Chapter Text
“Let me get this straight, little brother – you want to go into this highly secretive and exclusive club for a case… And you have no experience with –“
“Well, besides the time with Irene –“
Sherlock trails off when Mycroft’s face grows dark; his brother is not fond of The Woman whatsoever. But, Mycroft schools his features back to their default impassive state, and continues onwards, “If you do not have any experience with playing the Dominant role, brother – then there is no way you can fake your way into such an exclusive locale – regardless of how talented an actor you are. It is something that requires practical experience.”
Sherlock sighs deeply – he really needs to get into the private office of a potential suspect, and he had come to ask big brother to get him access into the club. He asks, “What can I do instead? It is of utmost importance.”
“It is easier if you play the Submissive role, brother –“
He almost chokes – god – him playing the submissive role? Mycroft surely must be kidding. And who on earth is going to be his Dominant? Nope – he couldn’t see himself obeying anyone on this planet anytime soon. But then again – this is for a case – and he really needs to get into that damned office.
And the lead is a good one. Or so he hopes.
Desperate times could call for some truly desperate measures.
There is a feral glint in Mycroft’s eyes – a scary look on big brother. It is as if his brother can read all of Sherlock’s thoughts – as if they were written plainly on his face.
Mycroft says simply. “I can do it.”
Sherlock almost spits out all the tea that he had just drank. Did he need to get his hearing checked? Is incest not illegal in this country? Is his brother crazy?
And is he truly that desperate?
“Brother, it is the simplest way – I do have a membership to that club, although admittedly I don’t go there very often. Clubs that exclusive guarantee anonymity so there will not be any nasty blackmailers to deal with after the fact. There are more sordid secrets going on in those scenes than a little spanking between brothers. And, somehow – I don’t see you behaving for any other Dominant I know of.” Mycroft permits himself a smirk as the last sentence leaves his lips. Casually, he lifts his teacup and sips at the hot liquid.
Intrigued, Sherlock asks – a tad bratty, “What makes you think I would behave for you, big brother?” His fingers reach forward for one of those delectable ginger nuts that his brother had thoughtfully supplied for the afternoon tea.
“Call it a hunch, brother mine.” Mycroft’s smirk has reached his eyes. There is almost a silky, seductive quality to his brother’s syllables now – it sends a queer tingle down Sherlock’s spine – he is starting to realize that just maybe he is inviting more trouble than this entire case is worth. Even the way his brother’s fingers caress the solid and expensive wood of the dining table seems to be calculated. It is obvious that his brother has a vast amount of experience playing this particular game. If he had any sense of self-preservation left in his body – Sherlock muses – it might be a good time to flee. “I do like a challenge.” Mycroft adds; there is a mischievousness in his brother’s voice that Sherlock has not heard since he was a child.
Sherlock feels like he has fallen into an alternative universe. His ever-thinking brain is starting to think about what kinds of things his brother might be into. Unfortunately for him, he has excellent theoretical knowledge, but no practical experience. “Sounds dangerous, brother.” He voices a thought.
Mycroft laughs genuinely. “Oh, little brother… there is nothing dangerous about it. Everything is sane and consensual. Unless, of course – sex does alarm you?” His brother looks curiously at him, while repeating a question that had been asked years ago.
He wants to go disappear somewhere. Anywhere. Of course, there is nothing wrong with being a virgin in one’s thirties but admitting that verbally to his brother might be a bit more than he is currently willing to bear.
Instead, he drinks more tea.
“Sherlock, Sherlock…” His brother reaches over to grab his wrist. “There is nothing wrong with inexperience – although I am amazed you were never curious enough to try anything.”
“I can’t even stand most people.” Sherlock finds himself saying. “How could I bear to have sex with them?”
Although his brother does not put his thoughts to words – Sherlock could deduce that Mycroft is currently thinking of John Watson and Irene Adler. Sherlock shakes his head; Irene he had been tempted by – but he had not been lying to John all those years ago; women were not his area. And John has a complex in regard to being referred to anything but being straight. Sherlock wouldn’t dream of approaching him, even if he was interested.
“Safe word, brother mine. And what are your limits?” Mycroft moves on from the topic.
Sherlock blinks – feeling suddenly overwhelmed.
“We need a safe word, brother.” Mycroft repeats himself patiently.
“Redbeard.” Sherlock says – it was the first word that popped up in his mind – his first and only dog. Maybe he should get another one after this case. “And I don’t know what I like and don’t like.”
“Fine, we will figure it out together, then.” Mycroft replies. He smiles at him, “I am going to enjoy teaching you, brother mine – even if this is just for a case.” Mycroft’s hand then slaps the table – it is more loud than forceful – a promise of things to come. “The things I am going to do to you.”
Yup – he is truly and utterly out of his depth. One might even say – he is fucked.
And, Mycroft is enjoying this far too much for Sherlock’s liking.
.
.
How did he even get into this situation? Sherlock thinks as he finds himself draped across Mycroft’s lap – face down towards the cushions of the couch. His brother has generously allowed him to keep his dress shirt on, but his bare bottom, genitalia and the rest of his lower limbs are exposed to the air; his cock is pressed uncomfortably against his brother’s thigh. His instinct had been to close his thighs, but Mycroft had gently slapped them apart – denying him this modicum of modesty. He really feels the power differential – him half dressed, while his brother is still clad in his immaculate bespoke suit. Mycroft has him firmly pinned down – there is no way he could ever dream of escaping, while his right knee is slightly raised, further elevating Sherlock’s bum.
All this for a case… Sherlock could only pray that it would be worth it. Although – he cannot think of anything that is quite worth the indignity of this! And some treacherous part of his mind is quite curious about how this entire experience would play out. While another part of him wonders – is it normal for a brother to enjoy spanking his little sibling? Considering all the shit he has done to Mycroft over the years – maybe his brother has been dying to give him the spanking that he no doubt deserves. And has taken this golden opportunity to dish it out.
Now that is a thought.
“Safe word?” Mycroft asks – all business.
“Redbeard.” He finds himself replying.
“You don’t have to count for me – this time.” His brother says.
He feels Mycroft’s dominant hand brush lightly over the skin of his arse, before the first smack lands on his right buttock. The suddenness and the loudness of the action startles him more than the pain – he flinches in response. The second lands on his left globe – a bit more forceful. Embarrassingly, Sherlock feels his cock harden with each spank – egad, who knew that he would be the type of person into this – and finds himself losing awareness of how many times his abused bottom had been hit. If it wasn’t for his brother’s firm grip on his person – he would have shamelessly rubbed himself all over Mycroft’s expensive trousers. He couldn’t even imagine having to count out each strike – it sounds like torture.
Just when the stinging is beginning to become intolerable, Mycroft stops.
“You took that well, brother mine.” His brother says calmly – but Sherlock can detect a slight breathless quality to Mycroft’s words – he isn’t the only one affected physically by the spanking. “If only you could see yourself – your bottom is made to be spanked – it is a most flattering shade of red. And what have we here?” Sherlock knows that his brother is looking at his cock – he feels himself flush with humiliation – although his treacherous penis is hardening further and painfully at the proceedings. He desperately wants to rub himself off – but he does have dignity. “My, my, my…” His brother says dramatically, “I hoped for it – Sherlock – you naughty boy – a bit of a pain slut, are we?”
His face reddens further, while his cock stiffens. He wants to snark back along the lines of stating the obvious – but he really cannot talk right now. Wait a minute – did his brother hope that he would react this way to a little spanking? And there is something seriously wrong about his prim and proper brother saying the word ‘slut’ – it shouldn’t sound so bloody erotic.
“Think you deserve a reward, little brother.” Mycroft actually strokes his shirt-clad back in a comforting manner. “Would you like to come?”
“Yes, please.” The syllables fall out of Sherlock’s mouth reflexively. He is appalled at how polite his hindbrain is.
Mycroft emits a pleased noise, “Rub yourself on me, and come – little brother.”
There goes the last of his dignity – Sherlock thinks as he starts grinding himself on the fine wool of his brother’s trousers. He comes in an embarrassingly short amount of time. He slumps bonelessly against Mycroft’s lap and the couch – his first orgasm ever with another person – his brother. Despite the route of humiliation it took to get here – the end result certainly feels as good as some of those drugs he used to take.
A few minutes later, he gets up, essentially sitting in his big brother’s lap – something he hasn’t done since he was a child – and looks at Mycroft, expecting to return the favour, but his brother simply shakes his head.
“I will deal with it later.” Mycroft says.
Sherlock feels oddly disappointed and bereft. He could see the psychology behind such a decision – it would be a privilege to be allowed to make his brother come, rather than an expected duty. However, it doesn’t matter if he could see through the ploy, he knows it is still is going to work.
Fuck it – he is already fantasizing on doing things to his brother… like sucking cock.
God help him… and he is an atheist!
His bum still aches, but he could tolerate sitting on it. One of his brother’s arms snakes around his abdomen and pulls him closer. Sherlock instinctively rests his head against Mycroft’s shoulder.
“That hurt less than expected.” Sherlock observes.
“It was not meant to be punishment, brother.” Mycroft replies. “If you are unfortunate enough to misbehave – you would not be sitting on that arse of yours for days, instead of minutes.”
Sherlock cannot imagine that – although if this arrangement continues – it is inevitable that he will misbehave and be punished. It is as certain as the sun is going to rise tomorrow.
“When can we go to the club?” Sherlock asks, instead of the other innumerable questions that he has in mind.
“We need to build some familiarity between us – let’s say in about two weeks?” Mycroft suggests.
“Fine.” Sherlock says. He asks another question, “Is this a little hobby of yours – BDSM?”
“It has been for a while, little brother. I used to go at least once a week to a club to find a submissive to play with, although I haven’t done so in a few months. I find it relaxing – it is the perfect antidote to a tedious day.” Mycroft answers, surprisingly frank. He then says, “I am going to get you a collar –“
At Sherlock’s alarmed and horrified look, Mycroft quickly adds, “Because almost every sub at the club wears one – and also so you won’t be solicited by any other Dominants while you are there. Therefore, you should get used to wearing one.”
Damn, if he knew he was going to end up spanked and collared and who knew what else – Sherlock would have never taken this bloody case. Although, some parts his mind and anatomy seem to disagree.
“So, tomorrow?” Sherlock asks one last question.
“I will text you, brother.” Mycroft says. “With instructions.”