Work Text:
Another one of those late night “meetings”.
He knew exactly what the outcome was, no matter the pretense. A lot of bullshitting, a semblance of a plan for the next big terroristic act, and then…well. A spread, khaki-clad leg, a smirk, usually a poorly-executed joke about serving his country…
How the fuck did he end up in this position?
He'd never exactly been the most patriotic.
Maybe it was for the best Amanda and the kids weren't living with him while this went on. He wasn't sure he'd be able to look any of them in the eye. Sex with hookers was one thing, Trevor… another thing, but these dealings were another beast entirely. So demeaning, filthy, subhuman…and completely out of his control.
As he approached the now-too-familiar office, he paused at the door, steeling himself and giving a heavy sigh.
A bit too heavy, apparently, as Haines's voice, in all its irritatingly sarcastic glory, called out to him.
“Oh, come on in! I wouldn't lock you out, Mikey!”
Mikey. He grimaced at the friendly nickname, opening the door and peering around.
The too-familiar office was spacious, a corner unit with nice furnishings and a rather boring view of L.S. framing the whole place.
Haines sat in the middle of the room at his big desk, just visible from behind his giant iFruit monitor. He looked busy with paperwork, hardly sparing Michael a glance as he got close.
“Hey.” Michael stopped across the desk, one hand in his pocket, the other hanging loose by his side.
Steve took his time signing and dating several papers before setting them down and leaning back in his chair, looking to Michael with his usual intensity, tossing his folded hands up into an exasperated gesture.
“Well? I got nothing to say to you. What, you need instructions?”
Michael snorted, an awkward, derisive smile frozen on his face. There was usually a conversation of business beforehand, enough for them both to pretend this wasn't about…what it was really about. This was off the script and that made him uneasy.
“What, Steve, no pillow talk for me?” he waved away his own concerns with a sarcastic remark, circling around the desk and ignoring the heat blossoming across his face. He didn't know why, but this felt so much more perverse than usual without the padding of bureaucratic bullshit. So much more demeaning.
He treated hookers like this.
Steve somehow stared him down from his seat and he couldn't help it, Michael looked away, his jaw set and his cheeks red.
Steve turned his chair to the side, facing him, gesturing widely to his crotch.
“Just get to work, bank robber.”
The robber in question got down on his knees, stooping slightly, head bowed. He was painfully aware of how submissive his posture was but he really didn't want to look Steve in the eyes right now.
Or ever, really.
Steve spread his legs, his khakis stretched tight at the crotch, showing how soft he was.
Expecting Michael to do all the dirty work…typical.
He thinned his lips, biting the inside as he started to undo Steve's pants, fumbling with the belt. Steve scooted forward a bit but otherwise provided no help, getting comfortable as his “boy” got to work.
Michael pulled it out, looking regretful as he slipped it into his mouth. He hated the way soft cock felt, all awkward and malleable. It felt like a bad joke.
God, this was all so awkward. The usual talking, planning and bullshitting was practically like foreplay, giving him time to ease into the role. Not to mention, Steve was usually rock-hard by the time they finished talking. This was so sloppy and rushed, he really did feel like a hooker.
He had to lean down to reach, practically buried to the inseam. He felt a twitch and groan from above him when his tongue spread across it, sucking it in deeper, eliciting a soft sigh. He couldn't help it, he felt a little proud of that. Anything to make Steve lose his composure was a victory. Guy was such a self-assured asshole, it felt good to…well. It didn't feel good to make Steve feel good. That's not what this was about. This was about keeping his family safe, ensuring their livelihoods, about securing everything he's built up all these years.
But it did feel good.
It was growing in his mouth, he could feel it with every bob of his head and swirl of his tongue. His curved nose kept brushing against Steve's pants, the smell of detergent on it mixing with the growing scent of arousal. The combination would have been nice, if it wasn't Steve. He sighed through his nose, an annoyed sound that made Steve grab him by the hair and push him in deep.
Michael grunted and gave a retch that only encouraged Steve, pulling him up just to push him back down. He was only semihard, but the unexpected intrusion still made tears prick the corners of Michael's eyes.
“Oh, come on, you had it worse in prison, I know you did!” Steve laughed, the sound loud and venomous. He gave a few condescending pats to Michael's head, letting his cock slip out of his mouth, before grabbing Michael's hair again and shoving his face into his now-erect length.
“Come on, open up, boy. Show me what you learned in the clink.”
Michael glowered up at him as he closed his lips around it, sinking down until he was just an inch or so from the base and hollowed his cheeks.
Not good enough. Steve shoved him down the remaining length, smirking at the shocked look and sound Michael made. He kept his head in place and started thrusting up into him, laughing again, this time low and cruel. Michael could only take it, trying to relax his throat, tears starting to drip down his face.
“Ooh-ho-ho-ho, you crying on me, tough guy? Just don't stain the chair, okay?”
He lowered his voice, squeezing Michael's hair so hard they both could feel strands ripping out.
“Or I'll break your fucking nose.”
He'd been staunchly ignoring it, but his own cock was desperately hard in his pants. He'd only managed to hide it for this long by getting it down his pant leg, tucked against his thigh. He hated how much this turned him on, but he was helpless to his body and its many urges.
As a sex addict with spending habits, he'd become burnt out on conventional and even unconventional ways to have sex. His tastes were only getting stranger, more debauched. Sticking his cock in a pretty stripper, or having a dominatrix tie him down and beat him, while nice, didn't get him going nearly as much as this raw, hateful, blackmail-riddled sex act was getting him. Steve's hand in his hair was by no means a gentle gesture, much more comparable to someone controlling an aggressive dog by the scruff of its neck. He had his hair by the fistful and was regularly twisting, yanking, directing him on and off of his cock. Michael could taste the acidity of vomit in the back of his throat and was struggling to keep it down, drool starting to pour into his mouth preliminarily.
The last time he'd puked, Steve had literally kicked him off and made him clean it up, berating him all the while.
And still made him finish the job.
He steadied his breathing, focusing on the pain of his hair being grabbed to distract himself from throwing up. Saliva pooled at the corners of his mouth, dribbling down his chin. The sounds were getting truly obscene, every suck punctuated with wet slurps and his own occasional moan of pain.
His cock throbbed, aching for stimuli beyond being trapped in his pants, but he didn't dare let Steve see how much he was enjoying this. He'd finish himself off later, in the sanctity of his empty house…or the depravity of his parked car.
He felt the hand on him soften and chanced a glance up to Steve, distracted by his phone, leaning back and turned slightly to text someone. Whatever. Less attention on him and his stupid boner. He could almost enjoy this without Steve forcing it down his throat or ripping out his hair. He found a comfortable speed, catching his breath and clearing the snot from his nose.
The ring of a phone cut through his pace, ringing once before Steve answered with one sentence and hung back up.
“Yeah, come on up.”
“Hey, what the fuck?!”
Michael had pulled off, an incredulous look on his face. He started to rise, more words on his tongue, but Steve clapped his hand to the back of Michael's head and had him by the hair again, pulling him down, cranking the man's head back hard. Michael's expression faltered, pain and vulnerability flashing across his face and his hands coming up defensively.
“Easy, tiger. Be thankful it's just the one guy.”
“You're fucking kidding me? Steve, what the hell? Who's coming up here?”
Steve lightened his grip, letting Michael's head drop down, using his free hand to hold his own length, rubbing it against Michael's lip almost absent-mindedly.
“Doesn't matter, little man. You don't get a say in this. Besides, the guy could really use some fun.”
Michael was as panicked as he was angry, his face down to his stomach burning white-hot. It was taking all his self-control not to muscle Steve off of him. His lip curled, showing some teeth, eyes narrowed contemptuously. The cock at his lips started to prod, pushing past his lips, and with much regret he accepted it, opening his mouth but still glaring.
Steve merely chuckled, nodding, his smile easygoing.
“Thaaat's it, Mikey. Play nice. You know you deserve this shit.”
Michael's mind was racing. People knew about this? He was under the impression that this was just his and Steve's weird little thing. What the fuck? He felt like an idiot. He should have known better. His face burned at the thought of that asshole Sanchez yucking it up with Steve like locker room jocks discussing the cheerleaders they'd slept with. What was he going to have to do? At what point could he draw the line? Could he even draw a line? He couldn't think straight, squeezing his eyes shut so he didn't have to see Steve's awful face smirking at him.
Minutes felt like hours as he pleasured Haines, his heart thundering in his ear all the while. Knowing someone else was going to be entering the picture was once again driving home just how perverse and demeaning this all really was to Michael. Why'd he ever agree to this in the first place? He didn't really have a choice. But at the very least…why was he enjoying this so damn much?
A polite knock at the door, followed quickly by it opening and Dave's familiar, warm voice trailed in.
“Steve. You had something to show me?”
“Dave! Just the guy I wanted to see. Come here.”
Michael's eyes had shot open the moment he'd heard the door open, struggling a little against Steve's commanding hand before freezing when Dave spoke. He hadn't even noticed him yet, obscured behind the oversized desk.
Footsteps came close before he heard Dave exclaim and back up.
“Fuck, Steve- Jesus Christ, I don't want to see that!”
Steve ruffled Michael's hair, waving Dave back over with his other hand.
“Oh, don't be a prude. You haven't even seen who my guest is yet!”
He yanked Michael off with a lewd pop,
keeping his hand in Michael's hair and squeezing his face with the other, turning him forcefully to look at Dave.
He looked like a cat with a mouse in its jaws, grinning at Dave and maintaining his harsh grip.
Dave's expression went from disgusted to absolutely shocked, his mouth dropping open as he gaped at Michael. Michael was squinting, half from the pain of being maneuvered around, half from shame. He could feel how red-hot his face was, and was keenly aware of his running nose and track marks of tears.
“...Hey, Davey.”
“Muh…Michael?”
He took a step forward, like he was approaching a wild, injured animal.
“Are...are you okay?”
Before Michael could answer, Steve stood up, dragging his prey with him. He held Michael a little too high off the ground, just enough to keep his head up and straining.
“Oh, he's quite okay, Davey. Look how okay he is!”
The hand squeezing his cheeks dropped to his crotch, grabbing his now-plainly visible erection just as hard. Michael gave a pained grunt, eyes widening before he squeezed them shut, thoroughly humiliated by Haines putting him on display like this.
“Steven!”
Dave sounded winded, like he'd been the one to get grabbed. Steve turned from watching Michael's expression, grinning back to Dave. He gave Michael's crotch one last firm shake before letting go of him with both hands.
“What? C'mon, he clearly loves this. He's been loving it for months!”
Michael collapsed a little when he was released, hands dropping to the desk for support, stooped over and head bowed like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was short of breath and could not bring himself to look up, staring a hole into the desk.
Dave being the man in question was somehow even worse than Sanchez. Michael actually liked Dave a considerable amount. He respected him, something he couldn't say for many other people, and enjoyed his company. Michael actually had something to lose here besides his dignity.
“Steve, this has to stop. This is an abuse of power and you know it!”
“Oh, what, and everything else we've had him do hasn't been? C'mon, Dave, when's the last time you had any action?”
Steve turned to Michael, voice dropping like they were out to lunch and gossiping.
“Davey here thinks he's too good for hookers…and he's been too depressed since his divorce to find any puss.”
“And why the fuck's that my problem?”
Michael muttered, more to himself than anyone in the room, but Steve kicked him behind the knee all the same, making him lose his balance and stumble, grabbing at the desk to straighten himself.
“Because someone thought he could cheat his way out of a life of crime nine years ago, amigo. Now drop those pants.”
Michael froze, speechless. All he could focus on was the pulse in his ears and his cock. His…pants?
They'd never gone past a blowjob before. Hell, he'd never exposed himself to Steve before, period.
He turned his head ever so slightly, looking at Steve with a look bordering between disbelief and a little bit of fear.
“Oh, don't act like this is your first rodeo. My investigators know exactly what you get up to with your precious Trevor.”
A cold, muffled burst of adrenaline poured through Michael's stomach, dripping down his body before settling uncomfortably in his loins.
He turned to look at Dave and almost recoiled by what he saw.
Dave looked conflicted. Like he knew what he wanted was wrong, but he still wanted it.
There was a questioning twinge too, like he was anticipating approval or rejection from Michael.
Was Dave really considering fucking him?
Was he really considering letting him?
“Well? C'mon, bank robber.”
A smack to his ass pulled him out of his thoughts and he slowly rose, giving Steve an irritated look before decisively undoing his belt with a playful glance to Dave.
“Gee, Steve, you usually wine and dine me before I spread my legs for you.”
Dave got closer, encouraged by Michael's familiar sarcasm, but he still stood by awkwardly, looming from behind Steve's computer, an unsure look on his face.
Steve put his hands back on Michael, ripping his pants down impatiently, grabbing his hips and glancing at his exposed cock. Realizing Michael was significantly bigger than he was, he quickly changed course, snapping his fingers several times and pointing to the ground.
“C'mon, boy. Hands and knees.”
Michael stared at him, then at Dave, who looked taken aback by how quickly this was progressing.
Guess that made two of them.
He gave a roll of his eyes and shuffled backwards, his pants still bunched around his ankles. He turned to face the chair once more and squatted down with a heavy groan, settling forward onto his hands, trying to keep his weight off of his bad knees. He was thankful for the gel cushioning of Steve's expensive office mat, or else he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold this position much longer.
His cock hung heavily between his legs, leaking a drop or two periodically and pulsing with his heart beat. Damned betrayer. He was scared a little shitless, he had no reason to think Steve was going to be gentle. Months of manhandling had verified that.
Sure enough, the man was already on him, running fingers from his taint up to his asshole, touching and pressing against it.
“Hey, hey-warm a girl up before you dip, huh?”
Steve laughed at that, a loud cackle that Michael was sure made Davey wince, too.
He did not let up, but he did spit a wad of saliva into the crack of Michael's ass, letting it drip down to his balls before stuffing most of it into his hole with a finger.
Michael gave a throaty grunt at the sudden intrusion, his shoulders squaring up, but Steve had a surprisingly practiced hand. Rough, certainly, but he seemed to know where to go, curving right into Michael's well-loved prostate.
Michael, expecting a careless straight-fingered jab, arched his back, giving out a moan that was considerably higher than he'd have ever liked.
“Whoa whoa, what was that, amigo? Or should I say amiga?”
Shit. That wasn't very becoming. Michael stared straight ahead, speechless with embarrassment.
And Steve was positively eating it up, his cock, still hanging from his saliva-stained khakis, standing at full attention. He turned to Dave, the utter delight on his face a stark opposite to the quiet desperation on Dave's.
“C'mere, man! I want to see him choke on it!”
Dave looked mortified but shuffled around the desk all the same, stopping beside the abandoned chair, his hand hovering on the armrest a few moments before he sat down. He was looking anywhere but Michael, chewing his bottom lip, looking more like a man about to receive a sentencing than a blowjob.
“Dave! C'mon, hop to it. Let's see some action!” Steve wasn't even looking, too busy with fitting two more fingers into his lackey's ass.
Dave finally looked at Michael, in all his flushed glory, his features heavy-lidded and slackened now that Steve had warmed him up. They locked eyes and Michael nodded, glancing at the bulge of Dave's pants.
The F.I.B agent looked skyward a moment and finally began to undo his pants, reaching into his boxers to slowly pull himself out.
Michael, trying to focus on anything but those insistent fingers, paid close attention to Davey's actions. Dave was clearly shy, his movements were slow, awkward, and he couldn't make eye contact for very long, his gaze shifting from Michael's face, to his own hands, the wall, whatever Steve was up to, and beyond. Michael was about to just reach up and yank the man out of his pants himself when Dave finally got himself free.
Well worth the wait. Michael practically hitched his breath, his glazed eyes lighting up as he watched Dave give it a few anticipating strokes before fully revealing himself.
For a man with as quiet and disheveled an appearance and demeanor as Dave, he had a beautiful cock. It was lengthy and thick, ridged with veins and capped by a round head. The kind of dick they made molds for dildos out of. This was a nice change of pace from Steve's below-average.
Michael inched forward, ignoring the annoyed scoff behind him, focusing on Davey and that gorgeous meat. As he moved in, he brought a hand up, giving it a firm squeeze before burying his teary face into the base and balls of it, his mouth open and tongue out.
Oh, the sound Davey made was going to haunt Michael for a very, very long time. He could hear the tension, all the pent-up frustrations, all that exhaustion that Davey exuded come pouring out of him in one long, deep-throated groan.
He'd have to really show Davey some love, treat him right after all these years.
Steve said something behind him, but Michael couldn't hear him, too focused on the task at hand. He sucked on one of Davey's balls, bringing it into his mouth, fondling it with his tongue before letting it slip out and bringing the other one in. Once he'd had his fun there, he slowly moved his way up, letting the length of Davey's cock rest against his face as he did. He kissed, sucked on, and licked up every inch of it, even giving soft little nibbles here and there, soaking in every sound and sigh Davey gave. He sounded completely breathless already, and he hadn't even gotten properly sucked off yet.
Steve, not to be ignored, slid a fourth finger and another glob of spit into Michael, still curving and prodding while stretching him out. The lavish attention Michael was giving Davey was pissing him off, even if he'd been the one to invite Dave in the first place. He pulled his hand out, spitting into the palm and stroking himself before he was tucking the tip into Michael's ass.
As soon as he was past the tightest part, he shoved in, enjoying the pained sound Michael gave out. He wanted more of that. He gave a few experimental thrusts, slow and deep, getting them both slicked up, before grabbing onto the fat of Michael's hips and getting straight to fucking him, the pace quick and deep.
“Oooh, you've been holding out on me, amigo…”
Michael tensed hard, stopping his work to moan into Dave's thigh, the sounds deep in his chest and choppy.
Dave had a hand on Michael's head, caressing his hair, watching his pained face in fascination and concern.
“Steve- aren't you going too hard?” He sounded soft but urgent, in that way only he could manage.
Before Steve could pick a scathing remark, Michael surfaced from Dave's loins, looking as cocky as he could manage.
“Davey-this guy don't impress me. He'd-nngh…he'd need a few more inches before that ever happens.”
Steve looked incredulous, staring wide-eyed at Michael as his pace slowed down, searching for something to say.
Dave cracked a smile, exchanging amused looks with Michael before the latter went back to work, swirling his tongue over the tip of his cock, leaving Davey breathless again.
“Well, you don't impress anyone, even with those extra inches!” Steve suddenly blurted out, returning to his original pace with a renewed vigor. He couldn't stand to look at either of them, closing his eyes and focusing on his thrusts.
Michael took the onslaught by finally taking in Davey as well, relaxing his throat so he could really swallow him.
Dave moaned, briefly unrestrained before covering his mouth with a hand, his gaze shifting heavily-lidded to the ceiling. Lord help him, he wasn't sure how long he'd last at this rate. He was shocked he hadn't burst on Michael's tongue the moment it had touched him.
Normally, he wouldn't think of Steve in any sort of sexual context, at least not enjoyably, but seeing him fuck Michael had Dave enraptured. He could feel him tense and strain and brace himself with every frenzied impact. Weakness wasn't something he saw often on an emotionally withdrawn guy like Michael, but it kept flashing across his face, his brow drawn together and up, eyes fluttering open and squeezing shut.
And the sounds he made…all man. Deep- chested grunts and muffled groans that felt amazing against his cock.
He ran both hands along Michael's head, spreading his fingers through short, black hair, squeezing gently. He couldn't help it, he started bucking his hips into him, ignoring the initial moan of pained surprise Michael gave.
Steve perked up, a grin forming as he watched Dave use Michael. Now this was what he'd wanted. He bent over Michael, arms framing his waist with hands planted firmly to the floor. He slowed his pace, but deepened the thrusts, pressing in hard.
Michael felt a little panic starting to well up in him, this was getting claustrophobic. His head was being held firmly in place as Davey face-fucked him, and Steve was pushing in closer and closer, looming over him. It didn't help that they both had height and weight on him, he felt like a beer can getting crushed.
God. At least hookers got paid.
Davey's grip on his hair was tightening, but his thrusts stayed steady, just deep enough to keep Michael tense even without the cock in his ass. He gave an experimental pull back but was met with stubborn resistance, Davey pulling him back in, holding him in place and maintaining his thrusts. Even after Michael audibly gagged, he still didn't let up.
Why did that make his cock throb? Michael moaned around Davey, grappling mentally with how much he was enjoying getting used by two dirty old men. Steve was certainly using him, in just about every sense of the word. He was panting and muttering behind him, swears and demeaning comments that Michael couldn't quite make out with everything else going on.
Distracted by his own messy arousal, he was caught off-guard by Davey giving an enormous groan and holding him close as he came down his throat. He could feel it twitching, a squirmy feeling that drove him crazy. He held on by Davey's thighs, trying his hardest not to vomit as he was facefucked to completion. He didn't have a choice in swallowing it or not, Davey made sure of it, keeping him held down until he was absolutely finished.
“Oh, Davey, how long's it been since you came in something that wasn't a tissue?”
Ever the commentator. Dave ignored Steve, releasing Michael and rolling the chair back a foot or two to compose himself. He slumped over, resting his arms on his knees, looking absolutely shot.
Michael had been supporting himself on Dave, so when the F.I.B agent backed off, his front end collapsed to the ground, giving Steve a better angle. The redhead took full advantage, putting a hand between his shoulder blades and pushing him further into the floor.
They carried on like that for a minute, Mikey moaning into the mat as he was rammed at such an angle. He kept catching little glimpses of Davey, feeling a rush every time the man glanced at him.
But soon enough, Davey was tucking himself back into his pants and standing up, wiping the sweat from his face and looking down at him with a look tinged with regret.
“I-uh…Thank you, Michael…Steve... That was…”
Unable to find the right words to explain himself, he turned with a wave of his hand and hurried out the door, never looking back.
Michael had lifted himself up onto his elbows, looking at the door in numb shock, but Steve was quick to push him back down, demanding the angle he'd grown accustomed to.
“Miss your little boyfriend already? Don't worry, I'll take good care of you.”
A foreign, soft hand wrapped around Michael's straining cock, giving a few strokes before he could hiss and swat it away.
“Stop-Don't touch me! I don't need that.”
He sounded so urgent that Steve let go almost immediately, but he brought his hands back into Michael's hair instead, grabbing and shoving his head into the office mat as he fucked him.
“Oh, shut the fuck up! ‘Don't touch me!’ You sound like such a chick.”
He rubbed Michael's head back and forth into the floor, sneering at him.
“Next time you're gonna tell me you've got a headache.”
Michael's face burned against the damp mat. Feeling Steve touch him like that had crossed a line he hadn't even realized he'd drawn. It made him sick, angry, and most of all…turned on, dammit. What the fuck was wrong with him? Did he really want a guy like Steve getting him off?
But his hands were so warm and soft…Not a hint of a callous anywhere…and covered so much territory with how broad they were…
He groaned against the rubber, his exhale bubbling up the drool, sweat and tears it was slick with.
Steve finally let go of his hair, backing off into their original position, with his hands gripping Michael's hips. Every thrust in, he would yank Michael back onto him, maximizing each impact.
Neither of them spoke for a while, just moans and grunts and the sound of their bodies clashing. Michael's eyes were unfocused and half-lidded, his hands curling and stretching aimlessly. His mind was on Davey, how he'd sounded and felt when he came down his throat. He wished Davey was the one fucking him, and he didn't even care anymore what that made him sexually. He was currently letting a man he absolutely hated rearrange his guts, that need for shame was long gone.
Steve bent down over him again, his arms wrapping around Michael's middle for a proper grip.
Oh thank god, he was getting close. Michael could hear it in his breathing, all tense and low, but with that tinge of a whine he got when he was nearing the end.
He had to admit, he was impressed with Steve's stamina. He'd been fucking him hard for at least thirty minutes now, and had been receiving non-stop stimuli for over an hour without cumming. Just the thought was making Michael feel drained.
His own cock had been oozing all the while, never stimulated enough to cum but all too much so to ever soften. It was as maddening as it was addicting, especially with his usual performance issues.
Suddenly Steve was huffing in his ear, dragging him out of his thoughts as the man worked himself up to finishing. His grip on Michael tightened, his thrusts got messier and more violent, and suddenly he was spilling into him, his groans rising to that signature whining pitch.
Totally embarrassing.
Michael hadn't even tried to tell Steve not to cum in him. At this point, why would he? He just lay there and took it, like the well-trained patsy he had become. He screwed his eyes up, ignoring the commotion behind him. As soon as he was done, Steve pulled out, the both of them sharing a groan at the feeling. He got up, smacking Michael's thigh on his way, pulling a hand towel from a desk drawer to clean himself up before tucking himself back into his pants.
Michael had collapsed and rolled onto his back, breathing heavily. His pants had gotten kicked off at some point and were lying in a pile nearby, his suit jacket had ended up in a similar state, and his collared shirt, now only partially buttoned, was practically translucent, stuck to his body with sweat and God knows what else. Had he been wearing a tie when he came in? He certainly wasn't now.
Steve tossed the towel onto him, then walked to each pile of clothing and kicked them towards him, a look of disgust on his face.
“Ugh, Michael, look at you. Though I'd rather not. Put some fucking clothes on.”
Michael blinked up at him, lifting his head just enough to look at his own body and semi before collapsing again, his eyes closed.
“I don't know Steve, you seemed to like the view just fine a few minutes ago.”
He gave his cock some lazy, blissful strokes, peeking an eye at his tormentor and feeling a confusing flash of arousal when he saw the dumb look Steve was giving. Flustered, still horny, almost…submissive.
Welp. Surely that was enough discovery for one night. He grabbed the towel off of his thigh, wiped up the mess between his legs and set about dragging his clothes over and onto him.
Steve was quick to move past his own thoughts, turning to his desk with a sneering look on his face.
“I've got something for you. Nothing huge. A little B&E, hard drive thefts, data wipes. Your sort of thing.”
Oh, now came the business talk? He had cum leaking out of his ass, for Christ's sake.
Best acknowledgement he could give was a weary “...Oh yeah?” as he shakily rose to his feet.
Steve turned around, sitting on the edge of his desk with his arms crossed.
“Yeah, and if you screw me over on this one like you did the last time, I'm pulling the plug on your little eyewitness operation, okay?”
Michael buttoned up his pants, carefully tucking his cock back down the leg as he thought about Steve's comment.
“What's this about me screwing you?”
Steve looked thoroughly unamused, glaring with his jaw set, but he had a pink tinge spreading across his ears and face that Michael could see even in the dim light.
“You really think you're funny, huh? You're such a stuck-up asshole, Michael.”
Michael stepped up to Steve, a smug grin on his face.
“You sound so much like my wife right now, it's not even funny. Sure you don't want to bend over for me?”
If Steve was blushing before, he was completely flushed now. He couldn't even say anything, leaning back and away with his eyes impossibly wide, glaring frantically between Michael's face and his obvious bulge. The embarrassment was almost…cute on him.
Michael didn't know what he was doing. He didn't want to fuck Steve. He was a total prick, mouthy and unbearable, self-obsessed, practically evil, tall, conventionally handsome, pretty…Ugh. Jesus Christ. This was not in his plans at all. But he was positively eating up this reversal of roles, and when a boytoy gave him signals like that, he couldn't just walk away. Not to mention his nearly painful erection pointing at the man in question.
Michael stepped so close he could feel the heat radiating from that worked-up body. His eyes never left Steve's, giving a taunting flick of his eyebrows, watching for any reaction. Steve still had his arms folded defensively, but his expression was weakening by the second. He'd gone from glaring daggers to near-worried, his sneer bordering on a pout.
It was Michael's turn to glance down, and lo and behold, Steve was hard again. He almost immediately crossed a leg, tucking his shame away, but Michael had seen everything he needed to. He folded his arms, mirroring Steve, and cocked his head, giving a pursed smile.
“You didn't say no, Steve…”
Steve bristled, his eyes wide.
“Well, I didn't say yes, either!”
He shifted further back onto the desk, now sitting on it to get away from Michael and his stupid boner. The paperwork he'd been doing earlier wrinkled up beneath him and a cup of pens was knocked over in the process.
He broke eye contact to look at the mess behind him before whipping his head back to Michael with a renewed rage.
“Look what you did!”
He stood back up to his full height in an attempt to make Michael back off, but the shorter man stood his ground, hands on his hips. Steve now found himself trapped against the desk with their fronts pressed horribly close together, emphasizing just how hard they both were.
“Oh, I did that? My bad.” Michael sounded disarming, but pressed his hips into Steve's as he spoke, admiring the embarrassing look he received. In general, being this close, he could really appreciate just how handsome this piece of shit was. Masculine and sculpted, both naturally and through procedures and regiments. Yet despite the chiseled features, he still had a boyish quality to him that just begged for an older man to show him how it's done.
“Michael…”
Steve sounded somewhere between demanding and pleading.
He didn't respond. He was busy looking at those soft lips and thinking about every position he wanted this stupid redhead in.
“Michael!”
“Huh? Sorry, I was thinking about how tight your ass probably is.”
He was practically in at this point, he didn't care anymore. If Steve really wanted him to back off, he'd have shoved him aside already. They both knew that.
Steve tried to adopt a scowl, his lips turned almost comically down, but it softened quickly into more desperation and a shameful look away as Michael gave another firm roll of his hips into him.
“Mmm-oh fuck-”
Oh, fuck indeed. Michael felt his heart rate quicken as he brought his hands up, one grabbing Steve's hip and the other pawing at his crotch, undoing his pants and tugging them down.
Steve, oddly, let him, watching on in a sort of dumb, helpless way.
This felt totally different than taking Steve out of his pants before. Earlier, it'd been about humiliating Michael. But this was about humiliating Steve. And the guy was just letting him!
He leaned in close, slapping the desk behind them a few times.
“Well? You bending over for me or not?”
Steve had leaned back, trying to avoid their faces getting too close together.
“Fucking shitbag.”
Disgust darkened his expression and he grabbed Michael's shoulders to push him away, but it was half-hearted and Michael once again stood his ground, his own hands going to Steve's hips to caress the soft sides of his ass. He grinned lazily up at Steve, his hands cupping a cheek each and squeezing.
Steve's mouth opened at the bold gesture, but he was refreshingly silent, looking down at Michael in aroused shock.
It was Michael's turn to get pushy, locking his hands to Steve's hips again and shoving him back into the desk.
He hardly had to use any force, the moment he applied pressure Steve folded, sitting down once more. His pants dropped from his knees to his ankles, revealing ginger-blonde leg hair and white mid-length socks.
With an almost-graceful flourish of his feet, he got his pants and shoes to the floor, the contents of his pockets clattering on their way down.
He settled back on the palms of his hands, turning his head away from Michael, a slight pout back on his lips and his eyes focused on a particularly boring patch of wall.
Fuck, the bashful routine was cute on Steve. It was just so different from his usual inflated ego and bravado. And him flipping between the two just made it all the more intriguing.
Michael dropped his hands, pulling himself out and stroking idly, no real goal in mind yet. He could see the end of Steve's erection from beneath his polo shirt, just as hard as before he'd cum. It looked smaller like this, with none of the threatening demeanor it had had prior.
Between wearing nothing but the socks and shirt and the shy mannerisms, Steve really had an innocent, little boy-like quality to him that Michael suddenly felt a bit spellbound by. He stepped closer, reaching a hand under and up Steve's shirt to grab a handful of soft, muscular tit, the other hand wrapping his thumb and first three fingers around the head of Steve's cock to tug on. Steve inhaled through his nose, rolling his eyes but spreading his legs a little further.
“...You're real pretty, y'know that?”
Michael kept that easygoing demeanor up, he had to. If not he'd be stuck jerking off into an old Burgershot napkin in his car yet again.
Steve looked at him, his expression difficult to read. He kinda looked like he wanted to yell at him, but there was a vulnerability there that was foreign to the both of them, too.
“Just get this over with, Michael.”
Steve sighed the words, looking away to that same wall again.
“Say that again, baby. You and my wife, it's uncanny.”
Michael couldn't help himself, he had to push his luck, and now he had a hand around his throat and Steve's snarling face inches from his own.
“Stop talking about your fucking wife!”
Michael had let go of Steve's body immediately, once more finding himself with his hands submissively up and a vulnerable part of himself in Steve's grasp. It was a grim reminder of who was truly in charge here.
“Y-yeah-my bad, my bad…”
They stared at each other a few moments, Michael finally looking away in defeat before Steve let go.
“...There's a bottle of lube in the middle drawer. Don't make a mess.”
Michael nodded, rubbing his throat as he rummaged around. Steve pulled his shirt off, looking bored and unhelpful as he toyed with his own cock.
It was a rather expensive bottle of silicone lube, some high-end brand that only Los Santos would sell. Probably from Devin fucking him in the ass.
Steve couldn't have bothered wasting a precious drop on fucking Michael's ass earlier, no sir.
He squirted some into his hand, spreading it around his fingers. Could have told him it was $2.99 Astroglide and he'd have believed it. He gave a practically-drunk smirk to Steve, carefully running a finger up the crack of his ass. Steve winced with a sharp inhale at the cold and Michael gave a mocking but gentle coo in response.
“Relax, it ain't even in yet. Lemme take care of you, kid.”
Steve stiffened up at the nickname, but his cock did, too, just above Michael's hand. Michael didn't say anything but wrapped his free hand back around it, stroking slow and soft. He just barely dipped the pad of his finger into Steve's ass, trying to gauge how used to this the man was. Another pass and he prodded deeper, watching Steve's expression. He had his eyes shut, brow furrowed in concentration. Another deeper pass and his lip quivered a little.
Michael pushed further until the first two knuckles were in, enjoying the flutter that ran through the cock in his hands. He felt around a little, rubbing Steve's prostate whenever he passed it, watching the man start to come undone. Steve was trying to steady his breathing, his eyes barely open, staring at Michael's chest. Another finger slid in and he grabbed at Michael's lapels, gasping.
“Don't- don't jerk me off yet…”
He was pointedly avoiding eye contact again, uncharacteristic for Steve.
“That sensitive, huh?”
“Fuck you, man.”
Michael stopped himself from saying something dumb, something along the lines of “No, I think I'll fuck you.” and let go of Steve, electing to slide a third finger in instead. His boss sighed, inching his hips closer to the desk's edge and arched his back, giving a frankly enticing view of his undercarriage. It was taking everything in Michael not to just rip his hand out and shove his cock in. But he had to be good, so he carefully maneuvered his fingers until he was pushing firmly and fully against Steve's prostate. The man had a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the desk, squeezing his eyes shut while his raised brow wrinkled his forehead. A high, straining whine left him.
Michael stayed quiet, enjoying the show. He'd never seen Steve like this before and it was making him feel mad with power, especially after the humiliating (albeit enjoyable) debacle he'd just endured at Steve's hands.
He pulled his fingers out and spread the leftover slick against his cock, appreciating how hard he was. Disregarding the abandoned lube bottle, he spat down onto his hand, mixing the two fluids until satisfied.
“Alright, kid. Think you're ready for me?”
Steve rolled his eyes again, the sweat and blush on his face betraying him, and nodded. He still couldn't look Michael in the eyes.
But he leaned back til he was on his elbows, putting his most vulnerable parts on display for the older man.
“... Yeah, you look ready. Just take a deep breath and let daddy do the work, huh?”
Steve shot him a dirty look, a verbal protest riding his lips, but any growing objection disappeared as Michael started to press in. Steve's disagreeing look changed to near-panic before settling into half-lidded, overwhelmed acceptance as Michael got about midway and paused.
“Hey, you still with me, kid?”
“Uh huh…”
Oh jeez. He'd never once seen this kind of weakness on Steve before. It would have been nauseating if not for their current predicament. But right now, it was insanely hot. He pulled back a few inches before pushing in til he couldn't anymore, turning his head so his ear was by Steve's mouth to savor every restrained whimper.
Steve's shuddering inhale and the soft cry that followed was better than any whore huffing about how great Michael's cock was. He started a pace, nice and slow, pulling almost all the way out and pressing in all the way each time. It wasn't long before Steve was a writhing, whining mess, his hands grabbing fistfuls of the back of Michael's jacket and his legs stretching out with a renewed carelessness.
“Hey, hey- easy with the suit.”
Without thinking, Michael spoke sternly, immediately filled with a thick panic of incurring Steve's wrath.
The younger man looked him dead-on, a bit blankly, before mumbling “...Sorry…” and looking away, his hands smoothing over Michael's back before settling behind him on the desk again.
Michael's cock twitched, hard, and he knew Steve could feel it. But God damn it, the change in this pompous redhead was alluring. In about 15 minutes, he'd gone from choking and yelling at Michael to getting fucked in the ass, embarrassed by too much eye contact and acting like a chastised child.
He was going to have to pace himself, make this last as long as he possibly could. He ceased his movements and brought a hand between them, cupping one of Steve's pecs, rubbing a thumb and forefinger together at the nipple contemplatively.
The pause already had Steve huffing and writhing, but when Michael teased his breast like that he moaned and jerked his hips, shoving his chest up and into him.
“Keep going…!”
It was whiny, lacking any of his usual commanding airs. He looked down at Michael with an utterly pathetic look on his face, any shame over his position gone.
Michael felt daring. He pinched, hard, twisting his wrist with the motion. Steve buried his mouth into Michael's shoulder to muffle his cry of pain.
“Say please.”
Steve didn't resurface immediately, shifting his head so his eyes and brow were pressed into Michael's shoulder instead.
“Please. Please.”
No hesitation, not even a stutter. Damn. Did he break this guy?
Michael blinked, then brought his hands to Steve's back, rubbing comfortingly before bringing them down to Steve's hips, grabbing onto the fatty part that met his thighs.
“Jeez you're eager, aren't ya, kid? You always wanted it this bad from me?”
He waited for Steve to lift his head, his expression bleary-eyed and a bit irritated, before he gave Steve what he wanted and started pounding into him.
Steve yelped, his arms coming back up to wrap around Michael. He squeezed them both closer together, pleading incoherently and pressing Michael's stubbly face into his soft chest and neck. Michael took advantage of that, rubbing his jawline against the sensitive skin there before sinking his teeth into it.
In a desperate attempt to stifle himself, Steve bit the inside of his lips shut, but all it served him was an emphasis on how high his cries were getting. His cock was sliding between their sweaty stomachs, Michael's heavier gut putting enough pressure on it to stimulate him to completion far sooner than he'd have wanted. He pawed at the back of Michael's neck and squirmed his hips, trying to communicate his problem, but all he could do was stammer and cry out-
“Wait, please! Daddy, don't-!!”
Too late. It spilled up onto both of their chests and stomachs, one, two, three pumps.
Michael surfaced to gloat but was left speechless by the sight of Steve sobbing, his cheeks red, a hand covering his teary eyes. He was barely supporting his own weight with one elbow, falling back further with every thrust and shaking breath.
Michael didn't slow down, if anything he sped up, encouraged by the wreck he'd made of Steve. He snuck his arms past the crying man to grab onto the desk, thrusting up into him with wild abandon and a sense of vengeance. He'd wanted to fuck Steve like this for a long time now, even if he'd never have admitted it before. He couldn't understand a word out of Steve and it didn't matter, every desperate sound pushing him further, and further-
“I said get off!”
One of those soft, lovely hands connected with his collar and shoved hard, pulling him out of Steve and sending him stumbling back. He was lucky he was able to catch his balance, rubbing at his throat and trying to collect his bearings as Steve stood up, turning his back on him.
Michael didn't dare finish himself by hand, didn't dare even speak. He shoved himself back into his pants and zipped up, mentally cursing himself out for going too far. He really didn't want to get on Steve's bad side. Even if the guy cried when he got fucked.
Steve dressed himself in silence, turning around only when he was fully clothed, running a hand through his hair to finish the illusion of composure.
He stared at Michael, nose wrinkled slightly, wiping sweat from his lip as he considered his words.
“We're done here.”
He reached for some papers on his desk, snatching a file and shoving it in Michael's chest.
“That's everything you need to know. Names, addresses, what you're looking for.”
He kept his hand, papers beneath, pinned to Michael's chest a few moments longer, his expression growing intense as he leaned in a little.
“Like I said-you fuck this up? You're done-for good.”
Michael paled, nodding as he grabbed at the packet, looking worriedly up at Steve.
“Yeah, I hear you. Loud and clear.”
Steve backed off, but not before giving Michael another small shove, and not without keeping his intense, wide-eyed stare.
Michael stared back a few beats before busying himself looking around for any more of his clothes and patting himself down for his keys and phone. Steve stared on, looking more irritated by the moment before Michael finally started to head for the exit. The older man was reaching for the doorknob before he finally spoke again.
“Michael.”
“...Steve.”
There was a pause, awkward and vacant.
“See you next week, asshole.”
Michael pointed to him without looking, cocking his head in acknowledgment as he stepped into the hall.
He was wobbling a bit on his way out the building, sore at both ends and still uncomfortably hard. But he still booked it, on a mission to get to his quiet, spacious, window-tinted car. He was a bit worried he'd run into Davey, or that Steve would call him back up, or God forbid Sanchez decided he wanted a piece of him, too.
The moment he was in the car with the door locked, he was reaching into his pants, his free hand groping around for a napkin, a wrapper, a fast food box, hell, he'd take anything at this point.
Closing his fist around himself sent a shiver through him. He was still slick with lube and spit, easing his motions.
His wandering hand found a modestly greasy napkin and snatched it up, holding it loosely as his other hand got to work.
He leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs a little, his mind reflecting on his insane night. Davey's appearance had been incredible, and incredibly hot, but as much as Michael wished he could jerk it to Davey's beautiful cock right now, his mind was stuck on a particular redhead. His thoughts swam with that bratty, whiny, childish way Steve had gotten, the tearful looks, the begging…And he could smell his cologne and the scent of his pheromonal sweat all over him. He turned his head to the shoulder of his jacket where Steve had kept burying his face and breathed in, smelling brief glimpses of his conditioner and moaning.
And again, the sounds…once he'd gotten Steve worked up enough, the boy had given up entirely on appearances, too caught up in his own pursuit of pleasure to care.
But as his thoughts and hand became more frantic, the plot shifted again, and he found himself masturbating to Steve taking him down, pinning him to the floor as he pounded mercilessly into him. Steve always could easily overpower him. And he'd clearly slept with men before, he wasn't inexperienced at all, Michael knew it. His motions sped up, he sniffed at his shoulder, thought about Steve's hands wrapping around his cock, and with a heavy groan finally spilled out into the napkin. After a few moments, he wiped himself clean and tossed his shame out the window before collapsing back in his chair, chest heaving.
He glanced at the envelope tossed carelessly up on his dashboard, gave a dismissive wave of his hand and started his car up.
Next week, asshole.