Work Text:
Most days, Cori loves his job.
He never quite figured out how to talk about it – which isn’t the worst thing in the world, since everything he does is locked away tightly behind a truly frightening NDA – but when asked, he’s allowed to say that he works in cybersecurity for one of the UK’s biggest virtual reality developers. It’s a mouthful, and people don’t tend to ask many followup questions other than …oh, do you enjoy it?
Which he does. Most of the time. Today is just… different.
He started the day around 4am with a burst pipe in his apartment wall, which was bad enough. The notice that followed from the building’s management letting him know he wouldn’t be allowed back in for at least 24 hours was worse. And the series of phone calls he made to hotels in the area after, trying to find a place to spend the night, with no luck to speak of – that would have topped off the shit dealt with meter, in his opinion.
But then he gets to work, and things don’t get any better.
Cori’s not the type to ask for help. He’s got nothing against the idea – it’s more that he spent so long working in tiny IT teams where everyone was already overworked that he learned to rely on himself, to figure things out on his own. And he’s aware that his current position is different, that he has resources, but old habits are hard to break and when pressured, he’ll just as easily buckle down as he’ll let anyone else step in.
Only it seems to be a day of everyone else having problems, too. And no one else has the same hesitance Cori does about asking for help.
So he answers Googleable questions and reworks schedules to account for last-minute time off and yes, of course, he can take over a project since the manager is out sick, it’s not a problem. Never mind that he feels a little more like he’s drowning with every person that stops by his desk. It’s fine. It’s temporary.
By noon, he wishes he’d called in sick himself.
The office clears out pretty completely for lunch, so he doesn’t feel embarrassed about laying his head down on his desk and closing his eyes. It’s just for a moment. Just to breathe. Just to try to relax, a little. He’s not hopeful about the results, but something is going to have to give if he’s going to make it through the rest of the afternoon, and he’d rather it not be something permanent.
He’s jerked awake, awake, when someone puts something down on his desk with just a little more force than necessary. He sits up, eyes wide, startled, only to see the man who sits across the aisle from him standing next to his desk – and, on his desk, a to-go coffee cup.
“They fucked up my order downstairs,” the man says, when all Cori does is blink at him confusedly. “Gave me both instead of throwing the other one away. Mocha okay? Looks like you need it.”
Cori does need it, even if it’s more than a little mortifying to have that need so readily seen by someone else. “Thanks,” he says, feeling a little guilty when he has to glance over and check the nameplate on the guy’s desk before he can add, “Robert?”
A little guilty. Robert’s not in his department, and it’s been a day. Cori can barely remember his own name.
The man smiles at him. “Hob, for friends.”
Cori huffs a breath of laughter, and he can’t help but return the smile, even if it’s shaky. “Hob, then. Thank you.”
Maybe Cori’s face does something – maybe it’s just that obvious that he’s spiraling – but Hob’s hand comes up to Cori’s shoulder, squeezing once, softly. That’s it, a brief sympathetic gesture before he turns back to his own desk, but it’s all Cori can do not to whimper at the unexpectedly comforting touch.
He wants it back, as soon as it’s gone.
For fuck’s sake, he’s a mess.
He does his best to refocus, but he’s not entirely sure how well he succeeds. By the end of the day, his eyelids feel like they’re lined with sandpaper and his whole body aches from how he’s been holding himself, stiff and anxious, but he can’t seem to make himself relax, can barely make himself uncoil from the hunched-over position he’s been in for the past few hours.
He powers down his station, and when he drags himself to his feet he’s surprised to find Hob standing there, bag over his shoulder, almost like… almost like he’s waiting for Cori. “You okay?” Hob asks, and the concern in his voice is genuine, but Cori forces himself to smile, laugh, shrug his shoulders.
The put-upon air of dismissiveness is ruined when his voice cracks around, "Yeah, I'm fine," though.
Hob's expression softens almost immediately, and then his hand is back on Cori's shoulder, warm and comforting. Cori thinks he should hate how it makes him want to melt, how easy he is for a touch as small as this. "Come on," Hob says. "Let me drive you home. You're falling asleep at your desk. I don't feel right letting you operate heavy machinery like this."
An easy agreement is on the tip of Cori’s tongue, because driving himself home sounds like the hellish icing on a shit cake – and then he remembers he still has to find a place to stay, because his apartment probably still has a standing water issue.
“I appreciate it,” he makes himself say, instead of yes, please. “I’ve still got to track down a place for the night, though. Pipe’s busted back at home – it’s a whole thing. Thank you, though. Again. Really.”
Those brown eyes settle on him again, and Cori feels uncomfortably seen. Not judged, not even looked down on, just… just seen. It’s not a feeling he’s used to.
“All right,” Hob says after a moment. “I can drive you back to mine, then. I’ve got a sofa. You can crash there for the night, if you’d like.”
If you’d like.
It’s too much. It’s too kind. Cori knows he should refuse, politely, because people don’t mean it when they make offers like that. But his body aches and he’s so, so tired, and the thought of having to find another place to stay is enough to have his throat feeling tight and his vision going uncomfortably blurry.
Hob’s grip on his shoulder is firm, and his eyes are kind, and it’s been so goddamn long since anyone’s offered to help him in any way. It should be harder to say yes.
“If you’re really offering,” Cori says, “I’d owe you one.”
Hob smiles, warm and genuine. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, and Cori’s fairly certain he actually means it.
He's half-dead on his feet by the time they make it back to Hob's place. He has to be nudged through the front door with one of Hob’s hands pressed to the small of his back, warm and steadying, and even then he stumbles, almost tripping over the rug in the entry.
He blushes. Hob just chuckles under his breath, warm and soft, and leaves his hand against Cori’s lower back, hot like a brand. “You should see me when I’m running on empty,” he says, rubbing his thumb over a knob of Cori’s spine in a way that’s far more distracting than it should be. “I put a tub of ice cream away in my sock drawer, once. Didn’t realize ‘til the next morning. Lovely little mess that was to clean up.”
Cori snorts his laughter, sharp and wholly unattractive, but Hob smiles all the same – a crooked twist of his lips that’s somehow warmer than any show of teeth. “Bathroom’s that way,” he says, pointing with the hand that isn’t pressed to Cori’s spine. “I’ll make the couch up. You hungry?”
Cori isn’t, though he’s not sure he’d say if he was. He can’t imagine asking for more than Hob’s already giving him. He shakes his head, and maybe the smile Hob offers him in return is a little too knowing, but the man doesn’t call him out on it. He just turns toward the couch and graciously allows Cori to escape to the bathroom.
As soon as Cori steps through the door, though, his attention is derailed. The bathroom is huge for the size of the house, with wood paneling on the walls and marble on the countertops – and, the clear focus of the room, a bathtub big enough for at least three people. Cori’s own flat is equipped solely with a shower with unreliable water pressure that’s a chore to use most days – suddenly, he’s painfully aware of how much his body aches, of how good it would feel to sit and soak and let the hot water soothe him.
Embarrassingly, that’s where Hob finds him: standing in the bathroom with the door still open, just looking at the bathtub. The man’s breathless little huff of laughter startles Cori out of his reverie, makes color rise to dust his cheeks, but Hob doesn’t tease him. Instead, one of those big hands settles on the small of Cori’s back in what’s quickly becoming a familiar gesture and gently urges Cori to sit down on the closed toilet.
When Hob kneels to start filling the bath, though, Cori has to at least try to protest. Try, because all he manages to get out is, “I really don’t need–” before Hob fixes him with a look that makes the rest of the words dry up in his throat.
"Maybe not," Hob says. "But it'll feel good, yeah? And that's what it's here for, anyway."
His tone leaves little room for argument, and Cori doesn’t really want to argue.
A few minutes later, the bathroom is warm and steamy and the tub is full, the surface shiny with oils and the air filled with a soft floral scent. It's calming, relaxing, and the tension in Cori's shoulders is already starting to melt away.
Maybe it's that, the feeling of relaxing for the first time in weeks, or maybe it's the way Hob keeps touching him, the hands on his back and shoulder, moving him without words like he knows Cori will obey without question – maybe it's just that it's been a while. Whatever it is, the next time Hob touches him, curls his fingers around one hip when he urges Cori to rise and nudges him towards the bath with a murmured, “Go ahead, I’ll be outside,” it’s easy for Cori to lean in and kiss the tail end of the words from his lips.
For a moment, Hob doesn’t respond at all. He doesn’t push Cori away, but he doesn’t pull him closer, either, doesn’t move to deepen the kiss. Cori’s well on his way to thinking that he’s fucked up when Hob smiles against his mouth, his other hand coming up to settle on Cori’s waist.
And when Hob kisses him back, licks across the seam of his trembling lips in a blatant demand, it’s good. It’s good when Hob drags him in closer, pressing their bodies together, when he scrapes his teeth over the swell of Cori’s lip and makes him gasp breathily into the kiss. Hob holds onto him like there's nothing better than the play of Cori's muscles under his palms, and Cori's not too wrapped up in the new and the good to realize that he’s never been touched like this. Reverently. Worshipfully. He's never been admired quite like this.
When they finally part to breathe, Cori’s heart is a wild, fluttering thing in his chest, a thundering beat in his ears. He swallows, letting his own hands come up to curl in the front of Hob’s shirt. “Join me?” he asks, flicking his gaze to the bath and then back to Hob. And when Hob pauses, something warring behind his eyes, Cori doesn’t hesitate to add, “Please.” He thinks he’s never wanted anything quite as badly as he wants the both of them slick and warm and pressed together, skin on skin.
Hob’s hesitation lasts for another moment. He doesn't take his hands off Cori, never drops the possessive hold he has on his hips, but he pauses, looks at him, and there's enough heat in that look that Cori wants to squirm. He feels himself harden, and he knows Hob feels it too, because Hob still has them held together, pressed close, even if a few layers of clothes are keeping them apart.
"Please," Cori whispers again, and whatever indecision is holding Hob back vanishes. Cori expects a heated kiss, expects the grip on his hips to go bruising, but Hob just smiles, sweet and crooked, and presses his lips to Cori's forehead.
"All right, sweetheart," he says. "I'll take care of you."
It's a full blush that decorates Cori's cheeks as Hob slowly strips him. Tie and shirt and slacks are all removed with the same care and consideration, and the heat never leaves Hob's gaze but it doesn't spill over, either, doesn't burn in Hob's steadying touches. Hob wants; that much is evident. But he also wants to take care of Cori – whatever that means – and that's what's taking precedence.
It shouldn't make Cori strain at the waistband of his boxers, but by the time Hob gets there, Cori's so hard it hurts. He whimpers when Hob eases the elastic down over his hips, arousal and embarrassment warring for the dominant emotion. Then Hob tips his chin up, ever so gently, and brushes a kiss over his mouth. The kiss is sweet, tender, and it twists something in Cori’s chest, makes him ache with how much he wants.
"Fuck, but you're beautiful," Hob murmurs, and arousal wins out, no contest.
Hob strips himself down with brutal efficiency, and it sends Cori's heart up into his throat to see that he's not the only one affected. Hob's hard and wet, and Cori wants to touch, to show a modicum of the care and kindness Hob has shown him, but Hob just ushers him into the bath, and the heat suddenly enveloping his body strips away most rational thought.
Hob slips in behind him, guides Cori back to lean against his chest, and that’s even better. He's warm and held, with more skin on skin contact than he's had in longer than he wants to think about. It makes his toes curl in pleasure, makes him sigh as he tips his head back against Hob's shoulder. He can't quite seem to keep his eyes open, but if Hob minds, he doesn't say anything.
For a few moments, they just sit there, basking in the warmth of the water and each other. Cori can feel the steady rise and fall of Hob’s chest against his back as he breathes, and it makes something settle inside him when one of Hob’s arms curls gently around his middle, like Hob’s afraid he’ll up and float away if he doesn’t keep Cori pinned down.
Then Hob leans down, nuzzling a kiss against the hinge of Cori's jaw, and it's enough to remind him that his arousal never faded, that he's still hard. It wrenches a groan out of his throat before he can stop it, and he feels the way Hob chuckles, the vibration against his back and neck. "Was going to ask if you wanted a little more," Hob says, and Cori feels his hand slide down the plane of his stomach, leaving very little doubt as to what he means by more. "But if you're too tired for it, love..."
They both groan when Cori drags Hob's hand down to his cock, and Cori immediately knows it's not going to take much at all to bring him off. Not with the way Hob is holding him, the way Hob's been touching him, looking at him. He turns his head, hiding his face in Hob's neck, and gets a blindingly tight stroke for his effort, one that has his hips bucking and another involuntary little whine spilling from his lips.
"Relax, sweetheart," Hob murmurs. "I've got you. All you need to do is enjoy yourself."
Hob's other hand comes up, splaying across Cori's chest, and Cori expects to feel fingers at his nipples, pulling and pinching and tugging, but all he gets is Hob's palm pressed firmly against his sternum, holding him in place. Holding him steady. "I've got you," Hob repeats, and this time, Cori believes him.
He makes himself relax. It’s a conscious thought, something he has to coax his body into doing – but eventually he does go all but limp against Hob’s frame, the only part of him still tense and taut at all held firmly in Hob’s grasp.
Hob makes a soft, pleased little sound. “Good boy,” he murmurs, and a shiver rips its way up Cori’s spine, embarrassingly revealing except for the fact that Hob already knows, and that’s why he murmured the words in Cori’s ear.
Cori swallows, throat tight. “Please,” he says, and his voice is rough, like gravel, like sandpaper. He winces, but Hob just kisses his forehead again and shushes him gently.
“You don’t need to beg, love. I’ll give you what you need.”
It really doesn't take much to bring Cori off after that. Hob rubs the pad of his finger against that sensitive spot under the head of his cock, making Cori pant wetly into the crook of his neck. His fingers curl into his own thighs as Hob twists his wrist in an absolutely devastating way, making sparks flicker on the backs of Cori's eyelids, and that's it. Cori whimpers as he spills, hips jerking, and Hob holds him steady while the pleasure rolls through him, leaving him loose and lax in its wake.
"There you go," Hob murmurs, when the last of the aftershocks have finished rippling their way through Cori's body. "So good for me."
Good makes Cori's cock twitch in a valiant, if misplaced, effort for another round, and he can't help the way he squirms at the thought. And squirming makes him all-too aware that Hob is still hard against the small of his back.
He's not an asshole. He can reciprocate, at the very least. Hob deserves for Cori to blow his back out and make him see stars, but moving at all sounds nigh unmanageable – never mind finding the energy to fuck someone and do it well. But Cori can manage a handjob. But when he goes to move, to turn, Hob keeps him pinned in place with the hand that's still splayed out over his chest, firm and unmoving.
Cori makes a pathetic, inquiring noise. Words are even beyond him. Sexy as fuck, he's sure, but Hob just brushes another soft kiss over the cut of his jaw, soothing and sweet. "Relax," he says. "Water's gonna be warm for a while. No reason to go anywhere."
Cori swallows, and then deliberately grinds his hips back. "That feels like a reason," he says dryly, and then, with the realization of how that could be interpreted, he adds, "I should... I mean, I want to. I do."
He does. He wishes he sounded a hair more convincing, though.
Hob's next kiss is brushed over his hair. "Okay," he says, but he doesn't move his hand. "You still going to want to when you're not passing out on top of me?"
"Yes," Cori says, because he's in full possession of his faculties, thank you very much, he's just tired. He's not unable to...
"So why don't we wait until then, when you can actually enjoy it?"
Cori's mouth snaps shut with an audible sound. "Right," he says, his voice a little strangled. "Yeah. That – yeah. Let's do that."
Hob chuckles, not unkindly, and finally his hand leaves its anchor on Cori's chest. It drifts up, fingertips dripping water, until he can drag his thumb gently over the swell of Cori's bottom lip. "Good," he says. "Now please, relax, before you undo all my hard work here."
Cori remembers pressing his laugh into Hob’s neck, but he doesn't remember falling asleep. He vaguely remembers Hob getting him out of the bath, drying him off, and putting him in bed, though the details are fuzzy. When he wakes up in the morning, it takes him a moment to remember why there's an arm draped around his waist and warm breath on the back of his neck, but when he does, he can't help but smile.