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Elliot exhaled sharply through his nose, wiping pizza grease and blood off his glove. The healing slice was still warm when he shoved it into Noob's hands. "Thanks, Elliot!" Noob gave him a thumbs up before stumbling off, half healed and already laughing like the killer wasn't just two corridors away.
Elliot didn’t answer. He just watched the guy disappear into the foggy dark of the facility, fingers twitching against the box under his arm. One pizza down. Cooldown ticking.
His patience? Already gone.
This match had been cursed from the start. Chance blew up. The generators were barely halfway done. And the killer? Of course it had to be C00lkid. Elliot leaned back against the cold wall, shutting his eyes for a second. Just a second. He needed it. Needed the break before—
Footsteps. Not rushed. Just… there. Dragging, slower. Limping.
Elliot's eyes opened. And there he was. 007n7. Tall, bleeding like hell from the leg. Burned and bloodied. "You have all the right to deny me service," 007 said quietly, voice rough. "But I'll still ask for a pizza slice, if that's okay."
Silence. Elliot's hand curled into a fist over the healing box. The cooldown timer wasn't done. He had nothing to offer.
Not yet.
He sucked in a breath. Tried to smile, but it twitched into something bitter.
"You're a few seconds too early," Elliot muttered, glancing away.
"I can wait," 007n7 said, leaning slightly against the wall across from him.
Elliot didn't answer. His eyes flicked to the cooldown display on the side of the pizza box, then back to the wall ahead. Too long. Everything about this day was too long. He pushed off the wall and started walking.
"I'll follow, if you don't mind," 007n7 said softly behind him. Elliot gritted his teeth but didn't stop. The last thing he wanted was company— especially from him. But what was he supposed to say? 'Get lost?' He'd tried that before. Didn't work.
He heard the limp in every second footstep behind him, steady and dragging.
"You know," 007n7 started again, voice low like he was afraid of his own words, "you're the only one who still talks to me. Even if it's just... this."
Elliot scoffed under his breath, stepping over a pile of broken wood. "That's not something you should cling to."
"I don't cling," 007 replied.
"Sure sounds like it."
Another pause. The map felt endless today, or maybe it was just Elliot's patience wearing thin.
"Do you ever think about the past?" 007n7 asked suddenly. "Not the bad parts. Just... the quiet parts."
Elliot stopped walking.
"Do you ever think about how I can't get through a match without smelling smoke and hearing your damn kid laughing in my head?" he said sharply, turning halfway to look at him. "Because I do. Every time."
007n7 looked down at his hands. They were shaking. Probably from the blood loss.
"That's fair," he said quietly. "I just thought... never mind."
Elliot turned away again and kept walking.
Of course 007n7 followed.
Always a step or two behind. Always silent for a while. Then—
"I like it when you talk to me," he murmured.
Elliot laughed at that. "You like being hated?"
"No. But it's better than being ignored." That made Elliot stop for real. This guy...
He didn’t look back. He just stood there, staring ahead at a generator, listening to it's buzz and pained breathing behind him.
Cooldown complete.
The pizza slice shimmered gently in the box, fresh and hot. He could turn around and give it to him. Be the bigger man. Play the part! But the thought alone made his fingers curl tight against the cardboard lid.
"...I don't owe you anything," Elliot said.
"I know," 007n7 answered. "But I'd still say thank you."
Elliot closed his eyes, jaw clenched.
Still, he didn't walk away this time.
He just stood there. Box in hand. Wrestling with himself.
And behind him, 007n7 waited.
Pathetic.
Elliot rubbed a hand over his face, fingers dragging down through the short stubble on his chin. It was more of a habit than anything— trying to scrape off the frustration like dead skin. The room was empty, dim. He hopped up onto the metal casing and sat with a grunt, the pizza box balanced across his lap. His knees bounced once. Then again.
007n7 stood just inside the doorway, arms loose at his sides, shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear into himself. He didn't move. Didn't say anything else. Just... waited.
God, he looked pathetic. Limping and bleeding, barely upright. Watching Elliot like a kicked dog watching the only person who'd ever thrown it a scrap.
Elliot let his head fall back against the cold wall, staring at the ceiling like maybe if he focused hard enough, the man would just disappear.
"You're still here," he muttered.
007n7 blinked. "You didn't tell me to leave."
"Didn't think I had to."
Silence.
Elliot looked down, elbows resting on his knees. His voice came out flat, tired. "You want honesty, right? Since you like me talking to you so much?"
007n7 nodded once, hesitantly.
"Then here it is." Elliot shifted in place, letting his legs spread just a little wider as he leaned forward. His fingers moved to his belt. The metallic clink of the buckle breaking open. Oh.
007n7 flinched.
"You really want to make it up to me?" Elliot asked, voice low, warmer. "Get on your knees."
007n7 stared, eyes wide, lips parted like he hadn't even dared hope for this kind of... what exactly? He sank instantly. A little hesitation. Landing hard on bruised knees like he didn't even feel it.
Elliot's fingers paused at the fly of his pants, noticing. "You sure?"
"Yes. Yes, please— just— just tell me what to do."
That earned the faintest smirk from Elliot. It was like watching something pitiful try to act useful.
"Then get to work," he said, pulling himself free, the weight of his cock heavy in his hand. He didn’t stroke— just looked down at the man kneeling in front of him. "Quickly."
007n7's breath hitched audibly. His mouth opened before his hands even lifted. He didn't even touch Elliot— not without permission— just leaned in, licking first, slow and reverent, like he thought maybe this would cleanse him somehow. He was far from it.
Elliot let his head tip back against the wall again, eyes sliding shut, one hand dragging down lazily to rest on 007n7's head. "Fuck," he muttered. "You're really doing it."
A muffled sound came from below— not words, just a desperate noise. 007n7 worked fast, but careful, mouth slick, lips stretched around him, tongue flicking at every sensitive ridge like he was trying to memorize it. Like he thought this might be his last chance.
Elliot's grip in his hair tightened.
"Slow down," he murmured. "I said quickly, not sloppily. You wanna be good, don't you?"
A nod— or what passed for one, mouth still full.
"Then show me."
007n7 adjusted instantly. Less frantic now. Deeper. Steadier. Moaning around him like he needed this more than air. The floor was hard, but he didn't move once. Didn't dare.
Elliot looked down again, eyes half lidded, pupils blown. The sight of him— bloodied, trembling, kneeling with his cheeks flushed and his lips stretched wide— sent a something through Elliot's gut.
"You that eager to be useful?" Elliot chuckled. "Alright."
He lifted one boot— the one not pressed flat to the floor— and let the toe slide forward, nudging between 007n7's knees. Then a little higher. Under him.
"Ride it."
007n7 froze— just for a moment— then let out a tiny, choked noise. He shifted his hips, lowering until the rough leather of the boot pressed up between his legs. The angle forced him to grind down, slow and clumsy at first, like even that friction was too much.
Elliot exhaled through his teeth. "Keep going."
Another moan. Higher pitched. He started moving— rutting against the boot while still bobbing his head in time, mouth working Elliot's cock like it was sacred. It might as well be.
"Fuck, you're disgusting," Elliot muttered. "Look at you."
But 007n7 didn't stop. Couldn't. He pressed harder, grinding down with every thrust. His hands scrabbled for balance on Elliot's thighs, nails digging in just enough to sting.
And still— Elliot didn’t stop him. Didn’t push him away. Just kept watching. One hand lazily in 007n7's hair, the other braced against the wall behind him, like he couldn’t even be bothered to put effort into this.
The only effort here was his.
007n7, bruised and bleeding, knees pressed to the floor, panting through his nose as he tried to keep pace. His cheeks were flushed red, eyes glassy, throat working each time he took Elliot in deeper. He was still grinding— slowly now, rhythm syncing with every bob of his head. The toe of Elliot's boot dug cruelly into him, pressing where it ached the most, and he rutted against it with quiet, helpless little sounds.
"Look at you," Elliot whispered. "Desperate little mutt. Thought this is what you wanted?"
007n7 tried to nod— but it came out more like a whimper. His mouth popped off with a slick gasp, spit clinging to his lips and chin. He stared up at Elliot, pupils blown wide.
"I do. I wanna be good. I wanna be— useful." He leaned in, kissing the base of Elliot's cock reverently, then lower, dragging his tongue along his hipbone like it was sacred.
Elliot smiled. He let his cock rest against 007n7's cheek, watching as the man leaned into it without hesitation, nuzzling like some kind of worshipful dog.
"You think licking my boots and mouthing at my cock's gonna fix everything you fucked up?"
A soft, desperate moan. 007n7 didn’t answer— didn't need to. He kissed the inside of Elliot's thigh, tongue darting out to catch the taste of sweat and skin, like even that was a reward.
"You're pathetic."
"I know." Another kiss, this one to the base of Elliot's shaft. Then the tip of his tongue, wet and eager, dragged a slow stripe up the side.
Elliot raised his knee slightly— forcing his boot to grind harder between 007n7's legs. The whimper that earned him was high and broken, followed by a frantic buck of the hips, like his body was betraying him.
"Fucking soaking," Elliot murmured, cock twitching at the sheer mess below him. "And I haven't even touched you."
007n7's hands were trembling now, barely gripping Elliot's thighs as he kissed across his stomach— lower, higher, up the line of his hip again. No destination. Just worship. Devotion smeared in spit and blood and sweat.
"You're disgusting."
"Yes," 007n7 gasped.
Elliot stared. "Did I say you could stop sucking?"
The man immediately dropped his mouth again, swallowing him back down with another wet, desperate sound. Elliot's fingers curled tighter in his hair. "Keep going."
He felt the hum of compliance vibrate through him, and that sent a shiver up his spine. Watching him grind on that boot, mouth full, body begging for any scrap of praise— it was intoxicating. He'd never seen someone look so fucking ruined for it.
"God, you'll do anything, won't you?" Elliot breathed. "No shame at all."
A small, pathetic shake of the head. A garbled noise that might have been please, or more, or maybe just yes.
Elliot smiled again. Pleased.
"Good. Keep grinding."
Elliot's hips tensed, his hand locking tighter in 007n7's hair, forcing his cock deeper into the man's throat— past the point of comfort. 007n7 didn't fight it. He welcomed it, head tilted just right to take it all, throat working reflexively around him.
Then Elliot came. Hard. With a low breath drawn through gritted teeth, his eyes locked on the sight of the broken man gagging around him and not stopping. Rope after rope spilled into 007n7's mouth, and he swallowed everything. 007n7 held still, body shuddering faintly from the strain of it, throat moving with each desperate gulp like it was something holy.
When Elliot finally let go, dragging his cock out with a wet, obscene sound, he watched closely.
007n7 was panting now, spit trailing from the corner of his mouth, tongue darting out automatically to lick his lips clean.
Elliot leaned down slightly, fingers tilting the man's chin up.
"Open."
He obeyed.
Mouth parted. Tongue out. Nothing left.
Elliot stared. His gaze dropped to the man's still moving hips— still grinding, still pressing against the leather of the boot like he couldn't stop himself. It was pathetic. Filthy. Beautiful.
"Good boy."
The words came out quiet. And the sound 007n7 made in response— a trembling, strangled sob of need and relief— hit Elliot somewhere low and sharp in his gut.
He stood in silence for a moment. Breathing slower. Tension gone, mostly. Gods. His irritation was gone, bled out with the orgasm. Now he was just tired. And maybe— maybe a little ashamed. Not of 007n7. Of himself. The way he'd used him. The things he said.
He reached down and gripped 007n7 by the arm, hauling him up off the floor. He settled back onto the generator beside the wall, pulling the man into his lap.
He shifted his leg up so his thigh pressed between 007n7's legs, angling it just right.
"Go on," Elliot said, voice steady again. "There. Better pressure."
007n7 whimpered, grinding immediately, hands gripping Elliot's shoulders like he was afraid he'd fall apart otherwise.
"You really didn't stop," Elliot muttered. "Still this worked up."
007n7 nodded fast, forehead pressing to Elliot's collarbone.
"Didn't want to waste it. I didn't want to—" He cut off with a sharp moan as his hips bucked, losing rhythm.
Elliot's hands found his waist, holding him steady. Guiding 007n7 slowly.
"Shh. You did good," he murmured, eyes dropping to watch the movement again.
The words made 007n7 tremble again— visibly, violently. He buried his face against Elliot's neck like he couldn't bear being seen, even as he kept grinding, slow and desperate, soaking through fabric, making a mess of both of them.
Elliot didn’t stop him. He just let it happen, hands moving idly over the man's back, over the curve of his ass, pressing him tighter against the firm line of his thigh.
"Good boy," Elliot said again, quieter this time. Closer to something real. "You’re so fucking eager to please. Makes it hard to stay mad."
He didn't say he felt bad.
Didn't say he'd used him out of pure frustration. That he hadn't expected the man to take it so willingly. That maybe, just maybe, he'd needed it more than he realized.
Instead, he let his fingers drift up into 007n7's damp hair, resting lightly there. Holding him close. Letting him grind, whimper, rut shamelessly while Elliot watched, praising him.
007n7 began grinding harder now, but with no rhythm— more desperate than controlled, more aching than seeking pleasure. His breaths came in fast, uneven pants, forehead still pressed to Elliot's throat, body soaked in sweat and arousal and effort.
Elliot could feel it.
The way the man throbbed beneath layers of damp fabric, soaking through, making a slick mess where his thigh pressed up. But even with all that friction, even with all that need, something wasn't connecting.
"You're close," Elliot murmured, thumb stroking up the ridge of his spine. "But not coming."
007n7 nodded weakly, a low whine dragging from his throat. "I— I can't— fuck, I want to— just can't—" His voice cracked, shame curling tight in his chest. "It's always hard."
Elliot shifted slightly, keeping the man steady in his lap, one hand on his lower back now. "Okay," Elliot nodded. "Then we'll do something that does work."
007n7 blinked up at him, glassy eyed, lips parted.
"You're not mad?"
Elliot huffed. "You think I'd get mad because your body doesn't cooperate? Come here."
He tipped the man forward, guiding his weight to rest fully against him, and shifted the angle of his hips— until the soaked fabric pressing against Elliot's thigh was angled just right to grind down. Then, slowly, he slid one hand down between 007n7’s legs, letting it rest there, warm and steady over the soaked cloth.
"Tell me what helps," Elliot said quietly, his lips brushing against the edge of 007n7's ear. "What makes it easier for you?"
007n7 shuddered hard. "Inside. Fingers. Deeper— just, not too fast."
Elliot nodded once. He reached down, unfastening the button on 007n7's pants, working the zipper down with slow, careful movements. Then, gently, he slipped a hand inside — finding the wetness instantly, soaking and warm and so damn responsive. He pushed the fabric aside, spreading him open with practiced fingers.
"You're fucking drenched," Elliot murmured, pressing a kiss to the man’s temple. "Been grinding like this the whole time, just leaking."
A whimper.
Elliot didn't tease. He let one finger slip in— slow, careful, finding the angle that made 007n7 twitch and gasp. Then another, scissoring gently, opening him further while his other arm stayed wrapped around his waist.
"Like this?"
"Y- Yeah," 007n7 choked out, head buried against Elliot's shoulder. "That's— fuck, that's good, it's so— so much better—"
"Good boy," Elliot murmured, letting his thumb stroke gently over slick, swollen skin as his fingers worked deeper. "We'll take our time. You've earned that."
007n7 moaned again, louder this time, hips grinding helplessly down against Elliot's hand, body clenching around his fingers.
"Relax," Elliot whispered. "You're doing so good. Let me help you."
His fingers found that perfect spot again, curling just right, and 007n7 crumbled— gasping, nails digging into Elliot's shoulders, every part of him tensing with suddenly, nearly tipping him over.
But still— he held back. Still couldn't.
"It's— almost—" he sobbed, frustration lacing his voice. "Please— don't stop— don't stop—"
Elliot kissed his temple again, then his cheek, grounding him with each breath.
"I won’t," he said. "I've got you."
He shifted his hand again, thumb circling slowly now, fingers fucking in deeper— patient.
A broken whine spilled from 007n7's throat. Elliot smiled. "Come on, sweetheart. Let go. Let me see it."
Every part of 007n7 pulsated around Elliot's fingers— wet, clenching, desperate. His body had locked up tight, and now it trembled like it couldn’t decide whether to come or collapse. Elliot's hand stayed steady.
Still working him, slow and deep. Thumb teasing gentle circles, fingers finding that spot over and over again, until 007n7 was reduced to nothing but gasps and sobs and the broken, whispered chant of pleasepleaseplease—
"You're close," Elliot murmured, voice steady and warm against his ear. "I can feel it. You're right fucking there."
Another sob. 007n7's thighs tensed hard, his hips bucking helplessly, writhing down into the pressure like his body couldn't take it anymore.
And then— It hit.
007n7 cried out, loud and choked, hips jerking erratically as his whole body locked up, convulsing hard in Elliot's lap. His vision whited out at the edges. Every muscle clenched. He came so hard it felt like his body broke, wetness spilling out in hot, helpless pulses, soaking them both through. His head lolled back, eyes rolling.
Then he sagged. Half-unconscious.
Elliot caught him instantly, arms wrapping around him, pulling him close to his chest.
"Hey." His voice was low. "Hey— stay with me."
007n7 twitched, chest hitching, hands grabbing for purchase at Elliot's jacket.
"You still with me?" Elliot asked again, brushing a hand through his hair. "You here?" A faint nod.
Then another, slower. "Y- Yeah. I— yeah. Just…"
"I know." He held him like that for a long moment— letting the aftershocks pass. 007n7 slumped against him, limp and dazed, mouth slightly open as he breathed. His whole body was flushed, clothes soaked. Elliot reached out to the greasy cardboard box, and popped it open with one hand. He peeled back the lid and offered the slice.
❤︎
"Dude!" Chance practically bounced up beside Elliot the second the match ended, arms wide like Elliot owed him something. "Where the hell were you that whole time? I was dying! Crawled through half the map just for a slice!"
Elliot blinked, caught off guard. "I—"
"I even called your name like, five times. Was like 'Elliooooot! I’m hungryyy!' You know, like a dramatic little ghost. But nooo, you were nowhere." Chance gave him a pout, then grinned. "You hiding from me or somethin'?"
Elliot shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was... busy."
Chance narrowed his eyes, mock suspicious. "Busy, huh? What, you baking new toppings back there?"
Before Elliot could form a proper response, the corner of his eye caught movement.
007n7. Limping across the room, shaking and quiet. He kept his head down, not even glancing their way, and disappeared into the hallway toward the dorms.
Chance tilted his head. "Man, what's up with him? Looks like he got hit by a truck. Twice."
Elliot's ears burned. He tried not to move, tried not to make eye contact with anything or anyone, especially the closed dorm door at the far end.
"I dunno," he mumbled.
Chance raised a brow, clearly catching the awkward shift. "You alright...?"
"I'm fine," Elliot said, way too quickly. Fuck.
"Mmhmm. Totally believable," Chance teased, nudging him with his elbow. "You're redder than the sauce on your damn pizza."
Elliot groaned under his breath, stepping around Chance and heading for the couch. "Drop it."
"Wait, no, hold on—" Chance followed him, grinning wider now. "Did I interrupt something?"
"No."
"You so did."
"Chance."
"I'm just sayin'! You disappear for the whole back half of the match, 007 looks like he got roughed up, and you're acting like you just walked out of a soap opera."
Elliot dropped down onto the couch and covered his face with both hands. Chance laughed, flopping next to him, hands behind his head.
"Man, you gotta tell me what I missed. C'mon, I'm starving, I deserve a story and a slice."
Elliot didn’t answer. But his silence said too much.
Chance leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a grin appearing on his face.
"So. What did you do, exactly?" he asked, way too casual. "Like, on a scale from 'wholesome teamwork' to 'I can never look 007n7 in the eyes again,' where are we landing?"
Elliot groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
"I'm not talking about this."
"That's not a no," Chance sang, rocking slightly in his seat. "Was there tongue?"
"Jesus Christ, Chance—"
"Was it good?"
Elliot practically bolted to his feet, face hot and visibly red at this point.
"Fuck off!" he snapped. He snatched his pizza box off the armrest like it personally offended him and stormed off across the cabin.
Chance blinked, then burst out laughing.
"Dude! Chill! I'm just messin'— kinda!" He called after him.
Elliot didn't answer. Just shoved open the hallway door and disappeared.
Chance leaned back in the chair, still chuckling to himself. "Man," he muttered under his breath, smile curling up again, "If you didn't want people watching, maybe don't do it in the middle of a match."
He glanced toward the dorm hallway. "Amateur."