Tim slams his fingers in at a punishing pace. Slick, filthy noises mix with Jon’s keening, his whining, the squeal of his heels on the tiles as he writhes. He’s almost pretty like this, small and naked and pressed against Tim’s bathroom wall. Bruised and bitten and begging.
“Tim,” he whimpers, “Oh, god, Tim please--”
“Shut up. Look at you, you’re bloody soaked.”
He shakes the handful of Jon’s hair, relishes the pained yelp and the way he clenches.
“I—I’m, I haven’t—”
“Oh yeah? Haven’t what? Haven’t got off in too long? That why you’re such a miserable cunt?” Tim snaps, grinding the heel of his hand into Jon’s cock, “You just need to get fucked? You that much of a cockslut, boss? You get cranky if you don’t get enough dick, have to take it out on the rest of us?”
Jon’s eyes roll back and he makes a noise closer to a squeal than anything and gushes all over his legs, Tim’s hand, the floor.
“Fucking pathetic. This is supposed to be punishment.” Tim forces another finger into his cunt and Jon screams, claws at his wrist. He twists his hand in Jon’s hair until tears spring to his eyes.
“Give me another one. Show me how fucking sorry you are.”
“I can’t, it’s too much!”
Tim slaps him, and the little bastard has the audacity to like it.
“I don’t care.”
“I can’t,” he whines, “I can’t, I can’t.”
Tim’s rock fucking hard and when Jon actually starts to cry he throbs so sweetly that he thinks he might make a mess of his pants. Ruts against Jon’s hip, fuck, he doesn’t know what he wants to do about it but he wants.
“I’m sorry,” Jon sobs, straining into Tim’s hand. God, he’s pathetic. He’s hardly even worth being angry with, just an arrogant asshole who thinks he’s the only one suffering.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” He chants as his knees buckle and Tim’s hand begins to cramp and Tim fucks him through all of it until he’s reduced to pathetic whimpers.
“Arrogant piece of shit. You don’t deserve this. Cum, you stupid little whore, cum and I might forgive you.”
Jon keens, high and whiny, and his hand goes to his own hair. Closes weakly around Tim’s wrist.
“p-Please,” he manages. Tim scoffs, and twists harshly, and grinds the heel of his hand into Jon’s clit, and Jon whimpers his way through another orgasm, another frantic clenching and slick rush. He might have also wet himself this time, but it’s hard to tell-- or, if Tim’s honest, care. He looks barely conscious, crying weakly and mumbling what could be apologies.
He goes to his knees easily, lets Tim pull his hair and twist his body into a harsh arc though he’s trembling with exhaustion. Fuck, it feels good to finally take himself in hand.
“Show me some fucking gratitude for once.” He shakes Jon, and he’s really out of it now because all that gets is a whine. “I said thank me, you soulless bitch.”
“Thank you,” he murmurs. His eyes don’t focus, lids fluttering as he fights to keep them open.
“I’m gonna cum in your mouth and on your tits,” Tim grunts, “And you’re gonna thank me for that, too.”
Jon gives a sort of imploring whimper. That’ll have to be good enough.
He’s so much better like this, disheveled and sobbing and wet all down his legs. Face shiny with sweat and tears and snot, flushed ugly and blotchy. The soft peaks of his small chest sweat-slick and covered in harsh bites.
He looks up at Tim with pleading eyes and opens his mouth. Just leaves it open, that fucking mouth that ruins lives, and apparently that’s all Tim needed. He comes hard, streaks Jon’s mouth and chin and chest with it. Plants his forehead against the wall and shudders and watches Jon’s face twist with shame and disgust. Watches him swallow anyway, and lean his sweaty forehead on Tim’s thigh, clutch weakly at his trouser leg.
“th-Thank you,” he whimpers, sobs. “Thank you, ‘m sorry.”
Tim closes his eyes, takes deep, slow breaths. Rakes his nails over Jon’s scalp.
“Yeah, you are.”