ofanotherera | office party

office party

It goes almost just as Alfie would have expected. He ends up spending the most of the night with cocky, hotshot second year associates trying to subtly talk themselves up, and him grinding his teeth and holding an incongruously delicate champagne glass- then eventually trading it for a tumbler of scotch.

When Tommy finally springs him, he puts a warm arm around his waist, give him a kiss on the throat, just below his ear, and walks him out of the place just like that, standing tall against the stairs, and nobly waiting untl he gets to the elevator to chuckle.

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Alfie gets his key in the lock, and the door open turning to drag Tommy into a kiss even as he's pulling him into the apartment, fumbling for the key with one hand behind him.

As soon as Alfie gets the key out of the lock Tommy kicks it shut behind him, presses his back against the wood, pulling Alfie close against his body as he kisses him. His hand is tangled in his hair, his hips already angling forward, searching him out.

Alfie pushes him into the wood with enough force that it's probably good there was no one in the hallway. He presses up and into him, taking his jaw with both hands, giving him a deep, desperate kiss. The trip down the hall together feels interminable, and they both have so many clothes- he can't face either just yet, instead reaching up to lock the door, while he keeps him right where he is.

Tommy tries to change some of that- slips his hands underneath Alfie's shirt, tugging it out of his trousers, rumpling his nice suit jacket. He curls his tongue around Alfie's, but when both of the man's hands cradle his jaw he tilts his head, sucks on his tongue. He's perfectly happy against the door, for now.

Alfie drags his own jacket off, so that unimpeded, he can reach down and take him by the hips, pulling him in closer. He ends up growling into the kiss, alternating between pinning Tommy still, and pulling him away from the door to arch lazily against, enjoying the long, strong lines of him.

He moans loudly when his half-hard cock drags against Alfie's leg, arching back into him to get more- slowly, the way Alfie is dictating the pace. He'll leave his own clothes on for now, in favor of moving his hand to Alfie's shirt, unbuttoning it with trembling hands.

"The noises you make-" he gasps, in between kisses, and then leans back in.

He growls again, and lifts one of his knees up, using the grip to open his body wider, to crush into him.

"Come on- let me hear you."

He knocks his head against the door, eyes firmly closed while his hands falter on the tiny buttons.

"Please let me-- make me-" He doesn't even know what, doesn't know where to begin, but it's what comes rolling out between the desperate moans.

"Bed."

He decides, with a growl, letting his leg go and instead taking him by the neck with one hand, about the shoulder with another, giving him a tug forwards and leading him that way down the hall, slow and steady.

Ever since the first time Alfie took him there and Tommy just surrendered, he can't help but shiver every time Alfie grabs his neck. Now, it makes him moan helplessly, makes him have to lock his knees so that he doesn't go to the ground immediately.

He keeps his hands off Alfie while they walk, but when his legs bump against the bed he's back on him, curling his body against Alfie's, rolling his hips, needy.

Alfie breaks back, partially to torment him, mostly to work on stripping him. He starts with the jacket, then the tie, but takes that one, rather than tossing it, tucking it into his pocket.

He is very, very good and does not tear the buttons off his shirt.

He leans forward for a nip at Alfie's mouth every so often, but when the shirt is unbuttoned he quickly takes it off, pulls his t-shirt off over his head. Then, his hands are back at Alfie's shirt, unbuttoning it the rest of the way and pushing, pushing.

"You know that man? The fit one with the green tie, the one with his hand on you arm, and the laugh, who met us at the door?"

A crush, he'd warrant, or a competitor, or an ex fling, or all of the above.

"He knows what we're doing right now. He has seeing eyes."

"Jacob," he supplies, putting both his hands flat on Alfie's stomach.

"More than that. Last party, you weren't there- he asked if the sex was better with a soulbond."

"Yeah? What's your answer, boy?"

Yanking his belt out for him, a rushing sound that is now obscene, with all the implication loaded in it.

A soft whimper escapes him, his eyes almost fluttering closed.

"Everyone else I've ever been with, it's as good as jerking off compared to coming inside of someone. It's alright, but it isn't really sex." Which definitely isn't what he'd told Jacob, but that's not what Alfie had asked after.

"And what'd you tell your admirer?"

Because that's of interest, too. He strips his pants down, drags his underwear with them.

"Shoes, Tommy-"

Nudging him onto the bed.

He sits down, lets his legs fall open now that he's no longer dressed, now that Alfie is bending down to take off his shoes, the rest of his clothing. It's so tempting, to say something filthy, something untrue but delicious, like I haven't been fucked this good in my whole life. But looking at Alfie's big eyes, his strong hands, he can't help but want to tell the truth.

"I told him yes, yes, a thousand times yes."

He smiles up at him, eyes crinkling, and takes off those shoes, those socks, nice as they are, and then bids him lift up a little so he can get him all the way naked, take his pants the rest of the way down and off.

"Good."

His smile is soft and tender, and he takes in that look.

"C'mere, Alfie." Pushing it, a little, telling Alfie what to do with a little quirk of a grin.

Alfie comes, but takes him by one ankle he as he does, tipping him over backwards and folding a leg up and over his arm, trapping and bending him and taking very firm control again.

"Hm?"

He folds the leg over Alfie's shoulder, bending himself a little further.

"Nothing- just that, love."

Alfie smiles, and tips him up by the chin, finding his throat and grazing his teeth over it.

"Good."

His mouth drops open, his eyes close. His voice, when it comes, is a whisper of a request.

"Talk to me?" To keep him with him, because he wants to hear him, because it's what got them driving frantically through New York.

"About how you'll bend for me like a willow switch, all long and graceful? How you look so fucking brittle about the eyes but you just take and take everything I can pour into you."

Encouraging, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his temple, as he reaches down to stroke him.

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