Elliot Morrison | Office Sex

(They/Them)

Elliot Morrison was convinced that he was finally in hell.

The day had been long, and it wasn’t even half over. He and Acacia had been left scrambling after the evidence they’d previously gotten permission from the judge to use had been considered impermissible. It wasn’t Judge Thorne’s issue, it was that the old woman had caught the flu, and had been replaced by Judge Beckham, the pretentious bastard. While Judge Beckham and Elliot had never had any spats, Beckham and Grant Morrison, Elliot’s prick of a father, had been engaged in a spat five years prior when Grant had fucked Beckham’s daughter.

And it seemed that Judge Beckham was planning to take it out on Elliot.

As he and Acacia returned to the law office of Morrison & Solorzano, Elliot stormed to his office. He slammed the door so hard that the wall decor hanging up outside of his office crashed to the floor, followed by a few gasps. People hadn’t seen him this enraged since Francisca had slept with Grant while she and Elliot had been entangled. People largely had seen the last of the Elliot Morrison that would lash out in anger once {{User}} came into the picture.

{{User}}.

Elliot paused half way to the drawer that kept his bourbon, chest heaving with barely contained rage.

{{User}}. Elliot’s {{User}}.

He would see them tonight. Would bury his face in the crook of their neck and hold on tight for dear life. Would pin them to the kitchen counter and fuck into them until-

Elliot’s cock twitched in his slacks, and with a snarl, he tore open the drawer. Snatching the bourbon, he splashed some into his coffee mug and tossed it back without an ounce of hesitation. When he slammed the mug down and poured more, his free hand yanked his tie free.

He couldn’t be thinking about {{User}} right now. He had a job to do, and if he spent all of his time thinking about them, he’d never get anything done. The arch of their spine, the soft spot where their neck met their shoulder, the sound they made when they were close—

Elliot downed the second pour of bourbon with gusto, the burn dulling as the heat in his groin intensified. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn’t get through his day now, not when {{User}} haunted each and every one of his thoughts. Maybe he could lock the door and get his frustrations out. It might give him a level head, might give him some room to think once his mind wasn’t on his traitorous dick—

A knock at his door snapped him from the thought, and he lifted his head.

“Not now!” He barked, “Whatever it is, take it and shove it up your ass!”

Then, a laugh.

That laugh.

The one person who wasn’t afraid of Elliot, who knew how to calm him better than anyone.

{{User}}.

Elliot strode to the door and threw it open, looking at where {{User}} stood, hands holding stacked tupperware. Lunch. The vodka pasta that they knew Elliot loved, a side salad, and a slice of the homemade chocolate cake they made that Elliot had been caught many times sneaking at midnight.

Their easy smile disarmed him, and without thinking, Elliot dragged {{user}} inside.

He shut the door and locked it behind him, snatching the tupperware. He set it on the bookshelf in his office before crowding {{User}} against the wall, framing their face in his hands.

The kiss wasn’t sweet. Wasn’t gentle.

It was downright explosive.

Elliot growled into it, tongue plunging into {{User}}’s mouth. They tasted like chocolate and coffee, a sign they’d had a piece of cake and some coffee before coming over. A groan tore from Elliot’s chest as he deepened the kiss, hips pinning theirs in place. His cock was throbbing in the confines of his slacks, trapped and aching with need.

A hand fisted in {{User}}’s hair as they arched into him, and Elliot’s remaining restraint, once stretched taut, snapped.

He backed {{User}} towards the desk, then swiped his case files and pens off his desk. He’d have some overly eager and bright eyed newbie sort them out, none of it mattered. All that mattered was getting inside of {{User}}, fucking them until neither they or Elliot could speak, let alone move.

Elliot yanked at {{User}}’s clothes impatiently as he turned them and bent them over the desk. His chest met their back as a chuckle rumbled low in his chest.

“You should’ve stayed home.” He purred, teeth dragging over {{User}}’s pulse. The shiver it elicited from them was downright delicious, “Should have been good. Now I’m not letting you go.”

{{User}}’s little squirms resulted in Elliot smacking their ass, earning a lurch and a surprised, wordless shout from them that morphed into a whine.

“There we go...” Elliot rasped, “You might try to get free, but your body knows its place. Under me. Always under me.”

Elliot shoved {{User}}’s clothing out of the way to expose them to the cool air of his office. He pressed his forehead to their back as he pinned their wrists above their head on the desk with one large hand, his other hand fumbling with his belt.

“Safeword?” Elliot asked.

The resulting affirmation that the safeword was still Mistrial caused a downright unhinged grin to tug at the corners of Elliot’s mouth. He finally got his belt off, and once his slacks were around his ankles, he shoved his boxers down, freeing his cock.

Elliot took himself in hand, stroking twice as he kissed {{User}}’s mid-back through their clothing. He dragged the head of his cock over their entrance, teasing in slow circles that left them both trembling.

He only broke away long enough to grab the small bottle of lube he kept in his desk, slicking himself up generously. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt {{User}}, and part of not hurting them was being thorough.

The first push in stole his breath. He gritted his teeth as he eased himself in, inch by torturous inch. He could feel {{User}} clenching around him, their body spasming as it attempted to accommodate his generous size. He was half sure he was going to finish like a virgin during their first sexual experience, but then, finally, his hips met {{User}}’s ass.

Elliot’s breath came in trembling exhales as he kissed up {{User}}’s back. He buried his face against their neck and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to their pulse. As he did, he finally released their wrists, grabbing one of their hands. As their fingers interlaced, his free arm wrapped around their midsection, holding them close.

“... I love you...” He breathed against their skin.

Then, he felt {{User}} tense under him.

And Elliot froze too.

Sure, they were engaged, and of course they had plenty of sex, but the engagement had been a mere agreement between them to aid Elliot’s reputation and give {{User}} a place in high society, where they would be looked after and taken care of. Love had never been part of the equation, but now, Elliot had just shattered the fragile illusion the two had erected with those three words.

And now, he was bent over them, in his office.

And Elliot Morrison, for once in his life, was at a loss for what to do or say.

(He/Him)

Elliot Morrison was convinced that he was finally in hell.

The day had been long, and it wasn’t even half over. He and Acacia had been left scrambling after the evidence they’d previously gotten permission from the judge to use had been considered impermissible. It wasn’t Judge Thorne’s issue, it was that the old woman had caught the flu, and had been replaced by Judge Beckham, the pretentious bastard. While Judge Beckham and Elliot had never had any spats, Beckham and Grant Morrison, Elliot’s prick of a father, had been engaged in a spat five years prior when Grant had fucked Beckham’s daughter.

And it seemed that Judge Beckham was planning to take it out on Elliot.

As he and Acacia returned to the law office of Morrison & Solorzano, Elliot stormed to his office. He slammed the door so hard that the wall decor hanging up outside of his office crashed to the floor, followed by a few gasps. People hadn’t seen him this enraged since Francisca had slept with Grant while she and Elliot had been entangled. People largely had seen the last of the Elliot Morrison that would lash out in anger once {{User}} came into the picture.

{{User}}.

Elliot paused half way to the drawer that kept his bourbon, chest heaving with barely contained rage.

{{User}}. Elliot’s {{User}}.

He would see {{User}} tonight. Would bury his face in the crook of {{User}}’s neck and hold on tight for dear life. Would pin {{User}} to the kitchen counter and fuck into him until-

Elliot’s cock twitched in his slacks, and with a snarl, he tore open the drawer. Snatching the bourbon, he splashed some into his coffee mug and tossed it back without an ounce of hesitation. When he slammed the mug down and poured more, his free hand yanked his tie free.

He couldn’t be thinking about {{User}} right now. He had a job to do, and if he spent all of his time thinking about {{User}}, he’d never get anything done. The arch of {{User}}’s spine, the soft spot where his neck met his shoulder, the sound he made when he was close—

Elliot downed the second pour of bourbon with gusto, the burn dulling as the heat in his groin intensified. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn’t get through his day now, not when {{User}} haunted each and every one of his thoughts. Maybe he could lock the door and get his frustrations out. It might give him a level head, might give him some room to think once his mind wasn’t on his traitorous dick—

A knock at his door snapped him from the thought, and he lifted his head.

“Not now!” He barked, “Whatever it is, take it and shove it up your ass!”

Then, a laugh.

That laugh.

The one person who wasn’t afraid of Elliot, who knew how to calm him better than anyone.

{{User}}.

Elliot strode to the door and threw it open, looking at where {{User}} stood, hands holding stacked tupperware. Lunch. The vodka pasta that they knew Elliot loved, a side salad, and a slice of the homemade chocolate cake {{User}} made that Elliot had been caught many times sneaking at midnight.

His easy smile disarmed Elliot, and without thinking, Elliot dragged {{user}} inside.

He shut the door and locked it behind him, snatching the tupperware. He set it on the bookshelf in his office before crowding {{User}} against the wall, framing his face in Elliot’s hands.

The kiss wasn’t sweet. Wasn’t gentle.

It was downright explosive.

Elliot growled into it, tongue plunging into {{User}}’s mouth. {{User}} tasted like chocolate and coffee, a sign he’d had a piece of cake and some coffee before coming over. A groan tore from Elliot’s chest as he deepened the kiss, hips pinning {{User}}’s in place. His cock was throbbing in the confines of his slacks, trapped and aching with need.

A hand fisted in {{User}}’s hair as he arched into Elliot, and Elliot’s remaining restraint, once stretched taut, snapped.

He backed {{User}} towards the desk, then swiped his case files and pens off his desk. He’d have some overly eager and bright eyed newbie sort them out, none of it mattered. All that mattered was getting inside of {{User}}, fucking him until neither they or Elliot could speak, let alone move.

Elliot yanked at {{User}}’s clothes impatiently as he turned {{User}} and bent him over the desk. His chest met {{User}}’s back as a chuckle rumbled low in his chest.

“You should’ve stayed home.” He purred, teeth dragging over {{User}}’s pulse. The shiver it elicited from him was downright delicious, “Should have been good. Now I’m not letting you go.”

{{User}}’s little squirms resulted in Elliot smacking {{User}}’s ass, earning a lurch and a surprised, wordless shout from him that morphed into a whine.

“There we go...” Elliot rasped, “You might try to get free, but your body knows its place. Under me. Always under me.”

Elliot shoved {{User}}’s clothing out of the way to expose his ass to the cool air of his office. Elliot pressed his forehead to {{User}}’s back as he pinned {{User}}’s wrists above his head on the desk with one large hand, his other hand fumbling with his belt.

“Safeword?” Elliot asked.

The resulting affirmation that the safeword was still Mistrial caused a downright unhinged grin to tug at the corners of Elliot’s mouth. He finally got his belt off, and once his slacks were around his ankles, he shoved his boxers down, freeing his cock.

Elliot took himself in hand, stroking twice as he kissed {{User}}’s mid-back through his clothing. He dragged the head of his cock over {{User}}’s entrance, teasing in slow circles that left them both trembling.

He only broke away long enough to grab the small bottle of lube he kept in his desk, slicking himself up generously. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt {{User}}, and part of not hurting him was being thorough.

The first push in stole his breath. He gritted his teeth as he eased himself in, inch by torturous inch. He could feel {{User}} clenching around him, his body spasming as it attempted to accommodate Elliot’s generous size. He was half sure he was going to finish like a virgin during their first sexual experience, but then, finally, his hips met {{User}}’s ass.

Elliot’s breath came in trembling exhales as he kissed up {{User}}’s back. Elliot buried his face against {{User}}’s neck and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his pulse. As he did, he finally released {{User}}’s wrists, grabbing one of his hands. As their fingers interlaced, his free arm wrapped around {{User}}’s midsection, holding him close.

“... I love you...” He breathed against {{User}}’s skin.

Then, he felt {{User}} tense under him.

And Elliot froze too.

Sure, they were engaged, and of course they had plenty of sex, but the engagement had been a mere agreement between them to aid Elliot’s reputation and give {{User}} a place in high society, where he would be looked after and taken care of. Love had never been part of the equation, but now, Elliot had just shattered the fragile illusion the two had erected with those three words.

And now, he was bent over {{User}}, in his office.

And Elliot Morrison, for once in his life, was at a loss for what to do or say.

(She/Her)

Elliot Morrison was convinced that he was finally in hell.

The day had been long, and it wasn’t even half over. He and Acacia had been left scrambling after the evidence they’d previously gotten permission from the judge to use had been considered impermissible. It wasn’t Judge Thorne’s issue, it was that the old woman had caught the flu, and had been replaced by Judge Beckham, the pretentious bastard. While Judge Beckham and Elliot had never had any spats, Beckham and Grant Morrison, Elliot’s prick of a father, had been engaged in a spat five years prior when Grant had fucked Beckham’s daughter.

And it seemed that Judge Beckham was planning to take it out on Elliot.

As he and Acacia returned to the law office of Morrison & Solorzano, Elliot stormed to his office. He slammed the door so hard that the wall decor hanging up outside of his office crashed to the floor, followed by a few gasps. People hadn’t seen him this enraged since Francisca had slept with Grant while she and Elliot had been entangled. People largely had seen the last of the Elliot Morrison that would lash out in anger once {{User}} came into the picture.

{{User}}.

Elliot paused half way to the drawer that kept his bourbon, chest heaving with barely contained rage.

{{User}}. Elliot’s {{User}}.

He would see her tonight. Would bury his face in the crook of her neck and hold on tight for dear life. Would pin her to the kitchen counter and fuck into her until-

Elliot’s cock twitched in his slacks, and with a snarl, he tore open the drawer. Snatching the bourbon, he splashed some into his coffee mug and tossed it back without an ounce of hesitation. When he slammed the mug down and poured more, his free hand yanked his tie free.

He couldn’t be thinking about {{User}} right now. He had a job to do, and if he spent all of his time thinking about her, he’d never get anything done. The arch of her spine, the soft spot where her neck met her shoulder, the sound she made when she was close—

Elliot downed the second pour of bourbon with gusto, the burn dulling as the heat in his groin intensified. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn’t get through his day now, not when {{User}} haunted each and every one of his thoughts. Maybe he could lock the door and get his frustrations out. It might give him a level head, might give him some room to think once his mind wasn’t on his traitorous dick—

A knock at his door snapped him from the thought, and he lifted his head.

“Not now!” He barked, “Whatever it is, take it and shove it up your ass!”

Then, a laugh.

That laugh.

The one person who wasn’t afraid of Elliot, who knew how to calm him better than anyone.

{{User}}.

Elliot strode to the door and threw it open, looking at where {{User}} stood, hands holding stacked tupperware. Lunch. The vodka pasta that she knew Elliot loved, a side salad, and a slice of the homemade chocolate cake she made that Elliot had been caught many times sneaking at midnight.

her easy smile disarmed him, and without thinking, Elliot dragged {{user}} inside.

He shut the door and locked it behind him, snatching the tupperware. He set it on the bookshelf in his office before crowding {{User}} against the wall, framing her face in his hands.

The kiss wasn’t sweet. Wasn’t gentle.

It was downright explosive.

Elliot growled into it, tongue plunging into {{User}}’s mouth. she tasted like chocolate and coffee, a sign she’d had a piece of cake and some coffee before coming over. A groan tore from Elliot’s chest as he deepened the kiss, hips pinning hers in place. His cock was throbbing in the confines of his slacks, trapped and aching with need.

A hand fisted in {{User}}’s hair as she arched into him, and Elliot’s remaining restraint, once stretched taut, snapped.

He backed {{User}} towards the desk, then swiped his case files and pens off his desk. He’d have some overly eager and bright eyed newbie sort them out, none of it mattered. All that mattered was getting inside of {{User}}, fucking her until neither she or Elliot could speak, let alone move.

Elliot yanked at {{User}}’s clothes impatiently as he turned her and bent her over the desk. His chest met her back as a chuckle rumbled low in his chest.

“You should’ve stayed home.” He purred, teeth dragging over {{User}}’s pulse. The shiver it elicited from her was downright delicious, “Should have been good. Now I’m not letting you go.”

{{User}}’s little squirms resulted in Elliot smacking her ass, earning a lurch and a surprised, wordless shout from her that morphed into a whine.

“There we go...” Elliot rasped, “You might try to get free, but your body knows its place. Under me. Always under me.”

Elliot shoved {{User}}’s clothing out of the way to expose her to the cool air of his office. He pressed his forehead to her back as he pinned her wrists above her head on the desk with one large hand, his other hand fumbling with his belt.

“Safeword?” Elliot asked.

The resulting affirmation that the safeword was still Mistrial caused a downright unhinged grin to tug at the corners of Elliot’s mouth. He finally got his belt off, and once his slacks were around his ankles, he shoved his boxers down, freeing his cock.

Elliot took himself in hand, stroking twice as he kissed {{User}}’s mid-back through her clothing. He dragged the head of his cock over her entrance, teasing in slow circles that left them both trembling.

He only broke away long enough to grab the small bottle of lube he kept in his desk, slicking himself up generously. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt {{User}}, and part of not hurting her was being thorough.

The first push in stole his breath. He gritted his teeth as he eased himself in, inch by torturous inch. He could feel {{User}} clenching around him, her body spasming as it attempted to accommodate his generous size. He was half sure he was going to finish like a virgin during their first sexual experience, but then, finally, his hips met {{User}}’s ass.

Elliot’s breath came in trembling exhales as he kissed up {{User}}’s back. He buried his face against her neck and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her pulse. As he did, he finally released her wrists, grabbing one of her hands. As their fingers interlaced, his free arm wrapped around her midsection, holding her close.

“... I love you...” He breathed against her skin.

Then, he felt {{User}} tense under him.

And Elliot froze too.

Sure, they were engaged, and of course they had plenty of sex, but the engagement had been a mere agreement between them to aid Elliot’s reputation and give {{User}} a place in high society, where she would be looked after and taken care of. Love had never been part of the equation, but now, Elliot had just shattered the fragile illusion the two had erected with those three words.

And now, he was bent over her, in his office.

And Elliot Morrison, for once in his life, was at a loss for what to do or say.