Business and Pleasure SLASH, MxM

Chapter 8

        The next day dragged on slowly and it honestly felt like Marshall had more work to do than usual. And for one thing, Patrick—Mr. Blackwell-- had been out for the entire day. Marshall’s desk did not face his office but he knew this because he had craned his head every five minutes to look for any signs of life. He hadn’t even seen the black woman from yesterday, Michelle, who was usually floating around when she wasn’t doting on Patrick.

        He turned back to his computer screen and stared at the screen.  The text didn't make sense to him. It all blurred together into a gray mass composed of numbers and letters that meant something but nothing at the same time. He closed out of that window and took off his glasses so he could rub his eyes. A loud buzz came from his drawer. His phone. He quickly pulled out his phone and checked the message.

                Don’t forget our 7 o’ clock .

-P

---

When Marshall got to Patrick's apartment his hands were shaking. It was  8. He was an hour late. But for a good enough reason. Anne needed something’s from the store and he just couldn't deny getting them for her. He felt guilty. On top of that, he’d spent a good ten minutes in his car contemplating whether or not he should even get out. All of his gusto from the day before had evaporated. If he was any more nervous he would have been hyperventilating.

And there he stood, outside of Patrick’s door. Fretting himself over whether or not to knock. He could turn back now. Stop this before it even started. Turn tail and scurry on home. Go back to Anne, sit down for a mediocre dinner, crawl into bed, and go to sleep.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and jerked him away from his thoughts. Scrambling to answer it, he put it to his ear and managed a slightly shaken. “Hello?”

“Mr. Evans are you just going to loiter outside my door or are you going to come in? I don’t know what you’re playing at but you’ve kept me waiting long enough, don’t you think?”

Marshall’s heart jumped into his throat and he struggled to choke out a response. “I—“ Before he could complete that sentence, the door swung open and behind it was a very annoyed looking Patrick.

“I don’t want to hear any excuses." Patrick stated, grabbing Marshall by his suit jacket and pulling him inside. He closed the door with a slam before pushing his subordinate up against it. "Why are you wearing a suit?" He asked while making quick work of undoing Marshall's tie.

"I told Anne I was going to a meeting. I couldn't leave in sweats and a t-shirt, now could I?" He answered, making note of the fact that Patrick was wearing just that. It was weird seeing the blond in lounge wear. By now he had gotten much too used to seeing him in work clothes. Creaseless suits and starched, stark white shirts. He looked more natural but still a vision nonetheless.

Patrick made a 'hm' sound. "Smart." He said, working on the buttons on Marshall’s shirt. "That still doesn't explain why you were late." Marshall was surprised at how swift Patrick was able to undress him, making him certain that he'd had quite a bit of experience in that area. "I thought you didn't want to hear any excuses? " Marshall retorted. "And how did you even know I was outside the door?"

"Yes well. " Patrick  shrugged. "I want an explanation now. And I could see your shadow under the door. And trust me; I don’t have many people over." He finished undoing the last button and pulled the shirt and jacket down from Marshall's shoulders until it bunched up awkwardly in the crooks of his elbows. His brown eyes glazed over slightly as he watched Marshall's chest rise and fall rhymthatically. His eyes flicked up to meet Marshall’s and he smiled. “I began to think you weren’t coming.” Patrick stated honestly before going in for a kiss.