Rain tapped gently against the tall window, streaking slow, lazy trails down the glass. The office smelled of Cuban tobacco, gun oil, and something darker—money, maybe. Or blood. Probably both.

Milo stood like a statue just inside the door, spine straight, hands clasped neatly behind his back. The lighting was dim and gold, casting long shadows across the polished floor. The air was too warm. Or maybe that was just him.

The boss was on the phone again—voice low, taut, sharp enough to slice through silence. Whatever the topic was, it didn't sound good. Milo had heard that tone before. It meant something bad was either happening—or about to.

Milo didn't speak. Didn't move. Just stood there like a good little ghost in black, watching as the man's forearm flexed mid-gesture—veins shifting beneath taut skin, two fingers wrapped around a half-burnt cigarette like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Milo swallowed, shifting his weight just slightly.

The smart thing would've been to keep still. Just stay quiet, be useful when asked. Maybe the boss would let him stay late again, maybe even tell him to kneel beside the chair like last time, fingers in his hair while he read over intel.

But the tension was crawling now. It was in the way the man's jaw clicked every few seconds, the way that scar on his knuckles—the one Milo had kissed once, impulsively—was white with pressure.

Would it help? he wondered. If I did something stupid?

It wasn't a good idea.

It also wasn't the worst one he'd had in this room.

He dropped his eyes to the carpet. Red. Probably custom. Probably stained with things no dry cleaner could scrub out. He took a step forward, quiet as smoke.

Paused.

No reaction.

Milo sank to his knees, the thick rug muffling the sound. The room narrowed around him

The desk was massive—an old, brutal thing that smelled like varnish and violence. Beneath it, shadows stretched long and quiet. He could still make out the line of the boss's legs beneath, the way they shifted, crossed, held still. The voice above him stayed steady. For now.

Milo crawled forward, waiting another beat just in case the boss kicked him away or barked his name.

Still nothing.

What the fuck am I doing?

Too late to stop now.

Milo leaned in and carefully, carefully, rested his hands on the inside of the boss's thighs. No flinch—but the next words on the call came slower, lower. Milo smiled a little.

He nuzzled closer, the scent of cologne and gunpowder sharp in his nose. Then, slowly—like he was unwrapping something holy—he reached up and eased down the zipper.

He's gonna kill me. Or he's gonna fuck me. Possibly both.

God, he hoped it was the second one.

He pressed a soft kiss just above the waistband, teasing. The skin was warm under his mouth, faintly damp, just a trace of salt under the crisp edge of the dress shirt. Above him, the boss's voice dipped half an octave—smooth, but rougher now. Gravel pressed into velvet.

Milo's fingers flexed against the inside of the boss's thigh, tracing the seam of his slacks, the firm, thick muscle beneath.

No slap. No shove.

Permission granted, then.

His smile turned filthy as he dipped lower, grazing his teeth over the soft cotton of the boss's briefs—already damp with heat, with the heavy weight of him pressing against the fabric. He inhaled sharply through his nose, taking in the musk there, salt and leather and that unmistakable, heady scent of pure need curling up between them.

A hand dropped to the edge of the desk above him, gripping hard.

Was that for me?

Milo didn't pause. He nosed forward, tongue sliding along the hard shape of him, dragging slow pressure just to feel the hitch in the man's breath—so quick, so subtle, but there.

Oh, yeah. That was for me.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of the boss's briefs, tugging down just enough to free his cock. The heat of him hit Milo's palm like a brand. He curled his fingers around the thick length, stroking lazily—once, slow—just as the boss's voice cracked. Barely.

Milo's mouth curved into a smile, thumb teasing the wet slit at the tip, smearing slick over heated skin.

Got you.

And then he leaned in and took him into his mouth.

Let's see if I can help you focus, boss.