The elevator doors slid open with a muted ping, releasing Ethan and Oliver into the polished expanse of the office floor. Monday morning light slanted through floor-to-ceiling windows, catching the flecks of gold in Ethan’s hazel eyes behind his silver-framed glasses. His dark brown hair was meticulously styled into an undercut freshly buzzed at the sides, the top swept back with just enough product to hold its shape without looking stiff. At 6'1", his broad shoulders filled out his navy suit with effortless precision, the tailored jacket emphasizing the taper of his waist. The crisp white shirt beneath was buttoned to the throat, his tie a deep burgundy knot that matched the flush still lingering at the base of his neck. His wrists, visible as he adjusted his cufflinks, were thick with sinew, the veins standing prominently against his tan skin.
Oliver stepped out beside him, a half-step behind. At 5'10", his leaner frame was sharp in a charcoal-gray suit that clung to his swimmer’s shoulders before tapering to his narrow waist. His jet-black hair was slightly shaggy, falling over his forehead in artful disarray, as if he’d run his hands through it one too many times. His dark brown eyes flickered with restless energy. The top button of his pale blue shirt was undone, his tie loosened just enough to reveal the silver chain resting against his collarbones. His hands, shoved casually into his pockets, flexed subtly.
Their reflections ghosted across the closing elevator doors, Ethan’s towering frame beside Oliver’s leaner silhouette in a study in contrasts. Ethan’s thighs, thick with muscle, strained subtly against the fabric of his trousers as he walked, while Oliver’s legs, long and sinewy, carried him with a dancer’s efficiency. The scent of Ethan’s sandalwood cologne mingled with Oliver’s citrus-tinged aftershave, a collision of warmth and sharpness that lingered in the air behind them.
Eric's polished Oxfords clicked against the marble floor as he appeared around the corner and approached them, a practiced smile stretching across his angular features. The overhead lights caught the silver streaks in his ash-blonde hair, meticulously styled despite the early hour, and the cold glint in his piercing grey eyes. "Ethan, Oliver," he greeted warmly, his voice smooth as bourbon. "What a pleasure to see you both bright and early." His gaze lingered on Oliver, predatory satisfaction curling the edges of his mouth. "Especially you, Oliver. I was so glad to hear you'd accepted our offer to join our firm."
Oliver's jaw tightened visibly, his fingers twitching at his sides before clenching into fists. The silver chain at his throat gleamed against his flushed skin. "Yeah," he bit out, voice low and rough. "I didn't have much choice, did I?"
Ethan's posture went rigid beside him, his broad shoulders tensing beneath his suit jacket. The pulse in his throat jumped erratically.
Eric tutted, stepping closer until the citrus-sharp scent of his cologne invaded Oliver's space. "Now, now," he chided, fingers brushing imaginary lint from Oliver's collar. "That's no way to talk to a Senior Director, is it?"
Oliver leaned in, his lips nearly brushing Ethan’s ear as he hissed under his breath, "I’m here. Unlock Ethan and me, we’re going insane, bro." His fingers twitched at his sides, the silver chain at his throat glinting under the fluorescent lights as his pulse hammered visibly beneath his skin.
Eric’s polished smile froze into something glacial. He turned his head just enough to pin Oliver with a stare like frosted steel. "I just told you to watch your tone with me," he murmured, low and lethal, "didn’t I?" His cufflink flashed as he adjusted his sleeve with deliberate calm, then pivoted on his heel to stride away, his Oxfords clicking sharply against marble.
Oliver’s control snapped. "Wait-" He lurched forward half a step before catching himself, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper-yell. "Fuck, Eric. Sorry, okay? Just, please let us out." The words cracked like a plea, raw and uneven.
Eric didn’t pause. But just before turning the corner toward the executive wing, he glanced over his shoulder. The overhead lights carved shadows under his sharp cheekbones. "Be at Conference Room A," he said, crisp as a blade, "at 5:30. We’ll discuss the details of your employment." Then he was gone, the scent of his citrus cologne lingering like a taunt.
Oliver stood rigid, his fists clenched at his sides. The silver chain around his neck trembled faintly against his collarbones. Ethan exhaled shakily beside him, adjusting his glasses with fingers that weren’t quite steady. The office hummed around them, printers whirring and keyboards clacking, oblivious.
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