Work Text:
“Qué fome este! How much longer do I have to keep doing this?”
Gus looks up from his book, a lukewarm mug of coffee pressed to his lips.
“Have you finished yet?”
Max, the lone student left in one of the empty classrooms on campus, fixes him with a furrowed brow and a pout from his place at his desk. His tense fingers are practically glued to the pen he’s been forced to hold for the past… How long has it been? Judging by the amount of pages Max has turned in, Gus suspects at least two hours.
“I don’t know,” Max says. “You’re the one keeping count.”
“Am I?”
“Wh— You’re not keeping track?” Max straightens up in his seat, the crease in his brow more pronounced.
“Why do you suppose that I would? This is the problem,” Gus sighs, putting down his mug and grabbing a bookmark to save his place. “You are not taking this seriously. This is your punishment, Maximino; I see no reason to make things simpler for you.”
“You call this simple?”
“You are merely writing lines,” Gus says. “A rather small price to pay to make up for the money of mine you have been wasting with your lack of discipline, wouldn’t you agree?”
Max bites his lip. He has the courtesy to look guilty for a few seconds.
“I’m not trying to waste it, I—”
“You know as well as I how difficult these acceptances are to come across these days,” Gus says. Pinochet’s rise to power has taken its toll on their higher education system; it had taken a lot of string-pulling to get Max, a kid from the slums, into such a prestigious program.
And a lot of money.
“I know…” Max fiddles with his pen, frowning down at his half-written page. On it, he’s scrawled the same phrase that’s covering both sides of all the pages he’s already stacked on Gus’s desk:
I will not take Mr. Fring’s generosity in vain.
“So why,” Gus asks, “do you continue to disrespect my efforts? To complain about what is, in all honesty, a woefully inadequate punishment? Maximino, you are better than that.”
“I just—! I— My wrist really hurts,” Max says, putting his pen down to massage the joint. “Can I take a break? Just for a few minutes?”
“Can you?”
Max sighs. “May I?”
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
He did. It wasn’t exactly subtle. Despite it, Max looks like he’s stunned to have been caught, as if Gus is supposed to be some sort of unobservant idiot.
“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Fring, I didn’t mean—”
“You did not mean to? Do you have such little control over your own body?” Max opens his mouth to answer, but Gus cuts him off by standing and holding up a hand. He buttons his suit jacket and walks around the desk in long, slow strides. “I can see this punishment is not having the intended effect. We will try a new approach. Stand.”
Max blinks in confusion, but rises to his feet after a moment. He keeps his eyes locked on Gus as he slides a ruler out of the pen cup on his desk and crosses the room.
“Put your hands flat on your desk,” Gus says, stopping next to Max. “Do not move them. If you lift your hands before I instruct you to do so, I will extend your punishment.”
“Wh-what are you doing, Gustavo…?” Max asks, but he does as he’s told, hands braced on either side of his papers.
“You will address me as Sir,” Gus says. “Is that clear?”
He watches Max’s Adam’s apple bob up and down with the gulp he takes. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good. We are going to have a pop quiz,” Gus explains, walking in a slow circle around Max. Though Max is a few inches taller than him, it’s abundantly clear who holds all the power in the room, physical stature be damned. “You are going to prove to me that you have been paying adequate attention to your studies.”
“I have—”
“Then I suppose you can tell me which product is formed in the isomerization of mannose 6-phosphate.”
Max’s brow furrows again. “Easy. Fructose 6-phosphate.”
“Correct.” Gus taps the ruler into his opposite hand. “And what is phosphatidylserine derived from?”
Max looks away, staring upward as if scanning the ceiling for an answer. “Phosphatidyl… ethanolamine.”
While Gus is not the chemist-in-training here, he does have a phenomenal mind for both research and memorization. He’d studied quite hard for this little encounter of theirs, and he intends to make use of that knowledge.
So he knows Max is right again despite not entirely understanding the intricacies of what he’s asking. He nods and says, “Correct. Tell me the simplest hydrophilic moiety present in membrane lipids.”
“Hydroxyl group. Look, can we—”
“Oxidation of three molecules of glucose by pentose phosphate pathway results in the production of…?”
“Three molecules of pentose, seven of NADPH, and… three…? Of CO 2 .”
Gus brings the ruler down on his knuckles with a loud thwack.
“Incorrect. NADPH is six.”
Max yelps. His hands twitch like he wants to lift them, but he doesn’t.
“I was close!”
“Close will not get you your degree,” Gus says. “You must be impeccable. Do you understand?”
“I— I am, I mean— I will be!” Max insists. “I can get this right, G— Sir. I’m not gonna let you down.”
“Then don’t.” Gus taps the ruler into his hand again. “Now, tell me the group and period numbers of the element ununpentium…”
And so it goes. Gus recites things he himself doesn’t understand, and Max, dear bright Max, gives answers that either fall in line with the quick facts Gus has memorized, or they don’t, and he gets struck again. By the time they pass the twenty question mark, Max’s knuckles are crisscrossed with small pink welts, and he’s trembling just a bit.
“Sir, my hands really hurt,” he says between questions. “My wrist—”
“Are you incapable of withstanding a simple punishment?” Gus asks. “Or is your desire to disrespect me just that strong?”
“I just— I’m not gonna be able to use my hands soon if—”
“Then perhaps we should try a different approach.”
As he steps up behind Max, uncomfortably close, Max looks back at him. He very nearly raises his hands off the desk when Gus’s fingers find his belt.
“I will remind you,” Gus tells him, leaning up to speak into his ear, “not to lift your hands.”
“Sir—”
Gus manages to undo Max’s belt while still holding onto the ruler. Then it’s simple work to take care of his button and zipper, and in no time, Gus is tugging those pants down full, shapely thighs. They bunch around Max’s ankles, leaving him clad in a pair of tight black briefs.
“Bend forward a bit,” Gus whispers into a shuddering Max’s ear.
Max does. Gus puts a hand on his lower back, just underneath his shirt. Max’s skin is flushed hot, sweat gathering in the divots of his spine.
“Legs apart. More… More. There you go…”
Palms flat on the desk, legs spread, back arched, Max is a sight to behold. Gus’s composure nearly falters, but he keeps control of himself by tightening his grip on the ruler until the edges dig into his skin.
“Sir…” Max breathes, his forehead damn near touching the desk. Gus can tell his headspace must be getting rather fuzzy.
“Perhaps I should consider the quiz concluded,” Gus says. “But you still need to be disciplined for your continued disrespect…”
“I’m tr— I’m trying,” Max says, damn near whines.
“I know you are,” Gus says, sliding a hand down to squeeze Max’s ass. He can’t help himself. He’s still playing a role, but he can’t keep himself from touching, from openly devouring Max with his eyes. “However, I am afraid you will need to try harder to convince me you are not squandering my generosity.”
“What can I do?” Max asks. He sounds so young, so desperate. “What can I do to make it up to you, Sir?”
With his other hand, Gus trails the corner edge of the ruler over Max’s fuzzy thigh. It scrapes a light pink line in its wake that makes Max shudder. The tip of it dips beneath Max’s briefs when it gets up high enough, taunting, toying with what little cover Max has over what Gus knows is an achingly-hard cock.
“You can take it,” Gus says, and he shows what he means by “it” by swiftly bringing the ruler down on Max’s asscheek.
Max jumps far more violently than he should have for the amount of force Gus put into the swing. Oh, his darling Maximino, coming apart at the seams.
“Yes, Sir!” he yelps. “Ohh— Yes, Sir. I can take it, Sir.”
Gus hooks a thumb under Max’s briefs and tugs the fabric up into the crack of his ass. He does the same with the other side, exposing both cheeks.
He bites his lip before the word “beautiful” can dance its way off his tongue.
“We will do thirty. Count them out for me, Maximino.”
“Thirty—?!”
“If you do not agree,” Gus says, “we could continue with our quiz.”
He knows Max’s answer before it comes out of his mouth.
“No,” he says. “No. I’ll do it. S-sorry, Sir.”
“Very well.” Gus sets a hand firmly on the base of Max’s spine. He trails the flat of the ruler over Max’s ass, just enjoying the way he twitches and shakes.
And then, without warning, he strikes.
“One!” Max shouts; they have the building to themselves, Gus made sure of it, but it’s still exciting that he’s being so loud in what is usually a rather public space.
“‘One, Sir,’” Gus corrects. “Say it properly. We’ll start over.”
“Wh—”
Thwack.
“Ah! One, Sir!”
“Like that. Well done. Continue.”
Thwack.
“Two, Sir!”
“Good.”
Thwack.
“Three, Sir!”
Thwack.
“Four, Sir—!”
Gus keeps going.
He keeps going through Max’s yelps and squeals, keeps going through his counting and twitching. Several times, Max whines so long and so pitifully that Gus takes pity and gives him a few extra seconds to catch his breath. By twenty, his head is pressed into the desk, dampening the papers with his sweat, and he’s gripping the opposite edge of the desk like a lifeline.
“You’re doing so well,” Gus whispers as he pets Max’s sweaty back, shirt hiked up to about his mid-spine. “You are taking it so well for me, Maximino. Ten more. You can do it.”
Max sniffles and nods. “Yes, Sir. P-please keep g-going.”
Gus takes a deep, slow breath to steady himself. He stares at the crisscrossed welts over Max’s ass, runs the pad of his thumb over a particularly puffy one. Max squeals and jerks, and Gus longs to abandon his pretenses and—
No. No, he can’t. That’s not why they’re doing this. Another breath, and he starts up again, finishing the last ten blows at a steady pace.
“—Th-thirty, S-Sir,” Max huffs, rocking back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels and back again. “Ay dios. Ya po. Ya po.”
“Impatient,” Gus says, though he’s just as breathless. “What are you begging for?”
“You,” Max says on a whimper. “I want you. God, I want you so bad, Sir—”
“Gustavo,” Gus whispers, flattening himself over Max’s back so he can say it directly into his ear. “Call me Gustavo.”
“Gustavo!” Max exclaims. He’s whiny, voice thick with unshed tears, and he keeps bouncing where he stands, ass so enticing in the way that it moves. “Gustavo, ya po, I need it! I d-don’t wanna wait anymore, I need you—”
Gus shushes him, ruler discarded, hands running up and down Max’s sides beneath his shirt. Sweat gathers on his palms, slick and potent with the scent of Max’s natural odor.
“Okay,” he whispers, persona as forgotten as the ruler. “Okay. Wait here.”
He manages to extract himself from Max, quickly striding back over to the desk to yank a bottle of lubricant out of the desk drawer — put there specifically for tonight, of course.
When he gets back, Max has his cheek pressed to the desk, papers all askew, and he’s panting, looking entirely out of it. It’s so rare that he gets Max like this, submissive and breathlessly obedient. Every time, it’s a sight to behold.
He pets his hair on the way back around the desk. Max practically purrs.
“I can see how hard you’ve worked,” Gus says as he peels Max’s briefs down to his mid-thigh. “How far you’ve gotten. You just wanted my attention, did you not? Skipping classes, turning papers in late. There are ways to ask me to do this that do not involve sabotaging your future prospects, amor.”
“I’m sorry,” Max sighs in total bliss. “I’m sorry. I’ll do anything to make it up to you…”
“You don’t have to,” Gus says. He wets his fingers and strokes them over Max’s twitching hole. “You are still young; it is expected that you would act out instead of using your words. But you have done so well for me tonight…”
He sinks a finger inside, and Max gasps. It’s an easy fit; he knows Max’s body well, how to touch without hurting him. And Max knows by now exactly how much to tense and relax his muscles, exactly how to anticipate and react to Gus’s next move before it even happens.
Max holds the sides of the desk tightly, rocking back against Gus’s hand. “Gustavo, mi amor, please don’t take it slow. It hurts. I want it to hurt.”
Gus presses his lips to the back of Max’s neck and breathes in his scent. “Are you sure?”
“Si po! Be rough. You— you already have been. More, I— Please, Gustavo—”
Gus bites the skin in front of his face and shoves another finger inside. Max cries out, bucking backward, and Gus starts up a fast, frantic pace, knocking hard into Max’s prostate with every thrust of his arm.
It’s good like this. Tangled up with Max, getting him off with his fingers and teeth and tongue, feeling every tremble and twitch. Occasionally, he switches his pace, slow drags of his fingers over Max’s prostate drawing helpless, desperate moans from his throat.
A third finger finds its way inside in due time. A fourth after that, because he loves to hear his Maximino’s breath stutter before he sobs in bliss.
“I need your cock,” he begs, desk puddled with a few of his tears. “I need it inside me. Gustavo—! Mi amor, mi amor, please—”
“ Si, si, si po, si po,” Gus murmurs into Max’s neck, where pink imprints of his teeth now mar the skin. “I’ve got you. My Maximino…”
He fumbles with his own belt and pants until he can tug his cock out. Sliding his wet fingers out of Max, he pours more lubricant into his palm and warms it before slicking up his length.
They’re both panting already. It’s too intense, this little encounter of theirs. As Gus rubs his cockhead against Max’s sensitive hole, they both fly high on endorphins and hormones, unable to comprehend the world outside of each other.
And Max, dear Max, he wants it rough, so that’s exactly what Gus will give him. He fits the first inch inside, then grabs Max’s hips and tugs him back as far as he’ll go. An accompanying thrust sheathes the entire thing inside, which makes Max positively howl.
“Ay dios mio si po, si si si, si Gus please—”
Gus presses his chest to Max’s back and holds onto the desk for leverage. Then it’s all power, it’s all force as he rams his cock in and out.
Max’s helpless, stuttering moans could make Gus come on the spot. But he holds out, because this is about Max, it’s always been about Max.
“Te amo,” Gus breathes into Max’s ear as their bodies collide. He can’t help himself. “Te amo po.”
“Yo t-también,” Max stutters. “Yo también te amo, mi amor—!”
They can’t speak after that. It’s all groans, yelps, frantic and desperate panting. Gus forcefully turns Max’s head to the side so their lips can find each other, sloppy and wet, tongues tangling obscenely.
He makes sure Max comes first. Jerking him off with his wet hand, feeling the width of that thick, intoxicating cock. It twitches in his palm, and Gus keeps up with his quick, hard thrusts all the way through Max’s loud orgasm.
Max sobs openly. It’s a sound Gus thinks he’s a bit unhinged for liking so much.
“Ple-e-ease, Gustavo,” he cries. “Inside me. Inside me…!”
Gus buries himself to the hilt, clinging to Max, face in his neck as he fills him up. His thrusts slow, then stop, but he keeps his cock inside as it softens so that he can stay close to his lovely, wonderful, astounding partner.
They remain like that for a moment, until Gus feels Max’s weight sagging. He carefully guides them both down to the floor, gathering Max in his arms.
Once they’ve both more or less caught their breath, Max starts to laugh. Gus, smile spreading across his face, joins him.
“That was so much fun,” Max says, grinning up at Gus. “Thanks for that. Seriously.”
“How could I have refused?” Gus asks. “Your mind comes up with the most wonderful ideas, mi amor.”
In truth, Max had been fastidious about his studies when he was in university. He wouldn’t have dreamed of wasting Gus’s generosity; he graduated with flying colors, the best chemist Gus knows.
They’re going to use that skill one day to give themselves the lives they’ve always deserved. He knows it. The pair of them together, like this, every single day, but with millions to spend and nothing to fear.
But that’s beside the point.
“You’ll have to tell me some of your fantasies sometime soon,” Max says, toying with Gus’s tie. “I want to return the favor.”
“I will think about it,” Gus says, “but in truth, all I need is you. However you’d like. Whenever you’d like.”
“What I like,” Max says, sitting up a little straighter, “is when you smile. I’ll do anything to see that. Always.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Gus says, and sure enough, he’s still smiling. “You’ve done enough just by being with me.”
Max leans in and kisses him. It’s brief and chaste, and Gus can’t get enough.
“And I’ll be with you,” Max says. “Forever.”