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Mydei sends him a long-suffering look from over the edge of his monitor, the screen casting a glow across his features—lined with thinly veiled exhaustion from… Too many nights—countless nights—spent in the office where he really should have been in Phainon's bed, instead.
As always, Phainon's smile doesn't waver, even in the face of Mydei's apparent displeasure. If anything, he brightens—amused and knowing—even more so when he approaches the other man's desk, leaning over to reach for his glasses, and Mydei doesn't even pretend to protest. Expression expectedly impassive, watching blankly as Phainon slides them onto his own face, pushing them up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger with a wry little smile.
"What was the point of that?" Mydei squints, finally averting his gaze back to his screen—fingers resuming their rhythmic typing on his keyboard and continuing uninterrupted for a few beats before Phainon employs a second masterful tactic—reaching for the top of his screen and spinning his monitor around so he can't ignore him.
"Phainon," Mydei sighs—and he doesn't sound angry. He never sounds angry. Just tired—and Phainon almost feels bad. Almost. Before he can continue to detail the extent of his chagrin, Phainon beats him to the punch, folding his arms along the top of his monitor and perching his chin on them, a single eyebrow arched.
"Guess what day it is?" Phainon tries, smile softening into something less coy, more patient. He understands full well the amount of stress Mydei is under, and he by no means wants to heighten it, he just—
Well. Mydei has never forgotten his birthday. Not once. Phainon doesn't particularly care too much about celebrating it at a baseline, but he knows how Mydei is about the occasions he deems important—the occasions that are spent with friends and family. At home, over dinner, on the sofa, in bed—not with Phainon's better half—the only person he wants to spend it with—trapped behind the sickly glow of a computer screen.
Mydei stares, expression unreadable, eyebrows furrowed, and Phainon watches as something akin to alarm flashes across his features and is swiftly displaced by regret and shame. Mydei never swears, so it's a testament to his disappointment that—
"Fuck," His face crumples and he immediately stands from his desk, and it's Phainon's turn to appear shocked when the CEO immediately rounds the varnished mahogany to drape his arms around his shoulders and to pull him close like Phainon is the one who needs consoling.
He doesn't make any excuses, he doesn't provide any reasoning—in Mydei's heart of hearts, he knows he's made a mistake, and he's fully ready to accept the responsibility that comes with doing so, "I apologize, Phainon. Really. I don't know how I forgot something so—"
Phainon silences him with a single finger against his lips—Mydei blinking dumbly up at him as Phainon just smiles. Warm and unbearably fond—he knows better than to attempt to console him or otherwise reassure him that it's okay—Mydei won't accept that, even though it's the truth.
"You're sorry?" Phainon tries, challenging, a teasing lilt to his voice that makes Mydei's eyebrows scrunch together and his eyes narrow in suspicion. Cute.
"…You know I am," Mydei presses, amber eyes searching, and he clocks Phainon's intended trajectory before he even speaks, with realization smoothing out the furrow between his brows. Still, he lets Phainon continue—still, he humors him and his knack for the punctual delivery, which he's long become intimately acquainted with.
"The view from your new office is nice," Phainon tilts his head a little, pushing Mydei's glasses up his own nose again from where they've slid down, watching as Mydei's lips pull into a frown and his gaze maps out his expression—Phainon is pleased that, even if Mydei probably knows where he's leading, he doesn't necessarily recognize each of his intended steps. He reluctantly lets go of him when Phainon peels himself away to approach the window of the high-rise—large, clear glass spanning the entire expanse of the wall.
"It isn't bad," Mydei supplies, folding his arms across his chest—Phainon admires the way his muscles pull the fabric taut across his chest and arms—"But I can think of a few better views." Phainon can, too.
Phainon laughs. Soft and carefree and genuine, and when he glances towards Mydei again, he's pleased to see that the tension has bled from his expression and posture—leaving open affection in it's wake. Phainon isn't sure which is worse for his heart.
"Such a charmer, Mydeimos… How unlike you," He arches a brow, a wry grin in place, "Don't think I'm letting you off that easily though."
It's Mydei's turn to arch an eyebrow, cocking his head, "Since when have I ever tried charming you?" Good point, "I know what I prefer looking at."
Phainon snorts and shakes his head.
"…Fine," Mydei presses, and Phainon's eyes widen, expectant, "How can I make it up to you, Phainon?"
Phainon's eyes grow lidded, and he tilts his head to the side. Not coy, but… Considering. As if he hadn't already come here with a plan in mind—complete with a full itinerary.
Still, he pretends to think it over, humming and turning back towards the skyline—the sun has already long begun to set. And while Phainon isn't all too miffed regarding his birthday, he does miss having Mydei at home. Alone. To himself. As himself, with no prying eyes, cameras or viewers to pray witness.
Giving the entire city a show comes in close second.
"I don't think these new windows have been christened yet," Phainon points out with a grin, waiting for the inevitable, exasperated 'Phainon.' The sigh of 'You can't be serious.' Because he's not—well. He's only half serious. If nothing else, a firm, 'No,' which… Might disappoint him, but not for the denial itself—only Mydei's neglecting to humor him; half the reason he says virtually any of the insane, to downright diabolical things that come to mind.
"…Okay," Mydei acquiesces instead, and Phainon snorts.
Freezes.
Whips his head around, flustered, "Wait, really?"
Mydei had the gall to look baffled by his shock, "Yes? Are you not asking me to have sex with you in my office?" He unfolds his arms finally, frowning, "Was I supposed to say something else?"
Well. Yeah, he was. Anything other than an agreement to what was frankly a ludicrous, half-baked request—
"You didn't really bring lube with the expectation that I'd tell you 'no,' did you?"
"How did you—" Phainon squawks indignantly, face and neck aflame, and Mydei snorts, closing the distance between them. He hums, pleased, when Phainon's fussing ceases with the caress of his hand against his cheek—the other man leaning into his touch with wide, glassy eyes.
"Is it really such a surprise that I know you well enough to guess?" He teases, eyes warm and filled with mirth.
Mydei snorts when Phainon simply whines in response, turning his face fully into his hand and kissing his palm, hand sliding up his arm to curl his fingers around his wrist, holding it in place as he pouts, eyes growing lidded, "I wanted it to be a surprise."
"So you could try and fluster me by suggesting something ridiculous." Mydei arches a brow, running his thumb over the seam of Phainon's lips, watching the way they part for it as he presses it between them to find his tongue. "That wouldn't have worked."
Phainon deflates, and Mydei huffs.
"…I felt it in your pocket."
Phainon sobers, realization flickering across his face, and him being put-off soon shifts into sheepishness. "Ah…Ha… Right. Oops."
"Oops," Mydei echoes.
"It was… Just in case you did say yes—why did you say yes?"
"Was I not meant to agree?" Mydei tries, perplexed, pushing down on Phainon's soft bottom lip.
"I… No?"
"So it was a prank?" He tries, warning, and Phainon flusters again for a different reason entirely.
"No! No. I just don't understand why—"
"When do I ever not humor you?" Mydei presses, voice softening, quiet.
Phainon tenses, and then deflates at that—beginning to offer a rebuttal, only to draw up blanks instead.
"You… Maybe you have a point. But—but this is different. We're in your office, at your job?"
"And?"
"What do you mean 'and?!'"
"Phainon," Mydei huffs, shaking his head, "I won't pretend to make sense of what you have going through your head. You asked me to do something, and I want to make it up to you. Can you accept that? I…" He pauses, eyes searching, before he deflates, fiddling with the end of his tie in a way that betrays his own nerves, despite it all. "…I love you," He finishes, voice soft.
Phainon's face grows warm, and in lieu of having an actual response, he leans in to press his face into Mydei's neck with a grumble of haphazard complaint, a soft laugh reverberating through Mydei's chest.
The glass is cool against Mydei's skin through his bleached shirt—flushed with exertion and damp with perspiration, leaving imprints against the pristine glass that only the two of them will ever know the origin of.
And—the thought sends a thrill through him—anyone who happens to be in any of the adjacent buildings. Though he reasons that they're far enough away that they can't quite make out the silhouette of Mydei's clothed back pressed against the glass.
A knock sounds at the door at half-past five. Mydei isn't the only one working late, it seems—and as touching as it is to hear the concern of his receptionist filter through the door, he has bigger priorities right now. Much bigger priorities.
They'd been a little hasty in their prep—though that wasn't all that unusual—Phainon feels huge inside of him, stretching him open while leaving him short of breath from where he has him folded, pinning his body between his own and the window. Mydei's legs are wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, arms thrown around his neck, chin tucked against his chest. His glasses—still perched on Phainon's face, are askew, sliding down with the movement of their bodies and from being ill-fitting.
"Fresh coffee’s ready in the break-room. Can I grab a cup for you and Mr. Phainon? You guys have been shut in here for a few hours, and I know you've been working late."
Even if it would have somehow made sense for Phainon to answer, Mydei is the only one coherent enough to do so. His voice is steady and smooth when he replies, holding a hand over Phainon's mouth to muffle his intermittent whines and whimpers. He's too far gone for Mydei's look of warning to mean anything.
"Thank you," Mydei calls out, without even the faintest quiver. Phainon would be envious if he was actually present. As it stands, Mydei is far too tight and hot around him and the lingering warmth of his praise and gentle commands has left him dizzy—head far too full of Mydei. Mydei. Mydei—
"We're okay for now," He continues, taking a breath when Phainon gives a particularly deep, hard thrust that makes his vision go a little blurry. Phainon isn't okay. How is Mydei always so… composed when he has Phainon inside of him?
Thankfully, she retreats with a murmur of understanding that he can't quite make head nor tails of, and Mydei finally removes his palm from his mouth, allowing him to gasp for breath with a betrayed, watery glare—earning him a fevered glimpse of Mydei's fangs from where he grins at him.
"You were the one who wanted to do this here," He points out, a little winded—at the very least betraying that… This doesn't render him entirely unaffected. He's just much better at controlling his breathing and masking it. "You can't be upset when I ask you to be quiet."
He'd warned him three times, in fairness—and each time Phainon would nod, jerkily, determination renewed—only for it to quickly vacate his mind with the next hoarse groan that left Mydei's kiss-swollen lips, or the next clench of his body around his cock. He's hopeless, really—but he's been hopeless.
Mydei might be patient, but…
With the next unbidden, hoarse cry that comes from Phainon's lips, another rapid knock sounds at the door.
Mydei sighs, eyes fluttering shut and head falling back against the glass with a dull thunk that trembles through the expanse.
"Sir?" Another employee, this time. How many people are still at the office? Not that he's one to talk. "Is everything alright in there? I heard what sounded like a scream from my desk—"
"Everything is fine," Mydei answers, voice tight, a little hoarse in a way that makes Phainon shudder and whine softly. Mydei finally only deflates when he hears the tapping of heeled shoes retreat.
He doesn't warn him a fourth time.
Mydei reaches for his tie and slides it free with a rough, quick tug—leaving Phainon to watch through unfocussed, lidded eyes as he balls the satin material up tight in his his fist and presses it against his slack lips—forcibly pushing it into his mouth with a pointed look.
Watery blue eyes flutter and widen, and a confused sound escapes his throat—betrayed, eyebrows furrowed, and Mydei simply levels him with a sigh and the arch of one dark brow. "I told you to be quiet," He reminds him again. Voice deceptively gentle despite having just shoved a makeshift gag into his mouth without leaving him any room for protest.
And… Okay. Yeah, he had. Multiple times.
But Mydei feels so good and warm and soft against and around him… And he smells so good, and his noises and the expressions he makes are so fucking pretty—
"Don't you want to come inside of me?" Mydei's voice, softened to a low croon, shakes him from his reverie, eyes widening as he nods hurriedly, jerkily.
"Good boy," He smiles, flushed and beautiful, "Keep moving, then. You're almost there."
He does. He adjusts his stance, feet braced against the floor and hands pressing bruises into Mydei's narrow hips and waist—fucking into him with abandon. Deep, quick thrusts that jostle his body with each impact, hole clenching around him in a way that makes him feel dizzy with how tight he is—coaxing his orgasm out of him slowly but surely. He can't stay quiet—not really, not even with Mydei's tie in his mouth—not even by pressing his face into Mydei's neck and attempting to muffle his noises into it.
He tips his forehead against his shoulder, panting heavily, raggedly around the ball of damp cloth—watching the way Mydei's pretty, thick cock bounces and jerks between them—flushed and hard, making it evident that, even though he hasn't touched himself—too busy hanging onto Phainon—he's close. He's close, because Phainon is making him feel good. Because Phainon is good. His vision grows bleary, eyes watering despite himself and he gives a pitiful little sniffle that makes Mydei huff and pet him more insistently. Squeezing him and stroking his hair and scalp, with his deep, low groans going straight through Phainon's bones—fingers curling into Phainon's sweaty hair and gripping at the back of his neck, attempting to rut down against him, faster and faster. Until, finally, his orgasm shudders through him—head falling back against the glass again as his cock throbs between them and Phainon feels wetness shoot up his chest, neck and face—splattering against his glasses as Mydei comes between them. Flushed, swollen cock pulsing through his release.
A low, mournful whine escapes him when he realizes he won't get to taste him—watching with unbridled despair as Mydei reaches for his glasses, sliding them off of Phainon's nose, and makes a show of licking them clean—maintaining eye-contact as his tongue laps up his own spend—before placing them carefully back onto Phainon's face. He can't even complain—can't even call his name when he has him gagged like this—
Mydei reaches up to stroke his face with one hand, with a knowing, breathless little grin before his fingers slide down to scoop up the cum still cooling on Phainon's skin—raising them to Phainon's gagged mouth to squeeze them in alongside it, pressing them against his tongue beneath the fabric.
Phainon's eyes widen, and he sniffles, feeling wetness drip from his nose just as he scents iron and his blood drips down past his lips and onto Mydei's pristine white dress-shirt—half open. His belly clenches, and when Mydei purposefully clenches down around him, gripping his hips tight with his strong legs, he finally comes with a shattered cry—head falling forward and his eyes squeezing shut as he spills inside of him. Mydei groans quietly from the feeling of him filling him as he fucks him through his orgasm, pace stuttering and finally coming to a halt, with Phainon leaning heavily against the other man, head falling forward against the cool glass as he comes down from his orgasm.
Legs shaking almost violently beneath him, Phainon awkwardly lowers them both down to the floor, with the sound of Mydei's skin catching against the glass from where his shirt has ridden up, making Phainon wince.
The irritation is fortunately short-lived, when Mydei presses him down onto the floor only moments later, cradling the back of his head with his hand as he pulls the soaked fabric of his ruined tie free and—rather than kiss him—laps up the blood cooling on his skin from his chin to his nose, laughing when Phainon's nose wrinkles and he makes his displeasure known—craning his neck in an attempt to get him to press their lips together instead.
He does—tasting like iron and faintly of his own release—and Phainon eagerly licks into his mouth with a moan as he throws his arms around Mydei's neck. He pulls him flush, desperate to drown out the cooling air of the room with Mydei's warmth—and they stay like that. Tangled and wet and messy, breathing each other in until the shaking in Phainon's limbs finally subsides into a numb ache and there's no air left between them.