Work Text:
The beeping sound of a barely working air conditioner had been getting on Jeno’s nerves since the moment he sat down at his work desk. It was one of those days when the sun shone painfully bright, coffee tasted like burnt charcoal, and the temperature in the office was unbearable. He could feel his trousers being too tight at the crotch area, which made sitting on the chair feel like torture. Regular Monday. Working in corporate finance seemed fine until the numbers started crawling, the graphs blurred together, and someone wouldn’t stop clicking their pen like they were trying to drive everyone in this office crazy. The clatter of keyboards and the low humming of his colleagues pretending to be working hard made Jeno reach for his pack of Marlboros every goddamn hour.
He despised fucking Mondays.
Office culture is something one cannot take for granted. All the necessary rituals must be followed, all colleagues must be greeted and fake smiled to. At 9:02, everyone had coffee. At 12:58, another one – this time together, or with some colleagues from your Department. Thursdays ended with whiskey, whether you wanted it or not. Refusing was considered unprofessional. Break the rules, and you're done. No one would lend you a pencil or give you a cigarette. No one would look at your presentation during the weekly report. No one would give a shit about you. That was the corporate ecosystem – airtight, pseudo-polite and quietly cruel.
Jeno Lee understood the importance of hand-in-glove teamwork and tightly woven connections. He paid for that understanding in cigarettes, one after another, just to keep his posture straight and his brain from exploding. He didn’t hate people. He didn’t even hate finance.
He simply hated the leash.
He hated the tight trousers that made his dick uncomfortable. The stiff, over-styled raven hair pulling at his scalp. The way paper left his hands dry and wrinkled by the end of the day. The morning traffic. The need to wear glasses.
And on Mondays the leash felt shortest.
Once you were a part of the system, standing right in the middle of it, there were always people holding the leash. Some of them pulled it occasionally, leaving the sensitive skin on your throat dry, bruised and aching. Others didn’t bother yanking it at all. They simply gave commands and waited for your doubtless obedience.
Na Jaemin was the one holding collective leash in the Department. A finance prodigy, an experienced mentor, and, mostly, the biggest bitch in the whole building. He liked his coffee excessively sugary, his lunch full of carbs, and his employees down on their knees (figuratively) begging and pleading for forgiveness after being five minutes late to work.
Lee Jeno couldn’t stand Na Jaemin, and he didn’t even bother hiding it anymore. The latter was constantly giving him unsatisfied looks during his speeches in a conference room. He never shared cigarettes. Never said his good mornings back. The type of person who reminded you exactly where you stood and who was holding the leash.
After graduating from university and successfully completing his internship, a twenty-three year old Jeno got the job of his dreams. It had been his plan from the very beginning to dive into the financial hole of Korea and do his part as best as he could. To make his parents proud. To make all those years of tough all-nighters and mental breakdowns pay off.
Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life, they say.
Well, after two years of donkeywork, Jeno would rather slit his throat open than agree with that bullshit of a statement. Work is work, and no matter how head over heels you are for it, the mundane routine will eventually cause the death of sincere feelings and dull the light in your eyes. One can ring the changes in his routine so as not to go clinically insane, but what if there’s an essential part of this routine (Na Jaemin) that simply cannot be dealt with?
Two people with astonishing potential and a will to dominate the world cannot coexist in the same ecosystem. It’s a rule of nature, simple as that. There’s always someone who must be followed, and someone who quietly follows. Jeno hated the fact that his brilliant brain and sharp skills weren’t good enough to make him the one others obeyed. In corporate finance, there’s no such thing as good enough. You’re always good-for-nothing.
Jeno started his morning at six o’clock sharp because the idea of being stuck in traffic and rushing to work set his teeth on edge. Lateness always felt like humiliation – especially with a certain bitch in your face waiting for you to list each and every reason you’ve been late. And God forbid Na Jaemin didn’t like your reasons.
He goes through his morning rituals religiously: a half-hour jog, a quick shower, oatmeal porridge with a cup of green tea, and slips into his Ralph Lauren suit. He likes his suits fitted, defining his strong, toned arms and muscular thighs. The Tom Ford creamy silk tie matches his ink blue attire perfectly. Hair styled back, a sparkly silver watch heavy on his wrist. Specks sit uncomfortably on the bridge of his nose, slipping down from time to time. Jeno is aware of how good he looks. He smells good too, drowning himself in his favourite YSL Y Eau de Parfum. His apartment is clean and neat as always, bank account full and bed empty. Jeno is a simple man who likes smoking while watching the Seoul sunset spill into the skyline. He likes his drinks strong and iced, expensive ones that won't give you a terrible hangover in the morning. He works out every Wednesday and Saturday in the gym three stories down his apartment building. Has a collection of hard alcohol from different countries he’s visited and an unhealthy devotion to Formula 1 races. Jeno is a simple man who also likes getting fucked from behind. Face buried down in the plush of soft pillows, ass up and inviting. Strong hands on his waist and tangled in his hair.
Obedience is something he hates from the bottom of his heart – hating the fact that he is obedient even more. He hides it under discipline, ambition, and perfectly tailored suits. But when the right person appears, the right voice, Jeno is already on his knees. Because deep down, beneath the resentment and routine, he is a dog made to kneel for his owner.
8:45 in the morning. Hand tight on the handle of his Saint Laurent leather briefcase, Jeno steps inside a tall glass trading center, making his way to the elevators. He greets the security guards with a soft smile, beeping his plastic ID card against the reader. A green light flashes; the gate unlocks with a soft click. People enter the building at an unhurried pace, hands occupied with paper coffee cups or water bottles. Some listen to music on their way to work, some are deep in their thoughts, and others are barely awake, fighting the urge to skip Monday. The lobby smells faintly of coffee and leather, chocolate-brown couches and huge monsteras by the windows quietly scream about the salaries people in this building get. The marble floor feels a bit slippery to step on, heels clicking and soles dragging through the open space.
Jeno presses the elevator button lightly, already aware of how long it takes to reach the first floor. Nothing new – just the ordinary routine. He steps inside as the heavy metal doors slide open, his reflection staring back at him from the mirrored walls: perfect attire and never-ending tiredness in his eyes. Seven minutes later, the elevator reaches the fifteenth floor, and the warm light of the Financial Department welcomes him with a calming quietness. His colleagues are still arriving, making it easier to avoid unnecessary small talk and fake smiles.
“You must be insane to be this early on a Monday morning, Jeno.”
He spots a familiar soft brown nest of messily styled hair peeking over the desk, a warm smile spreading across his face as he puts down his belongings and sinks into a chair.
“You came here earlier than me, and I’m the insane one?” Jeno chuckles, starting his PC and taking off his blazer. Sunlight streams through the big glass windows, warming the polished floors and casting sharp shadows across the quiet office. The cool hum of the AC keeps the room crisp as the space fills with more people and sounds.
“Well, I have a solid reason to be here this early. And you don’t. You’re just a control freak, Jeno,” Mark laughs, taking a sip of his freshly brewed coffee.
Jeno simply smiles at him, logging into the system and relaxing in his chair. There’s a small pile of documents, neatly folded, on his desk. A metal pen holder, baby blue sticky notes and an extra lighter resting in the drawer, just in case he forgot his at home. Jeno always keeps his workplace minimalistic and clean. Tidy desk, tidy mind. He preferres monochrome color pallets, plain designs and quiet luxury. His pens are Scriveiner London, his planner is Boss and his salary is something one could only dream of. He drives a dark grey Aston Martin Vanquish Volante, interior scented with vanilla and lavender, just the way he likes it. Jeno also likes Mark Lee, as the older was the only person he could stand in the whole office. Mark is outgoing, polite and effortlessly charming. He never refused to help, never said too much and always read the room perfectly. From the very beginning, they found common ground and stuck together. Mark often invited Jeno for drinks after a long Friday and patted the latter’s back every time Jeno had an encounter with Jaemin. Lee Mark was his safe space, and Jeno couldn’t be more grateful to have him in his life.
“He’s here,” Jeno hears, and his fingers freeze on the keyboard. He’s been so absorbed in his work that he didn’t notice the silence that had fallen over the office – the subtle shift that always comes with his arrival. The keyboard sounds grow louder as Jaemin walks past the desks, slowly walking to his own office.
“Jeno-ssi?” Jeno turns to face Jaemin, sensing the sly smile on the latter’s face. “Could you come to my office today at five? I received your last week's report yesterday and would like to discuss it with you,” Jaemin says calmly, and then heads back without waiting for an answer. And he doesn't need it because that's how hierarchy works. Jeno watches him go, rolling his eyes slightly out of annoyance.
Na Jaemin looks like he wears silk to bed and walks men like dogs. He looks like he prefers Lamborghini over a Porsche, Saint Moritz over Courchevel, and Japanese Yamazaki over anything sweet. He never raises his voice, never throws hands or does anything out of the blue. He’s bad at containing his emotions thought, letting his face speak for him instead. Na Jaemin always wears Prada suits and loafers, pairing his outfits with a vintage Chanel briefcase. Sparkly rings on long fingers, an old Cartier watch on his slender wrist. The man is keen on cashmere coats and fur jackets, never wears jeans and owns twenty-three (don't ask) pairs of Adidas joggers. Jaemin smells like Burberry Her – chokingly sweet and seductive. And there’s something about his eyes, cold, cautious and impossibly calm, coaxing you into believing the decision was yours long before you realize you’ve given him everything he wanted.
Jaemin doesn’t rush. Ever. Every movement feels intentional, planned, like he knows exactly how long to hold a glance before the air stiffens. He’s an excellent head of Department – no deadlines ever missed, no negative feedback on performance from the higher-ups, plenty of fair firings, and his favorite: natural selection in action. The man believes that you have to fight for your place under the warm sun, otherwise it’ll be taken from you. Jaemin isn’t tenderhearted. He’s strict, straightforward and wise. He never misses corporate parties and always treats his colleagues to coffee every Tuesday. Perfect boss. A bitch of a person.
Jeno knew from the very beginning of his career that Jaemin would be a pain in his ass. Don’t get him wrong – he performed perfectly at work, never giving a single reason to be picked on. It’s just that Jeno liked his men exactly like Jaemin: blunt, dominant and beautiful in that almost angelic way that makes your fingertips numb. Jaemin was slightly younger, but more skilled and adept. And Jeno hated it.
There was this friction between them, a pull he couldn’t name, a tension that ran just beneath the surface. It was electric, frustrating and arousing. Jeno felt like a bitch in a heat. And it wasn’t professional at all.
Time at work passes in the blink of an eye when you’re occupied with things. At the beginning of the week, Jeno had to write his periodic reports on the previous one and prepare graphs for accounting analysis, tasks that usually kept his mind safely busy. By the time he finished exporting the files and sending them off, the tension in his shoulders had dulled into something manageable. His inbox refilled almost immediately, but he ignored it for the moment, glancing at his watch instead. Still half an hour until lunch. Enough time for a quick smoke break.
Autumn in Seoul was Jeno’s favorite time of the year. The weather was chilly and fresh, puffs of air messily toying with his raven locks as he stepped outside. He leaned against the railing, lighter cupped in his hand, watching the smoke curl and vanish almost as soon as it left his mouth. The city moved around him, footsteps, traffic, distant voices, busy and indifferent. He let it wash over him, counting inhales, focusing on the sting in his lungs. Smoking calmed him down and stopped his hands from trembling.
When the cigarette burned down to the filter, Jeno crushed it out and checked his watch again. Still on schedule. He headed back inside, the warmth of the building dulling the last traces of autumn as work swallowed him until lunch.
Mark was already in the kitchen when Jeno appeared in the doorway, holding a lunch bag and his dirty coffee cup. Their colleagues preferred to spend lunch outside of the office, trying to relieve stress and dissolve headaches in the city rush. Sometimes Mark would take Jeno out for lunch to the Chinese restaurant down the road. Other times, they would be so busy they barely had time to talk. Jeno cherished these small moments because talking to Mark during the day was one of the things that genuinely helped him get through it.
“What’s in today’s menu, chef?”
Mark never missed a chance to make fun of Jeno’s food, since the younger followed a strict diet due to his relentless gym routine. His coach was an asshole and never allowed a single cheat meal, leaving Jeno craving some fries at three in the morning. And he obeyed, of course, because the sight of solid muscles and carved abs was definitely worth it.
“Fuck off. I’m a gym lad and I have to eat right.”
“Whatever you say, Jeno.”
He set his glass container on the counter. Inside, yesterday’s pork chops with vegetable stew on the side, neatly packed. Two apples and a protein bar for snacks. Mark’s eyes flicked to it, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “Living off leftovers now, huh?” His tone carried more amusement than judgment.
Jeno shrugged, eyeing the dirty mug on the table. “Better than whatever you’d call cooking,” he muttered, trying to contain his laughter. The kitchen was small but bright, and for a few moments, the rest of the office – the stress, the deadlines – felt miles away.
“Watch your mouth. Johnny made that for me, you asshole.” Mark was already finishing his lunch, chasing the last bite with a hot coffee. And that’s how their day went by: with small talks, piles of documents and cigarette ash on Jeno’s expensive blazer.
“Do you really plan on going to Jaemin’s today?”
“Are you seriously asking me that?”
The question was left unanswered. As much as Jeno hated Jaemin, he knew his responsibilities and couldn’t jeopardize the hierarchy built over the years in this company. The famous saying, rules are made to be broken, did not apply here. In this place, rules were carved into glass and steel – visible everywhere and sharp enough to cut you open if you tried to break them. Jeno had climbed too far to pretend he didn’t understand that. Still, the heavy thought of stepping into Jaemin’s office made something tighten beneath his ribs.
Jeno hated being reminded that there would always be someone above him. That he would never be enough. And the problem was not his incompetence. He had the intelligence, the discipline, the passion, and everyone knew that. But ambition had never burned in him the way obedience did. What made Jeno’s hands tremble unstoppably wasn’t the hierarchy itself. It was the thought of Jaemin sensing his obedient nature. He couldn’t stop ruminating. Just the idea of how much unspoken power Jaemin had over him set Jeno on fire, burning him to ashes.
Deep in his thoughts, Jeno didn’t even notice when Mark left the kitchen. His unfinished food had already gone cold and no longer sparked any appetite. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the quiet kitchen, each second dragging like a weight pressing down on his chest. Jeno stared blankly at the window, where the afternoon light had faded into a dull gray, and wondered how the day had stretched so long, yet felt so empty. He couldn’t wait to get out of this building.
His watch read 4:55 pm when Jeno stood in front of the door to Jaemin’s office, nervously nibbling at his lower lip. He had smoked two cigarettes with Mark, brushed his teeth, quickly gone through his report, and taken one-third of Xanax before coming here. Now, he could feel his pulse in his throat. His palms were damp, the papers in his hands trembling slightly. He knocked twice, exactly, before touching the cold metal knob and twisting it.
“Right on time, Jeno-ssi. As always.”
The words felt like a gentle slap. He forced a nod, but his throat went dry, pulse rattling in his ears. Jeno stepped into the room, politely waiting for further instructions.
“You may have a sit.” Jaemin was expectedly calm, a soft smile stretched on his face. He looked gorgeous as always: ebony hair perfectly styled in curtains, long neck exposed and inviting. His fitted blazer clung enough in all the right places, revealing that he, in fact, has been working out too. Silver bracelets on his slender wrist, fucking Cartier.
The room smelled divine, probably the Jo Malone diffusers. Or maybe it was Jaemin himself. Jeno couldn’t tell, already overwhelmed by his presence.
The chair, leather and expensive, felt like one of those medieval torture devices. Jeno did a terrible job trying to regain his composure.
“How would you evaluate your performance, Jeno-ssi?”
Jeno drew in a slow, short breath, forcing his posture perfect. Fingers relaxed on the armrests. Eyes steady, voice even. “Consistently meeting targets and maintaining efficiency across all assigned tasks.” Absolute bullshit. He paused, considering whether he should elaborate. He sounded so intelligent, yet so dumb. What does Jaemin want to hear? The question echoed in his mind, unspoken.
“And what do you mean by that?” Pushy. Just as Jaemin always is.
“I mean that I’m doing perfectly fine, sir.”
“Couldn’t agree more, Jeno-ssi.” Jaemin smiled, relaxing in his chair with a cup of coffee in his hands. “I invited you here to praise your last week's report, actually. It was good. Very good, I’d say.”
“Thank you.” His words weirdly calmed Jeno down, the feeling of Jaemin’s approval settling low and warm in his stomach.
Somewhere outside the room, chairs scraped against tiled flooring, and keyboards fell silent. A few low voices drifted past, followed by the soft chime of the elevator doors. The workday was ending. And Jeno was still there, the thought of leaving pulsing at the back of his head. He could have stood, offered a polite bow, and walked out as the rest of his colleagues did. Instead, he remained seated, as if rooted to the chair by something far less professional than obligation. The physical need.
“You like being praised, don’t you, Jeno?” Stroke of genius. Of course, he’d noticed.
“Who doesn’t, sir?”
“You see, some people simply appreciate it,” Jaemin continued, voice low and dripping like honey. He leaned over a bit, resting his elbows on a glass table. “And others get off on the thought of it.” His gaze stayed fixed on Jeno’s. “Which one are you? I’m inclined to believe it’s the latter. You can correct me if I’m wrong, though.”
Jeno swallowed, subtly but visibly. “You seem very certain for someone asking a question that provocative, Jaemin-ssi,” he replied. His voice didn’t waver. “Maybe I just respond well to good leadership.”
And then he heard Jaemin laughing. That son of a bitch.
Jeno gulped again, a little harder this time, feeling the warmth creeping up his neck. Jaemin’s laugh wasn’t loud, just enough to echo softly in the quiet office, genuine and sweet. It was beautiful too, resonating somewhere deep in Jeno’s brain.
“Ah,” Jaemin smirked, leaning back in his chair with that impossible, infuriating calm. “So, you do respond well. Good to know.”
The words should have been harmless until they weren’t. Not with the way Jaemin said them, with that smirk curling at the corner of his mouth, eyes glinting like he’d been waiting for this exact reaction. Jeno’s fingers itched against the armrest. He wanted, he needed to say something back, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, mouth dry and voice stuck in his throat.
The air in Jaemin’s office was so dense it felt flammable, as if the slightest spark would blow the whole place up. It settled firmly in Jeno’s lungs like the thick, bitter smoke of his red Marlboros, clinging to the ribcage. His mind went hazy as he watched Jaemin’s chest rise with each slow inhale.
He was in enemy territory, hands felt handcuffed. Every exit seemed kilometers away. And the worst part was that he wasn’t even sure he wanted one to be there in the first place.
“Lock the door.”
The words landed like a fucking grenade under Jeno's feet. He froze as if he was glued to the goddamn chair. Jaemin knew he was bad at keeping his composure, and he used it to his advantage.
“I said lock the door, Jeno.”
Jeno stood up slowly, legs weak and jelly-like. He was confused, but more like hot. The AC was doing its job just fine, humming softly. Yet he could feel a thin trickle of sweat running down his neck, disappearing under the hem of his shirt, as he shuffled towards the door. The cold metal knob felt like a brimstone in his hand. Click.
Jeno was so fucked.
When he turned around, Jaemin had already minimized the distance between them, standing in front of his desk, leaning casually against it. Every inch of him radiated control, as if the office itself bent to his presence. Fucker was stretching the silence intentionally, driving Jeno crazy.
“You seem composed,” he shifted slightly, taking time unbuttoning his blazer as if the room indeed grew hotter, “but your eyes are giving you away. Even being hidden by these cute glasses of yours.”
Jaemin raised his hand, as in a come closer gesture. The words felt unnecessary.
In the blink of an eye, Jeno found himself seated before he even realized he had moved. His face was barely a breath away from Jaemin’s leather Prada belt. The chair underneath him seemed like it was sinking, dragging Jeno down to the bottom of his own need. He could feel sizzling heat crippling from the back of his neck down his muscular spine. Body and mind brimmed over with lust.
Jaemin’s gaze flicked down to Jeno’s eyes again, then to his neck, watching his Adam’s apple bob as the older swallowed against the dryness in his throat. His devilish grin curled up slowly, as if savoring the moment. Jaemin leaned forward just slightly, the chokingly sweet scent of his perfume mixing with the cool office air. Jeno felt gentle fingers brushing against his tie, feeling the soft material of it. The touch was light yet so burning.
A simple tie felt like a leash.
“You invited me here to discuss my performance, Jaemin-ssi.” Jeno finally found the courage to speak, licking his dry lips, the words heavy in his mouth.
“I did,” Jaemin murmured, pulling Jeno closer, his grip tightening on the silk tie. “And you’re doing a great job, Jeno. So good for me.”
Jeno felt his dick twitch at the praise, a soft whine slipping past his lips as he shifted in his chair. Everything felt overwhelming – the tension in the room, the air too stiff, the distance between them too close. His body felt like it was burning alive.
Jaemin hummed softly, tongue darting out to wet his lips as if savoring Jeno’s desire. His fingers slowly dragged along the tie as though it were a leash, indeed. The younger leaned in even closer, the tie pulling taut as he drew Jeno in his what's called personal space. His breath warm against Jeno’s ear, each word felt like a pour of gasoline onto an already raging fire.
“Tell me, Jeno. Does it feel good?” Jaemin’s voice low, velvety, edged with something dangerous, as if he was tasting every second of Jeno’s struggle. “To be praised like that? To be wanted like that?”
Jeno’s heart hammered in his chest. He tried to swallow, but his throat was still dry, the words caught in his mouth, choking him. Wanted? The word spiraled in his mind, circling and twisting. He should’ve said something, anything, but his body refused to listen. His strong body, like his usually steady mind, felt so weak beneath the rush of overwhelming emotions.
He sucked in a breath, trying to steady himself, but Jaemin’s hand didn’t move right away. Letting go of the tie, his hand slid to the back of Jeno’s neck, fingernails scratching at the nape just enough as a reminder that Jaemin was still the one in control.
Jeno’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the weight of Jaemin’s proximity pressing down on him like a suffocating cloud.
“I can feel your pulse,” Jaemin murmured, fingers pressing featherly just below Jeno’s sharp jawline. “It's racing, darling. Are you nervous?”
“I am.”
Jeno wasn’t just nervous; he was already fucking ruined, every nerve like a pulled string.
“You want a smoke?” Jaemin backed off slightly, his hand reaching down the inner pocket of his blazer. Just by this offer, Jeno could sense that Jaemin was a bit nervous too, walking on the edge of a potentially bad decision.
Jeno wasn’t thinking about smoking. In any other circumstance, he’d probably be three cigarettes deep by now, trying to drown his blistering feelings in a bitter taste. But now all he could focus on was how close Jaemin was, how inescapable and suffocating. Every inch of him felt raw, yet he couldn’t make his own tongue move.
Jaemin seemed to enjoy being so openly lusted over by Jeno to the point that he couldn’t stop himself from smiling obsessively. “Answer me, Jeno,” he purred, sweet and demanding.
“I don’t want a smoke.”
“Then what do you want?”
Whatdoyouwant. Whatdoyouwant. Whatdoyouwant. Iwantyou.
“You,” Jeno whispered, cheeks flushing deep pink. He had nothing to lose, shame gone long ago. “I want you, Jaemin.”
A soft, pleased hum escaped Jaemin’s lips as he leaned closer, thumb brushing lightly along Jeno’s jawline, getting a thrill out of the anticipated confession.
“Good,” he husked. Jaemin was a patient man, but the sight of Jeno being so worked up from simple words made his patience shatter into pieces like an expensive glass ashtray he had on his work desk. He felt his hunger taking over his body; the physical need to touch, to feel, was boiling his blood.
“I want to ruin you so badly, Jeno. You’re killing me.” As much as Jaemin wanted to keep his composure, he was thirsty too, his breath shaky and deep.
Jeno felt their knees brush slightly as the other man towered over him. Jaemin’s words hit him again like a heatwave, leaving him painfully hard in his trousers. He needed friction, needed to be touched so desperately he was ready to drop to his knees and beg. Like a damn dog.
“Then do it.”
Jaemin cupped Jeno’s warm cheek and paused, their lips barely touching, breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. “Fuck it.” He fell to pieces, crashing his lips against Jeno’s so hungrily he could feel the last shred of self-control leaving his body. Jeno tasted sweet, a mix of cigarettes and mint coating his tongue, forcing a whimper from Jaemin’s throat. It was messy and wet; a thin silver thread of saliva escaped the corner of Jeno’s mouth as they fought for friction. Jaemin kissed, and kissed, and kissed him, ignoring the burn in his lungs from lack of air.
Jeno was a complete mess, his hands running frantically up and down Jaemin’s firm thighs, feeling the tense muscles twitch against his palms. He was struggling to kiss back, his head tilted at a punishing angle. Every time he tried to suck in a breath, Jaemin’s mouth was there to devour it, the relentless pressure turning the kiss into a fucking battle. Jeno could only moan into the heat of it, his fingers tugging hectically at Jaemin’s belt in a desperate need for more.
Jaemin was fucking hard, and it was driving Jeno crazy. He could feel the outline of his dick beneath his palms, burning and pulsing against the nice fabric of his pants.
“Your blazer, take it off. Please.” Jeno finally managed to break the heated kiss – that desperate, wet mess of clacking teeth and desperate tongues. He was gasping, his chest heaving as he stared up at Jaemin with dark, blown-out pupils, his fingers still hooked into Jaemin’s belt loops.
Jaemin didn’t even blink, his chest heaving as he stared down at Jeno’s wrecked expression. He shoved the blazer off his shoulders in one fluid, violent motion, letting it heap onto the floor like it didn’t cost a fortune.
“You're such a mess,” Jaemin rasped, his voice a low, vibrating growl that Jeno could feel in his own bones. He was smiling sweetly despite the predatory look in his eyes, his cheeks a soft pink hue, lips bruised and glistening.
Jeno whined, slowly moving closer and nuzzling his face into Jaemin’s crotch, pressing feverish kisses along the length of his clothed cock. His hands were still gripping the younger’s belt, as if terrified to let go. Jeno was more than eager; the sheer weight of Jaemin’s hard-on against his cheek was making him cock-drunk already.
“Fuck, Jeno. Stop teasing.” Jaemin was shaking with anticipation, his fingers tightening in Jeno’s raven locks as he looked down at him, his breath coming in jagged, broken hitches.
“If you want it that bad,” Jaemin whispered, his thumb grazing Jeno's bottom lip, “then undo the damn belt and take it.”
The click of the buckle echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room. Jeno’s fingers clumsy and trembling with a frantic sort of greed as he finally forced the leather through the loops. He didn't just undo it; he ripped the belt free, the metal tongue clinking as he tossed it aside.
Jaemin let out a sharp, choked-off sound at the sudden lack of restriction, his hips jerking forward instinctively. Without the barrier of the belt, Jeno could feel the heat radiating off him in waves. He didn't hesitate – he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Jaemin's trousers, his eyes fixed on Jaemin's face as he prepared to pull them down, waiting for that final look of permission.
“Say it,” Jeno whispered, licking his lips messily. “Say that you want me, Jaemin.”
The request seemed to be the final blow to Jaemin’s restraint. That sweet, soft smile didn't just fade; it collapsed. A low, jagged groan ripped from his throat – a sound of pure, physical agony.
He was fucked too.
“Jeno,” Jaemin whimpered, his voice breaking as his composure finally turned to ash. He was shaking violently now, his hands coming down to cover Jeno’s, fingers clawing at his own waistband in a frantic attempt to help. “Shit – please. Just... right now. I need you right now.”
Jeno didn't need to be told twice. With one final, forceful tug, he jerked the fabric down Jaemin’s legs, the trousers pooling in a messy heap around his ankles. The sudden release was too much;
The burning need to please pulsed through Jeno’s veins. His fingers were trembling over Jaemin’s hardness, forcing the latter to swallow heavy above him. Working the fragile buttons of Jaemin’s shirt, Jeno undressed him slowly, until the fabric yielded to reveal the soft, milky skin of defined abs and a toned chest. Jeno knew that Jaemin hit the gym consistently, which made him even tastier to touch. His soft lips traced the outlines of a lean abdomen, nails digging into Jaemin’s sides. Jeno wanted to eat him alive, to consume him fully, leaving Jaemin all to himself and himself only.
Jaemin was dizzy from the sudden contrast of the cool room air and the hot hands all over his body. He wanted more – more touches, more kisses, and more obedience from Jeno. He wanted to break Jeno, make him fall apart underneath him, and kiss silver tears off his cheeks. The sound of his shallow, ragged breathing was the only thing filling the room, drowning out the distant hum of the Seoul traffic outside. To Jeno, it was better than any praise, more addictive than any morning cigarette. He looked up, his glasses slipping back against his eyes, and saw Jaemin’s head tilted back, his throat working as he tried to catch air that suddenly felt too thin.
“Look at me,” Jaemin rasped, a command that lacked its usual sure-fire authority, sounding instead like a plea.
Jeno obeyed. He always did. He met Jaemin's hungry eyes, seeing the biggest bitch in the whole building reduced to a man trembling under the touch of his subordinate. Jeno’s mouth grazed the head of Jaemin’s dick, kissing him through the fabric and down the hot length, his tongue tracing the pulsating veins. The sounds Jaemin was making were filthy – sounds that shouldn't exist in a room where million-dollar deals were signed, or be heard by anyone except for Jeno.
A couple of minutes felt like hours with Jeno’s lips kissing and torturing Jaemin, trembling hands brushing against the smooth expanse of his belly. He moved a little, nipping at Jaemin’s hipbone, sucking in sensitive skin and leaving blooming red spots, marking him all the way up to his belly button.
The frantic energy in the room seemed to shift, air turning heavy and thick as Jeno’s hands moved from Jaemin’s hips to the elastic waistband of his briefs. He didn't jerk them down with the same greed he’d used on the belt. Instead, his movements became agonizingly slow, almost reverent.
With a ghost of a breath, Jeno hooked his thumbs into the fabric and began to peel it away. He was careful, his touch light and steady, as if Jaemin were made of the same fragile glass as the skyscrapers surrounding them. As the fabric slipped down, revealing Jaemin fully to the dim office light, Jeno felt a surge of something far more dangerous than simple lust. It was the sight of a man so famously untouchable, distant and strictly professional, standing completely exposed and vulnerable, just for him. Just so Jeno could please him and be praised for doing so.
Jaemin’s dick was thick, already wet and painfully hard from Jeno being a little teasing bitch.
The first slide of Jeno’s tongue was deliberate, a slow and steady stroke that drew a sharp, broken gasp from somewhere deep in Jaemin’s chest. Jeno reveled in the vibration of it. He worked with the same meticulous precision he applied to his financial reports – thorough, relentless, and aimed for perfection. He used his hands to steady himself against Jaemin’s thighs, his thumbs digging into the toned muscle, grounding them both as he was leaving open-mouthed kisses along the hot length, lips deep red and wet with saliva.
“F-fuck, Jeno,” Jaemin whispered, his fingers tangling desperately in Jeno’s styled hair, ruining the perfect locks Jeno had spent all morning grooming. “Just like that.” He could feel the cold plastic of Jeno’s glasses brushing over his belly as the older edged him with his wet tongue.
“G’nna suck you off so good,” Jeno murmured, his long fingers wrapping around Jaemin, pumping slowly and gripping the base of his cock tightly. It was messy and wet, saliva glistering all over him and Jeno’s lips and cheeks. “G’nna make you feel good, Jaemin.”
Jaemin couldn’t help but twitch his hips at the sight of Jeno taking him slowly in the heat of his mouth, making eye contact from behind his fucking glasses. Jeno was painfully slow, working his lips down Jaemin’s dick until he felt his nose touching the muscled abdomen. When the head of Jaemin’s cock hit the back of his throat, Jeno rolled his eyes, a loud moan vibrating as it escaped his mouth, making Jaemin choke on his own sounds.
Every slide of Jeno’s mouth was an act of service, an unspoken promise that he could handle whatever Jaemin gave him. His hands moved with a steady, rhythmic pressure, never faltering, even as his own breath began to burn in his lungs. His head began bobbing even more passionately when he heard Jaemin’s breath become ripped and heavy, honeyed moans spilling from his mouth as Jeno took him deeper, the back of his throat stretching to accommodate every inch.
Jaemin’s cheeks were beautifully hot and pink, his lips swollen from constant biting. “Shit, can you…” He was panting, fingers trembling as they ran along Jeno’s jawline. “Wanna fuck your mouth.”
Jeno felt his muscles tense at the raw, unfiltered hunger in Jaemin’s voice. He let out a soft, broken moan, a sound of pure compliance that vibrated in the small space between them.
Instead of pulling away, Jeno leaned back on his heels, his spine arching in a submissive curve that invited Jaemin in. He looked up, his glasses slightly lopsided and his eyes clouded with a hazy, devoted fog. With a trembling hand, Jeno reached up to steady himself, his fingers digging into the expensive fabric of the older man's slacks.
He opened his mouth wider, his tongue dipping low in an unspoken invitation. It was the ultimate act of good performance – offering himself up as nothing more than a place for Jaemin to lose his composure. He wanted to feel the weight of Jaemin’s authority, the physical force of it, until there was nothing left of the office or the spreadsheets – only the feeling of being filled and used by the man he’d spent his nights thinking of greedily.
Jaemin didn’t move immediately. He hovered there, his breath hot and uneven, looking down at the masterpiece of obedience he’d created. A slow, dizzy smile spread across his lips – a look that was uncharacteristically soft, almost drunkenly sweet, despite the raw hunger in his eyes.
He reached down, his thumb catching a string of glistening saliva from the corner of Jeno's mouth. With agonizingly slow motion, Jaemin began to caress Jeno’s bottom lip, spreading the wetness across the swollen skin until it shone under the office lights.
“Look at you,” Jaemin murmured, his voice thick and slurred with wanting. He leaned in, his thumb still tracing the shape of Jeno’s mouth, claiming him before he finally, ruthlessly, pushed back inside. That drunken, hazy smile sharpened into something predatory as he gripped the back of Jeno’s head, his fingers tangling deep into ruined hair to hold him steady. With a low, guttural growl, Jaemin surged forward, finally claiming Jeno’s mouth with a ruthless, rhythmic force.
Jeno took every inch of him, his eyes blown wide and rolling back as he was forced to accommodate the sudden, heavy invasion. The sound of it was mindless – the wet, frantic squelch of Jaemin sliding deep against the back of his throat, followed by muffled moans and heavy breaths. Jeno’s glasses were knocked completely askew, dangling off one ear, but he didn't care. He was too busy drowning in the taste of him, his hands clutching Jaemin’s thighs so fucking hard his knuckles turned white.
“S-shit, taking me so good, baby. Can I call you baby, Jeno? Or should I call you puppy? W-wanna be my pup?”
The words hit Jeno like a physical blow, his cock throbbed painfully in his trousers, and he felt like he could cum right there just from the weight of Jaemin's voice. The praise went straight to his brain, bypassing every professional filter he had left, leaving him a panting, needy mess on his knees.
Jeno was a simple man – a diligent one, even. But right now, he was nothing more than a good boy, sucking Jaemin off so sloppily and with such a desperate mess that he could feel the hot mix of saliva and precum spilling from the corners of his lips, tracking slow paths down his chin. He couldn't care less about the stains on his expensive shirt or the ruin of his reputation; he only cared about the way Jaemin’s hips bucked against his face, the way he shivered every time Jeno hollowed his cheeks, sucking him as if his life depended on it.
Jaemin was coming apart at the seams. The poise he’d spent years perfecting was gone, replaced by a raw, frantic desperation. His head fell back, exposing the sharp line of his throat as he let out a loud, unbridled moan that echoed off the glass walls of the office.
“S–shit, pup,” he gasped, his chest heaving under his wrinkled shirt, his free hand clutching the edge of the his desk so hard it creaked. His eyes were blown wide, hazy and unfocused as they darted down to where Jeno was working him. “I’m gonna–fuck, I’m close. I’m so close, baby.”
Jeno didn't flinch. He leaned into the invasion, hollowing his cheeks one last time as Jaemin finally dissolved into a messy, frantic pleasure. The younger man’s grip on Jeno's hair became punishing, his knuckles white as he arched his back, a string of broken curses spilling from his swollen lips.
“F-fuck – fuckfuckJeno,” Jaemin stammered, his voice cracking as the first wave hit him. “I'm – just like that, baby, right there-“
He was trembling, his knees nearly buckling as he let out a final, loud moan that was muffled only by the sound of his own heavy breathing. Jeno felt the hot, heavy surge hit the back of his throat, and he swallowed instinctively, his Adam's apple bobbing in a desperate, rhythmic show of obedience. It was thick, salty, and overwhelming – the taste of Jaemin’s total loss of control.
Jeno didn't pull back until he was sure he’d cleaned every trace, his tongue darting out to lick his lips with a dazed, devoted focus. He peppered soft kisses all over Jaemin’s abdomen, his lips lingering against the warm, damp skin as he looked up. His glasses were fogged, and his chin was still glistening with the evidence of his hard work, but he didn't move to fix himself.
Jaemin let out a long, shaky exhale, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he wound his fingers back into Jeno’s hair and tilted his head back, forcing Jeno to look him dead in the eye through those fogged-up lenses. His hand lingered on Jeno’s cheek, his thumb dragging through the mess on Jeno's chin and smearing it back over his bottom lip.
“Good boy,” Jaemin purred, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that made Jeno’s entire body vibrate. The words were more valuable than any fucking salary Jeno had ever earned. They were a claim. “Such a good boy for me. You have no idea what you just did, do you?”
Jaemin leaned down, his nose brushing against Jeno’s, his breath still coming in hot, uneven hitches. “Best I’ve ever had,” he rasped, the praise vibrating against Jeno’s lips.
Before Jeno could even breathe, Jaemin’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around the back of Jeno’s neck. He hauled him up just enough to close the distance, crashing their mouths together in a kiss that was desperate, hungry, and completely devoid of corporate decorum.
It was a collision of heat and wetness. Jaemin didn't just kiss him; he reclaimed every bit of himself, his tongue sliding into Jeno’s mouth to taste the salty, lingering evidence of his own cum. It was messy and hot, their saliva mixing and slicking their lips as Jaemin groaned into the kiss, his grip on Jeno's neck tightening as if to make sure the younger man knew exactly who he belonged to now.
Jeno melted into it, his hands clutching blindly at Jaemin’s waist, his brain short-circuiting at the taste of Jaemin on Jaemin. He’d been so diligent, so perfect, and this – this messy, soul-crushing kiss – was the collar Jaemin finally zipped up on his neck.
“Holy shit.” The words tumbled out of Jeno’s mouth, breathless and dazed, as he slumped back against his heels. He looked like he’d just survived a wreck – his hair a bird's nest, his skin flushed a deep, feverish pink, and his eyes still trying to find their focus.
“Yeah, indeed.” Jaemin chuckled softly, the sound low and melodic in the quiet of the office. He leaned back against the desk, looking down at Jeno with a lazy, hooded gaze that was far too composed for a man who had just been cursing like a sailor. He reached out, his long fingers trailing one last time over Jeno’s jaw, hooking under the chin to keep him close.
“I think your quarterly review is officially over, Jeno-ssi,” Jaemin purred, his thumb brushing over the ‘collar’ he’d just placed there.
“I’d suggest you find a mirror and a very damp cloth, though,” Jaemin drawled, his voice regaining its sharp, bitchy edge. He reached down and flicked a stray droplet of saliva off Jeno’s lapel with a look of mock distaste. “You’re a complete mess. It would be such a shame for everyone to know you’re nothing but a messy little pup behind closed doors.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“See you tomorrow, sir.”