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Let's Get Unprofessional

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Being unprofessional is the best part of being a prosecutor. That is, if you ask state prosecutor Min Yoongi. If you ask state prosecutor Min Yoongi, being unprofessional is probably the best part of any job.

Oh, he loves being a prosecutor. He worked hard for his dream and he wouldn’t want to do anything else. But between putting away bad guys and doing good deeds, it is still a whole lot of paperwork and reading, so every now and then, you need to get your mind off things. Take the edge off, unwind.

Everyone has different coping mechanisms for that. A lot of Yoongi’s coworkers work out, but that’s not something he likes to get into. A lot of his other coworkers regularly take cocaine, and that’s also not something he likes to get into.

No, Yoongi likes to get into the hot criminal defense lawyer after hours.

And that’s unprofessional. Highly unprofessional, as criminal defense lawyer Kim Taehyung likes to say whenever he’s naked on his back in Yoongi’s bed, cigarette clamped between his teeth and dark bruises blooming all over his chest. And every time Yoongi wishes he could just shut the fuck up, but every time he also thinks that this is definitely, definitely the best part of being a prosecutor.

He hates Kim Taehyung. He really does. He’s cocky and conceited and a little too good at his job for Yoongi’s liking. Actually, Yoongi is pretty sure that Taehyung’s methods of saving his clients’ asses aren’t always quite legal, but of course, he has nothing to prove that. And maybe he wouldn’t want to even if he could, because as much as he despises the cheekily grinning bag of filth, Kim Taehyung is damn good in bed.

Really, Yoongi wishes he could say that it all started out as a drunk mistake after getting hammered at a bar or something, but throughout most of his anger-driven sex-only relationship with Taehyung he’s been shockingly sober. He still remembers them ogling each other in the corridors, then outright flirting in the middle of courtrooms until they both decided that they should maybe take it somewhere else where the judge isn’t watching, and it was quick to escalate from there. And with both of them being perpetually pissed off with each other but also perpetually good-looking (especially in disheveled suits), it never quite stops escalating.

Usually though, they at least take each other home. If Yoongi gets off work first he waits outside Taehyung’s office and then goes home with him, and if Taehyung gets off work first he waits at the back entrance of the courthouse and goes home with Yoongi. It’s better that way. They tried to go for public bathrooms first, quick and sloppy like Taehyung likes it, but they’re too loud. Not just the noises they make, but also the way they constantly argue about everything turned out to be a bad premise for sex in public places.

So it’s always either Taehyung’s obnoxiously colorful bachelor pad, or Yoongi’s enormous loft largely consisting of pillows and blankets.

Which is why Yoongi is more than a little confused to see Taehyung saunter into his office right now, a look on his face that makes it very obvious to Yoongi that he’s not here on business.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi says, not bothering to put his papers down after Taehyung has closed the door behind himself, “it’s the middle of the day.”

Taehyung raises his brows at him and laughs, which is already irking Yoongi, even if he’s trying to tell himself to not fall for this. “It’s not,” Taehyung says. “It’s almost five.”

With a suspicious stare, Yoongi checks his watch -- but Taehyung is right, it is almost five. Still, that’s too early for Yoongi to go home, and even for a lazy dirty defense lawyer like Taehyung it sounds a little weird. “So?” Yoongi answers, looking up again and watching with a frown how Taehyung keeps creeping closer towards his desk at the end of the room. “What are you doing here? If you want to fuck, go wait outside. For, like, two hours at least. I have actual work to do.”

“You have me to do,” Taehyung replies immediately, and Yoongi barely suppresses a groan. Yeah, he ran right into that one, and it’s pissing him off how it actually sends something down his spine, quiet still and barely there, but he notices.

They switch positions regularly, both of them, because even through all the bickering and mud-slinging, somewhere deep down they’re still grown men and know how to behave, and Yoongi would be lying if he said he didn’t like both. He absolutely does not mind Taehyung taking the reins sometimes and ramming him into the next best mattress until Yoongi can’t see straight and his expensive desk chair feels like a stone bench under his sore ass the next morning, but he knows that Taehyung also doesn’t mind having the same done to him. And oh, Yoongi absolutely does not mind having Taehyung at his mercy, all pliant and vocal and needy, and from the lame pick-up line alone he can already tell that it’s this he’s trying to go for here.

Yoongi just doesn’t know why.

“What do you want?” Yoongi says slowly, squinting at him over his desk. “We don’t fuck at the office.”

“Come on,” Taehyung sighs, even though the sigh turns into a whine at the end, and gestures towards the papers Yoongi is still holding in his hands. “You know you’re winning this. You’ve got me by the balls, Yoongi. Give a dying man a break and fuck him on your desk for once, will you?”

Slowly, Yoongi looks back down at the paperwork between his fingers. Taehyung probably just ventured a lucky guess, but Yoongi really is going over some things for a current case against Taehyung’s client. And it really is looking grim for the guy, and fantastic for Yoongi. He tilts his head, puts the paper down on the shiny desk carefully, and looks back up at Taehyung with feigned calculation. “I do have you by the balls,” he says. Yoongi leans back in his chair, watching Taehyung stand on the other side of his desk with that slight pout still on his lips, while he spins his pen between his fingers. “Which, of course, means that you know there’s no point in trying to distract me, right, Taehyung?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “How desperate do you think I am? You think I’d let you fuck me just to win a case? That’s insulting, really. Besides, it’d be too late for that anyway, you already have all the evidence you need, so.”

Yoongi snorts. “So you would have done it if you had just thought of it earlier?”

“Of course not,” Taehyung says, deliberately unconvincing. He could talk his way out of anything if he really wanted to, so Yoongi can tell when he’s not actually trying. “Pretty sure that’s gotta be, like, illegal in some way. Not that I know much about that.”

“True,” Yoongi says, still playing with his pen when his brows slowly travel upwards, because Taehyung is opening the single button of his jacket, and getting on his knees in front of Yoongi’s desk. “What are you doing?”

“I’m being reasonable,” Taehyung says casually, like it’s not bothering him at all that he’s currently on his hands and knees, crawling straight towards Yoongi on the floor underneath his desk. “If I stay down here, you can get all the paperwork you want done. I’ll just keep myself busy until Mister Important Prosecutor has time for me.”

“Sure.” Yoongi knows it’s a load of crap, but you don’t get Kim Taehyung on his knees under your desk every day, so he’s going to humor him for now. “Just make sure to be quiet down there.”

Taehyung hums his yes, which is a good sign that Yoongi does not trust at all. Yoongi repositions himself, straightens his back again so he sits at his desk the way normal people sit at their desks, both elbows on the wood and the pen stilling between his fingers. He’s looking down at his paperwork, sure, but he’s not really getting into it. He knows there’s no point. He’s just waiting for Taehyung to act now, and it doesn’t take him long.

Taehyung’s hands are so big that Yoongi sometimes thinks he could close his entire fist around one of Yoongi’s calves. He’s pretty sure that’s not true, but the mental image returns to him once more when he feels both of those palms on the back of his legs, rubbing upwards through his slacks. He’s sensitive there, the entire length of his legs if you touch their back, and especially the hollows of his knees and backs of his thighs enough to get him squirming, and Taehyung knows that. Of course he does, but Yoongi won’t make it that easy for him. Yoongi remains firmly in his seat, and reaches to the side with one hand to grab an empty piece of paper so he can start scribbling on it. He writes down complete nonsense -- he just wants Taehyung to hear the pen scratching up here, so he thinks Yoongi is actually doing something.

“Why have we never done this before?” Taehyung asks, his voice almost sweet, as his fingertips graze the back of Yoongi’s knees. So much for being quiet and letting him work.

“Because it’s stupid,” Yoongi says, proud of himself for keeping his voice completely unaffected. (Knowing law comes in handy and all, but at least half of this job is good acting.) “And, as one might say, highly unprofessional.”

“Are you scared that someone might walk in on us?” Taehyung says, hands still wandering, now to the front of Yoongi’s knees to push them apart, his thumbs digging into his skin through the fabric. “On you fucking my throat under your desk? Think your secretary would talk?”

“No, I don’t think he would,” Yoongi says softly. Taehyung’s hands are going upwards, hiking his slacks up a little as they rub over his thighs, but he’s smart, he keeps going back down and brushing against the back of his knees, his calves, and Yoongi’s back is starting to feel hot underneath his shirt and jacket. “I still don’t want anyone to know that I basically put my dick in a human garbage can now and then.”

Taehyung laughs somewhere against his leg. “Oh, that’s harsh,” he murmurs. His fingers grip the insides of Yoongi’s thighs and it takes him by surprise, making him jolt in his seat and hiss out a curse. “This garbage can made you scream yourself hoarse last week.”

“That is a gross exaggeration and bordering on calumny,” Yoongi says, writing Fuck you Kim Taehyung on his sheet of paper.

“Really? I still have the claw marks on my shoulder blades, you know,” Taehyung cants, palm rubbing against Yoongi’s crotch for only a second, maybe two, but Yoongi gasps and accidentally draws a weak, squiggly line with his expensive pen.

“Unproven claim,” Yoongi gets out, his right leg jerking when one of Taehyung’s hands finds back to his calf and the other one swiftly unbuttons his pants.

“Don’t kick me,” Taehyung says to that, but he’s fucking tickling the hollow of Yoongi’s knee now, making it hard for him not to squirm and even harder for Taehyung to handle his zipper.

“I really want to, though.”

“I won't suck you off if you kick me,” Taehyung declares, his statement contrasting with his hands finally triumphing over the zipper and pulling at his slacks to shove them down at least a little.

“I didn't ask you to suck me off,” Yoongi points out, but Taehyung’s answer to that is a pensive hum with his lips pressed to the front of his boxers, and he groans.

“I don’t hear you complaining,” Taehyung mutters against the fabric, the vibrations barely there, but still enough to make Yoongi’s cock twitch with rising interest.

“Are you sure? I’ve been complaining this whole time, maybe you should get your hearing checked.”

“Well, yeah, but you always complain,” Taehyung says calmly, one hand around one of Yoongi’s knees, the other one trailing down between his legs over the fabric of his underwear, his mouth following the motion. “I have yet to see you actually try to stop me.”

Yoongi swallows. Yeah, he’s getting hard. He’s getting hard and he’s not even in Taehyung’s mouth yet, not even out of his boxers yet. This might be some sort of record; he’s been having great control over his boners ever since leaving puberty, thank you very much, but the thought of having Taehyung on his knees with his lips wrapped tight around him right in the middle of his office might be doing more for him than he was ready to admit at first.

“Taehyung,” he says, almost gently now, and he slides his free hand down to fist in Taehyung’s hair, pull his head away from his crotch to make him look up. And, god, it sends a surge of electricity through him, right down south, that almost makes Yoongi shiver -- Taehyung staring up at him from those big round eyes that always make him look way too young to be a lawyer, black locks soft around Yoongi’s fingers, mouth open, that expression of gentle worry somewhere on his face, barely visible. He’s scared now, of course, that his talk got too big, that Yoongi is going to shove him away completely and make him leave, because he would if Yoongi told him to. He knows that. They call each other names and bruise each other up and Yoongi honestly fantasizes about Taehyung getting hit by a bus sometimes, but he won’t be the one to drive that bus. They’re not here to hurt each other, no. That’s not what he’s about to do.

Yoongi smiles, using his hand to tilt Taehyung’s head to the side a little, enjoying how easy it is to do that, how Taehyung’s lip gets that slight quiver he always shows when Yoongi takes control. “Go lock the door,” he says softly.

Taehyung is gone so quickly that Yoongi has a second of doubt whether his hand was ever really in his hair. He crosses the office with huge steps, double-locks the door, and Yoongi can make out an obvious tent in his slacks when he turns around and comes back towards him again. It disappears from his line of sight though when Taehyung dives down again, sliding under his desk on his knees, the fabric of his pants squeaking against Yoongi’s pristine floor.

“Do you buy your suits at Walmart or something?” Yoongi asks, his gaze going down again when Taehyung’s head reappears between his knees. Taehyung snorts and glances down briefly, as if to check if he did ruin his pants just now, but he shrugs.

“I only wear the cheap ones when I come visit you,” he says with that angelic smile that just makes Yoongi want to shove his dick down his throat until he gags.

Thankfully though, he might be able to do that soon, because Taehyung is tugging at his pants again and this time, Yoongi raises his ass off the chair just enough for him to pull them down. They fall down to his ankles and Taehyung of course doesn’t take mercy on him and ignores the semi in his boxers, uses the freshly exposed skin by ghosting his fingers up his legs, nails digging in as soon as he reaches the back of his knees again, and Yoongi presses himself against his chair and exhales shakily.

“God,” he says, the word coming out a lot more high-pitched than he wanted, “I hate you so much.”

“I know,” Taehyung says, and Yoongi can’t see him because he’s pressing his eyes shut, but his breath is brushing over his naked thighs, warm and foreboding and perfect. “Your dick likes me, though.”

“Just your mouth and your ass,” Yoongi mutters, trying to focus on the fingertips dancing up his thighs, getting closer and closer to his boxers.

“Right.” Taehyung’s hands slip into both legs of Yoongi’s underwear and he opens his mouth to exhale this time. “Hey, didn’t you have important work to do?”

Yoongi opens his eyes again to first glower down at Taehyung, then over at the stuff on his desk. Yeah, he was going to pretend to be writing something while Taehyung did his thing. That’s definitely something he can still do. He’s going to remember how to hold a pen any second now.

The pen is back between his fingers so Yoongi can grip it tightly while Taehyung pulls his half hard dick out of his boxers. The waistband is still pressing against his balls and Yoongi is staring at the paper on his desk (Fuck you Kim Taehyung), trying to process that he locked his office door and that his pants are pooling at his feet and that Taehyung is on his knees under this desk top pressing his lips to his tip.

He takes long, quiet breaths when Taehyung wraps his lips around it instead, sucking gently for now, as if he wants to start off nice. But Yoongi knows better than to trust him, even if that doesn’t exactly help him when one of Taehyung’s big, warm hands grabs his shaft and he flicks his tongue right against that sensitive spot right below the head of his cock. Yoongi jerks forward, leaving another embarrassing squiggle on the paper, and when Taehyung pulls back, he can hear him snicker under the table.

“I can very much still kick you,” Yoongi says, proud of how stable his voice still is.

“I will very much still stop sucking if you do,” says the muffled voice underneath his desk, and Yoongi snorts.

“You face it, Kim Taehyung, you will never stop sucking.”

Taehyung groans very quietly, and Yoongi pictures him rolling his eyes down there. “That was bad,” he says, hand still working Yoongi’s hardening length. “You’re an idiot.”

Before Yoongi can say anything to that, the heat of Taehyung’s mouth is back around him, and he goes deeper this time, taking at least half of him in before he swallows, and Yoongi forgets what he was going to say anyway. The tip of his pen is resting on the paper and Yoongi closes his eyes, gritting his teeth with how much he has to resist the urge to thrust forwards. Taehyung gives good head -- almost as good as Yoongi -- so he doesn’t want to take the banter too far now, doesn’t want to give him reason to stop. Not until he’s fully hard at least, until he can pull Taehyung out from under that desk and shove him on it, fuck him until his ass smells like wood polisher.

It’s silent in the room except for their breathing, shallow and quiet, and the occasional wet noise from Taehyung’s throat working around him. Yoongi doesn’t like it, so he sneaks his free hand down again, fingers threading through Taehyung’s hair once more and grabbing hard, and he smiles when Taehyung moans loudly around his cock. Yeah, that’s better. It’s spurring Taehyung on, too, makes him start bobbing his head and working the rest of Yoongi’s length with his hand, making sure to coat it all in saliva and precum while Yoongi is definitely growing hard in his mouth now.

Just to keep up the facade, Yoongi starts scribbling on his piece of paper as loud as he can (To Do List: Fuck Kim Taehyung, Roast his ass in court, Buy new lube), but once it’s getting harder and harder to move his hand and not his hip, he starts tugging on Taehyung’s hair with a little more force. It gets the message across quickly, making Taehyung pull back while Yoongi is pushing his chair in the opposite direction, giving them both more room but still keeping his hand fisted in his hair. It feels way too soft and makes Taehyung way too pliant to let go.

“Get up,” Yoongi says, and swallows thickly when Taehyung looks up at him. He looks fucked already -- Yoongi doesn’t know how he does it. He must have loosened his tie at some point down there and opened the top button of his shirt, both of them hanging loosely off his neck now. His hair is disheveled, of course, and his lips are flushed dark red and swollen and parted and Yoongi thinks he could just shove his face right back where it just was and leave it at that, make Taehyung suck him off and throw him out afterwards, fuck his to do list.

But Taehyung crawls out from under his desk on his hands and knees, long legs rearranging themselves so he can get up, and Yoongi rises to his feet with him, and all thoughts of settling for a blow job are wiped clear off his mind. Taehyung’s head is tilted to the side slightly where Yoongi is holding it, and he can see him run his tongue over the top row of his teeth, an almost shark-like grin tugging at his lips as he eyes Yoongi up like they’re about to try and eat each other raw.

“Gonna fuck me on your desk?” Taehyung says, his voice hoarse and spent, the already low timbre sinking even more. Yoongi hates listening to Taehyung talk, but oh, this Taehyung is another person, this isn’t Lawyer Taehyung but Sex Taehyung, and he loves listening to Sex Taehyung. “Gonna hoist me up there and push my ass on your precious papers when you finger me? I bet I’ll bruise real nice on this, way better than in your boring bed.”

Yoongi tilts his head to the side, watching Taehyung’s adam’s apple bob when he swallows. “First of all,” he says, finally releasing Taehyung’s hair with one last tug, “don’t insult my bed. Second, turn around.”

“Oh,” Taehyung says quietly, not bothering to hide the shiver going through him. He turns around, hands automatically landing on the table top. Yoongi thinks about the weird paper still lying there, but he decides he doesn’t give a shit. “Is that what we’re doing, yeah? You gonna bend me over your desk like this?”

“Strip,” Yoongi says instead of answering his question. Of course he’s going to bend him over his desk.

Taehyung’s pants are pooling around his ankles in no time, and after a little nudge from Yoongi’s knees against his, he steps out of them and pushes them to the side. Yoongi doesn’t have to say anything for Taehyung to spread his legs more now that he has the room, and Yoongi silently runs an appreciative hand up the side of his thigh and to his hip, making a turn on the smooth, tan skin to end up on his ass. Taehyung exhales all the way through the touch, then tilts his hips just a little bit to press back into his hand. Yoongi watches him with what feels a lot like hunger, then his eyes flicker up because Taehyung is peeling his jacket off.

Kim Taehyung has a nice back. Kim Taehyung has a more than nice back; Yoongi himself has always been more on the slim side, which is fine too, but Taehyung’s shoulders are the stuff fantasies are made of, and even when he’s still in his white dress shirt, Yoongi loves watching them work underneath the fabric, moving and rolling while he’s stripping off his top layer of clothing. He’s sure Taehyung actually does still have scratch marks from last week on his shoulder blades, but he doesn’t necessarily have to see them now. Taehyung is naked enough for what they’re about to do, so Yoongi doesn’t care that he doesn’t seem that eager to take any more off. No, he cares a little more about Taehyung spreading his jacket out on Yoongi’s desk like a blanket.

Quirking a brow, one hand still on his butt, Yoongi lets out a little bemused laugh at him. Taehyung only turns his head briefly to throw him a glance, then he shrugs and leans forward again, hands on the edge of the desk.

“What?” Taehyung says. “It’s better like this. Or do you want me to jizz all over your papers?”

“You’d rather jizz on your own suit?” Yoongi retaliates, but shrugs eventually. His hand on Taehyung’s ass squeezes the flesh in its palm and Taehyung rolls his head back and pushes his hips so far into Yoongi’s hand that they’re bumping against his bare cock now. “Guess it doesn’t matter. I’m sure Walmart will gladly sell you a new one.”

With a low hum, Taehyung gyrates his hips now, so Yoongi pulls his hand away and lets the crack of his ass find his dick all by itself. “It’s Gucci, Yoongi,” Taehyung says. Yoongi snorts and puts his hand on Taehyung’s back instead, so he can shove him down against his Gucci jacket.

“Hold on tight, then,” Yoongi says dryly, as Taehyung folds himself down, forearms resting on the table and upper body bent over it. Yoongi swallows, gaze ghosting from his clothed back over his naked ass to his thighs, and there’s goosebumps spreading over them, Yoongi can both see and feel them, and that’s just about the most satisfying thought he’s had all day. He reaches to the side and opens a drawer, but only notices Taehyung’s eyes following his hand when he pulls the stuff out.

Taehyung lets out a giggle that sounds too deep to be real. “Seriously?” he says. “You keep lube in your desk? What, do you jack off over closed cases?”

Yoongi pushes the tip of his thumb against Taehyung’s asshole very slowly, and Taehyung shuts up with a sharp intake of breath. “If you were as prepared as I am,” he says softly, “maybe you’d have some more closed cases to jack off over, too.”

“Fuck, okay,” Taehyung groans, his forehead dropping on the desk with a little thud, “okay, shut the fuck up and get your fingers in me.”

Yoongi does. With the amount of sex they both have, there’s usually no need for elaborate preparation. They do it to make sure, first and foremost, Yoongi guesses, but at some point they only do it because Yoongi thinks Taehyung’s hands are hot and Taehyung thinks Yoongi’s hands are hot, so they like having fingers in their respective asses.

But this isn’t one of their bedrooms, this isn’t a night they have to themselves, it’s his office and it’s quick and sloppy, so Yoongi doesn’t take his time for once. He likes going slow normally, likes drawing things out until Taehyung starts pleading with him, because he always does, at some point, but not now. Taehyung has always been the one more into quickies and messes, and if he’s showing up at Yoongi’s office out of nowhere, Yoongi guesses that’s what he wanted today.

So when Yoongi pushes a second slicked up finger in, he’s already thrusting mercilessly enough to have Taehyung swear against his desk, hands fisting in the fabric of his jacket, feet scrambling on the floor in an attempt to reposition himself, to keep his cock from colliding with the edge of the table. Yoongi gives him time for that when he pulls his fingers back out and grabs the condom from his drawer (preparation is key, period), which only results in Taehyung pushing his ass even more into Yoongi’s direction and Yoongi groaning under his breath from the sight alone.

“You’re so needy,” Yoongi murmurs, his clean hand back on Taehyung’s ass cheek, nails digging in the flesh just barely enough to leave darker streaks when he drags them down, making Taehyung keen lowly. “I’m surprised you’re not begging for it yet. Though I guess it counts for something that you got on your knees right after coming in here.”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything; Taehyung just swallows and wiggles his ass a little more, trying to get friction, trying to get Yoongi’s cock back in his cleft to rub against it, but Yoongi knows better and pulls back only far enough to be out of his reach. He loves it when Taehyung is like this -- too proud to actually start pleading, not that far gone yet that he’d start babbling and whining or even bargaining with him, but absolutely not unaffected. It’s Taehyung’s body that’s speaking to him now, and while Yoongi could have gone at least five lifetimes without ever having to hear Taehyung’s stupid voice, he could go at least ten lifetimes with watching Taehyung’s body communicate. His hole clenches around nothing, his legs quiver, his fingers still claw at his own jacket, and Yoongi can’t see them, but he’d be willing to swear that he’s curling his toes.

For someone who hates Kim Taehyung, he knows his body far too well.

“Keep still,” Yoongi says, his hand grabbing his hip now, and Taehyung freezes almost immediately. He knows what that command means, and Yoongi isn’t going to keep it from him any longer.

The slide is easy and smooth, firm heat welcoming Yoongi’s throbbing cock and pulling a groan from his throat that’s louder than Taehyung’s shaky moan against Gucci fabric. Yoongi sinks in fully and stays there for a few seconds, letting Taehyung’s ass burn against his hips, and also reaching up with his lube-soiled hand and wiping it on Taehyung’s dress shirt. Taehyung utters a weak “Fuck you,” but Yoongi doesn’t pay it any mind. He puts both hands on Taehyung’s hips now, gripping unnecessarily hard until he can hear that pleased whine from Taehyung he’s been waiting for, then he pulls his own hips back slowly.

Taehyung swallows audibly again, shifting briefly on his feet, then trying to buck his ass back against Yoongi’s iron grip, which doesn’t work. “Come on,” he mutters. Yoongi can’t see his face, half buried in his jacket, half obscured by messy black hair, he only hears his raw voice, getting closer and closer to the point of pleading, and it sends a shiver down his spine so heavily, it almost breaks his resolve to keep still for another second at least.

“Yoongi,” Taehyung whines now, squirming between Yoongi’s hands, back muscles working beautifully against his shirt. “Fucking -- move, you shithead -- oh.”

Yoongi moves. Yoongi slides back in with one fluid forward motion, softening his grip on Taehyung’s hip when he bottoms out and then firming it again once he pulls back, building up two parallel rhythms that make Taehyung gasp hoarsely against his desk. He’s still trying to buck his hips back against Yoongi to meet his thrusts but Yoongi still doesn’t let him, enjoying the view of him squirming in frustration bent in half over his desk way too much. Yoongi is pretty sure he tries to swear at him a couple more times, but he wastes no time and ups speed and intensity with every thrust, rendering Taehyung, garbage defense lawyer Kim Taehyung, finally, unable to speak.

It really doesn’t look very comfortable, Taehyung’s position, but he doesn’t complain, and Yoongi is pretty content with standing up behind him. It gives him enough leverage to keep slamming in like this, the pace brutal, the slap of skin loud between their groans and gasps for air, loud enough to have him wondering how thick his office walls really are, but at the same time loud enough to have him not really care.

Taehyung is writhing against the table, upper body moving more now since Yoongi is still keeping him from moving his hips. Yoongi watches it for a while, every jerk of his shoulders and roll of his back, every twitch of his fingers against his jacket sending another wave of white hot arousal straight to his dick. Eventually, he finally releases his grip on at least one side of Taehyung’s hips, slides his hand over the slowly bruising skin and up to his back, rubbing over the damp shirt clinging to Taehyung’s back and earning himself a deep moan from him. He leans over a little, his hand between Taehyung’s shoulder blades, and then he presses down, pushing Taehyung flat against the table top.

There’s a hitch in Taehyung’s breath, like he’s choking on his moan. Yoongi watches him turn his head to the side, one half of his face pressed down, mouth hanging open with him panting heavily, eyes half closed. His cheek is pushed somewhere against the collar of his jacket and Yoongi wonders if he’s going to have crease imprints on his face later, if he’s going to walk out of here like this. They always make sure, of course, to leave no visible bruises, which is fine considering they always wear suits and thus only have to leave each other’s necks alone. But it just makes the thought of Taehyung walking out of his office with stained clothes and a painting of his jacket collar against Yoongi’s table on his cheek so much more appealing.

Taehyung starts bucking his hips, now that one of Yoongi’s hands is gone, and he lets him. It drives him in so much deeper still and they both groan, Yoongi’s own voice gravelly and spent now. Taehyung’s movements are already jerky and uncoordinated at this point, and it’s the sight of his ass rutting against him with no real rhythm or pace that makes Yoongi lose his own cool too, his thrusts getting more erratic, balls tightening at how he can feel Taehyung tense underneath his hands, and around his cock.

He takes pity on him finally and releases his grip on his hip completely, sliding his other hand around to find Taehyung’s hard-on, hot and heavy in his palm. He’s leaking precum already and Yoongi catches it with his fingers, smearing it over his length while wondering if some of it dripped to his pretty clean floor. That’s not quite as satisfying as the thought of sending Taehyung out of here with dirty clothes, but it’s still just on the verge of filthy enough to feel strangely good.

Taehyung’s hips are quivering now, torn between pushing back against him and thrusting forward in his hand, but it’s not like he needs to anyway. Yoongi keeps moving, tugging at Taehyung’s cock with quick, firm strokes while still thrusting into him. He might have lost his rhythm, but it’s still intense enough for Yoongi’s own eyes to fall shut, for bright lights to pop up behind his eyelids. He’s close but he doesn’t want to cum before Taehyung does, doesn’t want to make this longer or more complicated than it has to be, but the thought has barely just crossed his mind when Taehyung outruns him and Yoongi can hear the break in his voice that always signals the beginning of the end.

Taehyung clenches around him and for a second, Yoongi feels like that alone punched all the air out of his lungs. Then bliss washes over him in large shudders running down his back and ending in his groin, his mind whiting out for now and letting his body do whatever it takes to savor this.

He resurfaces into consciousness bent half over Taehyung’s upper body, one of his hands still loosely holding his softening cock, the other one hanging off in the space between himself and the table. He’s panting, but Taehyung is panting louder, wheezing into his jacket with low, quiet moans still stuck somewhere in his throat. Yoongi can feel his thighs quaking slightly in front of his own when he pulls back. He plucks off the condom, discards it in the bin next to his desk, pulls his pants up at least a little without closing them, and looks at the floor between Taehyung’s legs.

Yeah. There’s cum there.

“Whew,” Taehyung says feebly, obviously having caught most of his breath. He pushes himself off the desk and straightens up, fishing for his pants with his shiny shoes. “See, that was nice. We should do it more often.”

“No,” Yoongi says flatly. His voice sounds like he’s been screaming for a day. “You came on my floor.”

“You can just wipe that off,” Taehyung says. He pulls his pants up, buckles his belt, and then turns away from the desk and towards Yoongi, so he can point at an ugly damp stain around the hem of his jacket. “How am I gonna explain that to my dry cleaner?”

Yoongi shrugs. That was his idea. “Don’t care,” he says. He picks a tissue from the still open drawer and drops it on the floor, pushing it in the spunk puddle with his shoe, while Taehyung gathers his jacket off the desk, stretches his legs with a pleased little groan and shuffles around into the other half of his office.

“Well,” Taehyung says. “I’ll see you in court.”

“Yeah, take a shower first, maybe,” Yoongi mutters, even if the hearing isn’t for another two days. But it wouldn’t feel right if they didn’t part with a stupid jab at each other, so Taehyung just snorts and leaves with a shake of his head.

It’s not until Yoongi looks up from the mess on his floor that he realizes the jacket in Taehyung’s hand made a little too much noise when he picked up. It’s not until then that he realizes his desk top is suddenly empty. That he remembers he had more than just the embarrassing scribble paper on there, but actual important paperwork. Paperwork he was going to use against Taehyung in a case. It’s not until Taehyung has left his office, that Yoongi realizes it’s gone.

He’s going to fucking murder him.