The elevator doors slid open to a wall of sound—glasses clinking, laughter pitched just a little too high, Mariah Carey warbling about Christmas wishes through unseen speakers.
The party sprawled across the high-rise’s top floor, all shimmering garland and twinkling lights reflecting off floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, snowflakes swirled, blanketing the air in a haze of white. Near the bar, someone had already knocked over a tray of shrimp puffs. A sequined intern laughed too loudly near the open bar and the scent of pine needles and spiced rum hung thick enough to taste.
"They went all out again this year," muttered a voice behind him. Eli turned to see his co-worker Marcus adjusting the hem of his red and green argyle sweater vest. "It's like they learned nothing from last year when someone threw up in the potted palm," Marcus muttered, swirling his drink. His breath smelled like peppermint schnapps.
Eli grinned and tipped his head toward the center of the room where a group of interns stood laughing too loudly near a massive fifteen-foot Christmas tree. Its branches sagged under the weight of crystal ornaments and twinkling lights. "At least they toned down the tree this year," he joked.
Marcus snorted softly behind him. "They can never tell me the budget's tight again," he quipped. His fingers drummed against the side of his glass, the ice cubes rattling faintly.
The two of them stood close enough that Eli could smell the crisp pine-scented aftershave lingering on Marcus's neck—something subtle and expensive.
Marcus was just tall enough that Eli had to tilt his head up slightly to meet his eyes—those unfairly gorgeous hazel eyes that shifted from warm gold to deep green depending on the lighting. His black hair was neatly styled, swept back with just enough product to keep it from falling into his face, though a single rebellious curl had escaped near his temple.
Eli, on the other hand, was all sharp angles—lean and wiry, with messy brown hair that refused to stay tamed no matter how much gel he used. His dark-framed glasses slid down his nose slightly as he shook his head, laughing quietly at something Marcus muttered under his breath. They were both dressed in slacks and white button-downs beneath their respective festive sweater vests. Topping each of their outfits, to fit the theme, they wore Santa hats. Marcus' was topped with a bell, which chimed brightly with every movement.
Eli fiddled with the hem of his own vest—navy blue with tiny embroidered snowflakes—before glancing around the crowded room again. The party was still in full swing, the air thick with chatter and the sugary scent of spiked eggnog.
A waiter wove through the crowd, balancing a silver tray laden with champagne flutes. Without hesitation, Marcus downed the drink in his hand and snatched two glasses, handing one to Eli with a smirk. The golden liquid sloshed precariously as he pressed the cool flute into Eli’s fingers.
Eli arched an eyebrow, the champagne bubbles jostling in the glass. "How many is that for you tonight?" he teased, nudging Marcus’s elbow.
Marcus grinned, tossing back half his glass in one smooth swallow. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and Eli’s gaze lingered a second too long before snapping away. "Three years we've worked together," Marcus said, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "You should know by now I’m just here for the free booze." His fingers brushed against Eli’s as he reached for another shrimp puff from a passing tray, sending an unexpected jolt of warmth up Eli’s arm.
The champagne bubbled sweet and sharp on Eli’s tongue, but the real intoxication came from the way Marcus leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted over Eli’s ear as someone jostled past them. "Christ, I forgot how weird finance bros are at these things," Marcus muttered, nose wrinkling as a particularly enthusiastic group started belting out *All I Want for Christmas Is You* off-key near the karaoke machine. Eli laughed, the sound swallowed by the noise, but Marcus caught it—his answering smile softening the edges of his usual sharp wit.
Outside, snowflakes spiraled against the glass, muffling the city below in white. The twinkling lights strung across the ceiling cast Marcus in gold and shadow, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the faint stubble darkening his chin. Eli’s throat went dry. He’d always known Marcus was attractive—objectively, obviously—but here, now, with the hum of alcohol in his veins and Marcus’s so close, it was impossible to ignore.
Another round of drinks appeared—this time something amber-colored and smoky—and Marcus tipped his head back laughing as Eli coughed after the first sip. “Oh, you are such a lightweight,” Marcus teased, nudging Eli’s knee with his own. The contact lingered a beat longer than necessary, sending a rush of warmth pooling low in Eli’s stomach.
Somewhere near the DJ booth, their boss—tie loosened, cheeks flushed—was attempting a questionable rendition of *Santa Baby* while HR looked on in thinly veiled horror. Marcus snorted into his glass. “Bet you twenty bucks he falls off the stage before midnight,” he murmured, lips quirking. Eli leaned in, drawn like a magnet, their shoulders brushing as they stood. The scent of Marcus’s aftershave—pine and something darker, spiced—wrapped around him.
The karaoke queue was a mess of half-scrawled names and smudged ink, but somehow their drunken signatures ended up next to *Last Christmas*. Marcus groaned when it flashed on screen. “Fuck, Eli, we’re gonna butcher this.” But he was already dragging them forward, fingers laced tight around Eli’s wrist, pulse thrumming wild under Eli’s fingertips. The mic slipped in his sweaty palm as the opening notes pulsed through the speakers. Marcus caught his eye—grinning, breathless—and Eli forgot the lyrics entirely.
They stumbled through the chorus, voices cracking, harmonies collapsing into laughter. Marcus spun Eli mid-verse, the Santa hat slipping rakishly over one eye, and the room tipped sideways—or maybe that was the whiskey. Someone wolf-whistled from the crowd. Eli’s stomach swooped when Marcus’s hand landed low on his back, steadying him. The heat of it burned through layers of cotton.
Back at the bar, Marcus flagged down another round—something neon-green and sticky-sweet—and Eli watched his throat work as he swallowed. “You’re staring,” Marcus said, licking sugar from his lower lip. The words curled between them, heavy with something unnamed.
"God, I need air," Marcus muttered suddenly, his fingers brushing Eli's elbow briefly before pulling away. "You coming?"
Eli didn't hesitate—just nodded and followed as Marcus wove through the crowd, past the awkward pack of interns, past the CFO doing tequila shots. The hallway outside the party was blessedly quiet, just the distant hum of the HVAC and the muffled thump of bass bleeding through the walls. Marcus's Santa hat bell jingled softly as he turned, leaning against the emergency stairwell door with a grin that made Eli's pulse stutter.
"Better," Marcus breathed, rolling his shoulders. His sweater vest had ridden up slightly, revealing a sliver of white shirt stretched taut over his stomach. Eli caught himself staring and swallowed hard, the champagne still fizzing in his veins.
A crash from inside the party made them both jump. Marcus laughed, low and warm, stepping closer until the toes of their dress shoes nearly touched. "So," he murmured, reaching up to straighten Eli's crooked Santa hat with fingers that lingered just a second too long in his hair, "what exactly did you ask Santa for this year?"
Eli's breath hitched as Marcus's thumb brushed the shell of his ear. Outside, snow blurred the city lights into smears of color, but here the only glow came from the flickering emergency exit sign above them, painting Marcus's lips an illicit red.
"Not much," Eli murmured, barely trusting his voice as he looked up at Marcus. Marcus still hadn't pulled his hand back—his knuckles grazed Eli's temple, sending sparks down his spine. "I don’t really do Christmas gifts."
Marcus hummed, the sound vibrating through Eli's ribs where their chests nearly touched. His other hand came up to toy with the poof of Eli's Santa hat. "That's tragic," Marcus murmured, his breath warm.
Then he tilted his head, just slightly, and Eli followed his gaze upward to the sprig of mistletoe dangling from the emergency stairwell's archway. It looked hastily taped, probably by some HR rep ticking off holiday decor boxes, but Marcus grinned crookedly. "But do you follow *other* Christmas traditions?" he asked, voice light and teasing. The bell on his own hat jingled as he arched an eyebrow.
Eli let out an awkward laugh, the sound catching in his throat. "What are you talking about?" His pulse hammered in his ears—louder than the muffled bass of the party—as Marcus stepped closer, pinning him against the hallway wall with just the weight of his stare. The emergency exit sign cast jagged shadows across Marcus's face, highlighting the smirk tugging at his lips.
Marcus tapped the mistletoe with one finger, making it sway. "C'mon, Eli. You're sharp enough to *not* play dumb." His breath smelled like peppermint and expensive whiskey, warm against Eli's cheek. Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed, but neither of them flinched.
Eli swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides. The fabric of Marcus's sweater vest brushed his chest as Marcus leaned in—close enough that Eli could count the flecks of gold in his eyes. "Or," Marcus murmured, lips hovering a breath away, "do I need to spell it out for you?" The distant sound of their boss belting *Jingle Bell Rock* faded into white noise.
Eli's pulse roared in his ears. "I didn't—" His voice cracked; he wet his lips. "Didn't think you... y'know. Swung that way." The words tasted clumsy, juvenile in the charged air between them. Marcus's laugh was a warm puff against Eli's jaw.
Marcus's fingers curled around Eli's sweater, tugging just enough to pull him off-balance. "Funny," he said, thumb tracing the fabric. "I've spent three years giving you the last donut in the break room and bringing coffee to your desk." His other hand slid up Eli's arm, slow and deliberate, until his palm rested hot against Eli's neck. "You're telling me you *missed* that?"
Eli's pulse hammered against Marcus's fingertips. "That's—that's just being a decent coworker," he stammered, but his breath hitched when Marcus's knee nudged between his legs. The champagne haze made everything slippery—logic, restraint, the way his hips jerked forward instinctively. "Jesus, Marcus, we're *drunk*—"
Marcus shrugged, the movement deliberate as he stepped back, hands slipping away. "Right. Well, if you're not interested—" He turned toward the door back to the party, the bell on his hat jingling.
Eli grabbed his wrist—too hard, fingers digging into the cuff of Marcus's dress shirt—and spun him back. Their mouths crashed together before Eli could second-guess it, teeth clacking, Marcus's surprised exhale hot against his lips. Marcus grabbed two fistfuls of Eli's sweater vest, hauling him closer until they were pressed firmly against either other.
Marcus laughed into the kiss, nipping at Eli's lower lip. "Fucking *finally*," he muttered, sliding a hand up into Eli's hair. Somewhere down the hall, an elevator dinged. Neither of them pulled away.
The scent of Marcus's aftershave had deepened—pine mingling with the warm musk of his skin where sweat dampened his collar. His chest pressed firm against Eli's, broad and solid through layers of starched cotton. Marcus shoved Eli backward until his back hit the emergency stairwell door—the metal rattled on its hinges—and Marcus groaned, fingers tightening against Eli's hips.
Snow blurred the cityscape outside the hallway windows, casting fractured blue light across Marcus's throat as Eli bit it—just hard enough to draw a gasp. Marcus smelled like everything Eli had tried not to fantasize about: the smoky residue of whiskey, the faint sweetness of peppermint schnapps, and something unmistakably *him*. His sweater bunched under Eli's grip, the wool rough against Eli's knuckles.
Marcus's knee knocked between Eli's thighs, pinning him tighter against the door. The emergency stairwell's cold metal seeped through Eli's slacks—sharp contrast to the heat of Marcus's palm sliding beneath his shirt, calluses scraping over Eli's ribs. Marcus's tongue swept into his mouth, tasting like stolen champagne and bad decisions.
From the party beyond the hallway, a glass shattered—raucous laughter followed—but Marcus just smirked against Eli's lips. "Bet they can hear us," he murmured, voice rough, tugging Eli's shirt untucked with one sharp yank. Eli's pulse hammered where Marcus's thumb pressed against his hipbone. His grin was all teeth.
Eli fumbled blindly behind him for the stairwell door handle—cold metal biting into his palm—and shoved. The door groaned open with a rush of stale air and fluorescent glare. He dragged Marcus backward into the stairwell with him, their shoes scuffing against concrete steps. "Fuck," Marcus laughed, breathless, as the door swung shut behind them with a metallic clang that echoed up the hollow shaft. The emergency lights buzzed overhead, flickering like a bad omen.
Marcus crowded him against the railing, the metal digging into Eli's spine. His fingers twisted into Eli's belt loops, pulling him flush against him—close enough Eli could feel the hard line of Marcus's cock pressing through his slacks. "Thought you were gonna never gonna get the hint," Marcus breathed, biting at Eli's jaw. His voice was wrecked already, low and ragged. Eli groaned, tilting his head back as Marcus's tongue traced the frantic jump of his pulse.
Somewhere below them, a door creaked open—footsteps clanged on the steps. Marcus froze, lips still pressed to Eli's throat. Eli's stomach plummeted. The voice drifted down, slurred and laughing. "—goddamn interns, I swear—" Marcus's hand clamped over Eli's mouth, muffling his ragged inhale. The footsteps paused beneath them. Eli could taste salt and whiskey on Marcus's palm. His lungs burned.
Marcus's eyes glittered in the fluorescent glare—half wild, half amused—as he slowly pressed Eli backward against the stairwell wall, fingers tightening in Eli's belt loops. The footsteps resumed, fading downward. A door slammed and they were alone again. Marcus exhaled against Eli's ear, breath scalding. "Close," he murmured, thumb tracing Eli's lower lip. The emergency lights buzzed above them, casting Marcus's smirk in harsh contrast.
Then his palm slid down—slow, deliberate—and cupped Eli through his slacks. Eli's hips jerked forward with a choked moan before he could stop himself, the fabric straining tight against Marcus's fingers. "Fuck," Eli gasped, forehead dropping onto Marcus's shoulder. The friction was brutal, electric—Marcus's grip firm through the fabric, his thumb circling just right. "You're—ah—gonna get us—"
Marcus silenced him with a searing kiss, tongue hot and demanding as his hand worked Eli mercilessly. The stairwell air smelled of dust and the metallic tang of adrenaline, but all Eli could process was the dizzying press of Marcus's body, the rough drag of his palm. Marcus bit Eli's earlobe, laughing softly.
"Belt," he growled—a single syllable that sent lightning down Eli's spine—and Eli fumbled with trembling fingers at Marcus's buckle. The leather hissed as it slid free, the metal clinking against concrete. Marcus shoved his slacks and underwear down in one rough motion, his cock springing free—thick and flushed, the head glistening under the flickering fluorescents. Veins stood proud along its length, curving slightly to the left, and Eli's mouth watered at the musky, salt-sweet scent of him. Precum beaded at the slit, and Marcus thumbed it away with a low groan before gripping himself at the base. His knuckles whitened. "On your knees," he ordered, voice rough as gravel, pushing Eli down with a firm hand between his shoulder blades.
Eli hit the cold concrete hard, his slacks scraping against the rough steps. Marcus's thighs bracketed him, the heat radiating off his bare skin. Above him, Marcus stroked himself once, slow and deliberate, the sound of skin on skin obscene in the hollow stairwell. Shadows hollowed his abdomen, highlighting the trail of dark hair leading down from his navel. Eli's breath hitched as Marcus curled a fist in his hair, tilting his head back. The emergency lights buzzed like hornets.
"Well?" Marcus smirked, pupils blown black. His thumb smeared wetness across Eli's lower lip. "Merry fucking Christmas to me." The bell on his Santa hat jingled as he rocked his hips forward, the tip of his cock bumping Eli's parted lips. Somewhere in the background, an elevator dinged—a distant reminder of the world still turning outside this stolen moment. Eli opened wider, tongue reaching.
The first lick was tentative—just a slow stripe up the underside of Marcus's cock—but Marcus hissed through his teeth, hips jerking forward involuntarily. His fingers tightened in Eli's hair, pulling just enough to sting. "Fuck, your mouth," Marcus groaned, voice cracking as Eli tongued the slit, tasting salt and bitter musk. Eli looked up through his lashes, watching Marcus's throat bob as he swallowed hard, the tendons standing out sharply. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting harsh shadows across Marcus's clenched jaw.
Eli hollowed his cheeks, taking just the head in, swirling his tongue in slow circles around the ridge. Marcus's hips twitched violently, cock jerking against Eli's tongue as he cursed under his breath—something strangled and blasphemous—hands scrabbling for purchase against the stairwell railing. "Jesus Christ," Marcus panted, voice raw. "You—*fuck*—you look so goddamn hot like this." His cock pulsed against Eli's tongue, leaking steadily now.
The distant hum of the HVAC system drowned out Marcus's ragged breathing for half a second before he spoke again—lower, wrecked—as Eli swallowed him deeper: "Bet you've imagined this, huh?" His thumb brushed Eli's cheekbone, feeling the stretch of his lips. "All those late nights at your desk, pretending you weren't staring at me?" Eli moaned around him in answer, the vibration wringing a punched-out groan from Marcus's chest. The lights buzzed like a live wire above them.
Marcus's cock was thick—a solid six inches that made Eli's jaw ache—but he took it greedily, one hand gripping Marcus's hip to steady himself as the other slid up his own thigh. Marcus swore violently when Eli finally bottomed out, nose pressed to dark curls, throat working around him. "Fucking—*christ*—" His fingers twisted in Eli's hair as his hips jerked forward instinctively. The stairwell's stale air smelled of sweat and precum now.
Eli pulled off with a wet gasp, saliva stringing between his lips and Marcus's flushed cock. Marcus gave him a moment to recover, then directed him back onto his length with a rough tug of his hair. "Fuck yeah," he moaned, voice rough. The bell on his Santa hat jingled absurdly as he thrust shallowly into Eli's mouth, the sound almost obscene against the slick noises between them.
Then Marcus was hauling Eli up by the shoulders, shoving him against the stairwell wall with enough force to knock his glasses askew. "My turn," he growled, dropping to his knees before Eli could protest. The concrete bit into Marcus's knees, but he didn't seem to care—just yanked Eli's belt open with practiced fingers, popping the button of his slacks next. The zipper hissed as Marcus dragged it down, Eli's cock springing free.
Marcus froze. His fingers tightened around Eli's hips—so hard the knuckles whitened—as his gaze locked onto Eli's cock, thick and flushed in the flickering fluorescents. "Holy *shit*," Marcus breathed, voice cracking. He tilted his head, blinking as if he didn't trust his vision. "You've been walking around the office with *this*"—his thumb swiped up the underside, smearing precum—"and *I* was the one who had to make the first move?" His laugh was ragged, disbelieving. The head nudged against Marcus's lips, glistening under the harsh light. "Eight inches easy," he muttered, tongue darting out to taste. "Fucking *criminal*."
Eli's pulse hammered against Marcus's fingertips where they pressed into his thighs. "I—ah—" His hips jerked forward as Marcus's lips parted, taking just the tip in, swirling his tongue around the slit in slow, teasing circles. Eli's fingers scrabbled against the concrete wall behind him, the rough surface scraping his knuckles raw. Marcus moaned around him—a low, vibrating hum that sent lightning down Eli's spine—before sinking deeper, throat working around the girth. Eli's knees nearly buckled at the wet heat swallowing him whole.
Above them, the emergency lights flickered violently—once, twice—before plunging them into darkness. Marcus didn't stop. If anything, the sudden blackout seemed to spur him on—his fingers digging bruising marks into Eli's hips as he swallowed him down to the hilt, nose pressing into coarse curls. The stairwell smelled of sex and sweat now, the only sounds Eli's ragged gasps and the slick noises of Marcus's mouth working him over. Somewhere far below, a door slammed—but neither of them pulled away.
Marcus pulled off with a pop, lips slick and swollen as he gazed up at Eli through the gloom. His fingers traced the throbbing vein along Eli's length before gripping the base tight. "You taste fucking *sinful*," he growled, thumb smearing precum across Eli's trembling abdomen. The Santa hat had slipped sideways, the bell jingling faintly as Marcus leaned forward again—this time bypassing Eli's cock entirely to bite the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Eli hissed, hips jerking forward instinctively.
The lights buzzed back to life with a static crackle, illuminating Marcus's flushed cheekbones and the wrecked state of Eli's clothes—shirt untucked, belt hanging open, slacks pooled around his ankles. Marcus licked a stripe up Eli's cock, eyes locked on his face as he reached up to palm Eli through his dress shirt. "You gonna come for me like this?" he murmured, fingers pinching a nipple through the damp fabric. "All messy and desperate in the stairwell? Or—" His other hand slid between Eli's legs, fingertips brushing his perineum. "—d'you need more?"
Eli's knees buckled as Marcus's fingers pressed higher—just a teasing hint of pressure where he was hottest, tightest. The metal railing dug into his back as he arched forward with a choked moan, his cock dribbling onto Marcus's waiting tongue. Marcus grinned and swallowed him down to the root, throat working around him with obscene precision. Eli's vision whited out at the edges, hands fisting in Marcus's hair as his hips stuttered forward uncontrollably.
Then Marcus was pulling away—too soon—spinning Eli around with rough hands against his hips. The stairwell air was cold against Eli's bare ass before Marcus spread him wide, thumbs pressing into yielding flesh. Eli barely had time to register the exposure before Marcus's tongue licked a slow, filthy stripe from taint to tailbone. Eli's head fell back, his moan echoing up the stairwell shaft.
Marcus groaned against him, nose buried deep as his tongue worked Eli open—broad, wet strokes alternating with tight little circles around his rim. The vibrations sent shockwaves up Eli's spine, his cock jerking untouched against his stomach, leaking steadily onto the concrete steps below. Marcus's hands tightened on his hips, fingers digging into the bruises already forming as he dragged Eli backward onto his tongue with a filthy, wet sound.
Above them, the emergency lights flickered again—but Marcus didn't stop. If anything, the threat of being caught spurred him on—his tongue plunging deeper now, fucking into Eli with relentless precision as his thumbs spread him wider. Eli's thighs trembled violently, his cock throbbing with each slick thrust of Marcus's tongue. The Santa hat's bell jingled faintly with every movement—a ridiculous counterpoint to the obscene wet sounds filling the stairwell. Marcus pulled back just enough to murmur, "You taste even better here," before diving back in with renewed hunger. Eli's nails scraped against concrete as his vision blurred.
Marcus's laughter vibrated against Eli's skin, before he finally pulled away, pressing a teasing kiss to the crease of Eli's ass. Eli could feel the smirk in Marcus's voice as he rasped, "Tell me what you *want*." His fingers traced Eli's trembling thighs, blunt nails scraping lightly. The contrast between Marcus's rough touch and the featherlight brush of his breath made Eli's stomach twist with anticipation. "Use your words, Eli," Marcus goaded, nipping at the back of his thigh just hard enough to sting. Eli moaned, his hips jerking backward instinctively—chasing the contact Marcus was denying him.
Marcus's fingers gripped Eli's hips, stilling him with bruising force. "God, look at you," he growled, voice thick with arousal. His thumb pressed against Eli's spit-slick rim—just enough pressure to make Eli whimper. "You're so fucking adorable." He leaned in, breath scalding against Eli's ear as he murmured, "You want my dick?" The words punched through Eli like a live wire—raw and filthy in the echoing stairwell. Eli's knees nearly gave out as he nodded frantically, his breath coming in ragged pants. Marcus chuckled darkly. "Say it."
Eli swallowed hard, his throat tight with desperation. "Yes—fuck, *yes*," he gasped, fingers clawing at the stairwell railing, the metal cold against his feverish skin. Marcus's answering hum vibrated through him—pleased, possessive—as he reached into his pocket with one hand, the other still pinning Eli in place. The sound of a foil packet tearing sent another jolt through Eli's stomach.
Marcus rolled the condom down slowly, hissing through his teeth as he slicked himself with a final stroke, his cock gleaming under the flickering fluorescents. He pressed the blunt head against Eli's entrance, the pressure just shy of unbearable, and paused—torturously—letting Eli feel the stretch without giving him relief. Eli's breath hitched, his body trembling as Marcus leaned over him, chest pressed to Eli's back, lips brushing his ear. "Relax," Marcus murmured, but his own voice was ragged with restraint. Then—*finally*—he pushed in, just the thick crown, and Eli choked on a moan, his nails scraping concrete.
The burn was exquisite—slow, deliberate, as Marcus worked himself deeper inch by inch, his hands gripping Eli's hips hard enough to bruise. Eli's body resisted at first, clenching tight around the intrusion, but Marcus didn't rush. He rocked forward in shallow thrusts, each one coaxing Eli open wider, until his hips met Eli's ass with a sharp slap of skin. Marcus groaned, his forehead dropping between Eli's shoulder blades as he bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt. Eli's thighs shook, his breath coming in ragged pants—every nerve alight with the overwhelming fullness, the way Marcus's body pinned him against the wall.
Marcus dragged out almost entirely—slow, savoring—then slammed back in with a force that knocked Eli forward, his cheek scraping rough concrete. The rhythm was relentless after that—deep, punishing thrusts that had Eli seeing stars, his moans echoing off the stairwell walls. Marcus's fingers dug into Eli's hips, guiding him back onto every thrust, his breath hot against Eli's neck as he muttered filthy praise—"*Christ*, you take me so good"—between bitten-off curses. The condom's latex squeaked with each movement, the sound obscenely loud in the hollow space, mingling with the wet slap of skin and Eli's broken whimpers.
Above them, the Santa hat's bell on Marcus' hat jingled wildly with every snap of his hips—a sharp, bright counterpoint to their ragged breathing.
Eli's cock throbbed untouched between his legs, precum dripping onto the steps below, the ache building unbearable with every snap of Marcus's hips. He reached down—desperate—but Marcus caught his wrist, pinning it against the small of his back with a growl. "Not yet," Marcus panted, teeth scraping Eli's shoulder, his thrusts turning shallow and deliberate—just enough to keep Eli teetering on the edge without release. Eli moaned a protest, his thighs trembling violently, his body clenching tight around Marcus as if trying to milk him deeper. The emergency lights flickered above them, casting Marcus's shadow against the wall.
Marcus slowed further—agonizingly—dragging his cock out inch by torturous inch until just the tip remained, then sinking back in with a long, rolling thrust that had Eli whimpering. His breath was ragged against Eli's ear, lips swollen from biting back his own moans. "Close," he admitted roughly, hips stuttering, and Eli could feel the tension coiled in every muscle of Marcus's body, the way his cock swelled hotter inside him. "You?" Marcus murmured against Eli's nape, nipping at the damp skin there, breath uneven. His fingertips traced the protrusion of Eli's hipbone—gentle in contrast to the brutal pace they'd set moments before.
Eli's voice cracked as he arched back against Marcus's chest, his body strung tight as a bowstring. "Almost—" he choked out, fingers scrabbling blindly behind him for purchase on Marcus's thighs. The friction was unbearable now, every drag of Marcus's cock sending sparks up his spine, his own neglected length leaking a steady stream onto the concrete. Marcus groaned as Eli clenched around him involuntarily, the muscles of his ass fluttering tight. Marcus's answering thrust was brutal—a single, punishing drive of his hips that had Eli seeing stars—before he slowed again, drawing the moment out with ruthless precision.
Above them, the light buzzed louder before going dark again. Marcus seized Eli's cock in one slick fist, his grip tight and perfect as he matched the rough pump of his hand to the shallow snap of his hips.
"Right—*there*—" Eli gasped—and then Marcus angled up, driving in deep, and Eli shattered. His orgasm hit like a live wire, blinding and violent, spurting thick ropes across the stairwell steps as his body clamped down around Marcus's cock in rhythmic pulses. The pleasure was so sharp it bordered on pain, his vision whiting out as Marcus groaned against his back, teeth sinking into Eli's shoulder.
Marcus cursed—a broken, guttural sound—and slammed home one final time, his hips stuttering as Eli's clenching muscles milked him through his own climax. Eli could *feel* it—the hot spill of cum inside the condom, the way Marcus's cock twitched and jerked with each pulse, buried impossibly deep. Marcus's breath came in ragged exhales against Eli's spine, his fingers digging bruises into Eli's hips as he rode the aftershocks.
For a long moment, the stairwell was silent except for their panting breaths—then Marcus pulled out carefully, the condom slick with spend, and Eli slumped forward, boneless, against the cold wall. His legs trembled violently, his spent cock still twitching against his stomach as Marcus pressed a kiss—surprisingly tender—to the nape of his neck. The Santa hat had slipped off entirely now, lost somewhere in the chaos of sweat and skin.
Marcus turned Eli roughly—his hands gentler than his grip suggested—and crushed their mouths together in a bruising kiss that tasted of whiskey and salt and something darker, wilder. Eli melted into it instantly, his body still thrumming with pleasure, his thighs sticky with the unmistakable slide of Marcus’s cum trickling down his skin. Marcus groaned into his mouth, licking deep as if chasing the taste of himself on Eli’s tongue, fingers tightening in Eli’s hair—messy, possessive—as if he couldn’t bear to let go.
The distant sound of the office party—muffled cheers, a karaoke disaster in progress—drifted down the stairwell shaft, a surreal reminder of the world outside their stolen moment. Marcus broke the kiss first, resting his forehead against Eli’s as they gasped for air, their bodies still pressed flush together. His thumb brushed Eli’s swollen lower lip, his chuckle rough against Eli’s mouth.
“So,” Marcus murmured, voice light, “does this count as our first date?” His grin was all wicked edges, the emergency lights catching the sweat at his temples. Eli huffed a breathless laugh, his fingers tightening in Marcus’s rumpled shirt—still damp from where Eli’s nails had dug in earlier.
“Classy,” Eli managed, voice raw. He glanced pointedly at the condom discarded near their feet, the mess of their clothes tangled around their ankles. “Dinner first next time.” The words slipped out before he could stop them—*next time*—and Marcus’s smirk deepened, a slow, knowing thing that made Eli’s stomach fill with butterflies.
Marcus leaned in, lips grazing Eli’s earlobe. “Oh, there’ll be a next time,” he promised, voice low enough to raise goosebumps along Eli’s arms. “But first—” His hands slid down Eli’s sides, nudging his slacks up his thighs with a practicality that somehow felt more intimate than anything they’d just done. “—we gotta make it look like we didn’t just defile the stairwell.” The distant ding of the elevator punctuated his words like a warning. Eli groaned, reluctantly tugging his shirt straight—the fabric still smelled like Marcus’s cologne and sex. Marcus’s fingers lingered at Eli’s waistband, straightening his belt with deliberate slowness, his knuckles brushing bare skin just to watch Eli shiver.
The party noise hit them like a wall when the stairwell door creaked open—laughter, Mariah Carey’s high notes, the clink of ice in cups. Marcus snagged two cocktails from a nearby table, handing one to Eli with a smirk. “Hydration,” he deadpanned, clinking their glasses together. The vodka cran sloshed over Eli’s fingers, sticky-sweet, as Marcus leaned in—close enough that their shoulders brushed—to murmur, “You’ve got my cum dripping down your thighs and you’re still the best-dressed guy here.” Eli choked on his drink, heat flooding his face.
Then—*shit*—Jessica from HR materialized beside them, dragging a blonde woman in a sequined dress by the elbow. “Marcus!” Jessica trilled, her Santa hat askew. “Meet my college roommate, Claire! I *told* her you two would be adorable together.” Claire’s gaze raked over Marcus and laughed. “Jess wasn’t kidding,” she drawled, swirling her wine. “You *are* hot.”
Marcus didn’t miss a beat. He flashed Claire a disarming grin, all dimples and practiced charm, while his free hand found the small of Eli’s back. “Flattered,” he said smoothly, “but I’m taken for now.” The wink he shot Eli was downright filthy. Jessica’s eyes darted between them, her mouth forming a silent *O* as Claire burst out laughing. “Damn,” she said, toasting Marcus with her glass. “Lucky guy.”
Eli’s pulse hammered against Marcus’s fingertips where they pressed into his spine. Jessica spluttered something about “HR paperwork” before Claire hooked an arm through hers, steering her away with a conspiratorial glance over her shoulder. Marcus’s lips brushed Eli’s ear—hot, whiskey-tinged. “Next time, I’m fucking you on the conference table,” he murmured. Eli’s cocktail sloshed again as he blushed. The party blurred around them, lights streaking like comet tails.
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