sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXIV

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Prompting Part XXXIV

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When Magnussen spoke about wanting to own Mycroft he didn't mean figuratively.

People don't say no to Charles Augustus Magnussen, he can have anyone he wants. In fact, there's only one person with enough power and influence to be out of reach.

Naturally, he's obsessed.

He's been waiting years for this moment, to have the mighty Iceman at his mercy... to fuck him, to debase him. Oh, the things he's going to do to Mycroft Holmes..

Bonuses: Magnussen taunting Sherlock about the things he's going to do to Mycroft.

TL;DR: Magnussen doesn't give a fuck about about state secrets.

He just wants to see Mycroft Holmes on his knees.

Seconding HARD

Uuuuunf. Yes Please.

"They're taking their time, aren't they?" Magnussen comments as they follow him out on to the patio.

"You have nothing on Mary, outside of your Mind-palace?" Sherlock confirms. "Nothing you have to send out for?"

"Mycroft and his men are on their way here. They are going to discover you in the act of attempting to sell state secrets. What do you think will happen when I tell your brother that all reports of this could be suppressed? What do you think he'll do for me, when he knows that his little brother's future depends entirely on my benevolence?"

Magnussen turns to face Sherlock. "Did he tell you to stay away from me? You should have listened." He smiles. "He's been incredibly clever. I tried and I tried, but I could never get anything on him, nothing I could use."

Magnussen takes a step toward Sherlock. "He's always been just out of reach, but you, you pull him down."

"It's not about what's on the laptop, Mr. Holmes. The password's irrelevant. I don't want his secrets; I want him. And now I have him, because I have you, you naughty boy. You're a collar for the most powerful man in the country, and you've just handed me his lead."

Magnussen steps closer again, more than close enough to touch. "I'm used to getting whatever I want, having whomever I want. Being denied has been provocatively novel."

"You know what it's like to want when you can't have." Magnussen smiles again. "It makes the desire so much more..." he lifts a hand to run his thumb over Sherlock's cheek, "ardent."

Magnussen gazes at him for a moment, assessing his response. Sherlock clamps his jaw shut and maintains eye contact, regulating blinking at a neutral pace.

"When you said you were giving me your brother for Christmas, I didn't let myself hope you'd deliver. Thank you."

Sherlock effortfully refrains from responding.

"And now that I'm going to have him, oh, all the things I've been planning to do to him."

Magnussen leans in, close enough to Sherlock's ear to whisper, and continues at a conversational volume. "I'm going to come on his face and make him rub it in."

He leans back with a soft smile, glancing over at John, who has apparently forgotten how to breathe without choking on air.

"What?" John asks, collecting himself.

"I am going to bend Mycroft Holmes over. I am going to hold him down. I am going to fuck his thighs, and then I am going to make him finger himself for me." Magnussen leaves little room for misinterpretation.

"W-" John starts again, before Magnussen drowns him out.

"I'm going to press him against the wall and fuck him raw. I might even do it right here, so the staff can watch."

Magnussen's gaze crawls over Sherlock's face. It's been too long since he's swallowed, saliva is building up, but he holds himself steady; he doesn't want to appear to gulp in front of this man.

"I might record it and send it to you. You'd have to watch. I'm sure you can imagine so many ways for me to make it worse for him when you don't do what I tell you to."

"You can all watch it together." He smiles over at John. "It certainly won't be the worst thing Mary's ever been asked to do."

"I am going to come inside him and I am going to plug him. He is going to go to work, he is going to sit in meetings, and he is going to make decisions that affect the world while full of what I've left in him. He is going to come back to me, and he is going to let me do it again, and again, and again. He is going to hate every moment of it, but he is going to do it to protect you."

Sherlock's arm twitches. It's barely perceptible, but the corners of Magnussen's eyes crinkle with pleasure at catching him out.

"I am going to touch him until he's begging. I am going to turn him into a sobbing, writhing mess. I am going to make him forget that he loathes me for just long enough to see what he looks like when he realises who he's just come for. I am going to make him mindless and-"

Sherlock holds up a hand to calm John as he steps toward them. "He is enjoying your reactions," Sherlock states in a poor, tense attempt at a neutral tone.

"I'm enjoying your reaction more, the very English stiff upper lip." Magnussen places his index finger against Sherlock's philtrum, then presses down, pushing his lip hard against his teeth.

"I can do anything I want to him. I can piss on and in him, and I can make him thank me for it. I can pierce him; I can share him; I can do things that will make him too ashamed to look the people who will no longer consider him a colleague in the eye, or I can make him live with the strain of keeping it secret and the fear that I won't let him. Every time I touch him, I will own him more."

"Have you ever wondered what your brother looks like, with his mouth spread wide over a cock?" Magnussen tugs at Sherlock's lower lip as he pulls his hand away. "I'm going to know."

"I'm going to hold him afterward, the way your parents hold each other. I am going to kiss him, and he is going to be too smart to do anything but kiss me back."

Magnussen steps back and turns at the sound of the approaching aircraft.

"And eventually," he says, glancing back over his shoulder, "I'm going to have had him for long enough that I get bored."

The lights wash over them, and Sherlock hears his brother's voice. He considers the possibilities, and he makes the decision to act.

This gave me chills! Very well done!

And John, so much like himself. And Sherlock barely keeping it together! There's nothing about this that wasn't perfectly executed. Perfectly creepy!

That was fantastic

Re: Perks of Ownership 2/2

(Anonymous) - 2014-01-25 03:45 (UTC) - Expand

Thank you very much! ♥ I'm glad you liked it.

LOVE! LOVE! LOOOOVE!

Thank you! :D

This is just chilling and vile and brilliantly written. Hell, your Magnussen might be better than Moffat and Gatiss's. And the idea of Mycroft allowing himself to be defiled and broken in every way to keep Sherlock safe is so shattering. So well done!

Thank you very much! I'm really flattered. ♥

So deliciously filthy!

Thank you!

That was wonderful, is it bad that I want this to actually happen as a sequel?

Re: Perks of Ownership 2/2

(Anonymous) - 2014-02-05 00:41 (UTC) - Expand

This was just so deliciously wrong in all the right ways. Your Magnussen was pitch-perfect. Absolutely chilling. And Sherlock at the end, willing to do anything to protect his brother, like his brother is willing to do to protect him.

Re: Perks of Ownership 2/2

(Anonymous) - 2014-02-05 00:42 (UTC) - Expand

Hohshit. This is one evil, evil Magnussen. By which I mean, well done!

Re: Perks of Ownership 2/2

(Anonymous) - 2014-02-12 04:42 (UTC) - Expand

A/N: The above fill by a different anon is wonderful, but I'm a terrible person who loves making Mycroft suffer, so here's another. This is non-con with heavy humiliation, watersports, fisting and offscreen character death at the end (not Mycroft!).

"You might call it a mutually beneficial arrangement," Magnussen says, palm warm against the hollow of Mycroft's cheek. "A simple transaction. I will suppress reports that would make trouble for your little brother, his loyal Dr. Watson, and Mrs. Watson, and in exchange I will have you."

Mycroft manages not to flinch as the pad of Magnussen's thumb depresses the tip of his nose. There is no mistaking the dark suggestion crawling beneath the calm words like insects below the bark of a tree, nor the predatory glint in the cold, blue eyes staring at him from behind rimless spectacles. Keeping his face a blank mask and his voice a crisp, even drawl, he says, "I assure you that the law has another name for what you are proposing."

"I am not a criminal, Mr. Holmes." Magnussen's thumb stabs down the thin line of Mycroft's philtrum. "I do not take what is not readily offered. The whore may not like what she does, may think it demeaning, but still she allows herself to be fucked again and again for the right payment." Tilting his head to one side scientifically, he nudges Mycroft's lips apart and pushes his thumb into his mouth, adds, "You are a smart man. Surely you see."

For a moment, Mycroft meets Magnussen's gaze levelly, refusing to supply him with a reaction as the thumb in his mouth swipes slowly across his tongue. It is, in some ways, like looking in a mirror and seeing a reflection of a man he could've been, but isn't. With sudden, stark clarity he accepts that he is trapped, and then fear materialises like a thick stone in his throat, a serpent coiling tight around his racing heart. His eyes slip shut. Just a second, just a second of darkness to centre himself, but to Magnussen it is an act of submission, a beta bowing his head to the alpha of the pack.

"I do not want your secrets, Mr. Holmes." Magnussen's thumb begins sliding in and out of Mycroft's mouth. "I want to hold you in the palm of my hand. And as long as I own your brother, I own you, and you will give me what I want. Anything I imagine, you will do for me, and I have imagined so many things. Right now, I want you on your knees, here in your office in your three-piece suit."

Steeling himself, Mycroft obeys the command, the concrete floor cold and hard beneath his knees. His hands lift to work open Magnussen's zip. He draws a deep breath through his nose, wills his throat to relax, and then dips his head, letting Magnussen's erection slide between his lips.

Magnussen sighs, a short, soft, "Ah," one hand curving around the back of Mycroft's skull. "Yes, like that."

---

Andrea's gaze snaps up, swivels around to where Mycroft is sitting beside her in the backseat of the car, her thumbs stilling on the keyboard of her mobile.

"Yes?" Mycroft drawls lightly, one thin eyebrow flicking up.

"It's just that, a moment ago, you looked...somewhat apprehensive," she replies. "Everything alright?"

Mycroft offers his colleague a tight smile. "I appreciate your concern. I suppose that I am just...under-rested and overworked."

---

"What was it like sitting in the meeting with so many eyes on you?" Magnussen asks, voice low and soft, his palm smoothing across one pale, freckled arse cheek. "Wearing your mask, being an important man and making your important decisions, but all the while feeling my little reminder to you?"

Mycroft, bent over his desk and still clothed from the waist up, just closes his eyes, sucks in a long, wearied breath. Magnussen abruptly twists the plug buried deep inside of him, pulls it out slightly so that its flared end stretches his sore rim wide, and he can't help the hollar that escapes him. Then Magnussen begins working the plug in and out, fucking him with it, and he whimpers, his hands tensing into loose fists on the desktop.

After a minute, Magnussen yanks the plug out, setting it down on the desk. He quickly slips two fingers in to take its place. "You are so open," he remarks. "Still full of my seed from earlier. I think I will give you some more. Fill you up until you feel as though you might burst."

Magnussen's fingers retreat. There is the quiet rustle of shifting cloth, and then the slow, stinging slide of him seating himself within Mycroft's body anew. Mycroft chokes back a sob. He forces himself to draw another breath. Magnussen's hands close around his narrow hips, biting into his skin, and Mycroft sets his jaw and screws his eyes shut even more tightly as he Magnussen begins pounding into him with ruthless abandon.

"You are always so silent," Magnussen tells him. "But I have already made you my bitch. I will teach to whine for me; I will teach you to beg."

Reaching between Mycroft and the desk, Magnussen takes hold of Mycroft's cock, strokes him to hardness. But Mycroft is too wrung out to come this time. Too exhausted to do anything but ride out Magnussen's brutal thrusts and wait for him to reach his own climax with a hissing gasp.

For a half a minute, Magnussen gathers his breath, his palm sneaking beneath suit jacket and waistcoat and shirt to caress the small of Mycroft's back. "You are no longer your own man, Mr. Holmes," he says at last. "I know you are aware of this. Again and again, you give yourself to me."

"You seem to be under the delusion that a lack of resistance is tantamount to consent," Mycroft replies, voice hoarse from disuse.

Silence hangs heavy in the air for a moment, and then Magnussen whispers, "I do not think I am done filling you."

Fear seizes Mycroft's heart like an ice-cold hand. "Don't," he pleads. It's the first time he's offered a solid objection to Magnussen in the past few months. But Magnussen only chuckles softly. Grasps his hips bruisingly hard once again to keep him from trying to struggle free. Then alien warmth is spilling into his body, flooding up into untouched spaces, until he's shaking from the shattering fullness, sobbing from the soul-deep sense of violation.

Magnussen insinuates a hand beneath him. Splays it open over his belly and presses down. Mycroft cries out sharply. For three whole minutes, Magnussen simply lingers inside of him, savouring the heady thrill of possession, until at last the strange, swimming heat of his urine begins to cool. When he withdraws, Mycroft feels a still-warm gush leak out and trickle down his inner thigh, but Magnussen quickly stoppers him with the plug.

Bending down as he tucks himself away, Magnussen licks around the helix of Mycroft's ear, murmurs, "I think I am going to do this to you regularly from now."

---

"If you would be so kind as to monitor these individuals." Mycroft slides a file across his desk. "I fear Sherlock would only...complicate matters."

Lestrade picks up the file, gives its contents a cursory look, and then slips it under his arm. "Sure thing."

"You have my gratitude," Mycroft states, offering the detective inspector a thin smile. Then, waving his hand, he adds, "Now run along."

With a slightly wounded expression, Lestrade turns to leave, only to spin around a second later. "I'm sorry. You just look like sh—out of sorts. You okay?"

"I assure you I am quite well," Mycroft answers.

Lestrade nods, concern written in the lines of his face, but exits the office without further comment.

---

With a strange sort of detachment, Mycroft watches his fingers flexing arrhythmically, his left hand upturned where it lies limply atop the bed. Evening light is pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the bedroom, painting the tangled white bedcovers a rich, salmony red-pink.

Magnussen, cozied up against his bare back, cinches the arm looped around his waist tighter, presses a soft kiss to a spot on his neck just under his ear. "It is sad your brother cannot see how you whore yourself for him," he whispers. "Perhaps I should invite him to watch. Invite everyone to watch. Let them see the powerful Mycroft Holmes reduced to an animal, screaming, begging, writhing, always hungering for more of what only I can give."

Mycroft screws his eyes shut. His fingernails bite bluntly into his palm as his left hand closes into a fist. "Do not fool yourself. I bear this. Nothing more."

Without warning, Magnussen shackles his wrist in a brutal grip, squeezes so hard that bone shifts. Mycroft cries out. "One story," Magnussen reminds him. "One story and they all come toppling down: Mrs. Watson, Dr. Watson, and your little brother with them. I know you will not allow this to happen."

"No, I shall not," Mycroft says, and then Magnussen's hand releases his wrist, presses against the back of his thigh and nudges his right leg up. He lets out a sobbing gasp as Magnussen slides easily into his slick, loosened hole, begins rocking in and out in a slow but steady rhythm.

By the time Magnussen comes, wresting a concurrent orgasm from Mycroft's unwilling body with his hand, the sun has set, leaving the room cloaked in darkness. Magnussen collects his breath, then pulls out and rolls away from Mycroft, flicking on a lamp on one of the bedside tables.

"Get onto your knees," he calmly instructs. "Spread yourself open. I want to appreciate the sight of what I have done to you."

Flopping over onto his stomach obediently, Mycroft tucks his legs up under his body and levers his arse into the air, then reaches back to part his cheeks. The mattress dips as Magnussen comes to kneel behind him. Two fingers smear the trickle of come leaking out of him down his perineum to his balls.

"I wonder how much you can take?" Magnussen says, quiet as the eye of a storm. "How far you will go to protect Sherlock Holmes?"

A moment later, Magnussen's hand pulls away, and Mycroft hears the cap of the tube of lubricant snap open. Magnussen slops a copious amount of lube directly onto his hole, then pushes it up into him with two fingers, slathering it around for half a minute before introducing even more.

Soon, Magnussen has four fingers inside of him, spreading him impossibly wide. Mycroft's breath stutters in and out in frantic pants. He stops holding his arse cheeks open, lets his hands drop to his sides, clutching at the linens as if he might be swept away if he dares let go.

"You will want to relax," Magnussen advises, sliding his thumb into place. "I do not wish to permanently injure you."

Mycroft can't help the ragged scream that escapes him as his rim seals around Magnussen's wrist.

---

It is just a tiny tremor. Just a nearly imperceptible flinch. Suddenly, Sherlock's eyes go round, and his grip on Mycroft's wrist slackens. All of the petulant fury over Mycroft's thwarting of his attempt to infiltrate the drug-smuggling ring that's been dumping its mules in the Thames washes off of his face. Eyes narrowed and voice a deep, deadly-calm rumble, he asks, "What has he been doing to you, Mycroft?"

"We've been over this before," Mycroft answers. "The nature of my contact with Magnussen is of no concern to you."

"You are of concern to me," Sherlock says, the words as sharp as a knife.

---

In the end, there's nothing to be covered up, since there's nothing left to be found. The papers Magnussen owned persist in reporting on his disappearance long after the case goes cold, but there's only dead ends and rumours, and a country filled with mouths sewn shut in quiet gratitude.

Mycroft doesn't ask, and Sherlock doesn't tell, but sometimes the truth peeks out from under the cracks in the masks they force themselves to wear. Sherlock looks at him, brow wrinkled and eyes contrite, and Mycroft just offers him a thin, jaded smile and a cigarette.

ahhh.. thankyou for this fill. Chilling. And that ending. I loved it.

Re: Absolute Power (4/4) - NON-CON, humiliation, watersports

(Anonymous) - 2014-02-20 04:39 (UTC) - Expand

Ooh. This is good.

Re: Absolute Power (4/4) - NON-CON, humiliation, watersports

(Anonymous) - 2014-02-20 04:44 (UTC) - Expand

Hello! I'm the filler from above, and I wanted to tell you how glad I am that you filled this too. It's a great prompt, and I loved reading your take on it.

I love how you've written Mycroft's fear and revulsion, and I love how you're written how it's taking a toll on him, and how the people around him are noticing (and caring!).

And, at the end, I really love the "country filled with mouths sewn shut in quiet gratitude" line. It's a perfect reaction.

Re: Absolute Power (4/4) - NON-CON, humiliation, watersports

(Anonymous) - 2014-04-14 13:45 (UTC) - Expand

http://archiveofourown.org/works/1771831

Combined elements of this prompt with another Magcroft prompt, so not 100% a fill for either, but hopefully at least one of you guys likes it.

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