Work Text:
“Did you get your computer fixed?”
“Yeah, some new hire showed up at lunch to do it for me.”
“I swear, they just can’t keep staff in that department, huh?”
“I mean, can you blame them? Have you got an email from that head IT guy before? He makes me feel like such an idiot”
“Oh, I know, right! I bet he’s like 50; the guy doesn’t know how to talk like a human.”
“No way, I think he’s like 70. He probably switched careers late so now he can’t retire.”
A shrill laugh pierced the air. “Oh my god, that’s mean, Jenny.”
“Whatever, it’s not like he could be listening.” A pause. “I’m still convinced the guy doesn’t actually exist.”
“Well, he saved my ass when I accidently downloaded that virus.”
“He was a total dick about it though.”
Another laugh, bright and sharp. “True.”
Why was my desk placed next to the coffee room?
The thought slithered through my mind as I glared at my computer screen, fingers dancing hurriedly over the keyboard. The women’s voices were needles pricking at my concentration.
Another loud peal of laughter filled the space. My eye twitched.
Any other day, I might have leaned against the counter near the coffee machine, basking in the camaraderie of office gossip. I’d even joined in on our floor’s ongoing betting pool of the infamous IT guy’s age. The man was an enigma, a shadow lingering in the lore of the company. No one had seen him. Not in person, not on Zoom, not even on the phone. Only his emails existed, received by a rare few, always formal and blatantly patronizing. I’d personally staked my claim on 60.
But today, the stakes were different. The weight of an impending presentation to the executives loomed over me, one I’d so nicely been volun-told to give. The thought of standing before them turned my stomach, my only resolve coming from a desperate need for my boss’s approval (and my dad’s, but a boss would do in a pinch).
God, I missed my days of being at the bottom rung of the ladder.
The office, usually a hive of life, had grown quiet in the hours that followed. The womens’ laughter had faded, leaving only the low hum of the air conditioning. When I glanced up, the ghost town my surroundings had become was startling. The clock at the bottom of my screen taunted me - 7:06 pm. A groan slipped past my lips. Two hours past end-of-day, and I wasn’t even close to finishing.
Resigned, I cracked my knuckles, the sound sharp in the stillness. Guess it’s going to be a long night.
As the hours stretched on, my only audible companions were the clatter of my keyboard and my own quiet mutterings. I worked through the evening and into the still night.
Then, an unwelcome intruder, in the form of a pop-up, appeared.
Angry red letters blazed across my screen - a warning that my internal storage was full. The message broke my concentration, but it didn’t seem pressing. It could be dealt with after the presentation - or, rather, after the midday office drinks celebrating my survival. I dismissed the message with a click, pushing the annoyance to the back of my mind.
Time passed in a productive fugue, until, with a final satisfying click of the mouse, the presentation was complete. I exhaled, a quiet victory, as I rolled my stiff shoulders. I moved the mouse to the familiar floppy disk icon to save to the cloud drive, a habit borne out of learning the hard lessons of the digital dark ages of the early 2000s - and the utter betrayal of losing a physical file of homework.
I waited.
And waited.
Impatient, I clicked off of the document, hoping, against all known logic of computers, that might be the solution. Instead, the screen froze, unyielding and defiant. The hardware in the laptop kicked into high gear, making the noise of a small jet engine in its valiant attempt to work through whatever mysterious laptop-based malady was ailing it. Panic unfurled in my chest, sharp and cold, as the swirling icon mocked me.
“Not now,” I pleaded, as if the machine might hear and show mercy.
It didn’t.
Fuck. I leaned back in my chair, tilting my head up to the ceiling. Off-white cork tile leered back. I had no plan B. I couldn’t go home to work, I didn’t own a laptop - I certainly wasn’t paid enough here to buy one. And now, as the realization dawned that hours of meticulous work might have been for nothing, the bitter truth hit me.
I was well and truly fucked if this computer didn’t get over its melodramatic tantrum.
I managed to keep my cool for another ten minutes. After, I transitioned directly from denial to acceptance. I performed a quick cost-benefit analysis in my head then reached with trembling fingers to press the power button. I counted down from ten, imagining I was suffocating the useless piece of technology.
I reached zero. Then minus ten.
The frozen screen stared obstinately back at me, swirling its cheery loading symbol in my face.
“Okay, so I’m fucked then,” I said to the empty office. The space felt suddenly oppressive, the silence stifling. I stood and paced between the desks, glancing fruitlessly at each as I passed. Most didn’t have a computer at all. Of the ones that did, they were shut and would be password protected. I stopped at the end of the row. “I’m so fucked,” I repeated in a hoarse croak.
In my panic, I turned to the only glimmer of hope left - the IT department. My fingers flew to my phone, searching frantically through the work chat app for the name of the staff member who had assisted me a few weeks prior and praying to see the green circle that would be my salvation, indicating his online status.
Instead, I was greeted by the dismissive orange of an idle computer. Because, of course, I was the only one desperate enough to still be working at - I glanced at the wall clock - 10:52 pm.
I pulled up our organizational chart, veering to the IT hierarchy, and clicked at any and every profile sharing his role in the company. In my desperation, I hoped for an offshoring miracle, which might have been my last hope of seeing someone working at the late hour.
Orange icon after orange fucking icon.
My finger hovered over the profile at the top - the head of the IT department. Hongjoong. His status light gleamed green, a lone beacon in my digital darkness.
Well past the point of pride, I typed with a desperate fervor, forgoing any polite greeting in my haste.
[YN: Can you help me with a computer problem?]
The response came, quick and curt.
[KH: That’s a vague question and very difficult to answer without more information.]
I pushed aside the brief flicker of annoyance, just relieved to be speaking to a human being.
[YN: Ok thats fair. My computer wont save my file]
[KH: I’ll remote in. Are you connected to the office wifi?]
[YN: ya]
[KH: Alright. When you receive a pop-up, hit accept.]
[YN: Ok! Thx]
Elated, I rushed back to my desk. I dropped heavily into my chair, and fixed my gaze on the screen with bated breath.
I waited. Seconds dripped slowly by, past my dwindling patience with nothing to interrupt my staring contest with the computer. Then, a ping. My phone screen lit up, drawing my attention as I blinked hard to rehydrate my eyes.
[KH: Was my instruction not clear? You need to click accept.]
My brow furrowed as I typed back, my fingers moving with renewed urgency.
[YN: I havnt seen a pop-up yet…]
[KH: Your computer ID is L26460, correct?]
The logical part of me screamed to ask how he knew that, but I shoved the thought aside for more pressing concerns.
[YN: ya]
[KH: What exactly is wrong with your computer?]
[YN: Its frozen]
A pause. It felt deliberate. Then, the reply, simple and devastating.
[KH: Oh. I can’t remote in then.]
My pulse spiked. My fingers scrambled across the screen.
[YN: Oh! What can we try next then?]
Silence followed, unbearable.
[YN: Please tell me theres something else we can try]
Nothing.
[YN: Hongjoong?]
His green icon flashed orange.
I stared at it, disbelief clawing its way up my chest. Had he really abandoned me? The thought stung more than I cared to admit. Was my situation so unworthy of help that he'd simply walked away, letting the pinging of my desperate messages go unanswered?
I dropped my head in my hands, my gaze falling to the drab, soulless gray of the office floor without really taking in the sight. My mind was too busy whirring with grim calculations. How long could I survive off of $237 after I inevitably got fired?
“Why are you working so late?”
The voice startled me, drawing my head up and away from my downward spiral. At the edge of the cubicle maze, a man stood, no one I recognized. I felt certain I’d remember him if I’d met him before, if only for his attire - which defied business casual to an absurd degree.
He was draped in an open-front black robe with pointed shoulders and red accents of swirling patterns down the sleeves. Beneath it, a fitted black tank top was adorned with chunky silver chains that glinted like a pirate’s treasure. His shorts, loose and casual, were a stark contrast to his statement footwear - a bright clash of orange and blue high-top sneakers with matching socks that climbed two-thirds the way up his calves.
He was a surreal burst of color surrounded by the monotony of the office. My words failed me as I stared, incredulous.
His gaze met mine through thin-rimmed, metal glasses. Unlike my stubborn computer, my brain eventually stuttered to life. “Excuse me?”
The man sighed, stepping closer with a leisurely pace. His absurdly looped white laces bounced with each deliberate step. “If you’re going to work this late,” he said, disapproval in his tone, “you should probably learn how to fix basic computer issues yourself.”
He stopped at my cubicle, leaning against the wall to look down at me through a fringe of brown strands that escaped his gel-tousled hair. My eyes widened as the implication sank in. This man - this walking fashion enigma - was the head IT guy?
He had shattered every and any expectation I had. For one thing, he most certainly was not the 60-year-old tech sage I’d been imagining. In fact, he didn’t look much older than me, thirty at most. So much for cashing in on the office pool, we’d all missed the mark by as much as a half-century.
He arched an eyebrow, his pointed gaze flitting between me and my frozen screen.
“Oh,” I said, scrambling to my feet. “Right. It’s, uh, this one here.” I gestured weakly at the offending computer.
Without another word, he slid into the chair I’d just vacated and swiveled forward. I hovered awkwardly, my hands clasped behind my back as I cast an uneasy glance around the dim office.
To avoid giving off the impression of an impatient, looming colleague, I drifted toward the window, my eyes drawn to the sprawling city skyline. The view was a patchwork of navies and blacks specked with a haphazard spray of yellow light. From the 45th floor, the world below was a blur of anonymity, people reduced to ants on the pavement.
The thought struck me with sudden clarity: this company had sixty floors. I spun on my heel, fixing Hongjoong with a sharp look. “How did you know where I was?”
Without pausing his work, he replied with casual indifference, “Your computer barcode tracks to your assigned location.” He crouched closer in front of the monitor, curling over his knees. My back twinged just looking at him.
“Huh.” I blinked, unsettled. “That feels… weirdly invasive.”
His lips quirked into something resembling a smirk. “Don’t worry,” he said, his tone lace with sarcasm, “I’m not planning a return trip to cubicle F45 J6 anytime soon.”
The clinical designation of my workstation felt brutally dystopian, a bland label for a place where my ambitions struggled to take flight. It was fitting, I supposed, that Hongjoong looked like a character plucked right out of the pages of a cyberpunk novel - more antihero than office chic.
“You hit maximum storage capacity,” he declared, his voice flat as he turned away from the computer screen to regard me with an exasperated expression. “Why didn’t you delete redundant files when you got the warning?”
“Oh,” I faltered, heat creeping into my cheeks. My voice carried an upward lilt of apologetic ignorance. “I didn’t think it was, uh, that big of a deal?”
The pain in his expression deepened, as though my response had personally wounded him. “Did you at least save to the cloud?”
I stifled the urge to roll my eyes. I didn’t appreciate his condescending tone, but I reminded myself that he was potentially saving my job. “Yes, I did.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, then he pushed away from the desk. “I can’t fix this here.”
My stomach dropped. “Fuck,” I blurted, forgetting all office decorum. A high-pitched edge of hysteria crept into my voice. “Oh god. That’s it. I’m done for. Might as well start applying for jobs now-”
“I can’t fix it here,” he clarified, cutting through my panic with deliberate emphasis. He gestured vaguely around the cubicle, an unimpressed frown on his face. “I’ll need to take it to my office.”
Relief surged through me. “Oh, thank god,” I sighed, clutching my chest. “Sure, works for me.”
I took a step forward, prepared to follow him as he pulled my laptop from the power cord and hoisted it in his grip. But when he turned, he pinned me with an unreadable expression. “You’re not coming to my office,” he said, voice an unsettling monotone. “No one comes to my office.”
I stopped short, blinking at him. “I’m sorry, but I’m not letting that computer out of my sight.”
The silence that followed was thick. He stared at me for a beat longer, then, his shoulders tense, turned on his heel and started walking. I followed without further protest from the man, trailing behind like a reluctant shadow as we made our way to the elevator.
Hongjoong didn’t speak, but his presence was impossible to ignore. My eyes, unbidden, kept drifting to the colorful clash of his sneakers and the billowing sway of his robe. He was a walking contradiction - effortlessly outrageous yet strangely composed.
The elevator climbed to the 56th floor. When the doors slid open, I was greeted by a stark hallway lined with glass windows along one side. Beyond them was a cavernous room filled with rows of cubicles, each one buried beneath a chaotic tangle of computer hardware and blinking lights. In my opinion, it looked like an egregious fire hazard of a workspace.
Hongjoong didn’t glance at the chaotic room. He turned toward a lone door on the opposite side of the hallway. With a swipe of his key card, the panel beeped green, and he pushed the door open. He hesitated briefly, glancing back at me with a look of both warning and resignation. “Don’t touch anything.” I followed close behind - in case he got any ideas of locking me out.
The room I stepped into was a time, a world, apart from the office. The air was laced with a metallic tang, The only illumination came from the soft, eerie glow of tall towers and countless monitors at varying heights that defied any pattern. Light spilled across the walls in hues of green, red, and purple, casting dancing shadows. It was an electric cavern plucked from the fevered imagination of a sci-fi author.
Hongjoong moved through the space with ease, his figure framed by the glow of his machines. He gestured toward a spare computer on a small desk. “You can work on that while I fix your mess.”
Rather than look a gift tech-nerd in the mouth, I sank into the chair with relief. Logging into my cloud drive, I scrolled to the most recent save file, only to feel a sharp pang of dread lance through my chest at the evidence of my lost progress. I forced myself to shove the growing sense of hopelessness into a mental corner, reminding myself firmly that this was only plan B.
I dove back into my presentation with single-minded focus. For a while, we worked in near silence, punctuated only by the faint hum of machinery and the tap of keys. When Hongjoong finally broke the quiet, his voice was laced with amusement. “So you really like Final Fantasy, huh?”
I frowned, not looking up. “What are you talking about?”
“You probably shouldn’t read smut on a company computer,” he replied, his tone light but dripping with mischief.
I froze, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Slowly, my eyes lifted to meet his, but my indignation faltered when I noticed the smug curve of his lips. He tilted my recently unfrozen laptop toward me, and there, on the screen, was a sexually explicit story of crown prince Noctis I’d read last week during lunch.
Mortified, I jumped to my feet, my hip catching painfully on the desk. “How did you - why - what?”
Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, utterly unbothered. “I fixed your computer a while ago,” he said with a casual arrogance. “I’ve been going through your search history.” He whistled low. “You get weirdly horny during lunch breaks.”
I dropped back into the seat and buried my face in my hands, groaning. “That’s it. I’m getting fired. This is how it ends.”
His chuckle was rich and unapologetic. “Relax,” he said, spinning lazily in his chair. “I’m not a narc. But I will judge you for your bad taste in characters.”
“What?” I snapped, affronted. “Okay, that’s rude. And wrong.”
“You’re into that emo boy type?” he scoffed, smirking.
“Excuse me?” I arched a brow, my indignation momentarily overriding my embarrassment. “Let me guess - you’re a Clive fanboy?”
His grin widened. “Do I have good taste? Yeah.”
I could only stare at him in exasperation. Finally, I shook my head. “Anyways, that’s so not the point.” My finger jabbed toward him, accusatory. “Why were you looking at my search history?” The words spilled out in a rush, raw and vulnerable. The thought of him rifling through the quiet corners of my online life left me feeling exposed.
He shrugged, the gesture infuriatingly nonchalant. “I was bored.”
“That’s gotta be an HR violation or something,” I shot back.
His brow arched, a gleam of challenge flickering in his dark gaze. “Try it,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. I’ll take you down with me, his twinkling eyes seemed to say.
I let out a resigned huff, lifting my hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “Well, thank you,” I said, my voice softening with sincerity. “You really saved me.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, scrutinizing me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. “You do owe me,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “So tell me, why are you working so late? This doesn’t align with your standard activity periods. I checked.”
I blinked, thrown by his persistence. “I have to give a presentation to the board tomorrow,” I said, then scoffed, gesturing at the computer hardware blinking neon in the dim light. “Don’t ask me why I was only given a day - I don’t get paid enough to know the answer. I’m just... freaking out a little bit.”
Hongjoong studied me, his expression enigmatic, as though he were dissecting the layers of my being one by one. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm and measured, almost infuriatingly so. “If it helps, your résumé would suggest you’re qualified to give the presentation.” He shrugged, as if the matter were as trivial as a change in weather.
“Again, huge privacy violation.” I decided not to press the issue further. I had the sense that explaining boundaries to this man would be an exercise in futility. “Anyways, even if that’s true on paper, I still don’t feel ready,” I admitted, the confession spilling from my lips, heavy with self-doubt.
“But you are,” he said, his tone firm and unwavering. His frown deepened, as if I were being deliberately obtuse. “So you’re wasting your energy thinking that way.”
I scrambled for a retort, trying to frame my insecurities in a way he might grasp. “Even Clive felt self-conscious sometimes,” I said, arching a brow in challenge. “Only villains never question themselves.”
He crossed his arms, the motion deliberate, almost regal, and lifted his chin defiantly. “I wouldn’t question myself if the facts agreed with me.”
I let out a low hum, my voice dropping with mock solemnity. “So you admit it,” I said, leaning forward slightly, my tone grave. “You’re a villain.”
Laughter burst from him, sharp and unrestrained, his eyes widening as if surprised by the sound. “Villains have style,” he shot back once he’d regained his composure, gesturing to himself with a flourish. The rich red accents of his robe caught the faint glow of the neon lights, swirling like fire.
I couldn’t argue with that. “Fine,” I conceded. “You’ve got the villain look down, at least. And the mysterious lair.” I waved a hand toward the glowing machinery around us. “You’re a walking sci-fi cliché.”
He grinned, clearly unbothered by the accusation. “Better than a corporate drone in a cubicle.”
“Ouch.” I winced theatrically, clutching my chest. “You really know how to hit where it hurts.”
“You’ll survive,” he said dryly, returning his attention to the tangle of cables connecting my laptop to his mainframe. His fingers moved deftly, adjusting connections and typing commands faster than I could follow.
“Didn’t you fix that already?” I asked, gesturing toward the artificial veins of circuitry.
“I did,” he said, his words clipped as if the answer was self-evident, “but I should probably clear these redundancies so you aren’t in the same spot, freaking out on me again in a day.”
I frowned, my pride bristling. “I wasn’t freaking out.”
He paused in his meticulous work, his fingers frozen over the keyboard. His withering stare sliced through me over the rims of his glasses. “You were freaking out.”
I opened my mouth to protest but found I couldn't challenge the truth of his statement. Instead, I watched him in silence, curiosity bubbling up despite myself. “So… do you always pull late-night IT rescue missions?”
“Never,” he replied without looking up. “Lucky for you, I was bored.”
I snorted. “I’ll try not to take that personally.”
He glanced at me then, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “You shouldn’t.”
The simplicity of his statement caught me off guard. Before I could formulate a response, he tapped a final key, pulled the cords from my computer, and pushed my laptop toward me. “There. Fixed. Try not to fill it up with garbage this time.”
I reached for the computer, my hands brushing against the cool metal surface as relief flooded through me. “Thank you,” I said sincerely, meeting his gaze.
He shrugged, his expression unreadable once again. “Just doing my job.”
I lingered in my seat, the air around us heavy with unspoken tension. An awkward silence settled amongst the shadows in the room. I scrambled for anything to fill the void.
“So…” I ventured cautiously, dragging out the word, “do you play anything besides Final Fantasy?”
Hongjoong’s brows furrowed, his gaze sharpening. “What are you doing?”
The question knocked me off balance, leaving me momentarily stunned. “I - what do you mean?” I spluttered. “I’m making pleasant conversation with someone who, you know, basically saved my life.”
His skepticism was palpable, his eyes narrowing.“You’re at the office at,” he glanced at his phone, “12:16. Clearly, this presentation is important, so you probably shouldn’t waste what little time you have left to get some sleep.”
“I’m not wasting my time,” I countered, though the uncertainty in my tone betrayed me. “I mean, the presentation’s done, and I’ve always been a night owl.” I shrugged, a casual motion to mask the blatant weakness of my argument. “So I… I would like to get to know you more.”
His cool façade broke, replaced by something akin to bewilderment. It was as if I’d asked him to solve an impossible puzzle. “Why?”
Heat bloomed across my cheeks. “I - well,” I stammered, “you really helped me out here, and -”
“I did my job,” he interjected, his tone flat.
“- and I think it’d be kind of rude to just leave now,” I finished, the words losing momentum as they dissolved into an unconvincing murmur.
He studied me for a moment, his gaze steady and unreadable. “I won’t be offended,” he finally said, his voice carrying the faintest edge of amusement.
Defeated, I sighed, the weight of my own awkwardness settling over me. “I just…” I hesitated. “I have this feeling that when I leave this office, I’ll never see you again.” I forced a laugh, desperate to pull attention away from the earnest admission. “Maybe when I cross that doorway, I’ll forget you exist. You look like someone who’d own a cursed item or two.”
He didn’t humor my ramblings with a smile. Instead, he said, with a devastating certainty, “you probably won’t.”
The finality of his words gave me pause. “Why not?”
He tilted his head, then spoke, deliberately slow. “Have you ever seen me before today?”
“Well, no,” I admitted reluctantly, “which is weird, by the way. What’s up with that?”
“I don’t like people,” he said simply, the admission falling easily from his lips.
The question escaped before I could stop it. “Do you like me?” It hung in the air between us, weighty and fragile. I forced myself to meet his gaze, my heart pounding an erratic rhythm.
His pause felt endless, the silence stretching taut. “You’re fine,” he said at last, the twitch of a smirk playing on his lips.
“Gee,” I drawled, using the sardonic shield to mask my embarrassment, “thanks.”
His eyes glimmered with something sharper, something dangerous. “What exactly do you want from me?” he asked, his voice low.
“Nothing,” I blurted, too quickly, my gaze darting toward the blinking neon tower.
He moved then, slow and deliberate, circling the desk like a predator stalking its prey. When he stopped next to me, he leaned against the desk’s edge, his arms crossed in a relaxed pose. “You’re lying,” he said smoothly.
“Oh, really?” I challenged, though my voice wavered. “And what makes you say that?”
“You don’t want to go back to work,” he said matter-of-factly, his eyes flicking toward the door, “and you don’t want to go home.” His gaze slid back to me, sharp and knowing, his lips curving into a grin equal parts taunt and triumph. “Instead, you’re still here,” he murmured, leaning closer, “with me.”
The soft silk of his robe brushed my bare calf, a whispered caress that sent a jolt through me. I jumped at the contact but couldn’t tear my gaze away from him. “Why are you wearing that, anyway?” I asked, grasping desperately for a distraction.
His grin widened, a hungry gleam in his eyes. “It’s comfortable,” he said, his tone daring me to argue. “Why don’t you take it off me and try it on yourself?”
My mind stuttered to a crashing halt. “Excuse me?”
He leaned in further, his voice dropping to a smooth velvet. “Although, I’m the one who did you a favor,” he said, his grin sharpening, “so maybe I should unwrap you instead.” He stepped forward, his hands dropping to the armrests of my chair, effectively caging me in. “You did say it’d be rude to just leave after I, what was it, saved your life?” He paused, tilting his head “What reward could possibly be worth that?”
The air between us crackled with an intensity that left me breathless. “Careful now,” I said, my voice a shaky snark, “that almost sounds like extortion.”
“It should,” he replied, his tone dark and velvety, “because it is.”
My pulse spiked, quick and erratic, as his words settled over me. “Right,” I said with a nervous laugh, clinging to the remnant threads of my composure. “So this is where I offer my body to pay a debt, right?”
Hongjoong didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he studied me with unnerving intensity, his gaze cutting through the dim, flickering light of the hardware’s neon glow. The lenses of his glasses fractured the light into shards of green and purple, hiding his eyes.
When the silence stretched too long, I shifted uncomfortably, rising halfway from my seat to reclaim a sliver of control. But the movement brought me chest to chest with him, and his hands gripped the armrests in a deliberate motion, locking me in place. The scent of him - a sterile tang of electronics mixed with cologne - wrapped around me.
My resolve fizzled under the weight of his unwavering presence. Finally, I sank back into the chair, caught between the urge to flee and the compulsion to stay. “Right,” I chuckled nervously. “So… is that a no then?”
His response first came with motion - a slow, deliberate lean forward that brought his face inches from mine. The neon motherboard cast an eerie glow across his features, highlighting the curve of his cheekbones and the sharp line of his jaw. Then, he murmured, his voice a quiet rumble, “that’s a yes.” His head tilted as he watched my reaction in careful assessment. “Unless, of course, you weren’t serious.”
The words hung in front of me like a lifeline, a final invitation to retreat. And yet, I knew that retreating now would sever the fragile thread binding us together in this moment. “Serious?” I echoed, a quiet breath in the air between us.
He chuckled low, a dark, honeyed sound. “Yes, that’s the question.”
I swallowed hard. “What if I was?”
The air between us crackled, thick with possibility. His hands, still braced against the armrests, flexed slightly, the subtle shift sending an expectant shiver down my spine. His eyes glowed with approval. “Oh, I think you know.”
“And if I wasn’t?” I asked, testing the boundaries of our game.
His smile deepened, the corners of his lips curling into something equal parts amusement and threat. “Then you’re in over your head,” he said, tilting his head, “and you’re running out of time to decide which it is.”
My breath hitched, the tension in the room reaching a fevered pitch as I tilted my face up toward him. “What if I don’t want to decide?”
He grinned, victorious. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Then you already have.”
He surged forward, his lips colliding with mine in a searing press. The kiss was demanding, and he unraveled my defenses with frightening ease. My eyes fluttered shut, my fingers shaking as they gripped the satin covering his forearm.
The pressure of his wire-rimmed glasses against my cheek forced me to tilt my head, an adjustment he used to deepen the kiss. His tongue licked against my teeth in a claiming touch that left me breathless.
The warmth of his body enveloped me, his presence a suffocating weight. Then, as suddenly as it began, the heat dissipated. His lips left mine with a teasing nip, and I opened my eyes, dazed and searching for him in the dim light.
My gaze locked with his, the hunger in his eyes sending a shiver through me. Straightening, he released his grip on the armrests and stepped back, the sudden space between us providing a much needed moment of sanity. “Get up,” he ordered, his voice cool and unyielding.
I exhaled sharply, my pulse roaring in my ears. “What?” My voice wavered, but he didn’t elaborate. Instead, he watched me with an expectant gleam, leaving no room for argument.
Reluctantly, I stood on unsteady legs. As I met his gaze, a distracting realization struck me - I was taller than him by at least an inch, and yet his dominance remained unshaken.
The glint of approval in his eyes sent another thrill through me. Without a word, he reached for me, his fingers curling around my bicep with a surprising gentle touch. He guided me toward his desk, the surface a chaotic expanse of cords and flickering hardware forming an artificial ecosystem. A firm pressure at my back pushed me forward. The unyielding edge of the desk met my hips, forcing me to bend until my chest pressed into the tangled web of tech
“Keep your feet out of my cables,” he murmured, his voice a low command. His body pressed against mine once more, the heat of him seeping into my skin. His lips found the back of my neck, tracing a deliberate path that sent my heart into a frantic rhythm.
“I get the sense,” he whispered, his tone laced with an audible smirk, “that you’re tired of people expecting things from you. That you want to lose control.” His hands glided down my sides, the fabric of my dress gathering beneath his touch. “Or maybe you need someone to take it from you.”
The thought of being here, bent beneath his weight - of surrendering to this man who was little more than a stranger - sparked twin flickers of fear and excitement. The danger of the situation, professional and otherwise, only amplified the heat pooling in my belly. His words held an unshakable truth, one I hadn’t known to confront until now. My body trembled beneath his touch, betraying my silent admission.
Hongjoong hummed in satisfaction, his lips trailing upward to nip at the shell of my ear. I jolted, my breath catching as he pulled back, the loss of his warmth leaving me aching. I started to turn my head, to seek him out, but his hand settled firmly at the nape of my neck, a silent command that held me in place.
“It’s alright,” he murmured, amusement in his tone. “Trust me.”
The tension in my body coiled tighter, anticipation winding as I stared obediently ahead. The ambient hum of the hardware beneath me was a faint distraction, its steady rhythm a contrast to the chaotic race of my heartbeat. Behind me, the soft rustle of fabric reached my ears.
His hand entered my line of sight, reaching for my wrist. Gently but firmly, he drew it behind my back. I froze, my breath suspended as he did the same with my other wrist. Then came the soft, silken whisper of fabric wrapping around my skin. Once, twice, it coiled, tightening with deliberate precision.
I glanced over my shoulder, my eyes widening. Red-trimmed sleeves bound my wrists, the rest of his black silk robe pooling behind me. My gaze lifted to his, my breath hitching at the sight before me.
With only his tank top on, Hongjoong revealed a surprising physique of lean muscle. His biceps flexed as he tightened the robe, his eyes glinting with a challenge. “Got something to say?” he asked, one brow arching in question.
Words failed me, the knot of anticipation in my throat leaving me mute. I shook my head.
“I didn’t think so.” His grin widened, satisfaction crossing his features. “I know this is what you want - what you need,” he purred, his voice low and tantalizing. One hand lingered, teasing the silk sleeves draped on my back, while the other dipped down to the hemline of my dress. His leering gaze never wavered from mine as he smirked. “Don’t forget, I’ve seen your search history.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I made no attempt to deny his claim. His fingers found the bare curve of my thigh, gripping lightly before sliding upward along the sensitive skin of my hip as the fabric lifted. His gaze dropped to my exposed lace underwear.
My cheek pressed into the cool, hard plastic of tech, watching as his finger traced along the waistband. His dark, piercing eyes found mine once more, a demanding hunger simmering within their depths that sent a thrilling shiver through me. “Look forward,” he commanded.
I lowered my forehead onto the desk, my breaths shallow and uneven. The weight of his gaze pressed down on me as he eased my underwear down my hips. The polka dot lace slipped down and pooled around my feet.
“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise wrapping around me to bind me tighter than any fabric ever could. His voice, sweet and deadly, carried a reverent lilt. “An obedient little slut.”
The crude term struck me like a jolt despite its honeyed delivery, a stark reminder of the power I had surrendered to him. Yet, along with the shameful sting came the thrill of accepting my own vulnerability. As he’d said, it was too late to back down now.
A soft finger skimmed down my back, past the curve of my ass to dip between the folds of my slit - just enough to collect slick arousal along its path. Tension coiled around my muscles, freezing me in place even as my legs trembled against the desk.
Hongjoong’s words tightened around me like a snare, his tone laced with feigned sympathy. “Poor baby,” he purred. “Do you need my help to relax?”
My cheek pressed harder against the desk as I nodded, the quaking of my body increasing in intensity. My eyes squeezed shut.
“I’m going to need words this time, baby girl.” He said with a firm but gentle insistence.
I lifted my head, the digital glow blurring before my eyes. My first attempt to speak saw my words falter, catching on the tightening knot of nerves in my throat. I swallowed hard, then forced out the quiet plea, ”please… Hongjoong.”
Without warning, a firm pressure at my bound wrists lifted me from the desk. My shoulders protested the stretch, a sharp ache that sent exhilaration thrumming through me. I winced but stood obediently, every fiber of my being attuned to his invisible presence. His mouth, warm and possessive, brushed the nape of my neck as he whispered, “Turn around.”
I turned, my obedience as natural as it was concerning. Hongjoong’s gaze bore into me, and whatever he saw reflected in my eyes made his lips curve into a knowing smirk. His next command, darkly amused, cut through me. “On your knees.”
I froze, my eyes widening in surprise, my breath caught in my throat. But Hongjoong did not have the patience to permit hesitation. His hand rose, as if to caress my cheek, but instead, it landed on my shoulder with firm insistence, pressing me down.
Without resistance, I sank to the ground, my knees shifting on the tangled cables on the floor. I gazed up at Hongjoong, utterly bewitched by his commanding presence, my heart a fluttering bird within my chest. He caught me off guard by sinking into the chair before me. He spread his knees before patting his lap, his intent unmistakable. “Come here.”
Shame and arousal raced through me, a heady mix that left me breathless at the prospect of being made to crawl to him like a dog. Yet, with each shuffling movement, as I edged closer on my knees, wrists bound behind my back, a weight began lifting from my shoulders, an invisible burden I hadn’t realized I was carrying.
By the time my body nestled between his legs, an intoxicating weightlessness enveloped me, my mind drifting in a floating haze.
“There you go,” he soothed. His hand reached forward, fingers sinking into my hair in a gentle grip. The other hand moved with an unhurried grace to shove his loose-fitting shorts and underwear down his hips in one fluid motion, his hips lifting to permit the fabric’s descent down his thighs. “Why don’t you make me feel good?”
My eyes widened at the sight of his cock, half-hard and twitching to attention. The buzzing in my mind intensified, drowning out all else I leaned closer. I licked my lips, more out of reflex then anticipation, and they parted to brush against the velvety head of his cock.
The buzzing grew louder as I parted my lips wider, taking the swollen head into my mouth. Above me, Hongjoong hissed, a quiet, needy sound that added to the cacophony in my head. But my focus did not waver from the task before me. The hand tangled in my hair tightened, a sudden, unyielding pressure forcing me further down his length. My mouth opened wider around his cock, the slick glide of his length filling me until my nose touched his pelvis, his musky scent enveloping me.
In that moment, my mind emptied to a sensation of fullness that demanded my undivided attention. Each twitch of his cock tickled against my gag reflex as it finally reached full hardness in my mouth. My first attempt at a breath caught in my throat, a muffled gasp that sent a panic through me. My eyes widened, the edges of my vision blurring as I instinctively tried to lift my head, only to find the firm grip in my hair holding me down.
My shoulder dug into Hongjoong’s thigh, seeking help, though I couldn’t say what I needed. His voice broke through my growing panic. “You’re okay,” he murmured, his words a tender caress, a stark contrast to the unyielding grip choking me on his cock. “You have to relax.”
A whine escaped me, vibrating around his length, a sound steeped in both desperate need for breath and the aching desire for more. Summoning every ounce of willpower, I guided my body to relax, to breathe through my nose, allowing the tension in my throat to ease. My throat softened around his girth, accepting him more deeply.
His praise came not in words but by shoving my face more firmly into his pelvis, his hips rolling forward in a slow, deliberate thrust that buried him to the hilt in my throat. Before I could react to the invasion, he withdrew to the tip then plunged back in. He set a merciless rhythm, displaying his dominance with each deep, forceful thrust as he began to fuck my face.
My eyes, glistening with tears, lifted to meet his gaze. Dark, half-lidded eyes locked onto mine. Hongjoong’s lips parted around ragged breaths, quick huffs of air punctuating each relentless thrust up into my mouth. A wolfish grin curled at the corners of his lips, his tongue darting out to tease the edge of a sharp canine.
His gaze dropped, fixing onto the sight of his cock as it disappeared between my swollen lips. “Fuck,” he moaned, his voice molten desire. “Such a good little cocksleeve.”
I clung to the last vestiges of my willpower to suppress the gag reflex that threatened each time his cockhead rubbed against the back of my throat. Tears spilled freely down my cheeks in wet tracks that cooled my flushed skin. Despite the discomfort, or most certainly because of it, slick arousal pooled between my thighs.
Hongjoong’s thrusts quickened, his movements driven by an increasing urgency that resonated through my core. A low, guttural whimper escaped him, the sound of a wounded animal as he took his pleasure from my willing mouth. The noise was abruptly cut off, his voice choking out a rough, desperate, “fuck,” as his grip tightened in my hair, pulling me harshly off his cock rather than pressing me further onto it. My lips parted from his length with a wet pop, and I filled my lungs with much-needed oxygen.
Before I could catch my breath, his hand twisted in my hair, yanking me upright and bending me over the desk in one fluid motion. With my wrists bound, I could do nothing about the saliva and pre-cum smeared across my face or the taste of his musk lingering on my tongue
Hongjoong’s fingers parted my folds, the exposure sending a shiver coursing through me. “You’re so fucking wet,” he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and wicked satisfaction. “Was this all just from me using you to get off?” The taunting words wrapped around me like a velvet chain.
His fingers withdrew, replaced by the blunt tip of his cock to rub along my sensitive, slickened lower lips. The combination of my own arousal and his pre-cum, now steadily leaking from his swollen tip, created a smooth glide that sent waves of pleasure rippling through me. I whined softly, my body tensing against the satin binds that held me. “Hongjoong, please,” I whispered.
“Answer the question,” came his reply, a command punctuated by the thrust of his hips and the sinful slide of his hot length between my swollen lips. His hands, firm and possessive, settled on my hips, pressing me harder into the cluttered surface of the desk. It was a maddening tease, not nearly enough to scratch at my desperate need. “Did you enjoy being used as a cock-hungry slut?”
I pressed my forehead against the cool, solid surface of the desk, using its solid presence to tether me to the present. “Yes… I did,” I admitted, my voice trembling in surrender.
Soft fingers trailed a languid path up my spine, their touch a gentle contrast to the firm hand that returned to anchor me at the hip - a duality that sent shivers through me. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice a seductive caress. “Tell me you want this.”
His hips rocked against mine in a slow, tantalizing rhythm, his cock parting my slick folds but never dipping further. The restraint stoked an impatient flame of desire that threatened to burn me alive. “Hongjoong,” I gasped, a petulant whine woven with my growing frustration.
A low tsk cut the air behind me, dripping with amused disappointment. His grip tightened on my hip, his nails biting crescents into my skin. “Come now,” he purred, “I know you can do better than that.” His cock teased me, catching on my entrance only to retreat and continue its infuriating slide along my slit.
A sob ripped out my throat, raw and unbidden, surprising me with its intensity. Hongjoong’s hands loosened their grip on my skin, and a sudden, sharp panic filled me at the thought he might end this intoxicating torment - a game that had transcended into something deeper, something necessary. “Yes,” I cried out, the word thick with emotion and unrestrained desperation. “Fuck, please.”
Apparently, my raw need was enough to satisfy the devil at my back. With a powerful thrust, he buried himself inside me, his cock carving a path to my depths. My slickened walls offered no resistance, but the sudden, unprepared invasion forced him to bully his way into my channel inch by inch. “Fuck,” he moaned, a husky sound that vibrated through me. “You’re so tight.”
Before my walls could adjust to the burning stretch, he withdrew, his tip lingering at my entrance in a teasing, torturous kiss. Agonizingly slow, he pushed back in, every inch deliberately claiming. A low groan rumbled from his chest, reverberating through the space between us as he sank deeper. “So fucking good for me,” he murmured.
His hand left my back to seize the silk binding my wrists. He pulled out and, with a firm grip, guided my body back onto his cock, each powerful thrust driving into me with a frenzied rhythm. The force of his plunging length punched the breath from my lungs, sending my body jolting forward. The desk beneath me shuddered with the intensity, threatening to overturn the precariously perched monitors sat on top.
“Careful,” he hissed even as his hips continued their relentless pace. He slammed into my tight channel with deep, powerful thrusts, every ridge and vein of his thick shaft stroking along my tender flesh. My mouth hung open, silent save for my gasping, panting breaths, overwhelmed by the sensation of being so utterly filled by his cock.
Hongjoong’s breathing grew heavier as he rutted into me. “I’m close,” he groaned, his voice taut with tension. His frantic pace escalated to an impossible momentum as he chased his release. The wet slapping of flesh on flesh filled the room from his single-minded pursuit of pleasure.
I whined, a sharp sound of distress. My pussy clenched around his girth as my pleasure built to an intense, addictive high, yet spiraled just out of reach. “H-Hongjoong,” I cried out, my voice a raw, desperate plea, the inability to touch myself leaving me teetering on the edge of completion.
His thrusts didn’t falter, his grip on my bound wrists unyielding. His focus remained fixed singularly on the sensation of his cock plunging into my slick, clenching heat, uncaring or unaware of my distress. “You’re gonna take it,” he panted, rutting into me with a mindless drive. “Take my load like a good girl.”
My vision blurred with unshed tears, and the sharp, hard corner of the desk dug painfully into my hips, but I nodded frantically, his words igniting a fevered, desperate need within me. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep. He stilled as heat bloomed inside me, flooding my core with his release. He ground his hips in a slow, deliberate swirl, fucking his seed deeper within me in some primal instinct.
He didn't give himself a moment to recover. Instead, he pulled his spent, half-hard cock from my abused channel, ignoring my whimpered complaint at the sudden, aching emptiness. His name was a desperate plea on my lips. “Hongjoong?”
And then I felt it - the first lick of his tongue, a long, languid stroke that dragged up between my folds, collecting his own cum as it began to leak out of me. I gasped at the unexpected sensation as his tongue delved deeper, probing my slick, swollen entrance. My hips writhed against the desk, desperate for more, but his hands gripped firmly at the backs of my thighs, holding me still as he buried his face between my legs, devouring me with ravenous hunger.
He plunged his long, wet tongue deep into my pussy, scooping his own seed out of me. The sheer depravity of it stoked a fire of need that burned out of control, my legs shaking under his grip. My walls fluttered as my pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo. “Please - fuck, yes,” I gasped, my mind strained past its limits, the words coming out a broken, incoherent plea.
Hongjoong moaned into me, a sound of primal hunger that vibrated through my walls. His tongue thrusted faster, fucking in and out of my channel with an insatiable fervor. The slick, lewd sounds of his tongue stirring up my juices sent bolts of pleasure shooting through me. His lips sealed around my entrance, and he sucked hard, drawing every last drop from me. My body snapped taut, my orgasm crashing over me in powerful waves as I spasmed around his invading muscle.
Hongjoong continued to lap at my essence like a man starved, drawing out my climax. As the last ripples of pleasure subsided, and his mouth left me, I collapsed against the desk, my body trembling, my breaths coming in ragged gasps.
Soft hands slid up the sides of my hips, their touch a balm to my overstimulated skin. With a gentle touch, Hongjoong untied the silk binding my wrists, the fabric falling away as I drew my arms to my chest, wincing at the stiffness in my muscles. His hands continued their tender journey, pulling my dress back down over my hips.
I pushed off the desk with arms that shook from exertion, turning to face him. The sight of our mixed arousal glistening on his mouth and chin greeted me. A flutter of rekindling interest stirred in my belly, hinting at the possibility of more, were my body not already pushed to its limits. As it were, I could only stare as I fought to regain some semblance of composure - as laughably futile as that was in the aftermath of my debased surrender.
Hongjoong's slick lips curled into a satisfied grin. “I should respond to in-person IT requests more often.”
Exhaustion dulled my ability to muster outrage, so instead, I delivered a weak, half-hearted smack to his arm. “I think you just lucked out with my pent-up ass.”
His eyes sparkled, a wry amusement that contrasted the heat we had just shared. “I think I did.”
A glance at my phone on the desk drew a groan from my lips - well past midnight now. Reality loomed just beyond the threshold of this moment, not just responsibilities but - god forbid - the very real necessity to unpack what just happened between us. Before I could begin to spiral at that thought, I scooped up my laptop, clutching the machine to my chest like a lifeline, a tangible reminder of the world beyond this dark, neon-lit sanctuary. “I should go,” I murmured, my voice betraying the reluctance that twisted in my chest.
Hongjoong dipped his head. He followed me to the door, where I hesitated, turning back to him. His gaze met mine, a depth of something unspoken passing between us, an enigma that I knew would linger in my thoughts long after this night had ended. Words escaped me, so I left only a small smile before stepping through the door.
“By the way,” his voice halted my steps, a mischievous lilt curling his words. When I turned, his smile was full of teasing promise. “Next time you read smut on a work computer, make sure it’s actually good.”
I groaned, my cheeks flushing as I hurried toward the elevator, leaving his chuckle to echo softly behind me.
The early hours of the next workday found me back in my cubicle - good ol’ F45 J6. With a resigned sigh, I logged into my freshly restored laptop, the screen glowing with mundane normalcy, to prepare for the day ahead.
But not before clearing my search history.