Chapter Text
The first time Langdon sees Robby at Serenity, Robby doesn’t see him.
Which is just as well, considering Langdon doesn’t exactly need Robby to clock him in black skinny jeans and a leather harness over a white T-shirt. It’s not the most scandalous outfit in the club by a long shot, but still. A harness is a harness. It’s basically a neon sign flashing “take me apart, please.” He’s not exactly eager for Robby to know that about him.
Not right now, anyway.
He tells himself to forget it when a Dominatrix he’s been making eyes at crooks her finger at him and leads him toward the private rooms. He lets her, lets himself sink into the warm, dizzying nothing of giving over control. But as the door shuts behind him, there’s a phantom image burned behind his eyelids of Robby, in all black, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, looking like sin in human form. His hand firm on the back of some lucky sub’s neck, his smile sharp enough to split Langdon open. When the dominatrix gives him permission, he comes harder than he has in a long time.
The next two weeks at work are hell. Every time Langdon runs into Robby, all he can see is that club version of him. His mouth waters constantly, like his body hasn’t gotten the memo that this is still his fucking boss, that they’re still on shaky ground. He watches Robby’s forearms flex when he pushes through double doors, and it’s unfair. It shouldn’t be erotic. It is.
It’s not really surprising that Landon didn’t know Robby was in the scene. Langdon’s only been in the scene for a year or so, only going to clubs for six months. He met a guy in NA right after rehab who introduced him to BDSM, and he fell hard into it. His ex was an amazing dom, and an amazing person, but they’re better off as friends. When they broke up, Alex gave him the names of a few clubs, and Langdon’s been dipping his toes in ever since. Recently, he’s been going to Serenity more and more. At least once a week. He doesn’t have a full-time dom, and he loves trying things out with different people. He loves being approached, being wanted. After agonizing shifts, he loves turning his brain off and letting someone use him in a way that gives both of them pleasure. He doesn’t know any of the doms he links up with. He likes it that way.
But he would maybe change his tune for Robby.
Robby’s hot, okay? Everyone knows it. Everyone has a crush on him. Langdon doesn’t feel bad about the dreams he has that week after he catches Robby at the club. He doesn’t even consider avoiding Serenity. It’s easily the best club in the city, and the only reason Langdon even has a membership is because Alex put a word in for him. He’s not giving that up now just because Robby happens to be a member at the same place.
The second time Langdon sees Robby there, Robby sees him.
He’s perched at the bar, his usual starting point. He’s only been in Serenity for ten minutes, running through his beginning-of-the-night ritual: club soda with lime sweating in his palm, straw between his teeth, eyes flicking casually around the room. The bass from the main speakers hums low in his chest, a steady, vibrating thump that makes every breath feel a little heavier. The air smells like leather, sweat, and a faint trace of incense that clings to the low black ceiling. It’s dim, always, but the neon wash of purple and red from the dance floor casts everyone in the kind of light that hides flaws and sharpens edges.
He scans the crowd, cataloguing the mix tonight, trying to figure out what he wants and who can give it to him. He knows there’s a bondage demo in the main room later, and he’s debating if he wants to stick around for the show when someone makes eye contact with him.
Robby.
He doesn’t feel nervous as Robby gets off the couch he was sitting on to walk over to him. Honestly, he knew it was a matter of time. It’s not like the members-only BDSM scene is crawling with people. But he does hope that Robby won’t be able to tell how much his pulse has kicked up.
“Langdon,” Robby says. He sounds calm, but Langdon can see some panic in his eyes.
“Mm, I don’t think we’re supposed to use real names here,” Langdon replies, snarky. He takes a sip of his club soda through the tiny straw.
Robby rolls his eyes. “Should’ve guessed you were a brat.”
Langdon just shrugs. Guilty as charged. He’s a different person here, but that part of him is magnified rather than tampered down. He doesn’t understand the subs that try to be perfect all the time. Where’s the fun in that?
“We need to talk,” Robby says. His voice is steadier than his eyes. “Come to a room with me.”
“And miss my shot to actually play tonight?”
“Five minutes. Come on.”
Langdon sighs theatrically but slides off his stool. The music thickens in the hallway to the private rooms, muffled by the heavy black curtains, but still pulsing. Robby pushes open a door, and Langdon steps into a small room with a bed covered in black sheets, a couch, a counter full of supplies, and a faintly chemical tang of cleaner in the air. Robby shuts the door behind them. Suddenly, Langdon wants this to be a different kind of conversation. Wants Robby to push him to his knees, wants that broad palm on the back of his neck instead of folded across his chest. His body agrees immediately, heat sparking low, and he sits down on the bed in an attempt to hide it.
Robby stays standing. “What… what are you doing here?” he asks. His facade has dropped - he seems nervous now.
“Uh. What does it look like I’m doing here?”
Robby crosses his arms over himself and sighs. “Can we please just have a serious conversation about this?”
Langdon softens. “Fine, okay. I got into the scene after rehab.”
“And you come here? This place is pretty secret, how’d you find out about it?”
“I had a boyfriend. A dom. When we broke things off he told me about Serenity and helped me fast-track the membership process.”
“You dated after rehab?” Robby asks. Shock flashes across his face. Which Langdon understands. They were close before PittFest. They talked to each other about their relationships because they talked to each other about everything. After Langdon came back, things were different. He knows it’s his fault, so he tries not to let it get to him.
“Yeah,” he says.
“Oh.”
“How long have you been coming here?”
“A long time. Ten years, maybe,” Robby answers. “I took a break for a while after PittFest. Needed to… well, that doesn’t matter. I’m back now. And I have to say, I don’t plan on avoiding it.”
“Me either.”
Robby nods. “Do we need ground rules?”
“The whole point of this is that there aren’t rules, Robby.”
“There are actually a lot of rules.”
Langdon groans. “You know what I mean. I don’t want to come here and have to look over my shoulder all the time. Can’t we just agree to stay out of each other’s way and not talk about it?”
Robby looks momentarily uncomfortable, like he thinks there needs to be more than that. But after a second, he sighs. “Fine,” he says. “I’m not very public, anyway. I keep scenes in the private rooms.”
“I should warn you that I don’t.”
Robby’s eyes go wide. “How often?”
“Whenever the mood strikes, or when a dom wants an audience. Not super often. Just thought you should know.”
Robby swallows. “Thanks for letting me know, then. Anyway, don’t wanna take up too much of your time. I just thought we should talk.”
“No problem, boss.”
“God, don’t call me that here,” Robby says, turning to grab the door handle.
“What would you prefer? Daddy?” Langdon teases. But Robby’s back tenses, and he lets out a shuddering breath, and Langdon knows he’s right on the money.
“Brat,” Robby mumbles before stepping out of the room.
Langdon drifts back into the main room, letting the throb of bass and the low hum of conversation wash over him. He has people’s attention as he takes a few laps. He knows he does. He knows that he looks good, pure in a way that attracts all the right doms. He looks young, naive, like he shouldn’t be here, and eyes follow him constantly. He plays into it and feels eyes follow his every step, sharp and hungry.
After about fifteen minutes, the dominatrix from two weeks ago comes up to him. They exchange hellos and she tells him that she’s the one putting on the bondage demonstration tonight. That’s exciting; she was so good at it, and he can’t wait to watch her do it again.
“I need a sub for the demonstration, and you were wonderful. Do you want to play again?” she asks.
Langdon has never nodded so fast in his life.
He follows her onto the small stage, the crowd parting around them as the music dips lower. The air here feels different. It’s charged, expectant, all those gazes focused on them. He stands behind her as she begins to speak, her voice smooth but firm, threading through the haze of lights and music. She gives the audience a history of Shibari, of how rope is more than restraint, that it can be art, meditation, a language of its own.
Langdon assumes this is why she picked him. Rope is his shortcut to another world. The ritual of it - the careful coils, the way each knot tethers him tighter into himself - pulls him into subspace like nothing else. She had to have seen that a few weeks ago. His pulse ticks higher in anticipation. He can feel himself hardening already, just imagining the slide of rope against his skin.
Soon, the dominatrix - Shay, he remembers - turns to him. “Strip,” she says. He knows immediately the scene has started.
He doesn’t take his time pulling his clothes off. He keeps his boxers on, unsure about whether they’re going to come off later. But that’s for Shay to decide.
“Kneel,” she commands, and he drops to his knees so fast he knows they’re going to bruise.
Shay takes a minute circling him, apprising. The click of her heels on the wood pulls him into a meditative state. He gets into the form she expected last week - chin slightly up, hands behind his back, body open for inspection. She leans down to meet his ear, her breath fanning his cheek when she whispers, “Good boy.” The words slither down Langdon’s spine.
She chooses a coil of rope - blue, thick, softer than the rope she used on him before - and begins to wind it around him. The texture drags across his arms, then his chest, every knot tugging him deeper into the fog of submission. Her voice alternates between cool explanation for the audience, naming knots, describing pressure points, and warm praise just for him. He hears both, but only dimly. Soon, the rhythm of her tying and the tightness building across his torso swallows everything else. The crowd fades.
Commands slip through the haze: “Sit straighter.” “Shoulders back.” He obeys every word, pliant, eager. His breath slows, his eyelids grow heavy. By the time the last rope cinches into place, he’s half-gone, floating, his cock straining against the thin cotton of his boxers.
Shay leans in again, nails grazing the back of his neck. She snaps the waistband of his boxers, and he whines before he can stop himself. He hadn’t even realized how hard he was until the sharp ache pulses through him.
“Perfect boy,” she murmurs. “Open.”
He parts his lips immediately. Her fingers slide into his mouth, pressing against his tongue. He licks obediently, circling, sucking until they reach the edge of his throat. His eyes flutter. He moans faintly around them.
Her other hand drags his boxers down just enough to free him, and then she’s stroking him firmly, using spit and pre-come to ease the glide. His head tips back, breath ragged. It’s everything he craves: being touched, being used, being on display. Right now, his body doesn’t belong to him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. The crowd is a blur at the edges of his vision, but their presence is a pulse of heat against his skin.
He comes quickly, groaning. Shay works him through it, whispering about how good he’s been, how beautiful he is. While she cleans him up and unties him, he blinks a few times and starts to really register the crowd in front of him. The lust is clear on their faces, which makes him proud. He did well for his dom, he knows. He loves this feeling, the feeling of being good, being impressive.
Once Shay is finished untying him, she helps him to stand and asks if he wants aftercare. He always does, so he nods.
Before she leads him offstage, he glances out one more time at the crowd and makes eye contact with Robby, who’s looking at Langdon like he’s never seen him before.
For about a month, nothing changes. Work is work, and life is life. Langdon keeps going to meetings, keeps smoking cigarettes (one vice for another, unfortunately), keeps saving lives. Robby goes to work and then leaves to do… whatever it is he does. Langdon doesn’t know what his life is like outside of work anymore. Except for that one thing.
They see each other at Serenity a lot. They never acknowledge each other, and Langdon never catches Robby staring. To anyone else, they look like strangers, which is exactly how Langdon wants it, even if Robby is objectively one of the most desirable doms at the club.
Subs gravitate toward him. He never picks the same person twice, Langdon notices. Langdon doesn’t normally pick the same dom twice either. It’s easier that way. Play for a night, take what he needs, leave the rest behind. No strings, no weight. He’s not ready to hold another person’s life in his hands outside of the ER. He can barely hold his own. His ex is a wonderful man, patient and kind, but Langdon had learned the hard way that he wasn't ready to be responsible for anyone else’s heart. Not yet. Maybe not for a long time.
It’s still hot at the beginning of September. Langdon hates being hot. This is something all his friends know about him, especially his coworkers. And especially right now, because he won’t shut up about it.
“Why are you still whining about this?” McKay asks two hours before their shift ends. “As if nobody knows it’s hot.”
“But you don’t get it,” Langdon shoots back, tugging at the damp collar of his scrubs. “You don’t smoke, so you don’t have to deal with sweating like hell every time you step outside for five minutes.”
“You want me to feel bad for you because inhaling poison is uncomfortable?”
He grins despite himself. “It’s better than the alternative.”
McKay looks like she’s going to respond, but then the EMTs are screaming about a bunch of stabbing victims, and everyone jumps on it.
It’s a murder-suicide gone wrong, apparently. A guy, his girlfriend, and some friends she had at her apartment. It’s four victims, plus the boyfriend. None of them are dead on arrival, which only means the burden lands squarely on their team.
Langdon does what he always does: slams the doors on every emotion that could trip him up and focuses on the task in front of him. Be the best doctor in Pittsburgh. Feel later. Save them now.
The hours blur. Sweat prickles at his hairline, his gloves slick with blood and antiseptic. He works, sutures, compresses, orders scans. His voice is steady, his hands are steady. He has to be. Robby, as always, is everywhere at once - barking orders, snapping gloves, his presence vibrating with an urgency that makes the entire room spin faster. They fall into an old rhythm, unspoken, automatic: Langdon anticipating, Robby demanding, Collins keeping pace with both of them.
And then they lose her. The girlfriend.
The silence after the monitor flatlines is suffocating. Langdon holds his breath. He knows what’s coming. Collins does too. They both glance at Robby, waiting for the inevitable break.
He’s rigid after calling the time of death, staring a hole into the monitor. And then McKay comes in from the other room to let Robby know the boyfriend made it, so there’s going to be a heavy police presence in the ER till he gets moved to the ICU.
Robby throws his head in his hands and screams. He slams a fist against the wall of the room and storms out.
“That, uh. Might be our cue to leave,” Collins says.
Robby does come around about ten minutes later letting everyone know they can go home. But Langdon doesn’t. Not right away. He finishes the charting, scrubs the blood off his hands until the skin goes raw, and sits by the lockers long after his shift is over, head tilted back against the cool metal. The weight of the night presses on him like wet cement.
He keeps replaying the girlfriend’s case, every step, every decision. Ten things he should’ve done differently crowd his head. He knows what Robby will say when he settles, that no one could’ve saved her, that she came in too far gone. But that doesn’t stop the disappointment chewing through him. He’s disappointed in himself. He’s sure Robby must be too.
And he can’t shake the injustice of the boyfriend making it through. He got what he wanted, and the fact that he’s definitely going to jail doesn’t feel like enough.
The night weighs on him. Heavily. He thinks he should probably go to a meeting.
Or.
He finds himself in Serenity’s main room fifteen minutes later, in the white shirt and jeans he wore to work, a collar he dug out of his car strapped messily around his throat. The air is humid with sweat, perfume, leather. Bass rattles through the walls like a second heartbeat. Langdon nurses his club soda at the bar, his eyes drifting toward a dom across the room, when he hears a voice at his back.
“Langdon.”
The sound of it cracks through him. He turns, and Robby is there. Black shirt, dark jeans, looking at him like he could tear him apart with one hand. Langdon has seen Robby angry, seen him gutted, seen him impossible. But he has never seen this. Robby looks starved.
Langdon smirks. “I think we talked about real names -”
“Are you going to be a brat or are you going to come with me?”
Langdon swallows. He knows the tone. Knows the heat behind it. Knows Robby isn’t standing here as his colleague or his mentor or even his friend. He’s deep in domspace, thrumming with it. Langdon’s chest constricts. “…Sir?”
“Come with me.” Robby doesn’t wait for the answer, just turns on his heel, stalking toward the private rooms like the decision was already made. And Langdon, desperate, aching for the same release, follows.
Inside the room, the lock clicks. The sound echoes. Robby turns, his gaze unrelenting, and says, “Kneel.”
Langdon’s knees hit the floor before he can think. Hands behind his back, head bowed. He isn’t with his coworker. He isn’t with his past. He’s with a dom who wants to use him, and fuck if that isn’t the only thing he can stand to feel right now.
Robby circles him, slow and predatory, fingers trailing over his hair, down his jaw. “Good boy.” His voice is rough. Possessive. “You know the light system?”
“Yes.”
“Good. We’ll use that. In this room, you address me with any honorific you want. ‘Sir,’ ‘master,’ ‘daddy,’ it’s all fine. But you will use an honorific whenever you address me. Yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are not going to come unless and until I tell you. Understood?”
Langdon nods. Robby’s hand fists in his hair, yanking his head back until Langdon’s staring up at him, throat bared. The burn of it jolts through his chest. “Verbal responses, baby.”
“Yes, sir,” Langdon breathes, shifting as his dick starts to twitch.
Robby’s eyes are all fire as he lets go of Langdon’s hair, hot and unrelenting. He cups Langdon’s jaw in his hand. His hands are so big. One covers the entire bottom of his face. It makes Langdon feel safe and warm and so, so turned on.
“I can tell you’re eager to please,” Robby whispers, his voice rough. “You wanna play, honey?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Langdon whimpers, feeling absolutely pitiful and so ready.
“Fuck,” Robby breathes. He looks like he wants to eat Langdon alive. “Tell me who you belong to tonight.”
“You.”
“And you’re going to let me do what I want to you?”
Langdon, honestly, does not give a single fuck what Robby wants to do to him. He’ll take anything. He’ll beg for anything. “I am.”
Robby’s mouth twists into a dark smile. “That’s right. Clothes off. Collar off too. You can leave your boxers.”
Langdon pulls his clothes off quickly, trying to outrun the embarrassment of stripping down in front of Robby for the first time. He knows he shouldn’t be self-conscious, but Robby’s gaze is so penetrating that Langdon feels more exposed than he expected. Once he gets down to his boxers, he settles back into his position kneeling on the floor. Robby cards his fingers through Langdon’s hair again, grounding him, before he drags his fingers from Langdon’s scalp down his cheek to his jaw. “You’re beautiful. Keep your hands behind your back.”
The compliment hits Langdon’s chest like a ton of bricks. He barely has time to think about it before Robby crouches down in front of Langdon and presses two fingers to his lips. Langdon opens up willingly, licking at them before sucking them into his mouth, hard and greedy. Robby uses his free hand to hold Langdon’s head from moving by pressing on his neck, not hard enough to restrict his breathing but hard enough for him to whine. Robby grins again, looking like the fucking devil, and starts moving his fingers. And Langdon isn’t thinking about patients or death or police waiting outside the ER. He isn’t thinking at all. He’s gagging around Robby’s knuckles, drool slicking his chin, eyes locked on Robby’s as though that’s the only anchor he has left.
“You’re fuckin’ needy, huh?” Robby asks. “You’ll take anything I give you.”
Langdon whines. He tries to nod, but he can’t, so he just hollows out his cheeks and sucks Robby’s fingers deeper. It’s pathetic, but he wants to be pathetic for Robby, to have the ache stripped out of him and replaced with this, sharp and consuming.
“God, honey, can’t wait to get my cock in this mouth,” Robby groans.
“Please,” Langdon whines involuntarily, the word muffled by Robby’s fingers. He can feel his own spit trailing down the corner of his mouth, and he catches the moment when Robby notices it. The way his eyes darken, the way his jaw clenches - Langdon will never forget that look.
“Soon,” he promises, and then he’s driving his fingers into the back of Langdon’s throat, fast, almost too fast for Langdon to adjust. He sputters, willing himself not to choke or gag, and Robby keeps going, fucking his mouth relentlessly, dragging saliva down his chin. He’s so hard it hurts, every part of his body screaming for relief. It takes everything in him not to rock his hips into thin air.
After a minute, Robby stops, pushing his fingers down in the center of Langdon’s tongue. “Eyes on me,” he commands when Langdon’s eyes start to slip closed. Langdon listens, but it’s getting harder now. He’s falling into a familiar haze, comforting and easy, every part of his brain shutting down except the desire to be used.
Robby maintains eye contact as he keeps Langdon’s tongue pressed down, forcing his mouth to fill with saliva he can’t swallow. He doesn’t break it when he pulls his fingers out of Langdon’s mouth, opens his palm under Langdon’s chin, and says, “Spit.”
Langdon immediately spits into Robby’s palm, filthy and quick.
“Gonna touch you now,” Robby whispers, rough. “Color?” he asks, but he already knows the answer because he’s reaching for Langdon’s cock before Langdon can get the word green out of his mouth.
Robby doesn’t waste time, doesn’t build up. He pulls Langdon’s boxers down just enough to grip Langdon tight and start working him fast. Langdon would call it punishing if it didn’t feel so fucking good. He bucks his hips once, fucking into Robby’s fist, and Robby immediately uses his free hand to grab his waist, stilling him with a grip that will definitely leave marks. Langdon whines as the haze in his brain gets thicker.
“Don’t move,” Robby commands before he presses his face into Langson’s neck, his mouth hot against Langdon’s skin. Langdon is sure Robby can taste his want. He’s shaking with restraint, moaning low and dirty, trying to keep his orgasm at bay while Robby works him.
“Fuck, you’re pretty like this,” Robby says. “You look so fucking pure, I wanna mark you so bad.”
“Yes,” Langdon moans. “Please, sir, I want it, I want you.”
“Tell me when you’re close, I want to know when you’re going to come.”
Langdon nods, and Robby moves his mouth to Langdon’s cheek. The pace of his fist doesn’t slow as he licks a stripe down Langdon’s throat to his shoulder, hot and wet. He bites into the muscle and sucks, and Langdon cries out at the feeling. He thinks the skin might have broken, and the pain is so good, keeping him anchored while Robby’s hand brings him closer to the edge. Robby’s fist works him fast and hard, slick with precome, every stroke pushing him higher until Langdon’s whole body is shivering with it. His thighs tremble. His chest is heaving. He feels like he’s being wrung out from the inside, desperate for release. “Sir, I’m -” he chokes, voice wrecked. “I’m gonna -”
And then Robby’s hand is gone. The absence is a knife. His orgasm crashes back into his body, painful, clawing, unsatisfied.
Langdon cries out, keeling forward, a guttural sound ripped out of him. He can’t help it.
“Not yet.” Robby’s voice is iron. He grips Langdon’s jaw, forces his chin up until their eyes lock. “You think you’ve earned it already? That easy?”
Tears sting hot at the corners of Langdon’s eyes. “No, sir,” he whispers. The girlfriend’s face flashes in his brain. “I haven’t.”
And God, it feels right to say it. Right to take the punishment. He doesn’t deserve it. Not yet. Maybe not at all.
“Then be good for me. You’ll come when I want you to. Not a second before. Understood?”
“Yes, Daddy.” His voice shakes, broken open, but the title slips out again, and Robby’s mouth curves into something dark and feral.
“That’s my guy.”
Langdon nods, squeezing his eyes shut at the pet name. He takes a few shuddering breaths, and then Robby’s back on him, his hand moving slowly this time, his mouth back on his neck. Langdon’s face screws up. “Hurts,” he whines.
“You’re such a mess,” Robby says, and Langdon realizes he is. He’s sweating, drool drying on his chin, leaking so much precome that Robby doesn’t need lube to work him with. “I fucking love it.”
“Fuck,” Langdon keens, letting his head fall back as Robby’s mouth explores his throat. He barely recognizes his own voice, high pitched and thin. His sense of the world has narrowed to the points of contact between himself and Robby, the mouth on his Adam’s apple, the hand on his dick. “Fuck, sir, I’m gonna come, I am, I can’t.”
Robby bites the same spot on Langdon’s shoulder, harder this time, so hard it makes Langdon yelp, and takes his hand away. Langdon’s yelp turns into a sob as he feels his orgasm ebb away. The nails on his right hand are digging so hard into his left wrist from the effort to keep his form that it’s breaking the skin. “No,” he whimpers, letting the tears fall.
“Yes, honey. Yes, come on.” Robby holds his face in his hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. His pupils are blown so wide his eyes look black. “Fuck, you’re pretty when you cry. You can do it. If I ask, you can do it.”
Langdon is going absolutely insane. He wants to come so badly. His cock is so heavy between his legs, curling up toward his stomach, leaking a puddle on the floor. He wants Robby’s hands, his mouth, he wants to get fucked until he can’t fucking see straight. He wants it all, right now. He thrusts his hips, unable to stop himself, and Robby smacks the outside of his thigh.
It’s not hard, Langdon knows Robby’s testing the waters, but it brings Langdon back to earth and it feels so fucking good.
“That okay?” Robby asks, his tone still clear and authoritative, but Langdon knows he’s really asking. Langdon nods.
“Words.”
“Yessir,” Langdon slurs. That haze that’s been sitting at the back of his mind is fully taking over, and he sinks into it, welcoming the feeling like an old friend.
Through half-lidded eyes, he can see Robby’s grin of recognition. “Oh,” he says. “You liked that.”
“Mhm,” Langdon breathes, concentrating on keeping his form when all he wants to do is slump down.
“That’s my boy. Are you with me?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Langdon manages to say.
“You know, people have been talking about you out there. About your mouth. I want to see what it can do before you come.”
“God.”
“You’re gonna snap if you need to stop,” Robby says, standing up and working on the button of his pants. “Try it.”
Langdon does, his mouth starting to water again.
“Good boy,” Robby breathes, pulling his jeans down just enough to free his cock. It’s suddenly right in front of Langdon’s face, hard and red at the tip. And it’s fucking big. He knows he’s going to choke on it. It makes his already aching dick hurt even more. He opens his mouth before Robby tells him to.
Robby laughs. “So fuckin’ needy,” he says, then he tangles his fingers into Langdon’s hair and drives into Langdon’s mouth.
Langdon immediately starts sucking at Robby, pressing his tongue hard to the vein throbbing on the bottom of his cock, groaning in pleasure. There’s no easing in. Robby sets the pace, fast and deep, driving into Langdon’s throat like he owns it. Which, tonight, right now, he does.
“Take it,” Robby grits, his fingers tightening in Langdon’s hair. “You can take it. That’s it. That’s my good boy.”
Langdon gags around him, spit spilling down his chin, tears blurring his vision. He feels humiliated and worshipful all at once, like he was made for this. Every thrust is a command: open wider, be better, don’t stop. And he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to.
When Robby drags him all the way down, pressing his nose into coarse hair, Langdon feels the edges of panic flicker. It’s too deep, too much. But Robby’s voice cuts through it. “Breathe. That’s it. You’re safe. Just me and you, baby.”
And Langdon believes him. Believes it so fully that he lets go, lets the world collapse until there’s nothing but Robby’s cock using his mouth, the sound of his dom’s groans, the ache of being broken down into exactly what Robby needs.
Every thrust feels like confession, absolution, punishment, reward. All tangled together.
“Fuck, baby, you look so good under me,” Robby bites out. Langdon’s never seen him close to coming, but he can guess that he’s not far away. “Like you were made to suck my cock, like you were made to be mine. All fucking mine, fuck, I’m gonna come and you’re gonna take it. Fucking take it -”
He cuts himself off with a moan as he pulls back just enough to come on Langdon’s tongue, rope after rope filling his mouth. He tries to swallow to keep up with it, but his mouth is used and wet and Robby’s coming so much that some of it spills out of his mouth and onto his chin, dripping onto his neck. When Robby finally pulls out, Langdon is shaking, drool painting his chest, throat raw. His cock is throbbing between his legs, untouched, and he doesn’t even care. He’s wrecked and radiant under Robby’s gaze.
“You’re mine tonight,” Robby says, voice rough as gravel. “Say it.”
“Yours,” Langdon gasps, voice absolutely shredded, eyes wet.
Langdon is trembling all over, knees digging into the floor, chest slick with spit and sweat. His cock is flushed, angry, weeping at the tip. He feels hazy, disconnected from the rest of the world. He keeps his eyes on Robby’s face, the only anchor he has to planet earth right now.
“You’re so good for me,” Robby murmurs, hand still tangled in Langdon’s hair, holding him steady. “Taking it all, taking it so well, even when it hurts. That’s my boy.”
Langdon sobs, raw and keening, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding back. “Please,” he chokes out, broken. “Please, I need -”
Robby crouches down again and takes Langdon’s cock in his fist. Langdon wants to yell from the overstimulation, but the pain feels grounding. “Sir, please.”
“Just a little longer.” Robby’s tone softens, not in command but in reassurance. He doesn’t move his hand. “You can do it, baby. For me. And when I let you go, you’re gonna come harder than you have in your life. You hear me?”
Langdon nods frantically, sighing. “Yes, Daddy. Please, please.”
Robby presses his forehead to Langdon’s, their breaths mingling, rough and urgent. “You think you don’t deserve this,” he growls low, intimate, like a secret meant only for them. He starts working Langdon’s cock, and Langdon moans, harsh and needy. “But you don’t get to decide what you deserve. I do.”
Langdon inhales sharply at the words, at the tenderness of them. He lets his forehead fall to Robby’s shoulder and feels Robby kiss his hair.
“Look at you,” he says. “You’re perfect like this. You’re mine. And you’re so good, honey. So, so good.”
His hand is relentless, twisting his wrist just so, stroking him to the rhythm of his own ragged breath. It’s brutal and tender at once, punishment bleeding into gift.
“Now,” Robby orders, voice breaking with heat. “Come for me, baby. Let go. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Langdon shatters. His orgasm rips through him, violent in its intensity, but it feels like salvation. White sparks burst behind his eyes as he spills across his stomach, crying out Robby’s name. Relief floods him so fast it feels like drowning, like purging every ounce of self-loathing he’s been carrying just to make room for this: pleasure, release, belonging.
Robby strokes him through it, holding him tight, whispering praise against his ear. “That’s it. That’s my guy. Knew you could do it. You’re perfect, honey.”
Langdon collapses into his arms, wrecked and trembling, but it doesn’t matter. Robby gathers him close, steadying him, grounding him, keeping him together when he feels like he should be falling apart.
Langdon is vaguely aware that Robby’s shirt is covered in his come as Robby pulls him onto the bed in the room. Langdon lays on his back as Robby pulls his boxers off and cleans him up, then curls into the fetal position. Robby climbs onto the bed behind him and wraps his body around Langdon’s back, stroking his bicep.
“Breathe,” he murmurs, voice still rough but lower, almost coaxing. Langdon follows the command as he starts to come back down. “That’s it. In and out. Good boy.”
Robby presses his face to Langdon’s hair, breathing him in. The bite is gone from his tone, replaced with something raw and unguarded. He sounds… like Robby. “Jesus, honey. That was intense. You okay?” He starts peppering Langdon’s face and neck with chaste kisses.
“Mhm,” Langdon hums, his eyes closed as he basks in the afterglow like a sunbeam.
“Are you up to talking? Do you need a minute?”
“Talking’s okay,” Langdon mumbles, snuggling closer to Robby. He’s coming back to himself, and it’s hitting him that Robby just came in his mouth, that Robby’s stroking his bare skin. His euphoria settles into something less intense but no less positive. Talking is hard, but he needs to to convince himself that this isn’t a dream.
Robby pulls a blanket over them. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispers. “So proud. You gave me everything.”
“Robby,” Langdon whispers. He’s not sure if it’s okay to call him by his name during aftercare, but he’s too blissed out to care.
Robby just holds him tighter. His heartbeat is steady, his hand tracing circles over Langdon’s arm. “I’ll stay with you,” he says softly. “As long as you need.”
“Just need sleep,” Langdon says, already halfway to dozing off.
The last thing he hears before he passes out is Robby saying “Of course.”