Category: ATF - PWP
Summary: Buck can take a wild guess what happened at the office Christmas party Friday night.
Disclaimers: Characters from The Magnificent Seven belong to MGM and Trilogy Entertainment. All content is for entertainment only. No profits are received from the presentation of this material.
Notes: With all these Christmas stories floating about, I felt it was time for me to do my part and contribute. Plus, I promised Judy some time ago that I would do this. Apology in advance for the 'eeeeeeww' factor in this one, but muses will be muses.
Chris Larabee leaned back in the chair behind his desk, for once in a very good mood for a Monday. By Wednesday he expected he'd be neck high in case work all over again, so he just enjoyed the moment before the weekly dam decided to break loose. He swiveled the chair around and looked out the spacious window behind him at a section of the Denver skyline doused in haze and snow flurries. Kinda pretty, if it hadn't made traffic such a bitch getting to work, but even that hadn't bothered him. He was here now, bright and early and nothing urgent required his attention.Almost a perfect morning. Cup of coffee steaming on his desk. The sweet bready smell of fresh donuts someone was thoughtful enough to pick up on the way in. Vin's and Ezra's voices in the outer office, arguing across the aisle from one desk to the other. They didn't sound too serious. Vin had just called Ezra a goob while Ezra was in the middle of a lecture on how to evacuate a kill zone without blowing one's cover. If one happened to be undercover at the time, that was. Whatever started it, their mild prattle made for comforting background noise.
Chris did a double take on the desktop, smiling to himself at fond recollections of Vin's body splayed across it, stripped down to nothing but a denim Oxford shirt unbuttoned and barely clinging to his shoulders.
Chris' hand hung slack over the armrest, knuckles hovering above the cool tile floor. As he started to bring his hand up again, it absently brushed against something, a lever. Out of curiosity he pulled it and discovered that it made his chair cock back.
"Huh," he exclaimed to himself and just went with it, leaning back. Didn't even know it did that. Damn, was he so rigid he hadn't thought to check if his fucking chair reclined? Come to think of it, could have used that last Friday night. . . Double damn.
And what had gotten into him anyway? Christmas spirit? Christmas was actually next weekend, although he felt it was already over since the office party had kicked off this past weekend. That was how it was in the ATF. You made your holidays whenever you could, and they never fell on the calendar date. Likely next weekend would find him on call to check another trunk load of AR-15's discovered in a parking deck somewhere.
He continued to face out the window and raised his arms to bend them back and lace his fingers together behind his head. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself one more moment of peace, his mind wandering back in time and across a certain smaller, hard body arching toward him.
He recalled standing to the outside of the desk, facing into the office, the door secured behind him. Distant, tin-can sound of Bon Jovi singing "Run-Run Rudolph" in the larger series of offices across the hall from Team 7. Golden streetlight filtering through the cracked blinds and casting stripes across the ceiling. Just enough illumination to see Vin's hazy, impassioned eyes looking up at him and a gorgeous display of the shadows that dipped down into and contoured around those abs and that chest.
He ran his hands down around the sides of Vin's thighs as the sharpshooter spread them, allowing an opening for Chris to step in, his clothes removed and tossed into the chair behind the desk. His fingertips gripped at the muscled flesh, feeling out the definition of cords and joints, as he reached underneath and cupped a cheek in each palm and pulled upward.
Vin sighed in the dim light, his longish hair spilling back from a damp forehead. "I think we may win this time," he rasped as Chris pulled his rump just to the edge of the desk for better access.
"Shhhhh," Chris whispered back and stroked his fingers down deep into the cleft of his lover's ass. "You'll jinx it." He leaned in, his horizontally erect cock crossing the path of Vin's vertical one, and he bent over to deliver one more kiss before delving into the depths. Lips firmly locked over Vin's, musing at the sweet suction of the other drawing on him, nipping at his bottom lip, Chris went by touch as he wedged his cock head up into the crevice and found Vin's puckered opening already slicked with some of Chris' saliva. He pushed in slightly and the kiss broke off.
Vin turned his head away, gritted his teeth and huffed out a series of little breaths. Chris's mouth bobbed open as he concentrated on moving past the constricted aperture, taking in measured breaths of his own, until his shaft found the moister, hot passage within. He knew it was slightly discomforting for Vin, that initial entry, but damn, for him it felt sooooo good. He resisted the urge to linger there, that ring of muscle around his cock head, squeezing like an ultra durable rubber band pressuring every nerve in all the right ways. Chris slipped past it, into the passage, and listened as Vin let out a warm, almost melodious gust of breath. The drift tickled Chris' earlobe, sending a little spiral of separate pleasure down through him.
Vin's neck arched up toward his lover, the weak light caressing the swell of his Adam's apple as his head leaned back over the rear edge of the desk, locks of bronze hair sweeping the open air. His fingers worked their way into the space between his chest and Chris', one spanning the space from one nipple to the other. The other hand crept down into the tighter space between their lower bellies, where he pressed his own cock up against Chris' navel, so he could fuck the little dip each time Chris withdrew and pumped forward.
Chris went from more gently rocking his hips to deeper, harder thrusts, and felt a little smear of warm pre-cum decorate his belly as Vin bowed his body up, encouraging each thrust. The sharpshooter opened his mouth, begging for another kiss, though he kept his head dropped back too far over the desk for Chris to reach it now.
Vin's legs crossed around Chris' waist, his ankles cinching in together like a vise, pulling his lover closer, deeper. They both bit back the urge to cry out as Chris came close to completion, Vin not far behind.
Then of a sudden the sound of a very solid fist pounded on he door from outside.
Chris almost coughed, repressing a yelp of surprise, and the instinct to scamper away caused him to pull out of Vin immediately. Vin bit back a groan at the interruption as Buck's smoky drawl of a voice came from the other side.
"Chris? You in there? You're missin' the party. Everyone's askin' for you."
In the dark of the office, the lovers stared at each other, and suddenly Chris couldn't be sure he had locked the door after all. They waited, listening, a tangle of sweaty limbs and arms heaped upon the edge of the desk.
Jesus, Chris realized. If Buck walked in right at that moment he would witness not just two men caught fucking on the desk, but he would also have the rare chance to be mooned by the head of Team 7. That his bare ass was angled perfectly toward the door almost made Chris giggle nervously. His throat tightened as he swallowed the attempt.
They continued to listen, both sensing that Buck was hesitating out there. Vin's eyes involuntarily rolled in the direction of the door as if to determine when the intruder on the premises would leave.
In the street below, a police siren wailed to life and produced a Doppler effect as it closed on the vicinity of the ATF building then passed by. The blaring honk of a fire engine, and its own sirens, soon followed. The noises were blessedly welcome cover for the loud thrumming in each man's chest.
In seconds, the sirens were gone, and behind them faded the sound of Buck's footsteps padding away until they were swallowed by the greater noise of the next song, Bob Seger's rendition of "Little Drummer Boy".
Chris and Vin continued to look at each other for a long time, just to be sure the coast was clear before either spoke.
"That was not fun," Vin hissed up from the shadows and readjusted himself, pushing Chris away slightly so that he could get his head back onto the desk.
"Told you you'd jinx it," Chris said thickly. With a breath of relief, he dropped his head down and rested it on Vin's chest, chuckling softly as he enjoyed the stick of moist skin against his cheek.
"Try again?" Vin asked.
Chris thought about it. "The rules are one take per go or nothing."
"Screw the rules," Vin snarled.
Chris lifted his head and peered down through the shadows. "I'd rather screw you."
"Well then? Merry Christmas."
This time they made it all the way to the end. Madonna was singing "Santa Baby" when they finished.
At present, Chris swiveled his chair back around from the window, and rocking on its newly discovered and much enjoyed reclining feature, and took a sip of his coffee. He looked at the three files awaiting his scrutiny, a much needed slap back into the real world if he were to get any work done now. He caught movement in his peripheral vision and looked up to see Buck Wilmington strolling down the aisle, avoiding Ezra and Vin's crossfire. The lanky figure, clad in jeans and the Aran sweater Ezra had given him for drawing his name in the Secret Santa pool, carried a file in one hand and a travel mug of coffee in the other.
Buck was obviously zeroed in on his superior's office. He swept in through the door and right into the chair opposite Chris where he crossed one long leg and held up the file casually. "Lab report's in on the Callahan case," he announced and scratched at the stubble he'd neglected to take care of before coming in to work. "That WAS C-4 residue under the dash."
Chris absorbed this news, took a long, deep breath, and nodded. Well, shit. There went his good morning.
"Guess we'll be locking horns with the FBI soon then," he stated.
"Yup."
The case was complicated enough. First Franky Callahan's car, a dilapidated Buick, had gone off the road on the Estes Parkway and exploded. He'd been on his way into town to meet Ezra, carrying several thousand in firearms from unmarked Desert Eagles to MP-5's, and hence walking into a nabbing. What appeared to have been an accident was now murder, and the ATF still had no clue for whom Callahan was running guns. Once they pinched him they might have been able to squeeze the information out of him, but now they were back to square one, and the FBI would likely be in soon to handle the murder side of it.
Chris' rummaged it all around in his mind then shook his head. "Soon as the others are in, call a meeting," he ordered calmly. "Time to get out the protocol book and. . ." His brows knitted as he looked straight at Buck and saw the other man studying something on the front of the desk. "What?"
Buck leaned down closer, his own dark brows furrowing as he cocked his head. "You spill something?"
Chris almost went green at the question. "Why?" he tried not to cough. "What is it?"
"Looks like glue." He reached down toward it, started to dab at it. "You had some work done in here lately I didn't know about?"
Chris bolted out of his chair and went around the desk, looking down at the thing that had Buck's attention, and why shouldn't it? The man was cautionary on anything that looked explosive like the cloudy dried gunk that was dribbled in large drops and trails down the front of the mahogany desk. He had already scratched off a piece of it and had the thin strip pinched between his fingers.
Buck looked up, examining the ceiling tiles, then down at the floor.
"Uh, that's nothing," Chris said quickly and shrugged to add more casual emphasis. "Spilt some eggnog in here the other night."
Buck leaned back in the chair and cocked a brow at him as if he had said something more like "I was abducted by aliens." The tall explosives expert wasn't fooled. Slowly a grin spread across his face and he crossed his legs again, propped on the armrest and shook his head casually. "You ole war dawg. I'd buy it," he said with a chuckle. "Except that we didn't have eggnog at the party Friday night." Then he dropped all grins and sobered completely in the blink of an eye. In one swift motion he rocked himself up out of the chair and stood. "Okay, so. . . you've got a meeting to get ready for. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go wash my hands."
Chris managed to keep from blushing until his old friend turned his back and started out the door. Alone, he felt his face begin to burn, starting at his crown then moving down to his neck. The back of his starched cotton collar grated against the suddenly moist skin on his neck.
Damn, he thought then. Looks like we'll have to start all over again.
Then he smiled to himself and feeling just a little light headed, remembered that wasn't a bad thing at all.
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