Working Schedule

Erotic short. A boss and his secretary take a break for a nap.

Rated E, 1.4k. Cis M/trans M. Featuring cockwarming with PIV, some D/s, dirty talk, mild somnophilia, some role reversal play, mentions of creampies.

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It’s just past three o’clock in the afternoon, and George can see that Victor is flagging. He doesn’t say anything about it, but the fact is that Victor and George have both been working since half past six, have eaten whilst working, and George doesn’t even know how much sleep he got last night, how much he actually rested the night through.

The deadline is still a week off, but George knows how he gets, knows that Victor will see the note on the board for the end of the week and suddenly it will consume his every waking moment, his very idle thought — the pressure is helpful, lights a fire underneath him and allows him to better keep his focus, but there needs to be time for rest, too.

George had had to remind him three times to take lunch before Victor finally assented and took the bowl from him, eating mechanically without looking up from the report he was proofreading.

“I need to sleep,” Victor announces, and George is relieved even though it sends a shiver down his spine — Victor doesn’t nap for the vast majority of the year, doesn’t tend to get into the habit of it except for deep in winter when the dark afternoons and cosiness in the office make him slow and prone to flagging, or periods like this, when they’re extremely busy and he’s working himself to exhaustion. “Nap?”

He asks, but it’s not a question. It’s not a request. George’s mouth feels slightly dry, and he can feel his body warm under his suit trousers and his jumper, a flush across his chest and on the back of his neck.

“Want to go up to bed?” asks George, and he doesn’t know if he’s hopeful or not. If they go up to bed, it’ll be easier, won’t be quite so excruciating, and maybe after, they’ll be able to have a quick tumble together before returning to work.

Victor, damningly, says, “What? No, I’m not going to bed, that’s ridiculous. We can just use the armchair.” Oh, but it makes George’s skin prickle with heat, makes his body throb in places, what a fucking brat Victor is as he says it, so entitled to it all and fuck, but it’s wonderful that he is, gorgeous.

Tonight, when they finally go to bed properly, George will fuck him properly, will bend him over and drive all the tension out of his body, will fuck him until he’s sobbing and moaning, until he’s come so hard his knees go weak, and George will tug Victor against him and sleep soundly with the knowledge that George is still dripping out of him. But that’s tonight, that’s still hours away — this is the now.

“Is that okay?” asks Victor as George unbuckles his belt and sets it aside. “It doesn’t hurt your back, does it, sleeping back in the recliner?”

God, no. The recliner is probably George’s favourite piece of furniture in the house — he likes to nap in it from time to time on his own, likes to sit and read in it of an evening, likes the support it gives his shoulders, his hips. It’s not for the sake of his back or his neck that he suggested bed instead of the chair.

“It’s okay,” says George. “Sir.”

Victor’s laugh is soft and low and makes more heat pool and throb between George’s legs as he takes his phone out of his pocket and sits back in the chair, tugs the blanket out of the ottoman and pulls the lever back, cranking the chair back.

Victor turns off the PC monitor and unbuttons his own trousers, sliding them down his trousers as he sets an alarm with a verbal command to the home assistant on the mantel.

His cock is hard, fat and coming forward just a bit with the hood pushed back, and George licks his lips as he looks from that down to the slick between his thighs, the shining glisten of it.

“Sure you don’t want me to eat you out?” asks George, tries to keep the hunger out of his voice, but Victor doesn’t even respond to it — he is sleepy, is yawning as he comes forward and tells the robot to dim the lights, and fuck, fuck, but he barely even touches George as he gets on top of him, straddles his thighs and reaches for George’s cock.

George is already hard, which is good because Victor doesn’t so much as give him a cursory wank: he holds George’s cock steady, leans in, and sinks himself down.

“Oh, fuck,” groans George at the sudden wet heat of him, the way that Victor just fucking engulfs him and takes him in; it’s a smooth, easy glide into him, feeling the wet squeeze of Victor’s inner walls, the opening of his perfect fucking lips once he’s fully seated, George sheathed inside him. He shifts a bit, squirming and repositioning himself as George gasps and shudders underneath him, feeling the exquisite tightness as Victor clenches around him, feels Victor’s hard cock against his belly.

“Mmmm,” hums Victor sleepily, and fuck, fuck, but how casual he is about reaching for the lever himself, pushing the chair back a bit more, how he leans in and melts against George’s chest, a warm weight on top of him. Victor’s the perfect blanket like this, so perfect that George can barely stand it — his fingers tremble as he grabs hold of the actual blanket and loosely wraps it around Victor’s waist, over George’s legs as well as the backs of Victor’s.

“God, you’re so soft,” mumbles Victor, and George can’t stand the way his voice is when he talks like this, sultry and low and so full of quiet bliss. He needs a bit of sleep and George knows he’ll benefit from it as well, but his cock is so hard he can barely fucking stand it — he’s just aching to drive up and into Victor, to grip him by the hips and fuck up and into him, even while Victor is like this, sleepy and pliable and so goddamn easy.

He’s almost white-knuckled, gripping at the arms of the chair to keep himself still as Victor’s breathing slows down, as he sinks further into George’s chest, his cheek resting on the soft weave of his jumper, one arm loosely around his belly, the other coming up with his fingers curling around his shoulder.

“Hold me,” he mumbles, readjusting himself and nudging George’s cock inside him in a way that makes his breath hitch.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you tonight,” whispers George as he obeys, banding one of his arms around Victor’s lower back and settling his other hand over one of his legs through the blanket. “When I’m fucking done with you and we actually go to sleep, I’m going to leave you fucking gaping.”

“Mm,” says Victor softly against George’s chest, and while he sounds completely unbothered, George can feel the twitch and clench of his cunt around him, can feel the little jerk of his cock against his belly. “It’s business hours, and you are my assistant, still. I think there should be a sir in there somewhere, George.”

“I’m going to destroy your hole,” says George, rolling slightly up into Victor as he adjusts his position, and Victor sighs blissfully, “sir.”

“Yes, dear,” is Victor’s response, so soft it’s almost breathed out, and George closes his eyes tightly as he feels Victor go loose and liquid on top of him, so warm, so perfect.

He doesn’t know how long it takes him to get to sleep himself, used as a cockwarmer, putting Victor as soundly to sleep as a fucking thumb in the mouth — when he wakes, it’s to Victor grinding himself down so sweetly in his lap.

He waits for George to flutter awake, a moan falling from between his lips, before he climbs off. He’s got a smirk on his lips as he wipes a cloth between his legs, looking smug, superior, looking fucking provocative as he reaches for his trousers again.

“As soon as we’re done today,” threatens George, and Victor laughs, buttoning his trousers up.

“Sure, sure,” says Victor. “But for now, darling, we’ve got work to do. Put your cock away.”

“I’ll put it exactly where it belongs again in a minute,” George retorts, making Victor laugh. He chuckles to himself even though he’s aching as he gets himself properly dressed — the end of the working day and all it comes with can’t come soon enough.