nsync in black and white

Fiction by Pen . . . . . not real, made up, purely intended for entertainment

Working Overtime


Justin let himself into the apartment, and frowned. The place was empty. Again. He checked his watch—though he knew the time, it was after ten and he was late home himself, always a hazard when the agency was in the final stages of a big campaign and the client started to get cold feet. Really, clients should be kept well away from their advertising campaigns, they never understood what was going on and they were always so hidebound, they asked for ads that would make their product stand out, but when they got them, they fretted about being too innovative. Clients should just pay up and shut up. They didn't know what was good for them.

Not that that was important right now. What mattered right now, was that Lance was not home. Justin dumped his briefcase and hauled off his tie as he strode into the kitchen, but no, there was no note on the bulletin board above the table, no "meet me at Jaxx's" in Lance's bold scrawl, nothing to indicate that Lance had been there at all since his hurried breakfast that morning.

It couldn't be healthy to work like this. Justin frowned as he exchanged his dark grey suit for jeans and sweatshirt, and pulled out his phone to call his boyfriend.

"Oh, hey, J. Something wrong?" Lance sounded distracted.

Justin frowned. Lance was not supposed to be paying attention to other stuff when he was talking to Justin. "You're not home, is what's wrong," he pointed out.

"Oh, yeah. Huh. Look, I have some more stuff to run tonight, be done in an hour, couple hours, maybe."

"Can't you leave it for tomorrow?"

"No, it's... I'm on a roll. I'm gonna keep going a while longer. I'll catch you later."

Justin looked at the silent phone. This was just not good enough. He'd been looking forward to walking into his lover's arms, being petted and kissed, and Lance was still working. Still!

Suddenly determined, Justin hurried back into the bedroom for supplies, and pulled his sneakers on. He checked the mirror, and was out the door.

Twenty minutes later he was at the neat, modern building shared between a number of small businesses. The security guard recognized him and let him inside, and he bounded up the stairs to Lance's office. The only one with a light still on.

Lance was concentrating hard on his computer screen. God, he was so beautiful. Justin hadn't ever admitted to Lance that Lance looked incredibly hot in his businesslike glasses, but it was true. His shapely, capable hands on the keyboard, his little intent frown...

"Hey there," Justin said. Lance blinked at him, startled. Justin sauntered over, thumbs in his pockets so that his hands framed his groin. He perched on the edge of Lance's desk and leaned in for a kiss. But it was perfunctory, and through his lashes Justin could see that Lance's attention was still mostly on his computer.

That was just wrong.

"Time to come home, babe," he whispered.

"Look, I told you. Another hour. I want to get this done."

"C'mon, Lance, it's late. Leave it." Justin pouted. He was good at that, but tonight, it didn't seem to be working.

"Not until I'm done."

"I can think of better things you could be doing..."

Lance spared him a brief but quelling glare. "Not now, J."


"The sooner you shut up and leave me in peace, the sooner I get this analysis done. If you don't want to go back home, get yourself a magazine and sit over there." He pointed to a comfortable couch by the door. Sulkily, Justin curled up on the couch and started to flick through a slightly tattered fashion mag, looking for his own agency's ads.

* * *

Lance smiled inwardly. J wasn't quite irresistible, but it was a close thing. However, he really did have to get this finished. Now, he had a long-legged and sexy incentive pouting on his couch. Lance reapplied his whole attention to his screen.

Half an hour or so later, he felt something nudge at his knee.

A swift glance to the corner of the room informed him that Justin was no longer on the couch, though the pressure of a hand gliding up his calf was a pretty good clue. Lance thought about objecting, but, hell, he was just about done... He saved the file again, and started to read carefully through his conclusions. Meanwhile, there were hands on his inner thighs. Lance allowed his legs to spread, and tried to concentrate.

It wasn't easy to focus on the screen, with Justin's head nuzzling between his legs, fingers tracing the line of his inseam, sliding upwards to where his cock was starting to fill, constrained in his khakis. Lance was not going to make a sound, though. He was going to finish his proof-reading, no matter what Justin was doing.

Sliding the zipper carefully down. Pushing the heavy khakis and black boxers aside and reaching for Lance's erection, and oh God yes licking at it and sucking it into the wet heat of Justin's mouth, swirling and flickering with his tongue. Lance stared determinedly at his screen, last paragraph now, word by word, even managed to correct a misplaced comma, while Justin's mouth worked its magic on him. J must be cramped under the desk, he thought, couldn't really get a good angle there. It would help him to last. Breathing rather fast, Lance saved for the final time, and shut down his computer. Not that he was going to tell Justin. J was doing a fine job of persuading him to stop work. Who was Lance to argue with that? He sat back and allowed a little groan of pleasure to escape, a little incentive.

The eager mouth licked and sucked with even greater dedication than before.

Lance grinned to himself, and carefully opened the top drawer. He'd discovered on several previous occasions that it was as well to be prepared. Justin really was very nearly irresistible, particularly when he was all smartened up for a client meeting. Lance selected a lubricated condom, opened the packet, and set it on the desk. Prudently, he moved his keyboard to one side.

Then he took Justin's head firmly between his hands, drew him up and off, and pushed his chair backwards. "Up," he commanded. Justin crawled forwards, out from under the desk with a bewildered expression, and before he could get completely to his feet Lance had him turned and pinned, bent over the desk. Ruthlessly Lance tugged J's blue jeans down over his butt—nothing underneath, no surprise, this little outing had most certainly been planned—rolled the condom down over his cock, parted J's taut ass cheeks, and pressed inside. Kept J face down and spread over his desk, and fucked him steadily until he was writhing and pleading for more, faster, harder.

Amazingly, Lance was still capable of coherent thought, and he paused, and slowly withdrew. Justin whined, and looked pleadingly over his shoulder.

"Pants off, J," said Lance, settling himself back onto his ergonomically perfect office chair. "That's right. Now come here."

* * *

It was a strain, Justin's legs spread wide either side of the chair so that he could lower himself onto Lance's erection, but oh, it felt so good with Lance's hands on his hips urging him up and down, fucking himself on Lance's beautiful cock. Lance's voice, low and breathy, telling him how good he was, and Lance's fingers tightening over his hipbones and Lance thrusting behind him and Lance's hand closing round Justin's cock and jerking it until he came in a rush of white heat and a cry of surrender.

Justin slumped back helplessly into Lance's arms.

"Think I'm gonna be working late again tomorrow," Lance murmured into his ear, "if this is the reward I get."



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