pretty boy // brallon

Dallon

I'm sitting at my desk, paperwork stacked in chronological order of due dates, my laptop screen blank apart from the brand logo, bouncing back and forth off of the invisible walls of the dark screen.

I drum my hands against my knees, watching in silent frustration as the bobbing logo fails to reach the corner of the screen every time, dumb.

I'm bored. Despite all of the work in front of me, I'm not in the mood to do any of it, so I sit, and I wait. For what? I don't know, motivation? Something better to do?  Or someone to fuck up, so I can fire them... Fun.

Its been about six days since I last fired someone and it sucks. The last guy spilled my coffee on my white carpet.. I didn't hesitate to humiliate him and dismiss him without his due payment.

Im hoping his replacement is as much as a fuck up.. They can be my next victim.. They're already late.. I finished my last drink approximately fourteen minutes ago and they haven't come to check if I need another or if my cup need washing..useless.

As if on cue, a boy comes stumbling through my door, straightening his white dress shirt and running his hand through his dark unruly hair.

"sorry I'm late, sir-" he rushes, keeping his eyes cast downwards.

His not from around here, definitely not a New York accent . He looks young, perhaps early twenties, I don't recognise him, he must be new.

"late to your first day? Not the best first impression is it?" I reply, smirking to myself in amusement as his cheeks flush a light shade of pink.

Easy.

"sorry sir, there was a lot of traffic.." he stammers.

"did I ask?"

"no sir"

His cheeks flush even brighter and I fold my arms, reclining in my chair, watching as he stands clueless in the doorway.

"well, don't just stand there."

It finally clicks and he busies himself, neatening stacks of paper on my desk and brushing crumbs and loose staples into the trash can.

"can I get you a drink, sir?"

"yes, you were meant to bring me one ten minutes ago"
I retort, looking him up and down, hes short, about seven inches shorter than me. He's thin, but not skinny,  his shirt is nice fitting, tighter around the shoulders and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

His shirt is tucked neatly into a plain black pair of dress pants. They cling slightly to his hips, too small perhaps, at least for his build, under further inspection they resemble women's pants.

"sorry sir, it won't happen again"

"no, it won't"

I bite my lip slightly, watching as he turns, hurrying towards the door to refill my drink.

The pants cling to  his thighs slightly as he walks, a nice thickness, quite feminine.  His ass looks good too, full and round.. Too nice for a man's body.. But boy does it look good.

I watch until he's out of sight, taking in the way his hips swing with each step.

And then I stand, stretching and adjusting my own shirt. I look out of the window at the early morning rush on the sidewalk, far, far below, like a swarm of ants, weaving amongst each other and honking cars all stuck in the rush hour traffic.

The sun peers over a cluster of smaller buildings, spilling across the street below, the morning warmth, decorating my office and warming my skin as the shutters open automatically.

My daze is cut short as the boy hurries back in with with a steaming mug of coffee, splashing threateningly against the sides of the cup as he unsteadily places it on my desk.

"can I get you anything else, sir?"

" no, thank you"

He nods and heads back towards the door.

"what's your name?"

"Brendon urie, sir"

I nod and he leaves, this is going to be fun.