(graphic by the ever amazing percysweetheart/partofforever)
“Daddy… I'm so hungry.”
The lilting tones of Graves’ little pet reach his ears again, and he sighs, midway through some paperwork which, at this rate, may never get done.
“You want Daddy’s cock to sate you, baby?”
He doesn't even look up, but he knows the sweet morsel is probably crying, while wiggling around on the floor, atop his soft blanket, not willing to sleep when he can touch himself and try and distract Graves.
He's too good of a man, bringing the sweet boy into his home, sheltering him from becoming an addition to some horrible freak show that would have paraded him around like a lewd oddity. He's got so much potential, better ways to be trained and used than just that.
“N-no Daddy. Want to p-please you.”
Graves smirked to himself.
“Suckling daddy's cock does please me, baby boy.”
“Want to do better. Want to put my mouth on you, let you rest on the desk…”
Graves looks over finally, catching the boy resting on his front, eyeing him with a pout, his plush bottom still moving a bit as he fucks into his own hand. His pink lips part and his tongue peeks out as he concentrates. That tongue, Graves decides, could be nice if put to good use.
“You want to kiss Daddy, make me feel good without touching my cock?”
He's seen the boy go at his dinner. He's watched, aching, as he devours pieces of wet, dripping fruit. It's always been a possibility. But he's been afraid to ask. He's not designed like the boy. He doesn't have a hole aided by slick when he's aroused, no that’s purely the luck of his pet. Along with his pretty little cock, he’s an enticing picture, and he always squeals so adorably when Graves gives in to fucking him.
Blinking those dark liquid eyes of his, brown ears twitching, the boy’s impossible to resist for long. Graves sighs and relents, spelling the door to stay locked firmly, before getting up from his desk to kick his chair away, undoing his belt and unzipping his trousers, tucking his shoes under his desk and deftly stepping out of his pants and boxers.
“Alright, see how well you can do.”
He’s going to try and keep reading, resolutely, until his arms give out, or his eyes force themselves shut. He remembers how it feels, distantly, he knows it’s very distracting. When his boy crawls over to him, he has to let go of his cock to put both hands on the floor, and then eventually on Graves’ thighs, and he doesn’t wait, doesn’t hesitate, he just presses in, nuzzling at Graves’ backside, before kissing right between his cheeks. His hands fist on the desk, and the words in front of him already start to blur.
Graves won’t be undone that easy, even though his cock is more than halfway to being hard. It always is, when his pet isn’t in his animal form.
The boy never wears a stitch of clothing. He only relents to a collar when Graves has to go out with him. Then he truly appears like a pet. A little black bat with a tiny leather leash.
The claws on his skin aren’t rough or scratchy, just long nails that merely pin him in place, holding him open so the boy can keep licking at him, enthusiastic even if he’s not really penetrating Graves by more than an inch or so. He’s never imagined to compare himself to a piece of fruit, but he’s become that. A hand leaves him, and before he can be concerned, normal fingers are rubbing over his hole, below to his sack, rolling his balls gently, and then stroking over his cock, which drips steadily onto the floor.
“It’s good baby. Keep going.”
His breathing is strained, voice barely even. He’s not going to be able to get anything out of this damned report, so he gives in, and closes his eyes, surrendering fully to the sensations.
The boy is fully obedient, would do anything he asked, and yet Graves often finds himself resisting the urge to use him all day long. He could have him under his desk, at his feet, blinking up at him with just his cock to keep him quiet.
Or he could force him to transform, to sit in a gleaming cage on his desk, flying around and perching to amuse him. He’s very sweet whether in his human form or as a bat. But Graves is a sentimental old fool, and he’s rather glad to have a pseudo son. Even if he gets pure pleasure out of treating him like no man should his offspring.
The boy hums against him, licking deeper, lapping insistently as he presses closer, and lets go of Graves’ cock in favor of dipping a finger inside his hole, curling, seeking. Graves shudders, and relents one hand from the desk to touch himself, jerking hard, fast, trying to make it speed up.
The boy pulls away, and whines against him, lips muffled by his skin,
“Daddy… want you come inside me.”
“Is that right baby? But you don’t get what you want. It’s what I want.”
He knows the boy is pouting.
His dark eyes are probably wet with tears, even as saliva drips down his chin, and his cock twitches neglected, between his legs.
He dives back in, and Graves is suddenly wishing he’d never shown the boy how to reach his prostate, he’s too good at this, at any of it. His first finger is joined by a second, while he puts sloppy kisses and gentle licks against Graves’ hole, intent on pushing him to a climax. Luckily, there’s magic to help him get back. He decides he will fuck the boy over his desk. But first, he’s going to brace himself, and ride the first wave.
The boy lets go of him with one hand, and Graves knows he’s back to touching himself, if he wasn’t built for it, his little cock would be raw from how often he tugs on it. Graves grits his teeth and bites back a moan when the boy’s fingers massage right over his prostate, and his cock spills, untouched, several long pulses onto the floor beneath his desk, barely missing his shoes.
But without a word, the boy is there , leaving him empty in favor of dropping down to lick up the ropes of come.
“Mmm. Daddy, you should have warned me. I’d catch it.”
The boy wiggles happily as he cleans Graves’ release up, and he smiles down at the boy indulgently, rocking back on his heels. The first time he let the boy jerk him off, he stared at his fingers for a long time before daringly tasting Graves, and since then he’s become addicted.
“Don’t worry baby. You’ll catch it alright.”
He charms his cock to return to hardness, and reaches down to curl his fingers at the back of the boy’s neck, gently but firmly urging him back up to his feet, guiding him forward so that he’ll drape himself over the desk. The boy goes, willing, content, mewling and rutting into empty air, standing so that his legs are apart, his ass exposed, pink hole glistening, inviting, as always.
“Baby, why don’t you get on your back? Daddy wants to see you as he fucks you.”
He knows the boy hopes for a kiss too. He’s ridiculous in his affection. He can’t kiss very well, but Graves hasn’t really been bothered to teach him. He’s content to mark up all that pale skin, and let the boy parade around the house and admire himself in the mirrors he passes.
Once in the proper position, his legs splay open, and his little cock is flushed and dripping onto his skin. He might have come while serving Graves, but he didn’t have anything substantial in him. He’s just showing off now, recovering as quick as he does. He doesn’t even bother touching the boy’s opening, he’s ready, he’s always ready to be fucked, it’s just his design. Graves strokes over himself once, lines up, and thrusts home in one push, groaning at the feel. He knows the boy’s clenching on purpose, making his muscles flutter, trying to impress him.
“Daddy… feels so good… love your cock.”
He laughs, and the boy mewls as he tries to get him to move, little jerks of his hips, making his cock bob over his stomach.
“Thank you baby. It’s all yours.” He leans down and presses a kiss to the boy’s temple, before moving down, possessively kissing his jaw, his neck, sucking hard on a spot, before soothing it with his tongue, and moving down to bite his collarbone, just enough to make the boy yelp, and keen when he lets go. He pulls out halfway and slams his cock back in, jolting the boy over the desk, and bracing his palms flat on the wood, so that he’s not tempted to bruise his hips.
“Daddy! Please! Harder.”
Insatiable, the boy is just a wonder like that.
After only a few moments, he can feel the boy stiffen, whimpering and shaking, reaching for him, clinging to his neck and shoulders, gasping out as he comes, tightening around Graves’ cock, his own cock twitching uselessly, a few pitiful dribbles escaping the slit, as it’s trapped between their bodies.
“Good boy. There you go, better now? You’ve got Daddy’s cock.”
“Mmm… need more Daddy. Fill me up, please.”
“Of course baby. You want me to leave you dripping with my come? Smelling like me?”
“Yes-s-s please Daddy.”
He couldn’t actually do that. He wasn’t going to let the boy wander around the office, making a mess by leaking everywhere. But Graves moves his hips, rolling them to ensure that his cock is buried deep as could be, before he finally lifts the charm, letting himself come again.
The boy mewls and writhes under him, mouthing along his shoulder, not daring to bite or nip, just kissing and licking like he’s some piece of fruit, still hungry apparently.
“Hold still baby boy.”
Graves shifts back, staggering, drunk off his two orgasms, and gladly collapses into his seat again, rolling back in to hold his boy open, his winking hole now reddened a bit from such a rough fucking, and white spend oozes out of him in slow trickles.
He doesn’t eat the boy out as skillfully as he got, but it’s enough to make him squirm, and clutch at Graves’ hair, petting him without grabbing, he knows better, as he sucks and swirls his tongue, gathering the slick and come into a couple mouthfuls, drinking like his life depends on it. He’s done this before, a few times when he’s gotten bored, pulled the boy into his arms, let him crawl into his bed, told him to sit on his face.
He doesn’t have to look to know the boy’s touching himself again , and mercy help him, if he jerks himself raw, Graves won’t be offering any cooling spells or soothing gel to help.
When he pulls away, wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand, he quirks a brow down at the boy, shivering and shaking, legs gone lax over the desk.
“Just looking at you baby. You’re much more fun than work. But really, I do need to get something done before I leave. Why don’t you sit on up here and be very quiet.”
He redresses himself with a snap of his fingers, and the boy blinks up at him, looking utterly spent, ruined, with his hair messy over his forehead, and his bottom lips reddened from biting it.
With a soft pop, he’s fully transformed, and he crawls over Graves’ hand, up his sleeve, to perch on his bicep, before easing up higher, and clinging to his shoulder, letting out little chirping noises.
He can’t really hump Graves’ shirt without being obvious, so he’s sitting still, and now, Graves turns his eyes back to his paperwork.