Work Text:
On this very day, during a cloudy Wednesday afternoon, former Communications Officer Douglas Eiffel’s fate was sealed by a single handshake.
Eiffel fought the urge to rub his arms through the pricy linen of his suit as a particularly harsh breeze made its way through him, wondering if it's the fifty percent chance of rain or perhaps the icy chill of selling his soul that’s making him shake like a leaf.
Acknowledging his colleagues who stood to his left and right, the two women he once knew as his Lieutenant Commander and Captain, Renée Minkowski and Isabel Lovelace, had their sights fixed straight ahead of them, watching the event play out in sullen silence.
They felt it too.
Everyone and their mother were out on what’s been fondly described as the Kakos Amphitheater Lawn. It’s honestly one of many lawns, but this one in particular, this one is special, massive, and lush, and crowned by a dizzying hedge maze that seems to serve no purpose but to confuse and disorient potential intruders.
Eiffel considered wandering in himself, sipping on the generous servings of non alcoholic champagne being served cold and bubbling by the hors d'oeuvre table. When Eiffel had approached it, he was expecting the usual selection-finger sandwiches, grapes, cheeses, and canapés-seeing as how this was essentially a glorified cocktail party.
But no. Under the sheer depravity of Kakos Industries, now rebranded as Kakos Futuristics, the selection is that of Eiffel’s most well-dressed nightmares: ostrich deviled eggs, piranha caviar, crudités served with squid ink vinaigrette, zebra tongue toast, and, among it all, tacos.
Just normal, run of the mill soft tacos with beef and chicken and sauce and nice garnishings wrapped in flour and corn tortillas. And something about the sight of it drives Eiffel up a wall.
This, now this is what drives him insane, because it perfectly represents his predicament:
Douglas Eiffel, Renée Minkowski, Isabel Lovelace, and Hera, who had the honor of being several feet of this wretched display, are the single sane people overwhelmed by a cluster of absolute madness. They are but a single drop of water in a sea of suffocating liquid darkness.
Of course Hilbert is fine. Of course Hilbert adapts, though even Eiffel can see some strain in the man’s features at what should have been a heartfelt reunion. There was a certain guilt that painted the depraved doctor’s features as he was properly initiated into the refurbished buildings expanded science program.
A man dressed in a lab coat had parted his way through the welcome wagon with a sense of urgency, eyes wide in amazement as if Hilbert were an old colleague. High school friends? Partners in crime? This suspicion was confirmed when he practically sprinted in Hilbert’s direction, embracing the doctor in a smothering embrace as he let out a belting laugh.
“Dunkelwissen,” Hilbert had said, expression warm but strained as he patted the younger man on the back. “It has been too long.”
Of course Hilbert knew these fucking people. Of course he does.
Only because it helped him better ground himself in reality, Eiffel observed the decorations, the black orchids, the satin like a sheet of the night sky, the shadowy tulle above him that almost blends in with the dreary clouds overhead.
Now that he’s thought about it, just about everything in his vicinity was black, right down to his own suit, right down to everyone else’s suit. Every once in a while there’s a splash of gray, maybe even white or brown, but otherwise it’s a sea of dark-clad bodies stretching out before him, peaking at the amphitheater stage where two black suited figures conduct this whole circus.
Any outsiders would assume this was an achingly elaborate funeral, but the merrymaking is too obvious, spirits too high. Does a place like Kakos Futuristics even know the meaning of mourning?
He looked over to his new masters who stood dutifully on stage. The presentation now over, Marcus Cutter and Corin Deeth III are busy being impressed by each other and themselves.
Eiffel can’t read their lips but Cutter must have said something that made Corin laugh. Cutter placed a firm hand on Corin’s shoulder, leaning in to whisper something that Corin quietly nodded to in agreement.
Assholes, Eiffel thought.
Just then, as if he had read his thoughts, Cutter’s eyes broke from Corin’s and locked with Eiffel’s, his usual unshaken smile in place and insufferable as ever. Eiffel felt something slither up his spine as he clutched his half empty glass a little tighter.
And like something composed of his high school anxieties, he wonders if these two are talking about him. When Corin stole a glance at Eiffel, that’s when he was positively certain.
“And with that out of the way-” the office rang out with a loud pop! as Marcus Cutter sprang the cork off a personal bottle of champagne saved specifically for the occasion. “I believe a toast is in order.”
“Cheers to that,” Corin replied, raising his glass to Cutter as the yellowish liquid foamed and bubbled to the top before settling into a steady fizz.
Cutter raised his glass above him. “To Kakos Futuristics, may it venture to places even beyond the stars.”
They clinked their glasses together.
“I must say, you had the crowd wrapped around your finger.” Cutter said.
Corin gave a coy wave of his hand, as if shooing away the compliment. “It’s nothing, really.”
And it really wasn’t. As CEO of Kakos Industries, giving presentations, going to conferences, talking to big names who knew much bigger, much meaner names in the business was a given. Corin could never quite match the sheer charisma of his grandfather; the imbalance of Evil or perhaps a lack of drugs in his system may have had something to do with that, but he could amp up the charm when it truly mattered.
After all, this was the first ever Kakos Industries business merger in-Corin thought over a sip-well, since Melantha, but he’d rather not dwell on that.
And as much as his ideal scenario would include officially combining his forces with Melantha’s company-and combining himself with Melantha-it was apparent that the two warring CEOs would never come to an agreement.
Their ways of Evil were just too different, Melantha’s alliances were too shady. There were dark forces at play that he simply wanted nothing to do with, and not just because the paperwork would be absolute hell.
But this merger with Goddard was necessary. It was the difference between corporate suicide and truly Doing Evil Better after six straight months of an outright pitiful performance.
The exact origin of the tailspin, Corin had a hard time deciphering:
Perhaps poor resource management? No, they were always efficient, never wasteful. Too many new hires? No way, they only ever hired the best talent Evil had to offer. An influx of new ideas and divisions that didn’t get their proper time to grow? Nah, what would Evil be without innovation?
At the end of the day, Corin could only summarize the current state of Kakos Industries as “a bit of bad luck”, some broken mirror or black cat crossing your path type of shit. Whatever.
But no one ever thought to blame Corin, not vocally, at least. There were certainly some judgmental whispers overhead by those emotionless suits that made up the board, but a day that they didn’t talk shit was a day yet to come.
And as much as Corin insisted that Evil would improve on its own time, that the shares would go back up, that their competitors wouldn’t swoop in and try to sow seeds of doubt amongst the shareholders, he was always met with narrowed eyes and silently shaking heads.
It was that same day Corin had received a letter from his grandfather specifically entitled “In Case of Evil Financial Crisis”, the advice went as follows: Buy, sell, buy, buy some more, sell some more, buy just a little bit more than you did before, and-If all else fails, hope someone takes pity on you.
It was during a particularly annoying evening when Melantha interrupted the announcements to read aloud a deprecating article that Corin is sixty percent sure she wrote herself- her usual lack of subtlety and limited vocabulary being the strongest indicators that this was not an official news publication-that he had reached his wits end (and the end of his grandfather’s secret stash of stress relief supplements conveniently provided in the envelope)
The first step to fixing a problem was admitting that you had one, the letter had also entailed, and Corin would be dammed if he was going to let his ego risk the company’s future.
And then, as if the imaginary gods heard his non-existent prayers, Grace Rule approached him after the announcements with phone in hand.
“It’s Goddard,” she mouthed to Corin as an intern babbled over the phone.
“Goddard Futuristics?” Corin had mouthed back.
What on Earth could they possibly want? Corin figured most things dealing with Earth were out of Goddard’s wheelhouse.
Goddard had astronauts, astrophysicists, artificial intelligence programmers, and potential links to life among the stars which was something not even Kakos Industries had gotten close to accomplishing.
Kakos Industries hadn’t given space exploration any serious consideration since the sixties, way back when his grandfather was still in charge. The Space Race was their crowning achievement, yet to be topped by any of their competition, so the motivation just wasn’t there. It wasn't even necessary.
So for them to be establishing contact with Kakos Industries when their corporate relationship was less as coworkers and more as acquaintances was definitely out of the ordinary.
And a miracle. One single phone call on that fateful night, a contract allowing Goddard permission to access DarkMega material as a renewable power source, and Project Dark Universe was born.
Cutter had shown his fondness from the get-go, greeting Corin at their initial meeting with a handshake that better resembled a loving caress of Corin’s hand.
That was because it was, and Cutter had indeed leaned down and planted a kiss on Corin’s knuckles, the billowing wind from the helicopter he arrived on sweeping the wind around them, fluttering the topiaries, ruffling their suits and hair into a playful dance.
“Oh,” Was all Corin could manage, happy his sunglasses were concealing what must have been a wide-eyed stare.
“Ah, my apologies. Someone on my press team must have given me the wrong memo.” Cutter had replied, straightening himself. “That’s assuming you didn’t mind, of course…”
“Uh, no, it’s no problem," Corin shook his head. "And our intel informs us you like to be addressed as 'sir'."
Cutter barked out a laugh. "Only to my underlings. But us, Corin, we're friends. You can call me whatever you like."
Corin had that first impression on his mind for the remainder of the day, and clearly, Cutter did as well. Corin would say Cutter had specifically plotted to kiss his hand the whole time, a display of good manners and intimacy that must have been common around Goddard.
The fact Corin was even thinking about it this much proved that such an old-fashioned display of gentlemanliness had worked his magic on him.
It wasn’t the first. Memories of Leopold crossed his mind, the way the man would lavish him with affection from kisses up the arm to blow jobs before bed. Fucking in the comfort of silk sheets and downy pillows as the concubines listened from the gilded double doors.
Corin’s first time with Cutter wasn’t nearly as glamorous.
He recalled the meeting, mostly running on autopilot as arrangements were made and papers were signed, contracts finalized, kisses exchanged, dicks sucked-
He bit his lip as the memory overtook him.
“Look at you, the dignified Corin Deeth being fucked like some cheap whore,” A hand spat on, a dick being stroked. Cutter pressing him against the wall of a bathroom stall, entering him. “Would be a shame if anyone saw you so…vulnerable.”
“Something on your mind?” Corin was dragged back to reality from the sound of Cutter’s voice, sickly and saccharine. He was refilling his glass already.
“N-nothing just uh…strong stuff,” Corin lied. He’s had stronger but he can’t deny that his head is swimming in champagne. And frankly he’s more horny than he is drunk though he wouldn’t deny that the two were copiloting.
Mr. Cutter smirked, adjusting a pair of skinny frames that hung low on his nose, and something inside of Corin that he’s been told must be his heart thumped at a quicker pace. Perhaps it was something in this drink they were splitting but the Goddard’s Communications Director was almost nauseatingly handsome.
Well-dressed and charming if maybe the slightest bit creepy, but that was too imply Corin didn’t regularly associate himself with some of the most Evil people the world had to offer, many of whom weren’t exactly the most socially adjusted. And what was Corin if he wasn’t a little off-putting, a little intimidating, a little cold and controlled? Frankly, Cutter fit right in.
Cutter slowly approached Corin who sat quietly in his dark leather chair.
Cutter tipped his glass towards Corin’s lips, the champagne threatening to spill onto the CEO’s perfectly pressed pants. Corin smirked, parting his lips before letting Cutter empty the pricey liquor down his throat.
Wiping the excess from his mouth, he’s now feeling much more than a simple buzz and he’s passed the threshold of a regular, tame horniness to feeling an undeniable strain in his slacks. Corin shifted in his seat, legs spreading with a hand coyly palming at his forming erection.
Cutter looked down, pretending not to notice. “Something you’d like to share with me, Mr. Deeth?”
“Nothing you haven’t heard before,” Corin said. They’ve done this song and dance already, embarrassingly early at that, but Corin just couldn’t help himself and frankly neither could Cutter.
What were the two of them but creatures of impulse, gluttons of pleasure? After all, was this not a time of celebration?
Cutter leaned down and kissed Corin gently at first before taking the man’s chin into his hands and planting another much more hungry, much more aggressive kiss. A hand snaked its way up Corin’s crisp button-up, fingers dancing along his torso until finding its way to Corin’s nipple. Corin couldn’t help but gasp into Cutter’s mouth as it was pinched between an eager pair of fingers.
“You’re a dirty boy, Corin.” Cutter murmured against Corin’s mouth before placing another kiss, his hand now traveling south to Corin’s hardening cock. He undid the CEO’s belt and buttons with little effort, slipped the twitching cock out of the boxers and made quick work of the shaft now in his hand.
Cutter chuckled as Corin clung to his chair, a shiver running through his whole body as his dick was pumped by Cutter’s precise and perfect hand.
“This is highly unprofessional, you know.” Cutter said.
Corin scoffed, trying to maintain his composure as more blood rushed to his cock. “Clearly you don’t know how things work around here,” he replied. “If anything, I’m showing you the ropes.”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty of ropes to show you...” Cutter said then squeezed, eliciting a moan from the man beneath him. “And chains and whips and paddles and muzzles…”
“Fuck,” Corin hissed through his teeth. “Fuck, just fuck me already.”
“Well, if you insist.” Cutter released Corin so he could unbutton his own slacks, freeing his throbbing erection.
Continuing where Cutter left off, Corin kept a hand on his cock as he watched Cutter produce a small bottle of lube from his blazer pocket. He squirted a generous amount on the head of his cock.
“You were hoping things would end this way, weren’t you?” Corin chuckled, his own bottle of lube in his desk drawer long forgotten. He stood up from his chair and positioned himself over the desk, presenting himself, and most importantly his ass, to Cutter. “I’ll be honest, so was I.”
“Great minds think alike,” Cutter replied, slipping his lube stained fingers into Corin’s ass, ever so gently finger fucking Corin’s entrance as he stimulated a tight, clenching prostate.
Corin let out a shaky breath, leaning into the touch and letting Cutter’s fingers slip that much deeper into his ass.
Cutter chuckled darkly, squeezing Corin’s ass before giving it a firm slap. Corin couldn’t help but lurch across the desk, fingernails digging into the fine wood to keep himself from collapsing to the floor entirely, especially as Cutter slaps his ass again, and again, and again-
“You like being disciplined, don’t you? Always the one in charge, never anyone to take care of you.” Cutter slaps his ass one last time. “How tragic.”
Slowly, Cutter entered him, starting with slow, even thrusts until he found his rhythm. Corin rode out each motion Cutter sent into him, each wet thrust setting off a fire in his gut. “Mmmm fuck…fucking hell, Marcus.”
“That’s it, that’s my boy.” Cutter said, more growled as he finally gripped Corin’s waist, slamming his hips into the CEO with even more vigor.
Overwhelmed with pleasure, Corin lost any of the composure he had left, his usually eloquent speech replaced with a stream of heated babbling. A series of “fuck” and “yes” and “your cock feels fucking amazing” leaving his mouth in his undignified haze of horniness.
He felt like his cock was going to fucking burst but didn’t dare touch himself. He’d cum when he deserved it, when his new business partner said he earned it.
“Look at me,” It’s a demand, not a suggestion, to which Corin immediately complied.
Turned on his back, pressed against the table, he can now see Cutter as he’s being fucked, the man hovering over him wearing that usual, unshakable smile. The guy hasn’t even broken a sweat, which made Corin’s slick face flush with shame.
“We’re almost there, Corin.” Cutter said. “Just keep looking at me, we’re almost there.”
“Almost there,” Corin panted. “Oh shit, yes…”
He could feel it coming now, and Corin willed himself not to break his gaze from Cutter even as he lulled his head back in ecstasy.
But as Corin neared his orgasm, his peripheral vision was overtaken by an all-consuming darkness. It started as tiny black spots as if a camera had been flashed in his eyes until it framed behind Cutter’s head like a halo.
As if it were originating from Cutter himself, it continued to grow and meld itself into the office, painting the walls, consuming the furniture-soon enough they were fucking in the heart of a blackhole.
“Cum for me, Corin.” Cutter said, his voice sounding miles away. Corin feels like he’s slowly drifting into a bottomless liquid darkness, Cutter’s voice echoing from above.
“Wh-huh?”
“Cum,” Cutter whispered hoarsely into his ear before licking it. “Cum for Kakos Futuristics, cum for what we have now.”
With that, Corin cums and cums hard, his semen painting his belly and Cutter’s expensive suit with little streaks and droplets of white. He was seeing fucking stars, sparks of pleasure setting off his in brain like fireworks.
Cutter has the mercy to at least let Corin catch his breath as he lay against the desk, the darkness that once consumed his vision gone in a single blink. What little bit of light was even in the room suddenly overwhelming him, Corin instinctively draped an arm over his eyes with a pitiful whine. This earned a chuckle from Cutter.
“My, are we feeling bashful I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Corin dear.” Cutter said, tucking away his softening cock into his pants. “Now, let’s get to work.”