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Jon shivers - the air isn’t cold, no (Elias has seen to that in his usual thoroughness and politeness), but as the thick, expensive leather is peeled away from his chest he finds he misses the tightness, the binding support and lift; and the warmth, of course.

“Hm,” Elias muses, and runs a fingertip between his breasts - Jon can see the sheen on his own skin, the dampness of his chest hair. “You’ve been working hard, haven’t you?”

“Only because you pay so well,” Jon answers with a huff, raising his chin to look anywhere but at Elias’ laviscious gaze. Elias laughs, of course, and further explores Jon’s breasts, cupping them fully (small, perky, Elias is thinking, and Jon’s scowl runs deeper), running a thumb over his nipples.

Jon shivers again.

“Don’t be so grumpy, Jon, it’s a party.” Jon merely grumbles, and Elias smirks, and it’s the usual dance between them - pushing and pulling but they both know the steps, and every time Jon is left boneless and satiated. And so he lets it happen, lets Elias lick and suckle at his nipples, running his fingers through Elias’ hair and grinding at an easy pace on his lap, feeling his cock gradually harden. The suit he’s wearing (suit, he scoffs, inwardly rolling his eyes, what an affront to the very concept - ) is getting wet and sticky between his thighs.

Between his tits, Elias mumbles: “It’s called a bunny suit, Jon -”

“I know what it’s called!”

“And it looks very fetching on you.”

Another grumble.

“And our guests are quite pleased -”

“Quite pleased to stare at my arse -”

“It is a very nice arse, Jon. And anyways. You said you’d wear this, for me, and I want no more complaining. Understand?”


“Lovely.” Jon's grip on Elias’ hair tightens as Elias takes it upon himself to lick a stripe up between his tits, before pecking him quickly on the lips. “Now then. Let’s get you out of this affront to suits.”

It takes a little more work than Jon would’ve thought, to shimmy out of the thing, but the suit is expensive and well-made and incredibly form-fitting - for all his complaints, Jon has to admit he looks... good, at least, even despite the silly ball of fluff sitting on his rump.

Everyone in the sitting room had just adored that, hadn’t they, flicking it, wandering hands from tail to arse to the small of his back as he served their drinks.

Utterly demeaning.

“Humiliating, yes,” Elias affirms, as he motions for Jon to lift his hips to tug the rest of it off. He gives a pat to Jon’s belly before starting on the pantyhose. “But that was very much the point - oh, Jon,” he pauses, running a finger along the crotch of the leggings. “You have been enjoying this.”

Ever so put upon by his boss, Jon heaves out a great sigh and covers his face with his arms.

“I hate you.”

Elias taps his thighs and Jon opens them automatically; Elias seats himself comfortably between them, pulling Jon’s hips closer. Jon can feel him watching - that hot gaze on his chest, heaving with tension and desire, upon the softness of his belly and arms, the little curls between his legs.

“I hate you,” Jon repeats, but pulls down his arms anyways, fixes the little humiliating bowtie Elias has had him wear. “But you may fuck me anyways.”

Such a gentleman, aren’t you Jon? I believe I will, thank you.” Elias hasn’t bothered getting undressed - he's not meant to be gone long from his soiree, though the jeers and winks he and Jon had been granted allow them a little longer than the usual quicky.

Jon hears the zipper, feels the gentle brush of fabric against his thighs, and, finally, long fingers touching his folds - it’s all very tender, and mildly infuriating (he feels like he’s been wet for hours in the suit, and he needs -) but Elias just shushes him. He likes this part, Jon knows; the slow insistence, the build up, Jon wet and desperate and open for him. Before long his mouth parts, just slightly, and he allows himself to be heard, breath quickening, the tiny squeak of a moan as Elias shoves one finger into him, then two more. Elias likes that too.

It’s not as slow as they usually take it, but the clock is ticking, and it’s at Jon’s insistence that they hurry things along - he digs a heel into Elias.

“Haven’t got all night, Elias -”

“Yes, yes, alright,” Elias says, slicking up his cock with Jon's wetness. His hair has fallen into his eyes, and his cheeks are red - Jon feels a pang of affection, and holds onto it, and the sheets, as Elias begins to enter him.

Jon’s back arches as he's filled, legs parting wider to allow Elias more room, and he closes his eyes as his body envelopes Elias’ - it's... there's something fulfilling, he supposes, about this part, when Elias is fully sheathed, when every part of him is warm and coveted and complete. He reaches up, and Elias leans down, resting atop Jon, fully conjoined - they breathe together, and it's a common part of their relationship - a moment of peace and rest for Jon, of quiet worship for Elias.

Down the hallway someone laughs, but it doesn’t break the spell - merely allows them the knowledge of being alone, together.

A few moments pass, and then Jon shifts, hugging Elias tighter before letting go; Elias kisses him once, then again on the cheek, and at Jon's little smile he begins to thrust into him.

Elias is not a selfish lover - as his hips move, not too hard, not yet, just deep and slow, he likes to feel Jon, like to flick at his nipples, or drag languorous fingers through Jon’s folds. He thumbs at his cock for a moment before pressing the heel of his palm into it, and Jon grinds into him at the dulled, heavy sensation.

They press on; Elias’ breath is laboured as Jon shifts lower to centre himself, brings his heels over Elias’ back so he can get Elias to really rock into him, deep as he can get.

“Inside,” he whispers, and is pleased by the shudder Elias grants him. It doesn’t take long: Elias’ hips begin to drive into him with purpose and his breath is hot on Jon’s shoulder, where he doesn’t quite bite him but seems content to simply breathe into him, there; Jon's thighs are slick with sweat and Elias’ cock pounding into him drives him ever deeper into the mattress, and he gasps as Elias takes his cock between his fingers. He jerks him off even while Elias himself stills, pressing deep into Jon; he can feel it, feel the heat filling him, deep and gushing into his - his womb, the very core of him -

Jon finishes right after, hips arching high off the mattress as that electric thrill rides along his spine and nerves, drives his thighs to clench around Elias, to keep him there forever, his, all his - his hand finds Elias’ and he grips him tight until his orgasm subsides, slowly; gently Elias pushes him down, and Jon, pliant, eyes closed, moans. He's hot, all of him, but it’s a nice heat, a comforting one, spilling forth from where they’re connected, to the come inside him, the fuzz in his brain.

Elias pulls out; Jon lifts his hips again, until Elias tucks a pillow under them, and pushes the come dribbling out of Jon back inside. Jon merely closes his eyes in post-orgasmic bliss while Elias sets himself right again; he hears the zipper and rustling clothes, imagines Elias pushing his hair back into place, setting the glasses once more onto the bridge of his nose.


“M’good,” Jon answers, lazily. His hand brushes his lower stomach; Elias’ rests on top of his.

“Still have a few more hours to go, Jon.” Jons groans, but this was part of the deal - he opens his eyes and blinks blearily at him.

“Back in the suit?”

Elias looks entirely too pleased as he answers in the affirmative. Still, Jon takes his own pleasure in being unhelpful as Elias dresses him once more, though a perverse shudder runs through him as the pantyhose is hiked up, and the bunny suit follows soon after. It's tight, and while they don't have a plug it's almost just as good - Jon’s not sure if the sudden gush of heat between his legs is the come still trapped inside, or that he's wet again simply from the thought of it.

“The latter,” Elias assures him, and Jon bites his lip as Elias runs his fingers over the leather, over Jon's cock. “We’ll get you filled up again tonight, I promise. But for now, this will do.”

At these words he leaves Jon with a wink, leaves him to fiddle with the headband and to fluff out his tail, to look presentable; Jon feels fucked out and humiliated, and he's pretty sure that he’ll be distracted all night by his own wetness, but - he looks into the mirror over the dresser, smoothes out the lines on his front, tugs the suit a little lower and pushes out his chest -

It's worth it.