Work Text:
Tyrant leaned back against the wall of the elevator, his eyes locking onto the large screen mounted across from him as the display flashed with colors as his match with Honey B. played for all of Solution Nine to see– not quite live though according to the ratings these broadcasts brought in people hardly seemed to mind.
“Oh! Another direct hit!– It seems even the champion is not immune to Honey B.’s charm!” Metem's spirited commentary filled the small space as the screen flashed pink, the fourth heart in the bar above his past-self's head filled thanks to a clever bit of editing meant to help the audience keep track of how much of Honey B.'s venom needed to be injected before her opponent was overwhelmed. The corner of his mouth upturned as right on cue the screen flashed purple, the crowd erupting into cheers as his own feral soul surged to life. “It seems I spoke too soon! The Tyrant has activated the full strength of his feral soul to completely shrug off Honey B.’s charm!”
Shifting Tyrant tried to ignore the erratic beating of his heart as the elevator came to a stop, kicking off the wall to stroll into the President's penthouse office without hesitation as the doors slid open–
“Back so soon?” A spike of levin shot down Tyrant's spine at the President's soft tone, the older man's attention still fixed on his tablet, after all, he didn't need to look behind him to know who his visitor was.
“The match is already over,” Tyrant responded without pause, even though they both knew that the match had ended just over ten minutes ago– and that it took just over ten minutes to travel from the ring to the top floor of the Arcadion, “where else would I be?”
With a flick of his wrist the President switched on the main display in his office, Honey B.’s bright smile and golden curls taking center stage as she received her post match interview, the broadcast was muted but with how the subtitles rolled across the screen in an attempt to keep up with her he could tell she was more than pleased with the exhibition match.
“And try to share her stage?” He said with an exaggerated shrug, “It's enough to face her in the Lovering, I don't need to try and challenge her on her real home turf." Another jolt of levin shot through him as the President let out a soft chuckle at that, his wrist flicking again to switch the display back off.
“Perhaps you're right,” there was a soft clattering as the President gingerly placed his tablet onto the polished glass surface of his desk, the quiet rolling of wheels as he spun his chair around to face his star performer. “Are you feeling all right?” Sweat prickled at the back of the Tyrant's neck, his heart pounding in his ears as that gentle gaze slid over the length of his body– he's just searching for an injury he reminded himself, “Even fully enhanced four doses of Honey B.’s venom is more than enough to incapacitate.” Three was meant to be the maximum she was allowed to use on another fighter– but the Tyrant was not just another fighter.
“I'm fine,” he lied. Turning on his heel he moved towards the wet bar, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he felt a flush blooming across his exposed chest.
“I'm glad.” It took more effort than he'd care to admit to stay upright after that– his heart felt like it could beat out of his chest, fire racing through his veins as the venom worked its way from the tips of his ears to his rapidly hardening erection– his steps faltering as the full force of Honey B.’s attacks hit him all at once. “Tyrant!”
The world spun, his knees buckled as his legs gave out beneath him, his heart beating in his ears in time with the President's frantic footsteps as the older man rushed to his side. Vaguely he was aware that this was … embarrassing, completely unbecoming of the Arcadion's champion– the President's star performer but when he felt the hyune's concerned grip on his shoulders he struggled to remember why. This close he could make out the shallow wrinkles at the corners of the President's eyes, the streaks of grey in his slicked back hair and his body wanted nothing more than to surrender himself completely, to let the President use him– to wring pleasure from his body in every way he knew the hyune was to kind to try…
The President's hand felt like a cool balm as he pressed it to the Tyrant's forehead, brushing aside sweat soaked strands of silver hair, “You're burning up,” his voice was soft, full of concern and Tyrant could feel his cock twitch in the confines of his leathers in response. His mouth watered as he imagined pushing the other man down to join him– pulling down his well tailored suit pants, freeing his own trapped cock then working him to full hardness in a few practiced strokes before finally swallowing him down to the base. He could be so good for the man who gave him everything.
A choked whimper tore itself from his throat when the President pulled away, his hurried words cutting through the haze in his mind now that they weren't close enough to touch, “I need a healer right away– bring the antidote for Honey B.’s vemon–” his vision was still blurry as he watched the President move, one hand pressed to his headset as the other did something with the bar sink. The last thought that crossed his mind before the world went black was that he couldn't suck the President's dick if a healer would be here at any minute.
♡
With a groan the Tyrant shifted in place, his sweat-slick back sliding over leather as he struggled to get comfortable. “Try not to move around too much,” the President's voice was gentle as always, even as he chastised him from what sounded like only a few fulms away. Cracking one eye open the Tyrant took in his surroundings, he was laid out on one of the black leather couches set up in the middle of the President's office, his heavy coat tossed across the back of the couch positioned right across from him– the same couch the President was sat on, calmly watching as he regained consciousness.
“I–” he started, stopped, swallowed. He could feel the tips of his ears flush pink as cool air drifted across his bare chest, his heart rate speeding up just a bit– just the… normal amount it did whenever they were alone together.
“‘Will take better care of myself’,” the President finished for him, and even if the Tyrant wasn't sure what he originally meant to say he took those words to heart as he slowly sat up.
“Will take better care of myself,” he agreed.
The President smiled brightly at that, the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth bunching up in a way that made the Tyrant's chest flutter. “Very good,” in a smooth motion he stood, easily closing the distance between them so he could press his hand to the Tyrant's forehead again, brushing back stray strands of hair, “I can't have anything happening to my star performer.” The Tyrant's eyes drifted closed as the President pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.