bring mercy

You remember when you first met Art in person. Had met once a week onsite for "better collaborative opportunities" while you worked on your cross-team project together. After messaging on the side during every working group call, you'd finally been able to put an in-person face to a Zoom one.

He'd even let you take the last cookie in that one company provided lunch, insisting he'd be just fine with the apple that left him.

"It's perfect actually. This right here? Peak Granny Smith," he'd said, taking a crunchy bite. "I'm so fortunate to work here."

So apples kind of became your thing. You'd send an apple emoji - you'd send red, he'd send green - whenever Ryan or some other prick said something particularly stupid as you'd try to keep a straight face. You'd leave one on his desk, and in return he'd leave on yours a cup of coffee, exactly how you like it. As much shit as you gave each other, he was sharp and observant - made him good at his job.

Though what you liked the most about Art was how you felt seen with him. He looked past all the ass-kissing, corporate ladder climbing nonsense and just saw you. After-hours work sessions on the cross-team project quickly became chats about everything and nothing simultaneously.

You'd talk about how he'd grown up going to tennis boarding school with his best friend, how you were definitely going to snap and end up attacking your manager one day, how he'd call you in prison when she definitely pressed charges.

He'd become your safe space. You didn't mean for it to go any further.

–

But one night, he'd asked you to drinks after a particularly bullshit work session, and you couldn't say no to the idea of blowing off some steam.

"Finally gracing me with your presence outside of Zoom or those bullshit lunches, huh? I'm honored," he says, eyes crinkling as he takes a sip of his beer.

The truth is, he'd wanted to ask you out since he'd gotten his first look at you on that call all those weeks ago. The one where he got caught staring at your face in the little Zoom box.

"Shut up," you bite back, chewing your lip, no heat in your voice,"You know why, Donaldson. Clock hits 5pm and I'm out of there."

Work was work. You were trying to develop better boundaries and let yourself compartmentalize when it was time to think about work and when it was time to go back home to your bed. Emphasis on trying.

"Mmhm," he says, curls bouncing as he nods, "And that's why that pretty little circle on Slack was green until 9PM last night."

You can't help the way you blush at his attentiveness.

"Aww, you really keeping tabs on me like that?" you tease. But he was right. You were spending entirely too much time working. Practically playing into the hand of the bureaucratic bullshit at this point.

"Why were you on that late though, Art?" He shrugs.

"Had shit to do", he says, taking another sip, "Gotta say though, I felt like I was in good company. Just a couple of fucking corporate sellouts online way too late."

You didn't mean to let him kiss you in his car later that night.

Definitely didn't mean to allow him a taste of your cider as he licked into your mouth - or allow his hands to explore the expanse of your back, unhooking your bra, freeing your your tits in his face as you bounced up and down in his lap.

Definitely didn't mean to. But something became clear that night:

He was the release you didn't realize you needed.

–

To the delight of your bosses, you and Art had worked well together, it turns out. The project you'd been assigned to work on had ended months ago, and you'd gotten glowing feedback from leadership.

In the weeks immediately following, you found yourself feeling his absence. An excuse to talk to him every week. How he'd banter with you and make snarky comments about your fellow coworkers in over Slack.

You missed the way he'd nudge your leg with his when you'd let your cool facade slip after someone said something just a little too off the wall. The way his cheek would dimple with that fucking smirk of his.

That same smirk was on his face as you look at him from where you stand in the doorway of the conference room.

–

Magnolia Glen was a conference room with built-in audio-visual capabilities, a max occupancy of 8, and a current occupancy of 2.

You step into the room and hardly get a glance at Art's pristine pressed collared shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms before he cups your face and captures your lips with his. Your hands tangle in his soft curls and pull, tethering you to the Earth as the sweetness of his attention threatens to take you to new heights.

"Hadn't gotten any apples from you in a minute," he says between kisses, "Was worried you'd forgotten about me."

Art pulls away from your grasp and pushes you against the door of the conference room, peppering kisses up your neck. You can almost hear the smirk in his voice as he whispers against your ear, tone comically serious. "Henry wants to know if you have any status updates on the workstream that's still unresolved..."

"You know I don't have ohhh–"

He cuts off your words with a nip to your pulse point.

Art wastes no time, lifting you onto the conference room table and stepping between your legs before descending back on your mouth. As he deepens the kiss, tongue intermingling with yours, you taste cold brew and cinnamon gum, his warm fingers brushing against your collarbone before deftly unbuttoning the buttons of your blouse.

"Art, we probably shouldn't keep doing this," you say, begrudgingly breaking the kiss. You can't even imagine what would happen if someone found out about this, if someone walked in on your little conference room trysts.

"When has that ever stopped us?" he asks, unable to help the smugness in his voice.

You roll your eyes, and he stops to look at you with those pretty mostly-blue eyes of his, before taking your chin in his fingers, an earnest smile crawling up his face.

"You really want to stop? Because if you do, then we can. Seriously."

You take a beat, considering his words. He really meant it. Eventually, you smile back at him before shaking your head.

Oh, thank god.

–

He kneels in front of you, knees hitting the conference room floor as he widens your legs for him.

"So wet already," he says, pushing up your pencil skirt around your waist to brush his thumb over your clothed slit, "This really all for me?"

Art pulls your panties to the side, groaning as he feels your wetness causing the fabric to cling to your cunt. He slips a finger, then two inside of you.

"Still so fucking tight," Art moaned as he leans down to press a kiss to your mound.

He licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, moaning as he does, eyes closed as he relishes in the flavor of you. Your hands instinctively go to cover your mouth, to muffle those beautiful sounds you always make for him.

The only thing he could think about was how much he wanted to fucking devour you. To make it as hard as possible for you to be quiet.

"The people who sit in this section are only in Wednesdays. You can be as loud as you want," Art says as he slips two fingers inside of you, scissoring them to stretch you out as he continues to give attention to your puffy clit.

When he begins to suck, you tangle your fingers once again in his golden curls, holding him impossibly closer to your center.

"Oh my god. Fuck, Art."

He nips your inner thigh as the swear leaves your mouth, tsking as he continues to fuck into you with his fingers.

"You should really watch your language in the office," he teases, "But don't worry, keep being a good girl, and I won't tell anyone."

Art laughs to himself as that pushes you over the edge, not ceasing his assault of your pretty pussy with his fingers and mouth.

"God, you're fucking gorgeous like this. Gonna give me another one, aren't you?" You honestly lose track of the amount of times he brings you over the edge with his relentless ministrations.

You can't help the blush that burns on your cheeks as he stands up, adjusting himself in his pants. As you reach down to try and palm him with your hand, he grabs yours with one of his own, placing a kiss on the back of it, smirk crawling up the side of his face.

"Can't, sorry. Have a 3pm. Good luck with the rest of today, though."

Art gives you a wink, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face, kissing your cheek before sauntering out the door of the conference room.

He was going to be the death of you.

the little box with your name on his screen lights up as you come off mute and introduce yourself to the rest of the project team. your syrupy voice fills his ears and pulls him out of whatever else he was thinking about. he takes a hasty, subconscious glance at who was speaking, observing your demeanor as you give the rehearsed intro you’ve given a million other times on calls like this. 

but there was something about you. he saw right through your too-bright smile, the seemingly starched collar of the shirt you were wearing. you were drinking the corporate kool-aid, just like he was - whatever it took to get to 5pm and the weekend. you were playing the game, and playing it well.

art found himself unable to tear his gaze from you, eyes glued to the little rectangle containing your pretty face as it remained in the top left corner of the dock of his laptop screen, smaller now to his dismay, as other team members started coming off mute to introduce themselves.

he licked his lips subconsciously, drinking in every little reaction - how you subtly rolled your eyes when that prick ryan from marketing was being a kiss-ass or the way you would worry your lower lip between your teeth as you thought about something. how sometimes you'd look right into the camera and it felt like you were looking at him. he wished you were.

art shamelessly clicks the pin next to your little rectangle, his breath catching slightly as you fill up his screen. the heat rises in his cheeks as he sees you smiling at something someone said, wondering what it'd be like to just-

"art? you want to come off mute and introduce yourself?" that prick ryan from marketing says.