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Harmony was in his office again.
Lately she had become quite a regular visitor to the Rust Syndicate in general and Corbeau in particular. It wasn’t typical or even permitted, really, for someone to just come in and out of the executive office of the Rust Syndicate as they pleased. Not even for those who actually worked there. Corbeau was an incredibly busy man after all, and his time was both precious and in short supply.
It wasn’t that Harmony had any privilege that let her tromp into his meetings or private dealings. She’d be turned back the same as anyone else when that was the case. It just so happened that, for some reason, Corbeau always seemed to be able to find some time in his schedule whenever Harmony decided to drop in.
Aside from simple fortuitous circumstance, it was a practical decision, naturally. Harmony was well-liked among all members of the team, and it seemed to be mutual; a week or two ago, she’d apparently brought a birthday present for one of the rank-and-file. Lord knew how Harmony was privy to that information, but it sure kept the morale up.
And of course, her strength in battle made her an invaluable asset. She wasn’t an affiliate on the books, but whenever she showed up at the Syndicate, she came with the offer to assist with anything that needed doing. Skeptical distaste towards free agents and pro bono work be damned, Corbeau wasn’t going to turn down that golden ticket. Harmony’s skills were nothing less than indispensable.
Surely there was more than enough to justify her regular visits. Even if she mainly spent them dawdling about with no particular purpose.
Today she was sprawled across one of the leather sofas, gaudy MZ hat and jacket thrown off and arranged behind her head as a makeshift pillow. There’d been a time when she wouldn’t have considered lying down on those couches, much less dangling her feet over the arm. That time was long, long past.
Perhaps the excuse of needing Harmony’s professional aid had worn thin. The rub laid in the fact that Harmony’s work was too valuable. Her capabilities were of such a caliber that was very rarely necessary and thus, too easily wasted. There were always things that needed “cleaning up”: reports of unorganized battlers disturbing the peace, wild Pokémon changing the landscape and congesting pedestrian traffic, the like, but a low-ranking footsoldier or two could get the job done without issue. If the situation called for a bit more finesse, Corbeau could always send out Philippe, like he’d done today.
So the general indolence on Harmony’s part was technically on Corbeau’s orders, in a manner of speaking. He certainly didn’t tell her to laze around on her back leafing through his book collection, tapping one foot against the arm of the couch just loud enough that he couldn’t ignore it—but that was one interpretation of “on standby”.
Corbeau did his best to remain focused on his work, leaning one elbow on his desk and rubbing his temple. She did this when they were alone. If Philippe or any other Syndicate member were here, Harmony would sit happily (and upright) in the meeting area and keep herself occupied, perhaps strike up amiable conversation. The second it was just her and Corbeau she’d start…something. She’d do something.
Initially it seemed like genuine mistakes or oversights. Harmony had the downtime, so she gave her Absol an overdue grooming. She hadn’t considered that his office was all black and how many hours of vacuuming and lint rolling would be needed to get out all the stark white hairs. She didn’t know the books on his shelves were part of his collection of valuables, so she’d innocently dog-eared a few pages. She just happened to send her friends a picture of herself while she was in the office, she hadn’t been thinking about the background and how that might impact the Rust Syndicate’s image.
And when he told her to stop (more or less), she would. She’d apologize. Even now Corbeau didn’t doubt that she was sincere in that. He still let her read what she wanted, and the books were always returned to the shelves pristine.
But there was always something—
“Hey, how do you pronounce this word?” Harmony’s voice cut into his thoughts, right on schedule. “‘Err-eyeth-roh—?“
“Erythromelalgia,” Corbeau answered, not even bothering to take his eyes from his screen. He’d recognized the book she was reading when she’d taken it off the shelf. It was one of the first scientific publications on the effects and applications of the toxins of various Pokémon; more than a bit outdated at present, but still a wealth of information. Corbeau had been through it enough times to be reasonably confident in the medical argot Harmony was trying to sound out.
Evidently she accepted his answer, because she hummed appreciatively in response and returned to reading in silence.
For a moment.
“Ooh, and this one? Trombo, sighto, penno—“
“Thrombotic thrombocytopenic purpura—Do you really have to yell across the room every time you come across an unfamiliar phrase? I’d think you’d have better options.”
What Corbeau meant by ‘better options’ was that Harmony had the use of her phone, and that using it to look up a word was both faster and easier than asking him. It was such an obvious fact to both of them, he thought, that there was no reason to belittle either of their collective intelligences by saying it aloud.
This omission would have dire consequences.
Harmony hummed placidly again in lieu of a reply, and once again went quiet. Quiet as she could manage anyway. Corbeau could hear her shifting around, maybe going to find a different and more accessible book. But she wasn’t addressing him or otherwise doing anything to demand his attention, so he could concentrate on his work.
Payment overdue from the bakery in Rouge Sector 8, invoice of spice importation from Cortondo, incident report of unsavory graffiti outside Café Cyclone…Corbeau scrolled blankly down the list of items that he needed to address. There was movement in his peripheral vision, and though he wanted to, he didn't take his eyes off his screen. Until he felt a thud of weight on the corner of his desk.
Corbeau blinked and looked up. Harmony, book in hand, had seated herself atop his desk. She faced with her back to him, still paging through the biological treatise like it was a magazine.
No comment or quip followed. She just read on silently, as if parking herself on Corbeau’s desk were perfectly natural. They both knew it wasn’t.
As far as outlandish annoyances went it was mild (the crown for that would of course, have to be given to the multiple times she stumbled off a damn building), but it was enough to bother Corbeau. And he was beginning to suspect that that was what mattered.
He tried not to let any perturbation show. His Arbok displayed this kind of behavior when he wanted attention, and Corbeau knew from experience that feeding the habit would only make it worse. “Harmony,” he said drily, “don’t sit there, please.”
“Hmm?” Harmony glanced back towards him. “Sorry, am I in your way?” she asked innocently, without a trace of affectation.
Corbeau took a steadying breath. “There is a certain colloquialism, paraphrased thusly: tabletops are for glassware, not to be used as seating.” He flicked a gesture in the vague direction of the couch she’d been lounging on a moment ago. “If you want to sit down, there are quite a few comfortable sofas and chairs in this room to choose from.”
Surprisingly, Harmony nodded thoughtfully in response. “Yeah, I see your point,” she said mildly, and hopped off his desk. She was walking back toward the seating area when Corbeau took his eyes off her.
Like some kind of moron Corbeau had assumed her conceding the point and moving in the opposite direction meant that Harmony was backing off, at least for the moment. He returned his attention to his computer. There wasn’t any way she’d try and sit on his desk again, not when he’d rebuked her so clearly.
And was right about that, at least. Harmony didn’t try to sit on his desk again.
The sudden crash of weight was instead just to his left. Harmony had plonked herself on the arm of his chair, and was in the process of finagling herself into the seat beside him before Corbeau could manage to string any words together.
“What—What do you think you’re doing?!” he snapped.
“What?” Harmony said lightly. “This chair’s huge, you’ve got room! C’mon, scooch.” She bumped her shoulder against his for emphasis.
“I-I didn’t mean my chair.” Corbeau said. He involuntarily recoiled in surprise and cursed himself immediately; Harmony gleefully took the opening to squeeze herself in further. One leg pressed in against his, the other laid over the armrest.
“Just a little more…” she said, digging herself in like a Joltik. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course I mind.” Corbeau dug his grip into the armrest on his side, trying in vain to get the same grip on both his temper and temperature. He took an admittedly shaky breath and adjusted his glasses. No, he wouldn’t let her get one over on him this easily. “…But if you must, fine,” he continued, voice steadier. “It’s not long until my next appointment anyway. Then you’re out, kid.”
Harmony smiled at him like butter wouldn’t melt in her damn mouth and slid the rest of the way into the chair without any issue or theatrics. “Aw, I guess I’ll have to enjoy my time in the boss’s seat to the fullest.”
Corbeau snorted irritably. “You’d better swear not to look at any Syndicate business that I’m attending to. I’m dead serious, kid. Emphasis on dead.”
“Mhm, I won’t,” said Harmony, showily burying her nose in her book (his book). “Just pretend I’m not here.”
There was a challenge. Harmony was technically correct in that there was room for the two of them to sit abreast, but only just. There was a sufficient squeeze that her thigh was pressed taut against his, her body heat steadily creeping into his clothes with every second that ticked by. It wasn’t easy to ignore.
It had been ages since Corbeau had been in this kind of proximity with anyone, let alone Harmony. At this distance he could even hear—no, feel her breathing, just over the din of his heartbeat. How every time she breathed in, her shoulder pressed against his. And of course she wasn’t wearing her jacket. Her top hung off her shoulders in a way that left quite a bit exposed. Surely she was wearing a tank top or other undershirt beneath it, and that strap poking out over her shoulder wasn’t—
Corbeau was about halfway through reading a news article on Wild Zones when he realized he hadn’t actually read any of it. Focus.
He scanned over the article zealously. Cessation of nonnative species migration prompts Mayor to propose relocation… Reconstruction of iconic landmark held at bay by indecision to transpose surrounding wild population…Was Harmony wearing perfume? There was a faint scent that he hadn’t—Article. Former lead Professor investigating integration of species allopatric to greater Kalos, prompting concern and discourse over potential ecological collapse surrounding Lumiose. Alolan Aether Foundation Head, expert on impact of invasive species on biosphere had this to say…
In truth his second try reading the article was going about as well as his first, but he wasn’t about to let Harmony in on that. This was new ground for her. She found creative ways to get under his skin before, but she’d never taken this sort of tack. Never pressed herself so much into his personal space.
He wondered, dread crawling up the back of his throat, if she had begun to draw her own conclusions about his conduct. That perhaps the excuses to keep her around were excuses. That his fondness for her was a bit more than professional.
Harmony idly stretched, reclining against the arm of the chair. She pivoted to lay her legs across the full length of the furniture—below his arms, thighs atop his lap.
Now she was just getting cocky.
Corbeau shot her the kind of glare that sent most men running. “Are you deliberately testing the limits of my patience?”
Harmony’s mouth quirked up at one corner, an unfamiliar expression on her face. “Well, yeah,” she said.
Corbeau blinked mutely.
Still resting her thighs in his lap, Harmony took the moment of consternation to lean in closer. “I thought you liked that.”
“Why—?!” Corbeau sputtered. “Why would I—Why would you think—?!”
“Well, you wouldn’t keep letting me in your office otherwise, right?” Harmony said. There was a strange, soft inflection in her voice, something in her manner that was all the more unsettling for how reserved it was.
Corbeau gritted his teeth. He knew he should say something, wanted to say something, but was coming up empty. Outright denying her would be playing right into her game. Harmony was goading him—at best. At worst, she’d sussed out some emotion he’d been pushing down, and was mocking him for it.
A silent moment passed and she set her book aside, pushing it to a corner of the desk. “Or,” she said slowly, “maybe there’s another reason you do that…?” She shifted her right leg deliberately, rubbing her thigh against his waist and wringing a sharp gasp from his throat.
Attempting to swallow his heart least it pop out his mouth, Corbeau scanned Harmony’s face for any sign of her actual intentions. “Have you forgotten,” he said, “who you’re dealing with?”
“I know—Corbeau, head of the Rust Syndicate, villain of Lumiose, feared by all.” She said it with the theatrical cant of an announcer for a wrestling match. “But I also know you’re not really like that,” she continued, tone softening, smile warming. “No matter what you say, I can’t see you as a bad guy.”
His eyes narrowed. “Then what do you see me as?”
Harmony’s smile twisted into that of a Seviper.
“A naughty boy.”
She punctuated the statement with an insistent grind of her thigh against his waist. Corbeau hissed at the warm friction sliding past an erection he had been fighting to keep down. He still wasn’t entirely hard, but he knew it was damning enough in the face of Harmony’s assertion. A beatific grin spread over her face, and she began to push herself up to her knees in the armchair.
“Ugh, I don’t know how you sit here all day,” she muttered, peering back over her shoulder at his desk. “There’s nowhere to put your legs! Nothing can fit under there.” Harmony clicked her tongue. “I guess we’ll have to go with Plan B.”
“Wh-what was Plan A…?” Corbeau said blearily, doing his best to keep up with the present.
Harmony turned back to him and playfully tapped aside her mouth. “Sucks we have to blow that off, huh?”
The entendres were completely artless, but at least he could make sense of them. He was having less success following whatever Harmony’s designs were.
“…Though, maybe its better this way anyway,” she said, resting her calves aside his thighs. “Now you can’t get caught in direct congress with a minor.”
A spark of recognition jolted his brain to attention. “Wh—you’re 21,” he said.
Harmony grinned at him in a way that let him know he just made a huge mistake. “Huh, I don’t remember telling you that,” she said lazily, stretching her arms over her head, “But if you know I’m not much younger than you, why would you keep calling me ‘kid’?”
Corbeau didn’t respond. That information was obtained more as the Rust Syndicate than himself: she was 21, from Nacrene City in Unova, and her friends called her Mona. Getting a basic profile of anyone he had dealings with was key in his line of business. Still, he didn’t typically memorize it so diligently.
His silence was an opportunity for Harmony to press her advantage, and she took it. She settled into a straddling position in his lap, pushing him against the back of his chair. Her hand rose around back of her head, and she silently slid out the pin holding her chignon in place, letting her cinnamon-brown hair spill down her shoulders. At the same time, she delicately slipped his glasses off, placing them back on the desk behind her.
Corbeau hadn’t been able to get a steady breath in since she decided to share this chair with him. And he still couldn’t, but looking up at Harmony as she leaned her forehead against his, the thin curtain of her bangs the only thing between his eyes and hers, was the first moment of clarity he’d had all day. He had feelings for Harmony. And absolutely nothing she was doing suggested they were unwelcome. There was hardly a risk to take just to lean in and kiss her.
But his lips met only the tip of her index finger. “Ah-ah,” Harmony chided, “That’s not the name of the game. We’re seeing how far your patience goes, remember?”
The mirth sparkling in her eyes made it clear that it wasn’t a rejection. She was still playing some sort of game with him, and Corbeau’s lot was, as usual, to be confused. He knew from experience that there was little he could do beyond cautiously wait for whatever she had in store and react when the time came. If he agreed to play, anyway. She couldn’t take her admission into the office as tacit approval this time.
After a beat, Corbeau let himself relax back into the chair. Harmony hummed in approval and actually patted his head like he was a well-behaved little Eevee, then slid her hand down his cheek, shoulder, and on, stopping only to gently unfasten his pants. With a quick tug, she exposed his underwear, and the tent he was pitching in them.
Her fingers played over the surface of the fabric, dancing along his shaft without ever lingering for more than a second. It briskly throbbed into a full erection nonetheless, which only made the light stimulation more maddening. Harmony’s other hand was occupied with slipping beneath his jacket, unfastening any buttons she found, exploring whatever bare skin met her touch. Her eyes remained steadfastly on his face the whole time. She made no attempt to disguise her amusement, watching every little twinge in his expression with open interest.
Corbeau couldn’t bring himself to meet those eyes, not when he was panting under her. The impulse to talk was present without any words to back it up. There was nothing he could do but keep his gaze mutely downcast; consequentially, Harmony’s body was directly in his sightline. The neckline of her top hung low in this position, affording him the barest view of her clavicle and the plane of her chest. She was so, so close, yet all Corbeau could get, all she let him have, was a taste.
Unconsciously, he rested one hand against her hip, and was met with an immediate “tsk” from Harmony. She quietly placed his hand back on her thigh, but paused when he huffed in frustration. Her expression softened into an almost…indulgent look. Like how she’d look at one of her Pokémon if it misbehaved in trying to get a treat.
Shrugging to herself, she began to roll up her shirt, holding the hem between her teeth as she hitched it up, and letting it go when it was snagged just below her shoulders. The message was clear: I’m not taking it off, but you can look if you want.
Corbeau took that offer. He couldn’t help it. The exposed strap he’d noticed earlier was, in fact, her bra, which hugged her svelte figure in a way he wouldn’t be able to stop staring at if her entire abdomen weren’t also exposed. It was almost worse than it was when she was fully clothed, knowing he couldn’t touch her.
Without stopping her teasing ministrations over his underwear, Harmony lifted her hips to wiggle her own pants off her waist, like she’d done with his. And like she’d done with his, that was where she stopped. It didn’t stop Corbeau from stealing glances at the lavender fabric of her panties like he could will them off.
It was both relief and torment when she finally drew her hand away from his cock. Harmony repositioned herself, a slight tremor shaking her breath as she slid forward on top of him, waist-to-waist. She stayed there for a moment, hands on his shoulders, then slowly rolled her hips forward on his. Corbeau gasped and his grip on her thighs tightened involuntarily.
Harmony sighed pleasantly and continued to grind on his lap at her own leisure. Her pace ramped up at an appropriately, and painfully, gradual rate. If it was any slower his arousal would threaten to dissipate, and it would only be irritating. She was only giving him just enough to keep him where he was: hot, bothered, and loathe as he was to admit it, completely at her mercy.
Corbeau had given up on thinking a bit ago; it wasn’t working well when he tried to. The situation was too surreal. The girl he’d thought he’d been quietly carrying a torch for seemed to not only be very aware of it, but content to skip right through a few of the typical steps in this sort of thing. Definitely not how he thought it would go. But his body was, inevitably, extremely responsive to her touch. There was a lot she’d have to do for that not to be true, and Harmony knew it.
The friction between her underwear and his was starting to lessen, with the cloth getting damp as it was. There was no way to tell if the sole blame for that rested with Corbeau or not. He hoped it was at least a joint effort. Mercifully Harmony took the chance to quicken her pace to match, rocking her hips luridly against him. She leaned to tuck herself in against his neck, delicately sucking the skin between her teeth. The sound he made in response was mortifying, somewhere between a groan and a long, drawn-out whine.
Then the heat of Harmony’s breath rolled up to his ear, her tongue tracing against the edge, his cock was straining against his clothes, the thin barrier that kept him millimeters away from being inside her—
“Yo, boss!” a muffled voice called across the room. The door of his office was barely open, enough for a single hand to get through, and opening further. “What was it you wanted we should do abou—“
“OCCUPIED,” Corbeau yelled at the top of his lungs. It was a miracle his voice didn’t break with Harmony nibbling at his earlobe. The door immediately slammed shut, some poor footsoldier scrambling away like his life depended on it. Corbeau would have to smooth that over later.
He sagged back into the chair in relief and Harmony giggled, having not even budged from her spot against his cheek. She twisted a hand into his hair. “I think,” she said in his ear, “you’re getting close.”
It was true, and another piece of information that Corbeau had no idea how she’d managed to catch on to. Perhaps he wasn’t as good at keeping Harmony in the dark as he thought. He still didn’t respond to her assertion beyond a vague grunt.
Harmony withdrew from his shoulder to stare him in the face. She bit the corner of her lip, a habit Corbeau had come to recognize as an indicator of careful consideration. “Well, maybe I should…” she mused, her hips grinding to a gradual halt as she trailed off.
Corbeau’s eyes snapped back up to hers. Threatening to stop was just part of her game. But if she was looking for the limit to his patience, she found it. He moved his hands from her thighs to the chair’s armrests, clenching them in a death grip.
“Don’t,” he said.
Harmony’s expression actually softened in response, her smile taking on much more affection than mischief. She smoothly slid back into her former position against his neck and went right back to grinding her hips on his. “Whatever you say, boss,” she said, leaning her chin on his shoulder.
The impending climax was shaking loose whatever self control he had left. Corbeau hissed and rocked his hips feverishly against hers, desperate not to let the heat building in him subside. His fingers dug fruitlessly into the armrests of his chair—screw it, he had the sense he already “lost”. He flung his arms around her back and hugged her closer. She jumped for an instant in surprise, then relaxed into him, crawling her hands lightly across his chest and nipping at his neck.
He stuttered, “Harmony, I—“
“Shh, it’s alright,” she breathed, rubbing soft circles into his shoulders. “Cum for me.”
Corbeau clenched his jaw and cursed as her movements became more insistent, grinds turning to full-blown humps against him. He could feel every contour of her body pressed to his, but it wasn’t for him to see, barely for him to touch. It was frustrating, maddening—and enough to push him over the edge.
One drag of her sodden underwear over his became too many, and Corbeau choked, tightening his arms around Harmony as he spilled his load into his briefs. It underscored the pleasure pulsing through his body with a sticky, unpleasant feeling as his cum soaked into the fabric, but not nearly enough to ruin it. Aftershocks compelled him to keep jolting his hips long after he’d pumped out everything he had, the heat and thrill of orgasm beginning to ebb into the comforting lightheadedness of the afterglow. Harmony murmured softly and indistinctly in his ear the whole time, gently carding one hand through his hair.
As Corbeau gave himself over to his subsiding climax, his arms went slack and Harmony pulled herself up in his lap. Her expression was…Perhaps it was just the post coital hormones or wishful thinking, but there was an affectionate look in her eyes that he’d only ever dreamt of seeing cast his way. She smiled at him, leaning in and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, eyes drifting closed. Corbeau immediately mirrored her in bringing his lips to hers.
Harmony blew a swift puff of air right in his face instead. It was too startling for him to do anything but freeze up while Harmony exploded with laughter, practically tumbling backwards out of the chair.
Twice. She’d gotten him twice with that.
She’d already risen to her feet, still shaking with laughter and repeatedly mouthing “sorry” when she could manage enough composure. Fumbling around behind her back, she managed to find his glasses, and delicately set them back on his face, stroking his hair as she carefully fixed it around the frames. When she was satisfied with her work, she gingerly leaned down and gave him an actual kiss, only on his cheek. Corbeau wasn’t entirely sure of the significance he could ascribe to the gesture at this point in the day.
“Probably best if I give you some time to freshen up, huh,” Harmony said blithely. She had found her hairpin and held it between her teeth while she arranged her usual chignon. “I know you keep a tight schedule. I’ll just see myself out, okay?” She jogged back over to the seating area to grab her hat and jacket, fixing her pants and top all the while. Like nothing had ever happened.
“See you later, Beau!”
The door clicked shut behind her and Corbeau was left alone to appraise himself in the dim reflection of his now-sleep-moded laptop. His hair, thanks to Harmony’s work in setting it straight, looked fine. The rest of him was a mess, his jacket and tie disheveled, his expression moreso. To say nothing of the change of pants he sorely needed.
Harmony had basically just used him as if he were her own personal toy, playing with him and leaving all at her own discretion. It wasn’t a huge departure from her usual cavalier attitude towards him either, even if this was an extreme example. If Corbeau wanted her to stop treating him like this, he would have to not tolerate anything of the sort going forward.
Corbeau staggered up straight in his chair, steeled himself, and opened the planner on his desk. He wrote a note to himself to get an appointment with a furniture dealer to look for a new desk with some decent legroom beneath.