Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

’Welcome to Opportunity!’

Rhys ran his thumb over the glossy words embossed on the front of the pamphlet in his hand and bit his lip to try hiding his grin, reading them over for about the hundredth time before he resumed staring hopefully at the gates in front of him. It was blistering hot out, in true Pandoran fashion, but he found that even after hours out in the scorching sun, nothing could sour his mood; not the sunburn he could already feel blooming on the bridge of his nose, not the ache in his feet, and certainly not the sweat trickling down his spine. In fact, Rhys had never been happier. Why?

Because today was going to be the best day of his life.

It was the grand pre-opening of Opportunity, a sneak-preview of sorts to Hyperion’s idea of the future and the first-ever real city established on the dumpster-fire-of-a-planet. Judging from the pamphlet, it was going to be glorious– a true oasis in a wasteland. High-rise buildings with glass as far as the eye could see, shopping districts and parks and something called the Pleasure Palace. A real glimmer of hope in the hellscape of Pandora, and Handsome Jack’s vision.

Rhys bit at another smile as he thought of the man, of his Hero, and the true reason he was there at all. Though it had cost him literally everything he had, Rhys had purchased the VIP experience of Opportunity under the pretense that he’d see his Hero in the flesh– well, might, anyway. While the VIP experience had boasted a ‘meet-and-greet’ with Handsome Jack himself, it had also been adorned with quite a few disclaimers, mostly all of which pertained to the fact that Handsome Jack could very much not show up at all (and that ‘meet-and-greet’ was a wild overstatement of the event).

But there was a chance.

No matter how big or small, it was still a chance, an opportunity, and that was all Rhys needed. So he did the responsible thing and emptied his bank account, asked to borrow money from friends, and sold some of his less-crucial furniture in order to buy himself a VIP ticket; all for the possibility of a gamble at seeing the man he most desired in the world.

Worth. It.

So Rhys braved the heat and the growing crowd behind him, graciously ignoring the intentionally-loud-enough-for-him-to-hear comments on his height and how he should be towards the back because of it. He’d taken a couple of elbows and subtle shoves but did not waver; Handsome Jack needed to see him, needed to know he was the first to show up and the most desperate for his attention. If somehow, some way, Rhys could just let him know what he’d done, what he’d sacrificed for this moment, then Handsome Jack would surely take him under his wing– or, if Rhys was lucky, into his bed.

Rhys shivered where he stood just thinking about the possibilities, of all the scenarios where Handsome Jack swept him off his feet and took him to a better, more luxurious life. It was fantastical, albeit delusional, and well-deserved in Rhys’ mind. He’d practically dedicated his life to the man, built his future and his image around all things Handsome Jack. He’d bought every piece of merchandise he could get his hands on (both licensed and unofficial), subscribed to all news outlets surrounding his Hero (again, both licensed and unofficial), and most importantly, took part in defending an otherwise non-defendable man on the ECHOnet into the wee hours of the night.

His friends said he had a problem, but to Rhys, this was passion.

So what if Handsome Jack laughed (quite literally) in the faces of his undying fans every chance he got? So what if he obviously milked them for every cent they had? So what if he was a ruthless, tyrannical leader of a money-hungry, apathetic-to-human-life weapons manufacturer who would wipe out anyone and anything in his path? To Rhys, these were all qualities to look up to– something to strive for. Some days, Rhys wasn’t sure what he wanted more; to be by Handsome Jack’s side as a loyal, devoted worshiper, willing to be at his every beck and call– or to be Handsome Jack himself, in every sense of the word.

A particularly nasty gust of wind pulled Rhys from his obsessive, spiraling thoughts as sand was kicked up into the air, sending himself and most of the crowd into a collective coughing fit. If it hadn’t been for the mechanical humming sound in the distance, Rhys would have assumed it was just another sandstorm, but as he glanced skyward his heart leapt into his throat. Though it was hard to see through the growing cloud of dust, there was no mistaking the yellow-gold glint of a Hyperion ship approaching, its shadow casting a moment of cool relief over the crowd.

Instantly, Rhys almost felt faint. His stomach flipped and fluttered with butterflies as an adrenaline-hot rush flooded him, heart pounding in his ears (and not just from the dehydration). A very small part of him tried to remind himself that Handsome Jack might not even be on the ship, might not even show up at all, but the louder part screamed with excitement, sending his fingers trembling where they clutched at his brochure.

The crowd, which had been bustling with disappointed chatter at the (four-hour) delay, now erupted into eager ooh’s and ahh’s as they watched the ship roll in. Rhys could already hear people speculating;

”That’s him! That’s gotta be Handsome Jack!”
”No way, that ship isn’t Jack’s style.”
”If it’s not him, I want my money back!”

And then, as the ship began to descend, slowly disappearing behind the imposing walls that encompassed the city, everyone fell silent.

It was eerie, as if they’d all chosen to collectively hold their breath at once. Despite having withstood somewhere close to ten hours standing still in a desert, the last few minutes felt the longest. What could have only been a few moments seemed to stretch on for eternity as anticipation warped time. This was it, the moment of truth, where fantasy became reality– and Rhys felt like he was going to throw up.

With a smooth, quiet glide, the gates slowly began to open, at first only revealing an impossibly long staircase.

“Welcome to Opportunity!” The cheery yet condescending voice was a familiar one, Rhys instantly recognizing her as the voice of Hyperion; well, at least, the voice that wasn’t Jack’s. As she began to read a script Rhys would normally be hanging on every word of, he found himself unable to listen, the blood rushing in his ears much louder than what was being piped through the speakers.

As wide, brown eyes ascended the stairs before him, his breath caught in his throat. Iconic sneakers descended in languid, lazy steps, unbothered and unrushed to reach his flock. Rhys took in every detail that he possibly could; the swagger in his step, the accessories he wore (leg holster, belt, pocket watch, wrist watch, mask-- more of a checklist than anything, as Rhys already knew every detail of his Hero’s appearance), the perfect coif to his hair, the deep-set look of disgust and utter disappointment on his face. It was like laying eyes on a God, and Rhys felt wholly unworthy.

“I love you, Handsome Jack!” Came the shrill, eager shriek of a female fan somewhere in the back, finally breaking the silence of the crowd. The eruption that followed was deafening, like the floodgates had been opened, releasing screaming and clapping and countless confessions of undying love.

Then the crowd was moving, pulsing and gyrating as people tried to move in closer, and before Rhys could brace himself he was pinned up against the barricade so tightly that he could feel the metal digging into his hips. Even with all the commotion, Rhys’ eyes never left his Hero, mouth hung slightly agape in absolute awe and wonder. He gripped at the top of the barricade with both hands to steady himself (but mostly to block anyone from trying to squeeze in front of him), completely dumbstruck with the man before him.

Handsome Jack; he’d gotten the name from somewhere, hadn’t he? Still, no amount of pictures or video footage could do him justice, nor prepare Rhys for just how unreasonably handsome the man really was. Even looking pissed off as he was, he was dreamy, all broad shoulders and strong, capable hands. His heterochromia was more noticeable in person, the blue and green of his irises practically glowing. His jaw was defined, chiseled, and even the disgruntled, downward curve of his lips was to die for. Somehow everything and nothing he expected, Rhys was left weak in the knees.

’I would do anything for this man,’ the thought appeared in Rhys’ mind more like a premonition than a conscious thought, followed by an uncontrollable feeling of desperation that consumed every part of Rhys’ being.

He needed to be noticed. He needed to be special.

The roar of the crowd had drowned out whatever the Hyperion lady had been announcing, but as her script came to an end, so did the cheering quiet down. Collectively, as a devoted hivemind, the group silenced themselves, eagerly awaiting something, anything from their Kings. The tension was palpable as they watched him descend the rest of the stairs, and as he finally reached the bottom, he swept a cruel, judgemental gaze across the crowd.

Rhys would kill just to have that look honed in on him.

Then, like someone had just told the most hilarious joke in all six galaxies, Jack began to laugh.

Full-bellied, bent-over laughter that echoed through the barren wasteland surrounding them. He even started slapping his knee, half-formed words dying on his lips as more and more laughter erupted from him.

“You guys– hoo,” Jack started, pausing for dramatic effect and to wipe a tear from his eye, “you guys are freakin’ morons, aren’t you? I mean, seriously, you’ve been waiting out here for– for how long? And you didn’t even know if I was going to show up!” And just like that he was laughing again, loud, maniacal cackles that should have grated on Rhys’ nerves but only seemed to stoke the fire in him more.

He needed to prove to Jack that he was different, that he wasn’t just another moron in the crowd.

With his laughter tapering on a sigh, Jack continued, “and trust me, I thought about it– like, like, really thought about not showing up, just to see the look on your dumbass faces.” All of this was said around a smile, with a twinkle in his eye so bright it blinded the crowd with his charm. Sauntering over to the barricade, Jack began inspecting the beds of his nails, no longer gracing the crowd with his attention and leaving Rhys with a hollow pit in his stomach over it.

“But then,” Jack paused dramatically again as he came to a stop a few feet from the barricade, his gaze like a dagger as it flicked up to the mass of people with an intensity that Rhys wanted to feel boring down on him, “then I thought, Jack, what if you made them wait? Really tested their commitment, their drive. And boy, did you guys deliver. I’m pretty sure there’s like, at least six dead guys in the crowd right now! Talk about commitment, am I right?”

The casual mention of death had some participants in the crowd glancing from one other, low whispers filtering in. Rhys, however, was undeterred, eyes still transfixed in their Hero worship; after all, if they were dead, then they’d been dead, and the knowledge of that made no difference in the truth, so, what did it matter to Rhys? He was alive, and well(ish), and oh-so-fucking-close to everything he had ever desired that he could almost touch it; fuck anyone else.

“I’m getting off track, aren’t I? Anyway, welcome to Opportunity, something, something, you’ll never be able to afford to live here anyway,” Jack said dismissively as he rolled his wrist in a winding motion, as if to demonstrate that he was speeding himself up, “now! Who wants to be the lucky schmuck of the day?”

With a finger on his chin and a devilish look in his eye, Jack scanned the crowd once again. Like a magical string had been pulled, everyone stood at attention, eager to be the ‘lucky schmuck,’ even if they all knew the luck only ran one way. But it was Jack’s words about commitment and drive that let them all feel some kind of semblance of hope, convincing themselves this had all just been a test of their willpower, that Jack would hand-select one, or maybe a few of them to work under his thumb. Yes, that was what this had all been about, and it was all too easy to believe the lie.

Unbelievably tense with anticipation, Rhys couldn’t stop the way he jumped when Jack snapped his fingers into a finger-gun pointed– directly at him.

For a moment, Rhys’ vision tunneled, the world around him spinning before he squeezed where he held onto the barricade tight enough that he could feel his pulse in his fingertips. He used the sensation to ground himself, fighting to remember to breathe as his Hero approached. This was it, this was the moment, where every dream he’d ever had came true.

“You feelin’ lucky, kiddo?” Handsome Jack asked once he was close, close enough to touch, though no one dared reach over the barricade to do so. He was still pointing that finger at him, and Rhys wanted to wrap his mouth around it until he could feel the cool metal of Jack’s ring against his lips.

“Yes, sir,” Rhys said after clearing his throat, licking his lips in a way he could only hope came off as sultry.

Jack hummed and brought his finger to the underside of Rhys’ chin, making him gasp softly and tilt his head up into the touch. The grin he received was absolutely wicked, all teeth and promising awful, awful things. It was exhilarating and enigmatic all at once, and the danger behind it should have been received as a warning, though Rhys could only find himself drawn in like a moth to a flame.

“Cute, real cute,” Jack murmured offhandedly as he looked Rhys up-and-down, “prove it.”

And while Rhys was certainly not against falling to his knees and begging, he had a feeling that wasn’t what Jack wanted– at least, not yet. He could feel someone digging something dull yet painful into his side, no doubt jealous of the attention he was getting, and he knew he needed to make this count; not just so he didn’t squander his chances with Jack, but also so he didn’t get left behind to be mauled to death by a jealous mob.

“I’ll do anything for you,” Rhys said without hesitation, because it was true, frighteningly so. Perhaps it wasn’t his best move, laying all his cards out on the table like that, but what other choice did he have? Handsome Jack was not a man easily impressed, and while Rhys was sure he’d had many confess as much to him before, Rhys at least had his conviction going for him.

Jack’s resounding snort was rather soul-crushing, but he kept his gaze on Rhys and that was enough. They stayed like that for a few moments, Rhys (and the buzzing-back-to-life crowd), watching Jack with rapt attention, and Jack, watching Rhys like he was worth his time, albeit looking just a touch skeptical.

“Anything, huh?” Jack retorted, the finger under Rhys’ chin tracing the line of his jaw.

The touch was enough to send Rhys reeling but he fought to stay present, Jack’s finger hotter on his skin than the sun beating down on them. Rhys didn’t even try to hide the way he leaned into the man, eyes falling half-lidded with lust.

”Anything,” Rhys repeated, pouring as much of his heart and soul as he could into one word.

Jack snorted again and dropped his hand from Rhys’ face, and for a moment he was struck with absolute terror that he’d done something wrong. Then Jack was snapping his fingers again and turning away from Rhys like he’d never even spoken to him, heading for the stairs.

The first thing Rhys felt was the utter, life-altering disappointment. Then, panic, as what felt like a hundred hands were on him, tugging at his shirt, his arms, trying to consume him into the mass of people until he was never seen again. That was, until, one hand felt distinctly unlike the others. Strong, firm, and somehow familiar on his shoulder, Rhys almost thought for a second that it was Handsome Jack himself reaching into the sea of people to save him; he was only slightly less relieved when he was pulled, bodily, over the barricade by a man dressed in all black (poor fucker, in this heat).

Rhys barely managed to get his feet under himself in time to step on-and-over the metal fencing so he wasn’t literally dragged over top of it, not-so-gracefully landing on his feet. He glanced at his savior (the literal one, not the figurative), unable to help but notice just how similar in stature he was to Handsome Jack.

If Rhys didn’t already know every single detail there was to know about the man (which, he did, for the record), after having been so close to his Hero it was almost impossible not to notice. No real defining features were visible, not with the black-out visored helmet and every inch of skin covered (gloves, the poor man even wore gloves), but Rhys got the feeling he might be one of the infamous doubles, and a whole new thrill went racing down his spine.

“Uh, thanks?” Rhys hadn’t meant for it to sound like a question, but he couldn’t help the inflection when he wasn’t entirely sure he was going to see the end of the day.

“Hurry up, buttercup, before he gets bored.” The digitally-altered voice was unexpected at first, gravelly and slightly robotic, though it was obvious he had a voice modulator of some sort in the helmet creating the effect.

“Oh! Should I, um, follow?” Rhys asked, glancing up at where Jack was already almost halfway up the stairs. When he looked back at the man who had pulled him from the crowd he merely shrugged, as if his guess was as good as Rhys’.

Well, fuck.

Wide-eyed with fear, Rhys took off after Jack, not exactly running but certainly using the length of his legs to his advantage. Every single step was pure agony after spending so long not moving at all, but he’d be damned if he was going to let that get in the way of his dreams. The stairs were even worse and they slowed him down a bit, but it was probably better for him to be a few paces behind anyway– after all, he and Jack were nowhere near equal ground.

By the time he was just over halfway Jack was reaching the top, and the Hyperion lady’s voice was nothing but a distant chatter as she began to address the crowd again. Rhys was unbelievably out of breath, and he’d never been thirstier (hah) or hungrier in his life, but adrenaline kept him moving, kept him trudging until he finally reached the top, knees wobbly and head swimming. He was hardly present enough to take in the courtyard and giant fucking statue of Jack that greeted him there, and it took everything in his will power not to dive head-first into the fountain at the foot of said statue.

“Thirsty, kiddo?”

Jack’s voice was much closer than he had been expecting, but it was really the cool, comforting hand on the back of his sweaty neck that made him jump out of his skin. He only had a moment to wonder how Jack’s hand was so cold before a chilled bottle of water was being passed into his hands, the outside wet and dripping with condensation. Like Rhys had always known he would be, Jack was the answer to his problems, even ones so small as this.

“Thank you, sir,” Rhys murmured as he traced the Hyperion-branded label with a finger, enjoying the cool sensation on his skin a moment longer before he cracked it open and started to drink. As thirsty as he was, he couldn’t contain the relieved sigh that escaped his lips as the ice cold water hit his tongue, head tilted back as he gulped it down.

After the first few swallows, Jack’s gaze was like a hot brand on him, boring into him in ways he didn’t need to see in order to feel. Goosebumps prickled down his spine, and when he dared to glance at Jack out of the corner of his eye he was (finally) not left disappointed. Jack’s eyes held the dangerous allure of a predator on the prowl, half-lidded and sharp like a dagger. Rhys was unashamed as he preened under the attention, elongating his neck and allowing a few droplets to sneak past the corner of his lips, sending water trailing down his neck. He knew Jack was watching, following the little trail it made over his tattoo, and then it was ripped away from him so suddenly Rhys had no idea how to react.

Jack had snatched the water bottle right out of Rhys’ hand before he could finish it, sending it flying and spilling precious water across the courtyard. The hand at the back of his neck became firmer, clutching with a purpose, and Rhys was almost too scared to breathe.

“Thaaaat’s enough of that, now. Don’t want you getting greedy on me,” Jack said casually before he started leading Rhys along by the hand at his neck.

Reaching up sheepishly to wipe the excess water from his lips with the back of his hand, Rhys glanced back over his shoulder at the discarded water bottle, only to notice for the first time that the man in black was following them. He didn’t have much time to worry about this detail, however, as Jack was digging his thumb into the dip in his collarbone, bringing Rhys’ attention back to him with a slight hiss of pain.

“So, let’s get back to the whole, ’I’ll do anything for you, Mr. Handsome Jack, sir!’” Jack’s impression of him was rather shrill and nothing like his voice, though he figured that was intentional. “Because I’ve got a whole lot of anything I can give ya.”

Flushing with the implication, Rhys cleared his throat a few times, nerves finally catching up to him now that he wasn’t also feeling so close to the brink of death.

“I’ll take what I can get,” Rhys said with a nervous chuckle, only to immediately wince at how stupid that sounded. Jack’s laughter didn’t exactly make him feel better, but the slap on the ass definitely did.

“I bet you’re one of them super freaky super fans, ain't ya? Ooh, yeah, I can totally see it,” Jack held his thumbs and index fingers up like a frame, closing one eye as if he were looking at Rhys through a camera lens, “what are you hiding, pumpkin? A Doppelganger Dildo? Life-size Handsome Jack sex doll? Pre-sale tickets to the Pleasure Palace?”

Rhys could only sputter through Jack’s humiliating list, thankfully only shameful to have to admit to only one of those things, but mention of the Pleasure Palace actually had Rhys’ intrigue piqued.

“What is the Pleasure Palace? I saw it in the brochure but…,” Rhys trailed off as Jack began wiggling his eyebrows at him, a smirk decorating his lips.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Jack answered teasingly, the hand that had previously been at his neck returning to abruptly steer him to the left, “now, if I remember correctly, I asked you a question first.”

Rhys flushed hot again as he realized he wasn’t getting out of answering the question, casting his gaze down to watch his sandy boots step in tandem with Jack’s sneakers. Briefly, he felt like he was having an out of body experience, unable to comprehend walking alongside his Hero like it was just another Thursday.

“The dildo, I have the dildo,” Rhys said in a rush, lying by omission only because Jack hadn’t asked about the other things; not the posters on his walls or the body pillow in his bed or any of the other embarrassing, damning Handsome Jack paraphernalia he had.

“Hah! I frickin’ called it,” glancing back over his shoulder, Jack shouted, “hey! Twenty-one Cee! Didn’t I call it?”

Puzzled, Rhys looked back as well and watched as the man trailing behind them gave a curt nod, hung up on too many details to really focus his attention on one. Had Jack noticed him before he came down to Opportunity? And had he talked to one of his guards about him?! Also, what kind of name was 21-C? Had he been right? Was that really a doppelganger following them?

A violent shake of his body at Jack’s hands had him snapping out of his thoughts, the landscape around them narrowing from the open, breezy commuting spaces to what seemed more like streets and alleyways of a residential area. With no reference point of anything, Rhys couldn’t even begin to guess where Jack was leading him, but he trusted him entirely.

“Listen, kiddo, I dig the freaky ones. And, of course, the freaky ones dig me. Who doesn’t? But that’s beside the point. The point is, that’s why I picked you. You think that was a chance thing back there? Hah! Think again, pumpkin. Handsome Jack doesn’t make split-second decisions, no, no, no. I’m always ten steps ahead, baby, and you wanna know why?”

Like hitting a brick wall, Rhys was wrenched to a stop by the hand on his neck, his eyes wide as he met Jack’s intense gaze. But he knew the answer to this one, knew it like the back of his hand, and his heart soared with the opportunity to impress his idol.

“Because you’re the Hero,” Rhys uttered with such mysticism and adoration that it was painfully obvious he wasn’t even embellishing. No, Rhys truly looked to this man as a deity, and it was evident with the way he gazed upon him.

“Damn. Fuckin’. Right,” Jack said with finality before he was shoving Rhys through an open door he hadn’t even noticed, sending him stumbling into what looked like a lobby area. A very Handsome Jack-themed lobby area, but a lobby area nonetheless.

Rhys paused in front of the giant gold statue of Jack at the center of the room, noting that this one was in more of a thoughtful, sitting pose than the proud, standing one at the city’s entrance. He didn’t have much time to appreciate its grandeur as Jack was snatching his arm and pulling him around it, following the luxurious red carpet that lead up to an empty receptionist desk; Rhys assumed nobody was working it as the city wasn’t finished yet, though he could easily picture a pretty man or woman manning the spot, ready to greet or turn away any unwanted patrons.

Behind the desk was a large, glass elevator with its doors already open, like a hungry maw waiting to swallow him up. Yet this was the belly of a beast he was willing to be devoured by, eagerly even, so he went without need of coaxing.

At first, Rhys had thought they’d entered a residential building, somewhere maybe with a bed and a shower, but based on the singular elevator and large secretary-style desk, it was more likely they were in the building that would house Jack’s on-premises office. A key-code from his wristwatch and a biometric scan later and they were ascending, a quiet, steady hum the only indication the elevator was moving at all.

The elevator ride was brief but silent, and when the doors opened again, Rhys’ theory was confirmed. A large, opulent office was laid out before them, with absolutely no shortage of Handsome Jack statues. Two, only slightly-larger-than-life depictions stood not far from where they stepped into the office, followed by a much, much larger one in the center. The two by the door were standard, Vault Key-holding statues, each holding the glowing purple artifact in opposing hands, like torches lighting the way.

The one in the center, however, looked like it was riding a gigantic unicorn.

“Buttstallion!” Rhys exclaimed, fighting the urge to bow at Her Majesty’s hooves. This depiction of Jack looked much happier and care-free than the others, and a rather grandiose fountain flowed from beneath the statue. Bright lights spotlighted the work of art, and for the first time, Rhys found himself walking without guidance from Jack. That, of course, was put to a stop quickly.

Rhys stopped dead in his tracks, maybe two paces away from Jack, when Jack let out a piercing whistle; it was something akin to how one might call on a badly behaving dog or a particularly dumb child, and it worked like a charm. Without hesitation, Rhys turned to face Jack, hands gathering behind his back in order to grasp his left wrist in his right hand.

“Bathroom’s that-a-way,” Jack said with a casual point to his left, where a nearly-camouflaged door waited for him between another Vault Key-wielding Jack and an oversized tropical plant, “go get yourself cleaned up real nice for me, mmkay? And don’t keep me waiting.”

With that, Jack walked off somewhere behind the giant Buttstallion statue, presumably to a desk Rhys couldn’t see. Unwilling to keep Jack waiting, Rhys scurried to the bathroom, confused with the lack of a door handle until the door automatically slid open upon his approach.

As badly as Rhys wanted to take in every detail, he couldn’t afford to soak up time, so he tried to peek around the bathroom while he got undressed. The first thing he noticed: more water bottles. He quickly scooped one up and downed it, this time actually wringing it dry and finally not feeling so parched. Other details that followed: lots of gold, lots of Jack, and lots of amenities. Fluffy, yellow towels embroidered with a stylized Hyperion ’H’, every bottle of luxury hair, skin, and face cream imaginable, heated tiles, heated lights-- and this was just a bathroom in Jack’s second fucking office.

Rhys could get used to this.

Although he wished he could have taken his time, Rhys took the fastest, most efficient shower he could manage after having sweated out in the middle of the desert for hours on end. He took a little longer than he would have liked, but he was not compromising cleanliness in the wake of what was to come; plus, he wanted to look his absolute best, so buffing out his pores and adding some serum to give himself that sun-kissed shine was key-- he was not going to let his trials of the day go in vain.

Chapter Text

Stepping from the bathroom smelling like warm amber and honey, Rhys adjusted the silky black robe around his waist a little so the front fell open just enough to be a tease, revealing some of the blue tattoos on his chest. He was barefoot, the sleek tiles under his feet cool to the touch as he made his way in the direction he’d last seen Jack disappear. The sound of the fountain running was soothing, and Rhys found himself running his fingertips along the hedges that bordered the centerpiece of the office as he rounded its corner.

All at once, Rhys’ breath was stolen away.

Handsome Jack, his Hero, his God sat before him, a picture of true power.

Before him, a massive desk, made of a combination of a sturdy, jet-black metal, and what Rhys could only assume was solid gold. Nothing better would befit a King, and though the rare metal would normally look tacky in such excess, it suited this man perfectly.

Behind him, sprawling glass as far as the eye could see, a birds-eye view of his city, of Opportunity, and the hundreds of unlucky schmucks appreciating their VIP experience of the future of Pandora. Like a dress rehearsal of the real thing, Jack had expertly created a simulation of a city alive, and Rhys was there for the motherfucking premiere.

’I’m always ten steps ahead, baby,’ rang through Rhys’ head in an echo of Jack’s voice from earlier, and the thrill of watching genius unfold was enough to get his blood pumping.

Sitting in his matching black-and-gold high-backed chair, Jack gently swirled a crystal glass in his hand, the ice cube inside making a satisfying clinking noise as it slowly churned the purple liquid inside. Jack’s ring glinted in the warm, amber light of the office with each rotation, like a beacon calling him over. For once, Jack said nothing, merely watching Rhys’ timid approach over the rim of his glass as he brought it to his lips.

His legs were spread wide, an open invitation, and when Rhys came to stand between them he was quick to deliver his first order.

“On your knees, princess.” Jack’s eyes were dark, almost glowering, and the dangerous edge to his voice lured Rhys in more than it scared him away.

Without hesitation, Rhys sank to his knees, settling back on his haunches to ease where the glossy black tile was unforgiving beneath him. The pain was easily soothed by Jack’s warm, rough palm cupping his cheek, the first touch that wasn’t harsh and demanding. Rhys leaned into it like a comfortable pillow, eyes never leaving the King above him.

“I told you not to keep me waiting.” Jack punctuated the statement with the loud crack of his crystal glass connecting with the metal desk, using enough force to make the sound echo but not enough to cause it to break.

Rhys jumped at the sound, only to gasp as the gentle hand on his cheek turned to a vice grip around his jaw. He could feel his skin smarting where Jack’s fingernails dug in, and his whole body jerked forward as Jack yanked him up onto his knees properly, bringing their faces within an inch of each other’s. Jack had stooped down a little to meet him and Rhys’ hands were planted firmly on Jack’s chest, at first just to steady himself, but then he left them there just to be greedy.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Rhys pleaded, fingers curling in Jack’s vest, “I just–.”

“Ah, ah!” Jack chided as the corner of his lips began to curl up, his free hand holding a scolding finger in front of Rhys’ face. “No excuses, pumpkin. Get to showing just how sorry you are before I think of new ways to have fun with your body.”

The remarkable indifference in Jack’s voice was enough to fill Rhys with abject horror; not the implication of ’other ways to have fun with his body’, but simply the idea of losing Jack’s interest.

Once Jack released him from his stinging grip, Rhys set to the only thing that came to mind: worship. He shuffled back a few inches in order to give himself room to bend down to the floor, bowing at Jack’s feet. Prepared to properly grovel, Rhys was cut off before he could even start by the rubber toe of Jack’s sneaker digging into his ribcage; not exactly a kick, but certainly a good nudge.

”Hah!” Jack nudged at him again, this time scraping the soft skin of Rhys’ belly with the force, effectively encouraging him to sit back on his haunches. “Yeah, no, not like that, sweetcheeks. If I wanted someone to grovel I’d just set foot in Research and Development. Thanks, but no thanks. Try again!”

Frustrated and anxious, Rhys couldn’t hide the pout that set into his features, embarrassment and humiliation making him prickly. He huffed and glared down at where his knees peeked out from the edge of the robe, fingers toying with the hem nervously.

“Oh-ho-ho! What’s that I see? Are you pouting?” Jack was teasing now, purposely poking the proverbial bear, and Rhys could hardly be blamed for reacting.

“No!” Rhys defended quickly with too much feeling, and this only seemed to deep-set his pout. “But, like, how am I supposed to know what you want if you don’t tell me?!”

For the first time since their encounter, Rhys had lost his composure. He had wanted to be good, obedient– whatever it was that Jack wanted, and he couldn’t even manage that. Afraid of what might happen next, Rhys bit his lip and closed his eyes, only to open them again when he felt a hand in his hair. Ever a quick learner (not), Rhys put too much trust behind the soft touch to his crown.

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Jack exclaimed, curling his fingers in Rhys’ slightly damp hair. “I knew you had a little fight in you! Now put that sassy little mouth of yours to good use and worship this cock.”

If it hadn’t been for the nearly-imperceptible shift to their right, Rhys never would have noticed the shadowy figure in the corner. But a slight shift to their right and Rhys’ attention was stolen, eyes drawn to where 21-C tried to go unnoticed. Reflexively, Rhys went stock-still, amber eyes wide as he glanced between Jack and his looming security guard. With a knowing smirk, Jack followed his gaze to the other man in the room, his eyes like a whip as 21-C perfected his posture under Jack’s scrutiny.

“Aw, don’t worry about him, pumpkin. He likes to watch,” Jack said so casually as if he were commenting on something mundane like the weather, like he wasn’t the one who liked to be watched, and the slight twitch in his eye was the only indication that he’d heard the incredulous little snort from across the room.

“You got a problem with that?”

Though the statement was vaguely phrased like a question, Rhys knew it was not. Luckily for him, he had no problem, he’d just been caught off guard. Rhys gave a tiny shake of his head and brought his full attention back to Handsome Jack, skin tingling all over with goosebumps at the look of approval on his Hero’s face.

“I knew I picked the right one. Handsome Jack doesn’t make mistakes, baby.”

The praise, no matter how small, had Rhys giddy with excitement, even if Jack was praising himself in actuality more than he was Rhys. It was easy to follow Jack’s direction without any resistance, Rhys allowing himself to be guided face-first into the man’s crotch by the hand in his hair. He still had his jeans on, which was disappointing, but Rhys was willing to take what he could get.

Embarrassingly, the first thing Rhys did was inhale. A deep, long pull of breath as he nuzzled his face further into the rough denim, trying to catch a scent of the man that wasn’t his expensive choice in soap. It was faint through his layers of clothes, but Rhys managed to catch hints of musk and sweat, his mouth salivating for more. Rubbing lips and nose along Jack’s jeans, Rhys nudged his way around Jack’s crotch until he found the soft, warm shape of his cock and balls.

Rhys inhaled again, though this time he moaned softly on the exhale, parted lips wrapping sloppily around the spongy head through the fabric. He ran the flat of his tongue over the shape, and when Jack tugged and petted through his hair as a reward, Rhys’ whole body trembled with an appreciative shiver.

“Yeah, that’s right, uhh…,” Jack paused, trailing off distractedly, “hey, what’s your name anyway, kiddo? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like pet names as much as the next guy, but I can’t forget your name afterwards if I never learned it in the first place Hah!”

Jack’s words were unnecessarily cruel but Rhys tried to brush them off, a blush spreading across his cheeks under the scrutiny. If he had anything to say about, Jack was never going to forget him, and he took it as a personal challenge to prove that. Casting his gaze upwards, Rhys tilted his head just enough for Jack to see the way he peeked up at him from under his lashes, and he considered it a win when the hand in his hair gave him another rough pet.

“It’s Rhys,” he answered sheepishly before quickly folding his gaze back down to the task at hand, pleased with himself when he noticed the shape of Jack’s cock had become slightly more visible through his jeans as it began to harden. Not bothering to wait for the biting retort that he knew was coming, Rhys leaned back in and kissed down the length of the outline of his shaft, following close behind with his tongue.

Jack hummed above him, his free hand taking a firm hold of one of Rhys’ arms to guide his hands in to join the action. Once given the permission, Rhys placed both of his hands on each of Jack’s thighs, stroking over the thick muscle underneath.

“Rhys, huh?” Jack clicked his tongue and let his head fall back against the headrest of his chair, shuffling his hips down deeper into the seat so Rhys had more room to work. “Rhysie, Rhysie, Rhysie… Kinda got a nice ring to it.”

Rhys might have had zero control over what his mother had decided to name him, but he felt proud of it all the same. He redoubled his efforts on worshiping Jack to full hardness as he let the sound of his name on Jack’s tongue replay over and over in his head, a blissful mantra to work to. The front of Jack’s pants was beginning to grow damp with his efforts, and Rhys could feel how the softness of Jack’s cock was filling out under his tongue.

“Alright, Rhysie, time for your performance review,” Jack said, voice still wholly unaffected by the man between his legs. If it hadn’t been for the growing bulge right in his face, Rhys would have thought Jack was completely uninterested– especially since the man was about to embark on a ‘performance review’ already.

Letting go of Rhys’ hair (much to his chagrin), Jack started ticking off his items for review on his fingers as he listed them, surely a crucial two-handed job.

“Crawling on your pretty little knees for me? Check. Worshiping the best cock of your life? Check. Cute, sassy little pout?” Jack paused on this one, reaching down to grasp Rhys’ chin so he could tilt his face up to look at him.

Rhys didn’t even have to try to pout, the corners of his lips turning down naturally as he was pulled away from the object of all of his desires. Jack snickered at him when their eyes met and he pinched Rhys’ chin between his thumb and forefinger, giving his head a little shake.

“Definitely check. But, y’know, I can’t help but feel like we– and by we, I mean you-- are missing something.” Jack let go of his chin to bring his hand to his own, pulling that faux-thoughtful look once again. Then, with a snap of his fingers, Jack acted like he’d stumbled upon a brand new idea, even if it was obvious to everyone in the room that he already knew what he wanted.

“Oh, that’s right. I don’t hear you begging.”

The severity in his voice had Rhys breaking out into a sweat– well, that, and the visceral heat that flooded through him. Rhys could beg, had dreamed of begging Handsome Jack for something, anything– even just a crumb of his attention. So, it was no skin off his back to beg the man for his cock.

“And I’m not talking about the sad, sappy, ’oh, Handsome Jack, sir, please let me touch your cock! Oh please, won’t you?’ I’m talking–.”

“I need your cock,” Rhys interjected, a graveness to his tone that rang true, “please, sir, I need it. I– I might die without it.” With a newfound surge of confidence, Rhys inched his hands up Jack’s thighs so his fingers were bracketing his hips, the tip of his left thumb resting just near where Jack’s cock had now fully filled out.

For the first time, Jack actually looked affected; his face fell into a dark, heated stare that had Rhys shivering on the floor, and the glint in his eye was a threatening one.

“Need it, huh?” Jack asked, his voice a gravelly octave lower than it once was.

Rhys, eager as ever, nodded his agreeance, fingers gripping tighter where he held onto Jack’s hips.

“Yes, please, I’ll do anything, sir, anything you tell me to,” Rhys rambled in his desperation, leaning up on his knees a little to bring himself closer to Jack. “I’ve never needed something so badly in my life.”

A sultry chuckle dripped from Jack’s lips like a sweet, sticky syrup, and for once Jack wasn’t laughing at his expense. A little mean, sure, but fond, too, and Rhys preened under the attention. He followed up the chuckle with a low whistle, the sound echoing along the high ceilings and ringing in Rhys’ ears.

“Get up,” Jack instructed at the same time he snapped his fingers, watching with rapt attention as Rhys quickly pulled himself to his feet. He gave Rhys’ slender, silk-clad frame a predatory once-over before he reached out to run his fingertips along the exposed skin of his inner thigh, sending Rhys into a delightful tremor.

“Drop the robe, princess. Keep up,” Jack said matter-of-factly, as if Rhys should have already known what to do.

Trying to hide the trembling in his fingers, Rhys pulled the loose loop around his waist free and let the robe fall from his shoulders, the silky material pooling at his feet. Exposed like this, Rhys realized for the first time just how vulnerable he was, and it took everything in his power not to shrink away from Jack’s heated gaze. Naked as he was and cock already half-heard where it hung between his legs, Rhys was made aware of the other presence in the room again, the distinct feeling of two sets of eyes on him making Rhys flush.

“Not bad, not bad,” Jack muttered as he began tapping his foot on the floor, his eyes making obvious sweeps over Rhys’ tattoos, “why don’t we share with the class?”

Before Rhys could question what he meant, Jack abruptly stopped the tapping of his foot and pivoted his chair to the left, giving Rhys a clear view of the streets below. If he’d felt vulnerable before, then he was raw and exposed now, swallowing a nervous lump in his throat as he stared out at the patrons mulling about. Jack gave an encouraging tap to the back of his ankle with his shoe, holding his hand out palm-up in the direction of the window.

“Anything, right, Rhysie?”

All Rhys could manage was a curt nod before he was stepping towards the window, his stomach swooping dramatically as he grew near. In reality, it was unlikely anyone would actually see him, let alone recognize him; he was far away, high above the crowds, and the low lighting in the office probably allowed for a substantial glare on the outside of the glass. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched-- though that might have had more to do with the two men actually watching him.

Jack was hot like a brand where he pressed up against Rhys’ back, effectively sneaking up on the naked man and giving him a fright. Rhys startled against him with a shocked gasp, all of Jack’s layers and clothes harsh on his exposed skin. Rhys hadn’t even heard him get up from his chair, much less walk up behind him, but there he was, leaning into Rhys with enough force that he nearly tipped forward to press up against the glass under his weight.

A strong, thick forearm came to wrap around Rhys’ chest, those weathered and capable fingers gripping at his jaw once again. The touch wasn’t as nasty as the first time, no biting fingernails against his skin, but it was just as tight and demanding– another pointless display of power. Pointless or not, Rhys found himself melting into it anyway, giving up all the power he didn’t have to a man with all the power in the world.

“You see that, Rhysie?” Jack growled in his ear, close enough that Rhys could feel his breath on his skin. The hand that wasn’t grasping Rhys’ face came up to press against the glass, the gear tattoo around his wrist effectively distracting Rhys from his potential onlookers.

“Bup, bup!” Jack scolded and used his grip to give Rhys’ head a shake, forcing his attention back where he wanted it. “Pay attention, pumpkin, this is important. Do you see it?” Jack punctuated each word of the question this time, a warning he would not repeat himself again.

“Y-yes, sir, I see it,” Rhys cleared his throat, nervously twiddling his fingers where he held his hands in front of himself down near his waist.

“And what do you see, hmm?”

Rhys failed to stifle the soft sound that escaped him as Jack ran the tip of his nose along the shell of Rhys’ ear, followed by the wicked, hot swipe of his tongue. He couldn’t help it, he was stunned silent for a beat too long, open-mouthed breaths fogging up the glass as he tried desperately to think. Rhys felt like his heart was going to erupt out of his chest, pulse jackhammering out of control enough to make him lightheaded.

“Opportunity,” Rhys uttered like a puppet on strings, mostly because it was the only thing that would come to mind. He frowned at his lack of originality, and judging by the way Jack squeezed tighter at his jaw, he didn’t like it, either.

“The future,” Rhys tried again, eyelids fluttering as Jack bit down on his earlobe, “your– your legacy.”

Jack groaned at that one and tipped his hips forward, pressing the length of his rock-hard erection into the space between Rhys’ ass cheeks. He must have readjusted himself in his jeans to get it to fit just right, nestled between the two mounds like it belonged there, and Rhys could appreciate the foresight. Grinding back against him, Rhys’ hands shot up to plant against the glass in order to steady himself, already so weak in the knees and Jack had hardly even touched him.

“That’s right, baby, mine,” Jack punctuated the statement with a roll of his hips, and Rhys’ breath caught in his throat, “my city, my legacy– all fucking mine.”

Although Jack did nothing more to him than speak, Rhys moaned softly as if he’d finally received a long-awaited touch. The pure, unadulterated power oozing from the man at his back was palpable, and Rhys was addicted to it.

“Just like you.”

Rhys squeezed his eyes shut tightly against the tears of ecstasy stinging in them and tried desperately not to sob out loud, though he should have known he wouldn’t be allowed such respite.

“Aww, come on now, pumpkin, don’t be like that. Let Jack see,” his words were taunting, evil yet sickly-sweet in that Handsome Jack way, “I bet you’re reeeeal pretty when you cry.”

The whimper came first, a pathetic, broken sound on his lips that had Jack tutting in his ear. When he opened his eyes, the fattest of his tears slipped down his cheeks immediately, and Jack ground against his backside so hard that his hips ended up pinned to the window. The glass was cold on his skin everywhere it touched, making it impossible for Rhys to not think about the way his dick was pressed up against it– about how, if someone happened to look up now--

Just like that, Jack was gone, leaving Rhys cold and empty at his back. In his panic, Rhys pushed away from the window and spun around so fast he got dizzy, hands skidding and squeaking as he blindly reached behind himself to steady himself on the window once more. Jack’s taunting, teasing, smug look was gone, instead replaced with something more… expectant.

Was this it? Was this– permission?

Trusting his instincts, Rhys sank to his knees at Jack’s feet for the second time, hands reaching for the thick belt buckle at his waist. Both of Jack’s hands found their way into his hair without hesitation, one petting and the other pulling. In spite of his nerves, Rhys’ fingers worked deftly and dutifully at Jack’s fly, working it open until he had enough room to dip his hand into stark-black boxers and finally, finally wrap his fingers around the base of Jack’s dick.

Stroking his way up to the tip, Rhys pulled Jack’s cock free with a needy sound on his lips, Rhys’ thighs squeezing together involuntarily with an intense wave of arousal. Completely entranced, Rhys slowly stroked over Jack’s cock as he admired it with both his eyes and his touch, his skilled fingers effectively bringing Jack over that last precipice of absolute hardness, cock pulsing in his grasp as he filled out.

“It’s perfect,” Rhys whispered reverently, eyes fluttering and mostly unaware that he’d spoken at all.

Jack grunted above him appreciatively and pulled Rhys’ head forward, messily smearing the precum at his tip against Rhys’ cheek.

“Tell me more, babe.”

“It’s so big,” Rhys fawned, licking at the head like a lollipop just once before he dragged his tongue down the underside with a deep moan.

“Tastes so good,” Rhys murmured as he buried his nose in Jack’s barely-tamed pubic hair. Completely unhinged by that point, Rhys didn’t bother to hide the way he inhaled this time, tongue lolling out to caress at one of Jack’s balls. Thickest there, Jack’s scent was heavenly; sweaty and masculine and perfect-- like every other part of him.

”Fuck,” Jack hissed, the gentler of his two his hands cupping the back of his skull before sliding down to rest on the back of his neck. “Did you just– did you just sniff me?”

Jack sounded a bit incredulous and a lot turned on, so Rhys felt no shame when he nodded his head and did it again. Jack’s laugh was a deranged, high-pitched sound, like he was losing his mind just as quickly as Rhys was.

“Ooh hoo hoo, you dirty little freak, Rhysie. You’ll take any piece of Handsome Jack you can get your greedy little hands on, won’t ya? Yeah, you will. That’s what I like about you.”

Rhys felt himself tearing up again under Jack’s humiliating praise, the push-and-pull of emotions mixing up his thoughts. Distracting himself, Rhys concentrated on lavishing Jack’s cock with attention, randomly placing wet, open-mouthed kisses all along its girth. As he reached the head again, Rhys curled his tongue just below the flared tip, caressing the sensitive underside of the head of Jack’s cock so sweetly that the man actually moaned.

“Oh-kay, time to keep that head still, babe, because that was fucking cheating.”

Without further preamble, Jack clamped his hands down on each side of Rhys’ head and held him still as he thrust his cock past his lips, fucking into his mouth with little regard the man at his knees. Thankfully, Rhys reacted quickly enough to press his tongue to the roof of his mouth, allowing Jack to slide against its wet warmth without entirely gagging him on the first thrust.

Bracing his hands on Jack’s thighs, Rhys did his best to relax his throat, Jack fucking deeper and deeper until he was slipping down Rhys’ throat. The pace was brutal, not so much fast, but deep and rough where the head of Jack’s cock abused the back of his throat. It was a lot to handle, and Rhys found himself fading in and out, sometimes hyper-aware of the sensation of cock on his tongue, thrusting and thrusting the bitter taste of precum down his throat, other times just floating, aware of everything and nothing all at once, feeling each finger wrapped around his skull but only vaguely aware of the hole in his face.

What he felt the whole time was how painfully hard he was, and how drool fell freely from his lips. It was impossible to contain with Jack fucking into him like he was, and before long, Rhys was a mess; and when Rhys had enough of his mind to peek up from under his lashes, it was evident that Jack was a mess, too.

Loose, stray pieces of hair had fallen from Jack’s normally flawless styling– just a scant few, but enough to give away his loss of composure. His eyes were lidded and somewhat distant, yet honed in so intensely on Rhys that he almost had to look away. And, at some point (when Rhys must have been drifting in that mid-space), Jack had fully unclasped his vest. No more skin was revealed to him, not with Jack’s Hyperion-yellow sweater and white collared shirt still in the way, but it was still more than he’d ever had the pleasure of seeing, and it made him hungry for even more.

With Jack still fucking into him, Rhys blindly felt around until his fingers caught on the fabric of Jack’s white shirt that hung around his hips, tugging at it in a silent question. Jack didn’t seem to notice at first, too transfixed on watching his own cock disappear past Rhys’ lips, but a second, more insistent pull had him slowing down his pace enough that they both could properly breathe; of course, Jack didn’t stop, but then again, Rhys wasn’t asking him to.

“‘Sup, princess?” Jack was out of breath and covered in a light sheen of sweat, eyes trailing down to where Rhys gave another tug to his shirt. This time, Jack did stop, though it was with his cock buried as far as he could go down Rhys’ throat, his hands at the back of Rhys’ head applying enough pressure to nearly suffocate him where he was being smothered into his pubes.

“Knew you’d get greedy on me.” Jack’s voice was like venom, a heavy accusation dripping from his fangs. Rhys shrunk under the scrutiny, whimpering as best he could manage while still so stuffed full of cock.

Jack held him there as he turned his gaze back to the city beneath them, taking away his precious attention and leaving Rhys squirming on the floor, hardly able to breathe and yet more concerned with winning back Jack’s favor. It wasn’t until Rhys was digging his nails into his own thighs and sputtering around the cock in his mouth that Jack let him go, and Rhys pulled back so quickly and with so much force that the back of his skull bounced off the glass window behind him.

The sound it made when his head connected with the glass was almost comical (if Rhys hadn’t been in so much pain), a loud, reverberating bwong that certainly got a few heads turning outside. Rhys wasn’t even sure how it could have made such a loud sound, or maybe it was just that loud in his head, larger than life like everything else around him.

Sucking in a gasping breath now that he could breathe freely, Rhys instantly curled in on himself and cupped his hands around the back of his head, this time tears of pure agony welling up in his eyes. He was in too much pain to feel embarrassed about the situation, but that was mostly because all he could feel was pain.

“Ah, jeeze, would’ja–,” Jack started but cut himself short, a snort of laughter escaping him, “you’re somethin’ else, kiddo. You gonna be alright? Or do I gotta make my buddy over here carry you out before you start concussive-vomiting on my new floors?”

Blinded by love and an unhealthy obsession, Rhys ignored Jack’s complete disregard for his well-being and gave a slight nod of his head, fingers trembling where he tried to sooth the throbbing in his skull.

“Yes– what? ‘Yes, I’m fine and being an over-dramatic baby’? Or ‘yes, I need to be removed before I seizure and kill the mood’?”

“Yes, I’m– I’ll– be fine,” Rhys managed to whimper, slowly unfurling from himself as the pain began to subside. After experiencing such intense pain, Rhys had gone soft, but Jack’s cock still stood at full-attention before him, shiny and glistening with Rhys’ saliva.

“Well, thank fuck for that,” Jack said before snatching one of Rhys’ biceps in his hand, yanking him up from the floor like a ragdoll. “Now go bend yourself over my desk like a good little slut and make sure our voyeur friend can see.”

Rhys’ arm throbbed under Jack’s tight grip, no doubt a bruising one, and Rhys would cherish every mark left behind. Having forgotten about the other man in the room yet again, Rhys glanced in his direction, then cast his gaze to Jack’s desk. The man, 21-C, gave no indication on how he felt about the situation, standing as still as the Jack statue a few feet to his left. Knowing better than to ask any questions, Rhys walked up to Jack’s desk once he let go of his arm, bending himself at the waist over the edge of the desk where his ass would be on full display to Mr. 21-C.

Chapter Text

”Jack.”

With his dick still hanging from his open fly, Jack crossed the distance between himself and his bodyguard in a few long strides, grabbing his large desk chair by the headrest on his way. He parked it only a few inches from the other man and gave a patronizing pat to his helmet, tongue as sly as the look in his eyes.

“Unless your next words are about to be ’thank you so, so much, Jack, you’re the best boss ever, Jack!’ I suggest you zip it. You catch my drift?” With a final pat– although this one was more of a slap-- to 21-C’s helmet, Jack settled himself into his extravagant desk chair, casually wrapping a hand around his cock to stroke himself back to full hardness.

Exposed as he was, Rhys couldn’t help but shiver where he stood obediently bent over Jack’s desk, arms tucked under his torso to keep himself warm. He shifted on his feet and peeked over his shoulder back at the two men behind him, unable to determine where the bodyguard was looking through his helmet but pleased when he successfully got Jack’s attention back on him with the movement. Heterochromatic eyes locked onto where he was most vulnerable and Jack visibly licked his lips, sending another shiver down Rhys’ spine.

“Well? What are you just standing there for? Lube’s in the top drawer, pumpkin, better get to stretchin’ that pussy or you’re gonna be feeling me for days– and not in the good way.”

Rhys had not been prepared for the way he flushed hot all over when Jack implied he had a pussy, hole clenching tight as a lightning-bolt of arousal shot through him; Jack must have noticed as well, judging by the way he hummed deep in his chest and gave a molten-lava chuckle. By that point, Rhys would feel Jack for days in any way the man was willing to let him, but grabbing the lube was definitely a start.

“Yes, sir,” Rhys said without thinking as he reached around the side of the desk and pulled on the first handle he grabbed. Finding the lube was instantaneous considering it was the only item in the drawer, yet another example of Jack’s premeditation. It was a fancy glass bottle that fit perfectly in the palm of his hand, and when he popped the top and poured some onto his fingers it felt like warm velvet.

“Nice, ain’t it?” Jack asked as if he were reading Rhys’ mind. “It’s technically a prototype because it’s not available on the market yet, but that stuff? Ooh, that stuff might as well be a bottle of liquid gold you’re holding, Rhysie. That little bottle costs more than your pathetic little life is worth.”

Rhys smeared the thick, clear liquid between his fingers as Jack spoke, and although the last jab was meant to be an insult, Rhys could only feel grateful that he was allowed such a luxury. Reaching back behind himself, Rhys thanked Jack quietly as he grabbed a handful of his ass with his clean hand and pulled himself open, revealing himself even more to both men. Jack laughed, whether at his gratitude or the way he touched himself, Rhys wasn’t sure, but he was undeterred.

With a shudder, Rhys stroked two fingers over his tight hole down to his perineum, mouth hanging open on a silent moan as that warm, tingly feeling spread over him. He let his forehead come to rest against the desk as he continued petting himself like that, the sensation of his fingers and the lube making him want like no other. Suddenly, overwhelmingly, Rhys felt like he was going to die if he didn’t get something inside of himself, hole glistening and fluttering where he played with himself.

“Now he’s getting it!” Jack exclaimed, eyes following the motion of Rhys’ fingers. “Y’see, there’s these space mushrooms– space-shrooms, as I like to call ‘em–.”

Jack was cut short by a loud, raucous moan from Rhys as he slipped two fingers inside of himself without hesitation, the stretch visibly tight. Jack squeezed the head of his dick with a grunt of his own at the sight, watching as Rhys tried desperately to fight the natural resistance his body still held despite how good the lube made everything feel.

“Woah, woah, slow it down there, princess, you’re gonna hurt yourself. Not that I really give a damn. But like I was saying…,” Jack trailed off momentarily as Rhys heeded his warning and slowed down, still trying to work two fingers into himself but with more teasing, prodding motions rather than the fervent thrusting he’d been trying at first.

“The, uh, space-shroom extract or whatever you wanna call it makes that shit all warm-and-tingly and, as I’m sure you’ve figured out, stupidly horny. I know, it’s not like you needed the push, not with the literal cock of your dreams over here, but it makes things a little more fun.”

And it wasn’t like Rhys could argue with that, not when he was practically humping the side of Jack’s desk and stroking the fingers of his free hand over his perineum just to feel more wherever the lube touched. His less-than-patient handiwork stretching himself had him two knuckles deep already, fingers thrusting in and out in a slow drag that had Rhys whimpering into the desk. He imagined Jack’s cock thrusting into him the same way, slow and precise so he could feel every single inch.

A quick, two-beat whistle had Rhys snapping out of his fantasy world, the silent ’pay attention, dumb-dumb,’ implied.

“Am I losing ya, kiddo? Fine, fine, we’ll skip all the cool science-y stuff for now and get to the good part. First off, quit fucking yourself like a slut. We get it, you’re desperate– and it ain’t because of the lube.”

Rhys let out a hiccuping breath and squeezed his eyes shut tight against the, frankly, accurate call-out, though he was finding it near impossible to stop his fingers from thrusting. He whimpered as he managed to bring them to a grinding halt before he began thrusting them again, chasing the heightened pleasure.

“Do… Do I have to?” Rhys muttered as he tried to subtly curl his fingers just where he wanted them, but it was the moan and the way he pressed his fingers even deeper inside of himself that gave him away, toes curling against pristine tiles.

“Hah! Freakin’ brat, did I stutter?” Jack bit back, and the whip-like snap to his voice was enough to get Rhys listening.

Remembering his place, Rhys stopped the motion of his fingers with a teary-eyed whine and shook his head against the surface of the desk.

“Better. Now pull ‘em out, slow,” Jack ordered, and just like that, Rhys was yet again a puppet on strings.

With a slow, painstaking drag, Rhys pulled his fingers out, cheating along the way as he curled his fingers again to brush his prostate. The gooey-warm rush of pleasure that followed had Rhys biting down on his lip to keep quiet, failing miserably as a muffled mewl broke free anyway.

“Ooh-hoo-hoo, you testing me, you little brat? Is that what this is?”

“No!” Rhys said quickly, wincing as his fingers finally slipped free. He flexed his fingers slightly and instead went to holding himself open again, though this time he used both hands to spread himself apart.

“I’m sorry, Handsome Jack, sir. It just– it feels so good and–.”

”And?” Jack interjected expectantly, grinding the word through his teeth.

“A-And,” Rhys paused to swallow, shoulders trembling slightly with nerves, “I was– being a brat. I’m sorry. I-I won’t do it again, sir.”

Jack’s following silence was unnerving to say the least, but then he took a deep breath, deep enough to be audible, and clicked his tongue.

“You’re right. You won’t.”

The unspoken threat was enough to have Rhys buttoning up but his actions and his attitude, but he’d be lying if he said the thrill of just how dangerous this man was didn’t turn him on. Rhys gave a slight nod of his head but didn’t move otherwise, obediently awaiting his next command.

“Stretch yourself with two fingers, and don’t make it all about you this time,” Jack most certainly commanded, no pleasantries to his voice whatsoever, but it was this command that made it click.

Jack wanted a show, and he wanted it just for him, even with– no, especially with his bodyguard being made to watch at his heels.

With a much more hesitant touch, Rhys brought two fingers back to his sensitive hole, unable to help the airy gasp that escaped him as he pressed both back inside. When Jack didn’t stop him for the brief display of pleasure, Rhys began thrusting his fingers in and out, spreading and stretching them as he went. He tried focusing more on what he looked like rather than what he felt, arching his hips up into his hands and driving his fingers into himself in quick, short fucking motions that abused his hole.

“Want you inside me, sir, please,” Rhys cooed as he clenched down around his fingers, “want to make you feel good with my pussy.” As soon as the word left his mouth Rhys felt ridiculous, a hot flush burning up his ears and spreading down his neck; Jack’s bitten-off ’mmpf’ from behind him was enough encouragement to keep going, however.

“Wanna…,” Rhys swallowed around the build-up of saliva in his mouth, fingers still fucking into himself ruthlessly, “wanna make you cum, Jack.” Rhys blamed his delirium and uncontrollable lust for the slip-up on Jack’s name, but as soon as it left his lips, Rhys found himself wanting to use it more; he wanted to be familiar with Jack, familiar enough to be on a first-name basis, and he couldn’t help but drive his fingers a little deeper at the thought, mouth hanging open on a whimper.

“Ooh, ’Jack’, huh? What happened to ’sir’?” Thankfully, Jack sounded more amused than angry, but that could have been a result of the distinct skin-on-skin sounds Rhys could hear from behind him, a telltale sign Jack was touching himself. Rhys wanted to look back and see, but he had a feeling Jack would stop if he did.

“S–Sorry, sir,” Rhys stammered, subconsciously spreading his legs a little wider to reach a better angle with his fingers; Rhys might have been putting on a show but the pleasure was still there, more of a low hum egged on by the magical lube than anything, but even the performative jabs into himself sent a tingly-warm feeling throughout his body.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, sorry, sorry,” Jack grumbled, though Rhys didn’t miss the way his voice had gone breathy, “just– can it and shove another finger up there, cupcake. I’m gettin’ impatient.”

Rhys was more than happy to oblige, pulling his fingers nearly all the way out before he was working a third in alongside the other two. The stretch was still there, albeit mitigated by the lube and the previous work of his other fingers, but the thought of Jack stretching him, of opening him up on his cock, was enough to have Rhys moaning and twisting his fingers inside of himself, hole quivering and clenching tight around them.

”Fuck,” Jack cursed from behind him, sounding wholly affected, “yea-up, that’s enough.”

Suddenly, Jack’s imposing figure was looming over him, the scratchy material of his jeans rubbing up against the back of Rhys’ thighs. A rough, firm hand encircled his wrist and pulled his fingers from himself in a careless motion, causing Rhys to hiss slightly with discomfort. Jack didn’t bother to pause or check in on him, he simply guided Rhys’ hand so that he held a handful of each of his ass cheeks in his hands, and Rhys happily assumed spreading himself open again.

“Yeahh, just like that. Spread that boy pussy for me,” Jack murmured and rubbed the head of his cock against Rhys’ trembling hole, making them both moan softly at the touch.

Rhys, unable to control himself with the actual man of his dreams rutting against him, arched his hips back wantonly, a broken cry escaping his lips when Jack accompanied the motion with a firmer press of his hips. With the added pressure, the tip of Jack’s cock slipped inside before popping right back out, and Jack let out a frustrated grunt behind him.

“Hold still, you squirmy little brat,” Jack snapped as he brought a hand down on the back of Rhys’ head. He forcibly turned him so his cheek was resting against the cool, metal surface, the condensation from his panting breaths leaving the desk damp under his skin. With his head turned, Jack clamped his hand down onto the side of his skull, effectively pinning him down to the desk.

Rhys squeezed his eyes shut tight as Jack bore his weight down on him, mouth instinctively falling open when Jack dug his thumb into the hollow of his cheek. Once his mouth was open, Jack thrust his thumb inside, hooking it into the inside of Rhys’ cheek. Greedy for any part of Jack, Rhys immediately wrapped his lips around the digit and sucked, running his tongue over the salty, rough pad of Jack’s thumb with a moan.

With his free hand on his dick, Jack began to force his cock into the tight body below him, the stretch nearly impossible from the half-assed prep work Jack had allowed Rhys to perform on himself. The lube helped with some of the pain but it had begun to dry, leaving Rhys in a hazy space between almost-pleasure and searing pain. Jack, as expected, was relentless in getting himself buried inside of Rhys, grunting and groaning as his hips worked in jerky, shallow thrusts to get what he wanted.

And Rhys, he wanted it too– more than anything. He’d take all the pain he could handle and more if it meant another moment with his Hero, another crumb of his attention. He worked hard to breathe through it, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes as each thrust of Jack’s hips fucked him more and more raw. Without any lube on Jack’s cock, what little he had left was wearing thin, and yet all Rhys could feel was gratitude for the opportunity, despite being split open on Jack’s girth.

“Jeeze, you’re tight,” Jack sounded like he was almost complaining, letting go of the side of Rhys’ face long enough to grab the little bottle of lubricant and pour a generous– no, obscene amount down the cleft of Rhys’ ass.

As the tacky liquid trickled down between Rhys’ cheeks, the warming sensation had him relaxing minutely but enough for Jack to sink in a little deeper without much effort. They both voiced their pleasure together, Jack with a satisfied grumble and Rhys with a pitched moan.

“That’s more like it,” Jack purred and dropped the bottle right onto Rhys’ back.

Rhys flinched as the hard glass nicked his spine, sending a jolt of pain through him before it rolled off his skin and onto the desk. Jack’s hand resumed its position pinning him to the down, thumb-in-mouth and all, and gave one last shove of his hips that buried him as deep as he could go. Rhys wailed as he was filled to the brim, fingernails digging into the plump flesh of his cheeks where he still held himself open for Jack.

It burned in the most pleasurable way; there was pain, yes, and the mind-numbing sensation of the lube, but also, there was the deep-rooted feeling of satisfaction. Rhys had never felt so content, like if he died right now, he would die happy. He hadn’t even had an orgasm, or much pleasure for himself since the whole thing had started really, but having the Handsome Jack, his God, his Hero buried in him to the hilt– it was enough.

“‘Tho big,” Rhys slurred around Jack’s thumb, only gagging slightly when Jack pressed down on his tongue. He tried to suck the appendage back into his mouth when Jack started to pull it out, resulting in a dull ’pop’ sound as it was pulled free.

“What was that, pumpkin? Didn’t quite catch that,” Jack whispered in his ear, suddenly leaning down over him close enough that Rhys could feel the heat of him radiating onto his back.

“S-So big,” Rhys repeated, sounding every bit out of breath as he actually was, “your cock is s-so big, sir.”

Jack groaned as he grinded his pelvis against Rhys’ ass and Rhys whimpered beneath him, screwing himself up tight around Jack’s cock just to make the other man feel good. Jack’s hips twitched involuntarily, chasing after the tight clutch of Rhys’ body as he started to fuck into him with quick, deep strokes, hips popping against Rhys’ ass with each thrust.

“Yeah it is, baby. Don’t act like you didn’t already know,” Jack teased as he brought his free hand down onto the desk somewhere out of Rhys’ line of sight, though he still bore his weight down on the hand on Rhys’ head to push himself upright again.

“Still, hyper-accurate dildo don’t got nothin’ on the real thing, amirite?”

For emphasis, Jack fucked into Rhys with enough force to jolt his slender frame against the desk, sending his hip bones smarting against the metallic edge biting into his flesh. Rhys had a feeling Jack didn’t want a real answer considering he already knew what it was, so he settled for gasping through the onslaught of sensations as Jack began to pound into him. He set a brutal pace, fast and hard and chasing his own pleasure, Rhys nothing more than a warm body to be used.

And for what it was worth, Rhys did feel used. All of his pleasure was conditional, a by-product of Jack’s selfishness and mostly a result of the lube, the hot drag of Jack’s cock inside him keeping him buzzing with electricity just enough to keep him hard. But like this, with Jack baring down on him, with Jack fucking into him with abandon and absolutely no consideration for the body he so thoroughly used, Rhys felt complete.

This was his purpose, he just knew it. A cock warmer, a pliant body to fuck– Rhys could be that for Jack, wanted to be that for Jack. He saw a future ahead of him, a future where he could see himself at Jack’s side; not as an equal, of course, as there was no one equal to Jack’s calibur. But at his feet? Under his desk? Waiting patiently, obediently for his next opportunity to be used?

Rhys could live for that.

”Use me, please,” Rhys whispered without realizing he’d even spoken, too derailed by his own thoughts to concentrate. Though Jack’s pace was sloppy and one-sided, Rhys found his own pleasure surmounting, so eager to please that even just being used was getting him off. Drool trickled from the corner of his lips as he began to moan softly with each of Jack’s thrusts, head swimming with how good it felt to simply feel useful to the greatest man in the six galaxies.

“Bingo! Already got that covered, Rhysie,” Jack quipped without faltering his pace at all, “you’re all mine to use, and ohh boy, am I gonna use ya.” His pace might not have faltered but his voice wavered, breathy in some places and cracking in others, and Rhys relished in knowing he could make Handsome Jack feel good enough to impede his speech, even just the slightest.

Unable to take the power of Jack’s thrusts without some help any longer, Rhys finally let go of where he had been spreading himself open so he could press his hands into the cool surface of Jack’s desk, bracing himself against it. Now that Rhys was able to hold himself steady, that point of contact where Jack would fuck into him was that much more intense, bringing Jack to abrupt stops inside of him before he was pulling out, rather than the fluid roll of his hips that he’d fallen into previously. It made the slapping of their skin that much louder, and with the right tilt of his hips the angle changed, and Rhys found himself gasping and crying out Jack’s name at what followed.

With the new angle, Jack was able to sink just that much deeper– an amount completely imperceptible to the naked eye, yet feeling like everything to both men. They slotted together differently, better, and the head of Jack’s cock grazed wonderfully against Rhys’ prostate. Rhys could feel the way his cock pulsed and dribbled precum down the side of Jack’s desk at the sensation, a normally blissful experience turning mind-numbing under the effects of Jack’s fancy lubricant.

“Nnh, y’know what, I’m gonna let that one slide. Love it when they scream my name.”

And Rhys wasn’t sure if Jack had been talking about the name slip-up or the greedy way he’d tilted his hips for more, but either way, Jack decided to be gracious, fucking into Rhys just how they both liked. The residual stinging-stretch had finally faded into nothingness and left Rhys with nothing but pure ecstasy, the toe-curling, hair-raising kind that had him wheezing out high-pitched moans on every breath. Jack’s pace was still just as brutal, just as fast, and even though it was bordering on just too much, Rhys never wanted it to stop.

“What are you chanting down there, freak?” Jack’s razor-sharp tone cut through all of his senses, and like before, Rhys hadn’t realized he’d been saying anything. He had to actually think to try and figure out what he had been saying, reflexively clenching down around Jack’s cock as it came to him.

“Don’t stop,” Rhys repeated a little louder, eyes rolling into his head when Jack interpreted it as ’go faster’, “don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!”

“Brat, brat, brat!” Jack grit through his teeth, punctuating each name-calling with a snap of his hips.

Rhys could feel Jack’s fingers squeezing tighter around his skull, the pressure somehow comforting despite its near-painful bite. Much to Rhys’ relief, Jack had no plans on stopping, his cock still driving into him with growing precision. Then, the pressure on his head was gone only to be replaced around the front of his throat, Jack’s thick fingers wrapping around his slender neck and using the anchoring point to pull Rhys into a standing position.

“Ah!” Rhys exclaimed as it somehow felt like Jack had fucked him so deep that Rhys could feel him in his throat. Rhys threw his head back with abandon and reached around blindly to grab onto Jack wherever he could manage; a fistful of Jack’s blazer sleeve in one hand and the fingers of his other tangled in the strappy holster at Jack’s thigh.

Like this, Jack had to fuck up into him, bringing his brutal thrusts down to brutal grinds of his hips. It was just as visceral and raw, but now Rhys could feel more; more of Jack pressed against his back, more of Jack’s hands on him, and more of his cock brushing against his sweet spot.

“Ja–!” Rhys choked on the name on his lips– literally-- as Jack squeezed down around his windpipe, sending Rhys’ eyes rolling into the back of his skull.

“Sh, sh, sh…,” Jack cooed into his ear soothingly, a shiver dancing up Rhys’ spine, “if I hear one more demand out of that sassy little mouth of yours…” Jack was speaking through clenched teeth again, the unspoken threat on his lips softened just slightly by the pleasure-drunk lilt to his voice.

Rhys was already beginning to feel a little lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, his own breath holding and panting breaths having done him no favors to prepare him. When Jack finally released his grip just enough that Rhys could breathe the first thing he did was let out a wheezy whine. Then, Jack just-so-happened-to grind nearly every inch of his cock over Rhys’ prostate on the up-thrust, sending him into a fit of unintelligible moans.

Rhys gasped out loud, almost collapsing right onto the floor when Jack started rocking into him in shallow thrusts. Each rock upwards was like pressing a magic button, the blunt head of Jack’s cock prodding at his prostate. Opting to keep his mouth shut as the safest option, Rhys rode the wave of endorphins flooding him, head turning where it still rested on Jack’s shoulder to bury his face in Jack’s neck as moans turned to mewls.

“Just– be a good boy, Rhysie, and maybe I’ll consider cumming in your slutty pussy. How’s that sound?” Jack’s tone was sickly-sweet, that mocking kind of saccharine only Handsome Jack could perfect.

And– fuck, was he coming?

Rhys sobbed into Jack’s neck as his orgasm hit him like a moonshot, his whole body breaking out into tremors as he started to spill onto Jack’s desk. His fingers curled tighter where he clung to Jack, and as if answering to Rhys’ vice grip, Jack squeezed his own fingers around Rhys’ neck again. His cries were silenced but his orgasm was not, body arching like a bow as the tingly-warm pleasure continued to resonate through his being, starting from the core of him and spreading like liquid fire down to his fingertips and toes.

By some amazing stroke of luck, Jack was kind enough to fuck him through it. It was all extremely overwhelming, and for a second, Rhys thought he might die; of happiness, of asphyxiation, of a heart attack– fuck, at that point, Rhys was pretty sure the intensity of his orgasm could kill him, and all without Jack even touching him once.

Sure, Jack had fucked Rhys within an inch of his life and brought him to the brink of strangulation, but not a single touch from his Hero had been kind, or really even pleasant in the typical sense, and none were used to help get him there. And yet, there he was, the first to come undone, body singing with the throes of his orgasm and the desperation to breathe.

Rhys’ vision was beginning to go spotty when Jack finally loosened his grip around his throat, all of his senses rushing back to him with his gasping, choking breath. Behind him, Rhys was pretty sure Jack might have been laughing, though he didn’t have enough presence of mind to care.

“Ho-ly shit!” Jack exclaimed and used his free hand to scoop up some of Rhys’ cum from the desk, thick globs of it shining on his fingers.

If Rhys hadn’t been crying and trying not to hack up a lung he might have appreciated the visual of his cum on Jack’s fingers more, but as it stood, he was struggling.

“Did– did you seriously just cum? I mean, I see that you did, but man, that’s gotta be a new record!” It was clearer now to Rhys that Jack was laughing, his words dancing with giddy giggling. Jack had stopped thrusting in order to properly humiliate him, and without warning, two cum-slick fingers were shoved into Rhys’ mouth.

Since he was still choking and trying to catch his breath, Rhys could only manage to gag around them, saliva pooling in his mouth and mixing with his cum. The bitter-salty flavor on his tongue just made him gag again, and tears began to run down his cheeks from the onslaught. The only thing that managed to ground him was the way Jack leaned in to bite his cheek, teeth a sharp sting on his face as Jack groaned against his skin.

“So fuckin’ pretty when you cry,” Jack growled like it physically pained him, tongue lolling out to lap at the tears on his cheek.

Spurred into action by the new sensation of Jack’s tongue on him, Rhys finally swallowed around the mess in his mouth, his own tongue working at cleaning his spend off of Jack’s fingers. With that, Jack started fucking into him again, and Rhys became intimately aware with how oversensitive he was. Every twitch, every movement was like lighting his nerves on fire, too uncomfortable to be pleasure but too good to be pain.

“Gotta clean up the mess you made, Rhysie,” Jack murmured absentmindedly as he pulled his fingers free from Rhys’ lips, only to scoop up more and feed it back in, “don’t you know this desk is brand spankin’ new?”

Floating off somewhere else, Rhys became nothing more than a body, a plaything for Jack’s amusement; an achievement, in Rhys’ eyes. His lips and tongue moved of their own accord as they cleaned up Jack’s fingers, and he was pliant under the incessant thrusting of Jack’s cock. He practically hung in Jack’s grip around his front, a constant pressure, though not suffocating, at his neck where Jack held him aloft. His hands still clung loosely to Jack at his sleeve and holster, though even that seemed more of a dangly, loose grasp than anything. Rhys was spent, and yet still eager to please.

The next time Jack brought cum-covered fingers to his lips, Rhys lolled his tongue out expectantly, letting it hang from his mouth in a downright pornographic display. Jack groaned as he slid the pads of his fingers along Rhys’ exposed tongue, following the motion as Rhys sucked both into his mouth. Once the mess was cleaned up, Jack shoved Rhys face-down into the desk once again, and Rhys couldn’t help the relieved sigh that escaped him as he allowed the desk below to take his full weight.

Jack didn’t say much of anything after that. It was a bit unsettling at first, but then Rhys relished in the silence, his body finally unwinding from its tight internal coil as oversensitivity bled into dull warmth. Both of Jack’s hands were planted firmly on the desk as he fucked into Rhys’ lax body, only the sounds of their skin meeting and Jack’s labored breaths filling the office.

It wasn’t much longer after that. Rhys wished he could have watched, could have seen Handsome Jack come undone, but he appreciated what he could get anyway. Jack’s thrusts turned erratic, like he wanted to keep thrusting without ever pulling out, and each of his panting breaths bled into quiet, barely-there whimpers that would be fueling Rhys’ fire for ages. When Jack reached his peak, it was obvious he’d bit down on his lip by the muffled sound of his moan, hips finally stilling against Rhys’ with one last slap as he emptied inside of him.

Rhys moaned softly as he relished in the feeling of Handsome Jack stuffing him full of his cum, doing his best in his gooey state to clench down around Jack just to wring him of all he was worth. Like he’d broken the dam with the power of boy-kegels, Jack burst into a litany of sound; first, a gravelly, gritty sort of groan that made Rhys feel like he was about to be eaten alive like prey– then, then Rhys got a taste of the good stuff.

Jack moaned, open-mouthed and whiney down at Rhys’ back just as his hips gave another involuntary pop against Rhys’ ass. Then Jack hissed, sucking air through clenched teeth before letting it out on a blissed-out whimper.

It was– the single-hottest auditory experience of Rhys’ life.

Jack stayed buried deep inside of him for a while, still and silent, as he captured his breath. In the lull, Rhys began to drift, eyes slowly blinking closed as exhaustion caught up to him. He was wholly prepared to sleep right there on Jack’s desk despite the chill in the air, and to hell with the scheduled tours of Jack’s office that were set to start soon. Of course, it was Jack who pulled Rhys from his fantasy of a good nap, his strong hand coming down to clamp around the exposed side of Rhys’ face. Peering up at the man from the corner of his eye, Rhys watched as Jack leaned down close to him with a menacing sneer.

“You are my bitch.”

Rhys felt his stomach sink, not at Jack’s words, but at the cold that suddenly flooded his back. Like he hadn’t been there at all, Jack was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving Rhys feeling empty, cold, and alone– well, mostly alone.

He had just barely picked his head up from the desk when Jack’s bodyguard stepped into his line of view, reminding Rhys all over again how he’d been on display, was on display– exposed. He shrunk in on himself instinctively, curling his arms under his chest and closing his legs. He wanted nothing more than to disappear just as Jack had, preferably where Jack had, and he also wanted to cry knowing that wasn’t an option.

“Woah, hey, uh, don’t cry, okay?” Came 21-C’s distorted voice, and damn it, was he already crying?!

Rhys apprehensively reached a hand up to wipe at his tears, fingers trembling against his skin. As if it wasn’t bad enough that his literal God had abandoned him, he also felt weak and scared being left to his own devices after such an intense ride. He needed to be held down, covered, something--

Like a cheap imitation of Jack himself, the gloved hand that came to rest on his back was eerily similar to the ones that had just been groping and grabbing at him, though this one was almost gentle. Rhys buried his face in his hands and let out a full-bodied sob, the weight of everything crashing down on him.

Jack was gone. He was gone and he was never going to come back, and the worst part; Rhys knew there was nothing he could do about it.

“Hey, hey, shh,” 21-C cooed as he crouched down beside the desk, his hand slowly starting to stroke up and down the spot between Rhys’ shoulder blades, “nobody’s ever cried after, so, uh, not really sure what to do here.”

Rhys cried for a little while like that, Handsome Jack’s bodyguard petting him from a safe distance while he trembled on the very desk he’d just been taken apart on. Once he calmed down enough to breathe normally, Rhys pushed himself to stand. 21-C was right there at his side, a crumpled-up ball of Rhys’ clothes in his outstretched hand, which Rhys took gratefully. He got dressed as quickly as his sore body would allow, and 21-C was gracious enough to turn his back while he did so.

Once he was dressed, Rhys allowed 21-C to guide him out of the office, the hand on his shoulder a comforting one, even if Rhys was pretty sure it was just to make sure he didn’t go running off in search of the King. As Rhys had suspected, people were already lining up outside of the building for their tours by the time he was being led out, and he couldn’t stop the way his face flushed with embarrassment as everyone turned to look at him.

“Don’t sweat it, kiddo. Most of ‘em don’t get a walk of shame.”