Formal Friday
title: Formal Friday
author: reogulus
pairing: Chris/Dustin
rating: NC-17
disclaimer: REALLY don't own nothin' here.
warning: There's spanking.
word count: ~2500
notes: Written for the prompt here at tsn_kinkmeme as a Christmas present to all Chris/Dustin shippers! I've decided to post it at my journal because I would really like to get to know the C/D shippers of the TSN fandom (yeah, I know, desperate much? But it's only because I THINK YOU ARE ALL TOO AWESOME). So if you're not afraid to de-anon, please comment here and feel free to drop me a friend request! I promise I don't bite. I just stalk a little.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!
It’s this stupid new rule that Mark just passed last week, mostly for shits and giggles, which states that every executive officer of the company must be dressed in business formal wear every Friday (except for Mr. CEO himself, of course). It’s a twist from the casual Fridays which normal firms follow, since most of Facebook’s employees come to work in sweats and hoodies five days a week. As a result, the grand pre-Christmas show this year turns out to be watching the Vice-President and Director of Publicity parade around the office like a pair of monkeys. See? Taking pictures of your friend barfing into the air vent of the Facebook party bus is so last year.
Surprisingly for Chris, the most difficult challenge of getting through the day is not trying to breathe through the tightly buttoned dress shirt collar. It’s seeing Dustin in the same attire and trying to stay focused. It’s seeing Dustin as a professional and sharp young leader, getting the attention he deserves for being the technical backbone of Facebook, and getting Chris achingly hard just by looking. It’s the desire to be the first to stake a claim in this side of Dustin that has just been forced out of hiding.
And to think the new territory will be there for eight hours, unclaimed, untouched.
Chris can’t seem to find a proper adjective to describe how it feels to restrain himself from getting an erection in his dress pants while sitting in a meeting with the reps of the newly-hired ad agency. He hates the glass windows of the Facebook headquarters, now. He hates how clean and transparent they are, and he hates how he can see the curve of Dustin’s ass perfectly when he bends over the desk to grab a stapler from the opposite side.
All Chris can do is looking away and tugging at his tie to swallow easier. He tries hard to focus on reading the papers in front of him. In fact, he tries so hard that when he reaches for a highlighter on his left, he almost knocks over the mug of coffee on his right.
The intern asks him if he’s okay in a nervous voice, she looks frantic even though nothing’s spilled. He nods and wipes a hand across his left cheek. The skin feels scorching hot under his fingers.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
“Sorry, I gotta go.” Chris is already half way out the meeting room when he turns around to excuse himself. The intern’s jaw almost drops when she sees Chris running over to Dustin’s desk.
“Hey guys? I need to borrow him for a minute.”
Grabbing Dustin by the shirt collar and dragging him behind used to be the “Chris thing” back at Harvard. Chris remembers how nobody in the CS lab batted an eye when he took Dustin out the door that way in sophomore year. Too bad this isn’t Harvard and Dustin’s team is still staring. Oh well, not that he gives a damn anyway.
“What the hell, man?”
Dustin struggles a little, probably to save face in front of the new interns. Somehow it excites Chris even more because he can justifiably be more forceful. Yank the shirt a little harder; perhaps wreck the tie a little so the collarbone will be exposed.
Fortunately for Dustin, Chris’s strides are huge and the walk to the supply closet is so, very, short.
**
It takes two kicked-over mops for Chris to wedge a knee between Dustin’s thighs, and three bottles of bleach tumbling down the shelf for Dustin to fist his hand in Chris’s blond locks. One door must be latched shut for Chris to pin Dustin against the wall, panting, his flushed face buried in Dustin’s shoulder.
“Everybody saw us,” Dustin whispers down Chris’s neck, breathless. “Fuck. I knew this formal wear thing is a bad idea.”
“Is it?” Chris takes a minute to pace his heart rate, then turns and plants a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the side of Dustin’s neck. “I think it’s the best idea since Christmas.” He teases the tiny white button of Dustin’s starched collar with his tongue before he frees his hands to undo Dustin’s tie.
“I’m so gonna kill you when we get home today you goddamn bastard,” Dustin mumbles as he reaches down to unbuckle Chris’s belt. He fails to get rid of it on the first try. “Fucking monkey suits…”
“Shhh,” Chris puts his index finger on Dustin’s cursing mouth, ever so gently with burning desire in his eyes. “No bad words at work, baby.”
“Wait, you’re the one who…never mind,” Dustin shakes his head before he pulls Chris close and kisses him, as Chris moans into his mouth and snakes his hands up Dustin’s shirt. Chris is much better at pulling out the shirt tail and undoing the belt, but he doesn’t want to undress Dustin completely. Sure, they’ll get dirty more easily and make things a lot more obvious, but there is something about these clothes. The crisp touch of black and white, the smooth texture of the tie and the shoes, the foreign arousal it brings. Seeing Dustin half naked in a suit makes Chris feel like a captain sailing on uncharted waters. He’s always thought what makes Dustin so sexy is his boyish charm, the charm of stammering at the sight of hot chicks and willing to do anything for the sake of his friends. But the clothes have made his lover into a completely different man. Mature and confident, strong and calm - the suit reflects everything that has built Dustin into the man who Facebook relies on. The same man who he can fuck in a supply closet at work. The same man who belongs to Chris Hughes.
So the last thing Chris does to Dustin’s only decent suit is wrapping the blue tie tightly around its owner’s eyes. He carefully bends Dustin over the small shelf in the corner of the closet, with his bare ass completely exposed at Chris’s mercy. The programmer is wearing his dress shirt with his dress pants tangled at his ankles, and nothing else. His hands are bound on his back by Chris’s green tie, a perfect bow.
Chris has almost forgotten how much fun it is to wrap presents at Christmastime.
Dustin trembles sharply as Chris palms his half-hard dick. “Fuck, Chris,” he whimpers at the wall in front of his face, “Please.” He nudges his hips towards Chris’s touch but Chris’s hand shies away.
“I told you not to swear, Moskovitz. Breaking the rules will cost you.” Chris says in a low voice. He picks up a cardboard container, rips it open and takes out the yellow duster (Swiffer 360, wow, really?). He clenches it tightly in his right hand.
“It’ll only hurt a little bit,” he kisses the small of Dustin’s back before spanking him with the fluffy duster.
“Fuck,” Dustin screams in a volume that has just cost him the respect he could’ve had from every new intern. Chris eyes the red mark the duster has left with too much satisfaction. He strokes himself quickly in his pants; every bit of his heavy breathing is caught by Dustin’s sharpened sense of hearing due to the temporary loss of vision.
“Chris,” Dustin says in a hasty, desperate whisper, “This is all I’ve been thinking about today. From the second you walked through the doors today in that goddamn suit, I swear, I wanted to fuck you. I wanted to take your cock and blow you right there, but we’re in the fucking office and I can do nothing but watch. Watching you talking in your straightest face with those ad agency reps. Watching that stupid blonde intern drool all over you in that fucking meeting room. And you keep on looking at her -”
“Jesus Christ, Dustin,” Chris is so shocked that he’s stopped jerking off, “I wasn’t looking at her! It’s because you’re sitting with your team right outside the meeting room and she happens to be on that side of the room!”
“…Shit.” Dustin sounds evidently anxious. “That stupid suit is making me lose my mind.”
Chris grins. “I like it when you freak out, Dustin. It’s…” He bends over Dustin and pulls him into a sloppy kiss. “real.” He finishes the sentence as Dustin groans into his mouth.
“This is for the s word,” Chris stretches up, duster in hand. He caresses Dustin’s buttocks to make sure his boyfriend is ready. Another spank, the crisp noise made by the collision of plastic and flesh loud and clear. Dustin’s cockhead is shiny with pre-come under the dim yellow light of the closet and Chris feels himself leaking.
“More, Chris, more,” Dustin croaks. Chris touches the blindfold and knows it’s moist. It’s incredible how the first time he successfully restrains himself from coming when Dustin cries with tears of passion, they’re fucking in a closet.
So he hits Dustin’s butt a few more times, as he watches the red marks line up in an intoxicating pattern. Dustin is definitely sobbing now, indistinctive mumbles and curses streaming out of his mouth. He comes without Chris’s touch, the white fluid spilling helplessly onto the linoleum floor.
“Oh my god,” Chris breathes and rips off the blindfold. “That was so beautiful, babe, I love you.” He kisses away the tears around Dustin’s eyes, “I love you, Dustin Moskovitz. I love you to death.”
“I love you too, Chris Hughes,” Dustin chokes out these six words. “And I want you to fuck me. Please.”
Chris looks into Dustin’s moist eyes apologetically. “I’m sorry, Dustin, I don’t have protection on me. How ‘bout let’s try something else?”
Dustin pouts. “You’ll have to make it up to me when we get home, Hughes.”
“Anything you want, darling,” and with one last promise, Chris splits Dustin’s butt cheeks and massages the opening. He’s looking around frantically, searching for anything that can pass for lube in sight. Dustin moans at his touch. His thighs are shaking as his dick turns half-hard again.
For the first time in his life, Chris doesn’t think he’ll be any luckier in his life when his blood-shot eyes rest upon a small jar of Vaseline next to a pair of gloves (Thank heavens for the cleaning lady who’s never sloppy on caring for her calloused hands).
Carefully slipping a finger full of lube into Dustin’s anus, Chris doesn’t think he can keep edging anymore. He wrestles out of his boxers and rubs himself against the crease of Dustin’s ass and thighs. The back of Dustin’s neck is glistening with beads of sweat. Their laboured breathing harmonizes in the still air. Chris goes faster; the friction between their skins gets heavier by the second. He comes all over Dustin’s waist and his shirt tail, the tainted white stains oddly pleasing to the eyes.
Dustin arches into Chris’s touch. “Scissor me, goddammit!”
Chris can’t help but laugh at his eagerness. Dustin’s ear turns tomato red as he bends down to tease his earlobes. “As you wish,” he whispers.
Chris cautiously rubs more Vaseline at Dustin’s asshole. The first two fingers slide in easily enough, but Dustin starts to writhe with discomfort at the third. They’ve never been this under-prepared before, but Chris knows they both want it, right here, right now. So he takes another wad of lube and circles teasingly at the entrance, making sure it’s comfortable with his touch. Fortunately Dustin’s body starts to relax, and Chris grins with relief. The third finger is in. He probes gently inside Dustin, trying to find the familiar spot of his prostate. Chris deliberately slows his expedition, as he knows Dustin always moans and nudges close into his touch when he does.
“Give it to me, Chris,” Dustin gasps soon enough. He’s leaking, again.
With the widest smile he’s had on his face in twenty-something years, Chris curls his fingertip and hits the spot. Dustin’s body twitches, and with a relieved sigh, gives it all.
Chris unties his hands, turns him over and sits him up comfortably. After Dustin’s crotch is wiped clean with paper towels and his dress pants are in their proper place again, Chris plants a quick kiss on his forehead.
“This is the best sex I’ve had in my life.” Dustin whispers absent-mindedly, almost like talking to himself.
Chris can’t stop grinning at him. “And you said Formal Friday is a bad idea.”
**
It’s already lunch break when they sneak out of the supply closet (or rather, when Dustin stops bitching about his aching ass), and Chris is euphoric when he sees the almost-empty office.
“Done already?” A familiar voice drifts over and Dustin turns around, alarmed. Sitting aloofly at his desk, Mark spins in his office chair with headphones around his neck.
“So you’ve heard, huh?” Chris laughs humourlessly. “Yeah, we got a little carried away -”
“Hang on.” Mark holds up a finger to stop him short as he picks up his cellphone. “Wardo, you heard that? Yeah, they did it. Mm hmm. In the supply closet. Alright, see you tonight.”
For the first time in his life, Chris is not sure what to say when he sees Mark hang up the phone, but Dustin manages to spit out the words. “What? How does this have anything to do with Wardo?”
“Because I made a bet with Wardo,” Mark says indifferently, “I told him Formal Friday will make you guys incredibly horny and you won’t be able to keep your hands off of each other for eight full hours. He didn’t believe me, so I wagered something. Here’s the part where you guys thank me for not firing you ‘cause you’ve just helped me won a very important bet.”
It takes a lot of self-restraint on Chris’s part not to punch Mark on the spot (No, what kind of people does this to their friends and looks completely unapologetic about it? Is he really gloating in front of us right now?), but Dustin looks like he’s ready to jump on his boss. Chris does not know how Mark can still wire himself in again under Dustin’s stare. As soon as Mark is working on his laptop again, he ushers Dustin outside the building before anyone gets injured.
“Do you think it’s too late to plant a bug in Mark’s bedroom? I think Jeff may know some people,” Dustin texts furiously as he asks Chris.
Chris smiles and wraps his arm around Dustin’s waist. “I’m sure Jeff will be interested. You know it’s never too late to do anything that gets your freak on.”
author: reogulus
pairing: Chris/Dustin
rating: NC-17
disclaimer: REALLY don't own nothin' here.
warning: There's spanking.
word count: ~2500
notes: Written for the prompt here at tsn_kinkmeme as a Christmas present to all Chris/Dustin shippers! I've decided to post it at my journal because I would really like to get to know the C/D shippers of the TSN fandom (yeah, I know, desperate much? But it's only because I THINK YOU ARE ALL TOO AWESOME). So if you're not afraid to de-anon, please comment here and feel free to drop me a friend request! I promise I don't bite. I just stalk a little.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!
It’s this stupid new rule that Mark just passed last week, mostly for shits and giggles, which states that every executive officer of the company must be dressed in business formal wear every Friday (except for Mr. CEO himself, of course). It’s a twist from the casual Fridays which normal firms follow, since most of Facebook’s employees come to work in sweats and hoodies five days a week. As a result, the grand pre-Christmas show this year turns out to be watching the Vice-President and Director of Publicity parade around the office like a pair of monkeys. See? Taking pictures of your friend barfing into the air vent of the Facebook party bus is so last year.
Surprisingly for Chris, the most difficult challenge of getting through the day is not trying to breathe through the tightly buttoned dress shirt collar. It’s seeing Dustin in the same attire and trying to stay focused. It’s seeing Dustin as a professional and sharp young leader, getting the attention he deserves for being the technical backbone of Facebook, and getting Chris achingly hard just by looking. It’s the desire to be the first to stake a claim in this side of Dustin that has just been forced out of hiding.
And to think the new territory will be there for eight hours, unclaimed, untouched.
Chris can’t seem to find a proper adjective to describe how it feels to restrain himself from getting an erection in his dress pants while sitting in a meeting with the reps of the newly-hired ad agency. He hates the glass windows of the Facebook headquarters, now. He hates how clean and transparent they are, and he hates how he can see the curve of Dustin’s ass perfectly when he bends over the desk to grab a stapler from the opposite side.
All Chris can do is looking away and tugging at his tie to swallow easier. He tries hard to focus on reading the papers in front of him. In fact, he tries so hard that when he reaches for a highlighter on his left, he almost knocks over the mug of coffee on his right.
The intern asks him if he’s okay in a nervous voice, she looks frantic even though nothing’s spilled. He nods and wipes a hand across his left cheek. The skin feels scorching hot under his fingers.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
“Sorry, I gotta go.” Chris is already half way out the meeting room when he turns around to excuse himself. The intern’s jaw almost drops when she sees Chris running over to Dustin’s desk.
“Hey guys? I need to borrow him for a minute.”
Grabbing Dustin by the shirt collar and dragging him behind used to be the “Chris thing” back at Harvard. Chris remembers how nobody in the CS lab batted an eye when he took Dustin out the door that way in sophomore year. Too bad this isn’t Harvard and Dustin’s team is still staring. Oh well, not that he gives a damn anyway.
“What the hell, man?”
Dustin struggles a little, probably to save face in front of the new interns. Somehow it excites Chris even more because he can justifiably be more forceful. Yank the shirt a little harder; perhaps wreck the tie a little so the collarbone will be exposed.
Fortunately for Dustin, Chris’s strides are huge and the walk to the supply closet is so, very, short.
**
It takes two kicked-over mops for Chris to wedge a knee between Dustin’s thighs, and three bottles of bleach tumbling down the shelf for Dustin to fist his hand in Chris’s blond locks. One door must be latched shut for Chris to pin Dustin against the wall, panting, his flushed face buried in Dustin’s shoulder.
“Everybody saw us,” Dustin whispers down Chris’s neck, breathless. “Fuck. I knew this formal wear thing is a bad idea.”
“Is it?” Chris takes a minute to pace his heart rate, then turns and plants a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the side of Dustin’s neck. “I think it’s the best idea since Christmas.” He teases the tiny white button of Dustin’s starched collar with his tongue before he frees his hands to undo Dustin’s tie.
“I’m so gonna kill you when we get home today you goddamn bastard,” Dustin mumbles as he reaches down to unbuckle Chris’s belt. He fails to get rid of it on the first try. “Fucking monkey suits…”
“Shhh,” Chris puts his index finger on Dustin’s cursing mouth, ever so gently with burning desire in his eyes. “No bad words at work, baby.”
“Wait, you’re the one who…never mind,” Dustin shakes his head before he pulls Chris close and kisses him, as Chris moans into his mouth and snakes his hands up Dustin’s shirt. Chris is much better at pulling out the shirt tail and undoing the belt, but he doesn’t want to undress Dustin completely. Sure, they’ll get dirty more easily and make things a lot more obvious, but there is something about these clothes. The crisp touch of black and white, the smooth texture of the tie and the shoes, the foreign arousal it brings. Seeing Dustin half naked in a suit makes Chris feel like a captain sailing on uncharted waters. He’s always thought what makes Dustin so sexy is his boyish charm, the charm of stammering at the sight of hot chicks and willing to do anything for the sake of his friends. But the clothes have made his lover into a completely different man. Mature and confident, strong and calm - the suit reflects everything that has built Dustin into the man who Facebook relies on. The same man who he can fuck in a supply closet at work. The same man who belongs to Chris Hughes.
So the last thing Chris does to Dustin’s only decent suit is wrapping the blue tie tightly around its owner’s eyes. He carefully bends Dustin over the small shelf in the corner of the closet, with his bare ass completely exposed at Chris’s mercy. The programmer is wearing his dress shirt with his dress pants tangled at his ankles, and nothing else. His hands are bound on his back by Chris’s green tie, a perfect bow.
Chris has almost forgotten how much fun it is to wrap presents at Christmastime.
Dustin trembles sharply as Chris palms his half-hard dick. “Fuck, Chris,” he whimpers at the wall in front of his face, “Please.” He nudges his hips towards Chris’s touch but Chris’s hand shies away.
“I told you not to swear, Moskovitz. Breaking the rules will cost you.” Chris says in a low voice. He picks up a cardboard container, rips it open and takes out the yellow duster (Swiffer 360, wow, really?). He clenches it tightly in his right hand.
“It’ll only hurt a little bit,” he kisses the small of Dustin’s back before spanking him with the fluffy duster.
“Fuck,” Dustin screams in a volume that has just cost him the respect he could’ve had from every new intern. Chris eyes the red mark the duster has left with too much satisfaction. He strokes himself quickly in his pants; every bit of his heavy breathing is caught by Dustin’s sharpened sense of hearing due to the temporary loss of vision.
“Chris,” Dustin says in a hasty, desperate whisper, “This is all I’ve been thinking about today. From the second you walked through the doors today in that goddamn suit, I swear, I wanted to fuck you. I wanted to take your cock and blow you right there, but we’re in the fucking office and I can do nothing but watch. Watching you talking in your straightest face with those ad agency reps. Watching that stupid blonde intern drool all over you in that fucking meeting room. And you keep on looking at her -”
“Jesus Christ, Dustin,” Chris is so shocked that he’s stopped jerking off, “I wasn’t looking at her! It’s because you’re sitting with your team right outside the meeting room and she happens to be on that side of the room!”
“…Shit.” Dustin sounds evidently anxious. “That stupid suit is making me lose my mind.”
Chris grins. “I like it when you freak out, Dustin. It’s…” He bends over Dustin and pulls him into a sloppy kiss. “real.” He finishes the sentence as Dustin groans into his mouth.
“This is for the s word,” Chris stretches up, duster in hand. He caresses Dustin’s buttocks to make sure his boyfriend is ready. Another spank, the crisp noise made by the collision of plastic and flesh loud and clear. Dustin’s cockhead is shiny with pre-come under the dim yellow light of the closet and Chris feels himself leaking.
“More, Chris, more,” Dustin croaks. Chris touches the blindfold and knows it’s moist. It’s incredible how the first time he successfully restrains himself from coming when Dustin cries with tears of passion, they’re fucking in a closet.
So he hits Dustin’s butt a few more times, as he watches the red marks line up in an intoxicating pattern. Dustin is definitely sobbing now, indistinctive mumbles and curses streaming out of his mouth. He comes without Chris’s touch, the white fluid spilling helplessly onto the linoleum floor.
“Oh my god,” Chris breathes and rips off the blindfold. “That was so beautiful, babe, I love you.” He kisses away the tears around Dustin’s eyes, “I love you, Dustin Moskovitz. I love you to death.”
“I love you too, Chris Hughes,” Dustin chokes out these six words. “And I want you to fuck me. Please.”
Chris looks into Dustin’s moist eyes apologetically. “I’m sorry, Dustin, I don’t have protection on me. How ‘bout let’s try something else?”
Dustin pouts. “You’ll have to make it up to me when we get home, Hughes.”
“Anything you want, darling,” and with one last promise, Chris splits Dustin’s butt cheeks and massages the opening. He’s looking around frantically, searching for anything that can pass for lube in sight. Dustin moans at his touch. His thighs are shaking as his dick turns half-hard again.
For the first time in his life, Chris doesn’t think he’ll be any luckier in his life when his blood-shot eyes rest upon a small jar of Vaseline next to a pair of gloves (Thank heavens for the cleaning lady who’s never sloppy on caring for her calloused hands).
Carefully slipping a finger full of lube into Dustin’s anus, Chris doesn’t think he can keep edging anymore. He wrestles out of his boxers and rubs himself against the crease of Dustin’s ass and thighs. The back of Dustin’s neck is glistening with beads of sweat. Their laboured breathing harmonizes in the still air. Chris goes faster; the friction between their skins gets heavier by the second. He comes all over Dustin’s waist and his shirt tail, the tainted white stains oddly pleasing to the eyes.
Dustin arches into Chris’s touch. “Scissor me, goddammit!”
Chris can’t help but laugh at his eagerness. Dustin’s ear turns tomato red as he bends down to tease his earlobes. “As you wish,” he whispers.
Chris cautiously rubs more Vaseline at Dustin’s asshole. The first two fingers slide in easily enough, but Dustin starts to writhe with discomfort at the third. They’ve never been this under-prepared before, but Chris knows they both want it, right here, right now. So he takes another wad of lube and circles teasingly at the entrance, making sure it’s comfortable with his touch. Fortunately Dustin’s body starts to relax, and Chris grins with relief. The third finger is in. He probes gently inside Dustin, trying to find the familiar spot of his prostate. Chris deliberately slows his expedition, as he knows Dustin always moans and nudges close into his touch when he does.
“Give it to me, Chris,” Dustin gasps soon enough. He’s leaking, again.
With the widest smile he’s had on his face in twenty-something years, Chris curls his fingertip and hits the spot. Dustin’s body twitches, and with a relieved sigh, gives it all.
Chris unties his hands, turns him over and sits him up comfortably. After Dustin’s crotch is wiped clean with paper towels and his dress pants are in their proper place again, Chris plants a quick kiss on his forehead.
“This is the best sex I’ve had in my life.” Dustin whispers absent-mindedly, almost like talking to himself.
Chris can’t stop grinning at him. “And you said Formal Friday is a bad idea.”
**
It’s already lunch break when they sneak out of the supply closet (or rather, when Dustin stops bitching about his aching ass), and Chris is euphoric when he sees the almost-empty office.
“Done already?” A familiar voice drifts over and Dustin turns around, alarmed. Sitting aloofly at his desk, Mark spins in his office chair with headphones around his neck.
“So you’ve heard, huh?” Chris laughs humourlessly. “Yeah, we got a little carried away -”
“Hang on.” Mark holds up a finger to stop him short as he picks up his cellphone. “Wardo, you heard that? Yeah, they did it. Mm hmm. In the supply closet. Alright, see you tonight.”
For the first time in his life, Chris is not sure what to say when he sees Mark hang up the phone, but Dustin manages to spit out the words. “What? How does this have anything to do with Wardo?”
“Because I made a bet with Wardo,” Mark says indifferently, “I told him Formal Friday will make you guys incredibly horny and you won’t be able to keep your hands off of each other for eight full hours. He didn’t believe me, so I wagered something. Here’s the part where you guys thank me for not firing you ‘cause you’ve just helped me won a very important bet.”
It takes a lot of self-restraint on Chris’s part not to punch Mark on the spot (No, what kind of people does this to their friends and looks completely unapologetic about it? Is he really gloating in front of us right now?), but Dustin looks like he’s ready to jump on his boss. Chris does not know how Mark can still wire himself in again under Dustin’s stare. As soon as Mark is working on his laptop again, he ushers Dustin outside the building before anyone gets injured.
“Do you think it’s too late to plant a bug in Mark’s bedroom? I think Jeff may know some people,” Dustin texts furiously as he asks Chris.
Chris smiles and wraps his arm around Dustin’s waist. “I’m sure Jeff will be interested. You know it’s never too late to do anything that gets your freak on.”