Work and Play Pt. 11

A/N: No more abandoning this story; updates will be more consistent from here on out! Thank you all for reading about these crazy characters. Much love.

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A WEEK LATER

"I don't know, Gabe. I think it was fine."

"The interview was not 'fine' Zeke. I cannot get people on my fucking side if I donate a million dollars to fucking orphans, and you are sitting here telling me I'm doing great. I'm fucking not. The most discriminatory person in this entire fucking company is now claiming discrimination against the company. And you think I did fine, as the most unprepared person on TV, ever."

I sigh, wondering if I have the energy for this conversation. "You should be nicer then. To me and on TV," I say softly.

Gabriel grunts, and I hear him mute his phone for a few seconds. "I'm not allowed to be pissed that we're gonna pay this pendejo $200 mil?"

I rub at my temples. It's been the All About Gabe Show when we talk. No ask about Clay, or my work. Four-minute phone calls. Spacey texts. As a naturally-stressed person, I don't see how I could possibly help him. I thought I was his relief at some point. Maybe pre-California was a short-lived bubble. "Gabe, I am seeing you do your best. And Tracy and Harper were a step ahead.

"Who the fuck is Harper?"

"His lawyer—why the hostility?" I close my laptop and fold my arms. "All you've done is talk about how bad you think you're doing. I dunno, let me do an ad or something."

"Wanna further insert yourself into it, of course. I was hoping that something could be about me for a little bit."

I wish this conversation surprised me. I feel like I've been talking to an entirely new Gabriel since he left. Actually, I'm talking to the first Gabriel I met. The one who belittled me because he didn't know what to do with his feelings. Except the banter isn't cute, and it's not going to end in sweaty, intense sex.

Not like the time he called me stupid a few weeks before he left, just cause he knew it would piss me off. My religious background doesn't dictate too much in life, but insults of intellect were something I was particularly irked at, the repulsion instilled in me by Lillain. Gabe hadn't been too cutesy yet, and was still sort of testing the in-between ground. He worked me up in a mind game, some power play, where I scrunched up my lips and tried to throw the thesaurus at him. He just smugly told me I'd understand whatever the hell he was talking about when I decided to not be a conceited asshole. I called him an ageist prick.

"Your stupidity has nothing to do with your age."

"I'm NOT stupid."

"If you didn't feel stupid you wouldn't have to say that," Gabe shrugged. I threatened to walk out of his office, but he just sat there, twirling a pen, his stormed-over eyes confirmed that this was a rouse to get me steamed. And I fell for it every time. I walked back over to his desk, red in the face but understanding. I tried to reason.

"You can tease me all you want, but you're not going to insult my intelligence just because you think it's funny."

"It's only funny that you think I'm smarter than you, and you don't want to challenge me." Gabe licked his lips, leaned back in that big chair, and I felt my cock twitch. God, I was so mad. "That's your prerogative."

"Fuck. You."

"Yeah?" Gabe got up to pace around me. I remember exactly what he wore. A silk shirt, striped. Many shades of grey. Brought out the mirror-like grey in his eyes. Dress pants, also grey. Hugged around his thighs a little. When he walked, they couldn't hide the bulge. He circled me like a big cat. I can't seem to remember what I was wearing. "I think you have some things to learn."

I do remember the way he shoved me on his desk—one handed, a real shove, and I had to catch myself. Things wobbled on his desk, and I sat down. My adrenaline kicked its peak as he walked into me, hovering over, looking purely animalistic. I remember shivering with anticipation, a little anxiety. Stony faced, as he leaned over. "I'm gonna fuck the stupid out of you."

"I... I'm not—" Gabe cut me off, grabbing my hips hard, jerking me forward and smashing my body into his, our faces so close, I'm sure he was freshening my breath with his gum. I felt myself soften to his touch, my hands reaching for those thick locks of deep mahogany hair as he humped into me. I grabbed at his ass, gripping each cheek as they flexed with every push into my body. He went in tongue first, licking both my lips and kissing me deeply, but controllingly. I drank him in and fumbled only slightly with the button on his pants. His cock throbbed at my touch. Hot with rushing blood, thick and girthy as I stroked him with one hand, the other still gripping firm to his ass. I felt the deep moans in my mouth, chest to chest. The blend from argument to fucking had me taking him in, in different ways.

"Suck me off. Finger your ass." The commands I couldn't ignore. I had his pants down fast as hell and was ready to hop off the desk when he stopped me. "Lay on your back." I knew exactly what he meant. I swung my legs around and did exactly as I was told, and zipped my own pants down in the process. I lay facing his dick and licked the head upside down. All I could see in my view was a sprinkling of hair on his tree-trunk thighs, his hand gripped around the base of his cock, and the glorious veins rivering through it. All I did was stick my tongue out, and he traced the head around the outside of my mouth. I scooted his way to drape my head off the edge of the desk.

He guided his dick in and out of my mouth, slowly at first. I felt the direct push toward my throat. I was determined to wrap my tonsils around the girth of his cockhead, completely switch my breathing. I sucked, eyes closed, as his fingers danced along my chest, my neck. He placed his fingers gently on the soft spot below my chin to feel himself push in and out of my throat. I moaned around him. My legs kicked my pants off, and Gabe grabbed my hand. I couldn't see what he was doing, but soon enough, I felt my forefinger and middle digits in his mouth as he took both and sucked. I moaned even harder. He kept my fingers dancing on his wet tongue and clapped twice; the lights went out.

I gagged a little, but it turned me on even more to feel the saliva and precum mix slowly leaking from my mouth. I would usually have control, clean myself up as I go, but I let the saliva drip. We were getting messy. Gabe kept his fingers in my hair, his dick in my mouth, and my fingers in his. I could feel him soaking my hand before he gruffly shoved my hand away. Instantly, I kicked the last of the fabric off, spread my legs with my feet planted solid on the desk. I could feel him lean over, getting his best view of my fingers slipping inside myself, and his tool slid deeper into my throat. I couldn't help the greedy sounds of delight that spilled out of me, the happy bucking I did against my own fingers.

Gabe grabbed my dick, pumping with intensity, and I was convinced he wanted to get me off first. He rolled his hips forward at the same pace at the same time. I pictured what we must look like, my back arched, sprawled out as he fucked my esophagus at a medium pace. His granite stature towered over me as I serviced him like a little plaything.

Up high enough, at late enough in the day, that the open window didn't discourage him from pulling out, my lips making a sweet, satisfying suction *pop* from his dick, and sloppily kissing me upside down. I took his tongue between my now-swollen lips and sucked hard, once. That was new; he shoved his tongue back in my face and I sucked gleefully as he felt me up, nails gently raking over my nipples and hand back up and around my throat.

"C'mon," he gruffed. I swung back around to finish unbuttoning his shirt, more tongue sucking as he seemed to enjoy. He forced my legs open as I clawed at buttons, almost too uncoordinated to undo them. The next thing I knew, we'd switched, and his fingers were in my mouth, jammed down my throat. It was no issue slicking them up, and he yanked me forward with a strong hand to pump his fingers into me, slow, but powerful. My tight asshole relaxed at the familiarity. I felt my blood pumping so hard, and looked down to see my cock pulse with my heartbeat. This seemed to particularly intrigue Gabe, and he held back a smirk, choosing to finger-fuck me on the off-beats. I spat on my hand and grabbed at his dick, but he smacked me away, and guided my hand to my own. So this was what we were gonna do today. I liked it.

I let my eyes drift; I could only see a blur out of a tiny sliver as I jerked myself and Gabriel gently stretched me out. I felt special. I truly felt like he was admiring me despite insulting me only fifteen minutes prior. Maybe he wanted to see how mad he could make me, and see if he could also make it disappear. I didn't care in that moment, at least.

In a swift motion, not missing a beat, Gabe slid his cock into me. It was unexpected. So unexpected, I almost came, right then, right there. Instantly my hands shot out at his chest, and I heard him laugh deeply. Low. I felt his laugh in my hands, and he kissed me, grabbing at my ass. "Just like the first time; you just can't last."

"Don't laugh at me. Just know I'm gonna come very soon," I explained shakily.

"Then do it."

Within the first two minutes, I was done for. Gabe didn't waste a second, swiping my mess away, kissing at my neck the whole time as I sat there, trying to regain my breath. "Turn around."

"Yes sir." I meant it sarcastically, but it came out different, and Gabriel's cock jumped, all nine inches. I squared that little phrase away to break out another time. I arched my back the best I could, but the desk only allowed for me to bend over at a good eighty degrees. Gabe grabbed my waist, spat on my hole, and pushed himself into me. It wasn't like I didn't know it was coming that time, but I gasped anyway. I felt him deep, the force of his thighs smacking against me shaking the desk. Nothing seemed to really move. Heavy, like him. I gripped onto the edge with one hand, and before I reached with the other, Gabe grabbed my wrist and pinned it behind my back. I laid nearly flat on the desk, virtually unable to move unless he moved me.

With that, he fucked me with such intensity, I nearly whined the encouragement into my own shoulder blade. "Gabe, oh—fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck—"

"You like that?"

"Don't stop—"

"I asked if you fucking liked that." He ripped my other wrist from the table and pinned it with the other one, holding me down. He pulled out—not all the way—and shoved himself back into me. I felt my own cock swing forward.

"YES! P-please don't stop. Gabe—Gabe!"

"Shut up."

Lips zipped. I pinched them closed but he forced the moans out of me as he changed angles, only slightly, fucking up into me and rolling his hips, really working me out. He smacked his free hand down onto my ass cheek, kneading it in his palm as he kept pumping into me like a goddamn locomotive. It must've been ten minutes in this position. I felt my hands tingle from being pinned. I felt my skin stick to the desk. I felt the uncomfortable start to set in, but I didn't care. We both were entranced by the thick smacking sounds of his skin against mine, the rippling of my ass cheeks as he fucked into me from every angle. As he put a leg up and really gave me everything. As he kissed down my spine and licked at my neck.

I felt my ass swallowing him whole, completely shaping itself around his every vein and curve. As he felt himself about to come, he let me know by letting my hands go and nearly laying on top of me, fucking fast, erratic. He pulled my head backward by locks on the top of my head, and desperately licked at my lips, barely a kiss, as I felt his last few pumps before he ripped himself out of me, and explosive spurts decorated my freckled back and my plump, undoubtedly red, ass cheeks.

That was something I couldn't shake. Our little version of make-up sex.

With him on the phone, all the way in California, stressed out, and taking it out on me, I wonder if there's anything else we can do to "make up." What if this bickering is our natural state? What if we were actually blinded by the sex?

"Gabriel, I won't pick up the fucking phone if you're gonna be like this."

"You get to be a LOT, all the time. Even from here. And I can't complain for ONE day about something that it's typical to complain about."

I huff at him saying that I'm a "lot." As if he didn't know beforehand. As if I'm not supposed to be confused about the strange tie I have to him right now. Before he left, I was going to ask what the fuck was going on. What we were. If he would be okay with even talking to me every day (that answer is no; and it goes both ways). I was going to ask if him going to California meant we were supposed to keep getting closer, or temporarily holding a pause, or if we were even serious enough for me to be taking the conversation so seriously. And then Clay Edgar happened. And Gabe fired him. And then... nothing.

Nothing but bickering.

"Fine. I'm a lot. And I have a lot to do so... I better go." I clench and unclench my jaw, trying not to sound any type of crass or rude, no matter how much I want to.

"I'm sure you do. Nothing that I could know about. Goodbye."

________________

"You know what? This Roderick Tracy stuff is kinda interesting as fuck," Shannon muses. She clicks through some articles. "He is like, Class A bullshitter. Kinda like a supervillain. This dude literally stole from charity. I feel like Gabriel is singlehandedly trying to save the company from that lawsuit, too."

"He's working hard," I say shortly.

"I don't know why he thinks it's only gonna take a month to fix this mess."

"Hopefully not," I say in the same tone.

Shannon sighs. "You know, he's kinda annoying and typical, but Gabriel isn't a bad dude. I'm gonna miss him around here."

"He'll be back."

"Thanks, Zeke. Such a monotonous voice of reason." Shannon chuckles. "That man is not coming back here."

I simply gulp her comment away, and see a missed call from Gabriel on my phone. He knows I'm at work. We haven't spoken in a few days. The last time we did... it was slow, and awkward. He knows I'm hiding something. I know that somehow Clay Edgar, a recently fired sex-maniac-abuser, knows that Gabriel has been actively fucking me, and who knows how much he knows? Did he see us one night? He surely would've brought it up before then. Or maybe it's a hunch, from me telling him that someone would meet me in that room, and then Gabriel shows up. Or maybe Clay's radar is just off the charts, and he somehow put two and two together.

"Where's your head at? You need a break?"

"Probably," I sigh. "What if someone were to blackmail you? It's regarding the stupid Clay Edgar situation."

Shannon's face gets serious, and she sets the mouse aside. "Someone is blackmailing you about the sexual harassment?"

"No... it's hard to explain. I just... I dunno. I have a hunch. Things are weird. I don't think it's anything but... I just am having a hard time working here right now, Shanny." I rest my head on my hands, and Shannon gently rubs my shoulder. "I feel like there's a lot going on, but I can't catch up. For once I can't plan ahead for shit."

"Well... if you can let me know what's going on... you know it is my job to solve conflict. Zeke, I can't stand to see you worked up about shit and if anyone is using that against you, I'll kill 'em. I will. With Title IX, of course."

I think about the last few conversations I've had with Gabriel. How short they've been. Kind of impersonal, as if we've taken a step back. I wonder if I'm the last to know everything. I wonder if the pillows were just like the breakfast burrito and the orange juice. I wonder if Clay has said anything to him. Every day, I seem to be getting less information about the things I thought were set in stone.

"Shannon... the stuff with Clay was really fucking bad."

I tell her almost everything, censoring out some of the worser details. I stare at the pearly button on the cuff of her jacket as I speak, recounting everything slowly. The times I was pinned against the wall, the things he said, the hot breath and the humping, the forced jacking off, my anxiety attacks—it poured out like a report. I don't look at her face. I stare, and I'm guessing she stares, too. I almost can't bear to think of what she might be thinking. How much shit I just dumped on her, because my world always revolves around me. But it's too much.

The fact that Gabriel told me I'm being a lot while he's all the way in California. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm a sheltered, ADHD ridden child in the middle of my first fling. Maybe, at the end. The first time I've felt something for someone, it's the gorgeous millionaire owner of the company I work at in a probably-not-illegal-but-definitely-questionable-not-quite-relationship.

I finally look up at Shannon, gulping back the reality that things seemed so good, but they were actually fucked.

"Zeke," Shannon closes her eyes, and the smallest tear escapes. She quickly swipes it away. "I'm so. Fucking. Sorry. I'm so sorry. Good God, I-I wish—I'm so sorry."

She takes me in her arms, and I bawl into her shoulder.

_________

LATER

I tried sexting over the phone, and was once again shut down. I don't even know when Gabe planned on coming back, but if its really only a month, He should be here in a week and a half. I've secured Beth a spot in our "intern cohort." Kind of shamelessly. Nobody seems to question it.

Work feels slower, as if maybe I've done all I needed to do, or wanted to do. Or maybe Shannon has worked some magic and relieved me of some duties. Either way, things are smooth, and I'm wondering if nobody wants Gabriel back here. He's certainly shaking things up.

"Hey," Grayson taps at my door. We've run every few days, and I haven't been very talkative. I figure that Grayson is used to some of my moods by now. "Why didn't you tell me that you met David?"

"Huh?"

"David Yang? I didn't know you went out with him."

"I didn't—no... I went out but I met him coincidentally." I kinda forgot about David.

"Well, how was it?" Grayson enters my office with a chuckle and closes the door. I spot Sean in the window, a few cubicles away. He seems to stare, but only briefly. "David Hang."

"What now?"

"That's his nickname. Dude is packing."

"Grayson... I didn't sleep with him," I assure him. He seems a little taken aback, surprised at the news. "Nah, we took a picture. We mostly talked about our mutual friend."

"Oh... oh I should've asked. Sorry I just assumed. Every dude David meets is like, enamored by him. I just thought he got to you."

"I thought you guys were friends. Why do you know he's packing?"

Grayson shrugs. "I mean, we're friends. He's also... a dude who sleeps with a lot of dudes."

"Are you calling your friend a hoe?"

"A hoe is a hoe. David was so gushy over you I just thought you both..." Grayson shrugs again. "I mean... he did ask if you were single."

So, either he thought I lied at the club, or he just wanted Grayson to try and set us up anyway. Maybe it's not the worst thing. Gabriel is not impressed with me and my inability to make him feel good in the midst of this lawsuit, that seems to have the tense edge of scandal attached.

"David is interesting. I mean, I have his number. He's not really my type," I say gently. Grayson frowns.

"...Are you single?" he asks, almost accusingly. I can't help that I flush hot, although I do my best to remain from getting bright red. It's not going to work.

"Yes," I respond too delayed. Grayson seems to calculate a few things in his head before shaking it and standing up. "I don't have time for a relationship," I say, just as I did before.