
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/323168.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV), Sherlock_Holmes_&_Related_Fandoms
  Relationship:
      Mycroft_Holmes/Lestrade_(Inspector), Lestrade_(Inspector)/OMC, Mycroft
      Holmes/Greg_Lestrade, Mystrade_-_Relationship
  Character:
      Mycroft_Holmes, Lestrade_(Inspector), Original_Male_Character
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-01-19 Updated: 2014-09-14 Chapters: 14/? Words: 17540
****** Ablaze ******
by Karenkk
Summary
     Mycroft thought he had finally found the one. Lestrade believed he
     was trapped in a twisted mind game. Mystrade. Warning: non-con/ dub-
     con, slash, angst etc. Chapter 1-Interlude have been beta by branwyn,
     and FeliciaHM for Chapter 10 and onwards.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Title: Ablaze
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Pairings: Mystrade (Mycroft/ Lestrade), Others/ Lestrade
Warning: non-con/ dub-con, slash, angst, kinks/ fetishes, sexual abuse of
minors, potential suicidal, brief mention of drug use
Beta: branwyn
AN: I've uploaded the betaed version of Chapter 1 - Interlude. There is no
change to story/ plot. So there is no need to reread these chapters if you had
read them before.
For the Sherlock BBC Kink Meme: Mystrade with unintentional dubcon (http://
sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/13188.html?thread=75271812#t75271812)
Full prompt: Lestrade used to be in an abusive relationship with his boss
during his first year in the yard. His partner blackmailed him into having sex
with him (with his gangster/ prostitution past etc.) He finally got out of it
when the man was killed during a case. Year and years later, he met Mycroft,
who fell for him. Mycroft had never been in a real relationship in the past
(only one night stands etc.) due to natural of his job. He was really
forthcoming about his position & power (or as forthcoming as he could be), as
well as his fetishes and kinks. He didn't want to scare Lestrade, but he still
wanted the man to see the full picture before making his decision, just to be
fair. Unfortunately, Lestrade didn't see a man who genuine cared for him, only
a predator who would go extreme measures to get what he wanted, just like his
old boss. So he agreed to be Mycroft's lover to protect his career and his
team. He went along with all of Mycroft's requests and participated in various
sexual kinks, like bondage, breathplay, orgy etc. against his own will. And he
was getting more depressed as time went on. Mycroft didn't realise there was
anything wrong with his relationship due to lack of experience with long time
relationship, and Lestrade had been trained as a perfect actor. Until one day,
he found Lestrade pointing his gun at his own head...
Chapter 1
"Do you know your safe word?"
"Yes." He replied. His hands were cuffed together above his head, with his own
hand cuffs. So he stopped struggling.
"Say it then."
"Scotland Yard." He was blind folded. He no longer could see anything, other
than faint rays of artificial light that managed to slip through the black
material. So he closed his eyes.
"Again."
"Scotland yard." He was reminded of his team, of Anderson, of Sally, and his
twenty-something year career as a copper. So he replied, and forced himself to
relax&#x2026;
Much later, he curled his body into a ball on the bathroom tile. The shower was
running, and he let himself be covered by burning hot water. It made his
backside burn even more. It was already tender from spanking, but he didn't
care.
It was a shelter.
His shelter.
At least for a moment.
Allowing himself a moment of peace like this was a little habit that he picked
up while working as an escort years back. Not that he had the opportunity to do
so too often. He had to put bread and butter on the table for his younger
brother and sister, not pay for unnecessary water bills.
At least, he could do this now.
It was an improvement. Even he had to admit it.
The man had been kind; he had to give that to him. He didn't break any of his
skin. It was raw and red, but not bloody. And he'd had far worse in the past.
He appreciated the small gesture of kindness.
He forced himself to stand up before water ran completely cold. He had a job to
go to. He made this choice to keep his job, and he wasn't about to ruin it
himself.
He turned the water off, and towelled himself dry. There was already a clean
tooth brush next to the sink. He brushed his teeth mechanically. After spitting
out water, he caught his own reflection on the mirror.
He found an old, worn out face staring right back at him. Underneath the messy
silver hair, there were lines of age and stress and rough stubble along his
jaw. Not to mention the blood shot eyes and heavy bags underneath them. It was
not a pleasant sight. He was no longer who he was in his younger years, no
longer someone who could fit classic description of beauty and attractiveness.
Yet, Mycroft wanted him. The man could have anyone. Despite what Sherlock
called him on a daily basis, he wasn't a fool, and he could clearly see that.
But he'd chosen him &#x2013; an old copper with a scarred body and a face even
he wanted to avoid looking at for an extended period of time.
Then again, these things were rarely just about sexual gratification. They were
about power and authority, about bending others to your will, and what you
could make them do.
He lowered his head and laughed. He could almost hear David whispering
maliciously into his ear that for a whore he was certainly smart.
TBC
***** Chapter 2 *****
Gregory knew the house was empty. Mycroft had left about two hours after he was
done with him. Afterward, he simply lost consciousness. So he was certainly
startled to see Mycroft's assistant in the lounge when he exited the bathroom.
Anthea, or whatever name she chose to go by today, stood up from the sofa, and
for once, her eyes were away from her Blackberry for more than 10 seconds.
He felt his body instinctively tense up. He didn't know what his widely dilated
pupils had betrayed in that split second, but her smile faltered. His mind
screamed damage control, forced his body to stay still, though his body wanted
nothing more than to bolt.
Anywhere would be fine, as long as no one would ever see him.
"Mr Holmes left for Russia about three hours ago. There was an urgent matter
that needed his attention." She trailed off. Confusion was clearly written on
her beautiful features.
In the handful of times Gregory had met the young woman, she had always
reminded him somewhat of Mycroft, radiating mystery and confidence, only more
feminine and delicate. Of course, she wasn't capable of exerting the same level
of authority and power in every movement she made. This was the first time he
had seen her looking so uncertain.
Uncertainty was good. She was clearly clueless, and therefore he was safe.
He was safe.
He forced himself to relax, letting his smile resurface.
"I wasn't expecting to see anyone else here." He gestured at himself, allowing
Anthea to take in his still dripping hair, the bath robe that was hastily tied
around his body, "Otherwise I'd make sure I was more appropriately dressed in
the presence of a lady."
He forced fake embarrassment into his eyes, willing them to be soft and
persuasive. He had been told by many that his eyes were his most attractive
feature, and they were capable getting him whatever he wanted in the world.
That was clearly a lie, because life clear never worked in his favour. Still he
knew what he was capable of.
It worked like a charm, because Anthea clearly bought his little performance.
She relaxed immediately. "He asked me to pass on his apologies for leaving
without informing you in person."
His laughter was accompanied by her chuckles. They were both amused, but only
he knew that it was for different reasons. She probably saw this as a clumsy
romantic gesture. And he was once again bewildered by that man and the way he
chose to pursue things.
Like how the man had chosen to make his proposal to him, the previous night.
Gregory was on his way back home when he was politely asked to get in a sleek,
black car. He was then driven to one of the most expensive restaurants in
London. He didn't need to see the menu to know his monthly salary as a copper
was probably just enough to cover a meal there. Hell, he would never be allowed
in under normal circumstances, with his badly wrinkled chain-store brand shirt
and trousers and muddy shoes. Chasing criminals around London all day long did
not leave much room for personal vanity.
He didn't think anything was too out of the ordinary, because he was no
stranger to being kidnapped at random hours of the day and questioned about the
health and sanity of a certain consulting detective. This type of setting was
certainly was a first, but not enough to alarm him yet.
Just like all the other locations he had been taken to, the whole place was
empty with no patrons other than the man who was waiting for him. Apparently,
the man had booked the whole place just so he could have a private talk with
Gregory in a reasonably pleasant environment.
If he didn't know better, he would almost think the man was trying to express
his romantic interest in him. But he wasn't that naive.
Mycroft had said he found him interesting. He liked Gregory's dedication to his
job, his kindness and patience with his brother. But his eyes said so much more
&#x2013; dark hungers and unspoken needs.
Gregory was no stranger to these emotions; he had been subjected to them all
the time in his younger years. The ability to rouse these feelings was how he
made his living working for one of the most expensive escort agencies in
London. But that was a lifetime ago. A lifetime he would rather stay buried.
He was familiar with how these games were played out. He had been taken to some
really posh establishments and private parties during those years. His clients
sought his company: pleasant chat over wine or dinner with light flirting,
before moving to main event. These things were merely adding some variation to
the usual routine. He understood how things worked, knew what to expect.
But Mycroft was different. There was something more in his piercing gaze that
made Gregory's internal alarm go straight off. He forced himself to sit through
the meal, knowing better than to run before he fully understood the man's
intention.
The elder of the Holmes brothers explained that he was after a long term
partner, someone he could spend his spare time with, someone who shared his
interests in certain type of sexual indulgence. Of course, being Mycroft, a man
with the most prestigious possible upbringing, his words had been proper and
polite, while leaving no room for misunderstanding.
He placed specific emphasis on words such as "a lover he could trust",
"respectable career", "a solid team that will go far in the next few years"
throughout the conversation. He was diplomatically putting Gregory's
reputation, career, and team on the line. He would have applauded this
performance if it wasn't directed at him. He had never met another man who was
more capable of making threats into an art form. David certainly never came
close.
And they were not empty threats.
If he wanted to, Mycroft could dig out a lot of dirt on him, much more than
what David was ever capable of. Gregory knew better than to believe the man was
just a minor government official, despite how he introduced himself. After all,
he had seen the Commissioner being bent to his will and heard rumours about men
being completely erased from all records, like they never existed in the first
place. Power, connections, a strong will, and a brilliant mind made this man
incredibly dangerous.
Mycroft was a man who had the whole world at his feet. The funny thing was he
almost seemed to be genuinely uncertain about Gregory's answer.
Like Gregory had the option of saying no.
He wasn't that stupid.
So he forced himself to stay still, when the man cover his hand with his own,
and say yes when he was invited to his place to have a drink afterward.
What was done was done. He swallowed his bitter thoughts, forcing himself to
see humour in all these insanities.
Anthea passed on a set of keys to him before taking her leave. They were the
keys to this house: modest in size, but at the most reclusive part of
Kensington for ultimate privacy - gesture of permanence and commitment.
A way of telling him he wasn't going to get out of this easily.
He understand his new role completely - a sexual outlet under the disguise of a
lover, one who must comply enthusiastically with every one of his master's
demands.
Gregory was nothing but a source of amusement to Mycroft.
TBC
***** Chapter 3 *****
When a day didn't get off to a good start, chances were, the rest of the day
wasn't going to be much of an improvement. Gregory had always felt that this
was a universal truth.
So it didn't surprise him when he got into his office and found a familiar-
looking parcel sitting on his desk, right on top of an ever-growing pile of
paperwork. He didn't bother opening it to check its contents, because he knew
it was a 30" teddy bear. He was sure about this because he personally purchased
it from the closest department store.
He had no idea what the ten year old girl would have liked for her birthday;
after all, he never had the chance to meet her. The sales assistant had taken
pity on him for looking so lost in the sea of all things bright, colourful, and
fluffy, and told him that no girl would be able to say no to a cute teddy bear.
And she could very well have been right, if the child had ever had a chance to
get her hands on it.
He doubted that she had, because the package was sealed the exact same way as
it was before being taken to the post office. The only difference was the
"Rejected" label that occupied the top right hand corner.
Daniel, his brother, wanted him out of his life. The message had been loud and
clear. It didn't matter what Gregory tried in attempting to patch things up -
his brother wanted nothing to do with him.
He thought about giving him a quick call, but managed to stop himself. He knew
what the conversation would end up like anyway. Topics such as their father's
death, their mother's suicide, and his unannounced departure from home merely
days after their funeral would unavoidably come up. Their phone calls never
ended well.
No, he would rather leave that conversation for another day.
"Sir?" It was Sally's voice that snapped him out of it. "Are you alright?"
She stood just outside his office door. Pity was clearly written on her face.
She thought it was another rejection from his ex-wife and daughter.
The "official" Met gossip was that DI Gregory was a divorced copper who had
lost custody of his child. A plausible explanation for his single status and
those returned packages &#x2013; a father's desperate attempts to please his
child which again and again sabotaged by the angry ex.
He never bothered to correct it.
He cleared his throat and shuffled the package below his desk, so it was out
her sight, as well as his own.
"What do you have for me, Sergeant Donovan?"
"We've got a case in the north of London."
That was the beginning of the week-long pursuit of an escaped mental patient
with a history of violence and rape. They caught the man just before he was
ready to cut up his third victim. Gregory tackled him to the ground, whilst
taking away his knife. The man still managed to elbow him a few times before
Sally was able to cuff him.
By the time the forensic team had finished collecting evidence from the scene,
Gregory's body was tired, and there was a dull ache in his chest. He wanted
nothing more than to just find a bed and make up for all the sleep he'd missed
out on in the last a few days. That was when a text message appeared on his
mobile - Mycroft was back from Russia and he was wondering whether he would be
free to meet up for the night.
There went Gregory's lovely plan for the evening. Still, he would eventually
get to lie down on a bed at some point of the night, and he reminded himself
that should count for something too.
He and Mycroft stayed in for the night at the house in Kensington. The food had
been exceptional - spicy and aromatic Thai dishes, his favourite. There had
also been a bottle of good vodka, which he willingly indulged himself in
without much prompting from the other man.
He did caution himself that getting drunk in the presence of Mycroft was
probably not a wise idea. But for an hour and two, the other man seemed to be
content to just have an easy chat about absolutely everything and anything. And
Gregory couldn't help but feel his own self-control being worn down.
Gregory blamed it on alcohol. Before he took notice, he was half draped over
the younger man's lap. Long fingers that didn't belong to him were in his
silver hair, moving downward, to his shoulders. Those hands were so gentle.
Their owner seemed to already be quite familiar with his body, because Gregory
felt himself going boneless quite quickly.
Mycroft was certainly capable of being the perfect companion when he chose to.
He even talked about his high school life, his so-called clumsy youth.
Apparently, like all other boys at his age, he was a hormonal mess. He could
comprehend how the universe worked, and predicted where the stock market would
go, but he inevitably felt lost when it came to his own body and its constant
demand for attention and stimulation. And being educated at Eton, surrounded by
boys who were experiencing similar symptoms didn't help. In those days, to his
own horror, his single goal in life was getting himself laid as soon as
possible.
Then Mycroft, being his ever logical and sensible self, picked a different
route in solving his problem - by booking himself a high class escort. Physical
satisfaction and absence of emotional complication in such arrangements had
worked for him quite well for many years. After all, while he had always been
too time-poor to invest in serious relationships, he did have plenty of money
to spare.
Gregory let himself bask in the softly-voiced words, letting them form an image
of the younger Mycroft - dressed in his black tailcoat, mottled-grey waistcoat,
winged collars with bow ties; a picture of prestige and tradition, only marred
by the teenage awkwardness that he desperately wanted to hide.
Gregory swore he did try to control himself, but he just couldn't. He laughed
so hard that he thought his lungs were going to collapse. And Mycroft's
indignant grumbles certainly didn't help the matter at all. In the end, the man
had chosen to shut Gregory up by forcing his own mouth on him.
Soon, he found himself sufficiently distracted from his previous thoughts. He
let Mycroft slowly work his way through his clothes, trailing kisses on his
exposed skin as the man opened the buttons. He almost didn't care, because
Mycroft was a damn good kisser, and Gregory was intoxicated already. He was
only unsure whether he should blame alcohol or proximity to another human
being.
"Come on, now you had your laugh. Tell me what your first time was like. You've
got to share yours, just to be fair."
That was what brought the moment clarity to Gregory's hazy brain. So this would
be Mycroft's game tonight - a little heart-to-heart session, just to see what
it would do to him.
Blasted Holmeses - everything was their experiment, everyone their pawns, and
the Earth their playground.
For a second, Gregory contemplated whether he should make it a bit of challenge
&#x2013; fabricate something and see how much he would get away with. Except
that he really didn't have many varied experiences to offer on this topic. And
there was no way a lie without any grain of truth in it would be able to fool
Mycroft. Come to think of it, his second time consisted of a complete stranger
leaving cash on the night stand for him as payment for his service, telling him
that he was selling himself short. The third time wasn't that much different -
different location, different client - except that he was dressed in suits that
probably cost more than his father's monthly pay, and pretending to be years
older than he really was.
He was too exhausted and drunk to take up such the challenge, so he decided to
cut the chase and simply be honest. "I was 15 at the time. Three men dragged me
to an abandoned warehouse. Really, there wasn't much to tell."
Of course he was leaving out quite a few parts. Like the fact that there had
been a gun pointed at his head throughout the whole encounter. He had been told
to roll condoms onto their erect penises and lube them up, before they pushed
his face into the dirty floor. When they were done with him, they forced the
soiled condoms into his mouth before locking him into a small metal container.
All he had with him were the ropes that bound him, the tape that sealed his
mouth, and the phrase "LET THIS BE YOUR WARNING" that written on his back in
his own blood.
He had no idea how bad he looked then, how much of a wreck he was reduced to,
but it must have shaken up his poor father quite badly. Because that was the
last time Gregory had ever seen him alive. He had always wondered if things
would have turned out differently if he'd had more control of himself. He could
never forget the look on his father's face, the guilt, horror and grief&#x2026;
Strangely, it was almost a mirror image to what he was seeing on Mycroft now.
"Greg&#x2026; I'm sorry&#x2026; I didn't know&#x2026;"
Gregory almost bought it - for a second, anyway.
TBC
***** Chapter 4 *****
If given a choice, Gregory would gladly forget about that conversation ever
having taken place. And he would have succeeded if not for a stack of photos
that were passed on to him a week later.
They were photos of a boy with dull, vacant eyes. A total of ten shots, in
which the abused body was exposed for all to see &#x2013; the bruises that were
beginning to form, thighs that were stained by dried semen and blood, or bound
with ropes that were tight enough to dig into the skin, rendering it a
sickening purple hue.
For a second, his lungs had refused to work, and his vision went black.
"&#x2026;. I'm sorry, but I had to look into it&#x2026; please forgive
me&#x2026;"
He numbly watched Mycroft's lip moving rapidly, while his brain slowly
processed what had just happened. His first coherent thought had been, oh my
God, he had to stop this now.
"&#x2026; look, I can make it all disappear&#x2026;"
Of course, that man had to get curious. Fascination led to terrible things,
especially when one had resources to dig out every dirty detail of other
people's lives.
"&#x2026; I will make sure these people and the ones behind this pay
dearly&#x2026;"
No, no, he didn't give a damn about that! Why couldn't Mycroft see it was so
long ago, it didn't matter any more!
Except it did &#x2013; his father's lifeless body behind a dark alley with his
blood pooled around him; and his mother with wide and unseeing eyes, a bullet
in her head and a gun in her hand, those exact same photos being scattered
around her&#x2026;
They had been his fault entirely, because he was weak, so pathetically
useless&#x2026;. He let himself be broken so easily. It was just sex, just sex.
Just the horrid taste of semen and blood in his mouth as yet another cock being
forced into him. The intense pain and shame as yet another man violated his
body&#x2026; while all he could hear were his own painful screams and pathetic
begging&#x2026;
He firmly stopped that line of thought, because this was not the time to
indulge in his self pity. He had much more urgent problem to deal with.
"&#x2026; Greg&#x2026; please, talk to me&#x2026;"
He had to put a stop to this now, because the last thing he wanted was for yet
another person to find out what he was doing for the next three years after
that event. Of course he had used an alias with nearly perfect paperwork, but
he didn't think for a second it was enough to fool some one like Mycroft.
It certainly didn't fool David McDonnell, a senor police officer who had
somehow managed to become a member of a highly exclusive escort agency, never
mind the fact his salary should not be enough to cover its membership fee.
Years later, he was certainly intrigued when he realised one of the new
recruits in his team looked remarkably familiar, so he did a little digging.
Soon he had enough information in his hands to have Gregory at his complete
mercy.
Gregory firmly reminded himself that it had always been about power and control
to men like these. All he needed to do was to play to that, and convince them
to redirect their interests elsewhere.
With a laugh, he dropped the photos carelessly, allowing them to scatter on the
floor. Like all these things meant nothing to him. Instead he dragged Mycroft
closer by his tie, so he had access to his mouth.
At the beginning, the younger man hadn't been very responsive, but Gregory
persisted a little more. And just as he expected, the other man gave in rather
quickly. Soon, they were both rendered breathless &#x2013; he from the rush of
adrenaline, and Mycroft from sexual arousal.
Of course the sick bastard had been turned on. And Gregory bet that he had been
in this state for quite a while, getting off on his shame.
"&#x2026;Greg, I don't think this is a good idea&#x2026;"
"Mycroft, I can assure you this means nothing to me now. Let me prove it to
you." Gregory said, as he dropped on his knees attacked younger man's belt.
"&#x2026; we need to talk&#x2026; first&#x2026; ah&#x2026;" The words were soon
reduced to groans, as Gregory had his cock deep in his own throat. And it was
sufficient to finally shut the older Holmes up&#x2026;
He was nearly amused by the blissful look on Mycroft's face, as strong hands
firmly held his head in place. Gregory simply relaxed his throat and allowed
the other man to take his pleasure.
And he had played his cards right. Mycroft was clearly no longer interested in
that particular topic, not when his full attention was on fucking the older man
with his fist.
Gregory was on his hands and knees, back side complete exposed for the other
man's enjoyment. It had been wise position to take, he was able to completely
hide his face when he needed to. And he certainly needed the privacy, because
by the time the fourth finger were inserted into his body, he had to bite down
his own arm to keep his trembling to a minimum.
Despite the liberal amount of lube applied, it had hurt so badly. His body
hadn't been subjected to this kind of exploration for years, and he was way too
tense to accept it. It took every ounce of will power he had to remember his
training and how to manipulate his body into perceiving pain as pleasure. It
did take a while, but by the time Mycroft had his right hand buried in his body
up to his wrist, he was a wanton mess, moaning with each thrust, begging for
more.
Eventually, those fingers were removed, and quickly being replaced by a fully
erect cock. The abused hole easily accepted the invasion this time, as Gregory
choked on the same fingers that were now being forced into his mouth. He willed
himself to enthusiastically suck on those digits, like he would a cock. He was
rewarded with an almost animal like groan from behind, and even more brutal
poundings. He fisted his own penis with the same rhythm, commanded his body to
find enjoyment in this.
When they were finally done, they were both a mess of sweat and semen. Mycroft
slowly trailed kisses on his feverish body, while murmuring words of
appreciation, telling him how incredible he was. His light blue eyes shone with
satisfaction and amazement, as well as something close to adoration. Gregory
knew his plan had worked.
And he would be safe, as long he was able to have the complete attention of the
younger man.
After Mycroft had left for work in the morning, Gregory took a great deal of
pleasure in burning those photos. He watched as each of them dissolve in flame,
the testimony of his own weakness being reduced to ashes. He could not help but
feel a surge of pride, because he was so much better than that now.
TBC
***** Chapter 5 *****
Gregory was not used to sharing a bed with another person for a prolonged
period of time. Half of the time he wasn't even on one when his clients had
need for him, and regardless of where the transaction took place he was always
asked to leave afterwards or left alone. And it had been the same with David.
But Mycroft had been different. He seemed to be keen on the idea of having
someone pressed against him. It made Gregory uncomfortable &#x2013; because he
wasn't accustomed to it, and Mycroft was so hard to read.
The ability to read people had been important to both of his professions, it
had saved him numerous times &#x2013; warning him of clients who could
potentially take things too far; or suspects who were about to pull out a gun
in their last ditch of effort to escape.
David hadn't been difficult. He was very much an open book &#x2013; sexual
release and dominance were all he was ever after. And Gregory allowed him to
have them, presenting himself as the perfect image of a helpless prey. However,
what David wasn't aware of was the fact that while he set the rules Gregory was
the one to establish perimeters.
For example, he had let himself be fisted, so he didn't have to go down on his
knee and give that man a blow job under his desk in the Yard; chained to the
bedpost by his collar for ten consecutive nights so he didn't have to overlook
an important evidence in a case and let a serial killer walk free; allowed
himself to be the entertainment of the night whenever David and his friends got
together - they were free to do anything to him as long as he was wearing his
mask and his identity was hidden the whole time.
The games were played in his own way. Gregory made sure of that.
With Mycroft, however, he could not say the same. For the life of him, he could
not understand what the other man was really after. In the beginning, he
thought it could be domination &#x2013; the thrill of having another human
being submitting to his will &#x2013; not some innocent youngster that could be
easily broken, but someone who was also in position of authority, who was
supposedly wiser and more experienced. But the older Holmes still required his
time after Gregory gave in to his demands.
Then he thought it was some sort of lust - the younger man had a long history
of dealing with extremely beautiful playthings, it might be just a case of
wanting to try something a little different for a change, before getting back
to his usual arrangements. Gregory had purposely neglected his outward
appearance and made himself looking as awful as possible. After all, he no
longer possessed the same beauty that he had in his younger days. If he wasn't
capable of transforming himself to Mycroft's usual standard and hence made the
whole thing boring, the least he could do was to make himself as unappealing as
possible. There must be a limit to what the other man was willing to deal with
before his strange interest died down. Uneven shaves, tousled hair, wrinkled
clothes, and of course the perpetual lack of sleep really helped too, adding
blood shot eyes and severer dark circles to the list of reasons that even he
could no longer look at himself in the mirror. And yet, Mycroft was still
around, when he should have become bored or disgusted.
Also, the younger man had developed a strange inclination for spending more
time with him, and those nights didn't always end with them engaging in sex
&#x2013; there were times Mycroft clearly had other appointments afterwards but
still wanted to take him to dinner, the opera, a film, or whatever or wherever
he seemed to take a fancy to. Mycroft never talked much about himself, but
seemed to be immensely interested in the older man &#x2013; what his thoughts
were on things, his childhood and younger days, what he liked, and even how his
day had been. The older Holmes was certainly very good at interrogating people,
subtly getting what he wanted. Despite being fully alert, Gregory still found
himself burbling out things he didn't wish for the other man to know. And
judging from the slight curve of Mycroft's lips, Gregory knew his every word
was filed away in that formidable brain for further examination later.
And most of the time he didn't leave him alone after they had sex. Ointment was
being rubbed on Gregory's bruised wrists and knee after he was released from
ropes and cuffs. Gentle kisses lingered on his raw skin after a paddling
session. Tender touches on his painfully sensitive cock as the cock ring was
taken off, until Gregory nearly blacked out from sheer intensity of his own
orgasm.
Mycroft also made a habit of clinging to him, arms that refused to let him go
even during sleep. Gregory spent many nights, lying in bed and awake, simply
staring at the mystery that was called Mycroft Holmes.
He could not understand the younger man, what he wanted, or how that fearsome
brain worked. Lack of understanding meant he did not fully understand the game
they were playing. Lack of control meant danger, and his sense of insecurity
was driving him insane.
He was so tense. He was rapidly loosing sleep and appetite. And work didn't
help &#x2013; case after case of homicide, psychopathic killers running wild in
London.
As if sensing his confusion and struggle to cope, Mycroft upped his game. He
seemed to have taken interest on the other side of the scale &#x2013; gentle
love making, tender touches, fingers that gently teased Gregory into ecstasy
before Mycroft eased himself into his body. He was also obsessed with holding
him close afterwards, murmuring nonsense like how beautiful/ wonderful/
incredible he was. Vanilla sex didn't completely satisfy the younger man,
Gregory could easily tell, but the other man clearly seemed to be holding
himself back, like a predator did right before he pounced his prey.
These sessions reminded him a game David had played once upon a time - the same
gentle loving gestures and shows of affection, until one day he locked Gregory
in his basement for three days. He was bounded, blind-folded, and gagged,
without food, water, or idea of time that went by.
It wasn't having physical means to sustain his existence being taken away that
nearly drove him over the edge, it was the seemingly endless time &#x2013;
seconds, minutes, hours that all blended together. He could not help but think
about every decision he had made in his life that had led him to that position;
what he could have done to save his father, his mother, and himself from
becoming a plaything to so many men that even he had lost count. Then he had to
spend even more time re-convincing himself that he made the right choices - He
had saved his siblings from a life time of threats, blackmail and a debt that
they could not afford to pay. And they certainly did have every right to reject
him, because he was no longer the brother they once knew. He was dirty and
soiled, a willing whore who spread his legs for money, happily taking anything
anyone dished out as long as price was right. How could he blame them? He put
himself in that position, because he was stupid enough to take a particular
route home many years ago, made himself vulnerable to an assault&#x2026; and
then he was too weak to hide the encounter from either of his parents&#x2026;
he was the reason that his siblings were orphaned at such young ages&#x2026; if
only he could&#x2026;.
His thoughts just ran in circles in those days and nights &#x2013; full of
what-ifs, and self doubts. By the time he was let out, he was completely
starved of food, water and anything that could take his mind away from his dark
thoughts. His memories of the next 2 days were pretty much a blur &#x2013;
being a pathetic begging mess, willing to subject himself to anything so he
could shut down his own brain for a moment; but he knew enough that it wasn't
something he wanted to go through again. And he was smart enough to know it was
about time to put a stop to whatever new game Mycroft has indented to play,
because he could easily end up in a much worse place.
He had to distract the man, redirecting his interests else where.
So he told the older Holmes that he wasn't made of glass, and he could take
anything he chose to dish out.
That was all the encouragement the other man needed. Gregory found a pair of
hands enclosed around his neck, and squeezing hard. Those fingers dug into his
skin, cutting off his air supply. He found his vision darkened, as his body
instinctively struggled for air. He could only imagine how pleasurable it had
been for Mycroft &#x2013; being buried deeply in a body that shuddered and
jerked uncontrollably, as another man's anus clenched tightly around his cock.
Mycroft thrusts became increasingly violent, like he wanted to rip the older
man apart. Gregory didn't care. He only locked his own legs around the other
man's back, encouraging him to go deeper, harder.
He didn't care, because they were back in a familiar territory, and he was
getting some of his control back.
TBC
***** Chapter 6 *****
Gregory knew it had been a bad idea to bring Sherlock Holmes to this case
&#x2013; three teenage sisters had been abducted together. The oldest one, Anne
was discovered about 3 days ago, brutally raped and mutilated, body parts
scattered in a quite back street, and with an overnight rain effectively washed
away most of the evidences. The other two remained missing, until this morning,
Susan Wood, the second oldest, turned up to the Yard.
The 15 year old was a complete mess, with badly battered clothing covering her
equally battered body. She was shivering from exhaustion, fear and cold
weather. Gregory banned any male personnel from going within 10 meters of the
girl, after she shrieked uncontrollably when a male police officer tried to
wrap a blanket around her.
She was taken to one of the questioning room, where Sally had spent the next 2
hours trying to find out what happened, but without much success. The girl was
completely incoherent, too scared out of her mind to be any help. Gregory knew
she should be getting medical attention, not being questioned. But he was
afraid to let the only chance of saving the youngest sister, Sharon slipping
from his fingers. Once the hospital got hold of her, she would not be available
for questioning for at least 24 hours. Those precious 24 hours could very much
mean the life or death of a 12 year old girl.
So he asked Sherlock to come and have a look, hoping he would be able to deduce
a few things. He would be completely separated from the victim - the one way
glass would ensure him being completely out of Sharon's sight. A 5 minute
observation would not do any harm. Then he would get her medical attention that
she needed. That was his first mistake of the day.
The second one was him asking Sally to handle Sherlock when he got here.
Gregory knew he was avoiding the other man. He knew he was like an open book to
the Holmes brothers. Sherlock would know far too much by just having one look
at him.
Really, what was he thinking? Putting Sally and Sherlock within 5 meters of
each other was like adding water to oil that was already at boiling point.
There were times he couldn't help but to feel he was a supervisor to a group of
5 year olds, rather than a DI at the Yard.
Within 5 minutes of being informed of Sherlock's arrival, he received a call
from Sally.
"Sir, you must come around, the freak&#x2026; Oh my God, I can't contain him!"
She practically shrieked into the headset. There were a lot of noise going on
on the background - like someone was being physically pulled from the ground,
and there were also sounds of wood and metal colliding against each other,
while Sherlock yelled at top of his lung about someone being a slut or
something.
His own pride been damned! Gregory ran out of his office as fast his legs could
carry him, praying the questioning room hadn't become the crime scene for the
murder of the world's only Consulting Detective.
It hadn't, but it was damn close. With one look, Gregory knew Sherlock just had
a relapse; he was once again high as a kite. His grey eyes shone with malice,
enough to turn his handsome features cold and sinister. He was restrained by 2
male police officers. And to his credit, despite Sherlock's lanky frame, they
hadn't been able to drag him out of the door. Sally was trying to shelter Susan
from the not so sane man physically, but there was not much she could do with
the hurtful words that came out from the man's mouth.
"&#x2026;. You wanted it, didn't you? You practically begged for it! There is
not point in denying! It is written all over you! You were glad that you had
his full attention, weren't you? After all, you were never really important in
your family. No high expectations, they were for your older sister, and no
endless spoiling, your younger sister got that. Always the forgotten one!
Always! So you would do anything to maintain his affection, right?"
"&#x2026; not true&#x2026; please&#x2026;"
"THEN TELL ME, WHERE YOU HAD BEEN TAKEN! ANYTHING!" Sherlock roared between the
fingers that tried to cover his mouth, "PROVE IT TO ME, YOU USELESS
WHORE&#x2026;"
It was Gregory's fist that connected with Sherlock's stomach that finally shut
him up. It was then he finally noticed his presence. Those cold, lifeless eyes
turned to Gregory, and took in every inch of him, "Ah, isn't that everyone's
favourite Detective Inspector? Apparently, the girl over there isn't the only
one who can't get enough&#x2026;"
"Sherlock Holmes, you will shut up right now!" Gregory hissed those words,
every fibre of his body consumed with blinding rage. His hands tightened the
younger man's collar, it took every once of will in his body not to break the
younger man's neck&#x2026; Oh God, how satisfying it would have been, to
finally see something other than smugness and superiority in those eyes&#x2026;
eyes that were so similar to his sibling - always mocking others with his good
manners and kind words, while taking whatever they desired without an ounce of
pity for the ordinary people, because these people were completely below
them&#x2026;
It could have been his words or whatever that was in his body language, Gregory
wasn't sure, but they had managed to instill some sanity back into Sherlock.
Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled out of the room. Gregory told Sally to
get the paramedics. Then the room suddenly became very much vacant, only
occupied by him and the girl that huddled herself in the corner, a quivering
mass.
Gregory ran his fingers through his silver-grey hair. He was terrible dealing
with these sorts of things, and being a male really didn't help the situation.
But it was his mess-up, the least he could do was to try and clean up a bit. It
was not about the fear of being held responsible for an avoidable mistake, and
the threat of loosing his job; it was about comforting a child, an innocent
being who didn't deserve to suffer this way.
So he sat himself down next to the girl, keeping a reasonable distance. He
didn't know what to say to Susan, he was never training in dealing with rape
victims. But perhaps because Susan had just witnessed him saving her from a not
so sane man, she didn't attempt to get away. She just sat there, sobbing
quietly.
Eventually, it was her who broke the silence, "&#x2026; you know&#x2026;
he&#x2026; wasn't wrong&#x2026;" Her quivered voice was raw from the screaming
and crying, as well as the shame and guilt that had been building inside her.
Gregory winced. He did suspect it, but had hoped it wasn't true. It was one
thing to be violated against your will, and entirely another being forced to
actively participate in your own rape.
"We are all capable of doing things to survive, no matter how terrible they
are, and it doesn't make you any less of a victim," he said quietly.
His own brown eyes met with those glassy blue ones, eyes that were dulled with
pain and shame, full of tears. There was a sense realization &#x2013; after
all, not all rape victims were females.
"&#x2026; He raped me first&#x2026; before he turned his interest to
Anne&#x2026; He said he liked her better, fair skin and blond hair and
all&#x2026; everyone loved her, she was so beautiful&#x2026; and he was no
exception&#x2026; but she screamed and begged for so long&#x2026; She annoyed
him, he said, so he killed her&#x2026; I had been made to watch the whole
thing&#x2026; there was nothing I could do&#x2026;. I was so scared&#x2026; oh
my God&#x2026; he stabbed her, cut her up&#x2026; then he used those hands to
touch me, made me promise to be a better whore, otherwise&#x2026;
otherwise&#x2026; he was going to get bored and play with Sharon
instead&#x2026; and she is only 12&#x2026; oh God&#x2026;"
Gregory listened silently &#x2013; the memory of a girl who forced herself to
seduce the man who had raped her and murdered her older sister. Just like what
he had to do so many years ago&#x2026;Whoever he was about to face was
completely out of his league, he wasn't stupid, but he had to try at least, for
he couldn't risk losing his siblings. He had swallowed his own fear and gone to
find the men who were responsible for his rape, and made them take him to see
their boss &#x2013; Stephen Howells.
Just like how Susan made a deal with her rapist - she was to provide sexual
services willingly, in exchange for Sharon's safety - Gregory had agreed to
trade his next 10 years to repay his father's debt, so his siblings would be
left out of it.
Susan begged to be played, fucked, humiliated, while claiming to love every
second of it. She was so scared, so ashamed, and yet she wanted, needed more.
She was a greedy, shameless whore, because she hoped she was enough to
entertain the mad man. So he would look at her only, and completely forget
about Sharon.
Gregory had took off his clothes, letting the older man examine him, like he
was nothing but a piece of merchandise. He knew he wasn't much to look at. Only
5 days after his assault, the bruises were still prominent on his battered
body. He inevitably flinched when he was being touched. He cursed his own
weakness when Stephen coldly told him to get out of his office, because he was
a hopeless case, a damaged good that no one would want. Gregory could not let
the only chance of keeping his family safe slip from his fingers because of his
own momentary stupidity, so he offered Stephen a "trial ride". He promised that
it would worth his time. It had been so hard&#x2026; lying on someone else's
bed, letting another man touching him, while the memory of his own assault
still so fresh. He made himself enjoyed having a cock down his throat,
swallowing down semen like it was a treat. He forced his body to take pleasure
in penetration, even when his stitching was torn open. He learnt to ride a
cock, how to take it deep inside himself, how to clinch his muscles to maximise
pleasure for his partner even though his legs threatened to collapse in fear.
His body was only a vehicle. With correct stimulus he could get it to respond
as he commanded it to. He proved to the older man that he was more than a
useless little boy. He was more than capable of making promises and keeping his
words.
Susan knew the mad man had let his guard drop, believing that he had broken
her. He didn't even bother to tie her up when he went out &#x2013; for food or
finding his next victims. Susan took the opportunity and ran. Just like
Gregory, she was forced to leave her sibling behind. Gregory had done so,
because he couldn't afford to get his remaining family involved into this mess,
and he was ashamed of what he was about to become. And Susan, because Sharon
was bound with metal chains, and she couldn't find the key to release her.
She promised her sister that she would come back for her. She wrapped Annie's
jacket tightly around that tiny body, because that was the only the thing she
could do for her. Then she ran, without looking back. She had no idea how long
she ran on her bare feet, with torn t-shirt and jeans, shivering in the
freezing winter wind, until she collapsed in exhaustion. She was taken to the
Scotland Yard by passer-bys, because she begged them to, and no, she didn't
want to see a doctor.
Gregory had taken off the middle of the night, only leaving a note to say
goodbye and asking them not to look for him. He worked as a rent boy under the
alias of Tony Fraser. He very quickly became very well-known amongst certain
circle for his incredible look and charm, and his willingness to please his
clients. He forced himself to focus on his work, because there wasn't much he
could do for his brother and sister, other than making sure a certain sum of
money was deposited into their auntie's bank account every month, as well as
setting up trust funds for each of them. He didn't intend to live like this for
the next ten years. He wanted to be able to see his siblings again, and when he
did, he wanted to be someone other than Tony, the whore. Three years, it was
the target he had set for himself. And for that, he was willing to do anything,
and everything.
Just like Susan.
They both had made the best choice given what they had got. For that, they
should be proud of themselves. He told her that, as she sobbed onto his
shoulder.
TBC
***** Chapter 7 *****
Unfortunately, not every story had a happy ending. Gregory was well aware of
it. Being a copper for so many years, he understood there was only so much
people could do, and there were times they could do nothing but pray for a good
outcome.
Based Susan's description of the place and its surrounding areas, Sherlock was
able to narrow down the possible holding locations of the sisters to three.
Hours later, they found Sharon in an abandoned complex. The artery on her neck
had been slit. There was so much blood, covering the wall behind that small
body, and completely soaking the jacket that Susan had wrapped around her.
Her killer laughed manically, like he didn't care about the guns that were all
aiming at his head. Susan had promised him her love and loyalty, yet she ran
away from him given the first opportunity. He screamed that the lying whore
deserved what was coming and he had made this day memorable for her.
Gregory knew exactly what he meant by that &#x2013; spending every waking
minute of the day thinking about what she could have done or should have done.
Self doubts mixed in with guilt and shame, they would haunt every second of her
life from this day onward.
And to make things worse, she would be made to recount her experience endless
times for the police investigation and the upcoming trial. She would be forced
to remember what her rapist had done to her, and made her do again and then
again, until every single detail burnt into her brain. Her story would be all
over the news and radios. Of course, her name would be withheld to protect
privacy of a minor, but ultimately people would know who she was and what she
had done. She would be the centre of gossip and speculations. People would
wonder whether she was a victim or a coward who abandoned her sibling to save
her own life. And eventually, she would start to question herself too.
He knew, but there was nothing more he could do for her, other than making sure
she was under suicide watch for now.
Throughout the arrest, Sherlock had been strangely quite. He stood at a corner,
observing but not making any comment as the forensic team collected evidence.
It was a rather unusual sight, given the consulting detective had only ever
shown interest in mysteries and hidden clues, and was always gone as soon as
his curiosity was satisfied. His eyes lingered on Gregory, examining him, like
he had something that intrigued that formidable brain.
Gregory thought he knew why he chose to stay. After all, he did made it
perfectly clear from day one that he gave the Consulting Detective access to
his crime scenes on the condition that he had to stay clean, which he obviously
failed to do. The young man would want to have a word with him to make sure he
still had his privileges.
He could not fathom how an incredibly intelligent man like Sherlock Holmes
would allow himself to become a slave to drugs. He knew what it was like to
allow those substances to take over: the easiness, sense of peace, like nothing
mattered. He no longer had to fight his body's instinctive reaction to run or
hide whenever he serviced a client, because it was turned off for him. It had
been so much easier to go through the days like that. And the best of all, it
shut down all the ugly noises in his head that continued to taunt him and doubt
him. It had been so easy, until he ran out of the means to acquire them, then
he realized what extreme he would go to satisfy his cravings. Breaking off the
physical and psychological dependence on drugs hadn't been easy, but if he
could do it, so could Sherlock.
As far as he knew the young man had been doing well, until today.
He knew he had to have a long chat with Sherlock to re-establish the ground
rule, so the younger man would take his words seriously. But he didn't have the
energy to deal with him, not today at least. So he directed the young man to
follow him to a vacant department downstairs, fully prepared to send him home
for the day with the promise of a talk at another time. However, he was
surprised by what Sherlock had said.
"Listen, I wasn't&#x2026; I didn't mean to call her a useless whore&#x2026; "
the younger Holmes stuttered. "I just wanted her to talk, and I needed to find
a break through point&#x2026; And she had been murmuring those words&#x2026;"
Useless whore. Just a useless whore.
Gregory wondered how many times her rapist had made her repeat these words,
while he had her under his mercy. So many times that even she had started to
believe those words.
"Look, what I want to say is&#x2026; uhm&#x2026; that I&#x2026;" Gregory
watched in amazement as Sherlock mumbled on. He knew it was closest to an
apology that the younger man was capable of making. "And also, about what I
said about you&#x2026; "
Gregory froze. He had hoped that part of conversation would not come up.
No such luck.
He had no idea what give him away. Mycroft had requested a blow job in his car
that morning. Gregory had been on his knees for most of the ride, with his head
buried between the other man's thighs. Mycroft had chosen to come all over his
face. He had called him beautiful, like he always did, while cleaned away very
last trace of semen with tissues almost lovingly.
He supposed he was, beautifully broken, on his knees and catering to every whim
of the older Holmes. A copper with his badge and his gun, and a face marred by
ejaculation, he must had been quite a sight. He could have easily put it to an
end, if he chose to, and yet he was on his knees, sucking on the cock exactly
the way the other man had liked. He dutifully cleaned the softened penis with
his tongue, before tagging it back into Mycroft's tailored trousers.
Just like a good whore.
"And I don't get it&#x2026; you have been in a relationship for a while, it is
quite clear. I don't understand why you find it necessary to hide it from me."
Oh God&#x2026;
"I don't care about you having sex, everyone seems to anyway. But it shouldn't
make you keep me from cases. I don't understand why you didn't call me when you
discovered Anne Wood's body three days ago."
Because he was a coward.
Because he was ashamed of himself.
He came to the conclusions hours later, in a seedy part of London, inside a bar
that served terrible vodka that burnt his throat. Alcohol had made it so much
easier for him to be honest with himself.
He was wrong. He could have done more for Susan and Sharon. He simply chose not
to.
Of course there was a small voice inside his head, still trying to justify
things, like how he and his team could not rely on Sherlock to do their job for
them all the time. But he shut it down ruthlessly, because deep inside his
heart he knew he had been trying to avoid Sherlock. He was nothing more than an
open book to those piercing grey eyes, and everything he fought so hard to keep
hidden was practically written all over his face.
So he had made a mistake, and all mistakes came with prices. This time 2 young
girls paid for it.
He supposed he was after some sort of atonement. Maybe it was why he let
himself accept drinks from a random stranger when he should have known better;
why he allowed his drunk and drugged self to be dragged into the back alley of
the pub, where the stranger's friends were waiting for them. He didn't put up a
fight when they tore his clothes off and forced him to be on his hands and
knees. He had almost welcomed the pain, the humiliation and the sense of
helplessness; because this was the only thing left he could do &#x2013; to
accept his punishment, to be in the same position as Susan had been, to know
what it must had been like for her.
Those guys took turns on him, used him repeatedly. He guessed he should have
been thankful that they at least used condoms.
It could have gone on for hours, if not for one of the man deciding to help
himself to his wallet and whatever cash and cards he had in it.
"&#x2026; He's a copper!"
"Oh God, you have got to be kidding me!"
Looked like they had also come across his warrant card. He laughed
humourlessly.
"This must have been some sort of set up&#x2026;"
"Seriously, out of all the people you could have picked, you picked a copper!"
"&#x2026; let's just get out of here&#x2026; "
And they did, leaving him half naked, lying on the dirty ground like a piece of
trash.
Gregory knew he should get himself out of there, but he simply couldn't bring
himself to. He didn't even have enough energy to lift a finger. He was
shivering from cold and exhaustion. But he was also at peace with himself, for
the moment at least. He welcomed the numbness in his head, and soothing
emptiness in his heart, until the world faded into darkness right before his
eyes.
TBC
***** Chapter 8 *****
Gregory woke up to gentle lighting, the soft beeping sound of machines, and the
feeling of warm hands holding onto his.
He blinked a few times to clear his sight, before he could make out a
silhouette. He could not recognise the man, but he did seem to be somewhat
familiar - a face that was marred with lines of worry, exhausted from lack of
sleep, hair in complete disarray from running fingers through them too many
times, and not to mention the stubble along his jaw. He didn't know who the man
was, but a badly wrinkled shirt without a tie wasn't a look that suited the
stranger. Somehow he felt that one of ridiculously expensive bespoke three-
piece suits would suit him much better
Must have been one of his clients, he thought, someone who probably had just
ventured into this and was very much in panic after a little rough play had
gone wrong.
He tried to withdraw his hand, but the other man only hold onto him tighter. He
was annoyed, because he tended to avoid physical contact outside of work. And
the man had called him Gregory. He snapped at him, because he wasn't suppose to
know his real name. He was Tony Fraser.
Not Gregory.
He wanted him gone, so he could have a momentary peace, but he could not afford
to be rude to a client. So he politely told the man not to worry about this
little incident, and the agency would settle this with him soon. After all, a
man like him would happily pay a generous sum to keep things quite.
Yet, the man stayed, told him everything was alright, and he had nothing to
worry about. For a moment, Gregory did believe him. How strange, because he
didn't even know who he was. Maybe because he was just so exhausted.
The hands that cupped his had a slight tremble to them, but they were warm and
real. If he was honest with himself, he did crave those touches, just a little,
because he had been so cold, so tired, and so alone for too long. He knew he
shouldn't have given into his own weakness. But he was too weak to fight the
other man off, to break away from those gentle touches. So he allowed himself
to give in, to enjoy this little indulgence.
He closed his eyes, and let himself drift into another slumber.
Gregory ensured he was discharged two days later. A few bruises that would heal
on their own, a few wounds that required stitching and moderate hypothermia
were nothing too serious. He had been a copper for many years, and he had
survived far worse. He refused to be kept in the fancy medical facility any
longer than necessary. In the last few days, his body had been pumped with so
many tranquilizers and pain killers that his memory had become fragmented and
hazy. He'd had enough of it. He was glad Mycroft wasn't there; it gave him time
to think. The man was on another of his extended business trips. Anthea passed
on his apologies about not being able to be there with him. Gregory hardly
cared, because he never expected otherwise.
Sally was the one who picked him up from the hospital, as well as delivering
the message that he was to have a month off. Before he could protest,
infuriated, she coolly pointed out that he was in no shape to do his job.
Her words made him back down, because he could not deny her accusation. After
all, he allowed his ridiculous pride to obscure his judgement, his sense of
shame to influence the way he perform on his job.
She stuttered into an apology as soon as she realized what had came out from
her mouth, but he waved it off. She had only spoken the truth after all. And he
had needed those words to wake him up.
He knew he had to put an end to the arrangement that he had with Mycroft, cost
and consequences be damned. He had chosen to be a copper so many years ago,
because he thought he could make something out of his life, once he finished
his contract with the agency. He could be someone other than Tony Fraser, the
whore who pleased men on his knees. He could make a difference to society and
perhaps also rebuild his own life.
Twenty something years later, he had made it somewhere, even though things were
not all he had hoped for. Still he had managed to make himself someone more
than just Tony &#x2013; a respectable member of society, an adequate detective
inspector of the police force. He would hate to all throw it all away, but he
would not have a second thought if his own selfish wishes were jeopardising
lives of innocent people.
Perhaps it didn't have to come to that. Maybe there was some sort agreement
that he could reach with Mycroft. After all, he knew what the younger man
liked, and he could use that as his leverage.
That night, Gregory asked the older Holmes whether he enjoyed having his way
with him, while he removed the dildo that he had kept inside himself with his
own hand, before allowing the softened penis to slide out from his body.
Mycroft's answer had been barely comprehensible, between his laboured breathing
and groaning &#x2013; Greg was licking his spent cock, gently coercing it back
to hardness. But it was definitely a confirmation.
So Gregory offered to fulfill every one of his fantasies, whatever they were
&#x2013; anything and everything that the older Holmes had ever wanted to do
and see. There would be no limit or boundary. The only thing he asked in return
was to terminate their arrangement when the time was up.
That was when Mycroft brutally pushed him off. Then Gregory found himself being
held down by the other man, staring into those piercing grey eyes, eyes that
were clouded by emotions that he could not identify.
"Greg&#x2026; I don't understand&#x2026;" the other man stammered.
That was when Gregory started to panic. His tactic clearly wasn't working. Why?
Where had it gone wrong?
"Come on, Mycroft! Why else you would keep someone like me around, unless to
satisfy your twisted fantasies? And I'm offering you exactly what you want
here!"
Then he found himself being pushed away. Mycroft was at the other side of the
room, almost like he was being burnt, like he had to get away, anywhere other
than this very room. Gregory watched in utter bewilderment as the usually
composed man looking so completely lost.
"I thought&#x2026; I thought you enjoyed what we have been doing&#x2026;"
Gregory sat there. All he could feel were the rawness in his body after taking
both a dildo and penis at the same time, as well as bruises left by paddles on
his back and arse that were still tender. He took a look at himself - the
contusions on his thighs that Mycroft had left while thrusting into him
brutally; marks left by ropes and handcuffs on his wrists and knees. He trailed
his fingers over himself, feeling the finger prints on his neck after being
choked until he blacked out. All he could think about were the times thick cock
was forced into his throat, filling his mouth with bitter salty cum, so much of
it that he had no choice but to swallow; and how fingers had worn their way
into his body, coercing it to open up for the other man's pleasure.
Then he just laughed.
TBC
***** Interlude – Mycroft's POV *****
It was the words that finally got to him&#x2026;
Those cold words, spoken in the tongue of seduction, of sinful offerings, of
self degrading things that the older man was willing to do&#x2026; so he could
put an end to their relationship&#x2026;
Mycroft watched the entire scene with his own eyes, while taking in the tongue
that licked his cock, and hearing the words being formed on those lips&#x2026;
he listened as the man he had&#x2026; he had come to care for confessed to him
what he was willing to lay on the bargaining table.
It was that moment Mycroft was finally able to admit to himself that whatever
he shared with Gregory had nothing to do with love, affection, or even mutual
enjoyment.
Gregory had initially offered one month - one month of being his personal whore
with no limits whatsoever. And Mycroft had been stunned into silence.
Gregory obviously took his loss of words as a sign of disinterest; so he then
upped it to two months. He didn't beg&#x2026; but his eyes&#x2026; those dark
brown eyes did&#x2026;.
Mycroft wasn't sure exactly what he did&#x2026; he must have flinched or
something, which was probably being interpreted as disgust. It was then he
found himself come face to face with Gregory's gun. The handsome man had
dropped all act of seduction; his face was now cold and distant.
"Mr Holmes, I think it is time we stop this game of yours before things get out
of hand." The man, who had been so passionate, so submissive, so willing to
cater to his whims just a moment ago ceased to exist; in his place stood a man
who was dangerous and unreadable. Not a good combination, Mycroft's own
instinct warned him.
Gregory must have seen the look of uncertainly on his face, and laughed
humourlessly, "Yes, the gun is loaded, in case you are wondering.
"Rich and powerful men like you all enjoy playing games. I saw enough of your
type in my younger days. What I don't understand is what could possibly have
drawn your attention to me in the first place. It couldn't have been my looks.
" Gregory looked straight into his eyes; he seemed to be genuinely curious.
"Was it because of my job, the thrill of dominating someone who has the means
to retaliate, rather than some young and helpless things? Or was it amusing to
see a copper falling back to his old profession, no matter how hard he has
tried to turn his life around? Oh come on, don't pretend you didn't look me up.
It must have taken you less a day to find out everything there is to know about
Tony Fraser!"
For that, Mycroft had no defence. Because he did, even though he wished he
hadn't done so.
If he was honest with himself, he had always known there was something not
quite right. In the beginning, it had been nothing more than a gut feeling. He
had lived long enough to know when to trust his instincts, but he chose to
ignore it in this instance because he thought respecting each others' privacy
and boundaries was an important part of any relationship.
He was naive in this particular area of human interaction, and he had so badly
wanted this to work, so he respected Gregory's wishes. After all, he had
developed feelings for Gregory Lestrade as the man he was today &#x2013;
honest, honourable, devoted and caring. His past was irrelevant. Plus, his
partner had clearly showed his disinterest in delving back into his own past.
He told him it was something that he had already dealt with and left behind.
Mycroft had never questioned him further, because he had always believed
Gregory to be more than capable of holding his own. After all, this was the man
who had been able to direct and influence Sherlock Holmes, capable of putting
his foot down when required.
How could he be so wrong?
The signs had always been there if he were to think about them &#x2013;
Gregory's incredible tolerance to pain, his willingness to submit, especially
considering his first sexual experience. And throughout the entire time they
had spent together, the older man had never expressed any preference. He had
accepted, indulged, yet had never demanded anything in return &#x2013; because
to him sex had always been about others' needs and pleasures, not his own. He
had been trained to think this way all his life.
And yet, Mycroft overlooked all these signs because of his own stupid pride,
because of his belief that everything was going well. He thought he had finally
found the one, the person who understood him, who shared the same interests and
needs as him. Everything was perfect in his eyes, so his mind had filtered out
those warning signals. And the person he had come to care for deeply was paying
for his imprudence.
Even after he had found about Tony Fraser, he had still held out the hope that
Gregory was in the relationship with him because he had feelings for him as
well. He knew he was pushing it when he asked for sex so soon after Gregory was
released from the hospital. But he trusted the older man to know his own limits
and use the safe word when necessary.
Except he never did.
The older man had never asked for him to stop, because to him, Mycroft was just
another client, another David McDonnell, another man who had enough power to
shatter the life he had worked so hard to build for himself. He was so used to
be treated as nothing more than a fuck toy; a compliant whore that he wasn't
capable of making objections.
"And no, I'm not going to shoot you. I'm not so stupid enough to think I could
get away with such a thing, contrary to what you and your brother may think,"
Gregory said, as he pointed the gun to his own head.
Mycroft had wanted to act, to do anything to stop this insanity. But he simply
couldn't. Gregory stopped him on his track with a heated glare, with a flick of
finger the safety switch was off.
Gregory smiled, and asked him whether it excited him, whether he was becoming
hard seeing a man who was about to end his own life like this; or perhaps the
politician would prefer him to be on his hands and knees so he could use this
gun to fuck him instead.
Mycroft bolted out of the door. He could no longer stand seeing the older man
treating his own body like a bargaining chip, a piece of merchandise.
So for many, many days afterwards he immersed himself in work, alcohol and
mindless sex.
Boys had been sent to his house, all young and beautiful, all willing to crawl
on their knees to please him. Mycroft was attracted to their beautiful faces
and bodies, and the glorious feeling of sexual release that had been fuelled by
alcohol. They dulled the angry thoughts and sorrowful feelings that were
constantly lingering in his brain. Life had become somewhat bearable. He was
able to stop thinking about Gregory long enough to function in a professional
capacity.
Until one night, he was woken by broken sobs. He opened his eyes and found a
young boy being bounded to his bed post. A large dildo was forced into the
body. It was vibrating so hard that his body quavered involuntarily. The boy
was so hard, yet there was nothing he could do because his fully erect penis
was tightly restrained by a cock ring. Mycroft had no idea how long the boy had
been in this state. The caged organ was alarming hues of purple and red. The
boy clearly was trying hard to hold back his instinctive struggles, to stay
silent. His lower lip was already bleeding as he bit on it savagely to muffle
his own cries.
Mycroft hurriedly released the boy. He grabbed his phone, wanting to get hold
of his family doctor, only to find the boy clutching onto his legs, begging
profoundly. He pleaded for mercy, blamed himself for not being able to endure,
and condemned himself for being so weak. He promised to be good in the future,
asked for another chance to prove his worth, again and again, until his voice
ran raw.
There was so much fear and hopelessness in those eyes. Mycroft had finally
understood why Gregory was never able to be honest with him, because he was a
monster, just like the men who had used and abused him throughout the years.
TBC
***** Chapter 10 *****
AN: This is the beta-ed version. If you have read this chapter previously, feel
free to skip to the next one.
 
Chapter 10
Days after that night, life was getting back to normal for Gregory.
He no longer received text messages from unknown numbers, nor was he stalked by
black cars. It was like the last three months were nothing more than a
nightmare – at the first ray of sunlight, it all vaporised into thin air
without trace.
But it didn't stop him from feeling a sense of uneasiness; like something not
being quite right His palms became sweaty whenever his mobile vibrated or rang.
He had to fight the urge to run whenever he saw a black car parked outside the
Yard or around the corner of his flat. The first time he had been asked to see
the Chief Superintendent after he returned to work, he wished he had more than
tea or coffee at hand to calm his nerves. This was how he was informed about
the death of a certain group of young men.
He recognised enough of them from their photos, they were his assaulters. All
of them dead, with unrelated causes – from drug overdose, gang war to car
accident. The Chief Superintendent expressed his sympathy, and promised
concealment so his assault would not be on any record if that was what he
wanted. The police looked after their own after all! - It was Chief
Superintendent’s exact words.
Gregory allowed himself to take everything at the face value and believed in
whatever he had been told, because it was the only choice he had. He refused to
take an extended leave, no matter how well intended the Chief Superintendent
was. In exchange for staying on the job, he agreed to attend weekly counselling
sessions for the next 3 months.
As soon as he got out of the Chief Superintendent’s office, he went to the
vending machine and got himself a pack cigarette. He smoked entire pack with
trembling fingers. Then he went out, got himself a shot of espresso and went
back to work.
He wondered whether the older Holmes was watching him through those CCTV
cameras, and whether it was amusing for the politician to see him like this, so
mindless, so nervous, and so entrapped in this new game of his.
He threw himself to his job, because it was the only thing left in his life,
the only thing had any meaning. He didn’t know when it was going to be taken
away from him. There was no point in worrying about things that you can’t
change, he told himself, so he went on as usual.
A month after returning to work, he was finally able to look at Sherlock Holmes
in the eyes, seeing past certain resemblances, and simply saw him as the
brilliant and somewhat socially awkward young man he was. They worked together
once again; after the consulting detective proved to him he was clean.
Sherlock had been strangely subdued. If Gregory hadn’t known him for those
months, he would not have noticed the changes. The eccentric young man seemed
to spend an abnormal amount of time observing Gregory. There was a strange
glint in those eyes, like he had just found a new subject for his fascination.
Gregory ignored those weird behaviours. He had learnt to ignore those odd
traits in the months of knowing him. The consulting detective’s attention would
only last until something newer and brighter caught his eyes. Gregory didn't
let himself being bothered with it.
His life was back to normal. And he was pleased with it. Mostly, anyway.
If he was honest with himself, there were nights that he returned from work to
his empty flat, wishing there was someone to share a bottle of bear or his box
of take-away. There were early mornings he woke up with sticky night shirts,
craving warm hands and skilful fingers on his body, opening him up to a world
of pleasure. He took cold shower after cold shower, before giving in and taking
his own cock in his hands and wanked mechanically.
He had been celibate after David McDonnell was gun down during an
investigation. Sex never held much appeal to him anyway. It was incredibly
frustrating to find his libido returning 20 years later. And he felt like a
teenager boy again, so awkward, so ashamed of his own demanding body. He turned
on the shower; letting water wash away all evidence of his weakness.
He let his life fall into a routine – picking a morning coffee on his way to
work, indulging in no more than a pack of cigarette throughout the day, working
exceedingly long hours until his body protested, then he went back home and
fall into sleep in exhaustion.
He went through days, weeks, and then months like this. He allowed himself no
time to think about certain things; because he was afraid of answers if he
examined them too hard.
He was content, he really was.
----------------------------
Somewhere else in the same city, there was another man who indulged a moment of
solitude.
CCTV footages on a certain Detective Inspector was compiled and sent to his lap
top on daily basis. Mycroft watched the older man doing the most trivial
things, like getting his coffee – no milk, no sugar; or picking up take away on
the way home – mostly sandwiches from convenience stores, once or twice from a
Thai restaurant in a week. He found himself filing away every single detail
into his brain hungrily.
He watched the older man coming out of his chat with the Chief Superintendent,
smoking cigarettes a few streets away from the Yard – a fairly secluded
residential area that was very much vacant during the day. Despite the low
resolution of CCTV, Mycroft did not miss the slight tremble on his shoulders,
or shaking on his fingers as the older man struggled to light up one cigarette
after another. He trailed his fingers on the computer screen, longing to wipe
away signs of stress from that handsome face. Only he could not. He knew the
only thing he was able to do for the man he had come to care for was to leave
him along.
So night after night, he observed the older man from distance, with the company
of his favourite bottle of whisky. He watched the man slowly losing his
nervousness. His posture spoke of increasing confidence. No long afterwards, an
air of authority was back around him. He was once again the man Mycroft had
come to know before their arrangement – confident and self assured.
Mycroft was happy for him, he truly was, but he couldn’t help but feel a dark
anger boiling inside him at times. He thought he had everything, it only turned
out he had nothing. Nothing at all.
He wondered whether the man he had fallen hard for truly exist at all. The
older man was so good at put up with an act that even Mycroft had trouble to
tell what was real. Gregory had built a shield to present to the world to hide
his true self. And Mycroft had let himself become attached to that false
identity. The only one time in his life that he thought he had found the one
worthy of his heart, and the whole thing turned out to be a complete joke.
It was times like these that made him turn to alcohol. He had to let the
substance subdue him somewhat before he gave in to his urges and did things
that he would regret when he was sober. He wanted to kiss Gregory, to sooth
away his fear, to make him see his intentions, to apologise, to make amends. At
the same time he was filled with irrational rage, the ridiculous urge of
punishing him for putting him through all these. The older man had lied to him,
made him falling in love and then turning his world upside down. All these
confusing emotions and thoughts were at constant war deep inside of him,
tearing him apart.
Sex also helped. He had enough money and power to acquire any partner that he
desired. Dark brown eyes that were warm as hot chocolate, slightly tanned skin,
short hair that were dyed to striking shade of silvery grey. The resemblance
was there, but not enough to make him uncomfortable, because these boys were so
much younger.
He took them to his bed, buried himself in their bodies, and listened to their
moans, groans, and declaration of love. Everything blurred to a beautiful grey
in his alcohol intoxicated brain.
He told himself he was content, he really was.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Gregory attended his counselling sessions every Friday afternoon for three
months. Dr Kuperberg was a woman in her mid thirties, with soft blue eyes and
gentle smiles. Gregory didn’t know what to do in her office. So he kept himself
quite. And she let him, said he was welcome to open up whenever he was ready.
They shared tea in those afternoons. strangely it was slowly becoming a
somewhat a soothing experience. A time of silent company, a place that allowed
him to break away from the Yard and his troubled thoughts for a while.
Mycroft Holmes had almost become a distant memory after six months. Gregory
thought the politician had tired of whatever game they were playing and moved
on to the next thing that caught his fancy.
Then, bodies started to turn up. Bodies of young boys – in late teens or early
twenties, all with dark brown eyes and hair dyed to striking shade of silver-
grey.
The first one was found in the alley behind a night club with dubious
reputation. There were no signs of struggle or assault. The cause of death was
determined as drug overdose. There was very little paperwork and the case was
closed within a few hours. No one paid it much attention. After all, he was
just another junkie, another run-away, another young boy who chose a dangerous
life style and paid with his life.
The second one turned up at a similar location three weeks later, again with
signs of fatal overdose, but this time there were bruises and marks on his
neck, wrists, chest, thighs and ankles. Some of them were quite old, and others
were obviously recently acquired, but none were severe enough to attribute to
his death, and hence there were very little further investigation. After all,
he was only a rent boy who was well known for catering to rougher clientele.
Three weeks after that, the third boy was found in the Thames; murdered then
being dumped in the river. The cause of death was determined as strangulation,
not drowning, based on the mark around his throat, and the amount of water
accumulated in his lungs. Gregory and his team were put on the case. There was
excessive bruising on the body, as well as evidence of sexual intercourse prior
to his death, in addition to signs of struggle. Unfortunately, the victim had
been in the water for more than a week, no DNA evidence survived. However, a
Savile Row button was found in the pocket of the victim. It was quite possible
that he managed to grab it off during the fight, purposely had it hidden as
evidence before he was suffocated to death.
It took Gregory an hour to find out about the other 2 victims in the system.
Other than their distinct features, there were limited similarities in these
cases. The silver-grey hair was particular odd. It certainly didn’t seem to be
the new trend amongst the younger crowd. That along was enough for them to
suspect they were looking for a serial killer who was demonstrating increasing
level of violence and frequency.
He managed to trace his investigation to a specific Savile Row shop based on
the button they found, and subpoenaed a list of their clients. His blood
instantly ran cold when he came across the name of M. Holmes.
Part of him called himself silly. After all, there were hundreds of names on
that list, most of them being regulars, Mycroft Holmes was merely one of them.
There was absolutely nothing concrete about his suspicion. He told himself he
was simply biased because he knew where the other man’s preference lay.
He drank down what was left of his bitter and cold coffee, then headed towards
the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water, trying to wash away the
sense of dread that was sitting heavily in his stomach. He found himself
looking into the bathroom mirror. He couldn’t help but took in his own
reflection - the brown eyes, silver- grey hair, and the particular shape of his
chin, his mouth and his face. It was then he came to the startling realization
about the similar traits that he shared with those 3 victims.
He had to know for sure. And it wasn’t a case that he could get Sherlock
involved, it would lead to too many complications. So he did the old fashioned
way. It was why he found himself in a rental car, parked not far away from the
Diogenes Club – the only place that he knew the younger man frequented other
than his house in Kensington.
He knew he was putting not only himself but his entire department in jeopardy
by surveilling a senior government official without official sanction. But he
was also aware that without any concrete evidence his superiors would not risk
their careers to launch an investigation against the politician. It was
something he had to do.
His time and efforts did pay off. Three nights later, he caught a young boy
being escorted out of the Diogenes Club on his camera lens. Despite the
lateness of the night, there were enough street lights for him to pick out the
striking shade of silver grey hair that was half hidden underneath a baseball
cap.
 
 
AN: Many thanks to FeliciaHM for beta the last 2 chapters, as well as sharing
many wonderful ideas and inspirations. Without her, this fic would still have
been in hiatus.
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
     Apologies for not updating this fic for some long. I had work issues,
     more work issue, and family issues. Real life was waaaaaay too
     exciting for my comfort… I hope there are still people reading this
     fic. Enjoy!
It took a little while for Gregory to track the boy down. He didn’t want to run
his picture through the facial recognition system and risk leaving trails
behind. So he did it the old fashion way – he followed the boy back to his
home, a small but brand new apartment in Camden. From there onward, it was easy
as a breeze. He flashed his badge to the landlord, and got everything he needed
in ten minutes.
Jack Healy, 19 years old, worked in a nearby restaurant as a waiter. How
someone on minimum wage could afford a place like this was the cause of wild
speculation in the building, not to mention the men in expensive suits and
luxurious cars who came and went frequently.
Gregory tracked down Jack the next day. The boy was on a cigarette break at the
back door of the restaurant, with his sleeves rowed up. The first thing he
noticed was the bruise around his wrists, wide, red and very familiar looking.
They were the result of being tightly bounded by ropes for hour. Gregory didn’t
need to see to know there were plenty more beneath Jack’s white uniform. He had
more than enough share of these over the years. He knew what it was like to be
tied up and at complete mercy of other men.
Jack laughed when he saw the look on Gregory’s face. Instead of rolling down
his sleeves or hiding his arms, he showed them off like a trophy. His fingers
rubbed them affectionately, eyes sparkled as if savouring the sweetest
memories.
It was clear that whatever was been taken place between Mycroft Holmes and Jack
Healy was consensual. While Jack might not share certain inclinations, he saw
those as small prizes to pay for affection. He came from a poor family and had
a tough childhood. He didn’t hesitate to trade anything for scraps of
attention. It was useless for Gregory to try and warn him about Mycroft Holmes.
As far as Jack was concerned, Gregory was nothing more than a jealous ex
boyfriend.
Jack was certainly perceptive. It didn’t take him long to took in Gregory’s
facial structure, silver- grey hair and pieced everything together. After all,
Mycroft clearly had a type.
After that, Gregory wanted nothing but to get himself drunk. He buried himself
amongst empty whisky glasses at the nearby bar, with Jack’s words still echoing
in his ears.
Jealousy, such concept never came up in his mind until that very moment. Was
this what caused his wild speculations about these murders and associating them
with Mycroft Holmes? Perhaps he was hoping for any excuse to see the other man
again. But such idea would be absurd! He was willing to do anything to get him
out of his life not long ago.
He hated the games that Mycroft played with him - hidden goals buried
underneath pretence of affection. Those moments of tenderness had been carved
into his memories. It didn't matter how much he wanted to put everything
behind, he found himself remembering them at odd moments, with a hollowness
burning inside craving for things that he didn’t understand.
Or perhaps it was just the sex, simple as that. For years, he was a fuck toy to
anyone who could afford his prize. His body was so used to be played and
fondled with that it was capable of even finding pleasure in pain and
humiliation. His body had come to crave these attentions, despite his mind
treating them as nothing more than obligations.
After years of self imposed celibation after David McDonnell’s death, Gregory
was forced to admit he was nothing but a slut. He would resort to any mean for
a cock, how else he would found himself being attracted to Mycroft Holmes, a
man who abused him for months for his own amusement. How much more pathetic he
could be? It was laughable really.
He had to move on. Enough was enough. He wanted Mycroft gone, from his life,
from his mind. He wanted to be free from his hold. And he was prepared to do
anything.
 
----------------------------------------------------------------------
 
Gregory was being roughly pushed against a wall. He was vaguely aware that he
was somewhere at the back alley of the pub. He was being made to go down on his
knees. A zipper was pulled down. Soon he found himself with a mouthful of cock,
and he had no idea how he even got there.
Not that he cared. With alcohol racing through his vein, everything was a
beautiful haze. The hand on his head pulled on his hair roughly. He was being
held in place. He could do nothing but taking the brutal thrusts. For a moment,
all he could hear was the groans and moans of another man; all he could taste
was the bitter taste of precum between his lips. His mind was mercifully free
of Mycroft and his own shame. Everything was simple and familiar.
It was everything that he had wanted.
TBC
***** Chapter 13 *****
In the beginning, it was like a thin crack on the dam. It might have been just
a trickle at first. But before he knew it, it became surges of flood.
Everything was out of control.
Gregory didn’t know how he got home that night. He was so hangover that he
could barely stand on his feet. But he was somewhat satiated, the strange
hunger temporarily dulled. Three cups of coffee later, he was able to function
like normal.
He lasted about three days. By the forth night, he was trembling with needs. He
turned the water ice cold in his shower, and stood under it for half hour
before giving up and masturbated furiously in his own bath room like a fifteen
year old. He watched as his shame being washed down the drain.
Just like that, he started to lose control. He found himself at bars after a
long day at work. To get drunk, to get fucked. Either way was fine with him.
Perhaps he had desperation written all over him, it never took long for someone
to approach him. To offer to buy him a drink, then something else entirely.
As these nights progressed, he found himself giving quick hand jobs or blow
jobs in the stinky bathrooms or dark alleys. He never bothered to remember any
of these men’s names. David, John, Tony… whoever they were, it didn’t matter.
They were just one after another faceless entities that gave him moments of
peace, turned his mind blank with desire and fulfilment. In those short moments
he didn’t have to think about Mycroft, how his talented hands and vicious mind
completely ripped off his self-will.
At first he had enough sense to stay away from where he could be easily
recognised, places that were close to where he worked and lived. After a while
it stopped to matter to him. He also ceased to object when these men wanted
more than just his hands or mouth. He allowed their hands to strip him of his
clothes, forcing his thighs widely apart, and their cocks opened him up for
their pleasure. He let them called him a whore, a slut because that was exactly
who he felt like. He moaned and groaned, begged for more and more. They took
him without mercy, and he was grateful. At least until he was sober enough to
think about what he had done again.
It was a guilty pleasure that he allowed himself once a week. Before long it
was every other night, then every night. He struggled at work. He was
constantly distracted. The hunger burned inside of him, a constant reminder of
his appalling needs. He stopped objecting to what they did to him. Ropes,
whips, cock rings… as long as he got to come during these encounters. There
were mornings that he found himself in so much pain that he could barely stand
on his feet. He was forced to take time off from work, but he yet found himself
back to those bars at night falls. He finally realised that he had a serious
problem when he woke up with semen trailing down his thighs one morning.
Apparently he and his companion never bothered with protections. And strangely,
he found himself not caring at all.
 
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
 
Jack whimpered after a particular brutal thrust, but he forced himself remain
quite. There were times Mycroft was indulgent and considerate, but not when he
was in such agitating state. Not that you could easily tell by just looking at
him – the same cold exterior, seemly perfect facade. But his eyes betrayed him.
They were bright, burning with barely suppressed rage, ready to tear everything
and everyone apart. And of course he could, after all this was the man who had
Britain under his very thumb. But for some reason he was holding himself back.
Just barely though.
Mycroft seemed to force every ounce of his frustration into every vicious
thrust. Jack’s arms were forcefully pulled back, being held together in a grip
that was hard enough to break his bones. Jack was completely at the mercy of
the order man. He was in so much pain that he barely stayed conscious. Yet he
knew better than to deny the politician. He still had extensive burnt marks on
his back from last night. So instead he murmured words of words of
encouragement, praying they would be enough.
 
TBC
***** Chapter 14 *****
When Anthea found him, Gregory was barely conscious on a worn out bed in a
cheap motel that charged by the hour. His partner for the night was forcedly
dragged of him by various men in expensive suits, protests muffled so
effectively only occasional grunts could be heard.
Gregory was covered in bruises and other evidences of his latest indulgence. He
was still half hard, yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to cover up himself
from scrutinizing looks of his unexpected companions. It wasn’t like there was
much point to hide anyway.
He starred at the woman, who was impeccably dressed as always, beautiful brown
curls tied back to a knot, not a hair out of place. Yet there was an underline
tension somewhere, just barely visible if you knew where to look.
Two men dragged him out of his bed, forced him back into his wrinkled cloths
like dressing a child. He was beyond caring at that point with so much alcohol
still in his system. It was always easier that way. After all, it was much hard
to question yourself when you were drunk.
He let them shoved him into an unmarked black car, didn’t bother questioning
where they were taking him. He knew protesting would get him nowhere with these
people, so he stayed silent throughout the whole ride, willing his pounding
headache to back down.
He didn’t put up a fight when they yanked him out of the vehicle. It wasn’t
until the familiar scent of disinfectant and formaldehyde that hit him in the
face that he abruptly realised where he was – the city morgue.
He shrugged of the hands that had been holding him upright. He stumbled a bit
but managed to walk on his own, as he silently followed behind Anthea. He had
approximately 2 minutes to compose himself before he was lead behind a swing
door and into the examination room. And there he was, Jack Healy, barely 19
years old, pale and lifeless under the harsh florescent light on an examination
table.
He put on a pair of gloves and gently rolled down the sheet that offered the
deceased decency in death. He was first confronted with tell-sign of broken
neck, with the head resting on an unnatural position; then the numerous bruises
that covered his chest and torsos - some were purple with age, while others
fresh and red. He winced at the series of cuts on the inner thigh and the
genital. He gently turned the boy over, and took in the extensive burn on his
back. Everything done to the poor boy was deliberate, cruel and with intension
to cause prolong and severe pain.
Only 19, and he was already gone. Jack had tough life, paid dearly for every
wrong decision he had made. He tried to turn his life around, but ultimately
trusted the wrong person with his affection. Those chocolate brown had burnt
with so much passion and love, now they were glassy and lifeless like glass
orbs.
Gregory had tried to warn him. If only he had been a little more persistent, a
little less concerned about his own shame…
He was suddenly being hit by a moment of clarity. His mind finally connected
the dots – all these murders with escalated intensity they had been meant for
him to see. If Mycroft wanted these boys to disappear, there would not be a
trace of any of them. But they were left around for him, practically gift
wrapped with just enough evidences planted. How could he not see it before? And
because he couldn’t, Jack had to pay with his life just so he could open his
eyes.
They were his punishment for trying to get out of Mycroft’s little sick,
twisted game, wasn’t it? He was merely the fuck toy. He didn’t get to decide
how and when their arrangement came to end. He was being punished for break the
rule and thinking he could get away without a scratch. The only reason he
managed it was because someone else were paying the price for him.
TBC
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
