Erotic short. A boss is prompted to fuck his assistant.
Rated E, cis M/trans M, 3.5k. Age difference, size difference, boss/employee, rough sex, bareback, overstimulation, sex pollen.
Mildly dubious consent, because of the sex pollen and also because the boss prompts everything here and the employee puts up some protest, but they’re both very into it and there is mutual desire.
Allan was, honestly, a sweet man to work for. He was big, Six feet tall and very square and fat, was the sort of man you might easily find intimidating were it not for the way he held himself, delicate and contained — he had a broad, strong back, but pretty, plump hands; he was wide at the shoulder, round at the hip, pear-shaped and welcoming. He was not shy, for all that delicacy — far from it, in fact, as he could be astonishingly direct with clients, often unexpectedly.
He did tend to being quiet, but he didn’t have to be. It was a choice he made rather than something he was trapped in.
Joe had thought at first that he was naturally tended toward being dazed, that he wasn’t entirely with it all the time — Allan’s smile was sweet, but sometimes his eyes looked distant and faraway. He thought, when they first met, that it was because he wasn’t listening, or even that he was just kind of slow, but it wasn’t that.
He still didn’t know if Allan did it on purpose, got that freeze in his eyes, on his face.
It was always hard with Allan to know what was on purpose, what was him quietly, placidly taking things as they went; he tended to listen before he spoke, long before he spoke, just took things in, and let people work themselves up in front of him before he took mercy.
He talked more in private than in public, than he did in groups — he talked more with Joe one-on-one, but even then, he often gave Joe crisp, clear instructions and expected Joe to make do following them, to use his own initiative. In the beginning, Joe had struggled with it a little, when he’d been new to the job and hadn’t known exactly what he was doing, Joe had asked a lot more questions, had asked question after question, and the thing was, Allan hadn’t even answered them directly. Often he’d just hum in certain ways, or go, “And…?” or whatever, until Joe spoke the solution into existence himself.
It was nice, Joe thought, having a gay boss. Even if he didn’t say much, even if he wasn’t trans, he understood what it was like, he understood so much of Joe’s experiences, and they shared a lot of them in common.
Joe was out already when he’d met Allan, had been on T for about three months — now, he’s four years in and has had his top surgery. It’s not as if Allan has given him advice on his style, but he has on other things — he’s listened as Joe has babbled about dating, about Grindr, about how he’s perceived. He’s talked and talked about stuff, like the first time he was read as a man — great — but as a gay man, and got treated shittily for it.
Allan’s listened with that gentle smile on his face, and now and then his eyes refocus and he’ll talk instead, say something out loud, say, “I’m sorry, you were really treated quite unfairly,” or, “Young man, things really aren’t so doom and gloom,” or whatever else.
Something comforting, and nice, and almost —
Paternal.
It wasn’t like Joe expected anything from Allan, or like he was gonna be unprofessional or anything like that, but Allan didn’t have any family, and Joe didn’t really talk to his — they spent all day together, what with Joe being his assistant, and sometimes he did see him at events in the community, saw him drinking out in bars, and he’d say hello.
Naturally, he’d say hello.
He liked Allan.
“God,” Kai said after one of these nights, when they’d seen Allan sitting with a few men his own age, a lot of them fat men in their fifties, a lot of them hot, and maybe Joe had lingered longer than he’d needed to at the table, talking about the prices of cocktails, about how the night was looking. He’d just babbled on more when they’d all given him warm, polite smiles but hadn’t really engaged with him, a bunch of them just nudging Allan once or twice.
“What?” demanded Joe, rubbing at his own flushed cheeks, and Kai had laughed.
“You want to fuck him,” he said. “You want your boss to fuck you.”
“What? No. No, just — His friends, maybe,” said Joe. “If any of them would so much as look at me twice. But no, not, not Allan. No. He’s my boss, and he doesn’t see me that way. He treats me like a fucking — No. No, he wouldn’t do that. He sees me as a kid.”
“A kid he wants to fuck, maybe,” said Kai. “Didn’t you see how his friends kept nudging him?”
It had stuck in Joe’s mind.
It wasn’t like he’d ever try. It wasn’t like he’d ever try to fuck Allan, especially when he wasn’t sure that Allan even fucked at all — whenever Joe had mentioned Grindr or other apps, he’d said that he’d never used them; Joe had never known him to have a boyfriend or even hook-ups of his own, had never even heard him mention an ex; he’d seen him out with his friends, but not more. And he’d mentioned how many men were celibate, how many were celibate after the 80s, or because they were ace, or just because, and he’d never said that was him, but it could be.
But —
Allan was. Yeah.
Allan was big and fat and he had delicate waves of mousy brown hair, and sometimes Joe got distracted thinking about his hands, about how they were always just a little cold, about how his weight would feel on top of Joe if he tipped him back, if he sat on top of him, if they ground against each other. Allan was hot. He was exactly Joe’s type, big but soft, pretty, or, if not pretty, delicate. Deceptively so.
Allan had pink lips and skin that wasn’t just white but creamy, had freckles on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose that looked as though someone had painted them. Yes, he was attractive. His dimples were attractive, his laughter lines, everything about him, but —
But he’d never go for Joe. Joe was his employee, Joe was too young for him, probably.
So Joe put it out of his mind, and he accepted that that was that.
Until it wasn’t.
* * *
The flowers were sent for Allan’s birthday from Everett Llewelyn, which was odd, because it wasn’t even his birthday for another month, but Joe brought them in and had them arranged in a vase on the desk for Allan to see when he came in. They were beautiful flowers, oranges and reds and yellows, and he didn’t know the names of a lot of them — Hell, half of them, Joe didn’t think he’d even seen before, but they looked expensive, and they smelled sweet.
Allan came in forty minutes after he did, went into his office — Joe normally left him alone for a bit when he first came in, let him go over his calendar and check through his emails, waited for him to call Joe in rather than just go of his own accord and interrupt whatever his train of thought was.
Allan couldn’t have been in the office for more than ten minutes before he called, his voice sounding oddly strained, “Joe! Can you come in here, please?”
Joe frowned, but he picked up the morning’s correspondence and left the pot untouched, not bothering to pour him another cup right away when he’d only just come in.
He was glad he hadn’t when he stepped inside Allan’s office and Allan hurriedly slammed the door shut behind him, pressing the lock; he shoved Joe in the process, making him drop the envelopes to the floor.
“Oh, fuck,” he said. “Let me just — ”
“Fuck the post,” said Allan crisply, and he stared down at Joe with a look that Joe didn’t know what to think of, didn’t know how to quantify, how to respond to — his cheeks were flushed pink, blotches of redness showing under the skin, on which there was a visible sheen of sweat. He was breathing heavily, and Joe cast around for the flowers, but didn’t see them, just the vase —
There were petals on the sill, and the window was open.
“Did you drop the flowers out of the window?” he asked, taking a step toward the window to look, but Allan grabbed him under his arm and pulled him toward the desk, and fuck, but he was strong.
Joe didn’t think Allan had ever touched him before, not like this, Allan had never manhandled him, let alone to shove him back against the edge of the desk, making him let out a low, “Oof,” of sound as he stared him up and down, looking for more details. Allan had stripped his blazer off and clumsily loosened his tie, unbuttoned his top button, and his chest was rapidly rising and falling.
“Allan?” asked Joe. “Are you — are you okay?”
“My friends,” murmured Allan, almost whispered, “have a terribly immature sense of humour,” and his blue eyes were faraway now as he undid his tie — or tried, anyway. His slim fingers were struggling with it, his hands almost seeming to tremble with how fast he was trying to move, and Joe reached up to do it for him. “Oh, Joe,” he said, voice rich and quiet. “Such a good boy, aren’t you?”
Joe blinked several times, trying not to react too obviously to that as he focused on loosening Allan’s tie. Fuck Allan’s heady blush, he was going to blush if Allan called him shit like “good boy”, what the fuck was that about?
“Allan, are you — what do you mean, sense of humour?”
“Look at you,” murmured Allan, and his eyes came into focus now, landing on Joe’s face as he looked down at him, his lips pressing thinly together for a moment. “You really are the best assistant I’ve ever had — I mean, why else would I keep you for so long, hm? Organised, resourceful — you think for yourself, you don’t need me to hold your hand, and young man, you’re capable of such subtlety when conducting yourself with my clients, nudging them in the desired direction. That sort of awareness, it’s rather difficult to teach, do you know that? I should hate to lose it.”
“Lose i — Ah, ah,” gasped out Joe, because Allan was gripping him by the face and his fingers were cold against his skin, thumb sliding along the side of his jaw, tilting his head back.
Was he dreaming right now? Was all of this a fucking — a wet dream?
“Be a good boy for me, bachgen,” Allan murmured. “Take my thumb — That’s it, there you are, there, da iawn.” Joe whimpered because Allan’s thumb had slid between his lips, was pressing in and sliding over his tongue, putting weight on it as he pressed further inside, toward the back of his mouth. Joe had to focus to keep from gagging, keeping his muscles relaxed even though his eyes were almost watering. “You’ve met Everett,” said Allan. “Awful bastard of a man, isn’t he?”
“Mm mm,” protested Joe immediately as he closed his lips around Allan’s thumb, even though it was true — Doctor Llewelyn was haughty and naturally very cold, had a way of making Joe feel like he was two feet tall.
“There, that’s diplomacy I pay you for,” whispered Allan. “All these years, and oh, but it — mmm, but it seems so ridiculous, in retrospect. All these years watching you hunger for someone’s touch on you, hear you complain and nitpick about men on dates, all the while looking so eagerly at me.”
“Mmm, mm mm,” Joe tried to protest again, all his skin feeling like it was on fire he was so embarrassed, and God, fuck, but this had to be a wet dream, it couldn’t possibly be real.
“Isn’t that so silly, mm?” asked Allan, his thumb drawing a circle on the flat of Joe’s tongue, and he tasted of salt and smelled of the flowers. “All this time, a young man all but gagging for me to put my cock in him, and I’ve been refraining out of what, respect? A desire to preserve his loyalty?”
He pulled his thumb free and Joe gasped at the relief, drew in a breath, and was starting to say, “Wait, wait, Allan, what are you — ” when Allan started undoing the buttons on the front of Joe’s shirt, and when he didn’t have the dexterity to do that, he just wrenched them apart.
Buttons flew across the floor, clattering where they landed, and then Allan was shoving the shirt down his shoulders, leaving him shirtless, and he yelped when Allan’s hands were on his naked body — warmer than they were before, but still cold compared to Joe.
“I ought have done this years ago,” murmured Allan, sliding his palms over the flat of Joe’s chest, fingers playing against the disappearing lines of his scars either side. “I might have played with these, hm? Made use of the old sensitivity.”
“I never had, had very sensitive nipples anyway,” Joe whimpered. “What is, what, oh, oh,” he moaned, because Allan was sliding his hand under his waistband and cupping at him through his trousers, squeezing his cock and his cunt under his palm, cupping him tightly. “Allan, what — ”
“I really rather feel as if I’m on fire,” murmured Allan, leaning in and mouthing over the side of Joe’s neck, and Joe let out a breathless noise at the way his lips slid against the flesh, open-mouthed kisses under the line of his jaw, just beneath his ear. “I feel as though I, ha. As if I might just die if I don’t bury my cock in you.”
“What?”
“Luckily, I hardly expect much resistance,” said Allan, and fuck, fuck, but he was tearing Joe’s fucking trousers off, how strong was he? “You want this, don’t you, Joseph?”
“Allan, Allan, fuck, fuck, do you mean — Do you mean Doctor Llewelyn like, drugged you? Because,” and Joe was whimpering, couldn’t keep from letting out the noise as Allan tugged and pulled at his cock through his boxers, laughed and caught his mouth in a kiss.
No tongue, all lips, but Allan was kissing him enthusiastically, bruisingly and wonderfully, and God help him, but Joe was already hard and he was already wet, even before Allan slipped a finger between his open lips and played around the edge
“Because that’s bad,” Joe gasped out against Allan’s lips, staring at his face, at Allan’s expression, the faint smile on his lips. “Because you can’t, you can’t, wait,” he moaned out, grabbing Allan’s wrists and feeling faint at the fact that despite his long fingers he couldn’t even get close to wrapping all the way around them. Allan froze. “Allan,” Joe said. “If this is just the drugs talking, you can’t do this.”
Allan stared down at him, expression unreadable.
“Young man,” he said, voice trembling, still breathing heavily, and yet still with a kind of fucking, he didn’t even know, gravitas, “I most certainly can.”
And then Joe was shoved back onto the desk on his back, his legs thrown in the air, and Allan must have already gotten his belt loose because his trousers were down around his thighs, and before Joe could even think, let alone say anything, let alone raise a further protest, the head of Allan’s thick cock pressing against him.
Joe felt dizzy, staring down at it — he didn’t know if this was normal or not for Allan, but it was so hard and engorged it looked vibrantly red at the head, was throbbing and looked like it hurt — and then he tossed his head back, letting out a whine, as Allan slid forward.
“Ah, ah, Allan, Allan, Allan, please, please,” Joe yelped, gasped, moaned aloud, because he was so fucking big and he was forced to stretch, to stretch wide. Joe was a slut for size, liked a big cock, but even he needed to work up to it, but even though it hurt there was a kind of deep, throbbing pleasure in it, an overwhelming and painful satisfaction that came with being filled up so fucking viscerally. “Allan,” he whimpered. “Allan, I can’t — ”
“You’ve wanted this since you laid eyes on me, bachgen,” said Allan softly, “don’t you pretend you didn’t.”
Joe meant to say more. He meant to say anything at all, but the world had narrowed down to his cunt and the thick slide of Allan’s cock inside it, the way that Allan was fucking into him with deep, rapid movements of his hips; he had one hand braced to the side of Joe’s body on the desk and his belly was on top of him, was warm and heavy and fucking perfect. He couldn’t say anything as his own cock rubbed against the underside of Allan’s belly — he was squirming and moaning incoherently as Joe gripped his hip with his other hand. He was wetter by the moment, was wet and open and so fucking sensitive he could scream, and this was Allan.
Allan, who’d just thrown him back over the desk, Allan, who was calling him boy and bachgen, Allan, who was speaking so sweetly and so gently but was also breathing heavily and fucking exerted, who was fucking into him so hard and so deep that Joe felt like he was being cored.
He was squirming and shifting on the desk, couldn’t help but fucking fidget, and the longer it went on, the more he could feel his orgasm build inside him, the more he could feel the raw, ragged build up in the base of his gut, behind his cunt, because Allan fucked well, and everything about him was making Joe’s brain feel like it was melting.
“You wanted to — ?” he managed to eke out, but then Allan leaned forward and covered Joe’s body with his, gripping his legs underneath both their knees and shoving them up in line with his fucking shoulders. The room was filled with the noises of Allan’s hips slapping against his arse and both of them moaning, and Joe felt so drawn tight he might explode.
“Did I want to?” repeated Allan, and laughed. “Did I want to? Of course I wanted to, feel this beautiful little cunt, of course I wanted to bury myself in it, make every use of you that you obviously craved. And why didn’t I, young man? Why didn’t I make use of you? I’ll use you every day I please from here on.”
Joe didn’t know if it was that or the fact that Allan started to speed his thrusts that brought him over the edge, but he came howling with Allan’s bulk on top of him, inescapable and powerfully pleasurable, and even as he rode through the waves of pleasure, Allan kept on thrusting, kept on, kept on.
The flowers didn’t just make him horny, it turned out.
They made him fucking insatiable.
* * *
It was dark outside when Joe, bundled in a blanket, was carried over Allan’s shoulder two streets away to Allan’s home. He shouldn’t have let it happen, should have made some sort of protest, but he was so well-fucked by now that he felt dizzy and distant with it; come was dripping out of his cunt, out of his arse, was stained on his chest under the blanket. He felt raw and aching, had come more times than he could count.
Allan was less red now, wasn’t breathing as heavy, was slower, but when they got into bed Allan still eased his cock back into Joe’s cunt when they were lying together, pulled Joe to lie on top of him, to form a natural blanket.
Joe was so out of it he couldn’t even protest.
Sleepily, he dropped his head to Allan’s soft, surprisingly hairless breast, let his eyes droop shut, let his mind wander.
Allan was on the phone, he was aware of, distantly.
“… very funny, I’m sure, Everett. Of course I fucked him — who else would I have drafted in? Quite. He’s blanketing me quite nicely, yes. Well, no, I’ll just… keep him. As I have him now.” His palm came to cup Joe’s cheek, and his thumb slid over Joe’s skin, making him shiver. “Won’t I, bachgen?” he asked softly.
Joe opened his mouth, turning his head, and as Allan slid his thumb back into Joe’s mouth, he laughed softly.
“Oh, he’s perfect,” he was saying into his phone, his lips smiling, his eyes faraway. “I’m going to punch you for it, but — He really was, and is, sublime.”
Joe closed his eyes, sucking on Allan’s thumb, and lost focus as Allan kept talking.
He fell asleep like that, still seated on his cock, with Allan’s thumb occupying him from the other end.
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