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pretend I asked and answer

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The idea of asking makes John's hands sweat.

He saw the gloves on the last time they met, when Zoe had him choose the toy he wanted out of her treasure chest. It was an actual wooden chest, nicely decorated, with little velvet-paneled compartments for each individual item. There were a lot of things in there, some of which John didn't even recognize.

Elbow-length latex gloves doesn't mean Zoe is necessarily into fisting, and definitely doesn't mean she's into giving.

He'd chosen one of the bigger toys, because the very biggest would mean he'd need some dedicated prep time and he hadn't wanted her to get bored. By the time she had let him come, John had had lights flashing behind his eyes, had gasped wetly for every breath and furiously thanked her for letting him come.

She'd traced her fingers over his face in the aftermath and told him sincerely that he's sweet.

Her number is programmed into John's phone, and he looks at it for a good ten minutes before tucking it back into his pocket. She probably has better things to do with her time.


"I think you should pour me a drink," Zoe says, sitting back on the couch with her legs crossed at the ankle.

John goes, thankful for something to do. He doesn't know Zoe's apartment, but he has good instincts for kitchens and he figures it out. There's a bucket of rose wine chilling in an ice bucket on the counter, so that part's easy, and he finds a long-stemmed glass without too much fuss.

Zoe accepts the glass with a raised eyebrow. "Nothing for you?"

One thing John learned is that Zoe likes him taking initiative, when it's the right initiative. He goes to his knees in front of her, heart hammering. "I hoped I'll have other things to do with my hands."

A moment goes by when he doesn't know if she'll pat him on the head or tell him to leave, and then she throws her head back and laughs. "Oh, you're something," she says, looking at him. She kicks off her shoes and settles her feet in his lap. John starts rubbing them automatically.

It would be easy to angle himself so he could give her head, and he's thinking about it, his mouth watering at the sense memory of her taste. Go down the route they went last time, already charted, known and fun for both of them.

He stays where he is. When she sets aside her empty glass, John asks, "What can I do for you?"

She looks down on him, considering. John tries to guess what she might say - anything from Do my laundry to Brand yourself with my initials to Go away and don't come back, he could probably do, although he hopes it's not the latter.

Finally, she says, "I think I want to hear you beg."

John's already hard dick - he's been erect since she accepted him being on his knees - twitches. "For anything in particular?"

She tilts her head. Then she smiles. "Something you want. Something you haven't asked for yet."

John swallows. "You might not like it," he says.

"I never said I'll do it," Zoe says, raising her eyebrows at him.

Well. He did ask. John takes a breath and says, "I want you to fist me." Zoe's expression does not shift one bit. "Please."

Zoe tilts her face. "Is that the best you can do?"

John struggles to keep his voice even. "I've been thinking about it," he says. "I saw your gloves. Please." He tries looking at her from underneath his lashes, though he has no idea if that would be effective. "Please. I, I jerked off thinking about it."

"Presumptuous," Zoe murmurs. She doesn't remove her feet from his lap, though.

John jerks his gaze to the floor. "I know. I'm sorry. Please. I can be good for you." The words slip from him too easily, making him flush. Can he? He doesn't know. "I want to be good for you, want it so much." He says the words with every bit of the earnestness he feels. "Please put your hand in me. Let me feel it, let me take it for you."

"Hm," Zoe says. "All right." She gets up and hooks her finger into the collar of John's neck. "You, bedroom, naked. Go. Find my gloves and put them on the bed for me."

John moves faster than he thought he could. He sets the lube next to the gloves, hoping Zoe approves of the initiative.

Zoe wanders into the bedroom a moment later, surveying John and the preparations he'd made for her. "Good boy," she says, low and throaty. John's cock jumps and drips, and she laughs. It's a nice sound. "Get on the damned bed, John. Face down, ass up."

John gets into position. He tracks Zoe's position by sound, the rustle of fabric as she takes off her clothes, the snap of latex, the click of the lube bottle being uncapped, the slick sounds as she pours it on her gloved hands. Those last ones last a while.

"All right, here's the deal," Zoe says. "You keep begging, I keep giving you what you beg for."

"Please put your finger in me," John says, gratified when he feels her cool touch against his rim. He feels on fire inside, like an itch Zoe might just be able to scratch for him. "Fuck me with your hand, I want it, please."

He has to be repeating himself. He's not totally rusty at bottoming and Zoe has small hands, but even so, he needs some prep, and throughout the whole thing he definitely goes over the same lines of Please and Want it.

Zoe doesn't seem to mind. He keeps talking, and she keeps giving him what he asked for, endlessly generous.

With four of Zoe's fingers pumping in and out of him, John is stammering, losing his grip on words. He still works at it, though. "P--please. Zoe. Please. I, I want. I need. Please, your hands, s--so good...."

She apparently deems his efforts acceptable.

When she pushes her thumb into him, tucked nicely with the rest of her fingers, John loses the ability to speak. His mouth keeps moving, but no sound comes out, and he can't figure out control of his body enough to make himself heard. He almost panics before Zoe pets his flank with her free hand.

"It's fine," she says. "You can take a break for a moment."

For a single, endless, perfect moment, John floats. He asked, and he could have it; he did what she told him, and it was good enough.

Then Zoe says, "It doesn't really make sense for you to keep begging, anyway. I think you should thank me instead."

That seems very reasonable to John. "Thank you," he says, and the words are whole-hearted, resonating inside him. "Thank you, Zoe, you're amazing, this is so good...." words come easily now, pouring out of him along with the come lazily spurting from his cock.

She pulls her hand out soon after. John's hole tightens. He tries not to mind the empty feeling too much.


Zoe doesn't do post coital cuddling, but she covers John in a blanket and leaves a glass of water and an energy bar on the nightstand. When John gets dressed, she waves him goodbye from her desk, engrossed in the latest crisis.

John makes his way to the library without really thinking about it. It'll probably be empty, this time of night.

It's not. Harold's at his computers, and the sight of him illuminated by his screens puts John's world subtly to rights.

"Good evening, Mr. Reese," Harold says without turning around. "I hope you and Ms. Morgan had a pleasant evening? There's an extra cushion on the couch, please use it."

This time, John uses the cushion, and wraps up in the fleece blanket left next to it. The book he was reading is right within reach. John sprawls and lets himself settle, eyelids drooping as he skims over printed words.