Close Quarters

The office was almost empty. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead as the last of the support staff trickled out with quiet goodbyes. Outside the glass walls of Tower 9, the city glowed like a furnace cooling down.

Eli leaned back in his chair, watching the soft flicker of his dual monitors. Spreadsheets, unread Slack messages, a marketing deck he hadn't touched. But he wasn't looking at any of it. Not really.

What he was looking at, just out of the corner of his eye, was Marcus.

Tall. Buttoned-up. That voice that made every Zoom call feel like a confession. And always staying late lately. Too late to be innocent.

Marcus caught his glance and didn't look away.

Eli smirked. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were waiting for something."

Marcus didn't answer. Just unrolled his sleeves with slow, deliberate movements, and walked over to Eli's desk. No sound but the buzz of the exit sign. His tie was still tight around his throat, and Eli felt something tighten lower in his own body in response.

"You always talk like that," Marcus said, eyes cool and direct. "Or just when you're bored?"

"I'm not bored."

Marcus stepped around the desk, standing close enough that Eli could smell the clean, dark scent of him--wood, leather, something with weight.

"I've seen you," Marcus murmured. "Looking. Every time you think I'm not paying attention."

Eli tilted his head back in his chair, meeting Marcus' gaze. "And you never stopped me."

"Didn't feel like it."

"Why not?"

Marcus gave the smallest smile, all implication. "Because I wanted to see how long it would take you to ask."

Eli's breath hitched slightly, the cocky exterior starting to tremble just beneath the surface. "Ask what?"

Marcus leaned down, voice a low growl by his ear. "If you could suck my cock under this desk. If you could be good for once instead of running your mouth."

Eli's throat bobbed. "That's not very professional."

Marcus stepped back. "Then ask me to leave."

Silence hung like a held breath.

Eli stood up instead.

He didn't say a word. Just reached behind him to hit the monitor sleep button, walked past Marcus without looking, and made a beeline for the empty conference room down the hall--the one with the blinds no one ever used.

Marcus followed.

The second the door clicked shut behind them, Eli turned. "So. You're in charge now, is that it?"

Marcus locked the door, slid his blazer off, and set it on the chair with careful precision. "No. I've always been in charge. You just stopped pretending otherwise."

Eli stepped back as Marcus approached, until the backs of his knees hit the table.

"You like the way I talk to you, don't you?" Marcus said, fingers reaching out to toy with the hem of Eli's shirt. "You act like you're in control in every meeting. But in here?"

Eli swallowed hard. "In here..."

Marcus pushed the shirt up slowly. "In here, you say 'yes, sir' and do what you're told."

Eli hesitated.

Marcus met his eyes. "If you want out, say so."

Instead, Eli nodded.

Marcus's voice was velvet-wrapped steel. "Say it."

"Yes, sir."

And that was all it took.

Marcus kissed him hard--no hesitation, no sweet preamble. Just lips and teeth, tongue sliding past resistance. He grabbed Eli by the hips and hoisted him onto the table like he weighed nothing. The wood was cold against the backs of Eli's thighs through his slacks.

Eli gasped into the kiss, hands curling in Marcus's shirt. "You've been thinking about this?"

"Every fucking day since that meeting where you bit your pen every time you disagreed with me."

Marcus slid a hand down between them, palming Eli through his pants, and the friction was devastating. Eli let his head drop back with a whimper.

"Sensitive already?" Marcus teased.

"You're smug as hell, you know that?"

"I know you're hard, and you're about to beg for more."

And Eli did. Quietly. "Please."

"Please what?" Marcus asked, hand pausing just enough to drive him crazy.

"Touch me. Just--fuck, Marcus..."

There was something delicious in seeing Eli undone like this. All the sarcasm gone, all the casual charm peeled away, leaving raw need behind. Marcus unbuckled Eli's belt with slow precision, kissed along his jaw, then knelt between his legs.

Eli watched him. Wide-eyed. Vulnerable in a way he never let himself be.

And then Marcus's mouth was on him. Hot, wet, confident.

Eli gasped, hips jerking upward, one hand flying to Marcus's shoulder. "Jesus--fuck--you're good at that."

Marcus didn't stop. Just used one strong hand to press Eli back down, controlling the pace with maddening ease. He sucked him deep, slow, like he was savoring every inch.

Eli's moans got sharper. "Don't stop. Don't--don't you fucking stop--"

Marcus pulled off just long enough to say, "Then take it. Like the good boy you are."

And Eli broke.

His thighs trembled. He came with a stuttered cry, fingers curling into the edge of the table as Marcus swallowed him down. It was too much. Too good. And Marcus didn't stop until he was wrung dry.

Eli slumped back, dazed, staring up at the ceiling.

Marcus stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned in. "You still think I'm the one who waited?"

Eli laughed breathlessly. "You were playing the long game."

"I'm patient. But I'm not gentle."

"I don't want gentle."

Marcus raised a brow. "Good. Because next time, I'm bending you over that desk before you can even finish a sentence."

Eli's eyes lit with something like challenge. "And what makes you think there'll be a next time?"

Marcus smirked and walked toward the door.

Before opening it, he looked back. "Because you'll text me when you're alone. And I'll remind you exactly who you belong to."

He left without another word.

Eli sat there, shirt half open, still catching his breath.

The city outside hadn't changed. But everything inside him had.

And tomorrow? He knew exactly which conference room they'd "accidentally" double-book.