Days spent at the BBA headquarters were the worst in Hilary's book.
She couldn't stand sitting behind a desk and doing paperwork all day. It was strict order from Kenny that she isn't supposed to touch anything from his lab. Hence the paperwork. But that's where she got stuck after every Tournament. There was such a lull for her immediately after the tournament that the officials thought it would be easier for the team members to spend the succeeding week at headquarters, filling out the concluding paperwork that arrived with the end of the tournament.
Hilary spent the entire week sitting at her desk and staring at the clock as she tapped her pen rhythmically against her desk. It was the worst thing in the world to her. She always felt like she was back in school! Not that she hated school!
Why? Why did I have to make such a big deal about Tyson getting late that day?
What was even worse than just sitting at a desk and doing paperwork, however, was the fact that her husband was only five floors up from her, doing his own post-league work along with his teammates.
He was at headquarters a lot more often than she was, but he hated it just as much. Tyson was even more impatient than Hilary, so just sitting at a desk all day wasn't his idea of fun either.
"He must be ready to throw himself out a window," Hilary muttered, tapping her pen against the desk so hard that it went flying across the room. Sighing, the brunette reached across the desk and took another pen, staring contemplatively at her pile of paperwork before shrugging and going back to using her new pen as a drumstick.
XXX
Tyson, on the other hand, had settled for using his desk as a pillow.
"Uuugh…"
Indeed, he hated being trapped in an office more so than even his wife. And it was worse for him because it happened so often. For Tyson, this wasn't a once-a-year occurrence. It was more of a monthly affair. One that Tyson never, ever looked forward to.
"I can't even tease Hilary from up here!"
Tyson rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling, lightly biting his lip as he did so. As soon as Daichi had heard Tyson was going to headquarters for the day, he had refused to tag along with his partner. The World Champion was willing to bet his little ''house guest'' was probably snoozing on the couch right now, spreading his disgusting snot everywhere.
"Lucky," he grumbled, lowering his head and wincing. That was another thing he hated about working at headquarters: the dress code. Ever since BBA was resurrected, there were just rules and regulations. For Tyson, there was nothing worse than being forced to wear a suit and tie while stuck behind a desk all day. It was like a double dose of misery. Letting out a telling sigh, Tyson sunk down in his super luxurious leather chair and began to spin himself in circles.
"I am soooo bored!"
XXX
Despite their wallowing in private, Tyson and Hilary made sure to put on a very professional front when it came to their co-workers and superiors.
In Tyson's case, he didn't really have anyone who was in charge of him. Just Dickenson, but one didn't simply see Dickenson walking around headquarters. The old man was typically holed up in his own top floor office, and rarely came out unless he needed to have a private meeting with Tyson. Even then, Tyson was usually forced to go up to Dickenson's office, and not the other way around. Despite this, Tyson was kind and cordial to absolutely everyone. It was part of his nature, after all. Talking to everyone and putting on a happy face was quite easy for Tyson, even when he was rather miserable after being stuck in a stuffy office all day.
Hilary, on the other hand, was not as easy as her husband. Of course, she was an adult, so she was able to handle herself just fine. She got along with everyone else, and managed to bite her tongue when they started to get on her nerves. But her frustration built up much easier than her husband's did, and a bad social exchange would typically lead to Hilary going back to her office and punching something. Typically, it was the pillow Tyson had given her specifically for such occasions. Originally, it had pissed Hilary off, but she'd punched the same pillow as a result, so clearly it was doing its job.
But, what neither one could stand was being asked about each other.
It was just the general nosiness that neither one liked. Their marriage was already enough of a public spectacle, so why did everyone feel the need to delve further into it? At this point, they were both surprised they hadn't been asked about what happened in their bedroom every night.
It also wasn't necessarily pleasant to be reminded that the incredibly attractive spouse you loved so much was in the same building as you at that very moment, separated by staircases and work requirements.
Fortunately, that was what lunch was for.
For as soon as the clocks in each of their offices struck twelve, Tyson and Hilary made the same mad dash towards the elevator, hoping to beat out the crowd of their co-workers.
Tyson would always get on first, seeing as he was higher up in the building than Hilary, and make sure to press the "four" button; the one that would take him to Hilary's floor. After a few seconds, the small space would stop descending, silver doors sliding open to reveal Hilary's beaming expression. She would stride into the elevator herself, black heels clicking against the floor as Tyson frantically pressed the "close doors" button to prevent any more passengers. He would succeed, and the happily married couple would proceed to jump one another, engaging in an intimate activity that was far too steamy for the professional setting that lay beyond the silver doors.
Hilary wrapped one leg around Tyson's waist, keeping the other foot on the floor for balance. Her skin tight turquoise sheath dress began to ride up her thigh, and that was fine by Tyson. He grabbed onto her backside, crashing his lips against her own and igniting a passionate kiss that electrified the both of them. His other hand was busy with her upper half, his fingers tangling through her loosely brown hair. Hilary's own hands were kept preoccupied as well: the left frantically tugging at Tyson's polka dot printed tie while her right tried valiantly to tear the black suit jacket off of his body. She managed to loosen the tie just enough for Tyson to properly fill up his lungs, and free one arm, his crisp white dress shirt wrinkling instantly upon the jostling. Eventually, her own air supply ran out, and Hilary had to pull away, leaning her head back and gasping for air while Tyson trailed kisses up the side of her neck. She gripped desperately onto his shoulder, the already crumpled white shirt folding beneath her fingers.
And then, the ominous ring sounded.
As the doors separated, Tyson and Hilary quickly followed suit and began to straighten out their clothes and hair: Hilary pulling down her dress and readjusting her curls, while Tyson shrugged his suit jacket back on and attempted to refasten his tie.
"I hate that stupid tie," Hilary grumbled, stepping out of the elevator as she continued to fix her hair.
"Me too," Tyson agreed, trailing behind his wife.
"I meant I hate the print on it," Hilary sighed, marching towards the front door. "It's so cheesy."
"You've always liked the way it looks on the floor," Tyson quipped, pulling up next to Hilary and throwing her a cheeky smirk.
"Alright, calm down there, Mr. hotshot World Champion," Hilary warned. "We've only got an hour."
"Why's that gonna stop us?" Tyson muttered, grabbing Hilary's hand and rubbing against her side. "We only had like…fifteen seconds in the elevator!"
"Fine," Hilary grumbled, her resolve quickly melting away as her lips formed a smirk to rival her husband's. "But we'd better get something to eat afterwards."
At this, Tyson let out a whooping laugh and pulled his wife right out the door. "Now you're speaking my language!"
