Archive of Our Own

Watching his classmates trying to interrogate a sub was like watching someone's nails get pulled off. And Emmett would know. He'd watched someone's nails get pulled off.

This was supposed to be a practical exercise. They'd learned the basics of interrogation already, but Agent Hudson--one of their toughest instructors at the FBI academy--had said that all of the methods they'd learned assumed that their interogatee was a Dom. Emmett had thought, well, yeah, of course. All you need to do to 'interrogate' a sub is order them to tell you the truth.

Emmett wasn't a chauvinist. He fully believed that subs could and should be employed in all fields, of any kind. It was just... surely there were certain roles within that field that they were better suited to? Most subs in the FBI weren't active agents. They worked for Strategy, or in management positions. Those that were active had roles that basically depended on them not coming into contact with any enemy Doms. Many subs excelled at pure stealth missions. They were excellent snipers, too--apparently lying in a field belly down in mud completely motionless for three days felt good when a Dom ordered them to do it. Everyone also knew that subs could often exceed Dom's physical abilities if only instructed to--if ordered to endure pain, asphyxiation, or exhaustion, they'd do so with a smile on their face.

Still, they were rare. There wasn't a single sub in Emmett's entire class. Because you didn't have to interrogate a sub to get them to tell you classified information--all you had to do was ask.

Or so he'd thought. Thirty-five minutes into watching this, Emmett was beginning to revise his judgement. Not on subs, no. But on the competency of his fellow Dom classmates.

The sub they were 'interrogating' was an active Senior Operative named Abraham Alcott, a friend of Agent Hudson's that dropped in as a favor for the exercise. In this scenario, he was a traitor who had vital information on a person of interest. They were supposed to get the name of his employer. There were twenty of them, and they each had five minutes to try.

No one had even gotten close.

The crying had started immediately. It had started subtly, Alcott lightly twisting his wrists within the bounds of the handcuffs connected to the table and sniffling. He'd ignored the first few questions--something Emmett hadn't realized he'd be able to do--until the first Dom interrogating him had really put on the pressure, ordered him to look at her. Emmett had seen Alcott gaze up at her, eyes teary and lost, and asked a question not a single one of them had been expecting: 

"Am I being punished?"

The trainee blinked at him.

"I don't understand," Alcott whispered, looking around the room. He didn't look upset, necessarily, just confused and insecure, like a sub who had been given an unclear order and needed help understanding it. Emmett had always been taught that if a sub looked confused, it was the fault of the Dom for not explaining correctly. 

This trainee had too, apparently. She went straight from Agent into Dom mode, trying to explain, in a way that Alcott could understand, what was going on and why he was there. Alcott just continued to stare at her, occasionally shaking his head when asked if he understood. 

That ate up the first five minutes like candy. 

No matter what the trainees threw at him, Alcott had a way to get around it. Go bad cop? You got Alcott yanking at his bindings and begging to be good, just allow him to be good, he didn't understand, why weren't you letting him be good? Nice cop? Alcott would flip like a switch, cringing away, making himself small, denying any attempts at comfort and flinching at gentle touch, insisting he was bad and he didn't deserve it. It was so clear, from the outside, what he was doing, so obvious. Why couldn't they see?

Emmett was last. The previous student had just spent the last three minutes with his head in his hands, Alcott face down on the table hiding in the crook of his own elbow. When told he could vacate, the "interrogator" beat feet like somebody was chasing him out. It was only when Emmett stepped into the room that he somewhat understood why. 

The entire place stunk of sub misery. It wasn't a physical smell, but it was just as present, a noxious and heavy energy pervading the small space. Emmett was a cut and dry sadist. He liked making his subs miserable. But not like this--this was the misery of a scene gone wrong, of a sub who felt unsafe, of a situation spiraling out of hand. 

Emmett cleared his throat and sat down. Alcott looked up at him, lifting red rimmed eyes from his hiding place. Alcott's face, too, was part of the problem. He must have been in his forties, but his face was round and open, which made him look younger. Emotions played so clearly across it, even when it was obvious Alcott didn't mean for them to, which made him look vulnerable. Emmett ignored that, resisted making eye contact, looked at the man's chin instead.

"What's the name of your employer?" he asked. 

"What?" Alcott asked.

"I know you know. I know you're faking this. Tell me the name of your employer."

"Faking...? Sir, I don't..." The sub--Alcott--squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, looking desperate and uncertain. "Have I been naughty? Is that why I'm being punished?"

"Yes," Emmett said, committing to what every other trainee was afraid to say. "You've been very naughty. You've been a bad boy. You can be good, but only if you tell me who you work for."

There was a moment, a sheer shining moment, where Emmett thought he had gotten it. Alcott's face went blank, his expression melting away. 

Then, the sub reared back his head and slammed his face into the metal table with enough force that Emmett could hear something snap. 

"Bad boy, bad boy!" the sub screamed, slamming his face into the table again. Emmett, frozen in shock, just watched him do it. The sub slammed once again, and this time, when he brought his face back up, he was bleeding from the nose. The sub wailed, throwing his head back and beating his hands against the table. 

"I'm sorry!" he cried. "I'm naughty, I'm sorry, I'm naughty, I'm sorry!" 

He choked and coughed, and when he coughed, blood oozed down his chin. He coughed again, and the blood flew onto the table between them, splattering Emmett's hands and forearms. The hot, wet impact was enough to get him to react, finally. He stood up and grabbed the sub around the shoulders, keeping him from slamming his head down again. 

The sub simply began to tear at the skin of his arms and hands with his nails, drawing blood again. 

"Have to punish myself, punish myself," he muttered, as Emmett frantically attempted to keep his hands separate while ensuring he didn't slam his head again. The sub cried, kept crying, begging Emmett to allow him to hurt himself, allow him to punish himself so that he could be a good boy again.

Finally, the crackle of the intercom and the steady voice of Agent Hanson: "Five minutes are up. We're all done for today."

Immediately, Alcott relaxed, like his strings had been cut. He stopped crying, stopped trying to hurt himself, stopped the whole thing. 

"Do you have the keys?" he asked in a level voice, turning to look up at Emmett. His open face, just a second ago wracked with hysteria, was calm and open. "Or does Vince?"

"I do," Agent Hanson said, taking a key out of his pocket as he entered. "And don't call me Vince."

"Sorry, habit." His tone held just the teeniest hint of amused brattiness and he wiggled his fingers as Hanson released him. 

Emmett only let go of Alcott when the man went to stand up. 

"You'd best go and wash your hands, young man. What do you say, Vince, maybe we give them all a ten minute break and then reconvene in the classroom?"

"If you say so."

"You're the Dom. You tell me."

Vince sighed, long-suffering. "We'll take ten. Meet back in the classroom at 4:50."

The energy in the classroom at 4:51 sharp was nothing short of shell shocked. All of the Doms were sitting at their desk, but no one had notebooks out or pens ready. Mostly people were staring into space. Emmett was staring down at his hands. He'd washed his hands for the entire ten minute break, but he still had a few specks of blood on the white cuffs of his dress shirt. He couldn't get them out. 

Alcott cheerfully eviscerated them for the next hour and a half.

Well, it wasn't really that he eviscerated them. He was perfectly professional, even kind. But no Dom wanted a play-by-play explanation of how they'd failed, in front of all of their peers, with video evidence.

"Ooh, so see here," Alcott says, as Emmett walks in to the interrogation room on the grainy CCTV footage. Alcott pauses the video and points to Emmett. "I knew he was going to be a tough nut to crack, because it was obvious that he'd seen everyone go before him, and he'd learned. Sometimes the person who goes last is so rattled that they can barely talk, but not in this case."

Then, Alcott plays it again. The whole class watches, in silence, as the scene plays itself out. Emmett stares at his hands the entire time, but he still hears his voice, meanly telling Alcott that he'd been bad. He hears Alcott slamming his head against the table three times, hears him crying, hears him begging. He hears their struggle as Emmett attempts to hold Alcott back. He didn't realize that he'd been talking at the time, too, shouting at Alcott to stop. Screaming for someone to help him. 

Then, the fuzzy voice over the intercom, and the recording ends. Hanson hands a water bottle to Alcott, the lid already cracked. Alcott takes a sip and puts it down on the desk.

"Out of curiosity, and just out of a show of hands, who's ever made a sub punish themselves? Spank themselves or snap clothespins on their own body, something like that? It's not bad, you won't be in trouble. I just want to know."

Hesitantly, hands went up, Emmett's among them. A good portion of the room had.

"Mm. And that didn't feel like this did, right?" A chorus of nos, of head shakes. "No. Even if they did something to themselves that made them cry, or made them bleed, it didn't feel the same way that watching that did. Does anyone know why?"

Alcott gets the same answer he has all class when asking a question that requires a verbal answer: a sea of Doms staring at him, silently. 

"It's because this time, you weren't in control. No one was. Doms need a sense of control, even more than subs need to feel controlled. You guys... I mean, you saw. You practically stop functioning if something feels truly outside your ability to manage. And I was." He taps the image of himself on the screen. "Not because I was being willful. I was out of control because you had failed to keep me there. Even the most sadistic Dom feels a moment of hesitation at the sight of a sub dropped this far down. It's instinctual. And, just like the placebo effect, it doesn't stop working just because you know it's not real. I could have kept you guys going like this for hours. I have, before. Doms will do anything to regain their sense of control--in this case, to calm a distressed sub. I've had my captors completely release me from bondage or give me counter-intelligence that they didn't mean to tell me just to make me stop crying. I'm sure you can understand why. Every single one of you know that this was nothing but a training exercise and this is still the fifth water bottle Agent Hanson has given me in the past ninety minutes."

Alcott takes the water bottle that Hanson had been handing him, lid already cracked. He sips from it and puts it onto the desk, with it's other brethren. Five water bottles, all with a single sip or two taken out of them, neatly arranged. 

"You didn't even realize you were doing that, huh?" Alcott asks, mouth quirked in a smile. Hanson shrugs sheepishly.

A student raises their hand. "How did you disobey the direct orders we gave you? Or ignore our questions?"

Alcott points a thumb at Hanson. "He ordered me this morning not to obey any of your orders or give you any information. We've known each other for decades. His orders are much more powerful than someone I just met a few minutes ago. And if I was really in that deep of a sub-drop, I wouldn't have been able to understand your questions or orders, which is why it's a good cover."

Another student asks a question: "What do we do if this happens out in the field?"

Alcott snorts. "Hope you have a sub on your team. A few years ago there was a sub in class; you know she marched her ass in and got the information out of me in like, three minutes. Other than that? Get really, really good at disobeying your strongest and most basic instincts, or hope for the best."

Hanson looks at his watch. "That's class. Everyone's dismissed."

There's a clatter as the other students get up to stand. Conversation, though quieter than it usually is, filters into Emmett's near-deaf ears.

"Trainee Hayes, you stay back," Alcott says, pointing at Emmett. That works for him. He's still frozen, still seeing the blood splatter down Alcott's chin and across his hands every time he closes his eyes. 

Everyone else files out. Emmett hears Alcott and Hanson having a quiet, tense conversation at the front of the classroom. It goes on for a while before Hanson sighs in defeat. He approaches and puts a heavy hand on Emmett's shoulder. 

"Come with us."

Emmett, like a puppet, grabs his bag and walks. He follows them out the building, off the campus, down a few blocks, and up the stairs of a modest townhouse. He takes off his shoes when they get inside and allows himself to be gently led upstairs by Alcott. 

There's only one bedroom upstairs, and just one king sized bed within it. Emmett figures, distantly, that maybe one of them must live here? 

Alcott rifles through a set of drawers before he pulls out a gray long-sleeve t-shirt, worn and soft looking. He walks up and tugs gently at the button down Emmett is wearing.

"Can I dress you, sir?" Alcott asks, looking up at Emmett through his eyelashes. 

"Huh?" Emmett asks.

"Your shirt is dirty, sir. Can I redress you, please?"

"Sure. Sure, if you want to." Emmett feels absurdly lost as Alcott unbuttons his shirt, gently pulls it off of him, helps him into the clean top. It is very soft, and warm. It must be Hanson's--it's far to big for a man of Alcott's size. So Hanson must live here, then. 

"Would you like me to take a shower, sir?" Alcott asks, once he's removed Emmett's belt as well, taken his wallet and phone and badge out of his pocket and put them on one of the bedside tables. 

"If you'd like." Why is Alcott doing this? Emmett doesn't understand.

"I don't know, sir. I need your help, please. I can't decide. Can you help me be good?"

Emmett's entire body shivers of it's own accord. Alcott runs his hands soothingly up and down Emmett's arms. 

"Yes, take a... take a shower. Get cleaned up."

"Thank you, sir."

Emmett continues to allow himself to be led, this time into the ensuite bathroom. He sits on the sink and watches as Alcott takes his clothes off. It doesn't seem odd, to watch a commanding officer strip down nude and yelp as he sticks his toe into the cold stream of water. Alcott's body is wiry and trim, with a neat thatch of brown pubic hair and a light dusting of hair over his chest and stomach. He has two bilateral scars beneath his nipples, and no cock between his legs, but that doesn't seem as important as the happy sigh he makes when he gets under the hot water. 

Hanson's shower has a clear glass door, so Emmett can watch every stage of Alcott cleaning himself. He carefully soaps his entire body, shampoos his hair, gently rubs face wash around his nose and mouth, where there's still a little blood crusted around the edges.

"I got hit in the face with a football when I was seventeen, and it never healed quite right. Now it bleeds basically every time there's impact even if it doesn't really hurt. It didn't really hurt, when I bumped my head on the table. It sounded scary, but it didn't hurt."

"Oh."

"Mm-hm."

Alcott dries himself, goes back into the bedroom with Emmett at his heels and grabs clothes from a different drawer in the same dresser that fit him very well. So, is this Alcott's house? There's a ding of a timer from downstairs. Alcott perks up.

"That must be dinner. Can we go downstairs, sir? I'd like to eat."

"Yeah. Go ahead."

Alcott still leads Emmett around by the hand as they head downstairs, seats him next to him at the kitchen table. Agent Hanson puts down a lasagna, fresh from the oven. 

"Oh, this looks amazing, Sir," Alcott gushes. "May I eat?"

Emmett doesn't know how he does it, but the "Sir" that Alcott gives Hanson sounds different than the "sir" that he gives Emmett. Less indulgent, maybe. More genuine. 

"Eat all you like," Hanson says. He's changed too, must have done so when Alcott was showering. 

Hanson serves Alcott a plate. Tehn, without looking at Emmett, Hanson heaves a huge serving of lasagna onto a second plate and hands it over to Emmett. There's roasted green beans, too, and garlic bread. 

Hanson and Alcott talk casually over dinner. Emmett keeps his head bent obediently over whatever Hanson puts on his plate. When he gets close to finishing, it gets taken away from him, refilled, and replaced. Then Emmett starts again. He doesn't feel in control of the situation--not at all, frankly, beneath the dissociation is complete bafflement--but he doesn't feel worried about it. It's so clear that Hanson does have control over the situation, from the way that he sits at the head of the table to the way he determines what Emmett and Alcott eat, and when they're finished. It reminds Emmett, a little bit, of spending time with his dad after he'd presented but before he'd truly grown up. The security he'd felt at fourteen knowing that a more dominant Dominant was right there, just in case something went wrong. Just in case something happened that Emmett couldn't handle. Just in case Emmett was the one who needed taking care of.

Alcott hops up to do the dishes. Hanson gets to stay, because he was the cook, and Emmett gets to stay, because he's the guest, so it's just the two of them left at the table as Alcott busies himself at the sink across the room. Emmett can feel Hanson's gaze heavy on the side of his face.

"I didn't want to bring you here," Alcott says, and Emmett flinches.

"I'm sorry, sir. I can go." It comes out as a whisper. Emmett doesn't know what he's doing here, either, but now that he's here, the idea of leaving feels horrible. Even so, he would, if Hanson told him to. It's Hanson's (Alcott's?) house. He's in control of what happens inside of it.

"Abe said you needed the help." Hanson sighs. "He was right. How are subs so god damned perceptive? It makes Doms look bad."

Emmett laughs, just a little.

"Here's what's going to happen, after Abie finishes the dishes. We're all going to go upstairs to the bedroom. You're going to sit in the armchair that Abe leaves all his books on, after moving the books off the chair, and then you're going to see how I reward my sub for following my directions and being a good boy in difficult circumstances."

"Oh." Emmett's shoulders relax, his jaw unclenches. That's right. Hanson had ordered Alcott this morning not to answer any questions or give any intel, and he'd succeeded. So, now, he'd be getting a reward.

When they go upstairs, Alcott sheepishly helps move all his books--mostly naval historical fiction--onto the ground so that Emmett can sit. Then, he goes to stand in front of Hanson, nearly vibrating with excitement. Hanson smiles, very slightly, and wraps one huge hand around Alcott's neck. Alcott's eyelids flutter, his entire body relaxing immediately in his Dom's hold. 

"Eager boy."

"For you, Sir."

"For your reward, more like."

Alcott just moans as Hanson gives a squeeze to his neck. 

"Do you want your collar on tonight?"

"Sir please--yes, please, sir, I want--" Alcott is so eager he's stumbling over his words, squirming in Hanson's hold.

"Calm down. You're going to get it. Good boy. You alright with the leather cuffs? Your wrist isn't giving you any trouble?"

"Yes. Or, no, it's not--I want--"

"You let me worry about what you want. I'll give it to you."

Alcott sways his body into Hanson's. Hanson allows it, lets Alcott do the sweet little full body rub subs do against their Doms when they're happy. Emmett had an ex who did it to him a few times. It's usually only between very established pairs. It feels good, though, to receive it, so good. Your sub doesn't cling to you, try to wrap their arms around your or control you, bind you. They just... full body nuzzle against you, rubbing and burrowing into your body, nestling themselves into your heat. Alcott moans happily as Hanson lets him rub his face over his Dom's neck, tilts his head down to let Alcott rub their cheeks against each other, stubble scratching. Hanson is the one who rubs their noses together, but Alcott is the one that shivers. 

Hanson kisses Alcott on the temple. "Take of your clothes and lie down on the bed, face up."

Alcott nods, quickly strips and climbs up onto the bed, situates himself in the center and waits. Hanson takes his time grabbing the restraints--a pair of handcuffs padded with brown leather--and Alcott's collar, a similarly deep brown with a gold buckle and "VH" embossed right over where Alcott's Adam's apple would be, if he had one.

Alcott's whole body twitches when his hands are bound up to the bed frame above his head, when his Dom--and it's so obvious, now, that these two are a pair, that this is Hanson-and-Alcott's house--fastens his worn but well-cared for collar around his neck. That thing is probably twenty years old, Emmett thinks, at least. They've been doing this for a long, long time.

Hanson takes off his shirt and kneels between Alcott's spread legs. Alcott spreads wide to accommodate. 

"Do you know why you're being rewarded?" Hanson asks.

"Because I... because I was good today. I followed directions and I didn't tell anyone anything and I did a good job teaching the kids."

"Exactly right. You did so wonderfully, Abie. You were fantastic during the exercise, and then you explained everything so clearly afterwards. You taught that class all by yourself, baby. I'm so proud of you."

Alcott grunts and kicks his hips up, apparently unconsciously. Emmett can see that the curls between his legs are already dewy, the hot, pink folds of him glistening as he spreads his thighs.

"Why else are you being rewarded?"

Alcott's brows furrow. His eyes dance around Hanson's face, trying to figure out what he's getting at. It's similar to how he looked earlier today, baffled and unsure, but different, too, in all the most important ways. He's confused, but secure. He's wondering, but certain that he's going to get the answer. It's so obvious that even as Hanson asks a question he knows Alcott doesn't know the answer to, he's still deeply, truly in control.

"I don't... know. Why else am I being rewarded, Sir?"

"Because you noticed a recruit in a bad Dom drop. You argued with me, and stood up to me, until I agreed to bring him home, because it was the right thing to do. You stuck to your guns when you knew your instincts were right. You saw someone who was young, and vulnerable, and needed your help, and you reached out your hand, because you're a very good boy, and a very good sub. I'm so lucky to have you."

Alcott's eyes fill with tears. "Sir, no."

"It's true."

"No, Sir. I'm mouthy."

"That's for damn sure."

"I'm insubordinate, and I'm argumentative--"

Hanson puts a single finger to Alcott's lips. "You're a very good boy, Abie. You deserve your treat today. You say that for me."

Alcott's lips tremble. "I'm a very good boy. I deserve my treat today."

"You think so, too, right, Hayes?" Hanson asks. Emmett jumps. He'd sort of forgotten he was there himself, so focused on watching the two of them. "You think my boy deserves a treat?"

"Yes, sir. He, um... he took care of me even when you weren't there. He got me to take care of myself by baiting me into ordering him to take care of himself. He did a good job."

Hanson gives Alcott a hard kiss on the mouth before grabbing his thighs, spreading them wide, and diving down to suck hard at Alcott's cunt. 

Alcott gasps, huge, chain of the handcuffs rattling as he tries to bring his hands down to touch. Hanson pulls off just as quickly as he started, looks at Emmett with a wicked smile.

"He gets this two days a year: on his birthday, and on trainee interrogation day. He loves trainee interrogation day, don't you, baby?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Alcott humps his hips up rhythmically, trying to bridge the gaps between his Dom's lips and his pussy. "I love it, please, Sir, please!"

Hanson returns his tongue to it's previous position. Alcott's eyes roll into the back of his head.

Eating pussy... it really doesn't look like all that much from the outside. Emmett can see Hanson switching between licking and sucking Alcott's clit and his hole, can see the way Hanson's hard cut jaw works between Alcott's legs, can see the thick fingers he slides into Alcott, the way he's clearly rubbing them hard against his sub's g-spot. Beyond that, it's hard to get distinct details.

Emmett has to read them from Alcott's reaction. He grits his teeth when Hanson licks his clit, but he gnashes them when he sucks on it. His mouth opens wide when Hanson fucks him with his tongue, but he bites his lip when Hanson fucks him with his fingers. His moaning, already loud, builds up as he winds his way up to coming, arriving to a crescendo in a hoarse shout as he convulses and gushes against Hanson's face. 

"Oooh, oooh, oooh," Alcott whimpers, as Hanson gentles him down, continues to suck gently at his pussy as he rubs one big hand over Alcott's belly. Alcott's toes curl and uncurl like a cat kneading it's paws as he comes down from his orgasm. 

"Felt so good, Sir," Alcott mumbles around a heavy tongue. "Thank you, thank you."

"Good boy, Abie. Gonna fuck you now."

Alcott, beyond words from the strength of his desire, whines and spreads his legs even farther, tilting his hips up as Hanson strips off his sweats and lines his cock up. 

"You want it?" Hanson asks.

Alcott nods frantically. 

"Beg, boy."

Instead of speaking, like Emmett expects him to, Alcott opens up his mouth and sticks his tongue out, pants frantically. His bound hands curl, like little paws, and he lets out a yelping little ruff! 

"Good puppy." 

Hanson slams his cock home. Alcott yelps for real this time, unfeigned. He continues to yelp as Hanson sets a brutal pace, pushing his legs so far back his knees touch his shoulders. Emmett can see glimpses between Alcott's legs, as Hanson's cock flashes in and out from between Alcott's bright pink folds. His big stiff clit stands proud above, visibly twitching as the pussy below it gets railed. 

"You can come whenever you want." 

The sentence is barely out of Hanson's mouth before Alcott is wrapping his legs around his Dom's waist and sobbing through a shuddering orgasm.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he gasps. 

Hanson coos. "Were you waiting for my permission, baby? You must have been so close to come so fast."

Alcott nods, even as his head is jostled on his neck from the pace of the fucking. 

"For you, Sir, for you."

"Waiting for me?"

"Mm-hm."

"Good boy."

Emmett watches as Hanson keeps a steady pace, slightly slower but just as hard, as he talks his sub to orgasm. He holds Alcott's eyes, and he tells him what a good boy he is; how he's special, Hanson's favorite, how out of everybody Hanson chooses him because he's the best; how tight and hot his pussy is, how good it tastes, how Hanson loves to reward Alcott's sweet little cock when he's good, but how much he also likes to punish it when he's been bad (at this, Alcott offers that Hanson could punish it when he's good, too, if he wanted to, and Hanson give him a deep, messy kiss. Emmett would have kissed him, too, fuck); how Hanson will do anything for him, whatever Alcott wants, because he's so good and he deserves whatever he wants, he deserves the very best because Hanson loves him so very, very much.

Alcott comes at that. 

When he opens his eyes, afterwards, it's so clear that he's flown off. He's floating in subspace, secure enough in his Dom that he can afford to give up any semblance of control, and completely willingly. He gives up begging, pleading, even crying, content to lie back and take what he's given with complete acceptance. He looks up at Hanson with absolutely nothing but love behind the eyes. 

Hanson slows down when this happens, laying his weight on top of Alcott and kissing him, pushing his tongue into his unresponsive mouth. Emmett loves to do the same thing when he gets a sub this far down, kiss them and feel them trying their best to kiss back, the dull little twitches of their tongues as their brain is unable to compute and execute something even this basic. It feels so fucking good to know that you were the one that got them there. You got them to a place where any worries or stress or even basic brain functions flew off and left behind nothing but a creature built of complete submission, and devotion, and you. You've offered up enough security and control and devotion of your own that the sub makes that space inside of themselves, and trusts you to fill it. 

Hanson reaches down and grinds his fingers against Alcott's cock as he grinds his hips against his pussy. He barely does it for thirty seconds before he whispers: "You can come." 

Alcott's eyelids flutter as his eyes roll back, obeying immediately. This deep in subspace he's found a way to link something as basic as his orgasms completely to his Dom's control, no need for natural build up or stimulus. Emmett's sure that if Hanson was standing across the room, right now, without a single point of contact on his sub, and told him to come, Alcott would do it.

Another minute passes of slick, slow grinding, kissing messy enough to have saliva trickling from the slack corner of Alcott's mouth, before Hanson commands it again: "Come."

Alcott does, trembling. His hands twitch wildly in their bonds. 

Two minutes: "Come again." 

The animal grunt that Alcott lets out as he obeys feels like a punch to Emmett's chest.

Thirty seconds: "Come."

Forty-five: "Come."

Twenty seconds: "Come on, honey. Come."

Ten seconds: "Come again."

By this point, even in the natural quietude of subspace, Alcott is squealing with each command. It's hard on him, his entire body soaked with sweat and trembling, little toes kneading the air like he's making biscuits.  He's to far gone to talk, but he's started to make this gasping, waah, waah, waah with every inhale, wheezy and desperate. 

Hanson kisses him, letting Alcott squeal and wheeze and groan into him mouth, before he breaks away.

"Let me tell you what's about to happen. You're gonna come when I say." Alcott is too far gone to even nod in response. It doesn't matter. It's so clear he's listening. "You're gonna come when I tell you to, and then, right after you finish coming, you're gonna come again. You're going to come immediately, and it's going to be the hardest you've come all night. It's gonna be so strong, Abie, so good, it's gonna make you fucking crazy. Gonna make you lose it, sweet boy. You're gonna come the hardest you've ever fucking come for me, and you're gonna do it with one of my students watching, because you're my best boy and you deserve it. Okay?"

Hanson kisses Alcott's face, licking up his tears from beneath his unseeing eyes and over his flushed cheeks, rubbing their noses together. 

"You ready, honey?"

Alcott just waahs, but Hanson takes it as an answer. He wraps his spare arm even tighter around Alcott's body and leans down to whisper in his ear.

"Come."

Alcott comes, hips snapping up against Hanson's as he tugs on his bonds. Then, just as it begins to fade, as Alcott's body begins to relax, the second part of Hanson's order kicks in. 

This time, when Alcott comes, he screams. The thrashes beneath Hanson's weight, eyes rolling back, legs thrashing, looking like he's getting fucking exorcised as he sucks in another wheezing breath just to scream again. Liquid erupts from between his legs as he squirts all over the bed covers, Hanson's cock, Hanson's hand, both of their thighs, even splashes some up onto his own belly as it's diverted by Hanson's pounding hips. Hanson groans and barely manages to fuck Alcott through it before he comes himself, filling up Alcott's cunt even as the sub is still whimpering and crying through his own aftershocks. 

Alcott actually manages to slur some words out, desperate enough to beg even this far down in subspace: "No more, no more."

Hanson slows his hips to a stop, removes his hand from between their bodies, and strokes said appallingly messy hand over Alcott's hair. "No more, Abie, I promise."

"Okay," Alcott whispers. Then: "Thank you." Then, he passes out.

Hanson grunts and groans as he pulls out of Alcott's body and flips over so he's lying beside him.

"Too fucking old for this," he grumbles, before his eyes meet Emmett's. He tilts his head, surveying. "You want to do aftercare?"

"Yes." Emmett blurts it out fast so that Hanson can't take it back. "Please. Sir."

Hanson waves a lenient hand, still dripping. "He won't eat or drink while he's unconscious, but you can unbind him and get him cleaned up. Snacks and drinks are in the kitchen downstairs, you bring them up here and I'll get them into him when he wakes."

"Yes, sir."

Emmett grabs the cuff key off the bedside table, carefully unlocks Alcott's bonds. He brings Alcott's arms down, massaging each shoulder, down each individual arm, kneading at his hands. He checks around his wrists to make sure he's not chafed, then massages back up, bringing blood into limbs that were held up so high for so long. Then, he scurries downstairs, finds some fruit and chocolate, two sports drinks, and brings them back up, presents them for Hanson's approval. Hanson nods, and so Emmett carefully puts it within reach for when Alcott wakes up. 

Emmett fidgets as he waits for the sink tap to warm up, instructed where to find wash cloths by Hanson. Finally, the water warms, and he soaks the wash cloth, then wrings it, trots in while it's still hot and kneels between Alcott's still-spread knees.

Fuck.

Alcott's a mess, soaking wet from waist to knees, pussy wide open and still twitching even in his sleep. Hanson's come is oozing out, bright white against the deep pink. Alcott's clit is rubbed red and raw, standing up from his body like it's angry. Emmett swallows the rush of spit that floods his mouth. That isn't what he's here for. 

What he is here for is to slowly, carefully, and gently wipe every inch of mess from Alcott's body. It settles something in him to watch the mess be neatly wiped away. He feels steadier after each trip to and from the bathroom to rinse the cloth and come back. To see the mess on Alcott's body and make it go away, even as Alcott is knocked out, even though Alcott might never know it was him, feels like control. Not over Alcott, necessarily, but rather, over the world. The problem: Alcott is messy. The solution: Emmett will clean him. Simple. Practically, Emmett reflects, as he wipes between each individual fold and lip of Alcott's still-oozing cunt, impossible to fail at. 

Hanson jolts when Emmett moves towards him, like he wasn't expecting it, but he still allows Emmett to take his hand in a gentle grip, wipe his palms and between his fingers, places that Alcott's cunt has left sticky and gooey. Hanson let's him wipe the squirt off his belly, too, and upper thighs, but when Emmett dips his head to lick and clean Hanson's soft cock, Hanson grabs him by the hair.

"Woah, boy. We've crossed enough lines tonight. I could get fired if anyone knew you were here, let alone if I let you suck my dick."

Emmett's lips tremble. "I wanna taste him," he pleads. "I'd never touch him, I know he's yours, I'd never put my lips or tongue, but I want... I want to know what he tastes like. You have what he tastes like."

Emmett looks up at Hanson, begging with his whole being. Hanson heaves out a huge sigh.

"Jesus, kid, you sure you're not a Switch?"

"I don't know," Emmett moans, miserably. "I just know I want to taste him."

Hanson lets go of Emmett's hair. "Alright. Alright. This is probably a huge mistake, but alright."

Emmett lowers his head down to where Hanson's cock rests in the crease between his stomach and thigh. He laps gently at the soft skin of the shaft. He wants to make it last, so he keeps it to little kitten licks, nuzzling the cock with his nose when he needs it at a new angle so he doesn't pervert the taste with his hands.

It tastes so fucking good. Salty, bitter, alive, healthy, a mix of Alcott's cunt and Hanson's come, the natural taste of skin. Emmett gently, gently dips the tip of his tongue beneath Hanson's foreskin, wiggling against the soft flesh and moaning. He didn't notice when it happened, but somehow he's laid down on his stomach, and he's humping his hips down onto the bed, pressing his cock against the messy comforter. 

"Take it into your mouth, kid." 

Emmett does, lets Hanson bring his head down to rest against a thick thigh. Hanson's barely half-hard, and Emmett knows he won't get a mouth full of come at the end of this, but he still suckles gently, lips and tongue smacking wetly against skin. He rolls his hips harder.

"Fuck, everybody thinks you're such a big, scary dom with that dark black hair and bright blue eyes, all tall and strong and built, but you're not really, are you? You're just a little kitty cat." Hanson laughs. "I could bitch you in a second. Would you want that? Want me to turn you into a stupid little sub, have you kneel at my feet and beg for your treat?"

Emmett nods, shakes his head, nods again. He likes being a Dom, he really does, but if being a sub means feeling like this, warm and safe, held with strong hands and protected from the world, then he really wouldn't mind it. He would kneel at Hanson's feet, he thinks. He would wear a collar and open his mouth and beg for whatever Hanson would give him, if it meant he could feel like this again. 

"You're halfway to subspace just from some cock warming. You're so easy, kiddo." Hanson reaches out and grabs a handful of hair, shakes Emmett's head. Emmett groans. Hanson ruffles his hair, and Emmett's mouth drops open, speaks of it's own accord.

"Daddy, please," he says, voice smaller than he's ever heard it. 

"Oh, Jesus, kid," Hanson says, voice pitying and patronizing--but his cock twitches where it's fallen against his hip, and that's enough for Emmett. Emmett slaps a hand over his own mouth and comes, staring up at Hanson in shock as his whole body trembles and he moans high-pitched through a syrupy, pulsingly slow orgasm. He's never come like that, he doesn't think, has definitely never made a noise like that when he did so. 

The second he finishes, Emmett feels the blood rapidly cool in his veins. He begins to shiver. What the... what the fuck is he doing here? Sucking his superior officer's cock like a bad porno, begging to do shit any self-respecting Dom would be disgusted by, having to be handheld by two near-strangers because he's such a stupid fuck up? Why is he like this? Why can't he do anything right? Everyone must be so disappointed in him. He's such a failure of an agent, of a Dom, of a so--

"That's enough." 

Hanson's voice is firm, but not sharp. Loud, but not angry. It snaps Emmett out of whatever spiral he was entering, at least a little bit. He allows himself to be tugged up the bed, turned on his side with Hanson curled behind. Hanson puts one hand over Emmett's eyes, shutting off any visual stimuli; the other, he sticks down Emmett's wet pants, covers his cock. He doesn't grab the shaft, the way he would if he was going for a hand job. He cups as much of it as he can get in his hands, Emmett's balls too, holds the whole package close to Emmett's body. Nothing is compressed enough to feel like it hurts, but it's squeezed just tight enough to make Emmett feel like he's... safe.

"Didn't drag you out of a Dom drop just to push you into subdrop immediately," Hanson grumbles. 

Emmett's shivering slows. When had he started shivering? He doesn't know. He does know that Hanson is Guarding him. It's a classic move for a sub in distress. One hand over the eyes, the other over the genitals. Emmett used it on an ex-girlfriend once when she was heading towards subdrop, was shocked at how well it worked. He'd made his fair share of jokes about it to his buddies afterwards, how subs were like birds--if you blocked the light, they just went to sleep--but that feels unfair, now. It's not that he feels tired, having his eyes covered. He feels guarded. Taken care of, so completely, that he doesn't even have to see what's going on. He trusts Hanson enough to know that whatever is happening, he'll deal with it. He'll keep Emmett's most vulnerable parts--his eyes and his cock--literally in hand. 

"Good boy."

Emmett's entire body goes slack, like a wire was cut.

"Yeah, I think someone was mis-labeled when he presented, huh? Twenty-four is an awfully late time to find out you're a Switch."

Emmett pants quietly in Hanson's arms like an overworked dog. Hanson waits him out. Once Emmett has calmed a little, Hanson rolls him over to Alcott's side of the bed, pulling off his pants and underwear and wiping him clean. He gives one last little squeeze around Emmett's cock, making Emmett grunt. 

"Abie's gonna be so happy when he finds out how big you are. He loves to have his pussy all stretched out."

Emmett doesn't really know what Hanson is talking about, but he thinks maybe he said Alcott would be happy with him? So Emmett opens his eyes and gives Hanson a dopey smile. He feels really good again. What was he worried about before Hanson was holding him? Whatever it was, it doesn't matter. He doesn't even remember it. He reaches out a clumsy hand to just sort of... gently touch Hanson's arm. 

Hanson sighs. 

"Oh, great. Now there's two of them."