Chapter 5: Corporate Sabotage
The client’s voice droned through the speakerphone, a dry river of statistics and projections. Elias kept his responses clipped, professional, a smooth “mm-hmm” or “understood” his only concessions. Inside the warm, private darkness of his mouth, Finn had grown still. Bored, but behaving.
The call ended with polite promises of follow-up emails. Elias pressed a button, the line died with a soft click, and the office plunged into a thick, expectant silence.
Elias leaned back in his leather chair. The silence stretched, taut as a wire. Then, his tongue moved. Not roughly, but with a deliberate, slow pressure that guided Finn from the soft pocket of his cheek, out past his teeth, and into the open air of the office.
Finn was deposited onto the vast, cool plane of Elias’s desk, right beside the mousepad. He was gleaming, damp from the humid environment, his red hair dark and slicked down. He gasped, the cool air a shock on his skin, and immediately began trying to wring tiny drops of saliva from his arms. “Rude,” he muttered, shooting a glare upward.
Elias loomed over him, elbows on the desk, his face a mask of calm that didn’t reach his eyes. Those eyes were dark, glittering with a mixture of exasperation and something hotter, something held tightly in check. “You,” he said, his voice a low rumble that still vibrated in Finn’s bones, “were a menace.”
“I was an explorer,” Finn retorted, shivering slightly. He wrapped his arms around himself. “And then I was a prisoner. A damp, warm prisoner.”
“A prisoner who couldn’t keep his hands to himself.” Elias’s gaze dropped pointedly to the constellation of tiny, fading marks on his collarbone, visible through his open shirt. “A prisoner with very sharp teeth.”
Finn’s defiance softened, just for a second. He followed Elias’s look. “You tightened the tie.”
“I shifted my posture.”
“Same difference.” Finn took a step closer to the mammoth hand resting near him. The scent of Elias’s skin, of clean cotton and that unique, warm musk, was stronger out here. “It was an accident.”
“And your little… performance during the Franklin call?” Elias’s eyebrow arched. “Was that an accident?”
A slow, wicked smile spread across Finn’s face. He remembered the choked-off sentence, the shudder, the thump of a knee against the desk. “No,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “That was a critique. His ideas were boring. I was providing auditory punctuation.”
Elias stared at him. A slow breath escaped his lips, a sigh that was mostly surrender. He reached out, his index finger approaching Finn with infinite slowness. Instead of scooping him up, he simply laid the side of his finger against Finn’s body, a gentle, warming barricade. “You are going to get me fired one day.”
“You’d write more books,” Finn said, leaning into the incredible warmth of his skin, the texture of his fingerprint like a familiar landscape. “Better use of your time.”
Another silence fell, but this one was different. Charged, not with professional tension, but with the leftover current of the day’s games. The punishment, the closeness, the secret shared in the middle of a workday. Elias’s thumb came up and very carefully stroked the length of Finn’s back, wiping away the last of the dampness. The touch was proprietary, soothing. It sparked an idea in Finn’s mind, an ember fanned by the memory of being utterly surrounded by him.
His eyes, bright and inquisitive, traveled past the giant hand, down the slope of Elias’s torso, to the sharp crease of his trousers. The zipper was a silver railway track descending into shadow.
Elias saw the look.His thumb stilled. “Finn.”
“You said I was in trouble,” Finn said, his voice innocent. He took a tiny step away from the finger, toward the desk’s edge. “I don’t think the sentence has been fully served.”
“It has.” Elias’s voice held a warning, but it was thin. His attention was wholly captured, a scientist observing a fascinating, unpredictable reaction.
“You’re the judge,” Finn said, walking with deliberate slowness along the desk’s edge, his small body a burst of color against the dark wood. “But I’m the… penitent. I feel the need for further… confinement.”
He reached the corner where the vast, starched fabric of Elias’s shirt hung over his belt. With a glance back—a flash of green eyes and defiant red hair—he grabbed the material and began to climb down, disappearing over the side.
Elias didn’t move. He sat, statue-still, his hands flat on the desk. He heard the faint, nearly imperceptible scuffles as Finn navigated down the cliff of his torso. He felt the tiny, pinpoint tugs on the fabric near his hip. His breath shallowed.
Then, he felt it. A minuscule pressure beside his zipper. "I see you were expecting me here, there is a perfectly sized opening just waiting."
He crawled in, the cold air whispered through the widened gap. Finn, clinging to the inside of the fabric, peered into the new, dark crevice that had opened up. The scent here was profound, deeply private—, clean skin, and a familiar, musky warmth of Elias himself. It was overwhelming. Intoxicating.
The world vanished into a twilight of dense, soft cotton and overwhelming heat. The sound of Elias’s heartbeat, which had been a distant drum in his mouth, was now a deep, rushing throb all around him, underscored by the slower rush of his breath. Finn moved carefully, climbing up the rough terrain of Elias’s briefs until his bare feet met the hot, smooth skin of his lower abdomen.
Elias made a sound above him—a sharp, choked intake of breath that vibrated through the air of the universe Finn now inhabited. The muscles under Finn’s feet tensed, a seismic event of restraint.
Finn pressed his cheek against the burning skin, listening to the chaotic symphony of the body around him. Then, he tugged the waistband back and crawled beneath it.
It was a pilgrimage in the dark. He navigated the dense, soft thicket of hair, the landscape rising and falling with Elias’s increasingly ragged breaths. He found what he was searching for—a heavy, heat-radiating weight, already half-hard and straining against its cotton confines just from his proximity, from the sheer audacity of his invasion.
Elias’s hands gripped the arms of his chair, the leather groaning in protest. His head fell back against the headrest, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. On his screen, a calendar notification popped up: Team Sync - 15 mins.
Finn traced the immense, velvety-soft skin with both hands, learning its contours, its startling heat. He leaned in, his tiny body dwarfed by the sheer scale of it, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the skin just below the head.
Above him, Elias shuddered. A low, guttural groan was swallowed before it could fully escape.
Encouraged, Finn let his curiosity guide him. He explored the hypersensitive ridge with the very tip of his tongue, a stroke so minute it should have been imperceptible. It wasn’t. The reaction was instantaneous and violent: a full-body flinch, a choked curse hissed at the ceiling, and a desperate, trembling hand that flew from the armrest to press flat the fabric covering Finn, not to crush, but to feel, to confirm the impossible reality of it.
The pressure was immense, a warm, heavy sky pressing down. Finn was pinned gently against the burning skin, engulfed in Elias’s scent and heat. He could feel the frantic, thunderous pulse beneath him.
“Finn,” Elias breathed, the word raw and shredded. “You have… 10 minutes. Between calls.”
It was permission. It was a plea.
Finn wriggled, turning his head within the confined space. He found what he sought and, with a mischievous daring that curled his toes, darted his tongue out again. This time, his target was the tiny, vulnerable slit at the very tip.
The effect was catastrophic.
Elias’s hips jerked off the chair, a brutal, involuntary snap. A broken, helpless sound tore from his throat. The hand over Finn clenched into a fist, twisting the fabric. “Christ,” he gasped, his professional composure in ashes.
Finn did it again. A flick. A taste of salt and and Elias.
“Finn,” Elias growled, but it was a warning woven through with desperate want. He fumbled with his free hand, his movements clumsy. There was the sound of a mouse clicking, frantic, Out of office showing on his open window.
His other hand finally managed to shove fabric aside. Blinding, office light flooded Finn’s world for a split second before Elias’s enormous hand descended and curled carefully around Finn and the part of himself Finn was so intimately exploring. The world became a seamless, hot darkness again.
Elias’s thumb stroked over Finn’s entire back, pinning him in place against the slick, hard heat. The message was clear, absolute: You started this. Now you finish it.
Finn gasped, the air hot and thick. He clung to the skin beneath him, his small mouth finding its target again. He didn’t just taste now; he drank, he lavished, he devoted his entire attention to the single, overwhelming point of sensation he could influence.
Elias’s breathing was a ragged storm. His grip tightened infinitesimally, a conscious, Herculean effort at control that made the fine tremors in his hand all the more telling. “You…” he panted, “you impossible creature. You perfect, maddening…”
He didn’t finish. His hips began to move in tiny, aborted circles, a helpless, rhythmic response to the devastating attention. The universe narrowed to this point of contact, to the wet, hot friction of a tongue no bigger than a grain of rice moving against the most vulnerable part of him, amplified by a love and a hunger that made scale irrelevant.
Finn lost himself in the dark and the heat and the power of it. He was a spark igniting the wildfire of Elias. He was a whisper provoking a scream. He was consumed by the sensory overload—the taste, the pounding heartbeat, the trembling muscle, the low, continuous groan vibrating from the chest above down through the hand that held him.
It couldn’t last. The tension was a living wire, pulled too tight. Elias’s warning was a strangled, “Finn—I’m—”, a taut thread of sound that snapped.
The climax was not violent, but it was absolute. A deep, shuddering convulsion that rippled through the body surrounding Finn, a hot, silent pulse against his face, his chest. Elias’s hand spasmed, his grip becoming a cradle rather than a cage as a long, shattered sigh left him, draining all the tension from the room.
Silence pooled back, heavy and sweet.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of slowing breaths. Slowly, carefully, Elias’s hand uncurled. Light returned. Finn blinked up, dazed, coated and warm. Elias looked down at him, his expression utterly shattered, raw with an emotion too vast for words. With infinite tenderness, he lifted Finn, bringing him up through the landscape of his own clothing, back into the open air.
He didn’t put Finn on the desk. He brought him to his lips, ignoring everything, and kissed him. It was a deep, possessive, tasting kiss, full of the salt from his own release. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark, bottomless pools.
“you little devil” he murmured, his voice wrecked and soft.
Finn, cradled in his palm, simply breathed, his small body thrumming with the aftershocks of shared intimacy. He watched Elias's tongue poke out and clean him off with slow, deliberate movements. Then, he slipped Finn back into the cavern of his mouth, slipping him beneath his tongue as he curtly cleaned himself up, and straightened his clothes.
Elias, now decent, switched his status to online, and opened the video meeting, preparing to continue with his day.
Within his mouth, Finn; worn, and sated, was moved into the pocket of his husband's cheek once more. He was content to just lay there, periodically rubbing at the gums to his back in small, comforting motions.
The low vibration of Elias’s voice during his final call was a soothing hum against Finn’s prone body. He dozed, lulled by the rhythmic pulse and the warm, damp dark. The world outside was just a muffled rumble, a distant storm he was safely buried from. He stirred only when the vibrations ceased, replaced by the definitive click of a laptop closing.
Silence, thick and complete, settled in the office. Then, a deep inhalation filled the lungs around him. Elias’s tongue lifted, cradling Finn gently before carrying him out into the cool, conditioned air. The sudden light made Finn blink, raising a hand to shield his eyes.
Elias’s face filled his vision, his expression unreadable. He said nothing as he carefully placed Finn on the now-clean desk blotter. From a desk drawer, he produced a clean, soft handkerchief, unfolded it with deliberate slowness, and began to dab away the lingering dampness from Finn’s skin. His touch was methodical, thorough, almost clinical.
Finn stood patiently, allowing the ministrations. “Silent treatment?” he finally asked, his voice small in the quiet room.
“Processing,” Elias murmured, his focus on wiping a spot behind Finn’s knee. He didn’t look up.
“Processing the part where you came undone in your office chair?” Finn pressed, a smirk tugging his lips.
That got a reaction. Elias’s eyes flicked up, dark and intense. “Processing the part where my four-inch husband commandeered my central nervous system during a quarterly review.” He finished with a final, soft pat. “And the fact that I’m not angry about it.”
He stood then, his large frame unfolding from the chair. He dressed with swift, efficient movements—buttoning his shirt, smoothing his trousers, refastening his belt. The professional armor was sliding back into place, but Finn could see the cracks. The slight tremor in his hands. The lingering flush on his neck.
Elias picked up his briefcase, then turned to the desk. His hand, now steady, cupped before Finn. “Come on.”
The car ride home was a study in quiet tension. Elias drove one-handed, the other resting on the center console, his index finger extended. Finn sat against it, leaning into the solid warmth, watching the city lights blur past the window. No music played. The only sounds were the purr of the engine and the whisper of tires on asphalt.
Finn traced the lines of Elias’s fingerprint. “You’re being weird.”
“Am I?”
“You’re all… contained.”
Elias’s thumb stroked slowly over Finn’s back. “Containing a hurricane is a full-time job.”
They didn’t speak again until the car was in the garage, the engine off, the sudden silence ringing in their ears. Elias carried Finn into the house, through the dark kitchen, down the hallway. He didn’t turn on the lights. Moonlight streamed through the bedroom windows, painting everything in silver and deep blue.
In their bedroom, Elias finally stopped containing.
He set his briefcase down and placed Finn gently on the rumpled bedsheets. Then, with a sigh that seemed to come from his bones, he began to undress. This wasn't the swift, efficient ritual from the office. This was slow, almost ritualistic. The tie was loosened and pulled off with a soft hiss. The shirt buttons were freed one by one, the fabric shrugged from broad shoulders to pool on the floor. His trousers followed.
He stood naked in the moonlight, a pale giant in the semi-dark. Then he lay down on his back atop the covers, his head sinking into the pillow. He exhaled, and the last of the day’s rigid control seemed to leave his body, melting into the mattress.
“Alright,” he said, his voice a low, rough invitation in the quiet room. His arms settled at his sides, palms up. “I am yours.”
Finn slowly stood, taking a moment to take in the glorious, smooth, pale expanse of to husband. Then he started. First at Elias's feet, tracing slow, light trails with his fingertips along the creases of the bottom of the foot.
Finn didn't rush, he meticulously explored the exposed, sensitive skin.
Elias twitched, reacting to the light tickle, but didn't move away. He let Finn have him in whatever form he chose.
Smiling, Finn continued, moving to the other foot and repeating the process. Another twitch, a soft exhale accompanying it. Finn climbed onto his ankle and reached up to wiggle his fingers between the massive toes. A laugh this time, and the toes on his other foot clenched.
this continued up Elias's leg. Finn tracing divots & marks on the skin, wiggling his fingers into sensitive creases.
For now, he left the sensitive groin area alone; moving onto the plain of his torso.