NHL 51

Dylan groaned as he narrowed his eyes, perhaps due to the pressure from the thigh muscles. His frowning face, flushed with excitement, exuded an even more decadent atmosphere than usual. With his eyes narrowed sharply, he soon began to move his hips in earnest while holding Joeon in a tight embrace. Joeon grabbed onto the full-length mirror to support his body, trying not to be pushed away by the weight of the man pinning him down with his entire body from behind.

The sound of wet flesh slapping together—like during sex—grew more frequent. As the hip movements accelerated, Joeon’s hands, gripping his own member, also tightened. The moment Dylan stimulated the urethral opening with his fingertips, Joeon bent his body like a shrimp.

“Ah, ngh, ugh!”

The flesh of Joeon’s thighs and buttocks pressed firmly against Dylan’s penis. Unable to hold back the urge to ejaculate, his member rubbed its tip against the flat surface of the mirror, letting white, watery semen trickle down.

Dylan surged forward, thrusting his hips with such force that it felt like he might tear Joeon’s scrotum, driving the tip of his penis deep inside. Everything from the scrotum to the thighs was covered in a pale, viscous liquid.

With his gaze fixed on the space between his own legs reflected in the mirror, Joeon reached his hands back and pushed away Dylan, who was standing behind him, to ensure the messy traces of their tryst wouldn’t stain his expensive suit.

As soon as Dylan loosened his grip, having been forced to hold Joeon tightly, Joeon’s trembling body slumped to the floor. At that moment, a little of Dylan’s unspent semen splashed onto Joeon’s cheek.

“My, oh my.”

Dylan’s hand reached toward his cheek to wipe it off. However, his fingers lingered there for a long time as if he still had lingering attachments even after wiping the semen away.

Joeon lifted his head and glanced at Dylan. In his deeply tinted, rippling eyes, a murky, unspoken demand seemed to shimmer. Sensing the unspoken desire, Joeon leaned his body toward Dylan’s penis as if drawn to it.

Red lips stopped in front of the penis. He licked the semen off the tip with his tongue, and as he took the glans into his mouth and sucked on it like a piece of candy, hot breaths descended upon his head.

While Joeon performed oral sex, Dylan spent a long time stroking Joeon’s sleek, soft cheek that felt smooth in his hand. Pulling his lips away, Joeon looked up and said:

“If you put it back into your underwear like this, no one will know. Shall we do that much?”

At that moment, Dylan’s penis, which had been calming down from the excitement, suddenly grew in size at a terrifying speed and became erect. Joeon’s eyes went wide, startled by the massive transformation happening right before his eyes.

“…Ah, you can’t yet. You’re swollen down there.”

“Mmm, I know.”

At the end of his upturned gaze, he saw Dylan’s face crumpled. He was holding onto his sanity with superhuman patience. Groaning, he pressed down on his tensed member and managed to shove it back into his underwear. Even though the bulge was clearly visible through his trousers, he looked somewhat decent once he pulled up the zipper and buckled his belt. With a calm face, Dylan reached out his hand and pulled Joeon to his feet.

“Be careful. You’ll get dirty stuff on your nice clothes.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not fine. You’re going to wear this to work. Could you at least take me to the bathroom? I’ll wash up and come out right away.”

Because his partner kept pushing him away, Dylan had no choice but to take Joeon’s hand and lead him to the bathroom. While the sound of water was running, he neatly folded Joeon’s ruined clothes and took out his own. It held a small hope that perhaps his scent might soak into Joeon during the two weeks he would be away on a business trip.

🏒🥅

On an afternoon when the sun was at its hottest, light poured in through the full-length windows of the south-facing office that directly faced the sun. At this time of day, the blinds were always kept down to the floor. Still, there were gaps, and the light that pierced through between the slats often created diagonal rays, splitting the monitors at an angle.

Joeon was sitting with his monitor turned at an angle so that the intrusive rays wouldn’t cause any errors in his data entry.

Perhaps because it was early afternoon, just past lunch, the electronic sound of security being disarmed echoed continuously from the entrance. People were returning one by one.

As if water that had receded were rushing back in at the right time, the people who returned to the office found their places and began their work again. Just as everyone was slowly beginning to concentrate, a sudden, vibrating sound rang out in the quiet space, feeling quite loud. Realizing that the source was his phone left behind his computer, Joeon quietly stepped away from his desk.

No sender’s name appeared, but there was no indication that it was suspected spam, either.

‘Could it be…?’

Finding an empty conference room, Joeon answered the phone with a flicker of expectation.

―Hello. This is the Toronto vent cleaning service. We’re calling because we’re currently running a really great promotion. You have a house, right?

A man with a strong Indian accent poured out his words quickly. As the tension drained from his shoulders, Joeon leaned his body against the glass window. He felt a sense of regret that he had been living with an overly naive mindset lately.

―Hello? Are you listening? You have a house, right?

“No. I’m homeless.”

―…

A short silence flowed over the receiver before the line cut off with an electronic beep. It was part of the usual spam calls. It appeared to be an outbound telemarketing call for a special event, but in reality, it was a known fraud tactic where they would claim to need to fix a non-existent problem and then charge double the price they initially suggested.

If it were any other time, he wouldn’t have answered calls from unknown numbers, but as the situation had changed, he couldn’t afford to miss any calls. This was because the results of the job applications he had submitted earlier were starting to come in one by one.

Some places had conducted brief phone interviews through their HR departments, while others had notified him of his rejection via email. However, since it was standard practice for most proper face-to-face interviews to be communicated by phone, he had no choice but to answer the incoming calls. Of course, the number of spam calls he received was overwhelmingly higher than the notification calls.

Joeon believed that the increase in frequency was actually because he had put his phone number on his resume and distributed it everywhere. Otherwise, there was no way spam calls that had been quiet for a while could have surged like this.

Hiding his disappointment, he was returning to his seat when he noticed Michael from the IT department walking by. Michael, who often wore hoodies and jeans, was dressed in a surprisingly neat office look for a change.

Tyler, who was sitting by the hallway, teased Michael with a greeting.

“What’s the occasion for dressing up? Do you have an interview today? Looking sharp.”

Michael, who was of a similar age and got along with Tyler as comfortably as a friend, joked to Tyler that he had a girlfriend and an interview.

Joeon felt a sudden prick of guilt at the word “interview” being mentioned repeatedly, so he hurried away from his seat. The one with an interview wasn’t anyone else—it was Joeon. Since he always went to work in neat attire, it wasn’t obvious that he had worn a suit specifically for today, but the clothes he wore today had a firmer, crisper look than usual.

He had arrived at work earlier than others with the thought of leaving early under the pretext of a dental appointment to go to his interview. So, he had even put off lunch and focused only on his work to finish everything he had to do for the day.

Joeon, who had been shifting around in his seat the whole time, killed time by reciting potential interview questions in his head before packing his things at a reasonably late hour. The interview venue was located in the heart of downtown, just three or four blocks away from where Joeon worked.

Standing in the middle of Adelaide Street, Joeon scanned the windows that climbed endlessly up the building with his eyes. He could see the sky, narrowed as if trapped in a well. And the buildings standing huddled around it boasted their long, slender bodies, looking down at Joeon.

“This is it.”

Perhaps it was connected to the underground PATH, as a familiar sign could be seen in one corner of the lobby. At least he wouldn’t have to shiver in the cold when commuting during the winter. Passing through the otherwise desolate lobby, he headed to the elevator and asked the security guard to call an elevator to the 18th floor.