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They'd agreed on this as punishment for the poker game. If Apollo won, Phoenix would clean the entire office—if Phoenix won, he'd get to do whatever he wanted to Apollo. Beginner's luck carried Apollo at first, but in the end, seven years of undefeated experience won out. Not even the bracelet could cinch his victory.
And, well. Apparently whatever Phoenix wanted was to fuck Apollo until he was on the verge of losing his sanity.
Apollo's bangs are matted to his forehead with sweat, a stray poker chip on the couch cushion digging into his back. He's come twice already—once with Phoenix's hand around his cock, the other with Phoenix three fingers deep in his ass. There's no way he can do it again. It's just not happening.
But Phoenix's cock is buried inside him, filling him to the brim, and it feels so fucking good. He's so oversensitive he can't think straight, can't string together any words other than choked, harsh whimpers punched from his throat with every deep, calculated thrust. Phoenix hitches his legs up higher over his shoulders, nearly folding him in half as he fucks into him with abandon—Apollo lets out a silent scream when Phoenix hits his prostate again, his entire body shaking with exertion.
"I can't," he whimpers, hand coming up to hide his own face, voice so raw it's hardly recognizable. "Mr. Wright, I—I can't—"
"You can," says Phoenix, low in his ear, commanding. He slides his hand into Apollo's, part reassurance, part reminder—tap my palm three times if you really want to stop. "I know you can, Apollo. You're so good for me. You always are."
And Apollo wants to be good so bad. It's embarrassing, the way Phoenix has him wrapped around his finger. The way a small part of him hadn't even wanted to win at poker because he knew that losing would lead to this. And it's hard to feel like he's lost at all when Phoenix's mouth is kissing up his neck, nipping at his earlobe, his knuckles brushing gently against the underside of his sensitive cock in a gesture that should be teasing but is instead affectionate. Apollo comes just like that, body seizing with pleasure and clinging tight to Phoenix's shoulders like a lifeline. A few thrusts later, Phoenix comes too, with a choked groan muffled into the shoulder of Apollo's sweat-soaked shirt.
Apollo can hardly move after, too wrung-out to do anything but catch his breath. Phoenix lies quietly on top of him, absentmindedly stroking his hair.
After a long stretch of silence, Apollo clears his throat.
"This office is never getting cleaned, is it?"
"Hm? Oh, did I not tell you? Pearls is coming by to clean it for us tomorrow."
As Phoenix laughs to himself, Apollo tries desperately not to strangle him.