Chapter Text
Waterboy swore he’d never let it get bad again. It was bad enough as it was that his stalking record was documented and stored in files when the SDN hired him.
The familiar burn of shame hit his cheeks as he clung to the rag at the mercy of his iron grip—knuckles blooming white from the subconscious force. The water ran down his hand, but his mind was elsewhere, beyond the mess that pooled at his fingertips. He watched in admiration, pupils blown wide and fixated, as Robert began to wrap up for the night.
Robert had always been kind to him in more ways than one throughout his employment, even right before the hiring meeting. He could still remember the way Robert tugged on his tie, his neck thrumming in subtle desperation to feel that pressure again—to be at the mercy of his higher-up, no matter how casual.
Blood rushed to his cheeks, the warmth enveloping him almost as a dare—a temptation to admit to his own twisted tendencies buried deep finally.
He felt his collar grow tight as Robert ran a hand down his face, a groan escaping him as Waterboy threatened to mimic the other man out of instinct.
He bit down on his lip, eyebrows knitted upward as he kept himself quiet. The shorter man stood from his chair after turning off his computer, lazily tossing the chair beneath the desk as he made his way toward Waterboy—only to stumble.
Outside of Waterboy’s perception, Robert was painfully aware of the boy’s struggle, fumbling with the rag between his palm and long fingers as the sound of his commotion lured Robert in. The scene played out shamelessly—Waterboy bent over a janitorial trolley, trying to wet his rag in the bucket opposite him. Robert refrained from laughing, but his smile was nonetheless amused.
“Hey, kid,” Robert spoke low, the warmth of his voice expected—yet never prepared for. Waterboy whined softly, biting his lip harder before leaning back and nearly tripping into the wall… his height saving him as he felt for his footing. “You’re working late… they got you on overtime or what?” His arms crossed, backpack limp against the back of his lean figure—he carried himself despite his exhaustion.
Waterboy stumbled over his words, cheeks burning and perspiring beneath the suit he wore. “Y-Yeah! B-But you know, I mean, I d-don’t worry… I mean janitors gotta— I stay overtime ’cause they— well, I need to… because after everyone has gone—left, I can really, uh… do my—my thing.” His smile curled upward, nervous and almost forced, given his caught-red-handed situation—almost blessed had Robert assumed it was just his normal anxieties. The older man let out a huff, nodding in understanding as he lifted a hand and patted his shoulder—quite the reach.
“I gotcha. Don’t work too hard.” Robert sent him a smile as the warmth of his palm escaped the curve of his shoulder, Waterboy almost leaning into it as he made his departure. “Goodnight, kid.” And just like that, he felt a pull… a strong fucking pull, far too familiar as the compulsive urge weighed him heavily.
“Don’t, d-don’t… not again.” His hands found the trolley, gripping the steel as his nails dug into his palms. He could not—and would not—become obsessed again. The kindness granted to him would not be his gateway. But like any addict, the faintest hint of tobacco is the smoker’s undoing.
The door clicked, and so did Waterboy’s will.
—
Waterboy's breath was shallow, forceful in its quietness as he kept his distance. Robert clung to his bag, and Waterboy clung to his torso—arms wrapped around himself—grounding. Just to get to his car—to make sure he made it back safe. Convinced, almost. He knew he was falling back, the landslide backward familiar, but he refused to look it straight in the eye.
The hallways were reducing in number, narrowing as they neared the parking lot. Stale, corporate lights merged from a cold blue to the warmth of the evening sun kissing the earth… soon, it’d be a faint purple. Waterboy had stayed after when the sky faded from warm hues to dark jeweled tones—not for Robert’s presence, he would stress.
With the breadth of his forearm, Robert pushed against the door as it gave way to him, absent with his back to the other man. Assuming Robert’s plan of action—which was to seek out his car—Waterboy trailed closely behind. He could smell the strength of his cologne… cheap, subtle. A hint of masculinity enough to ease Waterboy’s compulsion, but hardly. He needed more; he always needed more.
His heart raced—he could almost feel him—the warmth; the tender squeeze.
In the blind rush, it was the turn of his shoe and the clatter of his keys hitting the carpet that made the younger man leap right back from where he came. A noise almost escaped his lips, but a hand found his mouth as his back slid against the wall, hidden from Robert… fortunate enough to be as quiet as his grace had given him. He felt his chest ache from the violent rush of his heart… lightheaded and faint as his face burned. God, he felt fucking disgusting. He felt wet.
Robert knelt down to grab his keys, knelt a moment too long as he stared in the general direction of his gut instinct. Like a deer alerted by the snap of a branch, yet the narrow furrow of his gaze was too guarded and rough for a deer.
Waterboy’s mouth felt miraculously dry. He could hear Robert lift himself and finally leave, assumptions saving Waterboy’s anonymity. Blood ran south, pounding and thrumming against hot skin as he felt his knees give out—weak and on that high he denied himself since his “last” incident.
The boy clung to his suit, clumsily unzipping his suit, far too rushed as the cold hair nipped at his porcelain skin. His lip quivered, a shaky sigh relieving no sense of relief as his chest rose and fell feverishly. He shook his head, guilt playing him like a puppet with too-tight strings.
“No... s—stop it... fuck.” Denial. “Damn it.”
He was better than this. A hand slipped down as the zipper fell further open—agape.
“Robert w…would hate you.” A silent degrade—mostly for him, had it not gone through one ear and out the other.
His pale skin bloomed pink from his flustered eroticism, legs pried open as the guilt merely drove his desire more so.
“Screw it.” He whispered, hand roughly shoving its way between his latex suit and his boxers, cupping himself as a low whimper left his throat involuntarily… like an injured animal, choking out a sob. Waterboy wasted no time, his palm dug into the broad of his dick, making its way up to his cockhead as his hips bucked desperately. “A-Ah… mhmph..!”
His pace quickened, hand on his mouth to muffle his whiny noises, focused too hard on reaching a climax… embarrassingly wet already. With his index and his thumb, he pinched the head of his cock every time he pumped upward, his back arching against the wall as he nearly came right then and fucking there.
“R…Robert..! Ng..h, please… please, please, please—!” His voice hitched, higher and shamelessly pathetic as his hand grew tired, but his stomach pooled with warmth… coiled and tight.
He imagined how disgusted Robert would think of him if he knew; if he knew he jacked off at the thought of his coworker… how fucking filthy he actually was. His grip on his dick through his boxers tightened—he whined loudly. Robert would fucking despise him.
Waterboy choked out another sob as his legs began to shake, his back impossibly arched and the other hand fell from his lips. His boxers became rough on his length, the skin burning, but his rough hand was relentless.
His eyes were screwed tight, seeing white from its blunt force as he imagined Robert praising him in contrast—how good he was doing. Oh, he treated him so well… he was so kind to Waterboy—he ought to give him more credit, right? Always helping where he can, why would helping him come in his pants be any different?
Waterboy moaned something drawn and desperate, broken from how long he kept from jerking himself off… months, a year probably. “You’re doing so good, kid.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. “Be a good boy and try to come for me, okay? I know you can.”
The next few seconds were a blur. His hand froze up and he subconsciously pumped himself through his orgasm. His dick twitched and immediately soaked through his boxers.
He came hard, and somehow always forgot just how much he comes… head to toe in sweat, and now the sticky warmth that clung inside his underwear. With a whimper, his hand fell limp on his lap, cock twitching as cum pearled where his head erected from his briefs.
Waterboy sniffled, struggling to find the strength in himself to stand. His hand braced for the wall, legs like jello as he let out a huffed laugh—airy. His high not quite reaching the underlying shame made him work his way to the shower, suit still unzipped. Thank fuck he was the only one with the keys to this place after hours.
The humidity of the shower room hit him first—muggy and heavy as he trudged over to the showers. Waterboy shucked off his shoes and suit, left bare as his hand wrapped around the shower knob—twisting it as cold water made him yelp. It was like the sting of punishment… he shivered, biting down on his tongue as he turned his back against the downpour.
His arms wrapped around his own, overlapped as if to comfort the fact that he had relapsed into bad habits.
For now, the shower was enough.