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Ken's had experiences with men before. A few times in college and once after. But he never thought it would ever be quite like this. So rough, so callous...

“No one cares if you’re head of accounts,” Don husks, shoving himself deeper into Ken’s mouth.

Ken gags a little, and Don swipes his thumb across Ken’s lips, wiping away a dribble. Don always liked to make it hurt, just a little. He likes control.

“Just do your job right, and the rest will come easy.”

Ken balls his hands into fists and wonders how he got into this mess. Why did he do this for Don?

“You’re good at what you do. And you’re good looking.”

Oh, that was why...

Don runs gentle fingers through Ken’s silky hair. Ken was one of the few in the office who rarely used product.

“Hold still,” Don groans before coming loudly.

Ken swallows with a grimace. At least Don always warned him.

Don grins as he pulls away. Ken pants heavily.

“Atta boy,” Don husks.

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“Is it true?” Roger asks, before the meeting begins.

Ken sighs. With Roger, this could be about anything.

“Is what true?”

“Did you suck off Draper in the break room on Friday?”

Ken’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.

Roger chuckles and goes to light a cigarette.

Smug son of a bitch...

“Guess that’s why they call you head of accounts.”

Ken wants to butt in with an angry reply, but Don walks in with the clients. He shuts his mouth.

Later, when Ken confronts him in his office, it’s Roger who has a hard time finding the words what with being so busy eating them. Among other things.

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“You know I love your work, Ken,” Sal says, handing his manuscript back to him.

“It’s a rough draft. I know it’s not perfect,” Ken replies.

Sal reaches out and takes his hand.

“We should celebrate your hard work. You deserve it.”

“I—I don’t know…It’s really not that good.”

Sal rolls his eyes and closes the gap between them. Sal’s mouth is on his and suddenly, he’s wrapping his arms around him and trying not to worry about his wife finding out.

Sal pulls away.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Sal breathes before kissing him all over again.

Maybe, Ken thinks, I should be self-deprecating more often…

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The supply closet is tiny, but Bob doesn’t care. He’s got Ken’s hands on his hips and his lips on his neck and nothing else really matters.

“Is this what you wanted? Is this what those coffee cups were for? Just waiting for someone to do this?”

Ken slides into him deep. Everything is so off because he’s only got one eye now and the closet is pretty dark, and Benson keeps squirming. His head and face hurts even with the pain pills.

Bob reaches down to grab his hand and sucks on his fingers, and suddenly he’s coming really hard, and then Bob does too.

Everything feels amazing, and for a split second his massive migraine takes a vacation.

Bob quickly wipes them both off with his handkerchief.

All Ken wants to do is sleep.

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“You’d look great on a dust jacket, you know.”

Ken looks up from his piles of papers and files. Even for Campbell that was a highly suggestive statement.

“Ummm, thanks.”

“No, really, I mean it.”

“You don’t need to try to flatter me. I was fired. You don’t owe me anything, remember?”

“The truth is, I’m going to miss you. I didn’t know this was going to happen. We're the Old Guard, you know.”

Ken looks up again and sees Campbell wearing that pout of his. The one he uses when he’s not getting the attention he wants.

“You’re such a jackoff,” he mutters offhandedly. God, he had garnered so much paperwork over the last fifteen years…

Suddenly, he looks up to see Pete walk over to him before dropping to his knees in front of him.


“This doesn’t have to mean anything you don’t want it too,” Pete says.

Ken puts the files down and unbuckles his belt.

He’s finally found a better use for Pete’s mouth and hands.

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He’s going over some monthly reports when he hears a knock at his door. It’s unexpected, but not unusual, when Ted walks in.

“Ted, what can I do for you?” Ken asks, putting down his fountain pen, a gift from Cynthia.

Ted shuts the door behind him and sits.

“I’ve been hearing things around the office, but I wanted to come to you first.”

Ken’s brows furrow.

“What have you heard?”

“Don’t take offense to this, but there’s been talk that you’be become known for being a ltitle friendly with sever al people in this office.”

“Have there been any complaints?”

“No, not exactly. But I think—”

“This is the first I’m hearing that there is cause for a slap on the wrist. My work is getting done, isn't it? And to imply that I’m behaving inappropriately is incredibly unfair. And you know who I’m referring to.”

“I just don’t want this getting out and potentially ruining our reputations.”

Ken leans back in his chair.

“No one can expose me without also exposing themselves,” Ken says smugly.

“In that case…”

Ken grins. That was more like it.

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Lane is so timid that Ken would almost call him cute.

It’s funny, too, since Lane had been the one to approach him, but it seemed that once Ken proved amiable, Lane lost his nerve.

“It’s okay,” Ken soothes. “We’re both account men. We know how stressful this job can be. Let’s work off some of that steam.”

Lane lets him kiss him. Lane smells like brandy and aftershave. Ken is slowly but surely cataloguing the scents of each man at SC&P.

Perhaps, he thinks, mouth trailing down Lane’s neck. I’ll learn some perfumes next…

When Lane keens softly, Ken takes that as his cue to undo his belt and zipper. It’s a good sign that Lane doesn’t shy away from this too. He finally appears to be relaxing.

“Yes, yes, that’s good,” Lane murmurs as Ken’s hand works him slowly up and down.

It’s very rewarding to see Lane like this. Relaxed and enjoying himself. And it’s quite a boon to be the one to get him like that. It makes him feel special.

And later, people wonder why Ken takes Lane’s death so hard.

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It’s late (or early) the night of the Christmas party when a drunken Ken decides to sleep in his office. It would just be easier to sleep here than try to make it home safely. He really just wanted to be horizontal.


It’s Harry. A very drunk Harry.

“Can’t this wait? My head’s killing me.”

Harry plops himself down on the floor beside Ken’s face so they’re eye-to-eye.

“What, Harry?”

“Jennifer doesn’t want me to come home. I said some really stupid shit tonight.”

“So go sleep in your office like everyone else is doing.”

“No, I mean, Jennifer and I haven’t even shared a bed in almost a month.”


“Not tonight, Harry. I have a head ache.”

Things get fuzzy after that. He vaguely remembers Harry getting huffy with him, but exhaustion finally triumphs over the both of them.

Ken almost thinks it’s charming when he wakes up to find Harry had fallen asleep while holding his hand.

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It's incredible, really, that this is even happening. He doesn't usually get moments like these. Moments where he feels like he's the luckiest guy in the office.

Joanie leans in for a kiss, and Ken thinks he might just die.

He's surprised she's showing him any interest. He was almost certain she was Roger's girl, or maybe Kinsey's. She never even went for Don , so he's not quote sure why she's here with him.

Joan let's out a tiny squeak, and Ken decides to stop questioning his good fortune and just enjoy himself.

"You're gorgeous," he breathes. "Like royalty from a history novel."

Joan laughs.

"Oh stop it. Don't tell me you're doing this to write one of your stories."

She reaches to undo his belt buckle, and his breath stutters.

"I mean it. Anyone who says otherwise must be blind."

"Well from what I hear, this thing right here," she says, grasping his dick, "isn't exactly discerning."

She gives him a pointed look, and he bites his lip.

"I'm yours to command, my good lady."

Joan laughs again, but Ken means it.

He would do anything to make her smile and laugh like that again.

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With Peggy, it all starts with a pact. A promise to never leave each other behind. So when he leave McCann and asks Joanie to help with a script, he’s sure to say:

“Ask Peggy for me?”

And Joan smiles, and of course she will. The two of them are thick as thieves. Anything to get Peggy away from those disgusting pigs.

Still, Ken is happily surprised when his phone rings and Peggy’s on the other line.

“Peggy! It’s really good to hear from you! How’ve you been?”

“Busy. Don hasn’t come back yet. I think Roger’s getting nervous. Hell, so am I.”

“Well, you know Don. Probably in California banging an Avon lady.”

“Very classy, Kenny.”

“Ah, you know I’m joking, peaches. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“I’m glad Joan passed along my number,” Ken says.

“We should get dinner soon. Just me and you. To catch up properly.”

“I’d like that. We can discuss business over cocktails.”

“Tomorrow?” she asks.


“Alright, well, I’d better be getting back to work. I don’t want Furg to know I’m talking to you.”

“I never forgot our pact, you know. I’ll always be looking out for you.”

“I know.”

“Good-bye, Peggy.”

“Good-bye, Ken.”

Ken hangs up the receiver and pulls out a cigarette. Maybe that would help calm the rapid beating of his heart.