Work Text:
The door to Myeong-Ju's office burst open without a knock. She looked up from her paperwork, one eyebrow already raised, ready to yell at whoever dared interrupt her.
And stopped.
It was Hyung-Bae.
But not her Hyung-Bae. Not the soft, smiling, pathetic loser who brought her tea and wrote her love notes and cried when she was soft.
This Hyung-Bae looked wrecked.
His tie was loose. His shirt was wrinkled. His eyes had that hollow, haunted look of someone who'd spent twelve hours dealing with agency nonsense and hadn't eaten, hadn't rested, hadn't done anything except survive.
"Hyung-Bae?" She was already standing, already moving toward him. "What happened? Are you okay?"
He didn't answer.
He just crossed the room in three long strides, wrapped his arms around her, and buried his face in her neck.
She held him. Let him breathe. Let him shake.
"Bad day," he mumbled against her skin.
"I can see that."
"The worst. The absolute worst. I hate everyone. I hate everything. I hate-" He pulled back just enough to look at her. His eyes were wet. "I just needed you. I just needed to see you and touch you..."
He stopped, swallowed and looked at her like she was the only thing keeping him upright.
"Can I..." His voice broke. "Can I just hold you? For a minute? Just hold you and... and..."
"And what?"
His hands moved.
Slowly. Tentatively. Like he was afraid she'd say no.
One hand cupped her breast through her blouse. The other slid down, over her hip, to the curve of her ass.
He squeezed.
Gently at first. Then harder. Kneading like she was the only thing grounding him to earth.
"This okay?" he whispered.
She should have been offended. Should have pushed him away. Should have reminded him that this was her office, that she was the Chairwoman, that he couldn't just walk in and touch her like that?
But the look in his eyes.
The desperation. The exhaustion. The way he was holding her like she was the only real thing in a world full of chaos.
"Hyung-Bae." She cupped his face. Made him look at her. "It's okay. Touch me. However you need. I'm here."
He made a sound, half sob, half groan, and pulled her closer.
His hands moved with purpose now.
Cupping. Squeezing. Kneading. Palming her breasts through the silk of her blouse, thumbs brushing over her nipples until they hardened. His other hand gripped her ass, pulled her against him, held her there like he was afraid she'd disappear.
"You're so soft," he breathed. "So warm. So beautiful..." He squeezed again, harder, desperate. "I needed this. I needed you. All day I just kept thinking: if I could just touch her. If I could just feel her. If I could just-"
He buried his face in her neck again, still kneading, still squeezing, still holding on.
She let him, she held him back.
One hand in his hair, gentle. The other on his back, rubbing slow circles.
"I've got you," she murmured. "I'm here. Touch me as long as you need."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
He touched her for a long time.
Not sexually, well, not just sexually. There was something deeper here. Something primal. He wasn't trying to arouse her (though he definitely was, because her body responded to him automatically now). He was trying to ground himself. To remind himself that this was real. That she was real. That no matter how bad the day got, he had this. He had her.
His hands memorized her.
The weight of her breasts. The give of her flesh. The way she fit perfectly in his palms. The curve of her ass, the warmth of her skin through her clothes, the little sounds she made when he squeezed just right.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered. "So perfect. I don't deserve you."
"Hyung-Bae."
"I don't. But I'm selfish. I'm keeping you anyway."
She kissed his forehead. "Good. Because I'm keeping you too."
He looked up at her. Eyes wet. Face open. Heart on his sleeve like always.
"I love you," he said. "I know I say it all the time. I know it's annoying. I know-"
"It's not annoying."
"But I just need you to know. Every day. Every moment. Even when I'm having the worst day of my life, I love you. You're the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night and-"
She kissed him.
Cut him off.
Poured everything she couldn't say into the space between their lips.
When they broke apart, she was smiling.
"Better?" she asked.
He looked at her. Really looked. Then down at his hands, still cupping her breasts, still holding her close.
"Yeah," he breathed. "Better. Much better."
"Good." She stepped back, just enough to lock her office door. Then she turned to him, eyes dark. "Now. You've had your stress relief. My turn."
"Your turn?"
"You think you can walk in here, grope me for twenty minutes, and not face consequences?"
"I-I mean... I didn't!"
Myeong-Ju walked towards the door and locked it. Then she turned back to him, and the look in her eyes made his breath catch. Gone was the softness from moments ago. Gone was the gentle comfort. In its place was something darker. Something hungrier. Something that made his knees weak and his cock twitch with anticipation.
"You think," she said slowly, stalking toward him, "you can just walk into my office. In the middle of my workday. Without knocking. Without asking. And grope me like some kind of..." she grabbed his tie, yanked him down to her level, "desperate, teenager in heat?"
"Yes?" he squeaked.
She laughed. Low and dark and dangerous.
"Then I think," she murmured against his lips, "you need to be punished."
His cock, already half-hard from touching her, throbbed at the word.
Punished...
He wanted to be punished. He wanted her to ruin him. He wanted to forget his own name, let alone whatever bureaucratic nightmare had happened at the agency today.
"Yes," he breathed. "Please. Yes."
She grabbed him by his tie and kissed him, hard and deep, her tongue sliding against his, claiming his mouth like it belonged to her. And it did. Everything belonged to her. He'd signed over ownership of his entire being the first time she'd looked at him like he was worth something.
When she pulled back, she was smiling. The smile that meant she was about to destroy him.
"Strip," she said. "Down to your boxers. And if you make me wait, I'll make it worse."
He stripped so fast his shirt buttons nearly flew across the room.
She watched him.
Leaned against her massive mahogany desk, arms crossed, watching him fumble with his belt, his pants, his socks. When he stood before her in nothing but his boxers, already tented, already leaking, already pathetic, she made a sound of approval.
"Good boy."
He whimpered.
Good boy. Those words. Those two words. She knew what they did to him. She'd learned, early on, that his praise kink was less a kink and more a religion. He worshipped her approval. He starved for her praise. And she was generous with it. When he earned it.
Today, he had not earned it. Today, he had walked into her office and grabbed her like she was a stress ball. Today, he would pay for it. Beautifully.
"Sit," she said, pointing to her chair.
He sat.
It was her chair, the big leather one behind her desk, the one where she held court, the one where she made men weep with a single glance. And now he was sitting in it, boxers on, hands gripping the armrests, waiting.
She circled him. Slow. Deliberate. Her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.
Click. Click. Click.
"You came into my office," she said, running a finger along his shoulder, "and you grabbed my breasts."
His breath hitched. "Yes."
"You squeezed them. Kneaded them. Like they were yours to do with as you pleased."
"They are," he whispered. "Everything of yours is mine-"
"Everything of mine is mine," she corrected, sharp. "And I let you touch it. I let you have it. But you didn't ask today, did you?"
He swallowed. "No."
"No." She stopped in front of him, looking down at him. "So now I take it back. Now I remind you who's in control."
She reached down. Hooked her fingers in the waistband of his boxers. Pulled.
His cock sprang free, hard and flushed, the tip wet with pre-cum. He was already so desperate. So ready. And she hadn't even touched him yet.
"Look at you," she murmured. "So hard. So needy. You need this, don't you?"
"Please," he gasped. "Please, Myeong-Ju, I need you. I need-"
"What you need," she said, sinking to her knees between his legs, "is to remember who owns this."
She wrapped her hand around him. Squeezed. Watched his eyes roll back.
"Who owns this cock, Hyung-Bae?"
"You," he breathed. "You do. It's yours. All yours."
"Good answer."
She leaned forward and took him in her mouth.
He came apart instantly.
Her mouth was wet and hot and perfect. Her tongue worked the underside of his shaft, tracing the vein, swirling around the head, dipping into the slit to taste the pre-cum that was already leaking.
"Fuck..." He gripped the armrests hard enough to leave marks. "Fuck, Myeong-Ju..."
She pulled off with a wet pop. "You don't get to come. Not yet. Not until I say."
"Then don't stop. Please. I'll do anything. Anything you want. Just don't stop!"
"You'll do anything I want regardless," she said. "That's not a bargaining chip."
She took him again. Deeper this time. Her throat relaxing, her nose brushing his pelvis, her eyes looking up at him with that dark, dangerous amusement.
He was going to die. He was going to die in this chair, in this office, with her mouth on him and his soul leaving his body.
She bobbed her head. Fast. Slow. Fast again. Her hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently, squeezing just enough to make his hips buck.
"Fuck... I'm close... I'm so close!"
She pulled off. Stopped. Left him throbbing and desperate and aching.
"Did I say you could come?"
"N-no."
"Then you don't come." She stood, wiping her mouth. "Now get on the floor. On your knees. Facing me."
He nearly fell out of the chair in his haste.
There he was. Kim Hyung-Bae, the director of NIS. A man who had stared down terrorists and criminals and North Korean spies. On his knees. In front of her. Boxers around his ankles. Cock hard and leaking. Begging with his eyes.
She sat in the chair he'd vacated. Spread her legs, taking off her skirt and throwing it aside, before taking off her underwear which was soaking wet, exposing her beautiful and wet cunt.
"Now," she said, "you're going to make this up to me. You're going to use that mouth you're so good at using. And if you make me come, maybe I'll let you come too."
He crawled forward like a man possessed and buried his face between her thighs like it was the only place he belonged.
His tongue found her clit immediately, he'd learned her body so well by now, knew exactly where she liked it, how she liked it, the rhythm that made her thighs shake. He licked. Sucked. Swirled. Two fingers pushed inside her, curling, finding that spot that made her back arch.
"Yes!" Her head fell back, hands gripping his hair, pulling him closer. "Just like that. Don't stop."
He didn't stop.
He ate her like she was his last meal. Like he was dying of thirst and she was water. His tongue moved in relentless circles, his fingers pumping in and out, curling, pressing, making her gasp and moan and curse in ways that would have shocked anyone who only knew her as the Ice Queen.
"Harder," she demanded. "Use your teeth. Gentle... yes, like that. Fuck, Hyung-Bae!"
He loved her like this. Loved when she lost control. Loved when her composure cracked and she became pure sensation, pure pleasure, pure his.
Her thighs tightened around his head. Her hips ground against his face. Her fingers pulled his hair so hard it hurt, and he loved that too, loved every second of being used by her.
"I'm close," she gasped. "Don't you dare stop. Don't you dare-"
He didn't stop and doubled down instead. His tongue flicked faster. His fingers pressed harder. His other hand came up to grip her ass, squeezing, kneading, pulling her closer to his face.
She came with a scream, actually screamed, her voice echoing off the expensive walls of her office, her body convulsing against his mouth, her juices flooding his tongue.
He worked her through it. Slower now. Gentler. Kissing her thighs as she shuddered and gasped and slowly, slowly came back to herself.
When she opened her eyes, she looked wrecked. Flushed. Beautiful.
"Good boy," she breathed.
He whimpered. His cock was aching. Pre-cum dripping onto the floor. He was so hard it was almost painful.
"Please," he begged. "Please, Myeong-Ju, I need to come. Please. I'll do anything."
She got up from her chair and lowered to his lever, she reached out and wrapped her hand around him. Squeezed once, twice, watching him shake.
"You want to come?"
"Yes. God, yes."
"Then come."
She didn't move her hand. Didn't stroke. Just held him. Tight. And that was enough, more than enough, because it was her, her hand, her permission, her voice telling him to come.
He came with a broken cry, his hips jerking, his cum spilling over her fingers, her wrist, the floor between them. Wave after wave of it, more than he thought possible, until he was empty and shaking and barely able to stay upright.
She held him through it. Stroked his hair. Let him lean his forehead against her shoulder and catch his breath.
"There," she murmured. "Better?"
He nodded weakly. "Better. So much better."
"Good." She tilted his chin up. Kissed him, soft this time, tender. "Now. Let's get you cleaned up. And then you're going to tell me what happened today. And I'm going to listen. And then we're going to order dinner and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist. Understand?"
"Yes." His voice cracked. "I love you."
"I love you too." She kissed him again. "Now let's get up off the floor, you pathetic disaster."
He smiled. The first real smile since he'd walked in the door. "Your pathetic disaster."
"Damn right."
She helped him up. Found a towel from the en-suite bathroom (yes, her office had an en-suite, she was the Chairwoman, what did you expect) and cleaned them both up. His cum on her hand. The evidence of their activities on the floor. The scent of sex in the air.
No one would know. But they would. And that was enough.
Later, after he'd changed into the spare clothes she kept in her office for exactly this purpose (she'd learned, after the third time, that he had a habit of needing them), they sat on her couch with takeout containers and a bottle of wine.
He told her about the day. The disaster. The idiots. The decisions he'd had to make. The ones he'd had to undo.
She listened. She held his hand, their fingers intertwined. She didn't fix anything, she knew he didn't need her to fix it, just needed her to hear it.
When he was done, he leaned his head on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said. "For just showing up. For grabbing you like that. I should have-"
"You should have come sooner." She kissed the top of his head. "Next time you have a day like this, don't wait. Come straight here. Use me however you need."
His eyes went wet. "Really?"
"Really." She tilted his chin up. "You take care of me. I take care of you. That's how this works."
"I love you."
"I know." She smiled. "Now eat your food before it gets cold."
He ate. She ate. The world outside of her office doors continued to spin, full of chaos and disasters and days that would try to break them.
But in here? In here, they had each other. That was more than enough.