Oliver's chest still heaved from exertion, his lean swimmer's physique glistening with sweat under the harsh office lights. At 5'10", he lay sprawled across Eric's desk, his jet-black hair sticking to his forehead in damp strands. The simple silver chain around his neck caught the light with every ragged breath, resting against the smooth planes of his chest where only the faintest dusting of hair shadowed his nipples. His abs tensed visibly, the defined ridges twitching whenever his caged cock, a cruel metal contraption biting into his flushed skin, jerked pathetically against his stomach. Precum still smeared his lower abdomen in glistening streaks, mixing with the sweat pooling in the hollow of his navel. His thighs, usually powerful from laps in the campus pool, trembled where they splayed wide, the lean muscle quivering with aftershocks.
Beside him, Ethan's 6'1" frame dominated the space, his broad shoulders and thick chest casting shadows across the desk. His dark brown hair was thoroughly mussed now, the neat undercut ruined by Oliver's grasping fingers. The silver frames of his glasses sat askew on his nose, the lenses fogged at the edges from exertion. Unlike Oliver's smooth torso, Ethan's chest bore a light dusting of hair that trailed down to his navel, the sculpted abs beneath flexing with each controlled breath. His own cage, an identical steel contraption, looked obscenely tight around his thicker girth, the veins pulsing angrily against the restraint. His powerful thighs, dusted with dark hair, tensed as he shifted uncomfortably in his dress socks and leather shoes, the only clothing remaining on his body.
Eric, by contrast, looked immaculate as he straightened his cuffs. At 6'0", his lean frame cut a sharp silhouette against the office windows, his ash-blond hair now perfectly swept back again despite the earlier exertion. His tailored white shirt remained crisp, the sleeves rolled precisely to mid-forearm to reveal sinewy arms corded with wiry strength. Not a single button was out of place, the fabric tucked neatly into his trousers. His cold grey eyes flicked between them as he reached into his desk drawer, withdrawing a slim folio with deliberate calm.
The leather folder landed on the desk with a soft thud, skidding slightly through a stray puddle of cum near Oliver's hip. Eric flipped it open, revealing a crisp contract beneath. He plucked a pen from his breast pocket, uncapped it with a soft click, and neatly inscribed "Oliver Li" on the empty line before sliding the folio toward them.
The pen's final flourish echoed in the silent office- a smug period at the end of Oliver's name. Eric slid the folio across the mahogany desk, the leather skidding through a slick streak of cum near Oliver’s hip before coming to rest between their sprawled bodies. Ethan’s jaw tightened as he read the bold print: Analyst I, Two Month Trial Period Oliver’s fingers twitched toward the contract.
Oliver's fingers twitched toward the contract, then curled into a fist. His dark eyes flicked to Ethan, whose jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his cheek. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Oliver hissed, his voice ragged. The cage bit into his flesh as he shifted, sending a fresh wave of frustrated heat through him.
Ethan exhaled sharply through his nose, his thick chest rising and falling under the light dusting of hair. His silver glasses caught the light as he tilted his head toward the contract. "Base salary's good," he muttered, as if he couldn't help himself.
Oliver kicked him in the shin, hard. Ethan barely flinched, his sock absorbing most of the impact. "Seriously? You're looking at the fucking numbers right now?"
Ethan's hazel eyes flashed behind his fogged lenses. "I'm just saying-"
Eric paused at the door, one manicured hand resting on the knob. His ash-blond hair caught the fluorescent light as he turned just enough to cast them a glacial glance over his shoulder. "Language, Oliver. This is a professional environment." The corner of his mouth twitched. "And yes, congratulations. Your performance was... adequate."
Ethan made a raw noise in his throat, his thick forearm flexing as he shoved himself upright. The cage around his cock glinted cruelly in the light, the metal biting into his flushed skin. "Undo these. Now."
Eric's sigh was theatrical as he adjusted his cufflinks. "Didn't you hear me say trial period?" His grey eyes flicked between them like a scientist observing lab rats. "Two months. If Oliver's work continues to meets expectations..." His gaze trailed deliberately down Oliver's trembling form. "...we'll discuss cages."
"Oliver," Eric continued, "I do hope you decide to join us. If you decide to sign, please email me a signed copy of the contract. I'll leave you two to clean up while I grab myself a refreshment, but I expect you both gone when I return."
The door clicked shut behind Eric with a finality that made Oliver’s stomach twist. For a long moment, the only sounds in the office were their ragged breathing and the faint hum of the air conditioning. Oliver’s fingers trembled where they gripped the edge of the desk, his thighs sticking uncomfortably to the leather pad beneath him. The contract lay between them, the ink of his name still wet where Eric had signed it with that infuriating flourish.
Ethan exhaled sharply through his nose, his thick chest rising and falling under the light dusting of hair. His silver glasses sat askew on his nose, the lenses fogged at the edges from exertion. The cage around his cock looked obscenely tight against his thicker girth, the metal biting into flushed skin. "Fuck, I mean Oliver, that's way more money than you could even make," he muttered, his voice rough.
Oliver sighed, rubbing his temples. "I know, I know. And fuck, man-" His fingers twitched toward the cage again, wincing as the metal bit into his skin. "We need these off. And that psycho has the only key." He groaned, thighs tensing. "I need to cum so bad it hurts."
Ethan adjusted his glasses, the silver frames catching the light as he grimaced. "It's gonna get worse for both of us before it gets better." He reached for his discarded briefs, the white fabric crumpled near Eric’s desk chair. "We gotta get dressed, bro."
Oliver watched as Ethan stepped into the briefs, the cotton stretching taut over his thick thighs before snapping snugly around his waist. The cage’s outline was unmistakable. The rigid bars pressed against the fabric, distorting the usual smooth bulge into a segmented, confined shape. The waistband hugged Ethan’s hips, emphasizing the dense musculature of his lower abdomen, the light dusting of hair trailing beneath it. The briefs clung to his ass like a second skin, the fabric straining over the high, firm globes, the cleft shadowed and deep. His chest, broad and sculpted, rose with a steadying breath, the sweat-slick skin glistening faintly under the office lights.
Oliver swallowed. "It's... kinda obvious, man." He gestured vaguely at Ethan’s groin. "The bars. You can see the fucking shape." He tugged his own boxer briefs on, the dark fabric snug against his leaner frame. "How about me?"
Ethan’s hazel eyes flicked downward, lingering. Oliver’s boxer briefs hugged his narrow hips, the cage’s outline just as visible, a manufactured silhouette against the fabric. The waistband sat low on his flat stomach, the trail of hair beneath it leading to the unmistakable metal contours. His thighs, lean but defined from swimming, flexed as he shifted, the fabric pulling tight across his ass- smaller than Ethan’s but perfectly rounded, the cleft shallow but noticeable. "Yeah," Ethan muttered. "Same."
They dressed in silence, Ethan’s dress shirt hanging open over his briefs, the sleeves still rolled to his elbows. Oliver’s fingers trembled as he buttoned his jeans, the zipper a torturous exercise in restraint. Ethan looped his tie loosely around his neck but didn’t bother tying it.
The lobby was deserted save for the after-hours security guard, who barely glanced up from his crossword. The elevator doors had just closed behind them when a voice cut through the sterile air. "Ethan."
Senior Director Wells stood by the reception desk, golden-brown hair tousled artfully, his navy blazer unbuttoned to reveal a crisp white shirt beneath. His smile was warm, boyish, save for the calculating glint in his hazel eyes. "Leaving so soon?" He stepped closer, the scent of expensive cologne subtle but undeniable. "You must be Oliver," he said, extending a hand. "Eric was just singing your praises." His grip was firm, lingering just a second too long. "He said you seem like a very..." His gaze trailed down Oliver’s body, slow and appreciative, before snapping back up. "...good boy."
Oliver swallowed, his throat bobbing visibly. "Uh. Thanks." His fingers twitched toward his fly, resisting the urge to adjust himself, feeling exposed as if Wells could see the cruel outline of the cage beneath his clothes.
Wells chuckled, a sound like wealth personifed. "Have a good night, gentlemen." He patted Ethan’s shoulder, fingers brushing the damp fabric where sweat still clung. "You look exhausted, Drummond." His thumb stroked Ethan’s collarbone through his shirt, brief and deliberate. "You should get some rest."
The glass doors slid open with a whisper, spilling them onto the street. Oliver exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "That guy Wells seems cool," he muttered, rubbing his arms as if chilled despite the humid air. "And he’s mad fit."
Ethan adjusted his glasses, his jaw tightening. "I don’t know about cool," he muttered, steering Oliver toward the subway stairs. "You’ll see."
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