Chapter Text
“Saturday?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, okay. Um, Thursday, then.”
“Nooope.”
“Sunday.”
“There a part of we’re slammed this week you’re not gettin’ ?”
“…Friday night?”
“Kitten, beetle bug, butter bean , you know I love ya but you’re reeeally tryin’ my patience here,” Jack leaned back in his chair, stretching and rolling his shoulders. He sighed, nearly moaning at the row of pops shooting up his back and the flood of warm easy muscle melt that spread through his body. He hadn’t been kidding about their workload. Jack had been in the office since…well he wasn’t sure he’d actually left it in the last twenty four hours.
“Sorry, I was just,” Rhys deflated with a whoosh of air, shoulders slumping and feet shuffling where he stood in front of Jack’s desk. “I was just excited about the dating thing this month,” Rhys admitted, setting a hand on his hip and shrugging.
“That soul mate handholding bullshit?” Jack snorted, patronizing smirk a little burnt around the edges. “Damn. Wouldn’t want to meet mine at a frikkin’ speed dating night at some dump ass bistro.” Jack slumped back over his desk, shuffling ECHO tablets around and sneering at post it notes and color coded sticky tabs reminding him of more shit that had piled up.
“It’s not bullshit,” Rhys defended halfheartedly, rubbing at his own dark circled eyes and yawning. Jack squinted. How long had Rhys been here with him?
“It’s quick, anyone who’s only interested in soul mates leaves after the first round. So…yeah.” That was one of the least convincing arguments for the speed dating sessions that Jack had ever heard. He knew the concept was straightforward enough. A group of unmatched singles would show up and go through a quick period of hand shaking and introductions. In a perfect world a pair would touch, feel the sting of a world shaking soul match, and then they’d take it from there like adults. Any that didn’t find the other half of their bond would remain for the evening to go through an otherwise casual bout of meeting other eligible singles. It was a little desperate for Jack’s tastes but he wasn’t some lonely peon feeling the hollow drain of their short pathetic existence weighing on his shoulders.
He also wasn’t unmatched.
“Didn’t ask for a lecture, sweetheart. You’re not getting time off until this shitstorm blows over, so go sit your cute ass down and get to work or do something useful and get me a – “ he was interrupted by the soft tap of a coffee cup on his desk. Jack looked between the coffee, already knowing it was just how he took it, and his loyal little assistant who was giving the mountains of unsorted ECHO tablets a hopeless look. Jack snagged the cup, gulping a mouthful of the over sweetened and sugary diabetic masterpiece.
“You do good work,” Jack sat the cup down. Rhys made a noise acknowledging he’d heard, then another more surprised one when Jack’s hand was suddenly petting through his hair. Rhys had been too wrapped up in his own minor depression at missing yet another chance of putting himself out there romantically thanks to work to notice Jack getting up and leaning across the desk. Rhys’s fingers tightened over the tablet against his chest, face turning pink as the hair ruffling warmed him up and set a gentle buzz down to his chest. When Jack pulled his hand back Rhys grumbled some small, expected sound of disgruntlement and complained about his messy hair while Jack laughed too loudly and settled down back to work. Rhys huffed and sat down at his own desk, across the room from Jack’s but still facing the CEO. Despite the rejected proposal for time off Rhys was having a hard time staying mad, a nice hum from Jack’s praising scaring away his unhappy thoughts for now.
Jack spun back and forth in his desk chair, leaning back and glaring at the ceiling while his flexing hand. The same hand that was now the starter of a pleased blush to his mood while at the same time making his attitude twist fouler. It had been eleven months since Rhys had been taken on as Jack’s personal assistant. Eleven fucking months of a half competent worker and a complete dumbass of a person sharing Jack’s time and space.
Eleven months since he and Rhys had soul bonded.
Eleven months of Rhys just not realizing.
Jack had no idea what the hell was wrong with the kid, with their bond, that Rhys didn’t realize what had happened. He’d sure looked like he felt the effects when it had happened. It was cliché as hell, their meeting. The first time they’d met on a one to one level. Jack had been having a shit day; everywhere he looked some other asshole employee was fucking up and making his life harder. A project update was due out from some department, one that Jack couldn’t remember the name of anymore, and the real lovely kicker was that this assessment was a week overdue.
In other words, someone was getting killed over this.
Jack would find out later that Rhys was only a middle manager, an assistant to someone that was the assistant to someone else’s assistant to the department’s lead. He’d been roped into delivering the department’s assessment when cornered by three of his higher ups who’d made it abundantly clear in all ways but with words that Rhys would either play delivery boy or he could kiss his position goodbye.
So there came in Rhys, anxiously coming to stand in front of Jack’s desk on legs trembling like a newborn faun’s. Which, Rhys had always been a fairly smart cupcake when it came to business matters, was exactly what he should be doing. Jack was in need of some stress relief. Cracking his knuckles Jack had gotten to his feet, ready for the upcoming little spat.
“Chop chop, spit it out, why are ya here?” Jack waved a hand impatiently, coming to lean against the edge of the desk just in front of the twitchy kid.
“I have a report,” Rhys had flushed at his own voice cracking, stopping to clear his throat while turning a nice pink color. “I have a report from Data-Mining.” Jack looked over the tall drink of water in front of him with lazy half lidded eyes. Rhys was a tall thing, not so slender as to qualify as waiflike but definitely not as broad as Jack. He wouldn’t last in a fight, which was good news because Jack was in the mood to wrap his hands around that sweet pale throat, but that cybernetic arm might be an issue. Considering his options, Jack stalled for time and entertainment.
“Sooo, exactly when was this report due? ‘Cause, ah, definitely wasn’t supposed to be coming in today.”
Rhys gulped, hands visibly trembling around the tablet he held. “It was due on the twelfth.”
“Hmm? Come again?” Jack cupped his ear, raising his brows. “Coulda sworn I heard something that pisses me off immensely.” At that Rhys obviously cowered, shoulders rising up near his ears and head pulling back as his arms came in closer to his torso. Good instincts, he knew what was coming.
“It was due last week. It’s l-late,” Rhys’ voice had lost all strength, words spoken in despondent softness.
“Ahhh, that’s a shame. You know we have a zero tolerance policy, what am I gonna do with you, pumpkin?” Jack asked with mock sympathy. Rhys had given up the concept of pleading his case, correctly guessing the futility of it, and simply squeezed his eyes shut bracing for the worst. Jack snorted at the sight, this stringy jerkoff looking like a frightened bunny, and couldn’t resist one last patronizing nose flick before he got to work.
The breath was punched out of his chest like a train had hit him.
Jack gasped, no air coming as he stuttered and fought against the winded sensation in his chest. A fuzz of static struck through him from head to toe, tingling and stinging at the tips of his fingers and toes while he stared hard and frantic at Rhys who was likewise gasping and taking a quick shocked step back.
“Oh no you don’t you – “ Jack shot forward, fingers digging into Rhys’s jacket and popping stitches as he yanked him forward. Rhys’ squeak was cut off as Jack’s broad arms tightened around his throat, securing the kid in a headlock.
“WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?” Jack bellowed. Rhys scrambled in his arms, those legs kicking out and heels clicking against the ground as his hands shot up to dig into Jack’s forearms. Jack wasn’t about to let up his grip on the kid, holding tight and growing more lethal by the second, and wasn’t looking for an actual answer. Jack wasn’t some idiot; whatever the hell just hit him was some kind of percussive strike – clearly a failed attempt at assassination. Some attempt, it barely felt like anything, in fact Jack was kind of thrilled at it. His skin was humming all along where he had the kid trapped, heart hammering and blood pumping with renewed passion he hadn’t felt for a really fuckin’ long time. That was when the brat completely crumpled beneath him, legs slipping out and sending them both crashing into the ground. Jack struck his elbow on the way down, cursing at the hit that had one arm go numb long enough for Rhys to slip out.
“I work for you!” Rhys gasped, pushing Jack off him and attempting to crawl away. Jack snarled, a hand darting out and gripping the brat’s ankle, tugging him back hard and making Rhys yelp.
“Where is it, where’s your shitty pulse charge or whatever the hell you’re using?” Jack snapped, climbing over Rhys and pinning the metal wrist between his own stomach and the small of Rhys’ back. Jack was all focus as he searched for the device, feeling under clothes and checking in pockets and around the kid’s belt for something that didn’t belong. Rhys squirmed under his weight, stuttering out his name and position at Hyperion as if Jack would just believe that. Jack grimaced when he came up with nothing, shaking his head because that couldn’t be right. He was on a roll here, he was feelin’ it, and he just had a good feeling that he was right. Grinning through the rush he pushed a hand under Rhys’ dress shirt, past the under shirt and palming a flat expanse of warm belly.
“Ha-Handsome Jack, s-sir!” Rhys giggled, arching away from the touch. Jack kept his full weight over Rhys, riding the spasms rocking the younger man as the kid tried and failed to keep his laughter in check.
“Ticklish, huh you little shit?” Jack grinned, stomach curling with excitement at the feeling of the younger man pressed under him. “Wouldn’t have to torture ya if you’d give up whatever shit offensive shield mod you had hidden.”
"I dooon’t,” Rhys whined, turning so he could look at Jack over his shoulder and press half his overheated face into the cold marble flooring. “I’m not hiding anything; I was dropping off the report!” Jack was a skeptical man but no matter how many times he ran his hands over Rhys he always came back empty handed. Rhys was panting from fits of giggling and worn out from being manhandled. Jack hadn’t realized he’d let go of the metal limb until he’d caught himself rubbing both palms over Rhys’ bare chest in what was slowly becoming clear to be a wild goose chase. Rhys didn’t have anything on him but a packet of fruit flavored gum. Pausing, Jack glared at nothing while he lay over the kid, cheek pressed against the back of Rhys’ neck and hands still occupied lightly petting the middle manager’s sides as they both caught their breath.
Rhys didn’t have anything on him that could possibly cause the rush from earlier. While Jack had been on him Rhys had only made moves to escape, never going on the offensive. If he really were an assassin then he was one of the shittiest Jack had ever encountered. Mind racing, brow tight, Jack reassessed the situation. Why was Rhys even alive still, why was Jack just content to pet on him, and what was with all this keyed up pleasurable sting tingling over his skin and through his body, particularly thick where he and Rhys were skin to skin?
When the answer hit him Jack felt himself go cold.
A soul match.
“Oh fuck.”
“Huh?” Rhys mumbled, blinking out of the pleased haze of a newly created soul mate bond and the immense amount of physical contact that had drugged the both of them. Jack sat back, fingers twitching as he got to his feet and moved to create space between them. Rhys was confused as he clambered back onto his semi stable legs, pink in the face and giving Jack the biggest pair of puppy eyes the CEO had seen in a long time. It didn’t quite tug Jack out of the personal crisis at hand.
Soul mates once matched were set for good. The bond was as physical as it was something else, something that had to be satisfied with touch. Jack crossed his arms, shoving his still warm and tingly hands into his armpits as he tried to tamp down the frenetic energy crackling with madness through his middle. Now that he and Rhys were bonded they had to be together, had to touch and caress and share one another’s bodies or they’d both end up sick. It was a spot of vulnerability, something that could potentially be used against Rhys but more importantly Jack. It wasn’t uncommon for political figures to be targeted through their soul mates, no one wanted to suffer through the months and months of potentially lethal heartsickness that cropped up when their match was killed or permanently removed from providing that addictive, medicinal touch. Jack clenched his fists. And, just to twist the knife, Rhys was completely not Jack’s type. He liked tough as fuck women with tight bodies and sick as hell trigger discipline. Not weak as water string bean middle managers that had probably never held a gun in his life.
“Son of a taint.”
“Handsome Jack sir?” Rhys asked softly, flush slowly leaving his skin as he began awkwardly fixing his clothes. Rhys fidgeted, doing his best to button his shirt and tuck the fabric back into his pants to hide away the slice of creamy hip and belly. Jack swallowed, throat suddenly dry as he spotted a pattern of blue curving blue ink peeking out from the crooked neckline that Rhys was quick to hide away under a fixed tie, hands soon coming down to self consciously smooth at the wrinkles framing his svelte waist and thighs. Jack blinked, attention darting back to his soul mate’s face, the soft clear skin and high cheekbones against seashell pink lips and big scared doe eyes.
Okay so maybe he could have ended up with a worse match.
“Name,” Jack cleared his throat, “need a name here, cupcake.” He needed to know who the hell had just made themselves a permanent fixture in his life.
“Rhys.”
Jack nodded, his sneaker tapping as he set his hands on his hips to keep from further obvious fidgeting. “Right, alright. Rhys. That’s, that’s the name.” Jack wasn’t freaking out.
“Are…are you okay sir?” Rhys asked again. He seemed to be taking the news a lot better than Jack, almost as if –
No.
It. Definitely wasn’t that…that Rhys couldn’t tell?
“Fine, buttercup, ‘m fine,” Jack rolled his shoulders, trying to get rid of the sudden lurch in his chest at the idea. He had to, that’s how this shit works. “How about you, feelin’ alright about all this?” Jack worded carefully. Rhys blinked, a beat passed, and then the color came rushing back to his face.
“Hah, um, y-yeah. I’m, it’s amazing to meet you, sir,” Rhys’ smile was doing bad, terrible, fucking wonderful things to Jack’s stomach. “It’s, overwhelming? And uh, sorry about the, I don’t know what that was. So, sorry about that? Though I’m, I mean,” Rhys pointedly glanced to the ground they’d been wrestling on, finishing his thought in a strangled breathy laugh.
Jack grunted because yes. That had been nice. Now that the initial buzz of the contact had worn off Jack felt a warm lull spreading through him, his muscles going lax like he’d been soaking in a hot bath. It was a fantastic feeling and he knew in his gut that he had to have more. Rhys, despite not being the worst thing to look at, wasn’t the brightest and Jack was willing to let things lay where they fell. Rhys didn’t know they were matched. All Jack needed was to keep the kid close, steal a few quick touches to keep their bond benign, it would be better for the both of them.
“So, ah, Rhys was it?” Jack asked for show, he’d already burned the kid’s name into the fibers of his brain, “ever thought about workin’ under me, sugar?”