Work Text:
Tang Bo trips a colleague who's been ogling her legs in dark nylon stockings, visible beneath her miniskirt. The man predictably trips, breaking his nose on the floor and staining the papers he was carrying.
Without turning to face the bleeding man, she straightens her legs, moving away from the desk, and glances at the adjacent table, where an obscene amount of paperwork has accumulated. All the most difficult cases, the most tedious, the most unpleasant—they all ended up right there.
"Oppa, it's lunchtime already. Want to go to the restaurant across the street?"
Cheong Myeong leans back in his chair, meeting her gaze. A bright smile spreads across her lips, and her hand begins to play with the second button of his shirt, buttoning and unbuttoning it.
Trying to seduce this idiot had been her goal for a couple of months now. Before, she tried something different – showered him with compliments, tagged along to public transportation, stayed on overtime, gave him gifts, including bringing him food.
But Cheong Myeong doesn't understand hints. Half-measures are unacceptable with him – he's a man of extremes. Who else can get through so much more work in a day than others and still have the energy to drink and cause trouble after work?
What's worse is that this insufferable man takes everything that happens to him for granted! Shameless! Who even complains about the lack of dessert and drinks afte being bought and brought dinner to the office? He should have succumbed to her charm, realized what a generous and caring a woman she is!
But that didn't happen.
And now she's openly seducing him.
Second month.
"Buy me something spicy."
"But oppa! You need to stretch your legs and rest your eyes!" she drawls, squinting.
The third button of his shirt. Sometimes, the edge of lacy underwear becomes visible under her fidgeting fingers.
Cheong Myeong looks at her silently and grimaces, stretching.
"I'll stretch my legs during a smoke break."
"You don't smoke," Tang Bo reminds him.
"Exactly. Now go get some food; lunch isn't endless. And get different soda—the last one gave me a nasty burp."
Rolling her eyes, Tang Bo stands up, deciding to try something new one last time. Her eyes catching the coffee mug on the far side of the other's table, she takes a step closer and rests her knee between the other's legs as she reaches for it.
"I'll take this to the kitchen," she smiles at the other's displeased look, finally buttoning her shirt.
Tsk, it didn't work this time either. And yet they were so close—the other's breath could still be felt as a warm trace on the edge of her breast.
* * *
"Oppa, you have a nimble tongue."
"What is it this time? Are you in trouble again?" Cheong Myeong raises an eyebrow.
"That's not what I mean. You're really good with it—the way you licked the container clean so quickly... Every crevice, every cavity, leaving nothing for the others."
Tang Bo raises an innocent eyebrow at Cheong Myeong's suspicious gaze.
"Have you ever tried tying a cherry stem into a knot?"
"Yes, when I was a kid."
"I wonder what else your tongue can do? I'd like to experience it myself."
Jun Myung looks at her quizzically, frowning.
"What, you want me to lick the dishes after you? You'll manage."
Sometimes she just want to hit that idiot even more than usual.
* * *
Staying overtime with Cheong Myeong became her hobby. Sitting across from each other at the same table, alone in the empty room. It almost felt like a date.
And it was a possibility to act a little more explicit.
Lifting the tip of her pen to her mouth, holding Cheong Myeong's gaze as he thought about something, she takes the tip into her mouth and sucks, hollowing her cheeks. She sucks it in deeper and pulls it out rhythmically, smiling when this idiot finally looks at her and not through her. She releases the pen from her mouth, starts licking it, playing with the tip with her tongue.
Well, at least now he'll understand this, right?!
Cheong Myeong is indeed silent for a couple of minutes, mesmerized by the way she plays with the pen—one of those she carries with her, not the ones provided at work. Only at a particularly loud sound does he flinch and rub his eyes, looking down at the papers as if nothing had happened.
Discreetly lifting her skirt so that the skin above her stockings, the straps, and even the hem of her panties were visible, she stood up and came closer, placing a hand on his shoulder.
But the other's gaze jerked away from her, as if scalded, as soon as it encountered pale thighs in his line of sight. A large hand rose from the table, reaching toward her... but before she could hope that this idiot had finally realized something, she heard:
"Your skirt is riding up. Be careful with that."
A hand tugged at the hem of her skirt and adjusted it.
"And why are you wearing a skirt now? You've been wearing pants for years."
Tang Bo gritted her teeth, slamming the folder of papers onto the other's desk among the completed work, and squeezed out:
"Guess."
* * *
"Bo-ya, I'm going to kill him now."
Tang Bo turns in surprise to Cheong Myeong, who's barely restraining himself from physically assaulting someone, clutching the delivery report.
"I don't think Cheong Mun will be able to cover for you if you do that. But, just in case, my cousin has a friend who owns a pig farm..."
On the document handed to her, all the products for which deliveries are delayed are underlined in red.
More than half.
"I think death would be too easy for him... Send him to be torn apart by Cheong Jin."
Cheong Myeong stands up, apparently about to follow the advice, and Tang Bo manages to grab him by the hips, stopping him with his zipper dangerously close to her face. Hugging his pelvis, she presses her cheek to his belt, looking up.
"When will your project be over? I'm thinking of taking a vacation; let's travel somewhere together?"
Cheong Myeong visibly calms down, stroking her head, brushing her bangs to better see her eyes.
"I think in about a month. The chicks will handle the rest themselves."
Tang Bo smiles, stealthily caressing Cheong Myeong's buttocks before letting go. Judging by the lack of reaction, it was unnoticed.
"Good luck with the execution!"
Cheong Myeong stands for a few seconds before heading toward Cheong Jin.
* * *
When Cheong Myeong returns, the workday is nearly over. Instead of one document, he finds a whole stack in his hands, adding it to the next, the lowest one on the desk. With urgent matters.
Tang Bo habitually hands Cheong Myeong a piece of mooncake from her bag, which Cheong Myeong eats in two bites, washing it down with room temperature coffee.
"I took the keys, grab everything you need and follow me."
Tang Bo's work for the day is done. She only left a few simple tasks to do, so they'll look presentable on her desk and won't give her any excuse to throw anything else at her.
So, taking only her personal belongings, she goes into the small office, where the lighting will use much less energy than their usual office room.
She probably won't even try today. She'll still have a chance to change the nature of their relationship during the vacation.
* * *
Cheong Myeong buries his hand in his hair, massaging his pounding head. Tang Bo stands by the table, leaning her palm on it and leaning forward, causing her skirt to ride up, revealing the skin above her stockings, the lace band contrasting with her pale skin. The skirt hugs her backside, leaving little to the imagination, her back arched, one hand tucking her bangs behind her ear.
Images whirl in his head, popping up over and over again whenever he looks up from his work. A brazen face against his pelvis. The scent of herbal perfume. Frequent touches, the pressure of her breasts against his hand as Tang Bo clings to him after work, making excuses with her heels.
He needs to tear his gaze away from the space between Tang Bo's thighs.
He doesn't have time for all this. Neither does he care about that, nor about the silly thoughts about how the other's lip gloss has been replaced by lipstick, or how Tang Bo has become even more tactile, sometimes tagging along to his place after a drink. He has no time to think about the warmth in his chest when he sees Tang Bo in his house in the morning, groaning from a hangover and finishing the remains of yesterday's delivery. Shoes by the door. Coat on the hook.
Of course, he has his guesses.
But he doesn't have time to confirm them.
Tang Bo shifts from foot to foot, rearranging the documents he brought, choosing those closest to her expertise.
The light highlights the tight flesh where the elastic of his stockings used to be.
"Oppa, give these two tasks to Sobyeong, he'll be fine," she whispers, hearing footsteps behind her. "He'll get them done in five minutes if he stops whining."
The voice is quiet, hoarse, like it sound after negotiations or speeches.
Cheong Myeong hums in agreement, resting his hands on either side of her body. Not touching, but close enough. Enough to feel the warmth and scent, making something click in his head and relax.
Her previously calm breathing quickens. Tang Bo swallows, placing both hands on the table.
Silence.
With a soft thud, the shoe falls to the floor, and a stockinged foot touches his calf, beginning to hesitantly caress it.
To hell with it.
Cheong Myeong leans forward, pressing himself against Tang Bo, burying his nose in the other's hair, inhaling its barely perceptible scent. Soft, always pleasant to touch. With a tart shampoo, the brand of which he always forgets to ask.
His fingers release the table and lift her skirt higher to touch her thigh. They slide over skin, slipping under the lace, under the elastic, feeling the hot, taut skin.
"Ah..." Tang Bo makes a soft sound.
Cheong Myeong freezes, distracted from the caress, and rests his head on Tang Bo's shoulder.
"Hm?" he asks.
Instead of answering, Tang Bo arches toward him and squirms, hinting at what's trapped between them.
Boner.
Only when they're so close does Jun Myung realize the difference in their builds. He'd teased Tang Bo more than once about the difference in their heights—even if she wasn't exactly short, Jun Myung was even taller. Almost a head taller. And now... her shoulders are dwarfed by his own.
Spreading Tang Bo's legs with his knee, he continues to run his finger along the ridged line of the constricted skin, kneading it.
With a soft peck, Cheong Myeong presses a kiss to her flushed cheek. A second later, instead of a cheek, before him are lips, matte-glossy with lipstick.
Her green eyes stare at him with a sharp, greedy expression. Not the sweet, harmless image she usually maintains. The real Tang Bo.
Pulling away, he notices a disappointed, angry glint in her eyes, but before it can take hold, he flips Tang Bo over and presses himself again, never breaking eye contact.
Her chest, heaving with breath, presses against his own. Her fingers, trimmed to the roots, tug at his sleeve, threatening to rip the shirt.
Cheong Myeong closes his eyes, leaning forward.
He hasn't kissed before.
The touch of tongue, lips, hands—as soon as he's distracted, the other's touch is already on his bare shoulders.
"You're lucky I use high-quality lipstick," Tang Bo whispers when they pull away. "And it won't smudge."
Cheong Myeong continues to stand, admiring the blush on her face, admiring the expression as if she'd managed to scam or ragebait someone and was enjoying the satisfaction of a successful deed.
"Let me stand up, otherwise we'll stain the documents," Tang Bo reminds her.
Cheong Myeong lifts her by the hips, steps toward the free wall, and presses her against it. That way, they won't stain anything important, right?
A vein throbs beneath his lips as he presses against Tang Bo's neck, as he kneads her thighs in his hands. The buttons quickly give way beneath his fingers—opened with the same motion Tang Bo herself used. But unlike her, he doesn't stop at the third button—kissing the bare skin, biting it, running his tongue over it.
Tang Bo has few moles. He'd seen the one on his shoulder before, but he'd never seen a mole on his stomach.
The bra strap slips off her shoulder from the movement, causing the soft cup to bend, revealing more skin.
"Oppa," Tang Bo whispers, burying her face in his hair as he lowers the second strap to expose her breast.
She hisses at the first bite, tugging hard at his hair.
"Idiot! That hurts!"
Her nipple swells from the bite, and her grip only loosens when he licks the mark, holding the flesh around it with his hand.
Tang Bo arches toward him, rubbing her inner thigh against his side, her gaze never leaving.
More.
He wants more.
The belt holding her stockings falls between them as Cheong Myeong finally finds the clasp. The skirt has ridden up to her waist from their mutual movements.
There's only one thing left to do.
Looking up, he meets Tang Bo's wild, drunken eyes and hooks the edge of her black lace panties with his teeth, lowering himself even further. Her shoeless leg lifts, allowing him to remove the panties, landing on his shoulder.
Cheong Myeong doesn't look away as he leans forward and collects the pent-up moisture with his tongue, pressing his face against her so that Tang Bo has to stand on her toes to keep herself touching the floor.
Cheong Myeong doesn't look away as his tongue explores such an unfamiliar shape—folds of flesh, smooth and pulsing with arousal.
Cheong Myeong doesn't look away as Tang Bo sobs and covers her mouth with her hand when one of his tongue movements grazes her clit.
He doesn't look away as Tang Bo moans, squeezes him with her legs, squirms, impaling herself on his tongue, or rubs against it.
He doesn't look away as he figures out to suck in, pressing his lips, and the other's voice lets out a beautiful, loud, drawn-out moan, and her whole body tenses, jerking toward him.
He doesn't look away as Tang Bo begins to tremble from the touch, still clutching his hair in her hands.
He doesn't look away as the tongue begins to ache from the unfamiliar movements, and the other's body tenses again, with a moan bordering on a scream. It's so good there's no one else at work except the two of them.
He doesn't look away when the lube starts dripping from his chin, when he focuses too much on the clit.
Tang Bo quietly calls his name, whispers, and immediately twitches, clenching.
"Oppa, please..." she blinks back tears of pleasure, her face completely red. "More, I want more."
How can he refuse her now?
Tang Bo openly howls from her third orgasm, going limp as if all her bones had disappeared, her whole body hanging on his face.
"Not like that... more, Myeong-ah! More! Put it in already! After all this time, finally do it! I've been trying to get you for too long!"
"Okay," Cheong Myeong finally breaks away from her crotch.
Rising from his knees, he holds the relaxed Tang Bo by the waist, allowing one of her legs to remain on his shoulder.
His whole face is wet, and there are clear streaks on his chest.
The buckle is difficult to undo – his fingers, accustomed to squeezing and caressing thighs, have forgotten how to handle anything smaller. But eventually, the pants fall to the floor.
"Oppa," Tang Bo whispers, pulling him closer by the hair, and bites his cheek, the edge of his lips, and the lips themselves before kissing him.
Standing at work without underwear... very unusual.
The cool air touches his heated skin. Tang Bo is completely in his shadow, no longer touching the floor, her leg wrapped around his waist, trying to hook around his pelvic bone. And she's surprisingly light – with all the strength she usually displays, with her height – she should be heavier.
Or maybe it just seems that way because of the euphoria clouding his reason, the mesmerizing gaze of those green eyes, gazing at him with raging emotions that strangely resonate within him.
Tang Bo moans softly as he enters.
Soft. Scalding hot and wet.
"Does it hurt?"
"No."
Cheong Myeong squeezes his fingers, trying to contain the emotions, the sensations, everything that's happening, but he only leaves bruises, forgetting that he's still holding Tang Bo by the waist.
Up close, she's even more beautiful.
"Come on," Tang Bo asks, blinking rapidly.
And he begins to move, shifting his hips awkwardly, not expecting how pleasurable it will be—and notices how her green eyes become strangely veiled, as if in a trance, and her mouth opens slightly, releasing quiet sighs, almost drowned out by the wet sound of their intimacy.
Cheong Myeong bites his lip, feeling everything inside him tremble at the sight, at the feel of Tang Bo before him—open and honest, naked and blissful, so hot, so close, so…
His breath catches, his throat tightens, releasing strange sounds as he begins to move faster, as pleasure fills his head like a bursting dam.
He reaches his climax, never taking his eyes off Tang Bo, who stares back at him.
"Do you want to continue?" she whispers, caressing his face.
Cheong Myeong closes his eyes, leaning into the touch.
"But work."
A quiet laugh vibrates between them as Tang Bo smiles and tugs at his cheeks.
"You've worked on me so good that we won't have time to do anything before public transportation closes."
When Cheong Myeong opens his eyes again, he sees a watch on the other's wrist, with...
"...fuck."
"Never before has 'fucked up work' been so literal, huh?"
Cheong Myeong blinks a few times, still dizzy from the climax.
Tang Bo is so close, it's like a furnace. He wants to hug her and relax, forget about everything for a few more minutes.
"I still need to go to the pharmacy."
"Why?"
"Plan B pills."
Only now does Cheong Myeong come to his senses and exit the other's body, trying to ignore the other's amusement at the sudden change in expression on his face.
"And condoms," Tang Bo continued, lowering her foot from his shoulder and searching the floor for his shoe. "For the future."
His face flushes with embarrassment.