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It’s mortifying how Harry just knows what turns him on, just knows how much he has fantasized about rutting in his damn private office when he didn’t even remember who Jean was weeks ago.
Jean is sitting on top of Harry’s lap, pants-less as he warms Harry’s cock in his ass like it’s the most normal thing in the world. The cold air of the room tickles the hairs on his calves and the lube that dried on his inner thighs. His own penis lays half-erect, brushing against his half-buttoned shirt. Harry took off his gaudy green jacket, haphazardly thrown underneath the desk. Jean clenches, and Harry’s hands tightens on his hips, burning marks underneath his uniform. He can feel the pressure of his arousal deep in his stomach.
What a fucking freak, he is.
“C’mon baby, these reports won't report themselves will they?” Harry jostles his fat dick in Jean’s ass before he could tell him how much he hates him and his stupid words, making him elicit an embarrassingly high groan instead as the cock head stabs his prostate.
A sweaty hand slips on top of his mouth for the umpteenth time, salt and something flowery-like rubbing on his lips. Jean is suppose to be working— like what a sane RCM officer is suppose to be doing during office hours, but Harry is an annoyingly persistent man, and Jean is too weak to say no for a fuck from a much healthier Harry. A Harry that can keep his dick up for a lot longer than a minute, and won’t leave Jean to pathetically jack off into the toilet of a public bathroom.
“Shhh… what did I say about making noise? The others are just outside that door.”
Jean’s dick throbs. Harry grins. “Hurry up then,” he muffles in his hand.
Harry moves to grab Jean’s hand, which was previously gripping his slacks to the point where it bore crescent-shaped marks in the fabric, and curled it around the blue pen.
“Fucking— fine! Don’t get cocky.”
“Heh, cock…”
Ignoring his comment, Jean adjusts on Harry’s lap— Harry coughs to cover a moan— and starts sorting the papers on the desk. He’s bending his back more than usual, as sitting on a man makes Jean practically tower over the table. He can hear Harry blow a low whistle.
“Fuck, Vic—“ he rubs Jean’s sensitive rim and the satellite-officer shudders, mouth parting in silence, “It just sucks me in like my cock belongs in your tight hole.”
Harry grabs his ass and rubs the muscles like a two-bit masseuse, thumbs digging into the meat at each up-stroke. The domesticity of it all makes Jean want to puke, but his back arches anyways.
The case Jean is looking at isn’t a particularly interesting read, and having to report on it makes his dick shrink. There’s a dead body inside a water tank, or a dumpster, or literally anywhere, and someone called it in. Very un-sexy. The dick in his ass doesn't care though, its presence a solid reminder of his overwhelming attachment to this man.
Time passes, Jean manages to fill in a small portion of the form, taking quick glances at the door when he hears footsteps pass by. He wonders what they look like if someone actually walks in— Jean, half dressed and sweaty, sitting on the lap of his superior in his office while the putrid smell of sex waffs the air. They can see how the Lieutenant’s hands drag from the crevice of his scarred hips, prod at his sensitive abdomen like he can feel his own stupid cock in there, and completely ignore Jean’s dick, weeping with precum. Jean has only managed to pump his dick a few times before Harry slapped his hand away, squeaking when he hit the tip of his dick in the process.
“You keep on looking at the door, do you think someone is going to come in?” Harry mumbled into Jean’s shoulder, teeth grazing the nape of his neck.
“No one would come here if they knew what’s best for them,” A pause, “do you really not remember last time?”
Harry freezes, his mustache tickling Jean’s skin. “…No?”
“Ugh, someone already has walked into us having sex before. In this same fucking office.”
“Exhibitionist, much?”
“Shut up! I hated it.”
That was a lie. Harry goaded him with his drunk mouth and jaundiced eyes, and Jean has a field day. It was clear Harry was going to leave him after his own selfish pleasure (which he did), but a younger Jean craved the intimacy— so he sucked Du Bois’ cock underneath his desk. He suckled at the sour vein along his length and had his red nose crushed in the testosterone-heavy musk of his pubic hair, spit dribbling down his shaved chin. He liked it.
Gulliaume Bevy opened the door to his office and that’s when Harry came, one hand digging his nails into Jean’s scalp and the other pinching his own tit until tears fell down his drooping face. He was moaning like a fucking whore. He didn’t stop his porn-star finatic until Bevy’s footsteps disappeared completely, frantic steps that stomped on the floor like it would stomp away that disgusting sight from his eyes. Jean already swallowed his load by then, the most turned on he’s been in his entire life.
Jean went silent for too long for Harry’s patience. Suddenly he kicked Jean’s legs off the floor and tugged him towards his body, his cock shifting in Jean’s impossibly hot ass. Jean grunts, pen slipping out of his grasp.
“Good boy… you did your work huh? Good boy wants a reward right?”
Jean’s dick dripped a silver of precum, thighs twitching. He’s never praised him like this before, and he doesn’t think he can hear it again in a normal setting without getting his dick hard. “Harry…” He groaned.
“Hmm?” Harry thrusts his hips up, leather seat squeaking, and Jean moans.
“Goddamnit Harry— Don’t make me beg and fuck me!”
His hand pinches at the scowl on his face like a damn insolent delinquent. “You’re so feisty, like those annoying little lap dogs that won’t stop barking. Why don’t you just bounce on your superior’s cock like an obedient pup?”
“What?,” Jean said, jumping at how loud he spoke. He whispered, “Shut up, you pervert. Your dirty talk is god awful.”
Dry fingers tilt his head to the side, and his grey eyes meet Harry’s warmer ones. He grins when he sees how cloudy Jean’s vision is, and he kisses him. Jean’s eyes widened at the act, but he soon reciprocated, not realizing how much he missed this—how much it stirs the arousal deep in his abdomen. He felt like he’s going to throw up.
Harry thrusts up again, parting their lips with a low groan that rumbles in his hearty chest. Jean’s disappointed in how short the kiss was. “Um… I kinda need help with this one. My leg is still healing and all.” Harry mumbles.
“Yeah, right.” Jean said. He sits up again, squirming as the pressure in his stomach gets prodded by Harry’s cock, and finally starts moving. A slow rhythm as he rises a few inches up, then bottoming out on the base of his semi-flaccid cock. He inhales sharply as he can feel Harry fill again, stretching the tight ring of muscle as his stupidly fat dick makes him full.
Jean starts bouncing rhythmically, using Harry’s dick as some toy as he grips the edge of Harry’s desk as leverage. He can hear the audible wet slap of Harry’s pendulous balls echoing in the room, smacking at his taint. It makes his legs tremble.
His mouth falls open with a soft sigh as the cock tip teases the raw nerves of his prostate in each stroke, intentionally letting it avoid direct contact unless he wants to blow pre-maturely like a damn hydrant.
“Yes, baby, baby, baby boy… just like that,” Harry’s hands are firm on Jean’s hips, his nails digging into his skin at each drop. “Goddamn, you’re so good to me. So, so good…”
“Y-Yeah?”
“Yeah, letting me fuck you at work, bending over my desk like a little sexy secretary? Just for me?” He chuckled, and it made Jean more aroused than it needed to.
“Maybe I should get you a pencil skirt. A nice black color, to match your suit. Your legs would look so sexy in stockings…” Harry’s nails rake gently up his toned thighs, tracing along his trembling abdomen. Jean whines, his dick throbbing hard as his hips stutter erratically. He shouldn’t be talking to Jean like that— it’s humiliating. He has carried the MCU through countless investigations when Lieutenant double-yefreitor Harry Du Bois fucked off for years, he can break every single bone in this old fuck’s body right now— but he wont. The reason doesn’t matter. He’s fucking hypnotic.
Jean digs his red face into the crook of his arm, the teasing sensation getting unbearable. It feels like his entire core is throbbing as he bites into the cloth of his shirt, trying to muffle any grunts as he stains the white fabric with spit. God, he feels like he’s gonna burst, he didn’t realize he’s been clenching with a bruising force (to Harry’s delight.) He relaxes.
A hot liquid tribbles out of Jean’s urethra, staining the carpet below.
His heart drops. The putrid, sour smell is evident.
Fuck-fuck fuck fuck fuck! He forgot he drank three cups of coffee before this whole shit happened— stupid, fuck! He is going to kill himself, then Harry from the damn grave.
Jean covers the tip of his dick, trying to prevent a bigger accident from happening. He’s hyperventilating. “Harrier-!”
Harry stands up. His dick slips out of his ass with a disgusting slick sound and Jean sighs in relief. “Shit… Harry-”
Abruptly, he finds himself bending over the desk, one burning hot hand rubbing his perineum and the other pushing his leg onto the desk. Jean turns around, “H-hey! You fucker!”
Harry, flushed heavily from exertion, gives him a crooked smile. A solid finger pressed against his lips. Be quiet, it says.
Jean’s ears strain, trying to hear anything beyond his blood circulation pounding in his ears. Distantly, he can hear the shuffling of footsteps— a heavy shoe putting all their weight on one leg, before switching. They cough.
Jean is mortified. He knows exactly who that is. How long has he been there? Did he hear everything? His degeneracy?
Harry’s palm returns to Jean’s mouth, and the tip of his flared dick prods at his hole. Fuck, fuck it! He’s tired of being blue-balled— his nuts are in pain and he needs to piss. Jean bites at the offending hand, and Harry shouts in pain. “Hurry up!” He growls.
He can feel him hesitate behind him, surprised by how loud Jean decided to be, before subsequently throwing all care out the window. He parts Jean’s puffy hole and spits inside, lubing up the area before slamming the entire length of his cock in one go. Jean whines. His cock bumps painfully against the wooden edge, and more piss escapes his bladder.
Fuck it’s so loud. The desk jostles in each snap of Harry’s hips, pushing a high grunt out of Jean’s throat. He’s fucking crying, hot wet streaks pooling in the crevice of Harry’s hands. He can taste the salty tears. He can’t take it anymore. When the hell is this freak going to fucking cum?
The freak traps him with his body, his wet lips nibbling at his ear like a dog. “Your hole is so hungry, Jean,” he said, “it’s s-swallowing me whole, so eager, like a whore. Are you a whore, Vic?”
Oh fuck, fuck. He can’t hold it anymore. Jean’s eyes rolled back to his skull as he finally released his bladder, an audible uneven burst of piss hitting the floor before turning into a steady stream. He groans incoherently in Harry’s hand, a puddle of drool dripping off his chin. God, it feels borderline orgasmic, like an itch getting scratched in his core.
“Harrier, Harrier, Harr- mmph!” A deep thrust directly at the raw prostate makes him squeal, his legs trembling.
“Fuck, fuck! Jean, baby…” Harry stands back, changing positions before noticing the wet feeling on his shoes. “Ah, ah… Are you pissing yourself? Fuck-“
Harry grabs Jean’s dick and aims it towards his green jacket, adding another unremovable stain in the fabric. This fucking pervert.
“Shit shit, baby boy, you’re so fucking hot— you’re squirting.” His voice gets higher, “I’m gonna cum-!” He starts jacking off Jean’s dick rapidly, using the piss as lube. Jean screams, a broken noise full of desperation as his entire body trembles. His pulse roars in his ears.
Harry groans, a deep tremor shaking his bones as he bottoms out. Hot white cum splatters in his hole, grunting as the muscle spasms uncontrollably. Jean is cumming, but he isn’t. He keeps on pissing but fuck it feels so good.
After Harry pulls out, the piss finally weakens into a few drops, then nothing. He shakes Jean’s dick like he’s the one who pissed before letting go. A big glob of ejaculate beads out the tip of his cock, before adding onto the mess that is Harry’s coat.
Faintly, he can feel the hand from his mouth retract. Minutes later a drier one starts petting his head, another hand wiping his bottom with a tissue. He coos in his ear, attempting to calm him as if he didn’t wreck his fucking ass in a completely inappropriate location a minute ago.
Harry turns him around, Jean being completely limp from exhaustion. He looks at him, observing how clearly wrecked he is. His green eyes flick up to his, a feeling in them Jean’s uncertain the meaning is. He kisses him, a quick peck.
He places him on the floor, a thin blanket cushioning his body. Jean takes the glass of water offered to him gratefully.
“Didn’t know you were into that, Vic.”
Jean’s head is still foggy. He didn’t respond until he completely finished his cup of water. “I can’t look anyone in the eye anymore,” He croaked, “Everyone heard us. This is your fault.”
“So you hated it.”
“…I didn’t say that.”
The same footsteps, one that are carried by heavy boots, carry on with their tasks. They echo down the hallway before it disappears completely, hoping to go home as fast as they can.