Ring of Truth
“So how did you get this job? Little runt like you? What makes you think you can just waltz on in –” The man confronting Andrew was burly, much older, red-veined cheeks flushed with disappointment turned to anger. “ –take a job you didn’t earn...or maybe you did? Whose bed did you crawl into to get it?”
Andrew reached inside his shirt and pulled out the Ring (exact size and perfect replica of the Ring used in the epic movie. Yours for only $39.99, s&h extra). “I swear by the One Ring that I have shared a bed with no man or woman to get this job.”
Honesty is hard to fake. The man sneered, defeated, and walked away.
Andrew leaned against the white tiles, shaking but victorious. It hadn’t been a lie. He’d never even seen Giles’ apartment, let alone his bedroom.
Giles liked to fuck him at work.
They go out of fashion fast; when something’s common, it’s not a status symbol is it? He imagines people desperately inventing ever more useless gadgets and gewgaws.
Then he looks at what he keeps on his desk to amuse him and smiles. The vibrator rammed deep in Andrew’s arse might use batteries, the cuffs on his wrists might clink in a relentless metallic rhythm as the boy writhes...but this diversion is as old as the hills.
And sometimes, when he sees the look it leaves in Andrew’s eyes, that’s how he feels.
But it doesn’t stop him playing with him.
Rule of Thumb
Giles’ office was filled with plastic in shades of grey, irritatingly bland. His feet rested on carpet that contained no wool, his backside against fake leather, his elbows on a desk made from compressed sawdust.
Which made the long, heavy weight in his hand worth a moment’s consideration because it was solid oak, smoothed by use and old enough that it showed only inches.
Giles gave it that moment before pushing back from his desk and bringing it swinging down against skin so pale the rushing shadow of the approaching ruler lay dark as a bruise. But not as painful.
Rhyme and Reason
Andrew wasn’t punished because he sucked, licked and bit until the skin tingled along every inch of Giles’ cock, even though he did it when Giles was on the phone and had to pause mid-word to bite back a moan and then apologise.
No; Andrew was told to suck him off and do it well, and it was Giles’ fault for not signalling a pause when the phone shrilled loudly in the near silent room.
He’s still punished though.
Giles never told him to swallow, and he knows better than to anticipate an order, no matter how long the wait.
A Killing Kindness
Andrew’s sitting at the canteen table, on the fringes of a group, laughing too soon or too late every time. Giles doesn’t know why he pauses, or why, when Andrew turns, sees him, and smiles happily, he can’t smile back. Andrew flinches, friendly becomes hurt, and Giles walks away.
He’s not sure if it’s the smile or the flinch that makes him kiss Andrew for the first time that afternoon, on lips swollen and damp, a soft, hesitant, experimental kiss.
He just knows, as adoring, wet, hopeful eyes rise to meet his horrified gaze, that he hasn’t kissed it better.
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