Archive of Our Own ^beta

Scar woke up to the sound of his alarm.

A beautiful hum of birds chirping, the wind blowing through the blades of grass, a gentle rush of cars going up and down the street where he lived, and the loud airhorn blasting into his ears that he had set as his alarm. It did its job well, waking him up for the morning without an ounce of sleepiness clinging to him.

He rolled over onto his side and hit the snooze button, groaning softly at the persistent ache in his back as he stretched his legs out. The feeling of relief spread through his limbs, making him exhale in relief when it loosened up his bones and muscles.

Work was in three hours. That’s one hour getting ready, one hour getting breakfast, and then about ten minutes getting to work and doing it. That’s his routine, and it always works.

He pulled himself off his bed and made his way over to the dresser. One white button up, a tank top, dress pants, and his usual ’work’ boxer briefs were grabbed before he made his way to the bathroom.

The pipes of his water tank groaned underneath his palm when he turned the tap of the bath on. It felt like every year that went by made the pipes of his apartment worse with neglect, but nobody ever bothered to come and fix it. Until it becomes his problem, he’ll let it be. He watched the water fill before stripping himself down, tossing the clothes into hamper.

Scar sunk into the bathtub, the warm water rippling around his body and letting the stress melt off him. He felt like a sunflower being sprayed, or perhaps a bird finding a birdbath. Either way, it was relaxing. He hummed quietly, the noise reverberating through the quiet bathroom and making its way back to his ears. Everything was so quiet in his apartment.

No dogs barking, or cats meowing needily at their owners for food, just... Silence. His neighbors weren’t the friendly kind. They all valued privacy more than friendliness, which was nearly painful against his extroverted needs. But— That’s what his workplace was for.

They were all more than happy to talk to him, greeting him with fond smiles and friendlier than friendly could be. Even if it was a draining office job, it felt like a corporate family. And he made decent money there.

Him, and the rest of his coworkers, worked in an office job. There wasn’t anything special about it. Most of his day was spent metaphorically around the water cooler; chatting with the people he’s grown close enough to call friends until he reluctantly excused himself back to work, promising he would return later.

Scar’s back slid further down the tub, feeling the warmth envelop him further like a blanket. If he hadn’t accidentally fallen asleep in it multiple times, he would’ve closed his eyes already. He urged them to stay open, ignoring the weight pulling his eyelids down and traced the small cracks in his ceiling with his eyes. It was like webbing throughout it, years of non-threatening earthquakes and heavy-footed upstairs neighbors breaking his ceiling apart piece by piece until it formed what it was now. A passing thought. Something nobody will ever give another glance at.

He pulled his gaze back down to his own body, his hand coming out of the water to brace himself against the lip of the tub and pull himself up. The sudden movement disturbed the water, angry ripples spreading out across it like a furious storm while he reached to grab his body wash.

It had been a while since he spent a moment to take care of himself, he thought faintly as he pooled some of the wash onto his scrubber. His lip caught in between his teeth as he worked on spreading it against his legs, the repetitive noise of suds scrubbing bringing some noise into the otherwise silent room.

Slowly, he made his way up from his thighs to his abdomen, then towards his chest and shoulders. With every push forward and pull backwards, it felt like every bad, unnecessary thought was being washed from his body. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but a welcomed one, nonetheless.

Stifling down a yawn, he quickly washed off the soap sticking to him before bringing himself out of the tub. He winced at the ache that had returned, his wet palm coming up to brace against the wall as he grabbed the towel hung on the bathroom door. Everything hurt.

Scar pulled his hair into a sloppy ponytail, wanting the wet strands as far away from his neck as he could possibly pull it, before stepping into the sight of his mirror. His face was flushed from the warmth of his bath; the scars scattered throughout his body looking irritated at the scrubbing he had given them. He frowned at the sight of his marred face, the one on his lip twisting along with them, but he brought himself to look away from the mirror.

He pulled his boxers on, carefully tucking himself within the confines of it before pulling everything else on as well. The jewelry that was put on afterwards was all optional, but it made him feel a little prettier.

The muted ticking of the clock in his room brought him out of his thoughts, making him realize he had completely lost track of time. Sighing, he peeled out of the bathroom and didn’t bother sparing a glance at the time as he grabbed his phone from its charger. He doubted that he would be late, so he’ll take his time.

His kitchen, albeit small and not nearly enough to hold all his groceries, greeted him in his sights. He’d barely registered how hungry he had been until he spotted his pot of leftovers from last night. Once the Tupperware he’s decided to sacrifice—with the sauces that will surely stain it—was chosen, he quickly put a nice serving of the leftovers into his container before shutting the lid.

Groceries were due in a few days. The lack of coffee pods in his cabinet told him so. Biting his lip, he grabbed the empty box and tossed it into his recycling bin. He’ll just get his coffee and breakfast at a cafe nearby.

———

The drive to the cafe was quiet, his mind buzzing with half formed and aborted thoughts loud enough to drown out any music he would’ve played, so he was content to pull into the parking lot and enter the cafe with nothing playing.

It was a quaint place; the same dozen people coming in every day rather than new people who want to try out the coffee they have here. They weren’t anything new or inventive, but they made decent cookies. What made this place good were the workers there— Always so friendly. Probably because they open late and close early.

His favorite barista, Mumbo, was there this time around. He was pretty much the only person who worked here who knew how to make Scar’s coffee right. He smiled, leaning against the counter and waiting for his friend to notice him. “Mornin’, Mumbo.”

Mumbo had startled, a yelp escaping his throat as he nearly dropped the steamer pitcher in his hands. He caught it quickly, placing it down on the table behind him to look at Scar with a flustered frown. “Scar!” He complained, although a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Don’t do that.”

Scar grinned at him, tracing shapes against the granite below his hand. “Sorry,” he hummed, his amusement growing at how unconvinced his friend looked at the apology, “I was hoping you can hook me up this fine morning. With my usual, please.”

“Did you run out of coffee at home?” Mumbo asked as he grabbed a large cup, putting it under the machine. It rumbled loudly, grounding the beans in it into dust. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Ah,” right. He hasn’t really gone anywhere except for work and home. “You know how it is. I’ve just been busy.”

Mumbo hummed quietly, showing that he was listening as he dumped in practically half of the sugar container. He could see the disgust contorting his friends face as he did so. Mumbo’s always hated his order. “Right. Well, we’ve missed you.”

“Missed my money, I assume.”

“Hardly a difference.” He grinned, putting the coffee down on the counter for Scar to grab. Mumbo paused. “Oh, I forgot to make you pay.”

They both stared at each other for a second, neither of them moving before his friend quickly snatched the coffee back and returned to the register. He kept it away from Scar’s reach, putting the total on screen. “Eight forty.” He demanded, putting the tap on the machine.

Scar sighed wearily, putting on a show for Mumbo as he pulled his wallet out. “You’re so mean to me.” He pouted, about to put his card over the reader before he paused and pulled it back. “Oh, actually, can you make me another coffee?”

Mumbo squinted at him. “What? You want another of this thing? It isn’t even coffee.” He rattled the coffee between his thumb and ring finger, making a show of how it sounded like it was comprised of mostly sugar. Because it was.

“No- I mean. I want to give one to my co-worker. My friend.” He adjusted his weight onto his other hip when it started aching, using the counter as balance. “Just give me a... Hm. A black coffee. Medium. And a packet of sugar. And can you draw a little heart on it?”

Reluctantly, his friend placed his coffee down and put in the order in the system. “Ten twelve.” He recited the price on the screen, watching as Scar tapped his card against the reader before turning back to work on it. “I’m not drawing the heart on it. That just looks like I’m flirting with him, not you.”

“Fine. Do you have lipstick?” He ignored the sudden confused squawk that came out of Mumbo. “I can put a kiss on the mouth of it.”

“No! I don’t!” Mumbo glanced back at him, baffled. “I just- Why don’t you just talk to him, at this point? You’ve been talking him up this whole time I’ve known you, and you still haven’t done anything about it. I’ve gone on more dates than you’ve kissed him.”

“That’s not true,” Scar huffed, grabbing his cup and taking a long sip out of it. He could taste all of the sugar that hadn’t been dissolved yet. He hummed in satisfaction. “I haven’t kissed him at all.”

“That’s my point.” Mumbo sighed, putting the lid on top of the second coffee before placing it down on the counter in front of Scar. “Nobody likes it when a middle-aged man plays around with his crush like he’s still in year one.”

“Middle— How old do you think I am?!”

“Talk to him, Scar.” He gave him a look, nudging the coffee closer to Scar and watching as he grabbed it. “And go to work. You’re already late.”

He paused, looking up at the clock hung up above the menu. Oh. He was very late.

Scar gave him a quick smile, situating the cups in his hands. “See ya, Mumbo!” He said hurriedly, pushing the doors open with his shoulder and barely sparing a glance when Mumbo waved goodbye.

Quickly putting the cups in the holders of his arm rest, he started up his car and drove as fast as his car could take him towards work.

———

He ignored the unamused stare of his boss as he walked in, giving him a short smile before bee-lining his way over to Grian’s desk.

His friend’s glasses were sliding down his nose as he lazily tapped through slideshows, a bored expression painting his face like it always had. Scar smiled, rapping his knuckles against the wall of the cubicle to alert him of presence before sliding the black coffee in front of him. “Good morning, Gri.” He greeted, leaning against the desk. “You look well rested.”

Grian rolled his eyes as he popped off the lid, lifting the cup to his lips before pausing and squinting into the cup. “Morning to you, too. What did you do to this coffee.”

“Nothing!” Scar promised, his pitch rising a little. It made him sound far less convincing than he meant it to. “I just knew you were gonna need something to pick you up in this busy morning.” He grinned. “This is the part where you say ’thank you’, birdie.”

He got a glare in return. “Thank you, Scar.” Grian grumbled into the coffee before tipping it back. His brows furrowed as it probably burned his tongue, but he didn’t spit it out.

Scar swirled his coffee absentmindedly, fingertips tracing the rim as he observed his friend drinking it. He was a tad grumpy this morning, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t fix with a few minutes of hanging out. He was like the workplace emotional support dog.

Mumbo was probably right. He needed to stop flirting with his friend if he wanted anything to happen at some point later. But he doubted either of them was willing to make the first move.

Grian pulled the cup away from his lips, his tongue flicking out to wet them before he placed the coffee down on the counter. “Thank you.” He said again, although a lot more genuine this time around. He pushed his glasses back up, looking at Scar with the faintest impression of a smile. “I reckon you want me to pay you back for this?”

“No, no,” he waved his hand, dismissing the thought, “I’m just glad you’re caffeinated.” He wasn’t lying. It was nice to see Grian have some energy in an otherwise draining job. “What’re you doing?”

His friend let him lean over his shoulder as he moved their attention to the screen next to them, squinting at the words of the slideshow. “Sales review. I’ve got to get it done before the meeting today.” Grian explained, flicking through the slides. It all blended into a blur, and eventually he was back at the beginning.

Scar hummed, taking a hold of the desk in front of him and the back of Grian’s chair to keep himself balanced. He knocked their shoulders together lightly. “Do you want me to look it over for you?”

“If you want to?” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair a bit. He could feel his breath against his jaw as his friend spoke, their proximity setting nerves skittering up and down his spine. His face felt hot. “I had someone else look at it, and they thought it was fine, but— You probably know better than them, huh?”

“Of course I do.” Scar grinned, “I’ve been here longer than anyone.”

Grian raised a brow at him. “That’s a lie,” he snorted, taking his coffee cup and raising it back to his lips before Scar had taken it out of his hand. “Hey—”

Scar took a sip of his friend’s coffee. It tasted absolutely putrid, but he could feel the damp bit of paper beneath his lip, where Grian’s tongue had flicked out to catch the last droplet of black coffee before it slid down the cup. He swallowed the burning taste, pulling a face as the cup was snatched back. “You need sugar in your life, Gri.”

“That’s why you’re around.” He said offhandedly, not seeming to notice the reaction that Scar gave as he took a long drink of his repossessed coffee. Right where Scar’s lips had been.

He swallowed, feeling like he was burning underneath his clothes.

Suddenly being all too aware of the eye contact they were maintaining, he pulled his eyes down to look at the slideshow. “Anyway, uh,” he floundered for a second, feeling far more flustered than he did a few minutes ago, “I think it’s good! You could always toss in a few transitions.”

“Transitions are for CEO’s.” Grian huffed, saving the file before closing the tab. “Boss makes a dollar, I make a dime, I write Yahoo reviews on company time.” He clicked on a hidden tab, revealing a game that looked vaguely like cookie clicker, but it was with a chicken instead. Letting it run on auto, he tipped his head back to look up at Scar. “What are you supposed to be doing today? Surely it’s not meandering the whole day.”

“I’m not ‘meandering’!” Scar protested, gently rocking the chair and delighting in the laugh it drew out of Grian. “No, I just have to look in analytics. But that’s later. I don’t have to do it right now.”

“And if you don’t do it now, you never will.” His friend lectured lightly. “We both know this.”

As he spoke, he lifted a hand and tucked some hair behind Scar’s ear. Clearly it had been bothering him, the small furrow between his brows relaxing as he sat back. Scar cleared his throat. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine.” He hummed, although his voice broke off slightly towards the end.

It felt like the temperature in the room rose a few degrees.

He straightened himself up, trying to put as much distance between them without making it blatantly obvious that he was trying to escape. “Well! I better go do my, uh, my thing. My analytics.” He brushed himself off, straightening the haphazardly done tie he had slung behind his shoulder. Grian looked mildly disdained at how Scar immediately threw the tie back to its placement when he was done.

“I thought you were going to do that later?” Grian accused, grabbing a stray pencil rolling across his desk and tossing it at Scar’s chest. It fell to the carpeted floor with a muffled tap. “Where are you going?”

Scar shrugged, plastering on a grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He bent down to grab the pencil, avoiding the grabbing hands trying to take it from him before he tucked the pencil behind Grian’s ear.

“That’s why I asked!” He huffed, easily frustrated by Scar’s evading. He pulled the pencil away from his ear, rolling it between his fingers before he tossed it back onto his desk. Once more, his attention was fully directed to him. “Really, Scar, where are you going?”

He really needed to leave. “Don’t worry about it, birdie.” He attempted to soothe, pointedly ignoring the glare his friend had sent him. “I’ll catch you later, okay?”

Grian could only huff as Scar turned on his heel and left as fast as he casually could.

———

As he could find himself, he was... Spiraling. To put it lightly.

He had gone too close to the sun. His wax wings were melting, and it was burning his back harshly. He could feel every beat of sun and sting of hubris engrave its shame into his body and nestling deep into his bones. He couldn’t breathe without feeling the hiss of tired lungs.

That was dramatic, he bemused.

Grian was running his life. Although he hadn’t taken over it entirely, most of his words made their home in Scar’s mind, circling around him like a swarm of wasps. He could never escape him, and he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to.

He was, unfortunately, exactly his type.

He was impatient. He always got what he wanted, especially if he whined for it, and he wore his brattiness proudly. He was competitive, which always mixed well with Scar’s own need for a good fight. They were, with all of that said, a perfect match.

But he wasn’t nearly as confident as he made himself out to be. Eventually, he’ll cross a line. Eventually, Grian will tell him to screw off, and they’ll return to being co-workers.

A knock on his cubicle wall startled him out of his helpless worrying, making him yelp out in surprise.

Grian snickered at him, shifting forward when Scar had realized he was there and taking a seat on the edge of the man’s desk. “Lost in the clouds?”

“Lost in-” He shook his head, reorienting himself. “No, just... Thinking.” He put on a grin, forcing his shoulders to relax as he leaned back in his chair. “What’s up, pretty bird?”

Grian rolled his eyes at the nickname. “I was gonna ask you if you wanted to walk me to my meeting.” He lifted his foot, hooking it onto Scar’s chair and slowly rocking him in his seat. He looked around the office before suddenly pulling Scar closer to him with the chair, ignoring the receiving yelp, leaning in and practically whispering into his ear. “That guy across from us keeps asking me if I want him to walk me, and I told him I was going with you.”

Scar had to fully suppress a shiver, heat rising to his cheeks. “Why didn’t you just tell him no?” He asked, his hand resting on Grian’s knee as if he was ready to push back at any moment. “You have no problem telling everyone else to back off.” He could only move closer to him. He felt like a magnet, being guided to the hottest piece of metal. A metaphor, of course.

“He gives me cupcakes!” He huffed, leaning back so he can look at Scar fully. Being this close, he could nearly count the number of freckles dusting his friend’s cheeks, speckling like constellations he couldn’t help but try and connect. If they had been on anyone else, he wouldn’t have cared, but when they were on Grian...

It felt nearly angelic.

“—And, not only that, but- Hey!” Grian suddenly stopped his rambling, a frown creasing his bitten, soft, although chipped, lips. “Are you even listening to me?”

No. “Yeah, of course I am.” He smiled, dragging his eyes back up to look into Grian’s. “You’re talking about how greedy you are.”

“I’m not greedy!” He protested, pushing Scar’s chair away before quickly reeling him back in. “My love language is gifts.”

At the self-satisfied chuff Grian had done, Scar snorted. “That’s gift giving. You just like being given things.”

His friend shrugged, the frown slipping into a lazy grin. “Who doesn’t?”

“I think he’s flirting with you, G.” He murmured, tracing shapes against his friend’s knee. The thought of it made his skin crawl. “If he wants to hang out with you all the time, and he gets you sweet treats... He might as well be proposing, right?

Grian frowned. “I guess. I don’t like him, though.” He pushed his glasses up before letting his hand drop down, his fingers tracing the bone of Scar’s wrist. “But you do those things too. And I don’t see you on your knees.”

Scar tried, incredibly hard, to resist the urge to make a joke out of that, but he failed. “You’ll have to buy me a drink first.” He watched his friend’s expression carefully, waiting to see when he crossed the line. But nothing changed, aside from Grian’s brows raising slightly. “That’s a sight you’ll have to pay for.”

“Right, of course.” He hummed, tapping his finger against Scar’s knuckle before sliding his hand back down to its home on his wrist. “Has that ever worked? Have you gotten paid to be on your knees?”

He tilted his head. “Is that an HR appropriate question?” He mused, watching Grian sigh in exasperation. He delighted in making him flustered.

“You started this!” He defended himself, pinching the skin of Scar’s arm and making him squeak in surprise before he let up. “Don’t bring up HR. They’ve got eyes everywhere.”

Somehow, at the mention of HR, their boss appeared next to them. They both startled, Grian shoving Scar as far away from him as he could physically manage without completely toppling his chair over and straightening up.

Their boss glanced between them, before focusing on Grian. “Your meeting is in ten minutes.” He informed him, giving the two of them a curt nod before leaving them be. His friend deflated the moment they were clear, a loud exhale escaping him as he nudged Scar’s chair back with his foot. Sometimes it felt like Grian couldn’t stand the thought of being apart from him for more than a few minutes. On his own terms, of course.

They exchanged a look, his own vibrant eyes easily matching with Grian’s dull, but not lifeless, ones.

He huffed out a sigh, running a hand through his hair to smooth it down. “Well... We should get going then, huh? Care to walk me to my meeting?” Grian smiled, moving off the desk and offering his hand for Scar to take.

Scar happily took his hand, feeling the warmth underneath his palm as he pulled himself up from his seat. He felt mildly unbalanced, but he quickly straightened up and easily fell into step with Grian.

Their hands were woven together like they were molded that way. Although a little workplace inappropriate, Grian looked more than content to keep his eyes forward and his thumb constantly swiping against the back of Scar’s hand. If he had let himself think, just for a moment, that this is what they could be like, then he’d be letting his silly crush win.

Grian would probably rather die than be in any stifling relationship. He was always moving, always one to be attracted to what was more entertaining, and he loved that lifestyle. Scar would only be stifling that drive if he had dared to speak to Grian about these feelings. To burden him with the thought that they could ever be more than just friends.

He was tugged into the elevator, the movement pulling him out of his thoughts as he took his rightful place by his friend's side. The machinery groaned after years of use, rusty cogs working hard to keep up with the load as Grian put in what floor they were trying to go to.

The machine creaked and whined in protest as the doors shut, a loud thud announcing they were moving up. Soft music played faintly around the confined space, making up for the silence that had enveloped both him and Grian.

With every floor that it passed by, the elevator thumped impatiently. It sounded nearly pained with every move, like it was going to give up at any moment, but the closer they got to their floor, the less he worried about it. It wasn’t like it was going to break down—It had been operating like that since Scar had begun working there, and there was never any problem with it.

The music was crackly underneath the old speakers, occasionally fading out to hiss before it returned to its original state. After a couple of loops, it became a little grating to hear.

Eventually, Scar couldn’t take the silence. He hummed along with the music, if only to finish the last few notes, tapping his fingers against Grian’s knuckles and relishing in the way his friend bobbed his head with him.

He grinned at him, gently squeezing his hand. “Are you nervous?”

“About the meeting?” Grian returned the squeeze, albeit absentmindedly. “No. There’s always going to be someone else in that meeting who’s stupider than I am. I’m not worried about it.”

Scar made a noise of agreement, his head tilting up to look at the ceiling. “You’re smarter than anyone I know, G.” The light above them went dim, as if sputtering its last life. “There’s no way you won’t knock it out of the park.”

He heard him hum, the noise disinterested, but Scar knew that was just his friend’s usual tone. “Thanks.” He murmured, his thumb moving to run against the seam of their interwoven fingers.

The movement brought him to look back down, looking at the way they were holding hands and finding himself nearly flustered at how affectionate it seemed. It made his stomach swoop, in a way. He cleared his throat, gently squeezing their hands again. Everything he does, it felt like he was testing the limits. The air around them felt thick, like it was ready to snap.

He felt lightheaded, but that might just be because he forgot to breathe.

Inhaling sharply— and ignoring the confused glance he got from Grian at the sudden noise—, he looked around the elevator. There were mirrors pasted to the back of it, smudged from the bare minimum of sanitizing by the janitors and crooked from whoever wanted to get it done quickly and didn’t care how straight it was.

Through the smudges, he could see Grian staring at their hands. He had a weird expression on his face that quickly went away when he realized Scar had been staring at him.

“This is moving really slowly.” Grian frowned, almost awkwardly, taking a step forward and pressing his finger against the floor button a few times in rapid succession. It moaned in protest, before it stopped making noises entirely.

They both paused at the sudden silence that fell around them, their eyes finding each other almost immediately.

Scar held back a laugh. “Did you break the elevator?”

Grian squawked, letting go of Scar’s hand to start frantically clicking the buttons. Even after he tried each combination of button clicking, the machine remained stationary.

He couldn’t help but laugh at him, trying—and failing—to stifle down the grin plastered across his lips. “You broke it!”

“I didn’t!”

“You did!” He practically crowed, before yelping when Grian stormed up to him. He crossed the distance in one long step, playfully smacking his hands against Scar’s chest in a demand for him to shut up.

As upset as he sounded, he had a massive smile on his face. “It’s like a hundred years old, Scar! This isn’t my fault!”

“Don’t rush ancient things!” Scar raised his hands in a placating manner, trying to get Grian to stop hitting him, but instead the man pushed him back. The back of hips hit the railing, making him push down a gasp as he was cornered.

Grian encaged him excitedly, a wild grin painting his expression as he jabbed his finger against Scar’s sternum. “If I’m going down, you’re going down with me.” Although he was shorter than him by a good amount, he still made him feel like he was underneath him.

Scar felt a little bit dazed. “Is that all I am to you? An accomplice?” He sighed, trying to play along although his mind was running a million miles a minute. If either of them had moved, just a little bit closer, their bodies would slot together. “I thought we were friends, Gri.”

“Not in the court of law.” Grian joked, using this moment of closeness to pull Scar’s tie off his shoulder. He straightened it, seeming satisfied with himself when it was where it should have been. “You’d go to jail for me, right?”

Of course he would. “No!”

The lights flickered above them, drawing Grian’s attention up towards them. They dimmed, dancing between pitch black and its usual brightness, before fading out entirely.

He heard Grian make a short, slightly strangled noise, his hand brushing against Scar’s own as he moved in the dark. He didn't stray far, eventually grabbing onto his wrists.

Their breaths were the only thing he could truly hear in the dark.

Without the florescent lights humming, or the creaking of the elevator, it was completely silent. He could hear his ears ringing, straining to listen to any sort of noise.

“What did you do?” Grian hissed out, squeezing his wrists to self soothe. Or scold him, he wasn’t sure.

“I didn’t do anything,” he promised him, squinting to see him in the dark. He could feel his friend’s eyes burning into him, blindly following any movement in the dark. Neither of them had thought to bring their phones, he realized.

He heard him huff, although his breath brushed against his throat. He failed to suppress a shudder, surprised at how close Grian had suddenly got in between the time it took for him to answer. He felt their thighs press together as he shifted his weight, stuck between the wall of the elevator and Grian. Biting his lip to suppress some sort of whine, he tried to press back against the railing.

This wasn’t good. He couldn’t do that to Grian—Even if he really wanted to. Even if he had thought about it, every night he allowed himself to.

His mind had brought him back to one night, a few years ago. Their office hosts an annual Halloween party, for team morale purposes. Grian had promised—jokingly—that he would come wearing the skimpiest outfit he had at home, and true to his word, when Halloween came along, he came wearing an outfit. It hugged his body like it was a second layer of skin, the latex shiny and clearly polished for the evening. It was a cat outfit, the tail having a wire that let it sway whenever he walked. He had even worn a collar with a bell, to top it all off.

The image of him in that outfit, years ago, something nobody even remembers anymore, was burned into his mind. As ashamed of it as he was, his silly work crush had grown into something far more uncontrollable. He snuck away from the party to burn his frustration out, hoping the guilt wouldn’t track him down.

He had locked himself in the bathroom, his back pressed against the stall. His teeth dug into his knuckle to muffle down the pathetic noises he couldn’t help but let out as he ran his palm against himself. The friction burned through him, making his hips twitch forward for more. He was already half-hard, that frustratingly tight suit doing undoubtedly sinful things to Scar’s mind.

He ached to rip it off with his teeth. To run his hands against every inch of Grian’s body like he was allowed to, but he knew he wasn’t. Scar’s teeth bit down against his hand as his eyes squeezed shut, his mind filling with fantasies he wouldn’t dream of admitting to anybody.

If he had been listening a little more, if he had been fantasizing a little less, he would’ve heard the noise of the door opening. Of the quiet jingle of a bell, but he didn’t.

Scar came with Grian’s name on his tongue.

Since then, he couldn’t really look at Grian the same. He knew that—Although they were friends, and he probably wouldn’t care all that much—it was shameful. And he was content to let it be just that. A shameful thing he had done.

But he would never say he truly regretted it.

He could feel something watching him in the darkness, the gaze making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It didn’t feel dangerous, it just felt... Endless. Like it wouldn’t leave, no matter where he tried to move.

Having suddenly remembered Grian was in the darkness with him, he lifted his hand and grabbed around, eventually feeling his friend underneath his palm. Judging by how he startled at the touch, he wasn’t expecting it.

Grian’s foot shifted forward, his thigh slotting in between Scar’s as he ran his hand up his arm. He had forgotten he was holding his wrists until then, the contact engraving into his veins. The absence of it burned, but the new touch was grounding in a place full of nothing.

Complete deprivation.

Without the ability to see, the feeling of Grian’s fingers tracing over his arm, like it was trying to commit every imperfection underneath the fabric of his dress shirt, was nearly amplified. He could feel his breaths, soft and measured, brush against his neck, their proximity making Scar’s heart race wildly.

There was something terrifying about how easily Grian could tear him apart. They haven't spoken since the lights had shut off, and yet he felt like he could give the world to him. If he had been just a little closer, if their breaths intertwined just like their hands had a few moments earlier, He would’ve let him do anything.

Woven by fate, woven by proximity, he would let him do anything.

Grian’s thigh suddenly moved up, pressing it against his clothed dick and making gasp out sharply. It sent sparks of pleasure through his system, his hand gripping Grian tighter in the process.

“Shit- Sorry,” he apologized, pulling his leg back in a way that made Scar’s hips twitch down to feel more of it. He hated the thought of the friction leaving him. A sound—Desperate, nearly depraved—escaped him before he had the chance to muffle it. “Scar?”

His mind felt fuzzy. Nothing had even happened, and yet he felt fucked stupid. “Nnh- What?” He could feel his face burn with embarrassment, lips parted to pant out for the breath that he had lost somehow.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his voice taking on a teasing tone that anybody could recognize. He wanted to make fun of him.

He could feel his grip tighten around wherever he was holding Grian from, subconsciously trying to pull him closer. He needed to be touched again. He needed to know this isn’t just a fantasy he’d put himself in. “Yeah. You?” Scar mumbled back, his mind feeling like sludge even when it raced for thoughts and answers.

Grian laughed a little at that, the noise breathy. “Pretty fine, myself.”

Although he was in front of him, it felt like his words circled throughout the space. He never understood why the dark made him feel so brainless, at times.

He could feel hands tracing up his arms, the touch burning him through his clothes. Grian’s touch was nearly exploratory, wanting to see what he could get away with him before he was told to knock it off, but he didn’t. He never wanted to. The sound of his own breath hitching was enough to break him out of his daze.

His own hand began to wander, slipping down until he could feel the cool leather of Grian’s belt. He followed it along with his fingertips before he could feel the loop of his pants, and they were practically calling to him to pull.

Scar hooked his finger around the loop before practically dragging Grian forward. He relished in the surprised noise that got out of him, their hips bumping together in a way that made him feel faint. It wasn’t enough—He needed more.

Holding Grian in place, he brought his hips to grind forward, feeling the rough fabric create the friction he had been craving since he had met him. He heard him gasp out, his hands sliding down to cup Scar’s chest and squeezing.

Grian lifted his thigh, pressing it insistently against him and allowing him to rut his hips down helplessly. His hands ran down Scar’s chest, fingers gripping his sides and guiding him into a slower grind.

He hadn’t realized he was letting out noises until his whine broke through the sound of their sharp breaths, both clearly worked up from this miniscule amount of touching. As embarrassing as it was, he wanted more. He needed more.

Scar let go of Grian’s belt loop to feverishly run his hand up his body, eventually finding the back of his neck and pulling him closer. Their foreheads bumped together unpleasantly, but through the darkness his eyes strained to see him. He could feel his breath against his parted lips, shallow and nearly restless.

Grian tilted his head, the tips of their noses brushing together before he spoke. “Do you want to?” He murmured, voice quiet against the hum of silence surrounding them.

God. Yes.

Scar nodded almost immediately, but nothing about their position changed. Grian simply laughed at him, one hand coming up take his tie and pulling on it lightly. He had the feeling it was meant to ground him, but it only made him feel more desperate. “I can’t lose you yet, Scar. Use your words.”

He could hear the grin on his lips—nearly feel it, too—as he spoke, clearly happy to have unraveled Scar this much and so easily. It felt like he knew exactly how to take him apart, even if they had never gone this far. Forcing himself to swallow the rock in his throat, he tried to speak. “Please,” he whispered, the words pleading and breaking off towards the end. His face burned with heat, but he’s never wanted anything more than to feel Grian. On top of him, underneath him, anywhere he wanted, he would do.

His hips never stopped rutting against Grian’s thigh, the repetitive action making the pleasure blur into the background. It felt like he was burning from the inside out, and he needed an outlet. His mouth watered for more, and he was prepared to beg for it.

Grian hummed, pleased, and let go of the tie in favor of cupping Scar’s face. He missed the first time, but he eventually found his target. His head subconsciously tilted into the touch, pressing his cheek against the warmth of his hand. “You’re such a good boy, Scar.” He praised, his words almost sounding loving if not for the tone of condescension.

It stung so nicely.

He was pulled closer, Grian’s lips grazing his own before he fully pressed against him. His fingers twitched against his friend’s—if he can call him that, now—neck, running up to tangle into his hair. He tasted like black coffee. He tasted like himself.

There weren’t any fireworks, or sparks, it just felt right. Like they had been doing this for as long as he can remember. His lips parted into a sigh, the noise sounding just shy of a whine as Grian’s tongue easily slid into his mouth. Although he was pretty sure he closed his eyes, he could feel eyes staring him down.

The unshakeable feeling of being watched, like he willingly walked into a predator’s den.

Grian pulled back to catch his breath, tongue flicking out to wet his lips before pulling Scar back into the kiss. Their tongues tangled together the second time, the taste of each other lingering in the small space they had to themselves. He wanted to taste more of him.

He gently tugged on Grian’s hair, swallowing down the moan it earned as he carefully switched their places around, desperate to keep their lips together despite his lungs screaming for oxygen. He pressed him against the railing, finally allowing them to pull apart in favor of pushing their hips together.

“Fuck—” Grian panted out. He had tipped his head back, judging by the quiet thump he could hear a beat after. “That’s it, Scar, come on...”

A whine caught in his throat at the praise, his legs spreading as they found a rhythm of rutting that left them both nearly shaking. His hand left its placement in his hair to run along Grian’s thigh, carefully pulling it up.

Grian allowed the movement, seeming to brace himself against the railing as he hooked his leg against Scar’s hip, allowing him to grind his dick against the seam of his work pants. It felt like fire against his gut, his body arching forward. His head bumped the mirror, his harsh breaths surely fogging it up as his grip on him tightened.

He pulled his head down, running his cheek against Grian’s shoulder before he was able to find his neck. He ran his tongue up the side of it before he located his pulse point, feeling it jump underneath him. His teeth nipped the skin, wanting to sink further into it, to mark him up until nobody was allowed to claim Grian as theirs, but he was just barely sensible enough to know he needed permission for that.

“Go on,” he heard above him, the words sounding nearly reverent. “You’re doing so good.”

Scar nodded, feeling breathless all over again as he mouthed at the warm skin underneath his teeth. He nipped at wherever he could find skin, listening to the beautiful sounds the man was making. They were music to his ears, a balm on his desperate soul.

They sounded like they were being muffled, being broken only to quietly praise him. He needed to hear more.

Grian’s hand suddenly moved, blindly groping his chest before getting a handle on his tie and pulling. It constricted his throat, making him gasp and pull his head up to alleviate the pressure.

He felt eyes glaring down at him, the hold on his tie tightening. Swallowing back a whine, he slowed his thrusting. He hated the feeling of losing that pleasure, his hips twitching forward until he forced them to stop completely.

“You sound so pretty when you’re like this,” Grian sighed, his words sounding nearly disappointed. Like he was upset he hadn’t found that out sooner. “It’s hot in here, and I don’t know how much longer we’ll be allowed to do this for. Why don’t we get a move on, okay?”

He held his grip for a moment longer before letting it drop, the oxygen filling Scar’s lungs suddenly. He shook off the shock, immediately getting to work on letting Grian back down to unbutton him.

There was something unbelievably frustrating about not being able to see Grian. He wanted to see every inch of skin being exposed to him, he wanted to run his hands down him and tell him how beautiful he looked, but he couldn’t.

Grian sighed in relief when he finished up pulling off his shirt, the clothing falling to the floor with a quiet sound. “Good job,” he reached around, eventually finding Scar’s head and petting him.

Scar leaned into the touch, a noise escaping him. “You’re so pretty.” He mumbled, surprising himself with his own voice.

He felt his hand pause for a second, as if he wasn’t expecting it either. As quickly as it stopped, he resumed, humming quietly. “Thank you,” he could hear the small smile in his voice, before he quickly cleared his throat. “Now, come on. On with it.”

Right. He had something to do.

He ran his hands down Grian’s sides, feeling the muscles tense underneath his fingertips before relaxing. His fingers caught onto his belt, trying to undo it and praying he didn’t struggle so much it took them both out of the moment. Eventually, it did fall loose, and he was able to carefully zip down Grian’s pants.

This was nerve wracking. He was nervous. His hands shook with excitement and anxiety, and he couldn’t believe this could finally be happening. This was never something he thought would ever happen, and yet here he was, slowly nudging Grian’s pants down. He heard the man’s breath hitch, and that’s when he hesitated.

He knew he wanted this. Since he had met him, he wanted this.

But he couldn’t help but hesitate.

“Scar,” Grian warned, finding his hand and gently guiding it to his thigh. The touch broke him out of his worry, his fingers twitching up to slowly pull off the last of his clothing.

Lace.

He could feel lace, pressed against Grian’s thigh and hip. It felt nice against his fingers, worn down enough to be comfortable, and yet fragile.

...

His mind spun.

He ran his fingers over them, feeling the patterns underneath his palm before he got to Grian’s bulge. Scar ran his thumb over the strain, feeling lightheaded at the choked sound the man tried to tamp down.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, unable to think of anything else to say. Grian agreed with the sentiment by letting out a short noise, trying to grind into his cupped hand.

“You—Haah— You have no idea how uncomfortable these are.” He huffed; his voice strained with pleasure. “God— Take them off.”

His wish is Scar’s command, but- “What color are they?”

“What?”

He cleared his throat, pushing his hand rougher against him straining against the panties. The sound of him gasping, his fingers tightening around his wrist, was gorgeous. “What, uhm... What color are they.”

Grian didn’t reply for a long moment, before he slowly pulled Scar’s hand away from his dick. He placed him to the hem of the lace, holding him there until he got the point and began to tug them down. “You can find out later.” He told him impatiently, but his words were laced with relief.

Knowing Grian wore them underneath his usual work clothes—For who knows how long, and seemed completely comfortable... It drove him insane. His mouth practically watered, a quiet whine escaping his lips at the thought of Grian wearing them every day, and him being none the wiser.

He longed to rip them off him, to ruin them, to feel the lace against his lips, but they were running out of time.

His fingers wrapped around Grian’s leaking cock, his hand practically trembling in near excitement that he finally got to do this. He was half tempted to get on his knees and thank him for allowing him this reward, but he kept his feet on the ground and continued setting up a faster pace.

He didn’t care that he was straining against his own pants, that his shirt was sticking to his skin uncomfortably. He wanted to touch Grian—He wanted to know he had earned this.

Grian swore under his breath, fucking himself into Scar’s hand like it was just a fleshlight. He could hear his hands slipping against the railing, nearly missing it when he tried to fortify his grip. “Come on—You're doing so well, Scar.” He rambled, the words muffled between the sharp intake of breaths.

Scar whined at the encouragement tightening his hand around Grian’s dick and feeling nearly faint in the way he gasped so beautifully. “Thank you—” He wished to hear it for the rest of his life.

“Okay—Mmh— Let’s- Let’s move on.” He weakly, and reluctantly, bat away Scar’s hand, instead guiding it to hold onto his hip. Grian hooked his leg back to where it used to be before he asked for his clothes off, his hand finding its way to Scar’s tie. He pulled on it gently, trying to pull him closer to the point where their hips brushed together. He had to swallow down a whine. “You’re overdressed.” He clicked his tongue, tightening his hold before loosening it soon after. “Come on, it’s time to work on yourself.”

Scar’s mind froze at that, not understanding the order until he realized Grian wanted him to disrobe. To practically strip in front of him, even if he couldn’t see it.

And he never wanted to do something more than be presentable for him.

He reluctantly moved his hand away from Grian’s hip to begin unbuttoning his shirt, impatiently thumbing over the buttons the longer it took to undo them. Neither of them could wait any longer.

Surprisingly, trying to unclothe in the dark and dangerously horny was a very hard task. Eventually, he managed to unbutton his shirt all the way and toss it onto the ground somewhere, having kept the tie on, but then came the time to work on the pants. He slowly slid the belt out of its loop, trying to get it out while his hands trembled hard enough to make him wonder if he should be worried.

The moment Grian heard the clatter of Scar’s pants falling, he moved one hand, running it against his hip and thigh and seeming disappointed when he could only feel boxer briefs. “Shame,” he mumbled underneath his breath, clearly not expecting him to hear him, “I was imagining something more whore-ish.”

“What’dyou mean?” Scar asked, thumbing at the hem of his boxers. Grian’s fingers purposefully skimmed around his bulge, like he didn’t want to spoil himself of the main event.

He can only assume the man had shaken his head, because the verbal answer came a beat after. “You seem like the guy to go commando. Maybe wear a thong.” He mumbled, his voice petulant. “It’s just a shame you have something so... Basic...”

Scar couldn’t help but scoff out a quiet laugh, slowly pulling them down. “Because they’re my work boxers. I wear them to work. Because I don’t want to wear lace panties to work.” His cock was finally freed from its confines after one final pull, making him nearly go brainless with relief. It felt so good to be fully free, aside from his shoes, he supposed. “They’re- Fuck...” His hips twitched forward at the feeling of his sensitive arousal being exposed to the air. “They’re comfortable.”

“Right,” Grian huffed quietly, moving forward and grinding their dicks together nearly impatiently. “Whatever. Come on, get inside me already.”

His grip on Scar’s tie tightened, the one article of clothing that hadn’t been discarded working well in Grian’s favor. He blinked slowly, feeling a moment of concern in his lust addled brain. “But- With no prep? That’s going to hurt.”

“Obviously not raw, Scar. I’m assuming you have a bottle on you.” He sighed heavily, as if explaining this was a hard task.

Well.

He was right. He did have a small bottle in his pant pocket. Right along with his keys. Grian allowed him to move back slightly to blindly look for his pants, using his limited reach to locate it until he could feel the fabric of it underneath his fingers. He pulled it to his chest, quickly rifling through them until the cold plastic brushed against his fingertips.

He pulled it out and used the sound of Grian’s quiet panting to find his way back to where he used to be. For as long as the lights have been off for, his vision had never adjusted to the dark at all. He was about half sure he forgot to open his eyes at some point, but either way nothing changed.

Standing back up, he pulled Grian back into their position and clicked open the bottle, praying as he poured it into his hand that he didn’t completely miss the mark in some horrible way. The slick dripped into his palm, relieving him of having to worry that he was pouring lube on the ground.

Grian had made an impatient sound, the leg hooked around Scars own trying to impatiently nudge him closer together. “Hurry up. We don’t have all day.” He complained, finding his hand and pulling it in between his thighs. His previous dominant demeanor almost entirely crumbled by now, the desperation over having something in him winning.

His finger slowly circled his hole, feeling him tense up before he forced himself to relax. Grian sighed as if it lifted a weight off his shoulders, his grip on Scar’s wrist twitching before he slowly loosened it and let it drop. He pushed his digit in slowly, feeling the resistance around it.

Between the sounds of their breaths, and the slick sounds of his fingers slowly stretching Grian out, Scar couldn’t help but make a soft noise of frustration. He wanted to feel breathless—Mindless, even—but he felt far too aware. He couldn’t slip back so easily like he had in the beginning.

Grian hummed quietly at the noise, his hips pushing down against his fingers greedily. “What?” He asked, voice hushed in the heat of the situation.

He shrugged, not really knowing what was wrong. “I don’t— I want to feel, um... Weightless. I don’t want to think.”

It felt embarrassing to explain, to even think about admitting, but he knew Grian would be nothing if not understanding. They’ve spoken this about before, once, during a random work party, but they never thought about it after that.

He heard his breath hitch quietly, his walls squeezing his fingers before he exhaled and forced himself to relax. “Do you want me to take control?” He murmured, a quiet laugh coming out of him when he could clearly sense the way Scar nodded. He took in a long breath, steeling himself for the role reversal as he slipped another finger in.

Scar’s hand—The one that wasn’t two knuckles deep into his friend—was nearly trembling in excitement. He couldn’t believe he was getting what he wanted, and so easily. His breath felt nearly shallow as he twitched his fingers up further, drawing out a lovely, breathy moan from Grian.

“Come on,” he chided, his hand coming back into possession of Scar’s tie. Grian pulled on it, letting his airflow be slowly restricted. His mind swam with the feeling. “Be good, okay?”

He couldn’t do anything other than nod.

Grian grinned. He could hear it in the way he spoke next. “You’re so desperate, Scar. So easily ruined.”

Desperate.

That’s all he ever was to begin with, really.

Desperate to love Grian. Desperate to feel him underneath his hands, to serve him whenever he pleased. He wanted to be his. He wanted to earn the privilege of being owned by Grian.

His fingers absentmindedly picked up the pace as he slipped another finger in alongside the first two, his head swimming at the declaration that he’d do just about anything for a man who wouldn’t give him everything, and he liked it there.

He wanted to be ruined by a man who could only consider him a one-time thing. He wanted to be remembered as an option for somebody that didn’t consider him a choice.

He wanted to be his.

Scar leaned forward, pressing his nose against the soft, warm skin of Grian’s shoulder before he found the crook of his neck and bit down. He relished in the way Grian gasped out, his thighs twitching up as his hole tensed around him.

“Fuck— Scar!” Grian’s loopy sigh became nearly a yelp as Scar’s fingers pressed against his prostate and bit down at the same time, his hold on the tie tightening to a dangerous level. Scar pulled his mouth off to gasp for air, barely registering the quick apology when the grip was loosened as fast as it had tightened.

He caught his breath, feeling his mind swim with the feeling of it. His grip on Grian’s thigh tightened to an almost bruising amount, trying to tug him closer as he pulled his fingers out.

Scar felt dazed, like a bird hitting a window at mach speed as he listened to Grian’s nearly frantic apologies.

“Sorry— Are you okay?” He grabbed at Scar’s face, nearly poking his eye out with his thumb before he ran his hand over his cheek. “Scar?”

He’s truly never been better.

Scar’s pretty sure he nodded, but his mind was detached from his body. “Mhmm.” He hummed quietly, knowing Grian would rather a verbal reply than a physical one.

Grian seemed to relax at that, smoothing Scar’s cheekbone over with his thumb. “Sorry, I— God. That...” He took in a breath, having to steel himself. “Can— Do you still want to keep going?”

Yes. “Please,” his voice failed him, his head pushing past Grian’s hand to get his mouth back on his neck. Scar’s tongue flicked out to taste him, listening to the hitch in his breath. “I need you, Gri.”

He heard him swear under his breath, his body shivering underneath his lips. Grian whimpered out when his fingers returned to his hole, gently circling his rim again. “No,” he tried to protest, although his hips twitched down against his fingers. He caught himself before he continued to whine, though, his dominant demeanor sliding back on. “Come on. I can take it, darling. You’ve stretched me enough.”

Scar swallowed, a spike of need leaving him breathless. He pushed his fingers back in, if only to listen to Grian’s annoyed sound. The slick sound of his fingers pushing into him, then exiting, sent thrills down his spine.

He pulled his fingers out fully, using the lube still covering his hand to slick his own cock. The touch made him cry out, his fingers tightening around the head of it. Scar’s body shuddered in pleasure, the feeling of it sending sparks down his spine. It lit his nerves up, making him feel like lightning from the inside and out.

His fingers ran down, the sensation practically sizzling his brain out before a sudden ‘tsk’ was heard. The noise startled him out of his neediness, his grip loosening.

“Scar,” Grian warned, seeming pleased when Scar had let out a whine soon after stopping. “You’re being such a good boy so far. Come on, put yourself to use.”

Those words struck something deep within himself. He felt heat fully stirring in his guts, the last thread of patience inside of him snap as he grabbed onto Grian’s hips. He couldn’t help but laugh a little at the near yelp he let out when he was yanked closer, but that gave way to desperation when he guided his tip to Grian’s hole.

The way he squirmed underneath his hands, desperate to have something in him even if he was the one in control. It was addictive. It was dizzying. He wanted to hear it looping in his mind for the rest of his life.

He slowly pushed in, feeling him practically swallow him whole with each inch that slid in. Grian squirmed in his grip, trying to push down against him, but Scar held him down. He didn’t want to hurt him.

He wanted to be hurt. He wanted to feel Grian’s fingers against him every time he felt alone.

Scar pressed his lips against Grian’s throat, feeling his Adam’s apple bob under it as he bottomed out into him. His walls were tight and nearly constricting, making his mind swim with the need to push further into him; to thrust with wild abandon until his insides didn’t know anything other than him, but he waited for the go ahead. He absentmindedly mouthed at his throat, his breaths fanning out against the marked-up skin while Grian breathed through the intrusion.

“Good— I’m good, Scar, c’mon,” Grian eventually babbled out, his hips fucking down against him impatiently. He was squirming underneath his hold, and judging by the way body trembled, it was getting hard to hold himself up on the railing.

Scar moved to grip Grian’s thighs better in his hold, carefully adjusting how he was holding him. The man seemed to relax now that most of the weight had been taken off him, his back pressed against the cold mirror and one of his hands finding its way into Scar’s hair. He slowly pulled out, having to stifle down the need to whine out at the loss of sensation.

Grian was rambling on about something Scar couldn’t really process as his hips twitched up into the heat he wanted so badly to be buried in. He pushed his face into the crook of the man's neck, careful on how he was holding Grian before quickly pushing back in. The action made his knees nearly give out, but the resulting moan it drew from the both of them was entirely worth it.

He felt addicted to the feeling of it; of the walls pressing against him, surrounding him, practically milking him for what he was worth. He choked back a near sob, having to keep his mouth busy with Grian’s neck and shoulder to stop himself from begging.

Scar set up a slow going pace at first, trying to savor every push and drag sending sparks through his system as best as he could. Grian’s babbling reached his ears a moment after they were said, the incoherent “please, Scar, more—” and “come on, you’re doing so good—fuck!—so good!” feeling like prayers against his ears.

He drove his hips faster, his nails leaving indents into Grian’s skin as he nipped and bit at every piece of skin his lips grazed. The sounds of their skin meeting time and time again filled the room. Just a little more, just a little—

“I don’t think I’ve heard you this desperate,” Grian huffed out an almost manic laugh, his fingers tugging at Scar’s hair. He’d almost forgotten it was there. “I’ve been dreaming about this, waiting. Ever since I heard you.”

“What?” He mumbled, his own words barely registering. He felt like a live wire being constantly plucked. He couldn’t do anything.

More, more, more—

Grian’s grip tightened in his hair, as if trying to keep him in position while also tugging him away. “Halloween.”

Everything stopped.

His mind rewound, then paused. Then got stuck at some point.

But as soon as it had caught up, he truly wished it hadn’t.

Halloween— Halloween—

Grian heard him. He caught him. And he knew this whole time that it had happened. “Fuck.” He quietly mumbled.

He knew. He knew, he knew, he knew—

“Fuck- Fuck— Grian,” he let out a pathetic whimper as he buried his dick into the man’s hole, gasping sharply before he spilled into him. He filled him deeply; every twitching wall being practically stained with him.

He didn't register Grian’s words, if he said any, his mind swimming as he pulled out.

At first, he had thought it was his mind, but then he felt his knees buckle, and his gravity shift. He barely had time to place Grian back on his feet before he found himself on the elevator floor, his back blooming with pain.

He could feel Grian’s frantic hands on him, patting him down and probably asking him if he was okay, but he didn’t even have the strength to give back a short hum. It felt like his insides were ripped out; in a good way, of course, but all the standing and excitement had finally caught up to him.

“Scar!” Grian’s voice finally filtered through his mind, a weird, but warm, feeling of pure relief flooding him when he heard it. “Scar, don’t tell me you’re dead— Scar.”

Scar got the strength to move his hand around, accidentally smacking the side of Grian’s head and surprising the both of them. Grian had let out a near squawk. “Sorry, Gri.” He mumbled, lazily petting the part he hit before he propped himself up on his elbows and felt the world move along with him. It hurt.

“Are you okay?” Grian asked, panicked, his hands finding Scar’s face and gently cupping it. If he had been a little more out of it, he could almost describe it as lovingly. “Why did—Or how did you fall?”

He could only really shrug. Everything hurt, but he felt nothing but satiated. “I dunno.” In the back of his mind, something was bothering him. It was under his skin, itching insistently.

But then he felt Grian shifting slightly, sitting down against his thigh. And he suddenly remembered what was bothering him.

“Oh!” He gasped, fully sitting up and making Grian yelp with the sudden change in position. He grabbed his hips—Albeit with a lot of blind misses before doing so—and pulled him closer, feeling a spark travel through his body at the feeling of him in his lap. But that was quickly replaced with guilt. “Gri, I didn’t even ask— I’m so sorry—”

He was met with a near immediate shake of the head. And by that, he meant Grian forcibly moved his head to shake it. Slightly disoriented, he had to force himself to focus on the man’s words. “Scar, it’s fine. It’s a little uncomfortable, but that’s kind of what I was expecting?” He pressed their foreheads together, slowly taking a breath in. From this position, he could feel Grian’s hard-on press against his thigh. “What, did you want to cum on the floor? Who would explain that to the janitor?”

Scar shrugged, his thumbs brushing over the bone of Grian’s hip. He could feel him shiver from the action. “Well— Uh, no, but…”

“Then shut up.” Grian scolded, pinching his cheek and only letting up when he started squirming in his grip. “It’s fine. I wanted it.” He sighed, gently cupping Scar’s face. “The point is; are you okay?”

He… felt okay. More than okay—His body was buzzing with an energy he hadn’t felt in months. Grian’s thighs straddling his own, his hands carefully cradling his face like he had been longtime lovers.

It was a place he wanted to be in for the remainder of his life.

Scar nodded. “More than okay.” He hummed, his head tilting into the hands pressing against it. Their noses brushed together, and he had to hold back the urge to give him a quick peck on the lips. They weren’t like that. “Thank you.”

Grian moved suddenly, pressing a kiss against his lips. He made an absolutely pathetic sound, desperate to taste him against his lips, but he pulled back. “The pleasure’s all mine. Seriously.” He laughed softly, adjusting himself in Scar’s lap. His dick ground against his thigh, making him suck in a breath through his teeth. “Fuck... If you were thinking of paying me back,” he exhaled, slowly starting up a rhythm. “I— Mmh— Have an idea...”

He moved his thigh up, letting him grind against it and feeling a shudder run down his spine when Grian pushed his hips down, full of need. He was letting out needy sounds under his breath, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he tried desperately to hold them back.

They were music to his ears. Soft ”mmh— haah...” escaping his lips with each drag. Scar planted his hands onto Grian’s hips, carefully guiding him into a painfully slow grind.

Grian’s head had tipped back, the sounds of his moans growing louder and filling the void they had found themselves in.

He couldn’t resist it. He leaned in until his jaw rested against the man’s shoulder, using that as his guideline as he began to mouth at his throat. The noise he made at that, overstimulated and yet desperate, was completely mind numbing. He needed to hear more.

Scar couldn’t help but moan at the taste of him, his sweat tasting like ambrosia against his tongue. As gross as that was.

His lips trailed up to his ear, unable to stop himself from nipping the shell of it. He pulled him closer, nails digging into the flesh of his ass as he did. “You’re doing great,” he praised into his ear, his voice pretty much shot with how much moaning and whining he did a few minutes prior. Grian shivered, leaning into the words.

He could tease him forever. Having him here, practically trembling and humping against his thigh like a dog, was enough to send molten lava swirling through his abdomen, wanting more but his body rejecting the thought of it.

“Gri,” he murmured, waiting for a response as his fingers danced up his spine, feeling each disk underneath his nails. Grian had hummed, his head dropping down to rest against Scar’s shoulder. “You sound like a wreck.”

Surprisingly, Grian had ground his hips down harder at that. Insults, huh?

Steeled with this information, he nipped at the man’s lobe. “You’re so loud… How long have you wanted this, pretty bird? How long have you been wearing those panties to work?”

Grian made a short noise, fingers running up his chest and digging into his shoulders when they had reached it. “I— Fuck, Scar… I don’t know, it’s- A while.”

He had to hold back the urge to whine at that. He was in control right now. “Yeah? You wanted somebody to see?”

Somebody else. Someone who wasn’t him. “You,” Grian whined out, choking on his own moan, “just you—please. Nobody else.”

Oh.

Fuck.

Something filthy— Depraved, swirled in his mind. Something possessive, needy, sinful whispering in his ear to be pleased about this.

Guiltily, he was.

He let out a shuddered breath, the sound coming it more like a growl than anything. “Wh- You’re just a whore, aren’t you?” The words were flustered, although he wasn’t able to shake off how pleased he was. “Wanted me to bend you over my desk, huh? Wanted me to see those and ruin them?”

Grian sobbed out, his hips stuttering out of rhythm. He was shaking in his grip now, so clearly close. “Mmhm- Wanted—Please, I need—Please—”

Christ. The noises he was making was music to his ears.

“You got what you wanted,” he slid his hand down from Grian’s spine, purposely scratching him in the process. He couldn’t help but drink in the whimper he had let out. “You’re such a—God, Gri. You’re pathetic.”

The only warning he got was a short gasp, before he felt Grian’s cum spill against his thigh.

...

Nobody spoke, for a while.

Then, Grian started to giggle quietly, shoulders shaking in what seemed to be great amusement.

Scar poked his side lightly, making him jump and laugh even more. Piqued by curiosity, he couldn’t help but ask. “Why are you laughing?”

Grian wordlessly shook his head, trying to catch his breath and calm down before speaking. “I just— We hooked up in an elevator. An elevator, Scar!”

Admittedly, it was pretty funny. Unable to stop himself from laughing along with him, he shook his head. “That’s your fault.”

“How is it my fault?!” He sounded indignant, his hands slapping Scar’s shoulders. The action made a loud clap, making the both of them go dead silent.

A beat went by.

...

And then another.

And then, they were both laughing.

He couldn’t help but laugh—The realization of what they had done, coupled by the frankly immature noise that had just filled the elevator, made them both giggle like they were back in high school. It was hard to catch his breath, overwhelmed by everything that had happened.

He hooked up with Grian. He hooked up with the man he had set his eyes on for years. He failed to listen to Mumbo’s advice, and now he was sitting here, the both of them naked on the elevator floor, with Grian in his lap.

It ran shivers down his spine, wanting more and needing far less. This was an unexpected outcome, and it terrified him.

This was everything Scar had wanted, and that’s never been more agonizing to him.

Eventually, their laughs died down. He adjusted Grian in his lap, pulling him back just a little bit. The man had made a short, disappointed noise, but allowed himself to be maneuvered. “We should, um, probably get dressed now, right?”

“Oh,” Grian sounded weirdly upset, but he still moved off of him. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

He itched to fix that tone. He didn’t want to hurt him, but he couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. Scar pulled himself up, blindly groping around the floor until he could feel fabric underneath his fingertips. Pulling them closer, he let out a sigh as he sorted through them.

Grian’s hands joined his own soon after, pulling apart what he assumed was his clothes and beginning to dress again. Scar loosened his tie before pulling it off completely, the feeling of having something around his neck starting to feel suffocating.

His mind spun, but as everything cooled down, he begun to realize how exhausted he felt.

“I’m so exhausted.” Scar mumbled, steadying himself before he pulled his underwear on. Grian had cleaned them up with the packet of wet wipes he had, for whatever reason, discarding them on the floor when he was done.

Grian laughed quietly, the rustle of fabric being heard alongside it. “Wonder why. Maybe you should sleep soon.”

They were back to where they used to be, nearly immediately. Joking and being friendly each other, after being unbelievbly intimate. He felt his skin crawl with the casual air. Scar forced a light laugh out, but it didn’t sound real to his own ears. “Yeah.”

Neither of them spoke after a while, the sound of fabric brushing against each other being the only thing to fill the silence that surrounded them. It was hard to button his shirt back up, but eventually he managed.

There was a loud thud all of a sudden, reverberating throughout the whole elevator before a long, grinding sound was grating into his ears. It was moving again, the lights suddenly flicking on and practically blinding him.

He let go of his shirt to push his palms into his eyes, trying to adjust to the sudden light. Judging by the nearly pained yelp that escaped Grian, he figured he suffered the same fate.

Scar blinked away the spots dancing in his vision, squinting until he could see again. The mirrors were fogged up on the back wall of the elevator, almost like it was telling on them for their crimes. The rest of it remained how it was before they went in; dingy, old, and broken. Dirtied wet wipes were sprawled across the floors, and in the middle of them were the panties, discarded and clearly forgotten.

When he looked up, gazing upon Grian, he could see the mess he had turned him into. His hair was a mess, his throat splattered with purples and reds of hickeys Scar had left on him, his button up poorly done in a way that looked lazy. He wished to see his body again. To peel back the layers of confidence and see what he could have forever, for the rest of his life, if he had spoken out.

But it wasn’t something he could have.

It wasn’t something he was allowed to want.

Grian made a short noise, drawing him out of his spiraling thoughts. “Oh, I forgot to put them back on.” He tried to say it casually, like it truly slipped his mind, but he knew that tone. It was completely intentional.

He stepped forward, his finger hooking the lace on the floor and pulling it up. It felt dirty to watch, like he walked in on something he wasn’t supposed to witness. Grian grinned up at him, the bell of the elevator chiming behind them to signal that it had arrived on one of the floors.

“I won’t really be needing it anymore, will I?” He murmured, making Scar realize the color of it. The lace was dark red, nearly wine colored, with floral designs carefully etched into it. He could only manage a shrug, his fingers twitching to hold onto them, to treasure them for the rest of his life. And yet, to Grian, they probably meant nothing.

Grian took a step forward, their chests nearly bumping together with the sudden proximity. He could feel his own breath hitch. “Care to hold onto them for me?” He didn’t wait for a response, his hands moving forward and slowly sliding the panties into Scar’s breast pocket.

They weighed against his chest, a secret only they knew, and a secret only Scar would keep. Every breath he took, the reminder of what they had done pushed against his ribs.

This is what he wanted. This is what he needed.

The doors creaked open, a shudder going through the whole elevator before stilling entirely. Grian leaned forward, his lips brushing against his cheek. “See you later, Scar.”

Just as soon as he had been there, he had left. He walked past him, a small laugh being the final thing he heard before the elevator chimed and shut its doors. He could feel Grian’s lips against his cheek, still. Burning into his skin and practically warming him from the inside, and out.

His heart ached with an unidentified emotion. He missed him already; he felt the hollow hole in his gut, needing to feel his touch again. Needing to be around him again.

Scar felt like a lost dog. Whining for attention and being scared when he gets it. He flinches away from the touch he begged for, and he knew he shouldn’t make Grian deal with that.

The elevator moved down to the ground level, a loud crunch coming from the gears before it stilled entirely. He shook himself off, the odd mood he put himself in lingering like a gloomy cloud as he stepped out of the elevator and returned to his cubicle.

His hips ached as he sat down. He groaned at the shift in weight, bringing his hands to his hair and slowly pulling it out of the elastic. It was a mess; he could feel the tangles underneath his fingertips. The places where Grian had pulled on were the most affected. Like he had left a permanent mark on him.

Work. Right.

It was time to work.

One hand on the keyboard, the other on his mouse, his mind on his task.

———

When Grian had called his name an hour later, a large grin plastered on his face, he pretended not to hear.