Archive of Our Own

Arnold feels like his knees are about to give out. Swallowing, still tasting a bit of Andrew in the back of his throat, he takes a step closer. His lips are just about to crash into the dispatcher when a hand lands on his chest.

-“Ah ah, that’ll come later.”-

Arnold frowns, and it almost makes Andrew laugh. Calmly, the older man zips his pants back up and cocks his head to the side. -“Can’t have everything all at once, now. Where’s the fun in that?”-

-“Well, I’d like to have something, at least. I’m more than due-”-

-“You...”- Andrew’s left hand gently wraps around his neck, tight enough for him to feel it without it being suffocating. -“You think you’re due something?”- the man whispers the last word like it’s a curse. -“Arnie… haven’t you learned your lesson back at MCM?”-

The other man purses his lips. His chest is heaving up and down and his palms are tingling. He doesn’t even know how much of it is irritation and how much is arousal, but there is no denying that whatever this perverse sort of foreplay is, it’s fun. It’s exhilarating, even.

-“Perhaps you should remind me, Dispatch.”-

He can almost see Andrew’s eyes darken in the already dim light of the living room. It’s like the name makes something shift in him; Arnold supposes that might very well be the case, in some way.

Without speaking, the dispatcher swaps their positions again, pushing Arnold against the couch. The hand that is not holding his neck unceremoniously lands on the technician’s pants, aggressively cupping his bulge. It makes Arnold outright whine as his eyelids flutter closed. Moments later, Dispatch is pressed against him and his mouth is right beside the man’s ear.

-“Shall I, Arnie?”- his palm starts to move slowly, up and down, grinding against the technician’s jeans. Arnold’s hips buck with the effort to stay still. -“Because I don’t remember you being owed a single damn thing. You did your job. Hell, you did everything I asked. You were an obedient dog.”- his lips graze the man’s ear with each movement. -“A good dog.”-

Arnold’s breath hitches in his throat, along with a barely-whispered curse. The jolt his hips make in response to the animalistic praise he’s just received seem to light something in Andrew’s eyes.

-“It’s so, so nice to finally be able to touch you, Arnold. To enjoy you. You can’t imagine how many times I dreamed about this moment in the last few weeks.”- Dispatch’s hand is becoming a bit heavier and Arnold would like to ask him to stop, because he’s not a teenager and coming in his pants at this age would be extremely embarrassing, but he can’t for the life of him. A groan is the only thing that manages to leave his mouth when his lips part.

-“How many times I touched myself, thinking about you. And look at how good you’re doing now.”- Andrew’s eyes fall on the younger man’s hands, white knuckles currently gripping the couch backrest. -“How much you’re holding back. Would you like to hold me, Arnie?”-

The technician only manages a nod.

-“Words, please.”-

-“Yes.”-

-“Good. You can, for the moment.”-

Arnold’s hands fly to Andrew’s waist, bunching up his sweater. He feels unbearably hot and flames trail behind the points where the man is touching him. Dispatch’s presence is grounding, beautiful, real: it was the missing point during their thing at MCM and now that he can finally delight in it Arnold is not entirely sure he won’t lose his mind.

-“How is it?”- the voice continues, and his movements along with it. -“How does it feel, to have me here instead of somewhere else? Hm?”- the hand starts rubbing faster, and Arnold’s heart matches it almost immediately. His breathing is becoming heavier by the second. -“Would it be enough, Arnie? Would my mere presence...”- Dispatch continues, -“… my hands and my voice, nothing more, be enough to make you lose it?”-

The sighs and moans are growing exponentially louder, occasionally paired with curses. Andrew’s other hand is slowly moving on the nape of the man’s neck. When it lands there, the man’s ring finger starts drawing lazy circles on his skin, gently pushing Arnold’s head forward until he’s resting on Andrew’s left shoulder. Much to Arnold’s embarrassment, he has his answer soon enough: less than a minute goes by before the younger man cries out something that might resemble Andrew’s name as his back arches forward and his whole body shakes with slow rushes of pleasure. Dispatch feels like Arnold is holding on to him for dear life, arms wrapped tight around his frame. A few more moans leave the technician’s barely parted mouth, mostly muffled in Andrew’s sweater. He can’t avoid the little proud smile that takes shape around his lips.

-“So I have to assume the answer is ‘yes’.”-

Arnold is still breathing heavily, and the way the man’s hand has stopped as soon as he’d heard him come is slightly annoying, but it all fades in second place: Andrew is there, with him, and he’s holding him in his arms.

-“You alright, Arnie?”-

The man manages a hum. It’s really all he feels like saying at the moment. Clapton is still singing in the background and the lights are low and Andrew’s cologne smells better than anything Arnold has ever happened upon.

-“Feel like going to the bedroom?”-

So soon? -“Just a bit.”-

Dispatch chuckles. He knows himself well enough to be aware that the chuckle is masking his own comfort at the moment. Though he might have not known it just thirty minutes ago, he enjoys how much Arnold relies on him. How much he blindly, fully trusts him. He also enjoys the technician’s arms, still tightly wrapped around his frame. In the back of his mind, something is begging for him to stop, trying to remind him that this was never supposed to turn romantic, but Andrew has been so starved of a genuine connection that even something as simple as this is enough to make his heart skip a few beats.

-“There’s still a few things I’d like to try, you know...”-

-“How-...”- another deep breath. It feels slightly more manageable to speak now. -“…you’ve done stuff like this before?”-

The man sighs, a bit too loudly for it to be casual. It’s loud enough, in fact, to push Arnold off of him in order to look at him in the eyes. Once again, Andrew suddenly finds it harder to bear the other man’s gaze.

-“A few times.”- is the ultimate answer. -“Back in LA.”-

Arnold slightly tilts his head. -“Was it fun?”-

-“It was sex.”-

-“Doesn’t answer the question.”-

-“Well...”- he pinches him lightly on the nape of his neck before turning around and starting down the corridor. -“… it was different. And dangerous. Hell, it stopped being a mental illness what, six years ago?”-

Arnold stays silent, but follows closely behind.

-“And it did not get better even after that. They’ll still shoot you if you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.”- Andrew clears his throat. -“Sorry, didn’t want to bring down the tone.”-

-“Don’t worry, you didn’t.”- comes the technician’s answer, quickly enough to make Andrew smile. -“Sorry, though. I can’t imagine that was fun.”-

-“No. Most certainly wasn’t.”-

They’ve reached the man’s bedroom. Arnold almost immediately notices the door of the en suite bathroom, semi-open and, for the moment, providing the only source of light in the whole environment. It’s enough for him to see the bed, much bigger than his own, currently covered with deep red sheets and duvets. It looks soft even from a distance.

-“Can I use the bathroom a moment?”-

-“Of course.”-

Arnold almost feels the need to thank him, but manages to hold himself back at the last second. He gets into the bathroom, quickly brushes his teeth with what he presumes to be a spare toothbrush and freshens himself up. In the mirror, the figure looking back at him is almost scared, though he has no idea what for. This is supposed to be a fun night, after all. It has already begun in the best of ways and every time Arnold thinks back to how Dispatch speaks to him in those moments he feels hot all over.

Deciding to postpone the existential crisis until later, the man walks back out of the bathroom. He hears enough noise coming from down the hallway to deduce Andrew has probably had the same idea as him. Uncertain, the technician eventually settles on taking off his shoes and socks and he sits at the edge of the bed, in front of the open door. Arnold doesn’t have to wait long until the older man re-emerges from the other bathroom. He smiles again as soon as he lays eyes on him.

-“And you’re the one telling me I’m hot...”-

-“You thought I was kidding before?”- Arnold waits to end the question until the man is standing in front of him. He has to look up in order to meet his eyes. -“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror recently, Andy?”-

The man glances to his left, where a big mirror stands above the drawers. -“Eh, same old.”-

Arnold follows his line of sight. The reflection he sees does nothing to discredit his own belief concerning Andrew. -“You’re such a cocky bastard whenever I hear you on the dispatch.”- the man in question snorts briefly, -“And now you’re looking like a wet puppy.”-

-“I already told you why.”-

-“And I already told you...”- the technician firmly takes Andrew’s hands in his and pulls him down on the bed. His back hits the mattress in synchrony with the dispatcher’s body landing on him. Standing this close, Arnold feels like the air has been knocked out of his lungs, although the culprit is more likely to be the adult man currently laying all of his weight on top of him rather than stomach butterflies. -“… you don’t need to be.”- one of his hands goes once again to tousle Andrew’s hair. -“Why is it so hard to believe that I find you attractive, hm?”-

The man lets out the umpteenth sigh and gently slides off of Arnold, settling to his left. The technician wastes no time in inverting the positions, though he’s considerate enough to pin his knees at Andrew’s sides in order not to lay any actual weight on him. He leans down, unexpectedly kissing the tip of Andrew’s nose, which in turn elicits a chuckle from him. The next kiss lands on his cheek, and then on his jaw, close to his ear.

-“What are you doing?”-

-“Let me.”- is the only answer Andrew receives. His heart is beating so fast he doesn’t even find the voice to say anything else.

Undisturbed, Arnold proceeds with the kisses, now down the man’s neck. He doesn’t linger anywhere for a long period of time, but rather peppers Andrew’s skin with soft touches of his lips, over and over. Meanwhile, his hands go to find the hems of the dispatcher’s sweater, and he slowly starts to push it up. As his fingers graze Andrew’s skin, he can feel his chest expanding and contracting with a poor attempt at deep breaths. Electing not to speak for the moment, Arnold limits himself to taking the sweater off of the other man, carelessly throwing it somewhere else in the room. With a smile, the technician leans back down, inches from Andrew’s lips.

-“Can I kiss you?”-

The only response he receives is a nod, but it’s more than enough. The man crashes into Andrew, finally relishing in the feeling of tasting him, of knowing the shape and the texture of his lips. His right arm almost immediately goes under Andrew’s neck, while his left hand lands softly on his cheek. Arnold’s own heart is making jumps at the kiss, and he feels like a high school boy finally making out with his crush. It does not bother him in the least that at the moment his crush is a forty-six years old man who, perhaps, would have let him perish in a semi-abandoned factory. Well, the last part does bother him, but thinking about it now won’t do anything.

When Andrew finally, fucking finally starts to respond, it makes Arnold’s head sway a little. The man shoots upright, wrapping both arms around the technician’s body like he’s the one holding him down to earth. He seems to be in a bit more of a hurry than Arnold, because the Fazbear’s shirt joins the sweater in less than a minute. Andrew feels ravenous, and the other man can’t exactly complain about the humor change if that’s what it gets him. For a time neither of them would know how to describe they do nothing but kiss: they don’t shift positions nor do their hands wander in places other than the other’s hair or back. They are breathing each other in, memorizing the feeling of each other’s body against their own. It feels so good Andrew thinks he might cry for a few seconds.

-“God-...”- Arnold breaths the word inside of Andrew’s mouth, as a shiver runs down his spine. Both of his hands are at the dispatcher’s sides, and the nails on his fingers are slowly starting to dig into the man’s flesh. It’s enough to sting, but Andrew wouldn’t ask him to stop for all the money in the world. -“…you’re fucking beautiful, Dispatch.”-

Compliments on his physicality had always troubled Andrew. He had put on a bit too much weight as a kid and spent the following twenty years of his life trying to lose it, occasionally falling back into old habits and reprieving himself for every error in ways that, even now, had left signs on his body. Being called “beautiful” is not something he’s used to, and he almost wants to tell Arnold to stop, but the man has also called him Dispatch and that elicits an entirely different reaction within him. “Dispatch” is the name that gives him power, authority, clearance. “Dispatch” is the name that allowed him to start this whole thing two weeks ago. Like a secret word whispered in the dark to a sleeper agent, “Dispatch” turns off one switch and on another. Arnold seems to have caught on to that quickly enough.

With a low hum Andrew reverts their positions once more, pinning both of Arnold’s arms down on the mattress. He breaks the kiss and tilts his head. -“Do I have to tie you up?”-

The younger man is breathless, and he swallows visibly at the request, but after a moment or two of thought he shakes his head.

-“Hm. Of course I don’t. You told me as much, now, didn’t you?”- he’s climbed down from his place, down from the entire bed as a matter of fact. Now, he’s just pacing around, hands locked behind his back. -“It will take a lot of restraint. A whole lot, Arnie. You think you can do that?”-

Arnold’s eyes are locked in his. He nods again, already starting to feel his blood rush south. It really does take very little when it comes to Andrew.

-“Again, words.”-

-“Yes.”- the man clears his throat. -“Yes, I can.”-

-“We’ll see.”-

Arnold frowns, almost offended. His fists tighten around a handful of sheet.

-“Alright.”- Dispatch climbs back up on the bed, undoes the buckle of the technician’s jeans and pulls them off in a quick movement. The man’s underwear follows suit, and it makes Andrew smile to see he’s already well on his way to be hard. For the moment, though, his hands don’t go near the other man’s body. Instead, much to Arnold’s disappointment, he climbs back down and starts pacing around again. He’s about to speak when he notices something he hadn’t been able to feel while touching Arnold earlier: a wide, yellowish-purple bruise spread on the right side of the technician’s rib cage.

-“What happened there?”-

-“Hm?”-

Andrew points to the man’s body with his head. -“That’s a nasty bruise.”-

-“Oh, that’s-...uhm...”- Arnold very vividly remembers what caused it. -“The-… the… I don’t know, I was at MCM. I think I stumbled upon something.”-

-“You don’t remember? That seems a bit too big to go unnoticed.”-

-“I think I-… I was in a dark passage, and… and I didn’t see something.”- a knot is taking shape in his stomach even as he speaks, and his breaths are starting to become more shallow. -“Can we change topic?”-

The dispatcher squints. The memory of whatever had happened is taking a hold of Arnold at the moment, and not in a good way. He sits back on the bed, to Arnold’s right, and splays a hand on his chest. -“You all right, Arnie?”-

The man barely manages a nod, but his breathing pace says otherwise. Andrew can feel it under his fingers. He scoots further on the mattress, until his upper body is essentially pressed against Arnold’s, with one hand under him and the other threading through his hair. This up close, he can see tears gathering in the man’s eyes. -“Hey… Arnie, it’s all right.”- Andrew leans down and hugs him, pressing his lips on Arnold’s forehead. -“You’re safe.”- he stands back, enough to look at him in the eyes. -“What happened?”-

This time, the technician shakes his head. -“Please, not now.”-

-“There wasn’t anybody else there, right?”- Andrew’s brow furrows. -“Nobody tried to hurt you? Apart from MIMIC, of course.”-

Arnold purses his lips. -“No.”- is the answer he eventually settles on.

The older man gives him another kiss, this time on the lips. -“Alright, ‘kay.”- the hand that was under him moves to his side, slowly going up and down, grazing the skin from Arnold’s ribcage to his hips. -“Alright.”- Dispatch’s lips move away from him to focus on his neck. -“Close your eyes. Relax.”-

Arnold does as he’s told. Andrew’s lips touch him in the gentlest of ways, and the way his fingers move is melting the anxiety that was pooling up inside him. As he relaxes back on the bed, arms still splayed out, Arnold soon finds that no matter what it is for, his brain seems wired to follow Dispatch’s commands. It may be because he’s used to it, the man suspects. As the kisses progress down his collarbone, Arnold’s momentarily forgotten semi starts to spring to full vigor, and though the man’s instinct would be that of thrusting his hips upwards Andrew’s weight on him is preventing him from doing so. The next best thing is a whimper that gets a raspy chuckle out of Dispatch. His right hand keeps moving, always in the same place and following the same pattern and speed.

-“Fuck-...”-

-“Hmh?”- Dispatch stops almost immediately, eliciting a short-lived groan from Arnold. He turns back, then again to the man in question. -“I see we’re back on track.”- he pushes himself off of the technician, and returns to his previous standing position. -“Arnie? Eyes on me.”-

The technician’s eyes snap open, though his expression is slightly annoyed. -“You’re a jerk.”-

The fucking corporate smile makes the third appearance of the night. -“Best there is. Already told you. Now...”- his focus shifts on Arnold’s dick. It’s the first time he sees it in real life, and the grainy, static-filled black and white picture he’d had in mind during his solo sessions in the past weeks does not do it justice. He has to bite the inside of his lower lip to keep his own hands in place. -“...where were we...”-

Dispatch walks back around, until he’s on the other side of the bed, always making sure the younger man’s eyes are following him. He sits down suddenly, and this time his left hand lands on Arnold’s thigh. He absent-mindedly starts to draw circles on the technician’s skin, his touch feather-light. -“I don’t want to see you move an inch without my permission. Are we clear on that?”-

A small nod, almost instantly followed by a -“Yes.”- that doesn’t sound too sure. Dispatch tests Arnold’s obedience almost instantly: his fingers trail up and on the inside of the man’s leg, until they’re inches from the base of his cock. Andrew lingers there for just a little while, before his middle finger runs up and down the man’s length: a strangled whimper leaves Arnold’s mouth and he momentarily squeezes his eyes shut, but other than muscle contractions he does not move. -“Good boy.”- his finger doesn’t stop, nor does it change speed. From base to tip and back, it keeps grazing Arnold’s dick with a gentle, attentive touch. It’s not long before the younger man has to start a breathing exercise that helps little to nothing to alleviate his condition. He tries oh-so-desperately to search for something, anything that might help him in the back of his mind, but he comes back emtpy-handed. Andrew is touching him and it feels like nothing else could matter more at the moment and before he’s aware of it his back arches and his hips thrust upwards as an exasperated sigh leaves his lips.

-“What did I say?”- the man’s hand stops abruptly, and Arnold can’t really help the groan he makes. -“Arnie?”-

-“Sorry.”-

-“Mh.”- the man stands up once again, much to the other’s disappointment. -“We’ve barely begun and you’re already like this. I’m not really sure I can trust your ability to stay still, you know.”-

-“I-… I’ll be good. I promise.”-

Dispatch quirks an eyebrow.

-“Please.”-

-“Please what?”-

-“Believe me.”-

He ponders the request for a handful of seconds. -“I’ll give you two more chances.”-

Arnold nods enthusiastically and a few locks of hair bounce on his forehead. Andrew can’t help but to smile. -“You’re very cute, you know?”- he starts pacing once again, -“I mean, I already told you you’re good looking, but you’re also endearing.”- the man leans on the bed, balancing his weight on his right arm while the left hand gently strokes Arnold’s cheek. -“Even if you always look a bit tired.”-

-“Oh, fuck off. ‘s your fault, too.”-

-“Mine?”- Dispatch feigns a moment of ignorance. -“How so?”-

-“You got me working the longest shifts known to man.”-

-“Fazbear’s does.”-

-“Through you.”-

Andrew tilts his head. Touché. -“You never really complain about it, though.”-

-“Might be the threats of docking my pay or firing me.”-

Without warning, Dispatch plants a knee on the bed and wraps his right hand around Arnold’s dick. The man’s sharp inhale momentarily prevents him from speaking further.

-“Oh, really?”- the hand movements are slow, too slow. -“What else don’t you like about us?”-

-“I-… oh, God-...”- it’s difficult to form a coherent thought, let alone a critique at the moment. -“You’re kinda heartless… I-… I told you a- fuck-… already...”-

-“Mh mh.”- Dispatch nods, -“That you did, and I said you were right. So it doesn’t count. Come on.”- Arnold is squirming beneath him, barely keeping from moving, and his knuckles are going white around the sheets. -“Tell me something else.”-

Turning work into dirty talk is not something Arnold had expected. It would make him laugh, if he wasn’t centering much of his focus around keeping his hips still or his body from moving too much. -“The-...”- a pitiful, almost pathetic moan makes it past his lips, -“I-… I don’t know...”-

-“You can’t think of anything else?”- a bit hard to think at all, at the moment. -“Mh? Nothing about the frankly mediocre pay most of you get, the hours, the lack of care for anyone’s safety?”-

-“Why are-… God, fuck-… I...yes… yes, please-...”- Dispatch’s hand disappears almost as soon as the request is spoken, tearing a swear from Arnold’s mouth. He was close enough already that a lack of friction outright hurts, and his dick is twitching with semi-involuntary muscle contractions. -“Why are you…asking this?”-

Dispatch smiles almost gleefully. -“Just wanted you to speak.”-

-“And you chose… work? As a topic?”-

The other man shrugs in response. His right hand is back under him to support his weight, and he leans in slightly, shoulder barely brushing against Arnold’s side. -“Anything goes, really. I’ll think of something better.”-

This time, it’s the technician’s turn to smirk.

-“Can I ask you something?”-

Arnold nods. Anything to distract him from the erection begging to be touched between his legs.

-“I told you I touched myself thinking about you several times.”- he’s leaning in closer, and his voice is marginally lower than before. -“Have you?”-

The question dries out Arnold’s throat and mouth. So much for wanting to be distracted from his current condition. Eventually, he nods almost shamefully, like he’s thinking back to something he shouldn’t have done.

-“Really?”- Dispatch has wrapped one hand around his waist and his head is currently resting on Arnold’s chest. The man’s eyes shine almost unnaturally in the light. -“What did you think about...”- he crawls closer to Arnold’s ear, -“...my little dog?”-

Oh, that fucking pet name. It’s enough to make him curse again, and his dick twitches at the appellative. He can feel himself starting to leak.

-“I don’t… I don’t know. Everything. You-...”-

-“Telling you what to do?”-

Arnold nods.

-“You really like that, don’t you?”- Dispatch has not stopped smiling, the technician can hear it. His lips are still so close to the man’s ear that they graze it every time he speaks. -“What else?”-

He’s panting so hard he doesn’t physically have enough breath in him to speak more than a few words at a time. -“Fuck me.”-

Dispatch’s head jerks back just enough to look at him. -“Is that a fantasy or a request, Arnold?”-

-“Both.”-

-“Well, thing is...”- the man pushes himself back and on his feet again. -“I’d have to… prepare you, if you want me to fuck you...”- Arnold’s whimpers are nothing short of delightful, -“...and I don’t think you’re in the condition to withstand my touch without coming at the moment, are you?”-

The question shuts Arnold up for a while, though he couldn’t say out of what. Embarrassment? Surprise? He sure did not expect for Dispatch to be this straightforward. The thing, though, is that the older man is right. At the moment, Arnold suspects he couldn’t withstand any sort of physical touch from Andrew for longer than a minute without climaxing.

-“So… well, but then again...”- the dispatcher tilts his head, looking at Arnold as if he’s in deep thought. Eventually, after a short while, he walks around the bed to the bedside table, takes out a bottle and pours a small portion of the contents on his right hand. After the process is over, Andrew climbs back on the bed, though this time he positions himself between Arnold’s legs.

-“Now, as far as I know this shouldn’t hurt. Tell me if it does.”-

The younger man nods, only slightly worried.

-“Close your eyes.”-

Dark dawns on him once more, and as the other times, he starts to relax marginally. Soon, he feels Dispatch’s left arm leaning on his thigh, warm and as soft as the hands of someone who is not used to manual labor. A small, surprised whimper is torn from his throat when he starts to feel the man’s other hand just below his balls, circling his entrance. Arnold breaths softly, trying to get accustomed to the feeling, but before he can so much as think about speaking Andrew’s middle finger slips inside him and it feels like all the air is sucked out of his lungs. He starts to feel something tingling in his lower stomach, like an itch he’s not able to scratch, but there’s no frustration that comes with it. Andrew’s movements are slow and gentle and repetitive and God it’s starting to feel good already. He doesn’t have a clue what the older man is doing, but the pleasure that’s building up inside him seems to come from somewhere else, a place deep within his gut and the more it grows, the more he realizes he cannot for the life of him stay still. It doesn’t matter how much he might try and restrain himself, Arnold’s hips thrust gently upwards to meet Andrew’s hand at almost every move. Soft whimpers are starting to leave his mouth, and he barely notices when a second finger is added into the mix.

-“Fuck-...”- is the only thing Arnold manages to spit out, and barely at that.

-“You can move, for now.”-

It’s not like he’s not already doing it, but it’s still nice to hear he has permission. Goosebumps spread across his skin and bursts of pleasure shoot through his body like electricity. Soon, control abandons his vocal chords and Arnold is glad there’s no neighbors to hear him. In the background, he’s mildly aware there is something Andrew is doing, a sort of gentle touching in a repetitive pattern that is sending the technician somewhere else. It keeps bordering on being uncomfortable, but never quite reaches a place where it actually is. The dispatcher’s left hand has changed places and is now wide open, splayed on Arnold’s stomach. The heat of it spreads pleasantly on the man’s skin, and the slight pressure Andrew is exercising somehow makes all of this even more intense than he thought possible. Full-body shivers are now occasionally taking a hold of him, and the more Andrew’s fingers move, the more he feels like he’s having some sort of out-of-body experience. Arnold doesn’t know how long it takes, doesn’t even know exactly when it culminates, he’s just aware of his own voice suddenly screaming something along the lines of -“I’m close!”- before his orgasm overtakes him. He hasn’t been told he can, but it doesn’t feel like he could be able to control it at all. Waves of pleasure rush through him, deep inside, spreading from his core to his limbs, and when he next opens his eyes the man genuinely feels disoriented for a few seconds. He’s breathing hard and as the room comes back into focus, so does the thing that surprises him most: he is still hard. In fact, there’s no come anywhere, neither on his belly nor on the sheets. Both of his arms are tightly wrapped around a pillow.

-“What-...”- Arnold tries to speak, but finds he still has too little breath in him to do so. At the end of the bed, Andrew is smiling a mischievous, satisfied smile the likes of which he’s never seen on him. He has won something Arnold didn’t know they were competing for. -“What happened?”-

-“I told you.”- Dispatch stands back up and, to the technician’s surprise, he starts unbuckling his belt. -“I had to prepare you, at least a little bit.”-

-“That was-… that was preparation?”- he looks around, almost helpless. -“I-… I thought I...”-

-“You did come.”- the older man pulls down his pants and underwear. Even though he’d seen him less than an hour before, Arnold did not remember him being that… big, for lack of a better term. -“’s called a dry orgasm.”-

-“Huh.”- he genuinely does not know what to say. Thanks for the info? Cool, I’ll be sure to try it at home? Nothing that doesn’t make him sound like a dork, so Arnold ultimately decides to stay silent.

-“You liked it?”-

Arnold nods enthusiastically, so much so that it makes Dispatch chuckle a bit. -“Now, before we move on to the main dance...”- he sits again on the bed, delicately taking the pillow from the technician. -“You know where your arms have to be.”-

Like a puppet whose strings are being pulled into place, Arnold’s arms return to their previous configuration, though a bit sluggishly. Dispatch is looking down at him with his head tilted.

-“You feel good?”-

-“I think so...”- there’s still stuff to be taken care of, but he doubts Dispatch could care less at the moment.

-“Good.”- back up again he is, and by now his pacing is starting to make him look like a movie villain. -“Ah, by the way, the day after tomorrow you have a double shift.”-

The mild arousal that was dancing in Arnold’s eyes immediately leaves space to irritation. -“What?”-

-“Not at the Diner. It’s somewhere else, they need a technician at another location.”-

-“And you’re telling me now?”- he gestures around, -“Right now?”-

-“Thought I should warn you before I forgot. It’s not far from here, though. It’s the Pizza Place in Hurricane.”-

-“That’s a four hour drive!”- Arnold shoots up, -“Can’t they send someone else?”-

-“Down.”- Dispatch points at him. -“I told you you’re one of our best workers. That one is gonna earn you more than the gift certificate, I can assure you.”-

-“What? A five dollar bonus?”-

-“I told you to stay down.”-

-“You can’t tell me what to do.”- Oh what a fucking lie.

Dispatch stops dead in his tracks, turns around slowly with a smirk. -“Can’t I, now?”-

Arnold purses his lips. No answer is gonna be better than an undignified answer. But then Dispatch is on the bed again and this time his right hand goes directly for the technician’s throat, pushing him down and into the pillow. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s tight enough that Arnold can’t really move around much. -“Because I think I can.”- the man leans in closer. -“I think I can tell you exactly what to do, and you’ll do it.”- he growls the last words, mere inches from Arnold’s face. -“Like the good...”- Dispatch tilts his head, bringing his mouth closer to the technician’s ear, -“...obedient...”- teeth graze his skin and Arnold can’t rightly help the way his eyelids flutter closed, -“...little dog you are.”-

-“Yes, Dispatch.”-

Andrew hums, evidently pleased with the response. He stands back up and walks to the bedside table once more. The thing Arnold has understood to be lube makes a brief reappearance as Dispatch lathers himself up, letting out a few long sighs from the back of his throat as he does so. Once he’s done, the man takes up his previous position, now kneeling on the bed.

-“Okay...”- he asses the situation silently for a few beats. When he looks up at Arnold, his eyes are softer than just mere moments before. -“This one is gonna hurt, a bit. Tell me if you want me to stop.”-

The man nods as his cock twitches in anticipation. -“Alright.”- he decides to add, knowing Dispatch would have asked for vocal confirmation anyway.

Above him, the man in question takes a deep breath. He feels Dispatch adjust both of them, slightly moving the technician upwards and towards him, considering what the right angle might be. As soon as the head of Andrew’s cock goes past his entrance his breath hitches. Dispatch stops almost immediately.

-“Everything good?”-

-“Yeah.”-

No further comment is made. Andrew goes in a little bit deeper, trying to limit his own moans to a minimum for the moment, eyes focused on Arnold’s body language.

On the technician’s side, discomfort reigns. It doesn’t burn, but it still feels much like a foreign presence that should not be there. And no matter how much Dispatch paces himself, Arnold can’t help the grimaces that occasionally take shape on his features. It might be because the man is being careful, but it’s also feeling like forever.

-“God, how fucking long is it?”- Arnold asks the question earnestly, though it does sound like a complaint. It makes Dispatch laugh just a little.

-“Never measured.”-¹

-“You should… oh God-… you should think about doing that…”-

-“I might make you do it.”-

-“Not now.”-

Dispatch snorts. -“No.”- a little bit deeper still. -“’course not.”- he continues pushing, fingers steadily holding Arnold’s hips in place. It might be because he’s neglected himself until now, but this alone feels almost enough. When his balls hit the technician’s ass, he has to take a deep, shaky breath in an attempt to control himself. -“Done.”- the man’s voice is the littlest bit hoarser, and his head dips down as he tries to hold himself up. -“God… you feel so fucking good, Arnie.”-

A whimper is the only reply he receives. Slowly, Dispatch starts to pull out, with the same care as following the same pace as when he entered. He waits two or three seconds before going in again. This time, though it doesn’t hurt less, at least Arnold knows what to expect, and Andrew’s cock keeps brushing against that spot from before in a way that makes him outright whine.

-“Stay still.”-

-“You’re asking the impossible...”- the technician’s chest is heaving up and down, and the muscles in his abdomen keep contracting and relaxing at irregular intervals.

-“I know you can do it.”- unexpectedly, Andrew leans forward, until his chest is almost flush with the other man’s, and softly kisses his forehead. -“Good boy.”-

His voice is sweeter now, almost gentle, and both his hands are cradling Arnold’s face, thumbs slowly stroking his cheeks.

-“Look at me.”-

The technician opens his eyes. Dispatch is so close he could count his eyelashes. It only moderately scares Arnold that as soon as he sees him his heart speeds up and a wave of warmth spreads through his chest. The pain has almost disappeared, and it might be because of Andrew’s careful movements or it might be because at the moment some other instinct is taking over. Quickly, before Dispatch has the chance to notice and swerve his actions, Arnold wraps both arms around the man’s shoulders and kisses him. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to kiss someone more than Andrew. For once, it’s Dispatch’s breath that hitches in his throat, and his hands shake slightly.

-“It’s so nice to kiss you.”- the younger man mumbles.

Fuck it is the last thing Andrew thinks before kissing him back. His hips are still moving slowly, much to his own frustration, but he’s certain he’s making some progress. Arnold doesn’t look like he’s in pain anymore, at least. For the moment, though, all Andrew can think about is the fact that he couldn’t care less that Arnold isn’t staying still. The man is kissing him with a burning passion, all tongue and occasional bites and hunger, and although Dispatch had started the night with the intention to remain the dominant one through all of it he doesn’t see any scenario better than this one playing out in his head. When, as his rhythm increases in the slightest, Arnold’s lips part to leave space for occasional moans and whimpers, Andrew feels almost heady.

-“Fuck…please…”- whispered curses keep flooding Arnold’s mouth, and with Andrew being basically on top of him his dick is finally getting some friction. -“Oh God-…”- they keep kissing and Andrew starts thrusting into him faster and faster, groaning and whimpering into his mouth.

-“You’re-...ah, fuck… you’re so good...”- is the longest sentence the dispatcher feels comfortable speaking out loud at the moment. He can feel Arnold’s precome on his stomach and he himself has been on the edge too long for this session to actually last and he’s just about to tell him to the best of his abilities when Arnold outright screams. It’s not his name or a curse, it’s a high-pitched, filthy, nameless scream that he suspects the bears roaming around the woods might have been alarmed by. Then, Andrew feels the technician’s arms tighten around his frame and his fingers dig into his skin to the point where the dispatcher thinks he might have drawn a bit of blood. His chest and stomach feels suddenly warm with the technician’s come and that’s more than enough to do him in. Andrew’s own orgasm hits him fully, from his gut through his whole body, tearing Arnold’s name from his lips as his face goes to nestle in the younger man’s neck.

It’s not only the hardest Arnold knows he’s ever come, but it might also be the best sex he’s ever had with anyone since his presence had graced the Earth. It’s so intense he is sure he blacks out for a few seconds, and the sound of Andrew’s voice, of Dispatch’s voice, broken and hoarse, screaming his name makes him outright shiver. Arnold is barely aware of how his hands twitch and his fingers dig in Andrew’s back, of how his legs latch on to Andrew’s hips, of how a few drops of Andrew’s sweat trickle on his own forehead. At the moment, the technician knows nothing but bliss and pleasure and he’s uncertain about whether it would be possible for a human to feel a higher degree of either. He remains in that position until Andrew slowly slides down to his side, and he kisses him again as soon as he can. This time, he can very distinctly feel the dispatcher’s smile against his own lips.

-“You smiling at something?”-

-“How couldn’t I?”- Andrew’s arms are still wrapped around the younger man’s frame. No matter how desperately Dispatch might be trying, it’s difficult to ignore the way his heart is beating and it’s not purely because of the physicality of what just happened. He kisses him back, again and again, until he feels there’s no more breath in him.

It takes a while before either of them gathers enough will to dislodge himself from the other in favor of a quick shower, during which Dispatch very quickly discovers Arnold’s nails had in fact scratched him deep enough to cut through skin.

-“I don’t know if I gotta be honored.”- the man comments off-handedly, as soon as they’re reunited in the bedroom. Arnold tilts his head, wincing when he sees the damage he’s done.

-“Sorry about that.”-

-“Ah, don’t worry. It’ll pass.”- then, as something goes off in his mind, -“Speaking of which...”- Andrew turns around, leaning against the headboard, pulling she sheets up to his hips. It’s dark now, but the moonlight still provides a light that allows him to see Arnold’s features well enough. His eyes dart to the technician’s waist. -“… you didn’t tell me about the bruise.”-

The other man visibly stiffens up at the reminder. Looking up, trying to avoid Andrew’s eyes, he mumbles:

-“Do I have to, now? Can’t it wait ‘til tomorrow?”-

-“I’d like to know. I mean, I’m not gonna think less of you if you tell me you bumped against something in the dark.”- he brings a leg to his chest, resting his left elbow on the knee. -“Couldn’t blame you, honestly.”-

-“It’s-…”- it’s not like Arnold’s gonna talk about this with a psychiatrist. Hell, he can’t afford a psychiatrist, and even if he could he sincerely doubts anyone is gonna believe him. Eventually, after a few more seconds of thought, the technician sinks back against the pillows and sighs. -“I-… I ended up in this basement, at one point. I think a statue in of one of the showrooms had kinda collapsed through the roof and ended up in there.”-

-“Keeping up to code with safety standards, I see.”-

Arnold sends him a death glare. -“You’re the one to talk, sending me in an abandoned factory, on my own, with a fucking murderous endoskeleton chasing me down.”-

-“Fazbear’s considers-”-

-“Not the point.”- the technician quickly shuts him up. -“Thing is, while I was there, I had to… to look for another way out, ‘cause the elevator was broken.”-²

This time, Andrew limits himself to a nod.

-“And…”- the man exhales, -“… there-… there was somebody. I think.”-

-“You said there was nobody.”-

-“That was different.”-

-“You sure it wasn’t the endo?”-

Arnold shakes his head. -“Nah. It sounded different. It was-… it was wearing this sort of moon costume, with a huge head. And it just… it walked around and kept singing a lullaby.”-

That’s oddly specific, Andrew considers. -“So it didn’t chase you?”-

-“Oh, no, it did. That’s how I got this.”- Arnold gestures to his side. -“I was running around like a lost chicken and it saw me and I started looking for the stairs but it was dark and I kept bumping into stuff…”- he’s almost out of breath by the end of the sentence, and Andrew notices his hands are shaking. Wordlessly, he scoots over just enough to wrap one arm around the man’s shoulders and usher him closer. -“I don’t know what it was...”-

For a moment, Dispatch is uncertain about whether to speak. His hand is slowly drawing circles on Arnold’s back and, when he hears a muffled sob, he tries to comfort him with a low “Sssh…” that seems to have the opposite effect.

-“Don’t do that, please.”-

-“What?”-

-“The-…”- he’s not crying, not yet at least. -“It did that. It kept...shushing itself, I don’t know. Just don’t do that.”-

-“Alright…”- not really knowing what else he could do, Andrew eventually settles for a forehead kiss. -“I don’t think you’ll have to go back. I’ll make sure you won’t have to.”-

A nod of acknowledgment. Andrew doesn’t speak anymore. He lets Arnold drift off to sleep while resting his head on his chest. He doesn’t tell him that he’d heard about a man gone insane down inside MCM from one of the previous teams. He doesn’t tell him that, following Arnold’s stellar performance, Fazbear’s had already asked for him to be sent back to the factory to grab another couple of things next week. Above all, he doesn’t tell him that among those things is a mascot costume of a character called “Sleepy Moon”, because Fazbear’s had laid eyes on the schematics but they wanted the real thing for practicality purposes.

He also doesn’t tell him that during next week’s recovery mission, he has asked to be on the field with him.