sapientlovers:

TW for Incest, Dub Con, Psychological Torture, Graphic Violence

iamnotoneofthem:

Title: Crack the whip

Rating: M

Pairing: Sherlock/Mycroft (Holmescest)

Summary: The Diogenes Club wasn’t the silent place everyone thought it to be. A place full of mindless sex, a place in which Sherlock finds himself incredibly attracted to one single person: His brother, Mycroft.

Warning: Incest, m/m sex

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There were several types of people who visited a place like this. Observers, people who liked to see the events from afar, never intervening, always watching, examining. Others liked to be right in the middle of the action, touching others while they made their way through the big house, never stopping to sit or lay down for more than five minutes. Regulars, people who just were curious to see what this was about.

They all came to the Diogenes Club because of one reason.

Sometimes just to let out frustration no one else could banish, sometimes because their lives were boring and they needed fun in the only fun house in London. Sometimes it was called the Circus, a place full of sins, desire, lack of social norms and the always-watching eye of the newspapers, the reporters and people who would give up their own cocks just to have a few photos of the people in there.

It was Sherlock’s first time here.

It hadn’t been his own choice to come here, John had insisted that he needed some time outside. John had been gone too long to know what the Diogenes Club really was; he had been in there, once or twice because of Mycroft, but never behind the façade the owners had created. There was a reason everyone was quiet, why no one talked in there. Not because they all were un-social creatures hiding in the dark. Oh no, people tend to think they were robots, without any needs or emotions.

In there, they were like animals; desperate to fuck, to feel someone inside them. The pulsation of heated flesh, wet because of semen and sweat, sometimes tears when it had been a hard fuck; the moans and groaned swearing where normally no one would dare to say anything. In the morning, this club was like muted, no one said anything, no one left or entered because people weren’t allowed to draw attention to themselves and to the house.

By noon, it was still quiet, but some people had already fucked each other senseless behind the soundproof walls. Others waited for their partners to come, some of them only wanted to have the companionship of one special person, maybe because they were tight like they liked it, or because they were submissive where the other partner was dominant - Sherlock had no idea and he wasn’t desperate to find out.

He eyed the card in his hands; a little piece of plastic, golden with black letters written. His name was on it, Sherlock Holmes, a number and a date. A ticket. No one was allowed to enter without one, no one could leave with it; an unspoken rule in the Club. It was expensive, absolutely luxurious and wasteful. Mycroft once bought it for him, with the knowledge that sooner or later Sherlock would be in need of someone to banish his sexual frustration. He might be a sociopath, but even he couldn’t defeat his animalistic instincts completely.

He still would make sure his brother wouldn’t see him; there was no way he would allow himself to be seen by the elder Holmes…