What Not to Wear – THURSDAY

Beckett quietly opened the door into the Boardroom, then stood for a moment, watching the only other person there.

Doug was shifting papers around on the large, teak Board table with fitful enthusiasm. He was chewing gum and humming something that might have been a popular techno hit but probably just sounded that way coming from him. Beckett smiled to himself. Man couldn’t hold a tune in a bucket.

Doug didn’t turn around. “Beckett. Hi.”

“You knew it was me?”

Doug nodded. “That last season cologne’s a real giveaway. Oh, and the lingering aroma of those exploding coffee granules.” He turned around, smiling.

Beckett leaned back against the closed door. He ran his gaze up Doug’s body from foot to head: smart trousers, a respectable sweater. And long limbs, tight abs, broad shoulders. Bright, fierce eyes, firm, greedy lips.

Beckett frowned. Doug distracted him far too easily. “Two hours,” he said, with careful precision. “Two excruciatingly long hours in a virtually alien language, explaining to Maintenance that I didn’t touch anything except to turn the coffee machine on.”

“Explaining…?”

“Fruitlessly,” Beckett snapped. “Apparently, the repair cost will be deducted from my salary, as a ‘goodwill gesture’ on my part. I just want to know how the hell you always manage to avoid the fall-out – how everyone believes your innocent victim look.”

Doug’s eyes were suspiciously sparkling. “Just lucky, I guess. I thought you liked that look on me.” He tugged aimlessly at the collar of his sweater.

“Not now. I have to collect the department’s reports from you. I have to develop a more committed attitude to my work, quote, unquote. I have to impress.”

Doug grinned slyly. “You’ve never failed in that.”

Beckett rolled his eyes, but Doug’s words warmed him. He stared at the piles of paper spread over the table. “Are they in monthly order?” At Doug’s nod, he walked over and started to flick through the headers. Beside him, Doug fidgeted. Out of the corner of his eye, Beckett saw Doug run a hand gently over the smooth table top.

“The air’s always hot in here.” Doug sighed theatrically. “That’s management for you. Such pampered, selfish types.” With a single, graceful gesture, he peeled his sweater up and off his torso.

Beckett could see the hem of the T-shirt underneath ride up over Doug’s navel, exposing the taut belly and softly clenching muscles. Beckett also felt the all-too-familiar throb in his groin. “No,” he said. His voice sounded strained. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was protesting about.

Doug raised an eyebrow. “You’re the exception to that, Stone,” he murmured softly. “No way the pampered, selfish type.” His gaze flickered to Beckett’s mouth. He took a step toward his lover and let his hand swing out to brush at Beckett’s thigh.

But Beckett was ready for him. A quick sidestep, an unanticipated grip of the elbow, and he had Doug pressed back down on to the table. Doug gave a grunt of surprise, and his hand scraped across the varnished surface, seeking purchase. March’s reports creased awkwardly under his left hip and two pages of September’s summary were caught up under his head, in amongst strands of tousled hair. Beckett felt a rush of triumph to the head, almost immediately followed by the rather more unpredictable rush of excitement to the crotch, as his body reacted to having Doug trapped beneath him. Doug wriggled, and Beckett let his eyes travel down from Doug’s flushed face to the newly revealed T-shirt.

I shaved my balls for this?

He couldn’t help himself: he started to laugh. “I’m flattered.”

“And I did.” Doug grinned back. “So… you going to let me up?”

Beckett tilted his head to one side as if he might be thinking sensibly about it. Then he looked down at Doug.

“That’s a no, then,” Doug said, a little weakly.

Beckett leaned down, trapping Doug’s body further, and he nipped at Doug’s jaw line. His lover writhed underneath him. Beckett ran his tongue over Doug’s throat, drawing out a gargled moan. He pushed up the hem of the T-shirt and dropped his head to lick along Doug’s belly.

“Board meeting scheduled in ten minutes,” Doug gasped.

A jolt of mixed excitement and fear shot through Beckett. “And?”

Doug gave a shaky laugh. “I can’t believe you said that.” He was panting, his hands outstretched on the surface of the table, his fingers clawing at loose papers. His feet hung rather clumsily over the edge of the table, and his toes skimmed just above the floor. “But I tell you, if you stop now, I swear your arse is mine for weeks.

Beckett raised an eyebrow. Doug’s desperation was the most exciting thing he’d ever experienced. And today looked like no exception. “We’d better be quick, then.” He dragged over a chair, placing it between Doug’s hanging legs. When Doug wriggled his head around inquisitively, Beckett pressed down on Doug’s chest, keeping him flat on his back. Then he sat on the chair, facing the table, and unzipped Doug’s trousers. He slipped a hand inside.

Doug yelped. “Cold,” he grunted.

Beckett ignored him and lifted Doug’s dick out of his boxers, caressing the smooth, hairless flesh, feeling the weight of the balls shifting and tightening beneath it. He could examine every crease, see the little spots of the hair follicles. “Naked skin,” he murmured. “Heightened response. You could say you’re streamlined for speed.”

“You can say I’ll go like shit off a shovel, for all I care.” Doug groaned in some kind of pain. “Just get on with it, for fuck’s sake.”

Beckett swallowed his laugh, slipped his mouth over Doug’s cock, and started to suck around it. Doug moaned, and the sound tugged at Beckett’s own groin, his cock swelling in response. His lips slid easily over the exposed flesh, licking at the gentle goose bumps, letting the nude skin catch on his tongue’s roughness. The captive cock bounced with every stroke as if it begged for release. It felt naked and vulnerable in his mouth in many more ways than just hairlessness. He tightened his lips.

It took no time at all. Doug came with a guttural groan, back arching on the slippery surface, booted heels drumming at the leg of the table. Beckett took the mouthful of thick come, letting it swill against his palate before swallowing, savouring the tartness. They were both panting now.

Fuck.” Doug sighed, collapsing back on the table. Beside his left ear, the intercom buzzed.

Beckett went as still as his surname. His mouth still tingled with the pressure of sucking; the final drops of Doug’s come were tickling his tongue.

“Who’s there?” came a puzzled voice. “Is that you, Mr. Chairman? I’ll bring the coffee in at once.”

Beckett felt the blood rush back up from his cock into his head, kick-starting his heart along the way and making him dizzy. He thrust the chair backward, stumbling to his feet. Doug wrenched himself upright, fumbling with his trousers and tugging down his T-shirt.

“The papers…” Beckett could only manage a hoarse whisper. Around them was a sea of jumbled, ruined reports. No time. Behind him, he heard the soft squeak of the thick Boardroom door opening to admit the Chairman’s secretary and her tray of executive refreshments. One of the cups rattled on its saucer: he could smell the warm richness of the coffee.

Doug stared at him. They were both dressed – just – but Doug looked like he’d gone two rounds with a tornado and Beckett knew his lover’s shocked expression would be mirrored on his own face. Doug mouthed silent, helpless words to him. What do you want to do?

Beckett looked at the man in front of him who’d led him into endless, careless trouble ever since they met. Who was erratic and outrageous and rash and perpetually horny. And he remembered just what a boring, repressed, unhappy guy he’d been before Doug Jensen came along.

Beckett shrugged in defeat. “It’s Thursday,” he whispered. He ignored Doug’s puzzled frown and turned slowly to greet the secretary.

Thursday was as good a day as any to die – in a corporate sense, at least.

*

 

Follow the story from the beginning:

MONDAY
“Lunch, did you say?” Doug raised his eyebrows. He grinned broadly and licked his lips. “Like, now?”
Beckett coughed as if he knew Doug wasn’t just referring to a cheese and pickle sandwich…

TUESDAY
Just before Beckett was nudged back up against the side of the elevator car, he caught sight of his lover and colleague’s T-shirt. His gut gave a familiar churn and his mouth dried.

WEDNESDAY
Doug watched Beckett’s fingers under the cloth, probably teasing a nipple. Or both. A bead of sweat ran down the middle of his back. Maybe his guy didn’t need Doug’s personal crusade to lighten up as much as he thought…

 

 

 

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