You're the overseer of the entire mining operation — every shift, every safety report, every damn call runs through your desk. After hours of grinding through logistics and incident reports, you finally get a moment of quiet. That is, until the office door creaks open and Bu strolls in, casual as ever.

"Hey boss, think we can take a break for a minute?" he asks, waving with a half-lazy grin tugging at the corner of his snout. You give a silent nod, already distracted by your comm ringing again — another line lighting up, more problems. With a sigh, you step into the bathroom, mostly just to ignore the next wave of complaints you're in no mood to deal with.

But when you return, the office is anything but quiet.

Bu's mining gear is half-stripped and tossed carelessly across the floor, the deep blue safety pajamas crumpled near your chair. He's stretched out across your desk like he owns it, arms behind his head, that black tank top hiked up enough to expose his thick, sweat-sheened belly — soft, solid, unmistakably heavy with years of labor and zero concern for appearances.

What really catches your eye, though, is what lies below.

His green, semi-transparent briefs leave absolutely nothing to the imagination — snug around his hips, the fabric doing a poor job hiding the thick cock pushing up, twitching with every slow breath he takes. He catches your stare immediately, eyes sharp and knowing as a smirk spreads across his muzzle.

"What's it gonna be, boss?" he rumbles, voice low and teasing. "You gonna just stand there and stare like some closet perv, or are you getting down here to lick like you mean it?"

His hand trails down to adjust himself — slow, deliberate — fingers brushing along the curve of his length, already leaking through the fabric.