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"Royd, you fuckin' tyrant."
Robert squirms, trying to get his legs up underneath him. He can feel Royd's fat, fucking insane cockhead pressing into his lungs. The man's splitting him in half like a goddamn icebreaker. Despite all of that, which any other sex pest might call good enough to get off, what he and his greedy goddamn hole need to happen to get off is to be lifted up and dropped onto it until his throat is hoarse from screaming.
Hell, he'd ride him, despite how it'd make his legs scream at the top of their nonexistent lungs afterwards, if that was what it took.
And Royd knows it.
Un-fuckin-fortunately for him, Royd's decided today that instead of indulging him when he'd proposed a quickie in his lab at work, he's gettin' a fuckin' punishment. Barely even a sexy one, either.
Royd tsks at him for moving, smoothing a hand down his naked before returning to his work. The man's still fully clothed, for Christ's sake, the only concession being his pants opened just enough to keep his cock out comfortably. The thing itself has been stuffed up one leg of the bicycle shorts Robert had picked out this morning for easy access, stretched tight by the sheer size of it, and is laying unmoving in his ass.
He needs him to move.
SDN technicians buzz about in the hallway outside the lab, their shadows flickering through the glass doors out of the corner of Robert's eye.
To their gazes, Royd is alone, sitting facing a table and casually working on blueprints, completely oblivious to the struggling, nearly naked dispatcher hidden behind his bulk, speared on his cock with nowhere to go.
It's pure torture.
Royd can go for fuckin' hours without getting sensitive, but the longer Robert stays on a cock, the more he wants to get fucked by it. He's not a guy made to enjoy cockwarming. His ass is too sensitive for that, growing puffy and easily irritated if a cock is in him for too long thanks to the long dry spell he'd been suffering before he and Royd got together.
Of course, it makes for mindblowingly good sex, when Royd's cock feels like it's carving its way inside him with every new thrust, and when he's cumming so hard he swears he becomes a new man by the end every single time.
Robert pulls his legs to his chest again, feet pressing down on Royd's thighs to raise himself up, and only get an inch before Royd's left hand slaps against his bare thigh and flattens him back into place.
"Can feel ya swellin' up aroun' me, Rob," Royd whispers into his ear, head dropped like he's looking closer at the purposeless junk he's been idly messing about with in the table, and Robert shudders, hole clenching down. "Don' move, now. Not done yet. Yah so damn warm inside. . . Wan' stay here fo' a while."
How much longer are they gonna do this? Robert whines, nasally and miserable, and twitches the muscles in his thighs like he would when he rolls his hips, to no avail.
"Gon' be tired ah sittin' by de time I let ya get off."
Get off.
Would Royd even let him cum at the end of this, or would he just force him to go back to his desk gaping underneath his clothes, hard, neglected cock barely contained in one leg of his shorts?
Robert glances down, eyes skating over the mess of precum dripping over his stomach where his cock's poking out of the last piece of clothing he still has on, at Royd's insistence, and then his attention is snagged by something else.
There's a bulging, round shape, right below where Robert feels tight and too-full, flesh stretched taut and hot over what can only be Royd's cockhead.
Robert tightens around him without even thinking about it, ass fluttering around the base in waves, and watches that bulge throb in response with perverse fascination, feeling warm fluid leak into the bend of his intestines.
He pants, loud and hoarse with arousal, gasping in breaths into lungs working with what feels like half their usual capacity. He needs it. He needs to fucking cum, needs to get Royd to cum, to see the roundness of his gut get bigger and less distinct as he's filled to the brim of what he can take.
"You're killing me here, Royd, come the fuck ON—" Royd's hand clamps over his mouth, well-trimmed nails digging into his cheeks, and he hisses at him to shush.
The harsh squeal of a dolly's wheels going by outside threatens to break the moment.
Robert runs his tongue over Royd's fingers brattily before the echo even fades.
Royd tears his hand away from his leg and grabs at his stomach.
"Dis what you fuckin' want?!"
He thrusts his hips up without pulling out, punches his massive cock against the internal wall, making the bulge of him even more obscene. Robert arches and claws at his thick fingers fruitlessly, trying to escape the pressure, feels like he's gonna tear, and simultaneously Royd's palm shoves down on his belly, pressing against himself, making it worse, and it hurts.
His hand is so big, it covers the entire pale, freckled, scarred expanse underneath the ending of his ribs from his waist to his groin, and when he squeezes, nails gouging his sides, it punches the air out of Robert's lungs.
Blood vessels in his skin break under the pressure, throbbing dully. When Royd removes it, Robert looks down, and the surface is already turning yellow in an outline of his hand.
He can even see the palmlines, and the rapidly darkening, neat crescents of Royd's fingernails decorating his flanks.
His face is wet.
"Eida be quiet and take ya punishment or lie an' tell me you an' ya greedy hole ain't want dis no more. Jus' gotta tap."
Robert does neither, too lost in the pain still to stop himself from whimpering his complaints as tears run down his cheeks. His free hands turn to grabbing backwards at Royd's sleeves to anchor himself, and he pulls to help his legs lift his body. He's gotta—
There's a tearing sound.
Robert freezes.
"Dat's fuckin' it."
Royd stands up and forces Robert face-down onto the table with a hand on his back, arms pulled completely straight and still fisted in the fraying cuffs of Royd's sleeves. Sharp edges dig into his front, sharp prickling points of pain only made worse by the weight of Royd on top of him.
The instinctual circle of his hips, just to test how much he can move in this position, presses Royd's dick against his prostate for a moment by complete luck.
More precum leaks onto the table.
If he can keep that going without Royd noticing. . .
Royd's belt comes loose with a whisper of leather. It creaks, like Royd's manipulating it, maybe forming into a loop.
Was Royd going to hit him with it for ripping his sleeves? With his strength, it'll definitely break the skin.
His whole body tenses against his will, anticipating the hit, and Royd groans, rubbing down his spine.
"You forcin' me out or keepin' me in righ' now, Rob? Eh. Not like ahm gon' be givin' ya a choice. Need my hands free."
A restricting band of leather loops around his left thigh, high and close to the hip joint, and then tightens, locking it together with Royd's as it's buckled.
It's tight enough Robert can feel the muscle underneath it starting to throb just like the points decorating his chest and his stomach as a new bruise forms and the bloodflow to it increases, fighting the constriction.
Satisfied by the solution, Royd settles back into his sitting position with a chuckle, Robert's pelvis staying nearly flush against him, and removes Robert's hands from his arms to dig into his own thighs.
"Sweet ting. I can feel you gettin' all kine of excited, wit' ya pulsin' on me like dat."
Robert's eyes roll back in his head as Royd goes back to his 'work', and his hips circle subtly. More pleasure coils in his groin, cock stiffening.
"Don—Don't laugh." He manages. "Your stupid dick's too—"
Royd chuckles again, tickled by his helpless complaints, the bulge of his cock shifting as it flexes inside him in sync, and he dismisses him, focusing on the table of metal scraps and ignorant to Robert stealthily starting to get himself off. Success.
It's not his favorite way to cum, but Robert'll take fucking anything at this point.
The gradual grind is working, pressing Royd more and more firmly against his prostate on every pass, and so far, Royd hasn't noticed.
He will eventually, though. The process is forcing precum out of his cock at an increasing rate, leaking down his balls and rapidly approaching his taint as orgasm starts to approach. After enough of this, it'll start dripping onto Royd after getting through the shorts, and all it'll take is one spurt soaking through the last of three layers of clothing for the jig to be up.
His legs feel like fucking jelly by the time Robert is starting to get close, but the enormity of Royd's nearly-useless-to-Robert cock makes it easy. No way to really get the angle wrong when the thing's fucking everywhere.
"Mm. Ya kine quiet."
Royd checks his pulse at his neck, Robert's mouth gaping open in a gasp as he grinds down harder and slower now that Royd's getting suspicious, milking his prostate in waves. Sweat runs down his back.
He clenches when he can muster the energy to pretend he's still struggling to get off, climax starting to claw at his bones.
The lab smells heavy, like sex and salty musk.
"Tired?"
Royd's touches his dick teasingly right as Robert swipes the front of Royd's shaft across his sweet spot one last time. Robert's balls draw up tight against his body in preparation. A moment, two, and with a grunt, a prostate orgasm tears through him like lightning.
His cock jerks in Royd's grip, painting his fingers with thin, milky fluid as he demands, entirely too late on the uptake, "Wen did you—?!"
Robert is far beyond a state where he can answer his accusing questions, floating high above his body as he shudders, clenching over, and over, and over, and Royd fussily pulls out and starts fingering his hole to check how inflamed he is inside, stumbling over his swollen prostate. With just that additional bit of stimulation, his cock jerks again, this time with clear fluid following the white. Somehow he's still fucking cumming, God, it hurts, almost worse than the abscence of stimulation had when Royd refused to move.
All at once, the waves of pleasure wrecking his internal world subside, and Robert goes limp.
"Ya okay?"
A wordless croak falls out of Robert's throat.
"Ah, not okay. Mighta denied ya a lil' too much."
Robert gathers himself enough to flip Royd off, and feels the edge of unconsciousness approaching.
Huh. Maybe that's why Royd wasn't going to let him cum.
He's already dreading the teasing from the team that missing the rest of this shift is going to incur, because he's done something so monumentally stupid as risking cumming himself into unconsciousness.
In his defense, he'd been edged and forced to cockwarm around a fucking lamppost-sized cock for what feels like an hour straight beforehand.
He passes out.