Chapter 1: Overtime Pay
The overhead fluorescents buzzed, one flickering in a losing battle against the gloom. The I.M.P. office after hours was a tomb of cheap vinyl flooring and the ghost smell of sulfur and stale coffee. Paperwork cascaded over the edges of the single occupied desk, a monument to administrative neglect. The only sound was the persistent hum of the AC unit until the chair creaked, a sharp protest in the silence.
Blitzo leaned back, the ‘o’ in his name feeling as silent as the room around him. He tossed a stress ball at the “Employee of the Month” plaque—Millie’s, for the eleventh time—and watched it thud to the floor. Boredom was a physical itch under his skin.
“You’re still here.”
The voice from the doorway wasn’t a question. Moxxie stood silhouetted against the hall light, his usual neat vest and tie still perfectly in place. He held a clipboard.
“No shit, Sherlock. It’s my office,” Blitzo said, swiveling slowly to face him. “What’s your excuse? Millie finally kick your fussy ass out for alphabetizing the spice rack again?”
“I was finalizing the ammunition inventory for the St. James contract,” Moxxie said, his tone clipped, professional. But he didn’t leave. He stepped inside, letting the door sigh shut behind him. The click of the latch was deafening.
“Right. The inventory.” Blitzo’s grin was all sharp teeth. He let his eyes travel down Moxxie’s form, slow and deliberate. “You’ve been giving me a different kind of inventory look all damn day.”
Moxxie’s breath hitched, just barely. A tiny fracture in the professional veneer. “I don’t know what you’re implying, sir.”
“Sir.” Blitzo snorted, pushing himself up from the chair. It rolled back and bumped the wall. “You only call me ‘sir’ when you’re thinking dirty thoughts, Mox. When you’re imagining how I’d fuck that stupid, polite little demeanor right out of you.” He took a step forward. Another. The space between them crackled.
Moxxie’s knuckles were white on the clipboard. He didn’t retreat. “That’s highly inappropriate.”
“And Millie isn’t here,” Blitzo purred, now directly in front of him. He plucked the clipboard from Moxxie’s hands and tossed it onto a nearby sofa. It slid off and scattered papers everywhere. Neither of them looked. “And Loona’s out ‘sick’, which means she’s probably setting something on fire for fun. It’s just us. Just you and me and this big, empty office.”
His hand came up, a single claw tracing the line of Moxxie’s jaw. Moxxie shuddered, a full-body tremor he couldn’t suppress. His eyes screwed shut.
“See?” Blitzo whispered, his breath hot against Moxxie’s ear. “You’re screaming yes while your mouth is still trying to say no. It’s my favorite thing about you.”
That did it. The resistance snapped. Moxxie’s eyes flew open, blazing with a hunger that swallowed the last pretense of propriety. He grabbed the front of Blitzo’s shirt and yanked him forward, crushing their mouths together. The kiss was all teeth and tongue and desperation, a messy, violent clash that tasted like coffee and pent-up fury.
Blitzo laughed into his mouth, a low, gritty sound. He walked Moxxie backward until the backs of his knees hit the heavy oak desk. With a rough shove, Moxxie was bent over it, maps and invoices and a half-eaten donut scattering to the floor.
“You’ve been a fucking tease all week,” Blitzo growled, his hands grabbing Moxxie’s hips. He yanked the smaller imp’s tailored pants and boxers down to his thighs in one brutal motion. The cool office air hit Moxxie’s exposed skin. “Walking around in your cute little vest, correcting my grammar, looking at me with those ‘please-fuck-me’ eyes. You want this?”
Moxxie’s face was pressed against the wood grain. He nodded, a frantic, jerky movement. “Yes.”
“Didn’t hear you, sweetheart.”
“Yes!” Moxxie hissed, pushing back against Blitzo’s grip.
Blitzo undid his own pants, freeing his cock. He spat into his palm, a crude, wet sound, and slicked himself up. He didn’t wait, didn’t prepare Moxxie further. He just lined up and shoved forward, burying himself to the hilt in one deep, punishing thrust.
Moxxie screamed. It was a raw, torn sound that echoed off the filing cabinets. His claws scrabbled against the desktop, scoring deep gouges in the wood. It was too much, too fast, a blinding stretch that burned. Tears sprang to his eyes.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” Blitzo groaned, hips flush against Moxxie’s ass. He didn’t move, letting Moxxie feel every thick, pulsing inch. “Always so fucking tight for me. Like you’ve been saving it.”
He drew back and slammed in again. And again. Setting a ruthless, pounding rhythm that knocked the air from Moxxie’s lungs with every drive. The desk creaked in protest, sliding an inch across the floor with each impact.
“This what you wanted?” Blitzo grunted, one hand fisting in Moxxie’s hair, pulling his head back. “You wanted the boss to fuck you stupid on the paperwork? Huh? You like getting railed on your wife’s employee of the month forms?”
“God, yes!” Moxxie choked out. The pain had melted, fused into a white-hot coil of pleasure so intense it felt like dying. Every nerve was on fire. He was split open, owned, completely at the mercy of Blitzo’s chaotic, selfish rhythm. He loved it. He needed it. This was the only thing that ever quieted the constant, orderly buzz in his brain.
Blitzo’s free hand snaked around Moxxie’s front, finding his cock, hard and leaking against the cool wood. He jerked him off in time with his thrusts, a rough, clumsy friction that had Moxxie seeing stars.
“You’re gonna come,” Blitzo commanded in his ear, his pace becoming erratic, jagged. “You’re gonna come all over this desk like the dirty little secret you are. And then I’m gonna fill you up. Gonna make sure you feel me in you tomorrow when you’re sitting at your perfect little desk with your perfect little wife.”
The words, the filthy promise, broke him. Moxxie’s orgasm ripped through him with a silent, shuddering violence. His seed striped the scattered papers below, his body clamping down hard on Blitzo’s cock in pulsating waves. The intensity made his legs buckle.
Blitzo held him up, fucking him through it, chasing his own finish. With a final, deep snarl, he buried himself as far as he could go. Heat flooded Moxxie’s core as Blitzo came, his hips stuttering, his body going rigid.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, mixing with the ever-present hum of the lights.