City View, Papers
city view. our muses getting frisky up against a window.
papers. our muses getting frisky in an office / work setting
“Took you long enough to get here,” Scrooge chided his partner with an iciness that matched the obstructed window panes of their office.
“Terribly inconsiderate of me,” Jacob grinned, scraping the snow off his boots, “Imagine the cheek–10 minutes later and the sun might be up!”
Scrooge’s mouth twitched, the ghost of a smirk emerging.
“Honestly Ebenezer, how much work do you expect to get done in the dark? You haven’t even lit a fire yet…”
“I was…awake,” Scrooge murmured to the back of his partner’s head as Jacob put his coat away. “Trying to force myself back to sleep seemed like a foolish endeavor and I was in no mood for it anyway.” He didn’t intend for those words to sound so ominous, clipped and tense. Yet they hung in the air, pulling Jacob’s attention back around to him.
“Ben…”
He couldn’t bear the pity in Jacob’s eyes, which presently threatened to rival the saddest of puppies.
“I’ll be fine,” Scrooge looked away, unable to hold his partner’s gaze, “I just needed a distraction.”
Jacob placed his hand lightly atop his partner’s, rubbing his thumb gently over the thin skin. A gesture that Scrooge found soothing in its simplicity. “I’m happy to be one, if that’s what you want. Let me just take a moment to light the fire,” he pulled his hand away, and the temporary comfort with it. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit in here. Or one of yours.”
Scrooge laughed, despite himself. In his semi-disassociated state, he hadn’t truly registered the cold. However, some of the snow that had fallen on him over the course of his walk had since melted into his clothing, leaving him uncomfortably damp. Jacob wasn’t lying about the chill, and it was drafty in here besides. He shuddered to think that the man who sold them the building had taken advantage of them–neither of them was well-informed enough to predict how it would hold up to increasingly bitter winters when they’d purchased it a few summers ago, nor what needed upkeep as it had become their primary office. Their business certainly wasn’t doing poorly, but everything still felt so…precarious. A glass poised to shatter in one’s hand, an unseen hole placed in just the right spot to stumble into, sending him pitching face-forward into failure–the feeling of a weight, ever-present on his chest, making it impossible to exhale.
Such preoccupations had invaded his sleep, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before they disturbed his entire routine–heaven forbid it left him unable to work…And what was worse, he was wholly unable to explain it, a crushing fear of…what? Everything and nothing at all. It sounded foolish, it was foolish. Yet he couldn’t shake it. Couldn’t banish the fear to the back of his mind with all his other unwelcome thoughts. It was fortunate that he and Jacob weren’t sharing a bed presently, or he’d be waking the other man up so frequently that his attempts at comfort wouldn’t be half so charitable.
Yes, Jacob, Scrooge reminded himself, admiring the curve of his partner’s ass as he was bent over the fire. Jacob was here and he was no longer alone with his thoughts and his fears, left to toss and turn in the dark. Winter couldn’t last forever after all–they’ll figure out how to fix the draft and he can weather the cold.
In the meantime, Jacob had straightened up, finished with the coals. “It’ll take awhile for the fire to really get going,” he was saying, “but we can always keep each other warm while we wait.” He winked playfully, and Scrooge felt his stomach flutter in a way that he’d have thought he’d be immune to by now. Jacob’s charms were stubbornly persistent, no matter how much time they spent together.
The suggestion settled on Scrooge’s mind, soft and light as the snow on the windowsill.
“You know Jacob,” Scrooge mused, toying with his still-dry pen, “That’s not a bad idea.”
“Only if you want to,” Jacob hastened to add. “I know you’re not feeling…yourself.”
“I think perhaps…perhaps I would feel more myself if I had something–someone bringing me back down to earth. If you were to, for lack of a better phrase, use me as you wish, I think it would be quite relaxing–ideally for both of us.”
His partner appeared to consider his options.
“Not how I imagined this morning going, but I’m certainly not about to complain,” Jacob replied. “Would you like me to undress you, or would you prefer to do that?”
“I’ll unfasten my pants,” Scrooge offered, “It’s far too cold in here to be arse-naked. And I shan’t want to be plowed into my desk–I think that would make me feel-(panicked)- not myself.”
Jacob nodded.
“What would be comfortable for you, then?”
“Perhaps closer to the window? I won’t feel trapped if I can see out.”
Despite Jacob’s earlier words, there was no more danger of the sun coming up than there was when he’d come in. Window or not, the darkness continued to offer them anonymity,
“Who’d have thought you were such an exhibitionist?” Jacob teased as he retrieved his oil from its discrete storage. “You want all of London to see your o-face?”
“They won’t be seeing anything if we’re quick about it,” Scrooge shot back, regretting the snappiness in his tone immediately.
“Easy,” Jacob taunted, “you really are desperate to get my cock in you.” Jacob’s tone was sliding into the more cajoling tone that Scrooge knew well, the voice he used when playing the dominant role. “But you’re going to be good for me, aren’t you? I know you can.”
Scrooge, unbidden, let a faint mew escape from his throat. He knew what he’d gotten himself into, after all, but Jacob was far better at this than he had any right to be. The man didn’t even have to touch him to get him whining and pleading for him.
“That’s right,” Jacob said, patting his back lightly. “How about you get yourself ready for me?”
Scrooge nodded his agreement and began to unfasten his pants, bracing himself against the wall in order to do so. He could feel Jacob’s gaze on him and warmth began to flood his cheeks, hoping that Jacob was enjoying what he saw.
“That’s a good boy,” Jacob rocked his hips against Scrooge’s ass, his still-clothed bulge rubbing against the bare cleft.
“A little eager, Jacob?” Scrooge asked, though he was enjoying the odd sensation.
“Always,” Jacob replied, taking the opportunity to tease at Scrooge’s taint. The feeling of a bare finger against such sensitive skin caused Scrooge to hiss and arch his back, pushing his arse again into Jacob’s crotch.
“You’re like a horny cat,” his partner teased, “at least, you make a racket like one.”
“And I suppose that makes you the gleefully humping dog,” Scrooge groaned through his teeth, rubbing his arse up and down against Jacob’s bulge.
“Always, dear,” Jacob cooed, gently moving Scrooge’s hair in order to press a few soft kisses to the back of his neck.
“You don’t have to kiss me,” Scrooge said, trying to ignore the way Jacob’s lips alone caused him to come over in goosebumps.
“Maybe I don’t have to, but I want to. And you’re enjoying it, aren’t you?”
Scrooge nodded, feeling properly chastened.
“Good.” Jacob nuzzled softly into his neck. “You smell nice, by the way.”
“Thank you.” This back and forth felt…acutely absurd but so, Scrooge supposed, was his request. And he always did enjoy their patter, his and Jacob’s. They’d always had sort of an easy way with each other–much easier than Scrooge found interacting with most people to be. Comfortable, even. “That feels…nice.”
“I’d hope so,” Jacob planted a few more kisses between his shoulder blades, a lovely sensation even through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Are you ready for me?” he asked with a cheeky pinch to Scrooge’s arse.
Scrooge let out a rather undignified squeak.
“From a cat to a mouse,” Jacob teased, taking the nod that followed as permission. The warmth of his hands left Scrooge’s body for a moment–a minute disappointment–and Scroboge could only assume he was slicking up his fingers.
Sure enough, he felt Jacob’s dampened finger start to probe between his arsecheeks.
“I hardly need to do too much, but I should be a gentleman and open you up, don’t you think?” Jacob purred.
“Please,” Scrooge found his voice starting to crack, the slickness and the pressure sending a rush of blood to his cock.
“Don’t worry, I won’t leave you high and dry.”
Gently, almost carefully, Jacob began to scissor his fingers in and out, leaving Scrooge drawing shaking breaths as the digits stretched his arsehole.
“How’s that feel?” Jacob asked,careful to keep his pace slow, the pressure gentle. Scrooge eked out a strained ‘yes’ as he pressed his palm to the wall, and the other to the window sill. “You don’t even have my cock in you yet and you’re already coming undone...I’d be lying if I tried to pretend I didn’t love it.”
Jacob’s fingers filled him so well, dexterous enough to reach Scrooge’s more sensitive depths and Scrooge could feel his balls starting to get heavy, his cock dripping with the flood of endorphins. He almost wanted to touch himself–but no! That would disrupt the feeling of giving himself over, letting himself get lost in the somatic sensations. “Harder,” he begged, desperate for the pleasure to come to head.
“Who’s in charge here?” Jacob asked, an attempt at admonishment that was playful at best. “Fortunately, I’m in a giving mood.” True to his word, he went in harder, increasing his force gradually enough not to cause his partner any undue pain.
“Thank you sir,” Scrooge managed, fingernails digging into the windowsill so hard that he could feel paint coming up under them.
“Hmmm, I think you’re nice and ready for my cock now, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir, fuck me.”
“What’s the magic word?” The cajoling tone in his voice was near enough to make Scrooge lose it, but he hadn’t come this far to…not come.
“Fuck me please…”
“That’s a good boy,” Jacob withdrew his fingers (Scrooge let out what he hoped was a suitably appealing whine) and started to ease his cock in, giving Scrooge time to raise any objections he might have.
Scrooge tensed at the initial penetration, as he always did. No matter how much he wanted it, there was always the initial surge of fear associated with penetration; the flash of dread. But this was Jacob, he reminded himself, and this was fine and he trusted Jacob to take care of him. As such, he relaxed.
“Go on,” he urged, clearly as he could.
Jacob rocked his hips, thrusting into Scrooge’s arse. Slow at first, building up to a very pleasant rhythm. Scrooge pushed his arse back against Jacob’s cock, letting him know that he could go further. Jacob thrust into him deeper, throwing his weight behind it and letting his belly rest in the curve of Scrooge’s back, a warm and lovely sensation that left Scrooge achingly hard. The pleasant squish was such a wonderful addition to the stimulation, along with the feeling of their bodies being as close together as they literally could be, that it was enough to tip Scrooge over the edge into wordless fucktoy; limp and lost in pleasure.
A wave of fuzzy serenity flowed through him as Jacob rode him harder and harder until his own climax took him by surprise. Jacob hit Scrooge’s prostate and with a shout, Scrooge threw out a hand in front of him. Flat against the windowpane, it must have stood in relief against the early morning frost and for a titillating, horrifying minute, he fancied a passerby could see it…But those thoughts faded away as his orgasm ebbed, nerve-endings alight and muscles twitching as Jacob came inside him.
His legs were jelly and he was somehow too hot and too cold; his increased body temperature contrasting sharply with the chill in the air. Again he put his hands on the windowsill to brace himself, uncomfortably aware of the fact that his back and collar were now damp with sweat. Perhaps he ought to start keeping some extra sets of clothes at the office for just such occasions. After a few moments, he found his words again.
“Thank you, Jacob,” he nodded, “I truly needed that.”
“No trouble at all,” Jacob responded as he, from what Scrooge could hear, started to do up his trousers. “You know it’s always a pleasure.” He patted Scrooge’s ass in the same fond way that Scrooge recalled being visited upon winning ponies at the track. “You should probably get yourself cleaned up.”
“Of course.” Scrooge made his way to the wash basin feeling freer of mind, as if the ever-present tightness in his chest had been wound several revolutions looser. As he cleaned himself off, he started to run through his mental list of tasks to be addressed–names of accounts and sums and deadlines falling into order of importance. As he did so, however, his eyes drifted to his handprint still on the windowpane and a small, proud smile curved his lips.