Sherlock felt pleasantly warm and comfortable. The heat was radiating from his groin.

As his brain slowly regained consciousness, he first registered a feeling of contentment, and almost a reluctance to awaken, which was atypical. Then he felt the pleasure. The tingling. His heart rate was higher than normal for a person who had just been sleeping for hours. And his groin felt-Sherlock's mind snapped awake, but he kept his eyes closed. He immediately registered his erection, the hand on his cock, and the person sitting on the edge of his bed. On his next inhalation through his nose, the air brought the subtle scent of a very expensive aftershave. Mycroft. No doubt Mycroft noticed his brother was now conscious. And as if in confirmation, a smug hum of mock-discovery reached Sherlock's ears. Sherlock gritted his teeth in annoyance, though it was tempered by the arousal coursing through him from the activity of Mycroft's hand. Sherlock's mind filled in the story instantaneously; Mycroft had done this before. Always it was scheduled around John's absence from the flat, when Mycroft knew he would be gone for at least a few hours, and also immediately following the closure of a long, involved case, when he knew Sherlock would sleep deeply for awhile. Mycroft couldn't be counted on to make an appearance each time those events coincided, of course. He wouldn't want Sherlock to grow bored of their little playtimes through predictability. Befitting their relationship, Sherlock affected annoyance and sometimes even outright loathing at Mycroft materializing in his flat. True to form, Sherlock frowned and groaned slightly. Seemingly disinterested in his brother's reaction, Mycroft continued slowly, teasingly, gliding his fist up and down Sherlock's lubed, erect cock under the blanket. He was moving just slightly slower than Sherlock would have preferred. Intentionally, of course. They had done this enough that their sexual knowledge of each other was very intimate and agonizingly accurate. Sherlock still hadn't opened his eyes. "Why are you here?" he growled, his voice still thick with sleep. Mycroft vocalized his patronizing smile. After a moment, he added, "Because you've been working yourself extra hard, lately, my dear brother. I'm worried about you. You need to incorporate some relaxation into your routine." It was bullshit and they both knew it. Mycroft was here because they both got off on it. Sleep -- its now-seductive presence heightened by the very recent time on the now-concluded case where he indulged in very little of it -- still clung like cobwebs to the corners of Sherlock's brain, which was also hindered by his physical reaction to the activity that had awakened him. Sleepy and aroused, his defenses were minimized, and for a time he just lie there, frowning slightly but enjoying the sensations of his older brother (slowly) jerking him off.

After a few lazy minutes of silence, during which the only sound heard was the quiet, slow soft thudding of Mycroft's hand along Sherlock's cock, and both their breathing, Sherlock relaxed enough into it to allow a content, soft moan to escape him. It was barely audible, but Mycroft correctly interpreted it as a signal to increase both pressure and speed. Which he did. This was followed by a quiet but sharp, approving inhale from the man lying in bed. Sherlock inclined his head fractionally, slightly increasing the exposure of his long, pale neck, and then turned his head a little to the side, away from Mycroft. All of which screamed to Mycroft's very sharp perceptions how much Sherlock was enjoying this. Mycroft moaned very quietly in assent. "You're enjoying this, aren't you, Sherlock?" he mused. While neither Holmes brother was inclined to state the obvious, in their sexual escapades, it seemed to delight Mycroft to no end to tease his brother about his enjoyment of their forbidden romps. And while Sherlock appeared annoyed with it, Mycroft knew he enjoyed it as well, because-Sherlock's hips began marginally rocking, frustrated with the minimal pressure and speed. The slight frown on his angular face deepened in reaction to his body's obviousness. Contrastingly, Mycroft's smile widened. He rewarded Sherlock's traitorous body by speeding up his hand a little. Sherlock quietly moaned his pleasure, then clenched his jaw in annoyance. Mycroft watched his brother's struggle with his subservience to his clearly sexual body with smug glee. He loved doing this to Sherlock, loved teasing him, breaking him, watching him give in to Mycroft, and best of all, he loved watching him come. Sherlock was beautiful when he came. And despite their animosity towards each other, Mycroft had no hesitation in admitting how gorgeous and sexy his little brother was. Several minutes later -- agonizingly slow to Sherlock, deliciously slow to Mycroft -- Sherlock's body had woken up and responded thoroughly enough that Sherlock suddenly jerked his arms, grabbing the blankets and shoving them down to his thighs, exposing his rock-hard, flushed cock with Mycroft's manicured hand pumping it. Sherlock's eyes finally opened as he did so, and he stared, enraptured, at the spectacle. His lips parted slightly and he now breathed through his mouth. Mycroft calmly watched his face, drinking in the subtle flush across his sharp cheeks and full lips, the beautiful contrast between his strikingly-pale irises and the black depths of the pupils slowly devouring them, and, most satisfying, the twitch in the hinge of his jaw as he still resisted his body's urges. Sherlock was periodically trembling as his arousal slowly overtook his analytical sensibilities. It was time to start bringing out the big guns. "You like that, don't you, Sherlock?" Mycroft patronized him. "You love the sight of your big brother's hand wrapped around your cock?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped to Mycroft's, and were met with smug satisfaction. Sherlock quickly looked away, annoyed with Mycroft's ability to play him as well as he played his violin. His cock, however, responded tellingly, as the precome steadily beading at the tip increased its production and began actively leaking over his brother's fingers with each pump. Mycroft didn't even look down to confirm this; he began flicking the side of his thumb across the top of Sherlock's engorged cock with each upstroke, adding more and more of the detective's fluids to the lubrication he applied before Sherlock awoke. Sherlock's stomach tightened and spasmed slightly with this new stimulus. A quiet, strangled moan escaped his open mouth, and he immediately snapped his mouth shut in response. Again, Mycroft rewarded his crumbling resistance by speeding up his hand a little. He also added a slight twist to every upwards pull. Sherlock's sharp exhale, in turn, rewarded Mycroft. The younger Holmes dropped his head back onto the pillow, glowering at the ceiling. Mycroft feigned a disappointed sigh. "Mummy would be so upset with you if she saw this." Sherlock stopped breathing for a brief moment. The suit-clad government official carefully watched the consulting detective, largely (but not wholly) hiding his delight as he continued, "What do you think she'd say if she saw you like this, hmm? Can you imagine the look on her face if she walked in on us right now?" Sherlock closed his eyes as his mouth fell open again. "Oh, God..." he moaned, sounded pained with need. No longer able to control his hips, he began openly thrusting up into Mycroft's hand, which sped up considerably in response. "Such a bad boy, Sherlock," Mycroft simpered. "Disobeying our mother like that." He put just enough slight emphasis on our as to make it sound unintentional, yet accentuate Sherlock's kink. Sherlock was panting. He flattened both palms on the bed on either side of his hips, both to marginally help with thrusting and to prevent himself from grabbing at Mycroft (whether to aid his hand or to pull him down for something more, he didn't know). The flush on his face deepened, as did the flush across his chest. Mycroft openly moaned at Sherlock's insistent arousal. "And I know you don't want to upset Mummy. Perhaps we should stop?" The younger Holmes brother said nothing, but his face tightened slightly. He wasn't quite on the brink yet. Mycroft added a little more pressure and speed. The wet slapping of his hand rapidly fisting Sherlock's cock sounded quite loud to both of them. Mycroft's eyes were drawn to the action, greedily watching his brother's thick arousal as he jerked him off. He hummed slightly. "Look at you, Sherlock. You get so eager for me. Your cock is going to explode soon, all over my hand. You love it, don't you? You love when I wake you up with my hand, or my tongue... or even my cock." His eyes flicked up to Sherlock's at the last word.

They rarely had sex, mostly because it was easier to pretend they weren't doing much with each other when it was just the occasional handjob. While the taboo nature of their sexual acts was primarily the appeal for Sherlock, he mentally wrestled with indulging completely in something so forbidden with someone he so detested. Mycroft found a way to bypass Sherlock's hesitance by initiating said acts while Sherlock was sleeping. The first time they had sex had been after Sherlock had been drugged and was in a very deep sleep. However, by the time Mycroft penetrated him, Sherlock was fully awake, though he pretended to still be affected by the drugs. They both knew it was a sham, and a thin one at that, but it allowed Sherlock the pretense of not consenting. Sherlock, however, had completely given in to Mycroft, lewdly moaning and grabbing at him, pulling him deeper inside him, as he was fucked by his older brother. When Sherlock came, it was loud and very physical and the most wantonly indulgent Mycroft had ever seen his brother. And of course, Mycroft came just from watching him. Since then, almost every time Mycroft had experienced an orgasm, he was remembering how Sherlock had looked when he came with Mycroft inside him. And Mycroft was fairly certain that Sherlock fantasized about their first time together as often as he did. Now, in Sherlock's bedroom at Baker Street, Mycroft was watching Sherlock's reaction to his hinting reminder about their coupling. And he was not disappointed. Sherlock's exquisite eyes were staring, unseeing, at the ceiling, and were heavily lidded with arousal. He was panting and periodically moaning through his parted lips, and his forehead, temples, chest, and thighs were damp with sweat. His fingers were digging into his mattress as he vigorously thrust up into Mycroft's tightening fist. And, to Mycroft's pleasant surprise, Sherlock's thighs were slowly parting. He was sure this was a subconscious reaction and not an invitation, but it still quickened his pulse to see his little brother hungry to feel him inside him again. "Oh, you want it, don't you, Sherlock?" Mycroft leaned in, his words dripping with smugness, only slightly disguising his own rampant desire. "You want me to fuck you. Hard. You want me to make you scream and come all over yourself. You're such a bad boy, little brother, making a mess all over yourself like that." "Oh god," Sherlock was gasping, his eyes sliding closed, his facing tightening in pained need. "Making a mess with your come. Your semen, full of our genetics, the same lineage and family name... You want me to come inside you, don't you? You want your big brother's come to fill you, don't you?" "God, yes, please, Mycroft, please--" Sherlock was shamelessly begging. There it was. Sherlock was about to come. Mycroft went for his sexual jugular. The feigned warning was dripping with mocking innocence: "Shh, don't make too much noise now, or Mummy will hear you. I brought her with me, you know. She's in the sitting room right now." Sherlock's eyes flew open and snapped to Mycroft's. His eyes were wide with alarm, and he was plainly searching Mycroft's face for indication of dishonesty. Mycroft returned his gaze with a

practiced neutrality, laced only with his arrogant confidence. After three seconds of their standoff, Sherlock suddenly wrenched his head back, opened his mouth in ecstasy, and came. At first he was silent, but then his deep voice erupted in euphoric cries as his cock pulsed again and again, painting his bare stomach with his thick, pearly come. Mycroft noticed, with libidinous satisfaction, that Sherlock was louder than usual. He wanted to be heard. Mycroft's hand pumped quickly and roughly, wringing out each spurt of semen from his brother. Sherlock's hips were erratically thrusting, bucking into Mycroft's hand as hard as he could. As the orgasm slowly died down, Sherlock's vocalizations subsided into appeased moaning, and Mycroft pumped the last few spurts of ejaculate out of his brother's cock. As Sherlock's face slowly slackened, Mycroft slowed and then stilled his hand. The moment of silence was punctuated by Sherlock gasping for air. Then Mycroft quickly stood, undid his belt and trousers, and freed his swollen, red cock. Using Sherlock's come on his hand for lubrication, he quickly and efficiently jerked himself off. It took under ten pumps before he was coming all over his brother, adding his semen to Sherlock's. Sherlock lay unmoving and unresponsive as his brother came on his chest and stomach. With a final soft grunt, Mycroft relaxed his hand. He took a moment to compose himself, then grabbed a shirt from Sherlock's floor and used it to wipe off his hand and deflating cock, which he then tucked back into his trousers. As he put himself back together, Sherlock slowly opened his eyes and glared at his brother. "You didn't really bring Mummy, did you?" With satisfaction, Mycroft noted the almost-imperceptible undercurrent of fear in Sherlock's voice. Mycroft affixed Sherlock with a condescending incredulousness that made his brother's face tighten in annoyance and defiance. Mycroft lightly tossed the used shirt onto Sherlock's chest as he turned and walked out of the room. Sherlock lie there for awhile, staring at the empty doorframe, feeling his loathing of Mycroft seeping back in. As he began to clean himself off, one corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile, but he quickly repressed it.