Work Text:
Jiwoong cannot believe his fucking luck. He’s pretty sure he’s being punished by whatever higher power has it out for him this month because, of course, he got paired with that stupid bastard Seok Matthew again. On a new project, no less.
Like, what’s not clicking? They don’t ever agree on anything. They argue about deliverables, schedules, budget cuts, the color of the fucking presentation slides. And somehow the higher-ups took that near-catastrophic fiasco from last quarter and decided it means they’re a good fit. Maybe because they did save it. At the last second, they managed to put aside the urge to stab each other and salvage the deal. It worked so well that now they’re apparently the company’s golden duo.
It’s been weeks of this. Overtime every other night, both of them staying late in the cavernous office when everyone else clocks out — walking a flaming tightrope between wanting to pin each other to the whiteboard with a marker through the heart, or fuck so hard the squeak of skin on their adjoining desks leaves bruises.
And right now is no different. Work ended three hours ago, but they’re still here, the two of them alone but not alone enough.
Jiwoong can hear a couple of their coworkers out on the terrace, probably the design team, smoking and being so loud about it, laughter floating in the air. He hates them too. Or maybe he just hates the fact that they get to be outside, relaxed, not stuck in here with him.
Then there’s Seok Matthew, right in front of him, shirt half-unbuttoned and tugged out from his slacks like he’s already half out of work mode. Jiwoong wants to slap his stupid cute face. He won’t pretend he doesn’t think Matthew is cute. He's so pretty that it makes him want to throw his pen at his head for no reason.
“So I checked the stocks,” Matthew says, tapping noisily on his keyboard like he’s the only one who can read numbers.
Jiwoong rolls his eyes so hard it hurts. “Oh, congratulations. Want a medal?”
Matthew’s head jerks up, eyes narrowing. “Stocks are still over budget for next month’s rollout. I told you last week we need to cut back—”
“God shut up.” Jiwoong flips through a folder just to have something to slam shut. “Your tiny brain can't come up with something new. Do you think you’re the only one who knows how to run a budget? It’s called adjusting, Seok. Try it sometime.”
“Adjusting? Matthew drags his palm through his hair, making it stick up even worse. “You’ve been rewriting my figures behind my back since Monday, you little shit. Now we’re a million over. Do you even—”
“Oh, I’m a little shit now? What happened to ‘smartest junior manager in the division?’ ” Jiwoong leans back in his chair, arms folded tight over his chest, goading. “Did that title disappear the second you got hard and let me suck your dick under the desk? Does that tiny slip-up make you feel superior now?”
Matthew’s laugh comes out humorless and tight with frustration, like he can’t decide whether to strangle him or something else. He stands and rounds the corner, palms braced on the edge of the desk, leaning down until Jiwoong can feel the heat rolling off him.
“What the fuck is wrong with you tonight?” He’s close enough that Jiwoong could count every strand of his eyelashes if he wanted. “Seriously. What is it, brat?”
Jiwoong hates that word. Brat. It shouldn’t make something coil low in his gut, shouldn’t make his thighs press together under the table, but it does. He can still hear the laughter on the terrace, the sound of a bottle dropping, glass rolling across the concrete. But all he sees is Matthew’s stupid open buttons at his throat, and the way his sleeves are pushed up over his forearms like he’s ready to either fight or— fuck! His mouth, lips parted like he’s halfway to saying something else.
Jiwoong wants to kiss those lips. God, he wants to grab Matthew by that open collar and just ruin that pretty mouth, taste it until he’s drunk on it. Wants to wipe that smug look off his face until it’s replaced with something raw, something only he gets to see. Fuck. He shouldn’t be thinking about this now. Not with Matthew towering over him like this, so close he can smell his cologne and the faint sweat from hours of overtime.
He forces himself to keep eye contact, refusing to look away and lose this stupid power play. But his gaze keeps drifting lower anyway: the open collar, the bare stretch of Matthew’s throat, the line of his forearms braced so tight he can see veins standing out, and the way his lips twitch like he’s biting back a laugh.
It’s so aggravating how badly Jiwoong has the physical hots for this bastard. How his body wants to fold for him. How much he’s been craving that heat ever since he shredded every ounce of self-respect and dignity in half and sucked him off under the fucking desk.
He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about that single act since. And Matthew knows it. Of course he knows. It pisses Jiwoong off more than anything. Enough that he wants to scratch down Matthew’s back just to feel him tremble.
So instead of looking away, he spits it back.
“What’s wrong with me? You! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Matthew just clicks his tongue and huffs loudly like he’s so done with him, but the heat behind his eyes says otherwise. He pulls back and circles to his side of the desk again. Jiwoong wants to gloat — Good, get the fuck out of my face! — but Matthew’s rummaging through a drawer like he’s looking for a weapon. Then he slams it shut with a force that makes Jiwoong flinch.
Jiwoong’s breath snags when something small sails through the air. It clatters across the desk, skittering over a stack of reports, and slides to a stop by his wrist. A small, blue bottle. Jiwoong instantly recognizes the bright label glinting under the overhead lights. Lube. His throat goes dry, and his gaze snaps up.
Matthew’s leaning over his own chair now, arms crossed, but his stare pins Jiwoong in place like he’s already halfway inside him. He lifts his chin and points at the bottle, voice deceptively calm.
“Go on...”
Jiwoong doesn’t move. His fingers twitch. The laughter from the terrace drifts through the half-cracked window, and suddenly, the office feels too hot.
Matthew’s eyes darken, voice dropping half an octave, every word like a dare. “You pick that up, it means you give me consent. No running your fucking mouth about budget cuts or meetings or any of that shit. We fuck out every ounce of this unresolved tension between us, right here, right now. Because I'm sure as hell that's what this is.”
Jiwoong glares at the bottle like it might bite him first. His fingers twitch again and he wants to pick it up, wants to toss it straight into Matthew’s smug face, wants to bend over and let him wreck him all at once. His head’s spinning so fast it feels like the office is tilting around them. He snorts instead, forcing the words out through the knot in his throat.
“What makes you think I want to fuck you, Seok?” He drags out Matthew’s name like it’s something foul on his tongue. “Think you’re that irresistible?”
Matthew’s smile is slow, mean, and sweet all at once, the kind that makes Jiwoong’s gut clench.
“Exhibit A,” he straightens up and walks towards Jiwoong again, voice dripping with fake politeness. “You sucked my dick under the desk so good you made yourself choke. Remember that?”
Jiwoong’s jaw ticks. He wants to spit something back but nothing comes out.
“Exhibit B,” Matthew keeps going, gesturing lazily at Jiwoong’s lap. “Your thighs are shaking right now. Don’t pretend you’re not clenching them together, brat.”
For a second, Jiwoong's eye flicks down. Fuck. He’s so transparent it makes him want to crawl out of his skin.
“Exhibit C…” Matthew leans forward, palms flat on the desk, closing the space until Jiwoong is forced to tilt his chin up again. “I want to fuck you too. I want to crack your pretty body like a glow stick and watch you drip for me.”
The air between them snaps like a string pulled too taut. Jiwoong’s pulse roars in his ears. He hates him! Hates him so much he can’t breathe. His hand moves before he can think, fingers closing around the bottle because he wants this. The second he lifts it, Matthew’s grin widens like the devil got what he wanted.
Jiwoong looks up at Matthew, eyes narrowed, tongue sharp even when his heart’s about to claw through his ribs.
“Your dick better be as good as your mouth is when you’re talking shit.” He sneers.
Matthew just rolls his eyes in that lazy way that always grates on Jiwoong's nerves. He heads for his desk again, rummages, then pulls out a pack of condoms and a packet of wet wipes.
Jiwoong snickers. Of course he’s been ready. Of course, the bastard’s planned for this.
“Come on.” Matthew juts his chin toward the hallway, motioning for Jiwoong to move.
Jiwoong laughs under his breath as he pushes his chair back. Typical. They’ve been toeing this line too close for weeks, so he's not surprised Matthew’s prepared like a fucking boy scout.
He follows him out, heart thudding as they slip down the hall, the sounds from the terrace drifting behind them. Jiwoong glances over his shoulder just to be sure no one’s coming.
Matthew pushes open the storage room door. It’s cramped and dusty, boxes piled high against the walls, the only light flickering from the old ceiling bulb.
The second the door clicks shut and the lock snaps into place, they lunge for each other. It's not even a kiss at first, just mouths colliding, breathing each other in. Jiwoong fists his hand in Matthew’s hair, yanking him closer until he can taste the salt on his lips.
Matthew growls something against his mouth, pushes him back, then shoves all the stacked files off the old table behind them. They scatter to the floor, forgotten. He lifts Jiwoong in one rough motion and sets him down on the edge, hands already tearing at his belt.
Jiwoong’s laugh breaks into a moan when Matthew’s mouth drags over his jaw. Shirts fall open in seconds, buttons popping, fabric bunched around elbows. Jiwoong’s slacks and briefs hit the floor, cold air biting at his thighs. He feels open and exposed, but none of that matters the minute Matthew’s hand closes around his cock, stroking him slowly, making him choke on a breath.
“Don’t you dare get loud,” Matthew murmurs against the corner of his mouth. “Or they’ll hear how much you love this.”
Jiwoong digs his nails into Matthew’s shoulders, hips rocking into his palm, heat blazing through every nerve. He wants it. All of it. Every filthy inch Matthew’s about to give him.
Matthew kisses him again, swallowing the soft gasps and broken sounds that slip out of Jiwoong’s mouth as his hand works him harder, stroking him until he’s fully stiff and panting. When Jiwoong’s cock twitches in his palm, Matthew pulls back just enough to tear open a condom packet with his teeth and roll it onto him.
“For spillage,” he mutters, breathing warm against his ear. “Don’t want you messing up the floor.” He flashes that stupid grin and Jiwoong wants to slap him for it, but his knees buckle instead.
Hauling him down from the edge of the table, Matthew turns him around and bends him forward so his chest is flat against the rough wood. His hands shove Jiwoong’s thighs apart, spreading him wide open.
“Be a good brat and let me work you open, yeah?” Matthew’s voice is a low rasp, like gravel under Jiwoong’s skin.
Jiwoong bites down on his lip so hard he tastes copper. God, that was so fucking hot. He can’t think, his brain is fuzzing out around the edges.
He hears the slick pop of the lube bottle. Then a cold finger teases his rim as Matthew’s other hand grips his ass cheeks, leaving his hole on full display in the flickering light.
“Pretty hole,” Matthew praises, the words vibrating up Jiwoong’s spine. Then the finger sinks in, slow and deep, and Jiwoong’s moan rips out before he can clamp it down. He bites his forearm against the table to muffle it, eyes squeezed shut, breath stuttering.
“Like that?” Matthew asks, working the single digit in and out, stretching him on the slow slide.
Jiwoong nods frantically against the table, forehead pressed to the wood, trying so hard to stay quiet. But every push makes his hips rock back, makes another soft sound slip out, louder than the last.
Matthew curls his finger inside him, crooking just right, and Jiwoong’s whole body jolts. He tries to bite it back and tries to bury his moans in the crook of his arm, but it’s useless. Every drag makes his hips buck up, chasing the stretch, whining into the table like he’s forgotten how to keep his mouth shut.
“That’s it,” Matthew murmurs, breath ghosting over the skin of his back. “But be careful not to let them hear how pretty you sound when you’re getting finger-fucked.”
Jiwoong wants to snap back, bite him, scratch him, anything, but then a second finger pushes in beside the first, slick and relentless. He gasps, thighs trembling. The burn makes his toes curl in his shoes but it feels so fucking good. Matthew scissors him open, knuckles grazing the spot that makes his vision spark white.
“Fuck — fuck, Matthew—”
“You can take more,” Matthew growls. “Brats like you deserve to be tamed. Look at you, drooling on the table for it.” He twists his fingers, then adds a third with no warning.
Jiwoong chokes on a moan so loud it bounces off the walls, pleasure blooming behind his eyelids. He fists the table edge, back arching helplessly as Matthew sweetly works him open.
“Feel that?” Matthew’s voice is ragged now, hips pressing into Jiwoong’s ass as he grinds his fingers in. “My dick’s aching so fucking hard. Can’t wait to bury it inside you. Split you on it. Make you scream for it.”
Jiwoong’s voice cracks, he can’t hold it back anymore.
“Fuck — fuck, I’m ready— I can’t— just have me already, please—”
Matthew huffs out a dark laugh, biting down on Jiwoong’s spine just enough to make him jerk. He withdraws his fingers, and Jiwoong whines at the loss.
“Good boy,” Matthew says as he shoves his own slacks and briefs down quickly, ripping a condom open with shaky hands. He rolls it on and slicks himself up with some lube, the wet glide of it echoing in the cramped storage room.
“I’m gonna give you my cock now, okay? Be good for me.”
He shifts closer, pressing one palm flat between Jiwoong’s shoulder blades to keep him down. The other hand fists around the base of his cock as he lines himself up, tip nudging against Jiwoong’s hole. Jiwoong shudders in response, hips jerking back like he’s starved for it.
“Good boy,” Matthew breathes, voice gone so low to a rasp. “Stay still.”
The first inch is a sting as he pushes in slowly, making Jiwoong’s breath punch out of him in a broken gasp. The stretch burns and his thighs shake where they’re braced open. Matthew sinks deeper, inch by inch, until his hips are flush against Jiwoong’s ass, buried all the way to the hilt.
Jiwoong feels like he’s been split open in the best way. His forehead knocks against the table, fingers scrabbling for something to hold on to. It hurts, but not for long. Matthew’s hands move, thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles into the skin of his hips, grounding him through it.
“There you go,” he murmurs, leaning in so his chest brushes Jiwoong’s spine. “Taking me so well. Just like that.”
Jiwoong’s toes curl in his shoes, a helpless whine slipping out as the ache settles into a dull, pleasurable throb. He rocks his hips back, just enough to let Matthew know he’s ready.
Taking the cue, Matthew obscenely pulls out halfway, then drives back in, hard enough to shove Jiwoong’s chest into the table with a muffled thud. The next thrust comes harder, then faster, building a rhythm that has Jiwoong’s eyes rolling back, his mouth spilling nonsense against the wood.
“Fuck! fuck.. Matthew…” Jiwoong slurs, voice catching on every slap of skin. He’s seeing stars, mind going white at the edges every time Matthew hits that bundle of nerves inside him.
“Yeah?” Matthew pants, voice a rough growl. “Feel good, brat? You’re so fucking tight…can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me this whole time.”
Jiwoong babbles something that might be yes, might be please, or even Matthew’s name. He feels drunk on the stretch, the thrust, the way Matthew’s cock splits him wide and fills him until he’s boneless.
His hands ferret around the table’s edge, his moans spilling out no matter how hard he tries to bite them down. He’s gone — and Matthew knows it.
Jiwoong’s moans get louder, bouncing off the storage room walls every time Matthew slams into him. Matthew’s fingers dig bruises into his hips, dragging him back onto every thrust, sending him straight to fucking pound town until Jiwoong’s legs shake under him.
“You're… so… fucking…loud…” Matthew grunts, punctuating each word with a thrust. He clasps a hand over Jiwoong’s mouth, muffling the high, desperate sounds. “Gonna get us caught, you messy little brat. Cock-drunk already, huh? Can’t keep your mouth shut even when you’re full.”
Jiwoong’s eyes droop, a muffled whimper spilling out under Matthew’s palm. He tries to nod and promise he’ll stay quiet, but his brain is a blur, pleasure zapping up his spine like lightning. His cock twitches in the condom, aching for release.
“Please…” Jiwoong mumbles into Matthew’s hand, voice so wrecked it barely makes sense. “Gonna come— fuck, Matthew— I’m close—”
“Yeah?” Matthew’s hips stutter, the rhythm snapping harder, deeper, every slap of skin filthy and wet. “Me too. Gonna milk it out of you. Come for me, brat. Come like this so you remember who fucks you this good.”
Jiwoong tries, really tries, to swallow the sounds down, but the pressure bursts too fast, the heat coiling tight until he’s quivering like a leaf. He comes untouched into the condom, his whole body seizing up, nebulae exploding behind his eyes. He babbles Matthew’s name, moaning into his palm, failing completely to stay quiet as his orgasm wrings him out.
Matthew fucks him through it, thrusts ragged and deep, his own moans cracking out between clenched teeth. “Good boy… fuck, you’re such a good boy.” he chokes, hips snapping one more time before he breaks. Jiwoong feels him tense, feels the shudder that runs through him as he spills inside the condom buried deep.
They stay tangled like that for a few seconds—Jiwoong bent over the wrecked table, Matthew slumped over his back, both of them catching their breath in the hot, dusty dark. Jiwoong’s whole body hums with oversensitivity, sweet and raw all at once.
“God, you’re trouble,” Matthew laughs against his back, low and spent, pressing a lazy kiss to Jiwoong’s skin. “Fucking worth it, though.”
“Still talk too much, Seok…” Jiwoong's hips wiggle a bit under Matthew’s weight. “Good thing your dick shuts you up.”
Matthew pulls out slowly, making Jiwoong wince at the drag. Jiwoong’s legs wobble but Matthew holds him steady with a firm palm. He glances around the cluttered table and scuffed floor until he spots the packet of wipes half-buried under a kicked-over box.
He tears one free, then tugs Jiwoong upright and turns him to lean back against the table edge. Jiwoong tries not to flinch when Matthew runs the damp cloth between his thighs, slowly and almost too gently. He wants to bark out something mean — Don’t baby me — but the words stick behind his teeth, so he lets him.
Matthew wipes himself down too, tossing the used wipes into a corner for now, then tugs his briefs and slacks back up, zipper rasping in the stillness. He bends to pick up Jiwoong’s pants from where they’d ended up half under a dusty crate, shaking them out before handing them over with a smirk.
Jiwoong rolls his eyes but slips them on, tugging his open shirt closed with shaky fingers. Matthew watches him, eyes flicking down like he’s checking for any mess he missed, then cups Jiwoong’s jaw for a second before letting go.
“This was…” he breathes out a laugh, chest still rising too fast. “Fucking amazing. But there’s so much I didn’t even get to try.” His grin curls lazy and wicked. “Still want you in my bed, though.”
Jiwoong barks a short laugh right back in his face, breathless. “Good luck getting me there. Who the hell do you think you are?”
Matthew just huffs, snorting a small ‘bet’ under his breath. “I’ll get you there one way or another. Keep talking big, it makes it more fun.”
He glances around the wrecked storage room, the kicked-over files, the smudges on the table, and sighs.
“Go on, get back to the office. I’ll clean this up before someone gets curious.”
Jiwoong rolls his eyes again, pulls his belt tight, then flips Matthew off as he nudges past him, but the corner of his mouth twitches. He peeks out into the hall, listens for any sign of life, then slips back down to their shared office, his steps lighter than they should be like he's doing the walk of shame.
When he drops into his chair, the leather cold against his sore thighs, he smirks to himself, fingers brushing the edge of the desk where it all started.
Matthew wants him in his bed…
He’ll get there willingly. Eventually. But he’s going to make him work for it. Make him beg for it.
Leaning back, letting his head drop against the headrest, Jiwoong laughs quietly. Good fucking luck, Seok Matthew.
.
.
.
After a little while, Matthew steps back into the office, looking maddeningly put-together for someone who just blew Jiwoong’s back out against a dusty table ten minutes ago. His shirt’s still half-untucked, collar askew, but his expression is all clean lines and corporate calm, like nothing ever happened.
He tosses the half-empty pack of condoms, the lube bottle, and the wipes into his drawer, then settles behind his monitor. The glow from his screen washes out the flush in his cheeks. He doesn’t look at Jiwoong right away, just scrolls through the spreadsheet they’d been arguing over earlier, fingers tapping the mouse like a metronome.
Then, like they didn’t just fuck the tension off a rickety table, Matthew says, voice dry as paper, “So… about the forecast. If we cut that batch order by ten percent next month, we can push the surplus into Q4 and balance the margins. I’ll draft the update for the procurement team, but you need to adjust the inventory line in the master file, or the warehouse is gonna fuck it up again.”
Jiwoong stares at him. His thighs ache. His hair’s probably a mess. He wants to throw a stapler at Matthew's head or kiss him again. Maybe both.
“You’re listening, right?” Matthew finally looks up, one eyebrow cocked. “Don’t screw this up. The board reviews this next week.”
Jiwoong snorts under his breath, flips a page in his folder with more force than necessary, and rolls his pen between his fingers.
“Yeah, Seok,” he says, fighting the smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Let’s get back to it.”