#and he's so hard to pose bc he stands like a fucking brick wall

[the-troll-book-of-mormon]

im a bit late but happy birthday to the striders, here's a messy sketch of them together lol

[hastybooks]

how to take, pt. 1

There's no clock to watch in the break room, just a handwritten sign that reads "for a plasent experience please clean up after your-self" and a TV with a stripe of dead pixels down the middle. The TV blares the noon news at top volume for Randy's benefit. Carey's never wanted to destroy something so much. Well. Since yesterday.

Carey only does real actual work for three hours straight-- and then hangs around for four and a half hours, feeling boredom crush his skull like an iron vise, staring at old intranet interfaces while he pretends to track down Account 10258. He knows that once Corporate get computers that are much smarter and cheaper than having to pay humans-- he'd be out of this hell organization if he hasn't gotten out by then.

Four years here has felt a lot closer to forty. This gig only has one perk. Superior work/life balance. He has no interest in getting up the ladder because he can do math and divide managerial salaries by the hours they're expected to work. Still, 29.5 hours per week at Bullshit Co. doesn't pay the bills he has.

Good thing Carey's also got no shame and a pretty body and a taste for casual cruelty.

Carey leans back against his chair, wondering how many messages are on his burner phone back in the room he rents. Supposedly outside these windowless beige walls, the sun is shining and the weather is above 20 degrees C. Spring makes people want to fuck.

And that means people come to Carey-- Sir to these people-- for a little flogging and meanness and if they're good enough, a little suck. He looks at his phone-- 2:34. Just two hours and 21 minutes until he can go home and look at his burner for client requests.

#

Wednesday night rolls around, with Carey having an appointment at his third-favorite no-tell motel. The motel is out of everyone's way, past an abandoned office park, and if Carey listens closely he can hear the rumble of planes overhead.

Carey's looking forward to opening the door to Room 6 tonight.

Negotiating the place, the fees, the pain got a lot easier when Carey told this client to send him a shirtless selfie, no face. He always asks for these pictures. Clients like preening, maybe feeling the slight tinge of humiliation if maybe they're not as toned as the faceless picture of himself that he sends them, smooth skin and muscles, his thumbs hooked around a rodeo-style belt and a thin trail of hair creeping up underneath his belly button. It's one of Carey's favorite selfies, even if it's titled runaway_cowboy on his external HD.

Carey doesn't just ask to embarrass them, although it's a nice bonus for those older clients. Hitting people well requires thought, especially if they're paying for a two-hour session. It's easier on the hand to give slaps on fat than slaps on bone, and surgical scars are generally a no-go. This client--

He sent Carey a barely-crisp picture of a beefy torso, densely covered in hair with a thin bar running through a faintly-pink nipple, just like his handle promised: w00dluver. Carey had texted him, told him to pinch that pierced nipple, and got a blurrier picture of him doing it, just enough to make him 90% sure that it was real.

Carey isn't picky, but it's occasionally nice to be able to work over someone who's closer to his size and age. He sends a text to this John called Shea, telling him he's here, and walks up the stairs with his play backpack. A suitcase is harder to explain than a backpack, and Shea isn't demanding too many toys. Just some good old-fashioned man-handling. The motel door opens, showing Shea.

Shea's only an inch taller, got only ten extra pounds on Carey, and looks like a mean professor. Carey leans against the doorway, one thumb hooked in his jean pocket, and tilts his head. "Ready for a good time, kid?" he smirks. Shea clears his throat and nods, "Yessir," trying not to meet Carey's eyes, like there's a time limit on this.

Well. Shea did just pay for two hours, and Carey closes the door behind himself. The lock clicks, and Shea shifts from one foot to another, his beard barely hiding his blush. Carey tosses his backpack on the closest bed and looks at the lurid swirl of green-orange of the bedspread, saying, "You going to be still?"

Shea freezes at the edge of Carey's eye, his hands pressed flat against his worn jeans. Carey looks back at Shea. The picture hadn't lied. Shea's a big boy. Carey rests his eyes on Shea's shoes, dusty and creased, up to his ill-fitting polo, the crumpled camo cap on the bed stand, the beat-up wallet next to the cap, filling in the blanks. Country boy, quiet, control freak, and Carey locks his eyes with Shea's, seeing those dark eyes tremble from not looking down and away.

Change a few things around and they could be good buds. Carey squeezes Shea's shoulder, digging his nails in hard, and drawls in his best BC twang, "Get on your knees, you fairy."

Shea does. Slowly, glaring up at him the whole way, his jaw clenching. Carey bites down on the urge to smile at how he's so fucking defiant, almost proud, and can almost see the next two hours folding before him. He rarely has to send someone down into subspace-- they do it to themselves, the fantasy of a dom slapping cock in their faces, posing and snarling at them making them easy and suggestible.

Shea is going to fight him. He'd probably lose. Carey rakes his hand through Shea's thick hair, yanks it back hard, and says calmly, "Thank you."

Carey sees Shea's massive shoulders slide down a little before he hikes them up again. Shea snarls, "Is this the best you can do?" Carey plucks at his polo, and drags it off Shea's torso, tossing the XXXLT across the room and steps away. Shea doesn't move, and Carey can feel him glaring at his back while Carey sets the air conditioner to the lowest possible setting. It's a warm day, but not that warm, and Shea's nipples harden in the chill air as he watches Carey move across the room. People think that big guys like him and Shea have no problem staying warm, but all that muscle takes energy to keep warm, and being still on the floor doesn't help one whit.

Thermodynamics' a bitch. Carey pulls his clothes off, folds them neatly on the bed next to his backpack, wearing just his PVC harness and black bike shorts, snapping the waistband against his hip to get Shea's attention. He's got it, can feel Shea looking at his ass and cock. He slips on fingerless gloves, flexes his fingers into easy fists and looks over at Shea. Shea averts his eyes, swallowing, and Carey presses his feet flat against the carpet.

Walking back to Shea is easier this time, and Carey hits the meat of Shea's arm with the tip of his knuckles. Shea jerks, and Carey says, "Two for flinching," punches the back of his arm, right above the elbow, and Shea clenches on a noise. Carey presses his foot over Shea's thigh, and says, "Not going to cry?"

Shea grinds his teeth, "Fuck you," and Carey smirks as he shoves Shea's face against his crotch, rubbing the smooth fabric of his shorts against Shea's mouth. He strokes himself with Shea's lips, feeling his stuttering breath through the thin fabric, the prickle of his beard. Carey doesn't have to say the obvious, and Shea pants when he gets pushed back, his hands loose against his thighs.

"Get up," Carey says. Shea scrambles to his feet, clumsy from kneeling, and Carey walks around him. He can see Shea fight to not look over his shoulder, and he drags his nails down the center of Shea's back, right down against his ass. Carey presses his mouth to Shea's ear, "You're going to take off your jeans. You're going to show me how easy you are."

Shea hesitates for a breath, but slides out of his jeans, his underwear, and Carey lets himself leer at the glimpse he can see of the flushed cock hanging in between Shea's thighs. Carey strokes down Shea's hip, "Bend over on the bed."

"No," Shea says, and Carey curls his arms around Shea's arms, and squeezes his biceps in between his elbow. Carey rushes him down against the bed. The thump echoes beyond the thin walls. Carey pushes down as Shea tries to arch off the sheets, his legs scrambling underneath their combined weight. Carey pushes a leg in between Shea's, and says calmly, "I don't repeat myself."

Shea struggles, enough to realize that Carey's got all the leverage. His arms are pinned back, and this position must be pushing the air out of his lungs, and Carey nudges his leg up higher. Shea shivers when Carey's thighs press against his balls, and Carey lets him go. Shea falls forward on the bed with another thump, twisting to get on his back--

Carey pinches the soft inside of Shea's thigh with a casual "no". Shea stops, and Carey slaps his thigh, brushing his balls, "If you wanted me to bust your balls, you could have asked." Shea doesn't answer in words, but the back of his neck is almost brick-red and Carey slips his thumb down his furred cleft. That makes Shea still, every inch of him paying attention. Carey presses his thumb in.

It's tight, too tight, and Carey almost feels guilty at how much Shea's asshole is fluttering around his thumb. Almost.

Shea fists his hands against the sheets. Carey feels his asshole clenching around his thumb, can see how that made Shea break out into a sweat, breathing hard and his thighs splaying open. Of course Carey rocks his thumb, just enough to rub against that tight rim, and he knows exactly what Shea's looking for now. He can just reach the lotion on the bed stand. It's not lube, but that's why he's slipping it against Shea's ass. Carey pushes the lotion in, cold enough to make Shea hiss between his teeth. He presses his face against Shea's jaw, "Show me."

Shea has the good sense not to ask Carey what, and to just lift his hips up from the sheets, forcing him back onto Carey's thumb, grunting as he tries to work himself open and failing. Carey cups Shea's balls, feeling how heavy they are, how he clenches harder when Carey pulls on them just this side of painful. Shea swears under his breath when Carey slips his thumb out, and Carey only has to glance at Shea's ass before he gets the dildo.

Pushing the dildo in, with just the barest amount of lube, makes Shea tremble and struggle not to move. Carey watches Shea's eyelashes flutter, watches how Shea makes himself relax and take it, just a little worse than he probably thought he'd be able to. Carey waits until the dildo's in, waits until Shea leans back onto the sheets and his breathing evens out, to hit Shea.

The whine he gets when he hits him with his hand on the back of his thigh goes straight to his cock. Carey hits him again, his hand flat against Shea's ass, smacking him and making him clench even harder around the dildo, making him rock against the bed. Shea tries to move towards Carey's hand, and gets tapped on his cheek instead. Carey slaps the insides of Shea's thighs, squeezes his balls before he flicks them, and laughs when Shea howls.

Carey shoves the dildo in, angled just enough that it's getting Shea's prostate too hard, and rolls him over. Shea's cock jerks and leaks across his abs, looking red and squeezable-- so Carey squeezes it, his thumb nail scraping across the foreskin. Shea jerks, his hips lifting up, trying to fuck into the grip. Carey pushes him down, and slaps him, right where the beard'll hide any mark Carey leaves. Shea licks his lips, his eyes only softer in comparison with the rest of his body, tense and strung--

Kneeling right between those thighs, his hand cupping Shea's balls so tightly he can feel them twitching, Carey rubs his finger along where the dildo's stretching Shea's open, hot and almost raw. Shea thrashes his head against the sheets at the gentle touch, and Carey curls up a smile. He slides his hands off Shea, and kneels above his face. He's hard, of course he is, and Shea parts his lips in a silent plea.

Carey obliges Shea by shoving his cock in that mouth, rocking carefully on his knees--

Shea sucks messily, his eyes squeezed shut, his lips slipping over the tip of Carey's cock. His face is covered in sweat, and he's breathing hard in pants between Carey pushing against his face. His arms are flat against the sheets, trusting him to do all the work, and well, Carey can jerk off like this, watching him try so hard.

He comes on Shea's thick beard, a small splash, and rubs it in, not quite letting him taste his come even though his tongue darts out to taste his fingers. Carey leans away, and pushes Shea on his front. Shea goes easily, his muscles slack and his ass up in the air.

Carey fucks him like that, thrusting the dildo in and out fast enough to make his arm ache, and listens to Shea make those hot ah, ah sounds before he comes, getting the sheets even dirtier and his body one long shake--

Shoving the dildo in makes Shea spurt again on the sheets and fall against the come he put there. Carey slips his fingers through Shea's sweaty hair. Shea's not going to move, so Carey does, ignoring the way his shoulder tingles as he leans up and says, "Good. Little. Fairy."

Shea laughs, wrung-out, and Carey drags his nail down his slick neck, "Five minutes."

Afterwards, Shea tips him and doesn't apologize for being a hard fuck. Carey likes that.