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25 years ago
Lestrade watched as the child (who couldn’t be older than 14), stared at the lifeless body of the priest being carted away in a zipped up bag.
The boy had come to see the reverend, but was instead greeted by the sight of the decrepit old man, dead on the floor with rats gnawing on the decaying flesh.
Lestrade had to hand it to the boy for not retching at the sight.
The demon only approached once he was certain that the police were finished talking to the child.
“Mycroft?” He called the boy’s name gently so as not to startle the lad.
The young teen turned at his name and Lestrade was instantly smitten.
“I’m Reverend Greg.” He continued after a beat, smiling sweetly when the lad looked at him with suspicion. “Reverend Thomas told me all about you. He was to entrust you in my care before he left for his vacation, but…” Lestrade made sure to look regretfully at the entrance of the church and let his statement about the deceased child molester trail off.
The demon had come to collect on his deal with the reverend, but the late Thomas Gallagher tried to barter off his debt by offering an exchange – Mycroft Holmes for the release of his soul from the demon’s clutches.
Greg hadn’t been inclined to accept, until Gallagher had shown Lestrade a picture of the innocent boy. Lestrade found it very hard to say no afterwards, especially when he could taste the minister’s indecent intentions towards the little lamb.
Lestrade’s mouth had twisted into a sneer as he released the man from their agreement, and then promptly sent the old shite to his brothers below.
“He told me,” Greg said with a gentle touch to Mycroft’s shoulder, leading the lad away from the scene and to a nearby bench, “That you were seeing him for consultation about your… brother?”
Mycroft nodded, and Greg’s mouth watered as he could almost taste the sweetness of the boy’s inevitable agreement.
“Is he still getting himself into trouble?” Lestrade asked, earning another nod from the boy. Mycroft’s look of distrust never wavered. The demon smiled. The boy was smart, and if Lestrade played his cards right, he would make the brilliant boy his.
“Why don’t you tell me all about it, and I’ll see if I can be of any help.”
--
Present day
Mycroft stumbled out the back of the hospital, needing to get away from the sterilised, stifling, atmosphere of the place.
He had entered the hospital expecting the scene he’d faced multiple times before, of Sherlock awake in a private room, the drugs already flushed out of his system, and demanding to be discharged at once. But instead, Sherlock was barely alive, deathly pale on the hospital bed and hooked up to a number of machines.
It had been a close call, the doctors said. It was a matter of chance that the owner of the decrepit, sorry excuse of an establishment that Sherlock frequented had found him when he did. Any later and Sherlock would have arrived in a body bag.
Mycroft had pulled all the strings he could, ensuring that no expense was spared, to get Sherlock seen to immediately. Now that the doctors had examined the younger Holmes, the diagnosis they presented was not a positive one.
Brain damage, liver and kidney failure, lungs unable to function without the assistance of a machine. These words swirled around Mycroft’s mind, making him lightheaded, and he had to lean against the wall of the building to keep himself from falling to the ground. He closed his eyes, trying to regain some semblance of control, but it only brought forth the image of Sherlock in Mycroft’s mind, reminding him that he should have been a better older brother, that he should have done more to keep Sherlock safe.
The sound of a lighter flicking open caused Mycroft to lift his head, eyes instinctively going to the man who appeared out of thin air and was now standing in front of him. The other man’s head was bent low towards the flame, but by the full body shiver that ran through Mycroft and the goose pimples that sprouted on his skin, he knew exactly who stood before him. Mycroft tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but found his mouth suddenly dry the moment the demon lifted his head to lock eyes with him.
Mycroft watched the other being bring himself to full height, lips wrapped around the slim white stick in his mouth before he took a deep drag, the ember on the end glowing bright orange. He then took the cigarette from his lips, blowing smoke out as he held the stick out for Mycroft to take.
Mycroft would normally hesitate at receiving anything the other being offered him, but given the circumstances, he found himself reaching out with shaky fingers to accept the offered item. A few drags of the cigarette had him feeling more like himself. He handed it back, refusing to show how affected he was when their fingers touched.
Brown eyes regarded him coolly before Lestrade finally broke the silence,
“Pity, about what happened to your brother.”
The indifferent way that the other man spoke about Sherlock had Mycroft grabbing him by his lapels and slamming him hard against the concrete wall of the building.
“You were supposed to protect him.” Mycroft grit out, shaking the grey haired being. “That was the whole point of the deal!”
In a flash, Mycroft found their positions reversed, pinned against the same wall with a hand clamping down on his throat as the demon’s eyes turned black in anger.
“You seem to forget what I’m capable of.” The low growl had Mycroft instantly stilling in his grasp. The demon squeezed his throat in warning, relaxing his grip only when Mycroft was close to suffocating. His eyes went back to the deep brown hue it was originally when he let go, watching as Mycroft gasped and coughed as the man’s lungs filled with air once more.
“The agreement, in case you forgot,” The demon spat out as he stepped away from Mycroft, “Was to protect Sherlock from those that wish him harm. Not to protect him from himself.”
Mycroft stared at the demon in disbelief. He stood upright, confusion written plainly on his face as he waited for the demon to elaborate further. He would have demanded an answer from the demon, but he realised he was treading on thin ice already.
Mycroft tried to hide his impatience as he watched Lestrade finish the cigarette, the demon purposely taking his time to stub the flame out under his toe before turning back to face the human with a sly grin.
“Don’t look so surprised, Mycroft.” The demon purred, “You knew exactly what getting into bed with a demon meant.” The back of Lestrade’s hand reached out to stroke Mycroft’s cheek, though the older Holmes instinctively jerked away from the touch.
“Isn’t there some way...?” Mycroft breathed out, fear and desperation blooming in his chest. He hated feeling so weak, so helpless. Tears prickled the edges of his eyes at the memory of Sherlock, near lifeless on the hospital bed. “Isn’t there something you can do?”
Lestrade scoffed at the man in front of him. “I already own your soul, what else can you offer me that I can’t just take?”
Mycroft was at a loss for words.
“Look on the bright side sweetheart,” the demon continued when Mycroft could do nothing but stare at him in shock. “At least this way you’re assured Sherlock won’t get into any trouble.” Lestrade’s dismissive tone was enough to fuel another bought of rage in the man. Mycroft threw a punch before he thought it through.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you.” Lestrade warned, his strong grip on Mycroft’s fist easily halting the hand in mid-swing.
Mycroft tried to shake the hold off, but Lestrade only let him go once the demon emphasized the difference between their abilities with a particularly painful squeeze.
Mycroft glared daggers at the abomination as he massaged some feeling back into his fingers. Overhead, the deep rumble of storm clouds signaled the oncoming rain.
“If you’re not going to help,” Mycroft began, straightening himself up as he carefully moved away from the demon, “I’ll find someone else who will.”
“And how will you do that?” Lestrade asked with a playful smile that Mycroft wanted to rip off. “You belong to me.” The demon’s deep and possessive tone caused a shiver of disgust to run down Mycroft’s spine, and he hated how Lestrade could make him feel so vulnerable.
“Or have you forgotten?” The hard glint in the demon’s eyes made it clear that he would gladly remind Mycroft if necessary.
“No.” Mycroft’s lips thinned as he recalled the consequences of believing that Lestrade’s hold on him was not extensive. “No, I haven’t.”
“Good.” Lestrade growled out as he pressed Mycroft back against the hospital wall, hands bracketing either side of Mycroft’s head.
Mycroft pressed his hands against the demon’s chest as he tried to keep Lestrade away. The demon only chuckled at Mycroft’s poor attempts before crowding further into Holmes’ space, the demon’s nose nudging fondly against Mycroft’s temple.
“Wouldn’t want you forgetting…” Lestrade purred, trailing light kisses down Mycroft’s cheek as he made his way to nibble on Mycroft’s ear. The familiar bitter taste of hatred and disgust danced on Lestrade’s tongue but he continued until Mycroft turned his head away as he pressed his fingers against the demon’s mouth to end the kisses.
With a sigh, Lestrade reluctantly pulled away. “One of these days…” The demon said softly, letting the silent threat that his patience was wearing thin hang in the air between them before finally disappearing into the night.
Mycroft was only able to regain some semblance of control when the sudden downpour had already soaked him through.
--
17 years ago
Mycroft smiled when his companion handed him a drink, taking a gulp to calm his nerves and relishing the burn of the alcohol as the man sat beside him on the ratty old couch. The stereo was turned up and playing a song that Mycroft disliked, but it would have been rude to mention it so he refrained from doing so.
He had met Tobias through a mutual acquaintance and they instantly hit it off, resulting in them going on a number of dates the past couple of months, leading to Mycroft finally having sex for the first time the night before.
The whole situation had been awkward, with Mycroft an anxious ball of nerves, worried that Lestrade would find out and suddenly pop in to stake his claim on Mycroft. The demon had never hesitated to do so in the past whenever Mycroft would go out with anyone who showed interest in him. He was certainly surprised that the demon had not done as expected.
Despite his less than wonderful performance last night, Toby still wanted to continue seeing him and even invited him to a friend’s place for some drinks. Mycroft let himself hope that he could be happy for the first time in Toby’s arms.
Toby leaned close, urging Mycroft to take another sip as he peppered kisses onto Mycroft’s lobe. Toby’s hand followed the inseam of his trouser leg before suddenly cupping his cock in front of their host.
Mycroft jumped at the touch, spilling some of the contents of his drink down the front of his shirt and onto the couch. Their host clicked his tongue in disdain as Mycroft scrambled an apology, and tried to get up to wipe the alcohol up, but Toby pulled him back down. The glass in his hand clattered to the ground and rolled onto the carpet, spilling the rest of the liquid. Their host paid it no mind as he stood in between Mycroft’s spread knees, hard cock straining against the confines of his trousers and right in Mycroft’s face.
“That was very rude of you, Mikey.” Toby said with a sneer in his voice that Mycroft had never heard before, causing a heavy weight to settle in his stomach. “You should make it up to our host, don’t you think?”
Mycroft flinched as Toby squeezed his cock through the cloth, easily keeping him from wriggling away with one hand around his hip.
Mycroft looked away when the other man’s cock was brought out, but he was grabbed by his hair and made to hold still as the cock was guided to his lips. The other man’s hand went to his jaw and coaxed him to open his mouth to take the length while Toby kept up the assault on his penis.
Mycroft shut his eyes tight as tears prickled the edges of his vision.
In the next instant, both men were thrown clear across the room, smashing into the opposite wall and knocking them unconscious. The crash they made was masked by the loud bass of the music still playing.
Mycroft looked up to find Lestrade standing between him and the men. Lestrade had his back to Mycroft but he could tell by the hard line of the demon’s back that Greg was furious.
“You should go.” Lestrade said evenly, still looking away from Mycroft, fists clenched in barely controlled anger.
Mycroft slowly stood up, legs still shaking as he stepped away from the demon. It was only when he reached the door that he thought to look back at Lestrade.
“You’re not going to hurt them, are you?” He asked, afraid of what the demon would do once he left.
Lestrade stayed silent and Mycroft was worried he wasn’t going to get an answer. But the demon spared him a quick glance before finally responding.
“I won’t kill them, if that’s what you’re worried about. Now go.”
Mycroft gave a small nod and did as he was told.
Later, when Mycroft was in his dorm room, huddled under his blankets and still wide awake after having taken a long steaming shower to wash the filth away, he felt the bed dip behind him and a warm body pulling him close. He turned in the demon’s arms, burying his face into Lestrade’s chest and sobbed himself to sleep.
Lestrade could taste the sour sadness around Mycroft for months afterwards.
--
Present day
Mycroft watched Sherlock’s chest rise and fall with each pump of the artificial respirator. He kept watch as the storm passed and the night grew calm once more. He continued sitting beside his brother, still and thoughtful, until the sun rose to signal a new day.
With his mouth set in a firm line, he stood and walked out the room, finally accepting what he must do.
--
5 years ago
Greg wrapped the scarf tighter around his neck as he cut through the park quickly, cursing all the higher powers that he knew for the torturous season called Spring. It wasn’t that he disliked how colour just burst into life around him, or how the birds and the butterflies fluttered close, seeming to forget how he was a powerful demon who could set them on fire with a single glare. It was the fact that Winter still had one foot in the door, sending frigid gusts on a sunny day that left Lestrade feeling chilled to his bones and counting down the days to when Summer would arrive.
He shoved his hands into his coat pockets as he exited the park, rubbing his fingers together to get a flash of heat through them when a black car pulled up to the curb, halting Lestrade in his tracks.
Greg was on alert when a woman in a black suit stepped out of the vehicle, giving a curt nod before motioning for him to enter. He eyed the human carefully, not sensing any supernatural danger from her, but was wary nonetheless. It was only when a familiar face peered out of the dark enclosure that Greg relaxed and entered the car.
“Thought I’d give you a lift.” Mycroft said, as he handed Lestrade a steaming cup of coffee. The demon took a deep breath of the strong brew, absently noting that the assistant had closed the door behind him before she resumed her place in the front passenger seat. The car started moving again when Lestrade had taken a slow sip of his drink.
“Picking me up on a cold Spring day and buying me coffee? What brought this on?” Lestrade was used to Mycroft giving him the cold shoulder, dealing with him only when strictly necessary. Offering him rides and delicious coffee was uncharacteristic of the man and had Greg a little on edge. He knew it had nothing to do with Sherlock because ever since Greg had taken on a position at the Met, he had been true to his part of their bargain, keeping an eye out for the younger Holmes and keeping Mycroft updated on Sherlock’s activities.
Mycroft fiddled with his phone to show the lewd message from one of his political opponents to the demon.
In that instant, Greg saw red.
“Was that wise, sir?” Anthea asked Mycroft when they dropped Lestrade off at the Yard.
“We needed the situation dealt with.” Mycroft said, watching the demon’s rigid back as Lestrade disappeared into the building. “Now, it is.”
Mycroft heard back from Greg three days later when he was soaking in his tub, relaxing after a long day at the office.
“Did you know,” Lestrade said as he suddenly appeared seated on the edge of the claw foot tub, startling Mycroft out of his reverie, “That he was a demon?”
“What?” Mycroft said, sitting up abruptly, splashing water onto the floor as he reached for the nearby hand towel to cover himself up. The bubbles in the tub had dispersed, leaving him bare under the demon’s gaze.
“The one who sent you the texts about wanting you to suck his cock and bending you over his desk as he fucked you over his private papers. Did you know he was a demon?”
Mycroft swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself not to wriggle under Lestrade’s intense gaze.
“I had an inkling that he wasn’t entirely human,” The Holmes said with a small frown.
Mycroft watched as Lestrade, with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, reached for another hand towel and dunked it into the water, creating ripples as he got the cloth wet. The human shifted away as the demon poured a liberal amount of bath gel on it and motioned for Mycroft to come closer.
When it appeared that Lestrade was willing to wait him out, Mycroft gave in and scooted forward, head bent low.
Lestrade carefully worked up a lather and started running the cloth over Mycroft’s skin, working his way down Mycroft’s shoulders and back with a gentleness that caught Mycroft by surprise. He had to bite back a moan when Lestrade worked over a knot between his shoulders.
As the demon grazed the towel over Mycroft’s arm, the human felt a tingle run from his shoulder to the tips of his fingers following the stroke downwards. Mycroft watched in confusion, then shock, as thick dark whorls emerged on his skin, trailing down his arm before disappearing into the water, turning the bath a murky deep green colour. Lestrade repeated the same process on the other side, washing away the stains before wringing the cloth dry.
Lestrade unplugged the drain and motioned for Mycroft to stand. Lestrade efficiently dried him off with a fluffy white bath towel before wrapping Mycroft up in a bathrobe and ushering him out of the room.
Mycroft chose not to comment on the soft wail he heard as the last of the murky water swirled down the drain.
The demon said nothing as he pulled out Mycroft’s sleepwear and laid the set on the large bed before sitting down with a heavy thump on the firm mattress.
Mycroft reached for his clothes, intent on getting dressed, when Lestrade took hold of his wrist, halting the movement. Mycroft was patient, letting Lestrade run soothing swipes over his skin.
“He was close to stealing you from me. He should have known better than to touch what’s mine.” The demon said, a sharp possessive edge to his tone as his grip on Mycroft’s wrist tightened. Lestrade turned the wrist over, exposing the pale flesh under the robe before bringing it up to his lips, mouthing at the pulse there.
Mycroft gasped as Lestrade placed a kiss in the centre. The demon murmured a soft incantation, silver writing appearing above Mycroft’s flesh. The words, in a language that Mycroft couldn’t decipher, encircled his wrist before searing themselves into his skin. Mycroft hissed softly and jerked his hand back in response, but Lestrade kept his hold firm until the etchings disappeared from view.
“They will now know you’re spoken for.” The demon said, standing to face Mycroft, the man’s hand still held firmly in his. “Demons. Angels. The supernatural. They will know who you belong to.”
Mycroft glared at Lestrade, not bothering to hide the flinch as the other being cupped his face, stroking a thumb over his cheek. Lestrade’s hand trailed down Holmes’ jaw, grazing past his neck and collarbone before continuing down the cut of the bathrobe.
Mycroft sucked in a sharp breath and he quickly grabbed the demon’s roving hand when it wormed under the opening. The soft pads of the demon’s fingers brushed over Mycroft’s flushed skin once, making the man shiver. Mycroft shut his eyes and shook his bent head, squeezing the demon’s hand in a silent plea to stop.
Lestrade released Mycroft’s wrist; instead, he took a hold of Mycroft’s neck and brought them closer together. The demon gave a soft hum and with a light kiss on Mycroft’s temple, disappeared.
--
Present day
“I know what you want.” Mycroft said, striding into Lestrade’s office in the Yard as if he owned the place.
The demon looked up from reading his papers, mouth open in the middle of biting the jelly donut in his hand.
“And what is that?” Greg asked curiously, placing the sugary treat down and shutting the door with a flick of his wrist, the lock clicking shut.
Mycroft reached over to shut the blinds to give them some privacy. Greg watched as Mycroft walked around his desk, making Lestrade swivel his chair to face the man. Mycroft stood between his spread legs and leaned over him, bringing their faces close as hewhispered,
“My submission.”
Mycroft watched as Lestrade’s eyes turned black. “Mycroft-.” The demon growled, but Mycroft interrupted him by sinking between Greg’s spread legs.
“This is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?” Mycroft said with a smirk, hands moving from the arms of the chair to the demon’s taut thighs. He ran his hands up the grey slacks, fingers moving deftly to undo the demon’s belt and trousers.
“You always stopped whenever I asked you to. You pushed and pushed, but you always stopped when I said no.” Mycroft leaned over the cock he’d pulled out, the shaft growing thicker and hotter in his hand as he stroked it slowly.
Lestrade’s hips bucked as Mycroft took the length into his mouth, working it down his throat before pulling off. He licked his lips, eyes staring straight into Greg’s as he brushed his mouth over the sensitive tip. Greg sucked in a breath as Mycroft spread his spit over the hard cock with his hand.
“This gets you off, doesn’t it?” Mycroft said with a particularly strong squeeze. “Me, helpless and at your mercy. But you want me to want it.”
The demon swallowed, gaze transfixed as Mycroft worked his shaft.
“Come on.” Mycroft urged, building the need in Greg with each stroke. “Come on me.” The human licked a long stripe up the hard length, causing Greg to keen and arch upwards. “I want you to.”
Lestrade was unprepared when the orgasm was ripped from him, his cum painting Mycroft’s face in thick white spurts.
His breathing was erratic when he came back to himself, watching as Mycroft reached for a napkin and wiped the climax off.
Lestrade frowned when he noticed the look of despair in Mycroft’s features, palpable to his tongue, despite the man’s attempts to hide it as disgust.
The demon disappeared before Mycroft had a chance to say anything else, leaving the bemused human behind and wondering why it seemed like Lestrade was running away.
--
“You’ve been avoiding me.” Mycroft said once he’d finished the summoning spell and had the demon in front of him for the first time in weeks.
“Have I?” Lestrade said offhandedly, moving past Mycroft into the kitchen to get a drink. “I’ve been busy. Souls don’t barter themselves, you know.”
Mycroft grasped the demon’s arm as Lestrade passed by him. Greg reacted by slamming Mycroft into the nearest wall, hands pinned to his sides as the demon growled into his ear.
Mycroft stared straight into Greg’s black eyes, unafraid as he lifted a leg up to bring their hips closer together.
Lestrade moved away as if burned, but Mycroft quickly grabbed him by his lapels and brought their mouths together in a searing kiss. Greg shivered and seemed to melt into the embrace. Mycroft moaned and opened his mouth, seeking out Greg’s tongue as he brought their pelvises together.
Greg let out a soft whimper, reluctantly pulling back and keeping Mycroft from following him. “Stop.” The demon whispered, eyes turning into their usual rich brown colour as he shook his head and wetted his lips. “You don’t want this.”
“What makes you think I don’t?” Mycroft countered, grinding his obvious attraction against Greg’s. The demon flinched, and tried to move away, but Mycroft’s hold on his coat was unyielding.
“He told me, you know. John, the angel. About how you had gone to him to bargain for Sherlock’s life a few days before I went to your office.” He said, running a hand through the demon’s hair and enjoying the way the soft locks felt against his fingers.
Lestrade swallowed and stilled in the man’s arms. He could easily escape the human, but with the way Mycroft was holding him tenderly for the first time, Greg found it hard to do so.
“I’m not doing this because you saved my brother.” Mycroft continued when it looked like Lestrade was ready to refuse him again.
“I’m doing this because I want to.”
Greg found out that kisses given freely were indeed sweeter.
-end-