(no subject)

[iniquiticity]

Anonymous asked
Ironflint question (or prompt): Object penetration? Has Washington ever fucked Alex with anything exceptionally strange, large and/or unsafe?

@wellreadfan worked this one out with me because she’s fuckin top notch.

the struggle here is that:

1. most things you would use to fuck someone with are pretty undignified. being undignified is like the worst thing you can be as far as washington’s concerned. he is fucking NO ONE with a cucumber. it looks too dumb.

2. the most important thing for washington is that alex can come to work in the morning, so anything that could REALLY be dangerous is out.

i also googled “good things to fuck people with that aren’t dildos” thinking about this, so… i hope that’s interesting to you, NSA.

anyway, you can probably imagine what’s under the cut. (@wellreadfan thought of this.)

it was calming, to listen to hamilton’s quick breathing, sharp and loud in his mouth. there was a rhythm to it, the way hamilton both needed to be and failed to be restrained. for a few moments he closed his eyes and listened to it. when he opened his eyes he felt calm.

He took in the sight of hamilton’s shirt pushed to one side and his pants and boxers pulled down to his ankles. the slight incline of his back, where he was perched on his elbows. head bowed. the way the oak desk seemed to swallow him, the dark wood all around him and sneaking through the space between his arm and his chest, between his legs.

his eyes drifted down. it was something, to observe the sight of the ballpoints all pushed together half-inside him. put that pen down and listen to me, he’d said. hamilton had smirked at him. what are you gonna do if i don’t, shove it up my ass?

well, he’d said, and first they’d talked about bulking up referral bonuses, and then he’d spread hamilton across his desk and worked him up and done just that.

“is something ruining your concentration?” he asked, and he took a hold of one of the pens and pushed it in. hamilton gasped. the pen he had been holding - writing with - clattered across the desk. “that report was so important you weren’t even looking at me when i spoke to you.”

“i’m fine,” hamilton hissed, and reached out to retrieve his pen, resettling. the sound of the pen scratching resumed. hamilton’s knuckles were white. washington took the group of pens in his fist and pushed them all in, and hamilton’s pen was loud as it hit the hardwood floor, the ragged sound of his moan perfect.