Lots of selfcest and bad things
Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

Wow this came out fluffier than I thought it would hrmph.

ANON PROMPT: Oncie wakes up in the middle of the night after a wet dream, and goes to find Greedler because he’s unsure if there are consequences to dealing with it himself. Greedler is amused as all hell, and tells Oncie he has to earn it before he finishes up his work.

WARNING: NC-17, Greedler x Onceler

Biggering was tiring.

Paperwork lasted for days, and as soon as he finished one stack, on to the next. He couldn’t just shove these papers on someone else to do. What if they fucked it up? It’d be on his head. Like hell was he going to rely on some idiot peon to do his work right. He didn’t have time for breaks, no time to truly enjoy his wealth. He didn’t even know what to spend all his heaping piles of cash on. There’s only so many green suits you can buy before it gets boring.

He flicked his hand across a paper, sign here, initial there. Next page. Initial here, administration stamp here, copy for records. Next page. Review. Next page.

He liked the satisfaction of a job complete. Feeling accomplished was one of the few things he had left to himself, having his life dedicated to not living, but being the head of a corporation, so far from human it was unbelievable. But this was his work, his everything, he’d made this and he was beyond proud of it. Proud of himself.

Another signature. Next page. Copy for records. Next page. Initial here. Next page.

The lamp light was soft in his spacious empty office. The night was at it’s darkest, his factories quiet and his mansion very much asleep. Nothing made a noise, and the scratching of pen to paper was only slightly soothing to his thoughtfulness. The clock told him it was 2:37.

He leaned back into the chair that towers over him, just a tad shorter than the ceiling, and it made a gentle creak. He slid a hand over one of the golden arms, cold even through the gloves. This was his forever throne.

“Shit,” he murmured, dropping his pen to the table to touch his face, rubbing at the thick dark bags under his eyes. They were bit attractive, he supposed, added character. Made him look like the hard working stiff he was. And that was what the people wanted to see: A man they could relate to, a man who works hard for his bread and butter.

A man just like them.

His knee began to bounce to no rhythm,his eyes traveling his empty office. A prison? Maybe. Trapped in a state of tediousness and boredom, 4 walls and nothing to look forward to. His teeth clacked against each other absentmindedly, sharp things meant for nothing more than intimidation. Clawed finger for little less than terrorizing.

He was a monster.

“So what?” he hissed from behind jagged edges of horror. He was the most powerful man on the planet. He’d done it all. He was perfect. Everyone else wanted to be just like him, have what he had. “Fuck ‘em.”

The door opened

It was just a squeak of fresh metal hinges, the change in lighting on the shadowy wooden and red plush frame. The golden name plate glistened. And there was his boy, slouched and apprehensive, slinking his way into his office like a puppy who’d gotten into the trash and knew he was going to be punished. It was not an uncommon look for him.

“What is it?” he asked. The boy was wearing his blue pajamas with the yellow rabbits, a horrible outfit he swore he’d burn, but the Onceler was so attached to them he couldn’t possibly get away with it. “Is something wrong?”

He stayed in the shadows of the room, his darkened body shifting anxiously. No answer. He rolled his eyes.

“Did you fuck something up? Because if you did, I’ll deal with you in the morning because I’m kind of busy here.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” his softer half whispered, arms crossed protectively across his chest. His legs were shaking, and there it was.

A bulge.

He leaned farther back into his chair, watching the nervous creature standing trial for him, and he smiled a hellish grin that made the Onceler twitch. “What is that, Oncie?”

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes darting to the window, to the floor, to the desk, not Greedler. His hands were covering the front of his pants indiscreetly “I had a dream. I thought you’d be mad,” he said softly, “if I did it myself.”

“Smart boy,” he answered, swiveling his chair to the side, beckoning to his pet with a crooked finger. He came to his side quickly with a slight waddle, shame bright on his face now that he was finally in the light. He didn’t dare move his hands from his crotch. “What were you dreaming about?”

The Onceler gulped. “You.”

“Oh,” he drawled, voice saccharine sweet and dripping with honey. His fingers were pressed to the Onceler’s arms, touch gentle despite sharp hands beneath cloth gloves.“And what should I do about your problem then? Do I get anything in return?”

The fidgeting was getting a little old. He’d wished he’d just do what he told him without squirming all the time. He gave him that look, the one that was supposed to make him feel guilty, make him be kind and accepting and loving. But he wouldn’t, so he just kept smiling. The boy was losing confidence, and he was soaking it in. He’d have to answer eventually.

“Yes, sir.”

He dropped to his knees unceremoniously, crawling under his large desk and finding his usual place between Greedler’s legs. He looked up at the man with big round eyes, waiting for his cue. What a good boy.

“I’ve got work to do, so you go right ahead and do it how I like, baby.”

He pushed his chair forward, to where the arms gently grazed the desk, and started on his paperwork again. He felt him fumbling with his button, the zipper opening loudly, the rustling of fabric as the boy found his favorite kneeling position. And he got to work.

He let his eyes close for a moment, letting out a strained breath, maintaining his stable demeanor. Poker face. Get back to work.

Sign here. Next page. Copy for records. Next page. Initial here, sign here, ohhhhhh.

His leg bounced in reflex to the pleasure, making the boy bobbing under his desk moan in surprise. He shushed him with a hand to his mop of dark hair, fitting fingers through soft strands.

Initial there. Next page. Administration stamp here, right there, yes, good, sign here, don’t stop.

He was crushing the pen in his hand, a drop of ink staining the palm of his glove. The Onceler was watching him with half-lidded eyes, blinking ever so sleepily as he did the job. The noises were obscene, slippery and wet and popping. He needed to finish this fucking paperwork, he swore to god. He wasn’t going to let this get to him.

Initial here, sign there. Next page. God he knew all the tricks. Reviewwww, shit. Shit.

“Fuck it,” he exclaimed, throwing his pen against the wall and shoving all the papers away from his desk, some flitting to the floor. He wheeled his chair away from the desk, and the boy only followed after him, mouth still so very occupied. He leaned as far back into his chair as he could and laced his fingers together against his chest. He watched his pet suck him like the little professional he was, his hands holding each thigh to his shoulders, closing his eyes under Greedler’s newly decided attention. A sense of modesty all of a sudden? What a silly thing.

“Pretty thing, aren’t you?” he cooed. The Onceler kept bobbing up and down, so he took that as a nodding yes. “You dream of me a lot?”

He opened his eyes to the man above him only for a moment, a look of shame, maybe defeat, maybe sarcasm. Whatever it was, it made his dick twitch. He hissed out a breath and took hold of his doppelganger’s black hair and started pumping him. The Onceler moaned loudly at being used, his throat was probably aching at the sudden beating. But he just sucked, mouth tighter, tongue moving in the way he knew he liked, and the man groaned at the feeling. His pet was so talented it amazed him.

He came spurting into that mouth, and the boy drank it down for fear of punishment, swallowing around his sensitive piece in a way that made the man shiver all the way to his ears. The Onceler popped off it with a wet smack, his lips red and his cheeks splashed with spit. He wiped it away with the sleeve of his pajamas, still watching his master with that look of suspicion.

Did he think he wouldn’t keep his promise? For shame.

“Come here,” he growled, and the boy was up in an instant, nearly hitting his head on the desk. “Come here,” and the boy was in his lap, obedient as he should be, holding himself in place with his hands to Greedler’s shoulders. He looked sullen, angry, but like hell if he gave a shit. Look at his beautiful boy with the pretty mouth.

“You were very good,” he hushed into his ear, sharp fingers finding their prize in the elastic of his pet’s pajama pants, pulling it open to find an erection the same as his own, pulsing and weeping for a touch. “Do you want to tell me about your dream, baby?”

The boy’s eyebrows were knit together, frowning as he watched his hand delve into his pants and begin its sweet relief. He cried out and opened his knees farther, and his hands squeezed his master’s shoulders gently.

“You found me on the bed,” he breathed, moving his hips closer to the man in green, earning a tighter grip and more friction, “you stripped me down.”

“Go on,” he purred at the pause. He swirled his thumb around the tip, making it leak onto his already ruined gloves.

“You bit me, but not hard.”


“You turned me over and pinned me down.” He was getting more and more breathless, and his movement more erratic in his lap. This was going to be good and fast, the way he liked it. He leaned forward to nip at the boys jaw, no marks, no blood, just a nibble.

“Then what?”

The boy moaned out loudly, gasping and thrusting. Almost there. “You had sex with me.”

“Oh that’s a boring ending. Give me a better one.” He squeezed the dick in his hand tightly, making the boy all but scream in frustration. He wasn’t going to give it that easily.

“You fucked me into the mattress! Please!”

“That’s it?”

“You fucked me raw, please, please, god! Anything!”

“Say you loved it.”

“I loved it! I loved it so much!”

He loosened his grip and aimed it up as he came, letting it spill onto his glove and the boy’s pants. The Onceler hugged Greedler tight, crying into his ear as he was milked dry, gyrating one last time into the hand that owned him in every way. He was his release, he was his master.

They lay there for a moment, the night quiet again, before he’d been interrupted. He looked over his pet’s shoulder to his disarrayed desk, those papers that needed signing and filing and authorizing and suddenly he didn’t give a shit. His pet was breathing open-mouthed onto his neck, fingers gently moving in patterns that were warm and loving for a person who hated this. Did he hate this?

He hoped not, but at the same time, he still didn’t care.


He stood up slowly, and his softer self clung to him like a baby animal, curling around him and whining. But he didn’t say anything against it as he walked to the door to his office carrying his treasure, turning the lamp off with a quick flick to a switch. His feet clicked on the expensive wooden floor as he made his way to their bedroom. It was still so late in the night, no one would hear, no one would know he was ditching.

The Onceler was playing with the collar of his suit, looking nowhere in particular as his master carried him away to the room they’d share this night, for the first time in a long time. He’d been complaining he was lonely at night, that the mansion was too quiet, too big. Not that he cared, really. Then, he wondered, had he done this all to make him come to bed? He shifted his head and caught the gaze of his pet. A look of shame again. A look of wary deviance. He grinned with his mouth of daggers.

Clever boy.

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