The newsroom was quiet after midnight, the hum of servers and the faint glow of studio lights the only things left awake. Adrian Cross, silver-haired, sharp-eyed, and all calm professionalism on camera, slipped off his suit jacket and tossed it onto his desk.
Across the room, Damon Lake, tall, warm-voiced, and built like he’d been carved out of confidence and trouble, leaned back in his chair and watched him with a low, knowing smile.
“You staying late again?” Damon asked, voice deep and teasing.
Adrian didn’t look up. “Could ask you the same.”
“Oh, I’m staying for a reason,” Damon murmured.
Adrian finally met his eyes. The tension crackled instantly—weeks of flirtations, long stares before broadcasts, accidental touches that lingered a second too long.
Tonight, neither of them felt like holding back.
Damon rose from his chair and walked over slowly, deliberately, until he was standing right in front of Adrian’s desk. “You’re tense,” he said softly. “I can see it all over you.”
Adrian laughed under his breath. “You noticing everything I do now?”
“Yeah,” Damon whispered, leaning closer. “Everything.”
Their lips collided before Adrian even realized he’d moved.
It wasn’t gentle. Damon grabbed the back of Adrian’s neck, pulling him in harder, their mouths crushing together in a hungry, desperate kiss. Adrian’s fingers fisted in Damon’s shirt, dragging him even closer until their bodies pressed tight, heat sparking everywhere they touched.
Adrian broke the kiss just long enough to gasp, “Lock the door.”
Damon didn’t hesitate. He hit the lock, turned back, and Adrian was already on his feet, pushing him against the door with a force that made Damon groan.
“You’ve been driving me insane for months,” Adrian growled.
“Good,” Damon breathed. “Do something about it.”
Adrian did.
Their clothes hit the floor piece by piece, urgency building with every breath, every touch, every sound they tore from each other. Damon’s hands roamed Adrian’s back, digging into his skin, guiding him closer. Adrian pushed Damon harder against the door, kissing down his neck, biting just enough to make Damon curse and pull him in tighter.
Their bodies met again—hot, hard, needing—every motion sharper than the last. Adrian’s voice broke against Damon’s shoulder, and Damon held him, rocked with him, matched him thrust for thrust, breath for breath, until the room filled with the raw sounds of their pleasure.
Damon grabbed Adrian’s chin mid-kiss, forcing eye contact. “Look at me.”
Adrian’s breath hitched.
“Good,” Damon whispered. “I want to see you when you—”
Adrian cut him off with a shattered moan, fingers digging into Damon’s hips as the intensity crested, their movements frantic, overwhelming, unstoppable. Damon followed seconds later, pulling Adrian against him as both of them came undone, shaking, gripping each other like the only thing keeping them standing.
For a long moment they stayed like that—sweat, heat, breathless laughter—still pressed to the locked office door.
Damon finally spoke, voice low and rough.
“So… same time tomorrow?”
Adrian smirked and kissed him again, slower now.
“Oh, we’re not waiting that long.”
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