Work Text:
"Tell me again."
"Tell you what, exactly?" It's half past three in the afternoon, maybe it's a Wednesday because Wednesday's a shitty day of the week, right? A shitty day of the week when nothing any good ever happens, or at least nothing he'd bother to remember beyond the next twenty-four hours.
"Tell me what you want me to do." A smirk, underneath the tightly-groomed mustache over those gorgeous lips, the sight of which makes his insides quiver with excitement. This is a game they're playing. It's always a game with Lalo and he should know better than this by now but he doesn't. More to the point, he doesn't want to. Lalo moves to the door and locks it firmly. No one can get in or out, not now. Maybe not ever.
"Eduardo, my dear --"
A pout. "Lalo, please. It's always Lalo, remember? Eduardo, what kind of name is that?" He is roaming around the office now, opening drawers and rummaging in spaces, long fingers inserting themselves into all the shuttered places and withdrawing, tantalizing. He's dressed simply today, in a patterned shirt and jeans with a big belt buckle, the better to draw Saul's attention and his gaze to Lalo's bulging crotch. He can't even tell if Lalo is hard, or if it's just his generous package on display, but he can't look away from it. He wants to put his hand just there, to cup the warm and living flesh, to sink to his knees and unzip Lalo's pants and --
"I've got work to do." He won't smile for him, goddammit. This is serious. He can't expect -- Lalo can't expect to come waltzing in here in the middle of an ordinary day and--
"Sure you do." Somehow, Lalo is whispering into his ear and he's in Lalo's arms and how the hell did that happen? "You know what I think, Saul? You like it." He turns his head and captures Saul's mouth and there's nothing else but this: him and Lalo; Lalo and Saul, kissing, holding each other, hands running over fevered flesh and Lalo manages to pull the knot of his tie loose, unbutton his shirt and get a hand inside, warm fingers splayed on Saul's naked chest, warm fingers moving to flick the hard pebble of a nipple and Saul -- Jimmy -- is weak in the knees. His cock is hard and throbbing, a fevered drumbeat that pulses in the bottom of his belly, but he's got work --
"I've got...um...Jesus, Lalo...a client waiting." This handful of words has already cost him dearly, in strength of purpose and his ability to resist Lalo's hold over him. Lalo's mouth fastens on his neck, the tip of his tongue flickering against his hot flesh and Saul summons the last of his strength, pushing Lalo off of him, walking him backwards, while Lalo watches bemusedly, a smile playing across those perfect lips. Saul walks him backwards until the chair strikes the backs of his knees and Lalo goes down, landing awkwardly, still smiling. "I said stop." He's panting. Lalo's grin wavers and disappears completely.
"What..." The tip of Lalo's tongue slips out to wet his lips. "What are you doing?"
"Shut up." He's playacting at being angry, Saul is, but it's real enough that he can feel it now. He drops to his knees in front of Lalo and yanks his zipper down, delving inside to free his swollen member and Lalo gasps as Saul closes his mouth around it, sucking hard.
"I don't...what the hell...ah, Jesu Maria!" He arches his back, driving himself deep, and it's all Saul can do not to gag. Lalo's big, and his turgid cock is a mouthful even for Saul. He slows the rhythm of it, using his lips and tongue to gentle Lalo, to ease him down, and they settle into it as Lalo's warm, long-fingered hands reach to cup the back of Saul's neck, gently holding him.
Lalo is absolutely silent when he comes, his long body jerking and shuddering, his thighs trembling under Saul's palms. Saul holds him in his mouth, swallowing everything Lalo has to give him and licking him clean. He sits back on his heels, fumbling in his pocket for his handkerchief before rising to his feet and heading for the decanter of Scotch on a nearby shelf. He pours two fingers into a glass for himself and another two fingers into a glass for Lalo, is about to turn and give it to him when he realizes that Lalo is behind him. "People don't tell me what to do," he says, directly into Saul's left ear. "Nobody tells me to shut up."
Saul tosses back the Scotch, turning to glance at Lalo over his shoulder. "There's a first time for everything, and I'm working."
Slipping out of Lalo's embrace, he moves to unlock his office door. Lalo smiles as he takes the hint, rising to his feet and tucking himself back into his clothes, fastening his fly and buckling his belt. "So it's like that, huh? You're giving me the brush-off?"
"I'm busy," Saul replies, "and you've had your fun." If he lives to be a hundred, he will never forget the sight of Lalo's face as the orgasm overtook him, rendering him speechless, powerless, flayed wide open by the completion of his pleasure. He didn't come -- only Lalo came -- but he's willing to delay his own release, trusting the memory to carry him through the rest of the day.
The next client has risen from the chair and is on his way in when Lalo passes close in front of Saul, leaning in to whisper, "I'm going to fuck your brains out." He moves past the poor sad bastards waiting in the reception room and out into the parking lot and he doesn't look back, not even once.