Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/848120.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Mycroft_Holmes/Sherlock_Holmes/Lestrade/John_Watson
  Character:
      Mycroft_Holmes, Sherlock_Holmes, Greg_Lestrade, John_Watson
  Additional Tags:
      Foursome_-_M/M/M/M, Sibling_Incest, Beach_Sex, Rimming, Spitroasting
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-06-18 Words: 3250
****** A Nice Day at the Beach ******
by Persiflager
Summary
     Mycroft and Sherlock go on holiday and make some new friends.
Notes
     Originally posted here on the kinkmeme. Sherlock is sixteen, John a
     couple of years older, Mycroft in his early twenties and Greg nearing
     thirty.
     The premise and Greg's opening line were inspired by a scene in 'The
     Romance of Lust'.
Mycroft’s naked knees slid on the coarse sand of the deserted Norfolk beach.
“Stop squirming.” He tightened his grip on Sherlock’s hips. The sun glinted
pinkly across Sherlock’s back, and Mycroft made a mental note that they’d both
need to re-apply sun-cream soon.
“My leg itches,” complained Sherlock. His deep voice was a recent development
(one he was inordinately proud of) and seemed at odds with his coltish
adolescent body. He raised the binoculars to his eyes to watch the distant
birds in a show of apparent disinterest even as his arse canted upwards in mute
invitation.
“A not unforeseeable consequence of your hands-on approach to studying insect
bites.”
Mycroft lined himself up and pushed in without ceremony. With an audible sigh,
Sherlock put down the binoculars and braced himself against the steady rhythm
of Mycroft’s thrusts. The silence was broken only by the slap of skin on skin,
the buzzing of sand-flies, and the occasional cry from a passing seagull.
The holiday hadn’t got off to a great start. It had taken them a few days to
escape the clutches of their parents, then two more to find a suitably remote
spot for their frolics. The sex had been awkward and rough at first –
desperation after too long without warring with bodies that had grown
unaccustomed to such exertions – and they had bickered constantly.
Now Mycroft looked down with satisfaction at Sherlock’s scrawny arse as it
accepted the repeated invasions of Mycroft’s well-oiled girth without complaint
for the second time that morning. He really did enjoy fucking his brother.
Other partners tended to require lots of unnecessary chatter, and were often
physically disappointing. Sherlock, however, at the tender age of sixteen was
as libidinous as Mycroft, nearly as well-endowed, and shared a view of the
world that encompassed very little in the way of arbitrary morals (particularly
as they pertained to the abnegation of pleasure).
As Sherlock’s preference was to be fellated after a lengthy fuck, Mycroft was
free to please himself. He breathed deeply as he picked up the pace, savouring
the tang of sea-salt on his tongue, then gave a few sharp thrusts and came,
slamming up against Sherlock’s bony backside as his balls emptied out.
“I feel like I’ve been split in two,” remarked Sherlock as Mycroft carefully
pulled out of his brother’s much-abused hole.
Mycroft was about to reply when a voice came from behind them.
“I’m not surprised, with a massive knob like that.”
.....
The man who appeared from behind the dune – tanned, approaching thirty,
handsome in a conventional sort of way – had a dazzling smile that seemed
entirely inappropriate for the situation.
“I’m Greg, by the way,” he added as he zipped up the fly of his shorts.
Mycroft didn’t volunteer their names.
“Good morning, Greg,” he said as he stood up, stark naked, with all the self-
possession he could muster under the circumstances. He reminded himself that
the man was a stranger to them (Mycroft would certainly have remembered seeing
him before) and that the family resemblance was weak.
“Just to make things clear,” said Greg as he stopped in front of Mycroft, “I
know who you two are and I’m not planning to spoil your fun.” Greg put his
hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels as he looked Mycroft up and
down. “Quite the opposite, actually.”
Mycroft looked at Sherlock. He had sat up and Mycroft was uncomfortably aware
that the evidence of their crime was dripping out of him onto the sand below.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
“No,” said Mycroft, shaking his head. “We’re not going to kill him.”
Greg’s smile dimmed slightly. “Does he talk?”
“Regrettably, yes,” said Mycroft. (In point of fact, Sherlock’s vow to not
speak to anyone who failed to fully appreciate his genius had made for a trying
six months.) “Now, as you clearly have the advantage of us, perhaps you would
be so kind as to explain exactly what it is that you do want?”
Greg’s gaze shifted to Sherlock.
“You didn’t come,” he said, gesturing at Sherlock’s erection. “Would you like
to?”
Sherlock considered the matter, head tilted on one side, before shrugging. He
lay back down, crossed his arms under his head and spread his legs wide with an
air of imperial generosity that made Mycroft’s mouth twitch in an unbidden
smile.
Greg looked at Mycroft. After considering his aching jaw, Mycroft nodded in
permission and Greg dropped to his knees between Sherlock’s lanky limbs.
Taking Sherlock’s cock in his mouth, he sank down nearly half-way (more than
most could manage) and sucked hard before dragging his lips slowly back up.
Mycroft watched his bobbing head and Sherlock’s flushed, heaving chest with
cautious interest.
To his surprise, Greg then thrust his hands under Sherlock’s knees and hauled
upwards so that his arse was tilted up in display. Sherlock raised his head in
curiosity, then dropped it back down with a shuddering sigh as Greg delved his
tongue into Sherlock’s crack, licking up every drop of Mycroft’s sticky come.
He carried on licking with gusto, eating out Sherlock’s arse even as he let one
knee drop so that he could use one hand to start working Sherlock’s erection.
Sherlock, in an almost unprecedented burst of helpfulness, hugged his knees to
his chest to give Greg better access. Greg rewarded this kindness with a
renewed effort on both fronts, burrowing his face in between Sherlock’s
buttocks above the two fingers he’d rudely shoved in Sherlock’s arse, while his
other hand pulled rapidly at Sherlock’s dripping cock. It didn’t take long
before Sherlock came, spurting extravagantly across his stomach and chest.
Greg removed his shining face from between Sherlock’s trembling thighs and
looked up at Mycroft.
“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he said. “If you two come back to mine,
we can have a bit of lunch then decide how we want to fuck this afternoon.”
Mycroft thought that this was an excellent idea.
.....
Greg led them to a small, lonely cottage at the edge of the beach.
“Well, here we are,” he said as he unlocked the door. “There’s no-one around so
we can make as much noise as we like. Leave that outside.”
He let himself into the house and Mycroft looked at the dead seagull that was
dangling from Sherlock’s hand.
“Probably for the best; I doubt he has adequate dissection facilities, and
Mummy would throw a fit if she found that in the kitchen.”
Sherlock glowered.
“I found it. It’s mine.”
Mycroft sighed. “If we don’t happen across another by the end of the week, I’ll
kill you one myself. Happy?”
With a great show of reluctance, Sherlock dropped his avian corpse. He looked
at Mycroft thoughtfully.
“This isn’t like you. Do you like him?”
Mycroft shrugged. “I hope it hasn’t escaped your notice that he represents a
significant risk to us. It’s only prudent to gather more information to
mitigate that risk.”
“You mean something you can threaten him with.”
“If you like.”
Sherlock regarded him unblinkingly. “Well. So long as we’re just being
prudent.”
Mycroft turned away from him and entered the house.
.....
They crossed the sparsely furnished living room to the kitchen, where Greg was
kissing a young man up against the kitchen counter.
He was pretty enough, if you liked them short and fair – a couple of years
older than Sherlock but would pass for younger, especially in the tight jeans
and t-shirt he was wearing.
“Thought you weren’t coming in,” said Greg, breathing heavily. “John, this is
Mycroft,” he gestured, “and Sherlock.”
John looked them up and down with deliberate slowness before nodding. “Oh, very
nice.”
Out of the corner of his eye Mycroft noticed that Sherlock, who had frozen when
they entered the kitchen, had flushed a most unbecoming shade of red.
John stepped away from Greg to stir a large saucepan on the hob. “It’s risotto
for lunch. I hope neither of you’s allergic to shellfish.”
“Mycroft and I are brothers,” said Sherlock suddenly, staring intently at John.
“Does that bother you?”
Mycroft braced himself for John’s reaction, but he merely raised an eyebrow and
carried on stirring. “Kinky.”
Sherlock beamed.
“Come on,” said Greg to Mycroft, “I’ll show you where the shower is. You two
are sandy as fuck and I don’t fancy getting chafed bollocks later.”
Mycroft left Sherlock to stare creepily at his new-found friend and followed
Greg upstairs.
“Tell me,” he said as they climbed, “did your wife leave you because your lover
was male? Or because he was still in school?”
“Neither, surprisingly enough,” said Greg easily. He stopped on the landing and
gestured to the bathroom.
Mycroft made to squeeze past him but Greg caught him by the wrist.
“By the way,” he said, flashing a bright smile, “I don’t just like ‘em young.
In case you were wondering.”
He released Mycroft’s wrist and headed back downstairs, whistling.
.....
Sherlock straddled Mycroft’s lap, squirming delightfully as he leant forward to
get a better view of the scene in front of them.
“Well?” whispered Mycroft, tightening his grip on Sherlock’s hip.
“Sixty permutations of fucking alone,” said Sherlock in a quiet rumble as he
thrust up into Mycroft’s welcoming fist. “We’re going to need more than one
afternoon.”
Mycroft nodded and placed a tender kiss on Sherlock’s shoulder in reply.
After lunch, Greg had led them upstairs and ordered everyone to strip before
placing Mycroft and Sherlock the head of his enormous bed, where they’d watched
appreciatively as he spread John out on his hands and knees in front of them
and prepared him with skilful tongue and fingers. With the two pairs facing
each other, Mycroft and Sherlock had only an indirect view of John’s exposed
arse in the large mirror on the side wall, but that was all they needed when
Greg’s every twitch of his fingers showed on John’s expressive face.
“God, you’re gagging for it today, aren’t you?” said Greg as he fingered John.
“Anyone would think I hadn’t fucked you twice already.”
“Well, maybe if you’d - hng - done a better job of it...,” said John
unsteadily, his face flushed with arousal and his erection pendulous between
his legs.
Greg pulled his fingers out and slapped John’s arse. “Cheeky.” He added a
fourth finger and slid back in. “By the way, Mike – can I call you Mike?”
Mycroft narrowed his eyes, ignoring Sherlock’s snigger. “Please don’t.”
“Alright, Mycroft - anyway, John doesn’t actually need this. His arse’ll give
you a good squeeze, but he knows how to take it.”
John nodded, and eyed Sherlock’s erection hungrily. “I’m more than ready.”
“Nearly there. I know how much you like a big cock, but he’s got an absolutely
enormous one.” Greg winked at Mycroft.
Mycroft looked straight into Greg’s dark, lovely eyes as he stroked Sherlock’s
cock with a skill born of long familiarity, running his thumb across the
swollen head to gather sticky drops of pre-come and bringing it up to his mouth
to suck clean. Greg visibly swallowed, and Mycroft smiled slyly as he rocked
his stiff cock between his brother’s familiar buttocks. Greg wasn’t the only
one who could put on a show.
“I wouldn’t have thought internet pornography was a wise choice for a future
doctor,” remarked Sherlock suddenly.
Mycroft tutted. The strategically placed cameras (currently turned off) might
make their hosts’ income source obvious, but it was no more polite to mention
it than it would be to ask John about the turbulent adolescence that had driven
him into the bed of an equally damaged older man.
John shrugged as best as he was able in his position. “Luckily, I’ve - ah - not
got a very memorable face.” He regarded Sherlock thoughtfully. “You though …
people would remember you.”
Sherlock’s hum in response vibrated through his back where it was pressed flush
against Mycroft’s chest.
“Right then.” Greg looked amused. “If you shuffle forward a bit you can suck
Sherlock’s cock. Mycroft, how would you feel about coming back here to give
John a proper fucking?”
Mycroft kissed the nape of Sherlock’s neck and indulged himself with one more
roll of his hips before lifting Sherlock up off his lap.
“I suppose I could oblige,” he said off-handedly as he crawled down the bed,
half-listening to the filthy wet sounds and breathy moans as John tried to fit
Sherlock’s too-big cock in his mouth.
Greg grinned, caught him by the chin and kissed him fiercely.
John had a lovely firm bottom. Mycroft wasn’t generally in favour of over-
zealous depilation but it did show off John’s pink, open hole rather prettily.
Taking himself in hand, he dragged his cock up and down John’s smooth crack.
The wet, indulgent slide was nearly as arousing as the sight of John’s arsehole
fluttering in wanton eagerness.
“Don’t be a tease.” Greg’s voice in his ear was surprisingly loud.
Mycroft slicked himself up and thrust slowly in until half his length had
disappeared inside the snug heat of John’s young body. John’s arsehole
stretched beautifully around him. He withdrew slightly before sliding fully in
with a groan as John pushed back to meet him with pleasing zeal.
“How is he?” asked Greg, his warm hands resting on Mycroft’s hips.
“Exquisite,” said Mycroft, and meant it – it was nice to have his hard work
appreciated. “You’re a lucky man.”
“I know.” Greg kissed the side of his neck. “John, how are you doing?”
When there was no response Mycroft looked up and realised that John was unable
to respond because Sherlock was busy fucking his mouth.
“Sherlock? If you wouldn’t mind.”
Sherlock withdrew with a great sigh. John gasped for breath.
“It’s good, it’s fantastic, please don’t stop-“
He was cut off by Sherlock pushing his cock roughly back in. Mycroft, satisfied
that the appropriate formalities had been observed, set to buggering the boy
properly with firm, decisive thrusts that served to shove Sherlock’s cock even
further down his throat.
Greg pressed up close behind him.
“Christ, but that’s a sight,” he breathed, his cock hot against the small of
Mycroft’s back. “I’m tempted to sit this one out and just watch you three.”
“That would be rather a shame,” panted Mycroft in between thrusts.
Greg’s fingers, cool and slick, slipped between Mycroft’s buttocks and stroked
him lightly.
“Yeah, it would.” He slipped the tip of one finger in and started twisting it
in further. “Mind if I fuck you?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
Greg laughed. “You’re not wrong there.”
Soon than he would have thought possible, Greg’s clever, clever fingers were
busy caressing Mycroft’s prostate with deft, darting strokes that threatened to
undo him. It had been far too long since Mycroft had been fucked; Sherlock was
too impatient to spend much time preparing him, and was liable to get bored and
wander off if Mycroft did it himself.
“There we go,” muttered Greg, half to himself, as he finally removed his hand
and pressed the tip of his cock against Mycroft’s hole. “Hold still a moment.”
Mycroft obediently paused his thrusting. John’s bottom was flush against
Mycroft’s groin, his insides gripping Mycroft’s length with charmingly
irregular, involuntary squeezes. Mycroft let his gaze travel up the sweat-
sheened expanse of smooth, tanned skin to where John was making a very
respectable effort to accommodate Sherlock in his throat, and then up the
blush-mottled chest he knew so well to his brother’s face – mouth hanging open,
eyes fixed downwards with intense, unselfconscious fascination. Mycroft
couldn’t remember the last time he’d had the luxury of indulging in unrequited
observation.
As Greg imposed himself, Mycroft breathed deeply in an attempt to maintain some
shred of self-control. Sherlock looked up at the sound, his eyes widening
almost imperceptibly as he stared with appreciation at the tableau in front of
him. He thrust his hips forward minutely, which caused John to impale himself
still further on Mycroft – sweet John, beautiful in his own right and still
more so as the conduit for their crime, purifying it by letting it flow through
his lithe form.
Mycroft’s attention was drawn back to his own body as Greg fully seated
himself, then withdrew and snapped forward, eliciting a surprised grunt from
Mycroft.
“Like that, do you?” Greg sounded amused. “Let’s see what you can take.”
Mycroft did his best to remain silent as Greg spread his buttocks wide with
both hands, presumably to get a better view. Greg violated him in short,
shallow movements that excited him so much that he had to close his eyes to
better appreciate the sensations. Each one rocked him inevitably forward,
sending little moans and quivers and pants through John’s body to Sherlock, who
quickly returned them until Mycroft found himself pushing back on Greg’s
insistent cock.
“Yeah,” breathed Greg as he gripped Mycroft’s hips. “Knew you’d want it.” At
that he pulled almost all the way out before driving back in, and a shameless
groan escaped Mycroft’s lips before he could stop it. He was powerless – even
in the act of fucking John he was merely a vessel for Greg’s well-placed,
rhythmic thrusts that clanged through him like hammer-blows on an anvil.
As the twin delights of Greg’s cock and John’s backside drove him towards his
peak, a tendril of conscience made itself known.
“Should I frig him?” he asked, his voice quiet among the slap of skin on skin
and exhalations that marked their debauchery.
“No need,” panted Greg in his ear, his sweaty chest sticking to Mycroft’s back.
“John’ll come from being fucked, easy as anything.”
Mycroft nodded. He glanced up at Sherlock, who narrowed his eyes before
abruptly pulling out of John’s mouth and scrambling round to Mycroft’s side.
“Ah fuck,” muttered John in time with Mycroft’s strokes, the hoarseness of his
voice betraying the abuse his throat had taken. “Fuck, fuck, fuck...”
Without hesitation, Sherlock slid one hand between John’s legs and tugged at
Mycroft’s bollocks. Like petrol on a smouldering fire, his orgasm exploded,
flaming throughout his body with a blazing heat that scorched his senses,
extended for several long, ecstatic seconds by Greg’s unswerving stoking.
As awareness returned he was aware of John being pulled unceremoniously off
him. Mycroft fell forward and braced himself on his hands as Greg used the
leverage of the new position to take him roughly, sending delicious aftershocks
through his limbs.
Open-eyed and sluggish with sated pleasure, he watched Sherlock manhandle his
new friend, flipping him onto his back and yanking his legs up onto Sherlock’s
shoulders before pushing in brusquely. John cried out wordlessly as Sherlock
took him with jealous, adolescent savagery, and quickly spilled between them.
Mycroft closed his eyes as Greg approached his climax, vaguely listening to the
choked-off sounds of Sherlock’s own pleasure.
“Ah, there,” groaned Greg as he came in rough, irregular jerks, over-
stimulating Mycroft’s prostate to exquisite discomfort, his hands sliding and
groping at Mycroft’s sides with endearing clumsiness as his cock pulsed inside.
Greg eventually softened and slipped out with a sigh. Mycroft stretched out on
his front, skin still tingling, half-way to sleep already. He felt rather than
saw Greg arrange himself by Mycroft’s side, one arm thrown over him and lips
brushing the back of his neck.
As their breathing slowed he cracked open his eyes just long enough to see
Sherlock and John roll onto their sides, limbs tangled together, kissing
softly. Sherlock caught Mycroft’s eye and extended one leg carefully over John,
stroking his foot delicately against Mycroft’s calf before retracting.
Satisfied, Mycroft slept.
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