Work Hours

Erotic short. A man enforces the boundaries of his boyfriend’s work-life separation.

M/cis M, rated E, 1.3k. Public blowjobs out of doors, mild D/s, teasing and banter. Light-hearted and breezy.

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It’s raining outside and the chill is permeating the underground car park, making the air feel damp and freezing. He’s shivering in his coat as they come out from the stairwell because Alon always insists on using the stairs on days like this, when he’s been in early and hasn’t been able to go for his morning jog on his treadmill — all day long, he’s been pacing and irritable, lacking that kick of serotonin the exercise normally gives him.

And Alon is an irritable man anyway, although Gav is fairly certain a good deal of that is just overwork.

“I’m just about to get in the car,” Alon is saying. His voice sounds almost fucking broken as he says, “Dafydd, it’s fucking Friday, I’ve been working twelve days in a fucking row, I need — What fucking guidance?”

Gav watches the expression on Alon’s face, watching the twist of his mouth — Alon’s got a severe fucking face with severe fucking features on it, but there’s something about work that makes him go soft instead of hard, not because he’s less of a cunt, but because he gets so damned stressed about it that you can push his buttons and keep him coming back.

Gav hadn’t realised it had been twelve days in a row, and that pisses him off, because Dafydd is perfectly fucking capable of doing all this shit without constantly asking Alon to do everything, he just gets distracted in meetings and positivity circles and whatever the Hell.

Gav likes Dafydd, genuinely, he does, the guy’s got a fun energy, but he doesn’t like Dafydd when he’s talking to Alon.

“Dafydd, it’s in the liaison docs folder, it’s a PDF file. Well, just check Recents, then, it’s all — What?”

“For God’s sake,” mutters Gav, and he snatches the phone out of Alon’s hand before his eyebrows can crumple further — Gav has a good head and a half on Alon, and it’s easy to lean back from him and hold the phone out of the way so that Alon can’t snatch it back. “Oi, Dai, it’s Gavin. It’s Friday, mate, don’t be a prick — you can figure it out. I’m taking Alon’s phone now and he’s not getting it back until Monday morning. You’re meant to be the big fancy manager, just show some fucking initiative.”

Dafydd is blustering on the phone, gibbering out wordless, indignant protest without actually being able to string the words together, and Gav hangs up, turns the phone off, puts it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

Alon has stopped trying to wrestle for his phone back — he’s staring up at Gav, his cheeks flushed so red they’re almost purple, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open.

“Gavin,” he says, “you can’t just fucking do that.”

“Weren’t you saying something the last day about liking stories where the knight saves the princess from the dragon?”

“I’m not a fucking princess, Gavin,” says Alon breathlessly. “And Dafydd isn’t a fucking dragon, he’s our boss. Gavin, you can’t — I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Well,” says Gav as they come up to Alon’s car, but Gav has already lifted his keys out of his pocket because God knows Alon’s stressed enough about life without having to drive right now as well, and because Alon’s an extremely sexy variety of mental he had Gav on his car insurance before they’d even been dating for three months, “I did. It’s done now, so whatever you want to do about i — oh, and he’s on his knees.”

Gav tries to sound cool and unbothered as Alon shoves him back against the car door and it’s still wet and cold, but the concrete is dry under Alon’s suit trousers as he unbuckles Gav’s belt and pulls his trousers open.

“Mate,” hisses Gav. “Mate, we’re — we are in a public car park — ”

“Don’t call me mate when I have your cock in my mouth,” growls Alon, and pulls Gav onto his tongue.

His body may be cold but his cock is suddenly enveloped in hot, wet heat, and he chokes out a gasp as he falls further back against Alon’s white Peugeot (colour because white cars are statistically least likely to be involved in car crashes, apparently; the 208 for its fuel efficiency) and tries very hard not to let his knees go weak.

It’s late in the evening, past eight, and basically everyone had left the office except Alon — even Gav hadn’t actually been working this late on a Friday, had only come back to bring Alon some bao from across the road that Alon had eaten without looking up from his laptop. Gav’s pretty sure he won’t admit to it if he asks, but he’s certain Alon hasn’t eaten since breakfast.

Alon’s tongue slides against the lower part of his cock, playing over where his foreskin’s pushed back and making Gav choke, and he grabs Alon by the hair just to stabilise himself. Alon moans at the tug on his hair and makes an obscene slurping sound as he ducks his head and pulls Gav more into his mouth, and fuck, fuck, but Gav’s skin is on fire and the world seems to have narrowed down to the incredible warmth and skill of Alon’s mouth.

Blowjobs are great anyway, but what’s great right now is how fucking relaxed Alon looks, his eyes closed and his mouth focused on this, his hands sliding warm over Gav’s thighs and keeping his trousers up, his body sinking right into Gav’s.

“I’m serious, you know,” he grunts out as Alon pulls back to tongue and kiss against the side of his cockhead, sending hot tingles of sensation down his shaft but also up his fucking spine, his hips jumping, his thighs quivering. Alon’s hand is gripping tightly at the base of his prick and jerking him off even as he cleverly dips the tip of his tongue into Gav’s cock hole and makes his eyes fucking cross. “I’m not giving you this phone back until Monday.”

The noise Alon makes is low and strangled and full of want, and Gav feels a hot flush of want and sensation run through him at how saying that obviously affects Alon, makes him spread his legs wider apart on the floor and shove the heel of his hand against his bulging cock before he goes back to gripping at Gav’s thigh.

“Yeah, you like that?” asks Gav. “Want me to fucking — Fucking keep you working business hours only, yeah? Confiscate your phone, enforce your holiday hours?”

Alon shudders. “Don’t — God, do not — ”

“That literally turns you on,” crows Gav, gasping out a whimpered noise when Alon suddenly sucks on his cockhead, his tongue flicking against Gav’s frenum and making his whole cock bob, his balls clenching up. “Is that it, babes? You want me to like, administratively dom you?”

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” growls Alon, and then takes Gav’s whole cock into his mouth even though it makes him choke, and Gav feels so hot and so turned on and so stimulated that Alon might be right, actually, this might just fucking kill him.

He comes down Alon’s throat and Alon swallows him down, just fucking swallows it all, and Gav shudders as Alon sits back on his heels, pulls up Gav’s trousers, zips them up, belts his belt.

Wipes his mouth with the inside of his wrist.

“Feel better?” asks Gav.

Alon laughs breathily before he awkwardly pulls himself up on his feet — he’s regretting kneeling on the concrete, Gav guesses, his old joints not exactly made for shoving his knee caps down on something that fucking hard and cold.

“Gimme my phone,” he says.

“Jog on, mate,” says Gav, going around the other side of the car, and Alon laughs, stroking his own red cheek, but to his credit, he doesn’t ask again.

Not for fifteen minutes, anyway.