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Rhys had seen people stumble out of Jack’s office, clutching their hand and yowling. He’d seen Jack do it, take the stapler and flip it open casually, slamming it down on the nearest part of the unfortunate target’s arm and grinning at the howls of pain as the staple entered their skin. The worst was when Jack had held a guys hand in between the jaws of the stapler and laughed as the staple closed itself fully around the skin.
“Hey, Rhysie.” Jack leans across the small desk that Rhys occupies, intruding fully into Rhys’ personal space. “Gimme your arm.”
Rhys doesn’t pause in his typing, tapping out letters resolutely with one hand as he sticks his metal arm out for Jack to inspect.
“No, no, no, the other one, cupcake.” Jack reaches through Rhys’ holoscreen, making it flicker and grabs Rhys’ wrist in a vice grip.
Rhys’ eyes go wide as he catches sight of what Jack is brandishing. “Ja- Sir, I-” He protests, metal arm curling into an anxious fist as Jack lets the white plastic staple gun rest against the flesh on the back of Rhys’ forearm, just above where he’s pinning Rhys’ wrist to the desk.
“Shut up.” Jack admonishes him, and then noticing the way Rhys’ face is pale, rolls his eyes. “It’s surgical staples, you idiot. Haven’t you ever been in a damn hospital?”
“Well, uh-” Rhys stammers. He had been in one, for his mechanical transplants, but they had just stitched him up. His attempted words are cut off as Jack pulls the trigger with a wicked smirk.
“Oh fuck!” Rhys hollers and tries to yank his wrist out of Jack’s grip, slamming his fist on the wooden desk and making his pens rattle. It had felt just like being pricked by two small tacks, but the action had caught him off guard.
Jack is watching him intently, ready to put another staple in Rhys above the previous one. Rhys breathes deeply and flushes red, giving a small nod.
“Good.” Jack praises him, and pulls the trigger again. This time Rhys doesn’t holler, just hisses out through his teeth and forces his whine to stick in the back of his throat, unheard.
It takes just a few seconds before the first staple starts to tingle, and the flesh reddens around it. Rhys gasps as Jack brushes a light thumb over the extruding staple and it sends shocks of pleasure through him. He can feel the staple moving under his skin, pressing against his muscle when he tenses.
“Jack-” Rhys grits out, and Jack presses down hard on the staple, making Rhys groan and drag his knees out from under the desk up to his chest. “Oh, fuck, Jack-”
Jack laughs, putting the stapler to Rhys’ skin again. “See, not so bad after all, sweetheart.”
Rhys’ eyes are blown wide, and his face flushed as he put his feet back on the ground and squirms in his chair. “More?” He asks softly, and Jack tsks.
“What was that?” Jack nudges both the staples and Rhys whimpers, his voice cracking.
“More, please. Sir.” He tacks on hastily, and earns a look of approval from Jack, who puts four more staples in Rhys’ arm in quick succession.
Rhys tosses his head back and lets the bottled up whine escape as Jack forcefully drags his palm across the neat row of staples, making the skin around them more red.
Rhys is shaking in his seat as Jack decorates him with another two staples, ending just above the crook of Rhys’ elbow and letting the gun sit against the dangerously sensitive flesh of the inside of Rhys’ elbow.
Jack makes a noncommittal noises, pushing the gun against Rhys’ arm, but not pulling the trigger, watching the way Rhys stares with rapt attention and need at Jack. “You want it, cupcake?” Jack asks, and Rhys slurs out the words with desperation.
“Jack, Jack, yes, Jack-”
Jack tightens his grip on Rhys’ wrist and pulls the trigger. Rhys cries out, kicking the desk and howling Jack’s name as Jack pulls up on the staple, tugging the flesh and then letting go of Rhys entirely.
“Company meeting, 10 minutes.” Jack tells Rhys, who’s panting. “Bring me a soda.” He pivots and leaves Rhys with a dazed grin.
Rhys fantasizes the whole way down the hall about Jack toying with the staples during the meeting, and isn’t disappointed.