Daddy

Erotic short. Two men discuss the new intern at work.

Cis M/trans M, 1.5k, rated E. Age difference, daddy kink, handjobs, teasing, begging, mentions of a threesome.

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Felix sits back and sips at his tea, not taking up any of his food right away as he waits for Ian to come and join him. He looks particularly tired and grumpy today, fussy little fifty-year-old fucker in his beige cardigan rolled up to the sleeves, his shirt buttoned up tight, the collar skewed, because today Felix has watched him unbutton the top two buttons and then button them again a few minutes later at least half a dozen times.

Barry, the new intern, is staring down at him starry-eyed, because he’s just fucking hypnotised with Ian’s gruff, authoritative manner, the way he gives crisp instructions and gives out crisp praise when those instructions are followed, although Felix does think the inciting incident for Barry’s crush was probably when Ian saw him struggling to move a crate of books and just shouldered past him and lifted two of them like it was fucking easy.

Ian looks fucking tiny next to Barry, who’s six foot six and lanky and so earnest, with such exaggerated joints, Felix keeps expecting him to fold up like an extendable ruler. It’s not even as though Ian’s a little man, is a good four or five inches taller than Felix is, but beside Big Barry they all look little.

“Good lad,” says Ian, reaching up to pat Barry on one of his shoulders, and he fucking blushes as he mumbles a thank you and hurriedly stumbles down the corridor on his foal-like legs, letting Ian come past him and into the cafeteria, where he sits down beside Felix with an “oof” and a slump of his shoulders.

“How much do I owe you?” he asks, pulling the plate Felix got for him toward him and cutting his sandwich in half.

“Come to mine tonight,” says Felix.

“I’d’ve done that anyway,” says Ian, smirking slightly. “But I’ll take the free sandwich if it’s going.”

“So,” says Felix, glancing down the corridor even though Barry’s now disappeared into one of the offices, is probably losing a fight with another photocopier. “Barry.”

“Christ’s sake,” mutters Ian immediately, taking a bite of his sandwich and chewing furiously, and Felix laughs.

“I think it’s cute,” he coos. “He likes you. Can’t you just give him what he wants?”

“I won’t give that young man anything he doesn’t expressly ask for,” grumbles Ian, shaking his head. “Fucking blustering the way he does, hoping I’ll bend him over, coming up with stupid questions to ask me because he can’t just make small talk.”

“Would you be able to reach, do you think?” asks Felix innocently. “Even if you did bend him over?”

Ian gives him a flat look, and Felix laughs again, unable not to. Barry’s twenty-something, and there’s not more than ten or fifteen years between he and Felix, but he does seem so much younger, maybe because he hasn’t grown into his limbs, because he’s awkward and clumsy and so unbelievably shy.

“Well, he doesn’t know you prefer a different hand from a younger man, does he?” asks Felix quietly, and Ian keeps his mouth closed, his features static as he tries his best not to respond. Ian doesn’t blush, but the tiniest redness is appearing at the tops of his ears.

“Shut the fuck up, you prick,” says Ian. “Eat your lunch.”

“Yes, sir,” purrs Felix, putting all the emphasis on the sibilant “s” that Barry would be too frightened to do himself.

Ian’s throat bobs as he swallows, and Felix smiles to himself at the shudder of his shoulders as he concentrates on his meal.

* * *

They’re clumsy as they fall over the threshold into Felix’s flat, Felix kicking the door shut behind him and keeping close to Ian to keep kissing him, his hand sliding around the curve of Ian’s neck, his thumb pressing against the hollow of his throat and making Ian grunt into his mouth, then quietly groan at the swipe of Felix’s tongue piercing over the curve of his lower lip.

“Clothes off,” he orders crisply, and Ian stares at him, breathing heavily for a moment, but then pulls off his tie (elasticated because he can’t be arsed tying them, and even used to it, Felix chuckles fondly) and starts unbuttoning his shirt. “Bet he’s wanking over you.”

“Still on fucking Barry?”

“I bet in his thoughts it’s you fucking him,” says Felix, moving across the room and pouring himself a drink, sitting back in his armchair with his shoulders falling back against it. He got it second hand, big blue tartan wing-backed thing that it is, and it’s always perfect for nights like this.

“Well, I’m not going to,” mutters Ian, wriggling out of his trousers and kicking them away, his socks too. His cock is already half-hard between his legs, and Felix looks greedily at his thick, hairy thighs, the swell of his even hairier belly.

“Even if he asks very nicely? Come sit on my lap, pet.”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” growls the old man, and Felix laughs, because his ears are red as anything and his cock gives a twitch.

“Don’t you think Barry would be interested?” he asks, raising his eyebrows as Ian comes to sit in his lap, setting one of his thick, meaty arms on Felix’s shoulders, and oh, but he’s wonderfully heavy, a welcome weight on his thighs as Felix smears a little lube from the pump bottle on the side table on his palm. “If I told him that his precious Ian — sorry, Mr Koenig — isn’t exactly the type to fuck him about? That he’d rather sit in a pretty twink’s lap and take a good beating?”

“You’re too old to be a twink,” says Ian savagely, and Felix smiles up at him as he takes his cock in hand, gives it one firm stroke, and all of that angry bluster falters on Ian’s face, his lips parting and his eyes closing, his face going wonderfully slack. He whimpers, grasping tight at the shoulder of Felix’s shirt as Felix slides his palm delicately against the head of his prick, nudging at the fold and shift of his foreskin, feeling how wet he is.

“Say again?” asks Felix softly.

“Fuck you,” says Ian, and Felix grips him tightly, so tightly that Ian gasps in a breath through gritted teeth, his hips bucking into the touch.

“You know how to ask nicely, baby, why don’t you? Tough day at work?” He strokes Ian slowly up and down, once, twice, and then twists his wrist, but he does it all with too tight a grip and too slowly, slowly enough that Ian’s knees tremble, his toes twitching. “Mmm, you feel tense.”

“You’re touching the tensest part of me,” grunts Ian, and Felix chuckles, going even slower, and Ian’s toes curl, his body curling in too, his breath hot against the side of Felix’s hair, his nose buried against it. He’s letting out desperate little noses as Felix strokes him now, still painfully slow, barely offering anything. “Pl — Please.”

“You know what I’m waiting for,” says Felix pleasantly, squeezing his knee with his other hand, and Ian shudders out a gasp, breathless, desperate.

“Fuck,” he growls. “Fuck, Daddy, Daddy, please — ”

“Oh, that’s what I like to hear,” purrs Felix, suddenly stroking him much faster, and Ian almost yelps at the welcome pressure and friction on his cock, his hips bucking clumsily into Felix’s hand, his fingers gripping tightly at the shoulder of his shirt, bunching up the fabric. “Have you been a good boy?”

“No, I fucking haven’t, fuck, Da- Daddy, Daddy, fuck,” whimpers Ian, and when Felix laughs at him his hips buck and jerk again, because of course they do, just like always.

“What do you think Barry would think, hm?” asks Felix. “See you sitting in my lap and calling me Daddy? What about when I fuck you later, bounce you on my strap until you can’t take it any longer?”

“He wouldn’t say anything,” chokes out Ian, breathing heavy. “Stupid cunt can’t string two words together once he’s flustered, fuck, fuck, please, please, Daddy, I need it, please — ”

“Let me see it, sweetheart,” murmurs Felix, turning his face to the side and mouthing over the side of Ian’s jaw, feeling his body jerk even before he grazes his teeth over the skin and makes Ian keen; Ian’s cock pulses in Felix’s hand, new wetness sputtering over Felix’s hand, against Ian’s own belly, Felix’s. “Oh, you’ve stained my shirt.”

“I’ll get the Vanish on it in a minute,” growls Ian, kisses him hard and bruising, his hands in Felix’s hair. When he pulls back, they stay a moment, noses touching, Ian’s palms resting on Felix’s cheeks. “Do you want me to fuck him?”

Felix can’t stop his eyes from lighting up. “Would you?” he asks excitedly, and Ian stares down at him, face unreadable, before he swings his legs out of Felix’s lap and stands on slightly shaky knees.

“Give that shirt here,” he says, and Felix grins as he goes to unbutton it.