Work Text:
In the six months that Jack has been working for Raspy Hill, he’s never fucked up quite like this.
The morning after drinks with the boys, a hangover from hell pounding into his skull like some sort of goddess is trying to crawl out of it, he checks his phone to a slew of email notifications, but a single text message, which is weird, because no one texts him anymore. He just gets messages through apps.
[Mr. Doom]: Please come to my office this evening after your shift, Mr. McLoughlin.
This text is immediately following a very awkward, very real photo of his own dick.
Jesus.
After throwing up in the toilet—not from hangover, just from nerves—Jack sits on his bed for a long, long moment. He takes a shower, scrubbing the scent of booze and cheap cologne off his skin, and returns to his sitting position, wondering not for the first time he’d ended up here, but also realizing that he perhaps just screwed up his entire future with one night out.
He was going to kill Ethan, after all this.
Though playing with the idea of calling out sick, Jack decides to be the bigger person and head into the office. It’s the same way he left it, his desk in exactly the right place, and all his coworkers in their spaces, mild chatter between them.
Despite the headache, Jack actually wants to kill himself.
“I thought you’d be late,” Ethan chirps as Jack settles into his desk beside him. “Like, you went—you went hard last night.”
“Don’t speak to me,” Jack hisses back. “Don’t look at me. Don’t touch me. Don’t breathe my air.”
Ethan raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t tell you to—”
“You have no idea what I did last night,” Jack whispers, glancing over his shoulder. “I—Jesus fuck, Ethan, I—”
His friend laughs, like a fucking asshole. “It couldn’t have been that bad. What did you do? Drunk-dial your ex? Send a dick pic to His Royal Assness Dark and Stormy?”
The office has taken to calling his boss all manners of names under the sun, a play on the idea that he’s definitely the colder and more calculated of the two owners of Raspy Hill. His name is Damien, and though he’s one of the driving forces behind the company, the other owner’s name is Mark, and so the nickname comes from combining the two.
Ethan’s just mean.
“Ethan,” Jack clenches his jaw. “Ethan.”
His eyes widen. “Oh. Oh. Oh, no, please tell me you didn’t—”
Jack puts his face in his hands, letting out the softest, most painful sound he’s ever made in his entire fucking life. “He wants to see me after my shift.”
Ethan is quiet for a long moment, a sharp inhalation of breath, covering his mouth, running his hands through his messy hair as he sits back in his seat. “Oh my god, Jack. He’s going to kill you.”
“I know!” his face is warming by the second. “I don’t—I don’t even remember! I just woke up this morning with a hangover from hell and it was just—it was there and it was my dick out for him to see and all he says is Meet me in my office after your shift, Mr. McLoughlin. Like I’m not going to be mortified and like I don’t want to absolutely kill myself right now.”
Reaching out a comforting hand, Ethan pats him awkwardly. “Maybe…maybe he’ll just ask you not to do that again? A warning? Or, I don’t know, maybe he’ll be like…don’t send me other people’s dicks again? It’s not professional? Maybe he doesn’t know it’s your dick.”
Mournfully, Jack opens his phone, scrolling through his six text messages with Dark. “I have a message immediately preceding my dick pic saying you got a pretty face look what it does to me with no less than fifteen typos somewhere in the middle of that.”
“Oof,” is his only response, another pat on his shoulder. “Man, I really liked working with you.”
“When my funeral comes around you’re not invited,” Jack tells him, serious. “You got me into this mess.”
“I’m not the one who made you do shots like a college frat boy on a Friday night!” Ethan argues back. “I may have just…encouraged.”
Jack shakes a fist at him. “I hope the next time you have to fart it comes out as a shit.”
“Cold, man,” Ethan turns his chair back to his computer. “That’s so cold.”
~~
After the workday is over, Ethan tells him to text and let him know what happens, though they both know where this story is going to end. Jack finishes submitting the last of his paperwork, wondering if he’ll actually get an exit interview or if this termination is effective immediately.
God, a company like this? He’s never going to get hired anywhere in this city ever again. He can’t even use the work experience for relevance. Maybe if he begged him, if he offered to quit quietly and with no scandal, maybe he’d be forgiving…
The walk to the Boss’s office is long and looming, the winter having made the office already dark and feeling empty. He knows there’s a few people who stay later in the evening to finish up projects, but for the most part they’re in smooth sailing after the most recent launch. So while there’s a few, there’s not many.
Less people to hear Mr. Dark murder him for disrespecting him.
His office door is closed, as per usual, the light in the office indicating that the lamp is on and he’s definitely still inside. He knows that the boss generally works late, it’s always been his MO, because he didn’t believe in working his employees to death if he didn’t also work just as hard, which is fair, at least.
Jack sucks in a short breath, knocking on the door with his knuckles, feeling the clamminess of his palms. He wipes them on his jacket, waiting for the soft come in, which comes much too quickly. He opens the door with an ominous turn of the doorknob.
The dress code for the office has always been fairly casual—an instillation by Mark, convinced that people should be allowed to wear what they want to work so long as they get their work done. Dark, on the other hand, preferred something a bit more rigid, and apparently they’d fought about it for a long time, before settling on a happy middle of business casual with complete casual on Wednesday and Friday.
Though Dark always wore his pristine, perfect suits that likely cost more than his entire salary.
He looks this way now, though he’s just wearing a crisp button-down, sleeves rolled up to exposure the skin of his forearms in a way that makes his gut squirm.
Jack isn’t stupid. He’s an attractive man, and though he doesn’t remember sending the picture, he knows what his dumb, drunk brain had been thinking about.
Standing in the doorway, he watches his dark gaze flicker up to him, so sharp and calculating that Jack feels a momentary surge of panic, as though he were a prey animal and he’d just been spotted by a hunter.
His boss seems contemplative for a moment, and then, “Yes, Mr. McLoughlin. Have a seat.”
Jack breathes out slow, easy. To not seem nervous. Though he knows he must look it for sure.
Taking a seat in the chair adjacent from his desk, Dark shuffles a few papers and sets them neatly into a pile on the side, the deep, deep mahogany of his desk in perfect condition, as though he tends to it very carefully.
They say nothing for a long moment, and Jack waits for him to make the first move, feeling a warm, uncomfortable itch beneath his skin. He feels like he’s on display, and any sign of weakness will give him a reason to strike. He’s not ready for that.
“Do you enjoy wine, Mr. McLoughlin?” Dark says, after a beat.
Jack blinks at him.
“Um,” he begins, awkward. “Sometimes, yes.”
This is an elaborate setup. A play. He’s going to feed into this for sure, and then probably kill him. He’d get away with it, too. He has enough money.
Dark rises to his feet, then, stepping off to the side of his office where he opens a cabinet Jack hadn’t noticed before. From inside, he withdraws two glasses and a suspiciously dark bottle.
He sets one down in front of him, and another in front of himself. With a bottle opener that he apparently keeps in his desk drawer, because he’s like that, he uncorks the bottle and pours it in the glass before him.
This is…not how he’d expected this to go so far.
“Do you like working here, Mr. McLoughlin?” Dark asks, taking a delicate sip, a pointed look indicating he should, too. Jack picks up the glass hesitantly.
“Y-yeah,” he begins, picking up the glass, but not drinking from it. He’s not got the stomach for alcohol, at the moment. He raises it to his lips, making a swallow gesture, but doesn’t actually take any in. The tiny bit he gets on his tongue is dry, but slightly sweet. “It’s been—um—I’ve been here—”
“Six months,” Dark supplies, voice calm. The edges of his lips turn the barest amount at his reaction. “You’re surprised I know that.”
“A little bit,” he admits, after a pause. “I just—”
A low, considerate rumble comes out of Dark’s chest, giving Jack those weird tremors in his stomach again. “I do take great care in knowing the people that work for me, Mr. McLoughlin. Sean, isn’t it? No, you prefer something else.”
He knows his cheeks must be scarlet by now, as he opens his mouth. “I prefer—”
“Jack,” Dark says, and he hates the way that his name on those lips twist him up inside. “Yes, that’s right.”
Jack feels sick, feeling as though he’s wrapped up in a game of 4D chess and he’s never played a single second of chess in his life. For real, this time, he takes a sip of the wine, just to settle himself.
It’s nice, at least.
“You do…satisfactory work,” Dark goes on, gentle still. “Your designs are well done. They need work, but that will come with time and practice. For what they are, they are…good.”
“I appreciate that, sir,” Jack replies, his mouth sticky, dry. “Thank you.”
Another low, somewhat amused hum. “You know why I called you here, Jack.”
It’s not a question.
Jack swirls the wine around in the glass, taking another sip of it, because fuck, alcohol got him into this mess, and it certainly won’t get him out of it, but it’ll soften the bite. “I…accidentally sent you a dick pic.”
“Accidentally.”
He says the words so calmly, but Jack swears—swears—he hears the edges of confusion on his tongue.
That’s weird.
“Accidentally,” Jack repeats. “Yes.”
A warm, thoughtful hum comes out of Dark’s throat.
“What do they call me these days, Jack?” he asks, surprising him, a subtle shift in tone. It’s not the question he was expecting, nor was he expecting a question at all. “In the office.”
Jack stares at him blankly.
“Come now,” Dark chides, leaning back in his chair. He takes another slow, considerate sip, and he watches the bob of his throat in rapture. “I know I’ve had…many nicknames in the past. What is it now?”
“Um,” he begins, wondering if this is a trick of some kind. “We, um. We just call you sir, and Mr. Doom, mostly.”
“Yes,” Dark says patiently. “But I do know I often have far more…interesting nicknames than Mr. Fischbach does.”
Yeah, he sure does.
Jack wracks his brain for all of the names he’s heard in the last six months, searching vaguely for the least offense one. There’s been tons, including your majesty and dick slayer and demon doom and Mr. Grumpy McGrumple, all of which are not entirely pleasant names to tell your boss who may be on the cusp of firing you.
“There’s…a lot,” Jack begins, tentative and slow. “I don’t remember them all.”
Dark, at least, seems amused by this, his lips just a tad bit more tilted upward than before. “What do you call me, then, pet?”
Pet. Jack’s heart squeezes in his chest. Jesus. Jesus. That is not the phrasing he was expecting to leave his mouth just then, and while it’ll make for great fodder when he’s jerking it at some point in the future, it’s not something he wants to think about at the moment.
“Sir,” he fills in, correctly. Trying not to look him in the eye. “That’s generally what I call you.”
“Mm,” Dark hums back. “And also? Right now? What do you call me in that little head of yours when you’re not trying to be polite?”
The words steal the air from his lungs. God. It’s not like he doesn’t already know, right? Jack tucks his lower lip between his teeth, and watches his gaze flicker to his lips. That’s weird.
“Dark,” he says finally, his lips curling around the words gentle, and slow. “We, uh, they called you Dark, for a bit. And it always stuck with me. You know, like, a play on—”
“Mark,” Dark supplements. “Yes, I recall. That is a rather popular one.”
Saying nothing more than that, he sets his wine glass down to the side, and Jack does the same, to be polite, of course. He folds his hands into his lap, ignoring the growing sensation of something tasting like his filthiest fantasies coming to life. He wishes he would just fire him and get it over with. The suspension is killing him.
“Do you like working here, Jack?” he asks again, his voice lowering, a beautiful sound crawling up his spine.
His mouth is dry. “Yes, I…I do.”
“And would you say that you would do anything to keep this job?”
Just about. This is literally his dream job. If he plays his cards right, he could be set for life at this company, working his way to the top, having his skills showcased with the best of the best.
“Within reason,” he supplies, his voice still hardly a whisper. “Sir.”
Dark makes a low, thoughtful sound, as though considering something deeply intense. Jack sits, patient, unsure of where this conversation is going, and while his dick is interested, he feels a healthy dose of fear, too.
“I suppose this conversation can be as brief as you’d like,” Dark murmurs, gazing at him with hooded eyes. “However, I do find that it is…unfair, I think, that you’ve sent something you can’t take back. So perhaps we should make it fair.”
Jack opens his mouth, then closes it. Then he opens it again. “I…don’t understand.”
In the light, the way his lips turn look absolutely wicked. “A proposition. I’ve seen yours. Perhaps you should see mine.”
Oh.
Oh.
Oh, that look is not what he’d expected.
“Oh,” he says, all intelligence and bravado, like he definitely got through college and earned a degree and managed to land a job at one of the most lucrative companies in the country. Like he’s not sitting in front of said boss of said company that is seriously offering him to show him his dick.
What the fuck was in that wine?
“Is this the part where…” Jack begins, twiddling his thumbs together, “like…like if I say no you fire me?”
“Of course not,” Dark says easily, leaning forward to rest his chin in the palm of his hand, propped up on his elbow. “Just say no, and walk out.”
“And you’ll forget this happened?”
“It was clearly an…accident,” he says slowly, measured. “I may be heartless, at times, but certainly not for mistakes like that. If you had, however, put that into a company meeting…”
Jack balks out a laugh, at that. “No, yeah, I would fire me too.”
“You’re welcome to walk out at any moment, Jack,” Dark says calmly, and his tone bears no hint of a joke. He’s dead serious at this implication, and if there’s one thing Jack knows about him, it’s that he doesn’t lie. But that warm, wicked smile returns, spreading that velvet warmth throughout his chest all the way down to his dick. “But I don’t think you do.”
No, he sure doesn’t.
He tucks his lower lip between his teeth again, gnawing at the skin, his worst habit for sure, something that doesn’t go unnoticed, like last time. Knowing now that he’s not going to get fired, he can focus more intently on the task at hand. Which is how fucking into whatever the fuck is happening is.
“No,” Dark goes on, his voice almost a purr. “No, you want to be here. You want something else, don’t you?”
In a swift motion, he rises from his seat, stalking around his desk like a predator would prey, and Jack remains rigid in his seat. Dark settles on the place right behind him, the back of his hands on the back of the chair, calm, delicate. Waiting.
He can say no.
And it’s more thrilling not to.
“You can say it was an accident,” his voice is far too low, far too close for him not to shiver. “And perhaps…it was. But perhaps…it excited you. Knowing this might happen.”
Jack sucks in a delicate, measured breath. “Maybe.”
There’s another brief pause, as though prompting him, waiting for him to move. When Jack does absolutely nothing, Dark reaches a hand out, cupping his jaw from behind. His hands are warm, rough, and his thumb presses over the bone, the stubble of his beard, and he almost leans into the sensation.
“Tell me what you want, pet,” he croons, soft and tender, with so much bad intent.
“Don’t think it’s work appropriate,” Jack breathes out, fragile in the space between them. To be here at this exact moment, with his fucking boss of all people speaking sultry words that could send him to the moon in back with how much it’s exciting him.
“Mm,” Dark hums back, that hand slowly moving down to encircle his throat. Not squeezing, just…a pressure. It makes him groan softly. “Perhaps not. Yet, you still think of it, no? Perhaps, instead of it being an accident, you considered. Entertained the idea that I might call you here, just like this.”
His other hand comes to run his fingers through his short, messy locks. Jack swallows, feeling the way Dark’s hand moves around the motion.
“It was a fine photo,” Dark purrs, that velvety sweetness filling his body further and further. “I…would not be opposed to the real thing, however, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Yes,” he hisses out, before he can fully process the words, feeling the intensity of them barrel into him.
Dark’s thumb brushes over his rapidly quickening pulse. “Say stop whenever, and it ends. Understand?”
Jack nods once.
“What do you want,” he asks again, his voice dropping, low, low, lower, as though it could go any lower.
He could think of lots of things he wanted those hands to do to him.
“I can tell you what I was thinking of the other night,” Jack murmurs, more air than anything, “what I was thinking when I sent it. What I wanted then.”
“Go on.”
His dulcet tone sends a shiver up his spine, and the exhalation, the amused, barely audible puff of air, means that it hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“Thought about blowing ya,” Jack murmurs, his face warming at the thought, at the fact that the words have left his lips after being kept with such dirty secrecy this whole time. “Wondering if it’s as big as that ego you flaunt around.”
Another low, pleased rumble that has Jack’s cock hardening considerably, which is unfair, given that he’s done literally nothing except run his pretty hands over his jaw, squeeze his neck a little bit.
“Ask nicely,” Dark’s warm breath ghosts over his ear, and Jack stifles back a little squeak, having not even realized how close he’d gotten to him.
Well, he’s already in this far.
It can stop when he wants it to. What’s there to lose?
“Wanna suck you off,” he repeats, tasting it on his tongue, tasting the words as though this, again, isn’t his boss and he isn’t practically new to this job and he isn’t squirming in his seat at the thought of having a piece of that, at the novelty of this situation entirely. “Wanna taste you, if you’ll let me.”
“That’s not a question,” Dark says, simple, easy. Smug. Much too smug.
God, how does he do that? Just step from absolutely terrifying to absolutely hot in less than a second?
Jack expels another breath, as controlled as he can manage. “Can I suck you off, sir?”
Dark’s hand retreats from him. He brushes a lazy stroke through the tuffs of his hair, before stepping back around him, moving to take his place back in his office chair, as though he is a king reclaiming his throne.
Still not fair, how unaffected he looks. Were it not for his dark eyes, darker than he’s used, obviously hungry with intent, Jack could have passed it off for vague amusement and nothing more.
“Come here, Jack.”
The way Dark says his name almost has him whining on the spot. A human being shouldn’t have nearly as much power over his name as he does, and yet here he is, untethering Jack from his seat with a willful command, his legs wobbling from either stress or excitement, probably both. He swallows, tight, as he pads over to his boss, easily, without instruction, kneeling between his legs.
This…really isn’t how he’d expected his night to go. He expected to be home by now, sobbing because he’d fucked up his only shot at actually getting anywhere in life.
Not that he was complaining about this predicament.
Wordlessly, Jack places his hands on Dark’s knees, smoothing his hands over the material, as his boss looks down at him with that lazy, lidded gaze, his lips curled perfectly into a smile that makes his knees even weaker, and suddenly he’s grateful he’s already on them, anyhow.
It’s been…a while, since he fucked around with anyone. The last time was a couple of months ago, with some guy at a party. It had been good, they’d made out, little bit of grinding, but Jack had tapped out before the pants had come off, and that had been that. He can’t remember the last time he blew someone, specifically because he generally hated gagging. He could take dick, even down his throat, but it took a bit of time for him to adjust, and most guys didn’t usually stop to wait before ramming full force into him.
Oh well. Time to see which kind Dark was.
A soft sigh leaves his lips, almost to psych himself up, as Jack reaches up and grabs hold of Dark’s belt. It’s effortless to unbuckle, but he still goes slow, just in case, as though pausing for confirmation every time, and when Dark says nothing, rumbling in that low tone as he does, Jack takes that as nonverbal consent.
He’s pretty sure Dark would throw him up against the window or something if he did something he didn’t like. He’s pretty strong. One time they’d had an intern that had groped one of the girls in the office, and in response Dark had hauled him out of his chair, shoved him against the wall, before snapping his thirteen-hundred-dollar laptop in half as punishment.
There had been compensation for that later, of course. But it was meant to deliver a message, and it sure as fuck did.
It doesn’t take much time at all for him to unbutton his slacks, tugging on them a fraction. It takes even less effort to pull his already hard cock from beneath the confines of his underwear, and Jack has a moment of pure fucking elation at the sight, knowing that this isn’t a one-sided situation, nor a pity fuck.
All in or all out.
And yeah, it was a nice dick. Hard and flushed at the tip, definitely would be great fodder for his wet dreams later on. Certainly not a disappointment in the slightest.
Choosing the former, Jack wraps his hand around Dark’s length, giving it a rough, languid jerk, unable to help the way that he smiles at the soft, almost whispered groan. Jack wasted no more time, running his tongue from the tip to the base, swirling his tongue along the head for a moment as a tease. Dark’s hands go to his hair, and he feels the strain, for a moment.
He wants to grab him by the hair, he can tell, wants to lock his fingers into his short strands and ram down his throat, but he isn’t. He’s waiting.
Can’t have that.
Jack takes the head into his mouth, applying suction this time, running the flat of his tongue along the length as he goes a bit further, feeling his slippery heat slide centimeter by centimeter down his throat. He feels Dark’s fingers slide into his hair, gripping at his scalp, but not moving, not doing anything, except waiting for Jack to move further. He slowly bobs his head up and down, moving further and further up, swallowing him down his entire length.
And he breathes, for a moment. Adjusting to the sensation, the intrusion. Jack opens his eyes, not even realizing that he’d closed them. Dark still has that warm, wicked smile, but his face is tight, controlled.
Staring down at him with intensity, Jack answers the wordless question with a shiver, and a moan, which does what he’d intended and sends a crescendo of vibrations up his length.
With his fingers firmly threaded, Dark experimentally tugs on his hair, pulling his head back slightly, before pushing him forward again. His scalp tingles, and he moans again, harder, because the idea of being used as a fleshlight at this exact moment has no right to be as fucking hot as it is.
That’s all that Dark had needed, apparently. In moments, he’s using Jack’s warm mouth like he’s nothing more than a sleeve, ramming down his throat in earnest and Jack can feel the way his saliva coats him, dribbling down his chin a bit as he groans around him, wrapping his hands around the back of Dark’s knees to stabilize himself as he continues his onslaught of his throat. He wasn’t going to have a voice after any of this, and suddenly that was the last thing he cared about in the world.
“Fuck,” Dark murmurs, pressing him deep, deep, and Jack, while gagging around him, can’t help but moan still, digging his nails into his suit pants for purchase, “you love this, don’t you? You love being on your knees, choking on my cock like you have nothing you’d rather be doing.”
His only response is a filthy whine, wiggling his hips as he’s now very well aware of how painfully hard he is in his own pants. Jack moves one of his hands down, pressing it against his aching erection, and the contact alone is enough to have him squirming.
“Touching yourself?” Dark asks, and he’s laughing even before Jack starts nodding, his mouth still full and eager, the muffled noise coming out loud and clear as he pulls out, swift. “Don’t. I’ve got a better idea.”
He has exactly two seconds to collect himself before Dark’s reaching down, grabbing him by the front of his collar. Like nothing, he pulls Jack into his lap, his cock pressing into Jack’s stomach with heat that has him trembling, before Dark’s pulling him down and stealing all the air from his mouth. His tongue is hot, insistent, demanding as it worms his way inside, grazing along the edges of Jack’s teeth like it’s taking up shop there, a permanent tenant, and Jack decides in a moment that he’s okay with that.
Dark tugs at the hem of his shirt, not quite pulling on it, and that wordless request for consent is there, tangible between them, and Jack is nothing if not compliant at this point. He pulls it off in one, messy gesture, more elegant in his mind than in practice, but it achieves the desired effect. His boss hums, thoughtful, palming across the length of his shoulder blades, before he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his pec, grazing a nipple with his teeth before tugging it into his mouth.
Jack squirms, grinding his hips down as Dark begins to suck on his neck, the flash of his sharp, sharp teeth making him whine. It surprises him when he bites down hard, in the meat of his shoulder, and he yelps, sinking his nails into his still clothed partner’s shoulders, and that’s not fair.
“Too many clothes,” Jack slurs out, his voice breathy, almost unrecognizable to his own ears. “Wanna feel you—can I—can I—”
The sound that Dark makes is almost animalistic, deep and low in his chest. He presses his mouth against his ear, growling out, “I want to fuck you.”
Fuck.
“Fuck,” Jack breathes out, the heat rapidly building in his stomach, and he’s not—he’s not going to last long like this, not by a long shot, and it’d be fucking embarrassing as hell if he came just from a few filthy words and a blow job he’d given. “Yeah, yeah, okay, I’m—”
“You have to tell me you want that,” Dark murmurs against him, mouthing at his jaw. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jack pants, continuing to grind his hips down and finding absolutely no release. “Yeah, yeah I want you to fuck me, come on, just—let me feel you, I don’t wanna come like this, wanna come on your cock—”
Dark makes a sound so guttural that it has Jack feeling feverish, more feverish than before. He unbuttons the front of Jack’s jeans and rips, he rips at them with fumbling fingers before murmuring out, “Strip.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. Jack painstakingly peels himself from the heat of Dark’s lap, and it takes way too long for him to shuck himself out of his jeans, underwear, socks and shoes. It should be embarrassing stripping in your own place of work in front of your boss, but surprisingly he actually doesn’t care.
In the meantime, Dark loosens his tie, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt to reveal the hint of a strong chest that Jack wants more than anything to get his mouth on. Before Jack has a moment to feel self-conscious about his body, Dark’s reaching into his drawer and withdrawing a bottle, setting it on his desk before encouraging him over with a pointed look.
Retaking his place on his lap, Dark’s still exposed cock brushes against his, and for a moment he feels as though he’s been gutted, the heat crawling up his spine as Dark presses more kisses to his chest. He anchors his hands on Dark’s shoulders, burying his face into his neck as he hears the cap pop on the bottle, and he shudders with a groan as his boss gently spreads him, rubbing a cold, slick finger over his entrance.
“You do this with all your—oh,” Jack goes to make a snarky comment, but it’s swiftly cut off by the sudden intrusion, the other burying his finger up to the knuckle with ease, his hole giving way easily to the sensation, which surprises him. “Oh, oh, oh…”
It’s not been terribly long since he’d fingered himself—he did that a touch more often when he was feeling particularly adventurous during his wank sessions, but it’s been enough time that it’s certainly weird. Though, he can’t think of a single situation where it’s not weird, to have fingers up your ass. Even if it feels good.
“No,” Dark replies, answering the first half of his question like he doesn’t have Jack panting all over him, slipping another in within moments, scissoring his fingers apart. “This is not a usual practice with my employees.”
Hearing him say it sends a shock through his body, the sudden illicitness of the whole situation making him tremble. The knowledge that they shouldn’t be doing this, it excites him, his pulse thrumming in his throat.
“Lucky me,” he manages to croak out, a particularly high pitched whine following shortly thereafter as Dark crooks his fingers just right, brushing that spot inside of him he often struggles so hard to find. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck—”
“Language,” Dark admonishes, smug, and it’s unfair how little it takes for Jack to clench his jaw, settling himself to smooth his hands over the planes of his collarbone, slipping below his shirt just enough to feel the heated flesh underneath. “Good boy.”
The words make him melt, and Dark can tell.
Goddamn him.
It feels like forever, Dark fucking him with two fingers, then three, then four, in and out of him with wet, lewd sounds that has Jack mewling and desperate against him. Little pleas start to leave his mouth, but the other pays them no mind, seemingly content with fucking Jack’s brains out with just a few fingers.
“Please,” he begs, clawing at the delicate skin of his chest, pressing a sloppy kiss to his jaw, “please, please, please…”
Dark chuckles, at that, and if Jack weren’t so fucking deep into the clouds from horniness and want, he’d probably smack him, consequences be damned.
In a moment, the fingers withdraw from him and before he has a moment to mourn the loss, before he’s maneuvering Jack just enough to slick up his own cock, before grabbing him by the hips. Without letting him continue, Jack lifts himself up, before easing himself down onto his length.
To no one’s surprise, not even his own, it burns, the intrusion still awkward as it presses that alien heat inside of him, filling him up to the brim as he sinks lower, and lower. The pressure builds inside of him, the stretch teetering on the edge of uncomfortable but still blissfully where it needs to be, and the groan that Dark makes as he eases himself down further is music to his ears.
“God, fuck,” he whimpers, when he’s fully seated inside, shimming his hips just a bit to try and feel anything other than the blistering sensation, igniting a white hotness that only crescendos into bliss as Dark experimentally rolls his hips upward. “Fuck.”
“Language,” Dark says again, with much less control than before—almost as though it’s on muscle memory alone. As though to spite him, he utters out a solid, “Fuck.”
Jack laughs breathlessly, but it’s cut off as Dark’s strong arm wraps around him, hooking his free hand underneath one of his knees before standing up in a swift motion. Jack wraps his legs around his waist, crossing his ankles at the small of his back before he’s pressed back against the window, the ice-cold glass a shock to his hot skin.
The other begins to fuck him in earnest, pulling out until nothing but the tip of his cock is inside before slamming back into him with abandon. It makes Jack choke, but before he can say anything else Dark’s mouth is finding his again, swallowing down every scream as he bruises his insides, as though attempting to carve out a place inside of him for his cock and his cock alone.
He kisses nice. Dark’s lips are soft and warm and wet, his tongue equally so, exploring every crevice of his mouth as though trying to discover every secret he’s ever kept, and Jack’s inclined to give it to him.
Reaching down between them, Jack goes to grab at his aching erection, desperate for any sort of friction or contact, but Dark nips at his jaw harshly. “Don’t.”
“Please,” is his only answer, grasping at his silky hair, his shoulders, his shirt, still fucking on, his moans desperate and only growing louder.
Actually, he’s pretty much still entirely dressed. His shirt’s open, but his pants are down just enough to fuck him sweetly, and it’s not fair that Jack’s here pressed against the window like a cheap whore and Dark’s over here still put together like—
“Pretty little thing,” Dark purrs, pulling back to look him in the eyes, and he sees every wicked intention hidden within them, blown wide with lust. “So many pretty noises. It’s like you want the whole office to know exactly who is taking you apart.”
Oh fuck. He’d forgotten, for a hot minute, that the entire rest of the world existed outside of this immaculate dick fucking him into sweet oblivion. He knows he colors immediately, and Dark takes this opportunity to bite at the column of his throat, sucking a delicate bruise into the porcelain skin.
“My office isn’t that high up,” he goes on, delicate, washing over the shell of his ear as he nibbles at the lobe. “Wouldn’t take much for someone to look up and see you getting fucked. What would they think?”
The idea shouldn’t be nearly as mind-numbingly hot as it is, and Jack attempts to stifle another moan but is woefully unsuccessful as he brushes against his prostate, hitting into it just right that has his toes curling and his eyes seeing stars fluttering across his vision.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Dark asks, more of a growl, pressing the words directly into his mouth as he kisses him again, “you’d love it if someone walked in, watched as I give you exactly. What you need.”
He punctuates each word with another rough thrust of his hips, and Jack is already crying out before he’s even finished speaking, “Yes, yes, yes, I—”
“Good boy, you take me so well,” and Jack flushes at that, not for the first time tonight at the heady praise. “You’re a perfect little pet.”
Jack grabs his hair and forces their mouths together again, which Dark has no problems obliging. It’s a mess of spit and teeth and skin, but it’s absolutely wonderful, and before long Dark’s reaching up between them, grabbing the base of his cock in a firm, rough grip.
“Cum for me,” he orders, pressing the words into the hollow of his throat, as he jerks him hard and fast. “Say my name, and cum.”
“Dark,” he wails, and then he’s letting go, his orgasm barreling into him, so intense he feels the air in his lungs give out, his body losing all coordination and functionality in seconds.
His vision goes black, thumping his head back against the window as his pulse thrums wildly underneath his skin. Dark buries his teeth into his throat again, bottoming out inside him before he feels that sticky, black warmth spread, finding his own release with a snarl. Jack feels it paint his insides, a finishing touch to his perfectly carved hole in the shape of Dark’s cock, and he thinks in passing that he, genuinely, doesn’t want anything else in this exact moment.
Jack presses his fingers to the window, almost as an anchor, listening to their heavy, mingled breathing. The glass fogs around his fingers, and he shudders, for a moment, thinking of how anyone could look up, and see him, and how awkward it would be to walk in the next day and—
“They’re Venetian windows,” Dark says softly, nosing at the side of his throat, depositing another languid, wet kiss. “You can see out, but—”
“You can’t see in,” Jack murmurs back. “Oh, that’s hot.”
Dark pulls out of him, lowering him gently down to the ground. When he stumbles forward, the other catches hold of him, stabilizing him as Jack heaves out a huge sigh. In a moment, his boss reclaims his office chair seat, tugging Jack into his lap again and frankly, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. His long fingers card through Jack’s sweaty hair, and he presses his face into the crook of Dark’s neck, breathing in the sweet smell of cologne and sex.
“Is this the part where you offer me a promotion in exchange for keeping my mouth shut?” he asks, after a moment. “Like, you know.”
“You know,” Dark echoes, and Jack can feel the thrum of his voice in vibrations against his cheek. “Like what?”
“You know,” Jack insists, shivering as gentle fingers caress his spine like he’s little more than a harp. “The movies?”
A snort. “You mean pornography.”
“They’re movies.”
“What you decide to do with your mouth after this is fine by me,” Dark tells him, after a moment. “I do advise discretion, however. Not for my sake, but for yours.”
Jack hmms at him softly. “And what if I wanted to see how many times I could get you to cum down my throat?”
The sound that he makes almost makes him hard again. “Careful. I may take you home with me if you continue to speak like that.”
Jack lifts his head up, looking into his dark eyes, offering him a cheeky grin that reeks of mischief. “Ooh, we can talk about my promotion there.”
Dark’s smile is devilish, revealing a hint of sharp teeth that Jack would probably kill a man to have lodged into his skin again. There’s a hell of a lot to talk about, for sure, and he’s sure as fuck got a lot to work out as far as this goes, but you know, that seems like a problem for future Jack, and he can be mad about it later, but this Jack is very interested in Dark’s next words.
“Yes,” he acquiesces, after a beat, velvet smooth and warm. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty to negotiate.”