by Mamih Lapinatapai
illustrated by lihsa
Colin West really, really hates Matthew James Brose. He hates M. J. Brose for making him hate being a lawyer. Hates having to deal with him in his office twice a week and have nothing to show for it. Hates trying to explain simple legal terms to him when Colin should be writing iron-tight contracts for big-shot corporate businesses. Hates how he makes more money in a month than Colin makes in a year. Colin West hates M. J. Brose more than people hate flies stuck in between windows making annoying buzzing and bumping sounds or a broken toe when they have a soccer game or a waste of over $150 by printing monogrammed envelopes with the wrong return address. He really hates M. J. Brose and the only reason why he’s stuck with him so long is that M. J. Brose is the son of a business empire with so much money he could blow his nose in hundred dollar bills and not even feel the loss. And because Colin is M. J. Brose’s lawyer in a high profile divorce case — though Colin doubts this job sometimes, mostly when, oh, say, M. J. Brose waltzes in late ten times in a row smelling like women’s perfume and drink — Colin will be really, really well paid.
The other reason is that the last client Colin West had was found with him in his office with her mouth around his cock, giving him a very enthusiastic blowjob, and he was sort of completely naked except for a tie, and said client’s husband walked in on that happening, just as Colin was shouting her name (he was kind of loud during sex, he will admit), and then Colin got fired from his firm and almost ended up with a lawsuit on his back if it wasn’t for the fact that as he was walking into his current firm for an interview, who should spot him but M. J. Brose, who immediately demanded that Colin be hired as his lawyer. “I’ll take him,” he’d said, like Colin was a dog or a pig or a whore, and Colin is, because he technically gives his services out for money, but he really isn’t, it’s not those services, and so he hates M. J. Brose.
“You’re late. Again.” Colin slams down his fist on his desk, but there’s no real slap to it because it’s genuine cherry wood, and he just had it polished earlier that day, and the dark red really does go extremely well with his skin. It goes extremely well with M. J. Brose’s skin, too, which makes Colin feel inexplicably enraged and cheated.
“Traffic,” M. J. Brose says, almost apologetic. He waves Evan, Colin’s intern, over with one hand. “Coffee, please? Two sugars. Be quick about it.” Evan nods and M. J. Brose rewards him with a lingering smile. Colin slams his fist down on his desk again, completely forgetting about the wood until a moment too late. He looks murderously at his client.
“Like the other ten times you were stuck in traffic? And Evan’s job does not include running your coffee.” But Colin knows it’s useless; Evan hasn’t been doing anything lately anyway, and Colin had only recommended him for the internship because their father would have otherwise wrung his ear out, but that still doesn’t mean Evan could brush by M. J. Brose every time he ordered a coffee or that M. J. Brose could put his fingers over Evan’s just a moment too long every time he was handed a cup.
The day is steadily going downhill in the worst way, and the only saving grace would be if M. J. Brose quit right then, and even that wouldn’t really be a saving grace, because that would mean Colin wouldn’t be paid the ridiculous amount he is, and for all the reasons M. J. Brose makes Colin’s life miserable, he has twice that in monetary funds, and that almost, almost makes up for the fact that M. J. Brose sits down on the chair in front of Colin’s desk, raises his feet, and crosses them right over Colin’s stationary, and Colin can see just that little bit of dirt and dust on the bottom of M. J. Brose’s very expensive shoes and how it’s sort of drifting right on to Colin’s paper and M. J. Brose’s heels are grinding it in as if to finish a job well done and Colin really, really hates his life.
“I need a coffee,” he says suddenly because all the angry thoughts aren’t making him see his case very clearly, and he does want to win this for M. J. Brose even if he doesn’t ever want to see the man win anything else in this life. Colin raises his hand only to discover Evan has already gone for M. J. Brose’s coffee, and he is angry all over again and he blinks twice hopefully, but M. J. Brose still has his feet all over his table and some of the dirt has settled on the wood now, and Colin pushes himself out of his chair before he does something he’ll regret later, like take his very expensive client’s feet and break them off of at the ankle joints. “I’m going to get a coffee. Since my intern has disappeared on someone else’s account.”
M. J. Brose gives him a bastard smirk. “I hope I’m not causing you trouble.”
“You smell like perfume. Cheap perfume,” Colin tells him, as if that answers everything.
He stomps down the hallway. The carpet is outclassed and outdated, and it’s the perfect dirty place for M. J. Brose to put his dirty shoes down, so Colin thinks about M. J. Brose drowning in dirt the entire way down and he’s almost in a good mood by the time he reaches the break room door. That is, until he realizes his younger brother who he had to pull numerous strings with to even intern at the firm is making out with a girl against the counter and his hand is quite nearly down her shirt, and neither one is paying attention to the fact that they’re contaminating the coffee pots and Colin kicks a table leg to get their attention because he’s really just that pissed off. “Who are you?” Evan looks like he’s actually about to answer, the idiot, and Colin waves him off, “Not you, her.”
“I’m Mr. Brose’s intern,” she says, a bit scared, and Colin doesn’t blame her too much since Evan’s hand is still down her shirt.
“This is a law firm. Mr. Brose is here for his divorce. What can you possibly be interning for here? At this law firm. Where Mr. Brose is working out his divorce.” Colin is mad enough that he’s not even bothering to look at her chest, even though he can tell even with Evan’s hand that she must be gifted in more than one way. Probably why M. J. Brose chose her, the bastard.
“I’m interning Mr. Brose,” she answers sort of uncertain.
“What? You can intern for law or for medicine or for business, but you can’t intern a person,” and Colin has to remind himself how much M. J. Brose is paying him because the damage to the equipment and room are going to be hefty, not even including the added emotional damage where Colin thinks he really might break M. J. Brose’s ankles when he returns to his office. (Colin also thinks he has been studying M. J. Brose’s divorce a little too long.)
“I’m supposed to follow him everywhere. That’s what he said,” she answers, and Colin suddenly understands, and he didn’t think his client was big enough of a bastard for this, but Colin also knows why his wife is filing a billion dollar suit for a simple 2-year marriage.
“Look,” Colin says, in what is really a perfectly reasonable voice, if a little high and a little quivery and even if he just scooped up a coffee cup and is sort of crushing it with his bare hands, “Look, I don’t care if Mr. Brose told you you’re supposed to strip down naked and give his father’s stockholders a lap dance. This is a law firm. I,” and here Colin makes this little movement with his hands like he’s advancing on her and finally Evan gets that hand out of her shirt, this is really getting ridiculous, “have to somehow make sure Mrs. Brose doesn’t take all of Mr. Brose’s money and possessions, especially that absurdly gigantic house you’ve probably spent weekends in before. Therefore–”
Except Evan and M. J. Brose’s intern are already scrambling to get out of Colin’s way, and Colin is really, really pissed off at — and thus really, really hates — M. J. Brose because Evan has a cup of coffee in his hand and Colin can bet it has two sugar cubes in it and that Evan is headed to Colin’s office where, with his luck, M. J. Brose’s feet are still on his stationary, grinding dirt. And M. J. Brose probably has on that bastard smile he always has on, especially when he calls Colin “West” instead of “Mr. West”. West. Like Colin was an old college friend or one of his father’s toadies, instead of the only thing standing in the way of his house getting stolen right out from under his nose.
After this divorce case Colin is going to make M. J. Brose pay. He isn’t sure how, but he’ll think of a way. After all, he isn’t a lawyer because he’s stupid.
The next day Colin is about to tear his hair out of his scalp with his bare hands because M. J. Brose fucking signs his forms with “M. J. Brose.”
“M. J.? Like, what, you’re Michael Jordan?” And Colin has to remember that when he gets all bitchy like that he sounds bitchy.
Of course M. J. Brose sounds perfectly manly and somehow unbearably in control when he says, “Is that wrong, West?”
Colin cringes. “I–”
“–need a coffee,” and M. J. Brose snaps his fingers, and Evan appears in front of him like he’s made to serve and didn’t just ignore everything Colin told him to do all morning. Colin isn’t even sure how much importance he can trust with Evan after he printed out over $150 worth of monogrammed envelopes with the wrong return address, despite the fact that he’s been working at the building for close to two months now. Just a little after Colin received that amazing blowjob and met M. J. Brose, actually. Colin knew he should have faked sick that day.
“Mr. Brose, that’s your third coffee so far. I trust you won’t need to excuse yourself to the restroom for thirty minutes again?” Colin asks icily. M. J. Brose had disappeared mid-morning and returned with his hair rumpled and curly and his shirt twisted around like he just had sex in a bathroom no less, and Colin was so disgusted with his behavior (and not because he was just having sex while Colin was reading over tax forms) that he made M. J. Brose sign all the papers all at once, even the ones he didn’t need. If Colin had to stand knee-deep in his shit, M. J. Brose better be standing in it too.
Evan returns speedily and holds out the cup like an offering to the gods, and Colin doesn’t miss how M. J. Brose actually leans forward and blows the steam over the cup right into Evan’s face and the way Evan blushes immediately afterward.
There are a couple of totally disgusting things in the world that Colin has been witness to. One of them was his parents kissing under the mistletoe for his fourteenth Christmas– he was young, his dad was getting old and a potbelly, and his mother was not as beautiful as she was in Her High School Pictures, so suffice to say it was not a beautiful image. There was also Colin’s first attempt at making food, Colin’s first girlfriend making out with his childhood friend who Colin swears didn’t even know what a girl’s breasts were for, and a couple of other things, but. He’s pretty sure that “Evan completely and totally crushing on M. J. Brose, of all people, while M. J. Brose blew hot steam into his face and sort of touches Evan’s hands while taking the cup” is pretty high on that list.
He coughs. It really does nothing, except that he swears he just saw M. J. Brose sneak a finger out to brush Evan’s cheek and Colin doesn’t think he can take much more of this.
“Evan,” he says, in that dangerous voice that he learned from his father, which also happened to be the voice he used when commanding whoever he happened to be dating to undress, but that’s another matter entirely, because it worked really well on Evan, “isn’t there, oh, something intern-related for you to do while Mr. Brose and I work on his divorce case?”
Evan stares back at him blankly. Colin has a suspicion that’s it’s possible prolonged exposure to M. J. Brose in close proximity can damage brains of lesser individuals. Case in point, Evan. And M. J. Brose’s useless intern.
M. J. Brose frowned. “West, why are you always so quick to make this kid run around? Don’t you think it’s important for him to see how law actually works?”
Colin wants to say, ‘Actually, it would be really important if some asshole with million dollar shoes could just keep his cock in his pants and not touch my younger brother, because he has plenty of interns he can screw if he really needs to,’ but then reconsiders.
“How law actually works,” he repeats. “What a novel idea. What should we show him first? How you cheated on your wife with every other person in the house, your middle-aged male butler included? Or how about the fact you then slept with everyone in your office, your boss, your colleagues, your interns, everyone? Or maybe how you just had sex with one of them in a public bathroom while you had Evan running around for your coffee?” He takes a deep breath of recycled air (since his office has no windows and the sun never shines on the firm, anyway; too many M. J. Brose-like clients) and challenges Evan victoriously.
Evan, on the other hand, is staring at Colin wide-eyed, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, and he turns his head back to M. J. Brose and asks, “Male butler? Does that mean you’re–” and Colin really can’t stand it anymore because Evan obviously hasn’t heard a single word out of his mouth past that crucial moment, and he snaps, “Oh, just sit down.”
Evan continues to stare alternately between Colin and M. J. Brose. “I said, sit down, Evan.” The edge on his voice sharpens and he’s about to go around his desk and pull his brother down into a chair when M. J. Brose snakes a hand up around Evan’s right arm and pulls him down instead.
Onto his lap.
There is not enough coffee — or to be fair, alcohol — in the world to deal with this, so Colin does the next best thing, which is possibly go over there and lunge right at M. J. Brose with a fist to that bastard’s pretty face and to hell with the consequences and the money, it really wasn’t worth this much–
Except that’s when his father calls him on the cell phone. Colin’s ring plays Bach’s 1st invention, which is really, really loud in Colin’s office. He picks up and says “Hello, father,” in the most neutral voice he can possibly manage with Evan sitting in M. J. Brose’s lap.
“How’s Evan doing?” his father says, like that’s the most natural thing in the world to ask, and it is, except M. J. Brose’s thighs shift a little so that Evan’s weight falls more in between, and he does this thing with his arm around Evan’s waist so that it moves right into the small of Evan’s back, and somehow Colin is pretty damn sure that M. J. Brose is trying his hardest to get their crotches together, expensive pants and zippers and all, and Colin is so furious there are no words.
He gapes into the phone.
“Colin?” his dad asks.
“Yeah, um. I’m here.” Colin clears his throat. “Evan’s doing– Evan’s doing fine.”
Really fine, because now M. J. Brose is snaking that hand up Evan’s shirt, along the hem, and he’s definitely touching skin somewhere in there and Colin cannot breathe.
He can’t take his eyes off, either. He’s made aware that while he did have that amazing blowjob two months ago, that was two months ago, and he’s been living in a hole working through M. J. Brose’s papers attempting to find a way to stop M. J. Brose from being robbed blind, no matter how much he deserves it. He almost wants to send M. J. Brose’s wife an apology. With flowers. His mind is jerked back to reality when Evan makes just a small whimper of a sound through his throat, and Colin grips the phone tightly and realizes with horror that he’s actually getting turned on and, oh, this is not happening and he quickly turns around so he doesn’t have to face them anymore but he can still hear them moving behind him, the heavy material of their slacks rubbing in friction and Colin gasps out a, “Wait a second, Father,” and dashes out his office door and slams it behind him.
It’s the first time Colin has actually had to run away from his own office. He is not pleased.
“Colin? Are you there?” his father’s voice sounds impatient and annoyed, and Colin tries vainly to even his breathing.
“I’m here. Sorry about that. I’m a little tense from the case. It’s looking very grim.” He congratulates himself for pushing for the heavy wood doors for his office; it cut his salary nearly in half for a month, but it blocked all sound and activity from both sides, and Colin just needs a few minutes to rationalize that 1) he may really, really want sex but 2) he is not gay, 3) he is not a whore, and 4) even if he was all three, he still wouldn’t have sex with M. J. Brose. Definitely. Most likely. Maybe. Not.
“Grim? As in, you think you’re going to lose?”
‘No,’ Colin thinks miserably. ‘As in I think I don’t really give a damn about the divorce settlement and my younger brother is straddled over my client’s lap and I think they are sort of having sex with me right outside the door and they really don’t care and to make things complicated it’s very possible that I think M. J. Brose, of all people, is kind of attractive and I think I have a hard-on.’
“No, as in I think there might be some issues and a lot of extra hours to be pulled,” Colin finishes sweetly, and wipes his forehead.
“Oh.” Long pause, while Colin listens to his blood race and feel all of it being pumped down there and all he can think is ‘Sweet Jesus please let them be done when this phone conversation is finished.’
Luckily it’s their mother’s birthday soon, and Colin, having always been the responsible one, is the one planning it, so there’s a lot to go over with his father on the phone. Colin’s surprised at the depths of cool, in-control calm he has at his disposal, because somehow he manages to pull his weight through the conversation, chattering blithely about flower arrangements and guest seating and what food services they’ll have to call, all the while he’s thinking about how M. J. Brose might look with Evan wrapped around his waist, the two of them moving together, possibly with some heat and there might even be a button or a zipper undone and Colin’s mind is rapidly melting down in between his ears but at least he’s still talking to his father like everything’s fine.
When he hangs up the phone and goes into the office, he’s relieved that it doesn’t look like any (more) clothing has been removed.
He thinks he should be really, really upset, though, that his lighter is lying on the cherry wood desk, that Evan is still on M. J. Brose’s lap, and that they’re smoking what doesn’t seem to smell like regular cigarettes. And that they’re laughing. Really intimately. Like they’ve known each other all their lives and that they’ve just had the most mind-blowing sex ever while Colin’s been outside talking to his and Evan’s dad about their mom’s birthday party all the while desperately wanting someone to do something, anything, about the fact that he really needs to get laid. The whole place smells like marijuana and Colin’s totally not amused by it because really, he has no windows and it will be really difficult to get the smell out and Colin knows that Evan is straight and that M. J. Brose is (not exactly) straight and that he is straight but sometimes, you know, everyone’s a little unsure, and Colin’s just worried because if he were having an unsure moment — say hypothetically now — and M. J. Brose just happened by, stoned off his ass, Colin might just become that much more unsure. And now M. J. Brose is sort of batting his eyelashes, which distracts Colin, who’s trying to remember M. J. Brose’s first name but he’s failing and he thinks it would be really funny if, say, hypothetically, M. J. Brose and he had sex and he calls him M. J. Brose during it.
But enough is enough.
“Evan, I think it’s a really good idea to get up now,” Colin says, and Evan looks at his blankly like he’s saying “who are you?”
“But West, he’s been running around all day. Give the boy a break.” And he does that bastardly smile. Like he just knows how much that ticks off Colin. Especially since the next thing he does is puts his hand on Evan’s crotch — and Colin really isn’t looking.
“But. Now that you’ve brought it up,” — even though Colin hasn’t brought up anything –, “I’m a bit thirsty. You wouldn’t mind grabbing me a coffee, would you, West? You look like you need some air.” Brose lets his hand travel down a bit more and looks up expectantly.
And Colin thinks it’s sort of unfair how much money he would lose if he really did kill M. J. Brose. It would be so easy, all he would have to do is reach out for that tie that’s a little bit slack and just tighten it because Colin West stopped getting anyone coffee years ago, and M. J. Brose really should call him “Mr. West” or something or at least “Colin”, but wouldn’t Colin imply something, like M. J. Brose had a right to say his first name? Because Colin doesn’t call him Matthew, because what kind of a fucking name is Matthew? It sounds sort of square. Well, Colin figures that it might sound good if he was getting fucked within an inch of his life and was screaming “Matthew–“, but he’s not thinking that right now.
So instead he says, “Evan, Mr. Brose would like a coffee. Would you be kind enough to get two cups, one with two cubes of sugar, one with creamer, no sugar, and allow Mr. Brose and me to have a conversation?”
Evan makes a slow, stirring sound that is most definitely not a moan, because Colin’s mind can’t bend that far, and a shadow passes over M. J. Brose’s perfectly stoned face (implying, this time, that his face is perfectly stoned and not perfect and thinking would be so much easier if M. J. Brose would remove his hand from Evan’s crotch, but again: he’s not looking). “I said, give the boy a break. Isn’t he your brother,” even though Colin knows M. J. Brose knows perfectly well he is, but at that moment, Evan grinds upward involuntarily and Colin’s response kicks in a moment too late because his eyes are pinned on the collective crotches of his very expensive client and his only brother, and both men in the room are quite sure Evan won’t be walking anywhere anytime soon.
Colin thinks the best thing to do is walk away because even if his brother is transfixed with M. J. Brose’s — the bastard — hand on his crotch, Colin West doesn’t have to be there staring like he’s wishing M. J. Brose would have him on his lap and be sort of not really giving him a handjob except the last time something like this happened he got fired. But that’s his younger brother in M. J. Brose’s lap definitely groaning with this glassy-eyed expression like he really couldn’t care less if it was Colin at the door or even if it was their mother or even worse if it was Evan’s girlfriend, like he really couldn’t care at all because M. J. Brose is really, really, really good at moving that damn hand.
This is a really difficult situation.
Colin goes to get the coffee.
There are people in the coffee room. Two of M. J. Brose’s other interns, actually. Colin doesn’t understand why he has more than two when Colin only technically has one (on paper and not in reality) or why he has them here at all because it’s a law office and the divorce has nothing to do with his business, even, and Colin is sure the two females have been doing nothing at all except whatever females do when they have nothing to do, but he steels himself and smiles large.
“Evan’s had a seizure,” he says charmingly. “He can’t walk at all right now. Don’t mind me. I’m just in here to get Mr. Brose some coffee. Two sugars, right?” He pours out a generous portion from one of the three pots the floor has running simultaneously.
The interns stare at him. “Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?” one of them asks faintly.
Colin looks at her like he’s seeing her for the first time. “Brilliant! No wonder Mr. Brose chose you. Would one of you ring up 911, then? You know how Mr. Brose gets when his coffee doesn’t arrive hot.” Neither one of them move. “Here, you can even use my cell phone.” He tosses his (very expensive) phone to her with one hand and uses the other to drop two cubes into the cup. Colin feels fantastic. He even whistles a little when he walks out.
M. J. Brose shows up at Colin West’s uptown apartment — the one with the ridiculous modernist furniture that looks like no one should be able to sit in — later that day, just as Colin is going over property taxes and statements from both parties and the whole load of documents for what has to be the fiftieth time. He drops it all down to the floor besides the couch and opens the door, grinning when he sees that M. J. Brose’s shirt is untucked — though not from sex — and his lip has been scratched and there are scuff marks on his shoe. Colin is sort of insanely happy to see that M. J. Brose looks like he’s been perturbed, because M. J. Brose really deserves to be thrown in a cement mixer and laid out as sidewalk for Colin West to walk all over. He’s been trying to figure out whether or not he’s more upset that 1) M. J. Brose was totally giving a handjob to Evan in his office or that 4) M. J. Brose was totally giving Evan a blowjob in his office, and those two things were really different things but Colin doesn’t think he’s going to talk about why they’re two different things; they just are.
(He’s also not thinking about how totally hot M. J. Brose and Evan looked, clearly high off their asses sexually and totally having sex with all of their clothes on, excluding the tie, because that really doesn’t count, nor did Evan’s first two buttons of his very expensive shirt — which Colin bought him for Christmas. And he’s really not wondering whether or not he would be hotter than Evan, sprawled out on M. J. Brose’s lap, completely coming apart because M. J. Brose — Brose — Matthew — would have his hand on Colin’s crotch and –)
The look on M. J. Brose’s face would mildly be described as “upset.” Colin likes the word “livid” better. He hopes the emergency people charged M. J. Brose an arm and a leg and tried to sue him for statuary rape but, oh, wait, Evan was old enough (now), wasn’t he?
The thing that really disturbs Colin is despite the glee he feels because of how totally pissed off M. J. Brose looks right now, he can feel it in his stomach that there is something extremely, head-turningly attractive about M. J. Brose’s messed up hair. And Colin means very, very attractive. The sort of attractiveness that Colin isn’t going to think about because he is simply unsure, not gay.
“You called the hospital? That’s not even the right emergency institution. How much am I paying you again?” M. J. Brose says in a voice that could be described as upset-or-maybe-livid.
“I dialed 911. I told them the situation. They decided which car to send over. Your reputation apparently precedes you,” Colin is not going to lower his fucking eyelashes at M. J. Brose because he’s not gay (yet) and he’s not a complete whore (wrong), but those two points don’t stop him from leaning against his door frame in a way that affords M. J. Brose a beautiful view of how different Colin stretched out looks from Evan stretched out. He’s not in his office anymore, after all. He gave his cell phone away to one of M. J. Brose’s bastard interns, and his father couldn’t come up with his home phone number if his stock depended on it. That, and Colin just really wants to have sex. (But not with M. J. Brose, of course. Of course.)
“He was not having a fucking seizure,” but the upset-or-maybe-livid voice trails off just enough in the end for Colin to notice that M. J. Brose notices and that’s enough for him to then stretch his arm up and let his shirt ride up just a tiny bit. Or a lot. (Colin does not want sex with M. J. Brose.)
Colin’s body is starting to try to take control of itself, and it suddenly seems to remind him in long agonizing waves that he hasn’t had a decent fuck since the last blowjob, and that resulted in a suit against him and a rather embarrassing scene where he suffered through his first failed case wearing nothing but a tie, but that all seems irrelevant because the upset-or-maybe-livid look is disappearing from M. J. Brose’s face and Colin always knew he is better than Evan, anyway. “He seemed pretty out of control to me,” and Colin forgets why he’s answering and says instead, “I have coffee ready in my kitchen. It’s just past my living room,” and then because it sounds perfectly natural to follow with, “I just bought a new couch.”
Only Colin doesn’t think they’re going to drink much coffee because M. J. Brose — Matthew, or can he only call him that after they have sex? — has his eyes glued to Colin’s body, any part of his body, anything that moves and belongs to Colin West, and Colin thinks that if they keep walking this way (Colin going really slow and exaggerating everything and, oh yeah, definitely making those pants slide a little when he steps so that M. J. Brose can see his stomach) M. J. Brose is going to have that not fucking seizure but maybe throw himself on Colin and tear off his clothing in the kitchen.
But they do drink coffee. Slowly, because it’s really hot, but mostly because Colin is showing off how utterly gorgeous his lips are (Evan has them too, but not to the extent Colin has them) and M. J. Brose is showing off just how that mouth of his with its bastard smile can sort of look like it’s giving Colin West that job-losing blowjob even though he’s just putting them to a cup of coffee.
Colin really hates M. J. Brose. Really. Especially since it seems like M. J. Brose is turning Colin from unsure to full gay and a whore and he better dig through the contract and ask M. J. Brose sometime if this counts as overtime.
And the two of them haven’t said anything at all and Colin can’t take much more of this staring because M. J. Brose might have already had multiple fucks today, but Colin has had none, mostly because he’s been actually working on, oh, he doesn’t know, M. J. Brose’s hired case. So Colin says something.
“Are we going to have sex? Because if we’re not, I’m going to the bathroom. And I’ll have to ask you to leave,” but he says this in his most charming voice (the one that passed 18th century Russian Literature junior year of college), because if he’s going to turn gay, he’ll at least do it without being a complete whore. Except he just totally and completely asked M. J. Brose for sex, and he doesn’t care because M. J. Brose is (finally!) setting down his coffee cup and loosening his tie, and Colin feels inexcusably triumphant and he always knew he had a way with words. It’s why he became a lawyer, see.
M. J. Brose points at Colin’s pants. “Off.”
Colin wants to tell M. J. Brose that there’s something wrong about the fact that even though they’re out of his office, he’s still ordering Colin around– Colin’s not Evan, God forbid, and even though he really, really needs to have sex with M. J. Brose — though not necessarily only M. J. Brose, but then again what if M. J. Brose was really good at this having sex thing? Then would Colin swear off having sex with anyone else? Or maybe he’s not thinking correctly because oh God, M. J. Brose is barefoot and even his feet are attractive — he’s not going to go into this bowing and bending to whatever the hell M. J. Brose wants.
So he slides up to M. J. Brose, who’s the slightest bit taller and there’s that extra muscle in the shoulders, not to mention that Colin’s pretty sure M. J. Brose — holy fuck, Matthew, he really should start calling him Matthew, unless M. J. Brose got off on having sex with a person who would call him that during sex– is at least a year older. He slides his hand down the front of Matthew’s shirt and puts on a wicked grin he hopes looks at least sort of like Matthew’s when he’s doing that “I want you naked” expression. “You first,” Colin says, slowly, smoothly, in almost a whisper, like if he says the words just right they’d be a touch going straight up to Matthew’s brain and screwing him up just as badly as Matthew screwed up Colin’s.
And then he kneels down. Reaches with serious, unshaking fingers, for the zipper of Matthew’s pants, and pulls down, and now he really thinks he’s going to Hell.
So Colin is only a little unsure of himself, and he is not completely gay, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t slept with other men, because he has, and he’s given blowjobs, so this should be fine. Like routine. Except it’s Matthew, who has made his life miserable for the past two months by doing everything he could to not cooperate, and Colin wants to bite him almost, even if it really is a bad time to think of that idea. It’s not exactly like he can stop at this point, and he wants this, so badly, that he can’t remember why he didn’t do this sooner, so he grabs a handful of Matthew’s underwear and strips it down past his knees. He looks up at Matthew’s face, and, keeping his own face straight, turns back to his cock and tentatively licks the wetness already forming at the head. He hears Matthew steady himself on the table, and Colin vaguely thinks how it’s good this is happening in the kitchen because the mess will be easier to clean on the tile than on the carpet when Matthew produces a low moan that almost does make Colin bite down because it’s so unexpected.
He grips Matthew’s hips and works the flat of his tongue below Matthew’s cock and runs it around to the top again, methodically working his way from front to back. Matthew fists his hand into Colin’s hair, causing Colin’s head to jerk up abruptly and his teeth to scratch the bottom of Matthew’s cock. Colin’s eyes are closed because he doesn’t think he’s ready to realize he’s actually giving Matthew fucking James Brose a blowjob and even less ready to realize that Matthew is commanding him to not stop and Colin is perfectly happy to do whatever he’s asked right now, divorce case and legalities be damned. He can feel Matthew’s body tense rapidly and, carefully taking one long suck and then sweeping his tongue down the length in one fluid movement, tightens his grip when Matthew comes, his body coiling against Colin’s mouth.
And Colin wants Matthew to know how ridiculous this is, that’s it only after Matthew’s come, hard and vicious and so wonderfully sexy, in Colin’s mouth that Colin can work up the courage to tell him how beautiful he is, how he knows Matthew probably takes forever to straighten his hair in the mornings because now it’s curling from the humidity of their bodies, from Matthew’s sweat, and how he loves the way Matthew’s not even just tan, he’s golden, he’s radiant, he’s this vivid color against the white of Colin’s wall, and oh fuck they’re still standing in the kitchen with Matthew’s pants down around his ankles and Matthew has his hands in Colin’s hair, stroking it, curling his fingers around it, strong and heavy, and Colin’s telling Matthew of all of this, how he thinks his hipbones are the most beautiful thing in the world. Colin’s quick mouth against the side of Matthew’s stomach, whispering, murmuring, pressing his lips down into the skin and tasting the sweat even as he’s talking. He can feel Matthew shivering, shuddering in his fingers against Colin’s scalp, and it’s all leading to it, so finally Colin gets up and presses the entire line of his — still clothed– body against Matthew and whispers, “Fuck me” right into Matthew’s ear, the lips brushing, the tongue safely hidden away.
Matthew is a couple pounds heavier than Colin, just a few inches taller, but he has huge hands, and they almost wrench Colin out of his body when he pulls him up close, closer than Colin ever thought two people could ever get when touching. Matthew steps out of his — really expensive — pants, the mess Colin made of his underwear. He’s rough, two fingers jammed into Colin’s waistband, and Colin’s snapping, “Wait, wait” into Matthew’s mouth, because they’re kissing, really kissing, and it’s like their mouths are them for the past two months, refusing to give in, refusing to cooperate, fighting for some control. Finally Colin gets his pants off and then Matthew’s tearing off his shirt and Colin thinks if he’s lucky he’ll make it to the couch, where at least his butt won’t freeze getting fucked on the kitchen floor.
But Matthew pauses as they pass the kitchen counter, for just a minute, before he slams Colin into the ledge, and he’s saying something but it’s insufferably hard to hear, Colin would like to point out, when Matthew’s mouth is completely behind his ear. So he keeps saying, “What?” and Matthew keeps murmuring something and eventually Colin figures out that Matthew’s saying, “Lubricant.”
“What, do you think I keep it on the kitchen counter or something?” Colin hisses back, because Matthew just reached over and completely spilled both cups of coffee but then holy shit that would be Matthew’s hand on Colin’s cock and yeah he was right about just how good Matthew’s hand really was at moving, and he’d like to bite off Matthew’s face for looking so smug but right now he doesn’t have enough solid brain cells left to form the thought, let alone do it.
“There’s,” he manages to say before Matthew does something clever with his fingers that makes Colin feel like he doesn’t need the couch; he needs to be fucked now, but he hisses, “Do you want lubricant or not,” and Matthew stops his hand long enough for Colin to flip open his pantry closet and reach in the back. Matthew takes this as a go ahead to continue, and Colin ends up knocking over his entire second shelf when Matthew’s hand wraps around his cock again and Colin swears into a bowl of packaged dried fruit his mother sent him last year, which is really just wrong, but he doesn’t have time to think because he spies the lubricant behind the Honey Bunches of Oats cereal box and makes a grab for it.
“You fucking keep your lubricant in the fucking pantry?” Matthew has his lips pressed hard against Colin’s temple, but it doesn’t stop him from elaborating, “Behind fucking cereal,” and Colin half tries to explain it’s the only place his parents would never look and what exactly was wrong with cereal but he has to direct his attention at kicking Matthew’s foot because they’re still not even near the couch and Matthew’s trailing a line of wet open-mouthed kisses down the back of Colin’s neck and Colin doesn’t think they’ll ever make it but he’s still so glad he got that haircut last week because Matthew has a beautiful mouth that’s beautiful for kissing; maybe not as beautiful as his own, but close enough.
They actually almost make it to the couch, but Colin sees through the edges of his eyes where he’s not being fucked mindless the messy piles of legal papers he had out before Matthew arrived and two months of Hell flashes in front of his eyes, and he tackles Matthew the other way. They land on the carpet at least, and Colin decides he can’t ask for more than that, because he straddles Matthew’s hips and begins an exploration of his chest and arms, curving up to investigate Matthew’s neck and ears, fingers moving nimbly over every crevice and dip in his body. Matthew humors him for a few moments before flipping their positions and Colin realizes he’s making the most embarrassing noises and he might just be saying, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” over and over again and Matthew’s hands are everywhere and Colin starts to stutter out a, “M-Matthew,” when he feels Matthew enter one finger, and the lubricant is fucking cold, and Colin concentrates on adjusting, but Matthew has just found his collarbone and is very dedicatedly giving him a hickey at the hollow of Colin’s shoulders, and Colin can’t stop his back from arching up. He tangles his fingers in Matthew’s hair instead and he wants to tell him how beautiful it feels because it’s thick and curly at the ends and falls over Matthew’s forehead like a fucking schoolboy’s but he makes a very undignified sound that all the same achieves the desired result because Matthew rewards Colin (not Evan, this time) with a kiss that makes Colin not notice Matthew’s second finger slip in.
“Oh shit,” Colin says, and he can feel Matthew grinning around his mouth, and that really hurts because yeah, Colin’s slept with men, but that was ages ago, when he was still an undergraduate, and then he was drunk and so was the other guy except this time he’s really sober and Matthew’s being so fucking careful and so fucking slow about it that Colin thinks he’s just going to curl and wither away because it hurts. But then Matthew moves his fingers again and Colin’s moving with them and he can’t stop, he needs, he’s yearning for it, it’s real and it feels good. He splays his legs open and he lets Matthew keep going, twisting his hips, until Matthew, eyes squeezed together in squints and muttering in Colin’s ear– Colin’s making all these impossible noises, he can barely hear– asks, “Ready?”
Colin wants to take a moment to think about it, because fuck fuck fuck this is Matthew J. Brose he has between his legs and there’s lubricant sort of dribbling down the back of his knee where Matthew’s gripping it and Matthew’s other hand is still doing that thing with his fingers that feels very, very good around Colin’s cock and Colin wants to say something witty that’ll get his dignity back, like if only Matthew was this fucking good at his own divorce case they could just have a lot of sex every day and Colin could get paid for that instead but then suddenly Matthew is inside and Colin makes this moan that is so completely wrong, except Matthew makes one too, even louder than Colin.
Movement. Colin starts whispering a string of dirty words into Matthew’s ear, a lot of nonsense, most of it just “fuck me” and “oh yeah” and “again, please Matthew, again“, and Matthew moans Colin’s name or something that sounds very close to it, starts moving, starts thrusting, and Colin learns that if he does this thing where he screws his hips down in a little swivel motion it makes Matthew really lose it for a couple of seconds, and he doesn’t think he can look down because if he does he’ll see that he’s actually having sex with Matthew J. Brose. In his house. On the carpet. And wow he forgot that Matthew’s hand is still around his cock and if Matthew keeps moving for just a few seconds longer it’s going to be the end Colin doesn’t think he can keep holding on he sort of feels like he’s going to die–
But Matthew comes first, all over the carpet and all over and into Colin, and Colin realizes too late that Matthew had previously been propping himself up because he slumps down hard onto the carpet, effectively trapping Colin under his arm. “Um,” Colin says, because he’s still amazingly hard and he has Matthew J. Brose’s cum all over his bottom and the only thing he can say to him is, “Was I better than Evan?” and he grins like he already knows the answer. Matthew looks at him in shock, and Colin pushes Matthew’s arm aside and rolls him over to the other side.
“In the end, you weren’t that great, were you?” Colin gives him another cheeky grin, and he’s already thinking of ways to gloat how Matthew J. Brose came first during sex at the office without having Evan quit his internship. “I’m going to the shower.” He picks himself up and half-skips, half-limps to the bathroom, which is as painful as it looks, his hand wrapping around his own cock before he even steps through the door.
“By the way,” he calls out as he starts the water running, “I think you’re going to lose the house,” and gives Matthew three seconds to join him in the shower.