the damage has been done.
jontimjune - accidents (day 11)
(tw for smut. yeah im too embarrassed to tag the account today. HEAVILY inspired by @disconnectedkid’s timelias fic of a similar nature! thank you hun for letting me do this<3)
He shouldn’t have touched that damned book.
It was a lietner for fucksake! Y’know, the only books that artefact storage locked up for very good reason? The books known to link back to some of the Fears?
Opening a lietner was like sampling an encounter with an eldritch horror. And what had Tim done?
Tim had done just that.
Artefact storage was— It was easier to get into when he had all the permissions he needed from Elias. He may not like the guy, but he was still the big boss. Get his favor and he was let in faster than he had time to explain.
And locating the lietners was easy too. All of them were piled on an empty bookshelf, lined up alphabetically by some poor soul who probably didn’t work here anymore.
He’d seen a few familiar ones from past cases, Ex Altiora, the Boneturner’s Tale, ectera, ectera.
Then he spotted one with a blank cover, one with nothing but a heart on it’s deep emerald cover. It was— Oddly eye-catching for how simple it was.
So, he had picked it up. Obviously.
Then he had opened it. Then he had started reading. Then he got to marvel in the slow realization that this book was just—
Porn. It was just porn.
And he wasn’t able to fathom how this could possibly be a lietner until he noticed something else.
It was all to his taste.
Each page was fantasy upon fantasy of everything he was into.
Praise? A whole entire story with every single word that ticked in his brain just so. That story even threw degradation into the mix. Just how he liked it. A balance.
Choking? It had that too! An entire section, actually, detailing the exact pressure he enjoyed as well as how long he could handle it before freaking out.
Hell, there were even some of his more adventurous kinks here. The ones that even he was embarrassed to share.
Okay, sure, freaky lietner that relays his sexual desires to him, is that the whole schtick?
No. No, of course not.
And once he has finally managed to pry himself away from the book, once he had finally stopped himself from reading it, once he had finally shut the damn thing—
He felt it.
He already had a crazy libido, with some extra assistance from his t-shots, but this was different. This was more.
There was only one way to put it, really.
He was wet. Like, obnoxiously wet.
The kind that meant he needed to be railed now or he just had to deal with it.
And he chose to deal with it. The bad option, he realized, but he chose it regardless. In spite of how his clit throbbed with each minute shift in his chair. In spite of how he huffed and whined each time it did.
At the moment? He was just trying to keep from grinding down too enthusiastically on his poor seat.
Christ, he felt like a dog.
A pathetic whimper rose from his chest at that thought, punctuated by his hips rolling once again. Awesome.
He had long since dropped his pen, knowing that he’d end up snapping it in his body’s eagerness. He didn’t feel like adding ink to the mix of stains on his clothes.
As for how he was coping?
Not well. His shirt was unbuttoned far past work-appropriate, sweat pooling almost everywhere, and the cool wood of his desk, pressed against his temple, could only do so much to keep him from overheating.
And, sure, he didn’t look up when the door was opened, but can he really be blamed for that?
“Tim?” Oh, shit.
It had to be Jon, it just— It had to be him. Jon and his stupid stalking. Jon and his hair that seemed to be growing by the minute, streaked with gray that fit him quite well actually.
No. No, no, Jon and his freaky eldritch powers, more like. Jon who was slowly turning into a monster and was making it everyone’s problem.
But— But Jon and the new scar that lined his throat. Jon and his lithe form, scrawnier than ever before. Jon and his dainty wrists and thin fingers. Jon and his damn waist.
And— Yeah, fuck, that wasn’t helping.
Begrudgingly, he lifted his head, cringing at the feeling of his sweat-slick hair clinging to his skin. Was he really that hot?
“What d’ you want, boss?”
And Jon was standing right in front of his desk, arms crossed. This can only end well.
“Well, I heard some noises, to put it decently, and I wanted to see where they were coming from.” Jon eyed him up and down and, fuck, that should not be doing something to him.
“You seem to be the source. What happened to you? You look dreadful.” There it was. That tingle he was getting all too familiar with. Jon’s compulsion.
A moan. He— Yeah, Tim moaned in response.
“Lietner. I was looking for more on the Unknowing and I found a lietner in artefact storage. Surprise, surprise, it was— Christ, it was smut. Relating specifically to me. And now I’m so wet I’m sure I’m gonna stain this chair.”
Jon simply gaped at him in response, eyes wide. Eyes. Eyes on him, watching him, boring into him as his hips roll uselessly.
Remember when he refused to elaborate on his ‘more adventurous’ kinks? Yeah, exhibitionism happens to be one of them. And it definitely doesn’t help that Jon is meant to be a voyeur.
All he gets out is another muffled noise, head back in his arms, as Jon flounders for words.
“Can I help in anyway?”
And he really wanted to say no. He really wanted to send Jon away, to shout at him for even offering, but he couldn’t. His lips moved on command. Against his will.
“You could fuck me.” Is what comes out instead. Is what he utters into the space between his arms and the table.
And Jon falls silent. Y’know, maybe he should open that lietner more often. If that’s all it takes to shut Jon up.
“Would you— I mean, would you, uh, want me to? Would you want that?” What?
No way.
There was no fucking way.
Jonathan Sims was offering to fuck him.
And he was considering it. Listen, this doesn’t mean he excuses the guy’s actions, he just— Christ, he needs to be demolished now.
“Fine.” He mutters, lifting his head. He doesn’t move from his perch just yet, curious to see if Jon will follow through.
“Oh? Really? I mean, I— Yes, alright. Would you like the doors locked?” Kudos to him, then.
And as much as Tim would like to say ‘no,’ because the thought of Martin or someone else walking in is insanely hot, he does still have common sense. Spare himself the shame.
“Yeah, n’— We aren’t going to be talking during this. I just need this situation sorted, capiché?”
Jon turned back from locking the door, staring at Tim who had just rose to his feet, steadying himself on his desk. Sweat shining on his chest, on his neck, on his face.
“I’m going to need to talk, Tim. Excuse me, but I won’t be skimming over boundaries just because you don’t want to talk.”
Tim all but groaned at that. Frustration, this time. Not at all one of pleasure.
“Fine! Fine. Don’t call me a girl, don’t make me call you daddy, not a fan of it, and don’t be gentle with me jus’ because you’re scared. I want it rough.” And when had he got there?
When had he rounded his desk, pushed Jon back oh-so slightly, and sat himself square on its surface, bracing himself with two arms?
“And any preferences? Any, uh— Anything you are positive you want?” Every. Damn. Question. Every damn one was another compulsion.
“Praise.” Tim grits out, forcing his mouth to just stay shut. Jon doesn’t need to know this.
But when had he ever been lucky?
“Tell me I’m good. Christ, your voice would sound filthy saying shit like that.”
Ah. The answer was never. He had never been lucky. Not now, not ever.
“Right. Finish with your shirt, will you?” Oh, they’re just diving in now? Fine by him.
He set to work on the last few buttons, his grip slipping a few times with all the sweat on his hands, but he got it eventually.
Shrugging off that piece of fabric was more freeing than it should’ve been, honestly, and he couldn’t suppress an eager shudder as the cool air of the archives hit his skin.
And Jon approached like a shark, circling his spot on the desk, slow and studying.
On his next lap around the desk, he stood in front of Tim, one hand extended out towards his chest, eyes ever questioning. And, damnit, Tim shouldn’t find that cute anymore.
“Touch me.” Tim’s voice wavers. Just a bit.
But Jon listens. He surges forward, leaning over Tim with an eagerness of his own, hands searching, gently.
Two thumbs find his nipples, brushing over the buds delicately, experimentally, toying with the piercings running through them with an odd curiousity. He whines.
Oversensitive was a fucking understatement.
Each touch from Jon was like making contact with a livewire, sparks snapping and crackling at him in tandem, setting him ablaze.
And he relished in it.
Begrudgingly.
He heard the first kiss before he felt it, a quick peck pressed right to the center of his collarbone. It tingled, trapped underneath Jon’s palm as he splayed his fingers.
“What are y’ doing, boss?” His attempt at a snappish tone failed by a long shot. It crashed and burned right into him asking an actual question.
“Taking my time. I don’t, uh, I don’t do this often. Building up courage, as it were.” And for some reason? That made Tim laugh.
“You’re really biting the hand that feeds you, hm?” His chuckle spilled over into a breathy moan as Jon grew a bit bolder with his actions.
He pinched Tim’s nipples. Pinched.
“Oh.” And damn him. Damn him for being somewhat good at this.
Tim grumbled, throwing a hand over his face. Good lord, he could feel how flushed he was, his skin hot and feverish under his palm.
“Ah, uhm, move your hand, please?”
What?
“Are you trying to use dirty talk on me?”
Jon pouted, puffing his bottom lip out and furrowing his brows and, fuck, if Tim didn’t feel a bit affectionate. In spite of himself.
“I’m— I’m trying. Do you have any suggestions?”
“I dunno, just quit trying to mimick shit you’ve heard before? You offered. Say how you actually feel or something. Act on instinct not a fucking script.” Giving advice on how to dirty talk, to Jon, no less, was not on his schedule for today.
He could practically hear the cogs turning in their beloved Archivist’s head, churning the information over like it meant more than what Tim was actually saying.
After a second, he just nodded, leaning back in and continuing to massage the nubs on Tim’s chest. Then planting another kiss to his collarbone. Then another, and another, and, oh, look, one along the column of his throat.
Tim gave his own throaty hum in reply, grateful for the contact. Grateful for any touch at this point. He would like to get to the point, though.
“I’m grateful.” Jon murmured between nips along Tim’s shoulders. When had he started biting?
Not that it mattered. Tim was loving it.
“Hah— Yeah? For what?”
And Jon paused, pulling his hands away from Tim’s chest and just— Resting his head in the crook of the other’s neck.
“This. All of this. You let me help you even after all of—” He shut up at Tim’s warning glare. This is the opposite of what he wanted from Jon.
“I’m just glad to help. To, to make it up to you in some way. And you— You look nice.”
Tim laughed again.
“Nice?”
“Yes. Very nice. You look very nice, Tim.”
“Very nice.” He mirrored back, slumping his head back against the desk. “You sure have a way with words, don’t you, boss?”
“I’m doing what you asked of me.” He punctuated the sentence with an open mouthed kiss to Tim’s jugular. “Instinct over routine.”
And, as nice as this was, Tim was still, y’know, soaking through his pants at the moment.
He needed more.
“Kiss me.” Is what he decides to say, apparently. Is what comes out of his mouth at the very least.
Jon bends to his whims, surging forward to capture his lips in something far too soft for what Tim needs.
He decides to change that.
He digs his teeth into Jon’s lower lip, sliding his tongue into the other’s mouth at the resulting gasp. And he searches. He explores.
He may not be the one topping this time, but he traces along Jon’s teeth, the roof of his mouth, runs along his tongue, noting everything he can feel.
And Jon hums so beautifully in reply, vibrations crowded between the heat of their mouths and reverberating through Tim’s spine.
He pulls away eventually, with a shocking amount of reluctance, and pants into the open air. And, oh, look at that, a string of salvia connects them.
Jon’s pupils are blown wide, pools of inky black that eat up the deep brown of his irises.
“Y’ good to move on now?”
Jon nods. He nods without hesitation.
“Get to it then. Unless you want me to do all the work as far as clothing goes.”
Jon shakes his head.
It was endearing, honestly, Jon shocked to silence and listening to Tim without a second thought. Even as his hands shook around the button on Tim’s trousers.
He helped to get them off, of course, kicking them down his legs and from around his ankles. He didn’t care that they landed in a pile on the floor. He couldn’t care any less.
And, wow, okay, Jon wasted no more time.
He found a hand pressed to his, still clothed, cunt in an instant, a warm palm resting along the length of his swollen cock. And he writhed.
“I’m— Dear lord, I’m so glad to be here with you, Tim, you have no idea. You’re beautiful.”
And between Jon palming at him and the praise, he moaned again, long and loud. Jon simply shushed him in reply, keeping his hand right where it was. Oh.
Oh, he was letting Tim use his hand.
He wanted Tim to use him.
Fuck.
He groaned as he rolled his hips up into Jon’s waiting palm, sparks flying from the barest amount of contact. Not enough to satisfy, but definitely enough to leave him panting.
Jon was still talking, he realized, muttering between the kisses he kept pressing anywhere he could reach.
He seemed quite fond of Tim’s stomach and chest if the way he lingered on those areas said anything. Admiring them, he thought.
“Handsome.” Jon said now, a breathy whisper against the corner of his mouth. When had they come face-to-face? “Handsome, handsome boy. Thank you.”
And, yeah, he decided he quite liked this. He liked Jon fussing over him, cooing at him in that prim tone of his.
The coil in his gut wound tighter and tighter, but no matter how fast he tried to move, no matter how far he went to chase his release, he always seemed to stop right at the precipice.
His body was edging him.
His vision blurred right as he choked out a sob, hot, frustrated tears streamed down his cheeks. Fuck. Fuck, shit, he was crying.
He couldn’t help it though.
He had been so close. He had been right there and he just— He just couldn’t.
“Are you— Are you alright? Is something wrong?” Jon was blabbering again. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be mad. He was so tired. Exhausted. “How can I—?”
“Fuck me.” Is all Tim manages between shuddering breaths, between tears and his chest heaving.
And Jon swoons.
“Right, yes, do you mean—?”
“God, do you want me to beg? Fill me, boss. I need your cock or I will actually die. Please.”
And Jon looks good like this, actually. His eyes practically black with how dilated his pupils are, his legs and hands shaking, and his teeth worrying his lips, chewing.
He nods, determination intermingled with fear and anxiety in his gaze. But he listened.
But he finally tugged down Tim’s boxers. But he finally exposed his slick entrance, practically dribbling onto the desk beneath him.
And Tim whined and hissed, still beyond oversensitive. But he wanted this.
“Good lord.” Jon is staring with this odd starstruck look in his eyes, like he’s just unearthed some buried treasure.
He sure feels like he has.
He’s ever generous, though, as he works his own trousers down, popping the button and quickly shuffling out of them. Tim holds back a laugh as he nearly stumbles.
His pants are discarded soon after, leaving his dick to bob out in the open. Jesus.
Jon is small. His cock is small too. Not outrageously, but it’s definitely not like the dildos Tim uses back at home. He’d always liked the stretch. Bit of a size king.
“I know, I know, it’s not—”
“It’s not what?” Tim speaks before he thinks.
And Jon, bless his heart, throbs at that, pre building at his tip. He’s flushed a nice shade of red, all the way from his cheeks down to there.
Not to mention he’s hard.
Like, obscenely.
“In me. Need y’ in me, boss. You signed up for this, please.” And Tim’s just talking at this point, letting things leave his mouth with no prerense. Despite how avidly he’d protested against this at the start.
“Wait, do you have a, a condom?”
“Yeah.” Tim replied, once again reluctant. “But I want to feel you. I want it in me.”
Jon furrowed his eyebrows, clearly concerned.
“I don’t— Testosterone. No risk of getting pregnant. No need to worry about that. Can’t anymore.” That did seem to be the cause of Jon’s anxiety, if the way his shoulders eased said anything.
“Do you need any preparation?” And, okay, yeah, Tim chuckled at that.
“No. You don’t need to prep me. I’m— I’m slick enough. Fuck, it’s practically a slip-and-slide down here.”
Jon gave his own bitten-off laugh in reply, it was a hardly there sound, honestly.
Then he was finally back on Tim.
Jon pressed into him, leaning his weight over Tim’s chest and trying his best to find a good position. He ended up ramming his cock into Tim’s thigh at some point and the resulting noise was a mix of embarrassment and want.
Want. Jon wanted him.
He wanted Jon, he noted.
That was a drastic change.
He was pulled from his thoughts as Jon’s tip poked along his entrance, slipping exactly like he knew it would.
“Alright, uh—” There was no further warning.
There was no more discussion. Just one quick movement, a wanton moan from Jon, and their bodies finally slotted together.
“Fuck.” He cried, tossing his head back with much more strength than he had wanted to. And he clenched down around Jon. Hard.
“Oh. Oh, god, Tim—” Jon was back into the crook of his neck, whimpering and whining straight into his ear. He was very vocal, huh?
“Goddamnit, move, boss.” Tim hissed out, palms flat along Jon’s back, trying to urge him deeper.
Jon obeyed, obidient as ever. And, sure, the pace was slow, but each thrust rubbed against Tim just right and he nearly screamed at the feeling. This is exactly what he needed.
“God, you’re, hah—” The sentence wavered into yet another moan, tripping up on a harder thrust. “S’ so good. So good, Jon, doing so well. You’re fucking me so good.”
Jon seemed to like that, his dick twitching eagerly inside of Tim. Oh?
Naturally, he had to crowd Jon’s face into his hands. Naturally, he had to make the other look at him, tilting his head towards him. Naturally, he had to push a thumb inside Jon’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue.
“Y’know? I think I can almost tolerate you like this. I thought I was bad.”
The resulting groan he got from the Archivist was pitiful, deep from within his chest, falling in tune with the rhythm of his hips as he fucked into Tim.
He was barely holding onto his coherency, clinging to his words like a fucking lifeline. He needed Jon deeper.
Jon faltered for a minute, his pace slowing, chest rising and falling with his breathing, leaving Tim confused. What now?
But he continued a second later. Oh. After he adjusted their position. After he’d somehow coaxed Tim onto his stomach, ass bent over the desk. Could Jon even reach his clit from there?
He could. Oh, he definitely could.
And, fuck, he really set to work. His hips snapped forward, setting a brutal speed this time, his hands settling around Tim’s waist just to keep him still.
All the while Tim sang. Moans and whimpers and whines tore from his lips, reaching a volume they should both worry about, probably. Yeah, they could absolutely be heard.
Jon wasn’t much quieter, grunting in his efforts, his own sounds mixing with Tim’s and creating a filthy cacophony over the noise of skin on skin.
“Jon, boss, hhn— Close. I’m close.” He was crying again, tears falling in a steady stream all while the heat in his gut roared.
But Jon was fucking him. But Jon was running his hands along the small of his back, caressing him with such a gentle touch.
Had Jon always been this soft?
“Me too.” Is the last thing he heard before he nearly blanked out. A rush of slick, gushing out, squirting, he noted, accompanied by a warmth filling his gut. Filling.
Oh, right, he’d asked Jon to cum inside.
His legs nearly gave out when he looked down and realized his stomach was ever so slightly bloated from the amount of cum inside of him. He settled for a good “jesus fucking christ” instead. It was so much.
And Jon was leaning over his back, heart beating proudly in his heaving chest. He was burning up, sticky with sweat.
He was also, y’know, still fully seated inside of Tim’s cunt. But that’s probably less important.
“Jesus.” Jon’s voice was light, carried on a breath. Yeah. Shared sentiment.
“Mmhm.” He hummed back, taking a moment to appreciate the cool wood he was pressed against. The air conditioner seemed to be working on him again too.
“Do you— Here, let me help.”
“Could hardly stop you now.” He meant for it to sound sharp, or maybe he had at some point, but it just came out defeated.
Aftercare seemed to be Jon’s strong suit, shockingly, with the way he was practically buzzing around to get things done.
Papertowels pulled out of thin air, cleaning up whatever slick or cum had ended up elsewhere in the heat of the moment, even his thighs and cunt got a thorough wipe down much to his own displeasure.
With that out of the way, Jon guided him back into his boxers. Then his trousers. Then he did the same for himself.
Tim’s head was in the clouds, light and floaty, noodle-limbed. Loose for the first time in weeks.
And Jon was the cause. Jon had helped him. Jon had been there for him and he had been enthusiastic about it.
“Boss?” What the hell was he doing?
Jon hummed, just coming back with two water bottles from the mini-fridge in the corner of the room. He placed them down.
And Tim surged forward, tugging him closer by his stupid tie. Kissing him. He was kissing him.
But it was chaste. Pliant and oh so gentle. Testing, almost. At least on Tim’s end of things. No tongues or teeth involved, just the soft heat of their lips.
Pulling back took far too much effort, but it was worth it. It was worth it to look Jon in his eyes before collapsing his weight against him.
“Thank you.” Tim muttered, muffled into Jon’s neck. “But, holy shit, I’m tired.”
And Jon laughed with him this time. For the first time in a long while. It still came so easily for the pair.
“Let’s get you some rest, then. But, first? Water. I can talk Martin into getting food.”
“Right on, boss.” This was weird, right?
All of his anger, all of his rage towards this man who had blamed him, who had stalked him, dissipated just for a moment.
Oh well. It’d be back.
