--Summary: Randy is oddly obsessed with taking pictures and videos of anything he finds interesting. And that includes his coworker, Benson..
--Word count: 7.6K
--Warnings: 18+ smut (minors dni) Voyeurism, power imbalance, humiliation, exhibitionism, non-consensual photography, porn with semblance of plot, Randy is a bit of a creep unintentionally.
Randy was private.
He always had been the kind to haunt the edges of a room rather than being the center of attention. Typically only speaking when spoken to, sparing a smile or so at harmless jokes, and drifting through his shifts all while counting down the hours till the end of them.
But there were some things Randy kept better guarded than others. His camcorder being one of them.
If Randy recorded anything, he made sure to be quiet about it. During breaks, he'd slip behind the diner to indulge in his hobby, keeping it personal and far from prying eyes.
The things he captured were hardly extraordinary to others: birds that whistled haunting tunes throughout the wind. Sunsets that bled a magnificent orange he couldn't bear to fade into memory.. Anything that struck him as beautiful, really. No matter how insignificant.
But Randy noticed them. He always had been introspective.
Today was different, however.
Benson — one of Randy's close coworkers, whom he was often paired with on shifts — wandered into the break room in search of a misplaced marker. Lamely, Randy's backpack lay open, and beside it, half-hidden by one of the straps, lay an unfamiliar device.
Benson crouched, reaching for the dark blue gadget between calloused fingers. It must've fallen, he'd figured.
His brows knit tightly when he saw the viewfinder turned on. The lens pointed at the ground; it showed nothing worth noting, just the tiles and foot of the chair.
Oh.
Just a camcorder.
He turned it over in his hands, inspecting the worn casing and faded buttons. It wasn't something that was bought and forgotten about.
His fingers drifted over the playback button. It wasn't his business.. He was fully aware of that. But the allure of what his shy, reclusive coworker had been up to was stronger than his already-wavering morals.
What he expected when the screen flickered to life was something embarrassing, like a selfie taken on shift or.. He didn't know. But he didn't expect to see himself.
The first image was blurry, taken from a distance, clearly done in haste. Yet there Benson stood, blissfully unaware he'd been the subject of a photo.
The more he flicked through, the less accidental they seemed.
How hadn't he noticed these being taken? It seemed they were shot in plain sight.
Benson carrying crates into the storage room, his muscles flexing under the weight of cartons of milk. Benson adjusting his shirt. Benson sitting outside during a break, a cigarette hanging lazily from his lips as he scratched the stubble on his jaw.
Benson,
Benson,
Benson..
The break room door flung open, breaking the fragile stillness that had settled over the room. Overhead, the rundown light flickered.
Randy stood there, disheveled from the rush of customers he'd been left to serve independently. Uniform rumpled and his hat slightly tilted presumably from taking it off to run a hand through blonde strands, the exhaustion vanished from his face when he took in the scene in front of him.
Benson, planted on his knees, seemingly going through his camcorder filled with photos of himself.
He rushed to disengage anything, snatching the camcorder and his bag. "Sorry, I didn't mean to leave this here.." Low, ashamed and clearly debating whether his coworker had been exposed to the images of himself. Randy's face settled a ghostly, pale hue, the colour draining from his face as well as a bead of sweat forming on his temple.
He'd avoided Benson's trained eyes and rushed away before the other could interrogate him. It would be delayed, but Randy knew it couldn't be avoided.
The rest of the shift dragged by in a way neither of them acknowledged.
Albeit the discovery earlier, Benson continued to treat the diner as normal. Plates cluttered, customers chuckled and chortled, completely unaware of the tension quietly simmering behind the counter.
But for Randy, he could feel Benson's gaze on him, unwavering in its weight.
He managed to keep himself busy, though. Wiping tables that had already been cleaned, once, maybe twice over. The rag had long since stopped being useful by now but Randy was finding any excuse to keep his hands occupied so Benson wouldn't notice the slight tremble in them.
Another hour passed and by now, the diner had significantly settled down.
The quiet should've been relaxing for Randy, but tonight it made him all the more aware of other noises that rung loudly through his head — such as the fridge's hum and the faint buzz of the lights above.
The rag dragged uselessly across the already spotless counter top. Once. Twice. Again.
His fingers tightened aimlessly around the material as he made eye-contact with Benson. It made his skin crawl with its intensity.
"Randy."
He called from the entrance of the stock room, a hand resting upon the wooden doorframe. The unreadable expression was worse than had he been outright angry. But that also posed the possibility; maybe he was simply unaware. Maybe he truly hadn't snooped and was caught picking it up when he went to put it back away for him.
Maybe he'd been uselessly torturing himself for the past few hours.
"Can you come here a'second?" Benson's voice broke through his thoughts and with sand bags for feet, he trudged towards the store room where Benson held the door open for him to walk through.
The stock room was dimmer than the rest of the diner, although the lights were a blinding fluorescent that cast a sickly glow over the dull space. Shelves crammed the narrow space and were stacked with supplies that were shoved mindlessly away rather than organised.
The deafening click of the lock latching shut made him tense, muscles tightening and his posture straightening almost mechanically.
"Have you been fucking recording me, Randy?"
Benson's voice sliced through the suffocating silence that had lingered all day between them. But the words were far from loud, they just had a steel to them that Benson knew Randy would cave under.
His gaze dropped to the scuffed linoleum beneath his shoes, unable to withstand the weight of Benson's stare. His fingers twisted anxiously into the fabric of his uniform, knuckles paling beneath the pressure.
"I—"
Randy began, but his voice wavered before he could continue. It was pathetic, even to his own ears.
"I asked if you've been fucking filming me."
The room seemed to shrink around them, the narrow aisles of stacked boxes and supplies pressing closer until Randy felt trapped beneath the weight of his own silence.
"…Yes." Randy managed. The admission barely audible, something that if Benson hadn't seen his lips move, he would've believed he'd imagined it.
The older man's expression didn't change except for the subtle twitch of his jaw muscle tensing.
When the silence stretched unbearably so, Randy found his lips parting in a soft sigh.
"I.. I like to record things, sometimes.."
"Things?" The cock of his brow didn't soften the harsh lines of Benson's face.
"Birds, sunsets.." A moments pause sat heavily between them, so thick it was palpable, "people."
"I didn't see many other people."
"You, then.."
A controlled breath left Benson. Would Randy have preferred if he'd yelled rather than this.. interrogation? It was hard to tell. Randy knew how to deal with people being mad at him, knew how to weather the storm that was anger. This was new, though.
"Yeah? Do you, now?"
An arm stretched out to offer his hand, opening it expectantly. The look on his face said it all, but Randy couldn't bring himself to grab the camcorder from his bag. The subtle weight of it felt all too heavy.
His hands stuck by his side, a jittery tension made him curl his fingernails to create crescent moons in his palm.
"Show me what you've taken then. I want to see." Benson demanded, but his voice stayed level.
"Please.." Randy aimlessly pleaded, his eyes averting from Benson's firm stare. But the longer the other man challenged him with such a look, the more unbearable it grew.
His slim fingers eased into his bag, propping the camcorder in Benson's hand.
It was a piece of himself — something so intimate suddenly in the hands of his intimidating coworker. Randy swallowed harshly with a click of his dry throat.
Against the rough palm it sat, Benson's hand making the camera look smaller than it truly was. The photo he scrutanised was the one he didn't quite get a good look at before Randy had snatched the camcorder from him previously.
The photo had been taken during one of their more recent shifts. Benson sat alone on his break with a half-eaten burger resting in his hand, completely unaware of the prying lens.
"You know how this looks, right?" Benson's voice was gruff with something akin to perhaps disgust? Randy couldn't quite tell.
"No —I mean, yes.." The words tangled together before he could properly form them. His fingers tightened anxiously at his sides. His thoughts were moving faster than he could keep up with. "I wasn't trying to be creepy about it, though. I swear."
"Well, Randy." A huff escaped Benson, although there was no humour in it. "It sure comes off like that."
Randy's stomach twisted. The only other thing he could focus on was the sting of his nails digging — curling tightly against his palms shamefully. He wanted to explain.. needed to. At the expense of sounding desperate, he opened his mouth to begin.
"What do you do with this.. footage.. of me, hm?" Benson cut him off, raising a finger in a quiet command for him to wait. Whatever puny excuse Randy held onto, whatever desperate justification he harboured on the tip of his tongue was insignificant to Benson currently. "Anything weird?"
"I — don't do anything. With them, I mean." Randy was quick to shut down any accusations.
"So you don't jack off to them?"
"No." Surprise etched his tone, clearly not expecting Benson to figure so low of him."No, Benson — they're just pictures, that's all."
"Near damn shame." Benson sucked on his tongue, the quiet 'tsk' breaking the quiet that grew tensely between them. "I look good in these."
The fluorescent lights buzzed relentlessly overhead, filling the silence Randy couldn't.
"You.." Randy cleared his throat. "You're not angry?"
"Oh, no. I'm pissed." Benson offered a short, humorless huff. "I just think that if you're gonna be a creep you could at least commit to it."
But before Randy could rise to his defenses, Benson continued to taunt him.
"Where's the footage of Jess?" He asked, thumbing through another clip. "She's a pretty young woman." Under his breath, almost as an afterthought, he muttered, "By society's standards, anyway."
"I don't film people much." A deep hue of red haunted his cheeks at the lame excuse. It was weak at best and Randy knew that. "It's just that.. you're usually the only one around when — when I record stuff." Stated more like a question, Randy offered the best explanation he could give when words were failing him.
Handing back the camcorder with little care, Benson watched Randy fumble to catch it.
"Do I at least look good in all of them?" It was lazily asked and with the roll of his shoulders, he looked over Randy, expecting praise.
"Benson—"
"I just caught you doing some freak shit. The least you could do is humour me if you don't want this getting out."
"Yeah, uh.. you look great in them." The answer was too rushed to sound believable, but Benson took what he could get.
"'Atta boy." Benson purred, a hand coming to clasp Randy's shoulder with a possessive force behind it. It should've been intimidating — and in a way it was. But Randy couldn't help find it almost grounding. The calloused fingertips drummed idly on his uniform, and it somehow did more to settle rather unsettle him.
"Just don't film me no more." Benson said simply, like setting house rules rather than telling his creepy coworker not to invade his privacy. "Unless you ask me first — and nicely."
Conditional, sure. But it set the boundaries straight.
Benson's hand rested upon Randy's shoulder rather than idly tapping. His thumb dragged against the fabric once before stilling.
When Randy didn't say anything, Benson pressed him. Tilting his head closer, he murmured, "You understand?"
Randy felt the words more so than heard them. The warmth of Benson's breath ghosted against his skin and the closeness made his posture tense.
'Yeah.." He managed.
"Yeah what?"
"I understand."
Randy found himself unable to move.. His thumb traced the scuffed edge of his camcorder absentmindedly. His gaze refused to settled anywhere for too long. It went from being caught on Benson's broad hand relaxed on his shoulder, to the tiles below, then drifted helplessly back to the camera clucthed between trembling hands.
The conversation was over.
So why couldn't he move?
Benson didn't miss his awkward glances and inability to move. Instead of letting it pass by naturally, he cocked a curious brow and leaned in."What?"
"...Can I..." Randy wet his lips, tongue swiping over them in an idle sweep. "...Could I take one? Now, maybe?"
"Eager, aren't you?" Benson hummed, running a hand over his jaw. He lazily scratched at the stubble as he looked over Randy's entirety with great interest. "That's what I like about you. You behave."
Randy swallowed harshly, avoiding Benson's unwavering gaze. He tried to hide in on himself although he failed miserably.
"Well, then. What do you want from me?" Benson interrogated. Folding over each other, his arms rested upon his chest.
"Just you — acting normal. Working or something.."
"How am I supposed to go about my day normally when I know I'm being recorded for somebodies jerk-off collection?"
"B-Benson." Randy yelped, taking a step back as if that'd dull the teasing altogether. Heat climbed up the back of his neck to his ears, burning beneath the collar of his uniform. "You know I'm not — I don't do that."
"Mm." Benson rocked back on his heels, unconvinced by neither the denial nor particularly interested in arguing it. "I can give you better footage anyways."
"You'd do that?"
"If it stops you from being a stalker.." Benson shrugged a broad shoulder. "Sure."
As if convinced it was a joke, Randy stared at him, searching his face only to find that familiar, arrogant smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.
Benson pushed away from the shelf and stood straighter, deliberately adjusting his shirt. His eyes never strayed far from Randy's, even if the other seemingly lacked the ability to look directly back.
"Are you posing?" Randy readied his camcorder, lifting the viewfinder to eye-level and peering through it. It was easier than directly looking at Benson, Randy figured. The small screen gave him something other than Benson's unrelenting stare to focus on.
"No."
"You are."
"I'm standing."
Benson's posture was too deliberate, too composed. Squared in a way unlike during his shifts where he'd slouch after hours of being on his feet, Benson's shoulders were pushed back and his stance steadier. His chin tilted up just enough to give that air of arrogance, the way he stood was undoubtedly intentional.
Typically Benson moved without a second thought, unlike Randy who was conscious of every movement at every moment.
Benson would lean on things like he owned the establishment, drag a hand through his mullet when he was bored, tap his fingers impatiently when a customer took up too much of his time. Those small, meaningless habits were never missed by Randy.
But this was different. Benson was aware he was being observed by not only Randy, but that he was also in the presence of a camera.
Rather than holding the deliberate stance he'd settled into, Benson moved with a slow ease, transitioning into a stretch as if the camera's presence had become something to toy with. His arms lifted above his head, fingers interlocking as his shoulders rolled back. The movement pulled a quiet tension through his frame, his back arching slightly beneath the pressure of the stretch, the uniform shirt shifting with the motion to exposes not only his undershirt but his abdomen also.
Even whilst doing so, his attention never diverted from Randy.
He watched as the younger man remained hidden behind the viewfinder. There was something different about it.. Something Benson couldn't quite place. It was as though a quiet confidence took over when poised with the camera.
The nervousness was still there, though — Benson saw it all too clearly. The tension in his shoulders, holding the camcorder with a grip that whitened his knuckles..
"You like this?" Benson purred, easing into the movement to further exaggerate the position. He was testing how much attention he could draw from the lens.
The question caught Randy off-guard. He didn't answer immediately, probably too focused on taking the photos rather than listening to his subject taunting him.
"You've got a whole collection of me," Benson continued, a faint amusement tugging at his voice. "And now you're too shy to admit you like looking? That's bullshit."
"It's not like that."
The response came out quicker, more defensive than Benson had expected.
Benson gave him a long, drawn out look, almost like it physically drained him to spare the energy to watch Randy a second longer.
"You know what I think?"
Randy immediately looked wary, his attention solely on Benson.
"What?"
"I think I remember telling you to be nice."
Randy paused, his fingers no longer snapping photos of the still-posed Benson. "I don't know what you want me to say."
"Maybe start with something like.. 'You look real good, Benson. Strike another pose for me.'" Benson did so without instructions anyways, posing his hands on his hips as he looked down at Randy and his camera.
Randy could only clear his throat, anticipating more taunting from Benson. When nothing came other than an expectant look, Randy swallowed and managed a quiet "You look good."
"I'll take that." Benson shrugged almost dismissively before sliding a hand along the band of his belt. The leather was smooth under his fingers as they idly dragged to the front of it, where he found the cool metal buckle. He gave it an experimental tug although he had no true intentions of undoing it. The gesture was a slow thing, just enough to tease Randy.
It would inevitably coax a reaction out of him, whether that be the blush haunting his face would deepen, to maybe something a little more subtler — like a hitch in his breathing, or the camcorder shuttering under the strength of his harsh grip. That's what Benson hoped would happen, anyways.
But instead of that, Randy remained hidden behind the camera, studying Benson with a concentration that was unwavering even despite Benson's attempts at taunting.
"...Turn a little?"
"Excuse me?"
Randy gestured awkwardly with the camera, nudging it to the left as though physically demonstrating what he wanted.
"The light."
Benson followed Randy's gaze to the thrumming fluorescent light that bleached one side of Benson's face whilst burying the other in a hard-edged shadow. It ruined the entire shot.
"...You're serious."
Randy nodded.
Benson shifted with reluctant compliance, the heel of his boot scraping along the concrete floor. As he turned, the harsh shadow slipped from his features and dissolved beneath the wash of the the light.
The younger man's expression had changed somewhere along the way. The nervous stammering had melted into a quiet concentration. One eye disappeared behind the viewfinder while the other narrowed slightly, measuring the scene with an intense focus attached. He never seemed to possess such ease anywhere else, only with the confidence of the camcorder did he grow steady within himself.
Every so often Randy adjusted the camera by fractions, movements so small they were almost imperceptible, until whatever he was searching for quietly clicked into place.
Click.
Benson tugged absentmindedly at the hem of his work shirt before smoothing the fabric over his stomach.
"Could you maybe roll your sleeves up..?" Randy threw the request out there,
"After all this, your big request is my sleeves?"
"I think It'd make for a good pose." Randy reasoned. He shifted on his heels, stepping back to widen the shot. Benson watched him for a moment longer than necessary before reluctantly reaching up and rolling his sleeves. It was easier to look at him this way — easier to focus on the details rather than the weight of Benson's attention.
"That's it? Really?" Benson gave him an incredulous look, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It wasn't out of genuine amusement.. Maybe something more like disbelief. "Because I was expecting something interesting."
Randy frowned, lowering the camcorder to meet Benson's gaze with his own. "This is interesting." He protested weakly.
This time, Benson barked a laugh out of pure entertainment. Was Randy truly this dense? It was baffling to him.
"Your definition of interesting is tragic." Despite his words of disapproval, Benson began rolling up his sleeves. Dragging up his arm slowly to reveal arms corded with muscles, veins traced his forearms down to his hands in visible trails of blue.
Clicking proceeded in rapid succession following Benson's movements.
"Is this what you want?"
"It's good."
With a huff, Benson reached for the hem of his shirt He stepped closer, deliberately invading the space between them.
"You've got a camera pointed at me. I'm making this easy for you."
Randy swallowed, but he didn't look away. Instead, he stayed focused peering at the small, rectangular screen that captured Benson's every move.
"You know what?" With a quiet huff, he stepped closer, deliberately crossing the small distance between them, close enough that Randy had to tilt the camera slightly upward to keep him in frame. "I'll help you out." There was a clear challenge etching his tone, even if he didn't particularly outright state it.
It was like he was daring Randy to say something when his fingers hooked underneath the hem of his uniform, tugging it upwards and discarding it onto the ground in a wrinkled heap. The undershirt he wore was a faded grey with a chalky logo of some sort of band. Randy didn't quite recognise it.
The undershirt stretched slightly as he began to shimmy it upwards, exposing his midriff.
Click.
Benson looked Randy over once more before lazily, his fingers caught beneath the hem of his undershirt once more. This time he lifted it higher. The lines of his abdomen emerged beneath the harsh fluorescent light, shadows settling into the shallow definition of muscle as the cotton bunched higher. He wasn't buff by any means, but the muscle was present.
It wasn't enough to undress, but the suggestion was there.
A quiet ding echoed beyond the stock room and for a moment, Benson thought it had been nothing to acknowledge. That was before he registered they were still in the stock room. On shift.
But it came again, this time in rapid succession.
Ding, ding, ding, ding.
Impatiently, Benson grabbed his formerly discarded shirt with a gruff huff. "They're fuckin' persistent." He jammed an arm through his shirt before smoothing it over himself. Fumbling only once in his flurry, he did up the buttons and made haste to exit.
Randy stood there, dumbfounded as Benson didn't spare him so much as a glance.
Whatever strange little world they'd carved out behind the locked stockroom door disappeared the moment Benson stepped back outside into the diner. The life of it was jarring in comparison to the stillness they'd left behind — where the only sounds had been the hum of the camcorder and Benson's relentless ridicule.
Every seat remained empty, though. Chairs were tucked neatly where Randy had left them prior to their little.. session. The persistent ringing hadn't come from a customer.
A burly man dressed in a disgusting high-vis vest stood at the counter. He sported weathered gloves one of which sat on the top of a cardboard box whilst the other rang the bell.
Just delivery.
And yet Randy remained frozen in the stockroom doorway, the camcorder still clutched in his hands while Benson had already slipped back into the familiar rhythm of work as though nothing unusual had happened. Maybe to him, nothing had happened..
A week dragged on with no mentions of the stock room photo shoot. There honestly had been no time to even manage a discussion about it as the diner blossomed with life.
Any moment where Benson and Randy could converse about anything was shut down by the onslaught of customers and curious coworkers. But Randy didn't complain, in fact, he preferred it that way.
Closing was usually the only time the diner belonged to them.
The chairs were flipped onto tables. The floors were mopped. The lights above the counter flickered lazily in the quiet.
Randy thought he was finally going home when Benson appeared beside him unexpectedly.
"Stockroom."
The single word made Randy freeze. He didn't dare to peer over his shoulder at the other as he knew what this was about already but he couldn't stop his thoughts from spiralling a dozen different directions. "...What?"
But Benson didn't repeat himself. He was making his own way to the door, watching Randy expectantly, watching to see if he'd trail obediently.
Randy followed him into the dim light of the stockroom, his heart hammering against his ribs. It was hard not to feel like this was an interrogation when Benson's click on the lock confirmed he was sealing them together privately once more.
"You've been quiet all week." Benson drawled on, his voice lower as if there was anybody else in the diner who could even hear them.
"I thought you wanted me to stop.."
"You're acting like I told you to stay ten feet away from me."
"You did say I was a creep." Randy countered, shrugging as he looked down at the ground beside Benson's worn boot.
"Yeah, that's because you are one." Benson began, a hand coming to lean up against the wall, effectively crowding Randy into a corner. "But seeing you jump every time I looked at you this week? How nervous you got?" He pasued, pushing closer so that their chests were hardly an inch apart. "It did something to me."
The admission hit Randy hard. The heat of their bodies mingled the closer Benson dared get.
Being called a creep was one thing, but knowing that his desire, his shame had actually affected Benson made his stomach do somersaults.
"Did… what?" Randy breathed out, voice hardly more than a whisper.
"Well, it made me think where you go after your shift. Home? Right?" Benson didn't wait for clarification. "I started imagining you locking your door, pulling up the photos on that little screen.."
The accuracy was there, although.. anybody could've guessed that. But the manner in which it was said made him shudder slightly. "Benson—" He stuttered, fingers fiddling between themselves where his camcorder typically rested. But not now.
"What?" Benson pried, amused at Randy's defensive yet meek demeanor.
"It isn't like that."
"It isn't?" Benson's brow lifted, a faint edge of amusement curling into his voice. "Because I've been under the impression you've been touching yourself to my pictures."
"I already said I don't." Benson's face burnt almost immediately. "I just.. like looking at them." The words left his mouth before he could stop them.
It wasn't the denial Benson had expected.
"Yeah?" He persisted, egging Randy on.
Randy seemed to realise what he'd admitted only after it was already hanging between them. His eyes widened slightly, horror creeping over his features as his fingers curled anxiously around themselves.
"I mean—"
"You like looking at them." Benson repeated back slowly, as if tasting the words for himself. "That's a very polite way of putting it. But we're alone in here, no Chris, no Jess.." He mused, eyes trailing from Randy's reddened face down to his restless hands, then back up again. "So, what is it exactly that you 'like,' Randy?"
Randy was suffocating. The closeness paired with the question made his mind short-circuit and all he could do was stand, dumbfounded by the entire situation at hand. All the words had slipped his mind, his mouth opening but not producing any sound other than a "I-.."
Instead of keeping his hand idly hanging at his side, Benson let it slide up Randy's arm. Ghosting over his skin enough to ensure goosebumps, the touch so light it was easy to dismiss it as an accident, Benson reached out further to grasp Randy's nape. Fingers intertwining with the tufts golden curls, he pulled him an inch closer so their noses brushed.
Randy swallowed harshly — throat dry and tight as he did so.
"Do they turn you on?" Benson pressed on, thumb absentmindedly shifting against Randy's hair.
Randy couldn't understand why he wasn't pulling away. He should've mumbled a quiet excuse, maybe even a whispered apology and slipped past Benson the first chance he got. But he didn't. The air felt oddly stagnant and heavy with the scent of coffee from Benson's breath caressing his lips. Every second felt detrimental the longer Randy lacked an answer. His thoughts had long abandoned him, leaving only awareness of Benson's limited patience.
Randy could feel every individual point of contact where Benson's warm fingertips met his skin and for a moment he could only lean into the assertive touch, eyes squeezing shut as he ushered a shameful "Maybe?"
"Do they turn you on or not?" Benson murmured, lips hardly an inch away from Randy's. "Do I have to find another way to get an honest answer out of you?" It was hardly a threat, rather a tease wrapped in the disguise of a warning.
"Why does it matter?"Randy's voice was small, his heart thumping in his chest as he dared question Benson.
Why did it matter?
Benson took a moment to think over the question and for that moment, Randy managed to look up at his expression. Half-lidded eyes met his — it was predatory how Benson eyed him with a hungry interest.
"It matters because I've spent the past week wondering if I could turn you on as much as those little photos do."
Randy's stomach flipped unlike it ever had before. The only thing that stayed grounding him was the firm hand attached to his nape. The confidence in Benson's voice had made him feel small but there was something that kept him there — kept him put as his coworker whispered these things to him.
Whilst he'd been hiding in his room, locked away with his photos, Benson had been doing something similar. A rush of validation washed over him, almost overpowering the shame that was habouring within him — but it was only for a moment as he stood there, face flushed, eyes widened..
"Oh, God.. Benson —" Randy breathed, voice trembling as he managed to dare ask, "Is that all this is? Some sort of.. I don't know — ego trip just to see if you could?"
Benson's expression shifted. It was subtle, but it was present in the way his jaw tightened and his eyes slanted to glare at Randy. It was far from amusing to him — in fact, it stung. The thought that this was simply an ego trip was as insulting as it was disrespectful.
"Get your camera out. Now." Benson bit the inside of his cheek before stating, "I'll give you something much better to get off to than those bland photos."
For a heartbeat, Randy couldn't move, paralyzed by the intensity that was Benson's demand. Fumbling with his bag that hung loosely over shoulder, he managed to ease out his camcorder.
Uncertain what to aim it at first, Randy just pointed it at Benson's entirety.
Without breaking eye-contact with the eye that wasn't concealed by the camcorder, Benson's hand trailed down his stomach to the waistline of his jeans.
"Record it."
Randy was quick to obey, his fingers fumbling to begin rolling as Benson let go of him to instead unfastened his belt buckle, the metal clinking loudly as it slithered to the ground. Next was the button that popped free and the loud zzzzzip of Benson's zipper's teeth breaking apart echoed in the otherwise silent room.
"Keep it steady." Benson commanded, somewhat softer this time as he dragged his pants down to be bunched in a heap resting on his thighs.
"No, I can't.." Randy rushed out, unable to look away from what Benson was doing. The camera pointed down at his feet. "Benson, someone.. what if somebody comes back and.." He trailed off, voice wavering with anxiety.
Benson was unreactive to Randy's outburst, instead he simply exhaled as his hand brushed against himself through his boxers. The other that had been caging Randy in fell from the wall to tilt the camera back up just enough to be angled at his crotch. "Relax. If you're so worried, you can always leave." After fixing the camcorders positioning, his hand came up to tap Randy's face. It wasn't firm enough to be a slap, but it was assertive. "I promise you, I made sure nobody would come back here."
But Randy was planted to where he stood. The warm hand on his face snapped him back, bringing him from the imaginative part of his brain that screamed somebody would find them despite it being after hours — back to reality. He swallowed hard, throat tight as it worked around his dry mouth.
Benson took that as his sign to continue, letting his briefs slip further down as he hooked two fingers beneath them to purposefully set his length free from the confines of the tight fabric. There was no shame nor embarrassment that held Benson back. One hand ringing around the base of his cock, he gave an upward stroke experimentally. It wasn't because he didn't know what to do, but because he was wary of Randy's tentativeness.
"You alright, Randy?"
"Ye- ahem, yeah.." Randy cleared his throat. There was nothing more he wanted to do than for Benson to continue, although his awkward nature limited him and his ability to voice his need. "I'm recording. That's — what you wanted, right?"
"Atta' good boy." Benson knew the effect he'd been having on Randy — could see it in the dark hue of his blush and the way his fingers shook perceptibly. It probably made the footage shit, but Benson wasn't all that phased by it. It wasn’t like he was the one watching it back, anyways."What're you gonna do when you play this back tonight?"
The question was loaded, even in its simplicity. It sent a jolt of shame throughout his body and for a hot second he just stared, completely and utterly dumbfounded. "I don' t.. Maybe just.. I haven't really planned that far ahead yet."
"I'm putting on a show for nothing at all? No appreciation?" Benson's hand tightened around himself, his pace picking up with little thought behind it. For somebody who'd just bared himself for Randy without hesitation, the possibility there would be no follow-through wounded his pride, and evidently so. "I don't need to waste my time with this." Benson let go of himself, hand lazing by his side.
"No — wait." Randy intercepted, his own hand reaching out lamely. It hovered in the air, failing to grip Benson's wrist before going back to running along his thigh anxiously.
"Gonna have to do better than that." Benson taunted despite his wounded ego.
"I want you to continue.." Randy's plea was soft, desperate even. "Please?" It was a start that amused Benson, but it wasn't enough to convince him despite enjoying the power he held over the other.
"Why should I keep going if you can't even tell me what you get from this?"
Randy felt the suffocating silence after the question. The air leave his lungs in a pathetic whimper, losing his breath as he was put on the spot. How could he — the wet blanket he was — possibly admit he wanted this for more than just viewing purposes? It was absurd.
"I-I get off.." Randy began, fingers clenching into his own thigh whilst the other hand holding the camcorder didn't care about being stable. "I mean — I'll get off on it. I will." It was the most he'd ever admitted and probably ever would. It was too much.. His lips parted harshly in a huff. "I'm.. enjoying it."
Benson's eyes trailed from what he could see of Randy's face, down his body until his eyes were met with the hardened protruding length within his jeans. Huh. So he was enjoying it, just as he'd said.
A shit-eating grin etched Benson's lips before he spat harshly onto his hand. Wrapping it back around himself, he spread the spittle along his cock in a few quick movements. His dick jumped at the sensation as he picked up where he left off.
The sound of the slick friction echoed within the quiet room — obscene and unapologetic. Every movement became exaggerated, a slow stroke down, faster on the uptake.. It wasn't methodical, rather erratic, in fact. He was confident with it, though. His hips would twitch into the movements when a stroke hit the right spot.
Randy couldn't tear his gaze away from the viewfinder even as the camcorder shook within his sweaty palm. He noted the way Benson's brows had furrowed tightly in concentration and the way he leaned back against a shelf, hand capturing the edge of it for better balance. Biting his lower lip, Benson looked up through his thick lashes, eyes back on Randy.
Each stroke grew more aggressive than the last as Benson chased his release. Hips jerking forwards to meet his hand in jagged thrusts, his spare hand gripping the shelf grew white-knuckled under the intensity of his grasp. His breathing grew heavier, more-so delving into grunts and subtle groans than quiet panting. This wasn't about lasting long, nor would he as he picked up the pace at the thought of being on camera — digitally immortalized for Randy to re-watch over and over.
A quiet "fuck.." and the fastening of his hand was an indicator of just how close he was. As Randy stood before Benson, he squeezed his thighs tightly together to ease some of his own tension. The sight of this sent Benson over the edge.
The thick rope spilled from his needy cock, piling onto his hand as his strokes began to slacken over the span of his orgasm. He doesn't rush to clean the mess he's made. After noticing how wound up Randy was; thighs clenched, breath shallow, the very obvious bulge.. He lent against the shelf, observing Randy's entirety through sharp eyes as he came down from his high.
"You look fuckin' desperate." Benson nodded towards Randy's crotch before taking a few steps closer, no longer using the shelf for support. Smearing his cum along the side of Randy's pants, exchanging it from his hand to the fabric, Benson leaned in to taunt.
"Um, well.. yeah." Randy did nothing to stop Benson from wiping the cum on him, which in hindsight, he should've. It would be hard to get out later, but there were more pressing matters on their hands currently.
Two fingers, feather-light and essentially not there, hovered and tapped lightly against Randy's hard-on. Randy let out a small sound of surprise at the unexpected contact and unbeknownst to him, his hips lurched forwards to lean into it.
"Oh? You want me to do something about this, do you?" Benson mused, purring the words so their lips were merely inches away.
"Yes.. Please." Randy managed, his hands pointed the lens of the camcorder at the ground now that they were so close.
Benson began to grind his palm slowly against him, applying just enough pressure to be agonizingly effective without giving enough to be in any way satisfying. With his other hand, Benson slid his fingers into Randy's hair, walking him backwards until he was abruptly pinned to the wall. Only when Randy was trapped between Benson and the cool wall behind him did Benson let his hand slip from being entangled within Randy's scalp.
"Give me that." Benson demanded, although his words were far from harsh. He snatched the camcorder from Randy's trembling hand and turned the lens onto the others face whilst his other hand continue to palm Randy through his pants. "Let's see how you perform for the camera."
"Come on.." Randy continued to plead, his voice coming out in a soft, breathless mewl. But Benson didn't turn the camcorder away. Instead of complying to Randy's complaint, he aimed the lens towards his other hand that trailed under the hem of Randy's shirt. Randy drew in a sharp breath as the hand followed down his stomach to his waistband of his pants where Benson's fingers dipped teasingly beneath. Instead of entering his boxers like Randy wanted, Benson merely traced circles into the waistband of his briefs. Randy's hips instinctively leaned into the touch, seeking the friction Benson neglected to give him.
Benson tutted in mock sympathy for Randy, but he hooked a finger under the briefs elastic waistband seemingly out of pity for the shaking, stuttering man.
"Look at you." Benson murmured, the camcorder zooming in under his fingers guide. "You're fucking dripping." His fingers dipped further, meeting the warmth of Randy's aching cock. His fingers slid to hold it between his calloused hand — hardened from years of hard work and from a life that disregarded any gentleness. His fingers were kept loose, hardly grazing over skin before dragging his palm over the tip. He smeared the welling bead of precum down Randy's length, but he didn't rush despite how evidently needy Randy was growing. The slick slide grew into a rhythm that wasn't exactly satisfying but the pain of being neglected of touch for so long subsided with each stroke.
The stock room had shrunk between the two men. Air heavy with the scent of sex and sweat, Randy breathed in deeply as he got jerked off in his workplace by his closest coworker. It should've made him feel filthier than it did — but for the moment, he couldn't find it in himself to muster guilt more than he felt shame for feeling this way.
Benson had found a rhythm that dragged every thought out of him and left only heat.
"God, Benson — I'm so close.." The words were rushing out before he could process them.
"I know." Benson leaned in until stubble scraped along Randy's smooth jawline. "Go on, then." Benson muttered, hand stroking faster as he felt Randy's thighs clenching around nothing and the subtle shake of his body as he drew in short, ragged breaths.
Randy's whole body drew tight. A broken sound tore out of him, high and embarrassed, and he spilled hard over Benson's knuckles in thick pulses, hips jerking helplessly into the circle of that rough hand. Benson worked him through it without mercy, slower only when Randy twitched and gasped, the camcorder held steady on the mess of his expression. His eyes were wet at the corners, mouth open on nothing, blonde lashes fluttering like he couldn't decide whether to watch or hide away from the blaring lens.
The aftershocks left him loose-kneed. Benson's palm stayed on him a second longer than it needed to, sticky and warm, before he finally eased off.
Silence rushed back into the room. The lights buzzed haphazardly above them as Randy's pulse hammered in his ears hard enough he was sure Benson could hear it.
Benson didn't step away. He lifted the camcorder, checked the little screen with a casual tilt of his wrist, and made a quiet sound in his throat — approval, maybe, or just interest.
"Yeah," he said. "That's gonna play real nice."
He shut the recording off. The red light died with a short hum. Without it, the stockroom felt darker somehow, even under the sick fluorescent wash. Benson set the camcorder carefully on a shelf beside a stack of napkin packs, then looked down at his hand; shiny, streaked — and wiped it unceremoniously on the already-stained side of Randy's pants like it was nothing.
Randy was too exhausted to even think about flinching at the gross and unneeded movement but still he sighed shortly. His breathing began to settle and the humiliation of what had just happened came rushing to him. All he could do was stare at the floor and this time around, Benson let him.
Thoughts scattered with no way of gathering them, Randy swallowed harshly.
"Get yourself together." Benson commanded before stuffing himself back into his pants.
"Yeah.. Okay." Randy muttered, peering at himself like he hadn't believed what had just happened. After all, it wasn't every day he got jerked off, especially not by somebody as rugged and as confident as Benson.
He took note of Benson wandering towards the stock room door and without much of a thought, he followed closely behind him.
Two weeks later, Benson had suddenly decided that being photographed was his new favourite hobby.
"Hey." Benson would always start the conversation short when he had the time between the onslaught of customers.
"Hm?"
Benson would nod towards Randy's little bag.
"Got it?"
Randy knew immediately what he meant, and exactly what he wanted. That's how It'd been for the past two weeks.
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