Work Text:
The office is dead after seven, shedding its daylight personality.
The overhead fluorescents have clicked off one row at a time, leaving only a dark space around Jisung's workspace. The air conditioner hums, louder in the empty space, less disguised by conversations and phones.
Jisung doesn’t usually stay this late.
He just really needs to finish this report. Adjustments are needed before tomorrow's important review, and he hates the idea of anyone catching something he'd missed. Especially his boss, Minho.
Plus, he likes it when Minho notices when he tries extra hard.
Sue him.
Just then, his computer pings, making him jump.
Lee Minho: Come to my office
Jisung locks his computer and scrambles from his desk, making his way down the hall to the room with each long window shielded with blinds.
He hesitates outside the door, then draws a steadying breath, knocking lightly and letting himself in.
Minho sits behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie askew—evidence that he's been as deep in the trenches as Jisung has. He doesn't look up right away, his feline eyes still fixed on his laptop, the blue glow outlining his sharp jaw.
Jisung hovers. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
Minho finally glances up. "Yes. Close the door, Jisung."
The command sends a shiver coursing through his body, and he curses himself at how easily he gets worked up by his unfairly attractive boss. But he complies, shutting the door behind them.
"Sit." Minho gestures at the chair opposite. "I went over your most recent version of the report," Minho begins. "Thorough, as always, Jisung. I appreciate your hard work."
Jisung suppresses a smile. "Thank you, sir. I tried to anticipate—"
"That's not the only thing you're thorough about though, is it?" Minho interrupts, his tone shifting. It almost sounds like he's amused.
Jisung blinks, thrown off. "Excuse me?"
Minho's lips quirk. He reaches for his phone, unlocking the screen. "You see, I came across something… interesting earlier."
He turns the phone, screen bright against his eyes. And there it is, unmistakable, Jisung's Grindr profile. That's him in the photo, his smile, his bio: love being pinned down by older men, especially if they get a little mean. Will work hard for attention.
Fuck, his boss knows he's gay. His boss has seen his down bad attempt at getting laid. Wait, if he’s on Grindr too, that must mean he’s also…
Jisung's blood turns to ice, mortification flooding him. "Sir—"
Minho leans forward, elbows on the desk. "You should've told me you had such… specific interests, Jisung." His gaze flicks to Jisung's lips, then down his body, then back up to his eyes. "I didn't know you were so into older guys… like me."
Jisung's mouth goes dry. "I—I didn't—"
Minho's chair creaks as he stands, coming around the desk. Each step is measured and deliberate, like everything the older man does. Then suddenly he is so close that Jisung can smell his cologne—clean, expensive.
Minho bends low, lips brushing Jisung's ear as he speaks. "If you were that desperate, all you had to do was ask."
Jisung's breath catches, pulse hammering. He looks up, meeting Minho's gaze—dark and hungry. The air between them crackles with new electricity, the office's emptiness suddenly charged with possibility.
Minho moves deliberately back to his desk chair, unbuttoning and zipping down his suit pants with a casualness that makes Jisung's heart race. He sits down, leaning back, eyes locked on him.
"We both know you have nothing else to do," Minho says, voice low and full of command. "So you can either go home now and pretend nothing happened, or you could crawl between my legs and get to work like a good boy."
A small whimper escapes his lips before he can stop it. The mix of embarrassment and sudden arousal is overwhelming, but he knows what he wants, and he's been obsessed with his boss since day one. He'd be stupid to turn him down.
Before he can think too much, he finds himself on his knees, crawling under the desk. The carpet is rough against his knees, but he barely notices, focused entirely on the man in front of him.
And holy fuck, he's up close to Minho's thighs—broad, muscled, outlined by the spread of his suit pants. Jisung's always noticed them, stealing glances, fantasising about what it would be like to press his cock against them, to rut and squirm and lose himself in the strength there.
Now, up close with nothing to hide, his stare is transfixed, pulse thumping in his ears. His hands hover uncertainly, aching to touch, to finally feel what he's spent so long imagining.
Is he allowed to touch? The urge is overwhelming, but so is the fear of doing something he isn't supposed to.
Minho's voice cuts through the silence. "You can touch."
Something in Jisung unravels upon receiving the permission. He presses his palms to Minho's thighs, feeling the heat and solid muscle beneath the expensive fabric. They feel even better than he imagined—firm, unyielding, impossibly strong. His breath catches as he squeezes, thumbs stroking along the inside seam.
His cock gives a twitch inside his pants.
Minho's hand settles on Jisung's head, fingers carding through his hair. His tone is edged with impatience. "Is that all you're going to do, or will you get to work any time soon?"
Jisung startles, cheeks burning. "Oh— yeah… s-sorry."
With trembling hands, he fumbles with Minho's waistband, grateful when the older man lifts his hips in silent encouragement, making it easier to tug his pants and briefs down slightly. The fabric gives way, and Minho's cock springs free.
Jisung just stares, awestruck. He's seen many cocks in his life before, but nothing like this. Minho is big, girthy, veins ridged along the shaft, already fully hard. There's a bead of slick at the tip, and it makes Jisung's mouth water.
He tentatively wraps his fingers around the base, marvelling at the heat and weight of it. The skin is so soft, almost silken, but the flesh beneath is firm and hot, alive with a pulse that matches Minho's steady breathing above him.
He squeezes gently, watching the way it twitches in his grip. It's hot, so hot, and impossibly thick—his fingers don't quite meet around the base. The scent of him is heady, masculine, and the urge to press his cheeks against the man's thigh and feel the heat of his skin is almost overwhelming.
Jisung glances up, seeing the hunger in Minho's gaze, the way his jaw clenches as he watches, the veins in his neck straining. He can tell Minho is just as worked up as he is, and the knowledge sends another thrill through him, making his own cock ache.
Gently, he strokes his thumb along the underside, feeling the silky skin, the hardness beneath.
Minho's hand tightens in his hair.
Jisung licks his lips, heart hammering, and leans in, letting his breath ghost hot over the swollen tip. He flicks his tongue out, tasting the salty precum already gathered there, and lets out a quiet, involuntary moan. He suckles the head gently at first, lips sealing wet and plush around it, drawing a sharp inhale from above.
But Jisung's always known this about himself: if there's one thing he's good at, it's this. He's addicted to the praise, to the way he can make any man unravel, and he wants Minho undone, wants to impress, to make him lose control.
So he doesn't tease. He sinks down, working his mouth over the thick length, spit pooling as he takes more and more, drool smearing messily over his lips and Minho's cock. He bobs quickly, greedily, the sloppy sounds filling the air.
Minho's reaction is immediate. His hand fists tighter in Jisung's hair, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest. "Fuck, Jisung—didn't know you'd be this desperate for it. Look at you."
Jisung moans around him, sucking harder, letting Minho's cock slide deep until he hits the back of his throat, then bobs back up, lips swollen, eyes fluttering closed in bliss. He uses one hand to stroke at the base, twisting his wrist just right.
Minho's hips jerk, thighs flexing under Jisung's palm. "God, you look so fucking pretty like this," he growls. "Messy little thing for your boss, aren't you? Want me to use your mouth like a fleshlight, don't you?"
Every filthy word goes straight to his dick, making it ache against the constraints of his pants. He whimpers, sucking harder, letting the praise and slight degradation melt together and fuel him. He relaxes his throat, taking Minho even deeper, swallowing around the thick length. The salt of the precum mixes with spit, running down his chin, but he doesn't care—he's lost to the taste and the rough affection of Minho's grip.
He's abruptly pulled off Minho's cock. Jisung gasps, chin slick with spit and precum. Before he can react, Minho's hands are on him, tugging him up from under the desk, manhandling him with ease.
"Is this okay?" Minho checks.
Jisung nods eagerly, breathless. "Fuck, yes it is. Please."
Minho's lips quirk in a smirk as he reaches down, tugging at Jisung's pants, pulling them down with a swift motion. He turns to his desk drawer, retrieving a small bottle of lube.
He gestures to his thigh. "Straddle it."
Jisung complies, moving to sit upon Minho's thigh, the fabric of his pants rough against his bare skin. Minho's fingers are now slick with lube, and he wastes no time pressing them against Jisung's entrance, circling, teasing.
"Look at you," Minho murmurs. "So eager and needy. You're going to feel so good riding my thigh, aren't you?"
Jisung whimpers, nodding as Minho's finger breaches him, stretching him open. The sensation is intense, a mix of pain and pleasure that makes his cock ache even more. Minho's other hand guides Jisung's hips, encouraging him to move, to grind against his thigh.
"That's it," Minho growls, watching Jisung with dark, hungry eyes. "Ride it. Show me how much you need it."
Jisung starts to move, humping Minho's thigh, the friction sending waves of pleasure through him. His cock is small but hard, precum leaking and making a mess on Minho's pants. Minho's fingers work him open, the lube making everything slick and smooth.
"Ah, such a little cock, Jisung," Minho coos.
Heat rushes to Jisung’s cheeks. The words sting in the best way, humiliating and hot all at once. He shouldn’t like it, shouldn’t crave the attention on his size—or lack of—but the shame mixes with a dizzying jolt of arousal. It makes his cock twitch, leaking more against Minho’s thigh, and all he can do is whimper in response.
He keeps working his fingers inside Jisung, slow, deep thrusts, curling just right to keep him gasping and squirming. Jisung's hips rock harder, desperate and hungry, rutting his needy cock against the solid muscle of Minho's thigh. The friction is rough but so good, each slick grind making him leak more, his mess smearing across the expensive fabric.
He almost feels guilty for ruining it.
Almost.
Minho's voice is teasing, his lips brushing close to Jisung's ear. "Look at you, grinding on me like you're in heat. Making such a mess with that tiny cock. Is this what you wanted, all those times you stared at me?"
Jisung's head falls forward, breath coming in little whimpers, fingers digging into Minho's shoulders for leverage. Minho's hand on his hip keeps him moving, pace relentless, while his other never stops, the stretch inside making Jisung's toes curl.
He rocks down harder, chasing that edge, but suddenly something flips inside him, needier, emptier.
"Please," he pants, voice high and wrecked. "Minho, please—I need it, need you to fuck me. Please…" He grinds back on Minho's fingers, shaking, desperate. "Please, want your cock so bad."
Minho's lips curl in a wicked smile, thumb brushing along Jisung's stretched rim. "You want to get split open, huh? Say it. Beg for it, and maybe I'll give you what you want."
Jisung's desperation shatters any remaining pride, "Please, Minho—want you to-to split me open… and f-fuck me. Please. Need it so bad. I'll be good, I promise—just want you inside me, want to feel your cock stretching me, please—"
Minho's eyes darken, approval written in every sharp line of his face. "Good boy." His voice is rough, a praise and a command. "Stand up."
Jisung scrambles up, and Minho tugs his own pants down further, then guides him over to the desk. With one decisive sweep, Minho pushes reports, pens, and a mug out of the way, clearing space.
"Bend over. Grip the edge tight," Minho instructs.
Jisung obeys instantly, palms against the wood, knuckles white as he braces himself. Minho steps behind him, the heat of his body pressing close. He slicks his cock with the leftover lube on his fingers, then lines up the swollen head, rubbing over Jisung's stretched rim, teasing, making him whimper with anticipation.
"Ready?" Minho asks.
As soon as Jisung nods, Minho presses forward, slow and steady, letting the thick length push inside, stretching Jisung open even more, inch by slow inch. The sensation is intense, a delicious burn, and Jisung can't help the desperate sounds that spill from his lips.
Minho doesn't give him long to adjust, just a moment of stillness and a rough hand smoothing down Jisung's spine before he grips his hips and starts to move, slow at first, then building a relentless, punishing rhythm.
The desk creaks beneath each thrust. Minho's hips slam forward, his cock driving deep the force making the entire desk shudder. Jisung moans out loud, lost in the sensation, his forehead pressed to the wood as Minho pounds into him.
The rhythm is brutal, each stroke pushing him forward, his toes barely scraping the ground as Minho drags him back onto his cock again and again.
Pens rattle, a coffee mug tumbles and rolls off, hitting the carpet with a thud. Jisung's body is shaking, the edge of the desk digging into his hips, but it's nothing compared to the overwhelming pleasure. Minho's grip is bruising, almost possessive, every thrust knocking needy, desperate sounds out of his mouth.
"Good boy," Minho grunts, voice wrecked with lust. "So fucking tight—taking me so well, fuck."
Jisung's cock hangs uselessly, untouched and not even fully hard anymore, but every drag, every slam of Minho's hips sends jolts of pleasure through him. He's drooling on the desk now, eyes squeezed shut, moaning as the pleasure builds. With every thrust, his cock leaks more, precum pooling and dripping onto the floor beneath.
The desk shakes harder—something else clatters over the edge and lands with a crash, but neither of them cares. Minho fucks him mercilessly, the slap of skin on skin echoing around the room.
Jisung is gone. Lost to the rough rhythm.
He can't help the sobs that come now, overwhelmed by the pleasure. His body tenses, mouth open in a silent cry, and he comes hard, untouched, his cock jerking and spurting, dripping between his feet.
Minho's own hips stutter, his grip tightening almost painfully. With a guttural groan, he buries himself as deep as possible, cock pulsing as he spills inside Jisung, filling him up as he shudders through his own release.
They stay there for a moment, Jisung trembling with Minho's weight pressed close. Then Minho withdraws slowly, hands gentle now as he drags Jisung upright and turns him around. He cups Jisung's flushed face, and for the first time all night, he leans in and kisses him—breathless, deep and hungry.
It's messy, teeth and tongue, tasting the sweat and desperation, sealing everything between them with an intimacy that makes Jisung shiver.
Minho keeps Jisung close, thumb brushing over his cheek as their breathing slowly evens out. He smirks, eyes glinting with satisfaction and something softer.
"How about you come back to mine," Minho murmurs, "and we discuss the date I'm taking you on this Friday night?"
Jisung bites into his bottom lip, searching for any chance that he's messing with him, but he finds none. "Yeah. Sure."
Jisung: GUYS RED ALERT. MY HOT BOSS FOUND MY GRINDR
Felix: omg did he message you?
Jisung: um no, he called me into his office
Hyunjin: did he fire your ass?
Jisung: not quite… more like destroyed it… I'm at his place now
Felix: GET IT JISUNG
Hyunjin: please tell me you at least waited until you got to one of your apartments to fuck????
Hyunjin: Jisung????
Hyunjin: HAN JISUNG???