Dont read this, this is just for stories i want read

F*ck The Boss

“I need those quotations yesterday!” Dream’s roaring voice fills his office space, as well as the slam of his flat hand onto his desk at the end of the sentence. A panicked voice blabbers from the other side of the phone line, summing up all the excuses as of why the imposed work isn’t finished yet.

“Patience? You dare talk to me about patience? I could fire you on the spot for that fucking comment alone!” Dream yells back, pacing back and forth through the room, his black leather Hilfigers tapping the floor with each step. It's almost like the sound of a ticking time bomb, which wouldn’t be far off either.

“I expect them on my desk before six, or I’ll find someone else to do it, someone who is actually capable of doing their goddamn job,” Dream states, before abruptly hanging up by slamming the phone back into its holder. An exasperated huff escapes him as he plops back into his chair, closing his eyes momentarily to regain himself. A single strand has escaped his slicked back hair and lays comfortably against his forehead.

He doesn’t necessarily enjoy lashing out at people like that, but it does really alleviate the frustration building up inside his chest when things aren’t going the way he wants them to.

It’s a basic rule of thumb; either it happens Dream’s way, or you can try out your own way at a different company.

Dream is shaken back into reality by the ringing of his phone once again, and with a less than amused tone of voice, he picks up, “yes?”

“Hi, you doing okay?” the British accent sounds sweetly through the phone. “We could hear you down the hallway,” George chuckles softly. An involuntary smile creeps up on Dream’s face as he listens.

“Yeah, I’m good, but thanks for asking,” he answers, picking up a pen and twisting it between his fingers. A brilliant idea sparks his mind. “If you could bring me a cappuccino though, that’d be great,” he says, wanting an excuse to see the man for a moment.

“You know I’m a secretary, and not your butler, correct?” the other giggles. Dream’s grin grows wider.

“Oh, I know,” he states, a hint of cockiness detectable in his now lowered voice. “But you do what I ask of you, no?”

The line stays silent for a moment, and Dream bites his lip softly in anticipation. George answers, his voice thick and deep, “of course.” He hears a soft click, signifying George has ended the call, and with a self-satisfactory smirk, Dream reclines in his chair.

When minutes later a knock sounds through the door, Dream pretends to look intently at his computer. “Come in,” he says loudly for the person on the other side to hear, and sure enough, George enters his office with a large cup clutched in both his hands. The pair meet eyes for a good few seconds, before George walks closer, breaking their shared gaze to watch the coffee sway softly in the cup.

“Here you go,” George says as he places it down, Dream following his hands with his eyes. Something about those tender hands makes him want them all over his body, right this instant. But he refrains from commenting on the issue.

“Thank you,” he smiles, looking up from his chair. His cherished desire swirls through his chest as he studies George’s soft features. “Can you do something else for me?”

“What would that be?” George asks in response, watching back intently. Dream rises from his chair and walks over to the side of his desk nonchalantly, picking up some envelopes to hold them lightly. He lets them slip from his fingers, and George observes them falling to the ground, before he looks back up. 

“Oops,” Dream teases, tilting his head sideways a little as he looks at the envelopes, before looking back up at George and stuffing his hands in his own pockets. “Would you mind picking those up for me?” A pink tint dusts George’s face as he processes the request, but walks over nevertheless, keeping eye contact before he turns his back towards Dream and bends down. Dream studies the way his pants hug his bottom tightly as he bows forward, pulling his lower lip between his teeth as his imagination starts running wild.