“Who am I, pumpkin?”
“H-Handsome Jack, you’re Handsome Jack, sir.”
“And--” he starts, and jerks his hips up against the employee pinned down on his desk. “Why am I fucking you?”
“Because I’m a good boy,” he groans.
“Thaaat’s right.” He slides out of him a little just so he can slam back into him and know the tops of the kid’s thighs are gonna have bruises from his desk. “You want me to keep fucking you, sweetheart?”
Rhys nods as much as he can with his face pressed to a cold, hard surface.
“What was that?”
“Yes,” he gasps. He’s already on his toes to get his legs as wide open as possible; even though he knows Jack is just making him say it to fuel his own ego, it still seems pretty obvious that Rhys wants whatever he’s going to give him.
“‘Yes’ what?” he asks, and the words come just a breath away from Rhys’s ear, hot and crawling under his skin.
“I want it,” he whimpers. It’s quieter than before, and before Jack cuts in with another smart-ass comment, he pushes his hips back against his cock and breathily adds, “Please keep going.”
He keeps rocking back against Jack, but it’s not the same.
“You need it?” Jack hisses, mouth right up against Rhys’s ear now and talking low and threatening.
“Yeah?” he asks again, and resumes the slow, hard pace he’d been giving him earlier.
Rhys shivers again and arches his back under him.
“Who’s a good boy?”
Getting talked down to usually just bothers him, but with Handsome Jack saying it, up against his throat now while he fucks him just a little harder, it’s easy to enjoy it much more than he should.
“Me,” he blurts out. “I'm a good boy.”
Jack says some other praises, but Rhys has trouble focusing on them after that. It feels like Jack is feeding off of his enthusiasm, and every time Rhys gets to remind him that he’s a good boy, Jack gets rougher and the hands on his hips hang onto him tighter to keep him in place.
Even when Jack’s question changes, instead asking who’s his favorite boy and who’s Hyperion’s best toy, the answer remains the same; him, him, him.