Chapter Text
A sigh rumbles across the room as its owner puts down a fountain pen, placing it beside a newly signed document and closing the clipboard with a snap.
He turns his head away and stares at the window beside him, leaning against his swivel chair and letting it turn, just a bit, to let in what little light there is.
Beyond the glass is the view of the city: gray buildings, gray clouds, gray skies. The news told him that it would rain sometime in the evening. He doesn’t find it at all surprising.
Knock knock! comes a few light sounds against the glass door. He opens his mouth, a tired “come in” on his lips, but then—
“Quincy!”
someone says,
and all sunshine brightens the room.
A young man peeks half a torso into the office, bearing a wide grin, freckled to the neck down, hair a short, messy brown. He’s wearing a collar on his neck, adorned with a single, multicolor jewel; a sky-blue hoodie; a snow-white t-shirt; ocean-blue jeans; and neon-orange sneakers. He’s hiding a present behind his back, but Quincy pretends he doesn’t see it.
“Eiden,” he greets, a small smile stretching his lips. He turns his chair ever so slightly, facing the young man who closes the door with a careful hand. “What are you doing here?”
“Just thought I’d stop by,” he says, still grinning. He navigates his way around the furniture, walks over to Quincy’s desk, and plops himself down on his lap like it’s the most natural thing to do.
He presents the gift with both hands, bringing it out from its “hiding” place.
It’s a medium-sized gift bag, colored pink and attached with a cardboard tag, tied with a yellow ribbon.
“Ta-da!” he singsongs. “Happy no occasion!”
Quincy laughs with a breath of a smile and watches as Eiden opens the bag for him, humming to himself as he does so.
“I figured since you were so busy lately, I’d give you something to help you destress,” he says, rummaging through the bag like it’s a magic act. “One! Slice of strawberry shortcake to keep your energy levels up. One! Cup of iced Americano to pair with the cake and your bitter soul. One! Ten thousand yen coupon that I snatched from the counter. And one! Of this.”
He takes a small box out of the bag and presents it to Quincy, who flinches the moment he sees it.
It’s a black box. A small one.
Small enough to present in the palm of one’s hand.
“Open it,” Eiden says, eyes flitting from the box to Quincy’s face to the b
He looks nervous. Quincy tries not to tremble.
Fuck, he thinks.
He opens it, face flat with cool nonchalance.
It’s just a bracelet.
A woven bracelet.
Green and gold and a sliver of white.
“I made it for you,” he hears, and Quincy looks up to a pair of brown eyes and white teeth bared with glee. “Now we match.”
He puts up his own wrist—a combination of brown, blue, and pink.
“Cheesy, I know,” he laughs, eyes turning to crescents. “It was just something I saw on TV the other day. You don’t have to feel obligated to wear it, thou—”
He cuts himself off, lips trapped in a sudden embrace.
Quincy pushes further in and kisses him on the lips, cupping his small face with a broad palm, feeling him pause. Then melt. Moaning softly, mumbling nothing.
When he pulls away, he catches those eyes in the middle of fluttering open, lashes trembling, eyebrows furrowed, a dust of red powdering his cheeks.
Quincy takes the bracelet and wears it.
“I’ll return the favor now.”
“Ah!”
Eiden can barely contain his moans as Quincy rams into him from the back, body bare save for his collar and bracelet. His companion, on the other hand, has his pants unzipped and that’s it. Eiden thinks it’s unfair. Eiden also thinks it’s extremely hot.
He buries his cheek into the wood as Quincy pulls moan after moan after moan out of him, his fingers crumpled into some document. Eiden hopes it’s not important.
He opens his eyes to the sight of the glass door in front of them. It’s frosted, and no one ever walks in without waiting first (besides him) but a part of him is scared that someone might walk in.
The other part, the dangerous part, is hopeful.
“You're wondering if someone will walk in, aren't you?”
The sudden voice makes him gasp—a deep, bassy tone murmuring in his ear, covering his heart with velvet skin, goosebumps down his spine.
He feels a rush of blood go straight down his abdomen—never-ending, when that voice chuckles into his ear.
“Can you imagine it?” he says. “Someone walking through that door? Seeing you like this? All bare, no clothes? Can you imagine how they’ll look at you? When they see me fucking you? And you’re scared, you’re embarrassed, and humiliated. But you can’t beg me to stop.”
He’s fully pounding him now, thrust after thrust, fuck after fuck, and Eiden is whining, whimpering, full-on begging. Not to stop, but to never fucking stop.
“Can you beg me stop, huh, little devil? Can you beg me to stop?” Quincy growls, fucking him faster, deeper, more and more and more.
“I can’t,” Eiden wails, tears down his face, skin slapping skin, hips thrusting and bouncing and fuck fuck fuck—
“Don’t stop, never stop, please don’t ever stop,” Eiden begs, moaning and moaning and moaning and moaning. “I don’t want it to stop, please. Don’t ever stop. Fuck me harder. Fuck me more. Quincy—”
Moaning and whining and creaking and skin against skin and sweating and begging and rising and squeezing heart pounding name calling and wanting all over and over and over and over and he doesn’t stop he won’t stop and he’s so close and he won’t and he’s fucked and he’s fucked and he’s fucked and he’s fucked
and he’s cumming. And whining. Shaking from head to toe. A leg lifted up, limbs tense, abdomen tight. Spilling all over the desk and the floor. He calls his name, over and over. He’s still getting fucked. He’s still being thrust into.
Then Quincy cums and he feels his essence fill him up. Hot and wet, liquid white. He thrusts again a few times, to make it count. Then, he’s done.
Eiden feels dead weight against his back, fabric against his skin, the cool metal of a nameplate, soaked to the edge. He feels hot breath against his neck and leans his head to the left, welcoming the feeling of warm skin against his own.
Then, he hears a word.
“One.”
And he is flipped on his back, all the papers flying in the air, the sound of something metal dropping to the floor.
In front of him is a man bearing his body like armor, thick muscles rippling beneath the fabric, sticking to his skin, dripping near the collarbone.
He cards a big hand through his blond hair, looking down at him with brown eyes, darkened with stress, darkening with lust.
Quincy loosens his tie and begins to undress.
“Two.”
A man in a driver’s uniform waits in his car, his employer about twenty minutes later than expected.
Usually when the CEO of this company finds himself running a bit late, he notifies him with due diligence, meticulous to a tee. It's the first time the man has overlooked something like this, and (if he was allowed to go beyond professionalism here) he was getting a little worried.
He takes a glance at his surroundings, from where he’s parked at a hidden location. Three hours ago, he'd been instructed to wait here. What could have possibly distracted his boss so much?
Then the door to the building opens, and the driver finds his answer.
Coming out of the building is the boss in question, holding what seems to be a human package encased in his own dark green blazer.
But though he tries his best—and the driver would like to believe this was his best—no amount of fabric could hide the fact that those two were connected in a rather intimate fashion, especially when the little one just can’t keep his voice down.
The door opens with little resistance and Eiden is dropped onto the car seats conveniently set to their lowest position.
He hears Quincy give the driver instructions and almost sobers up when he realizes there’s a third party.
“Quincy…” he whines, but the man misreads his words and immediately comes back to devour him, shaking the car as it drives away.
He wants to tell him stop but he’s been fucked stupid, drunk on dick that just can’t be satiated, if the three-hour office sex was any indication.
“Quincy…” he had whined back then too. Just an hour ago, as he rode on top of Quincy while he fucked him in that swivel chair, dead weight that couldn’t move anymore, eyes dilated in the shape of hearts.
“Quincy, your work…” Eiden whimpered, shoulders bouncing from all the movement, his whole weight resting on Quincy’s strong arms, helpless to do anything but take it.
“It’ll have to wait,” he said, grunting in his ear. “I won’t be doing any more work today.”
Eiden had gasped as Quincy lifted him up and carried him over to the window, nipples pressed against the glass, legs wrapped around Quincy’s thighs, toes in the air.
Quincy leaned into his ear and whispered.
“Now, smile.”
Back in the present, Eiden is fucked in Quincy’s car, legs wrapped around his shoulders as the city lights pass by overhead.
The driver is loudly silent, and Eiden can’t help but whimper at the fact, feeling like he’s being punished, wanting to be punished more.
“Quincy,” he says one last time, feeling like every thrust is the one that’ll send him to heaven.
He hears a chuckle, then feels a kiss.
“I’m right here.”
The car door opens, and Eiden is carried out, still connected to Quincy, his jacket hiding nothing. He hears a chorus of servants greeting their master and a curt reply from the man above. He feels his insides rearrange with every step that Quincy takes, even more so when he starts walking up the stairs.
He hears a familiar lock and click! and then a switch, and then the lights. He smells the familiar scent of smoked cedar, and then feels the familiar fluff of a king-sized bed.
Flushed and sweaty and naked and dumb, Eiden looks up to see his companion again. Watches as he strips again, ready to fuck again, a stamina that could send anyone to early death.
Anyone but Eiden.
He lifts a shaky foot up and presses it against Quincy’s length, stroking the shaft with the ball of his feet, teasing the tip with a toe.
He looks up and finds Quincy looking back at him, raking his body with a darkened gaze, at the reds and the new blues, at the pale white leaking out of his ass like a faucet. He looks at him like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world, like he makes it so easy to keep staring, to never find anything as interesting. Like he’d eat him and keep eating.
Eiden says one word.
“Ten.”
And feasts.