The Meeting 1/1
Author's Note: I wrote this in tumblr yesterday because lj has been a DOUCHE all week. But it's not their fault. Hermits just ain't got shit to do so they gotta be here hacking at things. Whatever. Read on! :) Inspiration is the cover of 2PM's "I'm Your Man" album.
“I’m fired. I swear I’m fired. Shit, shit, shit.”
You’re hustling down a hallway of some grand hotel and looking for a meeting room. Why it had to be so high up, why there had to be such a large parking lot; why there had to be traffic that day, you didn’t know. All you know is that you’re late again. You wonder why he keeps you on as an employee, but it’s something you desperately need.
You come up to a room with double doors. You imagine it’s large inside, full to the brim with associates with half-drunk glasses of water and edgy looks on their silver-spoon fed faces. Your hand falls on the doorknob, but you pause, hurriedly pressing your dress flat and tapping at your heels. There may be a bit of dirt there. He never did like dirt. Your hands falls back on the knob and you turn, taking a deep breath and expecting a two-week notice.
You walk in and find him dressed sharply, suit black and fitted; just enough not to rip, but enough to strain over his body. He stretches his neck and pulls at the collar of his pressed white shirt. He can’t breathe, suffocated by the amount of pretentious decorating in the room. It’s vast but he felt closed, sitting there waiting. But then he became angry, impatience overwhelming him as you finally open the door.
“You’re late,” he says, opening a button on his jacket and swiftly pocketing his hands. His look is intense, staring into your very soul as he glares at you. That look and his voice are overpowering, embarrassingly making you shake for reasons beyond the fear of unemployment.
“I’m sorry sir-“
“Fuck your ‘sorry’s.’ I figured as much. …do you have the proposal at least?” A hand goes to his temple and he’s trying to rub out some of the gathered tension.
You can’t help it, but your hands are twisting, trying to rid themselves of some tension.
“I was told that the paperwork would be provided. …an agenda at least? I was called in to assist in today’s meeting, so-“
“The meeting’s cancelled.”
You stopped talking, but your hands continue to fidget as he comes closer to you, examining what you’re wearing with scrutiny.
He always did this; this judging. You wonder if he’s checking for signs of lint. A bit of dust maybe? It’s a meticulous glance over your body each time he meets with you and as his eyesight crawls around your back all you can do is freeze and take it. He’s so close, warm and cool all at once. It makes you want to scream, or hit him, or touch him, or…anything. But you need this job, you remind yourself.
Your eyes span the room that opens to the left and see the table with chairs settled around it. They’re rich in fabric, lofty and comfortable, but no one is sitting at them.
“Where…is everyone?” you stutter out.
The door clicks behind you and his mouth is by your ear.
“No one’s coming,” he answers.
Too close. Much too close, you think.
“Oh?” You wonder if your voice quivered when you answered.
“I cancelled it.”
His lips are on your neck…but you don’t push him off.
His lips trail around your jaw as one hand grabs at your waist, pulling the two of you back. The two of you stop as you grab his tie, yanking his face up. You watch the fabric skim and pull at the skin of his neck and hear his breath catch as he tries to breathe. He looks you in the eye, held slightly tilted up. His mouth is open, lips swollen from suckling on your skin.
“I always did…” he chokes out. “…I always did…like you.”
He finally smiles, gripping your wrist hard enough that you feel pain, that you have to let go. Then he puts it behind your back, spinning you around and pinning the back of your body to his front. You can feel his arousal through his pants, but then you feel the shift of his chest as it heaves up and down; he’s trying to breathe.
He pushes you until you hit the edge of the boardroom table, thighs hurting the slightest bit as you hit. It would bruise. It would remind you of this night, just like he wanted it to. You feel him grind into you slightly, trying to get some friction where he’s most tender. You grind back, but not without whimpering out slightly.
“It…hurts. My hand…”
He softens the grip and let’s your hand fall, only to gasp when you reach out and rub your palm hard at the front of his pants.
“Bitch.”
He pushes the hand back up, harder up your back and shoves your upper body flat on the pristine surface. Your chest is pressing down, nipples overly tender. Your legs are straight, locked to help you keep your balance and suddenly they feel a hand sliding up the back of your thigh. His fingers tickle you the slightest bit, and you want to smile, but he harshly pulls up your dress. The panties are ripped next, torn and hanging loosely by a heel.
There’s a small break where the heat leaves your body, only to be replaced by skin, searingly hot and lining up at your core.
“I told you to come prepared.”
He shoves in, making you scream, but he lets your hand go. All you can do is claw at the table, claw at him, and hold on. You can’t see it, but the line around his neck is swelling as he continues thrusting, blood pumping through his body exponentially. You’re screaming now, huffing vulgarities into the grain of the table. His hands grab at your ass, holding firm so that he could further lay claim to you. He’s biting his lip to release some tension as he grips and comes.
“Fuck. Junsu…you’re finished?” you breathe out.
Both of you breathe hard and he sloppily pulls out and pulls you up.
“No.”
He’s rubbing at himself, hardening again as he sees the dribbling on your thigh. You’re spun around again and lifted onto the table. He’s back in, though slower this time. His tie is hanging over you and grab hold, pulling him down for a desperate kiss. You whimper for the last time into his lips as you come hard, clenching for just the smallest moment and nearly choking him in the process. He shoves you off, now with that intense look back on your face.
Unceremoniously, he tucks himself back in. He walks around the table to find a mirror in the corner, nestled behind a pot of flowers. He begins examining the swollen line around his neck.
“Do you really have to pull so hard?”
You hop off the table, straighten your dress, and your eyes search for an adjacent restroom. You want to clean yourself before the two of you head home.
“We could always just rent a room, honey.”
“I guess.”
The two of you try to right yourselves before you head out and go back home. Maybe you’d be the boss next time.
“I’m fired. I swear I’m fired. Shit, shit, shit.”
You’re hustling down a hallway of some grand hotel and looking for a meeting room. Why it had to be so high up, why there had to be such a large parking lot; why there had to be traffic that day, you didn’t know. All you know is that you’re late again. You wonder why he keeps you on as an employee, but it’s something you desperately need.
You come up to a room with double doors. You imagine it’s large inside, full to the brim with associates with half-drunk glasses of water and edgy looks on their silver-spoon fed faces. Your hand falls on the doorknob, but you pause, hurriedly pressing your dress flat and tapping at your heels. There may be a bit of dirt there. He never did like dirt. Your hands falls back on the knob and you turn, taking a deep breath and expecting a two-week notice.
You walk in and find him dressed sharply, suit black and fitted; just enough not to rip, but enough to strain over his body. He stretches his neck and pulls at the collar of his pressed white shirt. He can’t breathe, suffocated by the amount of pretentious decorating in the room. It’s vast but he felt closed, sitting there waiting. But then he became angry, impatience overwhelming him as you finally open the door.
“You’re late,” he says, opening a button on his jacket and swiftly pocketing his hands. His look is intense, staring into your very soul as he glares at you. That look and his voice are overpowering, embarrassingly making you shake for reasons beyond the fear of unemployment.
“I’m sorry sir-“
“Fuck your ‘sorry’s.’ I figured as much. …do you have the proposal at least?” A hand goes to his temple and he’s trying to rub out some of the gathered tension.
You can’t help it, but your hands are twisting, trying to rid themselves of some tension.
“I was told that the paperwork would be provided. …an agenda at least? I was called in to assist in today’s meeting, so-“
“The meeting’s cancelled.”
You stopped talking, but your hands continue to fidget as he comes closer to you, examining what you’re wearing with scrutiny.
He always did this; this judging. You wonder if he’s checking for signs of lint. A bit of dust maybe? It’s a meticulous glance over your body each time he meets with you and as his eyesight crawls around your back all you can do is freeze and take it. He’s so close, warm and cool all at once. It makes you want to scream, or hit him, or touch him, or…anything. But you need this job, you remind yourself.
Your eyes span the room that opens to the left and see the table with chairs settled around it. They’re rich in fabric, lofty and comfortable, but no one is sitting at them.
“Where…is everyone?” you stutter out.
The door clicks behind you and his mouth is by your ear.
“No one’s coming,” he answers.
Too close. Much too close, you think.
“Oh?” You wonder if your voice quivered when you answered.
“I cancelled it.”
His lips are on your neck…but you don’t push him off.
His lips trail around your jaw as one hand grabs at your waist, pulling the two of you back. The two of you stop as you grab his tie, yanking his face up. You watch the fabric skim and pull at the skin of his neck and hear his breath catch as he tries to breathe. He looks you in the eye, held slightly tilted up. His mouth is open, lips swollen from suckling on your skin.
“I always did…” he chokes out. “…I always did…like you.”
He finally smiles, gripping your wrist hard enough that you feel pain, that you have to let go. Then he puts it behind your back, spinning you around and pinning the back of your body to his front. You can feel his arousal through his pants, but then you feel the shift of his chest as it heaves up and down; he’s trying to breathe.
He pushes you until you hit the edge of the boardroom table, thighs hurting the slightest bit as you hit. It would bruise. It would remind you of this night, just like he wanted it to. You feel him grind into you slightly, trying to get some friction where he’s most tender. You grind back, but not without whimpering out slightly.
“It…hurts. My hand…”
He softens the grip and let’s your hand fall, only to gasp when you reach out and rub your palm hard at the front of his pants.
“Bitch.”
He pushes the hand back up, harder up your back and shoves your upper body flat on the pristine surface. Your chest is pressing down, nipples overly tender. Your legs are straight, locked to help you keep your balance and suddenly they feel a hand sliding up the back of your thigh. His fingers tickle you the slightest bit, and you want to smile, but he harshly pulls up your dress. The panties are ripped next, torn and hanging loosely by a heel.
There’s a small break where the heat leaves your body, only to be replaced by skin, searingly hot and lining up at your core.
“I told you to come prepared.”
He shoves in, making you scream, but he lets your hand go. All you can do is claw at the table, claw at him, and hold on. You can’t see it, but the line around his neck is swelling as he continues thrusting, blood pumping through his body exponentially. You’re screaming now, huffing vulgarities into the grain of the table. His hands grab at your ass, holding firm so that he could further lay claim to you. He’s biting his lip to release some tension as he grips and comes.
“Fuck. Junsu…you’re finished?” you breathe out.
Both of you breathe hard and he sloppily pulls out and pulls you up.
“No.”
He’s rubbing at himself, hardening again as he sees the dribbling on your thigh. You’re spun around again and lifted onto the table. He’s back in, though slower this time. His tie is hanging over you and grab hold, pulling him down for a desperate kiss. You whimper for the last time into his lips as you come hard, clenching for just the smallest moment and nearly choking him in the process. He shoves you off, now with that intense look back on your face.
Unceremoniously, he tucks himself back in. He walks around the table to find a mirror in the corner, nestled behind a pot of flowers. He begins examining the swollen line around his neck.
“Do you really have to pull so hard?”
You hop off the table, straighten your dress, and your eyes search for an adjacent restroom. You want to clean yourself before the two of you head home.
“We could always just rent a room, honey.”
“I guess.”
The two of you try to right yourselves before you head out and go back home. Maybe you’d be the boss next time.