerves while your other hand pressed two fingers into your waiting hole. Melting under the sounds and vibrations of your voice, Mycroft found himself curious and tore his eyes from the ceiling to dare glance down at you. Christ alive.
“Oh.. fuck.” Hearing Mycroft swear was possibly one of your more unconventional turn-ons, but you let it spur you on nonetheless. Mycroft could barely stand it. His eyes had widened doubly as he looked down to you, the sight of his hard cock being taken in by your plump, overworked lips being an image that Mycroft would have burned in his memory for the rest of his days- part of him had even extended to wishing he could capture the moment physically on a camera and the mere thought of that was almost enough to push him over the edge. But what did it was his eyes trailing down to your hands, watching you work yourself, getting off to nothing but the mere action of pleasuring Mycroft- your mind focusing so intently on making sure Mycroft felt incredible that you didn’t even contemplate the idea of him needing to reciprocate anything, purely enjoying the fact that you were bringing Mycroft closer and closer to the edge with every little hum, or small trace of your tongue, and it was too much for him to handle. Mycroft’s hips began to thrust clumsily as he felt the knot in his stomach tighten, finding himself unable to blink for not wanting to miss even a split second of watching you in this very moment. You had felt your own build up getting closer and closer until you shuddered beneath your hand and let out an almost animalistic groan as you came against your fingers. The vibrations and witnessing of those final moments of your pleasure were the final straw for Mycroft as he reached his release, hips snapping one last time and the hands in your hair holding you against him, cumming down your throat in harsh stripes that you eagerly swallowed. His grip loosened and you slowly sucked him to completion, pulling your lips away from him with a trace of your tongue that left Mycroft shivering from the sensitivity.
It was only in this moment that the pair of you realised the water had begun to run cold, but the chill against the burning of your skin was gratefully welcomed as Mycroft pulled you from your feet and gathered you in his arms, his lips moving hungrily against yours. One hand dug fingers into your hips and the other ventured cheekily round to squeeze at your arse firmly, just once, before he pulled away, leaving just your foreheads against each other as you breathed in each other’s air.
“Early birthday celebrations don’t seem so bad now then, huh?” You spoke teasingly, your breaths becoming lighter as your lungs finally caught up and Mycroft laughed gorgeously- his eyes squinting and his nose crinkling in such a way that made you adore him impossibly more in that moment.
“I’m marginally disappointed it didn’t spread to the entire week.” You both laughed again and stood happily like this for a few moments more, until the cold of the shower left goosebumps against your skin and you needed to get out. Mycroft wrapped you lovingly in a large, plush towel that had warmed against the radiator in the bathroom and you accepted the warmth gratefully before heading back into the bedroom to find some clothes.
“Would I be pushing it if I requested we wear comfortable clothes for our last two days? Reckon you can forgo the suits?” You asked, almost pleadingly, when you saw Mycroft emerge from the bathroom wearing his dressing gown.
“I suppose if you are truly in charge of these early.. celebrations.. then it is only fair that I let you choose our attire, is it not?”
“Well if I had it my way of choosing the attire, then you would be wearing nothing at all for the entire weekend.” You spoke, edging your way towards him and relishing in the darker dusting of pink that covered his cheeks and spread to his neck. “All of that, and my little comments can still make you blush? I think you’re making me fall in love with you a little more each moment that passes, Mr Holmes. A dangerous road to go down- you’ll find yourself smuggling me into your office in your briefcase soon.” Leaning in, you dared place a few kisses down the side of his beautifully long neck before grinning against the skin and muttering, “or under your desk.” Feeling him swallow harshly, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh and walk away to get your clothes- leaving a blushing Mycroft once again lost for words and fighting every impulse to let himself imagine the scenario you had just laid out.
—
After the pair of you had got dressed- you electing for the overly casual loungewear of a pair of leggings and a stolen jumper from Myc’s wardrobe, and him in a slightly more casual pair of cord trousers and cotton shirt- you quickly headed over to the bedside table before you could head downstairs.
“Now, if I’m truly in control of the weekend, down to the very clothing that we wear, I have an insistence for something..” You walked towards the elder Holmes and stood on your tiptoes, laying his pair of round, tortoise-shell glasses against the bridge of his nose. “That’s better.” Mycroft’s nose crinkled in disapproval and he wandered over to the dressing table to glance at himself in the mirror.
“Truly, I don’t think this is necessary.”
“Why? Just realised that I’m actually really ugly and now you’re regretting everything?” You joked, following him and leaning up to rest your head against his shoulder as he glared unhappily at his reflection.
“Never. I just..” He sighed and shook his head. “Nevermind.”
“What?”
“No, it’s nothing. Just a ridiculous thought of vanity.”
“With a face like yours, I don’t think there would be anything ridiculous about you being a bit vain.”
“It’s just.. I feel wearing the glasses makes me feel.. As old as I am.” His gaze left yours in the reflection and he coughed from awkwardness, taking the glasses off his face and laying them back on the table. “I don’t mind so much of a night if I am reading, but throughout the day I feel as though they age me.”
“Myc, you’re literally in your early forties but you make it out like you’re ancient.” You dropped from your position against his shoulder to stand in front of him and put the glasses back on. “You’re aware though that it isn’t only older people that wear glasses? One of my cousins wears glasses and she’s only fourteen- she certainly doesn’t look like an old lady for it.” You laughed and pressed a kiss against his lips that had formed into a little pout. “Besides, I think you look good in them. Really good. Like a sexy professor- all you need is a tweed jacket with elbow patches.” Mycroft barked out a laugh and shook his head.
“I have three.”
“Of course you do. Right, come on, I have a relaxing day of your favourite classics on the telly, a walk through the park, and a fair few more instances of you without your clothes on planned.”
