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Mycroft promised…
Sherlock thinks sadly as he buries his face in the plain hotel-issue pillow. Part of him wants to cry - he hates this - being an omega in a society that treats them like precious commodities to be bartered away.
He isn’t even considered a person in the eyes of the law.
His parents - after years of Sherlock chasing away potential suitors, finally found one that he couldn't scare away - a stubborn Dr. J. Watson.
Mummy and Father had been so relieved.
And he despises it.
After weeks of planning, Sherlock has managed to slip away from Mummy's watchful eyes and hired guard before his supposed last free heat - to cash in on a promise his brother had made when Sherlock had first presented as an omega.
Mycroft better come soon…
Sherlock feels sweat starting to drip down on his cheek - he is feverish - mingling with the few drops of tears he has managed to shed, and a familiar hateful ache starts to stir in his loins. He struggles to resist - wanting to be coherent when his brother arrives - Mycroft was always fussy about things like consent.
Not that it was a bad thing - Sherlock has met some truly repulsive specimens of alpha over the years.
His parents had never really cared about what he had wanted. An omega; a pretty thing who can't think for himself; who can't thrive without an alpha; who can’t walk two steps without a knot.
A rare exotic creature forever in a gilded cage.
His pelvis begins to involuntarily grind against the mattress. Alas - soon he will be acting for something to fill him, fuck him and breed him.
What a nasty word - breed. Like he is nothing but cattle; a womb to fill with mewling pups.
Misery is his life.
A scent washes his agitation away. Deep, rich with a hint of dark chocolate wafts into the room after a click that signals the opening of the door.
"Little brother…" Mycroft greets upon entering with the key card Sherlock had delivered to him earlier.
"My…" Sherlock manages - relief fills his very being.
His brother starts removing his layers of clothing - shedding them and scattering them uncharacteristically in a careless fashion.
He watches closely, trying his best to avoid the throbbing sensation in his lower body - he hasn't seen his big brother naked since the first heat he had ever had. There's a leanness to Mycroft that wasn't there before - with all the usual well-defined Alpha musculature.
And his brother - despite navigating his early thirties - was still unbonded - unusual of someone of his status.
When Mycroft finally climbs into bed, Sherlock begs, "Save me!"
His brother simply embraces him and rubs his nose against Sherlock's superior trapezius - where the scent gland lay buried. The heat running in Sherlock's vasculature seems to at once rise and remit. He gasps when he feels Mycroft's teeth scrape at the sensitive tissue.
Just before he descends into the throes of heat - his eyes catch his brother's blue ones. They seem to say - do you really want this, brother mine?
Whatever Mycroft sees reflected back in Sherlock's seem to satisfy him, for he pounces, licking and kissing at the neck gland, sending copious amounts of hormones into his blood - relaxing his body in preparation for the inevitable intrusion.
Everything becomes a haze - it is easily one of the most pleasurable heats Sherlock has ever experienced. His brother's mouth and fingers and tongue seem to be everywhere at once, finding areas that really shouldn't be erogenous zones and taking the time to make his body sing. He moans when his brother tongues at one of his pink nipples, while using his fingers to stroke and pinch the other. When his brother bites down, he cries out in a mixture of agony and ecstasy.
Before Sherlock is aware of it, his brother had flipped him around and is busy licking at the secretions from his arse. He mewls desperately, shoving his bum further into Mycroft's face, wanting more; needing more.
The unrelenting ache in his groin spreads beyond, into his abdomen.
Words spill out of his mouth, "Please… I need more. My… alpha… take me, fuck me, breed me! Claim me. Please." He is sobbing by the end in neediness.
He feels his brother's sizable prick nudge against his dripping entrance.
Oh, how he needs it.
So close yet so far.
A whiny noise escapes from his larynx.
And he groans when Mycroft finally shoves his big thing into his hole. The alpha cock spreads him deliciously wide, filling that ages old urge craved by his primitive omega brain.
"This is what you needed, brother mine?" His brother pants out the syllables.
Sherlock pushes back against Mycroft's cock, penetrating himself further.
"God, yes." Sherlock gasps when his skin is flush with his brother's. "Fuck me, My." He rolls his hips, inducing his brother to thrust into his needy omega hole.
Mycroft fucks him. Hard. The ache in his belly changes, switching from burning need to impending orgasm. He feels his brother's knot begin to swell and the growing bulge gets rammed mercilessly into his cloaca with every thrust. Loud and inhumane noises are issuing from his throat - but Sherlock is past caring.
The noises die into an obscene moan when his brother's teeth sink into his bonding gland, his body becomes flooded with euphoria - and he comes, feeling his tight passage clench painfully against Mycroft's prick. The ejaculate seems to be endless - pulses of it shoot deep into his barren womb.
They collapse heavily against the bed - Mycroft's body a comforting weight on top of his. His brother licks apologetically against the bite wound - it is actually bleeding.
"This makes you mine now, you do realize, little brother." Mycroft nuzzles affectionately against the bitten gland.
"Mm…" Sherlock is too sated to care. "Should have done it at the very beginning. Wouldn't have had to deal with the revolving door of alphas, My."
"God, Sherlock, you were so young back then. It would have been robbing a cradle." His brother shakes his head. "Mummy would have disowned both of us. And I wouldn’t have been able to support either of us back then."
"She's going to probably do that anyways when she finds out what we've done." Sherlock gives his abdomen a meaningful rub.
Mycroft looks in dismay, deducing instantly by what Sherlock meant. "You didn't!"
"Needed to be unavailable and defiled in every way possible, brother." Sherlock rubs his nose against Mycroft's scent gland in apology. "Completely ruined." He gives his brother a meaningful look.
"You are incorrigible." Mycroft shakes his head fondly.
His brother reaches over to put his palm over Sherlock's belly, knowing very well the chance of conception was over ninety percent without contraceptives during estrus in an omega of Sherlock’s age.
And this was just the stats for the first round of intercourse.
"Well, you chose me, brother - so I do hope you are prepared to put up with me." Sherlock winks at his brother.
Mycroft proceeds to further ruin Sherlock beyond return.