Served With a Twist

by Jet Lupin

  People from outside as well as within the company messaged him constantly requesting meetings, and he had accepted nearly every one. While well-meaning and perhaps too generous, the end result was two months booked solid with at least three meetings every day. One day even had seven meetings and half of them weren’t possible for him to attend. Some of them ran concurrent to each other in different parts of the office. Nearly all of them were back-to-back with no breaks. It seemed like the basic pod-based assistant would have kept this from happening, but Cut got the feeling that Samson had stopped listening to it ages ago.

  It took some doing, but Cut made sense of all the meetings, and the personalized notes that went along with them. He shuffled things around, and spaced them out. If this was how Samson conducted business on a regular basis, no wonder he was stressed.

  They fell into a routine fairly quickly. Every morning they met to review the day’s agenda, and each evening they briefed on any changes to the schedule and to prepare for the next day. Running errands and following up on the multitude of the unanswered emails in Samson’s inbox consumed Cut’s day. On days when there were no lunchtime meetings, and Cut made certain they were few and far between, they ate together, more to make sure Samson ate at all. Cut felt more like a caretaker of someone who couldn’t take proper care of themselves than an executive anything, but maybe there was no real difference.

  Day in, day out, those brutal hours wore Samson down, lowering his shoulders, making his smiles more brittle. But he hadn’t hinted at wanting a session even once. They hadn’t known each other long, but Cut could tell Samson was nearing the end of his endurance. He’d seen it many times in people from the lower blocks. Fatigue was the same across economic lines. The tension, the rigidness of posture, the quiet frustration with himself. Yet, through it all, Samson kept his issues to himself. He never lashed out, always treating his employees with patience. Cut wished he’d started working for him sooner.

  At the end of Cut’s first month, Samson had been detained for much of the day by a meeting with some members of the board. They hadn’t had time for their lunch, and Samson hadn’t left the conference room all day. He usually clocked out at 1730 himself, but when quitting time rolled around, and Samson still hadn’t appeared, Cut decided to stick around until he did. He wasn’t on at the bar tonight or even for the next week, so he had time to kill. After another half hour passed with no sign, Cut started to worry.

  The rest of the employees had gone for the weekend hours ago. The only people remaining in the office were Cut, and whoever was locked up in that conference room. He hoped things were alright. Left to his own devices, Cut imagined Samson trapped in there with a bunch of power hungry executives all trying to impose their will on him. He was too nice, too soft. He didn’t like the idea of Samson being where he couldn’t easily get to him. Then again, the man had gotten along without him all this time… That didn’t mean he had to like it.

  Cut wandered the floor to kill time while he waited. He hated hearing nothing but the sound of his own footsteps. There wasn’t any sound coming from the floors above them either. He was willing to bet they were the only ones left on the upper floors. It was only creeping on 1800, but the shutters had been up for hours. The buildings close to them had already dimmed their internal lights, the occupants already gone home. It was like he was the lone survivor in a dying dome.

  He shook off the chill creeping up his spine and went to the meeting room that had swallowed Samson up so many hours ago. He had to be almost done by now, so Cut hung around a few minutes, hoping the door would open. When five minutes passed and there was no movement, Cut considered the possibility that Samson had snuck out with the other execs without saying goodbye. That would have been out of character, but things happened. He’d peek in the conference room and see for himself. He opened the conference room door slowly, unsure of what he’d find on the inside.

  He expected both sides of the conference table to be filled with executives, all glaring at this new intrusion. All he found were two suits gathering their belongings, and an enervated Samson seated at the head of the table. Empty food containers and cups stood beside each person’s place at the table, waiting for the cleaners to take care of it. Cut was glad to see that Samson had eaten at least once today. The executives spared Cut a glance before they returned to whatever they’d been doing before he came in.

  “Good meeting, Mr. Ba. We’ll report back if anything changes,” the bespectacled exec said.

  “Please see that you do. We have to stay on top of this issue. I’ll contact you in a few weeks to make sure we’re on track, and we’ll figure out how to proceed from there.” He stood and shook each executive’s hand before they brushed past Cut and out of the door.

  He didn’t look like he was getting bullied either, very much in control of the situation. Cut felt a little flare of pride in his chest. He knew the man was capable from the way he went about his daily tasks, but he was still happily surprised to see him exercising it.

  Samson approached Cut once the door had closed behind them, his eyes taking on new life while the rest of him looked ready to drop.

  “Is something wrong? You should have gone home by now.”

  “So should you. I stuck around to make sure you were all right in here.”

  Samson sighed and raked a hand through his hair. Cut followed the movement with his eyes, how the curls sprung back, curling around Samson’s earlobe, and for a moment, he heard nothing. When he refocused, Samson was in the middle of a story, and there was no going back.

  “... And the connection was spotty. Calling Earth is always bad, but today it kept dropping our calls. Half the time we were trying to get it back.”

  “Sounds rough. Well, that’s all done for this week. You need to take care of yourself this weekend and relax.”

  Samson flushed, his hand glued to the back of his neck where it had come to rest. “I wish I could. I’ve got a breakfast thing in the morning.”

  The floor dropped out from under Cut, his stomach plummeting down around his feet. He managed to keep a neutral expression, but it took all his concentration to appear composed. They had said if they were no longer interested in their arrangement, they’d stop seeing each other. He knew it would happen eventually, but this seemed so soon. They’d just started! But the only person he could be upset with was himself; he’d made up the rule. “Who, uh, who’s the lucky person?”

  With another sigh, Samson folded his arms over his chest, staring at the doors behind Cut as he tried to recall, totally unaware of his assistant’s troubles. “It’s the rep for one of my suppliers. Mostly dairy. I’ve got to talk him out of gouging us on the new contract for the new year. A good, free meal usually helps negotiations.” His gaze fell back on Cut, and his brows rose in horror. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  Cut’s heart started beating again, and, subconsciously, he clutched at it. He tried to reclaim his neutral expression, but there was no hiding this. He might as well be honest about it. “No, I’m fine. I thought… Since it’s the weekend, and you’re meeting someone I thought—Never mind.”

  “You thought it was a date?” Samson’s smile was tight, not quite reaching his eyes.

  “It wasn’t on the schedule. And you were so vague... What was I supposed to think?”

  Samson chuckled, but it didn’t inspire humor. “You don’t have to worry about that. I remember our agreement about hook ups. But if you meant a real date, you don’t have to concern yourself about that either. I haven’t done anything like that in years.”

  “Why not?” Yes, forget what Cut had said. Focus on that.

  “I’ve got no free time for that really. For another, being like this,” he gestured to himself. “I don’t even know who’d want to be with me.”

  Cut scoffed. “You must really be tired. You’re saying stupid things.”

  “I am tired, but that’s not why I said that.” Samson grew more agitated as he wen
t on, his jaw clenched. “I can make you a list of things that are wrong with me if you need one, but I can’t see why you would. You’ve got sight, you’ve met me.”

  “Yeah, OK.” Cut tried not to roll his eyes. This was the stress talking. If this was as bad as Samson got, Cut had this handled, but this particular quirk… It would be better if they worked on getting rid of it right now.

  Cut walked past him and sat on the edge of the conference table. He looked above the door. Since he’d arrived here, he’d been clocking Deyaa Group’s security measures, more out of habit than necessity. He noticed that the common areas, like the entrance to the reception area and the cubicle sea had cameras positioned to scan over them, more for the safety of the employees than any true surveillance. They observed who came into the areas, rather than what went on in them. It seemed the meeting rooms and offices were afforded more privacy. He hadn’t spotted a single camera hidden in any of the usual spots. But to be on the safe side, he’d confirm his suspicions. “Are there any cameras in here?”

  “What?” Samson looked around agitatedly, his brow furrowed. “No. I don’t think so.”

  That was exactly what Cut wanted to hear. “Then how about we have a session?” Surely he’d agree that the month had been rough and there was tension to work through?

  Samson sputtered, and Cut thought he’d protest. “I...When?”

  “Now.”

  “Here? Right now?”

  Cut shrugged. “I don’t see why not. There’s no one else around. Seems like the perfect time to me.”

  “The cleaners will be around soon, and everyone was just here and—”

  “I’m hearing a lot of excuses. Doors have locks for a reason. And the cleaner droids won’t come into a locked room. Now if you don’t want to, that’s fine. Tell me so, and I’ll back off.” Cut stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. “But I don’t think that’s the case, is it?”

  Samson looked away. Several tense seconds beat past, and he said nothing. He raised his gaze and skimmed over Cut’s face.

  “Is that the case? Do you not want it?”

  “I want it…” Samson grabbed the cloth of his pants, twisting them along the sharp crease. “I just… I had trouble saying it.”

  Cut thought he knew why. “Because you think it’s irresponsible?”

  Samson nodded.

  “Then I’ll take responsibility for this. If we get caught, I’ll say I seduced you. But for now, show me you want it and close the door. Otherwise I’ll help you pack up, and we can both go home.”

  Samson turned away. Cut bit his lip. Would duty win over of Samson’s baser needs?

  Cut held his breath as Samson went straight for the door. His hand hovered over the panel, as if weighing his options one last time.

  There was a loud click as the locked slid into place.

  He came back to Cut, hands clasped in front of him, head slightly bowed. Something about that excited Cut in a way that frightened him. This wasn’t like him. In his romantic endeavors, such as they were, there’d always been some sort of equity. They were partners, had the same wants, weren’t shy about vocalizing it. Samson did not bring those things to the table. He brought submission, obedience, all things Cut, when he thought on them abstractly, he’d determined he had no use for. He’d gotten into this to help Samson, but it felt like every time they got together, he learned something new about himself.

  “The next time we have a session, I want you to come to me like this without me telling you to, OK?” Samson nodded. “Do you remember when you asked what you should call me?” Another nod. “How about Mr. Cut?” He had given it some real thought, but everything sounded too stilted or formal. This was less so while still commanding respect in his mind. As a child, he addressed the friends of his parents as such. It was familiar, comforting, but he didn’t need to think on it more than that.

  “Sir might be OK, too, if that’s no good. But what do you think? Either of those work for you?”

  “Yes, Mr. Cut.”

  Cut had imagined what it would sound like coming from Samson, but his imagination hadn’t even come close to doing it justice. He’d expected it to sound cheesy, forced, but Samson adopted it like he’d waited his whole life to say it. And right now, Cut felt like he’d waited just as long to hear it. Those simple words, the way Samson waited, eager for his next command had his cock harder than it had ever been in his life.

  He crooked his finger, and Samson stepped closer. There was no hesitation in his movements. “You’re sure you want to keep going?”

  “Yes, Mr. Cut.”

  “And you remember the safe word?”

  Another nod.

  “Tell me.” He wanted to be sure they were on the same page.

  “Sous-vide.”

  Cut hooked a finger in Samson’s waistband and drew him forward, bringing him to stand between Cut’s legs. “These past few weeks have been hard on you, haven’t they? It must be tough being so important.” He meant every word. The weight of having so many people depend on you must be unbearable. He tugged Samson’s shirt out of his pants. “Clasp your hands behind your head for me. Good.” He unzipped Samson’s fly and pushed the pants down enough to expose him. He hadn’t gotten to see it well at the hotel, and this time there were no sour memories to taint it. The urge to taste him was overwhelming, but this wasn’t about what Cut wanted. Samson stepped out of his pants, and Cut laid them out on the table. He tucked Samson’s expensive loafers beneath the table, safely out of the way.

  “Now tell me the truth. You’ve wanted this for a long time, haven’t you?” He undid the buttons of Samson’s shirt and pushed it back. He ran his hands across that hard chest, grazing it with his nails. He found one of Samson’s nipples and pinched.

  That great body bucked, cock jutting into the air. Samson groaned. It was then that Cut remembered his question hadn’t been answered.

  “You’ve longed for this, haven’t you?” He pinched Samson’s nipple again. Samson nodded so fiercely, Cut feared his head would fall off. “Then why deny yourself? I’m so close. You say the word, and I would have had you bent over your desk at any time.” He swept his hand down over Samson’s belly. He brushed his fingers over the length of Samson’s cock but didn’t grip him yet. When the silence went on too long, he drew the other nipple into his mouth and set his teeth against it, biting down to straddled that line between pleasure and pain, reward and punishment.

  “Didn’t hire you for this,” Samson got out through gritted teeth.

  A laugh bubbled up in Cut, but he dropped his head to that broad chest to smother it. Oh, Samson was easily the most upright person he’d ever met. Anyone else in his position would have abused the fact that their lover sat outside their office eight to ten hours a day. In his place, Cut would have requested satisfaction at least once a day. He bet Samson had never pirated as much as a single song.

  He stepped around Samson until he was behind him. Those fingers were still firmly linked together behind his head as Cut directed. “Let’s compromise then. I’m adding stress management to my list of duties. When you’re looking out of it, I’ll help you blow off steam since you won’t do it yourself. That work for you?”

  Samson grunted a response.

  Cut stepped up until his own hard cock was nestled against the crack of Samson’s ass. “I didn’t catch that. Speak up so I can hear you clearly.” He reached around and raked his nails down Samson’s belly.

  Samson cried out, legs trembling. “Cut, Sir, yes.”

  “Good boy. Now put your hands on the table and spread your legs.”

  Samson bent over without question and planted his hands and spread his legs, racked with twitches and tremors here and there. His breath grew loud and as tremulous as his legs. Cut backed up to better take in the whole scene. His ass was so round and high, so inviting. Cut had to give it a squeeze.

  Cut went over to his bag and fished out a bot
tle of lube. He had started carrying one in the hopes that Samson would call upon him. Always be prepared. He popped the top and poured some into his palm.

  “Let’s back up. You were fishing for compliments earlier, right? Or joking?” He pressed himself against that ass again, leaning forward, curving over Samson’s back.

  Samson ran his tongue over his lips. “W-what do you mean?”

  “You said no one would want to date you the way you are. That was a bad joke? Or were you trying to get me to tell you how sexy you are?”

  “I wasn’t… I’m not…”

  He grabbed one of Samson’s nipples with his dry hand and twisted. Samson let out a loud moan, pushing his ass back into Cut. The best part about this? It seemed totally instinctual. There likely wasn’t much thought going through Samson’s head other than the fact that he was getting exactly what he needed. Cut smirked behind him.

  “You see that? You’re so damn responsive… And then there’s this.” Cut reached between them and squeezed one of Samson’s cheeks. “How could anyone not want you?” There was more to Samson than this, like that kindness he showed people every day, the dedication and attention to detail and pride in his work. Even if he wasn’t sex on legs, there were so many other things about him that he admired. Cut let that slip. Samson’s need to hear it trumped whatever protocol there was about breaking character.

  He grabbed Samson’s cock with his lube slicked hand and ran it along his length in short, quick strokes. Samson tried to answer, but all that came out was a moan. “People are dying to have you. How is it possible that you go anywhere, and no one tries to get your attention? At some point, someone’s going to swoop in and claim you, but until then, you’re mine, hear me?”

  Cut barely heard what was coming out of his mouth, but he knew in his heart that he meant every word. Samson was for now, and it was past time for him to learn the benefits of such status.

  Samson continued moaning, thrusting his ass back into Cut, tempting him. They wouldn’t go there today.