Work Ethic 2

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Work, Ewan quickly found, was the same no matter how ‘revolutionary’ a company made itself out to be. The week that followed was a combination of good days and bad, but the bulk of its days languished in the doldrums somewhere in between. He’d had to work late the day after he met Dean, so they hadn’t been able to work out together. He’d been so exhausted after his first full day of work that lifting weights was the furthest thing from his mind.

It hadn’t taken Ewan long to figure out that the similarities with his boring old job far outweighed the differences. ‘Meetings’ were ‘productivity groups’ here, but they still involved the same politics and idea jockeying, just phrased more polite terms. The president preferred being called ‘Marsh’ instead of ‘Marshall’ or ‘Mr. White,’ but his open-door policy was at best a formality.

On his third day at Rainwater, Ewan was scheduled to meet with the president. Just a friendly visit, the e-mail had said. Rick brought him up to Marsh’s office some time after noon, but the frosted glass doors were anything but open. They glistened, towering and implacable, out of walls of dark wood. Marsh’s administrator, a woman with hair as grey as steel and a smile far colder, had stared them down until Rick suggested they grab a bite at the cafeteria instead.

It seemed a disservice to call the cafeteria something so mundane. The men and women in chef’s regalia labored over rows of stoves, their kitchen open to the eyes of passersby. Only a few people still passed on by the rows of glass shields protecting the food. Rick had taken the bulk of the lunch hour getting Ewan better acquainted with the office. Hours of work had pushed thoughts of food from Ewan’s mind until he saw one of the cooks set out a fresh platter of turkey breasts and mashed potatoes. He served himself a bit of each while Rick helped himself to a midday coffee.

Together, they scanned the tables. Most of them were occupied by one or two people, the last fringes of the lunch crowd, and Ewan didn’t feel like trying to learn even more new names. To his relief, he caught a glimpse of auburn hair. His eyes locked on Dean.

His new workout partner sat at one of the tables, eating with his left hand while the fingers of his right caressed the keyboard of a tiny netbook. Their movement put Ewan in the mind of a pianist playing. He found himself entranced for a moment by the way those delicate but dexterous hands glided over the keys. Dean barely looked at what he was typing. He seemed much more engrossed by the heap of turkey and an overfilled bowl of salad on his own plate. He had a two cups beside him, one filled with milk and the other looking recently emptied of the same.

“The Boy Wonder,” Rick said from beside Ewan.

“He doesn’t like being called that,” he answered without thinking. A moment later, he started from his reverie. When he turned, Rick took a step back.

“I guess it’s kind of a dumb nickname,” Rick agreed in a hurry. “I guess you two have gotten acquainted.”

Ewan nodded slowly. Even when he wasn’t trying to intimidate people, they took everything he said as a directive.

He wished he could get the people in his productivity group to be so timid. That, he thought, would make life a lot easier. He forced a friendly grin at Rick. “Yeah,” he said.

Dean had noticed them looking at him. He waved them over, then began shutting down his netbook as they approached. Ewan caught a glimpse of what looked to be gibberish text on the white background of the screen. He knew enough to recognize code, but not the programming language. Dean took another bite of turkey as his companions sat.

“Got enough there?” Rick asked, chuckling. “Never pegged you for a big eater.”

“Gym,” Dean mumbled around a mouthful. “Got to eat to grow. Famished.”

Ewan kept his eyes on his turkey as he ate. It wouldn’t do to cue Rick in on exactly how ‘acquainted’ he had gotten with Dean. Rainwater was as equal opportunity as a company could get--Rick said that Marsh White’s last assistant had brought her wife to every office party until her retirement--but he’d seen work and sex clash before with catastrophic results.

Even so, there was something magnetic about the wiry programmer. He was not Ewan’s type, not big enough, and not especially athletic or aggressive from what he had seen. Today, the pull toward him was even stronger than it had been when they first met. There was a glow of health in Dean’s cheeks, and a radiance that suffused his entire body that previously had been confined to his striking emerald eyes. Those eyes met his, and Dean smiled.

Ewan found himself getting hard, and was glad for the cover of the table. He blushed. Rick did not seem to notice, perhaps Ewan’s tanned skin covered up the flush in his cheeks, or perhaps Rick was too preoccupied with his sandwich. How he could not notice was beyond Ewan’s ken. It felt like twin furnaces were roaring just beneath the surface of his skin.

“So, you missed out on our appointment,” said Dean. To Rick, he explained, “Ewan said he would help me out in the gym.”

Rick shook his head. “Hey, I got to him first. I knew I should have skipped stroganoff night. You know how happy it would make the missus if I could fit into a size 34x30 again?”

“Sorry,” Dean said. “He’s mine now.” He shoved another bite of turkey into his mouth.

Ewan gave a demure chuckle. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, there’s more than enough of me to go around.” As if to make his point, he bent his arm. The softball-sized peak of his biceps was unmistakable beneath the sleeve of his suit.

Dean coughed. Rick looked at him with concern, but Dean waved him away. Hoarsely, he muttered, “Turkey went down the wrong way.” He took a big gulp of his milk.

Rick’s cell phone rang. He glanced down and muttered. “Tawny got into a fight at school. You know what she wants to be when she grows up? A boxer. No, really, a boxer. All right, Ewan, I guess I’ll be working from home for the rest of the day.”

“I’ll keep myself busy,” Ewan promised.

“If Chuck from Sales finishes those drafts for the e-mail campaign, you know how to reach me.”

Ewan’s eyes followed Rick out of the cafeteria. The moment his boss disappeared through the doors, Ewan’s heart pounded faster. He tried to keep himself calm and collected, a state that came to him, at most times, as easily as breathing. Something about being around Dean eroded that, made him want to be impulsive and stupid. He fished for something profound to say, something that would keep him shrouded in the mystique that made him so desirable to all of the guys he wasn’t interested in.

Instead, he said, “He moves pretty fast.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “You wouldn’t get that from looking at him.” He took another bite.

“I can’t believe you’re still hungry.”

Dean looked up, his face that of a child caught sneaking cookies before dinner. “I worked out yesterday. With weights,” he added belatedly. “I don’t think I was doing it right, but I had all this energy, so I just went for it.”

“You’ve never lifted before, really?”

Dean shook his head.

“You must be pretty sore.”

Dean shrugged. “A little bit, this morning, but I’m fine now. Mostly I’m just ridiculously hungry. Should I be sore? Damn, I knew I should have waited for you.”

“No, it’s all right. Work’s just more time-consuming than I expected. Most people either work out too hard their first day, or don’t do enough. Trust me, after I get in with you, you’ll be sore for a couple of days.”

Dean glanced down at the table. “You’re still talking about the gym, right?”

“You’re terrible.” Ewan snickered.

“No,” said Dean, pitching his voice for Ewan’s ears only. “‘Terrible’ would be repeating what we did two days ago, just on this table. Except this time, you could put it in me. Would you like that?”

Ewan swallowed hard. He knew now why his heart was pounding so hard. It was forcing every drop of blood in his body down into his cock. Even though his dick was hidden beneath the table, he swore he could hear it straining against the band of his boxer-briefs. He pictured the elastic strands giving way in a series of musical ‘ping’s. The image did not help it go down.

“You know what would be really terrible, though?” Dean asked, leaning forward.

Ewan tried not to be obvious about readjusting himself. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“Getting up and going back to my office. I’ve got to finish this project.” He gave a wicked grin and picked up his notebook as he rose from the table, leaving behind an empty tray. “Consider it payback for skipping out on our first training session. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll go down in a couple minutes.”

He swept away, whistling tunelessly to himself. Ewan put his head in his hands, unable to decide whether he should chuckle or groan. Dean was wrong about one thing, though. It took far more than a couple of minutes for him to get sex out of his head.

When his cock had softened a bit, he left the cafeteria. He felt bad about the amount of food left on his plate. Normally, he would have been going back for seconds, but the morning’s work had left him exhausted. Talking to Dean about the gym had made him realize that his chest and arms were still sore from his workout two days before.

He didn’t think he had worked them much harder than normal, but he’d taken a couple of days off from the gym during the move, and perhaps he had been trying harder than he’d thought to impress Dean.

Back in his office, he found it hard to focus on work. He shut the door and locked it. Anyone who needed to talk to him would knock, or call, anyway. He knew that looking at porn was out of the question; companies like Rainwater invested well in electronic security, and even if they eschewed traditional measures like security guards and cameras, he had no doubt that Marsh White knew the surfing habits of every one of his employees.

He didn’t think he’d need the help anyway. Slowly, he undid his belt and unzipped his fly, savoring the sound of his zipper as it slowly clicked downward. He took his leisure in drawing down his boxer briefs, revealing inch after inch of soft cock. There was a faint chlorine scent in the air, and the head was still slightly damp from precum. Dean had really done a number on him at lunch, and it hadn’t taken much. It was a heady and unfamiliar experience, being in someone else’s power in that way.

As if that thought had awakened it from its slumber, his penis began to stir. At first, it appeared to shift against his muscled thigh like a disturbed sleeper. He could feel it stiffen ever so slightly, five soft inches turning into six that were not yet close to hard. It took Ewan longer to get up than most guys he’d been with. The sheer weight of his dick kept it leaning, as might a wobbling tower, until he was near fully hard.

He gripped the still-soft length, savoring the sensations playing through it as he gave it a gentle tug. The shaft thickened precipitously, and very quickly it had expanded to such a circumference that he found it difficult to grip. All the while it lengthened and hardened. Seven inches had become eight, and then a massive nine before it began to slow--slow, but not stop.

Ewan found his other hand venturing beneath the front tails of his shirt, crawling up the taut expanse of corrugated muscle that waited just above his crotch. The eight hard bricks of muscle were sheened by a light mist of sweat, but they were not his target. Instead, he traveled upward, to where the mass of his pectorals fought against his shirt. He could just barely get his hand between the fabric and flesh, and he pinched his quarter-sized nipple. Instantly, his cock surged up the last inch to reach its full size.

He pushed his dick up against his abs. It was thick enough to blot out view of his treasure trail entirely, and long enough to almost reach the top of his eight-pack. Given his height, that was no mean feat. A surge of pride shot through him, intensifying the joy of sexual exploration. He heard the ads on television. Most men would give anything for a cock this big. Some people would practically kill just to touch it, and Ewan had it whenever he wanted to. That more than made up for the trouble it sometimes got him into.

Waves of pleasure pounded at him as he began to stroke it with one hand. He frowned only for a moment when he realized that the tips of his fingers could just barely encircle the warm column of flesh. He certainly felt like he was at full-mast. Ewan shrugged off the thought as more immediate matters claimed his mind.

His other hand joined the first on his cock. The velvety skin beneath his hands provided little friction. He found himself thinking not of some muscular fantasy, but of Dean. He thought of how that slender chest might look with a little more muscle and definition, sure, but the image in his mind was unadulterated Dean. How had he fallen into this crush so hard?

He’d meant to savor the time and enjoy the sensation, but so lost was he in thoughts of Dean that he did not stop before pressure had begun to build in the base of his dick. The orgasm seemed to last a year, the explosion of pleasure flowing through his veins like fire and ice all at once. It exploded through his senses, blinding him for a moment of toe-curling pleasure. He shot everywhere. White droplets spattered down on him, and his pleasure quickly turned to annoyance. He leaned back. A moment later, he opened his eyes. The air conditioning had turned the hot wet spots of ejaculate into cold dots all over his shirt.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck fuck fuck. Now how am I going to get through the rest of the day with cum all over my--”

He leaned forward, his soft cock trailing cold wetness over his quadriceps. His computer’s clock couldn’t be right. It was already four fifteen? How could he have fallen asleep for two hours? It had felt like minutes.

Ewan settled back into his chair. A moment later, his phone rang. He strove to keep his lack of breath out of his voice. “Hello?”

“I hope you’re not going to flake out on me again,” Dean’s voice said. “That bit in the cafeteria wasn’t anywhere near the worst thing in my bag of tricks.”

Ewan frowned. “No, I’m coming down. Why don’t you get started warming up? I’ll change in my office.”


It felt good to be in control again.

Ewan leaned against the power cage and shook his head. “No, bring your elbows in.”

“They’re in,” Dean insisted.

“Then bring them in more.”

Dean grumbled from the bench where he lay. Both of his arms were straight up in the air, holding a 25-pound barbell aloft. “Okay, okay, I get it. Doing that to you in the cafeteria? That was a dirty trick. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“This isn’t payback,” Ewan said. “It’s getting you to do this right. What happened to that work ethic?”

The grumble turned into a full-fledged grunt as Dean allowed his arms to bend back, suspending the weight just over his forehead. He returned it to its resting position and gave a loud breath. “Okay,” he said. “That wasn’t that bad.”

“Very good. 25 pounds isn’t bad for your first time.”

“It felt a little light. I think I can go higher.”

“Do fifteen more first. That’s just your warmup weight.”

He didn’t push Dean hard. In truth, he didn’t need to. Dean had problems with his form on most of the exercises, but his little muscles, hidden beneath a long-sleeved grey shirt, had endurance that most new lifters did not come to until they were several months into the iron game. He was strong for his size. That Ewan had lifted the same weights at 16 did not diminish his appreciation for Dean’s efforts. Maybe his fantasy of Dean with muscles wouldn’t have to wait as long as he’d thought.

“Why do they call these skullcrushers?” Dean asked during one of Ewan’s sets with vastly more weight.

“Think of what would happen if I dropped this,” Ewan grunted, mid-rep.

“Oh,” said Dean. “Ohhhh.”

Normally, Ewan would have stopped the workout after he had shown Dean several triceps exercises and a few for his shoulders, but Dean seemed to want to learn everything in one night. His enthusiasm was contagious, even if Ewan did not feel like lifting, himself. Together, they walked through the paces of a proper bench press, then the incline and decline. After they finished biceps, Dean proved surprisingly interested in exercises that surprised Ewan. Most casual gymgoers avoided squats and deadlifts like the plague, in his experience. Not Dean.

Ewan would have sworn that he was more tired than Dean, by the end. He’d been lifting more weight, true, but Dean’s face was flushed with color that made his eyes seem to shine with almost a fevered brightness. Together, they made their way into the bathroom. Dean threw a lascivious glance at Ewan as they passed by the bench where they had ended their last workout.

“Not tonight, I don’t think,” said Ewan. “I’m worn out.”

“Suit yourself,” said Dean. “But next time--”

“Next time,” Ewan chuckled. “I promise. I even won’t forget the condoms.”

“I’d bring them myself if the guy at the counter wouldn’t die laughing if I bought that size,” muttered Dean.

Ewan left him rummaging through his gym bag. The heat of the shower felt good on his muscles, but as he stretched beneath the stream of pounding water, he could not help but feel off. He wondered if he was coming down with a cold. He should have been wired up after lifting, like Dean was. Instead, he just felt exhausted.

He lathered up with some of the liquid soap from a dispenser. It smelled sweet, like coconut, and he entertained the idea of fucking Dean in the shower. He knew he was clean, and Dean--despite the pleasantly perverse streak he’d showcased at lunch--seemed like the sort of guy who’d never be less than a perfect boy scout. With the heat, and how he felt, though, he would probably fall asleep during.

He hoped he felt better tomorrow.

“Holy shit,” he heard Dean say, at the edges of his reverie. He shut off the shower and pushed out of the glass-doored stall, not even bothering to throw on a towel.

Dean stood in front of the mirror, his shirt in one hand. His skin was still ruddy with exertion, and a sheen of sweat lent him definition, but that was not what made the blood rush to Ewan’s cock. Dean’s little muscles were pumped and swollen from his workout, and they had pushed up beneath his scarce body fat. Tiny veins crisscrossed his slender arms. His shoulders were broadened by visible deltoid muscles. He even had the faint beginnings of abdominals peeking out from beneath the flesh of his previously smooth stomach.

He brought his arm up into a tight flex, and a small goose-egg of muscle popped up out of the flesh. It was not big, but it looked solid and defined. Dean’s white grin almost outshone his glinting green eyes.

“Holy shit,” he repeated, breathless. “I’ve got muscles!”

To be continued