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Mycroft sat at his dining room table and watched Sherlock make short work of a very nice piece of fish and some salad greens.
"You're really not bad at this cooking thing, Mycroft," he said, sounding surprised. "It does make a change."
"Eating, you mean?"
"Well, eating real food. John isn't much for cooking."
"And I don't suppose you ever do any."
Sherlock just snorted.
They'd met at Mycroft's townhouse on a Friday evening. John had gone to stay with Harry for the weekend, and Sherlock hadn't enquired any further than that. Dinner finished, Sherlock leaned back in his chair and looked smug.
"What?" Mycroft asked.
"Aren't you going to ask me what I did today?"
"Did it involve something other than pestering that lovely Detective Inspector?"
"He phones me, not the other way around," Sherlock countered, a little too quickly.
Mycroft just smiled. Easy bait. He knew all the weaknesses in Sherlock's armour, and sometimes Sherlock practically begged to have them exploited. It kept his arrogance from becoming completely overwhelming. "Sorry, Sherlock. What did you do today?"
Sherlock's features still bore the beginnings of a sulk, but the question lured him out and he gave Mycroft a grin. He walked over to the coat rack and dug through his pockets, pulling out a pair of shiny handcuffs with a flourish.
Mycroft groaned and cradled his face in his hands. "Stealing his badges isn't interesting enough anymore?"
"Oh, come on, Mycroft. At least I can use these."
Mycroft looked up with interest. "Precisely what do you mean by that, Sherlock? Are you running an experiment on bruising patterns?"
Sherlock looked slightly flustered. "No. It's just… well, John had bookmarked a few sites on his laptop, and some of them involved handcuffs." He stood a little straighter and seemed to gain some confidence. "I thought we could try them."
Mycroft met his gaze and held it. He stayed silent for just a little longer than necessary before he replied, in very even tones, "Did you, now?" He punctuated the end with a slightly raised brow.
Sherlock broke his gaze and started to pace the room.
"Stop." One word, in a quiet yet commanding tone.
Sherlock immediately froze in his tracks.
Mycroft walked towards him, very slowly, not breaking eye contact.
"How, exactly, did you imagine we'd use them, Sherlock?" His brother's body language screamed equal parts doubt and nervous excitement. Sherlock chewed frantically at his lower lip even as he struggled to control his breathing. Mycroft reached his brother and continued walking. Sherlock turned to face him, and Mycroft put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't move." Once again, Sherlock froze.
This development fascinated him. Sherlock had never shown any sort of submissive tendencies, certainly not overt ones. Mycroft had long ignored his brother's irritating desire to be in control of every situation, dismissing it as a defence mechanism. What if Sherlock actually wanted exactly the opposite?
He stood directly behind him - not touching him at all, but leaning in so close that his lips almost brushed Sherlock's ear. "Tell me," he whispered, "did you want me to use them on you?"
Sherlock's breath caught in his throat. The silence was deafening.
Mycroft coaxed the handcuffs from Sherlock's right hand. He seemed to almost have forgotten that they were there.
He took the cold steel rings and ran them gently over his brother's cheekbone. Once again, Sherlock moved to face him. "Stop." Sherlock immediately obeyed. This was fascinating indeed. He tried to recall the last thing that had silenced Sherlock this effectively. He raised an eyebrow in surprise when he remembered: it had been the first time he'd returned Sherlock's sexual advances.
Well.
You learn something new every day.
He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and turned him so they faced each other.
"Would you like me to restrain you?"
Sherlock nodded.
"What did you have in mind? One wrist manacled to the headboard? Or perhaps your arms cuffed behind your back as I take you on your knees?" He kept his words soft and quiet; the images they conjured up in Sherlock's mind would be more than loud enough.
His brother whimpered slightly.
Mycroft placed his hand at the small of Sherlock's back and guided him towards the bedroom.
"Sit on the bed."
He cupped Sherlock's face with his hand. "If you change your mind about this, at any time, just tell me."
Sherlock nodded.
He held out the cuffs for Sherlock to see. "While I'm sure the images on John's computer were compelling, these aren't the best things for bondage. They can cause horrible bruising."
"How on earth would you know?"
Mycroft smiled. Sherlock had once again found his tongue.
"University was very educational. In many ways. Don't worry, I have other things we can use. Give me a minute."
He'd never been entirely sure why he'd kept his leather gear; he still had a full set of cuffs, a couple of collapsible spreader bars, even a body harness. Not to mention the toys. He smiled to himself; he couldn't imagine wearing the body harness these days, but Sherlock would probably look spectacular in it. He retrieved the plastic storage bin from behind the row of neatly-hung suits. He'd kept it around… well, mostly in the hope that he'd be able to use it again one day, he supposed. And now it seemed as if that was a distinct possibility.
He removed the wrist cuffs and a snap hook from the bin. He thought for a second and also grabbed a leather belt. Then he stepped back into the bedroom. He handed the leather cuffs to Sherlock, who examined them.
"These are yours?" he asked, incredulously. "You never told me…" he trailed off.
Mycroft smiled. "You never asked," he replied.
"Right." He blinked.
"So, do you still want to do this?" It was a valid question. He wasn't sure how he'd respond, should he find out that Sherlock had an extensive background in bondage and leather, as unlikely as that was.
Sherlock gave him one of those dazzling grins. "Of course," he replied, and started unbuckling the leather cuffs.
Of course.
It took Sherlock less than a minute to completely undress. It only took that long because Mycroft admonished him for dropping his clothes in a heap and made him fold them neatly. Sherlock seemed to enjoy the scolding, and Mycroft wondered how he'd failed to pick up on this for all these years. He silently thanked Lestrade for his inability to hold on to his handcuffs.
Sherlock reclined on the bed, propped up with his elbows at his sides. His usual arrogant expression was back, but Mycroft sensed an undercurrent of uncertainty.
Leaving his own clothes on, he crawled onto the bed. He pushed Sherlock completely onto his back, then grasped his wrists and pinned them above his head. Sherlock moaned a little and ground his hips up against Mycroft's. Mycroft smiled and kissed him. Hard. When Sherlock kissed back with just as much intensity and writhed beneath him, his concerns about Sherlock's desire to participate vanished.
Mycroft knelt astride Sherlock's chest and fastened a padded leather cuff to each of his thin wrists. Then he clipped the cuffs together, looped the belt between Sherlock's arms so that it rested against the clip, and secured it around the bedpost. He climbed off the bed and pulled Sherlock's body down so that his arms were stretched tightly above his head.
He'd been meaning to get undressed, of course, but seeing Sherlock like that - stretched out, tied up, and achingly hard - utterly derailed his train of thought. Blinding explosion. No survivors. He stood there and gaped in awe for a few long seconds.
Sherlock roused him out of his trance with a, "Well?"
"Wha…?" Mycroft replied, a little dazed.
"Are you just going to stand there?"
"You have no idea…" he swallowed. "No idea how you look right now." Seeing Sherlock like this was affecting him far more than he thought it would. In far more sexual ways.
"If your complete lack of coherence is anything to go by, I think I do. Now get undressed already and fuck me."
"Don't be rude," he retorted, but he was already pulling his clothes off as fast as he could.
He climbed back onto the bed and straddled Sherlock's legs. "I think you should be a little more polite when you're at my mercy like this," he teased. "I might decide not to fuck you at all. Perhaps I'll just take your mouth and let you sort yourself out."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me," he said, and started to move towards Sherlock's chest.
"You're right," Sherlock cut in, quickly. "I should have been more polite."
"Hm, that's what I thought," Mycroft replied, smiling. "Perhaps you'd like to try now?"
"Get undressed already and fuck me… please?" he said, coyly, mimicking his earlier statement.
"You'll get what I give you, Sherlock. After all, I don't see that you can do much from that position."
Sherlock tested the bonds around his wrists and twisted underneath him, but Mycroft's body held his legs firmly in place.
"I have other plans," Mycroft said, and rubbed his fingers teasingly over Sherlock's engorged cock. Shifting forward slightly, he lined up their cocks, then held out his hand in front of Sherlock's mouth. He instinctively sucked in two fingers, liberally coating them with saliva. "I'm sure you can figure out what they involve." Sherlock nodded, and licked a wet stripe up Mycroft's palm. "Good boy," Mycroft purred.
He wrapped his slick hand around both their cocks and started stroking. God, yes. This is what I needed. He was entirely too far gone already to fuck him. It would have been over as soon as he'd pushed his cock inside his brother's arse. This was perfect though: the pressure from his hand combined with the slick rub of his brother's cock against his own felt like heaven. Sherlock's moans and undulating body seemed to indicate that he felt the same way.
It didn't take long before they both came in thick spurts over Mycroft's fist. Mycroft wiped his hand off on his own stomach and then leaned down to kiss him. "Good?"
"Mm," Sherlock replied hazily, and Mycroft leaned over him and undid the cuffs from his wrists. "I'd like to do that again, sometime," he added.
"Oh, we will be," Mycroft replied with a grin, thrilled that he could share this with his brother.