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Literal Minded

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“Oh, gods,” he exclaimed.

Yes, admittedly, the clerk had vowed to show him where he’d put the pencil if he stole even one more, but he’d never thought it would be like this.

Moist von Lipwig squirmed. He was mostly still wearing his gold suit, although the trousers had roughly been drawn down, and his hat had toppled off. He was sprawled in his desk chair, his head thrown back, the slim, dark-clad figure of the Patrician’s secretary half crouched between his legs. One strong, slim hand had wriggled its way up under his shirt and was tweaking his nipples.

He should have taken into account Drumknott’s literal-minded way of dealing with things. He had seriously, literally meant to prod Moist.

“If I notice one more pencil missing,” the clerk had said in his low murmur, “I will personally come to reclaim it and… shove it where the sun does not shine, as they say.”

And now the rubber eraser end of the pencil was grazing his prostrate. Oh, GODS. How in the world had this man learned to use a pencil in this way?

“Do you swear you won’t steal another pencil?” growled Drumknott, his breath tickling Moist’s bellybutton. Moist managed a semi-hysterical snort.

“If this is my reward?” he managed between clenched teeth. The clerk laughed hoarsely, flicked his thumb over the tip of Moist’s leaking erection once, twice… Moist’s hips bucked, he groaned gutturally, and – noticed the sudden absence of the other man.

He blinked, the world suddenly coming into harsh focus. His eyes settled on the blob of semen on the face of one of his desk drawers. The damn man had just used his quiet, stealthy way to sneak back out of his office!

So, when would he have another chance to steal a pencil?

 

 

Oddly enough, it was the sudden absence of sound which alerted him to the return of his secretary.

“Did you manage to retrieve your pencil?” he asked, without looking up. To his surprise, he sensed the other man very close by, and looked up abruptly from the Thieves’ Guild Meeting minutes.

Silently, Drumknott took off Lord Vetinari’s reading glasses, folded them meticulously and carefully put them on their designated corner of the desk. He rested himself against the edge of the Patrician’s desk, facing the other man, and, with considerable agility, swung his right leg over the sitting ruler, thus lightly straddling him.

Vetinari looked his clerk up and down, and his eyes fixed on the other man’s groin. “Oh,” he managed, before he noticed his own sudden arousal. He smiled. He cupped the clerk’s erection through the fabric of his trousers, eliciting a pleased moan. He undid the flies and took out Drumknott’s trembling cock. With another smile, he bowed his head and took him into his mouth. Unsteady, slim hands found their way into Vetinari’s hair, and another deep groan escaped the secretary. It didn’t take long for Drumknott to get to his release, and his master licked his lips as the clerk tried to catch his breath.

With unexpected strength, the younger man pulled the ruler up from his chair, and roughly crushed their lips together. Vetinari let out a pleased and surprised little sound, and reciprocated with vigour. There was some skilled fumbling, and Drumknott slipped under the desk, up Vetinari’s robes to service the re-seated ruler.

Moments before reaching his own peak, an amusing thought occurred to Vetinari.

“So you were successful…”