Work Text:
Code Orange.
Received: 8:42 PM
Got it. Be there soon.
Sent: 8:46 PM
Greg sighed. It was Friday night with no date planned, so he’d been half-expecting just such a text. He and Mycroft had only been dating a few months, but he was already quite familiar with the man’s habit of working himself into the ground. He really was trying, Greg knew; he’d acknowledged that finding time to spend together was important for their relationship, and that he pushed himself far beyond what was truly necessary or expected of him. In a quiet moment as they relaxed on Mycroft’s plush sofa with Greg’s arm around him and generous glasses of scotch in their hands, he’d admitted that he’d let work take over every moment so that he never had time to consider whether he was lonely or lacking anything in his life, knowing he probably wouldn’t like the answer if he let the questions in. He had much better things to occupy his mind if he allowed it a rest these days, but the habits of many years don’t change quickly. And these habits were wearing him down—not enough sleep, food, water, exercise, sunlight—leading to tension headaches and exhaustion.
Greg and Anthea, stuck in the car together while waiting for Mycroft to run back into the office they’d just extracted him from to check a file in response to a call about a matter he’d been advising on, had commiserated on their efforts to get Mycroft to take care of himself. It was easy enough to agree on a system of codes to be texted when reinforcements were needed.
Though they had had a few phone calls and texts, it had been a week since he’d actually seen Mycroft and nagging via text obviously wasn’t working. Orange meant that, in Anthea’s opinion, the work he was running himself ragged over wasn’t anything truly urgent or potentially catastrophic enough to warrant the effort. For a code red, late nights were more acceptable, if his sacrifice of his time and health meant staving off World War 3. But orange…this was just him forgetting that he mattered, too.
Greg had just walked in the door of his own flat, having worked a bit over himself and then stopped at Tesco on the way home; he hadn’t even taken his coat off. He left it on as he put away his groceries, thinking. Last time this happened, nearly a month ago, he’d gone to Mycroft’s office and cajoled him into coming out to a restaurant with him, and then made sure his car was headed home and not back to the office. It had been a Wednesday night with an early court appearance scheduled the next morning, so he hadn’t had the time to do anything further.
But it was Friday now.
Hmm…nagging is just going to make him defensive…pleading will just make him feel guilty on top of the rest of his stress…
By the time the last item, a can of pineapple chunks, was put away, Greg had an idea in mind.
We’ve never done that before…it might be too much. But if he seems appalled maybe I can just turn it into a joke. Let’s see; I’ll need…
*****
Mycroft sighed as he heard approaching footsteps. Too heavy to be Anthea returning, he mused with the half of his brain that wasn’t occupied with crafting a stern e-mail to a particularly stubborn cabinet member. Gregory, he realized. No need to put the coat he’d laid aside after everyone else had left back on; maybe he would look less overworked in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves.
Not that he wasn’t always happy to see his boyfriend, but this time of night it was likely to be nagging or a guilt trip for still being in the office, and he half wished he’d have stayed home and just phoned in the admonishing.
Resigned, he called out, “Come in,” as there was a soft knock on the door. Best get this over with. He could promise Sunday brunch at that place in Soho where Greg had so enjoyed the omelettes as a peace offering.
“Mycroft.” The voice was somehow both stern and a little amused. He glanced up to find his Gregory glaring down at him.
“I know, my dear, but the commonwealth…”
“Nope. Don’t start with me, Mycroft. The commonwealth will survive until morning, but I’m not so sure about you.”
“I had a salad at…”
“I didn’t ask. Hush now, I’m talking.”
“But…” Greg stepped closer and laid a finger over his mouth.
“No excuses. You’ve been working late, neglecting meals, and not moving from that chair, and I know it’s not because there’s any real crisis. It’s just you not taking care of yourself—again.” Greg stepped back and surveyed him critically.
He knows there’s not a crisis. Is he bluffing? Or…ah. Anthea has betrayed me.
“I’m so…”
“Nope. It’s not me you should be apologizing to; it’s yourself you hurt when you do this. But as I care about you and don’t want to see you mistreated, even if it’s by yourself, I’m afraid I’m going to have to punish you.”
Punish me? Mycroft thought, but didn’t say aloud. Gregory obviously didn’t intend to let him speak. The look he gave his glaring lover said it quite eloquently without words, anyhow.
“I don’t want to have to punish you, but as other methods of helping you with your bad habits don’t seem to be sticking in your mind, maybe this will. Close down your computer.”
Mycroft quickly pondered the possible punishments rather indignantly as he did as he was told, shutting down the laptop and storing it securely in the desk drawer that was actually a safe in disguise. Honestly, a punishment? Gregory was making it sound like he was a naughty child caught stealing sweets.
“Dear, I…”
“Stand up.” Gregory was using his commanding voice, the one that was normally reserved for assigning jobs at a large crime scene.
Mycroft stood up.
He stood quietly, a rather bemused expression on his face as Greg looked him up and down for a moment.
“Drop your trousers and your pants to your knees.”
The bemused expression dropped.
Is this some sort of sex game he’s decided to play? This doesn’t feel like his usual efforts at seduction. Is this…
“Now, Mycroft.”
Greg’s eyes meant business. Well, then.
Mycroft slowly unfastened his braces from his trousers, keeping his eyes on Greg. Greg just continued to watch him sternly, nodding at him to continue when he paused before reaching for the button at the top of his flies.
Should I be trying to make this…sexy? I’m not sure I quite know how to manage that under the circumstances.
“Stop dawdling, or your punishment will only get worse,” Greg barked out while Mycroft dithered.
Mycroft lowered his zip and pushed his trousers down over his hips.
"Pants, too, you heard me.”
Well. It wouldn’t be the first time his pants had been down in this room; there was that lovely little interlude that day when Greg came to see him when he had just returned from that extended trip to Singapore, but that had come about much more organically and with a good deal more giggling and licking.
He pushed the pants down, letting them come to rest in the vicinity of his knees, as instructed. He stood there, feeling a bit silly and a bit chilly as Greg silently circled the desk, looking at him with the expression of a disappointed parent.
Mycroft started to worry, just a bit. Has he truly been angered by my behaviour to the point that he would…surely there would be more warning if he were contemplating ending our association, and it would be uncharacteristic of him to give an ultimatum while I am dishabille in this manner in an act of humiliation, no matter how sorely provoked…
Greg turned to glance at the door before walking over the turn the lock. Just as he turned, Mycroft caught a glimmer of a suppressed smirk. He breathed again and remained quiet, trying and sort of succeeding at a penitent expression as Greg approached the desk again.
He watched as Greg scooted some folders to the corner of the desk and removed a glass paperweight entirely, setting it on the sideboard.
Am I to be fucked over my desk? Not much of a punishment—more a long-held fantasy—but I can surely pretend to be suitably chastened.
“Bend over and put your hands on your desk.”
Mycroft did, wiggling his rear hopefully, just a bit.
“Nope, none of that.” Greg reached for his arms and pulled them further across the desk so that he was leaning over a bit more, and then circled around behind him.
“Shuffle your feet back a bit, that’s it.” Greg reached out and took hold of his shirttails, folding them up in back and tucking them up under his waistcoat, leaving his arse fully exposed to the room.
Mycroft shivered a bit, and not from the cold. Was this a bit of foreplay? He wasn’t arranged properly to be fucked; he would need to lay directly on the desk to be at the right height…he eased himself forward just a bit.
“I did not tell you to move,” Greg stopped him with a firm hand on his stomach. “Now. I believe we both know why you need to be punished, but just to be sure we are clear, why don’t you tell me why you think you deserve it?”
Mycroft cleared his throat. “My dear…I…”
“No excuses, no pleading, just the facts.”
“I am still in my office on a Friday evening past 7 pm.”
“That’s a good start. What else?”
“I…I haven’t eaten dinner.”
“No, you haven’t. And what time is it?”
Mycroft glanced up at a clock on the wall. “It’s 9:32.”
“And did you have plans to eat dinner?”
“No…” I haven’t forgotten plans we had made, have I? I can’t have; even if my own memory had failed, Anthea would have…
“And why didn’t you?”
Ah, not forgotten plans then.
“I was not being attentive to the time.”
“And you were disregarding your own well-being.” Greg moved to his side so that he could catch his eye and raised an eyebrow meaningfully.
“And I was disregarding my own well-being,” Mycroft repeated obediently.
“The work you were doing—was it truly urgent, unable to wait until after the weekend?”
“No…it wasn’t truly urgent.”
“So, you were denying yourself food, exercise, sleep…I don’t even see a bottle of water on this desk. Is that correct?”
“Yes.” Mycroft was almost tempted to add “Sir”. And only mostly sarcastically.
“Do you believe you deserve to be punished for this behaviour?”
Well, he could hardly say no at this point; he really had no valid excuses.
“Yes?”
Greg worked his mouth, still looking down at him sternly, as he considered whether to accept this or to demand that the answer be repeated with more confidence.
“I have nagged you, I have pleaded with you, I have delivered food to you and teased you into eating it, and yet your massive brain seems to be having trouble remembering. Perhaps if I spank you, the lesson will sink in.”
Mycroft let out a noise rather like a squeak. So THAT’S his design…
Greg moved back behind him and ran a gentle hand over the slopes of his arse, making him shudder. Mycroft glanced up and saw Gregory glancing up as well to watch his face in the mirror by the door. He caught that smirk breaking through in his expression before Gregory saw him watching and schooled his features again.
A firm hand on the small of his back pressed him into arching his back a bit more.
“That’s it, stick your arse up.” Greg hitched the hem of Mycroft’s waistcoat up a bit higher before he stepped back. “Now, I’m going to spank you while you consider what you’ve done.”
There was a moment of silence in which Mycroft could have protested if he felt truly violated, but he kept his mouth firmly shut.
A slight disturbance in the air was the only warning before Greg’s open hand came down hard, popping against his left cheek.
“Mmf…!”
A pause, and then his hand came down again, this time on the right. The second stung, while the first faded to a dull burn.
“All right?” Greg asked gently.
“Yes, I’m…fine.” Mycroft huffed out. What exactly was he meant to say at this juncture?
“Mmhmm…back down then.” Greg’s hand on the small of his back pushed him back into an arch with his arse held out obscenely. He hadn’t realized he had risen a bit from his previous position.
He knew to expect it when the hand left his back.
Smack.
Smack.
Smack.
Three more blows came in quick succession without further conversation.
“Your arse is getting quite pink,” Greg offered. He raised his hand again without waiting for a reply.
Smack.
Smack.
Mycroft imagined other body parts were also getting rather pinker than usual. While pain wasn’t something he was usually aroused by, the feeling of air on his bits and the weirdly intimate atmosphere were stirring things a bit.
Smack.
Smack.
Mycroft hissed a bit at that last one. His arse was stinging by now.
“Make any noises you need to, if it helps.”
Smack.
He wouldn’t give Greg the satisfaction of making a noise now.
“You’re halfway through now. You’re doing well.”
Smack.
Smack.
Tears stung at the edges of Mycroft’s eyes, but he blinked rapidly to keep them from falling. Somehow Greg knew anyhow.
“There…I know it hurts, and I know you’re sorry for what you did…” He brought up his left hand to rub at Mycroft’s back comfortingly while raising his right hand again.
Smack.
Smack.
Smack.
Resolve to stay silent forgotten, Mycroft was gasping with each blow now. He wished Greg would just hurry and give him the rest of the spanking quickly, but Greg seemed to be considering each blow carefully.
Smack.
“Mmmf!”
Smack.
“Mmm…”
Smack.
That one was aimed at the lower curve his right cheek, and Mycroft involuntarily flinched away from it, up onto his toes.
“No, now don’t try to avoid it, or I’ll have to add more.”
Smack.
That one was of similar placement on the left check; as he expected exactly that he couldn’t help but clench his buttocks in an attempt to flinch away again, but Greg didn’t say anything.
Smack.
“Hah!”
“I know love, I know, but it’s for your own good. Here’s the last one.”
There was a torturous pause in which Mycroft tried to focus again on not clenching his cheeks, but he failed when the blow came, right over his crack.
SMACK.
He let out a sobbing noise.
“There we go…you’re alright…come here…” Greg pried his hands off the desk and turned him, pulling him down into his arms. “It’s all over now…”
While he managed not to let any tears fall, it still took a minute for his breathing to even out. Greg held him, tucking Mycroft’s head into his neck and reach around him to rub his back.
Mycroft didn’t realize that he was nearly completely hard until the roughness of Greg’s work trousers against the head was finally enough to make itself felt over the distraction of his burning backside.
Greg must have felt it, too, because he looked down as he finally pulled back.
“Ah. I see you’ve been neglecting that part of your well-being, as well.”
Mycroft made a noncommittal noise. In fact, he hadn’t taken the time to pleasure himself since it was last done at Greg’s hand the previous weekend.
There was a moment of silence as they both looked down at his interested prick.
“Alright. Now I’m going to stand right here until you’ve taken care of yourself. I’ve brought you food, water, and paracetamol in case you’ve given yourself a headache or a backache.”
Mycroft reached for his trousers, but Greg put a hand on his arm to stop him.
“Not so fast; that needs to be taken care of, too.”
Mycroft smirked a bit and leaned into Greg to rub a bit against his hip.
“Nope. This is about you taking care of yourself. I could take care of it for you, but how do I know you’ll take care of yourself when I can’t be there? Sit down.” Greg moved aside and pulled Mycroft’s plush desk chair forward from where it had been scooted to the side during the spanking.
Mycroft let himself be guided to turn around slowly, so as not to trip with his trousers still lowered. He lowered himself gingerly, but still flinched up as his raw cheeks touched the leather.
“I know, love, easy does it.” Greg kept a hold on his arm as he settled himself even more gently. The leather stuck a bit, so every little squirm was a reminder. “Unbutton your waistcoat so you don’t get come on that pretty silk.”
Mycroft did as he was told, unbuttoning it and pulling it to either side, tucked under his arms a bit. He quickly loosened his tie and tossed it over on the desk.
“Pull your shirttails up so you can see what you’re doing.” Mycroft considered unbuttoning the shirt and moving it to the side in the same manner as the waistcoat, but he hadn’t been told to do so, and the plain white wouldn’t be hard to launder. His cock bobbed a bit as it swayed in the air under Greg’s intense gaze.
“Lift your legs.” Greg reached down to meet them and worked the trousers and pants even lower, to his ankles rather than his knees. “Now you can spread your legs. Do it now, darling.”
Mycroft let his knees fall apart, but Greg looked slightly dissatisfied.
“Here…” he put his hand under Mycroft’s left knee and raised it so it was hooked over the end of his armrest, and then raised the right as well. Mycroft whimpered as the movement forced him to scooch his still-pink behind forward on the grasping leather.
Greg stepped back and looked at Mycroft approvingly. Mycroft felt more indecent that he’d felt in years, or maybe ever. He was thoroughly on display, with his shirt rucked up and his legs held firmly apart by the armrests, spread obscenely, and his ankles bound by his pants below. His hands had come to rest on his knees.
“There you are…” Greg said soothingly. “That’ll help you keep your legs spread nice and wide. Now, hold out your hand.” Greg pulled a small bottle out of his pocket, and Mycroft found a generous dollop of lube dropped onto his fingers. “Show me that you know how to take care of yourself.”
“And if I need you to remind me?” Mycroft tried to tease, but Greg gave him a stern look.
Blushing, he lowered his hand and smoothed the lube slowly over his shaft.
“That’s it, darling. Go on,” Greg encouraged. “I’ll be right here making sure you take care of yourself properly.”
Mycroft’s cock gave a little jump. He had never been an exhibitionist sexually, but Greg watching him in this way, so open and exposed, was a bit thrilling. Perhaps he’d just never had someone he trusted not to take advantage if he let himself be seen.
“Go on.”
Mycroft had paused while gathering his thoughts but started stroking slowly. Up, back down, up, thumb over the frenulum. After a few repetitions, he dropped his left hand down to cup his testicles.
“That’s it, baby.”
Mycroft was rather unsure about being called baby…it wasn’t an endearment Greg had used before, but he allowed it for now. He stroked a little harder and gave a little moan.
“Mmm...yes. You’re doing so well. Now rub your frenulum like you like.”
Mycroft obeyed, taking just the head of his cock into his hand and using his thumb to give light little teasing rubs to the sensitive spot just there for a minute. He started to go back to stroking, but Greg stopped him.
“Keep going, love. I know it feels so good, and there’s no rush.”
Mycroft kept up the little rubs. The pleasure was almost too intense and yet not exactly the right sort to make him come. His breathing sped up and he forced himself to keep going. After another minute, he looked up at Greg beseechingly.
“Not yet, love.”
Within a few more rubs, his breathing had progressed to panting. His knees were squeezing hard against the armrests, and the instinct to close his legs while they were forcibly held open added further titillation.
A few more and he started making little squeaky vocalizations with his pants. “Eh…eh…eh…Gregory, please…”
“Just a little bit more; you’re doing so well.” Greg was watching his fingers working at his cock raptly. If Mycroft had the mental capacity to focus on anything other than the burning pleasure emanating from the head of his cock, he would have smirked that the man was nearly drooling.
That one spot on his cock was near to the point of oversensitivity, and Mycroft was squirming in the chair, the little reminders of the spanking as he moved just adding to his stimulation.
“Okay, reach down and feel how full your balls are now.” Mycroft released his cock with a gasp and allowed his trembling hand to fall down to cup his testicles, which were indeed very full and tight. He moaned again, no longer mindful of being quiet (no one else was working this late in the adjoining offices, anyhow), as he gave them a shaky caress.
Greg nodded permission as he went back to long, slow strokes up his shaft, a low moan with each upward pull.
“You’re so full; this is what happens when you don’t take care of yourself or come to me to take care of you.” Greg stepped closer, looming over him. It might have been intimidating, but Mycroft could see by the look in Greg’s eyes that it was more that Greg was close to losing the fight to keep himself from throwing himself at his boyfriend and rutting them both into oblivion. Mycroft sped up to the point that his moans were spat out as little ejaculations of sound as he gasped.
“Ah! Ah! Ah! Mmh! Mmh!” Oh god oh god oh god.
He was almost there…almost…he closed his eyes tight to try to maintain some kind of control.
“Okay, now, Love…slow down just a for a minute. I’m going to check how close you are to coming.”
Mycroft didn’t know exactly how he intended to do that, but used all his considerable mental powers to make himself slow his fist, edging himself back just slightly from the brink. He brought his other hand down from where it had been clutching his thigh, and leaned his head back, gasping and panting, as he held his cock in both fists, squeezing but not moving.
His bum jerked off the chair as fingers gently picked up his balls and rolled them, testing their weight and heft.
“AH!” His body involuntarily tried thrust upwards into the touch, but he didn’t have much leverage with his knees over the armrests.
“So very full, Mycroft. You’re going to come so hard and so much,” Greg spoke soothingly. “More than I thought… I think we’re going to have to open your shirt so you don’t get come all over it.”
Mycroft could only nod frantically.
“Keep stroking yourself, but don’t come until I get your shirt unbuttoned and out of the way.”
Mycroft resumed movement, with his left hand still over his right as it squeezed and pulled. Down. Up. Down Up. He watched the lascivious look on Greg’s face as he leaned over and started with the buttons at Mycroft’s neck, making quick work down his chest. Mycroft was moaning more or less continuously now, the only break in the sound when he paused to gasp in air.
Down. Up. Down. Up. Downupdownupdownup. Oh god oh god don’t come don’t come oh god.
Greg gently pulled Mycroft’s left hand back so he could reach the last two buttons. He carefully parted the white fabric and tucked the tails between Mycroft’s sides and the chair along with the waistcoat. He petted Mycroft’s nipples for just a moment, making Mycroft squirm wildly, before stepping back and leaning his bum against the desk.
“There you are, love. You can come all over yourself now, whenever you need to.”
Mycroft arched his back and pulled faster, faster…
“That’s it…come on…”
“AH!” With a shout Mycroft erupted, and Greg’s attention to his shirt was proved to have been a good idea as the first splatter landed just under his left nipple. He hadn’t come that hard in…well, his brain was too busy revelling in the pleasure of the aftershocks just now to try to calculate that. His hand slowed but kept moving as he squeezed out three smaller bursts. He was gasping and grunting as he finally relaxed his arched back and let his weight fall back fully on his bum. The slight lingering ache reminded him of how this whole thing started and one last little bit gushed out.
“Good job…there you are…” Greg praised. “You’ll feel so much better now.”
Greg left him to pant until he got his breath back under control while he dug in the back of the bottom drawer for the emergency supplies they’d stashed there. He pulled out a small package of wet wipes and turned back to watch Mycroft come down, watching him with a rather smug smile as his penis twitched and softened and his breathing slowed.
“Alright now; let’s get you comfortable.” Pulling out a wipe, he started at Mycroft’s nipples (washing the right one, too, just because he could, although no come was really close enough to warrant it), swiping down his stomach to clean away the stripes of come. He tossed that wipe in the bin and pulled out a fresh one to gently clean the now-tacky lube from the thatch of hair around the base of Mycroft’s cock.
Once he was deemed clean enough to do until he reached home, Greg helped Mycroft to lift his jelly-filled legs back over the armrests.
“Now, on to the next bit of self-care you have neglected this evening…” Greg went back to the bag by the door and rummaged for a moment, popping back up with a takeaway container and a pair of chopsticks. “Eat your lo mein and drink this bottle of water, and then I’m taking you home.”
Mycroft didn’t protest and took the proffered bowl. He realized he must be an odd sight, sitting here eating noodles in his office chair with his trousers still bunched around his ankles and his shirt unbuttoned, but Greg didn’t seem to mind.
Mycroft snorted mentally (although it was a very close call to keep himself from snorting out loud) when he saw Greg surreptitiously palm himself while moving around the room tidying up. No, he doesn’t seem to mind at all.
When Mycroft had finished most of his meal, Greg took it from him and helped him to stand. In contrast to the rest of the evening, Greg seemed intent to do all the taking care of now. He bent to pull up Mycroft’s trousers for him, with a few little kisses here and there on his thighs as he worked them up. He gave Mycroft a quick kiss and then rebuttoned his shirt while looking up into his eyes with a soft expression.
Mycroft buttoned his waistcoat while Greg went to collect his coat and thought about retucking his shirt, but left it hanging loose with a shrug. Who was going to see, anyhow?
“Here you are, love.” Greg held up the coat like a gentleman, waiting for Mycroft to slide his arms in.
Mycroft turned as soon as he had it on to thank Greg with a kiss. He would have liked to deepen the kiss, but Greg pulled back.
“Let’s get you home, love. You need some rest.” Greg squeezed his hand and then gave him a bit of a smirk. “And if you don’t go right to sleep like a good boy, I’ll fuck you into the mattress until you are too worn out to do anything but sleep.”
Despite feeling like he would be comatose as soon as his cheek hit a pillow, Mycroft privately resolved to fight sleep like the most over-sugared and over-indulged toddler he knew. And he had learned from the best.