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It was always the first touch that got under Joseph’s skin that made him feel like he was on fire. It wasn’t much, a simple brush of his hands against his chest as he undid the buttons on his shirt, as it slid off his shoulders and down by his feet where he’d leave it— only on days like today it’d remain there, with his vest and his tie, until he felt relieved enough to take care of it. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. But today was feeling like a particularly long session; especially after the way Sebastian had touched him on the way out of the office that night— nothing but a simple touch against his forearm to catch his attention, to remind him that he was leaving his notebook behind on his desk, to make Joseph’s face tinge with embarrassment for no real reason— but it was enough to make him feel good for days, enough for him to think about the whole subway ride home in a mix of shame and delight. Like a schoolgirl crush that only got worse the more he dwelled on it and replayed unnecessary scenes of their interactions in his mind, recreating the things that could’ve gone better if things had been different— if Kidman hadn’t been in the room at the time, or if they hadn’t received a call then.

As he sat of the edge of his bed, gloved hands working at his belt, he thought about if he had kissed Sebastian in the car the other night as they pulled up to his apartment, how his mouth would have tasted like his last cigarette (the only time he’d ever get to experience that smoky, stale taste) and how Sebastian would’ve touched his arm to pull him closer, touched his jaw and felt his hair against his fingertips. And a sense of shame came with imagining rejection, one that he didn’t want to conceive and tried to push from his mind while he slid his pants off and climbed under the covers. He didn’t want his body exposed the suffocating emptiness of the room, didn’t want to feel the weight of it as he made a fool of himself under the covers or feel the cold against his flushed skin. He kept his glasses on, having half the mind to want to put them away so he couldn’t see himself in such intense clarity as he touched the area where Sebastian laid his hand earlier. It felt weird, imagining his hand as someone else’s when it was gloved, cold and impersonal. But skin on skin would feel too personal, too close to the real thing. Joseph dragged his hand down his arm, to the end of his fingertips where they rested against his stomach and touched softly, tempting to slide up and down his stomach and to his chest in a languid stroke. One hand dancing dangerously close to his hips, the other feathering touches across his chest, not yet allowing himself the satisfaction of toying with the nipples his fingertips skimmed over, hardening under excitement — simple, sensitive teasing to get himself imagining all over again.

He thought about Sebastian’s firm grip against his arm getting tighter, pulling him back into their office with more force than reality had offered him. How his grip would persist long after the door closed, forcing his back against it, trapped against Sebastian’s body— held so tightly in place while Sebastian’s mouth collapsed against his own. He’d try not to act too nervous, swallowing it down like his current guilt, and try not to apologize when his glasses bumped awkwardly against the other’s face or when he let out a sheepish moan when Sebastian pushed closer to him. And he wouldn’t ask why, he’d let Sebastian do anything.  

His imagination played out like this this for awhile; with simple kisses, and a familiar setting. And from under the covers, his hand traveled across his collarbone, thinking of how few times he’d bitten and marked there. Thinking nothing would be as nice as Sebastian’s teeth sinking into his skin, harsh bruising followed by a gentle brush of his lips in a silent apology before moving to the next patch of smooth skin on his neck. Licking and nipping until he’d be glad he wore his shirts buttoned to the very top. Joseph’s breath labored slightly, knowing the sensation of a small tent in his underwear prominent and growing as he thought of being held down and touched. Fingers rubbing gentle circles against his nipples, pulling and tweaking roughly at the thought of Sebastian mouthing them, biting them, running his tongue against his chest. Joseph’s groan left his mouth faster than he could stop himself; a sound of degradation, one that caused his cheeks to light up and paranoia telling him that Sebastian knew, he had to know, that he would read the guilt in his sheepish mannerisms when he'd come into work the next morning. As if he so much as breathed the wrong way Sebastian would figure it out. And part of him wanted Sebastian to know.

Joseph thought about him watching as he stroked his hips gently and eased his underwear off, down to his ankles; his own gloved fingers drawing lines up and down his thighs, daring so close to his erection. In his mind, the covers were off, brave enough to bare himself but consciously shy enough to close his legs slightly— a tinge of shame washing over him as soon as Sebastian’s eyes would meet his own. They’d be dark and piercing, gazing down at his body and between his thighs while his hand reached forward, creeping between his legs and wrapping around his cock.

Joseph’s hips shifted against the sheets, finally allowing himself the satisfaction of touching himself where he wanted the most. The feeling of his leather gloves against his skin never worked in keeping his emotions grounded, not when he could close his eyes and live out the scenarios he’d been conjuring up for months. He’d spent enough time alone to think everything through, to know exactly where he liked to be touched, to figure out that he liked being pushed to edge and brought back. Stroking himself in teasing, languid strokes, Joseph bit down against his other hand— imagining himself back in their office that night, with Sebastian whispering something about somebody hearing them if he was too loud. And he was trying so hard to keep from shouting out, daring Sebastian to go faster, rougher, to just touch him there— ‘there! Like that…don’t fucking stop Sebastian…!’

Joseph’s legs splayed against the sheets, wide open and quivering as he thumbed the head of his erection; his precome tainting the clean leather of his glove, slicking his fingers up until his body tightened, heat pooling in his abdomen, the overwhelming sensation of too much indulgence. He couldn’t think anymore. The scenarios in his mind jumbled— the specifics didn't matter at all as his mind blurred everything together in a kaleidoscope of fantasies where Sebastian was the only identifiable vision; the only one stoking him roughly until he could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, the only one making him beg for release.


Release came, faster than he could stop himself from moaning out Sebastian’s name as he came across his naked stomach, fluid lingering on his fingers while he stroked himself dry, breathing out heavily and not daring to open his eyes. He was tired, filthy, unwilling to face himself yet. He’d dazedly lay there, head against the pillows and glasses sliding down his nose, listening to his own shallow breathing and reliving his shame. It was too easy for him to focus back on reality and, despite how much he wanted to, he wasn’t thinking so much about the Sebastian in his mind anymore, but rather the one he worked with; the one he’d have to face bright and early at tomorrow’s meeting, the one he’d have to sit next to and be knee to knee with in those cramped chairs for an hour or two. Just thought of it made him light up again, nervousness and excitement running through his body; he’d be damned if he didn't and up in the same position he was currently in tomorrow.

The humiliation, the adrenaline— that's what kept him going.