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Burt has worked on the severed floor of Lumon - or, rather, been alive - for about three years now, not counting the weekends or the sick days. He strays from Optics & Design the most out of the team. He knows every long stretch of white hallway, every wind of its labyrinth, like its map was imprinted into the lines of his palms. It might’ve been; he doesn’t know how the procedure works.
He takes his usual supply runs in the mornings. Usually, he doesn’t need to do one every day, but as it turns out, the egg drop challenges are rather messy, and some members are adamant about doing them often. So, he complies and slings a spare handbook tote over his shoulder, a pep in his step as he dwells in certain memories.
The supply closet he comes to is large and dingy, with a single warm lightbulb hanging overhead. The corners are cast in shadow, so he blindly reaches for a packet of wipes, hoping his memory will guide him.
What his hand makes contact with isn’t wipes, but instead, a white cardboard just small enough to fit in one hand. He picks it up to get a closer look. He doesn’t visit this supply closet very often; it seems every day he finds himself drifting closer to Macrodata Refinement.
There’s a label on the top, he discovers as he turns it over onto every side. His eyes squint to read it.
‘Condoms’.
Burt’s cheeks flush. He knows what condoms are, of course, he knows what they are used for. He just never would’ve expected to see them. Sex is so taboo on the severed floor, a forbidden fruit, an inherent human desire stripped away with its memories.
The memories become clearer as his fingers rub along the box’s edges. He hooks one under the lid and gingerly lifts it. Inside are small individual packages, black and each with its own iconic Lumon branding. For a moment, he wonders if they sell these on the outside, but the thought slips away as heat begins to pool under his collar.
He imagines the material beneath his fingertips is Irving’s soft skin. The pliantness of his cheek, the steadiness of his arm, the form of his shaft as Burt pumps languidly. His finger holds the lid like he held Irving’s lip, on his knees among the foliage, his mouth working as graciously as it ever had.
Burt’s warm, rosy blush spreads dangerously low, and he straightens himself before his mind can run further astray. He packs the wipes and other cleaning supplies into his bag, but not before he sneaks the box of condoms into his pocket. His eyes wander to the other boxes, and near them, organized in a neat row, are small vials of a clear substance.
His eyes blow wide. He doesn’t have to look closely at the label on the lid to know what it is. Lubrication.
He and Irving haven’t done anything in need of it, but it does bring an awfully daunting fantasy to his mind. He almost laughs at himself as he grabs one and fits it into his pocket with the box. He’s never felt anything like this before. Irving says Burt’s corrupted him, but truly, Burt thinks it’s the other way around.
Burt shuts the door behind him and walks back to O&D. He pulls at his collar, but it doesn’t loosen its hold around his neck. Curiosity and need itch at his skin. The intimate supplies weigh in his pocket like stones, like secrets. He doesn’t know what he’ll do with them. Maybe he’ll tuck them away in a safe corner to save for a rainy day. He wouldn’t dare to ask any of his colleagues about that stuff. Maybe Irving, today. Hopefully.
On his stroll, he sees streaks of green out of the corner of his eye. His feet slow their pace to take in the view. The garden of leaves is like something out of a painting, light and dark shades smeared against a canvas, hung in a frame in his heart.
A hand runs along the edge of a leaf.
Burt stops to watch. The hand cradles the plant, endlessly tender, before the rest of the person comes into view. He gets lost in the grayed curls clinging to his scalp, the bridge of his nose, the focus in his eyes, the smile lines, the slight upturn to his lips.
Irving’s head turns in time with the beating of Burt’s heart. His lips open in a silent prayer. The sound doesn’t carry through the glass, but Burt recognizes the syllables of his own name.
Burt backtracks his steps and leaves his bag propped against the open doorway. “Irving,” he says, his voice endlessly fond. “What are you doing here?”
Irving’s hand freezes in its trail along the greenery. “I just, um.” His tongue fumbles for words. “I arrive sometime before everyone else in my department, so I figured, that gave me ample time to stop by for a visit. I really do love this place.” His eyes turn back to the plants, palm pressed against the wide blade.
When Irving’s eyes still don’t meet his, Burt steps forward and gives a tilt of his head. “You waited for me?” A smile coats the words, slightly teasing, but still fond.
Irving freezes, blushes. It seems every little word that comes from Burt’s mouth makes blood rush hot and lovely to Irving’s skin. He clears his throat, eyes darting up. “Well, yes. I suppose I did.”
Burt chuckles at the admission. Every day, he questions how this remarkable of a man sees him in the same light. He takes a few more steps forward and holds his hand out. This time, Irving takes it without hesitation, and his thumb runs gentle, smooth circles over the side of Burt’s hand.
Irving’s eyes catch Burt’s bag in the distance for a moment, and his grip loosens. “Well, I’m sorry to distract you. What are you doing?”
“No, no. You’re not distracting me,” Burt replies immediately with an adamant shake of his head. Like Irving, he has ample time to spare. And some things he would rather spend time on over others. “I was just on a supply run, but I can wait a few minutes.”
Suddenly, he’s very aware of the items sitting in his pocket. No better time than the present, he supposes. “I need to show you something.”
Irving’s suddenly on alert. He pulls the string in his back taut, and his eyes follow Burt’s free hand as it reaches into his pocket. “Alright,” he answers, voice wavering as their hands slip apart.
Burt tucks the box into Irving’s outstretched hands. “Look,” he whispers, pointing at the label.
Irving’s eyes gloss over the bold letters, and Burt watches as they register. “Oh.” The word is barely a whisper, choked out through a tight throat. His flush deepens. “Oh, wow.”
Burt smiles at the flustered reaction, though it was very much like his own. “Yeah, I know.” He walks in a curve til he’s pressed against Irving’s side. He tucks his head into the crook of the other man’s neck. “I never would’ve expected Lumon to have something like this, considering their disapproval of… fraternization.” His smile widens around the last word, a memory of a time not long ago.
Irving huffs pleasantly, but his eyes don’t leave the package. His brows furrow in thought. “I think I know why this is here.”
“Hm?” Burt’s shocked. Optics & Design and Macrodata Refinement are two entirely different areas, and Burt is the only one brave enough to cross the boundary. All he knows are the little facts Irving tells him, and, of course, the silly rumors. His head pops up from its spot, eyes running along Irving’s gorgeous side profile. He’s all ears.
“About a year ago now, my colleague Dylan joined,” Irving begins. His head turns to question. “I think you two met, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I remember,” Burt nods. He remembers Dylan quite well.
Irving continues. “Well, he wasn’t very happy with being here, and he was being sent to the breakroom multiple times a week, but then they discovered the key to his heart. Incentives. So, now, every quarter, one refiner gets named refiner of the quarter as a prize for being extra productive. And they get what’s called a waffle party.”
Burt is enamored as Irving explains. He grins at the last of his words, amused, interested. “A waffle party?” he asks. He knows what a waffle is, somewhere in the back of his mind. He knows that it’s warm and buttery, usually caked in sticky, sweet syrup, but he can’t imagine the sweetness on his tongue.
Irving nods. “Mhm. And, reportedly, you do eat a waffle, but there’s… a lot more to it than that.” His face tenses, and he shakes the box as emphasis, still held tight in his hands.
Burt’s eyes flicker up and down, from the box to Irving’s face and back around again. It takes his brain a few seconds to put the peices together. “Oh my God.”
“I know!” Irving replies, enthusiastic to finally share this information wtih someone. “When Dylan first told me what the waffle party was actually about, I was appalled. I’ve opted out of every single one I’ve earned. Apparently, it’s some sort of ritual miming Kier taming the four tempers, but… still.” He shivers.
Burt continues to chuckle at the description, his head back against Irving’s neck. Their hands cradle the box together, overtop one another. “I guess it makes some sense,” Burt muses idly. “Innies have needs just as much as their outies. I’m glad Lumon’s come to realize that.”
His hand brushes against Irving’s hip. Irving’s breath hitches, but he gradually leans into the touch as Burt’s hand inches across the curve of his back. “Well, I guess, if I were to do something like that with someone, then I’d want it to be with someone I actually cared about.”
Their eyes meet. They stand there, like that, trapped in still like a painting. The only sound they can hear is the leaves rustling in the air conditioning, the closest thing to fresh air they’ll ever feel.
Irving breaks the silence. “Do you think we should’ve…” He trails off, but he motions with the box of condoms to indicate what he means.
“Ah,” Burt says, understanding. “Well, we didn’t know. But it’s better to be safe than sorry from now on.”
Irving raises an eyebrow at the implication. “Oh, so we’re stealing supplies, now, are we?” Burt gets a clear view of his smile, stretching from cheek to cheek and accentuating his smile lines. It’s more beautiful than any painting he’s ever refurbished.
“Maybe. Wouldn’t want our outies contracting anything due to our reckless actions,” Burt teases.
Irving nods, playing along. “Oh, imagine the questions that would raise. They’d really want to know what’s going on down here.” Their hands find each other again, clasping together like magnets.
Burt doesn’t think about his outie or the outside world often. The only times he really feels compelled to are in wellness sessions with Ms. Casey. Irving changes things. He makes Burt wonder of a life he’s never known, will never know, of a place beyond white walls. A place where they could be free.
Burt suddenly remembers. He puts the condoms back in his pocket and retreives the lube. “I found this, too,” he tells Irving, slipping the small comtainer into the other’s hand.
Irving holds it up in the light, twirling it with his fingers. The label is small and hard to read, but Irving knows. It makes sudden sense, with the context he’s given Burt, no matter how odd. He clears his throat. “Well, were you planning on stealing this for ourselves, too?”
Burt hesitates. Being asked the question headon makes his heart race. He almost doesn’t know what to say, but he knows what he wants. “If you want it.”
When he squeezes Irving’s hand, he can feel the blood pumping, the steady rhythm of Irving’s heartbeat. He waits as long as Irving needs. He always will.
“That takes time. Preparation,” Irving says. “And doesn’t it hurt?”
Burt takes a pause. “Would you want to be the one receiving, then?” he asks, endlessly hesitant. In his mind, he was picturing either. He’s not picky, especially if the end result is Irving’s skin, his lips, his breath and his beauty against him.
Irving freezes with the realization of his words. “Oh.” His hand meets the back of his neck, rubbing as he laughs sheepishly. Seeing him ashamed makes Burt’s heart sink. “That was where my mind went. Is that okay?”
“Of course.” The more Burt’s mind dwells on it, the more vivid the feeling is. “We do have plenty of time, but we don’t have to do it or anything.” His eyes have a mind of their own, looking down past Irving’s shoulders, over his back and down to the way his ass fits in his tight slacks.
“What are you looking at back there?” Irving’s head tips back, trying to meet Burt’s gaze, but he’s still looking down below. Irving certainly doesn’t sound like he minds the attention.
“I’m allowed to ogle, old man.” Burt steps forward til his front is flush with Irving’s backside. Blood has been steadily rushing south this entire interaction, and if he hones in on the feeling, he notices the straining of his boxers. It’s a marvel he can still get it up at his age.
Irving gasps as Burt’s bulge presses against his butt. As soon as the sound meets Burt’s ears, he rushes out a, “Is this okay?”
He prepares to pull away, until Irving answers, “Yeah, yeah. This is okay.” He sighs as he melts into Burt’s body, and Burt can actively feel the tension in Irving lax. His hands meet Irving’s hips yet again, cradling the slight plush beneath his dress shirt. “But this isn’t much of ogling,” Irving jokes.
Burt’s lips press into Irving’s neck, where his head rested not long ago. He inhales the scent he finds there, a mix of soap, cologne, and sweat that sends his mind spiraling. Irving seems to like it with the way he gasps again, this time in a different, lower timber. He hums. “You make a convincing argument.”
Irving’s hand reaches for Burt’s, so of course, Burt takes it. “So, we’re doing this?” he asks, a final grasp for consent.
Irving’s still for a moment, but after a second, he nods. “We’re doing this,” he echoes. His smile breaks through like a rainbow in a cloudy sky. Burt wishes he could see either, but just Irving here, by his side, against him, is more than enough.
Burt cups the back of Irving’s neck and tilts his head so their lips can meet in a tender kiss. He still remembers their first. Shrouded by greenery, foreheads pressed together like they would never see each other again. Soft, gentle, drifting closer. He thinks of all their other firsts, too, as the kiss deepens. Irving’s mouth, oh, Irving’s mouth.
Irving’s hips move in small circles back against Burt. The friction is barely noticeable, but they both feel every inch of it. Irving waits til after he moans to pull away from the kiss, an attempt to muffle the sound. “On the floor,” he suggests. His hand reaches up to cup Burt’s cheek. “I want to watch you while you’re doing this to me.”
The admission makes Burt’s knees wobble and nearly buckle. His grip digs into the small of Irving’s back to keep himself steady. He doesn’t know if he’s going to manage this, give Irving this much pleasure, but damn him, he’ll try his hardest.
Slowly, he lowers them to the floor, Irving on his back and Burt hovering over him. Irving groans through gritted teeth as he makes contact. It doesn’t seem the most comfortable, especially for old men like them. Burt winces, and he pats Irving’s chest for comfort. “I know this isn’t ideal.”
“It’s alright, Burt.” Irving grabs at Burt’s hand against his chest, over his thumping heart. He pinches his lips together before continuing. “At those waffle parties, they use the Perpetuity Wing. They do it on the replica of Kier Eagan’s bed.”
“Ah,” Burt says. The thought of doing this with Irving in a bed, mattress soft and plaint beneath them, makes his chest fill with something infinitely affectionate. He kisses Irving again, the way Irving’s moustache brushes against his bare face a little kiss in itself.
Burt pulls away so he can get to undoing Irving’s tie. His fingers work quick and nimble as they move down to the buttons of Irving’s shirt. “Well, maybe we should schedule a trip between O&D and MDR. Dispel the endless war between us.”
Irving gives a hearty laugh at the idea. “And, what, we just leave the others outside while we have sex?” His voice devolves into a fit of giggles, and Burt joins him.
Irving’s tie and shirt, both undone, become a pile on the floor near them. Once he’s calmed down, Burt takes a silent moment to marvel at Irving’s bare chest. His fingers dance along the firm abs on his lover’s abdomen. It really makes him wonder what his outie did to obtain them. He pushes the thought aside as his hand drift lower, down Irving’s gray happy trail, til his grip curls around Irving’s belt. Burt asks for permission with his gaze, and Irving nods.
“You sure seem to be taking your sweet time with this,” Irving comments as Burt removes his belt.
Burt’s eyes narrow playfully, but internally, he’s reeling. This is the most eager he’s ever seen Irving. It makes his heart flutter. “You’re needy.” He punctuates his words by throwing Irving’s belt into the growing pile of discarded clothing.
Irving gives an irritated huff and rolls his eyes, though he can’t deny it. “I’m curious.” Burt pulls his pants down to his knees, and he straightens his legs so they can be pulled off entirely. “And we don’t have all the time in the world, you know.”
“I know,” Burt says. This is a time sensitive job for both of them, unfortunately. Still, he can’t help but savor the sight of a mostly naked Irving, spread out before him. The sight makes his uniform feel extra constricting, and he reaches to pull a button through its loop when Irving stops him with a gentle yet sturdy hand.
“Hey,” he says. “I’ve got you.” He undresses Burt like he does anything; careful, meticulous, with a deep love for the craft. With every brush against bare skin, Burt hums deep in his throat. This is the first time they’ve ever done this with both fully naked, the shroud of surrounding greenery enough shielding from the glass and the outside hallway. It makes it feel extra romantic, extra vulnerable.
Irving’s hands rise to Burt’s chest. He spreads his palms over Burt’s pectorals, thumbs ghosting soft circles against his nipples. Burt moans, shakily, and laughs to maintain himself. “Now, you’re taking your sweet time with this.” He mirrors Irving’s earlier words.
Irving scoffs without a hint of malice. “I’m allowed to ogle.” Another callback. His hands run deep strokes down Burt’s front, slipping past the fabric of Burt’s boxers. He drags them down Burt’s legs, and with that, Burt’s cock pops out of its confinement. It’s almost to full hardness now, a small bead of precum pooling from the tip and dripping onto the floor. They’ll need those wipes.
“Wow,” Irving says, voice all but breath. He’s in a trance at the sight of it, a thing Burt doubts he’ll ever understand.
Burt doesn’t dwell on it. He hooks his thumb into the waistband of Irving’s own briefs and slides them off. Irving’s cock is still soft, curled against his stomach, some of his own precum trickling down the shaft. It’s still beautiful. It makes Burt’s mouth fill with saliva, which he swallows with an audible click. They can do that another time.
Irving leans back til he’s flush with the floor. His head falls to the side, one face pressed against the ground. “I’m sorry I can’t get it up,” he murmurs like it’s something to be ashamed of.
Burt leans forward and threads a hand into Irving’s hair. He runs through the grayed curls like he’s petting a dog. Like he’s imagined petting a dog is like, anyway. “It’s really okay,” he coos with as much sincerity as he can manage. His head tilts. “It’s normal, actually, at our age. It’s a wonder I can get hard anymore.”
Irving doesn’t say anything, but based on the way his eyes remain locked to Burt’s dick, he shares the sentiment. His legs spread, seemingly unconsciously. Burt gets a faint glimpse of his target beneath Irving’s balls. “You ready?” he asks, once again taking hold of Irving’s hand.
Their fingers fit together like they were made for it. Irving squeezes it like a lifeline. He smiles wearily. “As I’ll ever be.”
Burt watches the smile for a few long seconds, before he catches a glimpse of the bottle of lube strayed on the floor near Irving’s head. He doesn’t remember when it was discarded, but he doesn’t care. He grabs it and pops the cap open. He’s not quite sure what to do here. The bottle isn’t big enough to dip his fingers into, but he can squeeze it and let the substance drip over his fingers. So he does, and he lathers when he thinks there’s a sufficient amount. The texture is unlike anything he’s ever experienced.
“Spread your legs wider.” He tries his best not to make it sound like an order, but Irving obeys immediately anyway. He’s never seen Irving’s work, but he knows Irving’s a good employee. Diligent, hardworking, a true follower of Kier. One may describe him as having a stick up his ass. That’s funny to think about now, given the circumstances. Burt manages to hold his laughter back.
The sight between Irving’s leads is dizzying. Burt’s eyes lock onto Irving’s entrance, tight and puckered, covered in a small patch of gray hair. Burt repositions himself so he can get a closer look. “Wow.” Now, he’s the one getting starstruck.
Irving props himself up on his elbows so he can look down at Burt. “I guess my butt is wow-worthy, then.” His voice is on the edge of giggling. It’s awkward in the best way possible.
The thought of awkward brings an unfortunate thought to Burt’s mind. He straightens himself so they’re at eye level. “Say, uh…” he starts, almost not knowing how to continue. He fumbles his way through the rest of it. “Have you… you know. Is there anything in there that would get in the way?”
Irving stares at Burt, blank, then he realizes what he means. “Oh my Lord. Are you asking me if I need to empty my bowels?”
They laugh together like they’re two kids in school. Burt’s head turns down to hide his awkward flush. He’s learning just as much as Irving is, and it’s strange to be reminded of that. “I was trying to.” He winces.
“Yes, Burt. I went to the bathroom as soon as I got here, and I clean thoroughly. If there was any worry, about that, I would’ve said something.” Irving’s still laughing to himself as he lays back down, but Burt knows it’s not at him. They’re sharing this private moment together, just them and the plants.
Burt shakes his head to clear his sudden nerves. “Right, right. Just wanted to make sure.” He maneuvers himself so he’s hovering over Irving, their heads level. He snakes the hand covered in lube down, and the sight of a more relaxed Irving is enough to make Burt reach forward and touch the tender rim.
Irving visibly tenses once contact is made, and so does Burt. The skin beneath his fingertip is like skin, just more supple, and it puckers around his finger as he spreads the lube. “Ooh, that’s weird,” Irving sighs out, eyes falling shut. The sight of a more relaxed Irving is enough to make Burt liquify.
“I’m going to press in now,” Burt says, a declaration both to Irving and to himself. “Good?”
Irving’s eyes flutter open, and Burt intently watches his beautiful eyelashes until Irving grabs Burt’s neck and pulls him down into a searing, passionate kiss. This time, every inch of their skin meets, and it’s heaven. It’s as if they can become one.
Irving takes his time pulling away. Their foreheads remain against each other as he speaks in a low, sultry whisper. “Good. Do it.”
And so Burt does, and the warm, tight heat that meets his finger is otherworldly. The best part of it is the noise that falls from Irving’s lips, something between a sigh and a moan. That’s a detail he’s noticed and that he loves; whenever he can get Irving to relax, Irving can get pretty loud when under the throes of pleasure. Now, with all of this control under his fingertips, he wants to see how much he can push that. He wants to make Irving feel good.
“Oh, fuck.” One of Irving’s hands claws out, dangerously close to where the plants start. Burt doesn’t know whether or not this garden is real or fake, but it doesn’t matter. The beauty matters to him.
“Don’t hold onto the plants, they’ll break. Hold onto me.” His hand slides atop Irving’s, and he moves it so that Irving’s fingernails dig into his shoulder. He truly doesn’t mind.
Irving watches with rapt attention. When he realizes what Burt means, he says, “You’ll break.”
“No, I won’t.” Burt shakes his head with a defying certainty. Really, he’s not so sure Irving won’t hurt him, but he doesn’t care. He’ll go to the breakroom a thousand times over if it means doing this with Irving, being here with Irving. “Is more good?”
“More’s good, yeah,” Irving answers with as much nonchalance as he can manage, but once Burt presses deeper, it melts away. He makes another low, wanting sound and tips his head back against the floor.
Burt’s spent his entire existence looking at art, but not until now has he seen artwork as great as this. His push is slow and steady til his knuckle meets the outside of Irvng’s hole. “Does it hurt?” he asks, voice laced with worry.
“No. No.” Irving’s chest rises and falls rapidly, and when Burt cups his hand to it, he can feel Irving's heartbeat. “It's very strange, but it doesn't hurt.” He blinks once, twice, lips curling into a shy smile. “It feels good.”
That shakes Burt to hear. Something in the back of his mind knows that people do this for pleasure, but it's a whole other experience seeing it, being the one to bring it. He experimentally wiggles his finger around a bit, and he likes the way Irving reacts with a little surprised sound. “I cannot believe we're doing this right now,” he groans.
“I know.” Burt wholeheartedly agrees. “It feels like something out of a dream.”
Irving freezes, and it's not until his expression registers that Burt realizes how much that must mean. Irving's told him about the nightmares, the black goo dripping from every crack in the wall, every computer. That seems to be all Irving dreams about when he dozes. “You… you've had dreams about me? About this?”
“Well, maybe not exactly this,” Burt admits, and he almost feels bad for saying so. “They're usually more abstract, but you're almost always there. And, yes, some of them aren't so safe for work, I'll say.” He winks, and Irving huffs a laugh in return.
Irving’s hands remain on Burt's shoulders, and he strokes down their familiar curve as he speaks. “You have appeared in my dreams before, but…” He trails off, and his expression fades into something more solemn.
“Do we need to stop?” Burt asks, immediately.
Irving gives an immediate response. “No. Please.” He bites his lip. Burt nearly liquefies at the desperation in Irving's voice. They're awakening each other to a whole other side of life. “Actually, I think another finger might do me some good.”
Burt doesn't hesitate to comply. He rubs a second lubed fingertip against Irving's stretching opening til it yields and it can slip inside.
Irving grits his teeth together. “That hurts,” he whispers into the open air.
Burt's heart drops, but he doesn't retract his fingers, not yet. He knows pain is an unfortunately necessary part of the process. “Should I-”
“Burt.” Irving's voice is still shaky, which makes sense, but it still holds firm ground, as firm as the eye contact they hold. “It's fine. If I need to stop, I'll tell you.” He breaks out into a smile and reaches up to cup Burt's cheek. “I won't be the one breaking here.”
Burt melts into the touch like butter. Reluctantly, he nods. “Fine.” He can't help but be careful, especially when it comes to Irving. It's something like this when they rub off on each other.
He lets his fingers sit where they are til Irving gives him the go ahead. “Go ahead.”
Inch by inch, Burt's second finger sinks into the unforgiving tight warmth of Irving's insides. Part of it feels natural, like Irving welcoming Burt's penetration home, and the lube definitely helps with smoothness, but it's still a very tight fit. He wonders if Irving's body is used to this.
“I wonder if you've ever done this before,” he says aloud, something to distract Irving from the pain of the stretch. “Your outie, I mean.”
Irving stays silent for a while, letting his body get used to the feeling of two long fingers curled in his anus. “Hm. I don't know.”
Burt watches Irving's tender rim splay against the intruding digits, a breathtaking sight, and he remembers something Irving told him a while ago. “Ms. Casey did say you were skilled at kissing and lovemaking.” You're not supposed to share what Ms. Casey tells you about your outie they both know that well. A heavy secret shared in a whisper the first time they ever had sex. It turned out to be true.
Irving smiles at the reminder, but his face tenses as he gets another thought. “I don't think this takes much skill. Just laying back and letting you do all the work.”
Burt thinks on that. It sure looks like a physical feat, but he does see where Irving’s coming from. “Maybe.” His head creeps down, and he whispers into the shell of Irving's ear, tempted to dig his teeth into the lobe. “But I like it, anyway.”
Irving sighs at that, and when Burt slightly pulls his fingers back, the sigh turns into a sound Burt could only call a whimper. A sudden surge of need strikes him. He's usually very patient, and he knows full well more pleasure will come later when he sheaths himself inside of Irving, but he can't wait.
So, he brings his fingers almost all the way out, only the tips staying inside, then pushes them back in to the brink. He savors the thrust, making sure not to go too quick. He goes again, the same rhythm, in and out. With every movement, every inch that slips by, sticky and slippery with lube, Irving lets out another pleasured sound. Burt feels euphoric.
His pace quickens, in tandem with the heartbeat he can feel reverberating through his flushed chest. His cock sits between his legs, unattended and dripping, but he doesn't care. All he can focus on is the way Irving's back arches and how he gets lost in the pleasure.
“Oh, Burt,” he moans shamelessly, hips bucking into Burt's touch in perfect rhythm. Everything's going too fast for Burt to handle. His fingers curl and brush against something, something that sends Irving crying out unabashedly.
Before Burt knows it, Irving spills his seed from his soft cock, the floor painted in drops of white. His orgasm shakes through him like a tidal wave. Burt helps him through it as best he can, gradually slowing the thrusting of his fingers, til Irving fully collapses hard against the ground beneath him.
Ever so slowly, Burt retracts his fingers til Irving's hole puckers up again. He wishes there were wipes nearby, but going to get them in his back would run the risk of being seen naked. He haphazardly wipes his fingers off on his pants as Irving's heavy panting turns to breathy laughter.
“Oh my God.” Irving cups a hand over his mouth in amused surprise. “I didn't think I could get that loud.”
Burt meets Irving with a wide beam of his own. “Neither did I. What a pleasant surprise.”
He leans down so that he's hovering directly over Irving’s spent form. Their lips are just nearly touching when Irving suddenly frowns. “I'm sorry I didn't last long enough. I know how badly we both wanted to… get to the main event, so to say.”
“It's okay, Irving,” Burt reassures him. “Actually, it was my fault. I'm the one who got carried away.” He runs a lazy finger over the lines of Irving's chest.
“Well, I certainly wasn't complaining about that. It felt really good.” Irving's smile comes back into view, and it's gorgeous.
Burt's eyes light up. “If it makes you feel any better, we didn't have to use the office’s condoms,” he jokes.
Irving laughs against Burt's collarbone. “Right.” His eyes trail down, and Burt can feel when he makes pointed eyes at Burt's unwavering erection. “Oh. You didn't…”
“No, I didn't.” Burt shakes his head. The need still aches within him, but he can wait til it fades. Satisfying Irving is enough for him. He looks out past the plants to the glimpses of hallway outside, a quick check to see if anyone's been watching them. “But it's fine. You don't need to-”
Suddenly, latex slips over his dick. Irving looks up at Burt, lips slightly parted in an unspoken question.
A thin trail of drool leaks from the corner of Irving's mouth. Burt knows what he's asking. He nods, shakily. “Yeah.”
Irving's mouth descends, and Burt moans from somewhere deep in his chest. He thinks fleetingly back to when this happened before, even farther back to Irving's words about his outie. He's skilled. His outie has undoubtedly done this before.
It takes all of ten seconds of Burt's cock nestled in Irving's warm, wet mouth for him to release. Irving takes a second to swallow it, something they have to do out of necessity. His hand fists into Irving's hair to steady himself through his orgasm, guiding him as he pulls away.
Irving looks beautiful. Disheveled in all the right ways, spent and utterly satisfied. Burt pulls him close. “Is it bad that I want to kiss you right now?” he asks, in obvious reference to the fact that he just came into Irving's mouth.
Irving scoffs, trying and failing to mime irritation. “You're incorrigible.” His grin betrays his words, and he lets Burt meet him in the middle. The kiss is soft and sweet, and there's something about the simplicity of it that Burt especially appreciates.
“That was good for you?” Burt asks, a sensual murmur against Irving's lips.
“Mhm,” Irving nods. Slowly, he lays back down, and Burt follows suit at his side, sweat mingling. “You?”
“Oh, very,” Burt confirms like it's second nature. It's something he knows with his whole being. There's very little he knows as an innie, but there's one thing he does - he loves Irving.
He wants to say it so badly, but he doesn't know if Irving is ready. He watches silently as Irving takes the box of condoms and bottle of lube and slides them into a discreet corner covered by greenery. “We'll keep these here. Save them for a rainy day.”
Burt blinks from his trance. “Just earlier you were protesting even thinking about stealing office supplies.”
“We're not stealing them,” Irving deflects. “We can't take them anywhere. Their workers are using them. It's exactly what they want.” He's grinning like a Cheshire cat. Obviously, this isn't allowed.
Burt kisses the smile off Irving's face, and Irving takes the time to slip the condom back off. There's nowhere convenient to put it, so he drops it on the floor, in the part beneath them that they've already ruined. “There's a trash can near here, right?” Irving asks.
Burt nods, and he motions to the closed doorway. “But it's in the hallway, so we'd have to get dressed to go.”
Irving groans and presses his face into Burt's chest, an arm reaching over to hold him close. “We can afford to just lay here for five more minutes, can't we?” He tilts his head up to look at Burt.
Burt's eyes blow wide. Usually, Irving loves his punctuality, but now, he's sacrificing the for more time with him. Warmth and light spread through his chest as he tugs Irving closer. “Yeah. I think we can.”
If there's one thing Burt knows, it's that he loves Irving.
“I love you.” The words slip out before he can think about them, but they don't feel like a mistake as they hit the air. In fact, they feel more right than anything ever has.
Irving tenses against him. Burt's quick to follow up with, “And you don't have to say it back yet. I just needed to say-”
“I love you, too,” Irving replies, and really, it shouldn't hit Burt as hard as it does. All they are are four simple words, but they mean so much, too much. They let that meaning sit in the peaceful silence that envelops them.
Maybe Burt can't have a life with Irving out there. Maybe he does and he doesn't know it. It doesn't matter. He knows he's selfish for thinking so, but he hopes he never retires so that he can be with Irving til his last.