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Jónas has been talking about his twin daughters for nearly 27 minutes. Rosa is trying valiantly to conceal her smirk; her foot twitches against Graham’s ankle every time she holds back a laugh. Karina is nodding along politely, but she isn’t bothering to smile anymore. Meanwhile Heath gazes longingly out the window at the storm—like he’d rather be out in the blizzard than listening to this.
“I have a daughter,” Graham hears himself volunteer when Jónas stops to take a breath.
All the amusement melts away from Rosa’s face, but Jónas’s delighted smile is almost blinding.
“You do?”
Graham nods and—in his mind—curses himself.
“How old is she?”
“Almost 15.”
“Ah, a teenager!” Jónas is glowing. “My girls are still very little, but I think about what it will be like when they’re older! The places we will go, what sports they’ll play, what subjects they’ll prefer in school,” Jónas continues on chirpily. “Do you have a photo?”
Graham looks at Jónas blankly. Or maybe he glares.
“Of your daughter,” the other man clarifies, looking nervous.
Graham does, although he doesn’t especially want to show it to any of them. These people he hardly knows. They’re nice enough, but he’s not one to trot out his daughter like a show dog. She’s his. But he finds himself reaching into his pocket anyway. Flipping open his wallet and taking out the school photo his ex had mailed to him (no return address) of Irina. Jónas takes it with gentle, careful fingers.
Then, he proclaims, “Oh, she’s very pretty! She looks a lot like you.”
Graham raises an eyebrow, and the man’s words appear to catch up with him. His cheeks redden. “Ah, well…”
Jónas hands back the photo. Rosa’s eyes linger on it, and grandly, Graham angles it so she, Karina, and Heath can take a look. They all smile and nod appropriately. Heath and Karina in the typical vague disinterest of adults with no children, Rosa with a restrained, uneasiness that makes Graham’s jaw clench. He slips the photo out of sight. Graham gets up and begins washing his dishes. Rosa sidles up to him before too long.
“So. You have a daughter,” she says in a whisper barely audible over the running water. She’s smiling, but something has shifted. Graham winces.
“Yes.”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
The atmosphere shifts again, and Graham wonders if whatever they’d been building toward has shattered irreparably. He hopes not.
“I’ve never fucked a dad.” And just like that, it’s back. Better, stronger, hotter. Graham knows he’s grinning like an idiot.
“Never?” Graham asks incredulously. He shuts off the water.
She slaps him on the arm. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Graham grabs her wrists and chuckles. He tugs her closer, and she’s giggling. He spins them around, lifts her by the hips, and sets her on the edge of the sink. Slipping between her legs, as she throws her head back laughing. Water drips from his hands onto her shirt, her skin. Their mouths are inches apart.
“Excuse me! Ah, I’m sorry.”
Rosa jumps, and Graham wheels around. Jónas’s eyes are big as saucers. Graham had completely forgotten they weren’t alone. In an instant, he’s stepped away from the warmth of Rosa’s legs, and her feet are firmly on the ground. A workplace appropriate distance between them, which Jónas nervously ventures into.
“Walter, do you want to finish the movie we were watching earlier? In the other room?”
Well, Germans won’t ever win points for subtlety. Heath mumbles out a yes and the two of them hurry out.
“I must, ahem, inform you…That is to say—perhaps—to maintain the professional environment of this mission? For the mutual comfort of all those present…Might you both. Um. Defer. Please.”
Jónas is blushing and wringing his hands. His eyes are fixed on the floor. Neither Rosa nor Graham say anything in response to his suggestion. They exchange a single, loaded glance, and then they’re both smirking. Graham reaches out and claps Jónas on the shoulder roughly, rocking the man nearly off his feet.
“Oh!”
“Sure thing, Jónas. No problem.”
“I’m very sorry, Jónas,” Rosa says innocently. “I did not mean to make anyone uncomfortable.” She angles herself closer to the other man, so flagrantly in his space that Jónas all but leaps back, nearly colliding with Graham’s chest in the process.
“No, of course not,” he says, quietly.
“I’ll make some more coffee, yes?” Rosa putters off to the other side of the kitchenette before Jónas or Graham can reply, much of her body making contact with Graham as she scoots between them.
“Walter? Karina? Do you want coffee?”
They call affirmatively from the other room.
Graham continues to eye Jónas, who appears to have finally realized he’s boxed himself into a corner between the fridge, the island, and the man he just reprimanded. Without really knowing why, Graham finds himself squaring his shoulders and straightening to his full height. Taking up more space until Jónas has to confront him or run away.
“Would you like to see a photo of my daughters?”
Graham is surprised to hear himself saying yes and more surprised to find that he means it. He is honestly curious. Jónas fumbles for his pocket. He moves jerkily, nervously. Like a prey animal. Like a rabbit, Graham decides. The hand holding up the picture is trembling. Graham steps even closer to peer down at it. Two little blonde girls side by side. Not quite in identical outfits but matching.
“Cute.”
A pleased, bashful smile breaks through the nervousness. “Ah, they look like their mother.”
Graham decides then, consciously, to do one more stupid thing. He curls a finger around of lock of Jónas’s hair and tugs lightly at it. Jónas’s mouth falls open.
“I’d say they look a lot like you.”
It occurs to Graham then: he had never fucked a dad either. Huh.
“Iceland is practically Canada,” Graham says just to get a rise out of the man sitting next to him.
Jónas’s entire face contorts obligingly into a pout, but before he can say anything, Heath is opening his mouth to interject.
“See I would say it’s practically Britain! We owned most of the islands in the North Atlantic at some point or another. We occupied Iceland during World War II. But since Canada is practically still Britain, I don’t disagree with you, Casner.”
“You know, Heath, we could kill you out here, and no one would ever know.”
The smile drops from Heath’s face. Karina laughs, and Graham remembers just what he likes about Germans.
“Okay, I would say this has become a hostile conversation for a workplace,” Jónas intervenes. Hiding a smile and using his professional voice, which Graham is surprised to discover he can discern from how the man normally talks.
Graham scoffs quietly. He gets to his feet, leaning unnecessarily into Jónas as he does. He places a hand on the back of Jónas’s seat—his wrist dragging the full breadth of Jónas’s shoulders as he rises. His hand glances across the skin of Jónas’s neck when he lets go of the chair. He’s very warm.
“Sorry. Just a little joke,” Graham says, sneering at Heath, who gives a weak chuckle.
“What's so funny?” Rosa asks as she steps into the room. Her hair is still damp from the shower, and her cheeks are flushed from the warm water she no doubt used most of.
“Oh, nothing,” Graham says checking her hip gently, and then letting his hand linger on her other side to steady her. He apologizes, and she huffs out a breath of amusement. Graham can feel it warm his skin. She pulls away and pours herself a cup of coffee. Graham thinks about how he’d like to drape himself against her, taste her clean skin, curl his fingers in her wet hair.
He watches her backside openly before continuing out of the room. In the doorway, he cocks a head over his shoulder to gauge Jónas’s reaction. The man’s eyes are on him. His brow is furrowed. His lips are pressed thinly together. His cheeks are pink; his blush deepens when Graham meets his eyes. He drops his gaze to the table. Rosa slips into Graham’s empty seat. She places her hand on Jónas’s arm as she scoots in closer to the table. She smiles sweetly up at him, and Jónas jumps to his feet. He clears his throat and mutters something about paperwork.
He seems surprised to find Graham still standing in the doorway when he gets there. Graham doesn’t move, and Jónas’s eyes grow wide. Rosa, Karina, and Heath start speaking then. Some friendly chatter they’re picking up again about how they all fell into this job purely by chance. None of them seem to notice Jónas and Graham, but Graham is sure Rosa’s watching. Graham looks down at Jónas. He reaches out, and the other man flinches. Graham snorts. He brings his other hand up to Jónas’s hip to hold him still and then brushes roughly at an imaginary spot of lint. Jónas squeaks but doesn’t try to pull away. Graham smirks and then lets go. He walks off to take his own shower now that the bathroom is free and leaves Jónas quivering in the doorway.
Jónas is sitting at a desk in the men’s shared room, dutifully attending to the paperwork he’d used as an excuse earlier, when Graham walks out of the bathroom. Graham lets his shower-warmed hand skim lightly across Jónas’s shoulders as he walks past. He is almost to the door when:
“Mr. Casner!”
Graham grins. That’s new. Graham turns to face him. Jónas has pushed his chair away from the desk but hasn’t stood up. To prevent escalation. Something he learned at a management seminar no doubt, Graham thinks with some derision.
“You are behaving most inappropriately,” Jónas begins, but his courage fails him as soon as Graham takes a step toward him. He just looks up at Graham with wide, fearful eyes.
“Is that right?”
Jónas nods firmly. Graham leans against the desk. He hooks his ankle behind Jónas’s in a blatant challenge. His whole leg spasms briefly, but Jónas doesn’t move away. Interesting.
Jónas’s voice is quiet and pained when he finally opens his mouth. “I apologize sincerely if I have made you or Dr. De La Torre upset with my request the other night. It was not my intention to…I just wanted…”
He looks up at Graham, who is alarmed to see the beginnings of tears there. “Please you must stop your…what you’re—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jónas,” Graham says with perfect innocence.
As hoped, this snaps the man from tearful to angry. “You do! You know exactly what I mean!”
Graham chuckles darkly. He straightens, kicks Jónas’s feet apart, and installs himself between his knees, so that his not-quite-hard-not-quite-soft penis—clearly visible through his sweatpants—is at Jónas’s eye level.
“I.”
Graham grabs Jónas by the jaw with both hands. Jónas gasps.
“Have.”
Graham tugs the man forward inch by inch. Jónas’s hands scrabble uselessly at Graham’s wrists, then his hips. His head twists fruitlessly in Graham’s hold.
“No.”
Graham brings Jónas’s face against the now straining tent in his pants. The smaller man mewls in protest, breathless Icelandic complaints falling swiftly and pointlessly from his lips.
“Idea.”
Graham thrusts once so that the head of his cock—through the gossamer thin layer of his pants—brushes against Jónas’s warm, open mouth.
“What it is you’re referring to.”
Jónas squirms. Tears are falling in earnest, which Graham doesn’t mind now. They look nice as Jónas stares up at Graham in pleading disbelief. Graham lets out a satisfied grunt. Then, he winds a finger around a curl of Jónas’s hair and tugs. Jónas yips. His hips jerk up out of the chair. Graham laughs at him.
“Oh, Mr. Þórirsson, look at you.”
Jónas sniffles. His face is so red it looks painful.
“Not very professional,” Graham chides. He thrusts his hips again and pulls Jónas’s hair at the same time and is pleased to see the same reaction.
“Well, maybe if you were in a different line of work,” Graham muses as he works his thumb into the corner of Jónas’s clenched mouth. The man refuses to relax his jaw, so Graham just rubs along the gums and his teeth, humming thoughtfully. Feeling saliva gather promisingly.
“If your wife’s family were brothel owners, would you still work for her, I wonder?”
Jónas renews his efforts to push Graham away but fails to move more than a centimeter. Graham laughs and enjoys the movement against his clothed erection. Jónas tries pushing against Graham’s immovable bulk to shove himself backwards. He nearly tips the chair he’s in over, but Graham brings the front legs back to the floor with a gentle tap. Jónas’s yelp is stifled against Graham’s palm.
“Hey,” Graham says appeasingly. “You’re okay.” He strokes Jónas’s hair until he falls still, which takes no time at all.
Jónas whispers, “Please stop.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You are.”
“What am I doing?” Graham humors him.
“You’re...you...it’s sexual harassment!”
This makes Graham laugh again.
“Is it?”
“Yes,” Jónas snaps emphatically.
“Hm. I don’t think so, Jónas.”
Graham releases him to lower his pants just enough to take his dick out. Jónas gulps. Graham runs his spit-covered thumb from the base of his cock to the tip with a hiss of pleasure. Jónas cranes his head backwards. Like he thinks not looking at it will make it go away.
“You see, in my line of work, you have to be very careful about that sort of thing. If you get a bad reputation, no one’ll hire you.”
Jónas lets out a shuddering gasp as he is forced—by a hand wound tightly into his hair—to press his cheek against the skin of Graham’s erection. Graham lets out a sigh of relief. A slick trail of precome joins the tears on Jónas’s face. Jónas groans unhappily.
“But I’m not your boss, Jónas. I don’t have any power over you at all. Quite the opposite. Since you contracted me.”
Jónas’s hands are shoving ineffectually at Graham's hips again. He screws his eyes and mouth shut, but Graham is happy enough to rub himself against his wet cheek.
“There’s nothing to stop you from saying no, Jónas. I’m not offering you anything. No quid pro quo.”
Jónas shakes his head which only makes Graham groan in pleasure. The quick slip of Jónas’s cheek against the head of his cock enlightening.
“I want you to stop. I’m saying no.”
“Are you?"
“Yes!”
“Yes?”
“I—no. I want you to stop!”
“Alright.”
Graham stops. He lets Jónas go. Jónas slams against the back of the chair in his haste to pull back, making it wobble dangerously again. Jónas stares blankly up at him. Graham palms himself only once before shoving his throbbing dick back into his pants.
“No worries.”
Jónas scowls. “No!”
Graham raises an eyebrow.
“This is not a ‘no worries’ situation! You’ve been… ‘rude’ does not even begin to cover it. You…What you just did! It’s practically assault! You do not need to be a superior for it to be harassment!”
“Forgive me for misreading the signs, Jónas,” Graham says.
“I gave you no signs!” His voice is high and trembling.
Graham’s eyes flick down to Jónas’s lap, where his own erection is bulging. There is even a damp spot where he’s leaking in his pants. Jónas glances down as well. Graham hadn’t thought it was possible for him to blush more. Graham folds his arms and waits for the man to say anything.
“It’s involuntary,” Jónas says in a choked whisper.
“Sure, it is,” Graham agrees easily. He reaches out. Jónas flinches.
“Hey, relax.” Graham uses his hand to wipe his precome off of Jónas’s face. Jónas lets him.
“Just let me know if you change your mind,” Graham says mildly before grabbing a fistful of Jónas’s hair and pulling; the man shrieks.
A pounding of footsteps precedes their colleagues’ arrival. Graham has let go of Jónas and slid his chair far enough under the desk to hide the evidence of what they’ve been doing before anyone makes it through the door.
“I’ve never seen a spider in Svalbard, Jónas. I’m sure it was just some dust,” Graham says as he pats him condescendingly on the back of the head—smearing his precome into the other man’s hair in the process.