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Elliot sits in front of his computer, scenes of complete and utter chaos flashing across the screen. He follows each moment quite passively despite being the cause of everything that's happening.
“I did this,” he reminds himself. We did this, his mind supplies helpfully. His thoughts can't help wandering to a certain someone who remains MIA. Elliot can’t believe he searched for him the whole day and still came up empty. What could’ve happened to him?
Something bad, something awful that you couldn’t stop. You know it, don’t you? You know he’s going to end up just like—
Elliot’s grateful when a series of knocks stops his mind from going down that road. He shuts off his monitor just as footage shows another group of fsociety wannabes in the streets, shouting about finally being awake and finally being alive.
He walks the short distance across the room to answer the door and finds Tyrell standing out in the hallway. He's as pristine as ever, dressed in a sharp suit and hair expertly combed.
The sight of him immediately sets Elliot on edge. He spent the last 12 hours looking for this man and now he has the audacity to show up at his apartment as if nothing's happened? Elliot is beyond pissed.
He doesn't even give Tyrell the chance to speak before he's grabbing him by the lapels of his overpriced suit, pulling him inside, kicking the door closed, and slamming him against it. The force of it causes Elliot’s hoodie to fall from his head.
Elliot hears the surprised grunt of pain Tyrell releases and marvels in it. A bit of discomfort is the least he deserves for what he’s put him through these last 12 hours.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Elliot questions heatedly, taken aback by his own deadly tone of voice.
He sees Tyrell open his mouth as if to reply but Elliot cuts him off, pulls him in, and knocks him against the door for a second time.
"Do you have any idea what I've been through today, what you put me through? I woke up in your car completely disoriented. I couldn't remember the last two days or what we did and you were, conveniently, nowhere to be found."
Tyrell glances down at where Elliot's still holding him. He must notice the way his hands are trembling even as they grip his designer suit tightly.
Despite the silence between them, Tyrell doesn't try to speak again. He just watches Elliot with those piercing blue eyes of his. The ones that see right through him, the ones that know all of Elliot's dirty little secrets.
Those eyes make Elliot more than a little nervous, but he's not going to let them get the best of him now.
"I went looking for you though I don't know why," he adds the last part of his statement softly. He shifts his gaze away from Tyrell's for a moment as if to gather himself after telling that very blatant lie.
Elliot knows exactly why he went looking for Tyrell; they both do, but he's not in the right head space to tackle that issue at the moment. He most likely never will be, not with some twisted version of his dead father occupying his mind ninety percent of the time.
When he meets Tyrell's eyes again, there's something soft around the edges of them, but Elliot has no time to acknowledge what that means when he's still so angry about everything.
"I went to Evil Corp," he continues, just saying the name of the company leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. "Your assistant said you don't work there anymore. I didn't ask for details, but I can pretty much guess why."
Three days ago Tyrell showed up at his apartment. He let himself in like he owns the place and maybe he does.
Elliot's memories are sketchy on his best days so it's possible Tyrell does have some unknown claim on his place. It might explain why Elliot seemed so comfortable with the idea of Tyrell sitting in his apartment during his withdrawal hallucinations.
Tyrell showed up at his apartment demanding to know all of Elliot's plans and in the midst of trying to get info out of him casually admitted he'd strangled a woman to death all the while looking as though he might just do the same to him. Elliot had been some odd mix of horrified and intrigued by Tyrell's confession.
Afterwards he'd taken Tyrell to the arcade and revealed everything to him. Of course what happened after that is when Elliot's memory starts to fail him. He needs Tyrell to fill in the blanks for him, but he's so fucking pissed off, practically seeing red, that he'd rather focus on sharing the details of the horrible day he had rather than getting information from Tyrell.
"I went to your house next, met your wife," Elliot reveals with a short laugh. "She's actually scarier than you are. I doubt she would've had any problem murdering me out on the street in front of your baby. You two are practically made for each other, aren't you?"
The question only manages to anger him more along with the wide sympathetic eyes Tyrell is sporting, as if he cares.
"You don't care," Elliot spits at him, venom in his voice. "You don't care that I almost got myself arrested, that I made myself look like a crazy person in front of a whole room full of people."
He is crazy but that's beside the point when he's in the middle of a rant.
"You don't care that I went all over the city looking for you or that your wife probably wants my head mounted on her wall. You don't care that I was worried about you. You don't care that I thought you were dead. You don't care that I care about what happens to you. You don't care; that's why you left me in your SUV alone with no clue as to where I was or what happened. You just...you don't care."
Elliot's head is starting to hurt; the toils of the day taking effect once again. He almost expects his dad, Mr. Robot, himself, whoever he is to show up and shout at him to get his shit together, but he stays hidden in the recesses of his mind at least for now. Elliot supposes he can take some solace in that. One less thing to worry about.
Unfortunately there's still the matter of dealing with the man he has pinned to his apartment door, but Elliot's so mentally drained all he can do is loosen his grip on Tyrell and let himself fall forward to rest his forehead against his shoulder. Tyrell lets him. He doesn't make any sort of move to push him away.
In fact, he seems to welcome Elliot’s closeness, taking the opportunity to wrap his arms around him and nuzzle his nose into Elliot’s hair. Elliot goes rigid, unsure if he should pull back or allow whatever this embrace is to continue.
His whole body is shaking, like he might just snap at a moment’s notice but then Tyrell’s lips are against his ear, whispering something Elliot can’t understand. The fact that Tyrell is speaking in a language that sounds awfully similar to the one his wife spoke to him earlier should make Elliot tense up even more but it doesn’t. He relaxes in Tyrell’s arms, allowing his soft murmurs to be some sort of strange comfort to him.
Once his shakes have finally subsided, Elliot makes the very unwise decision to lift his head and lock eyes with Tyrell. He’s not sure what’s worse, the almost predatory way in which Tyrell had stared at him three nights ago while describing a murder or the way he’s looking at him now, like Elliot is the only thing that matters to him in the world. That thought polarizes Elliot, makes him feel something he has no business feeling.
Things only go downhill from there when Tyrell speaks. His voice is like velvet; the cadence is practically mesmerizing. “I do care, Elliot,” he says, and Elliot’s ashamed to admit a shiver runs down his spine when Tyrell commits the simple act of saying his name.
“I would’ve thought you’d realize that by now,” Tyrell adds, and Elliot rolls his eyes, resists the urge to full-on snort in his face.
It would be stupid of Elliot to believe him, but when they’re like this, holding each other, how can he not?
Of course he's not going to openly admit that to Tyrell, so he retorts smartly, “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”
Tyrell chuckles softly before inquiring, “Would you rather I showed you in a more traditional way?”
Before Elliot can object, Tyrell has leaned down to brush his lips tentatively against his.
The kiss itself doesn't surprise Elliot. They've been dancing around this forbidden attraction between them from the moment Tyrell introduced himself at Allsafe.
No, it's the gentleness of the kiss that takes him aback, makes Elliot question if this is honestly the same man who cornered him in a men's room at Steel Mountain to tell him he'd known about the Colby frame up. Or the man who claimed he felt wonder after choking someone. Elliot calls bullshit on that one.
Tyrell’s hands, which have been roaming nonchalantly up and down Elliot’s back, have moved to cup his face. “If you don't want to continue this, Elliot, tell me now,” he murmurs. “Otherwise, I'm going to take you to bed.”
Elliot’s breath catches in his throat at the sound of these words. He really must be insane because he’s been put through hell today because of this man and yet…fuck, Elliot wants him. Every broken piece of Elliot Alderson wants Tyrell Wellick, and he’s tired of pretending otherwise.
Darlene used to tell him those big, stupid eyes of his always gave away how he felt. Elliot would love to know what exactly they’re saying to Tyrell at this moment. They’re probably screaming, “Take me. I’m yours.” and Tyrell obliges, caressing his cheeks and capturing his lips in a heated kiss.
Elliot feels himself being moved until the backs of his knees hit the bed. He and Tyrell tumble back on the mattress, never once breaking apart from each other to come up for air.
Tyrell nips and sucks on his bottom lip, and Elliot’s mouth falls open in a soft moan when he reaches down to fondle him through his jeans. He allows Tyrell’s tongue to find a rhythm with his own.
They’re both panting heavily when Tyrell finally moves back to unzip Elliot’s hoodie and even has the presence of mind to toss it so that it lands neatly in the chair beside the bed.
He isn’t so forgiving with his own attire though, throwing his suit jacket to the floor and haphazardly removing his tie as if the article of clothing has been choking him this entire time.
His hair is falling into his face now and Elliot reaches up to push it back before finding his mouth again.
Elliot’s not sure exactly how Tyrell got him out of his shirt without him noticing, but Tyrell’s lips are closing around one of his nipples now, causing him to release a soft groan and arch off the bed so he can’t be bothered with trivial matters right this second.
He kisses a path down Elliot’s chest to his stomach before undoing the button on Elliot’s jeans. Tyrell pulls them down his legs, along with his underwear, and whispers something in the same language as before when he catches sight of Elliot’s cock, already hard and leaking just from their make out session.
Despite not knowing one word of the language he thinks might be Swedish, whatever Tyrell has said sounds completely filthy to Elliot’s ears. He’s about to ask him to translate when Tyrell kneels down in front of him on the floor and just goes for broke, taking Elliot’s entire length into his mouth.
A string of obscenities falls from Elliot’s lips, and Tyrell laughs around him. The vibrations plus whatever he’s doing with his tongue has Elliot keening, begging like a man desperate for another hit.
Maybe someone slipped him something without him noticing because it can’t be this good, Tyrell’s mouth can’t feel this good, without a drug or two in his system aiding him, lowering Elliot’s inhibitions.
“You’re not high, Elliot,” Tyrell informs him after slipping his mouth off his shaft and replacing it with his hand that he’s using to steadily jerk Elliot’s cock.
“How…How do you know?” Elliot manages to ask through his pants for air.
Tyrell shrugs noncommittally, his hand still moving up and down at a pace that’s downright tortuous. “I just do.”
“That’s—oh, fuck…” Elliot breaks off to moan when Tyrell’s thumb lazily swipes over the head. “That’s not an answer. That’s…shit, that’s good. Oh…that’s so fucking good.”
Tyrell is mouthing at his balls but pulls back long enough to say, “I can make it better.”
Elliot’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s certainly not for Tyrell to lift the entire lower half of his body so that his ass is in the air and on display for him. Elliot starts to protest, but his words get caught up in his throat once Tyrell has his cheeks spread and is laving at his hole with reckless abandonment.
All Elliot can muster at this point are soft sighs and pathetic whimpers as Tyrell’s tongue dips inside of him. His hips keep jerking up, catching empty air. He wants to reach down and touch himself but he can’t seem to let go of his grip on the sheets long enough to do it.
Elliot is sweating and choking on gasps of air. Every swipe of Tyrell’s tongue against his rim sends a jolt of electricity through his body, but it’s not enough. It’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough.
He’s practically sobbing now. “It’s not enough. God, it’s not…Tyrell, I need you…I need you to…”
Tyrell pulls back suddenly, lowering him back down onto the bed. Elliot’s a mess, tears on his face, sweat covering his body, his cock aching.
Of course Tyrell’s still the picture of composure though Elliot notes a more defined bulge in his pants that wasn’t there earlier.
Elliot pleads in a soft voice, “Please.” He doesn’t want to say what he needs; he’s hoping Tyrell won’t make him.
Surprisingly, Tyrell indulges him, moving gracefully to Elliot’s bedside table to retrieve his bottle of lube and a condom.
Elliot doesn’t ask how Tyrell knows where he keeps his things. That question is better left for another time. Tyrell’s focus is on opening the bottle and pouring the lube onto his fingers.
Elliot startles at the first touch of Tyrell’s finger to his hole. He circles it a few times before gently pressing in. Elliot’s done this to himself before, but it’s been a while and just one finger still feels a bit uncomfortable. Tyrell is doing what he can to relax him, running his free hand down his calf and dropping kisses onto his inner thigh.
Eventually something breaks inside Elliot, Tyrell finds that spot and grazes it with his finger. Elliot lets out a gasp and then a moan and then all of a sudden his hips are moving and his cock is leaking precome. His eyes close on their own and he barely notices when Tyrell adds another finger. He’s loosening up, moving nicely on his fingers when Tyrell groans softly.
Elliot’s eyes pop open, and the first thing he sees is Tyrell. His right hand is still inside of him, but his left hand is squeezing his bulge as if he’s trying to hold off from coming in his pants.
“I could watch you like this all day,” Tyrell admits, his voice dripping with want. “So fucking beautiful, Elliot. You make me crazy.”
Elliot surprises himself when he barks out a laugh. They could be crazy together, he supposes.
Tyrell keeps brushing his prostate with each twist of his fingers and Elliot can’t take much more. He reaches down to grab his wrist to stop his movements.
Elliot’s pretty sure his eyes are wide and pleading again. He watches Tyrell undress; his body is lean but still toned. His dick is curved and larger than anything Elliot’s ever had inside of him.
His nervousness must play across his face because once Tyrell has rolled on the condom and slicked himself up he hovers over Elliot, a look of concern etching his features. He slots himself into place between Elliot’s thighs and places a hand on his cheek.
Their foreheads brush against each other as Tyrell says, “We can take this as slowly as you need to. I’m in no rush for this to be over.”
Elliot swallows hard and blurts out, “Okay.”
Tyrell finds his lips again and Elliot feels weak just from a few simple kisses. Tyrell teases him with just the tip of his cock rubbing against him. When he finally pushes in, he lets Elliot take his length in slowly.
Elliot gasps into Tyrell’s mouth as he tries to adjust to the member filling him up so completely. Tyrell’s movements are barely there, just small nudges of his hips against Elliot’s, but he’s already panting as if he’s run a marathon.
He’s murmuring something in Swedish again and moaning, and Elliot’s unsure of how much time has elapsed since Tyrell first appeared in his doorway but this isn’t how he imagined the night going.
He’d pinned Tyrell to the door and now Tyrell’s got him pinned down on the bed, and he’s making these soft noises and Elliot wonders how long he’ll have to wait before he feels something other than mild discomfort.
And…oh…oh, there it is. Elliot sucks in a sharp breath and Tyrell must take it as a sign that’s he’s done something to hurt him because he stops moving. There’s worry in his eyes when he inquires, “Are you okay? Should we stop?”
Elliot quickly shakes his head in response, locking his legs around Tyrell to keep him in place. “Don’t,” he breathes. “Keep going. It feels good.”
Tyrell nods, starting to move just a bit faster now, and Elliot buries his face in the crook of his neck, mouths at his pulse point and releases a sigh with each thrust. Tyrell is hitting all the right spots now and Elliot’s hips are moving in time with his.
Tyrell laces their fingers together and lifts Elliot’s hands over his head, making it impossible for him to touch himself. His cock is trapped between them, sliding against Tyrell’s stomach, leaving a trail of precome.
“Fuck,” Elliot curses when one of Tyrell’s thrusts finds his prostate. “There. Right there.”
Tyrell smiles down at him; it's similar to the one he had while asking him to take that job at Evil Corp. Elliot was unsettled by it then, but now, now it’s different. It’s laced with something more, something he can’t even being to describe.
“Do you think I could make you come like this? Just with my cock? Would you like that, Elliot?” He asks, picking up the pace, and Elliot can only moan helplessly. “You’re perfect, Elliot. Perfect for me.”
It would be stupid of Elliot to believe him. But when they’re like this, as close as possible, how can he not?
That feeling is building up in the pit of Elliot's stomach. His legs are shaking and he's placing kisses along Tyrell's shoulder as their bodies rock together more urgently.
“I’m gonna—” Elliot’s words are cut off by a groan as he spills all over his and Tyrell’s stomach. Tyrell follows shortly after him, his hips stuttering as he comes.
They’re both panting, trying to recover from their releases. Tyrell drops down onto Elliot but doesn’t pull out yet. They hold each other’s gazes until Tyrell leans in to plant a kiss on his lips.
When he pulls back, Elliot frowns. There won’t be an afterglow for them. There are still too many questions that need to be answered.
“Will you tell me what happened?” He asks, and Tyrell brings Elliot’s hands up to his lips, whispers something in Swedish, before kissing each of his fingers.
“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
It really would be stupid of Elliot to believe him after everything that’s happened. But when they’re like this, so close and intimate, how can he not?