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Retrieving rowdy teens from the woods is not part of Timothy Wright's job description.
Most of the time, The Operator doesn't really care what they do as long as their activities don't interfere with its overarching grand plan. Toby, unfortunately, was very good at that. Kept sneaking out to get in fights and leaving messes that his cohorts would be forced to clean up. If he wasn't so good at what he did (not that he did much, in Tim's opinion) The Operator would have disposed of him long ago.
Instead, Toby had merely been placed on house arrest until he could prove himself responsible enough to free roam off the job.
It also helped that it had figured out that Tim was best at wrangling him, resulting gray hairs and years off his lifespan aside. So of course Tim would be sent on missions with him. Of course Tim would be sent to to teach him the ropes. And of course Tim would have to drag him back home.
The trees part as he emerges into the clearing around the lake. It glitters darkly, reflecting the round, silvery pupil of the moon. Three teens--Ben, Jeff, and Toby, are gathered at it's edge, giggling among themselves.
Tim pads out from the vegetation, grumbling low in his chest. Ben's head swivels curiously to face him, exhaling a thick plume of smoke before blood red eyes roll with irritation as he moves to nudge Toby. Jeff takes a swig of the energy drink in his hand, his own milky blue eyes lilted up towards Tim. He's eldest of the three, nearly eighteen, and Ben's sixteenth birthday was only a few icy days before Toby's.
The aforementioned brunette looks to the man looming behind him and whines in complaint, "I'm not even o-off the prop-property!"
"You n' I both know that ain't a viable loophole." Tim responds curtly, and extends a hand to the boy.
"If I spend another day indoors I'm guh-going to kill, kill everyone in there and, and, and then muh-myself."
"Yeah, well, you can take that up with the big man." Tim takes Toby's wrist and pulls him to stumbling feet. Toby rolls bloodshot eyes and waves goodbye to the duo, who send him off with lazy grins.
Toby gnaws idly on his other hand while Tim pulls him through the woods. The teen is clearly out of it, eyes lidded and fluffy clothes reeking of weed. Tim doesn't scold him for that--He himself had gotten into a fair bit of shit as a kid, it was just annoying that Toby's disobedience was his problem.
"I don't wuh-wa-want to walk a-anymore." Toby pipes up when they're about halfway to the manor. Guiding him had been annoying--His steps were uncoordinated and his tics were acting up.
"Tough shit. Yer the one who came all the way out here."
Toby is quiet once more, and Tim imagines that's the end of that.
It is not, because the little shit bites him.
It's not insanely painful or anything, just a nip at the back of his hand where it connects to Toby's, and it barely draws blood. Still it's surprising and annoying and Tim whacks the teen over the head regardless. It's enough force to make him bow with the impact, but it obviously doesn't hurt.
Toby blinks up at him with big unfocused doe eyes, a freckled face framed by shaggy brown hair. His neck jerks, and he's grinning, and Tim sighs, bringing up a broad hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. After several moments of forced relaxation, he brings his hands down and scoops the teen up by the hips. It's easy--Toby's a scrawny little freak, with sharp ribs under scarred porcelain skin. He's put on a little muscle from swinging an axe all day, but he's still sixteen and malnourished.
He makes a surprised noise at the change of position but quickly adjusts, tucking his head into the crook of Tim's neck.
"If you drool on me," Tim warns, "I'm droppin' you."
His response is a noise like a sneeze, and Toby does drool from the gash in his cheek.
They make it to the manor by the time the moon is high in the sky. Upon breaching the entry hall, Toby is squirming in Tim's grip like a cat preparing to jump from it's owner's arms. Tim holds him tighter, and glares when Toby's head swivels to look at him quizzically.
"I ain't leavin' you to yer own devices just so you can sneak out again. Yer bunkin' with me tonight, buddy."
The teen wrinkles his nose. "Hell no."
"Yeah, well," Tim returns the expression, "Should'a thought about that before gettin' yerself here, huh?"
Tim walks him through the carpeted corridors until they reach Tim's room, at a higher floor furthest away from The Operator's wing. He drops Toby unceremoniously onto the bed, and moves towards his dresser where he retrieves a pair of plaid red pants. He throws them at the younger proxy, who gives an exaggerated gag.
"I hate-h-hate wearing puh-pants."
"Then don't, I don't fuckin' care, just quit whinin'."
Toby shuffles around while Tim settles at his desk over a notebook and a lamp. The room is bare bones, with a wooden carving sitting on his dresser and a couple sparse polaroids from Brian being his only real decoration.
The man glances back curiously, and finds Toby lounging on his bed in only a tee and plain boxers, scrolling on his phone with one leg swaying idly. He catches Tim's eye and glares, and he turns back to writing his mission report.
They're calm like that for about two minutes, before Toby sits up and groans. "I'm bored." Tim doesn't reply, and the teen hops to his feet and comes to hover over his makeshift mentor's shoulder. Tim figures if he ignores him, he'll go away.
He does not. Toby's eyes scan the page, and he does get bored but instead of returning to the bed he plops to his knees on the floor next to Tim's desk and settles his jaw on the man's thigh. Tim's eyes flick down towards the brunette, who looks up at him with cheeky dark eyes. "Hell d'you want?"
"To luh-leave."
"Try again."
Toby huffs, and opens his mouth like he's going to complain more. Tim kicks him a little--More of a sharp nudge with a socked foot to shut him up than anything, and the appendage settles between Toby's knees. He makes a little whining noise--Dramatic--and Tim brings up a free hand to ruffle his hair. The teen leans into the hand, and Tim remembers that he's just some kid.
From what he'd gathered in fleeting conversation, Toby had a bad dad and no close friends. Physical closeness with Tim was probably received positively 'cause he couldn't and never had gotten it anywhere else. Shoving him around was easy enough (And probably sent off some endorphins in the brunette's fucked up little brain), but positive reinforcement made him better than cooperative--it made him complacent.
Still, the kid was jittery. Sure the tics didn't make him look any more settled, but he was also just fidgety, always looking ready to jump out of his skin. Had Tim not kept him from moving with a firm hand on the back of his head, the kid probably would've bounced up to start pacing again.
Toby settles after several seconds, and Tim pulls his hand back. "Good. Chill out." Toby's hips twitch, borderline squirming at the barest praise. Tim turns back to his work, but the response does not go unnoticed.
He's content to sit around for maybe a few seconds, but it's not long until Tim feels the nick of teeth on his kneecap. His foot shoves against Toby's inner thigh, hand sweeping down to yank on the Kid's hair to shove him backwards. His head tilts to glare down his nose at the kid, who looks right back with big puppy eyes. "I'm bored." It's a whine, and something about it both scratches and ignites an itch in Tim's brain.
"Tell me about whatever game you n' those other two have been up to lately." He figures that'll occupy him.
Toby begins rabbling on about some newly released Pokemon game, and how Ben has been teaching him to play competitively. He manages to yammer on for about a minute before getting squirmy and looking like he's going to bite Tim again, or bite himself, or knock something off the desk or be otherwise disruptive.
In a compulsive decision to shut him up, Tim shoves his foot further between Toby's legs.
The boy squeaks. His hips twitch instinctively forward, and Tim notes, quickly, that he doesn't feel the usual bulge he'd expect. Huh--it wasn't what he'd anticipated, but he could work with it.
In his periphery, Toby's face is flushed bright red and his neck jerks several times in quick succession before Tim brings up a hand to cradle he boy's jaw. "Yer fine." His voice is almost a croon, and Toby lowers his jaw back to the man's muscled thigh and begins to hump in earnest, and Tim could finally keep writing.
He finished the mission report around when Toby started whining at him and his own jeans began to feel tight. "Relax, kid." He pulls his foot back and relishes in the pathetic noise he receives in response. Toby mouths at him--not quite biting but clearly taking an effort not to. The complaints die down when he moves to unbutton his jeans. Toby's twitching hands move to take over, and Tim allows him to pull down the zipper and tug his pants and boxers down to his thighs.
Toby adjusts to be properly beneath the desk, his hands coming to frame Tim's inner thighs as the man's heavy length springs free. "You done this before?" Tim asks patiently, and Toby shakes his head. "Suh-seen i-it though."
"Don't overwhelm yourself."
"I-I'm nuh-not-not a baby."
Tim scoffs, because in comparison to him he is, but the thought leaves his head as Toby kitten licks his drooling tip. He leans back in the chair as the boy impatiently wraps his lips around the swollen head, fingers twitching against the man's hairy legs. He works his tongue along the vein running down the underside and sucks, and Tim groans. "Yeah just like that-- Doin' such a good job, kid."
Toby glows at the praise, fingers digging harder into the skin beneath them as he suckles a little more and then leans forward. Yeah, this is definitely a good outlet for that restlessness. He's pushing it a little too fast though, and Tim has to push the boy off by his hair to stop him from almost vomiting when it hits the back of his throat. Hands withdraw from his thighs as he allows Tim to guide him, deft fingers disappearing beneath his own waistband.
"Slow," Tim warns on a heavy breath, and Toby pouts but obeys. He can take him about halfway comfortably, which is pretty impressive with his inexperience. His torn cheek trickles saliva down his jaw, and the mess is endearing, makes wet noises with every movement. He bobs his head a few times, his tongue pressing up on the sensitive spot just beneath the tip that makes Tim tip his head back and moan.
He's so close to being able to do it on his own, and Tim feels himself twitch in the boy's mouth. He tangles a muscled hand into the boy's brown locks and tugs at the same time as his hips knocking foreward.
Toby's nose hits the scratchy dark fuzz of his pubes, the boy's shoulders heaving on a gag. "Good job, kid, just a little more." Tim growls low in his chest as the warmth envelops him fully--the younger proxy's mouth stretched in a way that would've made any one else's jaw ache. Tim practically jerks the kid's maw on his dick, relishing in the way he gasps, eyes glazing over with oxygen deprivation as saliva streaks his chin.
Finally, Tim creams right down his throat with a low moan, making the boy beneath him go cross-eyed as the warm liquid paints his drooling mouth. It drips out of the gash in his cheek, and he pulls off the second Tim allows him to, coughing and struggling to swallow all of the thick fluid.
"Fuck, you okay, kid?" He asks as Toby coughs and wipes his face on the back of one scrawny arm, fingers distinctively sticky. He lifts his gaze to the older proxy and grins. Tim takes his wrist and pulls the boy up into his lap, bringing the hand to his mouth and swirling his tongue mindlessly over the slender digits. Toby pulls back with a giggle, and Tim ruffles his hair.
"Your turn." Tim prods him in the chest, watching red flood Toby's cheeks. He swipes his stationery to the side and tugs Toby to sit up onto the desk by his hips. The boy's knees fall open compliantly, and Tim tugs his boxers down to his knees and off his socked feet.
His mound is covered by thin curls of a slightly darker lighter shade than his hair, and his prick pokes unmistakably out of the fuzz. It's swollen and throbbing, and Tim wastes no time wrapping his lips loosely around it. a year or so of HRT has given him a pleasant little mouthful, and his brain practically short curcuits as the man takes to sucking on it.
He stammers incoherently, eyes rolling up into his brains--He's whiny, humping up into Tim's mouth like a puppy in heat. Tim doesn't blame him--he's supposedly never felt anything like this before, and puberty is a bitch even without the extra dose of testosterone.
The boy hiccups beneath him, thighs quaking as Tim pushes an experimental middle finger up into his cunt. The man pulls off with a lewd pop, watching Toby's stomach flex as he whines at the loss. "You ever done this?"
Toby babbles, and Tim supposes he won't get much of a coherent answer out of him. Finally, he manages, "Nuh-no-not really. Yours a-are--they're bigger than mine." He hiccups, eyes bright with tears and shirt absolutely splattered with drool.
"Poor thing." Tim mocks in a saccharine voice, and goes back to work. Toby tangles a hand into his hair, bites a knuckle hard enough to draw blood, but it doesn't do anything to muffle his pathetic noises or quell his twitching.
"Fuh-fuck-fuck-fuck--Gonna, gonna--" The boy squeals, and Masky hums in acknowledgement as he pushes a second finger in and curls. The boy spills into his mouth, followed by a bitter spray of urine.
Tim doesn't stop, relishing in the way Toby wails and squirms beneath him, trying to crawl away but only hitting the wall.
"Can't, cuh-cuh-can't, stop, nuh- nooo!" It's closest the boy can get to pain, the tightness coiled in his tummy as the man refuses to pull off and give him a break. Fat tears roll down his cheeks, chest heaving with moans that are ragged and breathy like sobs. Tim fucks him shallow with two fingers, abusing that sweet spot. He dribbles more, his piss dripping warm off the desktop and down Tim's jaw as he finally pulls off with a lewd pop, strings of fluid connecting them.
Toby hiccups tearfully, and Tim runs a hand along his thighs, "Had t'be sure you're tuckered out, yeah?" The boy nods, peering at him through lidded eyes, and Tim palms at himself where his cock had begun to harden once more. "This'll be good, alright? You can be a good boy, mhm?"
"Mhm," Toby hums weakly, and Tim doesn't miss the way he drips a little more at the praise. He pulls him up off the desk and onto his lap, manhandling the boy to straddle him. He lines him up properly and sinks in, inch by inch. Toby squirms at the stretch--it's not painful, of course, but it's unfamiliar, and he slurs something incoherent and whimpery.
"You're doing so good, kid. Just a little more, yeah?" He tightens at the praise, and finally sinks fully into the man's lap with a shudder.
"Cuh-can feel yuh-y-you in my suh-stomach." He hiccups, and Tim twitches at the thought. And there is a little bulge in his belly. Tim presses a thumb against it and groans real low at the pressure, the way Toby slurs a moan.
"You know what t'do, yeah?"
Toby nods. He shifts until he finds an angle that hits that sweet spot, and begins to bounce. He's slow at first, but Tim aids him with a pair of hands planted firm on his hips and the boy picks up speed, huffing a whine every time their laps connect. Tim brings one hand to rub circles on his swollen nub, and Toby twitches with overstimulation, his rythm thrown off. "You can take it, you're such a good boy, okay?"
"Yuh-yeah, mhm, mhm." Toby nods fervently, his eyes rolling back just as Tim feels his stomach begin to tighten.
"A-ah- gonna- gonna-" The boy spasms around him, and Tim releases at the fluttering of the boy's walls around him. He paints Toby's insides white, basking in the way his hips shimmy and squirm away from Tim's thumb. Toby slumps forward with a hiccuped breath, and Tim pulls his hands back to wrap them around him.
"You did so good." He croons, and Toby tucks his head into the crook of Tim's shoulders. For once, besides the occasional tic, he's still.
They sit connected that way for a few minutes, Toby's breath low and content in his lungs. Finally Tim nudges him to get up, and he pulls off with a sticky noise. He slinks off to go use the bathroom, and they take turns in the shower.
Tim rolls into bed after his shower, shirt forgotten and pyjama pants sitting low on his hips. Toby borrows a shirt and a pair of boxers and flops down practically on top of him. The boy begins to scroll on his phone as Tim dozes off.
Finally, there's peace and quiet with the teen.
He'll have to do this more often.