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The office clock strikes midnight, and he's still at his desk, the hum of the computer his only companion. His tie is loosened, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing the taut muscles of his chest. Under the desk, his hand finds its way into his pants, wrapping around his hardening length. He leans back in his chair, eyes closed, lost in the sensation of his calloused palm against his smooth skin. The creak of the floorboard snaps him back to reality, his eyes flying open as he pulls his hand out, trying to regain his composure, his heart racing like he's just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.