in the middle of the night, it pees

Although you had never really seen Frater truly at ease, there was something especially awkward about him today. You hadn't had much one-on-one interaction. Just a few fittings and measurements that had all gone relatively smoothly - mostly polite, professional small talk and some less professional jokes about inappropriate touching while taking his inseam which seemed to help him relax.

But not today.

The awkward pauses seemed more curt, punctuated only by throat clearing and monosyllabic answers when it was necessary to speak. You tried to read him but, as per usual, he was making it difficult and you couldn't really say if it was intentional or not. His eyes darted around the room but it felt like more than tiredness or distraction; it felt like he was trying to forget you were there, which was hard not to take personally.

"Frater?" He briefly manages to make eye contact, sheepishly, with an acknowledging grunt. "Your measurements haven't changed that much and it looks like it's still fitting you well."

He shifts uncomfortably. You wait for a response but he stays silent. You do, however, catch a glint of uncertainty.

"We can have a look at the new suits. Unless you wanted any alterations?"

"Uhh, I was thinking about…" He's really trying not to look at you now. "I was having some issues with, ah… Chafing?"

He swallows hard and rubs the back of his neck, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Chafing?"

"Yes. Uh, irritation. Yes! Ah, if we could do something around the, ah, thiiiigh… area."

You frown. Looking him up and down, everything seems to be fitting perfectly. The suit had been meticulously scrutinised when it was first made with many, many alterations to make everything sit perfectly on his frame, exactly how he requested. The waist had been let out a bit on a couple of occasions but he had never had an issue with the fit. You stare at the allegedly affected area and it looks… fine? Not too tight, but shows off his shape. Just the way he's always liked it since becoming Frater.

"It doesn't… sorry, Frater, I don't see how the material or the fit could be causing problems. I'm not sure what I can do."

You give an apologetic sigh. Not convinced that he's being entirely honest, you try to think of what could be causing his discomfort. Judging by his fidgeting demeanour, and any further attempt at explanation dying in his throat, you know he's likely to be as transparent as a brick wall with you. Not wanting to pry beyond your area of expertise, you decide to focus on something you can do.

"I have some new pieces to show you, and some other ideas, sketches. We can take a look at some, maybe try some on. Look at some different styles and fits, see if any of those are more comfortable?"

"Yes, that would be, uh, fine. Good. Thank you," he smiles at you, before turning his attention to a very interesting spot on the carpet.

You bring out a rack of jackets for him and organise a spread of concepts and swatches on your desk. You had excitedly thrown yourself into putting designs together the moment he had hinted at perhaps being ready to add some colour back into his wardrobe. While you appreciated a sleek black minimalist look every now and then, and how Frater looked in his, you couldn't deny the desire for some variety.

Given the so far frigid atmosphere of today's appointment, you were worried you may not get the opportunity to even present them to Frater. However, now the focus was firmly away from him and he could talk about you instead, the room began to thaw. While at first he seemed overwhelmed by choice, he assured you that he was simply in awe of your dedication and skill. In no time at all, he was excitedly flicking through pages of designs and ensuring you knew how talented he believed you to be.

He even managed to accept a few compliments himself, playfully batting away your assertions he would look good in anything but laughing along all the same. Your heart melts a bit as he picks out his favourite ideas as most of them are inspired by his papal robes and stage costumes. You hadn't made them too obvious - a little blue trim on certain pieces, a burgundy shirt with rouleau buttons inspired by his Cardinal days and a few epaulette-style blazer adornments - and of course he didn't comment on if that was the reason he loved them so much. You just share a knowing glance and file them away, ready to be worked on tomorrow.

Content that your job seems safe, you rifle through the pieces you've already assembled, now armed with a more educated guess on what Frater might gravitate towards. The earlier conversation still playing on your mind, you wonder if you should attempt to tackle that today instead; you have some full sets and trousers he could try on so you can try to figure out some looser fit solutions. But, not wanting to completely abandon the work you had put into today's collection, you set the thought aside for now.

Frater stands in front of the floor length mirror in preparation. You notice that in the short time you had been turned away from him, something had changed. Tension was creeping back into his posture and, as you get closer, his pupils widen and he looks like he's having to stop himself recoiling.

"Everything okay?" You ask, noticing a slight flinch as you smooth your hand over his shirt.

He makes some vaguely dismissive noises, shifting his weight from foot to foot and adjusting his waistband. You push underneath his jacket to remove it but you barely move an inch beneath the material before he stops you, with a firm hand on yours.

"Sorry! I-uh…" he breathes out. Neither of you move, suddenly aware of how close you are together and how heavily Frater is breathing. He loosens his grip, seemingly shocked by his own action.

"You're not usually ticklish, Frater," you tease, now also surprised by your own low, purring tone. His eyes close as you slide down his shirt and your hands settle above his belt.

"Just a bit, um, sensitive today."

The truth is though, it wasn't just today. His neglected body feels like it might cave in on itself if you touch him anymore. Even accidentally brushing against one of your mannequins on the way in had sent a shameful thrill through him and the more he thought about it, the more pathetic he felt. But he just couldn't stop. And the more ashamed of himself he felt, the more aware he became of the simmering need under his skin. Even the shift of his clothes was making his cock twitch. The admission, even just to himself, of how plagued by loneliness he was only compounded his self-loathing, with inescapable fantasies of relief filling his head only aggravating it further.

He should have cancelled today's meeting. He had been kidding himself thinking he could get through it without the incessant intrusive thoughts derailing it. Sheer force of will wasn't enough to shut them out. Touching himself in the moments he gets to himself hadn't been making it more manageable either. And, as much as he would like to, he couldn't hide in his room and avoid his responsibilities until he had figured out a way to get it out of his system.

Of course, he knows how. He knows what he needs, what he craves. But the fear of having to explain, or making a mess of himself before he even has time to, is enough to have him praying for the ground to open up and swallow him. And now, with you staring and standing so tantalisingly close, the warmth of your hands burning through his shirt, he wouldn't mind if the Old One himself appeared to drag him down into the pits of hell.

You feel his heart hammering in his chest and, in contrast to most of the day so far, he can't take his eyes off you. He sways as if weighing up whether to back away or lean in. You find yourself very aware of your own breath, and raising temperature and the faint tremble of Frater under your touch. He shudders as your fingers flex over his stomach and, just as you begin to ask if he needs a break, you look down and freeze.

"It wasn't your thighs that were chafing, was it?"

Knowing there isn't a way out of this, Frater blinks slowly with a defeated sigh. "I said 'thigh area'," he replies with zero conviction.

Still a lie. Technically, at least currently, the problem was his waistband. Or, more accurately, the problem was attempting to peek out of it and escape.

You stare for far too long, as Frater actively wishes for death, but your hands become increasingly restless. With the tension now so thick it sticks you together, you lean in. Pressing your body to his, you feel the outline of his cock poke into you and he breathes an airy sigh, as if slipping into a warm bath, as your hands slide up to his shoulders. He watches, bewildered in the moments he can keep his eyes open, and you make a decision before you're conscious of it.

"I don't think you can blame the suit for this," you say softly.

"No. No, it's my fault. Me. You cannot help, I should not ha—"

"Oh, but I can."

Static builds as you rub back down his chest, addictive to you and agonising to him. Desperate to put him out of his misery, you pop the button of his trousers and carefully unzip him. His knees buckle as his length springs free and you help his trousers fall to his ankles. Before he can react, you shuffle Frater backwards until the back of his knees hit the back of a chair. He slumps down and, as you move behind him, he catches sight of himself in the mirror - bare legged, with the hem of his shirt crumpling against his stomach where his erection lies against it.

His V-shaped brooch feels heavy against his sternum and he feels sweat pooling under his jacket. A panic mixes with disgust at his reflection but he can only tear his eyes away once he feels you massaging his shoulders. You dig in your thumbs and he lets out a drawling groan, and you are determined to hear that noise again.

As you work into the muscle, Frater's hand creeps across his lap but when yours move to stroke down his neck, it snaps around his dick. You move down over his lapels as he slowly begins to work his shaft, whimpering like a dog left out in the cold. His movements are hesitant, guilty, and you watch pain and shame etch themselves on his face with each stroke. Like he can't stop and as if he knows whatever relief is coming isn't real. Or enough. But he resigns himself to whatever happens next.

His lips delicately part as you step in front of him and drop to your knees to replace his hand with your own, gasping at how softly you hold him. As your mouth meets skin, kissing along his thigh and licking over hair, he begins to shake. Watching him dissolve into pleasure, so close to completely giving in, you think about keeping him here like this all day, teasing until he is begging you for mercy. However, as you lower your mouth over his already sticky tip and he moans loudly with zero restraint, you realise he is not the only impatient one.

You alternate between using your hand and your mouth, tasting him for only seconds at a time. The effect you have on him with even the gentlest of touches is mesmerising; his body pleads for more and less at the same time, almost too terrified to enjoy how good it feels. You fight to find the balance between prolonging it all and giving him what he needs. You lose.

You raise from your knees and crawl on to his lap, and you are met with a look of fear and lust that makes your own body throb. You grip his cock and begin stroking and squeezing, guided by his strangled moans and the rocking of your own hips against him. There are no thoughts now about making it last, your mind clouded by your own desire. But just as you throw caution to the wind, speeding up and panting against him, Frater breaks and, in a sudden panic, tries to remove your hand and push you away.

His hips thrust up and with one final, pained whine, he bucks into his own fist as you fall backwards to the floor, just in time to watch him utterly fall apart. Fumbling with himself as he cums in pulsing spurts, he can only howl and shudder through it as his seed splatters up his shirt. White streaks through the black material, smearing and seeping into the silk of his jacket lapels as he loses control, unprepared for the force and length of his climax. Despite the almost immediate exhaustion, his body doesn't stop until he's a trembling, sobbing wreck.

By the time it's over, Frater understandably looks ready to pass out. Limp and winded, he barely manages to stay in the chair. He reaches over his shoulder and clings to the backrest, turning away from you slightly. You know you need to clean him up and so, as Frater seemingly tries to curl up into a ball in his seat, you leave to get some towels. You hope that by the time you get back, you will have figured out something to say. At least you can offer him something else to wear.

Taglist: @copiasslut @burichu @kosem-sultan167 @unholyguleh @zealoushound @anomalousghost @thegholdenghoulz @gh0ul-dinner <3

he's on his knees, staring up at you while you push the tip against his lips. there's a twinkle to his eye as you praise the way he opens them. he's warm and inviting.

"sweet thing," you coo, cupping his face with your hands. "so obedient for me."

a hand comes up to brace against your hip. his thumb strokes with reverence across the flesh there, and he takes the tip into his mouth. he whimpers a little at the weight of it atop his tongue.

"you want it?"

he mumbles a "mhm" around your cock and bobs his head just a little, eager to take you in even further.

and who are you to deny him?

so you thread your fingers through his greying hair and squeeze gently, guiding his head down the shaft. it's a small movement, allowing plenty of time for him to begin adjusting to the intrusion.

he lets out a muffled groan as he bobs his head again, making a show of how much deeper he's taking you with each back-and-forth movement. both hands are grasping your hips now, gently tugging them towards his face.

the noises he makes turn more choked and strained as the tip of your cock nudges the back of his throat. his nose inches further and further towards your pubic bone. tears prick at his eyes, and as he blinks them away, a few fall down his cheeks.

he's never looked more beautiful.

he pulls himself off after a rather enthusiastic suck at the tip, panting and puffy-lipped. it must be something important if it pulled him away from such bliss.

"use me." he presses the shaft to his open mouth and kisses along the side of it. "please?"

his eyes are expectant, hopeful that you'll fuck his throat just the way he likes. you both know how good he'll be. he can take it.