'Fuck.' Greg rattled the stage door again, hoping he'd just missed something obvious.

Alex was buttoning up his coat. 'Do you need me to hold something?' he asked. Greg was a big man, but even he must be struggling with his bag, a bunch of stray props collected from around the studio, and the booze he'd picked up for the wrap party.

'Ugh.' Greg dumped his bag and the unwieldy dog-bed he was holding onto the floor. 'It's not that. They've fucking locked it.'

'You're kidding.'

Alex tried the door. Tried it again. Definitely locked. 'Ah,' he said. 'I'll phone Mark? Pretty sure this is his doing. Payback for the nil points for his text messages.'

'No, I'll phone him.'

Alex dumped his own bag by the door and drifted off back to the studio. If they were going to be here a while he'd rather not sit on the hard floor. Out of habit, he settled himself in his chair on the stage. He took his phone out of his pocket to keep him occupied while he waited, and managed to catch the precise moment when it went from low battery to completely dead. Rolling his eyes, he put it down on the arm of the chair.

Greg came striding in, stern teacher face in full force. 'Forgot my phone,' he said. 'Pass me yours.'

'Ah,' Alex said again.

'Oh, come on!'

'I said we were right behind them. Someone will eventually wonder where we are and come back and help.'

'Hmm,' Greg agreed, sprawling grouchily in his throne beside Alex. 'Eventually.'

'So, er…what now?'

Greg's expression changed from grumpy to twinkling. 'Two-man wrap party?' he said. 'They may have locked us in, but they've locked us in with the drinks.'

They were caught in a hopeless giggle cycle. Alex couldn't remember what had started it (apart from quite a lot of pretty good whiskey) but something had tickled him to the point where tears were streaming down his face. And Greg, unused to seeing his usually very controlled friend in such a mess, had caught his giggles and then some.

'Oh god,' managed Alex between hiccoughing laughs. 'My bum's gone numb.'

'From laughing?!'

Alex snorted and wiped his eyes. 'No! From sitting. This chair was not built for comfort.'

'Really? Mine's lovely.'

'They really went method when they chose the chairs for the Master and his lowly stooge, didn't they.'

'You wanna move to the audience? Both of us, I mean, not just you.'

'Oh god, no. I just need to shift position. Hang on, I know.'

He got up, grabbed the arm of his chair for support (he'd momentarily forgotten that he was fairly drunk), then disappeared off round the back. He returned a minute later with the dog bed.

Greg shook his head in mock-disapproval. 'Oh, Little Alex Horne.'

'What? It was genuinely comfy.' Alex dropped the bed down in front of Greg's throne and sat himself awkwardly in it. He looked all limbs. Greg couldn't help grinning at him.

'Ye gods. You are a mess.'

Alex supposed Greg was probably right. It was stuffy in the studio, so they'd both undone a couple of extra shirt buttons. Their jackets lay in two heaps beside their respective chairs. Alex's shirt was half out. He made a lacklustre attempt to tuck it in, but gave up partway through. He didn't have to look smart right now. A moment of easy silence passed while Alex watched Greg pick up the whiskey bottle and take another long swig. Somehow, even like this he looked imposing. Being six foot eight and sitting on a literal throne'll do that.

'I think we should've done more with the dog bed,' Alex said. His cheeks were still very ruddy but the giggle fit had passed. 'Audience loved it. Maybe next series?'

'I dunno, mate. Are we pushing the whole master-slave thing a bit too much?' He passed the bottle to Alex, who sipped at it thoughtfully before answering.

'It tests well,' he said. 'People like the dynamic. And I don't think anyone really believes it's any more than a running joke. Like I sit in a dog bed at your feet in my spare time.'

'That's literally what you're doing right now.'

Alex looked down at himself. 'Oh.' He began to laugh again.

'I'm very much enjoying drunk Alex,' grinned Greg. 'Drunk Alex is fun.'

'Drunk Alex is…quite drunk.'

Greg looked him up and down, then shook his head, still grinning. 'If they could see you being such a bad little puppy. YouTube views for the outtake would be through the roof!'

Alex giggled. 'What did you call me?'

'You heard. I stand by it. It's this chair. The power goes to my head.'

'Do you really like it? Being the Taskmaster? Having all that power?'

'Of course. Who wouldn't?'

'I can't imagine anything worse! I'm much more comfortable being ordered about, to be honest. From the sidelines.'

'Or the floor.'

'Exactly. So…' Alex wrinkled his nose. 'Bad little puppy? Really?'

'If the collar fits.'

Alex laughed again, this time not entirely comfortably. 'Don't talk about constrictive accessories,' he said, lightly. 'It's too close and stuffy in here already.' He shifted position, moving onto his knees, and flicked open another button of his shirt.

'So. It's all true. I really am a sadistic despot, and you really are a submissive little man-boy.'

'Heh. If you like.'

'I think I do.' A brief silence, then Greg seemed to snap out of a reverie. 'So how would you see the extended dog-bed bit playing out, then?'

'Well, off the top of my head, how about this. It's already there on the floor as the show opens. I'm just beginning the first banter section and you give me one of your glares and ask me what I think I'm doing, and look significantly at the bed. And I hop in and do the rest of the episode from it.'

Greg chuckled, picturing it. 'Yeah, that could be funny,' he said. 'Seeing how far we can take it. I could give you little treats when you're good. Make you balance a custard cream on your nose before you're allowed to eat it. Casually deliver a line while patting you on the head.' Greg reached over and rested a hand on Alex's head.

'You could make me beg,' said Alex. Greg lifted an eyebrow. 'I mean…not like that. Like a dog.'

'No less kinky, mate,' said Greg softly.

'No, just like a pet.' Alex felt his face heating.

Greg's expression was wicked. 'Keep digging,' he said.

'You know what I mean,' said Alex, lamely. Then his breath caught. Rather than just resting on his head, Greg's hand was now gripping his hair. 'Um,' he said, with no idea of what words (if any) he expected to follow. What the hell was this, suddenly? Granted, he'd already been kneeling between the Taskmaster's spread legs and gazing up at him like – well – a chastened puppy. But this was different. If this was still a brainstorming session, Greg was committing like hell.

'You like that,' said Greg. No upward inflection. He was stating a fact.

'You know me,' Alex said, with forced levity.

'I think I'm starting to.'

'Do you…er…want to let go now?'

'I'll tell you when I want to let go.' Greg's hand tightened in Alex's hair, causing the kneeling man to gasp.

'Greg, w-what are you doing?'

'Scared? Can't handle it? You really are a pathetic little man.'

Alex swallowed. Something in him had shifted. He couldn't take his eyes off Greg. It was humiliating. It was frightening. God help him, it was exciting.

Greg's expression was intense and dark, his eyes utterly focused on Alex. 'I like you like this,' he said.

'Like this?'

'At my feet. On your knees. Feels like…I could make you beg.'

Alex tried to answer. A small, incoherent whimper escaped his lips. His eyes drifted down Greg's broad body, butterflies dancing in his stomach in anticipation of what he might see if he kept going. Sure enough, right at eye-level, the shape of Greg's erect cock was clearly visible, straining thick and hard against the fabric of his trousers.

A jerk of Greg's hand tangled in his hair told him that the Taskmaster required his attention. 'God, you're needy,' Greg growled. 'Did you know you licked your lips just now? Could practically see your mouth watering. Look again if you want.'

Alex complied with eager obedience. He wasn't even sure why – why he wanted to look, or why he wanted to obey – but he could distantly hear the shakiness of his own breathing as he took in the sight of the taut fabric luridly outlining Greg's massive erection. He whimpered again, this time in disappointment, as Greg's hand left his hair. Then that same hand slid down over the barely contained bulge in front of him. Alex watched, pupils blown, lips parted, as Greg lazily stroked and squeezed himself through the material.

If Alex was lost for words, it seemed Greg had enough for both of them. 'I've thought about this before,' he said. 'Getting off in the studio. Maybe with some little open-mouthed slut at my feet dripping wet because she's been allowed to witness it. Never thought it'd be you. It's kind of poetic, though, isn't it? Horny little Alex Horne, falling apart at the seams because his Taskmaster has given him permission to. You'd love that, wouldn't you?'

Alex nodded, eyes still trained on Greg's large hand and the cloth-covered cock it failed to hide. Alex's own erection was pushing uncomfortably against his fly but he wouldn't dare do anything about it. He shuddered deliciously at the thought of what might happen if he did. Greg's face stern, angry. Did I say you could touch yourself? Take your fucking hand away from there. I should take you over my knee. Alex bit his lip and moaned at the thought, his hands fisted at his sides.

Greg shifted to sit back more comfortably in his ridiculous throne. He spread his legs wider and placed his hands on his thighs. His expression was utterly self-assured. Alex glanced up at his face and thought, he knows he could do anything. Or nothing. He could fuck me into the ground or slap me or kiss me or insult me or praise me or just sit like that indefinitely, and he knows I'd be eating out of his hand.

All at once, Alex understood why this was so exciting. He himself was used to being the tall one, the big one. Never imposing – he knew very well how to make himself seem to take up less space – but still…and now, here was Greg. A man who had persuaded the world at large that Alex, at six foot two, was 'little'. A man who knew what authority was, how to use it, how to take advantage of being the biggest person in the room. How to take advantage of Alex. Take advantage of me.

His eyes dropped back to Greg's crotch. There was a small but noticeable damp patch where the head of the Taskmaster's cock pressed against the tight-stretched material. Unconsciously, Alex leaned forward a little. Realising he'd forgotten to breathe for an alarmingly long time, he drew in a ragged breath now, and was overwhelmed by the scent of sex. He swore under his breath.

A hand under his chin directed him to look back up at Greg, who looked unimpressed, one eyebrow raised. 'You wouldn't know what to do with it,' Greg said. Alex was silent, a pleading look in his eyes, his tongue just visible between his teeth as though rehearsing for something he wasn't sure he would ever have the guts to do. Greg smiled now, smugly. 'You want it though. Don't you?'

'I…'

'You have such a way with words.' Greg began to stroke at his clothed cock again, fingertips sweeping over the head, making him hiss in a breath. 'Don't imagine that's enough. You…' – Greg leaned down so that his face was close to Alex's – 'You don't get anything unless you ask for it.'

'Greg…' Alex's voice was a perfect mix of nervousness and heat. It went straight to Greg's cock. Alex could almost taste the whisky on Greg's breath. He'd never imagined being kissed by a man before, but right now it was hard not to imagine the scrape of the Taskmaster's stubble, his lips, tongue, teeth. Greg wouldn't be gentle.

'If I undid this now,' Greg said, hands toying with his belt, 'how do I know you'd be any good?' He went back to ghosting his fingers over the head of his cock, sliding through the spreading patch of precum. 'Greedy little whores like you aren't always so bothered about pleasing the other person. As long as you've got something to suck on or something to ride, you'll take what you want and then roll over and fall asleep. Is that it?'

'No,' said Alex, almost fiercely.

'You want a taste of this?'

'Yes!' Alex couldn't believe the desperation in his own voice.

Greg held up two fingers in front of Alex's face, just too far away for the smaller man to reach. Two fingers sticky and glistening with precum. 'Ask nicely,' he said.

'Please.'

'One more time.'

'Please,' Alex said. Then, experimentally, he added, '…Sir.' If he hadn't had his eyes trained on the teasing fingers, he might have seen a momentary lapse in Greg's smug self-control – a brief look of surprise on his face and a mighty twitch of his hard cock against his zip.

'Good boy,' Greg whispered, and stroked his fingers along Alex's lower lip before pushing them into the kneeling man's mouth. He watched as Alex's eyes fluttered shut, and wished he'd offered his left hand instead. The movement of those lips, that tongue, hungry but so eager to please, coupled with the blissed-out expression on Alex's face and the sweet little sounds he made, meant that if Greg's straining cock wasn't freed soon they might have a problem. 'Enough,' he said, retrieving his fingers from Alex's mouth reluctantly. It really wasn't enough.

Alex looked bereft. Greg was, on the surface, a picture of control. He wondered what it would be like to kiss Alex right now. He let himself wonder. That wasn't on the cards. Greg let his hands rest lazily on his belt. 'What do you want?' he challenged.

'I…I want…' panted Alex. Did he really want what his body thought he wanted right now? Could he say it?

Greg began unbuckling his belt. 'Don't bother,' he said. 'You don't get to touch it. Not this time.' He removed the belt and saw how Alex eyed the strip of leather. He grinned. 'Are you thinking about being whipped with this? Or tied up?'

'Er…the latter. But also now the former.'

Greg dangled the belt provocatively in front of Alex, and then dropped it on the floor. 'It's all coming out tonight, isn't it?' he said. He flicked open the button of his trousers, eyes never leaving Alex's face. Wincing a little (he hadn't expected to have a mammoth hard-on in an awkward position when he'd decided to go commando that morning), he drew down the zip and let his cock spring free. It slapped against his stomach obscenely, wetly, and Greg didn't feel self-conscious about it at all. Alex wasn't there to be romanced. Let it be lewd. Let it be dirty. He wrapped his fist around his cock with a shaky sigh.

'Kneel up a bit,' he said. 'Let me see.' He saw with little surprise that Alex had a prominent bulge in his smart suit trousers. 'Put a hand on yourself,' Greg said. Alex went to open his fly. 'Oi! Are you listening? I didn't tell you to undo it.'

'Sorry,' Alex muttered, face flushed.

'Call me what you called me before,' said Greg, trying to keep the tremor in his voice in check. Alex didn't have to know what this was doing to him.

'…Sir?'

'Yes,' growled Greg. 'Now do as I told you.' Embarrassed, exhilarated, Alex cupped himself through his trousers. 'Look at me. Don't you fucking dare take your eyes off me. Look at me and touch it like I'm touching it.'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Fuck.'

Greg began to stroke himself in earnest, watching fascinated as Alex matched him stroke for stroke. He knew he was panting now, but he didn't care. 'Is this what you want?' murmured Alex.

'Shut up. Or, don't shut up. Tell me how it feels.'

'I…can't…'

Greg's hand stilled on his cock. 'Tell me or this ends.'

'Feels…feels good.'

Greg's hand began to move again, slowly, and Alex copied him with a sigh. 'Bit vague,' Greg said. 'Must…try…harder.' He punctuated each word with a firm pump of his cock, and another little stream of precum welled up over his fist.

'Greg…'

'Fucking Sir.'

'Sir,' moaned Alex, and Greg echoed him. Alex steeled himself for a more specific description of how this mad moment felt. 'I feel…oh…god…unravelled. Hot. Scared. Like I want…to be taken.'

'Shit. I knew it.' Greg's cock throbbed in his hand and he sped up his stroke.

'I feel like…it might not…oh…take much. You know. Do you know?'

Greg laughed briefly, raggedly. 'Boy, do I know,' he said. 'And what's that like?'

'You're gonna make me describe…how it feels to…'

'You know how this fucking works, Horne,' panted Greg, his strokes a little more erratic now. 'I'll make you do whatever the fuck I want, and you…oh…you'll lap it up and thank me.'

Alex smiled wickedly, even as his control was ebbing. 'Yes, Sir,' he said.

'Don't play with me,' Greg warned. 'Do as you're told.'

'OK. It…oh…feels like it's your hand. Your hand would be bigger, but I'm looking at it so my mind is filling in the blanks. F-fuck, Greg, don't do that if you want me to articulate anything!'

Greg smirked as, once more for luck, he ran the pad of his thumb over the sensitive head of his cock knowing that Alex had to do the same as best he could through his clothes. You could see the darker patch there now. It would be nice and slick, not too sensitive to touch but maybe enough to send Alex over the edge if he wasn't careful. 'Not yet,' he warned, as Alex shuddered. 'I'll tell you when you can. Now carry on.'

'Feels like I've never had to hold off before. I…fuck…I guess I have, but never like this. Not with someone else…ah…setting the pace. I…I…I need to…'

'No.'

'I can't…'

'Tell me how it feels.'

'Fuck, it's all…spiralling…too much…and my balls are so tight…ah...it almost hurts…but I want it to…I want you to…'

'What do you want me to do?'

'Hurt me…challenge me…take me…fucking own me. Oh christ, I'm so close. Please…please…'

'Look at me.'

Alex looked into Greg's eyes, somehow both sharp and fierce and clouded with desire. Greg nodded. 'Do it,' he said, and Alex let go. The sight of his friend groaning, shaking, one hand pressed to his still-clothed crotch, was enough for Greg. A couple more swift pumps of his straining cock and he was coming too, thick and hot over his fist. His cock still twitching with the aftershocks of orgasm, still half-hard, he pressed his fingers to Alex's lips again. Alex sucked them clean with just as much hungry enthusiasm as he had before.

'Fuck me,' Greg exclaimed, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. Alex giggled a little around Greg's fingers. 'You are…fucking hell. I'm keeping you.'

Alex released Greg's fingers and smiled, gratified. 'Yes, Sir,' he agreed.

And then the stage door opened. They heard footsteps, upbeat chatter, one of the camera operators apologising profusely. 'I bet they think it was me,' said Mark's voice. 'It wasn't me!'

They looked at each other. Dishevelled, perhaps understandably given that they'd been locked in the studio for god knows how long, but some aspects of this tableau wouldn't be so easy to explain. Like Greg sitting spread-legged on his Taskmaster throne with his dripping cock out and a little silvery pool of cum on the floor. Like Alex kneeling between Greg's thighs with a sticky wet patch at his crotch, having obviously come in his pants. Like both of them flushed and messy with sex as the sound of footsteps and easy banter came nearer.

'Um…' said Greg loudly, '…give us a minute will you?'