idk where this came from, dont @ me

It was easier to give Jack what he wanted.

After all, his position as the man’s personal assistant had given already Rhys his heart’s desire. A position higher than those of his many nemeses. A salary that allowed him to upgrade his wardrobe, to move him and Vaughn from their class-C apartment to a luxurious class-A. He had shoes for every day of the month and a jacuzzi tub that dispensed aromatic oils into the water. He could order out at his favorite, expensive restaurant whenever he wanted without worrying if he’d still have enough left over to pay utilities. Life was good.

He wasn’t about to throw that all away rebuking Jack’s advances. Even if they came at the most inopportune moments, when Rhys was deeply focused on work and far from interested in satisfying Jack’s needs.

“You’re tense, babydoll,” Jack growled as he licked the back of Rhys’ neck, breath hot against his skin. “Feels like you need daddy’s touch to help you unwind.”

It was hard not to be tense when he was about an hour behind work thanks to Jack’s tardiness, but there was no use in telling the CEO that, not when he was already panting like an animal. So Rhys left his hands slack against the arms of his chair, not resisting as Jack loomed behind him, one arm slinking down over his front.

Rhys had fucked far worse men than Jack—in both looks and temperament. The man had certainly earned the title “handsome” and though he often fell into fits of violence, if one was useful as Rhys had proved to be he was easier to mollify. Jack wouldn’t harm his tool, his toy, as long as Rhys did exactly what he wanted.

“You’re so damn sexy.” Jack’s hands slid to Rhys’ chest, groping his pecs through the material of his shirt. Rhys tilted his head back, moan parting his lips. Teeth worried against his neck as Jack bit him, drawing reddened bruises out of his skin as he popped open the buttons on Rhys’ shirt.

“I miss when you used to wear ties…” Jack’s hands pulled open the two undone sides of Rhys’ garment, revealing the paper-thin fabric of his undershirt. “I liked having something to pull.”

That’d been Vaughn’s idea. He’d fretted when Rhys came home with a ring of bruises around his neck for the fourth time in two weeks. Rhys had shrugged, willing to shake it off but Vaughn wouldn’t let it go. He’d gradually phased out the ties, hoping Jack wouldn’t notice.

But the CEO didn’t dwell on it now, not when he switched focus back to Rhys’ chest. Jack’s hands cupped the fullness of his assistant’s pecs, the bud of Rhys’ nipples pressing right up against his palms. Rhys moaned as they hardened with the massaging movement of Jack’s hands, obviously poking out through his undershirt when the CEO pulled away to look.

“You’re so damn sensitive, kiddo. Some guys might be ashamed if their boss touched them like this, but you really are a sick little trooper, ain’t you?”

Rhys was. Any reasonable person would have called HR months ago, when this first started—but a reasonable person has no business working under Handsome Jack. Only people like Rhys, who could tolerate and in some cases match Jack’s desires and inflated ego could survive under him for this long. Rhys took pride in that, like he took pride in the less degenerate aspects of his work.

They ended up fucking on Rhys’ desk, this time, Jack too worked up to bother hoisting Rhys over to his own. He kept Rhys on his back, dark blue pieces of clothing fluttering to the side, exposing his bare stomach where Jack had rucked up the filmy undershirt. Moans of praise and honey-sweet thanks danced on Rhys’ tongue, flattering Jack to finish, when he pulsed inside of his assistant and filled him with the sticky weight of come.

Jack left a trail of it when he pulled out, dripping down the edge of Rhys’ desk and onto the floor. Rhys shot him a slightly annoyed pout, knowing Jack would leave him to clean it up, but the CEO only laughed and reached forward, gripping his face.

“Don’t look so pissy, pumpkin. Everyone on Helios would be clamoring to take your place if they knew.”

Rhys understood. Which was why he’d never give up his position, no matter what Jack did to him.

Once the CEO retreated, satisfied and lazy as he sprawled into his chair, Rhys fixed up his desk, wiping down the cum and sweat clinging to the surface with a packet of tissues he kept in the left cabinet. He disposed of the soiled paper in the trash can by his feet and sat back straight in his chair. He pulled his undershirt back down and buttoned his shirt up, tucking the hem into his pants and bucking his belt.

Rhys left his collar undone, fingers brushing up against the swollen, bitten skin all around his throat. He wondered if by the time he left for home it would start to bruise, or they would merely stay red and chafed.

Rhys swallowed, closed his eyes and counted his breaths, throat twinging against the marred flesh.

He really should start wearing ties again.

starfruitspice:

not kinktober but lol random inspo for some o this shit

Stockings, Hate Sex, Face-Sitting

You got it!

“I can’t believe I never thought about this before…but this is a really great way to get you to shut up,” Rhys laughed as he looked down at what part of Jack he could see between his legs.

They’d been having another argument—not something uncommon between the CEOs of Hyperion and Atlas—but this time, instead of letting Jack get away with the upper hand, he’d decided to try something a little different.

Knocking Jack back against the desk had been the hardest part, but once he’d laid the alpha out against the surface and crawled atop him everything became an absolutely pleasure. Especially when he decided Jack’s now-silenced mouth could actually be used for something useful.

With his pants now halfway down his thigh and the sheer tights he liked to wear close and silky against his skin, Rhys ground down rubbed his lightly covered groin against Jack’s lips and protesting tongue. Not that the alpha could do much with Rhys’ weight entirely pressing down atop him.

“You feel so good…for once you’re being useful.” Rhys moaned, feeling wet and aroused against the fabric of his tights. The way Jack grabbed at his thighs and tried to push him off only added to the omega’s pleasure, knowing his rival must feel humiliated at being bested by Rhys and forced into submission so easily.

“You better be a good boy and get me off….unless you wanna be suffocated like this,” Rhys laughed as he rolled his hips down, rubbing Jack’s mouth in a line from his balls to his ass and back. “Just imagine the headlines…imagine what people would think if they learned the King of Hyperion was smothered between his hated rivals thighs…”

Jack’s protest was well muffled beneath Rhys, though the words vibrated sensually into his loins. The omega purred, enamored with his own dominance.

Even if their little tryst didn’t end up in the news, Rhys would carry the memory of how Jack looked pinned and helpless below with him for the rest of his days.

Kinktober Day 21: Branding, Bukakke

The brand on Rhys’ chest was just beginning to heal.

Most of the scabbed over blisters had flaked off a few days ago, leaving raise, dark pink skin in their wake. It sat right at the top of his sternum, expanding gingerly with the movement of the ribs beneath his skin. The extra-large Hyperion shirt hung off of his shoulders, barely clinging to his skinny frame and showing off a lot of pale flesh to Jack’s searching eyes.

Rhys looked far from the classy, well-dressed Atlas CEO Jack had won in the merger. But that was all part of the plan. He had to break Rhys down, force him to forget all about his previous life, before he could build him back up just the way he wanted.

But there was one more finishing touch he needed to add before that could begin.

“Stay still, sugar,” Jack growled as he rested his hand atop Rhys’ head, stroking though the loose hair laying limp against his skull. He needed a shower and some sleep. But it would have to wait just a little bit longer.

Jack unzipped his pants, his belt already unbuckled and hanging from his waistband. He took his cock in hand, noticing as Rhys’ eyes followed the movement as he started to stroke himself off.

Rhys hadn’t showed much interest, sexual speaking, in Jack, but he figured the kid was just getting used to the idea of his new life as Hyperion’s property. A little prudishness could be expected. He could wash that away soon enough.

“The more of myself I get on you, the better you look.” Jack grinned wider, speeding up his thrusts. Rhys continued to sit, though his eyes fluttered shut. Perhaps knowing what was about to happen.

He still flinched when Jack came, painting his chin, neck, and upper chest with strands of cum. A couple drops landed on the healing brand, wrenching a pained moan out of him. He lifted his hand to touch, shying away when he accidentally brushed a finger up against one splash of cum.

Jack sighed through his orgasm, admiring the mess he’d turned his new prize into. Branded, dripping with cum, body utterly marked by him through and through. Satisfied, Jack tucked his cock into his pants and lifted Rhys up off of the floor and into his lap.

He went with little struggle and only a slight hiss of pain, already understanding his place beneath Handsome Jack’s control.

Kinktober Day 20: Hot-Dogging, Dirty Talk

Rhys woke slowly, to the sound of Jack whispering in his ear. And the feeling of his bulge against his ass.

He managed to bite his lip before he let out a moan, keeping quiet. He didn’t want to alert Jack just yet, preferring to play along and listen in to what exactly his boyfriend was saying.

“So…pretty when you’re sleeping…damn it, Rhysie,” Jack hissed into his neck, as he shifted closer. Rhys felt Jack’s fingers brush up against his skin as he tucked down his boxers until the waistband clung to the underside of his ass. Rhys stilled his breath as something warm and thick then rested between his cheeks. A groan rolled against him as Jack started wedged the shaft of his cock in Rhys’ ass, apparently too eager to bother plunging it in all the way.

Not that Rhys minded. He wasn’t sure he could keep quiet if Jack did that.

“I love when you buck and writhe, sugar, but when you’re still and quiet…god…that just does things to me. I wish I could screw you like this.” Jack grazed his teeth against the back of Rhys’ neck, his breath hot and heavy as he barely resisted biting down. Rhys tensed, his fingers clenching minutely into the sheets near his mouth, trying to remain stoic lest Jack stop rutting his cock between his cheeks, just shy of were he really needed it.

“My beautiful boy…resting all nice and peaceful…I just can’t keep my hands off of you. You’re such an irresistible little treat.”

Jack grasped him by the hip with the hand not holding his cock in place, thrusting harder. Rhys could hear the way his boyfriend’s pants and groans started to build as he worked himself up to orgasm. It almost surprised him—usually Jack required a lot of foreplay and could hold out pretty long, even with his age and Rhys’ best efforts, but now he sounded on the verge of coming after such a short while.

Was…was he really that sexy while he slept? He always thought he looked pretty shabby in the morning. But Jack was humping him like he was some kind of transcendentally seductive sleeping beauty.

Rhys managed to tuck the knuckle of his hand into his mouth, teeth biting down as his own cock flushed hard and red. God, he needed to touch himself but he couldn’t, and Jack kept his hand firmly on his hips without reaching around to stroke him off. Probably not wanting to risk waking Rhys up yet but—damn it, he wanted him to.

By the time Jack finally came, wedging his cock snugly between Rhys’ cheeks and releasing all over the quivering flesh he couldn’t take it anymore and let out a sudden groan around his knuckle. He shifted, the palm of his hand jutting down to grind against his groin.

Jack froze behind him, his hand gripping tightly on his hips. Rhys kept his hand cupped around his cock, cover blown, waiting for his lover to react.

“…Pumpkin? You awake?”

“Y…Yeah…” Rhys finally replied when he dislodged his knuckle from his teeth, blush darkening in his cheeks as he looked over his shoulder. “I kind of…um…have been…”

Jack blinked, his surprised expression slowly shifting back into interest. His hand slipped over Rhys’ hip, finally putting the pressure he needed onto his cock.

“Well…suppose I should finish what I started, huh?”

Kinktober Day 8: Blood/Gore

Tim and Jack are like…chupacabra dudes or something? I just didn’t want to do vampires cause they’re boring.

It’d been quite awhile before Jack had preyed on someone that smelled this sweet.

Though aggravated he had to share his prize with Timothy, it did little to damper his hunger as they dragged the struggling victim off into the park bushes. The moonlight cast long shadows against the grass, providing plenty of cover for the two of them so they could properly feed. Not that there was anybody inside of the park anyway—this young man had been the first human they’d seen in several hours.

Tim clamped a clawed hand over their prey’s lips, his other arm wrapped tight around his chest and pinning his arms to his sides. Jack crawled up between the young man’s legs, knees crushing the dry leaves beneath them as he admired the length of pale skin revealed by bright blue jogging shorts.

“Oh, he’s pretty,” Jack purred, licking his long teeth as he placed his hands against their prey’s legs, pushing them down towards the grass. “Good job, Timmy. You can have the neck first.”

The young man bucked at Jack’s words, struggling as Tim pulled the collar of his shirt down, exposing more flesh. The terror in his eyes was tangible, only sharpening Jack’s hunger as he laid down on his stomach, head between the boy’s legs.

“His heart’s beating so fast,” Tim murmured as his gums pulled back, fangs curling out over his lip, “don’t drain him too quickly.”

“Ooh, it’s gonna be hard with how sweet he smells.” Jack nuzzled against their prey’s inner thigh, feeling the tantalizing pulse of blood against his lips. He felt it when Tim finally bit into the boy’s neck, iron scent pricking at Jack’s nose just as a strangled moan of pain kissed his ears. He licked his lips and opened his mouth, fangs out and starving for blood.

He pressed his teeth against the soft flesh of their victim’s inner thigh, easily penetrating into the soft flesh. He moaned as the taste of blood flooded his mouth, so sweet and thick as it spilled over his tongue. Pain twitched through the boy’s legs even as Jack kept them pinned to the grass, any resistance easily quelled by the two bloodsuckers as they drank their fill.

Jack left one large, gory bite mark on the boy’s thigh before switching to the other, until matching splotches of red colored both legs. He lapped the remaining droplets of blood from his lips, looking up to see Timothy still latched onto their prey’s neck. The young man’s head had long listed to the side, his sunken eyelids twitching. Jack sat up, pressing a hand against Timothy’s face until he dislodged his fangs from their prey’s neck.

“H-Hey, what’s the big idea? I’m not done yet,” Timothy whined and wiped his mouth as Jack carefully took the limp body of their victim from him. Jack could feel the pulse if lifeblood still inside him—diminished but not quite dying.

Usually, Jack would be content to suck their targets dry, but he felt an odd attachment to this one. Maybe because he was cute, maybe because his blood had tasted especially good. Either way, plans were stirring in Jack’s head, plans that required their prey to stay alive.

“You’ll get more later, once he’s all healed up…” Jack purred, stroking his clawed hands over the pale, still-warm skin of the young man’s face. “He’s gonna be coming home with us.”

Kinktober Day 4: Mirror Sex, Spanking, Dacryphilia

“You’re lucky you cry so nice and pretty, Rhysie,” Jack spoke up in between two loud smacks of his belt, “else I would’ve really let you have it for being such a baby.”

Rhys thought that he was holding up pretty well, considering the fact that Jack had been at it for a good while now. His poor, flogged ass had almost stopped hurting in between strikes, sensation replaced with a sharp tingle, sensation stinging all the way into his spine. He sniffed and held tighter onto the forearms folded beneath his head, the burn of the rug on his elbows and knees only adding to the confusion of feelings inside his gut.

“Eyes up, Rhysie, how many times do I have to tell you,” Jack commanded after another slap, the buckle of the belt clinking against the floor for a moment before fingers wound in Rhys’ hair and tugged it upwards, forcing him to confront the sight he’d been trying to avoid.

Jack had pulled the floor length mirror from the other end of the bedroom to position it right in front of where Rhys had been pinned to the floor. He’d tried to avoid looking at it as Jack whipped his ass, knowing by the heat and wetness in his cheeks he was already crying, but with Jack’s fingers in his hair pulling his head up he had no choice.

He looked like a mess. His cheeks and eyes were bright red and puffy, a sharp contrast to the rest of his pale skin. His lips were pink and bitten and wet from spit that trailed down to the point of his chin. Rhys thought he looked completely debauched, but Jack let out an appreciative purr from somewhere above him.

“Damn. You really are cute like this. A sight like that makes me feel a lil’ more forgiving.” Rhys could feel Jack’s finger rub over the tender spots on his ass, touch a hair kinder than it’d been before. “Maybe you’re finally ready to be screwed like a good boy.”

“Y-Yes, please,” Rhys moans, looking up beyond his crying face in the mirror and where he could see Jack crouched over him. Though the dim light he could see Jack had opened the fly of his pants and let out his cock, the belt tossed off to the side, and Rhys felt like he could cry in relief if he hadn’t already exhausted all the tears in his body.

“Thank you daddy, yes, please, I’ll be good…” Rhys begged, swallowing roughly as he watched Jack finally get on his knees. Even the rough hands on his ass felt good as Jack pulled his hips up to his crotch and rubbed his shaft against the whipped flesh.

Gonna get you crying in pleasure in just a moment, kiddo. Keep your eyes forward, it’s gonna be quite a show,” Jack chuckled as he spread Rhys’ cheeks, taking a moment to enjoy their reflection in the mirror before he pushed in.

“Waiting on Want”

A quick sniff to air identified the pair as an alpha and omega respectively—again, not too surprising. Though he’d smelled mostly alphas and betas out on the main floor of the party, the occasional playful scent of omega filtered through, pheromones tantalizing even to someone like Jack, who’d fucked so many omegas in his time the thrill was almost lost. Of course alphas younger, less jaded than himself might jump on such pretty, sweet-smelling little minxes looking to hook up with anyone armed with a fat wallet and passable looks.

That didn’t alarm him. What did had something angry brewing in his stomach, fueled by the pitched whining of the omega clawing against the wall of the hallway, as if he could scratch through and escape.

Jack didn’t recognize this alpha, nor was he wearing any logos or colors that might identify him with any of the companies he knew. However, he did recognized the white shirt and black pants the omega sported as the uniform of the servers out on the roof-side bar. Jack could even see the glint of a silver name-tag pinned against his vest.

Well. That painted a particularly vile picture.

Jack saves server!Rhys from an asshole alpha who won’t take no for an answer at a party. Where their night will go from there is anyone’s guest.

It’d been years since Jack had been to a birthday party that wasn’t either his own or his daughter’s. Usually, he wasn’t interested in them otherwise, not that many were on such friendly terms with him that they’d bother, but tonight was an exception.

Tonight’s party belonged to the new CEO of Maliwan.

Jack didn’t know exactly how old the host was turning, but by that fresh-face and slighter build for someone of their endotype it couldn’t be too old, not that Jack let that lull him into a false sense of security. Lesser men had been taken out through underestimating their rivals, especially those leveling up through the younger generation. Jack wasn’t about to make that kind of mistake—powerful as he might be, he knew he could be taken down a peg if he missed a spot someone could easily slip a knife. He wasn’t about to trust that sandy-haired slip of an alpha, with eyes flat like a snakes despite their beguiling baby blue color.

Jack had already staked himself out as a powerful ally if treated well, a dangerous enemy if crossed. The invitation to the kid’s private party seemed a sign of goodwill that he’d taken despite the fact he’d rather be home right now rather than forcing smiles and handshakes to all the bootlickers and floozies trying to curry his favor once they’d realized exactly who was in attendance.

For the time being he’d planted himself on a couch near the edge of the rooftop bar, claiming a decent enough view of the downtown skyscrapers while keeping away from the louder thick of the party crowd.

Attractive plate-glass breaks ringed the perimeter of the rooftop, keeping the wind down to a light breeze that jostled the starry lights strung over the whole affair, though even these and the heating pillar behind him couldn’t totally hide that it was a bit of a chillier summer night than usual. Of course, that hadn’t stopped Jack from sipping his way through those little champagne flutes—colored blue and orange to match Maliwan’s colors—that coasted by on serving trays, as the cluster of brittle glasses on the table before him could attest.

A couple brown-nosers had noticed his presence and tried to cozy up to him, but thankfully Jack’d let enough disinterest bleed through for them to get the clue and bugger off. Right now he sat blissfully alone, arms resting along the back of his couch as he watched his would-be cronies try to weasel up to some other industry dignitaries in a pathetic bid to stand out.

Just as he was properly starting to relax into his buzz and thinking about flagging down a server for something to eat, those champagne flutes came back with a vengeance, striking him with the sudden urge to take a leak. He growled, trying to cross his legs and stave off the discomfort for a moment longer so he could enjoy himself, only to notice the bulky shoulders of the Torgue CEO trying to muscle his way through the crowd. Jack jerked, getting up a split second before the man turned to glance at the couch where he’d been sitting, just barely dodging another twenty-minute discussion over the latest in ballistic technology. Jack was here to relax and get drunk, not get dragged into one-sided conversations that risked busting his eardrums.

Jack slipped through the crowd back towards the inside of the building, brushing off touches to his shoulder and entreating cries of “Oh Mr. Lawrence, sir, fancy meeting you here,” uninterested in anything but whatever fancy bathroom this place had so he could go back to stoking his buzz.

Oddly the inside of the skyscraper had its AC on full blast. Jack nearly shivered underneath his layered shirt and blazer as he scoped out the bathroom, dodging late-coming party guests as he branched off into a quieter hallway, scoping out a restroom sign and following the little white arrow around the corner.

He stopped suddenly, sight before him a real surprise.

Jack had been to enough of these parties to understand they weren’t exactly chaste affairs. Any inhibitions the super-rich had left shrunk the higher up they got, and on the fortieth floor good manners and privacy were basically tossed out the window, usually with a little help from the fancy booze that flowed free at these sort of shindigs. So finding two guys pressed up against each other down some fairly-secluded hallway wasn’t exactly what shocked him.

A quick sniff to air identified the pair as an alpha and omega respectively—again, not too surprising. Though he’d smelled mostly alphas and betas out on the main floor of the party, the occasional playful scent of omega filtered through, pheromones tantalizing even to someone like Jack, who’d fucked so many omegas in his time the thrill was almost lost. Of course alphas younger, less jaded than himself might jump on such pretty, sweet-smelling little minxes looking to hook up with anyone armed with a fat wallet and passable looks.

That didn’t alarm him. What did had something angry brewing in his stomach, fueled by the pitched whining of the omega clawing against the wall of the hallway, as if he could scratch through and escape.

Jack didn’t recognize this alpha, nor was he wearing any logos or colors that might identify him with any of the companies he knew. However, he did recognized the white shirt and black pants the omega sported as the uniform of the servers out on the roof-side bar. Jack could even see the glint of a silver name-tag pinned against his vest.

Well. That painted a particularly vile picture.

A serving tray lay upside down on the floor by the omega’s feet, empty paper tins and crumbs scattered about. Jack’s expression, already tight, curled properly grim and annoyed at the sight. He crushed one tin beneath his shoe as he walked closer, brows twitching as the couple continued to ignore him.

“Don’t think this is exactly the most romantic place for this, huh?” Jack finally called. He saw the omega twitch, head snapping up at the sound of his voice, only for the alpha to bite down against his ear, ignoring the interruption. Jack’s eyes narrowed.

“Hey. Hey asshole.” He crushed a gruffer, more commanding tone into his voice, finally getting the alpha to lift his head. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m talking to you.”

“You mind?” The alpha snorted, tilting down the hall where Jack had come. “Kind of in the middle of something here.”

“Apparently.” Jack kept his tone dry, as if unconcerned with this alpha’s posturing. “I’ve come across plenty of stupid, useless alphas in my time but you almost take the cake. Really, there’s gotta be thirty, forty hot pieces of ass in any flavor you could want back there,” Jack nodded back in the direction of the rooftop, “and yet you’re so sorry you had to resort to assaulting the help? Wow.”

“Assaulting?” The alpha balked, before rolling his eyes with a sneer and shoving the omega harder against the wall, earning a squeal that had Jack’s teeth grit behind his lips. “Kind of a misnomer, don’t you think? I know he wants it.”

Jack doubted that very much. Any moron could smell the terrified pheromones that drifted from under the omega’s collar. No one but the maliciously ignorant could interpret the desperate little movements of his hips as arousal.

“Look. This kid’s just trying to do his job, he doesn’t need to be hassled by some horny asshole whose mom didn’t teach him it’s polite to keep it in his pants,” Jack growled, trying to keep his cool even as the conflicted scents before him had his hackles raised. The triumphant sneer on the alpha’s face, and the fact that he hadn’t moved his hands from his victim’s crotch, didn’t help Jack’s mood.

“What do you care? He’s not yours. He’s not anyone’s.” The alpha nosed down the omega’s stiff collar and sniffed his neck, drawing a low whine from trembling lips. “Besides, he’s been teasing me all night.”

“Please. He doesn’t look like he likes this. Any alpha worth their knot can tell when an omega actually wants them,” Jack snapped back, periphery drifting to a little side table on the hallway where a hefty brass lamp sat casting light on the whole sordid scene. It’d fit nice into his hand.

“Listen. Why don’t you just go back to the party old man?” He heard the alpha grunt. “Leave us who can still actually get it up alone.”

Scratch that. His eyes moved from the lamp back to the alpha, who was staring smug and assured back at him, his hands having properly unzipped the omega’s pants. The poor kid’s face was shoved against the wall, visible tears rubbed against his cheeks.

Jack usually wouldn’t back down from a challenge, but all told by scent and build this alpha wasn’t even worth the sting to his knuckles. Thankfully, there were other ways to stake his dominance.

“Believe me, kiddo, you’re not nearly half the alpha you think you are. Definitely not apex enough to throw yourself at random omegas and expect them to drop their pants for you,” he growled, squaring his shoulders and flaring his nostrils as the gums around his fangs twitched back. “Now get the hell outta here before I decide to take you on a forty-story free-fall.”

Jack’s eyes flickered to the window between them, reflecting the lights of adjacent buildings and the distance glimmer of the streets below. The other alpha followed his gaze for a brief moment, before his throat clenched in a noticeable swallow, his former bravado suddenly chipping away.

“What, you got something crammed in your ears?” Jack snarled. “Beat it.”

He usually didn’t rely on conscious use of his alpha pheromones, as his reputation and passive musk usually did the job and forced people to cede to him, but watching this asshole’s knees go weak together was well worth the extra effort. Finally he took his hands off the omega, standing up as straight as he could manage as he adjusted his clothes with a small cough.

“I—Excuse me. Should be getting back…” he trailed off as he stumbled past Jack, giving the older alpha a wide berth as he took off down the hallway. Jack watched until he was out of sight, sniffing the air to confirm he was completely gone and not merely lying in wait.

Satisfied, Jack moved to leave the shaken omega be when a pleading whine grasped out at him.

Any employee, business partner, or rival CEO knew Jack was far from a soft man. The only emotions he wore on his sleeve were greed and rage, and considering the power of his reputation Jack was loathe to poke any holes into it by showing any tenderness apart from those publicity stunts particularly crafted by his publicists.

But—damn.

Though his alpha instincts had helped him cut throats and climb ladders in his time, it stabbed him in the back here as he stood before this trembling omega, half-turned away yet now unable to tear his glance completely away from the other man. This close, without the smothering odor of the other alpha, Jack could properly identify his scent—crisp and clear like a freshly sliced orange with some buttery fuzz to the edges. It rode in waves off the omega’s body, a push and pull between the two of them.

Jack felt prickling up his spine, heated little pinpricks despite the air conditioning humming through the hallway. Those little hitching breaths as the omega tried to recover his composure did nothing to stop that heat, and before it grew unbearable Jack stepped forward, arm extended.

He meant to put his hand on the kid’s shoulder, to help him stop sagging against the wall and looking extra pathetic, but as he got close he caught a whiff of something light and lemon-scented drifting off the omega’s hair, and as he admired the way those silky auburn locks shone in even the dimmer light of the bathroom hallway he found his hand settled against the side of the omega’s head, wavy locks cradled delicately against his palm.

Jack felt the young man freeze at the touch, stillness traveling up his arm as it locked into place, as if shocked at Jack’s brashness.

The omega’s wide eyes met his own, and for a moment Jack thought he might bolt, composure stretched to a breaking point after not one, but two unsolicited advances by an alpha. Jack’s mind raced, oddly grasping for any reason at all to sway the omega not to run away. His mouth moved, tip of his tongue resting uselessly at the bottom lip as his fingers shifted against the side of the omega’s head.

Jack felt the contrast of stiffer, gelled strands of hair against the softer locks that’d been jostled loose by the encounter with the other alpha. Briefly, his eyes flitted down to the crisp white shirt pulled out of the kid’s pants and the glint of an undone zipper before they snapped back up. Top-down, Jack, top-down. Best just to pick one spot to start before he saw too much red to focus, and the omega’s hair was as good as any.

Jack’s brain filed through the items in his pockets—wallet, keys, and phones in his pants, slim glasses clipped on his dress shirt’s dress pockets in case he grew sick of tacky contacts in his eyes—before he opened his blazer, slipping the slim black comb out from within the pouch sewed to the inner lining. Jack flourished it before the omega’s eyes, carefully drawing the hand cradling his head closer as he began to run the comb’s teeth through his ruffled hair.

He went slow, wary of the omega’s scalp as he brushed the locks from his tiny widow’s peak back over the top of his skull. He could feel the kid still trembling, saw how he pressed his folded hands against his chest as if his heart might leap out and slide across the floor if he didn’t hold it in place. Jack didn’t really consider himself a sucker for that dewy-eyed, vulnerable little omega look, but right now he felt the kid tugging at his sympathy.

“Looks like you spent a lot of time getting pretty for this evening, kitten,” Jack murmured, speaking directly to the omega for the first time as he tilted the omega’s head to the side and moved to address the stray locks at his temple, “Would be a shame to let a knothead like that ruin it.”

Jack almost wished he’d packed those tiny bottle of hair gel he sometimes snuck along on dates, but a couple swipes with the comb would have to do for now. Thankfully the kid didn’t look half bad, even with his hair not as crisply swept back into place as he might’ve liked. Jack kind of appreciated the little kinks and curls in his hair, though. Made him look cuter.

Thankfully it seemed the omega was finally starting to relax by the time Jack finished fixing his hair. He’d stopped crying, at least, the redness in his cheeks fading back into a gentle pink. Jack could see him better now, able to appreciate the fact that the kid was frikkin’ gorgeous. He always appreciated unconventional beauty, and the omega’s uncommon height and delightfully mismatched eyes had him intrigued.

Jack tucked the corn back against his palm before daring to slip two fingers under the omega’s chin and tilt it up towards him.

“What do they call you, sugar,” he asked, though this close he could clearly read the kid’s name-tag.

“It’s Rhys…I—ugh—“ He smeared a hand over his nose with a loud sniff. “Thank you for…you know…sorry, I should’ve been able to—“

“Hush, hey, you don’t have to apologize for that asshole’s crappy behavior.” Jack moved the hand beneath the kid’s chin to where his shoulder met his neck, rubbing gently as Rhys pulled himself back together. “Not your fault they don’t know how to keep their dicks in their pants and ask please before they whip ‘em out.”

“Yeah…guess so.” The omega’s voice was still a little clogged and breathless but it’s starting to steady. Good. Jack wanted to hear more of what he sounded like without the influence of a shitty alpha.

Night was still young, right?

Jack lightly pulled on Rhys’ shoulder, not enough to move him but it drew the omega’s attention.

“You still on the clock, sugar?”

“Uh, yeah, I was going back to the kitchen to get more appetizers when I—“

“Well I’m punching you out.” Jack’s hand slipped down to close around Rhys’ wrist, now properly tugging him along. “You’ve put on a polite smile for way too many dickbags tonight.”

“Wait, no, my boss is gonna get pissed—“

“Shh. Rhysie.” Jack pressed a finger to the omega’s mouth. “No one’s gonna mess with you tonight. Not another alpha, not the guy who hired you. Believe me.”

Rhys’ lips jerked away from Jack’s touch even as his feet started to move, following behind the alpha as he was pulled down the hallway.

“But I—hold on, I still need to get paid—“

“You worried about that?” Jack snorted over his shoulder. “Listen, if money’s that big of a deal to you, I’ll be sure to tip you nice at the end of the night if you promise to just enjoy yourself.”

“I…um…” Rhys jogged up properly besides Jack, no longer resisting even as his mouth fumbled over the words. “If that’s…if that’s okay with you…”

Jack gave the omega’s wrist an encouraging squeeze as they entered back into the main hallway, keeping him close as more party guests brushed by.

“More than okay, babe.”

Jack led Rhys back outside into the thick of the party, quickly making a bee-line for the couch he’d previously occupied. A pair of homely looking betas in suits too classy for their faces had tried to set up there, but the moment Jack strode over the hopped to their feet and beat it, leaving him and Rhys alone as he pulled the omega down to sit besides him.

Good manners might have told him to take his arm off from the back of the chair, that maybe he was crowding Rhys or making him uncomfortable, but every time Jack thought to remove it he remembered how he’d seen some asshole try to force himself on the omega not an hour ago, and left his arm where it was.

The servers had cleared away the remains of Jack’s champagne glasses but quickly returned with a tray full of fresh ones. Jack grasped two in each hand for good measure, unsure of how much Rhys might drink if he wanted to drink at all and knowing he could knock back that many if his new guest decided to abstain entirely.

Much to Jack’s pleasure however, Rhys eagerly snatched one glass of champagne from Jack’s hand when offered to him, downing half of one in one long gulp.

“Looks like you’re a little more down to party then you let on before, babe,” Jack snickered at him as he grabbed his own, clinking it with Rhys’ when the omega finally came up for air before he tossed the drink down the hatch as well. Rhys smiled, nursing the champagne with a little more care now as he shifted in a bit closer to Jack, something that encouraged the alpha’s flirtation.

“Helps to have that guy out of my hair…and getting to sit down. My feet were starting to kill me in these shoes.” Rhys stretched out his legs, relaxing further into the couch. Jack took the chance to scoot in a bit closer in return, his fingers nearly brushing up against Rhys’ right shoulder.

Not too strong, now, Jack reminded himself as he crossed one leg over the other and slouched slightly into his seat all casual. Thankfully the Rhys sitting next to him now seemed a lot different from the shaken little omega he’d discovered in the hallway, his face all eased smiles and happy hums as Jack struck up some light conversation under the stars.

He soon how talkative the omega got once he had enough alcohol in him. Rhys brightened considerable as his cheeks flushed, and soon he laughed and bantered along with Jack, their bodies inching closer until their thighs pressed up against each other. Jack’s heartbeat quickened as he noticed in between laughing at one of Rhys’ surprisingly funny jokes.

He hadn’t realized how long it’d been since he’d had someone he could properly unwind with. Rhys wasn’t trying to butter him up or get something out of him, no. He just earnestly enjoyed Jack’s company, and well, Jack liked hanging out with the kid too.

By the time Rhys drunkenly rested his hand against the alpha’s thigh and filled his ears with snorting giggles at his own clumsy pun, Jack decided he wanted to see a lot more of him before the night was over.

“You wanna come back to my place with me, don’t you pumpkin?” Jack murmured against his ear, earning a squirrely little noise from Rhys but the omega was smiling, his cheeks perfectly flushed as Jack pulled him in closer. He hoped for a yes. The night had really turned around, and if Rhys agreed it would only get better.

“Mmm, I dunno, where you live?” Rhys hiccuped a little but turned to nuzzle noses with Jack, a charming little gesture that had the alpha blushing this time.

“Oh, not far, sugar. Not far,” He promised, fingers skirting a little more boldly down Rhys’ thigh. He wanted badly to see the omega out of these stuffy server clothes, and the buttons near the top of his collar had already slipped open like a divine sign.

Rhys rubbed his lips together, the edges quirking up after a moment in a playful smirk.

“Okay.”

Jack was grateful he’d decided to have Wilhelm drop him off at the party, considering his current buzz and the state of his new guest. He didn’t bat an eye when Jack slid into the backseat with Rhys nearly in his lap, only grunting in confirmation before taking the pair home.

Rhys’ steps grew even clumsier when the exited the car out into the garage beneath Jack’s penthouse. He marveled at the fancy lobby when Jack walked him inside, not that he had much time to glance around, what with the way the alpha urged him along, eager to get Rhys inside of the penthouse proper. He could ooh and aah at the splendor of Jack’s living quarters instead, right before he started beginning and moaning around the alpha’s dick.

Unfortunately, just as the elevator came to a halt on Jack’s floor, just as he was about to throw out his arms and properly welcome Rhys to his penthouse, the omega shuddered and moaned and threw up down the front of his shirt.

Jack yelped in surprise, immediately regretting it once he saw the look on Rhys’ face. He’d gone pale, his eyes wide and fixed down on his stained shirt. Jack saw them started to water, mismatched irises shimmering with shame and upset, the sight sending a stake of pain into his heart. Rhys’ stained lips quivered, trying to say something, but Jack grabbed him by the shoulders and guided him out of the elevators, speaking first as soon as he got Rhys into the foyer of his penthouse.

“Hey hey, easy sugar, easy. It’s okay. Don’t worry about it, okay?” Jack tried as Rhys started to hiccup, barely able to hold back upset tears. Jack swore inwardly, mind racing as he tried to put together a new plan, now that ravishing the pretty omega was out the window for the time being.

He grabbed a decorative marble bowl from off one of the side tables, dumping out the foam fruit and shoving it into Rhys’ hands in case of more nausea. He ushered Rhys towards the living room, situating the poor omega onto the couch with a reassuring pat to his shoulder.

“Just stay here, ‘kay? I’m gonna get you some new clothes so you don’t have to stay in this anymore.”

Rhys nodded glumly, his eyes half-lidded as he cradled the bowl in his fingers. He looked a little less pale than he had a few minutes ago but the sad, lost little look on his face was something Jack wanted to wipe off immediately. He noticed Rhys’ scent had started to turn and sour, with Jack’s own worry churning the booze still in his belly. He needed to get Rhys feeling better before he ended up tossing cookies too.

Jack left the omega alone on the couch to go rifle through his closet, trying to find something that might fit a guy of slighter stature. He eventually grabbed the sweater he’d laundered this morning. The fabric was soft and a bit worn, but loose enough to be comfortable. He quickly returned back to the living room where Rhys had barely moved, still sullenly clutching the bowl which, thankfully, looked like it hadn’t been used yet.

“Think you can change out of this yet, or you need my help?” Jack offered as he knelt down besides Rhys, handing the sweater out to him. The omega shook his head after a moment spent composing himself, reaching out to take the garment from Jack.

“No…s’okay…” Rhys’ fingers rubbed over the well-loved yellow fabric, shoulders relaxing. “You got a bathroom where I can change?”

Jack almost wanted to tell him it was fine, that he could just strip down here if he wanted, but figured that’d might come on a bit too strong considering everything that’d happened. So instead he put his hand on Rhys’ back and guided him up, before pointing him down the hallway towards the bedroom.

“On your right. Take your time, okay pumpkin?” Jack watched as Rhys hobbled forward, making sure the omega was well-balanced, before he went off to the kitchen to fetch water and something bland in case Rhys needed to eat.

He found some crackers in the pantry he figured Rhys’ stomach could handle and filled a glass of water before returning to the living room to wait. Rhys made an appearance before Jack felt worried enough to look for him, his now bare feet quietly patting against the hardwood floors as he walks back into the living room. Jack can see he’s still a little closed in on himself, arms wrapped around his waist, and honestly Jack can’t really blame him. Throwing up wasn’t exactly the way he’d wanna end a night either.

And yet looking at this pretty omega—his hair washed halfway out of its gelled style and his eyes wide and worried yet gorgeous as they’d been at the party—had Jack smiling despite it all. He patted the space on the couch next to him, trying to adopt as friendly and non-threatening a posture as possible. He could smell Rhys’ apprehension, though a sweet scent of security was beginning to poke through.

Rhys finally made his way over to the couch and sat down besides that. Jack was conscious of the couple inches of space he left between them but didn’t try to close them now, lest he startle the omega any more.

“Got you some water and crackers.” Jack nodded towards the coffee table at Rhys’ knees. “You don’t have to have ‘em if you don’t wanna but you’re free to if you think it’ll help.”

“Thanks,” Rhys mumbled after a moment, his hands kneading the hem of the sweater in his lap. Jack could see the slip of dark blue boxers from underneath contrasted against the creamy skin of his thighs. The sight stirred his stomach pleasantly, but he tamped it down and kept his hands glued in his lap.

“I’m sorry…didn’t mean to throw up…” Rhys sniffed and rubbed his hand over his nose. His hand, formerly rested shakily on his thigh, moved to pick up the water bottle. Jack, in lieu of patting the kid’s shoulder and jostle him into more nausea, rubbed the back of the cushion Rhys rested against.

You’ve had it kind of rough tonight to say the least. Just try to relax.”

Rhys gingerly reached for the crackers as he took the first cautious sip of water.

“Ugh…was trying to relax at the party…drunk too much…” He tried nibbling on a cracker, managing to get halfway through one before he washed it down with another mouthful of water.

“You’re not the first person to vomit on a prospective date, sugar. Don’t fret.” Rhys only nodded, letting Jack’s slip of “date” go by without protest.

“Yeah…just stupid…” Rhys mumbled after finishing off his cracker with another, heartier swig of water. His lips looked wet, stuck with fine crumbs as a sleepy pout pulled at the corners of his mouth. Honestly, he looked adorable, but as much as Jack wanted to he wouldn’t risk a kiss just yet, so he glanced away.

“Well. Hopefully you’ve got it outta your system now. Just relax. You want me to put something on? Would that help?” Jack gestured towards the television, now suddenly unsure of what to do with the omega. Wilhelm always waited in the garage for about a half hour after dropping his boss off, a force of habit thanks to the many nights Jack had changed his mind and decided he didn’t want to turn in after all. If the kid wanted to, he could get him home. But Rhys had already stripped down to his underwear and kicked off his shoes and didn’t looked all that fidgety sunk into the comfortable couch cushions besides Jack. In fact, when he finally raised his head to look at the alpha, Jack saw his eyes hung heavy and sleepy.

Jack didn’t think many omegas would trust an alpha they’d just let met enough to risk falling asleep in their home. Honestly, he worried a little for the kid’s self-preservation instinct. Good thing Jack had been the one to take him in rather than someone else.

Rhys hummed and nodded a little in response to Jack’s question and the alpha quickly flipped on the TV, changing it to some mindless late-night talk show before slipping his arms around Rhys’ shoulders. The omega went with him willingly, exhaustion evident as he slid against the alpha’s side and rested his head against Jack’s chest. He wondered if Rhys was awake enough to hear how his heartbeat picked up.

By the time the credits started to roll on the talk show Rhys was asleep, his legs pulled up onto the couch and weight almost entirely laid against Jack.

The night had taken a complete one-eighty at least twice and honestly? Jack felt all right with it.

Much as he would’ve loved to show Rhys the cathartic power of a good knot, he wasn’t about to wake him back up to try to get in his shorts. Jack might be a bastard in about a hundred different ways, but he wasn’t about to force himself on an omega when they’d clearly had quite the long night. Better to let the kid sleep it all off.

Jack thought he’d done pretty good all told anyway. If Rhys didn’t end up too embarrassed by the whole vomit thing, Jack felt he was well on the way to a proper date with the cute omega.

But Rhys would be laid up with a bad back for a good couple days if Jack just let him sleep on his couch, comfy as it could be in a pinch. Jack wasn’t gonna try anything with the omega but figured he could get away with putting Rhys in his own bed. It was big enough to fit two and then some anyway, with plenty of space to help Jack keep himself in check.

It took a moment to properly fold the kid up in his arms thanks to his long legs, but finally Jack managed to cradle Rhys properly so he wouldn’t end up pitching over the moment he pushed to his feet. Rhys mumbles softly at the change in position, turning in towards Jack’s chest as his fingers kneaded sleepily at the fabric of the sweater.

He ignored the crick in his back long enough to get Rhys onto the bed, peeling up the rumpled blankets and nudging him carefully underneath.

When Jack rolled out of bed this morning he hadn’t bothered to properly tidy up, merely straightening the comforter out with a couple quick tugs and fluffing up the pillows before leaving it be. His maid didn’t come until tomorrow, though Jack debating rescheduling since he didn’t want her disturbing Rhys. The kid would probably want to sleep in after the night he’d had. Jack sort of wanted to keep him in his bed as long as possible anyway. Who knows what a late morning might bring, once Rhys felt less tired and nauseous. And if not, Jack had a couple great hangover cures in mind.

Rhys took to the bed instantly, curling up on his side with a soft little mumble that got Jack thinking of sleepy kittens and other cutesy crap he usually didn’t enjoy. But jeez. The way Rhys snuggled into one of Jack’s pillows, mouth burrowed into the downy plump as his loose hair tumbled over his forehead and down his neck—no one could blame Jack for getting a little weak-kneed.

The alpha slid into bed, dimming the lamp just enough that he could still see Rhys as he turned on his side. Jack kept a gentlemanly distance between their bodies, though he allowed himself one last selfish little want as he reached forward to gently close Rhys’ wet, parted lips. Can’t have the kid drool all over his fancy pillow, right?

Jack’s fingers lingered on the omega’s soft skin, the drunken heat in his cheeks dimmed to a comforting warmth. The sour scent of distress had thoroughly faded back into the citrus-creamy that had Jack thinking of summers and sun and youth and sweetness, so before he turned out the light for good he cheated and snuck a little taste of Rhys’ lips.

“You in Vermillion”

The rational part of Jack’s brain that remained nagged at him to pay attention lest he lose the iron grip of power he had clenched on this arm of the galaxy, but it got harder and harder to pay it mind when thinking about what he wanted to do to Rhys was about a thousand times more pleasurably than approving the next barely-tweaked prototype that came to his desk.

Jack rested his chin in his palm, letting his eyes drift over to the right where Rhys was sitting, desk placed slightly in front of Jack’s own so he could always keep an eye on his assistant. Rhys paid him little mind, if he even noticed, and continued tapping out messages and project requests on the illuminated display shimmering from out of his palm. He could see the side of Rhys’ face occasionally, when he glanced over to his left, and even that little sliver lit Jack’s fantasies on fire.

Basically just Jack’s internal monologue about all the stuff he wants to do to Rhys. 😉 Warning for some dark stuff like knifeplay and improper use of corsets and general Jack creepiness.

It’d been a long while since Jack had first realized his new assistant was sexy beyond all belief.

Sure, when Jack had first hired Rhys, he’d recognized the kid wasn’t all that bad to look at. But it was only when they’d worked alongside one another for about a month that Jack truly fell head over heels with infatuation for the kid.

He couldn’t put his finger on the exact trigger—could have been the first time he noticed Rhys’ tendency to roll the end of his stylus between his lips as he thought, or the time Rhys dropped a folder full of shotgun plans and had to bend down and pick them up, or the time he came in late to work without his hair styled, bangs soft and floppy against his forehead—but whatever had caused him to trip into his obsession, he was really in deep now.

He considered himself lucky he had Rhys always double checking his messages and advising him on his actions, otherwise he might’ve driven Hyperion into the ground as a consequence of all the daydreaming he did whenever Rhys came into the office. The rational part of Jack’s brain that remained nagged at him to pay attention lest he lose the iron grip of power he had clenched on this arm of the galaxy, but it got harder and harder to pay it mind when thinking about what he wanted to do to Rhys was about a thousand times more pleasurably than approving the next barely-tweaked prototype that came to his desk.

Jack rested his chin in his palm, letting his eyes drift over to the right where Rhys was sitting, desk placed slightly in front of Jack’s own so he could always keep an eye on his assistant. Rhys paid him little mind, if he even noticed, and continued tapping out messages and project requests on the illuminated display shimmering from out of his palm. He could see the side of Rhys’ face occasionally, when he glanced over to his left, and even that little sliver lit Jack’s fantasies on fire.

Rhys could be such a pretty little toy for Jack if the CEO wanted him to. There were so many things Jack wanted to do with him, ideas that had flourished thanks to these long work days he shared with Rhys. Sometimes, Jack would close his eyes and listen, picking up on the faint sounds of Rhys breathing as he wondered how those might change if Jack were to finally get the young man pinned underneath him, or crouched between his legs, or any number of positions Jack loved to mentally cycle through.

He knew Rhys would look wonderful naked. Though he layered on plenty of clothing that didn’t add much to his figure, Jack could still see the general shape of his body beneath the boxy vest and conservative collared shirt, especially with the help of the fairly tight pair of jeans he usually sported. Those long, long, long legs really sparked Jack’s imagination, and he couldn’t help but think about what they might look like spread out on the edge of his desk, or lying naked against the sheets in his bed.

But a nude Rhys wasn’t the only version that danced through his daydreams, no. In fact, there were plenty of garments and accessories saved in his online shopping lists that he’d held off purchasing solely because he had no one to dress them up in. But now, with a new paramour in his sights, Jack mentally dressed his assistant in all of those old favorites. He could think of quite a few that would look fantastic on Rhys’ supple body. There were plenty of tight little shorts that would perfectly hug to the young man’s ass and squeeze his thighs, sleek little crop tops made from fabric so thin they’d show off his nipples as they grew hard beneath Jack’s touch.

Not to mention the countless more feminine clothes Jack browsed when he found himself in a very particular mood. He couldn’t help imagine Rhys wrapped up in all the tights and dresses and skirts he liked best. He watched how Rhys walked and moved sometimes, with a slight awkwardness like he wasn’t sure what to do with his long limbs and height even after all these years, and imagined how that lanky body might look in clothes and accessories designed to magnify grace and posture. Despite his stature, maybe even because of it, Jack felt it’d suit him.

The boy already wore heels, so the kind of footwear Jack had in mind for him wouldn’t be that much of a stretch. Jack liked boots that stretched all the way up to the knee, covered in shiny leather and studded with metal. Dagger sharp heels, too. If he felt a little permissive, he might even allow Rhys to dig the tips into his chest or stomach. Though he heavily favored causing pain to others, Jack could enjoy a little masochism on occasion.

As long as Rhys knew his place, it’d be fine, and the kid was nothing if not loyal. He advised Jack on certain matters, giving a second opinion whenever the CEO needed it, but when push came to shove he’d always defer to Jack’s call. Like a good boy.

Rhys suddenly coughed to the right, drawing Jack’s attention. He tilted his head further in the direction of his assistant, watching him more directly. Rhys didn’t notice, grabbing for a sip of water to ease his cough before returning to work. Jack watched his throat bob as he swallowed, his fist clenching atop his desk.

Has Rhys ever sucked a dick before? He wondered, eyes briefing drifting down between his legs to his own crotch. He could see Rhys there already, hands nervously braced against Jack’s knees. Fun as it would be to discover Rhys had been a secret blowjob machine all along, he couldn’t push the idea of a virginal, eager-to-please version of his assistant zipped down his pants and taking his cock in hand like it were made of gold, treating it with reverent nerves as he nudged the head of Jack’s dick in between his trembling lips.

But a blowjob would just be the start. Jack couldn’t possibly be satisfied with exploring Rhys’ mouth alone. He wanted to take his time, to properly savor the young man, to draw him out like a piece of sinew, pull him taunt and ready to snap, pliable to Jack’s own pleasure.

And his appetite for pleasure was bottomless.

Jack’s eyes fluttered half closed, shadowing out the rest of the office until Rhys was all he could focus on.

God. One thing he’d love to do would be to put Rhys in a corset before he properly screwed him. One of the few things he regretted following his breakup and subsequent bad blood with Moxxi was that now he couldn’t properly enjoy the way that kind of garment pinched and sucked someone in at the sides without being reminded of old, bitter feelings. But Rhys was new enough, exceptional enough that Jack could feel himself swayed back if only he got a chance to stick Rhys in one. Sure, he probably didn’t have a woman’s waist, even when stripped of his stiff vest and shirt, but with a corset cinched around him Jack could force one into being.

He wanted to dress Rhys up in stockings, watching the fragile, pearly fabric slid over his legs—Jack liked to imagine Rhys shaved, but if not, he would do it for him—before he clipped them to the underside of the corset with delicate little garter belts. He’d get behind Rhys, maybe even have the young man sit in his lap, He wanted to pull the cords and watch Rhys’ waist tighten under the corset’s tight boning, until his breath became labored and he looked up at Jack with wet, desperate eyes and flushed cheeks. He wanted to see tears dripping down that beautiful face as Rhys realized his right to breath was entirely clenched within Jack’s fists.

He could feel something warm deep in his stomach churning at the thought of Rhys gasping for breath. A little bit of pain really did Jack in, like the last pinch of pepper atop a perfectly crafted meal.

He leaned back further into his chair, one hand drifting down below the edge of his desk to rest against his upper thigh.

Sometimes his fantasies got darker. Things he’d never been able to execute before, considering most of his lays had always wanted to continue living after a night with Jack. He was sure there was some sick creep somewhere on Hyperion that wouldn’t mind if Handsome Jack stabbed or strangled the life out of them, to sacrifice themselves on the altar of his holy boner, but he knew all too well the kinds of men and women who fell in that category, and they didn’t exactly overlap with the group he usually considered safe or appealing to bang. The group that now revolved around his lovely assistant.

Yet he didn’t want to kill Rhys. Wouldn’t dare do it, he’d miss the pretty young man too much, and it seemed a waste to throw away daily interactions with his obsession for one fleeting moment of pleasure. It wouldn’t be worth it, as much as Jack relished short-term gratification.

But within the safety of his own mind, Jack could entertain even the most vile of fantasies. After all, Rhys would bleed so nice and pretty. His skin looked so soft and pale, almost fuzzy and glowing at the edges like some kind of angel constantly blessing Jack with his presence.

He wanted to taint it so badly.

Jack had a blade tucked away in the drawer of his desk back at his penthouse bedroom. It lay nestled in a fancy box lined with plum velvet, a gift from an antiques dealer Jack had once aided in plundering some ruins deep within Hyperion-controlled territory. He’d kept the blade razor-sharp over the years, its steel perfectly oiled and ornate gold handle free of grime and dust. He could see the glow of the red pommel stone in his mind’s eye, always tempting him with the delicious color it could draw from only the most special of victims.

The edge of the knife would look wonderful pressed up against Rhys’ skin, the cuts to his flesh so fine at first they’d be imperceptible until blood swelled up from the delicate wounds and started to trickle down Rhys’ skin. Jack imagined it’d cling to the wispy hairs he’d noted on Rhys’ human forearm that he’d assumed and hoped patterned the rest of his body.

He would love to watch as the blood trickled down from the cuts he made in Rhys’ flesh, listen to the little cries of pain as they spilled from his lips. He would drink them happily, pressing their mouths together as his fingers spread through the blood dripping down Rhys’ body, feeling it grow tacky as it smeared against his skin.

Jack was no artist, no man concerned with beauty aside from worship of his own image, but still he felt he could paint a beautiful piece in blood on Rhys’ body. It helped having such a wondrous canvas, after all.

The sudden screech of wheels against steel floor snapped Jack out of his daydreams. He rapidly blinked the fog from his eyes as Rhys suddenly appeared far closer than he’d been before. It took Jack a couple of seconds to get back to reality and realize Rhys had risen up from his chair, looking over at him with an expectant expression.

“Is there anything else you need me to do today, sir?” Jack’s eyes quickly flicked to the monitor to his left. Wow. Quitting time already? The afternoon had really just flown by.

Rhys already had his messenger bag slung over his shoulder, delicate fingers of his flesh hand twiddling against the strap as he stood still. Waiting on Jack’s command. Briefly, he wondered what Rhys would do if he gave voice to any of the numerous fantasies that’d swarmed his mind. The temptation danced on the tip of his tongue for a moment, before he smothered it with a coy smile that held so much back that Rhys would never understand.

“Nope. You can go home now, sugar.”

@ohlookmoonstones commissioned me for some Rhysquez nsfw :0 featuring trans!Rhys, oral sex, dubious consent and some light stuffing kink. Enjoy it if that’s your thing!

It, like all the other annoying things in Rhys’ life, had stemmed from an argument with Vasquez.

Rhys couldn’t exactly pinpoint what annoyed him so much about the older man, considering there was just way too much wrong with him. The greasy hair and beard combo that he thought looked good. The wimpy golden pinkie. That deadpan, smarmy voice.

And now, the fact that he tried claiming he was a gourmet chef to Rhys’ face.

And Rhys had laughed, of course, because the idea of Vasquez being actually good at anything was just that farcical. But to his displeasure, Vasquez hadn’t let up at the merciless teasing, and insisted on Rhys coming to his house for a home-cooked meal so he could prove his talents. And while that sounded about as appetizing to Rhys as a dinner of raw spiderant meat, he’d eventually agreed, if only to get Vasquez to shut up.

Rhys hated that he bothered dressing up at all to a dinner with his arch-nemesis, but he’d rather be dead than caught in something unfashionable and sloppy, so he’d put on his silk shirt and blazer—business casual, basically, nice enough but not too ornate to betray that he put too much effort into it. Didn’t want Vasquez getting any ideas.

When he finally arrived, Rhys groused a bit inwardly at the fact that Vasquez’s apartment was nicer and cleaner than the one he shared with Vaughn. The decorations were fairly tacky though, with plenty of potted plants and gold leaf and framed pictures that looked like the stock image that came with purchase. At least Rhys had photos up of himself and his friends and family.

The entire place was filled with the aroma of cooking dinner that only got stronger as Vasquez led him towards the dining room. It smelled pretty good, honestly, but Rhys wasn’t about to let Vasquez know that, especially not before he’d actually gotten a chance to try the food. Sure, the smell was nice, but for all Rhys knew it could still taste like garbage, and he could still rub Vasquez’s crappy cooking skills back in his face.

The dining room looked serviceably elegant, but Rhys was still impressed, considering he hadn’t been expecting elegance at all. The table was dressed with a pure-white cloth and topped with glossy black plates and glinting silverware. Vasquez had even placed a centerpiece in the shape of a Handsome Jack statue, encircled with flowers, between the two bell-shaped wine glasses set up on opposite sides of the table.

“This…this is a lot more…more than I thought it’d be.” Rhys gestured in a vague circle around the whole setup. Vasquez smirked, hand resting on Rhys’ shoulder as he guided him towards his chair.

“Well, the deal was I needed to impress you. And I intend to impress all of the senses, not just taste and smell.” He chuckled as Rhys glared at him. He sat down, scooting his chair in as Vasquez lifted both plates and retreated to the kitchen to serve their dinner.

Rhys unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap, snorting at the decorative way it’d been folded atop his plate. Seriously, did Vasquez think his living room was on par with a five star restaurant here? Was he really that desperate to impress Rhys?

It really did smell good though.

He’d started to get a little antsy when Hugo finally returned with the laden plates in hand, laying one delicately on Rhys’ gilded placemat.

His eyes went wide.

A perfectly molded cylinder of mashed potatoes accompanied a neat bed of chopped golden beets, shallots, and herbs, where a perfectly broiled, golden brown game-hen sat perched like it must have when it was still alive. The presentation was delightful, the entire affair was drizzled in a unctuous, maroon sauce artfully swirled around the dish in lavish strokes.

Rhys had to admit it looked positively exquisite.

“Wow…”

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Vasquez’s smile curled with unbearable smugness that Rhys wanted to slap right off his hairy mug.

“Well, I’ve seen better. Been to a looot of super fancy places. But I guess this isn’t that bad.”

“Oh? Well, just wait until you taste it.”

Rhys grimaced as Vasquez flounced down into his chair, tucking his own napkin into the collar of his shirt. He picked up his fork, wondering if they were real gold or just plated. He picked at the meat with the prong, furrowing his brow. It seemed less and less likely that Vasquez’s cooking was going to end up being completely terrible with all of this fanfare and the decent sights and smells, but he held out hope that this dinner—and Vasquez’s ego—would fall apart around him the moment Rhys touched the food to his tongue.

Unfortunately, as soon as he put the morsel in his mouth, his hopes were dashed. Damn it.

Rhys couldn’t stop the pleasant little murmur from eking out between his lips as he chewed the deliciously moist, tender meat.

“So?” Vasquez leered from across the table. “What do you think?”

“Don’t talk to me while I’m eating,” Rhys growled as he swallowed down the meat, not giving voice to his unexpected pleasure. Vasquez chuckled and shook his head, but didn’t press the issue as he started on his own meal.

Rhys realized a little too late that everything Vasquez had prepared had been drenched with a thick wine sauce which, on top of the large pitcher of strawberry-basil punch he kept using to refill Rhys’ glass whenever he finished it. Before he realized what was happening he was feeling tipsy and rapidly speeding towards full-on drunkenness. But at the same time, he couldn’t stop eating, the food was so good, and as he ate more and more of the salty game-hen and potatoes he couldn’t resist washing it down with more alcohol.

Finally, he scraped the bottom of his plate, scooping up the last scraps of meat in the sauce and slipping it into his mouth. He groaned as he leaned back in his chair, alcohol numbing his inhibition as he openly rubbed his middle. He licked the savory oils from his lips, reaching out one last time to take the last sip from his glass. The sweetness of the alcohol barely cut through the heavy taste of the dinner, both of which now left him feeling overly full and sleepy.

“Hmm. So, how bad is my cooking, again?” Vasquez smirked from across the table. Rhys distantly heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor as his nemesis rose, his hand resting against the back of Rhys’ chair as he rounded over to him.

“Um…” Rhys responded dumbly, trying to gather his thoughts. He jerked, thinking he felt something brush against the back of his head. He heard Vasquez chuckle above him.

“It’s so good you can barely speak, huh? Or is that just the alcohol?” Vasquez leered down at him, his hand patting firmly against his shoulder.

“I guess….both?” Rhys tried to answer, confused as to why his host was even asking. Vasquez didn’t bother responding, merely chuckling as he rubbed Rhys’ shoulders in a way that sent a shiver up his spine.

Eventually, Rhys let Vasquez pull him to his feet, though he swayed and stumbled, resting most of his weight against the older man’s substantial bulk. He dropped his head against Vasquez’s shoulder, his feet moving numbly as he led Rhys through the apartment, away from the brightly lit dining room and into the darker hallway that branched off towards the bedroom.

It smelled different as they got further away from the kitchen, where the scent of braised meat had taken over everything else. Rhys closed his eyes and sniffled, managing to pick up on the scent of mahogany and cloves through the fog over his senses. Was that Vasquez? Rhys hadn’t notice that he’d been wearing any cologne, but he hadn’t exactly been paying attention to anything other than the food up until this point.

Vasquez shut the door behind them as they enter the bedroom, pushing Rhys towards the bed with slight roughness. The young man felt heady from the drinks and slow from the food he’d been stuffed to the gills with. He panted and groaned as he sat heavily down at the bed, one hand cradling his full belly as he sat back on his other hand and looked dazedly up at Vasquez. The older man fiddled with his yellow tie, carefully undoing it and tossing the garment casually onto the bed.

“Are…are we gonna go to bed now?” Rhys asked dumbly, even as Vasquez shrugged off his suit jacket with a chuckle.

“Not quite yet. I’m not exactly through with you.”

Rhys blinked rapidly, furrowing his brow as he watched Vasquez slowly undress. White fabric quickly parted around a broad, brown chest, as Vasquez popped off the buttons, leaving the shirt to hang loosely off of his body. Rhys tilted his head, fascinated at just how much bulk Vasquez kept hidden underneath his typical Hyperion suit. In his drunken state, he wanted to reach out and touch the other man’s body, trace the muscles he could see standing out in Vasquez’s chest and forearms.

Rhys hiccuped suddenly, the taste of alcohol and salted meat quickly surging back up into his mouth.

He laid back against the bed, groaning as the shift in position lessened the pressure on his full stomach. His eyelids fluttered closed with a hum, growing even more relaxed as warm hands settled on his abdomen and slowly started to rub up and down.

“You really enjoyed yourself didn’t you?” Vasquez’s voice drifted from somewhere out in the fuzzy void “You are so greedy. Eating all the food and drinking all the booze daddy bought for you.”

“Mmm…better than wasting it…” Rhys purred as one hand slid down from his belly to settle on his thigh, carefully spreading his thighs open from where his legs started to dangle off the edge of the bed.

“Your clothes feeling a little too tight there, sweetie? Want me to take them off for you?”

“I guess….” Rhys mumbled, not resisting as Hugo started to pop the buttons off of his shirt, exposing more and more of his pale belly as he worked his fingers down to the young man’s waistband, where Vasquez quickly unbuckled his belt. Embarrassment tinged Rhys’ already flushed cheeks at the sight of his bloated middle, but he couldn’t lie that having his clothes undone made him feel a lot more at ease.

“My, you’re a little softer under here than I thought you’d be.” Vasquez’s hands felt even better against his belly without the tight fabric between them. Rhys’ spine arched slightly as he pushed his middle up into the older man’s palms, encouraging him to rub his full belly even more.

“Nnn…not as soft as you…I bet…you’re lots…bigger than me…” Rhys mumbled nonsensically, earning him a little pinch on his hip.

“Yeah? Do you want to see some more of me?”

Rhys hummed, tilting his head from side to side in fuzzy thought. Eventually he nodded.

“Well. Let me have my fun with you first, and then maybe I’ll show off.”

Rhys understood that “fun” probably meant sex, and while before he might have been disgusted at the idea of any kind of intimate contact with Vasquez, after the meal and the warm feeling on his stuffed belly he was a little more willing. He relaxed and closed his eyes as his pants were pulled down his legs until they bunched up around his ankles. Vasquez didn’t bother removing his shoes, merely letting his legs lay limp and open over the edge of the bed. Vasquez’s hands moved up and down his thighs, brushing against the faint hairs smooth and glossy against his skin.

“What are you planning…?”

Rhys peeked his eyelids open when he didn’t get a response, catching Vasquez kneeling, half his body disappearing beneath the end of the bed as his face nudged between Rhys’ naked thighs. The young man’s heart leapt as he felt Vasquez’s breath against his sensitive groin, making him whine softly.

It wasn’t like Rhys had never had somebody’s face down there, but it had been awhile since someone had properly eaten him out. Most guys either didn’t want to to do it or did it badly, resulting in a disappointing experience for the both of them. His heart leapt at the gentle breathing against his genitals, worried Vasquez might fall into the latter category. He was already flirting with the enemy, literally, and if Vasquez sucked at this things would get a thousand times more awkward.

Fortunately, the press of tongue against the lips of his pussy sent shivers up his spine and had his loins quivering with want.

Rhys moaned, his hands sliding up and down the silk sheets on both sides of his head, palms finding difficulty gaining traction on the slick material. He bunched it up on his fists, needing to grab ahold of something.

Vasquez would be the kind of man to think silk sheets were a worthy investment, the remnants of his conscious mind derided, but then Vasquez leaned forward and licked up the seam of his groin and he gasped and arched his back and forgot what he was thinking about.

“Oooh…” Rhys was starting to grow dizzy with the arousal as Vasquez opened him up properly, his tongue working in between the warm folds of his pussy, searching for the delicate flesh deeper inside. Rhys’ toes curled as he bit into his lower lip, numbed by the alcohol and the food and now the warm mouth eating him out.

He knew he should be more ashamed of the fact that his arch-nemesis was between his legs eating out his hole, but it felt too good in his current state for him to care. He wound his fingers into Vasquez’s hair and tugged, pulling him flush against his group as he pressed his tongue further inside, teasing the rim of Rhys’ hole.

“Ah….a-hah, Hugo…” The name slipped out unintentionally, and Rhys froze for a split second in realization before the tip of Vasquez’s tongue pushed into his hole proper, and he lost track of his own ego amidst the ensuing moans. He panted breathlessly as Vasquez’s mouth moved, lips pressing against the sensitive flesh.

His tongue couldn’t possibly reach as far as a cock or even fingers could, but the wet warmth and flexibility more than made up for the lack of length and power, and considering how full he was Rhys probably couldn’t have taken a cock without upsetting results anyway. He rocked his hips, tailbone slipping against the silk sheets as he bore down on Vasquez’s mouth, demanding more as the older man’s tongue flickered inside of his pussy.

Finally he snapped, his spine arching up despite the fullness in his stomach as he came, gushing down against Vasquez’s mouth. He clenched his fingers harder into the sheets, a breathy moan warbling from his lips as he rutted the brunt of his orgasm against the other man’s tongue.

Rhys panted, his body relaxing back against the bed as pleasure sunk into his body. His legs laid open and slack, barely able to move as Vasquez lifts his head up from between his thighs.

The coarse threads of Vasquez’s beard glistened, evidence of how deep he’d buried himself within Rhys’ folds. The younger man shivered, averting his eyes as his more conscious mind returned, and with it—embarrassment at what they’d just done, and how easily he’d gotten off on it.

“Not….not a word, okay…?” Rhys whispered hoarsely, flopping his hand over his forehead. He heard Vasquez chuckle, hand patting against his flushed thigh.

“Don’t worry.” Vasquez smirked up at his flustered nemesis. “As long as you admit to everyone that my food is good, my lips are sealed.”