Guys Is It Gay To Gay

"Oh yeah, minou, you look real good like that," Remy husks—his voice seems to fill the cramped space of your room, to stick to the sinew of your body as it rumbles through you. His thumb grazes over your clit and you can't help but shudder at the pulse of pleasure that sinks through you. He's seated partially over the full of your thigh as his fingers curl into you. Your walls are stretched by knuckles that are finding that spot that has a wanton moan taking residence in the space between you.

It's almost enough to make you pause in your ministrations, your hand over his cock that juts out in mouthwatering manner. Your fingers stutter over his impressive length, velvet and firm under your touch—he groans at the way that your hand shifts over him, a hissed exertion sliding through gritted teeth.

Remy's eyes are mercurial and dark as they seek out the way that your body writhes under his touch. As his fingers search for the best way to have you come undone on the flex of them, his teeth displayed in savage, hungry manner.

"Remy—"—Your words hitch on the exhale, punched out by the way that his fingers roll into you, at the way the pads of his fingers nose at the spot that has your toes curling. Has you twisting your brow up in torment at the orgasm pulling in the pit of your abdomen.

"Oh?" He asks, without ceasing the pace, while demonstrating that damnable smirk. "Somethin' wrong, minou?"

"Fuck—"—Is all that you can mouth around the pitched sigh you make as you arc against his touch—"—I won't be able to—"

As amends, you do your best to stroke your hand up his cock, rewarded with a taut groan that slips through his mouth. But still those fingers keep that terrible rhythm, that maddening clutch on you. You find yourself spreading your legs wider to take better access to him, keeping your fingers in careful meter around the head of his cock.

"Ain't no competition, chere," He sighs, panting at the way that you've coaxed a dribble of precum onto the ridge of your knuckles—but his eyes speak a different story. The curve of his wicked, roguish smile tell you all you need to know. And any answer you might give is choked from the way that he sinks his fingers into you—and you wrench your eyes shut.

"With you—"—you buck your hips into his palm, grinding against nothing—"—It always is."

"Then—"—He chuffs a chord of pleasure as you keep your hand in deliberate, torturous stroke—"—May the best one win, no?"

As he maintains that damnable manner of pushing you closer to orgasm—you know that you're well-matched against your opponent. And you can't wait to make him eat his words.

dividers made by me :)

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"Mikey."

Your voice crackles into his headset. You sound pissed, but it's possible that's just the earpiece. He did update the firmware before he let you take it, but-

"You said this dog could take a beating."

It's not the tech. You're audibly furious.

Michael sighs and stares down at his keyboard for a long moment. This is supposed to be his easy ball in the air. Set it and forget it: let you loose and review the data at the end of the night. He clicks a button and responds, "What's wrong?"

"Did I fucking stutter?" You demand. "We're not making it past the playroom."

"Goddamnit," Holt mutters. "Do you recognize any-"

"You told me-"

"I know," he interjects. "Give me five minutes."

Holt clicks into a GPS system and draws several circles, reviewing who's in Gotham City (or immediately accessible) and connected to both of you. He rejects two people outright before he groans and swears quietly to himself.

Then he stands up and storms across the hall to a conference room, shoving open the door to discover Guy and Kendra are using the screen to fight about whether Salma Hayek or Penelope Cruz is hotter. It's unclear whether there are clearly defined sides to the debate. This might be an excuse to use company resources to stream videos of the two actresses.

"Gardner," he interrupts.

"Yo!" Guy responds, spinning his chair a full revolution before he faces Michael directly.

"Do you want to humiliate a Green Beret?"

"Any time," he scoffs. "How?"

"I sent Gotham to the Kyle place. They're supposed to tap into the electrical system for me in a private room, but her partner can't handle it."

"The Kyle place," Kendra repeats from the podium. "Do you mean her sex club?"

"Obviously," Michael replies impatiently. "If it were anywhere more dangerous, I would have sent an actual operative."

"Whaddya mean, the Green Beret can't handle it?" Guy asks, grinning.

"She needs, and I quote, a dog who can take a beating," Holt snaps. "Are you willing to try?"

"Try?" Guy echoes, offended. "I can take anything she'll gimme, promise you that."

Both men glance over at Kendra, who looks mildly ill while staring resolutely at the computer screen in front of her. On the board behind her, she's sharing pictures of Selina Kyle, an elegant, slender Black woman with close-cropped, tightly coiled dark hair. Based on how long she's been active socially and politically, she must be in her forties at least, but she could pass for any age.

"If she shows up, do not piss her off," Kendra orders, clicking on a news clip.

Selina immediately starts talking passionately about upzoning initiatives throughout different neighborhoods in Gotham City. Her voice is warm and melodic, without any trace of a Gotham accent in pronunciation but entirely native in cadence and word choice.

Guy crosses his arms and agrees, "I can prob'ly manage that."

Michael stalks back across the hall, opens the line, and asks without preamble, "Does Guy work?"

After about ten seconds, you reply, "He'll be perfect. Tell him to hurry. I sent the puppy runnin' home, so I can kill twenty minutes, max."

Michael turns to find Guy beaming and shoos with both hands, ordering, "Move your ass."

"She called me-"

"Prove it," he snaps. "Go."

You're standing next to an intricately decorated hardwood plinth where a 98% naked blond man is kneeling with his hands tied to an equally ornate handle in the plinth. While you lazily shove a paddle into his mouth, a cloaked and masked woman holds his gaze and croons to him that his saliva should be good enough for her purposes. In the meantime, you are scanning the room for something more interesting, and it is not going well.

Fucking medical freaks have taken over Gotham's scene. This might be a trend, but it's definitely your evening. You never thought you'd miss the olfactory and auditory experience of a room where multiple people are playing wax and obedience games; unfortunately, you find watching people pierce and slice each other both gross in a profoundly un-sexy way and - maybe worse - boring. Some distant part of your mind is glad they're doing things safely, but a major side effect is that the place reeks of florals, spices, and musk: scents that are heavy enough to cover the smell of medical alcohol.

And blood.

And fear.

At least Lu's still into other classics. Her friend has earned... fifty? Seventy...?

Who fucking cares? He's choking, in any case.

You draw the paddle out of his mouth and present it to Lucy solemnly. She runs her gloved forefinger along the length of it and shakes her head in disapproval as she grabs a bottle of lubricant. You watch her squeeze a generous helping across the paddle impassively as the man's eyes widen.

Christ.

She's planning to work some muscles tonight.

You glance down the bound man's body and confirm he's hard as a rock while he watches Lucy use two fingers to delicately spread the lubricant around the face of the paddle.

"Miss Lucy?" You ask politely.

She looks up from her task and inquires sweetly, "What is it, honey?"

"Did you want him to have a ring for this?"

"Hmm?"

You flick his erection with two fingers and he jolts, keeping his eyes trained on Lucy's covered form.

She cocks her head and teases, "Aren't you a darling?"

You shrug. "Were you going to wear him out or make him work for it? He seems... excitable."

Lucy tilts her head to the table. "Would you do the honors? I'm not that soft." She peers down at the man. "But he knows the penalty for coming without permission."

You survey the table of sex toys and come to terms with the fact that you're about to handle some random dude's erection. Oh, ye delights of playing the lovely assistant. You grab something that's closer to a zucchini band than a cock ring and use both hands to snap it around the man's dick and testicles in one fluid motion. He whimpers as his tenderest parts adjust to the strain, but stays very still on the plinth.

Well, duh, you remind yourself. Lucy doesn't tolerate fidgeting. That might be how he got himself here.

"What do we say?" She chastises.

"Thank you," the man murmurs, his eyes still on her.

You nod to her and step back so she can take your place. Lucy winds up and starts smacking the blond's ass as hard as she possibly can. Because the paddle's been lubricated, she's able to make extremely solid contact. Every smack is sharp and loud, followed by the man counting obediently in a language you don't speak.

This is... boring.

You wander away, scanning the space for excitement.

Somebody who must be over six feet tall enters the room wearing only work boots, blue jeans, fingerless black leather gloves, and a black leather pup hood. As you near them, you wonder idly if this look qualifies as lazy or traditional. Years... no, decades worth of scars criss-cross plenty of creamy freckled skin. Those aren't pain-slut scars-

You know that body.

You pause and grab the muzzle of the mask. Pulling it down, you meet Guy's dancing green eyes. He's probably grinning under there.

"You can't roam around a place like this lookin' like a stray," you scold. "C'mere, buddy."

You pull him into a coat room and buckle on a blue leather collar.

"Thanks for comin' down," you murmur. "It's a bit of a hospital, but if you do well through a scene out here, I can show you the back room." You hook your fingers into the D ring of the collar and pull him closer. "Does that all sound fun?"

Guy growls at you.

"Attaboy," you giggle, clipping on a matching leash. "Let's go."

You pull him to the space you'd originally hoped to use and secure his leash to a post next to a strange medical device.

"Kneel for me?" You ask, gesturing to the maroon carpet before you.

To your mild surprise and less mild delight, Guy drops to his knees immediately, and you coo, "Good dog."

Turning away to avoid smiling at him, you collect several sticky pads and start securing them to his abs.

"You always tell me you know all the tricks, so you can show me how good you are," you explain, tapping in a wire from the machine to each node. "Some dogs get these as a..." you hum, considering your word choice. "Learning aid?" You offer. "Negative reinforcement. But from what I recall, you might treat this like a reward. Let's check."

You turn on the unit at 40hz and Guy doesn't react at all. You smirk and turn it up to 50, and he meets your eyes. He's absolutely still smiling in there, so you turn it up to 70 and keep going. He blinks a couple of times in the 110s. Discomfort doesn't start to hit his expression until you're in the 180s, and it's... mild. This machine only goes to 200hz, so that's not going to work.

"Never mind," you giggle, turning it off. "That's hilarious."

You grab his muzzle and ask, "Do you even know how good you are?"

Guy cocks his head inquisitively.

Something inside you twists. Shit. He's kinda cute like this. It's probably just because he hasn't said anything ridiculous since he arrived.

"You're too sturdy, buddy," you scold.

That fucking delight finally falters.

Good. You're here for work.

"We can't play the game that scared the last dog home," you continue, removing the sticky nodes from his stomach. "Looks like I have to hit you a lot harder."

His eyes light up again. Goddamnit.

"But I don't really feel like coming up with a new game," you complain. "Hmm..." You cock your head and regard him. "A dog like you knows exactly one number. Why don't you tell me?"

"348," Guy growls.

You frown at him for a moment. That seems... low. Hadn't you been somewhere in the 340s?

You must be remembering incorrectly.

"Bad news, buddy," you inform him solemnly. "That sounds a lot like hittin' you 'til I get bored."

You lean against the table and sigh, looking over to the plinth where the thoroughly-chastised man is now kissing Lucy's feet to thank her for her attention.

Every part of that has looked boring.

You look at Guy to find his gaze is trained on your face, his eyes bright with excitement. It's impressive how still he's stayed since you told him to kneel, given that he's been jostling at least one extremity and a writing implement any time you've ever seen him in a meeting. You start to reach for a paddle and his eyes drop to your hand immediately, that eagerness shining.

"You want me to do that," you state flatly.

Guy growls.

"That's not good enough," you tease.

He barks.

You giggle and murmur, "Well... you're asking so politely."

Twenty minutes and far more lashes than you bothered to count later, you can feel more than one person's eyes on Guy's back as you lead him out of the playroom, a gold key on a red velvet ribbon dangling from your free hand. You resist the urge to skip down the hallway, instead walking calmly until you stop in front of a heavy wooden door. You beam up at Guy as you unlock it and push the door open, revealing a lush room with a hardwood specialty board in the center. The small space is carpeted and soundproofed in shades of welcoming pinks and browns, a disorientingly cozy combination with the purpose of the rack and the grey rubber rug directly below it.

You lead Guy across the room, unbuckle his leash and sling it across your shoulder, and make a spiral gesture with one forefinger in front of the board. His eyes on your face, Guy stands in front of it quietly while you buckle his collar to a chain behind his neck and strap his hands into leather bands next to his head which force him to keep both arms raised.

"Huh," you mutter when you notice his elbows are at right angles. "You're the perfect height for this. That's pretty hot."

Guy huffs a laugh while you step away to explore the room, wrapping his leash around one hand carelessly. When you pass an outlet, you kneel for a moment and pull the pendant off of your choker, pressing it against the face plate. The pendant shifts shapes to slide into the plug and the device stays in place as you continue walking to a hardwood table that bears an assortment of delights. You opt for the pitcher and pour a glass of water. Walking back to Guy, you gently unbuckle the hood behind his head and pull it off.

"Well, hello there," you murmur.

Guy grins at you instead of replying and you turn to swap out his mask for the glass of water to avoid smiling back.

"Here, buddy," you tell him quietly. You gently tip the glass to his lips and stroke through his sweaty hair while he sips.

"You're doing such an incredible job for me," you croon. "I'd like to give you something for the rest of the night. What'cha think?"

"Anythin'?" Guy asks, dazed eyes locked on your face. You're a little obsessed with the expressions of uncertain excitement and embarrassment fighting for place on his.

"Anything," you confirm.

"I want my name back," he growls.

He wants the credi- Christ, he's the best.

You grin, biting your lower lip, and purr, "Of course, Guy."

That dazed expression sharpens into hunger immediately and you're sure your smile turns wicked.

"Damn it," you mutter. "This is why you make me greedy."

"Huh?" Guy mumbles, something stirring behind his eyes.

"Shhh," you remind him. "More water?"

He nods, and you help him sip it.

Once Guy's hydrated and masked again, you give the toys on the table a closer inspection.

Michael probably won't let you borrow Guy again if you use a butane torch on him. That seems like an HR liability. Although, he did sign up- no. You plant your hands on your hips, chewing your bottom lip while you weigh the elegance of a nice candle against the novelty of a triple-tailed whip.

You keep your eyes on the table as the air pressure shifts and quiet music from the hallway suddenly makes its way into the room. The door clicks shut again before a warm voice caresses you like a kiss hello, teasing, "I heard there was a hen in my cathouse."

You turn to Selina with a smile and cluck in greeting.

"What's happening in here?" She inquires, leaning against the closed door. Someone's been out in society. Diamonds sparkle at her ears and throat, and a dark purple bias cut silk dress flows around her body like gotham river water, pooling at her ankles over strappy silver high heels with deceptively sturdy soles.

"I'm about to make this dog cry," you reply cheerfully.

"Wonderful," she purrs, hoisting a pack of cigarettes between two fingers. You nod in agreement. Selina sticks a pair in her mouth and lights them smoothly while her warm brown eyes land on Guy. She offers you a lit capri that you accept and drag while you watch her examine him.

God, Selina always has such nice smokes. You glance down at the filter between your fingers and frown, noticing- no, that's a thought for later.

"I don't know this one," she decides, blowing smoke across his chest. "He's been through hell a few times..." Selina traces a deep old scar that bisects two ribs with a long cream stiletto fingernail and murmurs, "Lovely."

"Delicious," you agree.

Sticking your cigarette between your lips, you lean forward and firmly smear the scar that cuts across his left pec with your thumb.

"That's my current favorite," you inform her. "Can you imagine?"

"I have some thoughts," she agrees before taking a long drag of her skinny cigarette. Her eyes lingering on that same scar on Guy's chest, Selina asks as she exhales, "May I stay for a while?"

"Will you behave for the boss?" You ask Guy solemnly.

He whines immediately and enthusiastically, straining against the chain behind his neck.

"Settle down, big guy," you scold, giggling. You glance at Selina and explain apologetically, "He's energetic."

"You don't bring him out much, do you?" She teases, leaning against the table.

"This one?" You ask, running the pads of two fingers along a red spot that's delightfully raised thanks to a paddle in the other room. You flick where the color's brightest and smirk as Guy inhales sharply.

"Not so much," you murmur, taking a drag of your capri. Your smile grows as you survey your progress from the last scene. Thanks to a reed cane, many of his freckles and scars now form constellations with raised reddened lines, and you could fit your palm on many of the welts left by a sturdy leather paddle. With how well that fair skin tenderizes, it's a testament to the life he's led that Guy's not already bleeding.

"I'm bad at sharing," you admit, flicking a bruise in progress on his collarbone right where someone might hide a hickey. Guy sighs happily, a rumbling starting in the back of his throat. You take another drag, gently stroking his neck under the collar for a moment, before you add, "And he makes the others look bad."

Selina drags her capri, resting her left knee atop the other, and adjusts her skirt hem. "From what I hear, the last one didn't need help."

"That was stupid of me," you agree, pressing two fingers into a welt forming on Guy's right shoulder. You start skipping between the reddened spots along his chest with increasing force, pausing to pinch his nipple.

Just for fun.

Guy's breathing hard under your touch but he hasn't moved at all. He's either focused on staying quiet and still because Selina's watching, or he's a good boy.

That's a dangerous thought.

You meet Selina's gaze evenly and add, "Can you believe it came with references?"

She frowns at you, taking a drag of her cigarette, and insists, "None of my people would do that to you."

"Grayson did," you reply calmly, cracking the knuckles in your right hand against Guy's ribcage and watching his chest heave.

"Gallina," Selina sighs. You glance up to find her rolling her eyes as she chides, "What did I just say?"

You giggle and reply, "So now I know."

"This might be his daddy's city-"

"It's your city," you interrupt quietly, using two knuckles to press down on a fresh bruise on Guy's stomach and pivot.

He whines, a pitchy expression of pain that's dragged from his lungs through his throat without allowing his ego any input. You meet Guy's confused eyes for a moment before you press harder, and watch his pupils dilate as he gasps in a breath.

Stroking where you just pressed, you smile up at him and purr, "That was a wonderful sound. Will you make it again for me?"

With your left thumb, you dig a bruise forming across two ribs into the divot between them while you press your right knuckles into the hickey spot you identified earlier.

Guy whimpers, a long and broken melody you've never heard from him.

You giggle happily and murmur, "There's my guy..."

As you gently stroke the bruise across his ribs that you just aggravated, you're delighted to see he's started to tremble. You give him a once-over and smile fondly before turning back to Selina. "Sorry, ma'am."

She shakes her head. "He's distracting. I don't blame you for keeping him to yourself."

You take a drag and scoff, "Who said anything like that?"

Selina purses her lips to keep from laughing, but you watch glee strike everything from her stance to the way she holds her capri. "Nobody," she agrees seriously, taking another drag. Her eyes return to Guy, sparkling as she reassesses the attention you paid to his core. "Is his back off-limits?"

"He takes more when he gets to watch," you explain casually before taking another drag.

Selina pulls a breath between her lips and comments, "That's fun."

You glance down at your cigarette as you exhale and mutter, "An' this is done."

As you start for the table to find something workable, Guy whines. You take another step and he does it again, straining at his collar. You glance up to find his eyes locked on the cigarette between your fingers. You raise it and coo, "Does somebody wanna be my ashtray?"

Guy barks for the first time in this room.

You beam and praise, "Such a good dog."

You walk your right hand along his collarbone until you find the spot you want. Given the scar under your fingertips, it would appear someone beat you here. You smile up at Guy and take a final drag to flare the coal before you put out your cigarette exactly where you selected, deliberately shoving to quash the flame rather than flirt with showy burns along the top layers of his skin.

Guy moans rapturously, and you whisper, "Careful, big guy. I could get addicted to a happy ashtray."

"He took that nicely," Selina observes. "Have you been zapping him?"

"Barely," you complain. "You took all the good shit out of the playroom."

"Patrons were being irresponsible," she demurs unapologetically. "We have plenty of fun things in here."

Selina gestures to a cattle prod atop the table, eyes twinkling.

"Oooh..." you murmur. Glancing to Guy, you cock your head. "What'cha think? Can you take it?"

He barks again.

You giggle. "Ma'am, should I have been training them to speak this whole time?"

"Absolutely not," she disagrees firmly. "You're going soft."

You scowl at her and zap Guy directly in the solar plexus.

He groans long and low in his throat, flexing his shoulders and his abs, but doesn't strain against the collar or show any sign of buckling onto the board.

"Hnn," you and Selina murmur in unison.

You tilt your head and prod Guy in the stomach, smiling when he moans instead of flinching.

Delighted, you meet Selina's eyes and discover her mild interest has sharpened.

"So... a nine grand?" You hint, twisting the prod between your gloved hands as you examine it.

"Is he as human as he looks?" She inquires rather than answering directly.

You tsk and admit, "'Fraid so."

"Not tonight, chickie."

"We'll survive," you demur, prodding Guy directly in a bruise.

He jolts with a whine before chuckling and shaking his head hard.

"My God, you're fun," you squeal. "A ver..." you prod him right where his muscle softens on the edge of his stomach and keep it there for a moment too long, curious to see if he'll buck away.

Instead, Guy moans, flexing hard, and stays under it.

You bite your lip and take a couple steps back before you can instinctively prod him again. You... would really like to see how long he can take it, but that would be an irresponsible and inappropriate thing to do to a coworker. Well, if he asked for it... hmmm.

That thought process is derailed when Selina takes the cattle prod from your hand and taps the prongs across her fingernails. It almost looks like sparks fly for half an instant, but before you can react, she presses the prod into Guy's side herself, shoving it into scar tissue.

He strains into his restraints as he engages every muscle in his core and chest with a low groan, cracking his neck. As he shudders, you tilt your head so you can see his eyes. They're hazy with pain and tears that he's still too stubborn to let fall. When Guy meets your gaze, you realize that you might look as predatory as you feel, because that pain takes on a hard edge that can only be pride.

Selina jolts him right below his belly button for too long. The arcing of electricity starts to sizzle, and Guy begins shivering, but stays still and quiet. She cocks her head and prods him again in the same spot. When he whimpers in pain, she nods approvingly.

"He's pretty good," she informs you as she offers the prod.

You smirk and accept it with a cheerful, "He knows."

As you pass her to approach Guy, Selina grabs your ponytail. You freeze obediently.

"There are a lot of birds on my shitlist," she informs you quietly as she strokes your hair between her fingers.

You lean into her touch and inquire, "Am I in trouble?"

"Not right now," Selina answers coolly.

You shrug and prod Guy directly in a welt, and his whimper harmonizes with the arcing electricity. You smirk and nab him right under your favorite scar.

That's the final straw that gets tears flowing. God... he's the best.

Selina gently rubs her thumb along your smile and murmurs, "It's good to see you having fun."

You beam at her and respond, "It's always fun to visit your place."

She grabs your chin gently and warns, "Don't flatter me."

You frown in confusion and protest, "I mean it."

Selina studies you for a moment, bright eyes sharp. You do what you can to meet that piercing gaze and focus on her. It's just that Guy's doing everything in his power to sob silently, so your gaze keeps flicking from her serious face to the battered man tied down in front of you. Your embarrassment at letting your sex drive steer during what's evidently supposed to be a serious moment might be coming through on your face, because she smiles and pats your cheek before sticking her cigarette between your lips.

"You can bring this dog home with you any time you want," Selina tells you with an air of finality, stepping away with one last glance at Guy.

You watch her pass the pack of capris on the table and blow you a kiss as she opens the door. You catch it with one hand as the door closes behind her.

You eye Guy and pull off your opera gloves. Dumping them both carelessly atop the capris, you hoist your newly-aquired cigarette between two fingers and ask politely, "Mind if I keep smoking?"

He cocks his head, evidently confused.

You shrug and take another drag while you glance down at the pack and confirm it's completely enveloped in your gloves. As you exhale, you admit, "I thought you might break once the boss left the room."

Guy whines. You glance at him and find it appears he's scowling at you.

"Sorry, big guy," you agree with a shrug, taking another drag. "You're a good dog. Hmm... I could keep zapping you," you offer as you inspect the table-top. "Or we could try something else."

You grab a two-tailed whip and coil it around your left hand, cocking your head at Guy.

Those vivid eyes are sparkling far too much for a man who just stopped crying and is running out of unmarked skin.

You sigh and accuse, "You're grinning under there, aren't you?"

Guy barks immediately.

You roll your eyes, stick your cigarette in your mouth, and whip him directly across the chest. Guy growls at you, his smile unshaken. You adjust your aim and nail him in the nipple, and he moans with genuine pleasure.

"Well," you murmur. "That's interesting."

Taking a few steps back, you drag your cigarette, cock your head, and whip him again.

Sure enough, he moans for you.

You're here for work, you remind yourself as you smoke, pacing in front of the table. He might be a slut, but that doesn't mean you have to react to it. You shouldn't, in fact. Because you're here. For. Work.

You take another drag and realize you've blasted through this capri in your indecision. You turn to Guy and inquire, "Still my ashtray?"

He barks at you, straining against his lead again.

"Hmmmm..." You tap ash onto the rubber rug in front of him and tilt your head in consideration.

He growls, and you giggle and kiss the burn.

"I can do that," you murmur before you put out your cigarette next to it.

Guy moans, this one significantly more ragged than any he let out when Selina was in the room.

You meet his eyes. That pride-flavored pain is definitely still there, but there's even more pleasure showing itself.

"Were you showing off for Selina?" You ask quietly, stroking a bruise.

He doesn't react, so you press harder, at which point he whines.

"Guy," you warn, circling the last spot where you used the prod on him with your fingernail.

"Were you showing off?" You repeat. As you start to lift your finger so you can press down on it, he barks.

You shake your head and lift that hand up to gently stroke his pecs.

"You lie about such stupid things," you murmur, tracing down his chest. "Why would you hide that from me?" You ask him, meeting his gaze. "Scared to prove you're not good?"

Guy's eyes dart between yours, that fear taking over more of his expression.

Shit. He's way too cute like this.

"You're the best," you murmur, gently caressing his chest. "Do you know how often the boss gets hands-on with new pets?"

Guy gasps as you gently stroke down his chest, aggravating every welt on your way.

"Never..." You frown at him while you deliberately stroke around the perimeter of a prod mark and muse, "I wonder if she was afraid I swapped out the prod... What do you think, big guy?"

Guy's trembling and watching you with more open fear now that you're touching him tenderly than when you were blasting him with four thousand volts.

"Why would I ever do that when you can take the real thing so well Selina Kyle wanted a shot?" You shake your head, gently unbuttoning his pants. "Good thing we're back here. Can you imagine if everyone who watched you take a hit in the playroom asked for a turn?"

He whines and heaves in a deep breath as you unzip his jeans.

You tsk and taunt, "What am I talking about, 348?" Freeing his erection, you croon, "You'd love to whimper for all the pretty ladies."

Guy growls for the first time in a while.

"Now, what's this?"

He keeps growling low in his throat and starts thrusting into your hand.

"Did I upset you?" You tease. "You can't expect me to believe you're putting in extra effort here. You show off for everyone."

Your earpiece beeps five times in quick succession, alerting you that you need to move the device to higher elevation within the room.

"Hold that thought..."

You walk away and pull your pendant out of the outlet, setting it atop the doorjamb to triangulate. When you return to Guy, he's breathing harder than he should be.

"Are you good?" You ask sincerely, lifting one hand to slide under his collar and check the tightness. "Can you breathe?"

He growls and lunges for you, and you reflexively punch him as hard as you can in the gut with your free hand.

Guy groans and laughs, the chain behind his neck taut again.

"What the fuck was that?" You scold, pressing down on a bruise on his ribs.

Guy whines but doesn't flinch away from your touch.

You press harder and continue, "Was that off-limits?"

He whimpers.

"Are you happier when I hurt you?" You reach to zip up his pants, and he dodges you.

You roll your eyes and grab the muzzle of his mask. Meeting his gaze, you order, "Knock it off, Guy."

Annnnnnd he's grinning again.

"What do you want?" You demand. "You have my complete attention-"

He barks and pulls his head away from your touch, coming up against the length of the chain behind his neck immediately.

You move both hands to snag a belt loop and button up his pants.

"You were doing so well," you snap. "Did you get bored?"

You walk over to the table and snag a long switch, and then walk back to Guy and briskly smack him across the chest. He whines, so you do it again, and then another four times.

The whistling mingling with his moans is honestly, getting repetitive. You pause and tap the switch against your palm, watching him pant.

"Super slutty, big guy," you remark calmly before smacking him directly across the stomach. He whimpers, and you hit the same spot another two times with a lazy circular motion.

Maybe a different whip would be more fun...?

You grab a classic horsewhip and aim directly for the darkest prod mark.

Guy reacts by moaning like a pornstar on their best day.

"Showin' off again?" You scold. You roll out your shoulder while you pick the next bruise to target. His reaction doesn't change, if anything getting more pornographic with every strike. It's... worth testing that thesis.

"This is boring," you announce after another five, stepping back from him.

Guy whines, crestfallen.

"I warned you I'd lose interest in smacking you," You scold, rolling your eyes as you walk back to the table. Swapping out the whip for a cigarette, you light it and lean against the table to regard your handiwork.

He's bleeding now, that's for sure. Guy's heaving chest is covered in welts, burns, and wounds. His knees have finally started to shake. And he's whining for more.

"You're so fucking annoying," you inform him. "Lucy would give you twenty licks for squirming, but you took more than that for fun, so what's the point?"

Guy chuckles.

"Such a dog," you mutter, taking a drag.

He barks at you.

You instinctively beam at him. Cute. As you exhale, you catch yourself and grumble, "Goddamnit... Do you know what I've done to other dogs for barking?"

Guy cocks his head, eyes sparkling.

You scowl as you realize something before you inform him testily, "They're all things you've asked for."

He's definitely grinning under there again.

Shit.

"Should I get Lucy in here to discipline you? I'm sure she'd be fine with it."

Guy loses the smile and whines at you.

"Well... what's that?" You tease, setting your cigarette on the table. You return to him and start to stroke his chest with both hands. You're savoring the tactile sensation of tracing across welts and bruises, and you watch Guy's eyes fall half-shut contentedly.

"Do you want my attention?"

He barks immediately.

You accidentally giggle with delight before you groan and bury your face in his neck.

"You are such a pain in the ass," you grumble. "And you smell like blood."

You lift your head to check his eyes and sigh. Guy's grinning again.

"I have not gone soft," you mutter, rubbing your thumbs into his waist. "You're just nuts. I marked you up plenty- Well..."

You use one forefinger to stroke a burn right below his belly button with your forefinger. He squeaks at your touch.

"Someone's getting tender," you purr. "That one was Selina." You survey him approvingly while you gently trace cane paths with your forefingers. "But I did the rest."

You smile at Guy, who's continued relaxing into your touch. Due to your laziness avoiding blood, you're creating trails atop the carnage, drawing bizarre patterns between his scars and tonight's adornments. You tilt your head as you review your work, wondering if any of it other than the cigarette burns will stick longer than a month. He's definitely feeling it tonight - most of his chest is so inflamed and bloodied, you can't see his freckles.

"You've been so good for me," you murmur, gently caressing his hips above his waistband.

Guy blinks his eyes open to meet yours cautiously. You glance between his seriously, chewing on your bottom lip. After a long moment of hesitation, you murmur, "May I?"

He nods, and you dip both hands down to unbuckle and unzip his pants, push down his boxers, and grab for him.

When you run your thumb around the head of his dick and feel how wet it gets, you gasp and drop to your knees. You delightedly pull the head of his sloppering dick into your mouth and start lapping furiously. With your other hand, you gently caress his testicles forward, using his own sweat to ease the path and play with them in your palm. Losing focus, you bob along the head of Guy's dick, thoroughly swallowing every drop of precum and lathering him up with your saliva.

Guy groans and you return to yourself with a jolt.

You shake your head as you reclaim your feet and start jerking him off with both hands, murmuring, "Could've stayed down there, whoops. Such a good boy, my god... you're so hot, Guy."

He whimpers, and you meet his eyes behind the mask seriously, beaming when you find his own clouded with pleasure. A double beep sounds in your ear to indicate you can reclaim the bug and leave the premises. As the sounds of his heavy breathing and your hands sloshing along his dick once again become the only noises in the room, you realize that you're technically off the clock.

"Too far?" You ask quietly.

Guy moans and bucks into your touch in response.

You smile and step closer to him, lick a bead of sweat off his shoulder blade, and murmur, "You taste so good, Guy. I want you to whimper when I can taste you more, okay?"

He nods, thrusting into your hands with an energy that verges on frantic.

"I'm not going anywhere," you tease, gently adjusting your grip so you can twist your hands as he thrusts. Guy gasps under your touch and staggers, buckling against the board for the first time. You kiss his collarbone gently and murmur, "So fucking sturdy, my god."

He groans, and you caress him gently, murmuring, "That's not quite right, no...

You're the best, aren't you?"

Guy whimpers, and you meet his eyes to find anything you saw throughout the evening completely overwhelmed by arousal.

"Good boy," you croon, dropping back to your knees.

As he shudders into your mouth, you grasp his testicles again and gently drag them towards you, stroking with your thumb. Guy keens, pulling at his arm restraints as he bucks. You moan, bobbing on his dick, and swallow everything he can give you, lapping his softening dick into your mouth until all taste of his bitter cum is long-down your throat.

At this point, you come to your senses and realize he's whimpering and shaking under your touch.

"Shit, shit, shit," you mutter, taking your feet and going for the collar. His heartbeat is racing under your fingertips as you ask hurriedly, "Guy? Y'okay? Words, please."

"Fuck, yeah," he pants. "Doll... holy shit...."

"Oh, thank god," you sigh, stepping back from him. "Stay where you are."

Guy chuckles and mumbles, "Is that... a joke?"

"Shhh," you remind him, snagging the pendant down from the doorjamb and reattaching it to your choker. "I'm gettin' a clean-up kit an' a car."

As you stride down the hallway, it occurs to you that you could have unchained him before you left.

Nah, you decide immediately. Crate time is important.

As the nondescript car pulls out of the underground garage into Crime Alley, you ask, "Are you hungry?"

"Uh...?" Guy frowns at you and gestures towards the drivers seat.

"For food, Guy," you tease, showing him a delivery app open on your phone screen.

"Oh... yeah," he mumbles, shoving his seat belt under his arm so he can lean across the seats.

"What'cha want?" You ask, swiping idly through restaurants.

"Burger," he replies firmly, tipping onto you and closing his eyes.

You snuggle your cheek against his hair, wrapping your arm around his chest to secure him in place and access your phone. "I'll see what can meet us, hot shot."

"M'back to hot shot?" Guy mumbles. "S'nice..."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"Nope," he replies firmly, stretching his arm across your thighs to snuggle himself more completely against your body.

"You're kinda heavy," you complain, stroking his cheek with your free hand while you poke through burger options.

"M'kinda sore," he yawns.

"Glad to hear it," you tease quietly.

Guy grumbles indistinctly and dozes off.

He's such a fucking dog, you reflect, picking something for yourself. Sleepy, snuggly, slutty- wait, you just described a cat.

You smirk to yourself as you expedite delivery and place the order. No wonder Selina liked him.

"Here." You drop the bag on the table and start away.

Guy starts to protest, "Wher-"

"Terrific needs his toys back and I gotta connect a couple dots," you interject. "You can eat my fries if I take too long."

Guy eyes you suspiciously. "How come?"

"'Cause you're cute."

He scowls at you and grumbles, "I am not."

You smirk and add, "And you've earned 'em."

"Are we tradin' fries for sex?" Guy teases.

"God, no," you scold. "Good behavior, though?"

You hiss a breath through your teeth as you walk away.

"Kyle's got her guard up," Holt calls without turning from his computer screen as you close the door behind you.

"She was fishing for something," you agree, grabbing a magnet and sticking it in your ear to retrieve his speaker. Dropping both back into their container atop Michael's temporary work station, you add, "I have no clue if she found it."

He shrugs and observes, "The chatter so far suggests she's genuinely not mad at you."

You pump your fist in triumph.

"Lance must be one of the birds on her list."

"She calls Grayson Dickie-bird," you offer, unclasping your choker and setting the entire piece next to the audio device. "Those are the only two I know, other than Hawkgirl." You giggle and add, "But that would be wild."

"I can't imagine she meant Kendra," Michael agrees. "Is there a new Robin?"

"Fuckin' hope not," you grumble. "I dunno who pissed her off, but Selina liked Guy fine."

"A version of Guy that's not bouncing off the walls is not an accurate representation," Michael protests.

"I don't think you want me to respond to that," you reply calmly, pulling the opera gloves out of your pocket and dropping them on the desk beside him.

Holt blanches and admits, "You're correct."

"Hit me with the floor plans."

He gestures to a desk chair in front of a third screen further down the table, and you sit down and start reviewing.

After a couple minutes of silence, Michael reluctantly offers, "Good work tagging the cigarettes."

"I didn't recognize the brand, so when she left them behind..." You trail off. It'd be neat if you could trust Selina, but it's not as though you're any better. "Was there a camera?"

"A good one," he confirms. You glance over to his screen and find him reviewing the 3-D schematic made using the sensors built into the gloves. "She definitely still got ambient sound."

"Oh, my Lord," you reply sarcastically. "I think we'll all survive. Is that Bat tech?"

"Definitely not," he replies absently, zooming in on something.

"Definitely?" You echo. "How are you so sure?"

Holt frowns and explains, "I've seen Luke's sketches for this."

"That's weirder," you protest.

"Agreed. I'll keep digging."

You nod approvingly at the computer screen and stand up. "These all match, so you've officially perfected this method, boss."

"Everything went fine after the swap," he comments, making the statement half a question.

"Guy did a great job," you confirm.

"He's baffling," Holt mutters, crossing his arms.

"The incentive structu-"

"Stop it," he orders. "I'll tag him for tasks like these in the future."

"That'll require less coordination," you agree.

He raises an eyebrow at you.

"And it'll be more fun," you add. "Schmidt's fuckin' boring."

"Was that Schmidt's problem?" Michael asks evenly.

"Yes," you reply defensively. "Why'd he volunteer if he couldn't take it? Dick showed him the goddamn set-up!"

"He must have thought you'd pull punches."

"Why on earth would I do that?" You demand. "People could see us! Shit wasn't community theater!"

Holt shakes his head, steadfastly keeping a straight face as he replies, "He won't make that mistake again."

"He won't have a chance, if he couldn't make it through the e-stim," you reply, your voice dripping with disdain.

"I thought you weren't supposed to shame people for tapping out," Michael deadpans.

"These special forces bitches," you complain. "They love enhanced interrogation, but they can't even take it for fun." You snort. "Guy's not scared of cattle prods, but we gotta pray an actual soldier doesn't know anythin' sensitive?"

Michael grimaces and replies, "Guy doesn't need to know that I know that. I wasn't going to listen to much of the audio myself until Kyle showed up."

You ignore any and all implications of that statement and protest, "You can't tell me that filled you with confidence, Mister Holt!"

He loses the fight against a smile as he replies, "Our team did fine, and I think Schmidt might avoid Gotham moving forward."

You frown at him and ask, "Are you referring to the city or to me?"

"Both. You're done for the day."

"Is Kendra still around?"

"Nope," he replies, turning back to his computer screen with a dismissive, "Good night."

Guy is eating your fries.

"Saw this coming," you tease, tousling his hair.

"You said I could," he complains, nabbing another three.

"I did," you agree, pushing all of them over to him. Sitting down and grabbing your food, you ask, "Do you want to crash with me?"

Guy freezes with a fry halfway to his mouth. Squinting at you suspiciously, he probes, "Really?"

"The fuck does that mean?" You protest, starting to inhale your sandwich.

He chucks the fry in his mouth and scoffs, "You're just hopin' to document your handiwork."

You cover your mouth and agree, "I would love that."

Guy smirks and probes, "What'cha gonna do with a pic?"

"Take a wild guess, Guy," you tease before taking another bite. You chew for a moment before mumbling, "An' if you come with me I can check on... uh."

"The burns?" Guy goads, eating more fries.

You nod, blushing.

"You keep gettin' me in the same spot," he teases.

"That's my spot," you mumble into your sandwich.

"You could have more, if you want," Guy offers. "I got space."

You focus on another bite instead of replying to that.

"Dunno why you would, though," he mutters before dumping the last of the fries down his throat.

You giggle and taunt through a full mouth, "Such a bad liar."

"Huh?"

"You know you're the best," you chide, pulling out your phone. "Just spent all night hearin' it."

"Oh, is 'at what you said?"

You roll your eyes and shove more food in your mouth while you tap into a rideshare app. "I'm gonna head back t-"

"I'll give you a lift," Guy interrupts, reaching over and turning off the screen.

"I'll take you up on that," you reply, setting your phone down on the table. "Just lemme kill this..." you look down at your sandwich. "What the fuck did I get?"

Guy chuckles and goads, "Damn, babe, were you distracted?"

"Sure was," you agree absently, picking up your phone to review the order. "Thing that got me riled up fuckin' fallin' asleep on- this is supposed to be a banh mi?" You offer it to him. "Try it."

Guy smirks and takes a massive bite.

"Is somebody still hungry?" You tease.

He meets your eyes and growls, "Fuckin' famished."

The tightening in your core you've been ignoring throughout the evening suddenly becomes uncomfortable. You definitely have something you could feed him.

You lick your lips. "Did that... taste like a banh mi to you?"

"Tasted fine," Guy replies, resting one elbow on the table and planting his chin on that fist to watch you. "M'kinda distracted."

You smirk and take another bite. Shifting closer to him, you grumble, "You can't have my sandwich."

"That's all you, honey," Guy replies firmly, resting his free hand over your knee. "You're too skinny."

"You literally just ate my fries," you protest.

"I think you got those for me," he counters, grabbing your thigh.

"Don't blow my cover," you warn. "People keep callin' me soft."

Guy grins, running calloused fingers up the inside of your leg, and teases, "You feel pretty soft t'me."

You're clearly too wound up for him to be touching you that way, because you spread your legs without thinking and plant your free hand on the table in front of you to keep from making any noise as Guy immediately pushes your panties aside and starts stroking. You choke down that bite with some difficulty.

All of your focus this evening has been externalized, and the sudden return to your body is dizzying. You relax into Guy's touch for a moment, melting into his fingers as he confidently plays with you. You hadn't thought about how sensitive you've gotten, and he feels so much better than a vibrator as Guy teases you into his hand, gently coaxing your arousal onto his fingers. God, he's warm...

"Doll?"

You blink a couple times and meet his twinkling eyes, and Guy tilts his head at your sandwich. You forgot to keep eating. That's no good. You lift it to your lips right as Guy slides a finger on either side of your clit and squeezes. You swallow hard as he shifts his hand even closer to you, watching your face closely. Standard levels of self-satisfaction haven't returned to his own yet, you realize as Guy dips into you with both fingers, twisting up and against your fluttering walls.

If you can't bite him, you're going to die.

You drop your hand from the table and grab his wrist firmly. Guy retracts his fingers from your pussy, frowning at you.

"Not... here..." you hiss while you focus on keeping your breathing normal. You blink hard and take a bite, mentally reminding yourself how to chew.

Guy leans in and asks quietly, "Would you let the Beret keep goin'?"

"I'd never let him touch me," you reply contemptuously, meeting his gaze and taking another bite.

Guy smirks at you, licking off his fingers, and teases, "Oh, is 'at so?"

"As if he wasn't doomed before, you just set the bar somewhere he can't follow," you continue calmly, working on your sandwich.

Guy chuckles and plants that hand back in the meat of your upper thigh. "Did I, now?"

"Mmhm," you reply, chewing. You cover your mouth and add, "Is that how Holt got'cha?"

"What's that s'posed to mean?"

"I never said anything about a Green Beret," you inform him with a smile. "So?"

Guy clears his throat before blustering, "Busy night. Don't remember."

"Liar," you goad. "Tell me."

"Said I'd embarrass a Green Beret if I took a beating from ya," he admits, tracing nothing on your thigh.

You take that hand in your free one and purr, "Win-win?"

Guy meets your gaze and growls, "Fuck, yeah."

You shove the last bite of your sandwich in your mouth and start to use that hand to gather up detritus while you chew.

Guy pulls you standing with one hand and gestures with the other, and a green hand sweeps everything into the trashcan closest to the table.

The door is slamming shut behind the two of you before the lid is done swinging back into place.

Out front, Guy runs both hands down his torso experimentally and winces. Smirking, he informs you, "Got me good enough that you're gonna have to go piggy-back, doll."

"Oh, no," you croon in his ear from behind as you wrap your arms around his neck. "That sounds awful."

Guy grabs your ass in the process of hoisting you onto his back and gasps when you bite his neck for revenge.

Breathing hard, he warns, "That's a good way to get yourself fucked on a rooftop, not back to the hotel faster."

"You can't say that to people," you scold, smiling despite yourself. Nestling into his neck, you add, "Hurry the hell up, hero."

"Don't want the scenic route?" Guy teases as he takes off.

"God, no," you murmur. "This city has a way of making people like you busy, and I need another couple hours."

"I like the sound of that," Guy growls. "Hang on tight."

You're in front of the hotel faster than seems physically possible.

When you start to shimmy off Guy's back, your knees buckle under your weight.

He wraps his arm around you, chuckling, and taunts, "Did I sweep you off your feet, gorgeous?"

"What the fuck, dude?" You complain, your voice shaking. Grabbing his jacket lapel firmly in one hand to keep your balance, you lean into him and scold, "You've never gone that fast in Metropolis, you jackass!"

"Sorry, princess," he teases, ushering you through the front door. "I didn't know you get motion sick."

"And I didn't know you could fly fucking Mach 3," you counter as the two of you hustle through the lobby.

"Jordan says he can go Mach 11," Guy replies, pushing you towards the elevator bank.

"How the hell did he measure that?" You protest, smacking the up button repeatedly with your thumb.

Guy leans against the wall and frowns in consideration for a moment before he admits, "Y'know, I didn't ask."

"Does that make him faster than you?" You tease, sliding your hand into his open jacket and around his waist.

Guy scowls down at you and scoffs, "No fuckin' way."

"Don't worry," you assure him, stepping into his chest. "I'm sure you hit harder."

"Thanks, babe," Guy chuckles, wrapping his arm around you.

The doors ding open and you pull him into the elevator with you, smacking for the relevant floor button. The instant the elevator doors close, your other hand is on the back of his neck and you're being shoved against the wall as Guy reacts to your kiss like it's oxygen. Your body can't feel good against his, but Guy pulls you flush against him with one hand on the small of your back and the other around your ribs, diving into your mouth so zealously that you barely notice you've reached your destination floor in time to keep the doors from closing again.

You shove Guy out of the elevator with one hand in his and the other wrapped around his elbow, telling him quietly, "I'm 'bout to say your name a whole new way."

Guy grins at you, stumbling a step as you drag him down the hall.

"C'mon," you groan, freeing his elbow so you can pull your key card out of your pocket.

He chuckles and taunts, "An' you called me-"

Guy's phone starts ringing.

"Shit," he mutters.

You shake your hand free of his, sighing, "Fuckin' called it."

"No," Guy groans, reaching for his phone with one hand and your hand with the other. You dodge his grasp as he insists, "This'll just be a sec, doll."

You roll your eyes and keep walking towards towards the door, smacking your key card into your palm.

"Yo? Wh- Max, I just left," Guy protests, his eyes on you. His face starts falling and doesn't stop as he listens for a moment before he groans, "Fiiiiiine."

You're not trembling. That's your imagination.

"Oka-ay," he whines. "Be right there." Guy hangs up, frowning at you, and complains, "I really gotta go."

You force a smile and reply, "Knock 'em dead."

"I'll..." he hesitates for a second before grinning. "I'm gonna send ya somethin' in the morning."

"How will I tell apart my work?" You tease.

"I'll make sure you can," he promises.

"God, you're the best," you grumble, scanning your key and pushing your door open.

Guy takes a step towards you and opens his mouth like he's going to say something before he groans and clenches his fists by his sides.

You regard him for a moment before you let your door swing shut and step close to him.

"I was gonna tell you later," you murmur, sliding your hands around his waist. "But Holt says you can be my working dog."

Guy frowns and protests, "As team leader, I really should've been consulted."

You smirk, clasping your hands together in the small of his back, and tease, "He'll swap you out if you complain."

"Who said anyth-

'Til then, you're with me if I go anyplace like that again."

Guy reaches back, covering your hands with his own, and leads, "So..."

"So, I'll see you tomorrow," you tell him. Leaning even closer to press your cheek against his, you whisper, "And if you send me something in the morning, you'll get a response."

Guy groans and pulls your hands off him, stepping back from you with a scowl.

"Gonna get'cha, babe," he threatens as he starts walking backwards.

"I'm looking forward to it," you reply sincerely. "Good night."