Chapter Text
Jack has not had an overly awesome day so far.
It was boring at best, frustrating at worst, with dull meetings and annoying trouble-shootings; his coffee was cold, his lunch under-seasoned, and some fucking low-level Z-celebrity chased him all around the VIP tower. Jack would have loved to shoot her stupid face off to bring at least a little bit of sunshine into this awfully gloomy day of his. But he got an ECHO call right when he was reaching for his weapon, and by the time he had answered it, security had finally taken the crazy bitch away. Jack hopes they have airlocked her already. He'll make sure to give the order next time he sees a manager.
Jack wants to kill somebody. Or break somebody. Or, at the very least, he simply wants to fuck somebody.
Yeah, fucking would be reeeaaal nice right now. Just that long, hard, all-night kinda shag, that you still feel in your bones when your morning coffee has already been finished.
He definitely needs to put that fuck on his agenda. Luckily, the Jackpot's always full of people, and, luckily, everybody wants to sleep with Handsome Jack.
He decides to just set out and drag whomever he sees first into the next best suite that he can find. No, scratch that, the first attractive person that he sees. He shudders as he remembers that Z-celebrity chasing after him through the entire tower. God, he hopes she's dead already. Can't stress enough how much he hopes that she is dead.
He rolls his shoulders once, rolls his head, and then he leaves his suite and heads towards the elevator. Hopefully, the first attractive person that he sees is no one that he knows a little closer. Many people don't know the difference between getting chummy and getting fucked, and he'd hate to kill a capable person over not understanding what a one-night-stand is.
On his way down, he decides that it's time to change the decor. He's growing tired of those cubed-up bushes. He'll run it by his decorating assistant. She is kinda attractive to be fair. But she's good at her job, and, as mentioned, he'd hate to throw good people out the airlock. Nowadays, they're really hard to come by.
As the door slides open, Jack turns around and closes his eyes as he steps forward. He wants to make this a fair game for everybody. So he stands there for a moment, arms crossed, giving people in the lounge the chance to shuffle around a little. Then he opens his eyes, focuses, and picks a target.
Eh. It's a guy. Oh well, he's attractive enough. As long as he can bury his dick in something warm tonight that moans when it gets ravaged, Jack doesn't care what is or what isn’t attached to the hole that he is fucking.
He is standing there with a datapad in one hand, typing, concentrated, on it with the other. A good little employee that Jack has picked there. Nobody he has ever worked with before, though, so the screwing is still happening no problem.
The guy seems to be of the dedicated sort, judging by his technical adjustments. The arm he's typing with is a cybernetic prosthesis, and from what Jack can tell, he has a dataport embedded in his temple. Kinky or a workaholic? Maybe both. Jack is happy to find out which one it might be.
He nears the man, further assessing his appearance. Black clothes. Pinstripes. Dark, straightened hair that is combed back to form a ducktail. Heh. Boy is cute. Is that a tattoo he is sporting on the left side of his neck? Definitely kinky, then. And there's another one peeking through his far too open shirtfront. Jack can't wait to get to see the whole art piece. His body starts itching with the anticipation of a soon-to-happen shag.
"Care for a fuck?" he addresses the man.
The boy looks up from his datapad, astonished, blinking at Jack with two different-coloured irises. Hmmm, interesting. The brown one is his real eye, no doubt, while the other one seems to be an ECHO implant. Apparently, he tried to get it to match the real colour, but it's too light, too golden. Still looks really nice in combination with the other.
"Uh," the man says. "You mean, like... You and I? Right here? Right now?"
Jack rolls his eyes at him in exasperation. "Of course, I mean us, Dum-Dum. Why would I try to set you up with someone else, genius?"
"I don't know," the man admits. "But it didn't seem more unlikely than Handsome Jack coming over to invite me into his bedroom."
"We can take it to the restroom if you prefer," Jack offers with a shrug.
The man... glare-pouts?? a little and then shakes his head. "Bedroom's fine," he confirms, and Jack has to laugh at his expression.
"Come on, then, Cupcake," he says, already turning around towards the elevator, waving towards the other man to follow. "Let's go and make the improbable a reality."
The kid catches up to him right as the elevator doors slide open.
"So watcha working on in the middle of the lounge there, Pumpkin?" Jack asks as they step into the luxurious elevator car. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching the man as he studies the interior.
"Just assessing the newest data that just came in," he replies, still looking around the little room attentively. "I'm in Data Mining. I control all the information sent to me from different places all around the casino."
"Data Mining, huh?" Jack asks. "So, how much am I making?"
The man looks at him, not really amused, saying, "A lot."
Jack grins at him. He's funny. Acting all snobby and a little uptight. Jack can't wait to take him apart in bed, making him lose all that slapped-on composure.
“Excited to sleep with a rich guy?” he asks, and immediately enjoys the annoyed expression the other man is throwing his way. He doesn’t even hear his answer because he has to laugh out loud.
“I’m messing with ya,” he giggles and grabs his employee’s shoulder to pull him close against his side. “Money has nothing to do with my prowess. I already made people scream out my name when I was still a sorry sucker nobody had heard of.”
“How lucky for me,” Ducktail grumbles, and Jack just chuckles and wraps his arm around his hips. When the doors slide open, he pulls him along, leading him down along the corridor.
“You indeed are,” he agrees, making sure the boy is pulled tight against his side. “I mean, I love making people happy with my dick, but it’s still a quite exclusive experience.”
“So I’m one in a million?” the other man asks, sarcasm generously slathered on his tone.
“Eh, let’s make it one in a hundred,” Jack replies and runs his thumb over the panel to make his penthouse doors slide open.
The sight is very impressive, he reckons.
Jack has penthouses all around the galaxies, and he honestly doesn’t remember what they all look like. He has woken up in them after a very long night and had to consult his position tracker to even learn where he currently was.
His suite here in the Jackpot is one of his own design, of course, so he’d probably recognize it even when he’s drunk. Still, he doesn’t reside here too often, so it isn't hard for him to imagine what his arm candy must be feeling as he sees the suite for the very first time.
The aesthetic is Hyperion, but paired with the luxurious exuberance of the Jackpot. Lots of yellow and concrete, paired with red and elegant black. Also, the bed looks ridiculously comfortable.
“Make yourself right at home, Honeybee,” Jack sing-songs. “This is where the magic happens.”
“Might I use the bathroom before we start?” his entertainment package asks.
Jack shrugs and lets go of him as he waltzes over to his bar, ready to pour himself some whisky before the main course. “Like I said, make yourself at home,” he answers and makes a vague gesture towards the bathroom’s double doors.
He settles for the booze in the coolest-looking bottle, because fuck if he cares to read labels right now, and grants himself a generous portion. Then he saunters over to the bed, takes a huge sip, and makes himself comfortable on the excessive number of pillows.
While he waits, he scrolls through the ECHOnet on the screen he has put down on his bedside table at some point. There’s a new article about him that came out the other day, and he hasn’t been able to go through it yet. The picture definitely is something to behold already, though.
It isn't until his employee returns that he realises how much time has gone by. He lowers his screen and assesses him, and then he clicks his tongue in displeasure.
“You robbed me of one of my favourite activities,” he chides as the man pads over to the giant four-poster-bed. “Clothing is like a wrapping paper, and I love to tear my presents open.”
The man just shrugs, and now Jack can see his tattooed shoulder. Damn, this thing moves down the entire arm. It must hurt to get so much ink pumped under your skin. Jack immediately starts to make a list of painful stuff he could pit against the boy’s high pain tolerance. Yummy.
“Thought you would enjoy playing with the present right away,” the man says, and it’s funny how much his tone contradicts the seductive content of his words. “But if you want, I can put my clothes back on and then –“
“Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh, Cupcake. Shut your pretty mouth before something really dumb comes out of your face-hole,” Jack says and sits up, carelessly throwing the screen he was looking at away. “Now come over here and let daddy have a look at what you’re offering. Then we’ll see if we have to put some clothing back on that admittedly real tasty looking goodie of yours.”
His bed-guest looks annoyed again, and Jack grins as he beckons him over, very pleased to see that the man follows. He parks his milk-white (heh. Loser) self in front of Jack, who brackets him between his knees and gives a little appreciative hum. Then Jack starts to run his eyes and hands over the body, noticing very well the little shiver that it gives as a response.
“You like that?” Jack asks, his voice husky and low now. It’s sexy time, baby. And even this stuck-up little candy here will end up moaning and pleading in Jack’s sheets.
“Don’t dislike it,” the little minx says, and Jack has to grin at the audacity of that statement.
“Let’s see if we can do better than that,” Jack threatens, and then he grabs the other man by his hips and hurls him around to throw him on the king-sized mattress. He pounces on him within the same heartbeat, trapping the man beneath his own body and holding his wrists down with both hands.
He takes a second to smirk at his victim, looming over him like a predator, and then he dives down to go for the attack. It’s not the man’s lips he plans to assault, though, oh no. This little fucker doesn’t needsweet kisses; he needs to get wrecked until he can’t even scream any longer.
He goes for his neck, biting it, sucking it, scraping it hard with the edge of his teeth. The other man gasps – the sound of success – and Jack decides to reward him with a hickey. Also, because this guy needs the full program, Jack pulls his leg up to press his thigh against his groin.
There’s another gasp, this one louder. Jack has no intention of going slow on this guy, so he grinds his hips against him unabashedly.
This time, finally, he draws a small moan.
“You like that now?” Jack growls against his neck, and – get this! – the man just says, “There’s still room.”
Still room! Hah! Okay, he’s on now.
Jack chuckles darkly and groans, mouth still pressed against the warm flesh. “Oh, Sweetness, you’re playing with fire,” he warns him. And before he can answer, Jack’s hand is on his throat.
He squeezes – not so hard that he is strangling the other, but hard enough to make sure he is struggling. His other hand runs down the man’s body, encircling his dick with just enough pressure, and Jack makes sure to look in his eyes as he slowly, torturously, increases it further.
“You have quite the little mouth on you, Cupcake,” he hums as he starts to stroke him slowly. “I’ll have to make sure to keep you on speed dial, cause I want to know what this mouth is capable of.”
The other man glares, but his eyes are now glassy, and, once again, Jack grins at him widely before he licks his palm and then grabs him again. This time, he jerks him hard and gets faster very quickly, his eyes fixating on those of his bed-partner.
The guy is stubborn, Jack has to give him that.
He does his best to hold himself together, but Jack is very good at what he’s doing. The other man starts to pant, grunt, and moan, his hips begin to buck, and he is quivering. One hand is fisted in the sheets above his head, but the other is grabbing Jack’s wrist like a vice, and he's holding Jack’s gaze, even though his eyelids flutter precariously. Jack makes a challenge out of it to see how hard he has to go before those lids will finally fall shut on him for good.
“Mmh, I want to ravage you, baby,” he rasps, running his thumb along the sharp line of his jaw. “Wanna fuck you hard, wanna make you moan my name. When you wake up in the morning, it’ll still be signed within the roughness of your voice.“
The other man groans, pushing his hips up in demand. Jack grins cruelly and runs his thumb over his cockhead.
“Just like that,” he whispers hoarsely. “But don’t you dare think I’ll make this easy for you.”
With that, he pulls both hands away, making the man flop back down with a gasp.
Jack gazes at him as he kneels there, holding the glare of the brown and golden eye. His hands now move to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them slowly, one by one by one.
“What?” he asks as the glare-pout just won’t stop. “You unwrapped yourself, now it’s my turn.”
“Well, hurry up,” the other man grumbles, and Jack has to laugh.
“Impatient, huh?” he asks as he opens his belt buckle.
“I still have work to do,” his employee replies.
Jack almost doubles over at this point. “Fuck, Cupcake!” he hoots. “You sure are something! You’re sleeping with your boss, I’ll make sure you get your workload regulated so this fuck won’t set you back, Kitten.”
The guy opens his mouth to say something, but Jack just throws his shirt right in his face. He curses and flails to throw it down beside the bed, and Jack throws his jeans right next to it, too.
Then, before he has a moment to complain, Jack grabs him by the back of the neck and hauls him up, holding him tight on his lap with his free arm, their faces only inches away from one another.
“You have a new assignment now,” he orders. “It’s pleasuring me. Ain’t no higher priority than that, Breadcrumb.”
He spins the man around and shoves him back hard on the mattress. Sadly, there are no tats on his back, Jack notices. Still, that ass is something to behold, mmh mmh.
“Fuck,” he groans as he gropes the perfect roundness. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I forgot I need to prep you, baby. God, I love buttsex, but really, what’s the cost?”
Sighing dramatically, he leans over to the bedside table and begins to rummage around in its drawer. Lube is never far away from Jack. Especially not in his very own bedroom.
As he fishes the lube bottle out there triumphantly, Pouty McGlareface has half turned around again, propping up on his mechanical elbow. “I’m so glad to hear it’s causing you trouble to make sure this is a nice experience for the both of us,” he chides.
“No, no, no, the nice experience is what’s after the prepping, Pumpkin,” Jack assures him and pops open the lid. “Just saying the sooner we get there, the better it’d be for the both of us, baby.”
“Sure,” his companion grunts and Jack swears this guy is seriously underfucked. Good thing Jack will do something about that now.
“When you’re done complaining,” he says and wiggles his three lubed-up fingers, “maybe make yourself comfortable and let me work my magic, Grumpmuzzle.”
“Your way with words will make me swoon eventually,” Fuckless says and turns around on his back completely, spreading his legs like a good boy for Jack.
Jack grins and pats his propped-up knee. “Not here to make you swoon with words, Kiddo,” he says. “My dick will do the job just fine.”
Grumpy rolls his eyes, but Jack just presses his finger inside of him, and the eye-roll becomes a moan with a head-thrown-back instead.
There you go. Jack knows what’s good for you, baby.
“Sssssh, don’t pull away from me, Sweetheart,” he says and puts his free hand on the other man’s knee. “Just relax and I swear it’ll be good in a second.”
“I’m not… pulling away,” the guy huffs and Jack can hear the strain inside of his voice. “Your fingers just… are fucking huge . Warn a man next time you shove them into him.”
God, the times he’s made Jack laugh tonight.
“Designed for your pleasure, baby,” he quips and then starts moving the digit back and forth. “This is only the light version of the product, though. If you’re good, I’ll upgrade you to the Customer’s Delight, and if you’re real good, you’ll even get the Premium Edition after that.”
The man tries to kick Jack in the face lightly, but the pleasure inside of his ass keeps him from getting far. He’s writhing instead, panting out an annoyed sound, and Jack grins back at him, shoving in further. “See you’re giving it 5 out of 5 already, Kitten,” he says. “Think you’ll enjoy the upgrade juuuust fine.”
He pumps his finger in faster now, deeper. Kiddo is tight, but he really is not pulling back any further. Jack can see that he struggles to keep still, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t buckle, just digs his fingers – mechanical and fleshy – into the sheets hard, writhes, and moans. This is what Jack is here for. Finally making this grumpy false front fall apart.
“Good boy,” he whispers hoarsely, watching in fascination the display of pleasure on the other man’s features. “Think you can handle a second one already?”
“Think… Think you can?” his employee snarls back, and Jack almost stops because he has to laugh again.
“Fuck, Plushie, you’re ending me today,” he giggles. “You really deserve that upgrade. Hold tight.”
He aligns a second finger with his hole, gives him time to prepare for a moment, and then gently squeezes it into the tight heat. Jack’s lubed up well, but the other man still quivers.
“You okay, there?” Jack asks, holding his hand still. “I can remove it again if you want to.”
“Don’t… you… dare,” the other man growls, and Jack’s face is split by a grin once more. “Just… Just go slow for a bit, and I’ll handle it.”
“I love employees with a good work ambition,” Jack purrs and gives his plaything some time to adjust. Then he starts to slowly work his fingers, watching the other for any reaction. The man scrunches up his face a little, tenses his back, but he doesn’t make a sound. Jack waits for it, waits til the grimace turns into a pleasured one, until he hears a little moan escape with his breath.
Jack works with the response he is given and aims to get another gasp or a louder moan, or even to make his back arch further off the mattress. When his fingers can glide with ease, he readies the third one to enter the playing field.
“Deep breath,” he orders and shoves it inside. The reaction comes immediately.
The man moans and curses, his muscles contract, and the sheets he holds with his mechanical hand make a tearing sound as he almost rips them asunder.
“God, you’re fucking sexy,” Jack can’t help but notice. He puts his free hand on the other man’s stomach and watches, captivated, as his expression shifts and changes. There’s lust, there’s ecstasy, and strained concentration to try and keep his muscles relaxed. Jack does his best to hold back so he won’t hurt the guy, but damn does he want to fuck him already.
He starts to move his fingers, deeper, faster, pauses a little as the man groans and jumps, goes back at it as his muscles go slack again. Jack knows that he is working them both into a frenzy, but God , isn’t that what the pleasures of the flesh are for?
His partner lowers his head and looks at Jack, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, and Jack swears this is better than any of the million-dollar art pieces he has accumulated over the years.
“Fuck me,” the other man asks, no, orders, and Jack has to groan because this is too hot.
“Shit,” he mutters and withdraws his fingers. He feels around for the lube bottle blindly and when he finds it, he squeezes it generously, covering his cock before throwing it away again. He strokes himself, twice, three times, just to spread the lube sufficiently, and then he grabs the other’s legs, pulling him close, moving impatiently.
“You sure you can take this?” he asks one last time, looking up at his victim questioningly.
The guy just rolls his eyes at Jack. “Your dick’s not that great,” he assures him with annoyance, and that is the moment this starts to get personal.
Jack growls and pulls the man even closer, cursing lowly under his breath. Then he pushes in, and forget about gentle, because this little bastard just asked for a rough treatment.
The other man moans (or perhaps it’s a scream) and throws his head back, arching off the mattress. “Fuck!” he curses and bites his own knuckles. “Fuck, Jack! FUCK, Jack!”
“Not that great, huh?” Jack asks with a growl, mercilessly pushing in further. The little minx yelps, curses, and writhes, but there’s no plea to stop, and so Jack continues. He pushes and pushes, and then he retreats, and pushes in harder, and the other man yelps again. Jack thrusts and pulls back, thrusts and pulls back, harder, faster, until the man really screams and throws curses at Jack, and he twists to the side, grabbing the covers, hiding his flushed, hot face in the fabric.
“Fuuuuuuck, Jack!” he groans out desperately, and Jack has to hold his lower half tight to keep it from twisting away from him too.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” Jack says in a growl. As he thrusts in this time, he reaches his limit, hitting the other man’s ass with his front. He harvests a yelp from it and then a strong shudder.
Jack closes his eyes and pauses, taking some time to revel in it.
When he continues, he goes slow at first, feeling every drag, every friction. The other man’s muscles press down on him tightly, almost reaching the border to pain. It’s so fucking sweet that Jack can’t keep his hips still, especially not since the person beneath him gives hot little moans with each of Jack's movements. Jack picks up his speed again, picks up his force, until he has reached a hard and fast rhythm. The way the slapping of flesh against flesh accompanies the loud moans and screaming is a certified catalyst for Jack’s building orgasm.
He lets go of one leg of the man he’s still holding, using the now-free arm to support himself. The man below him turns further on his side; both of their bodies a weird, tangled mess now.
“I’m coming,” the guy almost sobs out in pleasure, sending a shiver through Jack’s nervous system.
“You better,” Jack grunts, because so is he, and he won’t let his partner go without coming hard.
He uses his new position to change up his angle, and from how he screams and stretches beneath Jack, his victim really seems to enjoy it. He claws at the bed sheets, calls out Jack’s name, and fuck , that almost does it for Jack already. But then he convulses, his muscles contract, and that’s when Jack can’t hold it in any longer.
He comes with a roar, a curse, and a shudder, spilling his seed in the other’s tight heat as the man he’s coming into screams out his own orgasm. They spasm together with noises of ecstasy and Jack keeps erratically moving his hips until the other puts his hand on Jack’s chest. He’s not pushing, but Jack takes the hint either way, and stopshis motions, panting and spent.
They both take a moment to catch their breath.
“Wasn’t too bad,” Little Asshole admits then, and Jack flops down on the bed with a laugh.
“Have to fuck you again before sleep,” Jack announces.” Seeing you still can form a full sentence.”
“Are you sure you can do that at your age?” the guy asks.
“Eh, it’ll do for you,” Jack retorts. He stretches to grab his whisky from the nightstand, gulping down what is left in the glass.
“Can I get one?” the other man asks, having turned on his other side to face Jack. Jack takes in the sight of his mussed hair; just as sweet as the tone of his hoarse voice.
“What’s your poison?” he asks as he swings out of bed and grabs his empty glass to refill it.
“Anything sweet,” he receives as an answer. Figures that Baby Boy fancies his cocktails.
Jack walks over to his private bar again and fills their glasses with two different liquids. He hands the sweeter one to his partner, who gives Jack his thanks and takes a big sip of it.
“What’s your name, even?” Jack asks as he watches him, still standing in front of the bed with his own glass.
The other man shoots him one of his glares again, but it vanishes quickly, because of endorphins, baby.
“Rhys,” he answers. “My name is Rhys Strongfork.”
“Strongfuck?” Jack asks, and Rhys throws a pillow at him.
Jack catches it with one hand and a grin, throwing it right back at him playfully. “Welcome to ‘Having-Fucked-The-Boss-Resorts’,” he says and takes a sip of his whisky. “Hope you’ll prolong your stay til the morning.”