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kittydesadeTitle:
Fandom: The Covenant
Characters: Chase
Word Count: 1,642
Rating: NC-17 for somewhat disturbing material
Summary: Chase and an older guy. Smut. I have no idea where this belongs except somewhere in the porn fic thing. That I have yet to finish. Or even finish outlining. Heh. Rough cut. I just needed to get it out of my head. That should tell you how bad it is.
The guy had a reputation. Chase had heard about it in whispers that meant it was too bad even to talk about directly behind his back, in the dressing rooms, where people usually held their clandestine conversations. It made him curious. They told him he shouldn't be. He just smiled and asked them how bad it could be?
Calvin stopped coming over so often after that. It was the beginning of the end, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
Somehow, word of his curiosity got around to the old bastard. Philip Donovan might be feared, but he had his feelers out in just about every corner of the production company, and Chase realized a part of why no one talked about it when he was invited over to the old man's office one evening, after shooting had wrapped for the day, when most of the people had gone home. He closed the door behind him without even asking. There were a few reasons why a company head would want one of his rising stars in his office, in this field. Some of them not so nice.
"You wanted to see me?" Chase smiled like nothing was happening, like his knees didn't hurt and his knuckles weren't aching for ice.
Mr. Donovan smiled, gesturing him to the desk but not inviting him to sit down. "You're not afraid of me," he started, launching right into it with a bluntness that made Chase's eyebrows shoot up. "Why is that?"
He didn't laugh. It was an effort, but he didn't. God, if he wanted to he could splatter this man's brains all over the desk and the guy was asking him why he wasn't afraid. But he couldn't say anything. Not that the secrets of the covenant restrained him. But he really didn't want to be stuck in a lab.
"I don't know," Chase shrugged. "I guess I just figure there's not much you can do to me." It was the truth, anyway.
Donovan laughed. "Honesty. I like that. Stupid, but honest."
Heat flared into his cheeks. Whether or not the old man realized it, Chase didn't like being called stupid.
"Come here."
Chase's eyebrows shot up again. "Is there a reason or are you just being creepy to prove how scary you are?"
"A little of both." With surprising honesty, and he wasn't sure what the man wanted anymore. A free blow was his first guess, but that wouldn't cause the kind of patient anticipation of Chase's fear that he was getting off the old man.
He went over to him anyway, stood in front of him as Donovan turned sideways to his desk to look him up and down.
"You keep yourself in good shape," he said after a moment. "I can see why they like you."
At least he understood what that meant. Chase just stood there, waiting for him to say something else and then fidgeting a little when he didn't.
"Look, I don't know what you're after, but ..."
"Do you think it's possible for pedophiles to reform themselves? Live happy, productive lives?"
For the first time in a very long time, Chase felt something along the lines of a moral qualm. Or just plain sick. It had been a long time since he'd had the moral high ground on anything, since he'd even wanted it. He wasn't a sociopath, but he was working his way there by chipping away pieces of himself every time he broke someone else.
Pedophilia, though. That was beyond the pale. That was over the limit, something he'd never considered, never wanted to consider. People who were sexually attracted to children were sick fucks. It was that simple.
"We try." He was standing, and Chase was more preoccupied with what he was saying than what he was doing. So much so that he didn't even notice until he saw the man standing out from under his shirt in that ridiculous, stupid-looking way. "As a society, we try to hold to the belief that everyone can be reformed. That there is a little bit of good in everyone, even in the worst kind of person. And that that person can let the good dominate within them, if they just try hard enough."
Chase wasn't going to run. He didn't run from anything, hadn't before, wouldn't now. Surviving, escaping to come back and kick ass another day, that was differen't. There wasn't anything here to escape from. So he just stood there.
"Come here." Mr. Donovan said. "Take that off."
It wasn't that it didn't occur to him to disobey. It did, except that Donovan also paid his salary and as a person who was supposedly living outside his means he should be worried about that. He could always set the guy on fire or something if he didn't like what he was doing. The robe fell to the floor, leaving him naked, still sore, and suddenly cold.
"Sit."
He actually looked around for a chair. Slow on the uptake. Donovan patted his bony old man knee and Chase realized with that ice-chilling clarity what the guy was talking about. When he sat on the old man's lap it felt like the movements of another person. Strange. Rubbery.
"No, not that way." Thorny old hands on his hips, turning him around. Thorny old arms around his waist, something like a hug but every part of him was trying to crawl away. He felt trapped, angry, on fire. He'd gotten himself into this and he didn't know how to get himself out without giving himself away. "That's it."
Old man hands between his legs. "You're a good little boy, aren't you. You know exactly what I'm talking about."
He watched, detached from his body, as the man's fingers wrapped around his cock and started to stroke. More playing than stroking, he wasn't even hard, didn't have to be anymore. No porn to shoot. Although he was starting to wonder about hidden cameras.
Something was poking him from behind and beneath. He knew what it was, but he didn't want to think about it, so it stayed a something. At least it wasn't too intrusive. Not yet. He knew what was coming. No pun intended.
"You like that, don't you."
Donovan was talking. How had he missed that? Little words that sounded like they were out of the worst kind of comedy except this was real. And it was happening to him. And all he could think of was, thank god this isn't happening to some kid. Thank god.
"Tell me you like it."
He made his lips move, pushed breath out of his mouth. "I like that."
There was a pause. A threatening pause, with the old man's hand where it was. Chase knew what he wanted and he still had to make himself say it.
"... Daddy."
Old man hand smoothing over the back of his shoulder. "That's my boy." The stroking resumed. He was getting hard, now, made himself look at his shaft run through the shriveled, bony fingers, made his eyes trace every curve of his own cock just to get him hard. Get it over with. "That's my big boy. You're a big boy, aren't you."
"Yes, Daddy."
Fingers massaged his balls. It felt good, and he didn't want it to feel good, he wanted to be cold inside. Like he was with Calvin. Like he was on set. It felt better than it ever had in this place, and he didn't want it to be like that. God, what was wrong with him?
"Now, I'm going to make you feel even better. But you can't tell anyone about this, okay? Not ever."
"Yes, Daddy."
"Say, I promise never to tell."
"I promise never to tell, Daddy."
"That's my boy."
Fingers pushed at his buttocks, reaching underneath. Poking at the edges, sharp nails where sharp nails shouldn't go. Everyone kept their nails clipped as close as they could, out of courtesy. He didn't know why it bugged him. Donovan got whatever he wanted, didn't he?
"It's going to feel real good..." The old man was panting, and part of him wanted to ask how he was able to get it up. Wet tip pressed against his hole, hands shifting him on the guy's lap. One arm around his waist to hold him there, trapping him. He wanted to throw up. He also wanted to come. "That's it. That's my boy."
Chase whimpered a little. Felt the old man pushing into him, no lube, no preparation. A thick fat cock pushing up inside him, hips wriggling under his ass to shove it deeper in. It wasn't arousing. Donovan had to pump his cock to keep him aroused.
"That's my good boy. Now, that feels good for you, and it feels good for Daddy, too, doesn't it? You want to make Daddy happy, don't you?"
"Yes..." He couldn't say it again. Please, no.
"Don't you want to make Daddy happy?"
God. "Yes, Daddy."
"That's my sweet boy..." One hand petted his stomach. "That's my boy."
It didn't take long. What the guy made up for in size he lacked in staying power, and he only pumped a couple of times before he stiffened. A few seconds later Chase felt it slicking through him, dripping. He hadn't come. He was hard, aching with it, wanted it, but he hadn't come. Thank god.
It didn't matter that Donovan was irritated that he hadn't come. That he was dismissed with some snappish words and a reminder that he didn't want to lose his job, his robe thrown at his head as he walked out. He pounded himself to climax later in the men's room, a stolen palmful of lube and some feverish, frantic stroking. And then a wad of more toilet paper than he really needed, abrasive, but, god, he wanted it off of him. He wanted to go home. He felt dirty, wanted a hot shower, wanted to crawl into bed and never wake up in this place again. It was a new feeling, and he hated it more than he'd ever hated anything.
Fandom: The Covenant
Characters: Chase
Word Count: 1,642
Rating: NC-17 for somewhat disturbing material
Summary: Chase and an older guy. Smut. I have no idea where this belongs except somewhere in the porn fic thing. That I have yet to finish. Or even finish outlining. Heh. Rough cut. I just needed to get it out of my head. That should tell you how bad it is.
The guy had a reputation. Chase had heard about it in whispers that meant it was too bad even to talk about directly behind his back, in the dressing rooms, where people usually held their clandestine conversations. It made him curious. They told him he shouldn't be. He just smiled and asked them how bad it could be?
Calvin stopped coming over so often after that. It was the beginning of the end, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
Somehow, word of his curiosity got around to the old bastard. Philip Donovan might be feared, but he had his feelers out in just about every corner of the production company, and Chase realized a part of why no one talked about it when he was invited over to the old man's office one evening, after shooting had wrapped for the day, when most of the people had gone home. He closed the door behind him without even asking. There were a few reasons why a company head would want one of his rising stars in his office, in this field. Some of them not so nice.
"You wanted to see me?" Chase smiled like nothing was happening, like his knees didn't hurt and his knuckles weren't aching for ice.
Mr. Donovan smiled, gesturing him to the desk but not inviting him to sit down. "You're not afraid of me," he started, launching right into it with a bluntness that made Chase's eyebrows shoot up. "Why is that?"
He didn't laugh. It was an effort, but he didn't. God, if he wanted to he could splatter this man's brains all over the desk and the guy was asking him why he wasn't afraid. But he couldn't say anything. Not that the secrets of the covenant restrained him. But he really didn't want to be stuck in a lab.
"I don't know," Chase shrugged. "I guess I just figure there's not much you can do to me." It was the truth, anyway.
Donovan laughed. "Honesty. I like that. Stupid, but honest."
Heat flared into his cheeks. Whether or not the old man realized it, Chase didn't like being called stupid.
"Come here."
Chase's eyebrows shot up again. "Is there a reason or are you just being creepy to prove how scary you are?"
"A little of both." With surprising honesty, and he wasn't sure what the man wanted anymore. A free blow was his first guess, but that wouldn't cause the kind of patient anticipation of Chase's fear that he was getting off the old man.
He went over to him anyway, stood in front of him as Donovan turned sideways to his desk to look him up and down.
"You keep yourself in good shape," he said after a moment. "I can see why they like you."
At least he understood what that meant. Chase just stood there, waiting for him to say something else and then fidgeting a little when he didn't.
"Look, I don't know what you're after, but ..."
"Do you think it's possible for pedophiles to reform themselves? Live happy, productive lives?"
For the first time in a very long time, Chase felt something along the lines of a moral qualm. Or just plain sick. It had been a long time since he'd had the moral high ground on anything, since he'd even wanted it. He wasn't a sociopath, but he was working his way there by chipping away pieces of himself every time he broke someone else.
Pedophilia, though. That was beyond the pale. That was over the limit, something he'd never considered, never wanted to consider. People who were sexually attracted to children were sick fucks. It was that simple.
"We try." He was standing, and Chase was more preoccupied with what he was saying than what he was doing. So much so that he didn't even notice until he saw the man standing out from under his shirt in that ridiculous, stupid-looking way. "As a society, we try to hold to the belief that everyone can be reformed. That there is a little bit of good in everyone, even in the worst kind of person. And that that person can let the good dominate within them, if they just try hard enough."
Chase wasn't going to run. He didn't run from anything, hadn't before, wouldn't now. Surviving, escaping to come back and kick ass another day, that was differen't. There wasn't anything here to escape from. So he just stood there.
"Come here." Mr. Donovan said. "Take that off."
It wasn't that it didn't occur to him to disobey. It did, except that Donovan also paid his salary and as a person who was supposedly living outside his means he should be worried about that. He could always set the guy on fire or something if he didn't like what he was doing. The robe fell to the floor, leaving him naked, still sore, and suddenly cold.
"Sit."
He actually looked around for a chair. Slow on the uptake. Donovan patted his bony old man knee and Chase realized with that ice-chilling clarity what the guy was talking about. When he sat on the old man's lap it felt like the movements of another person. Strange. Rubbery.
"No, not that way." Thorny old hands on his hips, turning him around. Thorny old arms around his waist, something like a hug but every part of him was trying to crawl away. He felt trapped, angry, on fire. He'd gotten himself into this and he didn't know how to get himself out without giving himself away. "That's it."
Old man hands between his legs. "You're a good little boy, aren't you. You know exactly what I'm talking about."
He watched, detached from his body, as the man's fingers wrapped around his cock and started to stroke. More playing than stroking, he wasn't even hard, didn't have to be anymore. No porn to shoot. Although he was starting to wonder about hidden cameras.
Something was poking him from behind and beneath. He knew what it was, but he didn't want to think about it, so it stayed a something. At least it wasn't too intrusive. Not yet. He knew what was coming. No pun intended.
"You like that, don't you."
Donovan was talking. How had he missed that? Little words that sounded like they were out of the worst kind of comedy except this was real. And it was happening to him. And all he could think of was, thank god this isn't happening to some kid. Thank god.
"Tell me you like it."
He made his lips move, pushed breath out of his mouth. "I like that."
There was a pause. A threatening pause, with the old man's hand where it was. Chase knew what he wanted and he still had to make himself say it.
"... Daddy."
Old man hand smoothing over the back of his shoulder. "That's my boy." The stroking resumed. He was getting hard, now, made himself look at his shaft run through the shriveled, bony fingers, made his eyes trace every curve of his own cock just to get him hard. Get it over with. "That's my big boy. You're a big boy, aren't you."
"Yes, Daddy."
Fingers massaged his balls. It felt good, and he didn't want it to feel good, he wanted to be cold inside. Like he was with Calvin. Like he was on set. It felt better than it ever had in this place, and he didn't want it to be like that. God, what was wrong with him?
"Now, I'm going to make you feel even better. But you can't tell anyone about this, okay? Not ever."
"Yes, Daddy."
"Say, I promise never to tell."
"I promise never to tell, Daddy."
"That's my boy."
Fingers pushed at his buttocks, reaching underneath. Poking at the edges, sharp nails where sharp nails shouldn't go. Everyone kept their nails clipped as close as they could, out of courtesy. He didn't know why it bugged him. Donovan got whatever he wanted, didn't he?
"It's going to feel real good..." The old man was panting, and part of him wanted to ask how he was able to get it up. Wet tip pressed against his hole, hands shifting him on the guy's lap. One arm around his waist to hold him there, trapping him. He wanted to throw up. He also wanted to come. "That's it. That's my boy."
Chase whimpered a little. Felt the old man pushing into him, no lube, no preparation. A thick fat cock pushing up inside him, hips wriggling under his ass to shove it deeper in. It wasn't arousing. Donovan had to pump his cock to keep him aroused.
"That's my good boy. Now, that feels good for you, and it feels good for Daddy, too, doesn't it? You want to make Daddy happy, don't you?"
"Yes..." He couldn't say it again. Please, no.
"Don't you want to make Daddy happy?"
God. "Yes, Daddy."
"That's my sweet boy..." One hand petted his stomach. "That's my boy."
It didn't take long. What the guy made up for in size he lacked in staying power, and he only pumped a couple of times before he stiffened. A few seconds later Chase felt it slicking through him, dripping. He hadn't come. He was hard, aching with it, wanted it, but he hadn't come. Thank god.
It didn't matter that Donovan was irritated that he hadn't come. That he was dismissed with some snappish words and a reminder that he didn't want to lose his job, his robe thrown at his head as he walked out. He pounded himself to climax later in the men's room, a stolen palmful of lube and some feverish, frantic stroking. And then a wad of more toilet paper than he really needed, abrasive, but, god, he wanted it off of him. He wanted to go home. He felt dirty, wanted a hot shower, wanted to crawl into bed and never wake up in this place again. It was a new feeling, and he hated it more than he'd ever hated anything.