The apartment smelled like stale pizza and weed, same as it always did when Oli, his roommate, was home. Ethan tossed his keys onto the counter, the new Rolex on his wrist catching the dim kitchen light as he moved. He caught Oli’s eyes darting to it immediately.
"Damn," Oli said around a mouthful of cold pepperoni slice, nodding at Ethan’s wrist. "That’s new."
Ethan grinned, flexing his wrist just enough to make the gold glint. "This?" He pulled down his shirt neck, revealing a new thick, gleaming chain nestled against his collarbone as well. "Just crushin’ it at work, bro. Perks of being the golden boy."
Oli’s brows pinched together. He wiped grease off his fingers onto his sweatpants before leaning forward. "Wait. Like, all above board, right?"
Ethan snorted, grabbing a slice from the box. "Jesus, paranoid much? Yeah, it’s been legit the last couple months." He took a bite, chewing pointedly before adding, "Unlike you, some of us have great ass jobs."
Oli’s laugh was half-hearted. He drummed his fingers against the coffee table, eyes darting to Ethan’s watch again. "So… they hiring for more roles, or what?" The question came out casual, but his knee was bouncing. "Cause honestly? I’m kinda over scooping popcorn eight hours a day. Maybe it's time to brush off my degree, bro."
Ethan studied him- the frayed hem of Oli’s hoodie, the way his thumb kept rubbing at a stain on his knee. He swallowed a bite of his slice and shrugged. "Probably. I could check." A slow smirk curled his lips. "But you owe me big time. And I’m keeping the entire referral bonus."
Oli’s grin was instant, bright. "Deal." He kicked Ethan’s shin lightly under the table. "Just don’t make me wear a fucking tie."
---
The knock against Eric’s office door sounded too loud in the hushed executive hallway, each rap of Ethan’s knuckles against the polished wood reverberating up his arm like a hammer strike. His tie, navy silk and perfectly knotted, suddenly felt like a noose. The silence stretched, thick enough to choke on, before Eric’s voice cut through it like a blade.
"Come in."
Ethan’s palm was slick against the door handle. He pushed it open, the hinges soundless, and stepped into the controlled chaos of Eric Thorne’s domain. The office was a study in precision. Mahogany shelves lined with leather-bound volumes, a minimalist steel-framed chair positioned at a perfect 45-degree angle to the desk, the blinds slatted at uniform intervals to filter the afternoon light into geometric stripes across the carpet. At the center of it all, Eric sat behind his obsidian-glass desk, spine straight against his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
He was immaculate as ever- ash-blonde hair swept back from his high forehead, the sharp angles of his clean-shaven jawline catching the light. His grey eyes, cold and assessing, tracked Ethan’s every movement with the precision of a predator cataloging prey. The charcoal suit he wore was tailored to his lean frame, the fabric draping over narrow shoulders and a flat torso with no hint of excess. His cufflinks, minimalist platinum squares, glinted as he lowered his hands to the desk, palms flat against the glass.
Ethan stood frozen in the doorway, acutely aware of his own body in contrast. His broad shoulders strained against the seams of his dress shirt, the fabric pulling taut across his chest. The V of his suit coat emphasized the taper of his torso, the subtle shift of his abs beneath it as he breathed. His thighs, thick from years of disciplined training, threatened to split the stitching of his trousers with every slight adjustment of his stance. The new Rolex on his wrist felt conspicuous, its weight a brand.
Eric’s gaze dragged up Ethan’s frame like a physical touch- lingering on the Rolex peeking from his wrist, the swell of his biceps beneath rolled sleeves, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “We haven’t spoken since your promotion a couple months ago,” Eric said at last, voice smooth as satin. “Have we?”
Ethan’s fingers twitched at his sides. “No, sir.”
A beat. The AC hummed to life, raising goosebumps along Ethan’s forearms. Eric leaned back in his chair, the motion fluid and controlled. “What can I help you with,” he paused, the corner of his mouth twitching, “Ethan?”
The use of his first name sent a jolt down Ethan’s spine. He wet his lips, acutely aware of Eric’s eyes following the motion. “Oli- Oliver Li, my roommate, he’s interested in applying for an analyst position.” His voice held steady, but his knuckles whitened where they gripped his portfolio.
Eric’s fingers drummed once on the glass desk. “Oliver Li.” He rolled the name like a connoisseur tasting wine.
A slow smile curled Eric’s lips as he stood, rounding the desk with predatory grace. Ethan caught the faint scent of sandalwood and something metallic. Eric stopped just inside Ethan’s personal space, close enough that Ethan could see the flecks of silver in his irises.
“Tell me,” Eric murmured, his gaze dipping to Ethan’s throat where his pulse hammered, “does Oliver know what strings you’d be pulling?” His thumb brushed at a fleck of dust on Ethan’s collar, a mockery of tenderness. “Or what favors you’d owe?”
Ethan’s breath hitched as Eric’s fingers trailed lower, skating over his tie’s knot. Every muscle in his body locked.
Eric stepped back with deliberate slowness, his polished oxfords soundless against the carpet as he circled back behind his desk. The chair barely whispered as he sat, his posture rigidly controlled. His fingers tapped once against the glass surface. "Truthfully," he said, voice cool, "I don't know if the firm needs another analyst right now." The pause stretched just long enough to make Ethan's throat tighten. Then Eric's lips curved. "But I could check. As a... favor."
Ethan's fingers twitched against his portfolio. "Favor?" The word scraped raw past his lips.
Eric's laugh was a blade wrapped in silk. "Well, of course." He leaned forward abruptly, elbows on the desk, his grey eyes pinning Ethan in place. "Actually," he murmured, dragging the word out, "I'll make this easy for you. I'll call that favor in now." He pushed his chair back just enough to stretch his legs out, hands laced behind his head. The movement pulled his suit jacket taut across his shoulders, the fabric straining at the buttons over his chest.
Ethan's pulse hammered in his temples. He wet his lips. "Sir?" he managed, forcing confusion into his tone. "I don't understand."
Eric's smile turned razor-sharp. "Don't pretend to be naive, Ethan." His voice dropped to a murmur laced with steel. "Get to it."
"Oh," Eric murmured, his voice curling around the syllable like smoke. "And do shut the door, please."
Ethan's shoes scuffed against the carpet as he turned toward the door, each step measured despite the tremor in his hands. The latch clicked shut with finality, sealing them in the sterile, soundproofed space. When he turned back, Eric hadn't moved. He still reclined in his chair like a king on a throne, his ash-blonde hair catching the overhead lights in sharp platinum streaks. The man's grey eyes tracked Ethan's approach with glacial precision, his steepled fingers now laced behind his head to stretch the tailored fabric of his suit jacket taut across his narrow shoulders.
Ethan's throat worked as he rounded the desk, his own reflection warping in its obsidian surface. Eric just watched, grey eyes tracking Ethan’s approach with glacial precision, until Ethan stood directly before him. Then, with a slow creak of leather, Eric swiveled his chair to face him fully, his hands still laced lazily behind his head.
When Ethan sank to his knees, the carpet fibers bit through his dress pants. His muscular thighs flexed as he settled back onto his haunches, the position forcing his suit jacket to gape around his sculpted shoulders. Eric's nostrils flared slightly at the display- Ethan's necktie now dangling between his spread legs, his Adam's apple bobbing above the collar's constraint.
Ethan didn’t speak. He simply dropped to his knees, and the carpet fibers bit through his dress pants. His muscular thighs flexed as he settled back onto his haunches, the position forcing his suit jacket to gape around his sculpted shoulders. The movement made his dress pants pull tight across his thick, muscled thighs and his tailored shirt strained at the shoulders as he settled back onto his heels. His tie slithered against his collarbone as he tilted his head up, hazel eyes meeting Eric’s from beneath dark lashes.
Eric’s gaze dragged down Ethan’s frame like a physical weight, lingering on the way Ethan’s shirt sleeves strained around his biceps, the way his chest filled out the fabric, the way his waist tapered sharply beneath it. His own body was a study in contrast: where Ethan was broad and densely muscled, Eric was lean and controlled, his frame all wiry strength beneath tailored wool. Where Ethan’s thighs threatened to split his seams, Eric’s legs were long and narrow, spread wide in a picture of casual dominance.
Ethan's fingers hovered over Eric's belt buckle, the polished metal cool against his skin. His knuckles brushed the fine wool of Eric's trousers, the fabric whisper-soft yet unyielding beneath his touch. The scent of sandalwood and starch wrapped around him like a noose as he worked the clasp free with trembling precision.
The zipper parted with a hushed metallic sigh, the sound loud in the quiet office. Ethan’s fingers skimmed down the fine wool fabric, feeling the heat radiating through it as he peeled Eric’s trousers past lean hips. The material pooled around his polished oxfords in a dark puddle on the floor.
Eric’s thighs were a study in restrained power- narrow but corded with wiry muscle. Smooth pale skin bisected by a single prominent vein that curved like a tributary down his inner left thigh.
The underwear was custom-tailored, naturally. A slate-gray jockstrap that left nothing to the imagination. The pouch cupped Eric’s cock with clinical precision, the fabric taut across a thickening bulge. As Ethan watched, the outline shifted: the head swelling against the fabric, the shaft lengthening vertically along Eric’s lower abdomen in a straight, uncompromising line. A damp spot bloomed at the tip, the nylon clinging to the shape of his slit.
Ethan exhaled through his nose, his own pulse hammering in his throat as the jockstrap’s waistband dug into Eric’s hipbones. The man’s pubic hair was meticulously groomed to a crisp ash-blonde triangle trimmed to military precision, the edges razor-straight where they met his pale skin. His balls sat high and tight, the outline of them pressing against the pouch’s seam as his erection grew heavier.
The scent hit Ethan then- pine and musk and something metallic, like freshly minted coins. Eric’s thighs flexed minutely as Ethan’s fingers hovered over the jockstrap’s waistband, the muscle twitching beneath skin. The office air conditioning hummed, raising goosebumps along Eric’s inner thighs as Ethan finally hooked his thumbs beneath the elastic.
The jockstrap peeled away with a whisper, revealing Eric’s cock in stages: first the flushed, uncut head, already glistening at the slit; then the shaft, thick and straight as a ruler, veins standing in relief beneath pale skin; finally the base, where coarse blonde hair gave way to tight, drawn-up balls. Ethan’s throat went dry at the sight. Eric was perfectly proportioned, every inch of him engineered for efficiency. Seven thick inches of clinical precision.
Eric’s breath hitched audibly when Ethan’s fingers brushed his inner thigh, the skin there startlingly sensitive. His cock twitched against his stomach, a bead of precum welling at the tip and sliding down the underside in a slow, viscous streak. The scent of him intensified, and something about it made Ethan’s mouth water despite himself.
“Well?” Eric’s voice was a blade wrapped in velvet, his grey eyes boring into Ethan’s as he spread his thighs another fraction. The motion made his cock bob against his abdomen, the flushed head leaving a damp smudge on his skin. “Are you going to make me wait all day, Ethan?”
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