“she’s fucking dripping,” john mutters, breath hot against your ear. “haven’t even touched her properly yet.”

bob crouches down, gaze raking over you like you’re nothing but prey. his hand comes down heavy on your thigh, holding you still.

“don’t flatter yourself, walker,” he says low, mean. “she’s like this for me.” his thumb drags through your slick, slow, deliberately rough as he presses right where you’re sensitive. you whimper, legs twitching.

“f—fuck!” you cry out.

john grits his teeth but doesn’t let go, keeping you spread open just like bob wants. “you hear that, baby? all wet for him? nah—” he pushes his fingers deeper, curling them hard until you choke out a moan. “—that’s mine.”

you can barely breathe with the way they’re pulling you between them, bob’s cruel touch and john’s desperate push to claim you.

bob leans in close, lips brushing your ear while his hand replaces john’s. “she’ll show you who owns her,” he murmurs, voice dark. “when she’s screaming my name with my cock inside her.”

and john’s laugh is sharp, cocky, though you feel the tension buzzing between them. “then let’s see who she begs for first.”

before you can protest, you’re on your back—bob pressing into your mouth, his cock thick and heavy, forcing your lips apart, while john takes you from below, already rutting deep with rough, needy thrusts.

bob’s grip fists in your hair, pace merciless. “open wider. take it. good little toy.”

john grunts, hips snapping up into you, one hand gripping your waist. “fuck, look at you—stuffed full, baby. you love it, don’t you? can’t get enough.”

tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the stretch, from the brutal rhythm, from being split in two—but the sounds falling out of you are shameless, broken moans muffled around bob’s cock.

bob tilts your head back cruelly, making you choke. “you like that? ruined between us? you’ll never want anything else.”

john pushes harder. “she’s squeezing me so tight—she’s already gonna lose it.”

you can’t stop shaking, can’t stop whimpering and crying while they use you like a prize in their competition.

bob pulls out of your mouth with a wet pop, his hand still tangled in your hair as he drags your head back so you’re forced to meet those glowing eyes. his other hand presses flat over your stomach, feeling every thrust of john inside you.

“so, baby?” his voice is smooth, cruel. “who do you wanna feel, hm? who’s cock you wanna milk?”

your voice is broken, ruined from choking on him. “p—please…”

bob makes a sharp, disapproving sound, thumb stroking across your swollen lips. “that’s not an answer. maybe both, hm? would you like that, baby? stretched open—two cocks filling you at once.”

the thought alone makes your hips jerk, your body giving you away even as you try to breathe through the overstimulation. john catches it, grinning against your neck.

“oh, she likes that,” he says smugly, nipping at your skin while driving into you harder. “greedy little thing.”

bob smirks, already maneuvering you with ease—pulling john out, shifting your body until you’re on your side, legs trembling as he presses the blunt head of his cock against your other entrance.

“relax,” he orders, voice dark silk. “let me in. i’ll make it fit.”

john spits in his hand, stroking himself as he lines back up with you. “fuck—she’s gonna be so full.”

the first push has you crying out, both of them shoving deep until you’re stuffed in ways you didn’t think possible, your body stretched and burning, but god—pleasure floods through you like fire.

“there we go,” bob murmurs, holding your hip steady, grinding in until you feel him everywhere. “you’re taking us so well. thought you’d break, but look at you—perfect little cockslut.”

john groans, forehead pressed against your shoulder. “shit, she’s squeezing the life outta me—fuck, baby, you feel insane.”

you can’t even form words anymore, just broken sobs of pleasure as they set a punishing rhythm, thrusting into you from both sides, using your body like it belongs to them.

bob leans down, his lips brushing your ear, voice dark. “now, baby—let’s see who you come for first.”

your whole body is trembling, every nerve lit up as they drive into you from both sides, relentless. john’s pace is fast, rough, desperate—while bob is steady, mean, grinding in so deep you swear you can feel him splitting you apart.

your voice cracks as you sob, “i—i can’t… s’too much… please… boys—”

bob’s hand closes tight around your throat, tilting your head back. “oh, you can,” he growls in your ear. “and you will. spread wide and take it.”

john chuckles breathlessly, lips dragging down your shoulder. “listen to him, baby. look at you—crying and still so fucking tight around us.” he thrusts harder, gritting his teeth. “you love it, don’t you?”

your legs kick weakly, your nails digging into john’s shoulders as you whimper, “t-too full, please, i can’t—”

bob slaps your cheek lightly, just enough to shock another moan out of you. “say it right,” he snaps. “say thank you. thank us for ruining you.”

“th-thank you,” you sob, the words tumbling out between choked moans. “thank you, oh god—feels so—s-so good—”

john groans, his hand snaking down to rub your clit, cruel in how fast he circles it. “yeah, that’s it, pretty girl. tell us how good we fuck you.”

your whole body jolts, voice breaking into high-pitched whimpers. “so good—f-feels so good, can’t—boys, please, you’re gonna break me—”

bob’s laugh is merciless. “that’s the point, baby. we’re gonna fuck you ‘til there’s nothing left—‘til all you know is us.” he thrusts harder, his cock driving so deep you scream.

your body clenches down tight around both of them, the stretch unbearable and blissful all at once, and you’re sobbing now, babbling through your cries. “i c-can’t—don’t stop, oh god, don’t stop—”

john groans, biting at your skin as his pace turns frantic. “fuck, she’s close—she’s so close, bob, feel her—”

and bob grips your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he growls, “come for us. make a mess while we use you. show us what a good toy you are.”

your body gives out first—hips stuttering, thighs shaking violently as it crashes over you. it’s too much, far too much, but the orgasm rips through you anyway, blinding and brutal.

you scream, nails clawing at john’s back as your body clenches hard around them both. your vision whites out, tears spilling hot down your face.

“oh fuck—she’s coming,” john says, driving up into you even harder. “milking me so good, baby, fuck—don’t stop—”

“no, no, p-please,” you sob, your voice ragged. “i c-can’t—too much, please, i’m done—”

bob’s hand tightens around your throat again, forcing your teary eyes up to meet his glowing gaze. his thrusts are ruthless, grinding deeper when you try to squirm away. “done? no, baby. you’re not done until we say so.”

you’re choking on sobs now, body thrashing weakly as they keep fucking into you, overstimulating you past the point of pleasure until it burns. “p-please, boys, i c-can’t take it—oh god—”

bob’s lips brush your ear, his voice sharp and cruel even as you convulse around them. “you’re taking it. look at you—ruined and crying and still so tight. you were made for this.”

john’s hand is still on your clit, rubbing until you’re crying harder. “yeah, you’re ours, baby. you can give us another—don’t hold back now.”

your scream shatters into broken cries as another orgasm slams through you, harsher than the last, leaving you shaking violently. your body locks down around them both, sucking them in so deep they groan in unison.

john’s teeth sink into your shoulder as he growls through his own climax, hips jerking erratically. “fuck—fuck, baby—gonna fill you up—”

bob snarls low, burying himself inside you to the hilt as his release rips through him, heat flooding deep. he holds you still, unrelenting even as you sob and shake in their grip.

he doesn’t let you move, doesn’t loosen his grip, not until you’re trembling and gasping, utterly wrecked. then finally, he leans back, smirking down at you with sharp satisfaction.

“guess it’s a draw then,” he murmurs darkly, brushing a thumb over your tear-streaked cheek.

john laughs breathlessly, still pressed tight against you. “yeah, baby—couldn’t pick if you tried, huh? we fucked you too good.”

you’re left limp between them, sobbing softly, your voice a hoarse whimper. “t-too much… oh god…”

john walker refuses to finish inside you, always. it doesn’t matter if you’re on birth control, have an iud, or even if you’re infertile. he won’t do it.

it’s not about not wanting children. not exactly. it's a deep, gnawing, and relentless fear. he already has a child. a son. and he knows, with a hollow kind of shame, that he’s failed him.

his ex-wife, olivia, still doesn’t trust him when it comes to parenting. he barely sees his son. he’s more of a ghost than a father.

so even if he could be better this time, be present, be whole, he can’t let it happen. he can’t create new life knowing how much he botched the first. to him, it wouldn’t be redemption. it would be betrayal.

bob reynolds, on the other hand, can’t help himself — he has to finish inside you. it’s compulsive, primal. he needs to be buried in you, tied to you, claimed by you in some twisted, desperate way that he doesn't even try to explain.

birth control or not, he doesn’t care. that part doesn’t register. it’s not about children; it never was.

like john, he wants nothing to do with fatherhood. the idea of passing on his father’s violence, his own broken wiring, terrifies him. he knows what kind of damage lives in his blood.

but none of that matters in the moment. what matters is you. full of him, leaking from him, marked by him. he needs to see it spill out, just to push it back in with his fingers, like he’s trying to make it permanent. like he’s trying to root himself inside you and never leave.

which is why john loves watching bob come inside you instead.

he’s seated beside you, one hand gently combing through your sweat-damp hair, the other lazily stroking his cock. while bob is on top of you, rutting into you with a desperate, primal need.

you’re looking up at john, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted, a thin trail of drool slipping from the corner of your lips. soft, mindless moans spill out of you. bob’s face is buried in your neck, breath hitching, fingers bruising your hips as he fucks you deeper, cock twitching inside.

“n-need t’come,” bob mumbles, lifting his head to look at John, voice unsteady, on the verge.

john’s hand slips from your hair and grips bob’s instead, firmly. “ask her, bobby.”

bob lets out a needy whine, so close, so undone. but he knows the rules. he has to be good. he wants to be good.

“please — fuck — please, momma,” he stammers, turning his eyes to you. “been s’good... lemme come. please.”

you nod, barely there. too fucked-out to speak. you’ve come three times already. you don’t need another. you just want to feel.

bob’s rhythm falters. his hips stutter, and then he’s coming, hard. his hands clamped on your waist as he spills inside you, filling you, shaking as he gasps through it. painting your walls like it’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.

john, still beside you, mutters low praise meant for both of you, his voice thick with heat and approval. “doin' such a good job, baby... letting him come inside you like that.”, “good boy, bobby. gonna make her a real momma.” and “see that, sweetheart? gonna give you a swollen belly... full tits... all for him.”

bob barely hears it. he’s floating, dazed, hands still locked on your hips even as his grip starts to ease. he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull out, not even when he softens inside you. he just stays there, like leaving would undo something sacred.

only when john finally tells him, “c'mon, baby,” does bob obey, albeit slowly and reluctantly. he watches, mesmerised, as his cum slips out of you in a slow, heavy trail. it’s about to drip onto the mattress.

he doesn’t let it.

in a flash, two fingers slide back inside you, pushing it deep, fucking it back in with a kind of reverent desperation.

“gonna make you a real momma,” he murmurs, eyes locked on the mess he’s burying inside you, fingers still working it deeper, deeper.

john watches all of it with a crooked smirk, his eyes flicking from your overstimulated face — twitching, tightening — to bob’s unwavering hand. he doesn’t intervene. not yet. even when he should have stopped, bob doesn’t. he keeps going, caught in something too raw to name.

john finally reaches out, wraps his hand around bob’s wrist, and eases his fingers out of you slowly but firmly.

he knows you’re on birth control.

1-0 for Bob. That man knows how to play John way too well.

On their dedicated night when they had the tower all to themself John admired himself in his bathroom mirror. There is no denying that the fit looked good on him. To give it a final touch he makes an effort to seek out for his old military dog tags and secures them around his throat.

A few moments later he goes through a couple of prepared phrases before announcing himself with a soft knock.

"Come in whoever it is." John lets the giggle coming from the other side of the door pass before he steps inside.

There he is. Sitting on the edge of the bed with his knees pressed together. He is also not wearing his typical clothes. His torso is hidden under a white pirate like blouse, off-shoulder style with a laced up front.

The hem of the shirt is neatly tucked into a grey plaid skirt which ends just above the knee. Despite the small distance between them John can also make out that Bob put on some lipstick that makes his lips even more pink. To top that off he must have applied some mascara because the eyelashes Bob uses to get what he wants every time are even longer than usual.

Today will be the day. The day John Walker will make history. He will be the first man on earth declared dead, the cause? Too horny. Good thing that the slacks are so loose that Bob shouldn’t be able to catch his hard on right on the spot.

Bob clearing his throat is what ultimately pulls him out of this fewer dreamish state.

"Oh Mister Shaw. Thank you for coming."

That is John's sign to get going. Before doing so he locks the door, just to be sure, then he closes the short distance with slow dedicated steps.

When he gets the full view his mind plays with the idea to just drop the act and fuck Bob stupid there and then but that would only end with Bob making John do this again.

"You were the one who called me? What can I do for a pretty thing like you? Need something fixed?"

"Well actually Mister Shaw my call is of a more intimate matter." John's eyes gaze over Bob's face and he wants to drop to his knees immediately instead he takes a deep breath and reminds himself to stay composed.

"Go on."

"My husband. He is always gone for so long and when he comes back… I’m just looking for someone to take care of me."

John crosses his arms in front of his chest and tilts his head to the side. All the while Bob starts to discreetly spread his legs revealing more skin of his tights.

"And what made you think I am the right man for this?"

"I heard things about you, Lee Shaw. Some say you are able to unravel a man with a single touch others call you a homewrecker." Gently John places the palm of his right hand on Bob's cheek who gives in immediately to the touch.

"Thats what you heard and still you asked me to come here?"

"I wanted to know if the rumors are true. Is that what you really are? A homewrecker?" With a deep low chuckle John lets two of his fingers glide between Bob's lips, cautions not to smear the lipstick too much. "Not if you can keep your mouth shut sweetheart."

Bob's eyes flutter and he begins to suck on John's fingers. He could have watched this simple act for hours. The only problem perhaps is that neither of them is able to last that long.

Far too soon to Bob's liking John withdraws his fingers and moves them to the buckle of his suspenders. With a soft thud the slacks fell to the flood and revealed that John didn’t care to put on any underwear. Bob swallows audibly and that earns him another chuckle from John this time with a mocking undertone. "What is it sweetheart? Not used to the size?"

"I- I honestly don’t know anymore. It's been a long time." John doubted that it was possible but somehow Bob managed to rail him up some more with his voice laced in so much faux innocence. Eagerly Bob preps himself onto his knees yanking John down by his dogtags to his level in desperate need for a kiss.

It is wet and obscene the way their longues dance into each other's mouths. One trying to reach deeper than the other. John uses his chance and lets his hands wander up Bob's thighs giving his ass a harsh squeeze as a finish. "Not even wearing anything underneath? One could get the idea that you planned this, pretty boy."

Bob buries his hands in the white tank top and lets out a sinful moan. "Please Sir, I need more."

"Of course you do sweetheart, don’t worry your pretty head and let me take care of you the way you deserve." With a precise push Bob ends up on his back and John cages him between his strong, muscular legs then he lunges forward to attack Bob's neck who tries to shove him away. "Mister Shaw you can’t leave any mark if my husband would come earlier he-"

"Oh pretty boy, you should have thought about this before you invited me into your house, your room, your bed." The assault on Bob's sensitive skin continues and Bob's brain becomes mush. That is until John flips him onto his stomach and pulls his hips up in the air landing a strong smack to his now exposed ass.

"Look at you all dolled up and ready for me while your husband is out to provide for you. Are you at least a little ashamed?” John lands another smack and Bob jolts at the sensation. "Yes Sir I am!"

"Good." John's fingers move to the end of the cute shiny plug he insisted Bob uses to prep himself, knowing fully well beforehand that else that part wouldn’t get the attention it needed. He pulls slowly but before it can leave Bob's ass completely he pushes it right back in which earns him the most beautiful whine John has ever heard.

He can see that Bob wants to protest so he puts an end to it before it can even start and presses his head against the soft mattress. Only when John decides it is enough he withdraws the plug, letting go of Bob's head and holding him in place with a brusing grip on his hips.

"Last chance to back out sweetheart." As if Bob would ever, with all his stubbornness he pushes his hips back making sure that the tip of John cock already enters him. When the rest follows Bob begins to shake overtaken with pleasure. Normally John goes agony slowly the first few minutes but not this time. He is not wasting a single heartbeat when he is fully bottomed out.

Bob seeks anchor in the sheets as John starts pounding into him. The thrust becomes more and more frantic the longer they go on. Suddenly Bob feels John's hand in his hair and get yanked upwards. "You know I’m sorry for your husband. He thinks you're taking care of the house while he is away, instead you're here with me."

"He is. He is an excellent husband. He loves me but- fuck Mister Shaw it just feels so good."

"I’m sure he is. He just doesn't know what to do with all of this ain’t he?"

"Yes Sir oh god."

With a snort John tosses Bob around again, his cock never leaving the depths of his ass. He grabs his ankles and bends his legs so far that this could easily be called the nastiest mating press the world has ever seen.

John's expression is wild, his pupils blown, his carefully sleeked back hair now soak in sweet falling in loose strakes over his forehead. Bob under him is a blushed, sex drunk mess only able to bubble out nonsense at this point. The lipstick nonexistent, the mascara dripping down his face. John has to repress the urge to ask him for a color, they agreed to skip them this time and work with their instincts.

Bob's fingernails dig so deep into the flesh of John back that the thought is as fast forgotten as it came. If it were upon them they could have stayed like this forever unfortunately that is not how it works. John catches it by the scrunch of Bob's nose and feels it deep in his own core.

"You want me to come inside you, pretty boy? Want to feel me for days? Maybe even when your precious husband comes home?"

"God yes. Yes please!" And who is John to deny such a pretty plea? He adjusts Bob's hips a last time and with the new angle a loud cry infiltrates John's ears.

"Oh fuck John." That was the last straw for the both of them. Bob covers them both in ropes of his hot cum while John makes it his mission to bury himself as deep inside Bob as the anatomy of the human body allows.

When he has enough air back in his lunges John pulls out which earns him a small little whimper. He lets himself collapse right next to Bob and can’t hold it any longer.

The sound of a whole hearted laugh begins to fill the room.

"Jooohn, why are you laughing?"

"It's just. You make me go through all of this only for you to cry out my real name in the end?"

Bob attempts to cover his face with a blanket but John is not having that.

"Hey don’t hide your beautiful face from me now. This was your idea."

"I know. I lost track okay?"

"It was pretty hot though." John places a tender kiss at the tip of Bob's nose to soothe him.

"So, I’m assuming you liked it?"

"I guess I start to see the appeal yeah." Wrong answer. A cocky grin begins to form on Bob's lips. The very same grin John knows too well.

"What are you up to now Bobby?"

"Do you know the movie 22 Jumpstreet?"

-------------

Bob swears he didn’t mean to volunteer as a lifter for their department’s cheerleading squad for their company's upcoming Sports Day — and he definitely didn’t mean to volunteer John Walker along with him. But one distracted nod in the middle of a casual conversation with the cheerleading captain (he didn't know she was the captain), and suddenly, they were both signed up with no way out due to the lack of willing male participants.

Between awkward routines, shared laughter, and unexpected moments of comfort, Bob and John start breaking down walls they didn’t realize were there.

What began as reluctant teamwork turns into something messier: friends who show up for late-night texts, casual touches that linger, and a no-strings agreement neither fully trusts.

Warnings : 18+ content, minors dni, smut, friends with benefits, alternate universe - office, hurt/comfort, suggestive sexual content, p in a.

Author's Note : This is my first time writing something in here, hopefully it would turn into something great and I'm kind of second guessing if I should go ahead with it. Anyways, will be posting the chapters soon!

Small update, I also posted this in my AO3.

Chapters :

Chapter 1: Orientation & Other Work Hazards

Bob is doing great in the new department he transferred in: he hasn’t embarrassed himself (yet), the vending machine likes him, and HR didn’t scare him that much. But what he did not anticipate was accidentally signing himself and his grumpy hot tenured workmate John Walker up for the department’s cheerleading squad. Bob can confidently say that HR did not orient him for this kind of scenario.

Chapter 2: No HR Policy Covers This

A smoke break in the parking lot sparks an unexpected connection, but cheer practice chaos, a beach getaway, and a well-timed office gossip throw everything off balance. Back at work, Bob’s drunk vacation posts fuel the teasing, tensions simmer, and on the eve of competition. A quiet shopping run with John turns into anything but routine.

Chapter Three: Terms and Conditions (May Apply) — Part 1 | Part 2

It’s officially Sports Day. Bob’s stressed, John’s suspiciously charming, and Joaquin’s ready to throw hands. The routine? Nailed. The feelings? Debatable. The ending? …Complicated.

Chapter 4: Mutual Misunderstanding

Bob broke HR protocol in a parking lot, fed the man pancakes, then tried to professionally ghost him—like any emotionally-repressed corporate darling would. But John "doesn’t know how to quit" Walker circled back like a follow-up ticket. Add a graduation, a team outing that smelled like tequila and trauma, and unsolicited wisdom from terrifying coworkers,— and suddenly Bob has answers to questions he never asked—but absolutely needed. Bob’s work-life boundary is in shambles. Feelings? In this economy?

Chapter 5: The Printer Jammed Again (So Did We)

The office printer isn’t the only thing breaking down under pressure. Bob and John’s undefined thing keeps glitching between routine comfort and emotional malfunction. Miscommunications pile up like unsorted paperwork— but just as things start spiraling into something messier, in walks a new player in the field: brooding but charming, inconvenient, and unknowingly about to make it all worse for John.

Chapter Six: Pending Approval: What Are We?

Bob’s still treating emotional vulnerability like a scam email, and John’s heart has officially entered its new era. But as a wave of office gossip swells and Bob's unbothered mask starts to chip, John realizes wanting more isn't enough. Not when everything between them is still stuck in limbo, waiting for someone to say what they really mean. Feelings: drafted. Honesty: pending approval.

Chapter Seven: This Meeting Could’ve Been a Love Confession

It’s the office year-end party — which means neon lights, questionable drinks, a foam machine someone definitely shouldn't have approved of, and John trying really hard not to spiral after saying something he maybe, possibly, definitely shouldn’t have. But it’s fine. Totally fine. Nothing a little awkward small talk, emotional whiplash, and an HR-violating dance floor can’t fix. Probably. Maybe. God, he hopes so.

ONGOING.

Bob wants to be offended by that assumption, but if he's honest with himself, that has kind of been his track record. “Okay, yeah,” he says easily. “Let’s fuck.”

A pause, John's lips slide into a smirk before he takes the beer bottle out of Bob's hand and sets it back on the coffee table, before he stands up. "Get undressed, I want you naked by the time I get back here."

Bob swallows harshly and nods, not trusting himself to speak lest nothing more than a humiliating squeak comes out. He makes quick work of undressing himself, fueled by the fear of harsh words he might hear if he doesn't obey.

John smirks when he comes back down the stairs, letting his eyes drag up and down Bob's naked body, his eyes very obviously stopping when he sees the other man's hard cock. He chuckles softly when he gets even closer and sees the glistening tip. "Already wet for me, Bobby? That's what does it for you? Me bossing you around?"

Bob doesn't need to answer; they both already know. He lets John push him back until he's on the couch and then watches, lips parted as the man undresses in front of him.

"You don't deserve this, you know that, right? This is for me, not you," John says firmly, popping open the lube that he brought down and coating his first two fingers. "Say it."

"It's for you, not me," Bob repeats, quiet, though his pupils are blown and his cock twitches against his stomach.

John doesn't praise him for answering correctly. He just moves closer and pushes at Bob's hip to get him to lift them before he pushes both lubed up fingers into Bob's tight hole with no warning.

Bob's guttural groan reverberates off the walls of the tower, but it doesn't stop John from fucking his fingers in and out at a bruising pace while Bob scratches and claws at the dark leather couch, desperate for something to ground himself.

Just when Bob thinks that he's open enough, and John might replace his fingers with his cock, the man curls his digits instead, making Bob cry out at the stimulation to his prostate and the way his cock jerks, spurting thick white cum onto his own stomach, untouched.

"Fuck me, already, Bobby? How much more pathetic can you get?" He sneers, looking down at Bob with so much disappointment and disgust that it makes his stomach clench. Then, John pulls his fingers out and wraps them around his own cock. "Just because you already finished doesn't mean I am." He bites his lip, grunting as he pushes his cock into Bob's slick hole.