Work Text:
It's midnight going into Monday, and Robert just blew four-hundred-and-twenty-two dollars on a camboy. Who he's 99.9% sure is his coworker, or at least an identical doppelgänger with the same tendency to leak water, who is also a decade his junior. Not his proudest orgasm, exactly.
And now he's about to blow more. Because, of course, in true innocent and pure and sweet Waterboy fashion, after the stream ended his few glorious minutes of dwelling in financial regret and post nut clarity were interrupted by a personal message request from the streamer. Who thanked him for spending so much a million and one times, then asked if he'd like a private show.
Which he did. But that didn't mean he felt any better about typing yes in a heartbeat and waiting on the edge of his seat. And at this point, Robert really hopes that it is Waterboy (in a very twisted and horrible way) because if it isn't, this was kind of pointless. Luckily, it most definitely is.
"I -- I just mean, you spent ss-so much money just on me, did you mean to do that? I could probably live off of what you sent alone for like -- a s-solid week."
Yeah, I know. *I* was meant to live off that for a solid week, but you just had to come up.
He doesn't type that, though, instead opting to shrug it off like it's no big deal (even though it might be the biggest deal of his recent life), then redirecting back to the star of the show. Waterboy, sat with his legs crossed and his whole body jittering on his bed, camera just about falling short before his face. Excited. That's enough for Robert's spending spree to feel justified -- he'll be able to support himself and his grandmother well with that money, it'll make him happy. He just doesn't need to know where it's coming from, or, rather, who.
"You can do whatever you want with me."
The sudden sound snaps him out of his zoned-out trance, and looking back at the screen, Waterboy's fidgeting anxiously with his collar. Of course he'd get nervous trying to sound sexy, and why does that kind of make it hotter that he's nervous?
I'd be glad to.
You're a pretty thing, I should be thanking you for letting me see you at all.
Dirty talk doesn't exactly come natural to Robert, so he just hopes this doesn't sound stupid.
He can't see Waterboy's face, but he's very sure that he's internally panicking at all the attention, and has probably turned bright red.
"I've never had.. had somebody.. be so kind to me," he pauses before speaking again, as if carefully selecting each word. "Sorry for getting all mushy on you. I'm just.. thanks. Thank you so much."
You don't have to thank me for basic human decency. I'm only being honest, you really are pretty. Why would I spend 400 to watch you jack off if you weren't?
Jesus, I'm really just digging myself deeper and deeper here. Should've just opted out the second I saw his stupid perfect wet body on my screen, but no, I had to spend half of my rent money and get myself here.
"You have a point there. Well, you don't have to spend any more money on me, I'll do something for free. Anything you want."
Anything? Really?
"Anything."
Robert stops to think for a second. Am I really going to do this? One quick glance at Waterboy's body tells him yes, and that he's been doing the guy a huge favour anyway.
Touch yourself, but just through the clothes for now. Which, by the way, look nice on you.
And he isn't lying about that part, either. The tiniest t-shirt possible (which, now that he looks close, has Mechaman on it, ironically enough) plastered to his chest with water, similarly minimal shorts that don't leave a lot to the imagination, and bunny socks. Fitting. He doesn't think he would've pictured Waterboy wearing anything else to bed. Though, usually he pictured him wearing much less.
He hesitates for a second after the request, then his hands move down. Soft strokes, probably sensitive, and already starting to make small sounds. When he speaks again after about two minutes of Robert staring vapidly at his computer screen and forgetting to blink, his words are peppered with whimpers.
"What -- I can say your name, if you want. I know some .. some guys like to hear -- hear that.. if not that's. Fine. That's fine too.."
Do I tell him my name and see how he reacts? Is that messed up? ... Yeah. I'm still gonna do it, though.
My name's Robert. Pretty basic, I know. Yours?
Waterboy audibly gasps as soon as he reads the message, which gives Robert butterflies. Which, then, makes him internally punch himself for breaching the threshold of fantasy, bringing it into real life.
Why so surprised? You know somebody with that name?
"Um, uh.. yes. I do, actually. And -- and, my name .. gosh, I don't know if I should tell you."
You don't have to. I appreciate you wouldn't want to be recognised in public, especially not with a job like this.
"Yes, yeah, that's .. like, my worst nightmare. I have a regular job, as well, though -- and, and if this got out to my coworkers... jeez."
Fair enough. He can't imagine the Z-Team being much but cruel about this if it got out.
"Actually .. my boss has the same name as you, that's -- that's why I recognised it. He's nice to me, too. Probably one of my only work friends."
Cute. Didn't know we were officially friends, but, I'll take it.
"Sorry. Sorry, you're paying so much just to look at me clothed ah-and I'm going -- on a ramble about work .. sorry."
It's okay. Tell me all about it if it'll take some weight off your shoulders.
Waterboy shakes his head, and Robert catches a glimpse of ginger hair at the very top of the screen.
"No, no. I want to do ww--what you want, not waste your time talking about my problems. You've been so generous, it's only fair that I do you.. make it up to you. Do a favour back. ... What .. how would you describe .. if you want to see -- me, with a toy that -- maybe looks like you."
Is he asking me what my dick looks like? He'll probably know if I hype it up too much. Robert glances down briefly, then musters up a description hopefully decent enough.
Again, pretty average. 6 inches, give or take. Left curve. Pale skin. Not that impressive compared to yours.
Not lying about that part. 8 inches is actually an absurd amount of penis for any man to have, especially one that wears bunny socks to bed. And that figure's an estimate.
Waterboy makes an excited kind of squeal noise but quickly collects himself, fingers curling in on themselves in a tight fist.
"That's -- yes, great, yes. I have one like that, I think."
You have multiple? I didn't know I was in the presence of a collector.
He giggles awkwardly, and shifts his monitor down to be able to lean over his bed, open the nightstand drawer, and still obscure his face. Kid's thought of everything. The piece he comes back with does look pretty similar to Robert's, and he doesn't doubt that that could be on purpose.
He's pulled out of his blank-eyed trance, staring at Waterboy's growing hard-on and how it tents his shorts so sweetly, by a wet 'pop' sound of lips breaking from plastic. The lowest part of his face is visible now, a string of spit connecting his pink mouth to the detailed silicone tip, and Robert almost punches a hole in his wall when he realises he probably just missed seeing him give a blowjob.
Sorry, I wasn't paying attention. Keep sucking it off, I missed that part.
"Ah -- oh-okay! I'm not -- not the best at head, sorry. I have a bad gag reflex, never had the opportunity to do this for real. "
Oh my God, he's never actually had sex before. Of course he hasn't. I am so evil.
You don't act like a virgin.
"Really? I thought -- thought for sure I was being awkward .. acting inexperienced. You think I act like a -- good at -- good at doing this?"
Well, my dick definitely thinks so, I'll give you that.
Again, why would I spend 400 if you were bad at it?
"Fair -- fair point. Thank you again for .. for that. You're really generous. Do you give away this much on -- is this normal for you?"
Robert laughs to himself, because technically he's no stranger to irresponsible spending, but it's not like he's some benevolent rich guy just throwing money at people because he can. Waterboy can think that, though. Won't harm him to fake himself up a little. In the end, he settles on stroking his oblivious starlet's ego instead.
Not really. You're a special occasion. Saw you and had to spend.
"You -- you really like me? That much. ...Wow."
He's pretty sure Waterboy's said that exact thing to him, face to face at work before. Why does that make him want to punch something? This feeling's starting to get worryingly recurring. This kid makes him violent, more than anyone's ever managed to do except for Shroud. Except with him, it's more like 'I need to fuck this guy stupid' than 'I want to rip this guy's tongue out of his mouth'. Fine line.
"I don't think I've ever had someone be this -- so into me, actually. Usually my viewers are .. kind of just, just casual. I don't mind it -- I'm glad to have anyone's .. attention .. have anyone desire me. It's a good feeling. So -- so, you want me to .. mouth. Blow. It. Okay."
Actually, can you frot on it for a while? I just want to see you try and keep your composure.
"Um, yes, okay. I can .. ffrr .. frot .. um, sorry, what does that mean? Sorry, I've really never done anything like this before."
There's never actually been anything that Robert has minded less. A sweet, perfect thing to be molded in his hands, eager to learn and even more eager to feel good at any cost.
It's simple, just take my dick and yours in one hand and kind of rub them together. Does that make sense? Killing two birds with one handjob. Feels really good once you get a rhythm going.
Referring to the dildo clutched in both of those pretty, slender hands as 'his' feels right, for some reason. All his subordinate answers with is a weak, wanting 'aah', obeying the command like second nature.
The outrageously slutty shorts are haphazardly pushed to the side in no time, a sight that he really wishes he could get tattooed across the inside of his eyelids. Waterboy fumbles for a while, attempting to get into a good position. Robert doesn't correct him at any stage, enjoying watching him mess up and flounder, buckling with his own excitement. When he settles, dick pressed flush to the cool silicone and hips gently rocking them together, he starts to whine again. That vulgar yet angelic sound, the sound that makes his stomach churn and his whole body throb with arousal.
How loud can you be, baby?
"I -- I, oh gosh, I can be as loud as you want. My, um, who I live with -- out of town. Visiting family."
Good. I want people to hear you get ruined.
Waterboy digs his nails into his fist, a barely noticeable gesture but one that makes Robert once again feel like strangling something with his bare hands.
I don't think I've been this hard in my life, ever.
In that way, he's actually not being that evil and fucked up by doing this. Depression really makes sex drive slow down -- libido and the ability to get an erection plummets. As long as Waterboy exists, Robert doesn't think he'll ever go soft again. Kid's doing charity work.
"Oh -- oh, ff -- Robert, please -- can I, please, you -- you.. you, inside of me, please --"
If he died right now, with the image of Waterboy moaning his name the last thing he ever heard and saw, he'd be a very happy dead man.
How do you want that? There's a lot of ways I could be inside of you, you know.
"I want -- want to -- I, gosh, I don't know -- can't think," he gasps out. Of course Waterboy's brain would go blank after just a few minutes of mild stimulation, of course. Everything he finds out about him just makes him gradually more and more perfect.
Then I'll think for you. Do you have lube on hand?
"Um -- um, no, I don't, actually don't need that. I .. water .. lubricates itself. I can kind of control the consistency, makes it -- and my saliva's thicker than normal people's. Better lube."
What did he say about him getting more and more perfect with every passing second?
"So.. um, yes, I do have -- have lube."
Do you know how to ride?
"Yes. Yes, I do. You.. you want.. me to?"
It's you that wants to be filled up, don't ask me. Do you want to ride me?
"Yes. Really. So much."
He shifts on the mattress, legs propped up and spread, completely disregarding his shorts and bunching them up further to the side.
Not gonna bother to fully take them off?
You're that eager?
"I am. I -- mmh, really wanted this.. for so long. For someone to tell me that to do."
Does he get off on that? Noted. I'll give him more direct instructions at work.
"Are you, sorry this is probably a weird question. How..how old are you? Can I ask that? I've always -- older men, always --"
Well, now I feel like a creep. I'm thirty three, how old are you? Twenty?
"I'm twenty four. Only just."
So, you like older guys? Flattering.
"I -- I like when older men tell me what to do, and -- and when they take care of me. Is that weird? I've always had a thing for .. nnh, for age gaps -- probably weird, I know.."
Not weird at all. Is that why you're into me? Cause I text like an old person?
"No, no, it's--" he giggles, exhilarated, breathless. "It's because you're .. you tell me what to do. So I can just be stupid. And you call me -- call me all those good things, pretty boy, sweet boy.."
Fuck yourself for me, sweet pretty boy. Fuck yourself dumb. Does that sound good enough?
"Mmhm -- yes, yes, yes, sounds so good."
Robert's just glad that he has an opportunity to stop talking for a while, because typing in your non-dominant hand is really really hard. For now, he gets to just sink back into the mattress and melt into the sight of Waterboy fucking himself while saying his name, no strings attached. Hopefully. His tip leaks white onto his toned stomach, glistening with a mixture of water and smeared precome, lithe muscles visibly tensed in the half light as he rocks himself up, down, up, down in a hypnotic rhythm. Is it too far to take a picture?
Robert does it anyway. He's already spent most of his life blowing his back out trying to do good, so why can't he do something morally corrupt just one time? As a treat? Waterboy obviously has a little pathetic puppy crush on him, too, so he's not that bad. At least, he tells himself that while he uses his phone to snap a few souvenirs.
"My -- haah, oh, oh my gosh I can -- can feel it -- can feel you in my stomach."
He splays all of his thin fingers flat over his gut, feeling over the .. visible ridge in his torso, holy shit you can actually see it. And he's ecstatic about it, squeaking every time he hits the base hard and it jumps up into his palm.
"Feels -- feels so good. So full. Stuffed, full of you .. ff -- needed this so bad. Can I --"
Waterboy makes a high sound like a hiccup, and raises his fists to wipe his cheeks off-camera, and it's only then that Robert notices he's crying, and probably has been for a while.
Are those bad or good tears? You don't have to do this if you don't want to. Does it hurt?
"No, nononono they're -- fuck they're good tears, I just -- it feels so good, I can't .. it's making me -- cry, can't help crying. Sorry. Sorry, I'm probably turning you off." His voice is broken with girly whimpers, slurred by the drool collecting in his mouth.
The exact opposite, sweet thing. You're a very pretty crier, I'm glad it feels good. What were you going to ask?
"I -- huh.. hm.. I, think I.. oh, I remember. I wanted -- ask you if I'm allowed to come. Or if .. if you want to make me wait."
I don't know, how many times do you think you can finish?
"My record is three, all right after eachother."
I know we can make it five. Can you do that for me?
"Yes -- yes, sir, I can do whatever you want me to."
One comes soon after, coming onto his stomach with a hand clamped over his mouth. Two comes from fingering himself, fueled by the dirty talk Robert supplies, fingers moving over the keys so fast they start to go numb. Three comes from sucking the toy off, as noisily and wetly as possible, coming completely untouched. Four and five come from fucking himself from both ends with two toys, both big enough to visibly bulge out of his stomach and his throat.
Before either of them know it, it's 2:31 and Waterboy's laid spent on his mattress. 5 orgasms smattered messily all over his stomach, his thighs, his lower face, his hands, his sheets -- unable to speak besides soft whines and broken strings of words. He thanks Robert for making him feel better than anyone ever has before, swaying slightly where he sits.
"I'm -- it's really hard to not jjust.. just fall asleep, right here. But I have to hang up," he mumbles sleepily, pulling his shorts back up (which doesn't do anything to cover him at all, but it's the thought that counts). "Thanks again. You're .. amazing. Actually."
Same time tomorrow? I think we can aim for 7.
"Mmhm, haaha, yes, same time... please. Bye, Robert, g’night."
Goodnight.
Before the call shuts off, he could swear he hears Waterboy mutter 'love you'. This time, he actually does punch his wall in frustration, although very weakly and immediately reels back, yelping 'ow' afterwards. Worth it.
The next day, looking at Waterboy feels really weird. Like he's doing something he isn't meant to. Which he is. Without any question, what he did is horrible -- exploiting a younger colleague with a desperate side job, lying to him for his own pleasure.
He feels weird. Not bad. Not bad at all, not guilty.
That's weird. He wants to feel bad, feel guilty. But he doesn't.
He looks at Waterboy and sees a whining mess, begging for more and pushing his hips back against a dildo, not his clumsy subordinate in a neoprene suit. Every word out of that mouth sounds like a garbled plea to be filled up, like a moan of his name, like a gag.
I should probably tell him. Tell him before this spirals out of hand. Be honest. I've had my fun, done the bad thing and broken the rules, now I need to subdue to damage I've caused.
..
But how the fuck am I meant to tell him?
For some reason he feels like going straight up to Waterboy and saying "Yeah, I admit it, it was me that made you have 5 sequential orgasms over video call at 12am today, sorry. Can we look past this and just be coworkers again?" would be a bad idea. Horrible one.
So, he decides to drop hints. Subtle hints that nobody else could possibly see as a hint but a hopefully observant Waterboy.
What hints? How do you drop hints about this kind of thing? Jesus, I really should've considered this before I started throwing money at him. I need to stop thinking with my dick about important stuff.
The perfect opportunity is produced to him on a silver platter, with a member of the Z-Team asking him about the prospect of drinks after work over comms. He hopes the smile in his voice is audible when he responds,
"Can't. Blew a lot of my cash last night."
A collective 'oooh' and immediately, they all erupt in bets about what it was.
"I'm not telling you. I just somehow managed to blow about four hundred, and I'm not proud of it."
One of them, out of the cloud of jokes and urgent interrogations and laughter, stays silent. Waterboy. Completely silent. He doesn't have to wonder why, not one bit. All that matters is, that night, when they're calling, Waterboy doesn't mention it, but the way he cries out his name this time feels knowing, more drive behind it.
And he doesn't mind it at all.