Colbert returned smirking, although Merchant, with his glasses sitting snugly in the older man's pocket, couldn't see it. He heard the door close and tried again to wrench his arms from the shackles that held him to the anchor desk.
"M-mate, I think you have the wrong idea," he stammered, feeling something cold and pointed scrape down his spine.
"I thought it was just going to b-be a qui-quickie." Colbert chuckled.
"Oh, don't worry." Sharp pain caused him to tense up. "I'm very impatient."
"W-wait, Stephen!" Another jolt; Colbert wasn't playing. Having to reach to grab the taller man's hair, Colbert pressed the award between them.
"You'll call me Master, Stevie," he growled, letting the Emmy's wings dig into the pale, round flesh. "You don't want me to have to call Master Jon or Master Ricky, now, do we?"
Choking back a moan, he shook his head, which earned him the removal of the award from his flesh. If that left a mark he was going to hang Colbert using an American flag.
Merchant was sure that his wrists would fall off once they were through, and then he’d be stuck as the tall, gangly bloke with no hands. Damnit Colbert.
All of a sudden, he heard a door open. Oh. Oh God, were the audience arriving?
“Five minutes!” he heard Colbert yell, his voice rough and needy, just like the hands pushing and pinching at delicate skin, the nails raking against ribs and hips. The door closed as quickly as it had opened.
“Scream, Stevie!” Colbert demanded, tugging harshly on the younger man’s hair. “Let everyone out there know how much you love it!”
Try as he might, Merchant couldn’t hold back, dissolving into a mess of begging and pleading and screaming. He was such a good pet.
Masters Jon and Ricky would be pleased with the video footage.
His little pet spent, Colbert grinned as he draped an American flag over him. Merchant was far too dazed to comment on it, but that didn’t stop Colbert explaining it.
“You belong to me,” he whispered, running gentle fingers through his newest pet’s hair. “You belong to America. None of your gay British sex anymore, Stevie. From now on it’s all-American, vicious, hard, until-you-can’t-remember-how-to-sing-the-national-anthem-anymore sex, baby.”
Unchaining the quivering young man, he gave him a shove. “Now get off; you’ve messed up my desk.” And just like that, inspiration struck. “Before you go… clean it up. You know what to do.”
Pulling the flag tighter around him, Merchant leaned in towards the desk, looking up at Master Colbert, his features flushed and satisfied. “Yes, master.”
Carell couldn't deny that Merchant looked a sight sprawled out across the desk. It was possibly a bit too small for him but that didn't matter too much.
"How'd you get this one, Stephen?" he asked, running his fingertips along the smooth, pale flesh.
"Oh, you didn't get the recording? I'll get Jon to send it to you."
As the two older men circled him, pinching and scraping and biting him, he just wished he had his glasses on. He couldn't quite tell from this distance which one was which.
Carell's nails scraped down Merchant's thighs - or was it Colbert? - and broke the skin. He couldn't see it, but he heard a loud, angry smack, quite possibly from a riding crop. Carell protested - so it had been him. Colbert waved the... the, er... smacking device in the other man's face.
"Damnit, Steve!" he barked, his hand tracing the red line on their pet's leg. "Get your fucking nails trimmed! I don't care how much you like that - we have knives for that kind of thing!"
The smell of the hazelnut spread was not unwelcome, but... odd.
"You're serious?" Merchant asked, squinting at whoever wielded the jar and was swiftly rewarded with a smack from the riding crop.
"You know you gotta get permission to speak," Colbert said, punctuating each word with a nice loud smack. Carell waited for him to be done before he started spreading cool, soft Nutella over the reddened skin.
He couldn't help but moan as the cooling spread helped to ease the sting where the crop had made contact. He heard Colbert give a chuckle as Carell spread a little Nutella on the youngest's beautiful, swan-like neck before quickly licking it right back off. That earned Carell a smack, and Merchant laughed.
That, of course, got him another few strikes.
"God, you're both so defiant tonight," Colbert complained, shaking what sounded like it might have been a can of whipped cream. "You both need a refresher."