Lunch Date (A Takeover Vignette)

A little check in with Michael and Sam, sometime after Daily Grind.

Lunch Date

(A Takeover Vignette)
Anna Zabo

There was a picture of Sam on Michael Sebastian’s desk. His lover, his partner, his former boss, and the man who once had inhabited this office. Sometimes it seemed so completely normal. Of course Sam would be smiling out of the photograph at him. Other times, he caught himself staring at those blue eyes and the joy in that face and his breath would catch because he’d never imagined living in a world where he could place a photo of his partner on his desk. And be an executive of a company.

And that the man staring back would be Sam Anderson, for god’s sake. Michael stared at the photo.

They’d gone back to Curaçao, where they’d first met one fateful night, this time not as strangers, but as two men who’d be spending the rest of their lives together. Michael had caught Sam unaware when he’d taken the photo—Sam had been occupied with the sea and the sunset when Michael had called his name. The result had been sunning—all that love and life and happiness caught in an instant.

They still had that, in between the exhaustion and the frustration and the business of everyday life. But Michael wouldn’t change one annoying moment of wondering why Sam couldn’t ever put the scissors back in the drawer or why he always left his shoes exactly where Michael would trip over them for any second of not having Sam in his life.

But sometime, sometimes during weeks like this one, he did wonder if Sam felt the same. The weeks leading up to a major release were rough. Lately, Michael was lucky if he caught a few hours of sleep when he shuffled home. He’d seen Sam maybe a few minutes each day before he headed back downtown and Sam headed up to Squirrel Hill, to the company that bore Sam’s name. Lather, rinse, repeat. Hellos, kisses, lingering glances, and goodbyes.

It wasn’t a way to live, and he missed Sam horribly. The product would be out the door soon, and he’d have time to make it up to Sam, time for them to be them again. This release had taken Michael across the country, had him working late into the night. He owed Sam, owed him so much, needed to—

A cough at his door nearly had him jumping out of his skin. He swung around to find Sam—all be-suited and lovely and smiling—leaning against the door frame. “Hi there.”

“You—” Michael glanced at the time. It was just after two in the afternoon. On a Wednesday. “Sam, why are you here?”

His grin deepened and he pushed off, stepped inside Michael’s office, closed the door—and locked it.

Oh. Michael’s pulse ratchet up.

“I know you,” Sam said. “So I know you haven’t had lunch. And you’ll probably put off dinner until much too late. And then be cranky with all you’re employees.” He rounded Michael’s desk. “So I’ve come to drag you out to eat.” He leaned down and their lips met.

Sam always tasted of sin and devotion. No better kiss. No better time. Michael wove his fingers into Sam’s hair and pulled him down for a deeper, far more wanton taste. This one came with the little moan his so loved. He relented on the kiss—but not on the grip in Sam’s hair. “Except you’ve locked my door. That’s not exactly dragging.”

“Dragging comes later,” Sam murmured. His lips were plump and cheeks flush.

“And now?”

“Whatever you want happens now.”

He wanted everything from Sam. His moans and cries. His fingers raking down Michael’s back. The warm heat of his body. The quiet moments tangled together when they listened to each other breathe. He wanted home and light and hours and hours. Forever, even. Michael closed his eyes against the sudden lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.” He loosened his hold.

Sam grunted, and eased himself into Michael’s lap—a familiar weight and presence—and in the back of his mind, Michael was glad he’d sprung for the better office chair—because it held. “I’ve been here. You’ve been here. There’s nothing to be sorry for. We both signed on for jobs that occasionally eat our lives.”

He could only pull Sam in and kiss him again. Slip a hand under that suit jacket and caress over linen. He wished for flesh. Skin to skin. Sam begging. “The things I want to do to you require a hell of a lot more time and space.” His fingers found Sam’s length and stroked him through the pants of his suit. Fine wool over rock hard cock.

“And props?” Sam spoke breathless words against Michael’s neck.

A flogger at the very least. “Sadly, I left my crop in your office.”

That got him a laugh. “Eli noticed it.” Sam rocked into his palm.

His own dick ached for release. He couldn’t actually remember the last time they’d had sex, which meant it had been too damn long.

“Of course Eli did.” Which is why Michael had left it. Partly to tweak Eli, and partly to lay claim. Because if he was honest—the ease of Sam and Eli’s friendship made him just a tiny bit jealous.

Even if his own friendship with Eli was just as easy—and had longer roots. “I don’t have anything here. The walls are far too thin.” And there were rules about conduct in the office, handed down from corporate.

Teeth scraped along his throat. “You know how quiet I can be.”

“I also know how loud you can scream.” He paused and through a too tight throat continued. “And I want that, Sam. I miss—”

Sam stole away the last word with a kiss and Michael’s mind was made up. “We’re gonna go have lunch at home. Then I’m taking that suit off you and you’re going to kneel for me and take every damn thing I give you.”

“Perfect,” Sam murmured.

And it was. He nudged Sam off his lap and after a quick email to the team, they stole out of the office.

On the elevator ride down to the lobby, Michael recognized Sam’s little grin. “You planned this.”

“Of course I did. I’m a needy little bastard who knows how to press all your buttons.” He tucked his hands into his pockets.

“Smug, too.”

“Exceedingly.” The elevator dinged and opened. “Good thing you have a solution to that problem.”

He did. Sam wouldn’t like sitting tomorrow, but he’d be far less smug by the end of the day. And very very well fucked. Michael would see to that.

They stepped out of the elevator together. “Sam?”

He turned, his eyes so bright. “Yeah.”

“I love you.” He said it right there, with other people around them, some of them strangers, some his employees.

Sam’s smile sent a bolt of joy through Michael. “I love you too.” No hesitation. No care who heard. Sam held out his hand.

Michael took it—and took his man home.

Copyright © 2017 Anna Zabo
All rights reserved.