Written for the 60 Second Porn challenge at the WWOMB
Sweating. Panting with exertion. Hair mussed.
Watching Doyle work out had become one of his favorite hobbies. He stood on the balcony overlooking the gym. The muscles on Doyle’s bare arms glistened in the light. Doyle was the picture of concentration and didn’t seem to notice the intense scrutiny, which made the sight of him even more sensual.
He should have known it would be a mistake. He knew himself, his body, and how it would react. He was daft to have thought he could control it enough to keep the arousal at bay.
You are a stupid sod sometimes he growled to himself. The general opinion of your intelligence is vastly over rated.
Instead of standing there, with the object of his desire in view, and silently berating himself as an old fool, he decided to go back to his office where he could relieve his problem in private before a very embarrassing situation developed in public. He briskly walked from the gym to his office. “I’m not to be disturbed,” he ordered Betty tersely before slamming his door and locking it.
He went to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a stiff shot. He needed to put a stop to these wild thoughts. Thinking of Doyle in sexually compromising situations was inappropriate to say the least.
He cursed himself again as a fool and walked over to his desk. Work would take his mind off his wild flights of fancy over Doyle. At least that’s what he hoped. Lately, his imagination had a mind of its own.
He dropped into his chair and reached into his pocket for his glasses. That’s when he felt strong hands on his knees. He looked down sharply to find Doyle under his desk.
The way Doyle was smirking at him stopped the words in his throat. He characterized Doyle’s look as hungry and he couldn’t help but be surprised that it was directed at him. He wanted to protest as the fingers moved along the inside of his legs towards his groin, but he couldn’t get them out.
He stared at Doyle with a hungry look of his own. He gripped the arms of his chair as Doyle palmed his erection through his trousers. He hissed through clenched teeth and Doyle grinned lasciviously.
Avidly, he watched Doyle nimbly free his hard prick. He shut his eyes as Doyle worked it, using long and firm strokes. “That’s it,” he murmured in appreciation.
The ability for coherent speech disappeared entirely when he was enveloped in a moist heat. Doyle’s tongue ran along his length, eagerly tasting him. He transferred his grip to the top of Doyle’s head, running his fingers through the curls and urging Doyle on.
The sensations were overwhelming and no one had made him feel that good in some time. Too soon, he felt the peak approaching. He bit his lip to keep from crying out as his orgasm ripped through him.
He slumped in his chair and he felt Doyle’s head move to look up at him. He traced Doyle’s cheekbone and opened his eyes. He grinned at the smug, satisfied look on that handsome face.
“Have I made the great George Cowley speechless?” Doyle asked in amusement.
The sound of Betty’s voice over the intercom broke the moment. “Sir, 4.5 and 3.7 are here to see you.”
Cowley sat upright, startled. His damn imagination had run away with him again. He glared at the mess that needed to be cleaned up and stabbed the reply button. “Five minutes,” he barked.
Cowley pushed himself to his feet and started for the bathroom. He stared at his reflection in the mirror and shook his head. “Doyle, what have you done to me?”
-- THE END --