Work Text:
It’s hardly noon, and Josh can already feel a stress headache beginning to take root beneath his temples. The sky outside his towering office window is swathed in a thick, dreary fog. It’s been drizzling on and off since he shuffled out of bed at 6 AM sharp, and the humidity clinging to the air presses thick and unrelenting against the glass, leaving it dotted with dripping condensation. He’s had two meetings so far, sent four emails to the lazy bastards that are his superiors, and skimmed over enough analytical and performance reports to make him go cross-eyed and sore in the neck. He anchors the heel of his palm underneath his chin, and twists his head until a dull pop cracks free. He then sighs, and begrudgingly returns his attention to the jittery business analyst rattling off about their lackluster KPIs lately, as if Josh isn’t being hounded over the fact by his aforementioned lazy bastard bosses.
“Look,” he exhales, spreading his hands and settling them gingerly over the smooth leather surface of his desk mat. He’s trying not to be callous, truly, but this is the third time this week the guy’s stopped by his office to blather on about what Josh has been working himself to the bone to figure out. He’s aware his history of brash stringency working in this company has earned him quite the… intimidating reputation, which he was always aware of, what with the way interns and assistants would stiffen and shrink under his gaze, but only recently he’d been truly called out on.
A certain HR manager had rattled off about his attitude ‘fostering an unhealthy work environment’ and failing to boost employee morale when everybody below him was too busy being terrified of him. The meeting had ended with the both of them crammed into a supply closet, their ties haphazardly discarded on the linoleum and slacks bunched around thighs. Afterward, he’d been emailed a personal phone number and a digital pamphlet for anger-management-aimed yoga classes.
“John?” He continues, ignoring the analyst’s feeble ‘Jeremy, actually…’, in order to continue. “I know all of this. Everything you’re telling me, I already know, okay? You know how I know?”
John-Jeremy blinks, owlish, as if unsure whether or not it’s meant as a rhetorical question. At his silence, Josh continues, voice straining against the urge to sharpen.
“Because you’ve been here three times since Tuesday. You, in the meantime, can get back to actually working, and we’ll circle back once we’ve figured out and implemented something. Yeah?”
Nodding hurriedly, John-Jeremy’s eyebrows rise a little.
“Right. Sounds good, Mr. Dun. Sorry.”
Josh forces a tight, dry smile, nodding sardonically. “Great! Now get out.”
Josh is finally left alone again with another garbled apology and the retreating scurry of anxious feet. He releases a deep exhale, leisurely tipping back into his ergonomic chair and soothing both hands through his hair. From there, he dips one and slides his glasses off in order to thoroughly scrub his closed eyes with the other, hoping to ease the ache of drowsiness and stress behind them. His thumb and middle finger curl into either of his temples, rubbing in angry circles that only succeed in deepening the throb there. He sighs again, and drops his arms to their respective rests on either side of the chair.
A rhythmic series of knocks on his door make irritation fester like an itching flame under his skin, until the door cracks open.
“Why did I see an employee running out of here like he just saw a ghost?” Tyler asks, swiftly stepping inside and closing the door quietly behind him. Josh drops his temple to rest upon one closed fist.
“I hardly said anything,” he mutters in half-assed defense. Tyler cocks an eyebrow, strolling over to his desk, where his gaze dips to the sleek Newton’s cradle sitting idly at the edge of the mahogany surface. He reaches out, and with two meticulous fingers, lifts one of the metal balls on a far end and releases it. The subsequent tic , tic , tic that fills the silence, accompanied by the repetitive, back-and-forth movements of the balls seem to engage Tyler for a long moment, before he turns back to Josh.
His brows twist, something akin to amusement blooming in his expression before the inevitable twitch of his lips.
“Do you need something?” Josh asks, voice blunt in a way that only seems to further humor Tyler.
“Well,” he starts, reaching down to silence the piece of decor, “I came here to brief you about the last HR report, but I think it can wait until Monday. You look like shit.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Josh huffs, sinking further into his chair, somehow both miffed and addicted to the way Tyler’s half-smirk spreads into a proper, sly smile. There’s something about the way he doesn’t bristle nor bite back at Josh’s attempts to maintain his severe, professional attitude that makes his shoulders ease. Like the worst thing Tyler sees him as is a deeply amusing grump, not an asshole nor an otherwise terrible person.
“Seriously, what’s got your panties in a bunch?”
Josh shakes his head, reaching for his abandoned glasses; Tyler’s face comes into razor-sharp clarity, bottom teeth crooked and dress-shirt faintly wrinkled.
“Nothing,” he answers, shaking his head mildly, “just tired. It’s like everybody’s trying to get on my nerves today.”
Tyler’s face twists, planting a spread hand on his chest in mock offense. “Ouch. Everybody?”
Josh shoots him an unamused glare. Tyler’s attention drifts again, only this time to the broad, floor-to-ceiling window behind Josh’s desk. His brows draw tight, and he circles the desk to approach the glass.
“It’s still raining?” He mumbles, presumably to himself, but Josh replies nonetheless.
“Won’t stop ‘til tomorrow morning, apparently.” Tyler hums, troubled. “Why?”
“My car’s at the mechanic.”
Josh’s response is automatic, mindless. “I’ll drive you.” He berates himself as soon as he blurts it out— what happened to keeping things professional?
Luckily, Tyler shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just take an Uber.”
Josh doesn’t insist. He also doesn’t acknowledge his urge to.
Instead, he tips his head against the backrest, curls his itching, hungry fingers into fists, and rips his eyes away from Tyler’s form. Watches the city beyond the glass, the tile underfoot, his computer screen, darkening with inactivity. Anything but those smooth, tattooed forearms exposed by off-white, rolled up sleeves; anything but the soft swoop of brown hair, just ruffled enough to be charming and not unprofessional; anything but the gentle curve of Tyler’s nose, pointing down to soft, plush lips he can recall so clearly the feeling of.
It never should have happened in the first place. Josh has been repeating this simple fact like a mantra for weeks. Even more so after every time they gravitate back toward one another, impromptu sessions in which their professions and responsibilities and duties are shed, temporarily sacrificed for the addictive taste of heated, sweaty skin and the give of flesh under clawing, clutching fingertips.
The first time had been a mistake, sure—the initial taste of the forbidden fruit, but wrong off the base that he’s human. Perfection, in his case strength to resist the draw of batting doe eyes and a spit-slick lips, is impossible to achieve. He could have excused it, had their little escapades ended there. But the times that followed were inexcusable, worse tenfold because they were indulgent . They were manifestations of Josh’s own greed, and his spinelessness against Tyler’s brazen seduction.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Tyler pipes up, drawing Josh’s attention back to the present, in which he realizes he’d been staring dazedly at Tyler’s mouth. He blinks, straightens, and watches as Tyler approaches with a hand fishing around in the pockets of his slacks. “You forgot this at my place the other night.” His hand reemerges brandishing Josh’s watch.
“Oh,” is all he can manage, staring at the ticking face for a second before reaching for it with a disjointed arm. He hadn’t even realized it was missing. “Thanks.”
“Wait, let me,” Tyler says, reaching for Josh’s outstretched wrist and flipping it palm-down. He takes another step closer, planting himself in between Josh’s knees, towering as he efficiently clasps the watch over the back of Josh’s wrist.
Tyler is many things, but subtle isn’t one of them. Once latched the accessory in place, his hands linger—featherlight fingerprints dancing over the skin of Josh’s hand, tracing the shifting tendons over his knuckles, then the fainter veins snaking underneath his skin. Josh follows the movements, slow and deliberate, as though trying not to spook a frightened animal. Goosebumps pepper Josh’s forearms.
Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Tyler draws Josh’s hand up, and dips his head slightly to meet it in the middle. The first brush of his lips, stark beside the cool metal of his watch, makes Josh’s fingers twitch. If Tyler notices this, he makes no comment, instead batting his lovely dark lashes and trailing breathy kisses up the inside of Josh’s palm, his fingers. When he reaches the end, his lower lip catches just barely on the tip of Josh’s middle finger, and all the air rushes out of his lungs.
“Tyler,” he warns.
Tyler’s pupils are dark, irises swallowed by inky pools of desire, half-obscured beneath hooded eyelids. A near-inaudible hum rumbles low in his throat, a wordless expression of feigned innocence. He kisses the pad of one fingertip, before moving to the next, and the next, until pausing on Josh’s thumb.
Josh’s skin burns, gut swarmed with heat. Shamefully desirous, he manages a tiny shake of his head, at which Tyler frowns, and tilts his head.
“No?” He hums.
The word sticks like taffy in Josh’s throat. No . No , never again. There’s too much at risk. This is my life’s work.
Instead, he says, “I can’t stand you.”
Amidst the wolfish half-smile that emerges on Tyler’s face, Josh catches a glimmer of relief underneath, too. “Can’t you?” He questions, a lilt of teasing mockery in his gravelly tone. His eyes flick pointedly down to Josh’s crotch—stirring already. Heat blossoms high in Josh’s cheeks, spreading to the tips of his ears, a strange concoction of humiliation and arousal flooding his lower gut.
Tyler turns his head again, pressing another kiss to the pad of Josh’s thumb, before loosely wrapping his lips around it, slow and torturous. He hardly takes it into his mouth, skinking just below Josh’s thumbnail and swirling his tongue around the tip. Then, he pulls back, just enough to speak against the spit-damp skin. “I think you can’t get enough of me.”
Josh is teetering over the edge, cock twitching, stiffening more by the second—his need taking on life, like a writhing, gnawing animal burning inside of him, begging for its fix. What’s worse, is that Tyler’s right .
So, when he watches his own thumb disappear beyond plump, smirking lips, Josh crumbles. Tyler’s on his lap in a breath, thighs caging Josh’s hips—it’s not the most comfortable thing, what with the chair’s limited width and armrests in the way, but Josh is so desperate to get his mouth on Tyler’s, he hardly gives it a moment of thought. His thumb smears spit across Tyler’s cheek when it drags Tyler’s face in, lips crashing so brutally it pushes Josh back, sinking against the backrest. The chair groans and clicks under the added weight, but fortunately holds. Tyler squirms in his lap, pawing at Josh’s pec with one hand and rooting the other into the curls at the back of his head. Josh is long overdue for a haircut, but Tyler seems to like it—never more than a few minutes going by without reaching for it, either to ground himself or to tug until it earns him a sharp groan.
He swipes his tongue smoothly across Tyler’s lower lip, free hand sliding up one firm thigh and curling around to grab a tight handful of ass. It pulls a shuddering exhale out of Tyler, fingers tightening into dark curls. Josh pulls back, searches his face.
“Josh,” Tyler mumbles, mouth agape, eyes shut. His brows pinch, tilting skyward moments before he cracks his eyes open, revealing there a newfound longing, near-desperate. That’s the thing about Tyler, he’s all suave and provocative until you actually give him what he wants—from there he undergoes a metamorphosis in the space of a mere kiss or two, in which he’ll reveal his significantly needier, brattier side.
“Josh,” he scolds again, sharper, punctuated by a sharp roll of his hips. The grind of their clothed erections makes a spark of heady, though insufficient pleasure fizzle throughout Josh, who releases a choked grunt, and tightens his hold on Tyler’s ass.
“What do you want?” He asks, ducking into the warm expanse of skin under Tyler’s jaw, who pants by his ear and continues a wavering rhythm in his hips. His fingers release Josh’s hair, but slide down only a handful of inches to cup the nape of his neck. A particular deep grind has him uttering a deliciously fractured groan into the office, shuddering. Josh sinks his teeth cruelly into Tyler’s pulse point, wishing briefly he could leave a deep, angry brand there, for everyone in the building to see—to know whose fingertips their respected HR manager crumbles apart underneath.
“Jesus, Tyler,” he growls, pulling back to look him squarely in the eye, brows furrowed. “You come in here like a bitch in heat, interrupt my work, ‘n you can’t even tell me what you want.”
Tyler’s thighs squeeze suddenly on either side of Josh’s hips, a breathless, whiny groan falling from pretty, kiss-swollen lips. His head bows, pelvis jerking erratically, before he shoots his hand from Josh’s chest to the straining bulge in his own pants.
“Fuck me,” he gasps, grinding into his palm, leaning forward to press brief, open-mouthed kisses along the cut of Josh’s jaw, as though in order to convince him. “ Please , need it so bad. Need you .”
Josh exhales, eyes fluttering shut at the pulse of arousal that beats through his core, like a second heartbeat. He risks a glance at the door—he doesn’t recall hearing Tyler lock it, but God knows he’d sooner spontaneously combust than move away from Tyler’s leeching, squirming, warm body for even a second. It isn’t that they haven’t messed around while at work before—but here it’s limited to sloppy blowjobs in empty meeting rooms or quiet handies in a bathroom stall.
But Tyler is still quietly pleading into his skin, gasping every now and then when he bucks up into his hand and the angle is just right. So Josh sighs and taps his ass twice.
“Up.”
Tyler snaps into motion in an instant, scrambling off the chair with wide, wanton eyes fixed on Josh. Before rising after him, though, Josh takes a moment to take him in: the deep flush in his cheeks, blossoming down beyond the collar of his untucked button-up, the obscene, straining tent in his pants. It makes his own cock pulse, reminding him of his own aching need—so he rises out of his chair and backs Tyler against the desk, planting two lingering kisses to his mouth before grabbing him by the arm and roughly jerking him around. Tyler grunts in surprise at the hand that shoves him forward, spread out on the center of his back, and then cracks a shit-eating, albeit wobbly grin with his cheek pressed to the wood. Always keeping a point of contact, Josh leans over to the side and yanks open one of the drawers of his desk. When Tyler catches a glimpse of what emerges, he snorts.
“You keep lube in your office?”
Josh rolls his eyes, reaching around Tyler’s front to pull his belt free and discard it on the floor beside him. He works Tyler’s slacks and boxers down to mid-thigh with one harsh tug, and then reaches for the lube. In the brief lull, while Josh works on flicking up his fingers, Tyler cranes his head around as far as it’ll go, peering up at him through one fond, self-satisfied eye, biting absentmindedly into his own shoulder.
“Be quiet, okay?” Josh says, soothing his dry hand up the gentle curve of Tyler’s back, and lowering the other. Tyler nods with a casual hum. Josh’s expression hardens. “I’m serious.”
“O- kay ,” Tyler groans, propping himself up onto his elbows. “Just hurry up already.”
Josh sighs through his nose, shaking his head to himself before grabbing a handful of one of Tyler’s ass cheeks. He kneads it briefly, then pulls it aside, his other hand circling the first careful pressure around his rim. Tyler gives a tiny, almost inaudible gasp, but otherwise stays true to his word of silence. As always, Josh’s first finger slips through the tight ring of muscle with little resistance, and Tyler releases an appeased sigh. Josh suddenly wishes he’d freed his own cock before prepping Tyler; it pulses and throbs at the mere feel of Tyler’s tight heat, constrained almost painfully so in his tight slacks. He continues nonetheless, pressing his finger in to the last knuckle and pulling out in several smooth, calculated repetitions. With every inward push, the tension seems to ease more and more out of Tyler’s shoulders, head hanging low between them. Once he’s satisfied, Josh manages a second finger, his other hand sliding up the ridges of Tyler’s spine, pushing his shirt up as he goes.
When he crooks his fingers down, though, the sound that cracks out of Tyler’s chest is throaty and undeniable—Josh shoots a brief prayer that nobody was walking past the door out in the hallway.
He doubles over, chest pressing flush against Tyler’s back.
“What did I say?” He snaps, fingers stilling, ignoring Tyler’s jerky attempts to fuck himself onto them.
“I’ll be quiet,” Tyler croaks, breathless, gasping. Josh clicks his tongue, and straightens. He continues scissoring Tyler open, whilst avoiding the angle that’ll have him crying out. He spares the door another hesitant glance, still shut, and the hallway beyond it still silent.
It’s only a few seconds after sinking a third finger inside, that Tyler starts to squirm.
“Josh,” he grumbles. “‘M ready, c’mon.”
Josh’s lips twist, doubtful, but scissors his three fingers once more before pulling them out entirely. From there, it’s a fumbling, hurried attempt to free his own cock, hard and neglected and a deep ruddy shade. He reaches for the lube again, and as he slicks himself up, reveling in the long-awaited relief, he watches Tyler whine and clench around nothing.
“Okay,” he hums, settling one hand on Tyler’s hip, and the other on the supple curve of his ass. He fists himself once more, sighing as he thumbs at his slit, before lining himself up.
Quiet, twin groans slice through the heated silence of the office when the head slides in. No matter how much prep comes beforehand, Tyler’s always dizzyingly tight—hugging his length down to the last inch, as if welcoming him in. Josh shoots one hand out to steady himself on the lip of his desk, head bowed, coming to a halt once fully seated to give Tyler a moment to adjust. Tyler, whose arms have at some point gone boneless, his cheek pressed flush against the tabletop, flushed and sweaty and blissful. His blinks are slow and sluggish, lip chewed damn near raw between his teeth.
After a moment, he begins to buck his hips, arching back into Josh’s dick—a wordless, demanding insistence. And, lo and behold, at Josh’s first sharp thrust, Tyler moans, wanton and whorish—his bitten lip hardly muffling it at all. Josh comes to a sudden halt, at which Tyler’s subsequent groan is one more of annoyance rather than pleasure.
“Sorry,” he breathes out. “Sorry, I’ll be quiet.”
Josh’s lips tighten, his gaze snaps up to the unlocked door. “Damn straight you’ll be quiet,” he snarls, reaching up to loosen his tie and yank it off over his head. He bunches it up and leans over Tyler’s back. “Open up.”
Lips parting, Tyler looks back at Josh, half-lidded, heated gaze trained unblinkingly on him as the fabric is stuffed into his mouth. Josh almost feels bad, but when Tyler’s cheek drops back to the desk, there’s a blissed-out satisfaction in his eye that makes Josh wonder if this was his goal all along. God knows he enjoys keeping his mouth occupied.
Once sufficiently muffled, Josh straightens, anchoring both his hands on Tyler’s hips, fingers curling until his skin fades white.
In one swift, smooth movement, he pulls out almost entirely, and rams back inside, using his hands to drive Tyler down to meet the thrust. Tyler’s answering cry is wobbly and muted, brows pinching in response to the single beat of pleasure. At that, Josh picks up an equally brutal rhythm, tugging Tyler onto his cock with every thrust, swallowing the groans that bubble up in his chest through gritted teeth. Tyler is pliant and magma-warm—clenching tightly around him every few thrusts enough to make Josh gasp and falter. Pleasure bursts from his gut, his groin, fizzling out in shockwaves across his limbs and swirling into a haze in his head. A part of him wishes he could hear Tyler—always so vocal, composing the loveliest of noises hardwired straight to Josh’s dick—from warbly groans to overstimulated whimpering.
Now, though, they don’t need the entire floor hearing those as well, and Tyler seems more than alright with something to suck and drool into.
Josh’s pace doesn’t stop for a heartbeat, pounding into Tyler with one hand pressed deeply into the small of his back and the other clutching the desk. Tyler’s own scramble, searching for impossible purchase on the flat surface, and struggling to lift himself onto his wobbly arms. However muffled, Josh can still catch the sounds he’s making, punched out of him on every other deep thrust, breathing sharply through his nose. It makes his cock pulse, surely pounding precome deep inside of Tyler.
Then, he curls over, hooking an arm across Tyler’s chest and drawing him down like that. The shift in angle is sure to have him pounding head-on into Tyler’s prostate. If the half sob, half yelp that falls through the fabric in his mouth is any indicator, then Josh is pretty certain he’s succeeded. Tyler finds the purchase he was searching for in Josh’s hair, arm bent back at the elbow to find Josh, who huffs and presses lazy kisses into the skin through his shirt.
Tyler clenches again, the reaction becoming increasingly frequent in response to Josh driving over and over again into his prostate. The new, firmer tightness around Josh’s cock has his hips stuttering, falling briefly out of rhythm to moan into Tyler’s clothed shoulder blade. The swarming, buzzing heat in his lower belly is beginning to concentrate, curdling deep and only expanding from there.
He stills, then rolls his hips in one deep, slow grind, and grins at the sob and subsequent sniffle Tyler makes in response.
“Fuck,” Josh drawls, continuing these slower thrusts in favor of catching his breath for a moment. Tyler whines, low in his chest—Josh feels it vibrate through his back. He props his chin on the back of Tyler’s shoulder, quietly snaking his free hand around to wrap around Tyler’s leaking cock. He jumps, and draws in a massive breath through his nose.
“God, you’re gorgeous like this,” Josh hums, thrusting slow, deliberate, all while thumbing Tyler’s leaking slit and circling underneath the head. His grin only expands when Tyler’s lashes flutter, eyes rolling back briefly before he manages to focus them again. “Mouth stuffed like this,” he continues. “Next time I’ll fuck your throat, yeah? Think you can?”
Tyler just moans, wet, clumped lashes fluttering erratically over his reddened cheeks, nodding frantically.
And as Josh picks his pace back up, jerking Tyler’s dick in time with each thrust, he realizes it’s the first time they’ve acknowledged a next time. More often than not during these flurries of bare skin and wandering hands, they determine that one to be the last, but never have they so much as implied a repeat.
But Tyler’s clenching and stiffening underneath him, and Josh’s concerns are washed away in an instant. He can worry later.
Tyler comes with a keening, gasping cry, punctured and throaty. His hips jerk in jolting, automatic motions into Josh’s fist, come spilling over his knuckles, seeping into the crevices between his fingers. Josh eventually releases him, but continues the steady momentum of his own pelvis, pleasure magnifying with the promise of his oncoming orgasm. He straightens a little off of Tyler’s heaving, stuttering back, palms rooted firmly on the desk to seek out his own pleasure. From one second to the next, Tyler goes boneless on the desk, surely floating in the fading aftershocks and whining through the blossoming overstimulation. He makes no move to remove Josh’s tie from his mouth, even though his breaths through his nose look immense and insufficient.
It’s this blissed-out relief, and the meek clenching of Tyler around him—as though still absentmindedly focused on Josh’s pleasure—that tips him, too, over the edge.
His orgasm strikes like lightning, hot and flashing and powerful. He has enough of a hold on his awareness to muffle his quivering moan into the nape of Tyler’s neck, sinking his teeth into the skin there, salty with sweat. Again, Tyler reaches up with a tired, swinging hand, dragging light fingernails through Josh’s scalp as he grinds through his pulsing release.
With one final, hearty sigh, Josh eases. He allows himself to rest his eyes, if only for a few seconds—his relaxation heightened by the lazy scratching of his scalp.
“Fuck,” Josh says again, cracking his eyes open and summoning the energy back into his arms, just enough to push himself straight and carefully pull out of Tyler, who remains breathless on his stomach, legs shaking. Josh is quick to tuck himself back into his underwear and slacks, pausing halfway through wiping his hand clean with a tissue.
“Hey,” he murmurs, gliding a palm up Tyler’s back. “You can—” he stops himself, pursing his lips. He puts aside the trickle of frigid concern that settles within him in order to lean over and gently free Tyler’s mouth of his tie. His palm circles soothingly in between Tyler’s shoulder blades.
“You with me?”
Tyler blinks and nods, eyes trailing up to meet Josh’s—hazy and blissed-out, but just present enough to ease the worry burrowing in Josh’s chest.
“Sorry,” he croaks, voice worn. “Just… holy shit.”
Josh cracks a grin. “Yeah. C’mon, let’s clean you up.”
Tyler hums in acknowledgement, lifting himself on precarious arms. They wipe themselves down as best they can with tissues and a packet of wet wipes in one of Josh’s drawers, and Josh is quietly glad that Tyler’s too out of it to tease him for helping him back into his pants. He just leans back against the wooden edge, hooks a finger into one of Josh’s belt loops, and draws him in for a thankful, wordless kiss to the lips.
“Sorry about your tie,” he laments sheepishly upon seeing it sitting in a drool-soaked lump on the desk. Josh shrugs.
“Eh, it’s fine. I didn’t like it much anyway.”
And if it happens to be his favorite tie, Tyler doesn’t have to know.