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The knock always comes at 9pm.
Haida knows this— it’s been his routine for the past month, after all— but lately he’s feeling more and more preoccupied. The video of Retsuko head banging her heart out on that damned vinyl couch hasn’t stopped replaying in his head since he first saw it, cold and alone in the tea room, which often leaves him like this; staring blankly at his computer as the fluorescent lights of his office buzz overhead. Like a mantra, the same thoughts as always drift through his mind while his eyes arbitrarily skim over the wall of numbers on the screen: Retsuko doesn’t have to tell me everything. Retsuko doesn’t owe me anything. Retsuko can see whoever she wants. But even so, if Retsuko wasn’t doing anything suspicious, then why wouldn’t she just tell me—
The sound of someone clearing their throat startles Haida out of his stupor, hands instinctively shooting to grip the arm rests of his chair. Himuro stands in the doorway, the shadows of the hall framing him like a dark halo. For a svelte man, his presence is remarkably powerful; the intensity of his gaze, ever sharp and scrupulous, washes over Haida and makes the scruffy fur along his spine raise. For a moment, the two observe each other in silence, the only movement being that of the hyena’s heaving chest. Now without the balm of distraction, he feels how stiff his limbs are; his lower back throbs dully, though whether it’s from sitting too long or in anticipation, he’s not sure.
“You’re tense this evening.”
Raising a manicured eyebrow, Himuro fully enters the room and shuts the door behind him, but he elects to lean elegantly on the wall instead of coming closer. That’s hardly any comfort to Haida, whose tie presently feels more like a choker.
“If these long hours are becoming detrimental to your health, you must inform me. I don’t mind moving up my schedule.”
After a few more seconds, Haida’s heart has calmed just enough to where he doesn’t fear he’ll throw it up upon speaking.
“O-oh, no no, don’t worry about it sir, all good here! I just got a bit stumped with some of the numbers and was too concentrated to hear you knock.”
The faint downturn of Himuro’s mouth smooths, and Haida’s convinced he’s in the clear until his companion pushes off the wall and glides towards him, the clip of his leather shoes echoing throughout the room as he rounds the corner of the desk so he’s standing an arm’s length away.
“If that’s the case, perhaps I could be of assistance. Which part was troubling you?”
“Erm, well— this sales report from June…”
Whatever drivel Haida was about to concoct fades into static as Himuro leans forward, bracing a hand against the edge of the desk to the hyena’s left, essentially caging him in. Long strands of silver, sweet-smelling hair dust his shoulders while his boss studies the screen, his other hand coming to wind around his chin in consideration. Not a minute passes before he hums, turning to Haida without moving an inch.
“It looks correct to me.” His face relaxes into a disarming hooded-eyed smile. “Could it be that you’re doubting yourself again?”
Haida doesn’t grace him with a proper response, barely managing a strangled half-whine that sounds vaguely affirmative. The proximity of their faces has him reeling, heat flushing his face; if he so much as shifts, their snouts would touch. Despite all the time they’ve spent together, much of which has been spent doing things plenty worse than nose nuzzling, he still feels the pressure to perform— to be perfect for the beautiful, discerning CEO— which causes him to freeze up.
Helpless, he watches as Himuro’s questioning gaze flickers into recognition, lips curling wider to reveal gleaming fangs. Yellow irises rake across the expanse of his body as the saluki leisurely grasps his tie, wide shoulders pressing against his back, but rather than tugging him nearer like Haida expected he focuses his attention on something below.
“You’re wearing the watch. I knew it would look splendid on you.”
Steam practically spouts from Haida’s ears as he struggles to keep up, dumbly following Himuro’s line of sight to his own wrist, where a burgundy watch rests; he prays that the president doesn’t notice how he trembles, still clutching the arm rests for a semblance of security. The divots of the golden outer bezel wink as the hand wrapped around his tie brushes down his arm to softly take hold of it. Gifted to him the day prior, it sports a logo that Haida is only familiar with through his family: one he would have never picked for himself due to the hefty amount of zeros attached to the name. Catching glimpses of it throughout the day had firecrackers bursting deep in his chest.
“Yes, of course, sir. Thank you very much— um, again.”
He doesn’t have time to cringe at his own lameness before Himuro deftly undoes the strap and stores it in a drawer, cradling his wrist all the while. When he fixates on Haida once more, he brings it to his lips and places a delicate kiss on his fluttering pulse, a glimmer in the eyes that refuse to leave Haida’s own. The knot in his belly does violent somersaults.
“Oh? Was this all a ruse? You seem to be expecting something.”
Flustered, Haida glances down, intending to stare at the floor but meeting a much more enticing sight: a sizable bulge in the president’s crisply-ironed pants. Though his mouth dries up, a tentative confidence blooms within him. He reflexively shifts as his cock twitches, gulping on nothing.
“I’m not the only one…”
A small gasp bubbles from him as Himuro suddenly pulls him in close, the cool tip of his nose grazing the shell of Haida’s ear. Heat radiates from his body through his suit, bleeding onto Haida’s skin and making him shiver from the contrast.
“Cheeky. If you’re spirited enough to backtalk, I should put that mouth to better use. However…”
In a flash, he maneuvers them so that he’s sitting with Haida in his lap, the hyena’s knees situated on each edge of the chair.
“For now, I want you like this.”
“W-what do you—”
“Ah-ah, what did I say about that mouth?”
His tone is light, almost humourous, but Haida isn’t fooled; that lilting means that he’s not in trouble yet but certainly will be if he tests his luck. So he swallows the retort threatening to boil over his throat and settles into the crook of Himuro’s neck, embarrassment making his skin burn. From here, every breath is saturated with the scent of sweat and expensive cologne, the familiar combination instigating a nearly Pavlovian response as Haida’s cock swells to full mast. Fleetingly, he registers the lights dimming, Himuro having installed remote controls for them when Haida first moved in: for when you can’t resist overtime he’d said then, a smirk strung upon his face.
“This is not the first time you’ve been so wound up at work. It would do you good to let off some steam.”
To further illustrate his point, the president pushes up his thigh and presses it firmly between Haida’s legs, using the desk as an impromptu footrest. The contact provides no real relief, serving as little more than instruction; if he wants to come, he has to toil for it himself.
Now, a dilemma faces him. He really doesn’t want to stain his pants as he owns a limited number of dress pants, and while he could ask Himuro to buy him new ones later, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle that level of humiliation; it’s a mystery to him how Tsunoda manages to mooch off of guys with both finesse and zero shame. However, he also knows that once the cloud of arousal lifts, Himuro will be pissed if he stains his pants. Ultimately he decides that he’ll risk it with Himuro; he can definitely pull off the “oh sir is there any way I can make it up to you” seduction schtick. Probably.
Mindful not to speak, he smooths a hand up Himuro’s chest before plucking at the buttons of his suit jacket, realizing that he’d be punished for trying to undo his slacks himself. Gingerly, he begins to move his hips as his head lolls to rest on the president’s shoulder, looking up at him. Shame embraces him like an old friend, but pleasure eclipses the feeling, especially when Himuro smiles so warmly that the world dissolves to just the two of them there in that starlit office. The saluki captures him by the fingers, which are in the process of attempting to cast his coat from his shoulders, and uses them to loop Haida’s arms around his neck.
“Eager, are we? Don’t fret, you’ll have had enough of me by the end of the night. For now, let’s focus on you.”
Whether or not he understood Haida’s silent request, he unfastens his subordinate’s trousers and shoves them down along with his boxers in one fell swoop. Bracing himself on his lover’s torso, the hyena eagerly picks up the slack and shirks them completely off before perching back in position. Without any stimulation, he starts to feel abashed again, which Himuro must sense because his clement hands find Haida’s waist, coaxing him into action; his hips shallowly roll a couple of times, experimenting. The fabric feels surprisingly rough against his sensitive dick, bearing a delicious friction that teeters on the precipice of pain. To ensure he doesn’t rub himself raw, he dampens the spot first by keeping his thrusts light.
“Good boy,” Himuro sighs as he unbuttons Haida’s shirt, leaving his tie intact.
Chills ripple across his skin, his rhythm stuttering as his ears flatten involuntarily, a broken little moan escaping him. It’s mortifying how much he loves being Himuro’s good boy; the lengths he’d go to if only to hear the president praise him. He feels more than hears Himuro’s breathy laugh, a large hand suddenly tugging his head back by the fur, coming nose-to-nose with the man. Panting, his eyebrows scrunch as his hips move faster, a tingling sensation trickling down his back from where Himuro grips him.
“So cute. I hope you don’t show this lewd of a face to anyone else.”
An image of Retsuko’s face flashes in his mind, making his heart drop. No, not now! He tries to shake it off, but his thoughts are already spiraling. Maybe the reason I don't trust her is because I'm afraid she's doing the exact same thing I am. Desperate to forget, he slams their faces together, sharp teeth clashing and cutting his lip. Himuro’s eyes widen but he otherwise takes it in stride, licking into Haida’s mouth where the metallic tang of blood greets him.
Unsure of the cause of this sudden urgency, he tightens his hold on Haida with a tender firmness not unlike that of correcting a disobedient pet and forces his kisses to slow by sucking on his tongue. Thankfully Haida melts into the feeling, brain going blissfully blank once more as he languidly falls forward so he can angle his neck more comfortably, exhaling deeply through his nose.
There’s a distant clicking noise that meets his ears, but Haida’s too concentrated on chasing his orgasm to pay attention. It’s only when he feels cold, dewy fingers snake down his lower back does he realize that Himuro retrieved the lube from the desk. He groans as his lover spreads him open, circling his hole so that it’s coated with slick before working one inside. Starting with small strokes, he matches time with Haida’s thrusts and stretches him until he’s sucking in 3 fingers. Keening, the hyena flings his chin over Himuro’s shoulder, heedless of the faceful of thick hair he receives. A buzzing pleasure takes root at the base of his spine, tendrils of it spreading like molasses through his limbs.
“More! Please!”
The president smirks, perspiration dripping down his neck as he fights to keep himself in check. After Haida finishes, then he can satisfy himself.
“Do you want to come?”
“Yes!” Haida whimpers, clawing at Himuro’s chest.
“You spoke out of turn. Bad boys shouldn’t be rewarded for misbehaviour,” he clicks his tongue, pretending to consider it. Although he’s too far gone to deny his subordinate an orgasm, he’s not against prolonging it.
“Please, please! I’ll— ahh, I’ll be better, I’ll be good for you, just please let me come—”
The words die in his throat, choked by sobs as Himuro roughly shoves his fingers against his prostate and massages it with a come-hither motion. After a few more thrusts, the only warning he gets is the molasses turning into wildfire before the sensation deluges him, not a single thing reaching him besides the white-hot pleasure as he jerkily spurts his release onto Himuro’s belly and thighs.
Slumping forward, his body feels like jelly as aftershocks wrack him. Himuro gently slips his fingers out of him, wiping the excess lube on his pants so he can envelop Haida in his arms; it’s not a loving embrace, but it is warm and strong. He allows the shorter man to catch his breath before speaking, leaning close so he can purr into Haida’s ear.
“Don’t get too comfortable. I’m not finished with you.”