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“Jesus, Peter, we are supposed to be on the clock in less than half an hour. Couldn’t you have just, uh, I don’t know - jerked off or something?”
If you shifted slightly, the clock’s hands, which were currently obscured by Peter’s halo of golden curls, would’ve shown twelve o’eight. Eight minutes past the start of your lunch break. Eight minutes wasted of uncherished time that could’ve been spent making up for your sorry excuse of a breakfast that morning - a crushed granola bar found in the deepest depths of your pantry that was definitely well-past its expiration date.
Your annoyance gradually subsided, replaced with growing want as Peter trailed hot kisses down your neck, gently nibbling at the spots he knew you were most ticklish, eliciting breathless giggles. He pulled away momentarily,
“Why should I have to resort to mere fantasization when I can have the real thing, hm?” Peter mused, every ounce of his attention pinpointed your pouted lips.
Your pouted lips that had gone uncharacteristically unglossed today. Hawkins Lab prohibited copious amounts of makeup. You never really understood why, seeming as it had no effect on anyone’s daily work, but you abided by the rules anyway and always kept the cosmetics to a minimum, opting for quick, subtle dashes of mascara and your treasured lipgloss. The very same lipgloss that had resulted in the chaotic upheaval of your entire home due to the realization of its sudden disappearance. Recalling the misfortune that had resulted in your deprivation of a sufficient breakfast soured your mood. You had nearly been late to work as well. Inconvenience always had an agenda for you, so it seemed.
Meanwhile, Peter remained fixated, faintly recognizing the lack of the signature shimmer. Even before you had given into him, the soft glow of the gloss mesmerized him. It took a lot of willpower to keep his eyes from wandering down to your mouth, which were usually hurling insults his way, always as consistent as the gloss coating your perfect, perfect lips. He fantasized about the taste of it as he licked into the contours of your all-too-willing mouth. He had had dreams about you snapping first, the sexual tension shattering like shards of glass as you demanded control and dragged him down by the collar. Peter dreamed about you taking the reins of unadulterated authority with the quickest bat of lashes, and the enticing gleam of the gloss, causing him to completely forget himself and surrender to his temptress.
Peter would take himself in hand, imagining you pressing tender kisses along his body, the cool air tickling his skin as if the ghost of your presence lingered -
“I’m hungry ,” You grumbled, making sure to emphasize and draw out the adjective.
“We’ll have plenty of time remaining if we keep it quick,” Peter retaliated, succeeding in regaining his composure, raising his right hand in an attempt to cup your cheek. “Sweetheart, don’t be cruel and deprive me of this.”
He didn’t know how longer he would be able to go without the feeling of those tainted lips of yours around his aching cock -
“You’ve been deprived of this probably up until I met you. I think you can manage for now.” Standing your ground, you swatted his hand away from your cheek, insistent.
As he was nearing release, you’d pull your mouth off of his aching dick with a satisfying pop -
“Now, why don’t you be a -“
You’d shift yourself up, leaning in to murmur into his ear, a teasing lilt in your alluring tone, calling him a -
“- good boy and come back to the cafeteria with me.”
It was the way you threw those suggestive nicknames around so carelessly, so agonizingly nonchalant, that did something to Peter. Every time, montages of the two of you in bed would run rampant through his mind, snippets consisting of you urging him to fuck you harder, your demands persistent and viciously bratty. He could feel small bouts of desire pooling quickly in his stomach, a seemingly endless buildup. The fantasies probed at the back of his mind repeatedly, lust-fabricated visions invading his usually oriented thoughts.
You gazed up at him expectantly, oblivious to his desires, and your brows arched up in anticipation.
“Hello? God, you’re useless sometimes,” You huffed somewhat teasingly. Peter was being uncharacteristically silent, you noted. Usually, he wouldn’t have missed a beat returning the snark, except his tone would make the retort sound eerily polite because it was Peter.
Letting out a wavering breath, Peter finally spoke, “Sweetheart, you have to be doing this on purpose.” His eyes were screwed shut, and he looked almost pained.
“Uh, I’m sorry? I’m not following…” You trailed off as you finally took notice of the prominent bulge tenting his trousers. You felt your breaths grow shallow at the sight, your hunger long forgotten.
Even after weeks of sneaking around, it still never failed to shock you how clingy Peter was. He always came off as so self-reliant, appearing as though he never needed anything from anyone. He never bothered to make nice with colleagues, unconcerned about the gossip occurring behind his back, deeming him a freakish outsider.
Although with you, he was different. He was almost.. codependent. He’d “check up” on you in your office when he was supposed to be in the rainbow room. He was particularly touchy as well, while with others, he avoided as much close contact as possible. With you, he was like a moth, and you, a flame. He never failed to bristle whenever you were approached by another male coworker in his presence. Truthfully, you liked to put this little tidbit of information to your advantage.
One thing that stayed consistent in your relationship was the teasing. The games. The contest on who could rile up the other the most.
You always won.
Whether you deliberately let your skirt ride up too high, shifted in his lap too suggestively, or anything else of the same nature, the day always ended with Peter fucking you into the mattress.
Consistency.
But this.. this was something that evoked a whole new variation of excitement. You were never close-minded to experimenting new things.
“I haven’t even touched you and you’re already hard? Aw,” You cooed. Peter’s eyes were now open, refusing to meet your gaze. His cockiness and boldness had evaporated, leaving behind a shell of that man. You could sense he was so, so embarrassed. A blush creeped up his pale neck, splashing his cheeks with saturated color. You lifted a firm finger to his chin and forced him to look at you.
“Tell me, Peter. Be a good boy and tell me what you want,” You drawled, scanning his expression for any developments — and oh! He fought to swallow down a gulp, his irises wide and fully blown. You shook your head, knowing.
“But that’s just what you want, hm? To be my good boy? I want to hear you say it, Peter. I won’t ask twice. You’re making me look stupid, you know that, right? Making me repeat myself, and I’m not stupid, right?”
“No— god.. ” Peter whispered, almost inaudible. He ran fingers through locks of his own blond curls, irritated. He wanted so badly to convey his desires, but that small part of him was screaming at him to regain some dignity.
Still, you were undeterred. “See, I’m not stupid, because a stupid person wouldn’t be able to crack you the way I did. How easy it was for me to get under your skin. How it doesn’t take long to mold you into my needy, compliant boy toy,” You laughed, feeling awfully sadistic before continuing, “Imagine what our colleagues would think if they caught wind of this. If they saw that I practically have you on a leash, pathetically eager to do my bidding at any given time. God, Peter, has anyone ever told you how adorable you are?”
“Please..” Peter whimpered, shuddering with utmost want. His hands were itching to free you of your garments, itching to taste and worship every inch of your figure. Your tantalizing words were making him absolutely ballistic with desire.
“I told you to tell me what you want eons ago. This,” You wrapped a hand around his clothed cock to emphasize your statement, pulling away quickly, and in the process eliciting a faint gasp from the blond man, “could’ve been taken care of by now if you listened.”
“I-I need to get off. I need you to touch me please.”
Immediately, an idea formed, and your core throbbed at the thought of making it come to fruition. “Aw, are you begging? Well, you’re definitely going to be getting off..” You wasted no time pushing him toward the bed in the corner of the room, and there were certainly no protests. The pair of you landed heavily, the springs audibly bouncing at the sudden weight. Instantly, your lips collided, chasing a new high as you grappled at each other, still fully clothed. You clumsily rid yourself of your button-up and pressed your lips to Peter’s once more. His heated pants began to fill the room, delirious and light-headed with need.
Soon enough, Peter began to undulate his hips against yours, desperate and seeking out any sort of friction. At that, you rolled off of him, to his utter discontent.
“I thought we were done with the teasing, darling,” Peter grunted out, his voice coarse and his arousal comically evident. It was clear he was growing irritated, but it made the situation all the more delightful. The corners of your lips quirked up,
“Never.”
You trailed your lithe fingers down his stomach, taking rapid rises and falls with each erratic breath he dealt, continuing until you hit the cold zipper. You freed his erect cock from its confines, leaking from excruciating arousal. Absentmindedly, your tongue darted out to lick your lips, your throat dry as sandpaper. You hummed,
“Such a shame I won’t be getting my hands on you today..”
“Huh?” Peter’s head shot up instantaneously, the animalistic look in his eye demanded explanation. You took pity and figured you’d supply him with just that. Grasping one of his limp hands, you placed them over his chest, following the same path yours had taken just moments before. Actions spoke a greater deal than words, they said.
Once his fingers made contact with his cock through your guidance, Peter whimpered yet again.
“Just touch me! I don’t know what you’re fucking waiting for..” He groaned, impatient. You disentangled your fingers from his, you giggled, taking great pleasure in his uncharacteristic disorientation.
“Oh, I’m waiting for you. Pump it,” You urged, your tone taking on an imperious edge.
“..And what role do you play in all of this?” Although he continued to run his mouth in spite of your requests, you didn’t fail to notice how his fingers twitched within close contact of his erection. You let your gaze linger on the spectacle.
“Mm, well, I get to sit here and look pretty, whispering orders in your ear while I watch you completely fall apart. Doesn’t that sound fun? I think it sounds so fun. You get to prove how much of a good boy you are, and you’d like that, huh? You fantasize about it all the time, I know that much,” You whispered, watching in wonder as he shuddered and groaned. You knew which buttons to push to get him going.
“Good. I think I’ve gotten my point across. Let’s work our way up, shall we? I want you to start jerking the tip. Can you do that for me?”
Peter kept his half-lidded gaze fixed on you, as he obeyed and took himself in hand. The epitome of obedience.
“You act as if I wouldn’t do anything for you, sweetheart..” He groaned, droplets of sweat beginning to bead. Tiny expletives were panted through his lips, rutting against his palm at a consistent speed. His eyes started to slide shut when you leaned in to his ear and voiced your praises,
“Anything? I’m flattered, truly, but at this point, it’s common knowledge. Mm, just like that.. you’re doing so good.. Since we’re at it, how about you pick up the pace, hm? I want you to tell me how you’re feeling this time, though. I want to know every little thought. In explicit detail.”
“ Feels good.. fuck..”
You narrowed your eyes, unsatisfied with his bland response. Readjusting yourself, you sat up, looking down at him, all sweaty and pathetic.
“‘ Feels good?’ That’s not going to cut it,” You grabbed his hand, stilling it from proceeding with further movement, halting his pleasure. Peter whined, his bleary eyes staring up at you, entranced.
“Explicit detail. I know you and your perverted little fantasies. Tell me. I’d like to know when I repeatedly land the starring role in them, hm? Don’t you think it’s only fair? You wasted my lunchtime because you couldn’t keep it in your pants. Why does your mind paint me so utterly irresistible, so much so that you couldn’t wait like I told you to? What do you think about when you stroke your poor cock, Peter?”
Peter’s eyes rolled back momentarily, his arousal growing steadily unbearable. He knew he had to comply if he wanted any chance at reaching his climax. He gulped,
“I.. I think about you in my lap.. with your skirt riding up, revealing to me those c-creamy thighs of yours.. shit..” You permitted him to continue bucking into his hand, finally satisfied with his acquiescence. Desire knotted in your stomach, but you sat poised, observant of the mess of a man in front of you. You rolled your eyes fondly.
“Keep going. Keep stroking that pretty cock of yours. Mm.. I wish I could guzzle up that pre-come, but I’m tired of doing all the work. You’re doing so well, although the more you talk, the faster I’ll let you pick the pace.”
Peter heaved, intaking a sharp breath before proceeding, “You’d start grinding down into my lap, you always look so gorgeous.. You could rival even Aphrodite and fuck — you’d start riding me in that little skirt, using me for my dick .. mmph ..”
You smiled, amused by the comparison of yourself and a literal deity. Only Peter could make such pretentious references while being that delirious. His hips began to jerk at a more rapid tempo, enthralled by the narrative being painted inside his head. Resting your head alongside his, you drank in the delectable sight in all its glory. Peter held his cock in a vice-like grip, pumping into his fist as he began to seep, soaking his fingers at work. Appeased, you began to reward him with praises. With each praise, his thrusts became more and more forceful.
“Such a mess, you are right now, my sweet, sweet boy. It feels good, doesn’t it? It really is astounding how I can get you so riled up without laying a finger on you. Am I doing a good job up in that wild imagination of yours? You’re so pretty like this, all for me. It really is a shame you found a way to disable those cameras. If I could, I’d brag about this to anyone who’d listen. If only they knew how Peter Ballard could be brought down to his knees merely by a pretty face..”
Your fingers itched to brush the stray strands of blond curls, falling into Peter’s lust-hazed eyes. He pressed his crimson face into his pillow, shielding himself from view, moans begging to be passed through his lips like the flow of a current confined by a dam.
You tsked, “Let me see you, darling. I know you like it when I order you around — that’s been more than clarified today, so listen and face me.”
Peter reluctantly complied, his mouth falling open in awe of how beautiful you looked, how hot this whole moment was. Your hair was strewn across the pillow’s surface, your eyes held a wicked glint, fixed intently on him. Any blood that was left promptly traveled south when his gaze flitted down to your fingers, teasing yourself lightly under the panties. The litanies of praises and instructions whispered into his ear encouraged him further, pumping into his fist with enough vigor that indicated he was on the brink of falling apart.
“I still can’t shake the thought of others finding out about this,” You mused, careful with your words, “That you’re really not as.. calloused or unfeeling as they all claim you are. In fact, I think you feel a little too much..”
Peter couldn’t help himself from thinking that you couldn’t be more wrong, that he really was inhumane. Apathetic. That he was exactly that of an abnormal being that doctors, scientists, even his own mother , declared him as. He lacked basic human qualities, that was factual, although you awoke one of those intolerable human qualities in him. Heightened it, even. You threw a match and the resulting flames engulfed Peter, tides of emotion so strong that he was leaking into his fist, being guided, directed by the very species he deemed so inferior. Still, at the end of the day, the main thing left on his mind was how.. pretty you looked, beaming with the full knowledge of the unexplainable power you held over him. And he hated himself for it, hated how he kept losing his train of thought, breathing in that flowery perfume of yours. The intoxicating scent would still linger hours after you had left his quarters, assaulting his senses and his better judgement. He’d breathe it in, reaching down into his pants (similarly to his current.. predicament), conjuring up the dirtiest scenarios and hated how weak you made him. Hated it. And shit, he was close.
“Mm, how easy it would be for me to out you like this. I’d recall every last snippet of this. Describing it in the crudest detail. My, it would ruin your infamous reputation, Peter! Ruin it like I’ll ruin you, over, and over, and over again.”
“ I’m.. gonna come —“
“Come for me, Peter. Be a good boy and come.”
At that, Peter’s vision went blurry and his head began to swim as he reached his climax. Come drenched the hem of his button-down, and his hand fell limp at his side, sore.
Basking in the afterglow, he allowed himself to relax, his eyelids drooping exhaustedly..
“Aaand we’re back to work! Thanks for wasting my lunch break, asshole.”
Peter’s head shot up, just long enough to catch you striding out the door, a bounce in your step.
And an inflation in your ego,
he thought, glaring distastefully at the mess he had to take care of.