Work Text:
The walls of Roose Bolton’s expansive office were made of some kind of porous volcanic stone. Each expertly crafted grey square had been polished to a rich finish that made the space seem as cold and empty as its owner’s stare. It didn’t help the room was pointlessly large and lacked enough décor to keep Theon’s footsteps from echoing on the black marble floor.
It’s like being in a courthouse or a museum or some shit. Guess the old man wanted to stick with the “this used to be my family’s castle” feel even after modernizing the place.
Theon stopped a few feet behind the twin leather chairs set in front of Mr. Bolton’s desk—which looked as if it had been sliced from a cross section of a redwood. Its edges and knots beneath the clear lacquer were oddly organic in the otherwise geometric room, and the rich ruddy tones of the wood made a stark contrast with its cool monochrome surroundings. The thing was obviously meant to be an impressive focal point. And it was. Drawing the eye easily with juxtaposition alone.
It was a good distraction from why Theon had been summoned to his boss’s office.
Roose didn’t immediately look up from his laptop. Reading glasses perched on his nose, his dark hair too long for business, he kept reading and typing intermittently as if he hadn’t heard Theon approach.
The lack of acknowledgement drew on too long. Too awkward.
Theon cleared his throat.
“Have a seat, Mr. Greyjoy.” Roose didn’t look up from his work when he spoke. A quiet command—not a demand, not a suggestion.
“Thank you, Mr. Bolton,” Theon said as he eased into one of the square chairs and it squeaked in protest. Immediately he realized the cushion on the low, narrow backrest was for looks only. The hard panel pressed unpleasantly into the lower edge of his shoulder blades. He forced himself not to squirm like a child.
Another uncomfortable silence punctuated by the occasional tapping of keys lengthened between them. Theon looked at his fingers drumming on his knee, the paper cut on his knuckle, the back of the single picture frame on Mr. Bolton’s desk, the way the man’s straight black hair fell just so over one shoulder, the angle of his pale jaw, the slow curve of the corner of his thin lips.
“Wool gathering, Mr. Greyjoy?”
Theon’s head snapped to attention, heat rushing up his neck. His shirt collar suddenly felt too tight even though he wasn’t wearing a tie and the top button was undone.
“I was being patient, sir,” Theon said with a small smile. A much better approach than the one that got him into this mess—he’d acted too familiar with Mr. Bolton at a party to celebrate the company’s anniversary. Seventy years of Dreadfort Resort. Fifty in a friendly rivalry with the nearby Winterfell Lodge run by the Starks.
Robb had invited Theon to tag along, telling him it was a great networking opportunity since he was just an intern. A paid intern, but …an intern. Nonessential. Easily replaced. There to learn and be observed.
Judged.
Deemed worthy or unworthy.
Theon had known what sort of gathering it was and he’d drunk too much anyway. It hadn’t been his fault the punch had been so potent. But it had been his fault he’d thought he could sling his arm around his boss’s shoulder as if they were old friends just because he’d known him since he was a teenager.
Peripherally.
Known of him would be more apt.
Seen him at various Stark led events at Winterfell Lodge.
Spoken about ten words to the man before Robb had put in a good word for him and got him his internship.
Yet fuzzy headed, he’d ignored Robb’s wide eyes as Theon inserted himself in a conversation between him and Mr. Bolton that sounded boring.
“—have to show them you mean business,” Roose said with a meaningful cant of his head to Robb. Ice grey eyes full of meaning.
“I’ve told them so many times that’s not how we do things at Winterfell. We’re customer forward, even if the customer’s unpleasant.” Robb winced, smiled weakly. “I think it’s my age. If I weren’t their same age or younger, they’d respect me more as a manager.”
“Your age has little to do with your approach. You have to have confidence in every interaction. Be unafraid to dole out disciplinary measures if they’re damaging your brand, your family name,” Roose continued. “Telling only works on those who want to listen.”
“Don’t worry. You’ve got more options anyway, Robb.” Theon could hear his words starting to drawl at the ends but couldn’t stop it from happening. He draped himself on Roose and let fly a zinger that was meant to be laced with humorous camaraderie. “Can’t do anything but show it if no one can hear your soft little voice. Right, Mr. Bolton?” He gripped Roose’s shoulder and smirked at him, their faces so close it made him blush and snicker into his wine glass for another sip.
Roose’s pale eyes had locked uncomfortably onto his. The shift of his lips might have been considered the beginnings of a smile. And for some alcohol induced reason, Theon had decided that meant he’d amused his difficult-to-read employer.
If only he’d listened to Robb’s surprise at how Theon had acted so casual with Mr. Bolton, and in a public place among the man’s business associates and peers.
If only Theon hadn’t doubled down after getting talked into another glass of punch by the hulking, smirking waiter with the most distracting set of dick sucking lips he’d ever seen.
“So… Mr. Roose,” Theon had slurred with a chuckle, bumping him with his arm and a dramatic tilt of his head that set his dark floppy hair into his eyes. He flicked his head back to clear his vision. Felt like he looked hot as fuck doing it, too. Real cover model material.
Maybe I could be the next poster boy for the brochures. In front of the camera instead of behind it. Hell, how many damned pictures of an old castle and a waterfall did one man need? They’d be much better with a human element. Handsome, young, drawing the eye. Yeah…
Roose only arched a brow.
“D’you actually like these schmoozy things? Parties?” Theon asked, crooking his arm over Roose’s shoulder like he used to do to Robb.
Roose’s other brow rose to join its twin. He still said nothing, but continued to give Theon his undivided attention.
Theon finished off his cup and placed the empty on the tray of a passing waiter. He rested his chin on his shoulder to better keep his boss in his own wavering line of sight.
“I used to only go to parties to pick up girls. Guys. Whoever.” He smirked, laughing lightly at the thought of Roose Bolton trying to pick up anyone. Of course, he must have. Theon knew he had a son or two somewhere along the way. And he was on his third or fourth wife. “You don’t seem like that kinda man. Too professional. Too straight-laced. Too…”
“Mr. Bolton, when you have a moment,” a man with a tablet clutched to his chest had approached when Theon hadn’t been looking. “Mrs. Dustin wanted me to—”
“Can t’you see he’s busy?” Theon said with faux incredulity. But he was too far into his cups to be able to hide his amusement at his own antics when the man’s face fell into stern confusion.
The other man regarded Theon, then Roose again. “Is this your new PA?”
“One of Robb Stark’s little friends,” Roose replied. His dry tone cutting through Theon’s intoxication. “Theon Greyjoy is from the Iron Islands originally. He’s had a difficult time here in the North, which is why I did him the favor of giving him an internship at young Robb’s request. You’ll have to forgive his lack of manners, Beron. Please, continue.”
Theon had muttered an apology as he slipped away, wandered off dazed and embarrassed and half pissed off. He’d spent the rest of the night hovering around Robb, nursing his buzz, until he bumped into the flush faced waiter at the urinals. Well, more accurately the waiter bumped into him with his meaty arm jostling Theon much in the same way Theon had done to Roose.
“Nice cock,” the guy said with a smirk and licked his thick lips, crystalline eyes flicking to Theon’s flaccid dick in his hand.
At least someone at the damned party was easy to understand.
“Nice mouth.” Theon smirked back.
A galloping heartbeat later, Theon grabbed the bruiser’s wrist and tugged him easily into a spacious stall. He filled his hands with silky black strands of hair, ruining the man’s simple bun as soon as the waiter sank into a crouch and sucked him to hardness. There was no care for whatever traces of piss were left. Nor alcohol sweat. Just a fat tongue and plush lips and the greediest grunts Theon had ever felt undulating against the head of his cock. The man had no gag reflex and fucked Theon with his uncanny gaze as much as his throat—eyes unfocused and unblinking while he gripped Theon’s ass in both hands and dipped two thick fingers around to prod and tease…
Now, another set of even paler grey eyes leveled him with sudden echoing silence, brought him out of his head with the horrible sinking realization that Roose Bolton had been speaking to him.
Had been.
Theon cleared his throat. Blinked. Licked his lips. Shifted in his uncomfortable seat.
“You’ve put me in an unpleasant position, Theon.” Roose closed his laptop, then folded his reading glasses and placed them atop it with a gentle click. “You’re only here as a favor to the Starks. But I will not tolerate drunken foolishness at official Dreadfort functions—or any adjacent events where you might be seen as representing us.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bolton.” Theon couldn’t meet his penetrating stare. It was far worse than the scowl his own father wore. Or the questioning disappointment Ned Stark wore like a badge of honor for having taken Theon in. Another favor for another family. Always someone else’s problem. “Robb’s a good friend… he doesn’t have anything to do with my actions. I—”
“Robb Stark had nothing to do with your being hired.”
“He put in a good word…?” Theon’s face scrunched up.
“His mother wanted you occupied to keep you from further negatively influencing her children.”
Simple as that. Dry as a bone and cold as the ice of his eyes.
Theon’s jaw went slack, mouth hanging open as a tide of emotions rose within him. Indignance at the fore, but that swell was swallowed easily by a crest of loneliness licking at the skeletal underbelly of his precariously eroded self-esteem.
“I see those words hit home,” Roose said.
“I said I was sorry,” Theon blurted out, ire crashing over propriety and caution.
“And I’ll ask you again, now that you’re paying attention: do you want to continue working here?”
“I do!” Theon sat up straighter. Grimaced at the horrible chair. Hated that he’d revealed his hand so readily even if Roose Bolton likely knew he had no other prospects. “I do. …I always do whatever you task me with.”
He frowned, thinking of the last assignment he’d delivered on: not pictures of the resort or its environs, not making sure Mr. Bolton had his sugary coffee drinks, not playing liaison with Robb, and not manning the damn reception desk while Kyra was on holiday somewhere warm. No, this last one had felt more like corporate espionage. He’d felt so damn sneaky and cool. Like a fucking spy. Acting casual while he pretended to take selfies around Robb and his new girlfriend, not letting on that they were the subject. It was easy enough using his phone instead of his camera.
Theon still didn’t know why Roose wanted pictures of Robb and some girl. She wasn’t anybody special, really. Just some pretty girl he’d met online after his prior relationship had gone sour.
“I’m afraid I don’t trust your word right now, Theon.”
“What? Why? Because of the party? Look. I’m sorry, seriously. I shouldn’t have acted like… like we knew each other as more than… this. It won’t happen again.”
“Actions speak louder than words.”
Jaw working as he fought back his irritation, Theon gripped the arms of the chair and leaned forward. “I need this job, Mr. Bolton. I want to be here. I’ll clean your toilets if you want me to. Scrub grout with a toothbrush. Go ahead. Haze me however you want to make me prove it to you.”
“However I want?” The softest huff of amusement leaked from Roose’s nostrils. “Every man has limits,” he said, leaning back in his plush leather desk chair. “I’d only begun to test yours.”
“And I passed with flying colors.”
“Yes.” Roose’s slim chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “Until you tested mine.”
“You want more pictures? I’ll get you pictures. Whatever you want. Whoever you want.” Theon arched a brow, hearing his opportunity to bargain spill out of his own mouth. He’d turn this around in his own favor yet. And he’d do it on his own, dammit, for himself. Not relying on Robb or his sister for a change. “If you keep me on and give me a real job. With job security. I’m worth a lot more than checking people in and taking photographs.”
“I do have an opening for a personal assistant. If you’re interested.”
Theon straightened up again, unsure why that was so easy. “How’s it different from what I’m doing now?”
“I’d need to keep you much closer day to day. You’d handle my schedule, take care of more errands, keep meeting notes, protect company secrets, liaise with important guests when they arrive, walk my dogs, and handle other personal matters at my discretion.”
“Company secrets?” Theon chuckled at that, his mind stuck on what the hell it could mean. “It’s a mountain resort, not a …I don’t know. A baking company with a secret cookie recipe.”
Roose stared at him again, no humor on his stoic face. He stood, offered a vague wan smile, and gestured back across the room to the heavy wooden door. “I can see you’re not ready to take this seriously, Mr. Greyjoy. Come see me again in a month and we’ll revisit this conversation. …If the position hasn’t been filled.”
Theon winced, held up his hand for Roose to wait. “I know I have a big mouth, but I can be discreet when necessary.”
“Perhaps a trial run?”
“Yes. Please.” Theon smiled again when Mr. Bolton sat back down with easy grace, relieved he hadn’t ruined his career before it had even begun. It wasn’t like Ned was going to give him another job after he’d been caught one too many times using unoccupied rooms at Winterfell Lodge for admittedly inappropriate reasons. That had been made perfectly clear. But he’d grown, dammit. He’d matured when it came to business. …So long as the line between business and leisure was clear. He could learn, too, if given a chance. “Thank you, Mr. Bolton. I know this is a serious opportunity. You won’t regret it, I swear.”
“Your words still don’t carry much weight at present.” Roose’s cold eyes ticked over Theon’s face, watching every flicker of muscle as he tried to school his expression. “I’m afraid I’ll need a demonstration of your willingness to meet my expectations.”
The urge to make a sexual joke forced Theon to press his tongue to the roof of his mouth while his mind raced for some string of words that didn’t sound like a double entendre.
“Knowing when to keep your mouth shut is a good start,” Roose said with a smirk.
Heat rose to Theon’s cheeks and he fought his own smirk. Tamped down on every smart, sassy, flirtatious quip that sprang to mind. Instead, he nodded. Easy. Safe. Acceptable.
“Let me be plain, Theon. You embarrassed me at the anniversary party. Acted very unprofessional with me. Spoke for me, rudely. Overindulged to the point of recklessness. Abused a member of staff loudly in a public lavatory—”
“He initiated it!” Theon gestured angrily with his arm, as if the waiter were nearby acting the victim, face and neck burning.
“I’ve been told your father beat you,” Roose said, expression neutral as ever. “And your brothers. Mr. Stark took a more hands-off approach.”
“I… They… What?” Theon blinked, licked his lips, his anger wilting at the sudden shift in conversation.
“You have obvious potential, Theon. A confidence that needs direction lest it fester in arrogance. A family name that still carries weight, though diminished by your family’s more recent improprieties.” He held up a finger when Theon’s mouth opened to protest. “What you lack is discipline. Proper discipline.”
He’d heard it all before in different ways. Usually from Mrs. Stark’s lips.
That Greyjoy boy’s like a wild dog, following his instincts and putting his nose where it doesn’t belong.
Look at me or my daughter like that again and you’ll be out on the street.
You took Robb to a strip club with a fake ID? What were you thinking, Theon? Oh, of course, you were only thinking with the southern half of your brain. Very Greyjoy of you. I told Ned you needed more than extra chores and grounding to make a decent man of you.
Drunk driving? With my children in the car? I don’t care if it was ‘just one drink’—you could have seriously injured Bran and Rickon!
“If you’re not going to fire me,” Theon began slowly, thinking about what he was saying as he was saying it. He looked back up at Mr. Bolton, gaze having wandered to some unfocused place between them. “Are you going to suspend me?”
“Come here.”
Roose beckoned with his hand and watched as Theon reluctantly rounded the side of the massive desk with his head hanging, shoulders hunched. He didn’t know what the hell to expect. To be laid across Roose Bolton’s lap and spanked? His shoulders scrunched higher, shaking as he pressed his lips together tightly to hold in a laugh.
“Do you find disciplinary action to be entertaining, Mr. Greyjoy?”
“I… uh, no, sir.” He knew his smirk said otherwise. Better to come clean with his stupid thought. “Well, it would be funny if you spanked me. You know, a grown man… It’s not… I mean…” He cleared his throat when Roose only observed him. As usual. Inscrutable in a way that made Theon’s stomach knot.
“Addressing me properly is a good start.” Pale eyes never leaving Theon’s face, Roose pointed to the small span of floor between his polished black dress shoes and his desk.
Theon’s gaze drifted down, following that finger to the only obvious conclusion he could imagine. It seemed to spit in the face of the entire conversation they’d just had. His brows drew together. This is a test. A goddamn test. And I can’t afford to fail. “Sir?”
“Much like your ancestors, mine too were once kings,” Roose said, as if picking up a conversation that had been dropped. One Theon had no memory of. “Red Kings, they called them. While yours were kings of salt.”
Silence and expectation loomed in the air.
“I don’t understand, sir,” Theon said, his nerves drumming his heart into a faster cadence. He’d heard all this before, but it felt like some non sequitur.
“What does one do before a king in his domain?”
The wet noise of Theon’s anxious swallow seemed to echo in the chamber. He moved to stand in front of Roose, his back brushing the uneven, rounded edge of the desk, and sank down to kneel. He couldn’t hold that icy stare from his new position—the physical lowering of himself a stern reminder he was beneath Roose Bolton in every way. He felt he understood, now, and his irritation rose again, settling as a fresh scowl.
He wants to embarrass me. Belittle me. Shame me. …And it’s fucking working.
“Finally, a moment of humility bleeding through,” Roose murmured with a softened edge to his quiet voice. It washed over Theon like praise, but he froze, tense, when Roose reached down to brush his hair away from his eyes. “Does it hurt, Theon?”
Theon blinked in confusion, eyes locked stubbornly on the wheels of Roose’s chair. “My knees?”
“The fracturing of your pride.”
Fresh heat colored Theon’s cheeks and he glared up at his boss from beneath his brows. This is stupid. So fucking stupid. What a bastard! Chest tight, he kept his lips clamped together to keep from saying anything. Let him gloat. Let him have his damn jibes. It’s just posturing and words, fuck’s sake.
“When I ask you a question, I expect a response.” Roose’s fingers tightened in Theon’s hair and yanked his head forward.
Theon yelped, hands landing on Roose’s knees as he struggled to push himself away, to keep from ending up with his face in the other man’s groin. But Mr. Bolton held a surprising amount of strength in his lean frame, and Theon’s elbows splayed awkwardly as his cheek was crushed against the obvious hardness between Roose’s thighs.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to speak up,” Roose said, tone dangerously low and cold, so distant from his actions. He gripped Theon’s suddenly flailing right wrist in his free hand and tilted Theon’s nose and mouth against the fine fabric of his suit pants, fingertips digging into his captive’s scalp. “I didn’t quite catch that.”
All attempts to respond were muffled by the hard shaft against Theon’s nose and the softer press of balls against his struggling mouth. He went limp. Whimpered in frustration. Hated himself for ever having wank fantasies about the reverse situation. About running his own fingers through Roose’s dark hair in a much more tender fashion. About seeing if those thin lips could be made plump and pink by rough kisses and cock sucking. Thinking too many times that he could be the one to crack the blank mask Roose Bolton wore day in and day out.
I’m a goddamn fool.
“Hm?” Roose tilted his ear closer. Open mockery before he released Theon and stared down at him with that maddening ghost of a smirk he occasionally wore. “You look quite pained. Red in the face. Frowning. Staring at the floor like a kicked dog.”
“What the hell? …Sir,” Theon muttered as he wrinkled his nose to make sure he could breathe clearly. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “You called me in here to reprimand me for improper behavior and—”
“Public behavior.”
The metallic clink of a belt buckle. The soft hiss of a zipper. A whisper of fabric.
Theon side eyed the groin he’d just been forced against. He’d expected to see an open fly. A suggestion. Not Roose’s cock in a loose grip, pale fingers sliding up and over the arousal flushed head and back down to massage his hairless balls as if it were a perfectly normal office activity.
Mouth suddenly dry, Theon tried to swallow but felt like his heart was pounding too hard to let his throat comply. Wide eyed, he dropped his gaze to the floor again, where it was safe. Where he didn’t have to feel conflicted.
“I should go,” Theon said, forcing the words out. He pushed himself to his feet, using the edge of the desk for leverage, keeping his eyes averted in a way that felt appropriate as he slipped past Roose’s knees and wished he wasn’t half hard himself.
“I thought you needed this job.”
“I did.”
“And where will you go after you leave the Dreadfort Resort, Mr. Greyjoy?”
“There’s other places to work around here. I’ll find something. Somewhere that won’t…” Theon shook his head, eyes closing briefly in a wince. “Somewhere the business practices are more legal.”
“Somewhere that pays as well?” Roose paused and watched Theon’s tongue dart out to wet his lips. “Somewhere that doesn’t care about your family’s less than legal history?” He arched one brow at the instant tension in Theon’s shoulders. “Or your own less than glowing reputation.”
Theon hated the reminder that Roose had been the only person to even give him an interview after he’d put out application after application. Never mind the added insult behind the real reason he’d been hired. It had been bad enough when he’d thought he’d only got the job because of Robb.
What’s the difference? I didn’t get the damn position on my own merits. It was still because of someone else.
Opportunity, however, was still a charming mistress.
I wonder how much…
It shouldn’t have been a question that sprang to the front of his mind. But there it was, calling to him with its siren song. He’d taken the bait and he knew it. But damn if Roose wasn’t right about him. About the very professional grave he’d dug for himself without realizing it. The Stark word carried so much weight, not just in the nearby area. If he wanted to do more than flip burgers or ring up groceries—in some shithole town south of the Riverlands where no one had ever heard of him—for the rest of his life… He’d have to leave his friends behind. He’d have to be further away from his sister.
And there’s no guarantee I wouldn’t fuck up a fresh start and end up trying to go home again, tail between my legs. Whatever home would be for him if he left. At least now he had a place of his own, small as it was. Which he was currently paying for with his paltry intern paychecks and the tiny allowance his sister kept depositing in his bank account.
“…How much are we talking?” Theon asked aloud.
“That depends on your performance evaluation. So far, I’m unimpressed.” Roose gestured to his softening erection with boredom in the set of his eyes.
Theon huffed sarcastically, jaw shifting as his gaze lingered too long on the enticing package presented before him. “Personal matters you need attending to, right Mr. Bolton?”
Roose smiled.
Grudgingly, Theon resumed his position, eyes angled up at that elusive quirk of thin lips. His cheeks burned as he settled between Roose’s slender thighs and hesitated.
“Would you rather I forced you?” Roose whispered, a rough little murmur that made the hairs stand on the back of Theon’s neck. “You seemed to like it as much as I did.”
Theon’s mouth fell open, heart thudding out of beat as his eyes locked on Roose’s. As if that were permission, Roose grabbed the back of his head and pressed Theon’s face to his naked groin, this time rutting up against him.
Spluttering, fighting for a better angle, Theon squirmed, mouth and tongue dragging over hardening flesh. He didn’t know how to pace his breathing. Or where to put his hands—on Roose’s thighs or knees or behind his own back to keep them out of the way? His cheek and chin became smeared with his own saliva, and the scent of sex began to fill his head.
Focus, he told himself firmly. There was one goal here, and it wasn’t getting lost in gawping up at Roose’s intense gaze while his tongue lolled out of his mouth, waiting for more. He was being evaluated. He couldn’t just kneel there and let his boss do all the work.
Theon tried to push himself up and forward, using Roose’s thighs for leverage. But the hand on his head trapped his hair in a fist again, tightening painfully. He let out a whining grunt.
“C’mon, Mr. Bolton, I’m not trying to lea—”
“Show me.”
Exhaling an irritated breath through his nose, Theon glared at Roose’s glistening prick. It was a handsome member, rosy pink and nicely shaped with prominent veins. He jutted his chin out, craning his neck from within Roose’s grasp so he could trace one ripple of soft flesh with the firm tip of his tongue. His reward was a slight loosening of the hold on his hair.
He leaned in a little more, brushing his lips against heated skin. Pretending this was a wholly voluntary encounter not riddled with social and financial pitfalls. Just like any one night stand: lovers for now, live in the moment, worry about later tomorrow.
Theon chased the head of Roose’s cock until he was straining against the fingers tangled in his hair, tongue outstretched obscenely, with Roose smirking down at him. There’d been nothing said about not using his hands, but Theon wanted to show off. Wanted to impress his boss. Wanted Roose to see he was serious, dammit.
And be invited for a repeat performance.
It was wrong. The entire situation had some deep part of him screaming that he was being used. Taken advantage of. Tricked. That as soon as Roose got off, it’d be game over and he’d be sent packing with a severance letter and a fake apology for not being a good fit. Or some other corporate speak that politely equated to “fuck off and don’t come back.”
He couldn’t let that happen without really going for it. He’d take advantage in his own way.
No more intrusive thoughts spared, Theon grabbed Roose’s cock in his fist and finally popped it in his overeager mouth. Silken skin and salt greeted him. His eyes slipped closed as he worked his mouth within what range he’d been allowed. Not quite enough to swallow him down, so he compensated with his hand. Suckling and stroking and forgetting he wasn’t meant to be catering to his own enjoyment.
The grip on his hair eased, but the pressure of a hand on the back of his skull didn’t disappear. A subtle reminder of who was in charge of the situation. Who owned the building. Who wrote the paychecks. Who owned Theon in that moment with the understated power of his impossibly pale eyes, half open just like this lips.
Given an inch, Theon took more. His eyes threatened to roll back, dark lashes fluttering as he took Roose completely and held fast. Vision vibrating with the strength it took to fight the reflex to breathe or gag, Theon relaxed his shoulders. As much as he liked having another mouth on his dick, he loved the way it felt to have a cock nestled so firmly in his throat. Nose filled with the lingering scent of heady masculinity. Caught in the dichotomy of submitting while holding the power of sheathing a man’s most precious part in a very dangerous place.
Roose lifted Theon’s head up and off with a wet noise followed by a gasping inhale.
“That’s enough,” Roose breathed.
“You sure?” Theon croaked and cleared his phlegmy throat. He grinned up at Roose, who still held Theon’s head in his hands, thumbs smoothing over his cheekbones. Their chests heaved as if they’d both been temporarily deprived of oxygen. “How’d I do, sir?”
“Passable.” He peered down at the drool pooling on his balls, the wetness on his slacks and the edge of his chair’s seat.
“I could get you off. Easy. You were almost there. I could feel it,” Theon said, putting a sultry roughness to his voice.
“A few more seconds and you’d have likely passed out.”
“But it felt good, right?”
Roose stared at him, the hard won expression of wantonness gone. No trace of it ever having existed. His eyes ticked down to his lap again as he settled back in his chair and brushed his long hair back behind his ear.
“I can try again,” Theon offered in a rush, seeing his fears unfold in Roose’s cold expression.
“After lunch.” Roose glanced at his watch. “I’m expecting a conference call in the next ten minutes.”
“Oh. …Okay.” Theon blinked. Does that mean…? “Do I get the promotion?”
“On a trial basis, yes,” Roose said and gestured to the mess Theon had left of him. “I expect cleanliness from my personal assistant. The last one wasn’t very good at putting things back where they came from.”
Theon nodded, looking around for a box of tissues. A paper towel. Anything absorbent.
“Back where it came from,” Roose repeated softly.
Theon flushed again as understanding struck. He moved closer, feeling ridiculous but unwilling to turn back. The point of no return had been reached. Breached. Left behind without a backwards glance. He angled his face between Roose’s thighs once more and lapped at the cooling saliva on his skin. Couldn’t help but look up for an indication of approval that he’d correctly read the man for once.
Roose watched in silent patience, head tilting for a better angle when necessary, riveted to the sight of Theon’s tongue working his sack “clean” even as the skin shifted beneath the attention. The chair’s seat was next. Not as nice to taste as Roose’s smooth skin, but not as off putting as Theon expected.
“Good boy,” Roose said, the comment offhand, too firm and concisely intoned. Praise for a dog, not a man. He tucked himself away again without breaking eye contact. Roose offered a hint of a smile. “I’ll expect you back at one o’clock. We can further explore your current capabilities and discuss my expectations for your obvious potential. Also, I’ll need you to pick up my wife from the airport this evening.”
Theon rose to his feet, bewildered by the sudden conclusion of their meeting and the heavy dose of business speak after just having a face full of cock and balls. Brows furrowed, he looked over Roose’s neat, tidy desk. So few personal items. Even his laptop was understated, plain black, nondescript save for the brand’s logo. He glanced at the picture frame, a medium sized black wooden piece with a matted collage of three photos: Roose and his new young bride Walda, a handsome young man who looked something like Roose, and a younger version of the burly waiter with long dark hair, piercing grey eyes, delightfully rough hands and a mouth he’d been thinking about for days.
“You’re close with one of the waiters from the anniversary party?” Theon asked, gesturing to the pictures.
“Ramsay? Yes. He’s my son.”
“That’s nice. Keeping it a family business.” Theon laughed as he slipped around Roose’s desk with wide eyes on the door, unsure if he’d just been granted a blessing or a curse.