Archive of Our Own

It's become second nature, checking his email as soon as he hangs up the phone. They call and ask him to be on the show, and not five minutes later, his email dings.

Don't you dare wear a tie.

Chris can't decide which message he likes better. When Rachel says tie, he at least has some idea of what's in store, but tieless gives the element of surprise.

His appearance is on Monday, but then, nothing; by Wednesday night, he just can't wait any more. He grabs his overnight bag Thursday morning, tells Kate they've asked him to come up and "discuss future opportunities." (It's not exactly a lie: they do talk a lot about his future as he waits, bound and gagged, at their feet.)

He spends the trip to New York trying to prepare himself, to decide whether he wants to be good, to guess whether Keith'll be there. When the train finally gets in he heads straight to 30 Rock, knowing that even with hours before the show ends, he'll be in trouble if he wastes so much as a minute.

Chris signs in, then winds his way through the cubicles, arriving at her office only to find it empty. He starts to turn to wander back and try to find her when a hand on his shoulder stops him. "You're late," she snaps in his ear.

He's not -- he hadn't even told her he was coming -- and he's not sure how to respond, so he just lets her push him through the doorway. He hears the door close behind him, then the lock turn in the knob. A moment later, the strap of his backpack lifts away from his arm, and he hears it fall to the floor behind him.

"Good boy," she breathes against his skin; his flinch elicits a low chuckle from deep in her throat. He knows the sound well. "What's wrong?"

She doesn't give him a chance to respond before grabbing him by the neck and spinning him around to face her. Thinking of the last time he met her eye, he locks his to the ground. "You remembered." He can barely see her grin out of the corner of his eye as she walks behind him. He hears noises -- wheels, metal against metal, then a thump -- before Rachel looms over him again.

She grabs his wrists and squeezes them together in one hand as the other moves up out of his sight. She sighs, exasperated, then drops his wrists and grabs the hem of his shirt. He lifts his arms instinctively and she pulls it over his head.

Her hands move back up and he drops his back down, clasping them together out in front of him. She laughs again, patting him on the head before dragging something soft and smooth along his neck, his shoulder. By the time it reaches his chest, he sees it for what it is -- Keith's favorite tie -- and he shivers, closing his eyes as she drags it down his skin, across his chest. She drapes it over his nipple, closing the fabric softly over his skin before pinching it hard between her fingers. The silk dulls some of the sting, but leaves behind the same comforting soreness as she lets go, allowing the fabric to fall away.

It takes everything in him not to squirm as she trails the silk down his side, tickling across his stomach to his hipbone. She dances it just above the waistband of his jeans before, finally, grabbing him by the back of the head, pulling his lips to hers.

Her kiss is fierce, angry. He knows what she wants, how he should respond, but can manage only token resistance when her tongue pushes its way between his lips. She drags her nails down his bare back, chuckling into him as he arches, chest thrusting into hers as he tries to escape them. She deepens the kiss briefly before pulling away, detangling herself from him completely and laughing openly as he tries to catch his breath.

A whimper escapes from deep in his throat as he pants, and immediately, her grin is replaced with a glare. "Bend over the desk," she bites. He moves quickly to meet the demand.

A metal click is the only warning he gets before the belt thuds across his ass, sound and pain both deadened by the thick denim of his jeans. Her weight settles over him just long enough for her to whisper, "this is just the beginning, you know," and he shudders. Four more blows follow, just hard enough to make him ache for more, before she pulls him back up straight by his hair.

She looks...disgusted, maybe, and he can't help but wince. "Pull yourself together and go to the green room." His head snaps up in time to see her start to turn away.

"But I didn't come up for the sh --" She smacks him across the face before he can finish.

"Green room. You're late," she repeats, already turning toward her desk.

He adjusts his now too-tight jeans as best he can before crossing the room without another word, picking his backpack up and slinging it over one shoulder as he makes his way to the door. He unlocks it gently, quietly, and heads out to the green room to try to find out what he's supposed to be talking about.

He hears a soft thud on his way through the door of the empty room. Chris turns to find the source and nearly misses the tie hanging from his back pocket, the broad end almost touching the ground. He pulls it out and drags it across his wrist, smiling softly to himself as it trails across the bare skin. He carefully sets it down on a chair and begins to dig through his backpack, looking for a button-down he can wear it with.