Page 17 of Static/Cling

There were, in fact, fifty boxes of files, which took a lot of trips to bring up so many flights of stairs.

“Why isn’t he helping?” Roger complained at one point, meaning Leif, who had remained on the ground floor to open and close the door for them. The rest of the doors, Bjorn noticed, had been propped open with the heavy boxes so he didn’t have to touch any of them as he trekked up and down.

That was nice of whoever had thought of it.

“He shouldn’t carry stuff,” Bjorn said to Roger.

“Oh, c’mon. Even Sal’s helping.”

“Leave him alone,” Kassian rumbled from behind his stack of boxes.

Roger grumbled something under his breath Bjorn couldn’t hear, but not hearing it didn’t lessen his desire to trip the guy up the last few steps.

That was his guilt talking, though, and he knew it. Leif couldn’t carry the boxes without risk to his back, and that was Bjorn’s fault.

When he got back to the bottom where Leif opened the door for him, something must have shown on his face, because Leif frowned. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Something.”

Bjorn sighed. “I’m sulking because I didn’t want to explain to them why you can’t carry boxes. Because I’m an id?—”

Leif slapped a hand over his mouth, then grabbed his arm and yanked him to the side. Electricity left over from his socks-on-carpet escapade earlier sparked and snarled between them.

Leif gasped.

“Fuck.” Pushing Leif against a wall around the corner, Bjorn leaned into him, kissing him, grounding himself in the feel of Leif’s mouth under his. God, the man could kiss, and it never failed to go straight to his cock.

Which, in this case, was good, because there was a lot of power to wrangle, and Leif grabbing him wasn’t smart when he didn’t have a good handle on it. Finding the wayward sparks, he channelled them into a point he could trail over Leif’s skin along his collarbone and the side of his neck and up under his hairline.

Leif groaned and bucked against him. His hard cock pressed into Bjorn’s thigh.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Bjorn muttered, pressing his cheek to Leif’s. “I—that was going to hurt you otherwise.”

“I fucking hate you,” Leif said between clenched teeth, but he was chuckling. “You so owe me, now.”

“Don’t go grabbing me like that. You never know if?—”

“Don’t let fucking Kassian get into your head. He doesn’t know you.”

“No, I know.” He rubbed his cheek again. “It wasn’t even Kassian this time. He actually told Roger to drop it.”

“See? You’re not an idiot.”

Bjorn snorted. “I’m not smart.”

Leif cupped his face in both hands, forcing him away enough he could look into his eyes. “You’re not not smart.”

“What?” Bjorn squinted at him. “Did all the blood leave your brain?”

Leif pushed his groin against Bjorn again. “Obviously.”

They both snickered.

“Are you good, though?” Leif asked.

Bjorn nodded. “Fine.” He hadn’t dissipated all of it, but this was a public place and not even the lunch hour when most people occupying the first and second floors might be out of the building. He wouldn’t be able to get rid of it all this way without more time and hell of a lot more privacy.

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