Work Text:
“Melissa!” Mr Davidson exclaims into his corded telephone.
“Could you-”
“Get your wife on the phone? You wanna tell her something?”
“Yes!”
After a long pause, and an annoyed sigh from Melissa, the phone clicks, and Carol’s voice comes through.
“What do you want, Ken? This is the 5th time you’ve called.”
“I know, I know. But I want to tell you something.”
“Yes?”
“Carol, my wife. You’re my muse.. My source of light.”
“Uhh.. thank you?”
“Carol, my love?”
“Yes?”
Ken takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes.
“I want you to choke me out at night.”
Ken’s smile creeps through, he excitedly holds up his hand to Paul, who cautiously high fives him.
“Excuse me?”
“I want you to choke me.”
“What?”
“I want you to choke me.”
“No, I heard you but-”
“I want you to choke me, while I jerk off.”
“Ken, can you-“
“I want you to choke me while I jerk off.” Mr Davidson lets out a contented sigh.
“Ken! No!”
“What..?”
“No I don’t wanna fucking choke you? What the fuck?”
“But-”
“No! Fuck no!” she yells
“Oh.”
“We can talk about this at home.”
“Okay..” they sit in silence. “I love you, Carol.”
The dial tone rings, leaving the room in full silence.
Paul gasps for air as the telephone cord unravels from his neck, and shifts awkwardly in the office chair Mr Davidson placed him in.
“Uh.. Mr Davidson?” he said, breathlessly.
“It’s Ken.” he says through tears. “Call me Ken.”
“Uhh okay.. Ken?”
“Yes?”
Paul stands up and walks over to Mr Davidson.
“I’m sorry, man.” he manages to say, pulling him into a small awkward hug. Ken holds onto Paul, as if for dear life.
The two lean against Mr Davidson’s desk, as if nothing matters anymore.
“What do you want, Paul?”
The question from earlier replays in Paul’s mind. He hadn’t known, and replied saying such. What did he want? What was something that Paul genuinely wanted for himself? For his life? No goals, no dreams? Nothing?
He looks down at Mr Davidson. Tears still stream down his face, though he is quieter. Paul thinks back to the thousands of times he’d been in this office. It was always a little cold, and Paul had convinced himself that’s why it would always make his nipples hard. The air felt different now, like an epiphany embodied.
Paul knew what he wanted. The answer was right under his nose.
He strokes Mr Davidson’s hair. Paul notices how much shorter it was before Mr Davidson started singing, but didn’t say anything. Ken looks up at Paul. He’s weaker, almost. Wounded.
The two men stare at each other in silence for a moment. Paul moves his hand from Mr Davidson’s back, and strokes his face. Green eyes stare into blue, with a mixture of understanding and shared pain. Something in Mr Davidson tells him he has a job to do. He ignores it.
Paul lowers his face, and kisses Ken.
At first he’s met with surprise. Hesitation. But not rejection. After a few seconds, Ken kisses back. Paul feels the moustache stubble rubbing onto his top lip, and realises he couldn’t be happier. This is exactly where he wanted to be.
Maybe he was just being used as a rebound, but that was perfectly okay with him. After a minute or so, they pull away from each other.
Their eyes stay on each other. Paul shifts himself so that he is fully sat on the desk. With an inviting look, Ken hoists himself onto Paul’s lap facing him.
Paul had never exactly questioned his sexuality. His nephew was gay, so he wasn’t exactly homophobic. Accepting that he may also be gay wasn’t hard for him. However, he could feel the hardness of Ken’s cock on his thigh, and knew that thing wasn’t going anywhere near his ass. His cock also hardened at the feeling, with his worry growing increasingly.
Meanwhile, Ken continued to kiss Paul’s face, before moving down to his neck. He leaves bite after bite, then stopped by Paul’s chest. He fiddles with Paul’s top button. Without words, Mr Davidson receives and a nod from Paul, followed by a soft whimper.
Ken takes this as an invitation, and undoes all of the small plastic buttons on Paul’s shirt. 30 seconds later, the fabric falls to the ground. The two continue kissing, fighting over whose tongue is on top of the other’s. Growing impatient, and painful, Paul pulls away, and bring his hands to his belt. Frantically unbuckling, it comes off, as do his pants.
Mr Davidson stands up. He takes in the scene, realising how wrong it is. His job is to kill Paul, and not only that. This is his employee. There is a picture of his wife on his desk. His job is to kill Paul. Kill. Inject him with Pokotho’s goo..
Ken gets an idea. A knowing smirk creeps onto his lips, and he stands closer to Paul. He too takes off his clothes, until the two men stand in front of each other, in nothing but boxers.
The soft polyester of Ken’s boxers outline his hardening cock. Very classy, white Calvin Klein, that faced Paul’s random pair covered in cartoon trains. Mr Davidson almost laughed. Instead, he smiled and brought his hand towards them.
He realised how incredibly hard Paul had gotten, as he stroked his thumb up and down.
“Is this okay?” he spoke softly, with his voice almost a whisper. His office wasn’t exactly soundproof, and he knew Charlotte and Bill could hear. But he didn’t care all that much.
In the absence of a reply, Ken takes his hand away from Paul’s member, extracting a loud moan of pain from Paul.
“N-nghh..” Paul panted. “P-please..”
Mr Davidson pulls Paul back into a kiss.
Their mouths wrestled for another long moment, tongues molding into one as they blur the lines between what’s platonic or romantic. Or sexual. Paul pushes his thumbs into Ken’s boxers, and pulls them down until they slide to his ankles. Almost like a mirror, Mr Davidson does the same.
Paul can’t wait any longer. He pulls away, spitting onto his hand and rubbing his cock frantically up and down. Ken doesn’t stop him, and takes in the scene. He watched Paul, drenched in sweat, panting and thrusting into his own hand. And he couldn’t possibly feel more horny, or smug. He strokes a thumb over Paul’s tip, because moving his hand to his own cock. With a little hesitation, he pushes down the guilt and starts to jerk off.
Paul thinks back to Mr Davidson’s telephone cord wrapped so tightly around his neck. The struggle to breathe, while listening to Ken talk about jerking off. More than he’d like to admit, he was fucking horny. He watches Ken so desperately touching himself, thrusting into his hand. The pressure becomes to much, and Paul does the same.
He’d been hard for longer than he’d ever say out loud, enough to only last 30 seconds. Paul lets out a pathetically loud whimper, causing Mr Davidson to place a hand over his mouth as he let out another one. Ken laughs softly, still jerking off, as he strokes Paul’s face. He manoeuvres himself closer, and brings his mouth to Paul’s ear. “Choke me..” he whispers, for suspense, and not for secrecy.
“Please..”
Paul nervously brings his hands to Ken’s neck, shifting them awkwardly until he was comfortable. He squeezes tightly, winning an aroused whine from Ken. He feels his breathing get faster and faster until he was panting. “D-don’t stop..” Ken struggled, jerking faster.
“Paul..”
“Yeah?”
“Give me head.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Try.. for me..”
Paul obeys the dumbest shit he’s ever heard, licking his lips. He sizes up Ken’s throbbing dick, the thing looked at LEAST 6 inches. It wasn’t too wide so it could probably fit in his mouth. With more hesitation than Mr Davidson wanted him to have, he falls to his knees and begins sucking and licking Ken’s dick.
Obviously, he has never done this before, but isn’t terrible. Paul continues to suck, and trace his tongue around the tip until he brought Mr Davidson close. “Oh shit!” Ken pants, stroking Paul’s hair. “FUCK.. I’M GONNA COME!” Paul, with a mouth too full, doesn’t reply, and instead speeds up. Following an abundance of moans and whines from Mr Davidson, he shoots a load into Paul’s mouth.
A blue load.
Not knowing what to do at this stage, Paul swallows it. He takes his mouth off of Ken’s dick, readying it to kiss his sweaty face, when he suddenly notices a sharp pain in his abdomen. He falls back to his knees, gasping for air and clutching his stomach. It felt as though it would fall off. His arm followed, the same excruciating pain seeping from it. Until every single part of his body did the same. Paul wailed out in pain, screaming “HELP!” until his throat was red and raw. Screaming was no help, it only made the agonising sensation to grow worse and worse. He couldn’t take it anymore, he rolled around on the ground, grabbing Mr Davidson’s ankle. “Help me..” he breathed pathetically.
“Please..”
“Nice of you to join us, Paul.” he says coldly.
Paul notices that this doesn’t look like Mr Davidson himself, but as if someone else was talking through him. He noticed how Mr Davidson’s usual dark blue eyes seemed brighter. Almost the same terrifying azure as Paul’s own eyes. As if they were.. glowing? Paul didn’t have time to stare into Ken’s eyes (again), and he had to act fast or else he was going to die. He pushes the ground, in a pathetic attempt to stand. Nothing is working. The pain grows worse, burning every single inch of him.
Then, nothing.
Numbness. A release. He feels cool air, but cannot see anything but pure white, which would normally burn his bright blue eyes. As his eyes adjust to the light, he notices a woman standing in front of him. She, if he squinted, looked slightly like his coworker Melissa. Long white hair cascaded down her shoulders, and she stood at least 7 feet tall, so Paul could barely see her face from the ground. White, detailed, web-themed designs covered her elegant gown. The woman reached out a hand, which Paul took and stood up.
“Who are you?” he whispered, before realising he didn’t have to.
“Hello, Paul. I am Webby. I come from the Black And White.”
“Where are we?”
“We are in your mind. He can’t hurt you here. Not yet.”
“Who?”
“Pokotho,” Webby says with a grimace. “he is quite cruel.”
Paul stares up at Webby, dumbfounded. Is this real? he thought, the question playing loudly around them as if connected to a speaker. Webby almost laughs.
“Yes Paul, this is real. You must have a lot a of questions.”
“Am I dead? Are you God?”
“Yes, and kind of.”
“Is this heaven?”
“This is your brain, Paul.”
“Right. Okay. Uhh.. why am I here.”
“You deserve it. I am here for you to have hope. You ran out of it.”
“Is this the afterlife.”
“Yes, but not yours. Pokotho will take control of you soon, and you will lose all of your free will.
“Are you going to save me?”
“Not in this timeline, Paul. I am merely here as the essence of hope, not as a saviour. That isn’t what is meant to happen.”
“Oh.”
The two stand in silence. Paul stand awkwardly, and Webby impatiently, as if something is about to happen. After around a minute, Webby whispers, “Goodbye Paul.”
And just like that, the world around his is plunged into darkness, thick blue slime coating the once pure white of his mind. Cackles roar, glass that didn’t exist shatters. The pain Paul felt is back, worse. The air is cold. Everything stops. It is numb again. Is this the end? A singular voice speaks into Paul’s brain, the same way his thoughts used to:
“Hello, Paul.”