Chapter Text
Greg wasn’t sure how he ended up here. Actually, that’s not entirely true. He knew exactly how he got here. Mycroft fucking Holmes.
He and Greg often met up to discuss various things, mostly work related, but when they met a few days ago, Greg had just been hit with a big and unexpected car bill which led him to complaining about money.
His job paid well, sure, but living in London, running a car, paying for heating, buying food, it all took its toll in a way it never used to.
He knew Mycroft didn’t have to worry about his finances. Greg had seen his house, his flat, his fancy cars, the way he brought expensive scotch just because. The Holmes brothers screamed ‘money’ in a way that left no doubt of how they grew up.
About half an hour into his money based rant and somewhere around his fourth scotch, Mycroft interrupted Greg and offered him a way to earn some cash.
Greg’s ears had immediately pricked up when Mycroft said he could earn one thousand pounds in less than an hour.
”What do I have to do, stand on a street corner,” he joked, thinking that kind of money in that kind of time could only be earned two ways, drugs or sex.
“Not exactly,” Mycroft drawled, placing his crystal tumbler down and looking Greg in the eyes. “I need help with a-” he paused and took a deep breath, relaxing back into his chair, “-personal matter. One which requires an awful lot of discretion.”
Greg’s brow creased, he knew Mycroft was a powerful man with lots of people at his disposal, whatever this personal matter was it was clearly extremely private.
Greg trusted Mycroft, trusted that he’d never make him do something extreme like kill a man or plant a bomb. He was curious as to what could earn him that kind of money so fast.
“What do you need?” He asked, amazingly sounding more confident than he felt.
That was four days ago and now Greg was dressed in casual clothes, black jeans and a black tee with a white jacket over the top, letting himself into Mycroft’s fancy flat.
Mycroft had instructed him to let himself in, lock the door behind him and make his way down the long corridor, up the small set of stairs and make his way to the room on the right.
Greg did just that, his stomach full of butterflies as he debated whether or not he was really going to do this. Mycroft was his friend and he didn’t want to ruin that but he desperately needed the money.
Mycroft had assured him it wouldn’t affect things between the two of them, when they met to catch up and talk they wouldn’t mention this. This was to happen once a week and be forgotten. Mycroft was adamant about that.
Greg pushed open the ajar door and was greeted with a sight he hadn’t anticipated. The room was small and in the centre was the kind of bed you found in a doctor’s surgery, a white metal frame and blue padding. Around both sides of the bed were curtains in the same medical blue and in between the curtains, over the bed, was a shorter covering, showing the lower half of the person on the bed.
“I need you to bring me to orgasm, once a week. Not via sex, just your hand is fine. I will provide gloves and anything else I think you will need. You shan’t see my face while this happens and I shan't see you. I simply need you to stimulate me until I climax, then you may leave,” Mycroft said, calmly, like that was a perfectly normal thing to ask your friend and colleague.
Greg didn’t know what to say. A million questions ran through his head but none made it out of his mouth. One thousand pounds in exchange for a hand job was the easiest money he’d ever make but it would also make him a sex worker. He trusted that Mycroft would never tell anyone but Greg would still be breaking the law, giving sexual pleasure in exchange for cash.
But, he was drowning in debt from the divorce and the bills were stacking up.
He’d never slept with a bloke before but he supposed if it was only a hand job there wasn’t much he could do wrong. Mycroft made it clear he wasn’t looking for sex so Greg wouldn’t have to pretend to be interested and if Mycroft couldn’t see his face, Greg could close his eyes and get it over and done with as quickly as possible.
Could he do this? Was he really willing to jerk another guy off for a bit of cash? Okay, a lot of cash. He bit his lip and avoided Mycroft’s piercing gaze.
He needed the money and what he was being asked to do wasn’t time consuming or strenuous, it wouldn’t affect his job at all.
“I’ll do it,” he announced before he could change his mind.
Mycroft smirked, “wonderful.”
It was weird seeing Mycroft’s completely bare lower half without seeing his face. Greg had seen other guys naked before in changing rooms and when his mates got too drunk at parties but this felt different. No one here was drunk, no one here had just got off the rugby pitch, and by the time Greg left, one of them was going to have come.
Greg knocked on the wall three times, another thing Mycroft had asked him to do, presumably to alert him of his presence, and moved hesitantly to stand next to the bed.
On a mental cart next to the foot of the bed was a silver tray with a box of surgical gloves and an unopened tub of lube. Greg’s gaze flicked from the tray over to Mycroft.
His legs were pale and freckled with light hair covering them. He had a patch of neat darker ginger curls at the base of his cock which lay flaccid against his thigh, foreskin covering the head. His cock wasn’t big but Greg knew that looks could be deceiving.
Before he had a chance to chicken out, Greg put his earphones in and hit play on his playlist before grabbing some gloves and putting them on. He opened to lube and took a little bit, dribbling over Mycroft’s cock.
He spread some in his hand and tentatively ran it over Mycroft’s soft member. He repeated the motion, effectively petting the man’s dick, until he started to plump and grow enough for Greg to wrap his hand around it.
Greg was glad no one could see him because he was making all kinds of faces and he internally debated his life choices. Just as he was about to run away, he spotted an envelope on a shelf near the door with the money in it. He took a deep breath and calmed himself before giving Mycroft’s cock and tight stroke.
It didn’t take long for Mycroft to come and Greg was glad of the gloves as the white liquid coated his hand. Mycroft had been very specific about Greg stroking him through his orgasm, clearly he had anticipated that Greg’s immediate reaction to him coming would be to rip his hand away.
Greg stripped off the gloves, binned them, put the lid back on the lube and left, knocking three times on the wall and grabbing the envelope as he did.
As soon as he left, he put the whole experience out of his mind and headed to the garage to pay his bill.
One hand job a week in exchange for a thousand pounds was too good an opportunity to pass up, he’d do this as long as Mycroft wanted if it meant he could drag himself out of debt.
It’s just one friend helping out another. That’s all.