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“I— nh, close, close—!” Jayce grits through his teeth, thighs trembling with all the intensity of two colliding tectonic plates on either side of you.Your hands are off.He curls with the ache of it, the way his cock twitches under the soft tension of the baby pink ribbon tied into a bow at its base. His idea of a Valentine’s Day surprise for you, along with some matching lingerie you’d long torn off him the second you got home. His knees draw up, not to his chest, but close, from where he’s sitting propped up on white silk, his moans choke up with pain.Recoiling, Jayce squeezes his eyes shut, and he leaks. Not the way his orgasms usually happen, not a strong spurt and a cry, he simply grits his teeth and bears the way his cock dribbles his spend in a soft ooze, hissing through his teeth.“Easy,” you purr, petting at the inside of his flexed left thigh. It jumps under your hand like a spooked animal. “Jayce?”“Fuck,” he mutters, face lowered while his chest expans wildly with each breath. And his cock, though it’s stopped leaking, is still throbbing, swollen, full. “What… was that…?”You have a sneaking suspicion.“What did it feel like?”He swallows thickly, and gladly accepts the hand you lay on his cheek instead, sagging into it, chasing it. Sweet boy.You let him have as long as he needs to gather himself.“Like coming, but not really. Uh, worse?” Jayce exhales sharply through his nose and stares down at his dick like it’s part nuisance and part unsolved riddle. “Why am I still—? I didn’t mean to, not so soon.”“I know you didn’t,” you assure. A kiss to his shoulder. “I think that might have been a ruined orgasm.”Dumbfounded blinking — the delightful pout of his lip when he’s faced with something new.“Jesus. That’s a thing?” “Yeah. You sort of orgasm, but… not really. It’s supposed to feel unsatisfying.” You squeeze gently at a handful of his slackening thigh, and your thumb ventures hesitantly to the soaked bow at the base of his straining cock. “Do you want me to keep touching you, or would you rather stop, sweetheart?”Which must be a tough choice to make in his still shaken up state — and you’re about to make it for him, to suggest a cuddle, but you’re nothing if not two minds ticking at the same pace.“I… lay with me for a sec?” He says.“Of course.”The mattress hums under you as you both settle, and so does Jayce, tucking his face into the warmth of your chest, breathing you in. His dick’s heavy on your leg, hot.“It’s a little strange,” he admits. “I feel like I could still, u-um…”But experimenting is what he does best, and so, he takes himself in hand. His pleased hum rumbles deep, so much so you can feel it reverberating in your own chest.It turns into a blissful sigh, his head tilts back in delight as he starts to touch himself — just a smear of his own cum at the tip, a hesitant pump. “Oh, that’s…hah.”“Nice?” You attempt, stroking down his arm to help him settle. “Y-yeah,” Jayce gasps, and lets go of himself to scramble for your wrist instead, bringing your hand where he needs it. You don’t hesitate for even a second before you grasp his dick in your fist. “Ah, please—““I’ll make it good this time,” you assure, tugging at his cock with one hand, and at the bowtie at its base with the other. “Can’t let such a lovely present go to waste, after all, can we?”
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“Oh, there you are,” Jayce smiles wryly, shoulders sagging with relief the moment you shur the door behind yourself. He pushes himself away from the vanity in a rush, meeting you halfway for a kiss that doesn’t last much — he has to pull away before his breath runs too thin, which it already has. But if there is one thing Jayce craves, it’s you, anything of you he can get. The moment his lips aren’t on yours anymore, his body is, crushing you into a hug that’s draped heavy and tight around your shoulders, clings to you like you’re his one salvation. “I thought I’d only get to see you in the crowd.”“Would never miss a chance to steal a kiss from you before your first big speech,” you assure, pulling him in to reciprocate. “How are you feeling?”Jayce goes a little rigid in your embrace at that, before he finally admits: “Not great.”You’d figured as much. There is a certain amount of attention that’s within comfort, and this — the opening speech at this year’s distinguished innovator’s competition — is toeing the line of too much. All his peers’ eyes on him, expecting, after his stunt last year that’s landed him on blimps and posters, you can’t blame him.“What can I do to help?”He gulps a little, before he shrugs. “I, uh… don’t know. Just… this has worked wonders within seconds, though.“ His arms squeeze you a hint tighter, like you’re a plush toy he’d never let go of, if he could. “Wish I could take you up there with me.”You can’t help a grin. “How much space do you reckon is under that podium? Can’t promise I’ll stick to just hand holding, with your crotch all up in my face and all.”A soft chuckle from Jayce — by all standards, a win. “You’re terrible,” he complains, not meaning a word of it. But as you softly rake your hands up his back, and are reminded of the fact that he just has his shirt on. A quick glance to a clothing rack in the small room confirms it, he hasn’t finished putting on his outfit.“How much time do you still have until you need to be up there?” “Twenty minutes,” Jayce breathes, and, well, you can do a lot more than just get him dressed in twenty minutes.He seems just as aware of it. As you take half a step away from him, his hand finds your wrist, and the other undoes the first four buttons eagerly.The message is plenty clear when he dips your hand into the front of his shirt and sets it on his left pec. But Jayce isn’t particularly trained in the art of subtlety, so he adds breathlessly: “Touch me.”His nipple perks when your index brushes it, the weight of his muscle sitting lax and hefty in your hand, the weight of his wildly beating heart below even heavier.You barely have half the mind to ask him if he’s sure this is what he really needs right now, but then his forehead settles against yours with a blissed out hum, eyes closed as if to savor your touch. “Open all the way,” you tell him, tugging at what’s left buttoned up of his shirt with your free hand, and he of course complies with a bated breath and shaking fingers. There you have him — both pecs weighing in your palms now, nipples between your fingers. “That’s what you needed, baby? For someone to play with your tits to turn your brain off a little?”Jayce nods haphazardly, before his hips nudge forward. Not meeting any resistance, but thrusting on muscle memory alone, you let him have at it. You consider meeting them with a nudge of your thigh, but, if he’d wanted that from you, you don’t doubt he’d have whined for it.Instead, Jayce simply indulges in your hands pulling and massaging at his pink nipples, gasping a little when you twist them both opposite ways. “Still think you’ll be able to focus up there?” Both his hands on your wrists now, squeezing, pressing, more, more, more. “With your tits all sore, reminding you of me? Of this?”Jayce shivers.“Hah,” he squeaks at a not so gentle tug on the sensitive skin. Outside, you can hear someone walk past the door.“Might need to keep that pretty mouth shut,” you tell him. “Wouldn’t want anyone walking in on the man of progress getting his nipples played with before his big speech.” There’s a whine that leaves him, before his nose nudges yours as he begins to dip his head in shame. You know he’ll try to find comfort by hiding his face, but you’re more inclined to see him, to metaphorically pin him to your corkboard. “No. Let me see you.”And it’s with a sniffle that he comes back up, foreheads bumping, and you realize in the stark light of the vanity that trails of warm tears stain his under eyes, a darker hue showing where his skin’s wet. He must have applied something for his dark circles — you know the anxiety’s been keeping him up.“Aw, baby, you’re ruining your makeup.”Jayce swallows thickly, squeezing his eyes to wring out the tears that still cloud his vision.“It’s okay,” you assure, fingertips circling his aching nipples. “Just enjoy this, and I’ll help you get dolled up nice and pretty after.”“Thank you.”His hips still cant forward against thin air, and you’re about to give in and offer your thigh this time around, until you realize he’s grinding himself against the seam of his slacks. And you want to see that being enough. It might just be.“Fuck,” he mutters, hands squeezing your wrists tighter. His voice comes out strained through his teeth. “I th-think I’m gonna…”You know what he means based on just the pinch of his brows alone. “Yeah?” You goad, tugging at his sore tits. “Gonna make a mess for me?”Jayce nods, his breath coming out in a high pitched whimper at the soft twist you give his hot nipples. His hips twitch in the air, you can actually hear the hard fabric of his pants creak against his straining cock, before his eyes flutter closed in bliss. You swallow his next moan with a smothering kiss, licking into his soft, dripping mouth while he clambers up to your shoulders for support. It’s a good thing, because he nearly topples when you give one last twirl and tug at his sore tits before he’s done for.Grinding against just the seam of his slacks, gripping your shoulders so tight you worry for bruises, Jayce shoots his load. You’re too caught up simply watching his expression —mouth hanging open, eyes squeezed shut, choking back moans — to really think of the implications of his orgasm.“Shit, my pants,” Jayce grits out, and it hits him before it hits you, as he pops the button of his pants open, yanks at the zipper, then shoves his pristine white pants down his thighs. You search the vanity for tissues, and end up with two cotton pads instead, pressing both to the damp spot in his underwear, where he’s just began leaking through the fabric.Jayce flinches at the contact, before both your gazes meet and, after a moment of silence you share a chuckle.“That was dumb,” he whispers before he lets himself slump against you. “Did any of it get on my pants?”“Don’t think so.” You can’t help but scrape your grin against his cheek. “Looks like you’ll have to skip out on underwear, though. How slutty.”A knock on the door startles the both of you so hard you nearly yelp.“You’re up in ten, Mr Talis,” a voice on the other side reminds.
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Jayce is not the kind of man who makes his presence unknown. Between his wide stature and his radiant smile, you can’t exactly blame him for being noticed wherever he goes. Can’t fault him for the fact that not only does he attract attention, but he sometimes acts as though he could live off of it alone, like he eats it for sustenance — particularly from the people he cares about.You swear that a gentle touch, a loving glance, and some tender words are often more than enough to keep Jayce Talis well-fed. Which is why it must hurt when he does not receive two of those three necessities. You can’t deprive him of them all — you don’t want him falling apart just yet — so your hand is in his locks, scratching sweet little circles at his scalp. And his mouth is on you, face nestled into the open flap of your pants, lips wrapped around your clit like sticky hard candy, drooling for it just the same. It’s been pouring down into the crevice between his stubbled chin and your cunt, and he keeps his tongue still as instructed, slobbering on you like a good dog.“Mmf.” Jayce shifts a little, and his ass bumps the panel of your desk. Not a very generous space for such a generously sized man, to be squeezed under there during a workday, ignored in favor of paperwork. But it’s his day off, he’d asked for this, and… well, you never were particularly good at saying no to him when his doe eyes go all soft and pleading.“Sit still,” you instruct with a tug to his hair. But he has been there for hours, sloppy mouth cushioning your clit into a static, slick, warm clutch, his bottom lip still at the base of it, his breath tickling the curls above. You will grant him a small mercy. “Or do your knees hurt, baby? Want another pillow?”Jayce hums no. It’s muffled into your swollen cunt, tingles at your spine.But then he looks up at you through his lashes — his eyes all fat pupils and warm amber, blown wide in the half darkness of your office. What little light there is being cast from your desk lamp is soft and warm on his cheekbones, his dark hair. He tilts his head just a little in a silent plea, and for good measure, rolls his tongue against your aching clit.His whine is nasal, high and pitchy, cold. Rumbles a little against your cunt. And you know what it means, especially when he flutters his lashes a little. “Want it that bad?” You ask, and Jayce opts to blink once, he knows he shouldn’t be talking. He’s slow about it, squeezing his eyelids a little to really get his message across. Yes, please.You can feel the way his tongue moves inside his mouth, the way he swallows some of the spit that’s gathered — slobbering at the mere prospect of getting to lick you. “Alright,” you relent. “Slow. I still need to focus. If you overdo it, you’re back to square one.” And he knows what square one is. His chin on the by now damp office chair, his hands on the tops of your thighs, only gazing at the prize. Letting his mouth sit on you is one privilege, letting him do something to you is an even higher one.“Of course,” he breathes between your legs. You haven’t heard his voice in hours, he sounds used. “Thank you, baby.”And next thing you know, he begins to suckle at you like a kitten, the softest brushes of his tongue, his breath coming out shaky with how terribly he’s restraining himself. You want to see him break. Which reminds you: you haven’t used the remote on your desk in a hot second. You only crank it up about halfway, barely audible from where he’s sitting, and that’s really all it takes.Grinding back against the panel of your desk so the vibrating plug within him nestles deeper, bullies his prostate harder, Jayce wails. Credit where it’s due, it’s a quiet sound, vehement in his expression alone, mouth hanging open to shape a scream that never leaves his lungs, bear paw hands gripping your thighs so goddamn hard you fear they’ll bruise.“Fuck,” He breathes, forehead settling against your stomach. Between your legs, under your desk, tucked away from the world, Jayce shivers like a small dog. “That was quick,” you note, but try not to add too much sting to your words. “D-doesn’t mean I have to stop,” Jayce wheezes. Nuzzles at the meat just above your cunt in a silent plea. “I know.” You brush a hand below the desk, to the top of his head, to guide him back where he belongs. He takes the spot eagerly, willingly, even though the buzzing plug in his ass is drawing small, overstimulated hums from him. From the back of his head, your hand trails down the his neck, to the shirt of his collar, dips within, then slides to the front. Cups over the curve of his pectoral, you have to really lean down a little, until your fingertips find what you’re looking for: the soft, rosy pebble of his nipple.Jayce squeaks at the first tug at it, flinching so hard his head bumps the table. “Ow,” he mumbles from below, and you’re about to draw your hand away, until he grabs for your wrist. “Wait, wait, don’t stop.” A gasp when your touch returns. “Want more. Want you.”And, well, you never were good at denying him.
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The expanding of Jayce’s wide, thick chest is hypnotic. Solid ribs tent at tan skin, his wide collarbone rises, his cheeks hollow with the drag. He closes his eyes to savor it until it tickles, head tilted up until it sits on the backrest of your rickety couch. One of the first pieces of furniture you’d thrifted for your first shared apartment. He’s divine like this, primed for relaxation. Just in his boxers, binder discarded in favor of tape on each side of his chest (the fun kind: dark blue with patterns). The joint sits daintily between his plush lips, and though the inhale is as graceful as they get, once his lungs go full, Jayce lasts one more second before the inevitable happens, and smoke bursts from his nose with the first subdued cough. He thinks to take the blunt from between his fingers and hold it out for you to take before it turns into a full body one. You slide your hand from the tape on his chest to the back of his head. Jayce isn’t necessarily green, but this isn’t something he indulges in often. He’d confessed to you it‘s a gamble — sometimes it has him laughing at just about anything, other times it gets him trembling, wide eyed, paranoid, especially when he does it alone. You’re here to try to prevent that. “Take it easy,” you say. “You don’t have to smoke half the thing on your first drag.” “It’s just the first drag that sucks the most,” Jayce justifies, sounding a little strangled, before he takes the big water bottle off the table for an equally generous sip. You use the time given to take a drag of your own, holding it for good measure, before you ash the joint. You can feel him settle under your palm. Muscles flexing a little less, breaths coming in steadier. “C’mere,” you utter, smoke seeping from your lips with the word, and Jayce does, always does. But especially now, when he knows what you have in mind, he leans in, lips parted, seaming to yours. His mouth tastes wet, cold from the water he’d just chugged. Though your mind is going a little woozy with the lack of oxygen, you do your best to give it to him slowly as you lick at his teeth. It doesn’t last long. Survival instinct overrides your control, and you’re blowing all you have left into his mouth before you hazard a heaving inhale. Jayce makes a sound at the back of his throat that’s equally as froglike as the puffing of his cheeks before he parts, and the both of you end up laughing through your coughs. “What was that?” Jayce’s voice comes out a little ragged, broken up by coughs and giggles. “Sorry,” you breathe. “Fuck. Sorry.” “Do I need to—“ another cough, “show you how it’s done?” “I doubt you could,” you tease, because you know he loves a little challenge sometimes. “But, here.” Jayce takes it from you in a rush, takes another drag that he now has a little more control over. For a moment, he lets it settle in his chest, before he glances your way, and leans in. You know what you need to do. Press your mouth to his, relax your throat, and match the pace at which he feeds you the smoke. It comes easily this time around, and it scratches something in your brain, to share his breath so wholly. You can’t help a grin when you part and let the smoke leave your lungs. It scratches at your throat like wool, leaves you a little thirsty, and frankly, Jayce’s spit is more appealing than the water bottle on the tea table. “Well?” You ask, brushing one hand to his leg, taking the blunt from him with the other. Jayce nods. “So far, so good. ‘M starting to feel it a little already.” “Good. And it feels…?” He snorts. “Not like how it feels when I’m about to freak.” That’s good, but not unshakable. He’d almost had a panic attack when his mom called him once, for fear she would be able to tell he was high if he picked up, or worry sick if he wouldn’t. Safe to say, that night hadn’t ended well. Nor that one time you’d indulged right after exam season, but the perpetual feeling of having an assignment to do, an exam to cram for, simply lingered, and Jayce spent a solid few minutes pacing the room wondering if he for sure wasn’t forgetting something, until he settled. Touch helped. It usually does, with Jayce, but especially when he’s anxious like this. He likes the thought of a presence, a loving presence even moreso, and your presence the most. It’s why his hand settles over your own on his thigh, presses a little, before he smiles a little dopey, and you return the blunt. His gaze on you lingers. Really takes you in, with a sleepy indulgence, from your socks to the top of your head, before it settles on his favorite place to look: your eyes. “What?” You chuckle. “You’re really pretty.” Oh, he’s getting there, alright. “Right back at you,” you reply. Give a squeeze at his thigh for good measure, pinky slipping under the leg of his boxers, which makes him spread his legs. And you brush it off, it’s sometimes more of a pavlovian response to spread for you than a conscious decision, really, until his hand grabs yours, and takes it inward. Over the leg of his boxers up his hip, and finally, to the damp spot between his legs. Oh, he must be swollen. You can feel it through the fabric, really, how fat his cunt is, how his cock tents the colorful cotton. “Touch me.” “Touch you where, baby?” You tease, expecting some resistance. “My cunt,” he breathes it without much hesitation, such a rare sight for him. Jayce goes so biddably pliant as your hand pushes past the waitband of his boxers, soft as though all the mucles in his body have melted when he takes another drag and simply watches the way your knuckles tent the dark fabric when your hand cups his hot, chubby pussy. He’s so slick already. His cunt is fucking easy like this. It takes two fingers like they’re nothing, when you usually have to work him up with just the one, legs lazily spreading further to let you have as much of him as you want. You watch the smoke seep from his lips and nose, massage at the front of his sticky walls so well it makes what’s left of it puff out of his lungs in one solid burst. And just like that, on your fourth or fifth stroke at the innards of his pussy and a flick of your thumb over his cock, he arches, cries, gushes. Seizes up enough to mimic how tight he usually is, grips your arm with his free hand, and lets it wash over him in delightful but short lived waves. Unceremoniously, Jayce then e slumps back into the cushions. “Bit of quick shot today, hm, Talis?” Your attempt at a taunt is silenced by him grabbing your wrist, and taking your slick fingers into his mouth like they’re food. He suckles them clean, maintaining drowsy eye contact, before he takes your hand back to where it came from. And though his hips jump and his cunt twitches with a touch so soon after his orgasm, he smiles at you, dopey and deeam-like. “‘M not done,” he mutters. “Another.” Oh, you’re starting to love this side of him.
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Jayce is noisy. That applies generally, not just intimately — you will hear the anguished cry of a stubbed toe from two rooms away, you will hear him groaning mid-struggle with a jar, you will hear him hum, mumble, and occasionally snore in his sleep.
That’s why you don’t realize right away what’s happening when Jayce cuddles closer, cock pressed to your thigh, and hums. There’s a honey-thick rasp to his voice, characteristic of how it lowers with sleep, brushing tender at your ear, fanning your neck. His warm, lax hands around your middle, sloppily pulling at you, his stubbled cheek scratching yours.
And his cock.
Achingly hard, laying neatly against your leg, tip nudging closer while his hips softly rut. You pull back just enough to hazard a glance at him, thinking he might be half awake — but his jaw is slack, lips parted open, his brows furrowed ever so softly.
“Mmnnoo…” Jayce mumbles, the hand on your waist twitching in what most likely is an attempt to grab at you. To pull you closer.
You digress — you’re not particularly immune to his pleas as is, but to be desired in such a genuine way that it transcends consciousness… you have to let him have what he wants. Taking care not to disturb him, you shift back in, shift closer, until your bodies slot together.
His tender little gasp as his cock smushes between your thigh and his hips is everything. Cradling his head close, moving your leg between his own, listening to his huffs of pleasure comes like second nature. You match his sloppy, lagging pace, until his breath leaves him faster, until his lips part open to make way for a moan.
You can’t help but wonder what’s on his mind. He must be dreaming of you, judging by the way he shoves his face against you and breathes you in.
“Good boy,” You whisper at the top of his head. ”There you go.”
You can feel him, tip soaking through the fleece of his pajama pants. If you give him just a little something more, you suspect he’ll find what he’s chasing.
That is when you tuck your hand between your stomachs, and groping for his dick through his pajama pants, you squeeze once you palm its outline.
His hips follow, nudging forward harder than ever before. The beginnings of another moan bubble up within him, until a full-body-flinch lances through him, and the sound of pleasure warbles into one of fear.
“Woah, uh, hah—!” Jayce’s eyes snap open, hand slapping atop yours on his cock, and he gasps for breath. “Jesus, fuck. Oh my god,” he blurts, voice high and scared instead of sleep addled like you’d been expecting it.
“Jayce? What’s wrong?” To be safe, you move your hand away from his cock, and set it on the crest of his hip instead. Steady. His breath hits your collarbone with every ragged exhale.
Jayce laughs a little, a dry and amused little sound, before he lowers his forehead to your shoulder, finding his mental footing. You’re glad to help him forward, brushing a tender hand through his hair, waiting for his reply.
“That was… holy shit. I dreamt that we were— you know, u-uh, going at it, and then… I don’t know, I put my dick in, and it just, i-it snapped clean off. Like, on the first thrust.”
“What?” You can’t, for the life of you, help a laugh of your own. “Your dick snapped off how?”
“Shut up, I don’t know.” Jayce hugs you a little closer. “It was so scary, it made this, um, this sound, too. Like a dry tree branch, I guess? Jesus.”
You’re trying to take this seriously. Keyword: trying.
Another wave of subdued laughter turns into a loud snort.
“You’re so mean to me,” Jayce complains, inching closer. His voice sounds just a little softer too, closer to sleep.
“I’m sorry, baby,” you try. “You were clearly enjoying yourself, before that. Do you want me to get you off, or just hold you?”
Jayce’s hand cups over yours on his hip, and draws you back to his centre. Still warm, still hard, still ready. In the dark, the white of his most winning little smile gleams.
“Mm, if you promise not to snap it off…”
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Jayce Talis is a radiant man. Radiant in his earnesty, radiant in his smiles, radiant in his conversations — but radiance, this undeniable boyish pull he has can and will only get him so far in a world like this. He hardly has the qualities for much else other than science and endearing himself to most of everyone he meets. You’re glad he’s had the pragmatism to look for help in that regard, though you suspect the source of that specifically must have been Viktor, the fellow mind behind this year’s scientific revolution. You’re here to ensure it becomes the decade’s scientific revolution, and your counsel, your guidance, your direct implication, of course comes with its price, just as his experiments do. You’re paid to help him kiss ass the proper way and actually haggle, which in turn, pays for his lab, his bills, his alloys, his forge, the light he always forgets on at his damn desk, and keeps his worries, and especially Viktor’s (who would clearly rather kill than be involved in any sucking up to any socialite) at comfortable bay. It wasn’t supposed to become more than that — but can you truly be faulted for letting it, Jayce’s magnetic pull and a recent dry spell considered? Can you truly be faulted, for letting him kiss you when he was doing an earnestly terrible job of subtly looking at your lips? Can you truly be faulted for slipping your tongue into his mouth? He’d come to you after that, again and again. Took whatever you gave, your hands, your mouth… on his chest, his dick, his hole, anywhere. Jayce isn’t hard to please. But that is, in and of itself, an issue. Because when he starts popping boners about just looking at you, sniffing you, especially at fundraisers, or socialite gatherings, that becomes a problem. But you’re nothing, if not a problem solver. Jayce approaches you now, too, when he spots you from across the grand, lavish room. You’ve made a late appearance at today’s event — something you hardly ever do, but it’s for very good reason. “Hi.” He practically beams when he approaches, and though it’s masked under boyish charm, he isn’t subtle about the way he rakes his wide eyes down your gilded new outfit. “You… wow.” “Thank you, Jayce.” You pat his forearm, which is code for behave. “Did you talk to councilor Hoskel yet? He and the Ferros clan have a lovely proposition for you.” He shakes his head no, and so, your game begins. You hardly get through half the night of it before Jayce nudges closer from behind and annoyingly interrupts a very well-acted fake laugh. “It’s a little warm here, don’t you want me to take your coat? Wouldn’t want you burning up.” Which is code for I need something I can drape over my arm and hold in front of myself or else everyone in this room will know I’m hard. “Why, thank you, that’s very kind.” You say it like you’re doing him a favor — which you are. “Here.” But Jayce hooks his pinky into your sleeve, tugs a hint. God help you — he’s insatiable. It’s a good thing you came prepared. You hand him your coat, and flash one last, convincing smile at the rich schmucks you’d just been buttering up. “I’ll need to discuss the specifics of the deal with my client privately before we can shake hands on this.” It’s a good thing the event’s at the academy — plenty of empty rooms to pick from. You could even make it to Jayce’s lab, really, but he wouldn’t last that long. He pushes into the first empty, dark room he finds, and takes you with him. “The things you do to me,” he mutters, shoving you against the door with the desperation of a hungry dog. Paws at your hips. “Fuck, fuck, please…” “I was busy, Jayce,” you reprimand. “And I was in the middle negotiating some considerable advantages for you.” “Mm, I prefer this advantage,” he simpers, palming between your legs. “God, I hate these events, the only thing I look forward to is you. Can I… please…” “No, not here, not now.” Which is rich, both considering you did just this, just about here, two weeks ago, and the surprise you’ve been hiding in your bag. “What?” He hadn’t expected to be let down — not so very cuttingly, at the very least. “But—“ “Here.” The ice in what’s left of your drink sloshes as you twirl it. “Drink up.” And Jayce Talis knows better than to ask questions when it comes to you. He slurps away what’s left of the alcohol, and awkwardly stands with a glass half full of ice in hand. “Keep that for a second,” you instruct. “Since it seems that you can’t get a hold of your dick, Talis, I will.” “Oh, yeah?” He’s clearly caught the wrong meaning. “Yes. I’ll push your pants down, alright?” “Mm-hmm.” And, god, he’s so gullible you should be worried. Jayce complies with a complete disregard for everything you’ve just told him, one of the smartest scientists in a city chock full of ‘em, he slackens with a smile as you pop the buttons of his slacks from their eyelets. His cock springs free heavily when you push both his pants and his boxers down, engorged and red, leaking like a broken faucet. This must be where his brain drips out from the second he gets hard. “What are you gonna do to me?” Jayce asks, trying for sultry, though you can’t help but laugh at the fact that the question is much more well placed than he thinks it to be. His smile grows at your chuckle, thinking it an innocent game, a shared joke. “You’ll see. Close your eyes.” “I don’t think I’ll see if I do that,” he quips, yet he does as you ask, with a big smile too, letting you switch places and crowd him up against the wall, tilting his head to rest against it. He actually giggles when you finger cocktail glass in the pursuit of ice cubes. “Oh, this is exciting.” It’s so cold it almost burns your fingers, drenching your palm in rivulets as you lower your hand to his cock. With the other, you take him in hand, and Jayce, head tilted back and eyes closed, sighs in bliss. It’s short lived. “A-ah! What are you—!” His hips twitch, uncertain if away or toward you, when you glide the ice cube from root to the sensitive tip of his cock. It jerks in your hand, and the rush you get from making all of Jayce Talis squirm just with an ice cube and your hands… God. “Shh, relax, Talis.” “That’s a little h-hard to do, with… ice on my dick.” With a gasp, he glances downward, then at you. “I… appreciate the, uh, attempt at something new but, it’s kind of… ah—!” Jayce bites into his cheek, hard, when you squeeze your fist around the tip of his cock and the ice cube. “S-stop, that doesn’t— I don’t like this.” Another worn, pitchy whine and a gulp when you don’t relent, both his big hands find your wrists, but they don’t shove. Jayce will always plead his case first before forcing his way. “It’s gonna make me— fuck, I’m gonna go soft.” And the way his cock slowly but palpably shrinks in your palm only confirms it. “That’s the point.” His eyes snap open to stare at you. “What?” “I’m doing you a favor, Jayce.” If he weren’t yelping at the temperature being twirled around the softening tip of his cock, he might have protested. “Now, quiet.” “A favor?” he grits through clenched teeth. “We’d be better off if I came instead, this is hardly a fix, I’m just gonna get hard ag—“ “Jesus, Jayce, do you ever shut up?” “What?” “Seems I have to take care of everything around here,” you complain, tugging the handkerchief from his breast pocket. It should have been his boxers, a meaner voice at the back of your mind whispers, but you’re not particularly in the mood to put everything on pause just to take those off all the way. This’ll do. Jayce actually squeaks when you yank at his stubbled chin to shove the fabric into his mouth, and much to your dismay, his cock fattens with interest against your thigh. “Jayce,” you reprimand. There’s a sound that sounds adjacent to an apology whistling in his throat, and something about the width of his pupils, the way they glisten and fixate on you — you cannot help but soften, too. “I’m going to fix your little issue — but if you think my methods aren’t what you need, you know how to stop me.” A pause. A loaded inhale. A nod. And a three-fingered tap to your forearm. Good. “Alright. Now hush up and stay still.” It’s only with a nasal whine that he manages to keep himself steady, even as you fish out two more ice cubes from the glass he’s clutching, effectively smothering his cock in them before you gently stroke him. “Mmf,” Jayce whimpers, head dropping to your shoulder as his cock twitches, jerks, but ultimately stands no chance against the temperature. Your fingers are growing rigid from the cold, starting to burn a little, and you suspect it won’t be much longer until he’s soft enough. Annoyingly, you come to find yourself endeared with the vulnerability of it, how it goes limp and small in your hand even though you’re stroking him, how the heat of his cock is what melts the ice and forms a puddle’s worth on the floor. When his balls draw up against his body from the cold, too, Jayce squirms, and you know it won’t be much longer. “Aaalmost there,” you assure. He’s gone squishy soft in your hand, barely managing a steady breath through his nose when you squeeze your icy fist around him to really check. Oh, yes. That should be enough. You drop what remains of the cubes back into the glass, and shake the water off your hand. The final piece of the solution you’d planned for him sits you at the bottom of your bag, wrapped in protective silk. Jayce peeks at it with all the curiosity of a dog, tilted head and all, mouth still stuffed with his own handkerchief as you approach. You decide to grant him that small reprieve and tug it out from between his jaws once you’ve reached him, then stuff back into his breast pocket. He gasps for a proper breath now that he can, but doesn’t waste a second in reaching out towards the dainty golden metal in your hand, ever the tactile learner and curious scientist. “Hands off,” you remind. “Don’t get hard on me now, Talis, or you’ll get iced again. Are we clear?” “…yes.” “Good.” Jayce Talis gasps when you gather his balls and soft cock up like a bouquet to eyeball the width with your thumb and your middle finger — just as you’d expected. It should fit. You let go of his cock, taking just his sac in hand, and you can’t help but get a proper handful of him, of the soft skin, the tender balls within. “Wait, wait, what—“ It’d be much easier to show him than explain, so you ease one ball, then the other, into the metal ring. His cock is next, and it’s with a great deal of frustration that you find the softest hint of resistance that most certainly wasn’t there a minute ago, even though he’s still so very cold and limp. Fine, you can work with this. His cock eases into its gilded cage like it was tailored for it, and with a delighted smile, you click it shut. Gorgeous. It sits on him like jewelry, the dainty gold, caging him where he’s most vulnerable, shining at his core. A protection, decoration and a punishment all at once. “O-oh,” Jayce gasps. “Oh. It’s…” he hesitates, and opts for the safer option. “… what is this?” “A cage for your pretty little cock, Jayce. What do you think?” With shaky hands, Jayce cups over his muzzled cock, and moans. You can see his fist squeezing around the metal, trying for stimulation. No such luck — of course not. “Heh. Solved my problem,” he half jokes. “But, uh, how… I mean…” he runs a hand through his tousled, sweaty hair, before he tugs at the cage with the other. There’s a hint of panic in his voice when he realizes it won’t budge. “How do I take it off?” “You don’t.” The way his jaw slackens will be something you treasure in the confines of your mind for years to come. You reach within your collar to tug at your necklace, and reveal a dangling key. “But I might — if you behave, Talis.” ”You can’t—!” He reaches for the key futilely, because you let it drop beneath your clothes before he can get to it, and Jayce Talis lacks the capacity to debase himself much further than he already has. So instead, he places his hand on your forearm, a firm grip, and you expect a tap soon. But it never comes, his thumb strokes at the tender inside of your wrist, gentle touches, up, down, circles. Jayce looks down at himself with a gulp, and lowers his head in a show of acceptance. “Hah, you can’t just send me out there. Not like this, you have to take it off…” You grab for his pants, and tug them up his thighs, underwear and all, only to fasten them while his hand lingers at your wrist. “There — you can’t even see it,” you assure. Jayce almost bends at the middle from that alone, shoving his face into your neck in shame, and god, you’re going to have fun with this. “I can feel it.” Jayce tilts his hips to this side, then the other, with a pitiful little pout. “It’s heavy.” “Does it hurt?” “…no.” “Then I’m not taking it off until you’ve figuratively licked the polish off all the expensive boots at this gathering.” A pat between his legs like it’s a docile dog’s head, where he’s steel rigid and trapped. Jayce’s thighs clench around you, around the cage, and he whimpers for mercy — to no avail at all. You reach for the door handle just beside his waist, and flash him an expectant look. “Chop chop, Jayce. The night’s not getting any younger.”