Chapter Text
Dear everyone in the office,
Heavy breathing, weakening knees. Hands sliding up my shirt, fingers brushing my stomach, shivers.
This is just an e-mail to remind everyone of a couple office rules. Nothing major, all we want is to make sure this stuff is followed.
Eyes squeezed shut, gasps, lips mouthing at my neck, more, more, whispered encouragements. Darkness covering sweat-glazed foreheads, fists clenched in sheets, heat.
First off, no food deliveries directly to the office. Any orders must be sent to the building lobby and then picked up.
Muscles tensed, groans, kisses trailed sloppily from collarbone to hips, kicking off pants, passion. Not enough, not enough.
Second, a request must be made to take equipment out of the building for non-Smosh related purposes. This is for the safety of the very expensive equipment.
Muffled moans, giggles, teeth biting down on bottom lip, you, me, us, thighs sliding together, ankles locked behind back.
Third, if you don’t want your food stolen from the fridge, it must be labelled with your name. House rules say all unclaimed food is free game. We will not be taking any more complaints about this.
So warm, so good, so much, the warmth, the stars, hair tousled and necks bruised, slow, fast, hands intertwining and voices calling in unison.
All of this is clearly stated in the office rules. Come on, guys. Be on time, no scents, no co-worker relationships. It’s all pretty standard.
Thanks,
Joe Bereta
Fuck.