George Russell 8x Race Winner Apologist

Dragging his tongue over the inner part of his upper lip, Max finally sat up and braced his elbows on his dark oak desk—littered with folders and documents, an empty coffee cup that had long been drank, his lamp illuminating the ceramic and reflecting it against the leather surface of the desk. He hadn’t organized in ages—far too many other things occupying his agenda to allow for a brief pause to regather himself. Perhaps if he were ever so lucky as to have time to himself, he’d try to remember to clean off his desk. However, such a thought was ages away from now. With the year end quota slowly around the corner, the tension amongst the entire fifty floor building was hardly unnoticed. Their numbers had been down, something that hadn’t occurred in years and Max had nearly bent himself backwards trying to figure out why this was happening.

He’d spent countless hours reviewing spreadsheets, individual employees records, client reports—anything to try and figure out why there was a sudden disconnect in a normally booming venture capitalist empire. Max had prided himself on always managing to catch problems before they even began to show their heads, yet this was one that crept up on him unexpectedly and it became clearer with each passing day that hardly anyone knew that the root cause was. Clients were suddenly unhappy and wishing to terminate their contracts for reasons that Max couldn’t figure out—they would detail issues with customer service but their track record with the utmost respect and integrity for their clients was the best in the country. How that could suddenly change overnight seemed rather impossible.

Scanning over the files for what felt like the thousandth time—Max finally started to realize a reoccurring pattern that he had never spotted before.

Every client that had been assigned to George Russell were all withdrawing within months of being in contact with him. Their reasonings state a complete lack of professionalism, misdirection, attitude and above all else disrespect and flippancy towards the clients wants and needs for their businesses. Once a client would begin to work with George, their records were reset from the system immediately and relocated to another venture capitalist organization based in a nearby town or even as far as relocating to another country or continent. That by itself was clearly not a good sign—nor something very promising. If one employee in a see of hundreds of others was enough to cause such a catastrophic crater in the business, then he needed to look into it immediately.

Pinching the bridge of his nose tightly between his index and his thumb, Max hated the dawning realization that he was going to have to do something about this ever growing situation if he ever wanted his business to recover from such a hit. George, after all, was one of his head senior client representatives. With a title like that it was almost a guarantee that most client operations went through him first before being redistributed. It was interesting however—George had the ability to rack in very promising numbers, there was no doubt his business savvy was one of the best Max had ever seen. Where he lacked was proper etiquette and customer service. Regardless of the numbers and accolades, George was still causing a rip in the company’s flow and that couldn’t continue now that it had Max’s attention.

He let out a another sharp huff, reaching across his desk. His finger found the buzzer of the sleek intercom panel that sat next to his unopened laptop, pressing the button and listening to the loud drawled vibration that came from the small box—the voice of his assistant soon echoing from the speaker and filling the soundless room.

“Yes, Mr. Verstappen?” His assistant spoke, her tone bright and airy—a sharp contrast to how stuffy and heavy his office currently felt, the ringing of phones from the other side of the door matching in tune with every pulse of pain that shot through his temples. Oh what he’d give to turn down the volume for just a second and drown in the silence—though he was sure that wouldn’t do much. Silence made him far too antsy for his own good.

“Could you please send George Russell up to my office? Tell him it’s urgent” Max said sharply, interlacing his fingers and leaning back further into his chair until he could feel his muscles start to tense—the soreness distracting him from his growing headache. If it weren’t for this impromptu meeting, Max could have gone home early—could have loosened his tie, could have fallen onto the couch with a bottle of whiskey in his hand and a cigar in the other watching trashy television until he was practically yelling at his TV. But no, rather than unwinding he had to deal with incompetence—something he had no tolerance for.

“Of course, Mr. Verstappen.” The intercom died out with a faint beep, the red light next to the speaker blinking twice before turning off completely. He reached up and ran his fingers slowly through his slicked back hair, no longer caring if a few strands fell or moved out of place—he tried to tell himself this was just a part of the job, that he knew what he was signing up for before hand.

That reassurance, or whatever he called it, wasn’t enough to cease the stress burrowing deeply in the furthest crook of his stomach. Max couldn’t understand it, how hard could it be to simply get along with their clients? George was a customer service representative, a senior nonetheless. For him to be in that position means he had to have provided the company significant growth to be granted such a high position—he did have the numbers but how were those numbers possibly achieved when clients were now angry and offended after operating with him.

It only took five excruciating minutes until three raps hit his glass door, startling Max out of his daze. He hardly realized he had become quite lost in thought staring at one specific dent in his desk from dropping a stack of heavy folders back when he first bought the space he was currently sitting in. He took a second to gather his bearings, sitting up straighter in his chair, crossing one leg over the other—his leather loafers catching the light of his desk lamp—and folding his hands in his lap, the image of a true business man.

“Come in.” Max said gruffly, already irritated before the man even walked in the door, though that demeanor quickly shattered the second the door opened.

He was nothing like Max anticipated.

The room seemed to become brighter the second he walked in—his hair was a honey-chestnut colour perfectly coiffed into waves and tapered at the sides with layers and volume that appeared almost natural. His blue eyes were the first thing Max noticed—piercing and almost intimidating, enough to make Max shrink back in his chair a little bit and that wasn’t an easy thing to do to a man like him. His bottom lashes were sharp black spikes that accentuated the shape, giving him a gentler more feminine touch despite his stature. His lips were pursed, the cupid’s bow arched in a way that made Max’s tongue feel far too big to possibly fit in his mouth. From an facial anatomical standpoint he was perfect—not at all what Max thought was going to walk into his office today.

Then he took noticed to the outfit, and nearly choked on his exhale. The top half was normal attire for an office worker—a tight white button up that with sleeves neatly rolled up past his elbows, collar slightly opened to expose the fair skin that laid so tantalizingly underneath as if taunting him to reach out and touch, his ID car laid tucked into a protective clear pocket that hung on a turquoise lanyard around his neck, displaying his picture, name and employee number. That alone was normal, but then his eyes travelled downwards.

A tight black pencil skirt hugged his hips, accentuated by a brown belt with a thick silver buckle—his dress shirt tucked into the band of the skirt that sculpted his waist to appear even tinier than it already was. Adorning his legs were sheer black stockings, hugging each soft curve of his thighs down to his ankles. He wore black Louboutin heels with the red underside—the light reflecting on the glossy calfskin leather in a way that made Max’s heart jump for a moment. He was the picture of elegance and class though his recent work records showed the exact opposite.

The way George walked into the room was intentional, taking slow steps so the click of his heels against the marble flooring were practically deafening, his hips moving slowly and gracefully in a way—in a way almost hypnotic, a slow, torturous dance of radiance and authority. As he got closer, the scent of his cologne flooded Max’s head—amber vanilla with traces of black coffee, jasmine and cedarwood. Max could recognize it immediately. A high quality, expensive cologne—he’d never admit how much of a sucker he was for someone with an elegant scent palette. He quickly tried to compose himself—reminding himself that as well put together as George was, his performance was atrocious and needed immediate correction.

Even the way he slowly lowered himself into the leather chair on the other side of the desk made the hairs on Max’s neck stand up—the man hadn’t broken eye contact for a single second, settling in the chair with the confidence of someone who clearly had been in the limelight for quite some time. His legs pressed together, a picture of poise and class, his hands folding in his lap as his back straightened—almost going as far as arching. He was addictive, soaking up all the light in the room that hit him perfectly at every angle no matter how he looked or sat—as if he was made for a setting like this.

It took Max a second to realize that he hadn’t even began to speak—his attention diverted entirely by the mans demeanor and outward appearance that he had nearly forgotten why he had even called George into his office in the first place. The other stared back at him expectantly, his eyebrows relaxed, eyelashes practically fluttering every time he blinked. Max could hardly look into his eyes without feeling tremors run up his spine. A truly intimidating, yet attractive man. In a way he could begin to understand why he was hired—being a customer service representative always required a specific look of pure professionalism and poise. Though his appearance did nothing for his attitude so it seemed.

“I hope you are already aware of why I called you in here” Max started, propping his head up with his elbow that rested on the desk, scanning every part of George’s expression—the man appeared unfazed and that alone was strange for Max. Most people looked tense sitting across from him.

“I could have an inkling as to why, but why don’t you do the honours and enlighten me?” George chuckled—his voice hitting Max’s ears in a way he hadn’t been prepared for. His tone was suave, dripping with a tangy sweetness unable to be ignored, the other’s English accent resonating in his ears and practically shaking his core. George stared at him as if he were a challenge he was prepared to conquer, the smirk tugging on his lips causing a heat in the pool of Max’s stomach. Even still, he remained stable.

“Is something funny, Mr. Russell?” Max raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, the buttons of his dress shirt—causing the buttons to strain almost painfully against the fabric. He continued to scan George’s expression, a smug arrogance and overconfidence that made Max tense ever so slightly in frustration.

“Oh no, not at all” George pressed a hand to his chest in mock surprise, though his smile revealed his true feelings—though it was clear to Max that George wasn’t making an attempt to hide his mockery. Slowly, Max was starting to understand why so many clients found him insufferable. Suave and charming, yes, but annoying and purely frustrating.

“Then wipe that expression off your face. Now.” Max practically boomed, his voice carrying heavily in the room—he could hear the way the office hustle and bustle paused for a brief moment as if the world held their breath for that one moment then slowly resumed—indistinct chatter, phone calls, and keyboard clicks. George’s smile faltered for a second, but not even a stern warning was enough to deter the man who’s smirk only grew wider upon being faced head on with Max’s authoritative side—sharply intrigued by it. Max could feel his frustration rising, nevertheless he continued on.

“The company has been taking a serious loss with clients constantly withdrawing their contracts and relocating to other businesses, of course I wanted to figure out why.” Max started, opening a drawer on the side of his desk and pulling out a beige coloured folder. He flipped through it’s contents for a moment before pulling out a printed sheet and sliding it across the desk to George—watching as the other’s eyes moved slowly from Max’s face to the graph in front of him showing the drastic decline of clientele. He didn’t seem fazed by the numbers, if anything he appeared amused or even prideful

“After reviewing the complaints, I’ve noticed a particular pattern—do you know why our clients are withdrawing?” Max continued, placing his finger above another section of the paper that had the list of senior client representatives—across from their names were a set of numbers written in either green or red. Green displayed an increase of successful clients while red showed a decrease. George’s name was in the red—the only one on the list with a decrease.

“Oh I haven’t the slightest idea.” George shrugged, a soft hum leaving his lips. Max could hardly believe his composure, absolutely unshaken even in the face of reprimand—from the CEO no less. Whenever Max had to speak with employees on their conduct and performance, they always appeared mortified, hastily promising they’d do better even if they hadn’t done anything severe in the first place.

“Whenever a client is assigned to you, it is almost guaranteed that they’ll terminate their contract within a week, sometimes even less. Can you tell me why that is?” Max leaned back in his chair, crossing his eyes while he searched for any hint of fear or regret in George’s expression or body language. But the other still wore that frustrating smirk, back straight, shoulders back, head slightly tilted. What would it take to make the man look even a little worried?

“Please, a man such as yourself should be well aware of how client operations always go. They don’t like what I have to say” George chuckled, pushing the paper slowly back across the desk to Max with his index finger in a way that made Max’s breath shorten for just a moment—watching the way the muscles in his hand flex with every gentle slide until the paper was back in Max’s hands.

“That’s not an excuse” Max replied sternly, carefully sliding the page into his folder and placing back into the drawer with a soft clunk.

“I don’t recall saying it was.” George raised an eyebrow, his tone mocking and overly smug. It took everything in Max not to lunge across the table and grab him by the collar. He was as frustrating and annoying as he was beautiful and it was slowly starting to cause the irritation in Max’s chest to grow.

“Clients only wish for me to tell them what they want too hear. They wish for reassurance, for something guaranteed. They want someone who will simply smile, nod and give them exactly what they want without any thought to practicality or risk. In every scenario, I will always tell the truth whether they like it or not.” George continued, remaining calm regardless of what was being presented in front of him. He uncrossed his legs slowly, the sound of his stockings rubbing together felt so much louder in Max’s ears—he’d give George credit, he had the ability to command a room with just a single movement.

George leaned closer, propping his elbows up on the edge of the desk and resting his head on his hand—those piercing eyes stare a hole right into Max’s head. His body language was poised but relaxed, each expression and movement clearly intentional and hardly practiced—his confidence was purely natural, a rare sight to see in a place like this.

“I understand, Mr. Russell—” Max sighed but George quickly cut him off.

“I don’t think I should take any fault when it’s the clients own delusions of grandeur that get in the way of me performing to the best of my ability” George stated, a slight hint of irritation laced in the way his brow began to furrow, that smug smile dropping and forming more into a tense pout.

“Mr. Russell, every representative here will always be faced with challenging clients—yet you are always the one who churns up the most complaints. In this company we cater to our clients to the best of our ability. That is the job. You do not have to agree with them, nor do you have to lie to them. But you are to remember that you at the end of the day are a corporate professional” Max tried to reason, crossing his leg over the other while trying his best to keep his sight focused on George’s eyes and not those perfectly tempting pouted lips—a task harder to manage than he’d like to admit. At the end of the day, his company was at stake because of George, that had to be dealt with as insistent and stubborn as the other was. Dare he say he was bratty.

“Well, Mr. Verstappen I’m afraid such a task is much easier said than done.” George shrugged flippantly, rolling his eyes as his vision finally tore away from Max. The room almost felt lighter without George’s gaze strictly on him the entire time.

The view before him was rather obscene—George looked like nothing more than a spoiled princess, upset that he wasn’t getting his way. Max wasn’t the type to fold easily, or so he liked to believe. It would take more than a gorgeous ensemble and a pretty pout to cause him to give in—he had a business to run. George could pout all he wanted, but Max found a strange joy in making him become more desperate to get what he wanted.

“I don’t believe you’re in any place to argue back to me” Max scoffed—ample parts amusement and anger rising in his chest. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sucking in a deep inhale before exhaling sharply. George had audacity, he’d give him that—but it didn’t help his case whatsoever, nor did it make Max enjoy engaging with him. He could only picture what George would be like if he were more complacent, more timid, more reserved. He’d guarantee that it would almost be kind of refreshing for himself—not that he ever wished to back down from a challenge. Something the two clearly had in common.

“Are you always this insufferable?” Max said coldly, his patience for the other—despite his slight amusement—was slowly started to grow thinner and thinner. In any other situation he’d never be as blunt, but George made it harder and harder to be a professional. He was slowly starting to understand why clients were so desperate to withdraw. As gorgeous as he was, Max found himself tempted to practically haul the other out of his office.

“Excuse you, one could say it’s my best quality” George gasped in mock offence, placing his hand across his bare collarbone and sitting back in his chair. Everything he did was theatric—he had the charisma for the job there was no doubt about that but he was extremely maddening and horrible to work with. Max had dealt with a lot of people he strongly disliked, but George was an entirely different breed.

“Mr. Russell you do realize a track record such as yours is grounds for immediate termination?” Max spoke sternly, placing his hand down hard on the table—the slam echoing through the office and finally causing a rift in George’s composure. The man flinched back, his hands quickly snapping to his chest, eyes slightly wide and eyebrows raised—Max finally thought he was getting through to him, but that startled look soon melted into something dreadfully playful. He didn’t think it was possible for George’s grin to get larger.

He let out a soft coo, chuckling sweetly as Max’s growing anger. George pushed himself up out of his chair, not breaking eye contact as he walked over to the other side of the desk where Max sat with a tantalizing slowness. Before Max could get a second to register, George was standing right in front of him—that amber vanilla smell flooding his nose once more and slowly unravelling his anger and melting it away to something much more dangerous. With a low hum, he leaned forward, bracing his hands on the top of Max’s chair resting just above his shoulders and trapping him in place—his partially exposed chest just inches away from Max’s face.

Against his better judgment, Max slowly looked up until his nose was practically inches away from George’s—his hands twitching at his sides. Those same eyes still bore into him until his throat felt as if it were closer, pressing his legs tightly together to try and stop the rush of heat that shot from his stomach to his groin. George didn’t speak, lips laced into a frown but his eyebrows were raised as if inspecting every inch of Max. He couldn’t help but feel exposed, yet his gut didn’t twinge with disgust or anger—his heart racing madly in his chest abandoned any hope he had of staying composed. He quickly tried to look anywhere else but George, as much as his mind flooded with a urging need to grab the other.

“I think you and I both know you wouldn’t dare…” George whispered, his frown turning back into that familiar smirk. One of his hands slowly moved from the chair’s backing and planted itself right on Max’s chest—finding pride in the way his lips slightly parted in a gasp and his heart fluttered against George’s fingertips. With a horrible slowness, he dragged his hand up the man’s chest and gently cupped his chin between his index finger and his thumb, forcing the other to look at him.

Something shifted, something Max wasn’t expecting. With a sharp huff, he reached up and took a hold of George’s neck, watching with slight amusement as the other gasped under his grip—the hand cupping his chin quickly shooting up to cover Max’s as if he were going to attempt to take his hand off, though the other didn’t seem to be in any rush to do so. With more strength than he thought he had, Max forced George onto his knees with a thud, smirking contently as the other looked up at him from his spot on the floor—his cheeks flushed, eyes glazed over, his chest rising and falling heavily. As his eyes trailed down, Max couldn’t help but notice the now obvious tent that was growing under George’s skirt—which the other made no effort to hide.

“Trying to seduce me to save your ass? That’s a bold move, George. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you slept your way into this company” Max chuckled, taking his hand off George’s neck and watching contently as the other sputtered and coughed, trying desperately to catch his breath—though Max didn’t want to let him off the hook just yet. His hands soon went to George’s hair, gripping the man’s locks tightly until his knuckles whitened and wrenched him upwards until the other was slotted between Max’s spread legs—groaning slightly at the way George’s face tensed up, mouth hanging open for just a moment, a weak plea dying in his throat and replacing itself with a shaky moan.

“You want to act like a whore? I’ll treat you like one then” Max scoffed, watching as the other stared up at him with a content expression—as if he wanted to be handled like this. A weak noise left George’s lips, eagerly nodding along to Max’s threat. To think that even this was slowly starting to not faze the man was interesting, and only made Max wish to test the waters even more. With his hand still in George’s hair, his other hair went to roughly grab George’s jaw, practically prying his mouth open

“You will speak when you are spoken too, use your words” He said sternly, watching the other choke on the words for a bit, his hands weakly resting on Max’s legs and gripping the expensive fabric as if he needed it to live. He panted for a moment, though his smile widened and his shifted closer with a desperation Max hadn’t seen before—the man basically nuzzling into his leg.

“Yes…Yes, treat me like a whore—” George choked out, his hands slowly trailing up Max’s thighs until they made it to the buckle of Max’s pants—his gaze hungry and insatiable. As his fingers slowly started to unloop the belt, Max quickly swatted them away with a loud slap, watching the other’s face melt into a sharp, yearning impatience—a pathetic whine leaving his lips as he pouted, looking up at Max with big eyes in hopes that would change his mind. Max didn’t budge, scoffing and giving another sharp tug to his hair, watching with satisfaction as that sad pout disappeared immediately.

“Did I say you could touch me? Impatient little thing, I ought to teach you some manners.” Max sighed, acting as though it were an inconvenience to him when really his body was practically burning to wipe that smirk off the other’s face, to destroy that smugness and confidence in any way possible—a primal urge that throbbed deep in his stomach. With his hand still in George’s hair, he pulled the other up until he was standing before loosening his grip and bringing both his hands to George’s waist—groaning at the feeling, his fingers were practically touching. With a sharp tug, George was on his lap, the mans hands scrambling to his shoulders to sling to him, head dropping with a whine.

Max took a moment to bury his face in George’s neck, his head dizzy as he deeply inhaled the scent of the others cologne—eyes nearly rolling back in his head. His hands gripped George’s waist tighter before loosening and settling at his hips, feeling the fabric of that intoxicating pencil skirt that Max had to fight not to rip off.

Max could feel the frantic beating of George’s heart against his chest—for someone who was constantly calculated and classy, he was wrecked and Max hardly had to do much to get him to break. The tremors that ran from his spine and down to his thighs pulsed against Max’s hand. Almost immediately their dynamic switched as fast as turning on a light—needless to say Max quite like the idea that he was the one who reduced George into the breathless, whining mess currently perched in his lap.

Pulling back slightly, he all but tore the lanyard off of George’s neck—tossing it to the side with a clatter as the plastic case hit the floor. With desperate, impatient fingers he quickly undid each button of George’s dress shirt—practically clawing at the fabric like a rabid animal. He could hardly stop his mouth from watering once George’s fair torso was exposed to him. Without any hesitation his lips went right back to George’s skin, kissing over each ridge and groove, every vein and bone—trailing down his chest as his hands slipped under the dress shirt and pressed firmly into his back, groaning against his skin as George’s back slowly arched. Every other kiss evoked a weak breath from George, his hands squeezing Max’s shoulders before fully wrapping his arms around Max’s neck.

“Maybe if you started doing this with your clients, they’d actually stick around” Max joked, bringing one hand from where is rested on George’s waist and trailed it up his stomach and to his chest—thumb grazing against the man’s nipple—completely absorbing the way George shivered, a shaky breath tumbling from him and reaching Max’s ears with the grace of a symphony

“You really think I’m easy, don’t you?” George huffed, giving a playful tug to the back of Max’s short cut hair, smirking triumphantly as Max hissed in pain and shot him a glare.

“I put my hands on you for one second and you were already begging for me like a desperate whore” Max laughed, deciding to get even and quickly pinched George’s nipple between his finger and his thumb—chuckling as George let out a yelp of partial shock and ample parts pain, finding it hard not to coo at the way George pouted at him. Without a second thought, he leaned up and kissed the pout—his lips much more soft and pillowy than he thought, enough to make his head start spinning.

“I liked you so much more when you didn’t talk so much” George shook his head but was quick to give Max a kiss of his own, angling his head slightly. Max hummed contently against his lips, pulling George impossibly closer to him and feeling the other practically grind down on his lap—a shiver racking through the both of them. George’s lips were practically suctioned to his own, moving in sync as if they were locked in a feverish dance—soft moans and weak noises falling from the pairs lips while their hands roamed over each other.

With a sudden surge, his hands roughly went back to George’s hips—causing the other to gasp against his lips. Before George could register what was happening, his chest was pressed into the top of the desk hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs—papers, folders and the odd pen hitting the floor from the sheer force but neither seemed to care. He groaned briefly though a gasp soon broke through as Max’s hips pressed against him—feeling the straining swell in the others pants press firmly against his cleft. He looked back at the other, face flushed and lips slightly parted—a stubborn defiance in his eyes that told Max to try harder.

“I could say the same thing about you, princess” Max took a second to look back and admire the sight before him—the way George’s back arched so naturally, his perfectly coiffed hair from earlier was now messy and sticking out in odd places from Max gripping it, the bottom of his pencil skirt rode up ever so slightly—revealing the smallest sliver of the dark blue panties he wore underneath. It was almost too much to look at. He pressed his hand against George’s upper back and slowly trailed down with a light touch until his hands came back to George’s hips, thumbs tracing circles into the fabric.

“Just hurry up already..” George whined, trying to push back against Max’s clothed erection to chase the friction though his hips were quickly kept pushed down by Max’s firm grip. It took everything George had not to start pressing his own swelling heat into the edge of the desk to chase the pleasure Max was so irritatingly neglecting him of.

“Patience.” Max huffed, giving a firm smack to George’s ass, watching in amusement as the other groaned into the leather of the desk, his hands tightening into fists, legs shaking slightly. He glanced at the bottom of George’s skirt for a moment, sliding his hands down the curve of the others backside before slowly pushing the skirt up—fully revealing to him what the other was wearing underneath.

“God…you’re so fucking slutty, it makes me mad…” Max breathed out, his finger trailing the middle seam of the sheer black stockings before ripping it open with both hands—the loud tear of nylon fabric sounding like a gunshot echoing in the room. George’s head shot up, turning back to quickly look at him with a shocked yet offended expression.

“Hey—! Those weren’t cheap you know!” George whined, trying to get up from the desk only to be forced back down by Max’s hand pressed hard between his shoulder blades. He huffed and pouted, trying his best to look back at Max which was proven easily difficult when pinned down like this. Max easily ignored him, hooking his fingers around the waistband of George’s underwear and effortlessly pulling it down until it sat around George’s thighs, taking a second to run his hands across the others exposed backside, fingers gripping into the tender flesh.

“You’re going to shut your mouth, and listen. Think you can do that?” Max bent down until his chest was pressed to George’s back—trapping the other under his weight. One hand travelled up his spine and slowly tangled itself in George’s hair, yanking back until the other’s head was no longer resting on the table, drinking up every weak sob that fell from his lips. He leaned down, kissing the shell of his ear. Despite George’s snarky mouth, the man didn’t speak—simply nodded. Max felt a rush of adrenaline knowing he was practically taming the other.

“Good boy, but you still need to face the consequences of your actions. I am a business man after all” Max chuckled, getting back up onto his feet—his finger tracing gentle circles against the others back—occasionally grazing the skin with his nail, pressing hard enough that the other arched, a red stinging line being left in his back with every curt scratch.

Moving his hand from his back to the swell of his backside, cupping the flesh in his palm—Max suddenly reeled back and smacked him, a playful smile tugging on his lips as the other cried out though quickly clamped his trembling hand over his mouth, tucking his head impossibly low—forehead pressed against the leather. Such a reaction made Max’s pulse start to quicken, gently massaging the skin that was now starting to go red.

“Here’s the test. If you can get through five spankings without making a single noise, then you’ll get what you want. Easy enough, right?” Max proposed, humming with satisfaction as the other nodded—clearly obeying his previous rule. It was funny, he had come in so defiant, so confident. Now he was obeying everything Max commanded without a single thought—so much for all that smugness. He took a second to feel up the other’s waist again—finding the way his waist dipped into a gorgeous cinch nothing short of addictive. How a man could be built the way George was, was beyond him. All he knew is that he wanted to drown in him.

He gave George a second before landing another hard smack on his backside, the other’s knees quickly pressed together and trembled against the floor, a muffled whine leaving him. He rubbed the soft area until the reddening started to fade before landing another.

“This is for driving away so many clients” Max started, landing a third hit—the man practically shaking like a leaf below him, desperately wanting to let out a cry or a moan though he held a surprising amount of resistance

“And this, is for giving me attitude and talking back” Max struck him once more, with much more force than the last few, the crack exploding in the silent room—George almost seemed to start leaning into it.

He could hear the continuous whimpers that tumbled from George’s mouth, soft pleas that fell on deaf ears—muffled deeply into his arm that his head rested on. Max could only imagine what George’s face looked like. He could see only his ears and the back of his head, but even his ears were turning a striking colour of scarlet. He could picture it well enough—glazed over eyes swimming with tears, lips flushed pink and slightly bruised from biting it, face dusted that gorgeous splotchy pink. It was enough to make the swell of heat straining in his pants even more noticeable than before.

Max paused for a moment, feeling the radiating heat of George’s skin under his palm—the man’s entire frame shuddering from sheer arousal, droplets of precum already forming in droplets on the marble floor under his feet. That alone evoked a sharp breath from Max, shaking his head slightly with an ever growing smile. Without a second thought, he reached into the drawer next to him pulling out the small vial of oil that rested amongst scattered paperclips and sticky notes with scribbled words that Max was sure were legible to him at some point, resembling something of a doctors note. That didn’t matter right now.

“George, look at me.” Max said sternly, though a hint of softness resided in his tone. The other breathed heavily for a moment, before looking back at Max. His expression was just like Max had expected—bliss and ample parts pain swimming his features, his eyes glossed over with the faint bubbling of tears along his waterline, splotchy blush along his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, a faint red mark from where he had been resting his head, lips taking on a darker flushed and pursing ever so slightly. He was perfection all in one and Max couldn’t wait to see him disheveled.

“You’ve been so good for me haven’t you? I think you deserve a reward, hm?” Max chuckled, watching the way the other’s eyes practically rolled back, lips parting in a silent gasp as he nodded quickly—his hips trying to press back against Max’s clothed erection. Max made no effort to stop him this time.

“Please…I need you— need you to fuck me—” George managed to choke out, a shaky whine leaving him as he practically begged and pouted in Max’s direction—his expression and tone were one thing, his body language betrayed how badly he needed him, continuously pressing hard against Max’s crotch, occasionally grinding down on the edge of the desk to chase some kind of friction or stimulation—anything he could get. He looked utterly pathetic, like a dog humping a leg. Max couldn’t help but wonder if George would do just that if he made him. Though he pushed the thought aside, another time another day.

“How could I ever say no, you’ve been such a good girl” Max cooed, watching the way George practically melted at the shift in pronouns—finding amusement in his happiness. With a soft tug, Max managed to turn George onto his back—the other still lying on his desk. Only this time Max took a reverent hold of his ankles and pulled slightly until George’s legs were perfectly perched over his shoulder, the nylons pressed against his neck. From this angle he could see everything—George’s blissed expression, the sharp rise and fall of his chest that was now as flushed as his face, his cock hard and burning against his abdomen, the tip glistening with precum. He was a specimen to be admired.

He slowly started to loosen his own tie, sliding the slim fabric slowly down his neck and chest before tossing it carelessly—his dress shirt soon followed, undoing the buttons until his own skin of his torso was exposed much like George’s. Never in his life had he exposed himself to someone, but seeing the way George swallowed heavily upon seeing him made the experience so much more worth it. He shrugged white fabric off, letting it slide to the floor with a soft swish. The light illuminated and shadowed every ridge of his stomach and his arms—painting him in a way that was almost untouchable. George wanted nothing more than to fall consumed in his appearance, to reach out and touch even if it burned him.

“Take it easy for me, doll” Max whispered, placing a soft kiss to the inner part of George’s knee with more tenderness than he expected. Popping the top of the vial and coating his fingers with a generous amount of oil—the digits become slick and glistening under the lamp light. He then took notice to how the light hit George’s sweat sheened skin in such a perfect angle that made him glow like an angel. An angel, draped sinfully across his desk. He could hardly believe the sight.

Max slowly reached down, moving past the ruined rip of the nylons and finding the entrance of George’s heat, the others head falling back with a broken gasp as Max’s fingertips brushed against the rim—prodding experimentally around the sensitive area. The room felt so much hotter than it had before, both of their brains completely muddled and fogged with images of the other—completely wrapped around each others fingers, a connection neither realized they’d ever share together.

With a gentle press, his middle finger slowly breached the others entrance—George’s hand quickly flying up to cover his mouth, back arching slightly up off the table with a muffled whine, eyes closed tight. Max gave him a moment, one knuckle already pushed in—he waited for a brief pause before slowly easing it in further, shuddering at the way George’s inner muscles sucked him in with a hungry desperation, feeling how they’d clench desperately around his finger. He gently worked him open, keeping his eyes focused on George’s face to spot any form of discomfort, but all that responded was pure bliss and arousal, the other’s blue eyes occasionally flicking down to look at him before rolling back as Max’s finger pad pressed against a specific knot that made his vision go white.

It didn’t take long before Max pushed his second finger past the tight muscle, leaning down to gently press a kiss to George’s cheek, smiling to himself as the other almost immediately started to nuzzle against him, their foreheads pressing for a moment. Their eyes met at the same time, blue meeting blue. Max couldn’t help but kiss him once more, distracting him with his lips while he slowly worked him open, spreading his two fingers apart before bringing them back together in a constant pattern until George’s weak whimpers turned into content moans against his lips, his hands coming up to tangle in Max’s hair in an attempt to try and keep him close.

After Max believed George was ready, he slowly withdrew his fingers—feeling George pout against his lips as the sudden emptiness though it soon turned into an excited squeal as Max reached down to fumble with his belt that George had been trying to hastily undo early—the buckle clinking as it hit the floor alongside his dress pants now pooling at his ankles, slipping his boxers down just enough to free his own hard, aching cock. Grabbing the vial once more, he coated his cock generously with oil—giving it a few tugs with a broken groan that was soon swallowed by George’s lips, his tongue pushing past Max’s teeth. His head nearly blanked on the spot, desperately fighting against George’s tongue for dominance. Though, Max knew just how to get George to melt.

Pressing the tip of his cock to his slicked entrance, Max wasted no time in impatiently pushing in until he filled George to the hilt—the other breaking away from the kiss with a sharp gasp that melted into a long dragged out moan of bliss, his fingers tightening impossibly in Max’s hair—head lolling to the side as he panted. Max was quick to chase his lips, wanting to devour every sound and feel it resonate in his chest.

He gave George a moment to adjust, keeping his hands firmly planted on the others waist while his thumbs rubbed circles into his stomach, feeling the way the other’s thighs trembled against the sides of his neck, leaning over more until the other was practically folded in half—surprisingly flexible for a man of his stature.

Once George’s body slowly began to ease from how it was tensed before, Max knew he was ready. He tested the waters carefully with a slow roll of his hips, soaking up every soft moan that left George’s lips. As content as he was in this shockingly soft moment, Max wanted more—keeping his eyes trained on George he started bucking into him with a pace he didn’t think he had in him—the contents that still laid on the desk rattling slightly from the shift in impact.

“Oh—fuck—!” George practically cried out, his back arching as his hands went from Max’s hair to his back, body trembling as his nails dug into the others skin with a perfect agonizing sting that made it hard for Max to keep control of himself, pressing his forehead to George’s—his groans mixing and flowing with George’s moans in a way that made their connection sound like a piece of composed music that left both shaken and yearning.

“You’re incredible—fuck—you feel so good” Max gasped, snapping his hips desperately as his stomach filled with a heat that was almost paralyzing, diving into George’s neck and inhaling deep—that vanilla that left him so disheveled earlier wasn’t helping his case. George’s scent filled his nose, his tight heat enveloping his cock in a way that was so addictive, Max didn’t want to pull out. Everything in his mind screamed George’s name over and over again, his body reacted purely without thinking, driving into the other with no regard for what people could see or possibly hear from the other side of the door.

In a twisted way, Max wanted them to hear, wanted them to know that George was his.

He hardly even noticed the way his back burned from George’s nails practically clawing it to shreds, too focused on how the other felt around him to care about how sore and uncomfortable he’d be later. Max couldn’t help himself, sucking a dark bruise into George’s neck and squeeze his waist—claiming him as his own as his hips continued to rock into him at a quick pace—loving each high pitched squeal and moan that left the other.

Max wanted more, he wanted to push the limits. One hand began to loosen around his waist, wrapping tightly around George’s untouched cock, pumping it in time with his thrusts. The reaction was immediately—legs tightening around his neck, head thrown back, eyes rolling impossibly back, a sharp moan tumbling from his lips without any ounce of the class and poise he has possessed earlier.

“Max—! Oh—Oh god that’s it. Don’t you dare fucking stop, I swear” George grunted out, fully wrapping his arms around Max’s neck and keeping the others face as close to him as possible—each moan hitting Max’s ears perfectly as his hand continued to effortlessly stroke the others aching cock, his thumb occasionally finding the tip and pressing down just right to have white hot zaps of pleasure shoot through George’s spine—his hand clenching and unclenching around the others length. Neither cared how their clear lovemaking was growing louder and louder—strings of curses and moans leaving George, matching in time with Max’s grunts and shaky breaths.

“I won’t—I couldn’t, you’re too fucking perfect” Max groaned into his ear, keeping his hips moving at a brutal pace—he needed to chase the pleasure, chase how perfect George felt wrapped around him. Everything about the setting was purely dizzying—George’s scent, his moans, the constant repetition of his name, his wrinkled clothes, his artistically sculptured body, the lighting and the tension. All of it was perfect, George was perfect. Max was slowly starting to forget that he even called George in here in the first place to reprimand him for his performance and misconduct. But now all he wanted was to worship him, grab him and claim him at every second.

Maybe he’d even dare tamper with the files so he’d have an excuse to call George into his office more often.

“Max—hah…oh my god, I’m so close please—” George pleaded, the muscles around Max’s cock clenching almost unbearably tight—Max could hardly stop himself, his stomach meddling up into a tight knot that was impossible to ignore, that familiar coil that threatened to burst at any second. He didn’t care—George was in his arms, George was on his desk and that was the only thing circulating in his mind. He’d stay here for hours and never leave if it meant having him like this for as long as he could.

It didn’t take very long for George’s moans to suddenly quicken, his grip tighter, his breaths sharp and turning quickly into gasps as he practically choked. He nearly screamed as his climax hit harder than a freight train—white ropes jumping across his abdomen in sharp bursts, coating Max’s hand with warmth and wetness that made it impossible for the other to keep himself still. Nevertheless, Max stroked him through his orgasm, continuing to buck into him as the other rode the intense wave—tears flowing freely down his flushed cheeks, back impossibly arched, wave after wave slamming into him and reducing him to weak sobs and pleas.

It didn’t take long for Max to follow suit, gasping out George’s name over and over like a sacred prayer as his thrusts became sloppy and misguided, burying himself into George as deep as he could and shakily painting his walls with his heat—shuddering harshly as the two felt their orgasms together, pressing close against one another—lips connected, foreheads touching, hands slowly finding the others and interlacing their fingers impossibly tight.

After what felt like hours, the two finally came down from the high—the room filled with their exhausted, blissful panting. Max pulled away slightly, staring down at George before slowly tracing his cheek down to his chin with his free hand, melting as the other tiredly leaned into the touch, his lips grazing the skin of Max’s palm with a softness that made Max’s chest tighten. They sat in silence for a pause, their eyes meeting every now and then only to close or look away—sweat glistened their bodies, hearts beating rapidly in sync.

“So…” George started, still trying to catch his breath through his tremor and pant that left him until his breathing slowly eased into a gentle rhythm, looking back up at Max and rubbing the back of his head, nails gently scratching at the other’s scalp as if he were a dog.

“Am I not in trouble anymore?” He joked, a teasing smile tugging on his lips—that same smile that made Max so infuriated yet absolutely demolished with affection. He couldn’t help but lean down and kiss the other once more, yet this was different. This was no longer about claiming him, or ruining the man under him. It was passion, it was exhaustion, it was affection—something softer and cozier than Max had thought possible. George gave him the exact same thing back, feeling the way his lips curled into a smile against Max’s.

“Absolutely not, I’m putting you on a performance correction plan immediately” Max scoffed, wiping away the tears that still sat like fractured crystals on George’s pink dusted cheeks, his thumb brushing carefully below his waterline and gathering any tears that even dare threaten to fall.

“Oh? What would this plan entail?” George said with mock curiosity, tilting his head ever so slightly as he leaned into the others hand, continuing his own gently pats and rubs to Max’s head and neck.

“You coming into this office, every morning, and doing this with me again”

“Sounds dreadful, I can’t wait.”

“Regardless of the numbers and accolades, George was still causing a rip in the company’s flow and that couldn’t continue now that it had Max’s attention.” 🤭

“her tone bright and airy—a sharp contrast to how stuffy and heavy his office currently felt” LOVE this detail

“He was nothing like Max anticipated.” THIS BEING ON ITS OWN LINE AHHH

Oh the ENTIRE description of George…I am genuinely in awe. Stunning. So on point. Incredible. HIM. 

OH…MY GOD. I was NOT expecting that outfit. The way you built up to the reveal of the skirt is PERFECT. I’m GAGGED

“It took Max a second to realize that he hadn’t even began to speak” I snorted

““I could have an inkling as to why, but why don’t you do the honours and enlighten me?” George chuckled” Not the sass…the chuckle 🧍

““Then wipe that expression off your face. Now.” Max practically boomed” YOU SHOULD SEEEE MY FACE RN

““Oh I haven’t the slightest idea.” George shrugged” this fuckin bitch LMAO what is up your sleeve, mister

“He was as frustrating and annoying as he was beautiful and it was slowly starting to cause the irritation in Max’s chest to grow.” DONT BLAME HIM THERE

“that smug smile dropping and forming more into a tense pout.” I CAN SEE IT

“not breaking eye contact as he walked over to the other side of the desk where Max sat with a tantalizing slowness” ……..uh oh

“Max forced George onto his knees with a thud” YELLING

“As his eyes trailed down, Max couldn’t help but notice the now obvious tent that was growing under George’s skirt—which the other made no effort to hide.” YELLING MOREEEEE

““You want to act like a whore? I’ll treat you like one then”” SCREAMING YELLING KICKING MY FEET AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

No fucking shit I’m DIZZY reading this oh my god this is delicious and no one has even taken a single piece of clothing off yet

“Pulling back slightly, he all but tore the lanyard off of George’s neck—tossing it to the side with a clatter as the plastic case hit the floor. With desperate, impatient fingers he quickly undid each button of George’s dress shirt—practically clawing at the fabric like a rabid animal.” Yesyesyesyesyes the crowd is chanting for more

Bent right over the desk mhm mhm 🤭

““God…you’re so fucking slutty, it makes me mad…”” real

“his finger trailing the middle seam of the sheer black stockings before ripping it open with both hands—the loud tear of nylon fabric sounding like a gunshot echoing in the room” THREW MY LAPTOP HJERBGJREHBGEBG

All this dialogue got me SO good…every single actions UGHGH

The spanking over the deskkkkk forcing him to be silentttt every little detail of George’s reaction to each spank DELICIOUS. These details are AMAZING

“the man’s entire frame shuddering from sheer arousal, droplets of precum already forming in droplets on the marble floor under his feet” OH MY FUCKING GOD THIS VISION

Wait but he didn’t he say 5 spanks and only did 4— is it coming later when we least expect it im nervvy… ORRRR is he just so lost in him he forgets his own rules MMMM

“Max couldn’t help but wonder if George would do just that if he made him.” 🥴

GOOD GIRL

This is so fucking hot and so wonderfully detailed I’m REELING

“the buckle clinking” fave detail

“the contents that still laid on the desk rattling slightly from the shift in impact.” THIS TOO

His assistant stationed outside the door like 🧍

“driving into the other with no regard for what people could see or possibly hear from the other side of the door.” AHHA what did i just say

The vision of this fucking position…INSANEEEE I’m literally drooling onto my laptop wtf

“Maybe he’d even dare tamper with the files so he’d have an excuse to call George into his office more often.” THATS SERIOUS

“He nearly screamed as his climax hit” 🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴

““Absolutely not, I’m putting you on a performance correction plan immediately” Max scoffed” LOLLL

““You coming into this office, every morning, and doing this with me again” || “Sounds dreadful, I can’t wait.”” ABSOLUTE NEW YORK TIMES BEST SELLER ENDING YESSS 

every inconvenience leads someone in the town to lando’s presence, tense posture and terse words leading the way, like mentioning their thoughts would make them true. despite all of this, the demigod listened to every complaint and fear with grace and patience that earned him the trust of the patrons of glårefjell in the first place.

he was never one to dismiss the concerns brought forward, instead nodding along and offering bits of information that unravels the false narratives the people worked themselves into.

the brothers ended up leaving with arms wrapped around the other’s shoulder, laughing about how obtuse they had been.

the lovers wept into each others’ arms when lando took apart the growing tension like he was plucking the thorns from a rose, holding each other tight like they always did.

but every time lando had the chance to fix these issues, dozens more seemed to fester and build in their place.

he repaired every broken piece of trust, but not before another fracture was felt in the town.

he knows oscar is behind this, wandering through the streets with an ease that makes his skin crawl. this was his town, and another demigod in a place where there has only been one seems to unsettle the very earth they tread over.

it was only a matter of time before the tensions boiled over.

————————

oscar makes his way through glårefjell like he belonged there. he smiles at vendors as he scans over the produce, reunites a child with his missing wooden horse, and even helps an elderly woman get home past crowds of market goers.

he was charming in a way that nobody expected, certainly not from a man that seemed to have shown up out of nowhere days ago.

he never lied outright to the townsfolk, instead choosing his words and flow of conversation with a precision that shook lando to his core as he watched the chaos unfold.

————————

“don’t you think it’s quite strange that your wife never mentions where she goes off to every so often?” oscar muses, taking a look at a slightly bruised apple from a stall as the man behind the counter blinks in surprise. “i just think it’s odd for you to not know.”

the man frowns as he takes the apple from oscar’s hand, replacing it with a pristine one instead. “i suppose i never thought to ask her,” he murmurs, looking down at the bruised fruit like it was a personal insult.

oscar laughs quietly. “i think you might want to ask her, no?”

—

a girl is picking wildflowers in hopes of giving them to the man she has a crush on, the blush on her face getting a shade darker when she sees oscar watching her.

“who’s the lucky person who gets these?” he asks, leaning against the fence nearest to her.

she gives a small laugh, tucking her hair behind her ear. “his name is noah, the shepherd’s son,” she admits shyly. “i believe he might ask me to the lake this eve. we’ve been getting.. closer, after all.”

oscar raises a brow, looking to the side with a sigh. “i wouldn’t get your hopes up, my dear. he seemed quite enthralled with the maiden over there earlier when i was in the baker’s shop,” he points out another girl to her, the look on his face close to pity. he knew the lie stung as soon as it left his mouth, hope withering away and giving rise to jealousy and bitter disappointment.

“oh, i..” the girl trails off, worrying her bottom lip as she looks down at the small bundle of willowherb in her palm. “i suppose i can’t know for sure. i thought they were acquaintances.."

“i’m sure they are,” oscar coos. “I only thought i would mention it.” he pushes off the fence and walks off without another word.

—

he sidles up beside one of the town’s highest ranked guards, sighing to himself already. “i admire your ability to lead men in this town, sir. lando must trust you with a lot of things, no?”

the man looked over with a cut of his eyes, a hint of disdain on his face as he regards oscar. “i suppose you could say that.”

“i wonder why he never told you about that meeting he had yesterday afternoon,” oscar hums.

the man blinked, turning his head to fully look at oscar now. “what meeting?”

oscar blinks back, his expression turning apologetic as if he knew he had spilled a secret he wasn't supposed to even know about. “oh, i’m sorry,” he sighs, pressing his lips together. “i assumed you knew.”

by dusk, the man was talking with other men in town, asking about this mysterious meeting their leader had not filled him in on.

oscar hadn’t done almost anything visible in the town, rather continually sowing seeds of distrust and suspicion like it was second nature.

the townsfolk were doing all the hard work in watering them and growing the frustration themselves.

————————

lando could feel the rifts in the town without even looking closer, sighing in exasperation as he quelled another petty argument.

glårefjell belonged to lando as much as he belonged to the people and the town itself, the essence of community always thrumming lightly beneath his skin. the town had always operated like a beautiful symphony since lando assumed his position, every individual serving their part in the closely knit community.

but that harmony was faltering.

small yet vital pieces of the foundations of the town seemed to tear seam by seam until the split was noticed by more people, the cause and effect rippling outward faster than lando could stop it.

blind trust gave way to suspicion, and what used to be freely given affection suddenly seemed to have hesitation laced throughout.

lando found himself working on these tears before the sun came up in the morning until well after dawn, moving through the streets and mediating conflict like he had always done flawlessly. he began to exhaust himself with acts of kindness and gentle reminders into these festering wounds, another cracking open before he had a chance to breathe.

after the first week, his face didn’t hold the same easy glow that he had before oscar came to town.

his eyes felt hollow at times, like piecing together the town that seemed so adamant on falling apart was taking more than he could manage.

townsfolk began to notice.

more importantly, oscar noticed.

————————

“you look tired these days.”

lando didn’t bother to look up at the demigod he knew was standing in front of him, instead letting out a soft hum as he continued to clean up remnants of a small wall that crumbled out of nowhere, piecing the stones back together.

“i mean, i can’t imagine why,” oscar continues, kneeling down beside him as he picks up one of the stones himself, tossing it up into the air carelessly. “i’ve been meaning to find you, you know. i wanted to compliment your work ethic to this insignificant little village.”

the comment was enough to make lando falter in his progress of rebuilding the wall, pausing just long enough that he could practically hear the sarcastic smile in oscar’s tone.

“you really do care about these people, don’t you?” he asks, handing lando the stone from his palm. the rock was warm from the heat of his grip as he passed it over, lando shrugging lightly as he took it and placed it back with precision. “i do care about them.”

“i don’t think they appreciate you,” oscar muses, practically baiting lando into a conversation with him.

lando finally looked up at him, his blue eyes meeting the deep brown of oscar’s. the silence stretched impossibly long before the demigod spoke again. “they do.”

two words were all he gave oscar, the inherent dismissal evident in his tone.

“they certainly ask a lot of you as a ruler, then,” oscar scoffs, raising a brow as lando lets out another soft hum before continuing to stack the stones for the wall.

freyja’s son says nothing as he finishes assembling the wall back together, standing up from the hard earth to wipe his palms on the sides of his thighs. “this is my town. the people inside are my responsibility to care for.”

“who takes care of you, then?” oscar asks, standing up as well as his hand brushes something from his shoulder. “i’ve watched you skip meals multiple times this week already, and you’ve grown quite fond of massaging your temples to relieve the frustration building when you think no one can see.”

lando huffs out a soft laugh, tilting his head to the side as he looks up at oscar. “i wasn’t aware you were watching me so closely.”

oscar’s grin grows, like he believed he was finally making progress in getting something out of the other. “i observe everything. you just happen to be what i find most entertaining currently.”

“you must be disappointed then,” lando muses, smiling sweetly at him before walking past him and towards his mother’s temple. he knows he’s succeeded in throwing oscar off when the other demigod falters, his steps pausing momentarily before following along.

“i beg your pardon?”

“i think you must be terribly disappointed, oscar,” lando continues, watching the other practically stalk him down as he walks further out of the town’s center. “you wanted me angry, you wanted to crumble the very foundations of this town. all of that for what?”

oscar bristles before managing to cover it up, irritation on his face at being forced to follow after the other simply to continue the conversation.

“i still won’t hate you, if that changes anything,” lando sighs, stopping so suddenly that oscar almost runs into his back. “i don’t think you’re evil. i think you’re lonely.”

the bustling energy in the streets around them seemed to have lessened, as if the whole town was now listening in with bated breath. the thought made something stir deep in oscar’s chest, glaring at a set of wind chimes as they twinkled with mirth by a passing breeze. “careful,” oscar mutters, smirking at lando’s audacity to assume anything about him.

“i understand you’re going to exhaust yourself here trying to convince us that you’re just like your father.”

oscar’s grin vanished in an instant. his easygoing demeanor and teasing amusement he wore ever since he arrived in glårefjell was gone, disappearing so quickly one might have thought it was never there to begin with.

it was as if the warmth in the air around them had been dampened, an icy chill settling in its place.

“you don’t know anything about me,” oscar grits out, the brown of his eyes darkening further until they’re almost pure black.

“i know that children aren’t born to be deceitful,” lando continues, voice gentle as if he was trying to soothe a frightened animal. he steps closer to oscar, eyes searching his face. “i know that being abandoned isn’t a choice that any child makes.”

for a fraction of a second, oscar’s carefully curated mask slipped fully off. something ancient yet still raw flashed across his face, his whole body stiffening as he stopped and stared at lando. the emotion behind it was naked with something akin to vulnerability, his breath faltering.

but it was gone as soon as it arrived, several layers of masks and protection seeming to seal themselves shut over oscar. as soon as he protected himself from lando’s onslaught of community and empathy, the world itself seemed to erupt.

flocks of birds exploded up from their perches in the nearby trees, their wings flapping in such a cacophony of noise that lando flinched away from the sound. the ground under their feet was vibrating with a restrained energy that he could only attribute to the rage he knew oscar was feeling.

the townspeople cried out, children sobbing as they ran for comfort and protection with their parents.

the parallels of the situation were not lost on oscar.

neither of them moved, but the air around them seemed static, charged with years of festering emotions. the oscar that had originally shown up in glårefjell, the overly confident trickster with an affinity for causing chaos, was gone. the only thing left behind seemed to be something older than even oscar himself, cold and hostile just like the myths said.

he looked every bit like loki’s son.

terrifying, cold, deceitful..

lando’s eyes flash with concern as he opens his mouth, brows furrowing. “oscar, i wasn’t trying to-”

“don’t,” he interrupted, years of festering anger in his tone. the timbre of his voice seemed to shake through the town again, the wooden beams of stalls groaning with stress as each tremor rocked them.

the emptiness on his face was worse than anything lando could have imagined, his eyes searching for a glimpse of the oscar he was used to hiding under the surface.

but there was nothing.

“you think that because you’ve heard stories of my father and his own wrongdoings that you can make assumptions about me,” oscar hissed, a strange darkness settling in his eyes. “you think that my presence in your town that worships kinsmanship and understanding gives you any right to speak on things you have no comprehension of?”

lando refuses to back away from him, refuses to give the other demigod anything that could be interpreted as weakness even now.

“you have this deluded fantasy in your head that everything that’s broken needs to be fixed,” he spits, the venom in his tone carrying none of the easygoing warmth he had been piling on ever since their first conversation. “that’s exactly what i hate about you.”

the shadows around oscar seemed to bend and twist with every harsh word, stretching into the streets of the town like direct splits from his form. another tremor shook the town as lando stared at him, heartbreak clear in his eyes.

oscar couldn’t fucking stand it.

he let out a hollow laugh, walking a step closer to the other demigod. as soon as his foot landed solid against the ground, another tremor followed.

“oscar, you don’t have to-”

“no, you’re right, my father did abandon me,” oscar sighs, interrupting the other again. “the gods and mortals alike who took me in out of pity always watched me so closely. guarded their belongings whenever i was in a room. do you know how that feels, lando?”

lando’s lips pressed into a thin line as he shook his head, watching oscar with caution as he laughed again to himself.

“every mistake i made was expected. it was proof that my father and his legacy is all they saw. every one of my successes was surprising to them, because no one thought a son of loki would amount to anything besides a petty criminal.”

oscar’s hands shook as he ran his fingers through his hair, his gaze not leaving lando’s for one second.

“and now you’re standing here and looking at me with pity,” he hisses. his chest is breaths away from being pressed against lando’s now, the air around them charged with all the anger coursing through him. “i don’t need your pity, lando. i don’t need your help, or your sympathy, because you don’t know me.”

“i didn’t mean any offense,” lando whispered, trying to soothe the other demigod before anything could worsen.

the stone paths around them seemed to shake as oscar’s eyes flashed, cracks racing toward the heart of the city. wood support beams creaked and people gasped, backing away from the stalls as a basket of fruit toppled off the side. a lantern fell onto the ground and shattered, the flames inside licking at the grass around it. lando instinctively turned to the town, taking a caution step toward the destruction oscar was causing.

“there he is,” he chuckles, a cold grin on his face as he takes a step away, trying to control his anger before he did something he would regret.

the shadows stretching from him flickered to life, shifting into illusions of oscar around the town. every version wore the same cold, dreadful smile as they moved through the streets, people backing up with fear in their eyes.

the illusions seemed to incite chaos whenever they walked close enough to something, ropes of signs snapping out of nowhere and pots of flowers exploding into dust and debris.

nothing was serious enough to cause any harm.

nothing broken beyond repair, nothing harmful to the townsfolk.

it was just enough to force lando into making a decision. just enough to remind him what he cares for more than trying to analyze oscar and his past.

his blue eyes were stormy as he met the pools of brown watching him with a feral edge. the real oscar never once let his eyes leave lando, the determined focus behind them sending a thrill up his spine.

“stop this,” lando whispered, his voice still gentle even as he begged for a reprieve. “this isn’t necessary. they did nothing to you.”

oscar stood perfectly still amongst the chaos around him, smirking down at lando. he said nothing, because the softness in the demigod’s voice despite his best efforts to destroy any sense of camaraderie angered him more than it should have.

he despised lando’s ability to be sane in the face of problems, in the face of danger such as himself.

he despised his ability to think that with enough kindness, understanding, and gentle reassurance that anything could be fixed.

it couldn’t.

he couldn’t be fixed.

the entire town seemed to look to lando whenever anything happened, expecting him, trusting him, to have the answers. his unbearable conviction that everything could be solved was one of the most annoying traits lando could have inherited from his mother, yet it’s the exact trait that made glårefjell so perfect.

oscar had never known what that was like.

he had never had anyone his entire life that trusted him, let alone expected him to know how to fix mistakes. he was the mistake.

the thought alone was enough to make him step back, the illusions melting back into the shadows as if they were following him. he refused to let himself be analyzed so easily by a son of freyja, refused to let those soft blue eyes piece together wounds he had spent a lifetime stamping down until he forgot himself.

lando watched him as he stepped back, his own eyes flashing with something that oscar had only known as confusion and concern his entire life. not a word was said as he watched the shadows melt back underneath the other demigod, his eyes cutting over to the chaos in the town square briefly.

“go on, go fix everything,” oscar mused, his voice not nearly as cold and distant as he would have liked. “just like your mother taught you to.”

he stepped back one final time into the darkness and was gone, leaving behind that cold, blank, dead smile that seemed to linger in everyone’s mind. the shadows seemed to fold in on themselves as he did so until nothing remained behind that he had been standing there at all.

the only sounds that remained seemed to be the sounds of the town itself, broken wood beams still creaking and the small noise of fire licking through the grass left with the eerie silence now surrounding lando.

lando was frozen to the spot, still staring at the patch of grass oscar had seemingly disappeared from. his eyes cut to the side to look at his people, all looking right back at him with fear and concern in their eyes.

for once in his life, he didn’t have an immediate answer for what to do next.

he didn’t have any blessings to offer, no gentle words at the ready for the emotions he saw written all over their faces.

they instinctively seemed to reach for him, to ask him what to do, but the words felt stuck in his throat.

because he always knew what to do.

he was freyja’s son, their beloved ruler and protector, their peace from fear of the gods.

and lando did not have an answer.

he walked into town and stood amongst the wreckage oscar left behind, the last words he hissed at him echoing in his mind as he picked up a fallen sign.

the twist of emotion in his stomach did not settle as he looked across the destruction, realizing this may very well be the first problem that his care and attention alone cannot fix.

“his eyes felt hollow at times, like piecing together the town that seemed so adamant on falling apart was taking more than he could manage. || townsfolk began to notice. || more importantly, oscar noticed.” …uh oh

““i don’t think they appreciate you,” oscar muses, practically baiting lando into a conversation with him.” hmmm interested to know his perspective on this

““i don’t think you’re evil. i think you’re lonely.”” OOH just absolutely READ him

“something ancient yet still raw flashed across his face” GORGEOUS LINE

““you have this deluded fantasy in your head that everything that’s broken needs to be fixed,” he spits, the venom in his tone carrying none of the easygoing warmth he had been piling on ever since their first conversation. “that’s exactly what i hate about you.”” Oh my GOD oh my GOD i’m literally holding my breath

Me rn: 🧍🧍🧍🧍

the dagger he found inside the woolen interior sent a thrill down his spine, the weight of it making him grin to himself with a glint in his deep brown eyes. his presence here seemed nothing short of trouble brewing for the village below, children laughing as they chase after their livestock.

the town felt soft, like each design choice had been carefully cultivated with a helping hand from the gods above. it had structure, the roads mapped out with intent and each thatched roof in pristine condition. almost every house had some form of greenery, whether it be flowers blooming in garden boxes or ivy working its way up the sides of the walls.

townsfolk moved about like they had no worries or qualms, like they trusted their ruler with everything. oscar couldn’t help the corner of his mouth from twitching south with something akin to disdain. he would be lying to himself if he said this quaint town would be of much benefit to his own needs, but his father’s jurisdiction was final.

“this is pathetic,” he murmurs to himself, picking a wildflower that brushed up against his boot. “all this peace.. it’d be a shame if something disturbed it.”

a breeze curls around him and whisks the flower from his fingers, like njord himself forbade a demigod of loki to hold onto anything fragile. the scent of freshly chopped wood and something baked made its way to his nose, the warmth of the scent making his eyes slip shut.

it didn’t feel right. it smelled.. manufactured.

his eyes narrow as he scans over the roofs and stalls along the far side of town, raising a brow.

of course a child of freyja would never use fear to keep their subjects in line. it seems like the demigod here chose to wrap the town in a blanket of false protection, rooting their devotion and desire to serve him into a beautiful cocoon from harm.

“let’s see how long this can last,” he muses, brushing his hand along the tips of ferns and shrubs as he walks a few paces closer to the town.

————————

lando didn’t need anyone to tell him there was a stranger in town, because he could feel the wrongness of it before he stepped foot into the commotion of the square.

the feeling is as if someone is scratching and pulling at the nape of his neck, like the gods themselves were attempting to hold him back from the encounter. it felt as if this person was tugging relentlessly on one thread that he had just sewed perfectly, testing his capabilities.

he stood beside one of glårefjell’s most outspoken mothers as she droned on and on about her daughter’s wedding in a fortnight, nodding where he thought best to show he was listening.

his hand is held tightly between her own and he brushes a palm over her forearm, passing a silent blessing over to her with a gentle caress. the mother beams in response, thanking him over and over for soothing her troubled mind and granting her this reprieve from the stress the wedding preparations have been causing.

lando couldn’t help the soft smile on his face, relief flooding through him as well at the ease that he could now leave the conversation.

he is a good ruler, by everyone’s standards.

he is flawless with his ability to calm tensions before they ever have a chance to boil over, never hesitating to fix whatever is resisting the harmony that he prided himself in maintaining.

though as soon as the mother turns away, his countenance drops. there’s a sharp focus there instead of his usual soft smile, his eyes scanning over the rooftops to the hills beyond the town.

lando’s eyes narrow when he finds the outsider grinning down at him, waving his fingers. “you aren’t subtle,” he murmurs, turning his back on the lurking figure.

he knew he’d cross paths with him sooner rather than later.

————————

their paths ended up crossing around midday, just as oscar planned.

his first introduction to the son of freyja wouldn’t be one that he wanted the other demigod to forget.

his path through glårefjell was one that came naturally to him, brushing through crowds with a deliberate harshness, slipping in comments he knew would make a mortal stop in their tracks to consider. there were significantly more quizzical faces or frowns once he finally saw lando standing in the town square, grinning at the distaste on his face he could see from even this far away.

he wasn’t doing anything lando could punish, nothing with concrete proof even able to be seen.

a mental fracture could last much longer than a physical action in oscar’s mind, and he capitalized on it with every individual he passed by on the way to the center of town.

the air around the town lost some of its composure, feeling like the ripples on a still lake when someone skips a stone across the surface.

he comes to a stop a few feet away from the small, shallow fountain lando is leaning against, cocking his head to the side as he allows himself the pleasure of taking in the other’s appearance for the first time.

he’s beautiful, ethereal in a way that any mortal would dream and pray to be. he holds himself with a weight that makes oscar blink, his presence still echoing through the space of the town square.

the blue-green pools of his eyes reflect with the rays of sun from the moving water, warm and inviting.

dangerous, in oscar’s opinion.

“now i understand why everyone adores you,” oscar hums, licking his lips with an ease that seems to irritate the other demigod. “i take it you’re the leader here?”

“you should not be here,” lando answers, no warmth in his face as he assesses just who is standing in front of him. “nothing good can come from you.”

oscar bristles at the dismissal in his tone, a smug grin sneaking its way onto his face. “i thought this town was built on foundations of community, no?” he purrs, dragging his gaze up and down lando’s form. “yet i cannot even get a warm introduction from his majesty. i was told this place would welcome anyone who seeks asylum, but i must be mistaken.”

“we do welcome asylum,” lando snaps, the color in his eyes seeming to dance as he meets oscar’s gaze head-on. “however, we do not need those who do not come in good faith. i’m certain you do not.”

oscar can’t help the laugh that escapes him, delighted by lando’s response. “i can’t believe you are so quick to judge someone, your majesty,” he hums, taking a step closer to the other. he rolls his neck with a sigh before meeting lando’s eyes again.

his own essence seeps out from below his feet, and he can see the glint of recognition in lando’s face as he feels more pairs of eyes glance over in fear.

“you’re one of his,” lando mutters, his voice low enough to barely be heard over the commotion of the town. “loki.”

“and you’re freyja’s,” oscar replies, as if the information is quite apparent to anyone with eyes. “yet i still don’t know your name.”

the demigod stiffens, raising a brow. “i assumed you knew what you needed if you have reason to bring yourself here to my town.”

“i could keep calling you your majesty,” oscar starts, smirking. “i should’ve known a child of freyja would have an appreciation for titles. it makes you feel powerful when you persuade the town to follow you, doesn’t it?”

something dark flashes across lando’s face, the demigod barely able to reign it back in. “every individual in this village chooses to be here and thus chooses to follow under my guidance,” he grits out, putting on a faux smile. “if they did not wish to follow me, they could leave. but as i’m sure you’ve noticed, son of loki, not a single person has chosen that path.”

oscar takes another step toward lando, relishing in every bit of tension he sees growing. “do they choose, or do you just make the choice easier to say yes to?”

the comment seems to break what little restraint lando had left, the other closing the rest of the distance between him and oscar in the blink of an eye. he stabs a finger against oscar’s chest, jaw set in a firm line. “how dare you try to come into my village and try to provoke me with your-”

“so it’s working?” oscar purrs, cutting lando’s hissed words off halfway through his sentence. the interruption stops him cold, his finger still pressed against oscar’s chest so hard his skin is white.

there’s a fraction of a second where oscar thinks he’s already won this battle before a saccharine smile slides onto lando’s face, his eyes softening in an instant.

“of course you’re not,” he muses, tilting his head as if the idea of him losing his cool was unheard of. he steps back from oscar like he needs the space to collect himself, lashes fluttering before he extends an open hand. “my name is lando, it’s a pleasure to have you here in glårefjell.”

oscar purses his lips at the attempt to seem unfazed, gripping lando’s hand tight with his own. “oscar,” he murmurs, his brown eyes burning with challenge.

a wave of warmth washes over him as lando’s thumb strokes over his knuckles, like something is pulling him to stay soft and docile while in the town’s streets. his breath hitches as he meets the demigod’s eyes, a gentle smile on his face.

oscar yanks his hand back, raising a brow at the other as his grin sharpens. “careful, your majesty. you almost had me there,” he purrs, flicking his hand absentmindedly to rid himself of lando’s pull.

lando remained silent, studying the trickster’s son in front of him with a weight that would make any mortal squirm and try to hide.

but not oscar.

“i believe you will be disappointed to find that not everything here will bend to your incessant need for disorder,” he sighs, clasping his hands behind his back.

oscar lets out a snort, looking incredulously at the other. “i don’t need everything to bend,” he replies. “i need just enough for you to lose your way.”

lando’s eyes flash with something that oscar can only compare to rage at the obvious threat before glazing back over with an icy calm. he doesn’t give the demigod a chance to retort before he’s bowing mockingly, cutting his eyes up to look at lando’s glowering face.

“until then, your majesty.”

he turns on his heel and walks away, the crowds of townsfolk parting to let him pass as a sense of unease seems to grow with every step he takes.

lando’s eyes remain on oscar every step of the way, letting out a labored sigh as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

this threat is not one he has encountered before.

this isn’t something seeking power or attention.

this is a demigod seeking to corrupt and unmake the careful precision it took to keep this town the way it has always been since lando arrived here years ago.

this is a demigod that despite every feeling lando should have about being here, seems interested in not only the town, but lando himself.

He can already feel his body tensing up as he considers the long walk back to the paddock, trudging through hoards of cameras and microphones shoved in his face, rabid journalists thinking if they ask the right question he'll finally break down and cry for them. And worse still, another team celebration without him and a debrief where no one will want to listen because he's bringing the mood down.

He's surprised to find Lando lounging in a leather armchair in the makeshift lobby of the medical center, shared with the occult division to give them more legitimacy.

"You alright?" George asks, not immediately seeing any sign of injury or distress.

"Yeah, fine," Lando says, sitting up straighter at George's voice. "My side mirror shattered for no reason. Sign of bad luck, apparently."

Lando dramatically rolls his eyes and George can't help but let out a chuckle, even though it makes his ribs ache.

"Always something, isn't it?"

"Always something," Lando concurs, tongue flicking to the inside corner of his mouth in a contemplative gesture George knows all too well. "Did they find anything this time?"

"No," George says with a sigh. "Reckon there isn't anything to find."

Lando hums sympathetically. He's had a front-row seat to most of George's struggles this season, some through convergent circumstances, some because he reached out and put himself there. Even after qualifying, George found himself extending a conciliatory handshake, even though he'd inherit the P3 position Lando beat him to. It was like there was an invisible thread connecting them that tugged the hardest in times of distress.

"Dinner after?" Lando offers. This bit has become a more regular occurrence, too. Finding comfort in each other's company. First, because Lando could best understand George's situation and was happy to let him vent. Then, for other reasons.

"Might be a late one with the team. But…"

"After," Lando says definitively. "I'll send you my info."

Lando stands and stretches his back with a low moan, stirring a sensation in George's gut other than the latent nausea of being suffocated by pungent herbs.

"You already saw the witches?" George asks as Lando starts towards the exit.

"Yeah, I was waiting for you, you muppet."

He tries to brush it off like it's nothing, burying his concern under brusque indifference. Even then, George can't help the way he instinctively reaches out, half a step closer and arm frozen midair in an aborted gesture before he realizes what he's doing. Mercifully, Lando takes pity on him and meets him halfway, tossing his arms over George's shoulders so he's forced to lean down into the hug and put his weight against Lando for support.

"Thanks," George mumbles into his neck, wholly insufficient for the reprieve he feels in Lando's presence, the thrum of soothing energy that pulses between each point of contact.

“I want you to take your clothes off,” he requests, “I want you completely naked for me. I want to see your gorgeous body.”

George pauses as if to give time for his request to be fulfilled. As he waits, his hand keeps rubbing himself over his briefs, making the swell of his cock only more obvious as the seconds go by. He removes his hand for a beat to show off just how intensely the fabric is tented, teasing the clothed head with gentle fingertips. Beneath the confines of his briefs, it twitches. 

His hand then slides across his abs, over his pecs that are just on the outskirts of the frame, and then back down. As he does so, he speaks languidly, “Start rubbing your body for me…your arms…your thighs…your stomach…your tits.”

The movement of his own hand mirrors his request, caressing over his broad shoulders and defined pecs and across his firm abs, avoiding his obvious erection in exchange for the taunting of his own touch. The anticipation. He lets the moment drag out a little longer, letting his body be the focus.

“Pinch your nipples for me, baby,” he says simply, in a voice that’s almost a purr, “Does that feel good? Bet you wish it was my mouth, don’t you? Would love to suck on your tits right now, get my hands all over you.”

Then, his hand curves around the thick shape of his cock through his briefs, giving himself a firm squeeze that forces a tight groan from his throat. A small wet spot is now showing through the light grey fabric, right above the tip of his cock, showing just how much he’s into this. Unashamedly, he rubs himself some more and the wet spot gets a little bigger. 

“Keep massaging your perfect body, darling,” he coos, “Imagine me touching you, caressing you, kissing every inch of you until you’re begging for it.”

A breath.

“I’d love to hear you beg for it. Wanna beg for me, baby? Say ‘please touch me, sir’.”

George moans lowly as if he could truly hear the words being echoed back at him. Or, perhaps, it's just from the squeeze of his hand around his clothed cock and his vivid imagination. 

“Good girl. Spread your legs a little wider. Rub your inner thighs for me, get yourself nice and warm, but don’t touch your pussy yet. Not until I say.”

Then, suddenly, he’s shifting. Not a lot, but enough to link his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs and begin to push them down, pulling the fabric over his sizable erection and lifting his hips to rid himself of his underwear completely. Now entirely naked himself, he relaxes back once more, tucking one hand behind his head out of frame while his other teases his fingertips across his pelvis. 

Completely untouched, his cock twitches against his pelvis, red and swollen and so incredibly hard. From the angle facing directly at his crotch and up his body, his balls are in frame too, hanging heavy between thick thighs. He cups them in his hand, rolling them gently, fondling himself through shallow breaths and hums. 

“Bet you’re aching for it now, aren’t you?” he taunts, “Writhing under your own hands, wishing they were mine. Wishing I was there to touch you myself…wishing for my cock.”

His fingertips trail up from his balls to follow the length of his dick and when he reaches the head, it twitches again. His abs flex and he lets out a small groan. With a careful hand, he wraps his long fingers around his cock and lifts it off his pelvis, holding it steady in the centre of the frame. 

George exhales, “Look how hard I am for you…at the thought of you touching yourself for me…getting yourself all worked up.”

He gives himself a gentle stroke, pulling his fist upwards until he’s squeezing the head of his cock, a shiny dribble of precum slipping out from the slit. 

“You better not be touching your pussy yet. Hope you’re being a good girl and listening to what I tell you.”

With his cock held firmly in one hand, his other drops down to rub his inner thighs warmly, caressing the thick muscle of his hairy legs and tauntingly close to his perineum. His touches slide up to his pelvis, rubbing through his trimmed pubic hair and over his defined v-line, mirroring the actions he is instructing. 

“If you have a toy with you—a vibrator or even just your fingers—gently caress your pussy for me. Very, very gently,” he breathes, “Up and down over your lips…feeling how soaked you are…how worked up and swollen you are.” 

At the same time, he begins to stroke his cock with his patient fist in that slow, gentle pace he demanded. Up and down, inch by inch. His hips twitch up into his fist but it’s clear he’s trying to restrain himself. 

His voice is a little rougher when he speaks again, “Is your clit throbbing? Do you flinch if you touch it? Try it. Give it a little touch.” 

A pause.

“How’s that? You wanna rub it some more? Go on then, rub your clit for me, love. Nice and slow.” The pad of his thumb caresses the underhead of his cock, making it throb in his fist, and his voice is tight as he praises into the dim lighting, “There you go. That’s a good girl.”

Yet again, he matches his desired pace with his fingertips around the head of his cock, teasing himself with the faintest of caresses. His breath catches, his dick twitches under his ghostly touch. It’s tantalizing. 

“Slow…slow,” he reminds, “You better not be speeding up, no matter how much you want it.”

He wraps his fist entirely around his cock once more and begins stroking himself in long, slow pulls up and down, giving the camera full front row view to the sight of it. His other hand is pressed flat around the base, holding himself steady between thumb and forefinger, adding just a tinge of pressure against his pelvis. 

In only a few seconds, he speaks again, “Do you want to touch yourself properly? Rub your clit properly? Maybe use that vibrator or get your fingers inside yourself? Well then use your words and ask nicely.”

There’s a pause that is just long enough for him to let out a small moan and a breathy chuckle. 

Then, he’s drawling, “I can’t understand you, dumb little girl, you’re mumbling. Speak up, darling.”

His hand around himself stops entirely, holding still in a tight fist, even when his hips try to nudge up again. 

“There’s my good girl and her pretty words. Go on then, love. Turn on your vibrator…rub yourself faster…whatever you need.”

And then he’s doing it too, stroking himself at a proper pace for the first time in an eager fist. Every down-stroke has his foreskin pulling back from the swollen, leaking, pink head, over and over. George’s moans are sated and soft in the background, slender fingers taking up the frame in practiced fulfilling strokes of his nearly eight-inch cock. His balls are bobbing between his thighs with every firm tug, heavy and desperate.

“Jesus, I bet you’re moaning like mad right now. Does it feel good, baby?” he pants, “Looking at my cock and getting yourself off to the thought of it?”

Suddenly, George stops his strokes and his hands disappear out of frame, letting his cock flop uselessly against his pelvis. 

“I’d love to get inside you right now…would you let me?” he purrs. 

His hand returns and, this time, he’s holding a clear silicone fleshlight, already prepped with lube glistening around the opening that is moulded to resemble a vulva. For a second, he takes his time teasing the head of his cock with it, letting it catch against the silicone lips, hissing at the sensations that he’s not giving into yet. 

“Will you let me fill you up, darling girl?” he coos, “Stretch you out on my cock? Yeah?”

Finally, he grips his cock with his left hand and aligns the opening of the toy with his swollen head and then—painstainkly slowly—starts to ease it down.

“Just letting you sink down on my cock, swallowing it with your tight, wet, warm pussy so fuckin’ slow…fuck.”

With the view so close, it’s almost easy to hear the lewd, wet squelch of the lube as he sheathes his cock inside the toy bit by bit. His abs flex, thighs twitch, desperately holding himself back. From outside the frame, he moans low and warm and handsome. 

It’s not even half way down his cock when he lets out a light, breathy chuckle, “It’s so fuckin’ hard to go slow…shit…”

Once it’s all the way down, his entire cock disappears inside the toy and barely visible through the clear, ribbed silicone, he lets out a trembling breath. Then, he’s lifting the fleshlight back up until only the tip is left inside of it before sinking it back down again. George starts to find a steady pace, letting the rhythmic slick squelch of the lube-soaked toy take up the airtime as his large hand holds it firmly in his fist. 

He groans lowly, “Wanna just pound up into you so bad.”

His hand speeds up a little more and his thighs twitch, hips trying to lift up instinctively, chasing more of that slick friction. 

“I’d love to be deep inside you right now,” George moans, “Are you thinking about it, baby? Thinking about me fucking you while you touch yourself?”

It doesn’t take long for his self-control to give way to his own desperation and soon his hips are lifting off the edge of the couch to thrust up into the toy in his fist, matching the pace of his hand to make those lewd sounds even louder. He moans prettily from behind it, chest heaving.

“Christ, I wanna fuck you. Feeling my balls hitting against your arse with every thrust…taking me so deep,” his voice is strained, tight with exertion and intense focus, accent thick with arousal, “You can take it, can’t you? You can take every inch of me in your tight little pussy.”

A groan, a stutter of his pace with the toy. 

“Yeah…bet you can. Such a little fucking slut for it, aren’t you?” George groans, “Say it. Say you’re my slut.”

He lets out a pretty moan and his hand forces the toy faster.

“God, you’re so pathetic, whining over the thought of my cock,” he pants, “Wish I could hear how fucking wet you are for me, just from my voice.”

He’s fucking up into the toy with reckless abandon, desperation outweighing anything else. 

And he taunts through clenched teeth, “I’m not even there and you’re already losing your fucking mind over me. I don’t even have to lift a finger to corrupt you; you’re already doing it yourself.”

It’s a mess of sounds; his breathless pants, handsome groans, and the slick, wet sound of his cock thrusting up into the fleshlight. His knuckles are nearly white with how tightly he’s gripping the body of the toy, ramming it down onto himself with every thrust of his hips. 

“Are you getting close, baby?” he coos, words like velvet, “Are you rubbing yourself faster? Fingering yourself faster…harder? Imagining me fucking you just the way you like? Keep going. Don’t fucking stop, you hear me?”

George’s other hand returns into the frame to reach down to grab onto his balls, squeezing them in his palm to pull a groan from his chest as he keeps fucking into the toy. His abs are tensing, muscles taut, and his thighs are trembling. If nothing else, the sounds that pour from his mouth is enough to show just how fucking close he is. 

“I’m gonna cum,” he grunts, “Where do you want it? Inside you?” 

A breath. 

“Beg me for it then. Beg me to come inside you like a proper whore.” 

A pause between nothing but the unwavering pistoning of his hand.

“Again.”

Another breath.

And then he groans again and his voice is thick, “Say please. Use your fuckin’ manners, naughty girl.” 

He’s a moaning, panting mess, his hand using that toy on his cock in hungry, rapid strokes.

“That’s it. That’s fuckin’ it. Come with me. On five, and not a second before. Ready?”

He heaves in a breath, married with what sounds like an honest-to-God whimper.

And then he’s counting down slowly, all without letting up the desperate pace of his hand: “5…4…3…2…ready? Ready to come with me? 1…now.”

For a second, he goes completely silent and the strokes of his hand stutter, but his hips buck up into the toy to make up for it, driven by the pleasure that courses through his veins. George lets out all of that build up with a handsome moan, shuddering on the couch as his hand tries to hold the fleshlight right down on his cock no matter how sensitive he is. The clear silicone is turning milky at the top. 

“Christ,” he choked out, pitchy and shaky, and his other hand flies to grab onto the toy too as if needing more control to hold it down on himself entirely, “take it all—”

After a second, he heaves for breath and sinks into the cushions of the couch, and slowly starts to lift up the toy. No sooner does his cock slip out of the end and flop wetly against his pelvis does a thick, creamy drop of cum slip from inside of it and fall onto his abs. He’s panting, letting his hand holding the used fleshlight rest onto the couch beside him in the dim lighting just at the side of the frame. 

“Breathe…just breathe,” he instructs calmly between deep inhales, “Lay here with me for a second.” 

It’s quiet after the chaos of what had just occurred, nothing but the sound of his heavy breaths taking up the audio. 

“I’m right with you…right here beside you,” he mumbles after a moment, words heavy and warm, “You did such a good job, darling. My perfect, perfect girl.”

He lays there until his cock is softening and his breathing evens out, taking up a few moments to just be present in the come down. Then, gently, he gives one final instruction:

“Go clean yourself up, darling. I’ll be right here.”

FADE OUT. —BLACK SCREEN W/ TEXT— “Starring MrSaturday Written & Produced by @chilling-seavey Requested by Anonymous This production was created for mature audiences. All participants were over the age of 18 and consented to their involvement in the production. Boundaries, consent, and ethical considerations were communicated and respected throughout filming.” —FADE TO BLACK— THE END

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