Work Text:
The phone rang insistently, as if it had already rung twice and taken that personally. On the third ring, John slowly raised the receiver while continuing to look at the nicely typed schedule on his desk. Toner and whatever cologne Paul had chosen was fucking "professional" this week were both subtly present in the office this week.
"McCartney & Co..." John uttered in a silky yet equally bored tone. "Please wait." Before the caller could answer, he snapped the line and sat back in his chair, spinning just enough to catch a glimpse of Paul's office through the glass wall.
Even though it was not noon, Paul (a control freak in a nice suit) was pacing with a folder tucked under his arm and his tie already unfastened. As he spoke, he made gestures and mouthed numbers to no one, but he stopped when he saw John observing. Their gazes locked. Paul froze.
John grinned.
Paul lifted his eyebrows in a silent well as he gestured to the phone on John's desk.
John raised the receiver once more, laid it out as an offering, and then carefully lowered it one more time. He can wait, he mouthed. Paul let out a breath and, despite himself, a laugh tugged at his lips. John noticed the slight relaxation of his shoulders before he turned back to his work and shook his head. John was only going to be around for six weeks or less. a stand-in while Paul's actual secretary went in search of a cosy and spiritual location.
A moment later, Paul emerged from his office, his folder now held tightly like a shield. "Did you put Mr Epstein through, John?"
John pretended to be very serious as he reviewed his notes. "As you requested, I put him on hold. In theory."
Paul cocked his head. "tTheory"
John peered up through his eyelids at him. "You did not say how long."
Paul just stared for a moment. Then he chuckled. "You are not possible."
John finally reached for the phone and remarked, "So I have been told." "Mr McCartney, should I be of assistance now?"
Paul paused. John could tell that the title always affected him, like a wire that was pulled too tightly. He gave one nod. "Please." Professional as ever, John pushed the queue through. However, Paul remained near the desk as he spoke, close enough for John to sense his warmth and smell that strong citrus once more.
Temporary, my arse, John thought, and smiled to himself as the call finally connected.
John could not help but overhear Paul talking. There was nothing he could do about it. Paul was a very serious and focused worker. Every word he spoke was precise and clear, and every statement he uttered sounded like music to Johnny.
Paul, as composed as a lake with teeth underneath, replied, "Yes, without a doubt." "After lunch, we may review the figures."
John stopped writing. Following lunch. When Paul was winning, he would always say stuff like that. "Obviously," Paul went on. "I will forward it to my secretary."
Secretary. To pass the time, John wrote a pointless note in the margin while snorting softly. The call came to an end. After a moment, Paul turned and caught John in the middle of a grin. He asked nonchalantly, "Enjoy the performance?"
With complete innocence, John looked up. It is difficult not to. You speak as though you are leading an orchestra.
With a sigh of laughter, Paul fixed his tie and ran his fingertips over his throat. "You should not be criticising me; you should be screening calls."
John described it as "multitasking." "Very contemporary."
Paul shook his head, but as he made his way back to his office, there was a look of satisfaction in his eyes. He stopped at the door. "Do not postpone the next one."
The phone was ringing again when John raised it. "Boss, no guarantees."
Grinning, Paul vanished behind the glass. John picked up the phone, his voice as silky as ever. "McCartney & Co. Hold on, please."
In little time at all, Paul was back on the phone, this time with the bank. The bank always has a unique ringtone. John had to lean back and listen to the call. It was his responsibility to listen to Paul. He took notes and answered sporadically until Paul appeared to be done. Paul listened once more, staring out the window absently.
From his desk, John observed Paul's gaze darting across the glass. Paul's eyes were clear, his pupils concentrated. His brows were pressed together, and his arms crossed. He was all about business,s but alsJohnhn. At last, Paul shook his head vigorously and returned the receiver to its cradle, saying, "Very well."
John's smile widened as he continued to observe him. "I wonder what the bank said this time?" he asked.
Paul's face stiffened a little, but he shook his head once again and turned aside to get the folder he had been holding so tightly. "I will not be having this talk with you here. The office is not the place for it, and there is a lot to do."
John's chair was leaned back just enough to make him appear arrogant. "I am quite good at improper talks, so that is a bummer."
Paul glanced at him over the folder's edge. He reminded him, "You are transient," as though stating a fact would make it act.
"So you continue to say." Once, twice, John tapped his pen on the desk. "It is funny how things change with time." Paul did not immediately respond. "They tend to go under the skin." He walked across the room, paused next to John's desk, and unintentionally lowered his voice. "You pay too much attention."
“That’s literally my job,” John said. “Phones. Schedules. You.”
Paul exhaled through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. “You’re enjoying this.”
John steadily met his gaze. "I was hired by you."
Paul stood up straight, his professionalism returning like a jacket thrown on too hastily. "Lunch," he murmured. "In twenty. Put my calls on hold.
Grinning already, John raised the receiver. "As you like, Mr. McCartney."
Paul stopped at the door, looked back just once, and vanished behind the glass. Once more, the phone rang. John let it to ring. Just long enough to be noteworthy.
The call ended when Paul showed up around lunchtime. Paul asked, "Have you ever heard of lunch?" John nodded and extended his limbs. "I am starving."
Paul grabbed his hat and coat and stated sternly, "Put your coat on."
"Where are we heading?" John got up from his desk and asked.
Paul's hand instinctively reached for the button to adjust his coat. "If you do not hurry up, we will miss my reservation."
John threw his coat over his arm and ran after him.
Without the phone and the office walls, the day appeared to have changed. As they went outside, Paul was undeterred by the cold wind and a few droplets of rain. He strode outdoors, John following closely after. Paul glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was keeping up. He nodded his head anxiously once again.John chased after him, saying, "Come on." They continued down the street till they came to a grey car with a driver inside. Paul went to open the door. John slid into the back seat. Paul took a seat beside him.
The door closed with a solid thud, and Paul, his voice clipped back into the public register, gave the driver an address without turning to face John. "You didn’t react to my question."
John opened his legs wide, feeling far too comfortable for a man on borrowed time. "You posed many questions. I chose my favourite.
Despite himself, Paul snorted with laughter. "You are draining."
"It is funny; I was ready to say the same thing about you. That tempo, all of that. All that behaving as if you do not see things..."
Paul clinched his jaw. I see a lot. "I decide what is important.""And I am important?" John's eyes were keen, yet he asked softly. At a traffic signal, the car slowed down. Paul's reflection shifted in the glass. "You are useful. "And distracting." John grinned, not teasingly, but with a warmer, even affectionate expression. "Be careful, boss. That sounds like a confession."
Paul eventually caught his stare, but he held it for an extra second. "Eat your lunch," he instructed. "Then we will see how distracted you are."
The light turned green. The car drove on. For once, John did not push—he simply leaned back, observing Paul's reflection as if it were a secret he already knew how to keep, his splayed legs spreading till they purposefully brushed Paul's knee. Paul became quite still. It was subtle—others may have missed it, but John saw immediately. Paul's knee did not move away. John cocked his head, eyes half-lidded, pretending to watch the rain splatter on the window. "My apologies... bad habit. Taking up space."
Paul's voice, when it arrived, sounded flat and menacing. "You do it on purpose."
"Most things worth doing are," John said lightly. As the car drove away, Paul adjusted his position slightly to re-establish himself. "You are forgetting something," Paul said.
John took a peek over. "Am I?"
"You work for me," Paul replied. "Temporarily."
John smiled sideways. "That word again."
"Get out of the car," Paul said.
Of course, John smiled and hung his coat freely. Paul followed suit, closing the door with the same determined finality as before. The restaurant door slid open right in front of them. And whatever was going on between the boss and the secretary, whether temporary or permanent, was not restricted to glass walls and ringing phones.
The restaurant was the epitome of subtle splendour. They were led to a little table hidden in the corner with a window view. Paul requested a glass of red wine, and John followed suit. They sat in comfortable stillness for a long minute, as the rain continued to fall outside. John had to lay his jacket across his lap to conceal the evident bulge; he is barely in control of his own fucking body. His cock stays close to his thigh as it strains to get free, and his heart continues to beat so rapidly that he becomes lightheaded as he stares at Paul in that seat, all professional.
Paul studied him, his gaze moving over the lines and contours of John's frame before settling for an extended period of time. He sipped the crisp wine. "Will you behave yourself?"
John swallowed deeply and tried to focus his gaze on Paul's face. "Is this what you want?"
Paul's voice was low and crisp. "That is what needs to be done."
His fingers fidgeted with the glass. "I can behave," john responded. "But not if you continue to stare at me like that..."
"Like what?" Paul enquired calmly. John's lips parted slightly. His gaze fell to Paul's mouth. "Like I am something you want to disassemble." The restaurant was crowded with the sound of clinking cutlery and talking, but Paul's gaze remained fixated on him throughout. "Is this what I am doing?
John's gaze shifted back to meet Paul's. "It sure feels like it." He took a deep breath. "As if you would take me, take your time, and then take me apart."
John shifted, his discomfort intensifying into want. "You are doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"It sounds like you are already touching me."
Paul flexed his fingers once against the glass's stem. "You are far too fired up for a lunch reservation."
"Whose fault is it?" John muttered.
Paul's gaze flickered to John's lap—a clinical, terrible look. "Yours. Entirely."
When Paul peered down, John's breath stopped and the blood in his face heated up, as if he had been caught doing something wrong. He was glued to the chair by the necessity of it, the heat of his own body, and Paul's ability to make him feel like a child in a room full of people who were unconscious of his presence.
Paul's eyes rose again, and his face was almost painfully calm. "You should not be thinking about this," Paul responded, as if he were discussing the weather.
John swallowed, and the act was loud in his own ears. “What is this, then?” he whispered. “What do you call this?”
"A distraction."
John's heart stutters. "Then why are you doing this?"
Paul's jaw stiffened. He laid his glass down gently and carefully. "Because you are a distraction that I cannot afford to ignore."
John's cheeks reddened as he retained Paul's gaze. "So, what are you planning to do about it?"
Paul's lips pulled up, but his expression was unreadable. He drank another sip of wine. "I have been thinking," he said.
"And?" asked John. Despite the heat rising in the pit of his stomach, he found himself holding his breath in anticipation.
Paul's countenance remained unruffled, but his eyes were as dark as the wine he drank. He took his time. Furthermore, when Paul did speak, he sounded like the guy in control of the situation. "The issue with diversions is that they should not be indulged," he explained. "Not at the expense of my personal plans."
"But I enjoy indulging," John muttered. "I really enjoy it."
"Too much," Paul muttered.
John grinned. "So do you."
Paul's jaw stiffened. "You would be naive to imagine that I can afford that luxury. I have a lot to do and many people to see. I cannot afford to be distracted, and I certainly cannot afford to continue indulging.' his gaze never left John's face, but his posture changed just enough to indicate that he had made an option choice. John's breath caught. "So, what now?"
Paul laid his glass down with quiet finality. "Now," he said, "let us address the matter."
John's pulse quickened. "What is the situation with me?"
Paul stood, looked down at John, and spoke without asking for permission. "We are heading to the toilet."
John blinked, torn between amusement and panic. "Excuse me?"
Paul's mouth slanted. "You are a distraction," he replied, "and I will not allow you ruin my lunch."
John's chest clenched. "I am not harming anything."
Paul moved in close enough that John could detect a slight citrus scent from him. "Yes, you are," he muttered. "And you are doing this on purpose."
"What about right now?" John glanced up at the crowded restaurant. "Here?"
"Here," Paul said, his voice clear and definite. When John opened his mouth, Paul's hand came up to stop him—a motion that was both delicate, like a lover's brush, and incredibly commanding. John's breath was cut out of his chest. "Do what you are told."
The tone was harsh, but it was not meant to harm. "Yes," John said, his voice scratchy. "All right." He turned and proceeded down the tiny corridor leading to the restrooms. John remained seated for a bit, watching him leave, as if he could vanish if John blinked. The bathroom door clicked shut behind them, producing a tiny, final sound that appeared louder than it should have. Paul halted at the washbasin before turning to face him. John's mouth opened, then closed again. "What are we doing?" he queried, but it was not exactly a question.
Paul moved closer. "We are solving a problem, and that problem is you."
John's chest tightened. "I do not think I am the problem."
Paul's gaze fell on John's lips. Then, redirect your focus to his eyes. "You are not the problem; you are a diversion."
John swallowed. "And you are about to—"
Paul did not answer. He simply lifted his hand and pressed his fingers against John's jaw, gently turning his face towards him.
Paul gripped John's face with both hands, holding him steady as if he were a fragile object that could break if handled roughly. John's body responded before his mind caught up. He kissed back because he was not sure where the line was or if Paul would allow him to cross it. Paul ended the kiss after a few moments, not because he wanted to. He moved aside just enough to create a space between them, but his stare never left John's. "You like it; you like what I do."
John let out a shaky laugh. "You are making it harder to lie."
Paul's mouth curled. "Good," he slips his hand down John's front, sliding his fingers into his trousers and starting to stroke them. John's cock had been at half-mast for approximately two hours. He shifts his attention to removing the buttons on John's fly before shoving his trousers and boxer briefs off his hips and into the middle of his thighs. John's cock springs are free. He moans as the tip of his cock brushes against the denim of Paul's trousers.
Paul quickly undoes his own and pulls his cock out. He places it against John's already oozing dick and wraps his fingers around both of them. He is so turned on right now that he is not sure how long he can hold back. He is pressing his hips against Paul's and going up and down over their cocks.
John's chest is fast increasing, but it would be absurd to say that any of this is not deliberate on his part. When Paul leans in for another kiss, his lips are soft as a touch. John's tongue slides inside his mouth, tasting as sweet as honey yet equally irresistible. "I want you," he breathes against Paul's lips. Paul stands stationary for half a second while his breath hitches. "I want you."
John kisses Paul again, firmly and quickly. His hand comes up, tangles in his brown hair, and draws him closer."
"John," Paul moans, his mouth pushed against his. "Not the hair."
"Then what?" John enquires, muttering against his lips. "Tell me, what?"
He takes his time responding, grinding his body against John, and his voice is raspy, hinting at a secret. "Touch me." He grabs John's hand and brings it down to his balls, forcing him to squeeze. John feels a tingle run down his spine. He obeys by stroking his palm against his balls and caressing them with his fingers. He is clear about his goals and plans to pursue them. "Like this?" he whispers in Paul's ear. Paul's palm scrapes against the hard flesh, while John's dick dribbles long, slick strands of come that Paul's thumb collects and rubs down over its velvet tips.
John pulls his lips away from Paul's, pushing him to chase after him. He moves forward to kiss his neck, relishing the delicate aroma of perfume mixed with his own scent. His mouth wraps around his Adam apple, sucking until he is certain he will leave an imprint. He sucks on his collarbone next, creating an icy trail across his pale body. He wants to bring him closer, but his trousers get in the way. He raises one of his knees and pulls Paul closer with his hips. "More," he insisted. John-"
John proceeds down, nibbling and sucking, leaving increasingly visible imprints on Paul's flesh. His fingers untucked Paul's shirt from the waistline, revealing his stomach. He sweeps his palms around his abdomen, muscles, and skin. He wants more. "Lift your shirt."
John pulls up and lifts Paul's shirt over his head. He tosses it aside, and it lands on the sink. He stands admiring Paul's figure, his hands resting hungrily on his torso. "Jesus, you are a sight.
Paul moves his hand. His unrestrained palm reaches down to johnss ass and squeezes it as he pushes john into the lavatory stall. Paul's hips are canting faster, his cock collides with John's, and the elder guy yells out. "He presses his fingers into Paul's sides, forcing his cock hard against his boss's hand, turning his hips, and moaning at the powerful sensation of Paul jacking them off.
"Not gonna last," he groans.
Paul kisses him then, his teeth nibbling slightly on John's lower lips and tongue, "Come for me," he whispers into John's mouth, "Come on my fingers, show me what I'm doing to you."
John kisses him again and murmurs in between kisses and moans, "You're the one doing things to me."
John whimpers as he emerges hot and quick, his wetness smothering against Paul's rough flesh. He leans forward and bites Paul's shoulder through the plush suit, drowning out his moans as he finishes cumming. John's slick heat coats his fingers, and Paul can barely take it; he closes his eyes and lets the surge of passion wash over him as he cums.
"Oh, God," John whispers, dropping his head into Paul's shoulder. He is still breathing heavily and quaking. "What a mess you made me ."
"You came so fast," Paul reflects, "only for me."
"Because of you," John murmurs, raising his head to meet Paul's gaze. His face is hot, and his hair is tangled and stuck to his forehead. Paul brushes back a wayward strand of hair, his fingers resting on John's brow. "You truly are a distraction."
John gives a quiet chuckle. "So, you mentioned."