It's a Monday morning (yayy I know). I'm laying on our bed, listening to the work call you're having on your desk. I refuse to work on Monday mornings so I usually wake up later than you, and don't get dressed for a while; my routine is absolutely different to yours: you're already presentable and talking about intricate stuff I know nothing about, with that serious voice you use when you want people to listen to you.
It's too much for a Monday morning, if you ask your coworkers. It's hot, if you ask me.
I'm wearing one of your old shirts again, buttoned up to avoid any incidents in case you need to turn on your camera, but only with my underwear below, no pants. I kiss your cheek as I pass where you are, prepare breakfast and look from a chair a few meters away how you're finishing your presentation, moving your hands to punctuate the words. Someone made a stupid question, I can see from your expression, and you're so frustrated it's almost funny.
"That's no way to start your week," I say while you wait for the next person to start talking. "Let me take care of it."
You don't answer, but I don't mind; your mind is absolutely focused on this work call and I speak quietly anyway. I go where you are, see the people you're having a call with and thank God I work alone; but since you don't, I make it my duty to relieve you from this stupid call.
I sign for you to let me go below your desk and you comply without asking, it's clear you don't want to talk now. I rest my head on your lap first, using one of my hands to caress the back of your leg, so you run your fingers through my hair gently. I can hear how your breathing changed, it slowed down and you stopped sighing so much.
After a few minutes this way, I hear you talking again: "but that's... just not how it works." Oh, the classical how did this person get a degree thought. You move your hand away, so I kiss your inner thigh and look up at you. You've had enough.
I start with simple touches on your legs: my hand rests on your thigh with my thumb caressing it slowly, while I plant small kisses on the other one. You're wearing pants, but I know you can feel everything I am doing because your own body is reacting, like it or not.
When I look up at you, you're sipping on your cup of coffee, totally immersed in the call. After you leave the cup on the table (we don't want no one getting burnt), I test my luck and run my finger around your outline. Your eyes immediately look down to where I am, but your mouth isn't saying no and your body is saying yes.
"It's rude to not look at people when they're talking," I say, referring to the call. You chuckle and go back to it, leaving me to do my work.
A few kisses on your growing shaft and you move on your chair, it's a bit tight down here I'd say. I tap your leg so I can undo the belt and free you from your pants; you let me do it instantly, but I leave your underwear on, because the chair's texture is rough.
As soon as you get comfortable again, I free your shaft from your underwear: it's hot and hard, just how I like it. I start with kisses again, like I always do, first on top, then on both sides. I stroke you with my hand a few times, but then give you a long lick from bottom to top; the unexpected moan you just did has no name.