Even here, somehow, in his own office with nothing to do but wait, Jon couldn't sense Peter in the room before he was touched. He would have jumped if he could, but there was no slack in his bonds, so he merely jerked hard against them, rough rope biting hard into his flesh. Anyone else would have been worried about circulation by now; Jon had been getting increasingly bored. Even the humiliation of being tied naked across his own desk had begun to wane after a while.
He couldn't complain of being bored now. Peter traced patterns between the scars on his back, so feather-light he might not have been touching at all, before sliding his hand down Jon's hip and palming his crotch, slipping two broad fingers into his hole, into the filthy wet mess he'd left there hours ago. They went in easily, which made Jon suck in a breath in spite of himself; that...certainly hadn't been the case when Peter had started this.
Peter hummed consideringly, working his fingers in and out of Jon with an unsteady, probing rhythm. As if he were testing something. Jon tightened involuntarily around them, hating himself for it, but when he did that was when Peter pulled out, wiping his hand clean on Jon's bare thigh. "Not quite as tight a little cunt as we started with, but I suppose that's only to be expected," he said, as blase as Elias discussing office supplies. Then, with no warning but a nearly inaudible sigh, he sank his cock deep into Jon in a single movement.
Jon did whine at that. He couldn't help it; the sudden filling stretch after so long spent empty and spread open was overwhelming, driving every thought from his mind. He had used to like that about it, he remembered, and if he wasn't careful he'd like it again, the steady driving pressure and the strain, just at the edge of what he could tolerate, and the way he couldn't focus on anything but the smooth wood of the desk under his chest, rope on his thighs and arms, Peter's cock filling him completely.
The first time he'd expected insults, for Peter to call him a slut or to taunt him with things Elias had said about him. But, fitting for a creature of the Lonely, he didn't say a word while he fucked Jon for what felt like hours, leaving him sore and helpless and gagged, still bound over his own desk.
He had no idea how long ago that had been; there was something horribly freeing about being so entirely out of control, and with no way he could be blamed for any of it, either.
At least this way, no one had any call to be afraid of him.
Peter groaned in pleasure, seating himself deep as he came, rocking his hips as he worked himself through it. Jon tried not to think about the spreading heat inside of him, or about how many years it had been since he'd had to worry about such a thing.
As if he could hear Jon's thoughts – and of course he couldn't, of course not – Peter said casually, "I wonder how long I'd have to keep you here to knock you up, Archivist." He pulled out but used his solid grip on Jon's hips to tilt them further up, in spite of the way he was bound much too tightly to move. "Who knows what kind of a monster we'd get out of that, eh? Forsaken and the Ceaseless Watcher – I don't know if anyone's tried that before, to be honest."
It took Jon a moment to recognize the slick sound of skin on skin; Peter was working himself up for another go, apparently. He fought against the rising tide of panic building in his throat. He'd thought he had run out of things to be afraid of, at least as far as his own body was concerned, but of course Peter would have to land on the one thing –
When Peter fucked into him again Jon made a noise of protest, but Peter just laid a hand in the small of his back and pushed , and otherwise ignored him. "I can't say I'd be very optimistic about its chances, skinny little thing like you," he said thoughtfully. "Especially with the way you keep running off. But maybe you'd be more careful with a baby inside of you. Martin would be pleased with that, I'm sure."
He would not be more careful, he tried to snarl back at Peter; he'd do everything he could to get rid of the thing, and he didn't give a damn what Martin thought about it – but he was choking on the gag, his mouth dry with it, Peter steadily pounding the breath out of him. So much for getting out of his head; now every rough thrust made his stomach turn with the thought of Peter's suggestions and the knowledge that there was nothing at all he could do.
Jon couldn't – didn't try to – stifle the sob that choked him when Peter came in him again, another wave of sick heat spreading through him. He pulled weakly against the ropes as Peter spread him open, rubbing his fingers through the slick and then sliding them up to pinch and pull at Jon's dick. He whined again, low and pitiful, miserable at the sound and but unable to fight it or the compelling pressure of his own impending orgasm.
Peter worked him through it and then some, long enough that Jon was fighting a constant stream of noises that threatened to become screams, and then he took his hand away abruptly, leaving Jon gasping and feeling horribly exposed.
"There we are," Peter said, "don't let it be said I never did anything for you." There was a long pause, as if expectant, and Jon had a brief moment of hope that Peter might deign to untie him this time and let him at least pretend that he had some level of control over his life. But the silence stretched on, and he slowly became aware that he was alone in the stuffy little office again, with nothing to do about it but either scream and hope that Daisy was the one who responded, or to lie here and wait for Peter to return. Jon laid his forehead down gently on the smooth, burnished wood and tried to breathe deep and steady.