Rick felt the pressure at his back, the demanding breath on his neck. It was too late to call out—too difficult to dodge away. As he was pushed forward, he dropped the screwdriver, threw out his hands, and just managed to keep himself upright against the filing cabinet.

“Eliot, for heaven’s sake!”

The voice in his ear was low; it made his flesh goose bump. “Hmm?”

“Not now! Not here.”

“Not here?” the other voice echoed, with laughter underlying it. “You’re here. I’m here. Looks perfect to me.”

“You know what I mean—” His protest was cut off as the lithe body pressed up behind him, taut thighs wriggling against his buttocks. A knee nudged between his legs, shifting them further apart. The denim of his jeans rubbed roughly between his thighs and he bit back an involuntary groan. “I’m meant to be fixing this stuck drawer for Simon while he’s out at the stationery suppliers. And you’ve got to cover the phone in case a client calls. We’re meant to be working—”

“And we’re being very industrious,” murmured his seducer. “You’re repairing the filing cabinet, I’m filing the monthly invoices.”

Rick’s knees banged against the cabinet and the metal drawers rattled. Eliot’s hips ground against him, his damp lips suckled at the nape of Rick’s neck. Something hard and deliciously erection-shaped slid up and down the cheeks of his arse, fondling the crease of his buttocks. He could feel the heat of Eliot’s crotch, even through two sets of clothing.

“You remember that time at Christmas?” Eliot said, so close to his ear that he flinched. “That was so exciting, doing it here. Right here. In the office, over the desk. I came so bloody hard my legs were like noodles afterwards.”

Yeah. Rick’s cock had a really good memory, swelling with need to replay that scene.

“Stop a minute,” he moaned, but the protest sounded weak even to his own ears. Eliot’s hands gripped his shoulders and he pressed harder against Rick’s back, moaning in return. Rick knew that soft, whimpering sound all too well. It was deceptive in all the best, shocking, demanding ways.

“Can’t we wait until tonight?” Rick asked breathlessly. Yeah, this was a thrill, but he liked his bed, he liked to have time to do Eliot justice. And—depressingly—he really needed to get this cabinet mended. But now there was a deep ache in the pit of his stomach and his jeans felt horribly tight, despite being his loosest pair. Eliot was such a sensitive and discreet young man, except until he wasn’t. And then he became a horny, sexy, and unstoppable beast.

Rick loved it. He loved Eliot, however he was. He found himself rubbing up against the cabinet like a pet in heat, seeking some relief for his painfully swollen groin. Eliot’s rhythm was speeding up, his knees bent slightly to get a better angle as he writhed against Rick’s arse. The drawers rattled on their runners again.

“A-are they going to spring out?” Eliot gasped. Bless him, he was Desperation Incarnate, but still worrying one or other of them would get kneecapped.

“It’s locked,” Rick replied, his voice ragged. “The cabinet. Locked.”

Eliot chuckled. Rick felt a hand slide around to the front of his jeans and slip into his right hand pocket.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Eliot laughed again. “Searching for the keys, of course!”

Strong fingers curled around the shape of Rick’s arousal, grabbing greedily through the thin pocket material. Eliot’s fingers started to stroke, up and down, again and again.

“You have an interestingly shaped keychain, Rick. Or are you just pleased to see me?”

Rick couldn’t help but smile. Then he couldn’t help but gasp. Then he couldn’t help…

Yelping. Moaning. “Oh, fuck!” His head swam as the excitement coiled fiercely, as it raced through him. He reached back and grabbed Eliot’s hip, pulling him in tight against his arse, wriggling hungrily against the friction of Eliot’s groin.

“Let’s go for filing in A-F,” hissed Eliot. “That covers… uhn… most things I can think of at the moment.”

Rick couldn’t focus on the drawer labels; he couldn’t make sense of Eliot’s jokes. All he could hear and feel was the thudding of his heart and the throbbing of his cock and the spiralling, delirious, threatening, total loss of control…

Eliot moaned into his neck. “Oh, no! God. Rick? Uhn… I can’t stop—”

“Wait!” But even as he gasped, Rick knew he had no hope of stopping the consequences of over-eager frotting. He was not that man, and certainly not with Eliot. Who the hell could be?

Eliot jerked fiercely with his climax: he sobbed something that might have been Rick’s name or may have been a cry for help in a totally foreign language. Who cares? Rick surrendered to the sound and smell of Eliot’s pleasure and shuddered in return, his cock jumping inside his briefs, inside his jeans, under Eliot’s palm, spitting out its release, desperately and gleefully.

There was a long moment of stillness, while they panted, and relaxed their grip, and Rick tried to gather what little wits he had left. He was meant to be doing something other than leaning against a cold metal filing cabinet with briefs full of sticky gunk … wasn’t he? After a few more seconds, Eliot’s hands loosened from Rick’s shoulders, and Rick’s heart steadied to a more normal beat.

“I’m sorry. You… I can’t help myself with you.” Eliot whispered into his nape. “I love you.”

Rick smiled tiredly. “It’s fine. Love you too.” He lifted Eliot’s hand up to his lips, kissing the sweaty palm, Eliot’s fingertips, the ring on his finger. He gave a long, heartfelt sigh, then straightened up and turned.

Eliot was flushed, eyes wide, pupils dilated. He looked like he’d been poleaxed—it was a familiar post-orgasm look on him. Rick allowed himself a brief gotcha! moment of satisfaction.

“So what are we going to file this under?” He flexed one leg experimentally. Warm cum trickled down the inside of his thigh. He groaned, but not with sexual pleasure this time. “A for Awkward? A for Ambush?” He could hear footsteps on the landing below. Oh fuck, he hoped to God Simon hadn’t returned early, and was this very minute bustling up the stairs to Room 7 to file away all his new envelopes and folders…

Eliot was shaking his head, stray locks of his hair brushing against the distended pulse of Rick’s throat. “Nah. A for Apology, Rick. A for Adorable!” He leaned forward, gave Rick a quick but very heartfelt kiss with a lot of tongue. “A for Always,” he whispered, then pulled back quickly before Rick could pull him close again.

Rick took a shaky step forward, following him, but Eliot was fast, turning and darting for the door.

“Hey, wait just a bloody minute! If you think you’re getting first dibs on the shower when you were the one to start this…!”

But he grabbed at empty air—Eliot was already out in the corridor, racing for the stairs back down to their rooms.

Rick could hear Eliot’s laughter echoing up the corridor, all the way.

And, guess what? He still had to fix that bloody filing cabinet…

copyright Clare London as Stella Shaw 2022