Fic: Tech Support - Part 2 of 2
Title: Tech Support
Author: Katica Locke
Pairing/Characters: Ingram/Finch
Rating: NC-17
Summary: AU where Ingram is the sole founder of IFT, Harold is tech support, and sexual harassment is the same as foreplay.
Warnings: Slash, AU
Word Count: 2900 words
Tech Support -- Part 1
Six months had passed since that fateful day in the deli and Mr. Ingram had been true to his word, not making a single sexual advance toward Harold in all that time. That hadn't stopped him from looking, though. Every time Harold turned around, he caught his boss staring at him, a yearning in his eyes, a desperation written across his face. Harold knew how he felt, though he tried much harder to keep it hidden. He couldn't help but remember what they had shared: the sweat, the moans, the ecstasy. He longed to feel his boss' body against him, his mouth on him, his cock inside him, but he couldn't forget how dirty he'd felt afterward, how used, how violated. He didn't want to feel that way again.
He was on his knees behind a long bank of brand-new, shiny black servers, connecting the cables and hooking up the NSA feeds when Mr. Ingram came in, his six hundred dollar haircut plastered to his head, his tailored suit soaking wet. Harold glanced out the windows, surprised to see that it had started raining. Besides being wet, Mr. Ingram looked tired.
"How did the meeting go?" Harold asked, glancing back down at the cables as his boss shrugged out of his dripping suit jacket, his shirt clinging to his body.
"Just peachy," Mr. Ingram said. "My contact with the NSA is pleased with our progress. So pleased, in fact, that she's moved up the deadline by a year."
Harold gaped at him. "But- but what they were asking for was already going to take a miracle. And now they want it a year sooner? When are we supposed to sleep or eat?" They were already working sixteen and eighteen hour days. Harold suspected that Mr. Ingram sometimes spent days at time without leaving the office, sleeping on the sofa he'd gotten shortly after the incident. Harold had even napped on it a couple of times when he'd simply been unable to continue.
"I don't know," Mr. Ingram said, shaking his head as he sank into his desk chair and swiveled it to stare out the window at the gray, sheeting rain. "We'll just do our best, I suppose, and if that isn't good enough, the NSA can ask someone else to build their Orwellian Nightmare."
"You sound like you're having second thoughts about this Machine," Harold said, grunting under his breath as he picked himself up off the floor. He'd been skipping physical therapy for months and the stress he'd been placing on his damaged body was not without cost. His hip ached all the time, his limp more pronounced, and the pain medication he'd been relying on to help him sleep was starting to become less effective as he built up a tolerance. But he didn't have time to worry about it.
"Maybe I am," Mr. Ingram said. "I wanted to save lives, to prevent another 9/11, but at what cost? When this thing goes live, privacy will vanish. Everyone will be watched, everywhere, all the time. That sounds like a different kind of tragedy to me. The death of freedom and I pulled the trigger."
"It's a program," Harold said. "It's not like it's passing judgment on people. The only time it will do anything with the information it gathers is when it detects a threat to national security, and to me, that's worth a little loss of privacy."
"Easy for you to say," Mr. Ingram said, still staring out the window. "You never do anything worth watching." After a moment, he turned his chair, a frown on his handsome face. "I'm sorry, Harold, that was rude of me. Your personal life is your own business. I'm just tired and...I don't know if I can do this."
Harold squeezed out from behind the servers and approached the desk. He hesitated, then stepped around and put a hand on his boss' shoulder. "Of course you can. You're just exhausted. You need to get some sleep."
"But the Machine--"
"I'm still connecting the new drives," Harold said. "It'll take at least an hour. Now come on, go lay down. And take off that shirt; it's soaking wet." As Mr. Ingram started to get up, Harold limped ahead of him, down the hall to Mr. Ingram's office. He went into the bathroom and pulled a towel out of the cupboard and a dry shirt off the back of the door. That was one reason he suspected his boss was sleeping in the office -- the bathroom's sudden transformation into a closet.
When he emerged, Mr. Ingram was standing in front of the sofa, shirtless and barefoot. Harold swallowed hard, trying not to let his gaze linger on the bare skin. His tan had faded and he'd lost weight. Harold supposed they both had. His clothes didn't fit him quite right anymore, hanging from his shoulders, his belt needing to be pulled another notch tighter.
"Here," he said, handing his boss the towel. He draped the shirt over the arm of the sofa and started to leave.
"Thank you, Harold," Mr. Ingram said, peeking out from under the towel as he dried his hair. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You're welcome, sir," Harold said.
Mr. Ingram sighed. "Are you ever going to call me Nathan?"
"I don't know," Harold said. He wasn't sure he wanted to be that familiar with him. What would he be inviting? He pushed through the frosted glass doors and headed back down the hall. He made it about halfway before he stopped. Whatever he might invite, would it really be that unwelcome? It had been six months since he'd had sex, and weeks since he'd found the time or energy to masturbate. He'd spent almost every waking moment with Mr. Ingram, so he was pretty sure he wasn't getting any either. But could he trust him?
Harold opened the office door again and slipped inside. Mr. Ingram was sitting on the sofa, his head tipped back and the towel draped around his bare shoulders. He had his eyes closed. He was probably asleep already. Harold hesitated, then started to leave again.
"What is it, Harold?" Mr. Ingram asked and Harold glanced back.
"I- I was just--" He took a bracing breath and crossed the room, dropping to his knees between Mr. Ingram's bare feet, despite the protestations from his bad leg. The younger man sat up, looking startled.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I want to help you relax, sir," Harold said, reaching up to undo his boss' fly.
Mr. Ingram caught his hands and stopped him. "Harold, don't," he said. "I don't need you to do that."
"You've been under a lot of stress," Harold said. "I won't overreact like last time."
"You didn't overreact," Mr. Ingram said with a frown. "Jesus, Harold, you should have had me arrested for what I did. Now stop this. I don't want to jeopardize our friendship, because I do consider you a friend. Probably the closest friend I have right now. So please, get up."
Harold used the edge of the sofa to lever himself back to his feet, but he didn't remain standing long. He lowered himself onto the sofa, straddling Mr. Ingram's legs, his hands finding the broad shoulders as confused blue eyes stared up at him.
"I want you," Harold said quietly. "I have for a while now, but I wasn't sure that I could trust you, that you weren't just pretending until I let my guard down. But I believe you now, and I want you...Nathan."
Mr. Ingram looked uncertain, like it had to be some kind of trick, but Harold just pressed himself closer to his boss to make up for the stiffness in his neck, feeling the growing hardness beneath him as he leaned down and kissed him. Hands grabbed his waist and he raised his head.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes. Please," Harold breathed, taking his hands off Mr. Ingram's shoulders to begin unbuttoning his own shirt. The younger man watched him for a moment, then joined in, the two of them making short work of their clothes until both were naked, Harold flat on his back on the sofa with his boss kneeling between his legs, one hand helping to support Harold's scarred leg while the other stroked up and down Harold's rapidly filling cock. He groaned and raised his hips off the cushions, biting back a cry as Mr. Ingram leaned down, taking Harold's cockhead into his mouth.
Mr. Ingram moaned, sending a dizzying vibration through Harold's flesh, and bobbed his head, sucking and slurping until Harold couldn't take it anymore. "S- stop. Mr. Ingram, please stop." He breathed a sigh of relief as Mr. Ingram raised his head.
"What is it, Mr. Finch?" his boss asked, a wry smile quirking his lips.
"Do you still have that lube in your desk drawer?" Harold panted. His body ached to be filled again. Mr. Ingram all but leaped of the sofa and ran across the room, digging into his drawer and pulling out the little bottle of lubricant. Harold moaned in anticipation, drawing up his good leg without trouble, but he needed Mr. Ingram's help to work the damaged one into position.
"Does that hurt?" Mr. Ingram asked, rubbing the long scar on Harold's hip.
"A little," Harold confessed, "but no worse that usual. Now fuck me, Nathan, please."
"No, not this time," Mr. Ingram said, popping the cap open and drizzling the clear gel onto his fingers. "Call me old-fashioned, but right now, I want to make love to you. I know it's just a polite euphemism, but I want more than just fucking, Harold. I love you."
"You do?" Harold gasped as Mr. Ingram smeared the lube across his opening.
"Yes. You mean more to me than I could ever express."
Harold was shocked. He'd never considered that this could be more than a physical thing. It was hard enough to believe that a man like Mr. Ingram would be interested in a shy, crippled, middle-aged geek -- he'd never even imagined that feelings could be involved. He struggled for something to say.
"You don't have to say it back," Mr. Ingram said, fingertips moving in small circles around that ring of muscle. "In fact, I'd rather you didn't, not unless you really mean it, and it's all right if you don't feel the same. I just wanted you to know."
"Mr. In-- Nathan," Harold whispered, his breath catching as the younger man eased a finger into him. "I- I don't-- I've never-- You're the-- Will you stop that," he gasped out as his boss stroked his prostate for the third time. "I'm trying to say something here."
"Sorry," Mr. Ingram said, his finger going still. He didn't look very sorry, though, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"I don't quite know how I feel. I've never been in love before, but I do know that you're the only man that I've felt this way about. I care for you very much. I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
"I know," Mr. Ingram said, "and that's all I need."
Harold groaned, arching his back as much as his injuries would allow as Mr. Ingram inserted a second finger, slowly scissoring them to stretch Harold's entrance. After a moment, he eased a third inside, pumping them in and out of Harold's trembling body.
"Are you ready?" Mr. Ingram asked.
"Yes...yes!" Harold panted, writhing on the sofa as his boss rubbed insistently against his prostate, making his cock twitch and his toes curl. "Nathan, please!"
Mr. Ingram dribbled more lube on his cock, slicked the head and shaft, and then slid inside, Harold's body taking him to the hilt with only a token protest. Balls deep, he paused, adjusting his hands to better support his weight as he leaned over Harold, his still damp hair sticking out in all directions. Harold smiled, reaching up to smooth it back, his fingers lingering on Nathan's face. As he stared up at his boss, he tried to find a word to describe what he was feeling -- the warmth beneath his skin, the pressure in his chest, the fluttering in his stomach -- but words failed him.
Nathan began to rock his hips, pulling out only a little before pressing back in, shifting his knees on the sofa, raising Harold's good leg as he searched for the right angle. Harold jerked, a helpless cry escaping his lips as Nathan hit his prostate, and a broad smile lit up Nathan's handsome face as he began to thrust, every movement sensual torture, the pleasure so intense that Harold could hardly breathe. He grabbed Nathan's shoulders, clinging to him for dear life, and threw his good leg over Nathan's hip, his heel digging into Nathan's toned ass as he lifted his hips to meet each thrust.
"Oh, Harold," Nathan moaned, his back arching, his head falling back to expose the length of his neck. Harold tightened his grip on Nathan's shoulders and pulled himself up, lips latching onto the sweaty skin. Nathan shuddered and gasped as Harold bit and sucked at this neck, teeth scraping flesh with every jolt of electric pleasure that rolled through him. His cock ached, dribbling pre-come on his belly, but all their hands were busy, Nathan's holding him up and Harold's hanging on to Nathan's shoulders. He rutted against the empty air, occasionally brushing the tip of his cock against Nathan's flat stomach, but such fleeting touches were more frustrating than anything.
"Please...please...please..." Harold hissed against Nathan's neck, fingers digging into his shoulders as he inched closer to the precipice of ecstasy. He needed to come. He needed it now. But he couldn't. The pleasure was too much, but not enough. He gasped, bucking as Nathan pounded into him, his hot breath fogging up his glasses. He couldn't take it anymore.
Slumping back against the sofa cushions, he released Nathan's shoulders, one hand wrapping around his leaking cock, the other hiking his injured leg higher, pulling it back until his scarred muscles cramped, a strangled shout escaping him as he felt Nathan plunge deeper than ever before. Feverishly, he stroked his cock, a few rough jerks all it took to tip him over the edge. He came hard, splattering Nathan's chest, the thick fluid dripping down onto his own body as Nathan's strident shouts echoed from the walls, his thrusts growing urgent, his movement erratic. Harold stared up at him, his vision softened by the fog of orgasm -- or maybe by the breath on his glasses -- and watched Nathan come, the sweet release washing over him, a look of wonder on his handsome face. In that moment, Harold realized that everything had changed. No longer was he Mr. Ingram, powerful billionaire and computer genius, he was Nathan, the man that Harold loved.
Shuddering and gasping, Nathan managed to hold himself up on shaking arms for about ten seconds, then he collapsed, landing on Harold hard enough to knock the wind out of him. "Sorry, Harold," he panted, his words muffled by the sofa cushion. "Just let me catch my breath..."
"That's okay," Harold said. He liked the feel of Nathan on top of him, the weight and warmth of his body, the rapid patter of his heart in his chest, the way his cock still fit so snugly inside him, making him feel complete in a way he'd never imagined was possible. Pulling his arms out from under the younger man, he wrapped them across Nathan's broad shoulders, holding him tight.
Nathan let slip a soft, nervous laugh. "Harold, what is it? Not having second thoughts, I hope."
"No," Harold said. "I just realized...that I love you, too."
"You do?" He sounded surprised. "After what I did to you?"
"You've made up for it," Harold said. "You proved that you're not that man anymore. Although...I don't think I'd mind if he showed up once in a while. Now that I'm not worried about losing my job, I think it would be kind of hot to be bent over your desk and fucked until I can barely stand." Inside him, Nathan's cock gave a twitch of agreement and Harold laughed. "I see I'm not the only one who thinks so."
"As long as it's what you want," Nathan said, raising his head and propping himself up on his elbows. "I'll never hurt you again." He leaned down, pressing his lips to Harold's, and Harold enthusiastically kissed him back, sliding a hand up the back of his neck, his fingers combing through Nathan's damp hair. After a moment, Nathan lifted his head, staring down at Harold with a small smile on his face.
"What?" Harold asked, slightly unnerved.
"Just wondering how I ever got so lucky," Nathan said.
Harold blinked. Of the two of them, he thought he'd be the one to count himself lucky. He regarded Nathan for a moment, trying to decide if he was being facetious or just laying on the charm, but he seemed to be sincere. It was a strange feeling, to know that somebody thought of him like that, valued him like that. With effort, he swallowed down the lump in his throat. "I think we both got lucky," Harold whispered, pulling Nathan down for a deep, slow kiss.
Author: Katica Locke
Pairing/Characters: Ingram/Finch
Rating: NC-17
Summary: AU where Ingram is the sole founder of IFT, Harold is tech support, and sexual harassment is the same as foreplay.
Warnings: Slash, AU
Word Count: 2900 words
Tech Support -- Part 1
Six months had passed since that fateful day in the deli and Mr. Ingram had been true to his word, not making a single sexual advance toward Harold in all that time. That hadn't stopped him from looking, though. Every time Harold turned around, he caught his boss staring at him, a yearning in his eyes, a desperation written across his face. Harold knew how he felt, though he tried much harder to keep it hidden. He couldn't help but remember what they had shared: the sweat, the moans, the ecstasy. He longed to feel his boss' body against him, his mouth on him, his cock inside him, but he couldn't forget how dirty he'd felt afterward, how used, how violated. He didn't want to feel that way again.
He was on his knees behind a long bank of brand-new, shiny black servers, connecting the cables and hooking up the NSA feeds when Mr. Ingram came in, his six hundred dollar haircut plastered to his head, his tailored suit soaking wet. Harold glanced out the windows, surprised to see that it had started raining. Besides being wet, Mr. Ingram looked tired.
"How did the meeting go?" Harold asked, glancing back down at the cables as his boss shrugged out of his dripping suit jacket, his shirt clinging to his body.
"Just peachy," Mr. Ingram said. "My contact with the NSA is pleased with our progress. So pleased, in fact, that she's moved up the deadline by a year."
Harold gaped at him. "But- but what they were asking for was already going to take a miracle. And now they want it a year sooner? When are we supposed to sleep or eat?" They were already working sixteen and eighteen hour days. Harold suspected that Mr. Ingram sometimes spent days at time without leaving the office, sleeping on the sofa he'd gotten shortly after the incident. Harold had even napped on it a couple of times when he'd simply been unable to continue.
"I don't know," Mr. Ingram said, shaking his head as he sank into his desk chair and swiveled it to stare out the window at the gray, sheeting rain. "We'll just do our best, I suppose, and if that isn't good enough, the NSA can ask someone else to build their Orwellian Nightmare."
"You sound like you're having second thoughts about this Machine," Harold said, grunting under his breath as he picked himself up off the floor. He'd been skipping physical therapy for months and the stress he'd been placing on his damaged body was not without cost. His hip ached all the time, his limp more pronounced, and the pain medication he'd been relying on to help him sleep was starting to become less effective as he built up a tolerance. But he didn't have time to worry about it.
"Maybe I am," Mr. Ingram said. "I wanted to save lives, to prevent another 9/11, but at what cost? When this thing goes live, privacy will vanish. Everyone will be watched, everywhere, all the time. That sounds like a different kind of tragedy to me. The death of freedom and I pulled the trigger."
"It's a program," Harold said. "It's not like it's passing judgment on people. The only time it will do anything with the information it gathers is when it detects a threat to national security, and to me, that's worth a little loss of privacy."
"Easy for you to say," Mr. Ingram said, still staring out the window. "You never do anything worth watching." After a moment, he turned his chair, a frown on his handsome face. "I'm sorry, Harold, that was rude of me. Your personal life is your own business. I'm just tired and...I don't know if I can do this."
Harold squeezed out from behind the servers and approached the desk. He hesitated, then stepped around and put a hand on his boss' shoulder. "Of course you can. You're just exhausted. You need to get some sleep."
"But the Machine--"
"I'm still connecting the new drives," Harold said. "It'll take at least an hour. Now come on, go lay down. And take off that shirt; it's soaking wet." As Mr. Ingram started to get up, Harold limped ahead of him, down the hall to Mr. Ingram's office. He went into the bathroom and pulled a towel out of the cupboard and a dry shirt off the back of the door. That was one reason he suspected his boss was sleeping in the office -- the bathroom's sudden transformation into a closet.
When he emerged, Mr. Ingram was standing in front of the sofa, shirtless and barefoot. Harold swallowed hard, trying not to let his gaze linger on the bare skin. His tan had faded and he'd lost weight. Harold supposed they both had. His clothes didn't fit him quite right anymore, hanging from his shoulders, his belt needing to be pulled another notch tighter.
"Here," he said, handing his boss the towel. He draped the shirt over the arm of the sofa and started to leave.
"Thank you, Harold," Mr. Ingram said, peeking out from under the towel as he dried his hair. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You're welcome, sir," Harold said.
Mr. Ingram sighed. "Are you ever going to call me Nathan?"
"I don't know," Harold said. He wasn't sure he wanted to be that familiar with him. What would he be inviting? He pushed through the frosted glass doors and headed back down the hall. He made it about halfway before he stopped. Whatever he might invite, would it really be that unwelcome? It had been six months since he'd had sex, and weeks since he'd found the time or energy to masturbate. He'd spent almost every waking moment with Mr. Ingram, so he was pretty sure he wasn't getting any either. But could he trust him?
Harold opened the office door again and slipped inside. Mr. Ingram was sitting on the sofa, his head tipped back and the towel draped around his bare shoulders. He had his eyes closed. He was probably asleep already. Harold hesitated, then started to leave again.
"What is it, Harold?" Mr. Ingram asked and Harold glanced back.
"I- I was just--" He took a bracing breath and crossed the room, dropping to his knees between Mr. Ingram's bare feet, despite the protestations from his bad leg. The younger man sat up, looking startled.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I want to help you relax, sir," Harold said, reaching up to undo his boss' fly.
Mr. Ingram caught his hands and stopped him. "Harold, don't," he said. "I don't need you to do that."
"You've been under a lot of stress," Harold said. "I won't overreact like last time."
"You didn't overreact," Mr. Ingram said with a frown. "Jesus, Harold, you should have had me arrested for what I did. Now stop this. I don't want to jeopardize our friendship, because I do consider you a friend. Probably the closest friend I have right now. So please, get up."
Harold used the edge of the sofa to lever himself back to his feet, but he didn't remain standing long. He lowered himself onto the sofa, straddling Mr. Ingram's legs, his hands finding the broad shoulders as confused blue eyes stared up at him.
"I want you," Harold said quietly. "I have for a while now, but I wasn't sure that I could trust you, that you weren't just pretending until I let my guard down. But I believe you now, and I want you...Nathan."
Mr. Ingram looked uncertain, like it had to be some kind of trick, but Harold just pressed himself closer to his boss to make up for the stiffness in his neck, feeling the growing hardness beneath him as he leaned down and kissed him. Hands grabbed his waist and he raised his head.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes. Please," Harold breathed, taking his hands off Mr. Ingram's shoulders to begin unbuttoning his own shirt. The younger man watched him for a moment, then joined in, the two of them making short work of their clothes until both were naked, Harold flat on his back on the sofa with his boss kneeling between his legs, one hand helping to support Harold's scarred leg while the other stroked up and down Harold's rapidly filling cock. He groaned and raised his hips off the cushions, biting back a cry as Mr. Ingram leaned down, taking Harold's cockhead into his mouth.
Mr. Ingram moaned, sending a dizzying vibration through Harold's flesh, and bobbed his head, sucking and slurping until Harold couldn't take it anymore. "S- stop. Mr. Ingram, please stop." He breathed a sigh of relief as Mr. Ingram raised his head.
"What is it, Mr. Finch?" his boss asked, a wry smile quirking his lips.
"Do you still have that lube in your desk drawer?" Harold panted. His body ached to be filled again. Mr. Ingram all but leaped of the sofa and ran across the room, digging into his drawer and pulling out the little bottle of lubricant. Harold moaned in anticipation, drawing up his good leg without trouble, but he needed Mr. Ingram's help to work the damaged one into position.
"Does that hurt?" Mr. Ingram asked, rubbing the long scar on Harold's hip.
"A little," Harold confessed, "but no worse that usual. Now fuck me, Nathan, please."
"No, not this time," Mr. Ingram said, popping the cap open and drizzling the clear gel onto his fingers. "Call me old-fashioned, but right now, I want to make love to you. I know it's just a polite euphemism, but I want more than just fucking, Harold. I love you."
"You do?" Harold gasped as Mr. Ingram smeared the lube across his opening.
"Yes. You mean more to me than I could ever express."
Harold was shocked. He'd never considered that this could be more than a physical thing. It was hard enough to believe that a man like Mr. Ingram would be interested in a shy, crippled, middle-aged geek -- he'd never even imagined that feelings could be involved. He struggled for something to say.
"You don't have to say it back," Mr. Ingram said, fingertips moving in small circles around that ring of muscle. "In fact, I'd rather you didn't, not unless you really mean it, and it's all right if you don't feel the same. I just wanted you to know."
"Mr. In-- Nathan," Harold whispered, his breath catching as the younger man eased a finger into him. "I- I don't-- I've never-- You're the-- Will you stop that," he gasped out as his boss stroked his prostate for the third time. "I'm trying to say something here."
"Sorry," Mr. Ingram said, his finger going still. He didn't look very sorry, though, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"I don't quite know how I feel. I've never been in love before, but I do know that you're the only man that I've felt this way about. I care for you very much. I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
"I know," Mr. Ingram said, "and that's all I need."
Harold groaned, arching his back as much as his injuries would allow as Mr. Ingram inserted a second finger, slowly scissoring them to stretch Harold's entrance. After a moment, he eased a third inside, pumping them in and out of Harold's trembling body.
"Are you ready?" Mr. Ingram asked.
"Yes...yes!" Harold panted, writhing on the sofa as his boss rubbed insistently against his prostate, making his cock twitch and his toes curl. "Nathan, please!"
Mr. Ingram dribbled more lube on his cock, slicked the head and shaft, and then slid inside, Harold's body taking him to the hilt with only a token protest. Balls deep, he paused, adjusting his hands to better support his weight as he leaned over Harold, his still damp hair sticking out in all directions. Harold smiled, reaching up to smooth it back, his fingers lingering on Nathan's face. As he stared up at his boss, he tried to find a word to describe what he was feeling -- the warmth beneath his skin, the pressure in his chest, the fluttering in his stomach -- but words failed him.
Nathan began to rock his hips, pulling out only a little before pressing back in, shifting his knees on the sofa, raising Harold's good leg as he searched for the right angle. Harold jerked, a helpless cry escaping his lips as Nathan hit his prostate, and a broad smile lit up Nathan's handsome face as he began to thrust, every movement sensual torture, the pleasure so intense that Harold could hardly breathe. He grabbed Nathan's shoulders, clinging to him for dear life, and threw his good leg over Nathan's hip, his heel digging into Nathan's toned ass as he lifted his hips to meet each thrust.
"Oh, Harold," Nathan moaned, his back arching, his head falling back to expose the length of his neck. Harold tightened his grip on Nathan's shoulders and pulled himself up, lips latching onto the sweaty skin. Nathan shuddered and gasped as Harold bit and sucked at this neck, teeth scraping flesh with every jolt of electric pleasure that rolled through him. His cock ached, dribbling pre-come on his belly, but all their hands were busy, Nathan's holding him up and Harold's hanging on to Nathan's shoulders. He rutted against the empty air, occasionally brushing the tip of his cock against Nathan's flat stomach, but such fleeting touches were more frustrating than anything.
"Please...please...please..." Harold hissed against Nathan's neck, fingers digging into his shoulders as he inched closer to the precipice of ecstasy. He needed to come. He needed it now. But he couldn't. The pleasure was too much, but not enough. He gasped, bucking as Nathan pounded into him, his hot breath fogging up his glasses. He couldn't take it anymore.
Slumping back against the sofa cushions, he released Nathan's shoulders, one hand wrapping around his leaking cock, the other hiking his injured leg higher, pulling it back until his scarred muscles cramped, a strangled shout escaping him as he felt Nathan plunge deeper than ever before. Feverishly, he stroked his cock, a few rough jerks all it took to tip him over the edge. He came hard, splattering Nathan's chest, the thick fluid dripping down onto his own body as Nathan's strident shouts echoed from the walls, his thrusts growing urgent, his movement erratic. Harold stared up at him, his vision softened by the fog of orgasm -- or maybe by the breath on his glasses -- and watched Nathan come, the sweet release washing over him, a look of wonder on his handsome face. In that moment, Harold realized that everything had changed. No longer was he Mr. Ingram, powerful billionaire and computer genius, he was Nathan, the man that Harold loved.
Shuddering and gasping, Nathan managed to hold himself up on shaking arms for about ten seconds, then he collapsed, landing on Harold hard enough to knock the wind out of him. "Sorry, Harold," he panted, his words muffled by the sofa cushion. "Just let me catch my breath..."
"That's okay," Harold said. He liked the feel of Nathan on top of him, the weight and warmth of his body, the rapid patter of his heart in his chest, the way his cock still fit so snugly inside him, making him feel complete in a way he'd never imagined was possible. Pulling his arms out from under the younger man, he wrapped them across Nathan's broad shoulders, holding him tight.
Nathan let slip a soft, nervous laugh. "Harold, what is it? Not having second thoughts, I hope."
"No," Harold said. "I just realized...that I love you, too."
"You do?" He sounded surprised. "After what I did to you?"
"You've made up for it," Harold said. "You proved that you're not that man anymore. Although...I don't think I'd mind if he showed up once in a while. Now that I'm not worried about losing my job, I think it would be kind of hot to be bent over your desk and fucked until I can barely stand." Inside him, Nathan's cock gave a twitch of agreement and Harold laughed. "I see I'm not the only one who thinks so."
"As long as it's what you want," Nathan said, raising his head and propping himself up on his elbows. "I'll never hurt you again." He leaned down, pressing his lips to Harold's, and Harold enthusiastically kissed him back, sliding a hand up the back of his neck, his fingers combing through Nathan's damp hair. After a moment, Nathan lifted his head, staring down at Harold with a small smile on his face.
"What?" Harold asked, slightly unnerved.
"Just wondering how I ever got so lucky," Nathan said.
Harold blinked. Of the two of them, he thought he'd be the one to count himself lucky. He regarded Nathan for a moment, trying to decide if he was being facetious or just laying on the charm, but he seemed to be sincere. It was a strange feeling, to know that somebody thought of him like that, valued him like that. With effort, he swallowed down the lump in his throat. "I think we both got lucky," Harold whispered, pulling Nathan down for a deep, slow kiss.