Work Text:
Bobby bites down on a moan, nearly crumpling the report in his hand as he squirms on Nigel’s lap. The bastard’s still rolling his hips into him, dragging his cock against his prostate in a sensuous tease. Bobby can’t stand it.
“What’s the matter, bunny?” Nigel purrs against his nape, his breath warm with smoke. “Can’t work?”
Bobby presses his lips into a straight line, ignoring him. His fingers shake as he reaches for the pen once again, writing down notes along the borders of the report. Nigel chuckles in response, running his hands down his flanks as he continues to move.
It’s too slow, too torturous, and whenever Nigel thrusts in deep, Bobby fears he’d lose his goddamn mind.
“Ni,” he breathes out, gripping the pen hard enough that the plastic creaks. “Nigel, fuck,” he whines, dropping the pen and crumpling the reports beyond recognition.
“Had enough, darling?”
A while earlier and Bobby would’ve played coy. He would’ve tutted and gotten back to work, finishing up his notes. But it’s been minutes, hours, and he can’t stand it anymore. He grits out. “Yes.”
The world goes sideways when Nigel stands up and pins Bobby down on the table, his cheek pressed against the pile of reports.
“Fucking finally,” Nigel grunts, ramming inside him over and over again. All gentleness is forgotten as he fucks Bobby as if he owns him, and Bobby wouldn’t have it any other way. He grips the edge of the table until his knuckles turn white, panting and howling like a bitch in heat.
He doesn’t last long, his eyes rolling back as he spills onto the floor with a sated groan. Nigel fucks him through it with long, frantic thrusts, flattening him against the table until he pulses deep inside.
Bobby shudders and moans as he’s filled, rocking his hips back while Nigel peppers his neck and cheek with kisses.
“Look at you,” Nigel laughs, kissing him back to life. “So fucking sweet, so gorgeous. My prettiest fucked-out bunny.”
“Shut up,” he drawls, sucking and nibbling on Nigel’s lower lip. He licks across sharp, crooked teeth and gasps when Nigel slips a tongue into his mouth. They only part when they’re breathless, their noses touching.
Amber eyes flick to the papers beneath them. “You do have extra copies for these, right?”
Bobby sighs, lifting himself off of the table. “No, but it’s nothing an iron can’t fix. Besides, I don’t think Durst would mind a few crumpled—”
Bobby stares down, horrified to see the ink blurring together from what he can guess is a puddle of his sweat, tears, and drool.
“Shit,” he says, wiping it away with a sleeve. The ink bleeds and smears all over the page until the text is indiscernible. “Shit. Fuck. Shit.”
Nigel whistles. “Well, good luck rewriting all that, darling. If you need me, I’ll be in bed—”
Bobby cuts him off by tossing a crumpled report at his face and lunging at him like a feral cat. This is all Nigel’s fault and he’s going to make him pay for this, that’s for sure.