Work Text:
Yin Yu’s eyelids start to droop by the fourth kind regards. He was up nearly the whole night helping the CEO with a project, and the morning’s influx of emails is starting to blur into an incomprehensible mess of characters.
It doesn’t help that every time he starts to properly concentrate, the toy in his ass picks up speed until it drives the thoughts straight out of his head.
CEO Hua is generally a kind boss; Yin Yu has very few complaints. It’s only that sometimes he can be a bit of a bully. Yin Yu pictures him in the middle of some Zoom meeting, toying with the remote between those long fingers like it’s no more than a fidget toy, and has to stifle a groan. At this rate he’s not going to get a thing done this morning, unless he’s called for a different kind of work.
As if summoned, the landline on his desk starts to ring. Yin Yu tenses for a second, worried it’s some supplier or someone calling for Hua Cheng, but the caller ID flashes with Hua Cheng’s name and he breathes a sigh of relief.
“Hello?” He manages to keep his voice from wobbling.
“Secretary Yin, good, you’re awake.”
“It is during my working hours, sir,” Yin Yu says neutrally.
“Xie Lian will be here shortly. Will you attend to him while I’m in a meeting? Unfortunately it’s not one I can skip.”
Yin Yu’s heart beats a little faster. “Yes, sir, of course.”
“Good boy. Always so obedient.”
The toy pulses, then switches to the vibration pattern Yin Yu likes best, a low buzzing pulse that never fails to make him shiver in pleasure. His head falls back against the neck cushion of his far-too-fancy desk chair, his hand going slack on the phone receiver.
“Anything in particular he needs?”
“Just keep him comfortable. I trust you.”
“Yes, sir. Hope the meeting goes well.”
Hua Cheng hangs up with a low chuckle that sends a burst of heat flaring through Yin Yu’s limbs.
He finishes the email reply he was working on previously, only needing to correct a handful of typos. He’s just started on the next when Xie Lian breezes into the room, dropping his massive tote bag onto a nearby chair and dropping himself into Yin Yu’s lap shortly afterward.
He’d been instructed not to bother with pants today, so all the CEO’s husband has to do is pull him out of his soaked underwear, lower his own pants, and sink down.
No matter how many times Yin Yu does this, he can never manage to be a perfect toy—it’s impossible to stifle his reactions, the low whine that escapes him when he’s enveloped so perfectly by Xie Lian’s warmth, the twitch of his hips even as he tries to steady himself. The elastic of his shirt stays cuts into his thighs, leaving red marks he foolishly hopes will stay there all day. He could have left them off along with his pants, but he’s seen the look in Hua Cheng’s eyes when he wears them.
Xie Lian doesn’t seem to mind his shortcomings. Yin Yu knows full well he’s nowhere near as big as the man’s husband, but Xie Lian is enjoying himself all the same, muscular thighs flexing as he rides Yin Yu. He faces the desk, bracing his hands on the wood as the springs of the chair creak rhythmically. Yin Yu watches the fall of his hair over one shoulder, the tantalizing peek of exposed skin at his nape above the soft cream sweater he wears, and lets himself get lost in it, his mind blissfully empty of thoughts.
He should have worn a cock ring. He’s been edged for hours, and there’s no way he’s going to last much longer. He tries to say as much, to apologize, but Xie Lian is slamming down onto him hard, pushing the bullet vibe deeper each time Yin Yu’s pressed down into the leather seat. When they’d first started doing this, he’d worn a plug, but Hua Cheng has learned that a slim little bullet—one of those little eggs with a long string taped down to his thigh—is far more effective on Yin Yu. It’s grinding straight over his prostate now, pulsing steadily as Xie Lian takes him hard and fast.
Shame pulses low in his gut as he realizes it’s impossible to hold himself back. He’s been assured over and over that it’s all right to come inside Xie Lian, that he likes being defiled this way, but it’s hard to remember when instinct takes over.
As he comes, hips grinding back against the chair, Hua Cheng’s voice rings in his head, reminding him of his place. He is the CEO’s proxy. Anything he does to Xie Lian, anything he gives him, might as well have come from Hua Cheng himself.
Sensation washes over him, waves of pleasure quickly sharpening into pain, his gut clenching as Xie Lian continues to use him relentlessly. He tries to speak, to beg for relief, but all that comes out is a choked sob. His cock throbs with overstimulation, balls aching.
Finally, Xie Lian pulls off him with a pleased hum. He reaches over the desk, ass briefly in Yin Yu’s face and dripping with his come, and Yin Yu barely has time to be dizzy about that before Xie Lian is reaching behind himself to insert a slim, jeweled plug. His eyes shutter in pleasure as his rim stretches around the toy, clearly a practiced motion. Yin Yu’s mouth is dry.
Xie Lian is still hard. His stamina is impressive, though it shouldn’t impress Yin Yu any more, not after all the marathon sex sessions he’s seen. He’d cleaned up after them, at first, and then brought water and snacks and politely averted his eyes and then it had been “hold this for me” and Xie Lian’s slender cock in his mouth.
Obligingly, he rises from the chair on wobbly legs. “Would you like me to bend over the desk?” he asks, customer-service politeness easily flowing from his lips. “Or would you prefer to calm down before you leave?”
“You’ve been so accommodating today, Secretary Yin. What would you prefer?” Xie Lian smiles, dark eyes curving into crescents. It could almost be a normal conversation were it not for his still-exposed cock, dripping with precum, peeking out above the still-lowered waistband of his khakis; his stance is casual, as though he’s forgotten he’s hard.
In truth, Yin Yu is exhausted. But the thought of holding onto something of Xie Lian’s makes desire coil low in his stomach, anticipation of what will come later if he does.
“Please use me,” he says, bracing himself over the desk and spreading himself open with one hand. The toy’s low pulse has become second nature to him now, barely affecting his arousal, though his cock is half-hard and still dripping wet from his earlier orgasm.
Xie Lian slips in alongside the toy, moaning appreciatively as his tip presses against it. A few thrusts is all it takes, his hands on Yin Yu’s hips pressing hard enough that they might leave bruises.
“Thanks as always, Secretary Yin,” he says, pulling out with little ceremony, and Yin Yu smiles and politely bids him farewell. He pulls the slim plug out of his desk drawer after Xie Lian leaves, feeling as though he’s doing something illicit somehow, even though he knows he’ll be praised for this, and sits back down on aching thighs to go through the rest of his inbox.
It’s a strange kind of relief when Hua Cheng’s name lights up his caller ID screen again. Sparks of something like guilt and something like anticipation light up the pit of his stomach.
“My office,” is all he hears on the other end of the line, and then the click of the receiver being set down. He can almost hear it through the wall, feel it in the base of his spine, and then he realizes he really does feel something: the toy’s vibration pattern, which had stayed steady on that low pulse, has picked up, bumping against the tip of the plug where it rests shallowly inside him.
Yin Yu’s legs are unsteady as he crosses the office, the few steps across lush carpet feeling like kilometers. Hua Cheng works from home, or a wing of his massive, sprawling manor, anyway; the only staff member allowed in here right now is Yin Yu himself. It doesn’t make him any less self-conscious about the sticky traces of spend clinging to the backs of his thighs, the creases and red marks where the elastic of his shirt stays and the unavoidable wrinkles in his shirt have marked his legs. One sock has escaped the confines of its garter and hangs loosely around his ankle, the clasp swaying uselessly. He considers bending to fix it, starts the motion, and hurriedly straightens up again, deciding he’d rather not come all over the antique wood of his office door.
The CEO’s office is a sea of deep red, the walls seeming to invite Yin Yu in as his socked feet sink into the carpet. As if drawn there, he carefully walks to Hua Cheng’s side, concentrating hard to keep himself from faltering. Hua Cheng doesn’t look up from the manila folder he’s studying, but his hand moves slightly at his side, and each step becomes harder as the vibrations increase.
He bends down low, bracing his arms on the bench at the side of the room, and waits, shivering from something far more primal than the slight chill of the air. He feels Hua Cheng’s presence before his touch, which comes shortly after, an experimental tap at the simple, flat base of the plug he wears. It slips free a moment later; Yin Yu stifles a gasp, feeling warmth start to spill down his thigh. Before he can worry about losing it, though, there’s—
He’s never done this before.
Yin Yu has had Hua Cheng’s mouth on him plenty, possessive little bites and light brushes of lips during aftercare and, one memorable time, on his cock. There’s a reverence to this that almost makes something Yin Yu doesn’t want to think about bubble up to the surface, until he pushes it back down, remembers what Hua Cheng’s tongue is seeking between his thighs.
The vibrator finally comes free as Hua Cheng dives deeper inside, spreading him open wide as he seeks out every last taste of his husband. Yin Yu tries to warn him that he’s close, but the words come out as garbled pleas instead, and he loses control once again before he can stop himself.
It’s messy, erratic. From this angle Yin Yu can see it all, the way it splatters over the bench, his arms, back towards his thighs and Hua Cheng’s face, and dread settles in his stomach even as he comes and comes. He’s shedding silent tears when his thighs finally stop clenching, expecting a reprimand. Hua Cheng never yells at him, but his disappointment is palpable when Yin Yu messes something up, that quiet disapproval. He tenses, waiting for—he doesn’t know what, punishment, a light slap, something.
Hua Cheng moans appreciatively and pulls away for a moment to lick Yin Yu’s mess from his own chin.
“You did so well, Yin Yu,” and his voice is rough, the way he sounds when he’s taken Xie Lian down his throat until he chokes. “Took perfect care of Gege. You deserve some rest after your hard work.”
“No,” Yin Yu chokes out, and he doesn’t know if he’s saying no to the rest or that he deserves it, but Hua Cheng seems to understand what he needs anyway.
“Up,” and a gentle hand on his back. Yin Yu stumbles to the low couch, where Hua Cheng had often slept before Xie Lian came back into his life. It rarely sees use now except as a comfortable spot for sex. Yin Yu has had it reupholstered seven times.
His hole clenches uncomfortably around nothing, his body belatedly noticing how empty he feels after being full for so long. But Hua Cheng understands that, too, unzipping his tight, perfectly tailored trousers and pulling Yin Yu into his lap, and Yin Yu is blissfully full again, hiding his tearstained face in Hua Cheng’s slim shoulder.
“That’s it.” Hua Cheng presses a kiss to his hair, hopelessly mussed and barely holding the shape of the braid he’d put it in hours before. Seeming to notice, Hua Cheng loosens the tie and starts to finger-comb through the strands, his motions soothing an ache Yin Yu hadn’t known he had.
Yin Yu dozes off like that, drifting, the feeling of arms around him and a cock filling him up sending him into a state of utter relaxation. He wakes briefly to the door opening: Xie Lian, back after a lunch meeting. Hua Cheng leans in for a kiss, Yin Yu’s body pressed between them, and Xie Lian strokes Yin Yu’s hair as he straightens up. He settles on the couch next to them, the sounds of kissing growing more heated, little murmurs in each other’s ears.
They’re careful to keep him where he is, to let him stay full and held, and like that, Yin Yu finally falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.