Erotic short. Russ stays late after work.
Explicit M/M erotica between an older cis man and a younger trans man. Dry humour. Includes age gap, boss/employee relationship, spanking, nipple play, painplay, teasing, implied overstim, oral, implied PIV.
For the trans man, terms used are chest, cunt, cock, clit, lips, folds. He wears a binder and reference is made throughout to weird body effects of being on T, including use of oestrogen gel.
It’s late in the evening when Russ walks down the corridors with the patron surveys from the day in his hands — once the library closes up, it’s the last thing he likes to get done at the end of the day, scanning them onto the system so that they can be looked at alongside their book usage stats at their reviews with the council.
Most of them use the computer system directly now, so there’s never too much to sit down and type up when it comes to the notes sections, but even when Russ has typed them up, Xander likes to see the hard copies, likes to flick through them before they’re shredded.
He prefers paper.
There’s a surreal quality to walking through the library at night, when the main doors are closed and the lights are down in all the meeting rooms and the library proper, but it isn’t the darkness that’s strange so much as the silence. He’s used to hearing quiet chatter from the meeting rooms, whether they’re being used by patrons or local groups, used to hearing shuffling steps through the different archives and hallways, used to the hum from the lights, used to all of it.
Libraries are quiet places, but there’s such a thing as too quiet.
When he steps into Xander’s office, at least, there’s noise: some selection of Purcell is playing on the radio, and Xander is humming quietly to himself as he stands at the window, stroking his fingers over the back of Aphrodite’s head and swaying on his feet.
Russ looks at him from behind, at the way his arse and muscled thighs fill out the fabric of his trousers, the way his shoulders ripple under the light grey wool of his cardigan. Lysander is a tall man, square and lean, exercises a lot more than a lot of men his age, and some of the other librarians have talked about his body, talked about how he’s hot, for his age, how if they were into dad bods, they’d see what he was up to.
“Everything finished up, Russell?” asks Xander, turning to look at him. Aphrodite is coiled loosely around his arm, basking in his palm with her tongue flickering out as she peers at Russ himself, but Xander puts her back into her tank and sets the lid closed before coming over to him.
“Just these,” says Russ, handing him the slips, and Xander half-smiles at him, eyes heavily lidded, in a way that makes Russ swallow and shift unsteadily on his feet. Xander plucks the papers from him and sets them in his in-tray, which he supposes means Xander won’t be getting to them already.
He feels hot under his clothes, trying to keep himself stood up straight and not slouch, because Xander’s been hot on that recently, keeps touching his hand to Russ’ back when he passes him in the stacks or when he’s stood behind the desk, or murmurs in his ear, breathes hot on his neck, and says, “Stand tall, young man,” in a way that always makes him wet.
His cock is hard now, stiff against the inside of his boxers, and he’s already slightly wet from the anticipation alone.
“Good man,” says Xander pleasantly. “Remind me why I asked you to come and see me?”
Russ swallows.
Xander remembers, of course. Lysander Cage remembers almost everything, it seems to Russ.
“Disciplinary action,” Russ says slightly hoarsely.
“What for?” prompts Xander.
Russ shifts slightly on his feet, keeping his shoulders straight. “’Cause I asked,” he mutters, and Xander arches an eyebrow.
“For mumbling, did you say?” he asks archly, and Russ inhales, because when Xander gets snippy and condescending, somehow it’s hotter, and Russ knows damn well there’s probably a half a dozen things at play that makes him soak through his boxers when Xander’s in the room, the combination of his age and Russ’ presumable daddy issues, Xander’s height and Russ’ awareness, his anxiety, about being short; Xander’s posh, upper class nastiness and Russ just being —
Well, normal.
“’Cause I asked for it,” Russ says, slightly louder this time.
Xander repeats, with a mild acidity, “’Cause?”
Russ makes to cross his arms over his chest, but just the look on Xander’s face stops them halfway up, and he puts his hands at his sides again. His nipples are hard against the tight fabric against his binder.
“I asked for disciplinary action,” Russ says, a little crisply, “because I like your hands, and I like it when you sp — when you spank me.”
“Where do you like it?” asks Xander innocently as he steps forward, drying off his hands with a little towel and setting it aside. He unzips Russ’ fleece jacket as he does so, and because he’s tall and Russ is short, Russ is forced to look up at his face, at his smug smile.
“Where you want to give it to me,” says Russ.
“Good answer,” says Xander in a quiet, dangerous purr. “Not the one I’m looking for, though.”
He slides Russ’ jacket down his shoulders, and Russ watches him hang it on the back of the visitor chair.
“Try again,” Xander prompts as his fingers start unbuttoning Russ’ shirt, button by button.
“My thighs,” says Russ. “My — my, uh, my… my arse. My backside.”
Xander tugs the bottom of his shirt out of his trousers, and then slides the shirt off his shoulders too, putting this on the back of the chair as well.
“Is that all?” asks Xander, and pulls down the zips on each side of his binder at the same time: the sudden loosening of it, although the fabric is still very tight, makes Russ blink a few times, inhaling.
Xander is quiet as he wriggles out of it, just stands there and watches him pull his binder off, but then he takes it and folds that, too, over his shirt and jacket.
“You don’t like to be spanked anywhere else?” asks Xander, but before Russ can answer he takes one of Russ’ nipples in each of his hands and pulls hard. The skin is sensitive with the sudden blood flow, no longer pressed down tight against his chest, and Russ’ voice cracks as he squeaks out a sound of pleasure, his cock jumping in his boxers. He leans into Xander’s hands as Xander pulls a little harder, twisting just slightly, and he nods fervently, gasping between sounds of pleasure. “Where else?”
“My p — My, my, fuck, Xander, please — ”
“Where. Else?” Xander pinches as hard as he can on the first word and lets go on the second so that all the blood suddenly flows back to the skin, and Russ presses his knees together.
“My cunt,” says Russ.
“Oh,” says Xander, in a tone of mock surprise. “I expect I can manage that. Over the desk, darling.”
Darling.
Russ bends over the way he knows Xander likes him to, pushes the chair aside and puts his palms flat against the wood, tips forward. Xander comes up behind him, layers kisses up the length of his spine as he unbuckles Russ’ belt and slides it free, setting that over the chair too, and undoes his trousers, slides them down his thighs.
He was four months on T when they started this: he’s nine months on, now, and he knows that Xander loves the new hair that’s grown in strange, uneven patches over his back, his arse, his thighs, his belly, because whenever he has him like this he touches it, slides his palm over the new hair.
“Would you like me to fuck you tonight, Russell?” asks Xander politely, even as one hand slides down between his arse cheeks — that’s hairier than he’d like, too — and further down, fingers sliding between his lips and touching the skin between them, where the skin is thin, pink, and sensitive. There’s slick dripping down to Russ’ cock, and he’s so red he feels like his cheeks might burst.
“Yes,” whispers Russ. “Ye — yeah, please, yes, but, but not — not here, can I, can I come to yours?”
“Of course,” says Xander, hand moving slowly, deliberately, dipping his fingers into where Russ is open and wet, the slick thick and gooey and impossibly wet, even more than it used to be, now he’s using the oestrogen gel, and when he slides his fingers between his inner and outer lips this time, Russ gasps in a shuttered breath, bending over further and sticking his arse out. “But first, I feel I must discipline you. You did ask me for it, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” says Russ.
“You do want it, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Yes.”
“Good,” murmurs Xander. “I do so love to hear it.”
His hand claps down so hard that for a moment Russ doesn’t feel it, is just aware of the wet slap of Xander’s well-moisturised palm against his soaking lips, the pop of it clapping over his hole, aware of the way his arse jiggles slightly.
Then, the sharp, stinging pain hits, an electric shock that bursts all the way through his cunt, makes his cock jump, makes him clench around empty air, and Russ howls. Whenever Xander touches him during work hours he shoves something into his mouth to keep him quiet, but he likes it like this, he always says, loves to hear the noise Russ makes.
Russ presses his face down against his hands just before Xander hits him again, lower this time so that he smacks right against Russ’ dick, bounces the whole bundle of nerves off his pubic bone and makes his whole body sear with it, and then Xander starts hitting him again and again and there’s no respite from it, no escape, nothing except the stinging pain and impossible pleasure that comes with it, again and again and again —
He’s sobbing, tears on his cheeks, and scrabbling and grabbing at the desk as Xander keeps bringing his hand down, against his cunt, against his each of his arse cheeks, his thighs, until his whole body is alive with the heat and the pain.
He’s never felt so empty in his life, can feel how big his cock has gotten and how swollen his lips are, how fat and ready he is to be fucked, and he knows when Xander fucks him that it’ll hurt, and the pain will be so good he can’t stop thinking about it.
There’s slick soaked down his thighs, dripping down toward his knees, and he hiccoughs when Xander leans in and breathes hot air over his stinging cunt, makes him whine.
“Fuck me here,” begs Russ, and Xander laughs.
“No, my dear, I asked you where you wanted me to fuck you — I’m going to bring you home.”
“Xander, Lysander, please, please — ”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t let you come,” says Xander primly, and takes a handful of him, squeezes Russ’ hard dick in between the thick folds of his outer lips, although it used to be that he could hide it between them, sandwich it in, and how it’s big enough with the T that it sticks out.
Xander pinches the middle of it and begins to wank him off with it, crouching so that he can see while he does it, because he likes to watch Russ’ cunt when he has him like this, likes to watch the way his keyhole muscles move when he clenches, the way his dick jumps with every jerk.
Xander had never touched a cunt before he’d first fucked Russ, had told him Russ would need to show him how to do everything, and the first time Russ had told him how to do this, had moved his hands into place as he pressed himself back against Xander’s chest, Xander had been fascinated. His fingers had been clumsy, uncertain, but when he’d first sandwiched Russ’ cock between the fat flesh of his lips to jerk him off like this, he’d laughed, and said it was “rather like a sort of self-serve coitus interfemoris, or interlabium, I suppose I ought say,” which really had no business making anybody come, but it had.
“I’m gonna, I really, fuck, Xander, please, just, can you just put your fingers in — inside — ”
“No, I think I’d like to watch,” says Xander primly, and starts to jerk him off even faster.
Russ gasps in breaths between moans, spreads his thighs wider apart, and when he pulls down, makes electricity spark out from his cock to the rest of him, he almost can’t come and then he does, and it feels like crashing over a precipice.
His knees go weak and the world goes slightly dark and explosive, and he’s aware he’s making horrible, hoarse moans that come from deep in his diaphragm and crackle as they exit through his throat, and as he rides it through, Xander still playing with him, he hears Xander say, “How very nice,” in the same way he comments on his first cup of tea in the mornings.
Russ collapses against the desk, breathing hard, and Xander hums to himself, along with the classical music still lilting on in the background.
“Home?” asks Russ.
“Oh, in another few minutes,” says Xander, and licks his way into his cunt.
“This doesn’t, haaa, too much, too much, doesn’t feel, doesn’t feel disciplinary, Xander, too much, too much — ” He falls onto the floor, and Xander only takes a moment’s break to flip him onto his back, spread his thighs apart and dive between them again, sucking Russ’ cock into his mouth and making him feel like his brain is about to split in two, because he knows Xander’s going to keep going until he comes again, and he’ll lose his mind before he gets there. “Lysander, Xander, you’re gonna fucking — kill me, please — !”
Xander’s mouth is busy, and he doesn’t bother to reply.
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