Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9072580.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Other
  Fandom:
      Voltron:_Legendary_Defender
  Relationship:
      Pidge_|_Katie_Holt/Iverson
  Character:
      Iverson_(Voltron), Pidge_|_Katie_Holt
  Additional Tags:
      Abuse_of_Authority, Sexual_Abuse, Whipping, Sexual_Coercion, Power
      Imbalance, i'm_so_sorry_pidge, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Gender-Neutral
      Pronouns_for_Pidge_|_Katie_Holt, Corporal_Punishment
  Series:
      Part 2 of Office_Hours
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-12-27 Words: 5254
****** Background Check ******
by c0cunt
Summary
     Pidge thought they were in the clear, when they had attended the
     commencement ceremony and didn't get a suspicious look from anyone.
     Except for Iverson.
     Their luck had run out by the next morning, apparently.
Notes
     as i said in the tags, i would like to apologize to Pidge.
     as my best broski MihaelKai said on his fic Performance_Review, this
     all started from the offhand comment of 'is iverson shipped with
     anyone?'
     which turned into 'iverson abuses his power frequently and
     indiscriminately'
     this fic is set post-kerberos, and pidge is a minor. probably takes
     place like the semester that followed right after the mission
     declaration of failure due to pilot error
See the end of the work for more notes
    Pidge was thinking that they had been successful with getting into the
Garrison.  Iverson had only glared suspiciously at them twice, before going
back to talking to the other higher ups at the welcome ceremony.  There had
been the heavy gaze that seemed to follow them across the room when they were
gravitated to the awards case in the corner of the room, where a photo of the
those missing from the Kerberos mission was tucked away into, but Pidge
completely ignored it.  At least, until an upperclassmen handed Pidge a note
with the school’s crest at the top, requesting Pidge Gunderson to report to
Iverson’s office at seven the following morning to discuss their “options at
the Garrison”.
    Pidge should’ve been concerned - after all, only a few other people
received letters delivered from upperclassmen, people that Pidge knew to be in
the “special cases” lists, as the ceremony wound down.  A list that 'Pidge
Gunderson' was not listed under.  And while they were suspicious, it wasn't
really like they could refuse.  That would've been a red warning sign, and
Pidge needed as few of those as possible to be able to get the grades to be
allowed on a mission to potentially find their family.
    So, anxiously fidgeting in front of Iverson's office at 6:54am the
following morning was the only option.  Pidge tried to reassure themselves,
trying to hear Sam Holt's voice in their memories of how to stay calm when they
felt like panicking.  It felt like it had been forever since Pidge had heard
their dad's voice, and they closed their eyes, trying...
    "Gunderson, early. Hrmph," Iverson's voice startled Pidge out of their
thoughts, and they snapped into a sloppy salute.  Iverson eyed them
appreciatively, eyes trailing up and down their body in a way that made Pidge
feel exposed, as though they hadn't put on their uniform properly.  Which, they
definitely had, Pidge had triple checked that, but once Iverson walked past
them, they glanced down just in case.  Nothing was out of place, and worry
wormed in beside the slight relief.
    "Cadet," Iverson barked, and Pidge jumped slightly.  The way Iverson was
standing at the door, an expectant look on his face, made it obvious that he
wanted Pidge to lead the way into the office.  The tiniest bit of worry Pidge
had felt grew, as they hovered at the edge of the doorway, and Iverson didn't
move at all.  He just stared down at them challengingly, until Pidge crossed
the threshold to his office, and closed the door sharply behind them.
    "Pidge Gunderson," Iverson said slowly, a slight laugh to his voice, as he
rounded his empty desk equally slowly.  "Never heard of a name like that
before.  My superiors thought I was being...Overly cautious about doing a quick
check on you, cadet."  He pulled a manila folder from the desk, with the name
Gunderson scrawled in the tab, and dropped it in front of Pidge.  When they
made no move for the folder, Iverson pushed it closer to them, flipping it open
at the same time.  Their stomach twisted up in anxious knots, Pidge stepped
forward to peer down at the folder.  It was-
    "Nothing.  I found absolutely nothing about a Pidge Gunderson outside of
what the Garrison application asks for."  Iverson said, fanning out the few
documents that were in the folder for Pidge to look at.  "No birth certificate,
no records before the final two years of high school  anywhere,  no high school
yearbook photos.  No family listed, the emergency contacts that  were  on the
application led to disconnected numbers."  Iverson stood up haughtily, staring
down at Pidge's frozen expression, opening the drawer at the top of his desk
again.
    "But, you know who  does  have a record, Gunderson?"  Iverson asked softly.
 Pidge blinked slowly, mouth opening for a second before snapping shut, unable
to force words out of their dry throat.  With a shark-like grin, Iverson pulled
another file from his desk, and flipped it open immediately.  The photo staring
back at Pidge was -
    "Katie Holt.  Removed from Garrison property not once, but  three  times.
 The only reason Miss Holt was not  arrested  for attempting to access
classified materials was as a  courtesy  to the widow of Dr Holt."  Iverson
smugly fanned out a three of the papers on top of Katie Holt's file, reporting
each separate removal from Garrison property.  Pidge's eyes flickered rapidly
across the papers, seeing but unable to read as terrified thoughts of what was
going to happen to them  now  flashed through their mind.
    "But now, we have a photograph of our Pidge Gunderson, as well as security
film of Katie - I mean  Pidge  - accepting his Garrison welcome package."
 Pidge didn't even have to look up to know that Iverson looked as smug as he
sounded - they had heard and seen the look on his face the first time that they
were escorted off of Garrison property.  Pidge took a deep breath, weighing out
the odds of somehow wiggling their way out of this, before Iverson continued.
    "If  I were to report all of this, Miss Holt," Pidge felt their guts writhe
unhappily at being called  miss  again, "You would be kicked out, of course.
 Not to mention arrested for all of the fraudulent activities you had to
participate in to create this...Gunderson character.  Possibly even sent to
jail.  And you know you wouldn't be allowed back into the Garrison, or any
other similar institution like ours ever again if that were to happen."
 Iverson said, his voice low and dark as he slowly closed Katie Holt's and
Pidge Gunderson's file.
    "You said 'if' you report me," Pidge said slowly, gears already frantically
turning to try and figure out what a top ranking officer at the Garrison could
possibly want to trade from an underage  kid.   Iverson smiled once again, and
Pidge felt a shiver of fear crawl up their spine.
    "Indeed, clever girl," He mocked, standing up to full height again,
towering over Pidge as he moved out from behind his desk like a cat stalking
its prey.  Iverson hummed to himself, and Pidge could tell he was pretending to
think, as he slowly walked behind them to the office door.  For half a second,
they were convinced that Iverson was just going to walk out, go to the director
of the Garrison, and have them expelled then and there.  But there was a tiny
click  of the office door being locked, the sound terrifyingly threatening in
the deafeningly quiet room.
    "I could, easily, report you.  You'd be out of my hair for good, and you'd
finally learn your place.  However..."  Iverson said delicately as he stepped
up directly behind Pidge.  "If you do  exactly as I say ...I think we can avoid
bringing the police into this, and perhaps even allow Pidge Gunderson to
continue attending the Garrison."  He finished, already sounding triumphant.
    Pidge could feel Iverson's body behind them, a bare breath of space between
their bodies.  If Pidge had any room to move forward, they would've, but as it
was, they were plastered tightly against Iverson's desk.  The intricately
carved dark wood was digging painfully into Pidge's hip bones, but there was no
way in hell that Pidge would move  back.   No matter how they attempted to look
at it, Iverson had all the power.
    "I don't really have much of a choice, do I?"  Pidge muttered bitterly,
still staring forward stubbornly.  Iverson let out a dark chuckle, and swept a
hand lightly up Pidge's arm.
    "I'm glad you can see things my way," He said, and stepped back a little
bit.  Pidge could breathe now, if only for a minute, though they remained
pressed up against the desk.  "Now how abou-  Don't you dare look back,"
Iverson snarled, when Pidge chanced a look over their shoulder.  Pidge's head
snapped forward, almost surprised at how fearful they felt standing firmly
(their hands shaking in the fists they had balled into).
    "Good, at least you can follow orders, little girl," Iverson said,
sickeningly delighted, before adding "Now, strip."  Pidge's stomach turned, and
their fists tightened even more, before what Iverson had said really processed.
 Their eyes nearly popped out of their head, and their neck let out an almost
sickening crack as they turned it to look back at Iverson.  He bared his teeth
in a disgusted frown, before striding forward and forcing Pidge to face
forward.
    "Terrible.  Can't even follow orders.  Dr Holt would be disappointed,
knowing his little girl couldn't follow a simple command.  You wouldn't even
make it through Garrison training," He sneered into the right side of Pidge's
face, as they stared stonily ahead.  He backed up a few paces, and stood
waiting with arms cross, before clearing his throat in an obviously prompting
way.  Pidge remained stock still, and swallowed down the bile that had crawled
up their throat as their mind jumped to ten different conclusions on what
Iverson could want from them.
    "Do I have to repeat myself, cadet?  Strip, and follow what I say, or
you'll be out of the Garrison before you can even apologize for disobeying me,"
Iverson growled, taking a threatening step forward.
    Pidge glared at the wall in front of them, and bared their own teeth as
they slowly unbuckled their belt.  They slowly shimmied the belt off of their
waist, and dropped it carelessly onto the desk, the heavy metal buckle creating
a tiny dent.  Pidge almost felt a smug sort of satisfaction for that little
dent.  Iverson's eyes narrowed, but Pidge had slowly gone for the zipper on
their jacket, and so he waited.
    Hesitantly, Pidge unzipped their jacket, and shrugged out of it almost
carelessly.  They felt unusually small in their white undershirt, sticking
tightly to their body from sweat and from not drying off completely after
showering that morning.  If their chest was  flat,  Pidge wouldn't have cared
about shrugging out of their shirt, but....
    "Holt, final warning," Iverson said, losing patience quickly.  Pidge's
hands shook as they untucked their undershirt and flipped it up over their
head, knocking their glasses askew.  They shivered from being exposed to the
sudden cold of the room, which would've been comfortable fully dressed.  Pidge
struggled out of their boots, socks rolled off at the same time, before
standing upright once again.  Iverson stalked forward, and tugged on Pidge's
binder, making them hiss slightly.
    "Just like your brother, unable to follow simple orders," Iverson tutted,
snapping the waistband of Pidge's pants a second later.  Pidge bit back a
snarl, for him to leave Matt out of this, but....Their eyebrows furrowed.  Matt
Holt was  fantastic  at following orders, he did everything that was asked of
him.  Maybe...
    "I can hear the gears grinding in your brain, Holt.  Trying to figure out
what 'strip' means, girlie?  It means everything off, and lean forward when
you're done."  Iverson snapped, and his hand cracked across the small of
Pidge's back.  They let out a surprised noise, flinching forward and crashing
their hips into the desk once more, before completely righting themselves once
again.
    Face beginning to turn a deep red with anger and embarrassment, Pidge
slowly unbuttoned their pants, and tugged the zipper down.  They hesitated
again, hands shaking at the top of their pants, before taking a deep breath and
yanking them down.  The greedy fingers of cool air crawled down Pidge's exposed
body, along with Iverson's eyes, to the pants that now pooled at their feet.
 Pidge stepped out of them, and, with a stroke of sheer stubbornness, picked up
their discarded clothes to fold them carefully.  They hoped that Iverson might
lose interest, somehow, if Pidge moved even slower.
     "Cadet." Iverson said sharply, after Pidge leaned down to grab their socks
out of their boots to fold.  Pidge looked up, halfway innocently, trying to
suppress the shit-eating grin that wanted to come out.  "You are pushing your
luck  very hard."   He stressed, before reaching out and moving Pidge easily
with his rough hands, like a rag doll, until they were standing up straight.
 He then tugged once more at Pidge's binder, at the same time that he snapped
the band of Pidge's blue briefs.
    Pidge bared their teeth as their hands slowly rose, hovering near their
belly button indecisively.  Taking off their binder would feel nice in
different circumstances, but their briefs...God, they really didn't want to
take their briefs off.  But they remembered the threats hanging over their
head, Iverson watching them like a hawk, so with a deep breath to steady
themselves, they tugged at the bottom of their binder, pulling upwards slowly.
 Pidge completely knocked their glasses off in the struggle to be free from the
fabric, and they clattered loudly across Iverson's desk.   Pidge couldn't help
cringing as their chest was allowed to breathe, no longer squished flat by the
uncomfortable fabric like it had been for more hours than was probably healthy.
    Without warning, a warm, rough hand cupped Pidge's left breast, and they
practically moaned at the sensation, as unwanted as it was.  After so many
hours of their flesh being forced flat, any sort of contact felt good, and
their nipple hardened rapidly in between Iverson's fingers.  Pidge knew it was
an automatic response, their body couldn't help it, but they still couldn't
help feeling completely betrayed by their nipples, and how good it felt to have
a hand kneading their breast.
    "Good girl, now just take those panties off," Iverson practically purred,
delighting in Pidge's anger and frustration as they let out a small snarl at
being called a girl so frequently.  Pidge dug their nails into the desk for a
minute, once again baring their teeth as their body broke out in chills from
the cold air, and continued contact to neglected flesh with Iverson's warm
hand.  He roughly squeezed their breast, ending in a harsh pinch to their
nipple that left Pidge gasping in pain, before once again snapping the
waistband of their briefs.
    With a deep, shuddering breath, Pidge reached down to push their underwear
down, fearing what Iverson would touch when they were completely exposed.  They
heard Iverson take a step back, as the fabric easily slid down their butt.
 Pidge didn't want to pull down the front, even if only the desk in front of
them would see it (at least, that's what they hoped), their legs tensed
together to hold the fabric in place.  After a few very long seconds, as Pidge
was frozen in disgust with their body and unable to pull their briefs down
further, Iverson let out another noise of annoyance and roughly tugged the blue
briefs down past their knees.  They let out a whimper as their eyes slammed
shut, and gripped the desk in front of them hard.
    "Lean forward, Holt, and open your damn mouth," Iverson barked, roughly
kicking Pidge's legs further apart.  Pidge stumbled over their underwear, that
had pooled at their feet, and leaned forward cautiously.  They could feel the
heat from Iverson's body as he leaned closer to them again, and growled the
word "open".  Mind racing, as they imagined what sort of things Iverson could
do to them with an open mouth, they tentatively opened their eyes and mouth at
the same time.  Fabric was shoved into their mouth, and Pidge let out a muffled
yell as they caught a flash of blue.  Their underwear.  Before any more
protests could leave them, Iverson roughly pressed Pidge's back down, until
their nipples just barely grazed the desk.
    "There we go, good girl," Iverson praised, even as he knocked their legs
further apart.  Pidge couldn't stop the trembling that started in their arms,
and they were on high alert when they heard the clinking of a belt.
    "But, you also need to be punished.  Not only for breaking into the
Garrison so frequently, but for creating that Gunderson person to get yourself
in here..."  Iverson trailed off, and ran a calloused hand down their back
slowly.  He cupped their left butt cheek, and almost gently pulled it apart to
inspect their body.  Pidge tensed as they felt fingers probing between their
cheeks, one of which swirled around their asshole roughly.  Hot tears spilled
down their cheeks, angry and humiliated, and they tried to squirm away from
Iverson's hands, which only resulted in them accidentally grinding against his
desk.  A bright flash of pleasure jolted through them as Iverson let their butt
jiggle back into place, and Pidge was almost thankful for the gag to stop the
sound of their gasp.
    "Stay." Iverson ordered, as his hands skimmed down past Pidge's thighs.
 His hands burned down their legs, and the hair on the back of Pidge's neck
stood up when the sound of metal dragging on the floor scraped through the
room.  They heard Iverson moving, and they were so tempted to turn their head
and see what that smug bastard was doing.  There was a sudden  whooshing
noise, followed by a sharp crack, and Pidge's body jolted forward against the
desk.  They let out a choked scream, muffled against the impromptu gag, and
pain blossomed from where they had been struck.
    "I think ten will do...What do you think?" Iverson asked smugly as he
circled around Pidge so they could see him holding their belt.  Pidge shook
their head no, violently, and Iverson just laughed loudly.
    "Doesn't really matter what you think, Holt.  But if you take them like a
good girl, you won't get more than ten," Iverson sneered as he circled back
around to Pidge's left side.  They tensed up the second he was out of their
peripheral vision, almost pushing up from their position against the desk, ears
straining to hear Iverson.  Without warning, there was the sound of the belt
swinging through the air, and Pidge shrieked as it struck exactly where the
first one had hit.
    "That's one," Iverson said gleefully, as Pidge trembled in front of him.
 Iverson started humming tunelessly as Pidge squirmed, drawing out the
anticipation of the next hit.  After a few seconds, Pidge started to relax
their body a bit, and that was when Iverson took aim again.  This one hit into
Pidge's right butt cheek, and they rocked forward onto their tippy toes from
the momentum.  Another bright burst of pleasure sparked up from between their
legs, from practically humping the desk before them.
    "Two."  Pidge squeezed their eyes shut as they forced their body to relax -
since apparently that was when Iverson was going to strike them.  The sooner
they relaxed, the sooner this would be over.  They also attempted to scoot a
little further back on their legs, to keep from rocking into the desk in front
of them after each blow.  The next blow hit lower, at the ambiguous bit of skin
where the butt and upper thigh met, on Pidge's left, and it hurt much worse
than the hits to their butt.  Pained, angry tears continued to roll down their
cheeks, as they tried to keep from rocking into the desk.
    "Three."  There was barely a pause after Iverson counted that one, before
the belt whistled through the air and connected with its target again, this
time on Pidge's right.  They hadn't had time to settle back onto their feet
fully, and Pidge nearly toppled into the desk from the force behind the belt.
 Pain and a bright flash of pleasure shot through their body, and another
muffled scream ripped out of their throat.
    "Four."  Iverson nearly laughed as he watched Pidge struggle to handle the
pain that radiated out from their butt.  They wobbled as they resisted the urge
to just rest against the desk in front of them, but as their belt cracked
across their body again (higher this time, above their ass), Pidge let out a
hiccuping sob as they tried to find a comfortable way to lean against the desk
without touching their crotch.
    "Five.  Look at you, Holt, squirming so nicely for me."  Iverson breathed,
roughly palming Pidge's butt in his hands.  Pidge yelped at being grabbed so
roughly, convinced that they would have the ugly design on Iverson's desk
imprinted onto their hands forever.  Their ass cheeks were pulled apart
roughly, and Iverson's thumbs brushed against the skin between their asshole
and other opening.  Pidge could feel the belt buckle swinging gently in between
their legs, where Iverson was still holding it.
    "Oh, Miss Holt, you're wet from this?"  Iverson really did laugh this time,
as his pointer finger swirled around their opening.  Pidge let out a whine as
they shimmied as far out of his grip as possible, away from probing fingers.  
His fingers just followed the further they strained away, until Pidge was
struggling up on their tiptoes as Iverson's pointer finger swirled around their
wet opening.
    "I think this calls for a change in plans." Iverson whispered against the
back of Pidge's neck.  They shuddered, and their nose scrunched when they
caught a whiff of Iverson's breath - when was the last time he had used
mouthwash?  Disgusting.  Trembling all over, Pidge choked back a sob as one of
Iverson's fingers dipped inside, and his right hand trailed up to cup their
right breast, rolling their nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it
was hard.  All of Pidge's muscles were tense, and they could feel every twitch
of Iverson's hand between their legs.  His fingers probed their opening for
another second, before surprisingly dropping away and tossing the belt aside.
    "Face me, on the desk,"  Iverson ordered, stepping back to give Pidge the
space to comply.  They stared dumbly ahead, blinking tears out of their eyes,
and only when Iverson cleared his throat (in a surprisingly threatening way)
did Pidge move, disgust and fear making their trembling limbs move slowly.
 They hissed loudly as their butt touched the edge of Iverson's desk, and they
looked up at him pleadingly.  Iverson gestured for them to continue, impatience
mingling with the hungry look on his face, and Pidge gritted their teeth
against the bright sparks of pain as they sat on top of his desk.  Iverson
nodded approvingly, as his own hands drifted down to his pants.
    "Good girl.  Touch yourself."  He prompted, eyes hungrily devouring Pidge's
shaking body.  They didn't move for a minute, a risky plan forming in their
brain too quickly, before ripping their underwear out of their mouth and
screaming.  Iverson was on them in a flash, one hand wrapping around Pidge's
big mouth, and the other threateningly around their neck.  Flash-fire anger had
burned nearly all the lust out of Iverson's eyes, and he bared his teeth at
Pidge.
    "That was a stupid mistake, Holt.  I told you that if you were good, you
would only get ten, and I had even graciously cut that in half."  Iverson
snarled, the hand around Pidge's neck grabbing for their underwear and forcing
it back into their mouth as far as it would go, making Pidge gag.  He then
dragged them off of his desk, the wooden edges harshly scraping at Pidge's
exposed skin, and forced them to stand as they had before.   One hand went
around the back of their neck, as Iverson reached for the belt again.  He
paused for a second, hand barely an inch away from where the belt lay, and
thoughtfully tapped his fingers against the desk.
    "You know what I just remembered, Miss Holt?"  Iverson asked softly,
ignoring the way Pidge struggled beneath him.  "Pidge Gunderson.  His
application stated he was male.  And requested the male dorms."  Pidge froze at
the tone of voice Iverson was using.  Nothing good could come from that sort of
tone, especially as Iverson leaned over Pidge's smaller body,  pressing his
hips firmly against them,  to reach into one of his desk's drawers.
    "So, you wanted to pretend to be a boy, is that it?  Then I guess I'll have
to fuck you like a boy,"  Iverson whispered into Pidge's ear, as he pulled a
small bottle of lube out of the drawer.  Pidge's eyes grew round with fear, and
they thrashed against him in a desperate bid to get free.  Without batting an
eye, Iverson pressed down on top of Pidge, forcing them to stop struggling with
his weight against their body.  Pidge let out a whimpering noise when they felt
Iverson's erection grind against their butt, and tried to claw at their
'superior'.
    "I can do this all day with you, cadet," Iverson said, sounding bored as he
gathered Pidge's flailing wrists in one hand.  They screamed against their gag,
and thrashed a bit more, knowing that it honestly was useless, but they had to
at least try.  Even if all that did was tire them out, and logically Pidge
knew  it wasn't worth it to struggle, they just couldn't lay there and take it.
 That thought alone made them continue to struggle, until Iverson squeezed
their wrists hard and pulled their arms back, making their muscles scream from
the sudden strain.
    "I may have said I  could  do this all day, but that doesn't mean I would
like to waste any more of my precious time, Holt."  He snapped, the one hand
still easily holding Pidge down, as his free hand reached for the half empty
lube bottle.  Pidge was panting from exertion, having spent all their energy
trying to struggle free, and watched with resignation as Iverson snatched the
bottle up and took it out of their line of sight.  The bottle thudded against
the table, and Iverson tugged Pidge halfway up, their back bowed in an
exaggerated arch to make movement less possible. Pidge's legs were forced
further apart again, and Iverson cursed quietly as he struggled with his belt.
 Instead of discarding it like he had with Pidge's, Iverson wrapped the belt
around the cadet's wrists, tugging it tightly until their shoulders were
straining uncomfortably.
    “There we go sweetheart.  It feels better if you relax,” He said
conversationally, popping open the bottle of lube casually.  The bottle made a
fart-like noise as Iverson squeezed it, which, under different circumstances,
would’ve made Pidge snicker a tiny bit.  They couldn’t help flinching a bit as
the cool, gel-like substance was smeared carelessly near their asshole, and two
of Iverson’s fingers prodded at their opening.  That was the barest hint of a
warning that Pidge got before both fingers were pressing inside, already
attempting to spread apart as if Iverson had spent actual time on preparing
them.
    Pidge couldn’t stop their body from tensing up, shrieking against their gag
from the intense, burning pain.   C’mon, relax,  Pidge tried to chant to
themselves, their nails digging into their palms hard enough to draw blood.
 Soon enough, Iverson’s palm was flush against their butt, spreading his
fingers apart as far as he could.
    “God, so fucking  tight,”   Iverson grunted, his other hand keeping a
bruising grip on Pidge’s hip, as he spread his fingers deep inside them.  They
let out a whine, shutting their eyes tightly as they tried to think of
anything  that could distract them.  All that succeeded in doing, though, was
making Pidge focus on the quiet squishing noise as lube was displaced, on their
own harsh breathing, on their hammering pulse, on the sickening pleasure that
just barely simmered underneath the pain and humiliation of all that had
happened.  Iverson pulled his fingers out, and Pidge let out the tiniest of
sighs, before the rustling of fabric reached their ears.
    The lube bottle made another fart noise as it was squeezed, and Iverson let
out a moan that set Pidge’s teeth on edge.  They took a deep breath, intent on
doing that deep breathing thing that was supposed to be relaxing, but they
ended up choking on their breath as Iverson lined himself up against the rim of
their asshole.  Their feet scrabbled uselessly against the floor, in a last
ditched effort to escape, and Iverson grabbed their arms for leverage as he
thrust in.
    Pidge let out a whimpering wail as they were split open - so thick, too
thick, it fucking  burned  so badly - and Iverson moaned into their ear.  The
lube was a tiny bit of a cool relief to the burning stretch, but it still
wasn’t  enough,  and Pidge worried about being torn open inside.  Iverson,
obviously, couldn’t care less, as he started a brutal pace, grunting and
panting like a dog as he fucked up into their body.  His hips crashed into
Pidge’s body with each short thrust, jarring them forward until they were once
again pressed up against the desk firmly, and they couldn’t help but feel gross
as sparks of pleasure zipped up their body from where the desk rubbed against
them.
    Eventually, the pain faded, or Pidge became numb to it; they tried to zone
out, steadfastly ignoring the sound of skin slapping on skin.  Eventually they
focused on the desk below them, eyes tracing patterns in the grain of the wood.
 Completely silent and grudgingly pliant beneath Iverson, it wasn’t hard to
notice when the thrusts from the man started to pick up, and the grunting from
him turned into more drawn out moans.  His hands tightened painfully on their
arms and waist, and Pidge attempting to wiggle away in protest, only to be
crushed down to the desk with a low, drawn out “fuck” from Iverson.  His hips
stilled against theirs, and he shuddered above them as he came inside of their
hole.  A few quiet minutes passed, as he panted loudly against Pidge’s back,
coming down from the high of his orgasm.  Pidge wanted nothing more than to get
the hell out of that office, and shower for roughly three years.
    “Heh, would you look at that,” Iverson said almost fondly, as he stroked
Pidge’s hipbone.  “I guess you  can  be a good boy after all,”  He snickered,
and slapped their left butt cheek before pulling out swiftly.  Pidge couldn’t
help shuddering, their belly turning from Iverson’s words, and as they felt his
cum begin to drip slowly, and they clenched down in hopes of not having to deal
with  that  for a few more minutes.
    “Get dressed, Holt.”  Iverson ordered, as he finally unstrung Pidge’s arms
from their belt.  Their hands massaged at their wrists for a few seconds,
before tugging their briefs out of their mouth.  They went for their binder
first, tugging it into place properly and took a level breath.  Iverson cleared
his throat loudly and pointedly look at their underwear, when Pidge moved to
stuff it into their pants pocket.  They let out a disgusted noise, but...It was
better to wear them than to let cum stain their pants.  Slowly they stepped
into their underwear, ignoring the dampness from their drool earlier.  Iverson
nodded approvingly, before sitting down at his desk and rifling through his
drawers.
    “So, no going to the higher ups about Pidge Gunderson?”  They croaked,
voice raw from their screaming, as they slowly bent over at the waist to lace
their boots up.  Iverson gave them a dry look before turning back to the
paperwork he had pulled out of his desk drawer.
    “Get out of here, Gunderson.  Keep your nose clean, don’t ever end up in my
office again,” Iverson said gruffly, as he waved them out of his office.  Pidge
gave him an unwilling salute, before carefully picking their way out, gritting
their teeth against the sensation of cum slowly dribbling out of their asshole.
End Notes
     *confetti*
     keep an eye out for more from this AU from Kai and myself~
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their work!