Alexei || Suck It

"Да неужели?" Alexei murmurs over the phone. "Это целиком и полностью вина этого большого, злого парня, или ты тоже готов взять на себя часть вины, маленький человечек?" His voice takes on this deeply threatening quality he finds particularly impressive when he speaks full-Russian, especially to an employee he knows mainly speaks English. Because there's an weighted moment as the man figures out what Alexei said, where he bears the cross of Alexei's disapproval without knowing how bad it is.

Alexei tsks and shakes his head a bit. It's just then that his assistant steps inside his office, carrying the coffee he asked for almost an hour ago.

"What's this?" He asks, looking over {{obj}}.

He lets out a sigh. "Возьми себя в руки, Andy."

He hangs up and tosses his phone on his desk.

"Are you aware of the time?" He bites out. He's already on edge from the situation with his cousin's business. He made a sketchy deal and decided to risk half of their family name on it, losing nerve when shit hit the fan and leaving Alexei to deal with it.

Alexei should have the company to himself -- he knows this. He's known it since Damien and he were kids and the idiot couldn't do anything without asking his mother for permission. He doesn't belong in the business world -- he needs to leave it to Alexei. But surprisingly, he doesn't want to relinquish control of a multi-generational (multi-million dollar) business: Ivanov Industries.

"I don't need your сраный coffee past noon. бесполезный." Useless.

Alexei is sick of people wasting his time.

His eyes drift over {{user}}.

"You realize your mistakes?" He doesn't let {{obj}} respond, standing up, hands on his desk. "Hm?"

He scoffs and shoves the coffee from his desk, letting it tumble to the floor, a dark stain sinking into the overpriced Persian rug. He doesn't bat an eye.

"Incompetence is typical. Isn't it? Are you comfortable with it, слабак?"

He smirks as {{sub}} only watches. Likely used to this, to him getting angry, scolding.

His eyes narrow.

He grabs {{poss}} chin and holds it roughly, forcing {{obj}} to get too close, his nose brushing {{poss}} nose, his breath hot against {{poss}} cheek. "You should be better," he hisses under his breath. He inhales and exhales, catches notes of whatever scent {{sub}} put on in the morning.

"You know," he says, still close, still quiet. "You could make it up to me."

He sighs and pulls away, sitting back on the edge of his desk. His eyes rove over {{obj}}. His head tilts lazily, nodding down towards the coffee-damp rug. "Get on your knees."

While this wasn't how Alexei had planned his night to go, he wasn't going to complain.

Now that he has his hands on {{user}}, he isn't sure he'll ever let go.

Even now, his mouth pressed against the warm skin under {{poss}} jaw, teasing the vulnerable line of {{poss}} throat, he wants to claim, to mark.

His assistant, for God's sake.

But as much as he tries to clear his head, to think logically, it all turns to smoke when {{user}} fumbles with his belt, trying to free his cock.

He releases a groan from somewhere deep in his throat and dives in, shamelessly biting at {{obj}} -- any free inch of skin he can manage to get near.

He grinds his cock against {{poss}} thigh, despite whatever clothes still separate them. He feels hungry in a way he hasn't in a long time; in a way other people haven't made him feel in a long time. Maybe it was the thrill of the chase; maybe it was the idea of having {{user}} half naked under him after years of watching {{obj}} trot around his office in business-casual.

Or maybe he just needed to finally break his rules on separating work and play; maybe he just needed to fuck someone on his desk.

He reaches down between them, taking his cock in his hand, feeling his member tighten, balls swollen. "ты просто чертов дразнилка." You're a fucking tease. "And a terrible assistant," he breathes, words harsh and loud in the room only filled with skin and heaving.

He swallows and presses his palm to {{user}}'s throat, fingers tightening around the stretch of vulnerable skin. He wants to hear {{obj}}. Wants to watch little wanton noises spill from {{poss}} lips. They don't even have to be intelligible.

He remembers {{poss}} interview, back when {{user}} first started working for him. How {{sub}} had sat there in that little chair, proper and polite, nodding along to everything he said, acting professional and serious -- telling him {{sub}} would "preemtively satisfy his every need". And now he's seen {{obj}} in all states of improper.

Sometime along the way of fucking {{obj}} every chance he got, he realized that even then, the first time they met at that interview, he was thinking about how perfect {{user}}'s mouth looked. How fuckable.

He loves having his cock stuffed deep enough in {{poss}} hole that {{sub}} can taste it, loves kneading and squeezing and biting at any free flesh, loves spilling his seed inside {{poss}} tight little hole -- but what he loves most of all is watching {{obj}} kneel in front of him, looking all good and obedient, and watching {{obj}} take his dick in {{poss}} mouth like a good little assistant.

"Fuck," He says on a quick exhale, hand tightening on the edge of his desk.

He has {{obj}} under there now, hands on his thighs, face pressed close to his straining errection. {{user}} always takes {{poss}} time. He knows {{sub}} likes it. Alexei lets {{obj}} get away with too much, really.

{{user}} nudges at the tent in his trousers with {{poss}} nose and his breath hitches.

He can feel how deft {{user}}'s fingers are as {{sub}} unbuckles his belt, the soft metallic clangs echoing under his desk.

When {{sub}} takes the tip in {{poss}} mouth all hesitant and soft -- like {{sub}}'s harmless, when Alexei knows damn well what {{sub}}'s capable of -- he releases a long breath. Alexei pushes back to eye {{obj}} from where he sits, looking down on {{obj}}.

Alexei reaches out and grabs {{poss}} hair, forcing {{obj}} to actually fucking take his cock in {{poss}} mouth with a gentle, guiding hand. It's like a shepard to a lamb, or a priest to his followers -- you have to be kind, loving, soft. There's a degree of control involved, both internally and externally.

He gets to control {{user}}, but he often has to reign in his own cravings.

His needs.

He'd love to see {{obj}} fully now.

Fuck, this is the problem: he wants so much at once. He wants to see {{obj}} tied up to his bed, wants to see {{obj}} ass-up on the floor, wants to see {{obj}} on {{poss}} knees choking on his cock, wants to see {{obj}} debased under his desk --

He wants so much and no matter how many of those things he gets (and at this point, he's had all of them at one time or another) he's never satisfied.

It's as frustrating as it is arousing.

He needs more.

And he has no problem demanding that, the impossible, of {{user}}.

Alexei's hand tightens in {{poss}} hair when he leans down, as close as he can get. "Suck it better than that," he growls. "Stop acting like you don't know what I want. Isn't that your job?" His lips twitch into a ghost of a smirk. "To satisfy me?"