ofanotherera | office party

office party

It goes almost just as Alfie would have expected. He ends up spending the most of the night with cocky, hotshot second year associates trying to subtly talk themselves up, and him grinding his teeth and holding an incongruously delicate champagne glass- then eventually trading it for a tumbler of scotch.

When Tommy finally springs him, he puts a warm arm around his waist, give him a kiss on the throat, just below his ear, and walks him out of the place just like that, standing tall against the stairs, and nobly waiting untl he gets to the elevator to chuckle.

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Up on his knees, he drags him into his lap, so he's trapped in a furl between Alfie's body and the wall, sprawled a little over his thighs.

"Question for you, Tommy."

"Hmm." He doesn't reply so much as that he hums, leaning forward to kiss and nip along Alfie's neck, his shoulders.

"In your lovely head, when you're at home on nights without me and you're picturing, picturing this."

He grinds up against him, setting a slow, steady rhythm.

"What do I call you?"

"Tommy," he says, his voice light, like it's both a realization and a confession. "Is that--? You call me Tommy, or- other things, too, but that's the name."

"Tommy."

Agreeing, and oh, they fit together so familiarly now.

"And what else? What are the slurs and praises and promises I pour in your ear?"

A few years ago, Tommy would have had no problem talking filth into someone's ear as he fucked them, would have been fine looking them in the eye and knowing what his words were doing to them. But Alfie humbles him, Alfie towers over him, makes him feel wanted and safe and a little young. He is far from inexperienced, but now he has to lean forward in Alfie's lap, press his cheek against his so he can whisper in his ear, before the words can come.

"You tell me how good I'm taking your cock, how lovely I look with my mouth on you. You tell me if I'm good for you, if I stay quiet or if I stay in my knees or if I don't touch myself you'll make me yours completely." He drags his mouth over Alfie's neck, rolls his hips.

"When I've had a hard day, and I'm missing you to my core, I imagine you tie me down, call me a name one minute and tell me you love me the next. Tell me you'll take care of me just the way I need it."

"Good lad, good-"

He murmurs, and reaches down to take him in hand, to help build that rhythm, to get those hips moving for him again.

"And how lewd do I get? Do I call you my pretty, or my whore? Talk about how good you're wanting to be but how you don't really stand a chance of holding out if I don't want you to be able to help yourself?"

He tries to get some leverage of his own, to push up into Alfie's hand as he speaks, gasps, moans against his neck.

"Some days-- some days I'm your pretty whore, all yours to use, but most-- aah, most days I'm just yours, good or bad, always helpless against what you want to do with me-" he has no idea how Alfie is this calm under him, when every word is a struggle.

He grabs him, hard, and rolls himself back, falling down onto the mattress and pulling Tommy over, with him, to land on top of him. It puts him within reach of the nightstand, so Alfie gives his thigh a squeeze, and orders him;

"Lube."

He rolls his hips, the first time because he can't help it, the second time on purpose, before he reaches back and finds the lube. He keeps it in his hand instead of giving it to Alfie immediately, silently asking who d'you want to do this?

He reaches up, and this time, rather grabbing the nape of Tommy's neck, takes him by the front of the throat, big, broad palm curling over his windpipe, thumb and forefinger pressed up under his jaw.

He has to watch Tommy's face closely on this one. It's the first one he thinks might very well be a firm 'no.' On the chance that it isn't, though-

The moment Alfie's fingers press into the tender skin underneath his jaw, the moment he feels that pressure, Tommy's eyes go wide, his pupils blown, and he focuses hard on the man underneath him. It's a positive reaction in every way, even though it's not the loose-limbed mindless submission he'd felt when Alfie had bound his arms. His hand is tight around the bottle of lube and he breathes in hard, short bursts.

Another thing he had no knowledge of. He wonders if Alfie will ever stop surprising him.

Alfie smiles, and sits up, pushing himself on the other arm, settling like that, still holding Tommy in his lap by the throat, as he reaches out his hand to him. He doesn't let up, but orders.

"Slick my fingers."

He doesn't look away from Alfie, but he pops the bottle open, searches out Alfie's hand by feel and slicks his fingers. His hands are trembling, clumsy.

Alfie smiles, and reaches between his legs, giving him a quick, wet stroke before pressing his fingertips against him, pressing his fingers into him.

This, while the other hand tightens, just enough to make his blood pound in his head.

It's not just his blood that's singing: it's like every single nerve is on fire, like he can feel every single heartbeat whisper underneath his skin. He's hyper-alert of the fingers pressing slowly inside of him, the push and stretch of them, and he idly imagines he can feel Alfie's fingerprints on his throat, feel Alfie's pulse against his own. He's silent and still, but not even close to absent.

"Keep quiet for me."

Alfie instructs him, remembering that little admission from before, crooking his fingers.

"All I want to hear is you trying to breathe."

He widens his eyes to show that he understands, doesn't even try to nod. He doesn't think he could speak, even if he wanted to, his whole body held rigid with pleasure and just enough fear. His breath stutters when Alfie crooks his fingers inside of him, but other than that he breathes deep.

He takes long, deep breaths with him, and sets about trying to make the pleasure more difficult to behave through, finding his prostate and beginning a slow, tortuous motion, humming contemplatively in Tommy's ear.

His breath hitches more often, but it's like he can't, like his voice is blocked, and it winds him up tight- makes his breath high and almost squeaky. Instead of moaning, he clenches his thighs so hard they start trembling against Alfie's legs.

"Shaking for it."

He whispers, and picks up the pace a little faster, fucking him with three fingers now, eyes half shut.

"Fucking beautiful. Going to do this to you right on top of that desk."

He sees Alfie's eyes drop a little, but his own are still wide open, their light blue darker now. He almost chokes when Alfie says that, involuntarily moving his hips down, for more of that.

When Tommy chokes, Alfie's hand squeezes, wanting to keep him croaking, keep him fighting for air, as his fingers work harder.

"Yeah. Pretty thing on a pretty shelf."

He genuinely chokes, now, but his eyes are still open- still consenting, still fine, but soaring, like his body is at once nowhere and three times more sensitive than usual. He wants to come- so badly wants to come, but this time can't without the extra stimulation, while Alfie's hand is still keeping him anchored to the spot.

"I'm going to let you breathe, and when I do, you're going to come."

Alfie tells him, softly, like that, once said, is that. Not yet, not yet, but looking him in the eyes, making sure he understands.

"You are going to come for me. Like a good little-"

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