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Without Complaint

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"I've received another complaint."

Elias doesn't glance up from his computer as the door shuts behind Jon, though he can't quite hold back a smile when he hears the lock click into place. Already so eager, he nearly says. But no, there's a rhythm to this. A pattern that eases Jon in until he can no longer deny he enjoys this as much as Elias. Perhaps even more.

"Have you?" Jon says irritably.

Jon's feet drag on the carpet, and when Elias finally sits back to get a proper look at Jon, he's glaring down at the chair Elias placed against the wall earlier. The glare pivots to Elias as Jon sits in the chair anyway.

"Really, Jon. We both have better things to do than play guessing games." Elias folds his hands on his desk and leans forward slightly, and is delighted when Jon mirrors him, hands on his lap and back arched forward. His lips are slightly parted, and his cheeks flush with anger and anticipation, though Jon would deny the latter.

"Do we? Because if so, I'm not sure why you expect me to waste hours of my time answering the inane questions of someone simply because they threw some money at you. You know I've told you..."

Jon continues on, going into a familiar rant about the state of the Archives, the unjust demands of customer service, and a few rather unflattering remarks about a rather harmless elderly couple who dared to ask him some questions earlier this week. The words don't truly matter, and while Jon would deny it, Elias doesn't even think he really expects Elias to listen.

There are other types of attention he gets from Elias.

When he stops, his hands are tight on the arms of the chair, and his eyes are locked on Elias. Jon's heart pounds, and he tells himself it is anger. In weaker moments, he might even admit it is fear. Never would he dare voice—dare think—except in the darkest recesses of his mind, that there is something else in his eyes, the way his breath quickens as Elias stands.

"This is unacceptable, Jon."

Once, this would've brought more arguments. More attempts to explain, deny, and perhaps even a half-hearted apology. But Jon has learned better, stumbling eagerly into exactly how to please Elias, even if he barely realizes he's doing it or why.

Elias doesn't even have to say anything more. Only stare down at Jon, watching as he glances at the door, shoulders tensing briefly before he slumps back in the chair and begins to unbutton his shirt.

"Later," Elias says, placing a hand over Jon's to stop him. He rubs his fingers along the back of Jon's hand, feeling the cracks in his skin. Something else for Elias to correct later, once Jon is boneless, content to slump in Elias's arms and let him massage lotion into dry skin.

But for now, Jon will wait. They both have work to attend to, meetings already scheduled, and it will be good for Jon to learn some patience. And though he glares and mutters something about not being at Elias's beck and call, they both know it's a lie.

After all, Elias has taught him well, the pleasures that waiting can bring.

The choice of Archivist was pragmatic. In truth, he'd barely looked into Jonathan Sims, before noting the way the Web seemed to linger on his skin. Even peering deeper, what had drawn him in was the deep hunger, the wild curiosity. And the lack of sense to keep it restrained.

Truly, he was a vessel made to be marked. And all too eager to meet his fate.

But the role had by necessity brought them closer, and drawn Elias's gaze more frequently to Jon, and deeper. Another action driven by pragmatism, and yet as time went on, not solely motivated by it.

"I didn't realize how much of a mess it would be. Given Gertrude's tenure, I would've thought she'd be a little more competent." Jon dragged a hand through his hair, and the dim light of the lamp in Elias's office only highlighted the dark circles under his eyes.

Elias didn't reply, instead getting to his feet and going over to his bookshelf. Behind him, he heard the rustle of cloth and the creak of a chair. Jon was impatient; it wouldn't take much. And it didn't take long at all for soft footfalls to follow. When he turned again, a slim volume in his hand, Jon was standing there, just slightly too close for propriety.

In another man, Elias might have suspected intent behind the action. And he supposed there was intent of a sort, that drove Jon to sway towards Elias, eyes locked on him. Even if it was something Jon shied away from, only acknowledging it long enough to dismiss it as idle fantasy. Inappropriate. A distraction from their true purpose.

Perhaps he was right, even if he didn't know what their true purpose was. But there was something intoxicating in the way his eyes widened and his lips parted when Elias's free hand went to Jon's neck, fingers resting on the knobs of his spine, and his thumb running gentle over the fridges of Jon's throat.

His pulse quickened as Elias's grip tightened slightly, but he didn't try to pull away. Not even when Elias leaned closer, breath stirring a lock of hair resting on Jon's forehead.

Jon wasn't sure if Elias was going to kiss him, or choke him. And even more delightful, he wasn't sure which he preferred. What a lovely Archivist he had.

"You might find this useful. It's a bit outdated, but it was written by Gertrude's predecessor, detailing his organizational methods." He smiled as he pressed the volume into Jon's hand, watching as Jon fully realized their position and flushed, grabbing it and stepping away.

Already he was trying to push down the memory, bury the clearly foolish thoughts that had accompanied Elias's actions. Telling himself he was being ridiculous, reading too much into it.

It was almost enough to make Elias drag him back, to kiss him and see how he might attempt to justify that. Whether his fear would remain with Elias's lips on his, and his hand still at his throat.

But Elias was a patient man. He knew how to wait. And so for now, he let Jon go.

Elias spends longer talking to Hannah than strictly necessary, going over some minute detail on the reporting of minor damage to books. A different day, he would have simply asked her to send him a report via email. But now he takes the chance to half-listen, while his eyes look elsewhere.

In Elias's office, Jon is removing his clothes. Earlier than he should be, and Elias will make sure to bring that point up, even if he's flattered by Jon's eagerness and amused at this odd act of rebellion. But then that's one of the reasons he enjoys Jon. His impulsiveness leads him in surprising directions. And while some Elias takes issue with, this is not among them.

He nods to Hannah and excuses himself, walking slowly down the hallway to give Jon a chance to carefully set his clothes on the chair. Once that's done, he begins to rummage through Elias's desk, pulling out the switch and setting it aside as he clears the surface with surprising care and bends himself over it.

When Elias reaches the door to his office, he indulges himself, taking one last look over the unknowing Jon. Shivering and shifting, trying to get comfortable in a position that does not allow comfort, to find any distraction from his cock, hard solely from presenting himself like this.

If Elias waits too long, he knows Jon will likely lose his nerve. For now, he is driven by the flare of stubborn rebellion that sent him here early in the first place—wanting to see Elias's face when Jon took such bold action—and the nervous anticipation that fuels it. The hope he does not acknowledge, that Elias will smile and reward his initiative. But it will not last forever.

And so Elias opens the door.

Jon looks up, eyes widening when Elias takes too long to close it behind him. But he doesn't speak until Elias locks it, and walks over to the desk. Elias feels Jon's confusion when he fails to pick up the switch, and instead stops in front of his face.

"What are you waiting for?" Jon says, and though his voice is full of bluster, Elias can feel uncertainty emanating from his trembling form.

"You're early, Jon." His face is stern as he unbuckles his belt, opening his trousers and freeing his cock, soft and ready for the lips that have already parted in renewed eagerness. "I find myself in need of some time to unwind."

Jon stares at his cock, and swallows. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. This isn't their routine. Punishment always comes first. Jon's eyes flick up to Elias, and he considers asking why the change.

"Fine," Jon finally says, opening his mouth and letting Elias guide his cock inside.

He sucks eagerly, not shutting his eyes but keeping them fastened on Elias, studying his face for any sign of the approval he so desperately desires. And Elias can grant him that, gently stroking Jon's hair as his cock fills. Even now, Jon isn't terribly skilled at this, though he's improved since the start.

When Elias thrusts deeper, Jon doesn’t sputter, though his eyes water slightly. What he lacks in dexterity, he makes up for in sheer enthusiasm, and a rather impressive control of his gag reflex.

He swallows around Elias, making Elias gasp unexpectedly at the wave of sensation on his cock. Elias runs gentle fingers along Jon’s cheek, making his approval clear. But it’s more than past time he withdraws. There are other things he wants today.

When he frees himself, Jon starts to follow him, catching himself when Elias laughs. He grumbles something vague, but can't find anything to say about it that isn't horrifically embarrassing. And indeed, he has little time to think on the matter anyway as Elias rounds the desk, and places his hands on Jon's arse.

"Really?" Jon says, and he sounds slightly breathless. "Now, with only..."

He trails off, unable to voice his concern, tangled as it is with a burning curiosity. Certainly in the past, it may have been inadvisable, but Jon has already begun to shift. To change in more than one way under the guidance of Elias's hands.

"I believe you can take it," Elias says, leaning over Jon, body pressed flush to his and his cock rubbing Jon's skin. "Don't you want to see?"

"I—" Jon shudders as Elias dips a couple fingers into his mouth, before leaning back to toy with his hole. And then he relaxes with surprising ease, his voice sounding stronger when he says, "Yes. Just—just do it."

Though he tenses when Elias pushes in, he does not resist. No more argument, no complaints fall from his lips as Elias fucks him hard, his fingers digging into Jon's hips. There will be bruises tomorrow, a handful of the many marks Jon will admire in the mirror, dragging his fingers over them as he asks himself for the thousandth time why he allows this, even as his hand finds his cock at the memory.

The moans and gasps and whimpers Jon makes fill Elias's ears, and he wonders if Jon will let him record this someday. Another surprise, another turn he can bring up at a later date. For now, he finds his own need has become too great, and with one final thrust he comes inside Jon, filling him as Jon squirms beneath him and struggles to find his own release.

But it isn't time yet. Elias pulls out, running his fingers through the come that now drips from Jon's reddened hole and pushing some of it back in. Before Jon can say anything else, Elias has snatched up the switch, bringing it down hard around Jon's arse.

"Fuck," Jon says, twisting back to glare at Elias. "You—you could've warned me."

Elias's lips curve into a smile that's only slightly cruel when he brings down the switch again.

"I could say the same of you."

Jon was a lightweight, but he wasn't as drunk as he pretended when he leaned against Elias on the evening of his birthday. Apparently he'd escaped the attentions of his eager assistants, inclined to fete him to an extent Jon was uncomfortable with, but realized he'd forgotten his keys. It was only coincidence that he'd run into Elias. But what a pleasant coincidence it was.

The alcohol loosened his tongue, loosened his limbs. Perhaps it was also the release of stress, as he sat next to Elias on the small sofa in his office, waving his arms wildly as he went on about the latest mess he'd found. But eventually, he ran out of things to complain about, and in their wake, Jon could no longer ignore their position. Elias's arm around his waist, and one of his own hands gripping Elias's lapel.

His eyes were dark and intent on Elias's own. Did he see how poorly those eyes fit this face? Did that furrow in his brow show an awareness already beyond the natural? Perhaps it did. But Elias remained out of Jon's head. Best to leave himself a few surprises, after all.

And Jon proved again to be another, yanking on Elias's lapel and drawing him into a clumsy kiss. Already telling himself it was the alcohol, making him rash and foolish. Making him do things he'd regret.

It wasn't, of course. This moment was driven by deeper things, and when Elias's teeth dug into Jon's lip, he did not pull away. Instead surging closer, half-falling into Elias's lap. It was only when they parted that the fear returned.

"I—I'm sorry, that was inappropriate, I must've had more to drink than I thought, and I—"

Elias silenced him with another kiss. And drank in the secrets still locked behind his lips.

Truly, his Archivist was a marvelous surprise.

"Tell me, Jon," Elias says, as he brings down the switch again, layering one red line across all the others. "About the rest of your day."

"What—ah, you can't—"

Another two blows, and Jon struggles for sense, his face buried in his arms as his fingers flex desperately. Elias doesn't relent, and his voice is even when he repeats his request again.

"Tell me. I know you can." Another crack of the switch, and the sound Jon makes is more moan than whimper as he struggles not to grind against the desk. He knows that has consequences, and Elias smiles to see it.

"I—I recorded a statement. And then—then I spoke with Tim and..."

He continues to speak, continues to writhe and whimper and moan as Elias does not relent. And Jon doesn't ask it, doesn't expect him to, doesn't even want Elias to stop. It's good that Elias has control, good that Elias knows what is too far. Because Jon would never stop him.

Jon needs to know .

So much so that when Elias finally does stop, working his fingers into the welts now crossing Jon's arse, he feels Jon's disappointment. It isn't enough, it can't be enough. There has to be more, and when Elias reaches around Jon to work his cock, he feels like he's failed.

"Shh," Elias says. Another time, he might draw Jon close, let him rest in Elias's lap as he pulls orgasm after orgasm from him, leaving Jon pliant and boneless when Elias is ready to fuck him again. But this is not a time for indulgence. It is a time for correction, a time to show Jon's right.

He has not yet reached his limit.

When he comes into Elias's hand with a broken moan, Elias gathers when he can and works it into Jon's hole. The come mingles with the remnants of his own, and eases his way inside to gently massage Jon's prostate even as Jon continues to spasm around him.

"Elias, I—I can't. Please."

Even Jon isn't sure if he's asking Elias to stop, or to keep going. To overwhelm him until he is nothing but sensation, pushed over into a state where he sees things he barely understands. It doesn't matter anyway, because Elias continues to press in, toying with him and teasing him open until Jon can no longer speak.

“I wonder,” Elias says, as he slides three fingers all too easily in, “would you be able to take more than this?”

He has no intention of going further now, but that doesn’t mean he can’t tease Jon. Planting ideas in his head, as he spreads his fingers wider and runs his thumb along the rim, pressing just inside to allow a suggestion of what might yet come.

“That’s not—” The words turn into a moan as Elias adjust his angle, only for Jon to press on. “You can’t be serious. I can’t…”

“Are you certain?” Elias says, hooking his fingers as he withdraws, tugging on the rim one last time as Jon shudders beneath him. “Perhaps someday we’ll see.”

Elias plucks the switch back from the desk, and taps it lightly against Jon’s arse. As he lets out a noise of consideration, he sees Jon lift his hips slightly, pushing into the switch.

“Don’t stop,” Jon says raggedly. Like the words cost him, and yet he would gladly pay the price again.

"Really, Jon. Do you truly want more? I'm not sure you can take it."

Even in his state, Jon hears the challenge. And oh, how ever eager he is to rise to it. He lifts his head again, looking back at Elias through blurry eyes.

"I can. I'll show you."

"Very well," Elias says, as he picks up the switch again, and brings it down on flesh he knows is already alight with pain. "I'll stop when you tell me to." And he knows the promise guarantees Jon will push too far, too long.

It's why Elias chose him, after all.

Even with that, Jon goes longer than Elias imagined possible. It becomes a bit of a challenge, an amusement he is happy to indulge in, to find the patches of skin he has not yet marked. To bring the switch down hard, and to hear the cries that fall from Jon’s mouth each time.

Perhaps Elias should show some restraint, but how can he with a prize like this? So eager, so willing, so utterly malleable. Wanting to be marked, to be hurt and emerge something else. A perfect vessel, who has no idea yet how perfect he truly is.

Elias adjusts his grip, coloring Jon’s upper thighs with the bright welts, angling under the slight curve of his arse. There is barely skin left to mark when Jon finally gasps out, “Enough.”

It will leave him a mess, but Elias has other suits. He's happy to ruin this one for his Archivist as he gently picks Jon up and carries him over to the sofa.

"I can walk, you know," Jon mutters, but he makes no attempt to squirm free, instead burying his face in Elias's shoulder, flushed with a shame he has not left behind, even after months of this.

The false reluctance makes this all the sweeter. The fact Jon thinks this is wrong, that he loves this, the pain and the sweet words and those eyes, grey and far too knowing and fixed on him. He's afraid of what he wants, afraid he'll ask too much, go too far.

Soon, he will learn that this is everything Elias wants and more.

But for now, he looks up at Elias, shifting in his lap and reaching out to weakly tug at the lapel of his jacket.

"I hope you're satisfied," he says, and he thinks he means the issue raised earlier. Elias decides not to call him on the lie.

"I'll consider the issue resolved, Archivist." He smiles, and kisses Jon on his temple. "You never cease to impress."

Jon rolls his eyes, but the lids are already drooping, and he lets himself lean into Elias as Elias strokes his hair. Perhaps their arrangement is not entirely pragmatic.

But when Jon's eyes fix on him one last time before he drifts off, Elias knows he has no complaints.