Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Get your fucking hands off me,” Greg spits, completely off-script, taking Alex by surprise and forcing a laugh from his throat.

Later, after the show, Alex knocks timidly on Greg’s dressing room door, head down and body language tight, scurrying like a scared little mouse. A scared little mouse trying to be brave as he looks into Greg’s face and asks him if he is okay.

“I’m sorry about that. Not very professional of me.”

“It felt… personal. Are you… I mean have you… Has someone hurt you, Greg?” Alex maintains eye contact even though his entire body is twitching with the need to run and stop this excruciating conversation.

“No, Alex, no one has hurt me. Well, they have but not on purpose, I don’t think.” Greg looks confused by the question, or his own answer, one of the two.

“I meant, you know, in bed or something.” Alex lowers his voice on the word bed, like he’s telling a dirty secret. “You can talk to me about anything, Greg. Just because you’re a big guy doesn’t mean… God, I’m sorry, I’m not good at this.” 

Greg smirks at Alex, looking impressed that he would have even thought such a thing, let alone dare to ask him.

“Oh, I don’t know, Alex. I think it’s quite brave of you to have this conversation with me, your supposedly straight, middle-aged, male colleague. You haven’t just assumed that nothing like that has ever happened to me.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone to hurt you, even obliviously,” Alex whispers, smiling shyly at Greg and twisting to put a hand to the door handle, seconds away from bolting.

“What if I want you to hurt me? Specifically you? What if it’s the very opposite of what you’re imagining.”

Alex gasps and takes his hand away from the metal of the handle, looking surprised at his own visceral reaction, staring at his hands like they may have some answers to give. 

“What?”

Setting his facial expression a neutral blank, Greg looks at the wall just over Alex’s left shoulder and starts talking in a hypnotically low and intimate voice. “When I was a teenager I had this vivid fantasy of being kidnapped. I have no idea where it came from. I was tall for my age even then and no one would mess with me because of my size but I had dreams of being over-powered and forced to do… things. Y’know, against my will sort of thing.” Greg clears his throat, the blush of embarrassment creeping over his cheeks. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

The silence in the room is overwhelming, the loud obnoxious tick of a clock the only sound for what feels like a really long time.

“That’s not an uncommon fantasy,” Alex says eventually, carefully, each word measured.

“It was in rural Shropshire in the mid-eighties, I can assure you of that.”

“Fantasies are nothing to be ashamed of, Greg.”

Greg swallows roughly, briefly meeting Alex’s piercing gaze and then dipping his eyes again. “That isn’t how most people would see it. I don’t even know why I’ve told you this,” he mumbles.

“We’re friends.” 

“Exactly. Just friends. I haven’t the slightest idea what turns you on, other than nerd stuff, maybe conjugating Latin verbs or something.” Greg smirks, letting some of the tension go from his shoulders, the shame bleeding away inch by inch in response to Alex’s lack of a negative reaction.

“You know very well what turns me on, Greg. You just pretend not to,” Alex says softly, meeting Greg’s shocked gaze and just looking back with a calm, patient expression on his face.

“Why would I know that?”

“Greg, I literally telegraph my desires on national telly. None of the jokes are an accident, none of them are meaningless. You’re straight and I understand that. I would never try to push you to do anything you don’t want to do but I tell you what I want all the time.”

Greg snorts. “I’m not straight, Jesus… You think that fantasy was about women forcing me to suck them off, about them fucking me?” 

Alex’s eyes are wide and round. “Oh god, I… I don’t know how to feel about this. I mean, aroused mostly but not entirely happy with that as my primary response, if I’m being totally honest.”

Alex looks down at himself, still dressed in the suit and says, “I should go and get changed. I’ll see you later, Greg.”

“Okay, mate.”

Occasionally late at night when he can’t sleep, Alex thinks he might have imagined the conversation with Greg. Neither of them mention it again but now that Alex is looking, Greg drops clues every now and again; leaning in not away when Alex is visibly annoyed with him, the hitch in his breath only audible to Alex’s ears, touching Alex constantly, pushing him past the point where a reasonable person would have stopped needling their boss. If Alex sometimes puts on the voice that he now knows Greg likes, the imperious Oxbridge posh-boy clipped vowels and haughty body language just to see Greg tense up beside him, then that’s no one else’s business. 

It has to be at least six months after the first conversation when Greg and Alex are sitting in the pub, getting riotously drunk with the Taskmaster crew. There’s a completely ill-advised carpet underfoot which is sticky on their shoes, seemingly weeks of beer and wine and sugary drinks making it tacky and Alex’s skin crawls every time he has to walk to the bar over it. This certainly wouldn’t have been his first choice of a venue, not since he was at university when the cheapness of the alcohol was all that mattered. Greg is as drunk as Alex has ever seen him, leaning not-so-subtly against Alex’s arm and falling back against him when Alex tries to prop him up. 

“Will you just sit up like an adult,” Alex mutters in an annoyed way, only loud enough for Greg to hear him.

“Oh fuck…” Greg groans, tucking his face against Alex’s neck, mumbling, “you fucking tell me, Alex,” right against Alex’s skin.

The atmosphere suddenly changes, Alex can feel Greg’s expectations prickling against his skin. 

“You don’t deserve it,” Alex hisses. “You’re embarrassing me.”

With a brief glimpse around to check no one is watching, Greg grabs at Alex’s hand and slides it on top of the bulge distending the front of his trousers, the movement hidden by the table. 

Alex turns his head and looks sharply at Greg. “How the hell can you have managed to get it up, you’re three sheets to the wind.”

“I’m sufficiently motivated,” Greg admits, with a little thrust of his hips, pushing himself against Alex’s hand. 

Alex pulls his hand away and takes a careful sip of his drink, conscious that they’re in public and Greg is at the point where his discretion, if he ever had any to begin with, has left the building. 

“Make me take it, Alex,” Greg begs, slightly too loudly.

“Firstly you’re drunk, so no. Secondly, shut up.”

Greg actually whimpers. 

“I don’t know whether I can do it at all, Greg. But I certainly can’t do it while you’re in this state. I need to speak to Rachel and you need to have a think about what you really want and make some decisions.”

Alex gets up to leave and sees Greg tracking his exit with his eyes. 

They’re having dinner together at Greg’s flat months later the next time the subject gets raised. Alex wonders how they’ve managed to get even to this stage when they’ve never even kissed. They’ve gone from nothing to talking about possibly enacting some kind of rape fantasy in no time whatsoever. However vaguely Greg alludes to his desires, Alex is under no illusion what he wants. It’s in every touch of his big hands, clumsy against Alex’s body, every whimpered word and pleading look. Alex understands the impulse. If he were to be honest with himself, he tends to rest more on Greg’s side of the equation. Being rough with Rachel has never interested in him and he’s certainly never fantasised about forcing anyone to do anything, especially not in bed. But Greg is like the ocean in his desires, eroding Alex’s coastline bit-by-bit until Alex lets himself imagine what it would be like. What it would feel like to have that sort of power over Greg.

“I’ll try,” Alex says in the middle of dinner, willing Greg to know what he means without him having to say it. The irony that they’re contemplating this thing at all and yet Alex can’t even voice it is not lost on him.

“I trust you,” Greg replies. “You know I wouldn’t do this with just anyone, don’t you?”

“You need a safeword. I probably do too. And I need more information. I don’t want to really hurt you.”

“Are we going to do this now?” Greg asks, with a tremble in his voice.

“No, I need to plan. I need some equipment…”

Greg raises an eyebrow at that and Alex stares him down, daring him to say anything clever.

“…I need to think about it, for a bit, sit with what it would really mean.”

“Oh god, I can’t believe you’d agree to this. Fucking hell, Alex.”

After dinner they’re sat side-by-side on the sofa, comfortable with the silence between them, when Alex leans in and kisses Greg softly on the mouth. Greg startles, pulling out of the kiss for a second before swooping back in and letting Alex control the pace, melting against him. Alex can taste the wine on Greg’s lips and is shocked by the softness of his mouth, the slightly sweet edge to the kiss. It’s a far cry from the kind of roughness that Greg says he wants but it’s making Alex’s heart thump wildly in his chest. The idea that Greg would let him push Greg on to his back, climb on top like he’s scaling a mountain, and make Greg do every dirty degrading thing that lives in the back of Alex’s subconscious, that thought makes Alex’s skin prickle. 

“What do you want?” Alex asks, the question rolling across Greg’s saliva-slick lips.

“I’m not sure,” Greg starts, creasing his brow and putting a hand to his lips. “I want to feel like it doesn’t matter what I want. Like any pleasure I might be getting from it is incidental. I’m a mess, Alex, I have been my whole life, I feel like I’m not good enough all the time. I want to worry that you won’t stop even if I do safeword…”

Alex interrupts, “I would never do that, Greg, never. The thought makes me feel sick.”

“I know, I do know, but I still want to feel the uncertainty, the danger.”

“I don’t think I can do this,” Alex says worriedly, pulling away from Greg’s proximity, giving himself space to think.

“If you can’t, you safeword, and we won’t ever mention it again, I promise. I do know what a big thing this is, Alex. I’ve never trusted anyone in my entire life to do this. I still don’t really know why I want this so much. I don’t really understand it. The thoughts are in the darkest areas of my psyche where all the worries that I don’t deserve anything I’ve worked for live.”

Alex swings a leg over Greg’s lap and raises himself up on his knees, looking down at Greg with a curiously detached expression on his face. 

“Look at me,” Alex hisses, tapping Greg’s cheek when he doesn’t comply straight away. 

Greg swallows and looks up into Alex’s face, waiting for whatever he’s going to do and feeling his heart rate suddenly accelerate. Alex forces Greg’s head back by looming over him, making Greg lean back in order to maintain the eye contact that Alex has ordered, he doesn’t touch him anywhere but where Alex’s knees meet Greg’s hips. 

“You’re a pathetic, old man, with a hard-on for his betters telling him what to do, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Greg admits easily, not looking away from Alex’s steady blue-eyed gaze. 

“Yes, what?”

Greg looks worried, biting at his bottom lip before saying quietly, “yes, sir.”

Alex kisses him, biting his lip hard and then softening the kiss until Greg starts to get dizzy from the contrast, his head still tilted back. 

Suddenly Alex snaps the tension, dropping his weight on to Greg’s lap until he can feel how hard Greg is, rocking gently against him. With his forehead resting against Greg’s, Alex whispers, “something like that?”

“Oh my fucking god,” Greg says with his eyes screwed shut. 

Chuckling, Alex slides off Greg’s lap and sits back down next to him on the sofa. 

“I think we can probably work something out,” Alex says, a slightly smug tone to his voice as Greg struggles to pull himself together.

It’s another couple of weeks until their schedules mean they can be at the same place at the same time for any significant period. Alex calls Greg and lets him know that he’s ready, that he’s bringing an overnight bag and they going to try to do this thing that Greg has wanted for so long. 

Rachel expresses her worry, for his safety, but also for the fact that they’re not exactly stellar communicators. She lectures him on making sure he gets Greg’s safeword before they start to get into it, gives him tips on things he can say, and spends the night before holding him close and telling him what a wonderful kind person he is. 

The last thing Rachel says to him as he walks out of the door with his bag, is an unexpected, “don’t go easy on him, love, he can take it.”

When he gets to Greg’s flat, there is already a strange kind of buzzy tension in the air, an atmosphere that lingers and oppresses. Greg looks visibly nervous, padding to open the door in tracksuit bottoms with bare feet, a soft t-shirt failing to hide the curve of his lower belly. 

“Hello, mate,” Greg says cautiously, not knowing what to expect of Alex’s demeanour.

“Safeword,” Alex demands, ignoring the greeting.

“Belvedere,” Greg answers. “What’s yours?”

“Pineapple.”

Greg snorts, “cliche.”

“It’s easy to remember when I’m losing my mind,” Alex says tightly. “And watch who you’re speaking to.”

The reaction in Greg is immediate, he appears to shrink by several inches and he mumbles, “sorry,” under his breath.

Alex walks through to the living room without turning back to see if Greg is following him. He goes through to the spare room and dumps his bag on the neatly made up bed. Greg is looming in the doorway when Alex turns around.

“I didn’t want to presume you would sleep in bed with me afterwards.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

Greg turns and walks back to the living room, leaving Alex to take whatever he has stashed in his bag out in peace, or more likely, not wanting to ruin the surprise of what’s to come.

After a few minutes, Alex slinks into the same room as Greg and looks at him with distaste. He can see Greg visibly shudder from the change of atmosphere and suspects Greg might also be holding his breath; quiet and still and wary to see what Alex is going to do. 

“You can relax. I wouldn’t touch you if you paid me,” Alex sneers, slight catch in his voice the only thing betraying how he truly feels. “Not everyone wants to fuck you, Greg, despite what you might read on Reddit.”

“I know,” Greg says quietly, almost to himself.

“I know,” Alex mocks. “You know what your problem is, Greg?”

“No.”

Alex has to take in a deep steadying breath. Greg is an excellent actor and he looks positively cowed, small and vulnerable and it’s striking something in Alex that he doesn’t like, something primal and dark. His skin feels like it’s on fire, crawling and sensitised already. 

“Your entire career hinges on the fact that you’re tall. You have no other redeeming features. It’s an accident that you’re tall, Greg, it’s not a talent.”

Greg winces but one glance down reassures Alex that he hasn’t gone too far. The loose tracksuit bottoms are doing nothing to hide Greg’s excitement at the poor treatment. 

Stalking towards him, Alex manages to get behind Greg, circling one wrist with a real metal handcuff, the biting clicks of the teeth sliding into place are loud in the quiet room. Greg tries to spin around but Alex has hold of the loose cuff and tugs him back. Greg’s eyes widen as he realises exactly how strong Alex is and he gets a momentary wave of genuine panic shudder its way through his nervous system as Alex catches his other wrist and secures his arms behind his back. 

“Alex, please don’t,” Greg begs.

“Shut up.”

Alex drags Greg by his wrists into the kitchen, bending him over the breakfast bar and yanking his loose bottoms and his underwear down to puddle at his feet. Spreading Greg’s cheeks apart roughly earns him a whimper and Alex can see that despite the protests that Greg has prepared himself, his hole shiny with lube and so clean Alex gets the urge to lick him there, make him gasp at the filthiness of the action. Instead Alex bites the inside of Greg’s arse cheek, right where he’s most sensitive. Greg yelps but doesn’t otherwise complain. 

“I’m going to fuck you. Do you understand? Don’t think I can’t see you grinding your cock against the wood like a whore. You’re not fooling anyone with your feeble, ‘Alex, don’t.’”

Greg moans with his face down against the marble. Alex can’t actually tell whether it’s a moan of want or of fear. 

“Greg are you okay?” Alex asks urgently, right in Greg’s ear.

“You’re doing so well, Alex, fucking hell,” Greg replies, lightly banging his head against the surface and wriggling in frustration.

Alex doesn’t respond, just rips open a condom and fishes himself out of his trousers. He strokes himself a couple of times and rolls on the condom, letting Greg hear the slick-slide of his hand on his cock before nudging the head against Greg’s hole. Gripping Greg by the cuffs, Alex pushes into him in one insistent movement, getting a sharp cry out of Greg that makes Alex’s insides twist. For a second Alex is frozen by that noise, his heart pounding and his skin tightening with sensation. 

“God, you’re so loose. Has an entire football team been up here? It’s hardly even worth my effort.”

Despite his assertion, Alex slams into Greg, grinding his hips on the upstroke to get that little bit deeper. 

“Shall I just keep you like this? Wet and open and ready for me to use?”

“Fuck,” Greg whispers under his breath.

Maintaining a brutal rhythm, Alex slides a hand to Greg’s cock, hard and leaking all over Alex’s fingers, nudging his prostate on every deep stroke and simply playing with the head of Greg’s cock, not enough friction for him to get off, teasing and cruel, Alex starts panting, feeling light-headed with the need to come. Alex fully intends to stroke Greg off properly but before he can Greg explodes over his fingers, cum sliding down the wood Alex is fucking him against. 

“Jesus, you literally just shot off like a schoolboy.”

Alex wipes his fingers on Greg’s t-shirt and keeps fucking him, Greg’s hole fluttering around his cock as he slams into him repeatedly.

“I’m going to come,” Alex says after a few more minutes, curiously formally. 

Resting his forehead on Greg’s sweaty back as he pulses into the condom, Alex struggles to get back to himself, easing out of Greg and disposing of the condom before wiping at Greg’s lube-covered hole with kitchen roll. Taking the handcuff key out of his pocket, Alex carefully uncuffs Greg, massaging his wrists and wincing at the red marks circling the skin. 

“Oh my god, Greg, you took that so well,” Alex says, helping Greg pull his pants up and walking into the bedroom with him.

“Can I have a hug?” Greg asks, voice still timid.

“Course you can.”

Alex strips himself and then helps Greg strip. Greg is shaky but looks happy-exhausted, a sleepy smile spreading over his features.

“Who knew you had it in you, Little Alex Horne,” Greg says warmly.

Alex chuckles and wraps him up in a tight hug. 

“Can I stay in here tonight?”

“Course you can,” Greg replies, squeezing Alex and closing his eyes. 

It takes less than five minutes until Greg starts snoring and Alex lies awake with a smile on his face, still wrapped around a boneless Greg.