Author: Guede Mazaka
"…and that's about it, gentlemen. Unless Greenly would like to add anything to the proceedings? No? Good. And try not to land yourself in the hospital too fast; I've got a two o'clock meeting that I'm damn well not missing."
The jackass does in fact have something, but Paul ignores the hand and shoos his little baby force out of his office so they go work on their walking skills where he doesn't have to watch. Some days, he wonders why he gets out of bed. And some days, he wonders if it'd be ethically justified to dig up the names of whoever'd gotten him on more-or-less permanent liaison with the Boston PD and slip them the twins' way. God knows none of his superiors have clean bedsheets.
Paul had been hoping that Duffy or one of the smarter ones would've made Greenly leave, but that's the irony kicking in: intelligence increases in inverse proportion to size. Probably why Connor and Murphy are unclassified geniuses, their dead Italian buddy a bit of a dick, and Greenly just an amazingly stupid fuck.
"Smecker. You can't ignore me forever." The desk creaks as Greenly leans over it, and Paul makes a note to kick ass until they send him some decent furniture. What with the amount of shit he's got to plow through, he doesn't need to sit at and work on it, too. "People are staring."
"So close the goddamn blinds if you're so shy." A minute later, Paul realizes he should've tacked a 'on your way out' somewhere in that sentence. Sadly, grammar and sarcasm don't always mix.
Neither does Greenly and self-preservation, apparently, because now the blinds are shut and the door's locked and Paul has a man flopping down in front of him. He thinks about kicking Greenly right in that big fat mouth, teach him the truth about that figure of speech, but in that moment of thinking his chair gets yanked out.
"Look, what's your deal?" The complaint goes straight to Paul's crotch-literally, because Greenly has his head in and is snuffling with his hands holding Paul's thighs apart, and God help the bastard if he ruins another one of Paul's suit trousers. And maybe Greenly's got some brains, because it's really fucking hard not to pay attention to something that's being mouthed on your rising dick. "You've been weird for…okay, you're always like that with your fucking classical music, but lately you've just been touchy."
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Greenly." Yeah, Paul is shoving at that big head and trying to pry off the fingers because maybe Greenly doesn't have jack shit to his name, but Paul definitely has a reputation to protect. No damned cuddling, and definitely not in the office.
Lick around the tip of Paul's cock. Greenly's tongue isn't candy- or rosepetal or some other dumb shade of pink-kind of purply red, with a little magenta in the middle-but it damn well knows what it's doing. Snakes its way down one vein, comes back up and tries to fuck the slit. Goddamn it. Educating the jackass is supposed to get him off of Paul's back, and not get Paul onto his.
Another thing he needs to fix. The screech as the broken chair back flips down is just embarrassing.
"Yeah, you do. You yell at me to do crap, then make excuses to keep me out of the interesting shit." The whining continues even as Greenly stretches his mouth around Paul's cock and fits it down his throat, but Paul has to admit that then it's pretty damn good. That's also around the time he finally says to hell with it and postpones the verbal slashing until after the blowjob.
Stupid name, that. Lick-suck-reverse-fuck fucking is more like it. Paul wraps the fingers of one hand around the chair arm, knots the fingers of the other in Greenly's hair and tries not to humiliate himself as he comes.
Greenly's leaning back and wiping his mouth on his hand like a fresh-on-the-streets whore. Rolling his eyes, Paul hands over a tissue and gets his wrist grabbed. "And you mention hospitals a lot. Ever since I got shot."
"I wouldn't call that a shot," Paul snorts. His idiot hand thinks it's a good idea to drift toward said spot. Clean through the shoulder, lots of blood, pathetic scar and no other sign that it was even there.
His fingers twitch, just a little.
Greenly gives them a look, turns the same expression on Paul, but he keeps his mouth shut. Wisely. Paul's hand gets some brains and detours down into Greenly's jeans.
Not that Paul will ever mention it, but it's kind of fun to get Greenly sprawled out and jerking and chewing on his fist to keep from whimpering. Kid gets embarrassed about the weirdest things.
Eventually, Greenly stops flopping around and starts twisting, almost gracefully. He seizes up, grabs at the table edge and comes damn close to breaking off a piece when he messes up Paul's fingers.
"Christ. You know, the guy getting shot's supposed to be the one freaking out. Not that that was fun or anything." Greenly's lips part to add something else, but for once Paul's glare does what it should and cuts whatever it is short. Instead, Greenly leans forward and presses their lips together.
Which they don't do too often. One reason being Greenly is a stupid dick that likes onions. But this time, Paul's feeling lazy and generous, so he allows it. Even throws in some tongue to freak out Greenly.
"You-you-" Big wide eyes. Precious puppy, isn't he?
"At this rate, the Torricellis will have put another dozen bodies in the morgue. Go on and get 'em, sugar." Paul gets his pants up, distastefully noting the wrinkles, and slaps Greenly's slow ass.
Greenly's almost at the door when Paul remembers. "Hey-and put another packet of Sweet 'n Low in it this time."
"Fucker. By the time I'm back, you're gonna be drinking yourself under the bar again." Which is an unfair accusation because Greenly's only seen Paul like that twice, and Paul's had to haul Greenly's heavy ass out of more dives than he can count. But before Paul can mention that, the target of his annoyance is gone.
So maybe Greenly's learning, after all.