Fic: Executive Toy [TVXQ RPS | AU] 2/2

[glitterburn]

You have so much potential, UC writes a few days later. I want you to realise it all. Everything I ask of you, it’s for your own good. Think of it as an invitation to possibility. And because it’s an invitation, you don’t have to accept. Although I very much hope that you will.

Yunho puts down his breakfast and stares at the email. UC has made very few demands over the last couple of days. It felt like they’d taken a step backwards with a return to simple tasks of ‘wear this, do that’, and Yunho had wondered if UC had changed his mind and was trying to let him down gently after their stationery cupboard rendezvous. Now he realises that UC was making him wait, letting him stew until he was all tender and melting, and now-now he’s ready to jump at just about anything UC asks of him.

Bring a change of clothes to the office, UC tells him, so Yunho goes through his wardrobe and chooses two outfits. He and Donghae are giving a presentation to a foreign investor this evening, and so it’s not that odd to take a suit with him into work. Actually, he’s grateful that UC is offering up a distraction, because this presentation is a pretty big deal and he’s been thinking about it just as much as he’s been thinking about UC. Except mostly he’s been thinking about UC with his lizard brain and he’s had to put actual, non-pornographic thought into the presentation, and weirdly the push-pull between the two extremes has led him to drawing a whole host of new creatures to populate Mash-Up Monsters.

By the time he gets into the office, his head is full of plans for a new Wiwaxia game and he barely acknowledges anyone as he rushes from the lift to his desk. He dumps his garment bag on the couch, sits down on the floor, and starts sketching the game’s different levels, then grabs another piece of paper and lists a bunch of questions he needs to answer to make this concept work before he can take it to the design team.

Changmin comes in and sets a cup of coffee on his desk. “Sir,” he says, “you’ll be much more comfortable over here.”

“Hmm?” Yunho looks up, realises he’s awash with sheets of paper. “Ah.” He gathers them together and gets to his feet. “Cambrian Explosion!” he says. “What do you think of that for a name?”

“For Wiwaxia? I like it, sir. It sounds exciting.” Changmin sticks a yellow Post-It on the Rhinopillar’s head. Yunho yanks the note away without looking at it and jams it on his desk calendar instead.

“Tell Donghae I’d like to see him as soon as possible so we can go through the notes for this evening,” he says, continuing with his game sketches.

“Yes, sir.” Changmin goes over to the couch. “Shall I hang your suit for you, sir?”

“That’d be great, thanks.” Yunho stops, staring down at the papers spread across his desk. Ugh, this is all wrong. No one will want to play this game. It’s boring and level six is unnecessarily complicated. Maybe if he adds in another monster. Or maybe that’ll just make it even worse, and just how is he supposed to move the gameplay forward in a coherent manner?

With a noise of frustration, Yunho screws up the page in front of him and lobs it across the room. He covers his face with his hands and sighs. Fuck, it’s not quite there. He can feel it at the back of his mind just waiting to hatch, but for now it’s teasing him, lying on a sun lounger in the Bahamas sipping a Mai Tai and waving at him.

“Sir.”

Yunho peeps out from between his fingers. Changmin is looking at him, big dark eyes wary and soulful and-and...

Changmin’s expression shutters. “Drink your coffee, sir. I’ll tell Mr Lee you wish to see him.”

The morning passes without a new message from UC. Yunho champs at the bit, going from his new project to editing the presentation to checking his emails. Changmin brings him lunch early, and Yunho eats without really tasting it. Donghae wanders in and out several times and they rewrite a section of the presentation. They call Henry in to listen to it and he says it’s awesome and cool.

Finally everyone clears out of the office and Yunho leans back in his chair and sighs. He’s all pumped up for the presentation, but it’s still hours away yet. When he’s in this mood it’s impossible for him to focus on the fine detail that the new game concept requires, so he puts it aside and looks at his laptop, praying that UC has sent him an email.

And there it is.

At 1.12pm exactly-Yunho loves the fact that UC is always so precise about time and yet always so untidy; it’s never on the hour or at forty-five minutes past, it’s always at some seemingly random time, which just makes it seem even more precise-I want you to tell Secretary Shim that you don’t wish to be disturbed for half an hour. Then follow these links. The first is to a private IM chat. The second is a video conferencing site. These are the log-ins and numbers you need...

Yunho reads through the instructions twice and then picks up his phone. “Changmin, can you hold all my calls and just generally make sure I’m not disturbed for the next half an hour?”

“Yes, sir.” There’s the clatter of a computer keyboard, and then Changmin riffles through the pages on the daily planner. “Sir,” he says, “just to remind you, Representative Nishiyama from NHK is scheduled to call you at 2pm.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Yunho had forgotten, even though he can see the bright yellow Post-It with Changmin’s careful handwriting telling him about the phone call. “I’ll be done by then. Thanks.”

“No problem, sir.” Changmin hangs up.

Yunho clicks on the links, logs in to the IM program, and arranges the chat box as requested to one side of the screen. Then the video conferencing program. He enters the telephone number-one that he doesn’t recognise at all, and with so many digits he’s sure it must be routed through eighteen different countries-and waits for it to connect. His stomach is a tight ball. His shoulders ache, a nagging low pain that stripes across his back. His right foot jogs up and down against the strut of his chair.

The program window opens. It’s black except for the little box in the bottom left hand corner, in which he can see himself. Yunho leans towards the eye of the webcam then backs away again when he sees his face loom into the smaller window. He waits for UC to appear in the larger window, but the screen stays dark. Maybe UC has blocked the webcam or hasn’t switched it on or something. Yunho’s disappointment is mingled with relief. He honestly doesn’t think he could cope with discovering UC’s identity today of all days.

A message pops up in the white IM box. Don’t look so worried. I’m here.

Yunho types back: I can’t see you.

But I can see you, UC responds. Don’t use the IM. Talk to me.

“You’re wearing earphones?” Yunho asks aloud, feeling self-conscious at hearing his own voice. What a stupid question. Of course UC will be wearing earphones. Almost every employee at Mash-Up Monsters wears earphones for at least part of the day; he doesn’t mind if his staff listen to music while they work or if they take five minutes now and then to watch stuff online. It’s not like UC will be drawing attention to himself right now.

Yes, UC replies. I will be the only person to hear you for the next half-hour. I will be the only person to see you, too. Relax.

“So...” Yunho fidgets in his chair, swings it to and fro in a tight arc, “you’re not going to record this, or-or broadcast it as a live stream on the company intranet or anything?”

A long pause, and then: I hope you would know by now that I would never do anything like that. I am here to take care of you. To make you feel safe. You have given me your trust and I will never, ever abuse that gift.

Yunho feels dizzy and a little bit nauseous, as if he’s coming down with flu. He knows it’s tension. The knot between his shoulders is so tight now it’s sending pulses of pain up into the base of his skull. He must look sick or terrified or both, because a moment later another message pops up.

Relax. Don’t think so much. Let me take care of you.

“Please,” Yunho whispers. “Tell me what to do.”

UC requests a few adjustments to the placement of the webcam, and Yunho spends a couple of minutes moving the laptop until UC is satisfied with the view.

“You don’t want, um...” Yunho gestures down at his lap, watching his image in the smaller window make the same movement a split-second later. He looks into the webcam’s eye. “You don’t want to see...?”

I long to see your beautiful thick cock, UC writes, but not today. Soon I will touch and taste every inch of your body and make you mine, but not today. Because today, my gorgeous boy, I want to watch your face. I want to see your expression as you bring yourself off. You’re *so* responsive. So willing to share your emotions. Sometimes

The flow of words stops there. Yunho sets both hands on the desk and leans forward. “Sometimes what?”

Sometimes you look at me and I can barely breathe because of what I see in your eyes, UC types. You have no idea. There’s so much you need. So much I can give you.

Yunho feels bashful. It’s a funny sort of feeling. Old-fashioned, almost. He hardly ever gets shy, especially these days when Mash-Up Monsters relies on him being able to go out and sell every concept so it becomes a reality, and while he likes compliments as much as the next person, they’re something he accepts on behalf of his company and staff. Very rarely are those compliments about him as a person, and now he finds it really quite difficult to grasp what UC is saying.

He re-reads the message. The bashful feeling nudges at him again. “You can barely breathe?” he asks, soft and wondering, glancing up at the webcam. Maybe it’s a bit naive, but he’d imagined that UC didn’t really think of him outside of the orders and instructions. Even when they’d done what they did in the stock room, Yunho thought UC was maybe turned on by the power of toying with his boss. He hadn’t thought there might be more to it. Not really. He hadn’t expected this to sound so... romantic.

You make me breathless, UC types. I want to do the same to you. Will you let me?

“Yes,” Yunho says.

Unbutton your shirt all the way down. Leave it on, but open it so I can see you.

“Like this?” He does it, the buttons slipping free one after the other. He tries to do it in a sexy way, but his hands shake and three buttons pop open at once, and he’s embarrassed to be performing such a lame strip show. When it’s all undone, he turns the collar back and tucks the sides of his shirt behind him.

Touch yourself. Stroke your chest. Tell me how it feels.

“Um.” Yunho touches his fingertips to his collarbones, then eases his hands lower and presses his palms to his chest. “Uh, it feels soft? Squishy, even. Sorry. I’m a bit-”

You’re beautiful, UC types, and Yunho feels a burst of delight. Pinch your nipples. Make them all perky. Make them dark and tight for me.

Yunho groans. Does what he’s told. His cock springs up, terrifically interested in the proceedings and wanting attention all for itself. He squirms. Pinches his nipples again, gently this time. Goosebumps shiver over his skin. Everything feels very sensitive.

Harder, UC demands. I want to hear you gasp.

Heat blazes through him. Yunho obeys. Moans. The sound seems very loud, seems to echo in the room. The embarrassment turns him on all the more. He imagines Changmin standing at the door listening. Oh God, that’s hot. His cock is leaking now, making a mess in his underwear. He wants to unzip and get a hand in there and help himself out, but he can’t until UC gives him permission. The waiting is a torment, a trembling, flurrying torment of anticipation.

Tell me what you feel, what you’re thinking.

“I-I...” Yunho tweaks his nipples again, harder this time, and he jolts back in his seat. His tits burn, his dick throbbing in sympathy-or maybe it’s in jealousy. He uses the edge of his nails this time, scrapes them against the sensitive nubs and pretends UC is biting him. “I’m thinking of you. I feel all twisted up and hot. I can smell myself. My cock is really hard and-and...”

You’re blushing. Why?

Oh, oh shit this is difficult, he can’t do this. He squirms, pulls at his nipples again. The pain melts into a deep lick of pleasure. His hips lift and thrust, his cock rubbing against the zipper of his trousers. It’s hardly any kind of pressure and certainly not enough for him to come, but ohhh it feels so good. A heavy feeling spreads through his limbs, like he’s moving through tar.

Talk to me, baby.

Yunho snaps his attention back to the laptop, blinking at the webcam. He can see himself in the little box at the bottom of the screen. Fuck, he looks wrecked already and he’s barely done anything. He watches the image of himself, watches his tongue dart out to lick his lips, and God, God, he looks completely wanton.

Talk to me.

He plucks at his tits again, as hard as he can stand it, and the pain makes him whimper, makes him jerk in his seat and spread his thighs and put his head back and moan. “I want you to come in here right now and fuck me. I want you to bite me and suck me and do whatever you want to me. I’m-I’m...”

Words fail him, sensation buzzing around and around. He thrashes on the seat, turns his head. He’s so hot, hair damp against his forehead, in his eyes. Yunho gasps, his breathing sharp and ragged. “Please. I’m so hard. My-” He pauses again, heartbeat racing, his blush deepening, and he forces out: “My hole is-it’s clenching and I want- Oh fuck, everything is all tight and needy. I want you in me. Want you fucking me really hard.”

Oh yes, UC types. My gorgeous boy.

Yunho slides lower in the chair. He feels drunk. “Please can I...”

Take your cock out. Let me see you work it.

He can’t get his trousers undone fast enough, going at it with such haste he’s surprised he doesn’t rip the zipper right out. His dick curves up, free of his damp underwear, the stink of his arousal hot and feral. It goes to his head, the scent making him aware of every other sensation: the tickle of sweat down his back, the brush of cotton against his ribs, the warm, solid length of his cock in his hand. He’s wet, the slit dribbling pre-come, and he glosses his thumb through the moisture, the crown all tense and slick. Yunho twist-rolls his hand back down to the base, feels the brush of his pubic hair against his fingers. He adjusts his grip and begins to jerk off, fixing his gaze on the webcam so UC can watch him.

Pleasure and need hammer at him. Yunho drops into a rhythm and, after a moment, looks straight at the screen and asks, “D’you like me doing this?”

Yes.

“D’you wish you were in here doing it to me?”

yes

“D’you want to make me come?”

y

He laughs breathlessly, imagines UC wanking along with him, doing it secretively beneath his desk, maybe hiding behind a wall of box files, his breathing fast, his hand faster, gaze flicking between the screen and the office just in case someone was watching him watching Yunho. And ah God, that thought-it streaks through him, makes him judder and tremble.

“Oh yes,” he moans, his chair squeaking as he rocks and bucks into his hand, as he turns his head from side to side and bites his lip hard, hard. “Yes, yes-”

The phone rings, noisy and brutal and shattering everything.

Yunho freezes mid-stroke, darts a startled glance at it, then looks back at the screen, wide-eyed and panting.

Answer it.

“I can’t.” Alarm and frustration peel at the sexy little cocoon he and UC have created together. Yunho flicks a look at the time. Ten minutes before two o’clock. “I’ll-I’ll just ignore it.”

Answer it. And don’t stop touching yourself.

Yunho stares into the eye of the webcam while the phone continues to shrill. “You want me to jerk off while I’m on the phone?”

I want you to reach orgasm while you’re on the phone, UC tells him. Answer it.

Yunho dithers a second longer then grabs for the phone with his free hand, giving his cock a good squeeze at the same time. “Yes?”

“Sir.” Changmin sounds flustered, and it’s such a rare occurrence that Yunho has to bite back a groan, his cock swelling and desire coiling tighter and tighter as he listens to Changmin’s uncertainty. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but Representative Nishiyama from NHK is on the line...”

Oh shit. He can’t take this call. He can’t. Panic just adds to the bubble of pleasure that’s expanding inside him. Yunho darts a glance at the screen, desperate for instruction.

It’s okay, UC writes, and Yunho stifles a moan because he can hear Changmin typing at the same time, he can hear Changmin asking if he should put the call through. Focus on me, UC says, and forget everything else. You can do it, my gorgeous, eager boy. You want to come, don’t you? Show me. Let me see you.

Yunho strokes himself, fast and frantic and feverish. Changmin is still talking, voice sharp with concern now, saying something about delaying the phone call and ringing back in five minutes. Yunho half lids his eyes, hot shivery prickles chasing over his skin, the palm of his hand slippery around the receiver, even more slippery than the one around his cock. He leans into the receiver, sinks into Changmin’s voice, rutting into his hand faster and faster, his breaths feathering and his heart pounding.

“Sir,” Changmin says. “Sir, are you... Do you need me to...”

Oh God, yes, yes he needs Changmin, needs him really fucking hard and fast. Yunho whimpers, squeezes his eyes shut tight and gives himself just one more pull, two more, quick quick, and he’s there, he’s coming, a massive slam of pleasure and a release of tension, and he gasps, “Changmin, oh, Changmin-” as he spurts all over himself, thick wet stripes of seed overflowing his fist, spattering his chest, soaking into his shirt.

He drops the phone and rides out his orgasm. Pleasure drips and slides, and he milks his cock for as long as he can, shuddering through the aftershocks. When it’s finished, when he’s a sweaty, ruffled mess, he looks at the laptop screen.

Oh, UC has written, that’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.

“Thank you,” Yunho says, his voice hoarse and whispery. “Thank you.”

The IM box closes. The line disconnects on the video conferencing program.

Yunho exhales, feeling limp and wasted. He picks up the phone receiver and listens to the annoyed blipping of the dial tone. With another sigh, he replaces the receiver in its cradle and swivels his chair to face away from the laptop. His pulse is still pounding. His brain feels like it turned to mush and dribbled out of his ears. He can’t think at all, so he gives up trying and just slouches in the seat and slowly, slowly, starts to come down from his high.

Five minutes later, he’s changing his clothes when the phone rings again.

“Sir, Representative Nishiyama from NHK is on the line,” Changmin says, a strange note of did-I-hear-that-correctly-sir-did-you-really-just-come-while-I-was-talking-to-you in his voice. “Putting you through.”

* * *
The afternoon trots on. Yunho refuses to re-read the rewritten presentation. He can do this. He’ll be fine. Sure, this is a big investor and a successful deal would open up fresh avenues overseas, but if he and the investor aren’t a good fit, he can let it go. He’s not going to sell out and he’s not going to compromise his vision for Mash-Up Monsters.

He spends the rest of the day working on Cambrian Explosion! and lays out concepts up to level twenty-seven. With less than an hour to go before the meeting takes place, he finds himself staring at Happy and wondering if a large-scale plankton attack would be preferable to a fight with a giant mollusc. He keeps yanking at his tie, then realises he’s tugged it into a skewed amoeba shape. Yunho mutters. This is why he doesn’t often wear ties to work. When he gets caught up in the creative process, he ends up pulling on the ends of the tie or chewing on it or something equally as daft.

He grumbles, unfastens the tie and does it up again. It still looks messy. Yunho sighs, feeling his nerves begin to rise to the surface. He gets up and paces around the room, trying to burn off some of his anxious energy.

There’s a knock at the door and Changmin comes in. It’s the first time they’ve been in the same room since this morning. Unusually, his calm and composed secretary looks flushed. Yunho blushes along with him. Nothing like knowing your boss likes to have a sneaky wank at lunchtime and gets off to the sound of your voice on the phone. It gives Yunho a jittery feeling, but whereas a week or so ago he’d have been mortified, now he feels only a little bit embarrassed and a whole lot wicked.

Changmin holds out a couple of sheets of paper. “Sir, here are the most up-to-date figures you requested.”

“Thank you.” Yunho looks at them, memorising them, and mentally reworks his presentation around the numbers. Ugh, he’s feeling nervous again. He’s sure he never used to feel this tense. Maybe it’s because he’s been feeling less tense recently that now he feels it more. Or something like that. He fusses with his cufflinks, looks at the numbers again. “Do these figures take into account last month’s spike after the launch of the Wiwaxia magazine?”

“Yes, sir.” Changmin is looking at him with a thoughtful expression. “By the way, I like the Burgess Shale games, sir.”

That’s surprising. Yunho blinks, trying to imagine his oh-so-proper secretary playing Hallucigenia Hoopla or Yohoia vs Opabinia. “You do?”

“Yes, sir.” Changmin comes closer and fixes Yunho’s tie, pulling down the untidy knot and straightening it before sliding it back up to nestle at his collar. “That’s better,” he says with a pleased little smile. “You need someone to take care of you.”

Yunho goes absolutely still.

A second later, Changmin seems to realise what he just said, seems to realise that his hands are on Yunho’s chest. Colour ebbs from his face and his lips part. He takes an abrupt step back. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to be inappropriate. I just-”

“You wanted me to look my best,” Yunho says, the words creaking out of him as if he was learning to speak again.

Changmin folds his hands in front of him. He looks calm, but there’s a flicker of wariness in his eyes. “Yes,” he says quietly. “I only ever want the best for you.”

They stare at each other. Yunho is trying to slot all of this together, trying not to hope too much, trying to work out if what Changmin just said was a sign or just pure coincidence. Oh God, it’s thrown him, really thrown him. He desperately wants to ask if Changmin is UC, but he’s also afraid that if he asks, Changmin might say no, and he wants Changmin to be UC so badly, and while UC is still anonymous, he can keep on pretending. But at the same time, if Changmin is UC, then maybe they can-they can...

“Sir,” Changmin says, tilting his head, big dark eyes showing concern. “You look pale. Would you like some water?”

“No. Thank you. I’m fine.” Fuck it, he has to know. Adrenalin boosts through him. Yunho reaches out, grabs Changmin’s wrist. “Changmin.”

Now it’s Changmin who goes still. “Sir?”

“Do you- I mean, are you-”

The door opens and Donghae swings inside. “Bro, put Secretary Shim down and let’s go. We have to get to this super-important meeting in, like, twenty minutes and thirty-four seconds and the traffic is looking like shit.”

Yunho and Changmin pull away from one another as if burned.

“Thanks for the figures,” Yunho says, shoving the pieces of paper on top of his presentation notes. He’s blushing so hard he might just melt.

“You’re welcome, sir.” Changmin flicks at his fringe, his cheeks a little pink. “I’ll just fetch my notebook and pen.”

Donghae grins at both of them and waggles his eyebrows. As they head for the lift, Yunho says in a low voice, “I wasn’t doing anything. It’s not what you think, okay?”

“Sure, dude.” Donghae gives him an indulgent look. “Like you haven’t been panting after him since day one. Surprised it took you this long, to be honest.”

Yunho scrunches his shoulders, on fire with embarrassment. “Really, it’s not what you think. I would never take advantage of an employee like that.”

“I’m not completely dense, bro.” Donghae grins and elbows Yunho in the ribs. “Even I can see that Changmin totally has the whip hand in your relationship.”

* * *
Look in the bottom drawer of your desk, UC’s email says the next day. I left a gift for you.

It’s lunchtime, and Yunho has finished eating and is sketching out level thirty-five of Cambrian Explosion! When the message arrives, he puts down his notepad and opens the bottom drawer as instructed. There’s a bag tucked away at the back. He puts it on his desk, starts to take out the contents, then stuffs them back inside. That was not- He didn’t just touch... Yunho peeps inside the bag. Fuck. It is. He did. Oh God.

He closes the bag. A shiver wriggles up his spine. Taking a deep breath, he tells UC: Thanks, and leaves it at that. A moment later, he opens the bag and looks again.

A bottle of lube. A length of black satin. And a butt plug.

UC responds: Touch the satin. Pick it up. Stroke it. Run it over your hands, hold it to your face. Tell me how it feels.

Yunho exhales but does as he’s told. It’s not a big deal. It’s just a bit of cloth. He lifts it from the bag and rubs it between his thumb and forefinger. The fabric is cool and slithery and makes a hushing sound as he coils it around one wrist then pulls it free. He wraps it around both hands and puts his nose to it, hoping to catch UC’s scent, but it doesn’t smell of very much at all.

It’s soft, he writes to UC. His fingers feel a little heavy on the keys. It tickles. It feels good.

You’re my good boy, UC types. Now pick up the butt plug.

Okay. Okay. Yunho puts down the satin and closes his hand around the toy. His face flames and his pulse stutters, but there’s curiosity mixed in with his embarrassment. He turns the butt plug around, tests its girth and flexibility. It’s simple and black, five inches long and made of silicone. He grips it tight, then lifts it and gives it an experimental sniff and then a lick before dropping it back onto the desk.

UC doesn’t ask him how it feels this time. Instead he just writes: I want you to put it inside you. Use as much lube as you think you’ll need, and then more. You’ll be wearing this for the rest of the day.

A squeak escapes him, and Yunho types: The whole day???!?

He can almost hear UC snort. It’s 1.47pm now. Usually you leave work at 6.30pm.

Yunho tries to word a protest, then deletes everything he’s written.

I want you to wear it, UC continues. Take it out when necessary and keep it nice and slick. Your body will start to absorb the lube so keeping it slippery will make things more comfortable for you.

There’s probably something clever he can say in response, but Yunho honestly can’t think of anything right now. It doesn’t help that his mind feels loose and unravelled, and little stripes of sensation are creeping through his shoulders and thrumming low down in his belly, in his balls.

Another message: Tell me when it’s inside you.

Yunho curls both hands around the edge of his desk and gets to his feet. He waits there for a moment, leaning forward, staring at the butt plug. He knows it won’t hurt. It’s not about that. It’s about-it’s...

He can’t think straight. Easier to follow UC’s suggestion. Order. Command.

He sucks in a breath, unfastens his jeans, strips off his underwear. Stands in his office half naked. His jaw is locked, tension spiralling through him. Arousal stirs. God, UC has him on a fucking leash. He doesn’t want to disappoint UC. Doesn’t want to disappoint himself.

Yunho snaps open the cap on the bottle and squirts lube all over his fingers. Mindful of UC’s advice, he squeezes out a more than generous amount, then coats the silicone plug with it. Once the toy is nice and slick, he casts a glance at the unlocked door of his office and puts one foot up on his chair. Panic flutters through him, the idea of discovery making him hasty, clumsy. He almost drops the plug. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes for a moment, then tries again.

It nudges against his hole, and he bears down on it, guides it in. A brief burn of resistance and then it’s inside him, a smooth glide with the lube wet and squelchy as he pushes it all the way home. He closes around it, muscles clenching and flexing, and his cock jumps, lurches upwards. Of course it does, traitorous thing.

He bends to put his clothes back on and the plug shifts inside him. Oh God, this is going to be a long afternoon. Yunho quivers, feeling way too sensitive as he dresses and tucks his dick into a comfortable position. He’s sweating, a fine sheen of perspiration at his forehead, on his top lip. He sits on the very edge of his chair and tries not to move too much when he types: It’s in me.

How does it feel? UC asks.

Yunho types back: It’s given me a hard-on. He waits, expecting UC to say something filthy or to instruct him to walk around the main office with the plug up his ass and his cock stiff in his jeans, but there’s nothing for the longest time. Yunho wonders if UC logged off, but then a message arrives.

Everything I do for you is a gift. Everything you give me in return is a gift. You have no idea how much I’ve appreciated every moment we’ve shared so far. But things can’t continue in this manner. This will be the last thing I ask of you. How we proceed-*if* we proceed-from here will very much depend upon your reactions this evening.

It sounds so serious. Yunho bites his lip, types: What if I react the wrong way?

There’s no right or wrong way, UC replies. Let your instincts guide you.

That’s what he’s been doing all along. Yunho wiggles the mouse around the screen. He’s always let his instincts guide him, and everything’s turned out more or less the way he wanted. Except this time it’s not just about what he wants. He responds: What about your instincts? Why can’t you guide me?

Silence, and then: What I want is immaterial. You need to take this step and make this decision on your own.

The faintest flicker of anxiety surfaces. Yunho reaches out and squeezes Happy’s tail before he writes: Tell me what you want me to do.

Another pause, and then: At 6.45pm, strip yourself naked and kneel on the floor in the middle of your office. Blindfold yourself with the length of black satin, then clasp your hands behind your back, left wrist held in your right hand. Then wait for me.

There’s a couple of paragraph returns, blank white space, and then UC has added: Don’t reply to this.

Yunho stares at the email. He wants to reply, wants to ask what will happen if he doesn’t do as he’s told. What if he just sits at his desk fully clothed and waits for UC to reveal himself-what then? He wants to know, but he doesn’t dare ask, because he’s fairly sure the answer would be something along the lines of I’ll tender my resignation in the morning and then he’ll have lost the best secretary he’s ever had.

Because yes, he’s almost sure it’s Changmin. Almost. Ninety-nine percent sure, but he could be wrong, horribly wrong, and he can’t risk losing everything. He just can’t.

The afternoon passes as slowly as he expected. Every time Yunho starts to forget about the butt plug, he moves and gets a reminder. He takes it out once and lubes it up again, blushing at the mess he’s made of his underwear. It keeps him on the edge of arousal, but not enough that it interferes with his work if he pushes his focus past his body’s greedy desire for pleasure.

Several times he picks up the phone to call Changmin into his office, just to see if he can read his face, but he doesn’t do it. He calls Donghae instead, and they spend an hour talking over their plans for expansion. Donghae is going to the US next month to oversee developments with their latest investor, so there’s a lot to discuss; plus Yunho wants to go through the layouts for Cambrian Explosion!

Afternoon moves towards evening. Yunho stays in his office, watching the clock. UC hasn’t sent any more messages. At six fifteen, Donghae sticks his head around the door and says he’s off now and shall they go for a beer? Yunho makes an excuse, and Donghae shrugs and smiles and goes on his way.

Six thirty.

Yunho takes off his jacket.

Six thirty-two.

He kicks his shoes from his feet, peels off his socks. Gets up and walks around his office. He stands at the window and looks out at the stream of people on the concourse below, all of them going home. For a moment he feels disoriented and lost, and then he touches his fingertips to the glass and tightens his whole body and the plug moves inside him, bringing him back to himself.

Six thirty-eight.

Yunho takes off the rest of his clothes, tries to do it in a calm and unhurried manner. He even folds his trousers, though he just strews his shirt over the arm of the couch. Naked, he goes back to his desk and retrieves the strip of black satin from the bag. One last look at the time.

Six forty-three.

He doesn’t know how he feels, his mind lifting and spinning as he moves to the centre of the room and kneels. He wraps the black satin over his eyes, knots it. Tests it to make sure it won’t slip free. Only then does he roll his shoulders back and thrust his chest out and put his hands behind him as instructed.

He waits.

Time drags out.

At first he tries to number the seconds and minutes, but he loses count. It makes him panic, makes him too aware of his nakedness, of his utter vulnerability. He remembers that the air con lowers in temperature after six o’clock and the room is getting colder. He remembers that the cleaning staff arrive at eight. Not that he thinks he’ll still be here by then, but the thought lodges in his head and he worries at it. The back of his thighs are pulling. His shoulders hurt. He feels ridiculous. He shouldn’t have agreed to do this. UC isn’t coming. UC has probably gone home like everyone else.

In that awful moment, Yunho almost gives up. His pride kicks to the surface and he grits his teeth. He breaks his position, lifts his hands to the blindfold, then stops. The satin is warm and soft beneath his fingers, over his eyes. He breathes, strokes the satin, lets the whisper of the fabric soothe him. He can do this. He wants to do this.

Yunho resumes his position. The room settles around him. He sinks.

Two minutes-maybe ten minutes-later, the door opens. Closes. The lock clicks.

Relief floods through him, his limbs going weak before his pulse rate boosts and everything in him surges. He remains perfectly still and listens. If he’d been ninety-nine percent certain before, there’s absolutely no doubt now. None at all. UC closed the office door the same way Changmin does. He walks with the same gait as Changmin. And now he’s closer, Yunho recognises the cologne Changmin wears, sweet and sharp at the same time, a heady combination that lingers and warms.

UC-no, Changmin-puts a hand to Yunho’s face and strokes him, touches his mouth, the curve of his cheek below the satin blindfold. Yunho nuzzles into Changmin’s hand, kisses his palm, and is rewarded with the sound of a soft breath. When Changmin rubs his thumb over Yunho’s lips, he opens his mouth and lets Changmin push inside just a little. Yunho licks at the thumb, nibbles it. Changmin’s breathing starts to roughen. Yunho can feel the tension in him, knows it’s an echo of his own heightened anticipation.

Changmin slides his thumb out of Yunho’s mouth and strokes a saliva-wet caress over Yunho’s cheek. There’s movement, and then Changmin seems to be crouching in front of him, touching him all over-shoulders, arms, chest-and then he moves again, delivers long, slow strokes over Yunho’s back.

Yunho quivers, his breathing clipped, his skin prickling with awareness. He steps out of himself and imagines what Changmin can see. He hopes he looks good. No, he hopes he looks amazing. He wants to be amazing for Changmin. He bites his lip, feels the flame of embarrassment across his face, and his chin drops.

Changmin puts a hand in his hair and gently corrects him, lifting his head again. Yunho shudders, yearning for more, aching for Changmin’s voice.

Another movement, the tickle of breath against his skin, and then Changmin licks a line between his shoulder blades. Yunho gasps, stiffens, arching from it even as his cock jerks and his balls tighten. Changmin kisses the back of his neck, runs a hand down his spine and touches his fingertips to the flared base of the butt plug.

Emotion swells, almost crushing Yunho. He has to say it. He can’t let this go on without acknowledging the man who’s doing this to him, who’s making him feel all these delicious, hungry sensations. He opens his mouth, licks his dry lips. “Changmin.”

Changmin doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. And then he gets up and steps away.

No!

“Changmin,” Yunho says again, desperation pushing through the layering haze, abruptly bringing him to the surface. He can hear the longing in his voice. “Don’t go.”

Silence, then Changmin says, “I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” The word rolls around his head, and Yunho can’t keep the incredulity from his tone. “Why would I be disappointed? I’ve been hoping-wanting it to be you. All my fantasies were about you.” Yunho hopes that Changmin doesn’t think he’s babbling. “Even when I thought you were Donghae or Henry or Mrs Kang-”

“Mrs Kang?” Changmin sounds mystified. “Henry? You really thought...”

Yunho turns his head towards him. “I suspected everyone. I told you, I thought it was a joke at first, and then I realised it wasn’t, and when we started... this, when we began doing stuff-”

“When you started obeying me,” Changmin interrupts, voice soft and smoky.

A squirm of pleasure leaves Yunho breathless. “Yes. That. I-I started having all these Strict Changmin daydreams.”

“Really.”

Yunho nods. “They were so hot.”

Changmin makes a sound. “You were thinking about me and jerking off?”

“Yes. Until you told me I couldn’t.”

Movement, and then Changmin is in front of him, lifting Yunho’s chin. “I think you need to tell me about these daydreams.”

Yunho obliges, telling him about the fur and feathers, the board meeting, the office window, and the chastisement over his desk. He doesn’t go into any detail, just bare statements, but even the stripped-down versions make him tense and dizzy with excitement, and he finishes with “Is that what you want to do to me?”

Changmin runs a finger down his cheek. “There’s a lot I want to do with you. There’s so much we can explore together, if that’s what you want.”

“I want. Oh yes, I want.” It blurts out of him, heartfelt, as Yunho leans into the continued caress. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

A snort. “But you made me come and get you. That’s not fair. The boss is supposed to pursue his secretary, not the other way around.”

“I couldn’t take advantage of your position,” Yunho protests.

“Whereas I can,” Changmin says, voice rich with amusement, and without further warning he takes a step closer and rubs his crotch against Yunho’s face.

The fabric brushes over him, muffles him. Yunho pushes closer, finding heat and the scent of arousal and the lovely hard shape of Changmin’s dick. Pleasure jitters through him, and Yunho nuzzles at Changmin, nudges at his balls, licks the inseam, trying to taste him through the cloth.

“You’re so greedy,” Changmin says, and now he sounds stern. “I’ve wanted your mouth for months now. Wanted to kiss you. But first I think I’m going to fuck your face, and you’re going to kneel there and take it.”

There’s the sound of buttons undone, a zip unfastened, the shirr of fabric parting. The smell of musky heat ripens. Yunho’s mouth waters and he sways forward, eager for a taste.

Changmin puts a hand in Yunho’s hair, tightens his fist and yanks his head back. The pain is bright and sweet, and Yunho lets his mouth fall open on a startled little gasp. Changmin holds his cock to Yunho’s lips, rubs it back and forth, the smooth, slick crown just gliding over his mouth, and then he wipes a fine trail of pre-come over Yunho’s cheek. Yunho moans and turns his head after it, wanting, needing. He expects Changmin to shove his dick right in, but he doesn’t. He stands there, tight with tension, hand knotted in Yunho’s hair, and waits for Yunho to suck him.

Yunho extends his tongue, licks delicately. The taste of Changmin’s cock fills his senses, hot and salty-slick. He hears the choked sound Changmin makes and wants to hear it again. Dipping forward, he catches at Changmin’s pubic hair and tugs a little, then licks slurpy and loud up the length of Changmin’s shaft. He circles the head, makes it all wet. Then he wraps his lips around Changmin’s dick and draws him in.

Changmin makes another sound, halfway between a huff and a groan. His hand presses against the back of Yunho’s head and he ramps forward, thrusting his cock in deeper. It’s firm and heavy on Yunho’s tongue, and then Changmin jerks forward again and Yunho’s gag reflex kicks in. He tries to squirm free, but Changmin holds him tight, says hoarsely, “Relax, baby, relax and breathe and take me,” and Yunho shivers at the note of command in Changmin’s voice, melts at the reassuring touch of Changmin’s fingers against his cheek.

Yunho breathes, opens up. Changmin goes slow, making him take more, and Yunho keeps on breathing, focuses on the taste and feel and warmth of Changmin’s cock. His thoughts unlatch. He sucks, works his mouth around Changmin’s dick, accepts it even when Changmin gets a little rougher. The world tilts, sliding away from him, leaving him in this mindless drift.

When Changmin pulls free, Yunho almost keels over. He gasps a protest, throat sore, tremors running through his entire body. His hole clenches around the butt plug, and his cock is so hard it’s painful.

“Good boy,” Changmin says. His voice is all coiled restraint. “Oh, my good boy.” His fingers work at the knot on the blindfold, and when the satin slips free, the fading evening light is a soft relief to Yunho’s dazed vision. He blinks, bewildered, jaw aching, and darts a glance upwards.

Changmin stands above him, cock glistening wet and curving free of his trousers, but it’s his face that draws Yunho’s attention, his eyes lit with calm certainty, with the knowledge that he’s absolutely in control, and Yunho is flattened by it.

“Stand up,” Changmin says. “Go to your desk.”

It takes Yunho a while to remember how to move his legs. Cramp runs white heat through his calves, stretching into the thudding build of arousal. He goes over to the desk and turns Happy away. He doesn’t want the Rhinopillar to witness anything too depraved. Wanking is okay; actual fucking-maybe not.

Changmin gives an amused snort. “Lean over. Hands flat in the centre of the desk. Wider apart. That’s it. Brace yourself. Do it properly... yes, like that. Hold still.”

Yunho gives an infinitesimal wriggle of his shoulders. He can’t rest across the desk like he did in his fantasy; no, he has to take his weight through his arms, and probably Changmin’s weight, too, and this is going to be difficult, it’s going to hurt in an achy, quivery way.

Stepping up close behind him, Changmin toys with the base of the butt plug, turning it by tiny increments so the silicone drags against sensitive flesh. Yunho clenches against it, streaks of pleasure going through him, deepening each time. He’s hyper-aware of every inch of his body, sensation fuzzing everything else and his cock drooling all over the desk.

“Tell me what you want,” Changmin says softly, so softly.

“Fuck me.” Yunho stares at his burgundy leather blotter and tries to enunciate. “Take that toy out of my ass and fill me with your cock.”

Changmin chuckles. “So specific. I like that.”

Another twist of the butt plug, swift and sudden, and Yunho jolts. He closes his eyes, grits his teeth, but can’t stop the long, quivering moan as Changmin slides the plug free. His arms ache. He has to do better than this.

Changmin sets the plug aside then circles Yunho’s stretched hole, murmuring approval as he fingers out some of the heat-thinned, slippery lube and spreads it around, smears it down to the inside of Yunho’s thighs. The slick little noises are humiliating, exciting; they sound dirty and desperate.

There’s a rustle and the snap of latex going on. Changmin takes his sweet time about it. Yunho squirms in protest and invitation, keeps on squirming to relieve the pressure in his arms and shoulders, and then Changmin slaps his ass, swift and hard and unexpected. It stings, a brief flash of fire. Yunho stills, then shoves back for more.

“Stop that,” Changmin says, digging his thumb into that tense muscle at the top of his ass, and Yunho freezes. “Next time,” Changmin says, stroking him, “next time, if you’re good, I’ll spank you. Or use a crop. I want to leave red stripes all over your ass and thighs and then make you go to a meeting with your flesh hot and stinging. Would you like that, baby?”

“Ngh,” Yunho says, with about as much coherency as he can manage.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Changmin says, and spreads himself over Yunho’s back. The extra weight rocks Yunho forward and he braces himself again, feels the tension ratchet across his shoulders.

Changmin lines up and ruts on in. He goes slow, rocking in then pulling out on a long, shiver-inducing slide, then thrusting back in. The lube squelches. Yunho’s breath pants out of him. Changmin moves faster, plunging now, and Yunho quakes, his fingers curling on the desk. His palms are slippery. The strain through his arms and shoulders pushes at him, folding into arousal, and he’s shaking as if he’s cold, but he’s not cold, he’s hot, too hot, and Changmin is shafting into him fierce and fast and-and-

Changmin moans in his ear. Yunho feels a distant flash of triumph. It’s short-lived. Changmin fucks into him good and deep and oh God yes, that’s intense. Yunho sways forward, tries to hold position. His elbows lock, and that’s a mistake. He tries to correct his position as Changmin thrusts again-ohh yes yes-and this time he almost falls, his arms trembling. Sensation swamps him, pulling at his senses, and he’s making noises he never knew he could make.

“Can you come, sir?” Changmin asks him, voice hoarse. “Can you come without touching yourself?”

Shit, shit, it’s that word again, that beautiful misplaced ‘sir’. Ordinarily Yunho doesn’t think he could come without his hand around his cock, but he’s done it once before when Changmin had worked over his nipples with such gorgeous brutality, and he thinks he can do it again. Correction: he knows he can do it again, because that’s what Changmin wants.

“Yes,” he gasps. “I can. I will.”

“Good boy,” Changmin tells him, and Yunho’s arms give out. They drop forward, but he catches himself, pushes back up. His shoulders hurt. His biceps burn. He wants to lie down and surrender everything, but that’s not even a possibility right now. His head is full of sir and good boy, the two appellations swinging and merging, and it drives him wild to know that he’s both master and mastered.

Changmin holds Yunho’s hips, grasps tight enough to bruise, then changes his stroke and shafts into him huge and steady. He grunts. It’s a filthy sound, urgent and demanding, not the kind of sound Secretary Shim would usually make. Yunho likes it, the sound going to his head. He makes a mewling noise in return and thrusts back, a twisting, coiling mixture of pleasure and pain closing in on him, blacking out his awareness until the only thing he knows is Changmin driving into him.

“Oh God,” Changmin snarls, rough and fierce. “Come on, baby. Come on, sir.”

Yunho clasps around Changmin’s cock, shaking, his mind absolutely focused on one single sharp point, his body going rigid, and then he lets go, shuddering around a frantic moan of delight as he pumps out thick ribbons of come all over his desk.

A heartbeat later, Changmin empties into him, gasping.

Yunho collapses across the desk, smearing his spunk across the surface. He reaches for Happy and buries his face in the Rhinopillar’s plush body, mouth open and hot, shuddering breaths panting out of him as his head swings and swings and pleasure blasts shockwaves through him.

Changmin folds over him, keeping him safe.

They stay locked together for a long moment, and then, with a sigh, Changmin slides out of him.

Yunho stays where he is, listening as Changmin ties off the condom and disposes of it. He stays spread across his desk, not caring that the edge is digging into his thighs and his blotter and some of his paperwork is ruined. Slowly, his heartbeat returns to a steady rhythm. He feels warm. Loved. Cared for.

He moves his head and stares at Happy’s beaming smile. It confuses him for a moment, and then he smiles back.

“You can move now.” Changmin strokes him from shoulder to flank. “You did well. My gorgeous boy.”

Yunho lifts himself from the mess he’s made on his desk. “What,” he asks, voice husky and raw, “what now? What happens next?”

Changmin smiles. “Do you want more?”

“Yes,” Yunho says. “Oh, yes.”

Changmin waits, one eyebrow raised. He’s patient. So patient.

Realisation shivers through Yunho. He corrects his lapse. “Yes,” he says again, straightening with pride. “Yes please, sir.”