Chapter Text
John stumbled through the grand glass doors of the hotel and gawped, of course Mycroft had sorted out a ridiculously posh one, no doubt he's booked the most expensive room as well.
John faltered, his vision wavering. It took more effort than usual to focus his vision and scan the extravagant hotel lobby for the reception desk. He was tipsy after all.
After a long moment, he finally found it and began heading in that direction, trying desperately to keep his head straight and his body from swaying beneath him. He’d had a drink before he came, and was worried that they might not let him through if they knew that he was intoxicated.
His anxiety seemed to grow with every single step, and all of a sudden he felt his cheeks begin to burn at the slow realisation that he did not have a suitcase and already looked rather suspicious. His heart jumped at the fear that perhaps people might recognise him. Maybe they might even guess what he was here for, it could be in the papers before tomorrow morning and-
Stop. He told himself slowly. Just stop. I'm just being paranoid. No one will know.
He exhaled a shaky breath. He needed to calm down, steady himself and push the shame than was quickly rising up through his body back down. He wanted this. He didn’t want to want this. But he did. It hit him that he must look odd pausing in the middle of the lobby and he decided to try and play it off by dragging his phone from his pocket and double checking what Mycroft had texted him:
502. Holmes.
Right, the room number and - John gulped - the name it was under, that last part was obvious really. He blinked as the words blurred a bit on the screen, but he knew that was just the drink. He began walking again until he reached the desk and managed to check in - just about. He stuttered nervously on a couple of words but fortunately the woman didn’t say anything.
Following directions, he made his way quickly across the lobby to the posh looking lift, and soon he was on the top floor, walking along the stately corridor to the room. He found it in no time but just before he touched the handle something stopped him.
He steadied himself with both hands, his fingers clutching the doorframe as he took another deep breath. If he was strong enough, he could turn around now, and not do this. He could go back to his lonely, miserable flat and drink himself to unconsciousness. He could wake up on the floor the next morning, like he always seemed too, and pull himself to the shower, once again trying desperately not to think about the one person who had made his life worth living.
Sherlock.
The awful memories of that day always seemed to suffocate him like black smoke. The small details were always the worst, the way he had sounded on the phone, the tone of his last words, “Goodbye, John.”
He’d pull himself together, try to think of the happy memories, but all that seemed to lead too was him shamefully trying not to touch himself as the thoughts of all their lazy mornings came flooding back. The way Sherlock would moan while he fucked him, the way his head would fall back against the pillows when John finally let him come.
Oh god.
In the midst of unawareness that was his thoughts, his head had fallen against the room door with a thump.
“John?” Mycroft’s voice called out in a questioning tone.
Fuck. He was already in there, of course he was.
“Err, yes,” John slurred, before swiping his keycard and letting himself in. He walked through the door, turned a corner and wow, he couldn’t stop himself from gasping. The room was enormous, and most certainly the most luxurious place ne had been in a very long time. To his left, a huge double king-sized bed sat against the back of a heavily decorated wall. While a large wooden coffee table and a pair of beautiful bespoke fabric chairs stood proudly in the centre of the room. And the view. Jesus. The wall opposite the bed had two large sleek glass windows that so elegantly presented a breathtaking view of the entire city of London. Wow.
“Lovely, isn’t it? Sit down, John.” Mycroft's voice was oddly soft, soothing maybe, but there was something about the way he had said ‘sit down’ that sounded slightly...commanding. John winced in slight shame as he felt all the words turn into arousal in his pants.
“I would offer you a drink but I see you’ve had one already...” The older man smirked.
John nodded, unsure of what to do next. He didn’t really want to sit down, he still wasn’t 100 percent sure he wanted to be here.
Mycroft closed some of the gap between them and held up a glass with what looked like whisky in it, “Here, have another anyway, it’s your favourite.”
John took it gratefully. His thoughts weren’t blurry enough yet, and he needed them to be, if he was actually going to do this.
“Don’t doubt yourself John, you do want this." Mycroft began in a bored tone. "You’ve wanted it for ages.” His final words turned deep and seductive, and John had to stop a small moan escaping from his mouth.
The corner of Mycroft’s lips curled up into another smirk.
“Don’t hold back from me. I already know what you like.” He whispered smoothly.
John twitched in anticipation, his eyes following Mycroft movements slowly. The older man leant over and picked up a coil of thick black rope that was sat on the bedside table. John hadn’t even noticed it was there until now.
John looked up startled, and felt himself tense. This...wasn’t what they had arranged. How the hell did he know about his kink, nobody knew.
“What? How did you-”
“I deduced it the first time we met, John. Don’t be so surprised” He paused. “I didn’t think you’d have a complaint,” he added, practically purring.
John gulped at the feel of his erection growing tight against his trousers. Yet he couldn’t help feeling slight anger having being taken off guard like this. This was one of his biggest secrets, even Sherlock didn’t know about this. Sherlock. A sharp stab of pain began to rise in his chest at the thought of him, shame beginning to curl and snake through his body, his heart, pulling his eyelids shut. He dropped his head.
“Don’t think of him!” Mycroft growled, his voice angry and stern. “Thinking of him will only ruin this, for both of us.”
John froze, rather taken back, Mycroft was right of course. He needed to blank those thoughts from his brain completely, that was what the alcohol was for. He took another large gulp and felt his throat burn. God, It was strong.
“Good. If you do that again, I might have to... punish you, understand?” Mycroft said firmly, his voice dropping several octaves as he spoke.
The smaller man nodded silently before draining the remainder of his glass. Mycroft held out the bottle and offered to pour another, and John didn't refuse.
After he'd several more gulps, Mycroft stepped closer, reaching out to begin undoing the buttons on John’s shirt, rope still in hand. John felt his breath quicken. He held himself still, trying to hide his blatant arousal at the dark tone of Mycroft’s words.
“Oh the obedience of a soldier. This is good John, we should have done this sooner.”
John couldn't possibly think of a response, instead he continued to stand, watching Mycroft’s lips until he felt his shirt being pushed from his shoulders. He was bare-chested now, his nipples erect from the sudden change in temperature.
Mycroft's eyes trailed slowly up and down John's body. “My, you haven’t lost too much shape have you.” He breathed quietly.
At those words, John couldn’t stop a moan from escaping from his lips.
“Hold out your wrists,” Mycroft commanded, his quiet tone gone in a heartbeat.
John did as he was told, after putting the now empty glass on the dresser beside them. As moment passed and he found himself looking up into Mycroft's eyes, properly, for the first time since he’d arrived. Yet to his disappointment they were firmly focused on the task in hand, but still John couldn’t help but stare, mesmerised by the green-blue glow of his irises, and the thought of the immensely clever brain behind them.
Mycroft's eyes flicked up to his.
“Your pupils have dilated John, you definitely want this.”
John let out a breathy sort of moan in response, he did. He really did. Mycroft had now finished binding his wrists, and John let his tied hands drop to his front.
“Please.” He moaned, cocking an eyebrow and looking down at the bulge in his trousers. It was what they were here for after all.
“Don’t be ridiculous John. I’m the one telling you what to do.” Mycroft hissed, before placing his hands on John’s shoulders and shoving him down onto his knees.
John cried out in a surprise. Mycroft was making him wait, but actually this was better. This way he wasn’t in control anymore.
Mycroft quickly fiddled with his own trousers and pushed them down so they were around his ankles. John stared at Mycroft's silky white, biting his lip.
“Take them off.” Mycroft demanded, his voice lower than ever.
“What?” John whispered, thinking of his bound hands.
“Take them off... with your mouth.” Mycroft repeated, ever so slowly. Before thrusting his hands into John’s hair and pushing him forward towards his crotch.
Joan moaned loudly and began to bite at the rim of Mycroft's boxers, before taking a grip and dragging them down with his teeth. To his relief Mycroft helped a little and slid them down at the back also. And before John knew what was happening Mycroft's fully erect cock sprung free and hit him on the cheek. This time he actually heard Mycroft moan.
“Now, take it in your mouth.” Mycroft instructed. John could tell he was trying to keep his voice stern but he noticed it was already beginning to waver slightly.
John decided to start at the bottom, he licked at the base, sucking and pulling, teasing even, before slowly licking his way all the way up towards the tip.
Mycroft moaned loudly, his eyes never leaving John’s face.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this, John.” he breathed.
John shook his head, licking his lips before opening his mouth wide and taking Mycroft's full length this time moaning onto his cock. He was desperate at this point. He hadn’t had any since Sherlock had jumped, and it had been nearly year. With Mycroft pushing at the back of his head, John began to swallow down even more, suddenly desperate to push that dashing thought of Sherlock away. He pulled back up, it was in his head now, Sherlock. He couldn’t stop the comparison of them both from flashing through his brain. The way Sherlock was smoother, paler, than this rough Mycroft. The way Sherlock would be gentle, unsure. The way he- John stopped moving.
Mycroft stopped moaning and looked down at him, confused, and then angry.
“You’re thinking of him again. Aren’t you!” His voice bubbling with rage.
John could hardly admit that he found that voice all the more arousing. He stifled a moan before looking down ashamed of himself. He wanted to please Mycroft, he was enjoying this far too much for it to stop now. John glanced back up to him pleadingly.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Punish me. Please.” He was meant to sound sincere but his voice came out breathless and rushed.
Mycroft’s eyes lit up.
“Fine. Lie face down on the bed.”