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keep your composure

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Jacobi’s phone wasn’t ringing. He sighed, turned it on and checked the time, then tossed it back onto the desk-- Kepler’s desk, actually. He was expecting a phone call from an old MIT contact about a lead on some new forms of nano-thermite, and Goddard’s headquarters wasn’t exactly full of quiet places to talk unless you had your own office.

He didn’t have his own office, of course-- he spent most of his time in the field, breaking things-- but Kepler did, and Jacobi’d jimmied the lock and closed the door behind him.

Now he kicks his feet up onto the desk and surveys the room. He’s been in here before, but it was mostly with the lights off or when he’d been… distracted by other things. The office is unsurprisingly spartan, all white walls and black furniture and a clean desk with nothing but a carefully arranged stack of paper in one corner and a closed laptop in the center.

Jacobi doesn’t doubt that if he opened the desk drawers he’d find find the ever-present bottle of Balvenie and a couple of glasses, and he knows that in the bottom left hand side there’s a stash of lube and condoms for what Kepler’s dubbed “emergency purposes”.

That had been one hell of a night. Jacobi lets himself remember the last time he’d seen those for a minute before spinning the desk chair around to look at the titles in the bookshelf behind him. There’s some history books, some cheap thrillers tucked away in the corner, and something called “Influence: The Science of Persuasion,” which looks interesting enough for Jacobi to pull it off of the shelf and crack it open in his lap. Max will call eventually and he might as well entertain himself while he waits.

His back is still to the door when the handle turns and footsteps make their way into the office. Jacobi glances over his shoulder to see--


He can’t help but shiver at the use of his first name. There’s a familiar light in Kepler’s eyes, one that sucks all of the air out of Jacobi’s lungs and leaves him pinned to the chair as Kepler prowls toward him, blurting out a “Colonel Kepler, sir, hi, I’m sorry-- I just had to make a phone call and--”

Jacobi’s knocked to silence by a strong hand on his shoulder, another cupping the back of his neck, and Kepler looming over him in his desk chair.

“This is my office, Mr. Jacobi, is it not?” Kepler is dangerously close, short-cropped hair threatening to brush against Jacobi’s forehead.

“Yes, sir, it is,” Jacobi tries to say before Kepler cuts him off with teeth pressing against his jawline, pulling at the stubbly skin there and making Jacobi reflexively reach out to wrap an arm around Kepler’s neck, pull him down, down toward his neck and his chest and his--

Kepler pulls back anyway and smiles, sharp and predatory. He straightens for a moment to carelessly toss his jacket onto the desk (and damn if Jacobi can’t see muscles rippling even under his button down) before leaning over Jacobi again, edging a knee between Jacobi’s thighs on the seat. Jacobi moans a little helplessly and presses into him, trying to get closer, closer, closer still.

“Yes, it is,” Kepler says, as if Jacobi hadn’t entirely lost his train of thought. “Which means, Daniel, that I’m in charge here, and you don’t say a damn word unless I ask you to.”

Jacobi can only nod mutely.

“Good,” Kepler says with a smile as slow as his hands, tugging Jacobi’s shirt out of where it’s tucked into his pants. He runs his hands up Jacobi’s ribs as he peels the shirt off, and when his fingernails brush over Jacobi’s chest Jacobi arches into him, pinned between the leather of the chair at his back and Kepler’s presence, hard and demanding, pressing into his front.

This is probably what heaven feels like, Jacobi thinks. It’s sparks running down his spine as teeth run down his neck, the helplessness of not saying a word but grabbing at Kepler’s shirt, his belt, the bare skin underneath. It’s pressing up and up and up into Kepler’s leg, rutting at him shamelessly and grabbing at his ass to pull him closer, and it’s Kepler’s low laugh when he reaches into Jacobi’s pants to find just how hard he is.

This is definitely what heaven feels like, Jacobi thinks, and then a buzzing comes from under Kepler’s coat on the desk.

Fuck , Jacobi thinks, and then my phone , and then oh god Max. He bats ineffectively at Kepler’s hands, eyes flicking from Kepler’s lips to the phone, unwilling to speak and break the spell but more than a little desperate for the information that comes with that phone call.  

Kepler pushes off of him and Jacobi can’t help but whimper at the cold air that hits him, but Kepler’s just reaching for the phone and leaning right back into Jacobi.

“I think you’d better take this call, Mr. Jacobi,” he says, handing over the buzzing phone, and slides to his knees.

“I-- what?” Jacobi blinks at Kepler, forgetting that he’d promised not to speak because frankly, this is ridiculous. Kepler just reaches up to press a finger to Jacobi’s lips, shushing him, and the sight of Kepler on his knees and reaching up to Jacobi’s mouth is enough to make him shudder. Kepler’s hand moves from Jacobi’s mouth to his belt buckle as he sits back on his heels.

“Unless, of course, you don’t think you can keep your composure,” Kepler says, looking at Jacobi with the half-disappointed, half-frustrated eyes that make Jacobi willing to throw himself in front of a goddamn bus if it means he’d get this man’s approval.

“No,” Jacobi says. “I’ve got this.”

He stares at the screen, trying not to focus on Kepler’s hands deftly undoing his fly, and clears his throat-- he doesn’t trust his voice to hold through this. He has half a mind to just decline the call and let Kepler fuck him senseless, but he really needs to know what Max has on tap over at the lab-- and Kepler had told him to pick up the phone.

He answers the call.

“Hey, Max,” he says, and his voice only shakes a little as Kepler slides his pants down over his hips and kisses at the inside of his thigh.

Then Kepler bites at the sensitive skin there, and Jacobi has to turn his moans into an impromptu coughing fit, because if Max hears him like this he’s going to remember those late nights back in school and he’ll know what’s going on --

“Hey, man, you good?”

Max’s voice crackles through the phone speaker and Jacobi scrambles for a minute for an answer that isn’t “oh god, yes, sir, please” or incoherent moans.

“Yeah,” is what he ends up with, and his voice is tight and high. “How’s, um-- how’s stuff at the lab?”

“It’s going well! The last trial of that nano-thermite was… not great, but okay. You’re with Goddard now, right? I heard that--”

The problem is that Jacobi is genuinely interested in this conversation. Max was a good guy and they’d had a good time together back in school, not to mention that his work really is interesting and Jacobi wants to get in on those trials--

It’s at that moment that Kepler turns his attention from Jacobi’s inner thigh to his dick, licking a long, slow stripe up the length of it that sends fire all the way to Jacobi’s toes and makes him bite down on the back of his own hand in order to stop himself from making the kinds of noises that Max doesn’t get to hear, that only Kepler gets to hear.

“Um,” Jacobi says, and if he draws out the syllable so it’s more a moan than a word then he can’t be blamed, because he can feel every goddamn inch of Kepler’s mouth moving sinfully slowly over him, not to mention his teeth . Jacobi fists his free hand in Kepler’s hair and tries to remember what he was saying.

“Goddard, yeah, I’m in the-- strategic intelligence something, god, I don’t know. SI-5. So I was wondering if you could send me the plans for the… for the…”

Fuck, what’s it called? Max had sent him a video of it, it exploded spectacularly , much like Kepler’s fingers pressing into his hips and pinning him down, stopping him from bucking into the heat of his mouth and god , that nano-thermite has nothing on Jacobi right now, because he’s exploding, coming apart and coming in Kepler’s mouth and if he’s making noises he’s really not capable of stopping right now.

When Jacobi can breathe again he hears a laugh coming through his phone speakers. Goddamnit, Max knew , and Jacobi’s going bright red and scrubbing a hand over his eyes because he needs to undo the last ten minutes, but he absolutely doesn’t want to. He glances down around the area of his crotch to see Kepler fucking winking at him, and has to squeeze his eyes shut again.

“Okay, man, you sound a little… busy right now. Wanna call me back tomorrow?”  

Jacobi exhales shakily. “Yeah,” he says. “That’d be-- that’d be great. Thanks, Max.”

The instant he hangs up the phone he’s hauling Kepler up to his level, kissing him with the full intent of shoving his tongue down Kepler’s throat until he chokes on it. Kepler takes everything Jacobi throws at him and gives even more back, pushing his hips into Jacobi’s, until he pulls back enough to breathe words into the shell of Jacobi’s ear.

“You know,” he says, and Jacobi can’t help but shiver, “as long as we’re in my office-- I have some phone calls to make, myself.”

“Fuck you,” Jacobi replies, and swallows Kepler’s returning laugh. Maybe putting Kepler on the phone wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.