Work Text:
Flambae could definitely say that today marked the first time he’d been yanked into a closet and manhandled like he’d been caught red-handed in a robbery.
Robert, with a grimace mean as sin, had stomped toward him during their break hour, trumping the speed of Flambae’s leisure walk in the hall to the lounge. Without so much as a word, Robert seized him by the wrist and pulled him into the jammed space, shrinking his world to four compact barriers in seconds. Robert gave him a shove, sending Flambae stumbling a few steps backward until his spine straightened up against the wall. Mops and brooms toppled down with the force, producing a clammer that made him sharply aware of the beating hearts that could be just outside the door.
It was so dark he couldn’t see shit, but he could easily imagine the critically enraged look on Robert’s face.
He made a small noise of protest, just a feeble grunt, because in the blur of Robert’s angry ambush that’s all he could muster. Robert either didn’t hear it or completely ignored it, yanking Flambae’s tight suit down his well-built body, dragging the squeezy fabric over the dips and valleys of his muscle definition until his lower half was exposed. The dispatcher surged forward, growling breathily as he embedded the imprint of his teeth into Flambae's defenseless dermis; neck, collar, shoulders pecs, drawing a hiss from the cornered man. He sucked his blood to the forefront of his surface, leaving scarlet traces of his frustration down from his clavicle to his pectorals.
Flambae vented the stinging pain of Robert’s venture with a shuddering breath, grasping desperately at the smaller man’s shirt, which his subconscious quickly decided was the bedrock of reality. The lightlessness in the closet absorbed Robert’s existence, disappearing his frame, becoming him, so that ultimately it was darkness that bit, sucked and gnawed at Flambae’s vulnerable anatomy. His dainty little keyboard-kissing fingers became rapacious claws, digging powerfully into the groove of Flambae’s hips, stressing the integrity of his skin with his nails.
The way Robert was restraining him to the wall with his body weight, forcing him to surrender to the rabid onslaught, conjured the familiar sensation of being arrested.
And it was a little fucked up that the similarity badly turned him on, Flambae being an ex-con and all, but he did sort of egg this on.
And by sort of well, it was entirely his fault.
Flambae had been deliberately pissing Robert off just to hear his low-throated voice in his earpiece all day. He had no idea he had gotten to him that bad. He just wanted to make his day shitty for daring to believe he had any true control over him.
Of course, as they typically had since Robert replaced their last dispatcher, his efforts to piss the smaller man off had backfired tremendously.
Robert was a different animal when he was mad. He always had that annoying, self-assured aura of a man who was used to making orders, not taking them. Flambae had made it his mission to take him down a peg. A non-compliance here, a demeaning remark there. But almost every time it resulted in either Robert barring him for the day, or calling Flambae out on his bluff, talking the taller man onto his knees so he could fuck his resentment into his face.
Today was different. Robert was roughing Flambae up like he had truly had enough. His kiss was ferocious. His touch was closer to a wrestle than a sexual caress. And it all shot straight to Flambae’s dick, liquefying any defiance he managed to summon. Where he usually would’ve shoved Robert off and tried to take back control, his spine betrayed him and keened into Robert’s force, endorsement of the aggressiveness filling the hole in his subconscious where his fight should’ve been.
There was a hostile make out session, a bit of bruising and a significant temperature rise in the stuffy closet, and then Robert was fucking him from behind.
Flambae’s cheek was smashed into the wall, hard, but not painful, with Robert pressed flush against his back. He was holding one of his thighs up to make room for his fierce maneuvers, the pad of his fingers gripping the sparse fatty tissue there greedily. The dispatcher’s other hand snaked around Flambae’s broad form, reaching up to stick two fingers into his mouth, stifling the pleasure-wrecked motifs he punched out of four hundred degree lungs. Flambae’s painfully erect sex thumped into the cold wall with every snap of Robert’s hips.
“Just… Just couldn’t wait for it could you?” Robert taunted gruffly onto the shell of his ear. “Had to make my day fucking miserable just get my attention.”
Flambae’s upper body was slightly angled to the side, enough for the allowance of unsteady, remarkably livid eye contact. Flambae rose to the banter, but he couldn’t respond even if we wanted to. Between Robert’s languid pace, and how hard he set the force of each thrust, the only noises that spilled from his lips were whimpers, barely contained by the fingers laying on the apex of his tongue. Drool began to accumulate beneath the slick muscle, threatening to breach his lips. When Robert didn’t receive a proper answer, he punished the unresponsiveness with a calculated drive of his hips, dialing his length as deep as it could possibly go inside his subordinate. Feeling beyond capacity, Flambae mewled onto Robert’s digits, anxiety about his volume a rolling storm beneath his breast as the summit of Robert’s cock grazed the eager bundle of nerves deep within.
“You’re such a fucking brat, you know that?” Robert snarled, panting hotly onto the side of Flambae’s face, stuffing the ex-con with his everything. ‘“Bitch’ this and ‘bitch’ that. Do you call me names because you’re mad at me for getting you hooked on my dick?”
The humiliating read on Flambae’s whole operation carried a helpless whine from his throat, the sound surpassing their carefully premeditated decibel boundary. Flambae’s body tensed, and so did Robert’s. His hips came to a screeching halt, and in the absence of stimulation, the murmuring of casual conversation in the hall grew exponentially louder.
“Shhh,” Robert hushed Flambae, slipping his fingers from Flambae’s mouth. The taller man immediately missed the anchor, because without it was terrified he couldn’t keep it down, but Robert tentatively put his hand over Flambae’s lips, his sweaty palm a physical promise to catch his voice. The dispatcher dropped his voice to a wolfish whisper. “Don’t you hear them talking out there? Hm?”
Flambae shuddered and side-glanced his boss hopelessly, his erection twitching and stringing a trickle of pre to the wall.
“Yeah, I know you do.” Robert hummed. “Your skin heats up every time someone gets too close to the door.”
As if on cue, the sound of a pair of footsteps drew near the closet. The two men grew motionless. Flambae prayed for them to just walk past but they stopped dead at the entrance. Horror coiled grossly in Flambae’s gut, and he fully expected Robert to pull out and start scrambling to right them both, but he didn’t. He kept Flambae’s thigh up, and the hand that had been hovering over his mouth suddenly clamped down as hard as it possibly could given their comprising position. With a jolt of panic and exhilaration, Flambae realized what Robert was set to do.
The two employees outside the door began to engage in work gossip. Shit about fucked up equipment they wanted replaced and a coworker they mutually disliked. A thick stretch of silence passed between the two compromised men, and once Robert had determined that their presence in the closet was still secret, Flambae felt a cruel smirk splay on the back of his neck.
Robert worked his hips forward, pushing hard, stuffing Flambae to his maximum. Flambae hiked and shuddered violently, fighting not to scratch at the wall. His eyes rolled back, mouth huffing wet breaths into Robert’s palm. Robert held him there for a torturous few seconds, detaining Flambae’s body between himself and the wall, before he began to grind heavily, keeping his entire length hilt-deep into the hug of Flambae’s pliant flesh. With every revolve of Robert’s hips, with every flex of his abdomen, his cock mercilessly massaged into Flambae’s prostate. Tears jumped into the corner of the taller man’s eyes, tiny stars dancing in his peripherals as his legs shook against the blinding stimulation. Every time he thought it would relent, it just got so much worse, and so much stronger. His saliva coated the inside of Robert’s hand as he screwed his eyes shut.
“Mmm, right there is good isn’t it?” Robert whisper-purred into the back of his neck. “You poor, poor thing, Flambae. All that bravado and peacocking for what?”
He snapped his hips, only once, and Flambae’s gasp died in Robert’s hand.
“You want me to notice you, give you all my attention?” Robert panted. “I could just sit here and milk your sweet spot, send you back to work dazed and limping.”
Flambae’s erection was weeping. It’d gone almost entirely untouched, and the familiar electric charge of an approaching climax caught him completely off guard. He’d never cum just from taking dick. But the way Robert’s cock plodded continuously over the sensitive region inside him made him feel like somebody attached his nervous system to a jumper cable. It was debilitating.
Robert chuckled, quiet and cruel. “Maybe I should fuck you harder. Maybe I should make you scream so everyone on this floor knows who you truly are?”
Flambae whined deep in his throat, violently shaking his head.
“Aww, why not? You’d finally get to show everyone how much of a greedy princess you are.” Robert cooed. “Wouldn’t have to parade as a stuck-up little asshole anymore.” The dispatcher leaned impossibly closer. “You’d be free to be my work wife.”
The proposition made Flambae’s body melt, all his resistance gone. He cast his tongue out and lapped Robert’s palm obligingly, rolling his hips back into his superior’s grind.
“Yeah? You just want to be a work wife, don’t you? That’s why you fight so hard for my attention.” Robert adopted a sickeningly sweet cadence as he rumbled the words onto Flambae’s neck. “You’d make such a nice wife for me if you weren’t such a pain in my ass.”
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll behave. Flambae’s thoughts were jumbled and frantic. He whimpered and pushed back into Robert’s cock, earning a gratified groan from the smaller man.
“Fuck… what was that, Flambae?” Robert breathed, his respirations growing unsteady. “You’re really trying to win me over.”
Flambae met Robert’s languid grind in a resounding ‘yes I am’.
The conversation of the two employees outside the closet began to fade down the hall, and the moment they were out of earshot. Robert partially pulled out of Flambae, dragging a warbled moan of emptiness out of the taller man, before he slammed back in. He simultaneously lifted the pressure of his hand on Flambae’s lips, letting his choked cry bounce off the walls.
“You going to be a good little work wife for me?” Robert pulled out slightly again, holding himself there with no promise of returning. Flambae nodded quickly, which wasn’t to Robert’s satisfaction, and he expressed his disappointment by biting down on Flambae’s shoulder. The thrilling pain made him flinch violently, slanting into the wall in a useless attempt to get away from the sting.
“Yes, yes!” Flambae verbalized his obedience, and Robert released his tooth-hold on his skin.
“Yes, what?” Robert grumbled, still not moving his hips.
Flambae flushed an impossible shade of red, banging his forehead on the wall in pure frustration.
“Yes, I’ll be your- ughn- your work wife.” He yielded, voice trembling.
Holy fuck. Flambae grieved. I am so pathetic.
Robert rewarded him by setting a healthy pace, diving back into Flambae’s warmth, thrusting at the angle he knew he loved.
“Say it again,” Robert huffed, resting his forehead on the back of Flambae’s neck.
“I’ll b-e…ngh, your- ah! Wo-rk wife,” Flambae quavered, losing his breath as Robert’s assault on his prostate punched forceful exhales out his lungs.
“Again."
“I’-ll be y-our-,” Flambae gasped as Robert pounded directly into the overstimulated bundle of nerves. “-wife!” His body seized up. “R-Robert- wh- Fuck!” His early inclinations not to claw at the wall were thrown out the window as his climax snuck up on him and raided his nervous system. Just as quick as it arrived, a hot hand clasped around Flambae’s neck, applying a pressure not strong enough to asphyxiate, but enough to break his voice a fraction as his mouth fell open into a mangled moan of bliss. His cum hit the wall, and then immediately got smeared by his cock being thumped into his own mess. Robert was still fucking him. He chuckled as Flambae came undone but in no way did he stop for the other man to recover. Completely overstimulated, Flambae broke into pieces.
“Thank you sir, thank you, thank you, thank you,” It was a tangled mess of euphoric gratitude for calling his bluff and putting him in place.
“My God,” Robert leaned into it eagerly, groaning all sultry and rapturous. He pumped into Flambae, his thrusts going more and more precise, like he was chasing something. “You’re so much sweeter when you’re thoroughly fucked.”
A disjointed sensation of something impending struck down on Flambae’s pelvic area. It felt insanely good, and then it felt strangely wrong, almost like he had a full bladder, but it definitely wasn’t to piss. Before he could even think to beg Robert to stop before it unleashed itself, the second orgasm hit him, this time centered in his abused prostate. Nothing came out of his cock as his body locked up against the wall, a silent cry leaving his parted lips.
Robert’s breathing grew increasingly ragged. It wasn’t long before he pulled out of Flambae and finished himself off, his cum landing on Flambae’s trembling glutes with a broken gasp. He was reeling from his orgasm, but the moment Flambae’s legs nearly gave out beneath him he surged forward and held him up securely.
The closet smelled wholly like sex. Their two bodies rose and fell into each other as they rode their high. Robert was obviously the first to start coming down, and he purred onto Flambae’s neck breathlessly.
“I never mind a bit of roleplay, but you got really into the whole ‘work-wife’ thing back there.”
Flambae growled but it was under his breath, utterly spent. He didn’t want to think about going back to work. He didn’t even know if he could.
“Don’t let it get to your head, bitch. I’d rather die than actually do it.” He muttered, syllables wobbly.
“Wasn’t what it sounded like to me.” Robert laid a few punctuating kisses on Flambae’s shoulder. Flambae could practically hear his smirk as he spoke. “We could make it work. It could be our little secret. We do make a pretty good dysfunctional marriage.”
Robert let go of Flambae’s thigh and let his leg fall to the floor. Thankfully, he had regained his strength, so he could turn around and glare daggers at the dispatcher, meeting that incessant, all-knowing smirk that he could recognize even in the dark.
“Not even if there was money on the line,” Flambae hissed, feigning disgust, because the idea of that incredibly fucked up dynamic with Robert actually sounded really hot.
“If you say so, but my offer still stands. Especially if it’ll make you less of a fucking brat.” Robert patted Flambae on the chest conclusively. “Let’s clean up. I’m going to tell everyone you got sick during lunch and went home.”
Flambae fought hard not to outwardly express the wave of relief that crashed over him. “I don’t need your charity, Bitch-Bob. I’m a fucking machine. I’ll be fine.” He was weak in the knees. He was so far from fine.
“It’s not charity,” Robert corrected flatly, some rustling ensuing behind his words as he searched the space for a towel or the closest equivalent. With a tinge of mirth in his tone, he declared. “I’m just taking care of my work-wife.”
The taller man audibly gagged, unsteadily beginning to pull his suit back into place. “Ugh, you are so god damn gross. Don’t ever call me that shit again.”
Flambae hoped he never stopped.