I have no specific ideas but just the hunger for more coworker Mac being down bad for reader (my greed and gluttony sickness me /j) could even be boss or secretary Mac
-💻
OKOKOK Last one before I lock in for real this time.
I went a bit overboard. I missed co-worker Mac
Word count: 1181
The day starts off ordinary enough.
Emails, meetings, the usual dull hum of productivity. Except it’s not ordinary, not really, because every time you look up from your desk, Mac is already watching you. They’re subtle about it, at least, they think they are, which you find charming. Adjusting their glasses as if they’d just been glancing your way, fiddling with their pen when their gaze lingers too long. But you catch them. Every. Single. Time.
And each time, you grin.
By mid-morning, the tension is humming like static. You walk into the break room to find a cup of coffee from your favorite cafe already waiting on the counter, your name scribbled across the lid. You glance around, suspicious, until Mac breezes in, pretending they don’t notice you holding it.
“You didn’t,” you say, eyebrow raised.
Mac shrugs, leaning against the counter like they didn’t go out of their way for you. “Maybe I had a buy-one-get-one deal. Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Uh-huh.” You sip, humming at the taste, perfect, exactly the way you like it. You smirk at them over the rim. “If this is your attempt at bribery, I’m not cheap.”
They grin, a flash of teeth. “Who said I was bribing you? Maybe I just like watching you pretend you’re not impressed.”
The air between you sharpens, crackling with something unsaid. You break the gaze first, chuckling as you brush past them. But when your shoulder brushes theirs, the faint hitch of their breath makes you grin wider.
By lunchtime, the little games escalate. You’re buried in work when something slides across your desk. A snack from the vending machine, your favorite one. No note. Just placed there while Mac pretends to be deeply focused on their monitor.
“Thanks, secret admirer,” you murmur loudly enough for them to hear.
Their fingers freeze on the keyboard, then resume typing. “Could be from anyone.”
You pop the snack open, enjoying the faint pink at their ears. “Mm. Anyone who knows my favorite snack deserves a reward, don’t you think?” You tease. “Wonder who it could be.”
That gets them to glance up, caught, their mouth opening and then closing like a fish out of water.
By the afternoon meeting, it’s unbearable. You’re sitting across the table, and every time you speak, Mac’s eyes flick to your mouth. Every time they adjust their collar, your gaze drops to their hands. You pass notes on sticky pads during a dull presentation. Just doodles, teasing words like ‘focus’ or 'nerd' followed by their scrawled reply, ‘No, you. ’
It’s absolutely setting you both on fire.
The tension follows you through the rest of the day. A brush of their hand when you pass files. Their knee bumping yours under the conference table. Their smirk when you bite back a laugh at one of their quiet, cutting comments.
By the time the office empties, it feels like the walls themselves are vibrating with it. Everyone else has gone home. Just you and them left, still typing, still pretending to work.
You finally break the silence, leaning against their desk with a sly smile. “You know you’ve been staring at me all day, right?”
Mac looks up, lips quirking. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”
Your arms are crossed, pretending to watch the blinking cursor on your monitor. Really, you’re watching them. The loosened tie, the tired tension still strung through their shoulders.
“You realize you’re terrible at pretending you’re busy,” you say finally, breaking the silence.
Mac doesn’t look up from the screen. “And you realize you’re terrible at pretending you’re not staring.”
That gets your mouth quirking. “So you have noticed.”
Their fingers hover over the keyboard, unmoving. Then they glance up, eyes catching yours, holding. “I always notice.”
The air sharpens. One beat, two.
You should leave. But neither of you moves.
Instead, you lean closer, palms braced on the desk. “If you’re going to say something, Mac, say it.”
They inhale, shaky but steady enough to make your pulse stutter. “If I say it, I won’t be able to take it back.”
You tilt your head. “Then don’t take it back.”
Their mouth is on yours before you can breathe. The kiss is hot, teeth clashing, lips bruising, hands grabbing whatever they can reach. You fist your fingers in their shirt, pulling them closer until your chest is flush to theirs.
They groan into your mouth, hands sliding to your hips. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”
You nip their lower lip, smirking against it. “Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I thought I’d ruin it,” they rasp, tugging you higher onto the desk, pressing between your thighs. “Guess I don’t care anymore.”
Your laugh breaks into a gasp when their hips grind against yours, cock already hard through their slacks, sliding against the heat of you. The friction has both of you groaning, clutching at each other like you can’t get enough.
Clothes scatter fast, jackets, shirts, ties, buttons popped open without care. Mac mouths along your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.
“God, you’re—” They cut themselves off with a moan when your hand slips into their pants, stroking hard and deliberately. Their head drops to your shoulder. “Are we really doing this?”
You murmur, biting their jaw. “Get inside me.”
They fumble their pants down, your underwear shoved aside in haste, and then they’re pushing in with one long, slow thrust that has both of you gasping, clinging.
“Fuck—” Mac’s voice cracks, their forehead pressed to yours as they bottom out, trembling with restraint. “You feel—.”
You rake your nails down their back, tugging them closer.
It’s hard at first, frantic, their hips slamming against yours with every thrust. You meet them just as rough, legs hooked around their waist, grinding back until the desk rattles beneath you. The office fills with the sharp slap of skin, your gasps and groans tangled together, shameless.
“You’re loud,” you tease breathlessly, even as you clutch them tighter.
They smirk, kissing you hard between thrusts.
The pace falters, grows messier, not because they’re losing control, but because you both are. Hands everywhere, lips biting, tongues tangling, neither of you willing to let the other win. Every moan is answered with one of your own, every sharp thrust matched by your roll of hips, until it’s not clear who’s leading anymore.
The heat builds fast, overwhelming. Your body clenches tight around them, dragging a whiny moan from their throat.
They thrust harder, hips snapping, your nails digging crescents into their back. The tension breaks in a rush, you coming with a cry that echoes through the empty office, they spilling inside you seconds later with a pitchy moan of your name.
The room falls quiet except for your uneven breaths and the hum of the lights above. Mac slumps against you, sweat-slick, hair sticking to their forehead, still buried deep inside you.
“Think HR would approve of this?” you murmur, smirking against their temple.
Mac laughs, breathless, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “They don’t need to know.”